The situation with Rosie just didn’t compute for Michael. He arrived home in a state of near hysteria forcing Rosie, who I’d managed to coax out of her room, like a shy animal, to retreat, and close her door behind her.
‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘How could she not do her exams? She should at least give it a go… she could fail…’ He blanched at the thought but carried on gamely, ‘but it would be better than not doing them. There was a lad in my year. Failed the whole lot. Estate agent now. Makes a packet. Lives in the South of France, drives some tiny, red car and roars about Villefranche.’
‘And that’s what you want for Rosie?’
‘No! It’s just that even if you don’t think you are going to do well, you should just do them. Never give up. Don’t cop out. Failure is not an option. Us Fogartys…’
‘Fogartys can’t give up. Fogartys are made of sterner stuff. Fogartys aren’t allowed to be seen to fail, is that right?’
‘Well, it’s just that Lucy…’
‘Lucy? What’s her advice? Lucy is just like you, Michael. She never shows weakness, vulnerability, never puts a foot wrong. She’s not going to know what to do…’
‘Lucy suggested it was vegetarianism. Don’t look at me like that. Hear me out because I think she might have a point. Milk. Does Rosie drink milk? Big glasses of it?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said wearily. ‘She has it in tea and on her granola, but…’
‘Lucy says all the young ones like to drink almond milk or whatnot.’ He put his hands up as if to present an open and shut case. ‘Is that what she’s doing?’
‘Michael,’ I said, ‘I don’t think milk is the answer.’ He looks shocked as though I’d said that the sky wasn’t blue or Brussels wasn’t the centre of the universe. ‘I think it’s something that will take a bit of time…’
‘Time… but we don’t have time. Life is short. She…’
‘She needs time. Things are going well with her counsellor…’
Michael’s brow furrowed. ‘Counsellor… clap trap. Milk would be better Vitamins and minerals and a good dose of protein. I think Lucy might have a point...’
*
All week, before I left for school, I’d check on Rosie. She was permanently tear-streaked and washed out. At lunchtime, I’d come home to make her something to eat, and later find the sandwich only half eaten or the soup untouched. But she was getting a little bit stronger. The school had been immediately responsive, full of empathy and practical support and organising a counsellor which Rosie had seen on Friday. She hadn’t said too much about it but she had appeared slightly brighter yesterday evening and had watched the news with me.
This day, when I stood at her bedroom door, my heart broke at the sight of her, still in her pyjamas, lying on her bed. She didn’t seem to be doing anything not reading, not watching television, just sleeping or staring into space.
‘Why don’t you talk to Alice?’ I said. ‘Give her or Mary a call.’
‘I can’t. They’re working.’
‘But a quick phone call or a pop round would be okay, surely?’
She nodded. ‘The counsellor said I should tell people.’
‘And why don’t you?’
‘Shame,’ she said. ‘Apparently. It’s what stops all of us from doing emotionally healthy things. And I’m quoting. That’s what she said. I’m to tell people and that will rid me of shame.’
‘So?’ I asked. ‘So, are you going to tell people? You could call Alice. Call Mary. Put it up on Facebook.’
‘That’s what I should do. But I’m working towards it.’ She looked at me. My battered and bruised baby.
‘I’ve got to go out. Board meeting. I’ll be two hours. No longer.’
‘Promise?’
‘Promise.’ I smiled at her. ‘Love you Ro.’
‘Love you too.’
*
‘Sister Kennedy, these are for you.’ Brian placed a box of Black Magic in front of her. ‘A little bird told me you were partial to something sweet…’
We were at the board meeting to come to a final decision about the selling of the Copse.
Brian had a formal offer that he was waving around. ‘We’ll sign all the documents next week,’ he said, slipping it back into the inside of his jacket. ‘My lawyers and Freddie Boyle’s lawyers are drawing everything up. All ship-shape.’ He smiled his crocodile smile, his tiny teeth poking over his thin lips.
