Together Forever by Siân O’Gorman (28)

I’d finally made up my mind about the Copse. It was the last day of term and everyone was looking forward to eight weeks’ holiday, but I had one last decision to make. I wasn’t selling the Copse. Not to anyone.

Brian had repeatedly said the land was worthless, valueless, but it wasn’t. It was priceless. I saw that. The protestors had made me see it, the children themselves. When I met Red and his class down there and seeing how much the children blossomed outdoors. They needed more than classrooms and playgrounds. Walls and tarmacadam. They needed nature, the trees, the butterflies. The squirrels. When I thought of Rosie and how academically focussed her life had become, I had realised very clearly, that we needed to be very clear in what we were teaching children. There was more to life than exams and achievement. There was living and being in the world. The natural world. Something that might build greater resilience and strength as they grew up. It was the chance to sit and stare, the opportunity to be in nature, to daydream and to think, to make daisy chains and plait grasses, to climb trees and to lie on your back and hear the birds sing. Being outdoors, away from books and screens and pressure, like Rosaleen in her cherry tree or Nora in the Forty Foot.

As I drove in through the school gates, the protestors were still set up. They wouldn’t give up.

Nora was drinking a mug of tea. ‘Last day!’ she called, cheerily, utterly recovered from our dramatic trip to West Cork. There was the smell of sizzling bacon as Robbo fried it up while Arthur buttered the bread. ‘How are you?’ she said. ‘What happened with Michael?’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘he’s moved into the flat in town, we’re getting a divorce and Lucy’s going to have his baby.’

She whistled. ‘So he has lead in his pencil after all.’

‘Mum! How’s your headache?’ I said, pointedly.

She ignored me. ‘And you and Rosie?’

‘Doing remarkably well.’

She smiled. ‘Good. I’ll go round and see her later. She’s going to come for a swim with me. And what about himself?’

‘Who?’

‘Fella me lad,’ she said. ‘Redmond. Ah, you’re blushing. So something has happened?’

‘No nothing. Not yet. But I think it’s all there. Us. We’re still there, if that makes sense.’

‘Good for you, Tabitha. You deserve a bit of good romance in your life after Mr Stuffed Shirt. Me, I’ve had too much, but you, you haven’t had as much as you should.’

‘Thanks, Mum,’ I said. ‘I think.’

Just then, Arthur handed her a bacon sandwich – she was a fair-weather vegetarian – and she waved it at me. ‘And today’s the day, you’re making your big decision. You are not going to let me down, are you?’

‘You’ll find out,’ I said as I drove off, my hand waving to her from my open window.

In the car park, Red was carrying Mrs Morrissey’s bags into the school and he waved. With Red in the world, I felt I could do anything.

Mary was in the school office, tiny Huan in a Moses basket up against her desk. ‘Tabitha!’ she said in an urgent whisper. ‘Where were you? Didn’t you get my messages…?’

I checked my phone in my bag, it had been on silent. Thirty-seven missed calls.

‘We’ve got the special assembly now… can it wait?’

She shook her head and motioned to my office with her eyes just as Brian Crowley appeared from my door, his voluminous body eclipsing the light from the window, smiling his small-toothed crocodile smile.

‘I hope you don’t mind me waiting in your office,’ he said, holding a sheaf of papers. ‘But it’s time to crack on. Get these babies signed. Last day of term and our man Freddie doesn’t like to wait for too long.’ He rubbed his hands.

‘Tabitha…’ Mary called.

‘I’ll talk to you in a moment, Mary,’ I said as I followed Brian into my office. Through the window and past the school gates were the protestors. These people full of life and conviction, the opposite of Brian Crowley who was full of self-interest and self-gain. Robbo, I could see, was strumming away on his guitar, Leaf was holding her hands up as Nellie wound wool around them and Arthur and Nora chatted to a group of elderly neighbours. And across the school playground was a place which would outlive us. The Copse was full of birds and their nests, the caterpillars, the squirrels, the snails, insects. The daisies waiting to be made into chains, the twigs and branches ready to be made into dens. We needed to clean it up, tidy it up. A few benches and from September on, it would be part of the school playground. Our wild play area. A place of infinite learning. And I knew, if I sold to Brian and this Freddie, I would regret it for ever.

‘Brian, we have our special assembly this morning, I was hoping to talk to you after it…’

He followed my glance out of the window. ‘Those toe rags out there will have to go, cluttering up the school, that scruffy bunch of socialists and environmentalists…’

My phone flashed with a message, from Mary:

And then another:

‘Brian…’ I tried to remain composed, ‘one of those protestors is a retired professor, another is a daily churchgoer who volunteers at the homeless shelter in Dun Laoghaire five nights a week and the younger members are very impressive people, talented, hard-working and committed.’ I stopped and gave him my hardest stares, ‘And the fifth member is my mother.’ He knew this, of course.

