by Paula Clamp
"The tree and your land seem to be pretty important to you.” Ellie asked carefully, “I'm sure that must be a passion you inherited from your family too."
"No, Ellie, my family's passions lay elsewhere. A custard cream?"
Conor reached over for the packet. His tight sweater rolled up slightly and Ellie glimpsed a white, taut stomach and a soft line of dark hair. Conor poured more coke and knocked his plastic glass against hers, making his own 'chink' sound.
"Talking about me is boring, Ellie. Tell me about your home in England."
Now the spotlight was very much on a target that Ellie would prefer to be kept in the dark.
She took a sip of the coke before finding an answer, "There's nothing much to tell - the normal stuff."
"What's normal to you, may not be so normal to me."
"Well, I live with my Dad. I tend to keep myself to myself and he keeps himself to himself. And I’ve already told you what happened to my mother."
The words hurt her to say, but Ellie was relieved to share them with someone like Conor.
"You must miss her." He said softly.
"Yeah, but I’m always busy with…stuff… and I like reading." She tried to lighten the mood, for both their sakes, "Give me a good thriller and a cup of coffee and I'm happy."
"Regular or decaffeinated?"
"Regular. I do sound a bit dull don’t I?"
"No, regular's a good drink."
"No, because I’m a book nerd."
"Look at me," Conor stretched out his arms and crumbs leapt down from his jumper, "It never did me any harm."
They both knew that Conor wasn’t the sort to read.
Ellie smiled. When Conor wasn’t teasing her, he was easy company – the best she’d ever had.
"Why don't you try and found out about your Mum and the past from someone who likes to hoard information?" Conor spoke with uncharacteristic deliberation, as if he was turning the lid on a bottle of fizzy drink and was fearful it would explode in his face.
"Like who?"
"Someone like Father Daly. He's got a stack of material that would be of interest to you." Conor leant forward and was about to brush a breadcrumb from Ellie's cheek, when her confused expression stopped him, "Just go and ask him, Ellie."
"I don’t know." Guilt and fear of exposure froze her.
"Why not?"
"Just." Ellie turned away.
"Since when was 'just' an answer. Father Daly hasn’t been here in Lusty as long as might be useful to you, but he may have some records relating to the Liberty Tree and to your family. What was your mother’s name?”
“Byrne - Niamh. Would you come with me?"
Suddenly, Conor appeared anxious, "Ellie, I can’t."
And there was the rebuff Ellie was used to - and expecting, "Okay. Thanks anyway." She added genuinely.
"Sorry." Conor replied, abruptly, but there was tenderness in his voice.
Ellie masked her disappointment by dragging a handful of her frizzy hair across her face and hiding behind it.
A shadow suddenly blotted out the fading sun.
"You're leaning on a broken stick there...” Towering above both Ellie and Conor was Ena and Soupy’s son, Ronan, “I'll go with you.”
The intense cobalt-blue of his eyes and his unruly blonde hair were the same, but now Ellie noticed the tips of Ronan’s cheekbones and his nose had a hint of sunburn. He had replaced his jogging gear with a loose, pristine-white cotton shirt and a pair of black jeans. Ellie felt so shabby in comparison. She stood up and fruitlessly tried to brush away the hard evidence of her eventful day.
"You'd be good craic at a wake, Ronan," Conor remained seated, "I'd invite you to join us - but I won't."
"Don't worry, I'm not staying." Ronan focused intently on Ellie, "I'm just heading over to see Father Daly myself and I overheard what you were saying. I’ll take you."
Ellie instantly felt silly and girlie.
"Thank you - that would be very kind." Ellie replied in a silly and girl voice.
What was she saying, or moreover, how was she saying it? Ellie realised that her voice had just gone an octave higher than usual. Conor's sudden kindness was confusing in itself and now having someone as handsome as Ronan offering to help her, well, that was enough to send her head into a complete spin.
The impromptu meal was now over and Ellie went to follow Ronan, but not before ensuring Conor knew how thankful she was for his generosity, "Thank you so, so much for the picnic, Conor. It was really delicious."