I’d finally received my formal valuation of the land this morning. It was worth three times what this Freddie Boyle was offering. But the money seemed so unimportant, suddenly. We would survive another winter with a leaky roof. We’d make do with the chairs we had. The playground would remain a little bit gravelly. The children could share the creaky computers we already had. Selling the land was wrong.
And there was something about Brian that I didn’t like or trust and I knew he would have known the land’s real valuation. I may not have concrete proof that he was conning us but my suspicions were enough. I was going to trust my gut. It was time to halt the plans.
‘Chocolates… how lovely.’ Sister Kennedy took the box. ‘I am most partial to something sweet, Mr Crowley,’ she said, going slightly pink. ‘How… how kind of you.’
‘And for you, Noleen.’ He presented Noleen’s gift with the flourish of Launcelot to Guinevere. ‘A Chocolate Orange by the chocolatiers known as Terry’s…’
‘Thank you, Mr Crowley.’ She took it from him, eyes shining, examining it as though it was the Noor diamond. ‘They are my favourite. The last time I had one of these was Christmas 1985. Do you remember, Sister Kennedy? Santa paid a visit to the school and he gave all the children one of these and there was one left over. And he gave it to me.’ She stopped. ‘Obviously, it wasn’t the real Santa, just the caretaker dressed up. I’ve never forgotten it.’ She looked misty-eyed and lost in memory. ‘He was made to leave, though, soon after. He’d been stealing from the lost property. Selling the items on a market stall at the weekend… such a shame… he was a good man. A very good man…’ She drifted away, lost in 1985.
Brian ignored her and turned his attention to Brendan. ‘And for you, sir, I’ve bought you some whiskey liqueurs. A man like you must like a tot from time to time. You have, I would imagine, a palate for fine Irish whiskey.’
‘Well… I would like to think… oh, well, that’s, that’s very kind of you, Mr Crowley.’ Brendan looked so pleased that it was as though he’d never been given a present before.
‘I’m afraid, I don’t have anything for you Tabitha,’ he said to me. ‘Your office is well stocked with sweet things as it is. I don’t think you need any more.’ He smiled, baring his miniscule teeth. ‘All those biscuits I see waiting to be scoffed.’
‘Brian, I don’t think gifts are appropriate at this meeting. They are unnecessary and could be construed as bribery,’ I said.
‘Should I ask for them back?’ he smirked. ‘Is that what you think? Take them back from these good souls here when all I want to do is bring some sweetness and light into people’s lives.’
Sister Kennedy, Noleen and Brendan were clutching their gifts. They looked at me as though they were children and I was trying to take away their Christmas presents.
‘It’s a very nice gesture,’ said Noleen, going pink and looking to Sister Kennedy for approval. ‘Very kind, Mr Crowley. Very kind of you indeed.’
‘Very kind,’ said Sister Kennedy. ‘You remind me of one of the Magi.’ She took him by the hand. ‘The kings who traversed afar to give gifts to the Holy Child.’ She smiled. ‘Such a simple act, to give a small gift to someone else. But a beautiful one. Thank you.’ She picked up the chocolates. ‘And the name of them…’ she laughed. ‘Black Magi… so appropriate.’
‘They’re Black Magic,’ I tried to correct her. ‘The chocolates. Black. Mag-ic.’ I had lost this one and all I was achieving was making myself into someone seeming jealous and Grinch-like. ‘Let’s just not make this a regular part of the meetings,’ I ended.
Sister Kennedy bestowed upon Brian her most beneficent of smiles, as though he was the naughtiest boy in school but also her favourite. ‘I’m going to share these with my meditation group. I think that a small chocolate each wouldn’t go against any rules. I think that Tabitha is warning us against bribes and incentives, but we all know, Mr Crowley, you’re not trying to influence us. They are hardly brown envelopes, which I think is the preferred way of doing business in this country. Or so I hear on the radio.’
‘Envelopes full of cash can be arranged,’ winked Brian and the two of them shared a laugh.