‘Ah, do beg my pardon,’ said Brian, with a most oleaginous smile. ‘I had entirely forgotten, forgive my turn of phrase, it’s just that they are persistent, aren’t they?’ He flashed me a tiny-toothed smile that looked entirely unapologetic. ‘Oh well, they’ve lost, haven’t they? They’ll all have to go and find something else to protest about. Like banning all cars and making us all ride bikes or wear hemp clothes.’ He passed me his fountain pen. ‘Ready?’ He slid the contract in front of me. ‘And here’s where it says land is not zoned for development… you should be pleased with that?’

‘Brian…’ I began.

‘One moment,’ he said, ‘just sign and then we can have all the chats in the world and you can tootle off to the assembly or whatever it is.’

‘Brian,’ I said. ‘I’m not going to sign. I don’t want to sell. I don’t care about the money. The school is actually doing all right, without iPads. We’ll carry on with our cake sales and book clubs and cheese and wine dos and as long as the children are happy, that’s all that matters.’

‘What?’ he paled. ‘Have you gone mad? What authority do you have? This has been unanimously agreed by the boards of governors.’

‘But it’s not unanimous,’ I said. ‘There’s me. I haven’t voted but I have listened to all the arguments and have thought about it a great deal. We are not selling the Copse…’

‘But what is Sister Kennedy going to say?’ he said, sweat forming on his brow. ‘She is not going to be happy, I can tell you that. She was saying how much she admired the plan and what a difference it would make to the lives of the children, computers and the like…’

‘Brian, I don’t care about what Sister Kennedy says.’

‘Well!’ he spluttered, outraged. ‘I bet she would be interested in hearing your opinion of her,’ he said, talking faster now. ‘I bet she would like to know what you really think. As if she doesn’t matter. An ex-head teacher of this very school and she doesn’t matter! I’ve got a good mind to ring her straight away.’

There was a scrabbling sound from outside my door and a piece of paper was slipped under it. The word NO scribbled on it, layer upon layer of blue biro.

‘Why don’t you, Brian. But I’m the head teacher now and I am not selling. I have the final say.’ I stood up and walked to my office door, my hand on the knob and, just as I pulled it open, there was Mary on her hands and knees.

‘Lost your glasses again, Mary?’

‘Paper clips,’ she said, feeling around on the carpet tiles. ‘I dropped some paper clips.’

‘One moment, Brian,’ I said, and Mary and I quickly ushered each other out of my office.

‘What’s going on?’ I whispered urgently.

‘He’s going to build on the land. I know for sure he is. Whatever you do, don’t sign.’

‘I’m not going to, but how do you know?’

‘Last night, I was taking my usual evening walk along the Colliemore Road, just down from the harbour. It’s my constitutional. Well, it’s ours now, mine and Huan’s… sea air, you know...’

‘Go on…’

‘Well, I was sitting there, back against the wall, it’s a lovely spot, and you really get a blast of evening sun. There’s a large flat stone and you’re kind of hidden away. It’s sort of like meditating, in the moment or whatever they call it…’

‘Mindfulness. Now, go on…’

‘Anyway, so there I am, in my own world, pondering, as you do… when on the other side of the wall come two men…’

‘Right…’

‘So, I take no notice and they park themselves on the other side of the wall. And I’ve got my scarf tied on my head. My woolly one, tied under my chin. So, I’m in disguise…’

‘And?’

‘I recognised Brian Crowley’s voice immediately. You know, that throat-clearing thing he does.’ She then did a pitch perfect impersonation of the sound. ‘And his boomy voice that would carry right over the Irish Sea to Wales … and I heard every word …’

‘Go on…’

‘The other fella was Freddie Boyle, the so-called pig farmer. Mr Good Samaritan himself. Now, this Freddie is a very large man, and he says, “when is that fecking teacher going to make up her mind?” Except he didn’t say fecking. And Brian tells him not to worry and it’s in the bag. And then Fat Freddie gives this huge laugh, a chortle really…’

‘A chortle?’

She nodded. ‘And says they’ve got it for a fecking song, except again they used the other word. Twenty grand, said Brian, and we’re going to make 100 times that, once the apartments are sold. So, at this point, I am rigid and pressed against the wall, not daring to breathe and praying Huan won’t wake up, ears straining.’

‘I wasn’t going to sell anyway,’ I said. ‘But it’s good to have suspicions confirmed.’

