Big English Girl

by Paula Clamp

  The moment passed and Ellie was self-conscious again. She got her breath back, which gave her an opportunity to change the subject.

  “I understand you have a Liberty Tree on your land. Would you mind if I asked you about it?”

  Conor didn’t answer.

  Why did everyone in Lusty become so guarded when she tried to talk to them?

  Ellie felt completely dejected, “Is there something wrong with me and that’s why no-one in the village will talk to me?”

  Rejection was nothing new to Ellie, but being this far from home, this time it felt so unfair. Her exasperation quickly led to fully formed tears - again, which she struggled to control - again. Before coming to Lusty, Ellie had promised herself that her crying days were finally over. But this was her second time that day.

  Conor reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a tight ball of tissue to give to her, “Ellie, I really do have to head back home. Can you wait half-an-hour and we can talk then?”

  Ellie was overcome with absolute embarrassment. She nodded, fearful that any words would just make her even more tearful than she already was.

  Conor ran his long fingers through his mop of maple-syrup coloured hair and a curl fell across his eyes. He winked at her and Ellie felt even more awkward. She had never met a boy like him before; he was an enigma, wrapped up in mystery and surrounded by confusion.

  “In the field over there, Ellie, where they’re holding the fundraiser tomorrow, there’s an old bench. Can you meet me there at around six?”

  Ellie was desperately eager to please, “I’ll go there now and wait for you.” She motioned to give back the tissue, all wet and sticky.

  “You keep it – it’s a present.”

  She couldn’t stop herself from smiling back, “You’re very kind.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  Ellie laughed, “I won’t.”

  “Okay then.”

  “Right.”

  “Bye.”

  As Conor abruptly left her, Ellie was convinced that he would be more eager to get where he was going, than he would be to come back again. What a strange place Lusty was and how even stranger the people were who lived there. Ellie felt like an annoying intruder into a world that was getting along just fine until she tried butting into it. They may share a common language, but Mid-Ulster felt alien in every sense.

  Inadvertently, in this strange place, Ellie now found that she had time to kill and she knew of no better way of doing it.

  Chapter 11

  The old bench that Conor referred to, displayed a fine example of the metamorphosis of graffiti over an extended period of time. Faint, Frances Loves Fergal, messages were scored into the wood, surrounded by hearts and pierced with arrows. These progressed to the newer, Frances Hates Fergal and, eventually, to the much fresher, Frances Loves Cillian. Ellie ran her fingers along and between the raw grooves and gashes. How wonderful to have someone love you enough to immortalise your name. She opened the metal box and took out Ciaran's next letter.

  New Year’s Day 1993

  Dear Liberty Tree

  Our Past

  Not much to report really. Just the usual – eejit poachers thinking they're smart. If it's not the sound of the squeaking prams that they use to bring their boats down to the river, giving them away, it’s the red sparks off their cigarettes dotted along the banks. But I did have a bit of a scary experience myself last week. I had cast my net and was doing my own wee bit of 'free market enterprise'. Roisin had bought me binoculars for Christmas and I was trying them out. (Actually, she bought me a set of cookery books, but I swapped them). It was dusk. There I was on my wee boat and I heard this rattling sound. So, I got out my binoculars and spotted this motorbike on the far side of the river. I kept my eye on it as it went right along the road and then, suddenly, everything in front of my binoculars went completely black. The rattling hadn’t been the motorbike at all. Stood right in front of me, was none other than Old Man Sullivan.

  I had to think quickly. I rambled on about some excuse or other, but I needn't have bothered. The old man was too full of the potcheen to hear a word. I helped take his motorboat back to the big house. (Not for the first time I may add.) He blathered on and on about me meaning more to him than his only child, with his usual, half-cut gibberish. Between you and me, the Old Man’s son, Bernard Sullivan, is a waster. He’s nearly thirty, just like, and yet he’s never done a day’s work in his entire life and has already promised half his inheritance away to every girl in the county.

