Somebody else had been in the tunnel.
He could not believe that Grace would have told anyone else. And it wasn’t possible to believe that she might have been there with anyone else.
Jim Costello spoke briefly to Brian Doyle.
He said he knew O’Neill’s demand to have the rooms ready was ridiculous, but for God’s sake let Doyle not forget who was paying their salaries.
‘He’s more nervous about the bloody court case than he is about sinking his whole fortune in the hotel,’ Jim said wonderingly.
‘Wouldn’t you think he’d have more sense?’ Brian had little time for finer feelings.
‘In a way I can see what he means. The whole place is waiting eagerly to know what will happen. If Kate Ryan doesn’t get enough the mood will turn against him fast. It won’t be easy for him to carry on here.’
‘Ah, that’s only a small problem compared to the troubles he has with his family life . . .’
Jim hadn’t got where he was by being a gossip. ‘I don’t know much about that, I only see the work side of him.’
‘You do in your arse. You know like the rest of us know that his son had a go at his woman, and if the place doesn’t go up in fireworks over that, then it never will.’
‘At least his daughter is no trouble to him,’ Jim said primly.
Brian knew everything. ‘I saw you had your eye peeled in that direction. Sound man,’ he said approvingly.
‘She’s only a child, but are we going to see your fiancée Peggy at the opening?’
‘Probably,’ Brian muttered without any great enthusiasm.
‘Good, make sure she’s on the invitation list, they’re posting them next week.’
‘Isn’t it a miracle that it’s going to open at last?’ Brian looked around him in surprise.
‘Take that look off your face, Brian, people will think you’re surprised it’s staying up. That’s not good for business.’
Kerry was listening carefully to the voice at the other end of the phone.
The lady had told the bank that after all she had made a mistake, the cheque had not been stolen.
Kerry let out a great sigh of relief. Rachel must have seen that it was pointless.
He had never felt so relieved in his whole life. But the voice on the phone told Kerry that his problems were far from over. They were only starting. There would be no criminal proceedings since the cheque was no longer deemed stolen. But it was still stopped. It could not be cashed.
Kerry was still to find his thousand pounds.
‘It’s impossible,’ he said in a thin unnatural voice.
There was a silence.
Then he was given a proposition. He could do something for them instead. Repay his debt that way.
His whole body strained and his knuckles were white as he waited to hear what they wanted him to do.
It would involve storing some merchandise out of sight in a very safe place. A place that nobody knew about.
Kerry could feel his muscles relaxing. He knew the exact place.
Michael went to the lodge that evening.
Miss Hayes had come back on the excursion train from Dublin, she was showing her materials to Grace.
‘I’d make you a dress for the opening, but you’ll want something smarter from the shops,’ Miss Hayes said.
‘Why can’t you wait till the opening?’
‘The ship sails before.’
Michael seemed impatient and not anxious to join in the conversation. Grace eventually seemed to understand and went outside with him.
‘Did you tell anybody? About the tunnel, did you tell anyone else?’ His eyes looked wild.
‘Why? What’s wrong?’
‘I went there today with Dara. She didn’t notice we’d been there but it’s all changed, someone else has been there, maybe even sleeping there.’
Suddenly it clicked in Grace’s mind. Of course that was where Kerry had been spending the nights.
Michael had made her swear she would tell nobody, but she had told Kerry the last time he was home from Donegal. She hadn’t thought it mattered. Not Kerry.
Looking at Michael’s face she realised it did matter.
‘No,’ Grace said. ‘Of course I didn’t, you told me not to tell anyone, didn’t you?’
Dara walked in Coyne’s wood. She didn’t expect to see him, and she didn’t want to see him.
But he was there, as some part of her knew he would be. Because she didn’t feel very surprised.
He looked happy and relaxed, not strained as he had been before.
Dara said nothing. She stood there in her yellow and white candy-striped dress with the big artificial yellow rose pinned to it. Mademoiselle Stephanie had given her that when she was leaving France, that and a wink of complicity.
Tomorrow she would go back to school, and this strange summer would be over. There was no birthday party planned for the twins this year. Their party room was a café now, and the date was almost coinciding with their mother’s compensation case.
She looked at him levelly.
He put his head on one side and smiled.
Dara would not smile back.
‘What is it? Tell me.’
‘You know. The whole town knows.’
‘I don’t.’ He was innocent and bewildered.
‘Mrs Fine.’
‘She’s pathetic,’ he said with scorn. ‘She is quite pathetic. You know that she fancied my father for years, he got tired of her and now she made . . . Well, it’s too much to talk about really.’
‘No it isn’t.’
‘Well, she made some silly advances at me, she got all drunk and slobbery, and crying, and saying she loved it here in Mountfern and these are her type of people and why couldn’t she stay . . .’
It sounded familiar and likely from Mrs Fine’s conver-sations with Dara’s mother. From what she had overheard and picked up in the past.
‘And then she became silly. Well, it’s gross, and I had to untangle myself, and put her to bed. I went back the next morning to see that she hadn’t done herself in or anything, and I got her breakfast and because I did these uncharacteristically nice things the whole place says I’m leaping on her.’