A cough and we both looked up, startled. Brian was standing at the door of my office. ‘Why don’t we have a nice chat about everything? I think you just might be tired. You’ve had a long school year. The protest must have been such a strain,’ he wheedled. ‘They’ve put some real pressure on you, haven’t they? Why don’t we take a deep breath and just have a nice little chat?’ He glared at Mary. ‘Just the two of us…’

‘One moment, Mr Crowley,’ commanded Mary, pulling herself up to her full height. ‘Will you hold on for one moment please? Ms Thomas and I are discussing something of utmost importance. And it cannot wait.’

‘What are you discussing?’ he said, suspiciously.

‘We need to discuss changing from Barry’s teabags to Lyons,’ she said, desperately. ‘It’s a big decision and very urgent.’ We looked at each other, panic in our eyes.

‘Well, if you call that urgent, then obviously you haven’t spent any time in the private sector. This is actually urgent. Ms Thomas? The papers? Can we get on? Let’s have a nice chat and we can get it all sorted out in a jiffy. I now you are a sensible woman. And the fairer sex aren’t normally known for seeing sense, but I am sure that you can be persuaded to do the right thing.’

‘It’s all right, Mary,’ I said, straightening up. ‘We can decide about the teabags later.’

I followed him back into my room where he flung himself down in the chair, his giant bottom hanging over the edge of the seat. I remained standing, my hand resting on my desk to give me stability and to make sure I felt as strong as I needed to be.

‘Brian, I would like you to leave my office immediately and if you do not hand in your resignation as a member of the board by the end of the school day, I will begin a thorough investigation into this proposed deal.’ I was bluffing, but I kept my face straight and my voice firm. And I seemed to have hit a nail on the head.

‘What?’ He tried to laugh. ‘What are you saying?’ But then he stood up, angrily, his chair falling back. ‘You know you are the same as that lot out there.’ He jabbed his thumb in the vague direction of where Arthur, Leaf, Robbo, Nellie and my mother were. ‘I thought you were different. Married to Michael Fogarty. But that’s obviously gone to pot. Foggy and the secretary. What a cliché. Ha!’

‘Good day to you,’ I said, standing up and walking to the door and opening it where Mary had been hovering. ‘Mr Crowley?’ I held out my arm towards the door to Mary’s office. He left, reluctantly, and as he walked past, he pushed us with his shoulders, jostling us. We watched as he walked down the corridor to the main entrance. But then he turned and called back.

‘Fuck you Foggy!’ he snarled, his little crocodile teeth bared at us.

Mary and I looked at each other, open mouthed.

‘Oh my word,’ said Mary, shaking her head.

‘Lucky escape,’ I said. ‘Now, you have to tell me everything. But first of all, tea. Six sugars. Anything to stop the shaking. And then I have a couple of phone calls to make before the special assembly.’

*

The girls all filed into the hall. Huan, who was in a sling wrapped around her new mother, had become quite the star attraction in school, all the girls gathering around wanting to look at this baby who had lost her birth mother but had found a new one in Mary Hooley. There was excitement and chatter in the air.

On stage behind me, were Red’s drama group, one of the children in a red curly wig, the others dressed as raggedy orphans.

‘And now,’ I announced, ‘on stage, is the Star of the Sea drama group with songs and selected scenes from Annie!’

We all joined in with the final rousing reprise. ‘Tomorrow! Tomorrow, we love ya tomorrow!’

Red gave me a big thumbs-up as we all sang lustily, fuelled by the thought of the long school holidays, the sunshine and golden days ahead.

‘You’re only a day away… tomorrow, tomorrow, we love ya tomorrow, you’re only a day awaaaaaaay!’

I stood in front of the school.

‘Thank you girls, for that wonderful production there. I can see we have a few budding actresses on our hands. Now, before we say goodbye for the summer holidays I have something to say. You see, girls, sometimes life can get difficult. Things can happen in school or at home and they are not easy to deal with. But we are here, not just to teach you but to support you, to take care of you. So always come to us and tell us how you are feeling. We are on your side.’

I looked around at the faces of these lovely girls, all of them listening intently to every word. ‘You don’t have to tell me now, but does anyone have anything they are dealing with that they are finding difficult?’

One hand crept up slowly, then another, then another… until there were twenty or so small hands in the air.

‘From September, we are setting up the Feelings Club. Once a week, you can meet and you can talk about what is going on at home or at school or in your life generally. Anyone who wants to join the Feelings Club, let your teacher know. By the way, you can still join even if you are not ready or not able to speak. Just come along anyway. Okay?’ I peered around at them, their lovely innocent faces. ‘And I have another announcement. It’s about the Copse…’ There was silence in the hall, a collective intake of breath. My mind went back to that day when I had made the children cry. I could see their little faces, wondering whether I was about to tell them that the bulldozers were arriving in the morning. The squirrels about to be squashed, the snails trod on, the birds homeless?