Conor simply shrugged his shoulders, as if to signify that it was no bother, but he appeared less blasé and far more irked when he then heard Ronan add,
"Aye, thanks," with a big fat smirk.
Chapter 17
There was something strange about going to the parochial house again, at just after eight in the evening, only this time invited - and with Ronan, rather than Paddy.
Father Daly cheerfully greeted Ronan's forceful rat-a-tat on the door with his toothless smile, "Hello, Ronan. Oh, hello, Ellie too. What can I do you for you both?"
"Hi, Father." Ronan replied. He had a soft, slow lilt to his voice that Ellie recognised from her mother’s accent and it made her think of honey sliding off a spoon, "I'm only after a few salad bowls for my Ma for tonight’s do in Doherty's. Ellie has higher things in mind."
Father Daly looked upwards to the heavens.
Ronan laughed, "No, Father, lower than that. What was it I heard you say to Conor, Ellie? Oh, yeah, something about your family and your mother Niamh Byrne. Was she born in Lusty?"
“I don’t know for sure, but if she was, it would have been fifty years ago.”
Father Daly had to lean over to his left side, in order to see Ellie, who was now partially hidden behind Ronan. She held her breath in expectation of either a rejection, or an accusation.
"Of course, Ellie, be my guest."
Ellie scurried behind Ronan, as the priest lead them into the familiar living room. It was much brighter than earlier as the lace curtains had been drawn to one side and the slash windows were open full. The priest had already begun to spoil Rosie's fine housework with his newspapers and half-empty coffee mugs strewn everywhere. Father Daly led both Ronan and Ellie over to the bookcase and knelt down as he searched along the lowest shelf. First, Ellie spotted the register and then the map peeking out that she and Paddy had tried to hide earlier. It flickered in the warm breeze from the window besides it. Luckily, it appeared that Father Daly hadn't noticed any disturbance.
"Let me see. Here’s parochial records for 1965 through to 1975. This here's a great book - The Historical Account of the Diocese of Mid Ulster by Fr James O'Laverty."
The priest piled the old manuscripts in a heap on Ellie's lap as Ronan distracted himself with old copies of Angling Times.
"And it's okay for me to look through these, Father?" Ellie was nervous.
"Sure, take them away with you, if you like. You can leave them back to me before you go."
"You don't mind?"
"Why should I?"
Once again Ellie was taken off-guard. If these documents were so accessible, why did Paddy suggest that they weren't? Why all the song and dance to get her into the parochial house, when all she had to do was ask?
“Father, you don’t happen to know anything about a woman called Niamh Byrne, who may have lived in Lusty in the 1990’s? She would have been in her twenties then. She was my mother and unusual in that she was very tall, a bit like me.”
“Well, I wasn’t here then and I don’t know of anyone called Byrne living here now, but you do know that Mid Ulster is a giant hotspot?”
“A what?”
“A few years ago, scientists identified a gene defect which causes people to grow abnormally tall in this region. The gene was traced back to a fella born in the 1760’s near Cookstown. He was seven-foot-six and known as the "Irish Giant".
Ellie was fascinated, “Do you remember his name?”
“Let me see – I
know he went on to become an object of curiosity in London – no doubt the poor fella was treated like a freak all his life. I think his name was Byrne. Aye, that’s it – Charles Byrne.”
Ellie’s mind began to leapfrog. Was her mother really a direct descendent of the Irish Giant?
The priest gave Ellie a cheeky wink, “So, I’d say both you and your Mum have struck lucky.”
‘Lucky’ wasn’t something Ellie had ever considered herself to be.
"But there's something else, isn't there, Ellie?" The priest rubbed his stubble. Ellie guessed he couldn't have been much younger than eighty. "Something important…"
Ellie could feel the guilt begin to radiate out of her. Did this wise old man also know that she’d been here earlier?
"Salad bowls!" Father Daly abruptly left Ellie and Ronan and disappeared to the kitchen to begin scurrying around in his cupboards. His audible delight when he discovered his sink was now unblocked was followed by bangs and crashes as he searched through the drawers for the bowls for Ena.
