I’d been principal of the Star of the Sea girls’ primary for the last five years. Every day as I drove in to work, I couldn’t believe that I was leading the school where I had been a pupil – as had Rosie and even my own mother.
Every single day our pupils made me proud, from hearing them sing in assembly, to just seeing them dressed in their uniforms, eager to please and to learn. The school had seen many changes since I played skipping games and wrestled with my times tables to when, years later, I was made school principal. So far, we were doing well. We retained our 100% approval rating from the local authority year on year and had several commendations, including those for our anti-bullying attitude and the green school scheme.
We did, however, have one problem. Well, two, if you counted the fact that Sixth class didn’t actually have a teacher, since Ms Samuels had disappeared after winning €50,000 on the lottery and was last seen heading for Departures with a copy of Let’s Go South East Asia.
But the other big, equally pressing, problem occupying my waking thoughts was cash flow. Or rather the lack of. We weren’t a private school and relied on the local authority, whose budget seemed to decrease every year. Instead, we were encouraged to do as much fundraising as possible. But however many cake sales, bring-and-buys, raffles or parents’ cheese and wine evenings we enthusiastically held, we never had enough money to fix the things that we really needed. The other local school, Willow Grove had recently presented each child with their own iPad. Willow Grove was a private school and the fact that the fees had recently been upped by a whopping €2000 a year might partly explain where the extra dosh had come for to pay for all this. Our parents’ committee had even held a whole meeting on this very subject, and the result had been retuned that we had to provide our children with the very same. We just had to keep on fundraising. More cake sales were prescribed, along with sponsored walks and swims and no school uniform days. Anything sponsorable was in. Except for the human pyramid idea suggested by one pupil which would definitely end in tears, broken bones and probably a barring order from never running a school again.
We just couldn’t stand there and allow Willow Grove kids to become the world’s future software billionaires. But also, as well as the new iPads, we needed money for our leaky roof and for resurfacing the playground … My wish list of improvements was long and constantly growing and each sponsored event inched us forward. What we needed was a leap. We needed someone to invest in us.
With the school teetering on the edge of sponsor fatigue, one idea was gathering enthusiasm from me. It had been proposed by one of our board of governors, Brian Crowley. It was always a struggle to find a parent with enthusiasm coupled with spare evenings to join our not-particularly merry throng, but Brian, when he joined in January, seemed very eager. Very eager indeed. He had come up with a cunning plan and it didn’t involve sponsor forms or baking cakes or reading piles of books or sitting in a bath of baked beans. He wanted us to sell a slice of school land, the Copse, a wooded area, at the far end of the school, beyond the hockey pitch.
When I was a pupil at the school, I remembered playing there, but now it was overgrown with brambles, the trees covered with ivy, the odd squirrel darting from branch to branch. It was part of the school grounds that I admit I didn’t give much thought to. It wasn’t out of bounds to the children, but neither did we encourage them to play there. So selling it, went Brian’s logic, made perfect sense. The tricky part, he said, was finding someone who would take it off our hands. The land was a worthless, odd-shaped site, and it would be difficult to find a buyer, but he had to try. And he’d succeeded. He’d found someone.
*
At his very first board of governors meeting during the winter, Brian Crowley had spotted Sister Kennedy was the one to butter up. There were only five of us: Me, Sister Kennedy, (nun and former school principal), retired teachers Noleen Norris and Brendan Doherty, Mary Hooley (school secretary and friend) and Brian Crowley, spokesperson for the parents.
Sister Kennedy’s faith tended to dominate her conversation as she found God to be a reliable source of talk, both small and large, and introduced Him into most conversations, how He always found a way and worked in mysterious ways.
At that meeting, Brian first raised the idea of selling the Copse. He waited - impatiently (drumming fingers, looking around the room, reading the small print on the wall posters, checking his phone for messages) - until I had run through points of interest, the relative success of a recent tombola raffle to the trialling of a new healthy eating campaign.
‘God,’ said Sister Kennedy in approval, ‘has found His way again.’