‘I would like to tell you all now,’ I announced, ‘that, it is not going to be sold.’

There was a huge cheer. The children began hugging each other and dancing about. And instead of dying down, the cheering went on and on. I looked around the room and all I could see were smiles.

‘Okay, okay…’ I tried for quiet. ‘Right, this is what is going to happen. It’s now going to be called the Peace Garden. And over the holidays the protestors and me - and anyone else who wants to volunteer - are going to clear it of the nettles and brambles. We are going to make sure that any animals are not disturbed. We are going to put in benches and a picnic table. And it’s going to be a place of peace and tranquillity, where you can enjoy the wildlife, the view of the sea and take a moment to yourself. It’s going to be a place for quiet reflection, for everyone, you, the teachers, your parents, your brothers and sisters. It’s going to remain a very special place. How does that sound?’

There was more cheering and shouting. ‘Star of the Sea, Star of the Sea, Star of the Sea…’ someone began chanting. ‘Star of the Sea, Star of the Sea…’ And they all joined in.

‘Let’s go outside,’ I shouted, ‘and tell the Squirrel Savers they have won! We’ve all won!’

The whole school surged after me as we marched out of the hall, down the corridor, out the door and across the playground. ‘Star of the Sea, Star of the Sea, Star of the Sea!’

Barry Whelan, the news reporter was outside, the camera on us as the river of a school poured out of the gates. I hadn’t thought he’d get down to us so quickly.

Barry thrust a microphone right underneath my chin.

‘The board of governors have come to a decision. The Copse will not be sold. I wanted our children to have access to computers. As a school, we needed money to buy them and cake sales and raffles don’t bring in enough. Selling the land was what we believed would have been to the benefit of the children. However, I know now it isn’t.’ A song from my distant past swum into my consciousness and words babbled forth. ‘You see,’ I went on, ‘I believe that children are the future, we are going to teach them well and let them lead the way! So, we will now not be selling the land. It is to be turned into a Peace Garden for the use of pupils, teachers and parents, anyone who wants to enjoy a moment of wildlife and tranquillity.’

The children began cheering again. Star of the Sea, Star of the Sea… And then the protestors who had been hugging each other, even Nellie had put down her crocheting to hug Robbo, they began with the chant as well. And then we all did. Star of the Sea! Star of the Sea!

*

Mary and I were tidying up the office, doing a last sort out before the long summer holidays. Huan was still in her Moses basket, fast asleep. Mary tucked the blanket around Huan, who still had the little Chinese jacket on, making sure she was warm and comfortable.

‘Tabitha, I am so sorry. My own flesh and blood. Lucy carrying on with Michael’ Mary reddened. ‘What can I say? I feel ashamed because she is my cousin. Carrying on like that. There are far more decent ways to behave. Her Mammy has refused to leave her bed since she heard the news. Lucy’s on her way up there today.’

‘I’ve been thinking, though, Mary. That even decent people act undecently sometimes. None of us are perfect. I’ve made a hash of things in my life. There are many things that if I could go back, I’d do them differently.’

‘You’re right,’ agreed Mary. ‘It’s a right of us all to behave like complete eejits at times. I told my own mother about Huan when I picked her up in Beijing.’

‘What did she say?’

‘Shocked would be an understatement,’ she admitted. ‘But even before we said goodbye, I could hear her coming round to the idea. Who could resist a baby?’

‘Just think, Mary, if you hadn’t disobeyed your mother, you’d be in some convent somewhere. Can you imagine?’

‘And I wouldn’t have Huan. I wouldn’t have my…’ she tried out this new word on her lips. ‘I wouldn’t have my daughter.’

‘They’re good things, daughters,’ I said. ‘Obviously, I’m biased.’ I smiled at her. ‘But they are pretty cool.’ I thought of Nora, Rosie and me and of Rosaleen and the four mighty Thomas women. Mothers and daughters, grandmother and granddaughter. Such wonderful things to have and to be.

*

That evening, Rosie and I sat down in the living room, mugs of tea in our hands, to watch Clodagh’s last ever news broadcast. You would never have thought it was her swansong. She calmly and smoothly ran through the news, the face and voice of Ireland.

We were watching as Clodagh deftly fielded a debate between the owner of a huge chicken farm in Monaghan and a member of the union for farm workers, she then moved neatly into a report from America, looking at Irish emigres.

‘To the seaside village County Dublin of Dalkey, now,’ she said…

‘This is it! Oh God…’

Rosie grabbed my hand. ‘They surely won’t be mean like last time, will they…?’