‘Can we get on?’
‘Yes, I can’t stay late either,’ said Sister Kennedy. ‘Regretfully. I have a most pressing arrangement.’
‘Not before one of these,’ said Brendan who was opening his liqueurs and passing them around. ‘We’ll be drunk if we’re not careful.’ He held the box in front of me. The smell was overpowering, the Proustian experience of a 1970s Christmas.
‘No thank you, Brendan. I really want to get down to things.’
‘Some lady’s in a hurry,’ said Brian, who had two liqueurs in his mouth, one in either cheek, the words barely discernible over the chocolate and whiskey mushy spittle. ‘Well, maybe I’ll take over… hmmm? This meeting is to bring the board up to speed, vis a vis, ergo, veto the situacion the sale of the rubbish ground, erstwhile known as the Copse. Not cops. That’s something else entirely…’
This was met by polite smiles from Brendan and Noleen as Sister Kennedy looked merely confused. Brian continued, unabashed by the lukewarm reception to his attempt at humour. ‘As you know we have our buyer – or Good Samaritan, Sister Kennedy…’
‘You are clever Mr Crowley,’ she said carefully laying her liqueur in front of her to enjoy later. ‘
‘These chocolates are a celebration, really. And he’s a perfect buyer. Freddie Boyle is his name. I think, if you don’t mind me saying, Sister Kennedy, I think that you would particularly like him. Boyle has a priestliness to him. A spiritual quality that would not look out of place giving Mass on a… on a…’ For a moment, he looked confused, as though he couldn’t quite remember the usual day for Mass.
‘Sunday?’ I suggested.
‘Yes! Sunday!’
‘I had a dog called Freddie,’ said Noleen. ‘When I was young. Lovely little thing he was. Used to wait for me to come home from school. We had to put him down in the end.’
‘A woman like you,’ Brian went on, looking at Sister Kennedy, ‘who has known such goodness in your life, has shown such charitable spirit, would recognise a kindred spirit and Freddie Boyle is such a man. You two would have so much to talk about.’
‘Our Good Samaritan,’ she said, wide-eyed at the thought of such goodness come to life.
‘Indeed,’ he nodded. ‘Like the story in the Bible when Jesus does that thing. And the thing happens. And the Good Samaritan saves the day.’
‘He does,’ said Sister Kennedy. ‘He saves the day. That’s a lovely way of putting it. It’s my favourite parable.’
He smiled. ‘Let’s make this happen, Sister Kennedy. Let’s make this happen.’
‘Well,’ she said. ‘I vote yes to this Freddie Byrne.’
‘Boyle,’ he corrected.
‘Aye too,’ said Noleen.
‘And me,’ said Brendan, who was on another liqueur.
Brian looked delighted. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘that seems as though we’re…’
‘Wait a minute,’ I said. ‘We have to discuss this. We need to talk about it properly…’
Sister Kennedy looked at the clock. ‘Oh my goodness, it’s time to go. I told you I couldn’t stay long tonight… it’s my book group. The Thorn Birds. My goodness. So much to say. I just don’t know where we’ll start.’
Brian stood up and pulled out her chair and helped Sister Kennedy to her feet.
‘I’m so glad you approve of the plan,’ he was murmuring. ‘It’s practically holy. For us to give the land to Freddie Boyle, I think it’s a holy thing to do. God would be pleased with the plan, if I may be so bold.’
‘You may,’ she said, ‘for He moves in mysterious ways.’
‘Indeed he does,’ said Brian. He glanced at me and there was triumph in his eyes. ‘Looks like there’s just the i’s to cross and the t’s to dot. Sharpen your fountain pen, Tabitha.’
For a moment, I felt rather alone. Mary was perhaps a world away, Clodagh was fighting her own battles and my mother was pitched against me. I needed a friend. Well, I needed Red. And once I was in the car, I found the scrap of paper he’d written his number on, and dialled it.