Dara looked at him. Willing it to be true.
‘I mean, Dara, look at me. Am I the kind of guy who would go for a woman of that age, a little tubby Brooklyn Jewess? It’s ludicrous.’
He was so handsome, he was not the guy to go for a woman old enough to be his mother.
‘Are you going to say anything to me or will you stand there all day just repeating accusations?’
‘I don’t know.’
He looked hurt and bewildered.
Dara spoke. ‘When I was in France I saw these fireflies. I didn’t know what they were, they were like little teeny weeny fires in the evening. I asked Madame what they were called. She said “mouches à feu”. They used to make me pronounce words so that I’d get it right. I kept saying it, “mouche à feu, voici la mouche à feu”. Firefly, firefly. And I thought of you. I thought of you every time.’
He took her in his arms, and she laid her head against his chest. She could hear his heart beating.
Dara spoke almost dreamily. ‘I found out why we don’t have them in Ireland, I asked and now I know. They’re sort of exotic fireflies, and Ireland is too cold and wet and windy for them. They wouldn’t survive here. They wouldn’t survive at all.’
Grimly and with far less pleasure than he thought that he would feel, Patrick O’Neill moved into his hotel. He decided to do it without ceremony, without any marking of the occasion. He would reserve all the festivity for the grand opening.
He moved his own things in and slept a night in the place he had created. He did not sleep well.
All kinds of unwelcome thoughts came to him, dreams, and half dreams. He got up eventually and walked in the moonlight, as he had walked years and years ago it now seemed, when the place was a ruin.
The moon hadn’t changed
much, nor had the river that it shone down on. But everything else had.
22
Olive Hayes left Mountfern exactly the way she wanted to, in dignity and with style but with no razzamatazz.
For four years she had lived quietly in this family, kept their confidences and made no judgements about them. Now she would no longer be part of their lives.
Kerry barely acknowledged her departure.
She had known this would be the case. She was no longer of any use to him. There had been a time when he had been charming, but charm was a currency, no need to spend any of it on Miss Hayes.
She felt a great sense of peace and achievement, and no last-minute regrets about leaving. It was what she had always planned.
Mr O’Neill’s generosity made it possible to come back if things did not work out. She was letting her little house in the town to a young couple with a baby. They paid a small rent and would continue to put that into Sheila Whelan’s post office for her.
When Olive Hayes called quietly and decorously to say goodbye to the people in the pub, she had a quick moment with Kate. Unlike most of the place who would have wished her luck in the compensation case, Miss Hayes had a different wish.
‘I spent a lot of time, Mrs Ryan, wondering what to say about this and perhaps I am just an interfering old busybody, but perhaps, being confined to the house, you mightn’t realise that Kerry O’Neill is a very dangerous young man.’
‘Oh, Miss Hayes, don’t I know it,’ Kate sighed. ‘I know only too well how unstable he is. I did my best by sending her to France, but I can’t banish the child from her own town for ever.’
‘With respect, it’s not that he’s unstable, he is very aware of what he is doing and what he wants. He is totally self-centred. Perhaps with the help of God your daughter will see through him.’
‘Get out there fast to those nuns and start them praying.’ Kate smiled wanly.
Olive Hayes took her seriously. ‘When I heard that he would be living in the lodge on his own, I did ask Bernadette to get some prayers said for a special intention.’
Kate held her hand for a long moment before Olive Hayes left Mountfern.
It was, as Michael expected, not nearly as easy to see Grace once she was in the hotel. The excitement of the new life, the attention and the fuss kept her busy all the hours that she had free from school.
They had arranged to wave to each other at certain times at night and make mirror flashes across the river.
Michael had worked out ‘I love you’ in Morse code, but Grace said it was endless, and you’d be exhausted working out all the short long short longs of it just for one sentence.
Tommy Leonard seemed to understand. ‘Wasn’t it easier before girls?’ he said to Michael.
‘Like when there was just Adam in the Garden of Eden?’ Michael laughed.
‘No, you know what I mean.’
‘But you don’t have any problems with Jacinta, she’s there all the time, living on the other side of the street and everything.’ Michael was envious.
‘It isn’t Jacinta I want, you thick oaf.’
Grace told Michael that her father was giving her a new dress for the opening. She was to go to Dublin to buy it. She was going to ask for the day off from school. Could Michael come with her and help her choose?
School had reopened and the notion of giving Michael a day off to go shopping with a girl in Dublin was about as acceptable to the authorities as suggesting a trip on a flying saucer.
‘Come on, Mike, think of something.’
‘But it’s not just Brother Keane, I have to explain to Mam and to Dad and if I went without saying anything to them Eddie would hear and tell, or Tommy Leonard would. Lord, Grace, we can’t just waltz off to Dublin as if we were adults.’
‘We are adults – in lots of ways.’ Grace pouted at him.