‘The environmental protest at the Star of the Sea school came to a close today when the school principal announced that the plot of land at the centre of the protest would now not be sold. But there was an unusual domestic drama because the head teacher and one of the protestors are mother and daughter… Our reporter Barry Whelan went to see what was going on and if old hurts had been healed…’

We watched as the sea of children filled the camera, all of them chanting. And there was me, in the front, looking slightly manic, it has to be said. My voice sounded shaky enough and I could barely remember saying any of what I said.?

I was surrounded by children the whole time, with their arms around my waist, my hands on their heads, all their faces smiling and happy. The other teachers were in the tumble of humans, all of us one big wonderful community. I spotted little Donna, a junior infant, who has Down’s Syndrome, holding Red’s hand, the biggest grin on both of their faces. There was Mary with Huan in one arm and holding another child’s hand with her free arm. ‘Three cheers for Ms Thomas!’ Red shouted, and the children, buoyed up on natural excitement and enthusiasm – and the thought of the long school holidays – cheered.

‘Mr Brian Crowley, the head of the board of governors, expressed his opinion as to the decision made by principal Tabitha Thomas…’

There was footage of Brian walking along the street. ‘I don’t have a comment to make except to say how disappointed I am and that this is the wrong direction for the school.’

‘There have,’ continued Barry Whelan, ‘been allegations as to impropriety regarding the behaviour of a member of the board of governors, a Mr Brian Crowley, which the Gardaí say they are taking very seriously and anyone else connected to the school are not related to these allegations. A statement from the Dun Laoghaire Gardaí Station say that they are gathering information and will report back as soon as possible.’ There were shots of the Copse. ‘Ms Thomas has promised that the plot of land will be turned into a Peace Garden, a place for children, and, she says, teachers and parents, to find peace and quiet.’

And then there was me again speaking to Barry. I couldn’t for the life of me remember saying any of it. ‘We are all under tremendous pressure,’ I said, slightly breathlessly, my eyes wild, ‘and we need to give ourselves the space to reflect. Time out, if you will.’ Rosie squeezed my hand. ‘Our children,’ I went on, ‘know that they have not only the academic support and good teaching in our school but also the emotional support. We are a school which is not just chasing good exam results but happy and contented children. Mental health, happiness, pleasure and joy and the simple things in life have always been a part of our ethos, but today I am saying that it is the core of who we are as a school. I say to all our parents, that they are welcome to use the Peace Garden whenever they wish. They are part of our community too.’

‘As to the domestic drama, all seemed to be resolved…’ said Barry, cueing a shot of my mother and me hugging.

‘I can’t remember hugging her,’ I said to Rosie. ‘We don’t hug. We’re not huggers.’

‘Well, apparently you are. The camera doesn’t lie.’

I tried to think. Nellie and I had definitely hugged, and Arthur had gone in for one. Robbo had practically squeezed my insides out, the opposite to Leaf’s limpid but well-meaning hug.

It was coming back to me now. ‘Come here.’ Nora was standing there. ‘Just come over here.’

And we hugged, tears in my eyes, tears in her eyes – the woman who never cried. A swirling dream, the noise of the children cheering.

‘You did it,’ said Nora. ‘I knew you would. That’s my girl.’

‘It still would have been far easier if you hadn’t been protesting, wouldn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘but it wouldn’t have been half as much fun.’

‘I thought I was doing the right thing,’ I said. ‘I really did. I thought I was being the best teacher I could be, giving the children something we all thought they needed.’

‘Fresh air and exercise. The best medicine there is,’ she said, smiling, delighted with another triumphant protest. ‘We’ve all discussed the summer, helping get the Copse ready. Robbo’s even cancelling going to some music festival so he can help out. We’ll have it bramble-free in no time.’

‘Thanks Mum.’

‘Now, one thing I need to say. Rosie is a credit to you. You’re a natural mother. I wish I was more like you.’

‘Really?’ This was my mother. Being nice to me. Tears prickled in my eyes.

‘And another thing…’ she said.

‘Please stop. I’m more comfortable when you are being rude and dismissive.’

‘It’s just that… Rosaleen would have been so proud of you. And you’re just like her, you know that. You remind me of her every day. And you know that cutting, the one you took from Rosaleen’s cherry tree. Well, once it grows a bit, it’s going to be planted in the Peace Garden. What do you think about that?’

‘That’s a perfect idea.’

On television, we were back to the studio now and Clodagh was smiling. ‘What a great story,’ she said. ‘Good things do happen to the best people.’ And she winked.

‘Did she just wink?’ said Rosie.