  But with me, it goes in one ear and out the other. It's just none of my business.

  And that's about it - I only go over the border now when I have to and always in the daytime. There's all kinds of bother, even with the peace talks going on and folks around here talk of the IRA building towards a massive show of strength. They say the IRA are still using these parts as a hide-out. They must be bloody good, because I haven't seen any.

  My valuable lessons at the start of this new year are: never swap the wife's presents and expect to get away with it and never lick a steak knife (that's another story).

  Our Present

  My Roisin and I had our first big fight this morning. I made the mistake of asking her 'what was wrong', when she had a face on her that could sour milk. She moaned for half-an-hour about me having no ambition. I could have said stuff back, but I'm not stupid. I said 'sorry' and 'I'll change'.

  Our Future

  When I was leaving to visit you, Roisin went through a whole list of stuff I was to write down for the year ahead. But I've forgotten the bulk of it already - lots of stuff about…this and that. I think I'm right in saying, in summary, we want health and happiness, world peace…and for me, personally, a new rowing boat would be much appreciated.

  Yours sincerely

  Ciaran

  Ellie held the letter gently, fearful of leaving her own mark on it somehow. She couldn't imagine her parent's first disagreement. From what she could remember they had never fought in front of her. Her father was a man of few words and her mother was occasionally, noisily happy, or frequently, silently sad. When the anniversary of the death of Ellie’s mother had occurred in the previous spring, her father had quietly disappeared to the shed, with his disassembled lawnmower and strimmer. Ellie was left to remember her loss alone.

  Ellie flicked back through Ciaran’s letter and re-read the part about Old Man Sullivan's son. If Bernard was the Old Man's only offspring and he was in his thirties when the letters were written, then it was possible that he could be Conor's father. There was something weird about this. Roisin and Ciaran were just fictional characters to her, but now there was a tangible connection with reality.

  Were these threads ever going to be more to Ellie than just a distraction? She began to appreciate, however, that on her short visit to Lusty, she could possibly meet people who would be very interested in these faded sheets of paper. Ellie now knew for certain that she could tell no-one about them.

  Chapter 12

  "What have you been doing?" Connor Sullivan appeared from nowhere and sat down on the bench beside Ellie, "Climbing trees?"

  He was looking much more relaxed and happy than when he had left, just a short while ago. Conor had changed out of his ill-fitting hoodie and jeans, into a different combination of ill-fitting hoodie and jeans.

  Ellie quickly stuffed Ciaran's letter into her bag, "Who said I was doing that?"

  "Calm down, I'm joking. It's just your jeans are clattered in bits of twig and green stuff. Were you rolling about in the grass - without me?"

  Ellie exploded with embarrassment, yet again.

  “You’re blushing. I’m right, aren’t I? Who was it then? Was it Paddy from the bar? A bit too old for you, don’t you think? But I’m sure he rolls very well. He's the right shape." Conor laughed, "I roll pretty well myself, Ellie. In fact I've got certificates for it."

  Ellie thought back to Soupy’s description of Conor’s father, Bernard, who apparently had a
way with the ladies. Was Conor trying to be the same?

  “Are you making fun of me, Conor?”

  “Round here we call it flirting.”

  "Do you flirt a lot?"

  "Let me think. Aye, I do."

  "So, it’s all about quantity, rather than quality?"

  “Aye." Conor lay down on the bench, almost knocking Ellie off as he stretched.

  "And you don’t care if the girls are available or not?" She asked tentatively.

  "Aren't you available?"

  The friendly banter had, suddenly, become deeply unsettling for Ellie, "Me, I suppose so, yeah. I'm not seeing anyone, if that's what you mean.”

  She shuddered inside with the awkwardness of what she’d just said. Did she appear too keen? Ellie had to re-gather some level of dignity, before she made an even bigger fool of herself.

  “But I'm focused on researching my mother’s past right now."