‘We are edging closer to our €20,000 target,’ I said. ‘Mary, what are we up to now?’
She glanced down at her notes. ‘More than €3,156 is in the kitty. Some of that could be used to buy a complete set of Harry Potters for the library but, yes, Tabitha, you could say we are edging closer. But, I should say, at a rather subdued pace.’
Finally, Brian saw his opening. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘that brings us to my rather interesting - though I may say so myself - proposal. Plan. Plot. Call it what you will but it’s big, it’s bold… and it’s beaut-i-ful.’ He beamed at us all, confident in our imminent excitement. ‘Sister Kennedy, if I may be so bold, I think God may have found a way. He may well be the source of my inspiration.’
‘Go on,’ I said.
‘Well, it’s the scrubland. Over yonder. At the back of the school.’
‘You mean the Copse?’
He nodded. ‘Is that what you call it? I call it the waste ground, the patch of trees. Whatever it’s called. It is the answer to our little problemmo re financing.’
I quickly translated for the sake of Sister Kennedy who had been rootling around in her bag for her glasses. ‘Mr Crowley thinks he might be able to help us with the plan to buy computers,’ I explained.
‘God willing,’ she said, smiling back at him, putting her large spectacles on her face and pulling back as though startled by him in close up.
‘Ah, but Sister Kennedy,’ he said. ‘It’s not God that’s going to solve this problem but me, with your blessing. Anyway, I’ve had the thinking cap on, the old brain box in gear. We can’t produce rabbits out of hats, we’ve got to be creative, think outside of our boxes, throw potatoes in the air.’
‘Try something new,’ I translated.
‘God will advise,’ said Sister Kennedy confidently. ‘He always knows exactly what to do.’
‘We will ask Him most certainly,’ assured Brian, ‘but first we must come up with a plan and then we will see if God will bless it. We are, after all, talking about a pointless, meaningless piece of land. Something that has no use. But could have real and long-lasting value and change the lives of the youngsters. We need to find a fella, someone who will take it off our hands. Now, I don’t know if such a person exists. We need a charitable sort of person, someone who would do it not for his own gain but for that of the school.’
Sister Kennedy, Noleen and Brendan nodded enthusiastically. Beside me, Mary paused from taking the minutes, shuffled uncomfortably.
‘Now doesn’t that sound like a lovely plan?’ said Sister Kennedy. ‘The kindness of strangers is a beautiful notion. Reminds me of the Good Samaritan. Are you suggesting Mr Crowley that you have found a Good Samaritan, someone who will be able to provide our children with computers?’
Brian made deep and meaningful eye contact with her. ‘I’m going to try,’ he said, in a quiet, intense voice. ‘I don’t know if I’ll succeed. But it’s a good plan, I think. If I may be so immodest, it’s even a great one…’
‘Then I’ll pray for you,’ she said. ‘And you’ll do it, I know you will.’ She looked at us around room. ‘We’ll all pray for you. We’ll pray that this Good Samaritan turns up. Won’t we?’ She eyeballed us beadily and urgently. ‘Won’t we?’
‘Yes, Sister Kennedy,’ we all said.
Brian promised us all he would do his best, for the good of the school, for the good of our children. He would do it for Ireland, for our proud benighted nation. He would do it for love. By the time he finished, Sister Kennedy, Noleen and Brendan were moist around the eyes, swept up by his words. Mary rolled her eyes at me.
‘Protocol states that any proposals regarding anything that would affect the school must first be approved by the board,’ I said, ‘but that the current principal of the school has the final say. So, Brian, it’s an interesting proposal but the ultimate blessing must come from me.’
‘Indeed it does,’ said Sister Kennedy. ‘But God moves in mysterious ways. I find that when one asks Him for guidance He bestows wisdom on those who must make the decision.’
‘Most mysteriously,’ said Brian, nodding with the humility and wisdom of a living saint. ‘I ask God for His guidance when I am making all my decisions. And He never fails to show me the way. Just this morning, I was ordering a breakfast roll in the Spar, two rashers, and two sausages, my usual. I asked God, if that was the right choice. And He answered me. Today, He guided me to ask for black pudding as well. And I must say, it was a revelation.’ He winked at me.