‘I think so…’

‘And now,’ said Clodagh, on screen, ‘with the weather is the ever-lovely Bridget O’Flaherty…’

And there was Bridget, looking sexier than ever. Her dress was leather – or pleather, it was hard to tell under the studio lights – with a zip that went all the way from top to bottom.

‘Clodagh… thank you…’ She smiled at the camera. ‘But I’m not going to do the weather right now. You all know what it has been like where you are. Let’s just say that it will be more of the same tomorrow. But what I do want to do is pay tribute to Clodagh Cassidy who has been presenting this very news bulletin for the last ten years. And, guess what folks, today is her last day…’

The camera panned to Clodagh who was holding her earpiece with one hand, as though someone was shouting into it, and also trying to remember she was on camera and that it was a good idea to smile. So she did.

‘And I’ll be taking over from Clodagh. From Monday, I’ll be your new news reader and I’m going to make sure that all of you get your fix of the headlines and that we have a bit of fun too. Life isn’t all doom and gloom, is it?’ She smiled broadly at the camera, giving it a cheeky wink. ‘See you all here at six o’clock on Monday.’

Panning out, we saw Clodagh who was gesturing to someone off-camera. ‘Thank you, Bridget,’ she said recovering herself. ‘And I wish you the best in your new role.’

My phone beeped. Red.

I texted back:

And then it beeped again.

Another beep.

Before

Waiting for Red at the bandstand on the pier in Dun Laoghaire. I am twenty-one years old. I’m wearing jeans and his jacket that I’d been wearing for months now. And there he is, wearing an old navy fisherman’s jumper, his hands in his pockets and he is looking around, at the boats bobbing beside the pier, tied to their buoys, the seagulls ahead, the skittering clouds. It’s a beautiful evening. And then he sees me, and his face breaks into the most beautiful smile, and I can feel it inside, happiness exploding like a firework in my chest. Red Power. The man I love, the man I want to spend the rest of my life with. And he begins to run towards me. And that’s all I want, everything I love. As the great seer Johnny Logan would say, ‘we’ll always be together, forever in love…’

*

And here I am eighteen years later, older and not particularly wiser. But as soon as I see him, I feel the same. It has never gone away, those feelings, I never stopped loving him. I just learned to pack them up and not to look at them.

He’s sitting on the steps of the bandstand and when he sees me, it’s the same smile and I smile too and he stands up and waits for me and I break into an awkward little skip and then next minute his arms are around me and it’s him. It’s Red Power and we’re us again and there are fireworks. We never went away. We just… we just had some other stuff we needed to sort out. But it doesn’t matter, none of it matters, because nothing has changed, we are still the same.

‘I wish I’d known that you and Michael weren’t happy,’ he said, holding my hand. ‘I would have rescued you from Fuck Me Foggy, ridden up on a white horse. Or my bicycle or whatever, and taken you away.’

‘It was so stupid. All of it. But I have Rosie and I wouldn’t change an ounce of her. Not one thing. I would do it all again, just to have her exactly the same as she is. She’s been the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me.’

‘I’m going to apply for the position to be the number two best thing.’

‘You don’t have to apply.’

He smiled at me. ‘Let’s never let that happen again, all right. Let’s always be Red and Tab or Tab and Red. Let’s be us forever. Deal?’

‘Deal. So, I heard from the department that if you want, you can stay another year in Star of the Sea. We’d love to have you, if you stay… Or maybe you’d like to go to the other school. It did sound like a good offer.’

‘They wrote to me too,’ he said. ‘And I would like to have another year being around you. I’d like a lifetime of being around you. So, I’m going to stay.’

‘I was hoping you’d say that.’ We grinned at each other.

‘You’re the reason I stayed away for so long. I came back because Dad had been ill… but I hadn’t ever stopped thinking about you. I hadn’t ever moved on...’

‘Nor me...’

‘I was curious, you know. I wondered how your story, your life was turning out. The one that got away. Or ran away.’

‘And then you came to the school. Was that a coincidence?’

He shrugged. ‘Kind of. Who knows? I saw it advertised and I knew it was your school. I had known that by a very rudimentary Google search. And something made me apply… and then I was in. I think… I think I just wanted to make sure you were all right, that life was working out for you. I needed to know you were happy and I would have been fine with that. Wished you well and then maybe I would have settled down with someone. But…’

‘But what?’

‘You didn’t seem happy, deeply happy. Not really. That first day we met in your office, it was like a light had gone out… I wanted to be there for you, sort it out. I didn’t know what to do… But as far as I knew, you were happily married.’

‘And then my life began imploding,’ I said. ‘Did you, by chance, have anything to do with that?’