  "Well then, if you don't mind, I'll keep flirting with you. Keeps me in practise - makes me feel like a player." Conor thumped his chest, “And you can practise rebuffing my advances if you like.”

  For Ellie, the conversation was becoming weirder by the second, "You want me to practise turning boys down, by turning you down?" She’d never turned a boy down in her life, primarily because she’d never been approached.

  "Sure, if that's what floats your boat."

  Ellie could feel a veil of redness spread up her neck. She was more used to being the one let down, than the other way around. They sat silent for a moment.

  "Okay, then." Conor looked at her with the same intensity as he had in the bar.

  "Okay." Came Ellie’s barely audible reply.

  Conor sat upright again and edged himself as close to Ellie as possible so that the two of them were at the very edge of the bench. He smelt of the outdoors – fresh and earthy.

  "Would you…" He paused and ran his huge hand across his chin.

  Was he going to ask her out? Was he really?

  "Would I what?” She could hardly breathe.

  "Would you tell me why you want to know all about the Liberty Tree in Lusty?"

  Ellie, suddenly, didn't like his little game anymore. Conor was clearly playing with her emotions, for his own perverted pleasure. She stood up and grabbed her bag from beside her. Grumpily, she brushed away the debris of evidence from her jeans that had almost given her trespassing secret away.

  "Ellie! What’s wrong?"

  "Well, I thought you were going to ask something else."

  "Like what?"

  "I dunno." She really didn't know, but she knew that it wasn’t something about the bloody old tree.

  "I'm sorry. Please, sit back down." Conor looked genuinely confused.

  Ellie wanted to sit back down. After all, she was all alone in a strange land and didn't really have anyone else she could talk to. But her pride wouldn't let her give in that easily.

  "Please, Ellie,” Conor patted the bench, “I really would like to know what got you involved in this tree in the first place. Please, sit back down."

  Ellie, reluctantly, sat back down, keeping her spine bolt upright in defiance. Her defences were back up to where they should have been all along; time to get back to business and put any old romantic notions completely out of her head. How could she have made such a fool of herself?

  She pulled out her notebook from her bag, “My mother killed herself nearly two years ago and I think the tree may have been important to her. I think she could have been from Lusty and she called the tree ‘A special place’.” There she’d said it. What cocky answer did he have to that?

  Conor stared at her, his chocolate-brown eyes, unexpectedly, sparkly with moisture, “I’m sorry to hear that, Ellie. If I can help, I will. Do you know anything about Liberty Trees and why they are called that?”

  Ellie shook her head.

  “I’m not sure if you’ll find any of this stuff interesting, but I’ll tell you what I know. The Liberty Tree tradition actually started in the States. In the seventeenth century, colonists - or Sons of Liberty, I think they were called - they met under their branches to discuss their resistance to the British Crown. They would pin revolutionary notices to them. The British were trying to impose a tax on every piece of printed paper - from newspapers, pamphlets, even playing cards. Beneath the cover of Liberty Trees, the Sons of Liberty planted seeds of sedition. And the rest, of course, is history."

  Ellie sat in stunned silence.

  "See, Ellie, I knew you’d find that stuff boring."

  "No. Not at all. I'm just thinking. So, how did these trees end up in places like Lusty?"

  "Well, the information about them is sketchy. Some believe they were dedicated to the Society of United Irishmen. What I remember about these guys from school was their aim to end the sectarian troubles of the time. They began as a peaceful means of seeking reform, but when the French offered to help anyone who rose against the government, the society was made illegal. And administering its oath became a capital offence..."

  Ellie waited for him to continue. Conor clearly wasn’t as vacuous as he liked to make out.

  "So, who knows, there may be one or two ghosts of executed United Irishmen floating around Lusty." Conor looked down at his scruffy trainers as he casually dragged them along the baked dry mud, where many a dating couple had been before, "For all the tree's grand historical significance, it has a particular local significance to the people around here and to my family."

  "That's what I'm looking to find out. Why was it important to my mother too?”