‘Yes, well.’ Michael reddened thinking of their last visit to the tunnel. He felt it was official to go there now, now that Dara had given permission. So he was more adventurous in his approach to Grace as a celebration of this.
‘Don’t be such a mother’s boy,’ she taunted.
That hurt. Especially since it was really his mother he feared most. He had the feeling that she worried about his friendship with Grace. And that she would be astounded to think he would even suggest the shopping trip.
That morning Kate had spoken for the first time to Dara and Michael about the upcoming court case.
She had said that she wanted them to give her all the support they could. What she needed was to know that they wouldn’t go around blabbing or being silly about it. That they would be the model of good behaviour for just these few days, since the eyes of Mountfern would be on the whole family for a short time. Some people wished them to get a fortune, some wished them not to get anything significant in case it would prejudice the hotel in any way. But the truth of the matter was that there would be a respectable sum of money which would be placed in a bank for the children’s education.
It was all upsetting having to go to court, but what would make it worthwhile was the knowledge that the Ryan children were working hard and would deserve any benefit that might come to them.
She had been quite solemn, and for the first time for a very long while she had sounded sad.
She had said that in many ways her own life was over, and that this was not something to feel bitter about, people’s lives ended in different ways. But it would all have a meaning if her children were to be strong and to have a bit of class when faced with the wagging tongues and over-excitement of a small parish.
Michael and Dara had promised that they would not let her down.
Going to Dublin midweek on a train, telling Brother Keane a pack of lies – that would be letting her down.
Michael said he couldn’t go and help Grace choose a dress.
Grace said that was all right then, she might ask Jim Costello was he going to drive to Dublin any time soon, she could get a ride in his car. Michael wasn’t to give it another thought.
The District Court sat every week in the town, and cases that were of a higher jurisdiction or that were appealed were heard when the Circuit Court came four times a year for a period of three weeks each time.
At one stage there was a judge who had been interested in fishing who had driven out to the Fern each evening for all the world like an old tramp. He and Fergus Slattery’s father had struck up a friendship without either ever knowing the other was involved in the law, so great was their interest in the fish that swam the Fern and the methods of taking them out of the river.
Nowadays with better roads and better train services the barristers and judges didn’t spend long in the town. They rarely came as far as Mountfern.
Kate and John Ryan were surprised to see Kevin Kennedy come into the pub the night before the case.
‘Fergus didn’t say you were coming,’ Kate said, flustered.
She moved the wheelchair in her quick agile way back over the ramp and they beckoned him into her big green room. How right it had been to make this room into a proper sitting place for her. Seeing that she was going to sit for the rest of her days it made it much more bearable to sit in pleasant surroundings and not to apologise for wherever you were.
John got Mary to take over his place pulling pints. Most of the clientele would know who Kevin Kennedy was anyway and what it was about.
‘Good luck and get them a fortune,’ said one man as Kevin squeezed his way past the counter.
‘Luck is exactly what it’s about,’ he said, turning round, ‘it has not a thing to do with what people deserve, or they would get a king’s ransom.’
His serious voice startled the drinkers. They had expected some sort of joky answer.
‘Fergus doesn’t even know I’m here . . .’ he began when they were in the room.
‘Well, don’t you think maybe . . .’ John began.
‘No, no, I’m on my way to him, it’s just that we’ve had an offer. A firm offer.
Six thousand pounds. A yes or a no. That’s what they say.’
‘Yes,’ said Kate.
‘We must ask Fergus,’ said John.
‘What do you think?’ Kate asked John.
‘I don’t know what to think. We could go into court and fight all day and come out with less but the fact they offer it at all twenty-four hours before the case means they think it might go further against them.’
Kevin Kennedy looked from one to another.
There weren’t many consultations on his cases, usually it was a matter of working straight from the brief, from the case to advice. But when he had met the people involved in their houses, he had often felt his city prejudices against country people were confirmed. They were so often inarticulate, and often grasping. This time it was different. There was a gentle pace of life that he liked in Mountfern, there was a graciousness about this couple and their handsome dark-eyed children whom he had seen briefly.
There was a sense of repressed energy about the crippled Kate Ryan that gave her more life than most women who were able to walk and run. She was quick, opinionated and impatient, and she had had a long hard lesson in having to learn that she must lean on others. He liked the husband too. All very genial and easygoing on the outside, but he had a logical reasoning mind. Fergus Slattery had said the man was a poet too in a small way.
He felt involved with these people in a way he hadn’t felt involved for a long time. He had been through every case reported: the factory worker who only this year had been awarded £3,000. The sum had been based on his earnings, and how much more he could have expected. He had been twenty-eight, he had lost an eye. Everyone had accepted that £3,000 was fair, he had been earning £14 a week.
There was an agricultural labourer in his mid-forties. His injuries were terrible even to read about. He got £7,000. His case had included the plea that he would never be able to marry and have a family. The award was considered high. There was that woman who had spent four months in the special hospital in England. Her barristers had proved such mental anguish, the compensation was £7,000.
They were looking at him, as if he should know. And he didn’t know. He couldn’t tell them either what was fair or what would happen.