Noleen smiled slightly uncertainly. Brendan looked utterly confused. Only Sister Kennedy smiled. ‘That’s exactly right, Brian,’ she said. ‘God is everywhere, even at the hot food counter of Spar.’
*
Mary Hooley, my school secretary, was a beacon of good-sense and intelligence. And although I sensed that she wasn’t sure about Brian’s Great Idea, I was determined that I could talk her round. After all, it would mean a break from raffles and bring and buys and bric a brac stalls. Our great economic leap forward.
‘Morning, Mary!’ I said. ‘How are we doing? Are we millionaires yet?’
Mary was counting the takings from the sponsored readathon from the previous week. ‘Morning, Tabitha,’ she said, eyes on the change. ‘We’re up on last year. So that’s good news.’
‘Have we broken the €100 yet?’
‘Not yet, but look there’s another ice cream tub of coppers to go.’ She gave it a good shake, the sound of no more than a fiver’s worth of coins.
‘We’ll get there, Mary,’ I said. ‘One day we’ll have enough to fix the roof, resurface the playground and invest in some technology. If we… if we give Brian’s idea a go.’
‘Hmmm.’ Mary was the cousin of Lucy, Michael’s political perk. Ireland being a small place where everyone is separated by a mere three or four degrees.
‘I’m starting the think that this could be the best thing for the school, Mary,’ I said. ‘People are selling bits of land all over the place; for house building in gardens or development in other ways. We would just make sure it was unobtrusive… anyway,’ I went on, talking despite her obvious lack of enthusiasm for the proposal. ‘I’ve had another phone call from Brian Crowley. He’s found someone who’ll give us the money for the Copse.’
‘Has he now?’ Mary’s eyebrows were raised to her hairline. ‘Dress a goat in silk and he’s still a goat.’
‘What?’ I laughed.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘It’s just that he is very fond of his own voice and he’s all cufflinks and a hard handshake. And he takes up a lot of space. More than he needs. He really likes to spread out.’
I laughed again. ‘But that doesn’t mean it’s not a good plan.’
She nodded. ‘It’s the man-spreading and the arm waving. I like people who take up the right amount of the world. Not more than their fair share. And he speaks far louder than he needs to, like what he is saying is so important that it needs to be said at a higher volume.’
‘Tedious,’ I agreed. Living with Michael, I had a thicker skin when it came to the overly-confident male. And anyway, I was blinded by the money and all we could achieve. And not for the first time did I banish thoughts of my socialist mother from my mind. Sometimes we all had to welcome our inner capitalist. For the greater good, I kept repeating. For the greater good.
‘My mother,’ said Mary, ‘always said don’t trust men who fancy themselves more than you.’
‘Good advice. I’ll remember it.’
‘Or women, in my case,’ she smiled. ‘But I know what she was trying to say.’
‘Just think of the money. New chairs for the Sixth class girls, instead of the rickety ones they have. A new surface for the playground, books for the library, whiteboards for every classroom, fix the front gate...’ What else? ‘And a disco for the kids. We haven’t had an end-of-year party for them in five years… that would be nice… And… well, there’s just so much we could do.’
‘If you think it’s a good idea, Tabitha. But I don’t mind all the sponsoring, the cake sales…’
‘But there’s only so many cake sales we can hold. At this rate, we’re going to turn the entire population of Dalkey diabetic.’
She shrugged and went back to her counting.
‘Tea?’ I said.
‘Oh yes, please, Tabitha,’ she said. ‘If only to soak up the biscuits I’ve brought in.’
‘Pass me your mug,’ I said. ‘And I’ll go and give it a wash.’
As I took it from her, I knocked a pile of books off her desk and, scrambling to put them back, I picked up Chinese for Beginners: Mastering Conversational Mandarin.