‘What? Your husband running off with his secretary, your mother organising a protest outside your school?’ He shook his head. ‘If only I had such powers, I would have put them to better use.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like the two of us flying on a magic carpet to the terrace of a palazzo on the Grand Canal in Venice to drink Bellinis.’

‘The last one’s possible,’ I said. ‘Rosie’s even saying she thinks she will be able to go away with her friends in a couple of weeks. She’s even thinking of getting a summer job and…’

‘And what?’

‘I think she’ll be okay,’ I said. ‘I’m so proud of her.’

He smiled. ‘So Venice?’

I nodded. ‘Oh God yes!’

‘However,’ he said, ‘I can’t do the magic carpet. Would Ryanair be an adequate substitution? I’ll book it tonight and find a palazzo fit for you.’

‘On one condition,’ I said.

‘Anything.’

‘That you don’t do any Johnny Logan songs in Venice.’

‘What? But that was going to be the big moment, when I get dressed up in a white suit and be Johnny. I thought that would clinch the deal.’

‘Deal?’

‘I’ll just have to think of another way to get you to marry me.’ He smiled at me. ‘But we can talk about that another time.’ He took my hand again and kissed it. ‘Oh Tabitha Thomas, what a spell you cast on me.’ He held me tightly and I clung on.

‘Dad’s poetry was reviewed in the New York Times yesterday,’ said Red. ‘He’s delighted. Peggy and the poetry gang are going to have a special party. You’ll have to come.’

‘Of course. What did the review say?’

‘A talented voice singing new songs of Irish freedom… something like that anyway. Dad has it cut out. The book should do well.’

‘That’s amazing,’ I said. ‘When can I buy a copy?’

‘It’s being launched next month. Now, you know he is giving every penny in royalties to the school…’

‘What?’

‘He doesn’t want it. For the school coffers, he said. Tab,’ he laughed at my shocked face. ‘He’s an old communist He doesn’t want to make money out of art. He wants the school to have it.’

‘I don’t know what to say…’

‘Allow an old man the feeling that he might be doing some good.’

The full-length of the pier, we walked with arms around each other, as though we were one person, and talked and talked and talked. Just like we used to, as though nothing had happened except for a couple of weeks away. And the seagulls soared along with our hearts and love and life was in the air

*

I woke really early, thinking of all the people in my life that meant so much. Rosie, Rosaleen, Red… and Nora.

She’d be on her way to the Forty Foot right now for her daily dip. The early morning sun predicted a hot summer’s day. The sky was Aegean blue, there was a warmth already to the developing day. The rare, perfect Irish summer weather.

What was she always saying, that I should join her? And I thought I never would again. But suddenly I wanted to. Now, it seemed like the very rightest thing to do. Quickly, I gathered some things together. My suitcase was at the end of the bed packed for Venice. Red and I were flying off for two nights that afternoon, and Nora was going to be looking after Rosie. She’d promised me she was going to be all right. And later in the summer, Rosie and I were going to Paris. Just the two of us. I couldn’t wait.

But as I tiptoed past Rosie’s room, her door suddenly opened. She was standing there in her pyjamas, yawning. She eyed by bag with my swimming things in. ‘Where are you off to?’

‘The Forty Foot. For a swim.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, I thought it would be nice.’ I tried to sound as though it was the most normal thing in the world. But I was scared. What if it was too cold? What if I had forgotten how to swim? But really, deep down, I was worried, afraid for myself. Would it bring back memories I’d rather forget or should I just feel the fear and swim anyway? ‘Would you like to come?’

She suddenly smiled. ‘Why not? I’ll just grab my things.’

We drove to the Forty Foot, through the quiet and silent streets, only a few hard-working early birds on their way to the Dart or retired folk coming back from the newsagents, papers under their arms. We saw Nellie Noonan and I tooted my horn and waved to her out of the open window. She peered at us and then waved back. ‘Beautiful day!’ we heard her shout.

‘Did you hear about Clodagh?’ I said. ‘She’s been offered a new presenting gig. It’s called Clodagh! with an exclamation mark. It’s a serious political interview programme.’

‘Even though it’s got an exclamation mark in the title?’

‘Viewers love them, apparently. According to Clodagh. The person not the programme with an exclamation mark. Nicky, her agent, got her a massive wodge for it. Apparently, some people value brains and experience.’

We parked beside the beach at Sandycove, just close to the Forty Foot. There were other daily dippers at the swimming hole.

‘And I forgot to tell you about Bridget,’ said Rosie as we began walking. ‘It’s not going well. She froze last night when she was interviewing the Minister for finance and didn’t know what to say. It was in all the papers this morning. She’s sacked her mother as her agent. And she says she wants to leave broadcasting and become a dog groomer.’