  "Slow down, Ellie. It's just that there's a lot of sensitivity about the tree around here and if you push too hard, people will just clam up and you'll get nothing."

  "I’m sorry."

  "You don’t have to be sorry, just careful."

  "I will."

  "Are you sure?"

  Ellie nodded. In this strange boy’s presence, and for the first time in her life, Ellie felt small and delicate.

  "Good." Conor shook Ellie's hand and she didn't want to let go, "Fire away with the questions." Conor released his tight grip, "But first things first, Ellie..." Conor self-consciously pretended to loosen the neck of his tight hoodie.

  Ellie braced herself for interviewing someone, finally, who had some knowledge about the tree which could possibly lead to her mother.

  "Have you got a boyfriend?"

  "Conor!" The last thing she needed right now was to start that silly game again.

  "What? You're the only one round here gets to ask questions?"

  "Yeah."

  "What about we take it in turns? That's fair." Conor straddled the bench as if he was riding a horse - a very small one. "Okay - me first. What's your favourite food, Ellie?"

  "You’ve got to be kidding."

  "No, really. If you could have any meal in the world, what would you pick?"

  "You really want to know?"

  "Aye, maybe I'll get to cook it for you some time."

  Ellie looked incredulous. A boy was offering to cook for her? Yet another layer to add to the stinky onion that was Conor Sullivan.

  Conor impatiently tapped his long fingers on the bench.

  "Alright - I guess it would be asparagus tips on a bruschetta that had been rubbed with sun-dried tomatoes, with a perfectly boiled egg split open on the top." Actually, it was a curry chip, but she didn’t want to let herself down.

  “All I heard was 'Blah, blah, blah.' What's your second favourite?"

  "No way, it's my turn. Why all the big fences around the tree?"

  Now it was Conor's turn to sit upright, with his spine visibly stiffened.

  "He was getting vandalised. Some kids tried to set fire to him."

  "I heard about that.” Ellie quickly took out her notebook and looked for what she’d written down earlier, “But didn't that happen some time ago?"

  "Aye, it did. My turn. What's your favourite drink?"

  "You can't half answer a question."

  "
Well, don't half ask a question. What's your favourite pudding?"

  "Tarte Tatin." Again something she’d seen on TV, rather than ever tasted.

  Conor thought for a moment, "What's your second favourite?"

  "Who else has tried to destroy the tree?" Ellie asked, determined to keep the conversation on track.

  "There are some people who would rather the tree wasn't here at all. The old fella is on his last legs anyway." Conor now spoke quietly, as if he was talking to himself, "My Ma and I would rather it was just left to end its days in peace, that's all."

  Conor relaxed a little and lifted his face up to the sun's rays. It was six-thirty in the evening and any traces of cloud had been fully burnt away. Compared to Conor's rich tan, city-girl Ellie felt like she had a face that had been hit with a bag of flour.

  "Okay, Ellie," Conor stared at her again, only this time, he was the one who looked nervous, "One more question – can I kiss you?"

  Chapter 13

  Conor shouted 'Ellie?' after her several times, but she had her bag across her back and had quickly disappeared around the side of the chapel, leaving Conor alone with his unanswered question.

  Ellie found safety a few minutes later in the bar, with Paddy, Soupy and a pack of cards. She had needed a sanctuary, to protect herself from Conor making a fool of her yet again. How dare he play with her feelings like that? Was she some kind of soft target for his childish games? By the time Ellie returned to Doherty's, the village meeting had ended and Paddy had bribed her to make up the numbers in the card game, with the offer of a pint of Guinness. Ellie traded this for a lemonade and a packet of crisps – she was starving.

  "Boys and girls, what about a game of Jacks To Open, with black twos wild? Get out your shrapnel. A golden penny to open." Paddy shuffled the deck like a pro, "One up, two up. Who’s shy?"

  "Must be me." Ellie searched through her purse, before tossing a pile of ten pence pieces onto the table.