‘Chinese, eh, Mary?’ I said, teasing her. ‘Your next exotic holiday destination? Or perhaps a job in international finance…’
Her face froze as she tried to smile. ‘I don’t think counting these coppers will get me a high-flying job,’ she said, quickly slipping the book into her handbag. ‘And I am quite happy with my annual trip to Florence to visit the galleries.’
‘So, Brian’s found his Good Samaritan, eh?’ said Mary. ‘And what will this Good Samaritan do with the land?’
‘A house? A community centre?’ I said hopefully. ‘Whatever it is, we’ll make sure that it’s something positive. Not a casino or a strip club or a…’
‘Oh, Tabitha!’ she said suddenly, looking up. ‘I’m forgetting everything lately. We’ve had a letter. From the Department. Staffing issue solved. They are sending a new teacher next week. Richmond somebody. Funny name.’
The letter had been tucked behind her telephone and she passed it to me and I scanned the words on the letter. We are pleased to inform you, et cetera, that Redmond Power will be available to join Star of The Sea National School, he comes very highly recommended…
‘It’s Redmond,’ I said, finding my voice. ‘Not Richmond.’ He was back. Red was back. ‘He’s just Red, though. No one calls him Redmond.’ Like a ghost from my past, he had returned and I’d been haunted by what I’d done, ever shaking off my shame and I still felt an excruciating gnawing of guilt inside which always surprised me how strong it still was.
She turned around. ‘You know him?’
‘Yes. Not for years though. He went to America. San Francisco.’
‘And where did he get the name from?’
‘John Redmond. The Nationalist hero. His family was pretty political.’
‘He’s come home, so,’ said Mary.
I nodded, eyes slightly blurry with shock and tried to focus on the words. He will join the school until the end of the school year and dependent on performance and your feedback, a longer term of employment can be decided upon… we are, however, sure that Mr Power will be a good fit for Star of the Sea…
He sounds just what we are looking for,’ Mary called over from the kettle area.
Perhaps there was another Redmond Power? I sat heavily onto the edge of the desk. But another Redmond Power, a teacher? Unlikely. It was Red, it had to be. Back in Ireland after… what was it? After eighteen years. A lifetime. The letter was still in my slightly trembling hands. I bent my head over it, as though I was reading it, studying it intelligently, but inside I was all over the place, excitement, terror, elation and fear jostled for prominence.
‘You can’t throw a cat in this country without it landing on some fella you know. We’re like toast crumbs, us Irish. We get everywhere. He sounds just the ticket. Fig roll?’ Mary placed a mug of tea on the desk in front of me. ‘I think today is a three-biscuit kind of day.’
‘Does he know it’s me?’ I said. ‘Does he know the name of the school principal here?’
‘We can presume so… the department would have given him all the information.’ Mary looked at me, puzzled, studying my reaction. ‘Nice is he?’
I was being ridiculous. Yes it was a shock but it was such a long time ago, us, the whole thing. We’d both moved on. He was probably married, an array of children. And obviously I had Michael. I’d just have to get on with it.
Redmond Power was real, he existed. Not just a figment of my imagination, he was alive. The love of my life. Memories flashed into my mind, and I could see him again. I thought I’d forgotten everything, but it was all still there. I had remembered everything.
‘Yes, he was nice. The nicest.’
Before
The night before he left for San Francisco, Red was waiting for me on the steps of the bandstand on Dun Laoghaire pier. For a moment, I stood, watching him, as he looked out to sea, deep in thought. Muscular and tanned, his dark black hair cut short, his thick eyebrows, his beautiful brown eyes. I didn’t want the world to keep turning, I just wanted to stay like this forever, looking at Redmond Power, with this glorious feeling inside me, my world in blossom. And then he looked up and saw me, his face breaking into the happiest of smiles and the two of us just grinned at each other, and then I began to run towards him, knowing the next thing I would know would be the feel of his chest, the pull of his arms and the sound of his voice. His arms pulling me into him, his kisses. ‘I love you,’ he would say. ‘I love you, Tabitha Thomas.’