Ronan was back at Ellie’s side.
"Are you really interested in all that old family history?" Whispered Ronan.
The intimacy of his voice, so close that she could feel its vibration, was almost too much to bear.
"Yeah. Do you know something, anything?"
"Ssshhh! The Father will hear. Come a little closer…closer."
Ronan brushed his lips against Ellie's as he kissed her lightly. Ellie felt that her heart had stopped completely. Where did that come from? Things like this only ever happened in the books that she read. His lips felt soft and warm. Suddenly, as Ronan pulled away, she could sense a nervous hesitancy in him that was totally beguiling. He was nervous - he was nervous. For that brief moment, Ellie’s mother and the Liberty Tree, the Sullivan land and even Roisin and Ciaran, were entirely forgotten. The old registers that the priest had given her slid to the floor.
Was this really happening? Was this really happening to Ellie?
Chapter 18
Ellie was still in shock. The most gorgeous, most handsome boy on the entire planet had just kissed her and he’d asked to meet up with her again back at the Airbnb, sometime around nine. Just like that. Admittedly, the kiss was very brief, but could it be that somehow this boy had seen something in her that nobody else had? Ellie was back in her room in the Airbnb and she wanted to scream out from the rafters. If only she could share this feeling with someone – if only that someone could be her mother.
She removed her dirtied T-shirt and jeans and threw them onto the bed. Ena had clearly been in Ellie’s room already and had ironed out the deep creases where her one and only lodger had lain on the bed earlier. From the bottom of her rucksack, Ellie retrieved a slightly wrinkled, light cotton dress with two over-sized pockets. This was the only item of clothing she had that was remotely feminine. When she put it on, however, she quickly realised that the delicate rose print clashed terribly with all things floral around her. She felt like an exhibit at the Chelsea Flower Show.
But it would have to do. Ellie put her notebook in one of the pockets and a pen in the other. She then brushed her hair, attempting to restrain the frizz into a long plait; but it was having none of it. She stared at her reflection in the mirror and focussed on all that was big about her. By themselves, her huge, grey eyes, long defined nose and plump lips were okay, but when she saw them assembled all together, Ellie simply longed to be petite and delicate. Why on earth had a boy like Ronan chosen to kiss her?
Ellie didn’t understand what was real anymore. Was it the romance in the letters that was blinding her judgement? Maybe, she shouldn’t read anymore and return them as soon as possible. Ellie was here in Lusty to find out about her mother’s past and she couldn't afford to get distracted by her own romantic fantasies. Ellie now had enough research material from Father Daly to hunt through and who knows, maybe, after the locals had a few beers at the karaoke, she would be able to tap into as much native insight as was available.
Ellie took a seat on a small stool besides the dressing table. Porcelain ornaments, positioned on top of crochet doilies, which were in turn on top of lace place mats, left little space for her small toilet bag. As she smeared on a few dabs of concealer, Ellie considered how complicated her small life had become in only a matter of hours. For someone who lived quite an isolated existence with her father, she had somehow managed to form several intangible, temporary relationships with at least half a dozen people already.
Why on earth did her mother leave Lusty, never to return, when everyone was so friendly and welcoming?
Chapter 19
Ever since their brief conversation earlier in the day, Ellie had felt that Ena had been holding something back from her. With just a little time to spare before the karaoke, Ellie went down to the living room to find her. Both Ena and Rosie was sat on the sofa, shelling peas.
"Here, Ellie, come and try a few of these.” Ena shuffled along the sofa to make space for Ellie.
Ellie took a seat between the two women, “Thank you, but I’ve just eaten.”
"Teenagers these days, they just don't eat right." Ena began to eat a handful of the peas herself.
"And we were any better?" Rosie clearly wasn't convinced.
"Absolutely. When my Ronan was a toddler, I only ever gave him quality meat and vegetables."
"That's not what I remember." Rosie gave Ellie a cheeky wink.