We had reached the Forty Foot and found a space in one of the changing areas. Rosie stood, looking out to sea, her hands shading her eyes.

‘Can you see her?’ I said as I struggled into my swimsuit.

‘That’s her.’ Rosie pointed to the red dot far out and began to get undressed. ‘There she is. Do you see her, all the way out there?’

‘Actually, you go in. I’ll stay and watch. I’m not feeling too well.’ I had decided that I was going to sit this one out. I’d confront my phobia of the sea another day.

‘Mum,’ said Rosie, firmly. ‘We’re both going in. It’ll do us good. My counsellor said I should do more exercise, be outdoors more often. So here I am. I haven’t swum in the Forty Foot for years and I’m not going in without you…’

Rosie was my inspiration, I realised. Without her, I was nothing. She’d been through so much and if she could face her life head on, so could I. We held hands as we walked down the steps roughly carved out of rock and into the icy water. ‘Jesus!’ I yelped.

‘Don’t be a baby,’ said Rosie. ‘I’m going in.’ She plunged in, diving down into the water, so I could see her shape under the surface, like a mermaid, her long hair streaming out behind her. ‘Come on,’ she said, when she re-emerged, ‘just dive in.’

And I did, not as gracefully as Rosie, but I swam down until I could touch the bottom and submerged by the water, seaweed and rocks clipping my toes. For a moment, I opened my eyes and all I could sense was peace and gentleness and that I was safe. To my spirit guides, Rosaleen and the baby I had lost, I said, thank you. Thank you for everything. And I pushed my way back to the surface.

‘That’s better.’ Rosie was treading water. ‘Now let’s swim to Granny.’ She was so brave, my daughter. So strong. You could learn just as much from your child – if not more – that they learn from you.

And I had forgotten what swimming in the sea was like, even on a still day like this, the water felt powerful, the bump-bump of the undulations stronger and the peaceful feeling was still with me, as though it alone was keeping me afloat. On we went until I could see that Nora had spotted us. She was floating on her back but squinting at the two of us.

‘Granny!’ shouted Rosie. ‘It’s us!’

She narrowed her eyes even further, trying to see us and then she realised who it was. And a huge smile broke over her face, her arm stretched up in a wave.

‘What took you so long?’ she said when we were closer. ‘I’ve been waiting ages.’

‘Your invitation never arrived,’ said Rosie, paddling up to her. ‘Must have got lost in the post.’ The two of them had the same grin, I noticed. I’d never realised that before, how much Rosie looked like Mum. And like Rosaleen. And like me.

‘Finally, you made it,’ Nora said to me when I reached them. The three of us doggy-paddled around in the water. ‘I never thought I’d see the day.’

And there was something about Nora or maybe it was always there and I had never seen it, or maybe I had chosen not to see it, but she looked, dare I say it pleased to see me.

‘I’ve been watching Howth Head,’ she said, pointing to the headland on the other side of Dublin bay, and I was wondering if they still had the goats.’

‘The goats?’ Rosie doggy-paddled herself around so she was looking out to see past the little fishing trawler that was chugging in the distant, past the ferry that was bringing people either home or away.

‘Goats, that’s right. They have goats on Howth Head and your great-grandmother brought me to see them once when I was a little girl. And there they were. A herd of them. Nibbled my cardigan they did. Did you ever see them, Tabitha?’

‘No… but Rosaleen once brought me to see a horse race,’ I told them. ‘On Barley Cove strand, in West Cork. They used to do it every year apparently. She went there when she was a girl and so she brought me. Did you go, Mum?’

She nodded. ‘Oh yes, she loved West Cork, it never lost her, that love for it. The place was in her bones, in her heart. When she was exiled – that’s what she called it,’ she explained to Rosie, ‘she would seek out all the West Corky things she could, like goats, or she’d buy eggs that were sent up from Bantry every morning or she would read the stories of Flannery Vickery. He set all his novels in West Cork. Made her feel less homesick.’

Rosie flipped over to float on her back and then Nora did and then I followed, the three of us floating, looking up at the cloudless blue sky.

And then I felt Nora’s hand grab mine and we held on and it didn’t feel awkward or weird. It felt nice. And then I found Rosie’s hand in the water and the three of us joined, like a chain of paper dolls, three generations of Thomas women. A trio of pirate queens. Rosaleen would have been happy to see us like this, I thought, and if she was up there, she would be looking down at us, pleased and proud. We might just be all right, I thought. Everything might just be all right.

 

 

 

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Siân O’Gorman’s next book is coming in spring 2019

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