"Well, Rosie, I have a photographic memory and I know we ate right."
"You don’t remember what happened last week, you daft bat. We all grew up on sausages and spuds."
"Aye, but it was better than all these convenience foods." Ena was munching her way right through the pile of peas she’d just shelled, "We had fresh meat every day."
"How much meat do you think there is in a sausage?" Rosie was relentless.
"Enough."
"Oh, enough. That's a scientific measurement is it, Ena? Ingredients: water, husk and enough meat."
Ena and Rosie stopped their bickering for a split second and stared across at the Big English girl on the sofa besides them, who hadn’t had a chance to say a word. Ellie just shrugged her shoulders; she didn’t have anything to add. The two older women immediately picked up where they’d left off.
"What about eyelids, Ena - eye-balls and reproductive organs. I suppose you'd say they should be classified as meat."
"Of course not - but then you don't get them in sausages."
"You what?"
Ellie could think of only one way to try and stop the bickering.
"Do either of you know why my mother may have had an interest in the Liberty Tree?”
Rosie lifted the pot of shelled peas and stood abruptly up, "I think we’ve enough."
"Aye, plenty." Ena too stood up, only she had a newspaper full of the discarded pea pods in her arms. She quickly disappeared into the kitchen, leaving an awkward silence between Rosie and Ellie.
Ellie was deflated. To have come all this way, just to get road blocks at every line of questions she had, was so frustrating.
"Please, Rosie. I realise that you didn’t want to help me earlier, but I just want to get some idea of how an historic tree like this one in Lusty fits into my mother’s life. I have this feeling in my gut that it does somehow." Ellie thought that she was treading carefully, just as Conor had suggested, "There must be two hundred years of history and I can’t find out anything." Ellie was conscious that she was rambling again, "Something, anything is better than the nothing I have already."
Rosie sighed, scooping up her long, grey hair and tying it into a knot on itself. With her hair away from her face, she looked even more elegant and youthful, "I'll tell you what I know…
In a chariot of light, from the regions of day
The Goddess of Liberty came
Ten thousand celestials directed the way,
And hither conducted the dame.
A fair budding branch from the gardens above,
Where millions
with millions agree,
She brought in her hand as a pledge of her love,
And the plant she named Liberty Tree.”
As Rosie finished reciting the poem, she glanced across at Soupy and Ena's photographs on the fireplace.
"That's lovely, Rosie. Where is it from?"
"It's taken from a poem by an American, Thomas Paine." The older woman spoke with an authoritative tone, one that could only come from the combined forces of age and experience, "I understand what you're doing here in Lusty, Ellie, I really do. But to me, and quite a lot of others around here, that tree you’re so interested in, does not stand up to its name. Rather than liberty, it represents oppression and restrain. It's as if the tree's roots reach out from the Sullivan estate and spread out to the community here. When I think of that old oak, the only thoughts I have are of tragedy…” Rosie paused and then continued with a deep sadness that could only have been borne from grief, "And for me, personally, they are also of the baby I lost …or rather was taken from me."
Ena burst back into the living room, oblivious to any change in the atmosphere and with a half-pound of sausages in her wrinkly hand, “Ingredients - ninety-percent meat. Look here, in black and white…"
Rosie, immediately, used Ena’s return as an opportunity to recompose herself and launched herself swiftly back into the meat quality debate as if nothing had been said to Ellie – as if her baby had never been mentioned.
Ellie bounded back up the stairs and having closed the bedroom door behind her, she rested her head against it; her brain was spiralling out of control. Of course, the Roisin in the letters and Rosie had to be the same person. Their ages were about right; in fact there was a lot that was right and yet there was still a great deal that was wrong. What had happened to Ciaran? And what was the connection between baby Marianne-Mae, who was buried in the graveyard, and Ellie’s own mother? Surely, the name was too unusual to be a coincidence.
Ellie’s nerves jangled feverishly. There was also the added anxiety of Ronan being due back anytime soon. What was she going to say to him if he did turn up? How should she behave? His kiss was surely a one-off, maybe, even a prank.