Big English Girl

by Paula Clamp

  To settle her stomach, Ellie considered reading Ciaran’s next letter. Now that she knew who Roisin was, she was desperate to know what happened to him. But this was the year that their baby had died and she didn't feel justified in intruding on what could only be very raw emotion.

  Ellie opened the tin box and lifted out Ciaran’s letter. There were only three short paragraphs. With all that was going on, did Ellie have enough inner reserve for three short paragraphs?

  Chapter 20

  The pen had been pushed down hard and had heavily scored the paper. On the dots above the ' i's', the ink tip had pierced right the way through.

  New Year’s Day 1995

  Dear Liberty Tree

  Our Past

  I finally caught up with one of my chief adversaries this summer. I caught Paddy Doherty and his kid, Paddy Doherty Junior, out poaching on the river. The daft eejits had seen me and made their escape by jumping from their boat into the river. But they didn’t realise that the part of the river they were poaching in was only two foot deep. The bed was so thick with mud, it had them stuck and they had the indignity of having to wait there until I rowed over. I towed their confiscated boat back to the shore and you should have seen their sorry faces as they looked back at their two pairs of waders, left behind in the mud.

  Ellie felt instantly angry. A baby had died - his baby - and all Ciaran cared about was his fish. She was tempted to shred the offending piece of paper and flush it down the toilet. How insensitive and how callous can a father be?

  She thought of her own father and felt compelled to read on.

  Our Present

  We had a roast chicken today for our New Year's dinner - I don't know if Roisin enjoyed it.

  Now Ellie could really feel her blood begin to boil.

  Our Future

  I'm sorry, but I can't keep up with our letter tradition anymore. As I really don't care about the future, I would like, instead, to dedicate my part of this letter to my daughter.

  Dear Marianne-Mae,

  Thank you so much for those four brief days that you spent with us. They were the best and the worst of my life. The priest said that your time was not meant to be spent here, with us. But, in another time and another place, he said, we'll all be together again. I'm so sorry that I let you down - that I couldn't have made this our time together. It was my job to keep you safe and I failed.

  Marianne-Mae, if you can, show me now how to deal with this unbearable loss. My heart beats out of habit, rather than a desire to live. But your mummy needs us both now.

  We miss you so much. I don't know if where you are that you get cuddles and kisses, but please be patient, little one, until we are with you. We will never let you go again. And may whoever took you from us - rot in hell for all eternity.

  Love

  Daddy

  Ps I'm sorry tree, but this year I have no lessons of wisdom to pass on.

  Ellie slumped down onto the carpet. She had quickly jumped to the conclusion that Ciaran simply didn't care, when nothing could have been further from the truth. She had done him a grave disservice and Ellie felt terrible for it. And yet again, the letters generated more questions than answers. How had poor Marianne-Mae died? And who did Ciaran want to ‘rot in hell’?

  With the letter still in her hand, Ellie struggled to understand how Roisin and Ciaran would live with their grief. After her own mother died, Ellie’s father had disappeared to the garden shed, only to reappear three days later, as if everything was normal. All that time removing lawnmower blades and fiddling with hedge-clippers and he'd never fixed anything. Ellie was angry with him for how he treated her, but had she judged her father harshly too, without really considering his grief?

  Did she really know people at all?

  Even here in Lusty, how many others had Ellie misjudged already?

  If Ronan really was going to be true to his word, he was due any minute. Ellie carefully kissed Ciaran's letter and put it back in the box, but as she did so, she inadvertently saw the letter underneath. The date on the top left-hand side was, 'New Year's Day 2002' - it was Roisin's neat and precise handwriting. But seven years were missing.

  "They're here." Ronan’s voice could be heard at the foot of the stairs, before the sound of him bounding up them and entering Ellie's room, without knocking, "My Ma's having kittens." He dragged Ellie by the arm over to the window.

  "Who's here?"

  "My Uncle Cormac with his son, Frankie. They're early."

  Ronan opened the window and leaned out. Still in a state of shock that Ronan had actually turned up, Ellie did the same. Below were Ena and Rosie, both in a flap and being ever so hospitable, and Soupy was propping up the doorframe with an air of boredom. Unexpectedly, Conor Sullivan also appeared from inside the Airbnb and immediately looked up.

  Ellie felt completely out of her comfort zone and her usual, embarrassed bloom excelled itself into new depths of redness. For some reason, Ronan appeared to be unashamedly pleased with himself, but Conor, on the other hand, looked as if he was ready to kill.

  Chapter 21

  There was no defined outline to Soupy’s brother, Cormac; his edges were a fuzzy blur of tight curl, whisker and fleece. As everyone gathered in the living room, Ellie noticed that even the fingers of the man, which now tightly clasped a china teacup, sprouted thick coarse hair.

  "Wonderful tea…wonderful sandwiches…just…wonderful." Cormac demonstrated a limited range of hyperbole, however, this was enough to send Ena and Rosie into self-conscious tizzies of 'don't be silly's'. He spoke slowly and deliberately.

  "I Want You. I Need You. I Love You." Interjected his son, Frankie, whilst half-way through devouring a corned-beef sandwich.

  "As you may have guessed, Ellie…" Cormac smacked his lips together in appreciation of the hot brew, "Our Frankie doesn't like to talk much, but when he does, he has a tendency to converse in Elvis song titles.

  "It's Now or Never." Giggled Frankie and his luxuriant quiff bounced along like a toy puppy in the back window of a car. He was dressed in a navy tracksuit, with a broad, rhinestone belt.

  “Frankie’s my nephew,” Soupy clarified for Ellie’s benefit, “Both he and Cormac live on the other side of the Sullivan estate – about a fifteen minute walk away.”

  Cormac struggled to lean forward on the sofa towards Ellie, but was sucked back down again, “What do you make of our Lusty then?”

  “It’s a pretty town.”

  "It's a village." Ronan interjected from his seat on the windowsill, "Lusty's not a town, it's a village."

  "It’s a pretty village." Ellie stood corrected.

  Ronan scoffed, "And even that's stretching it a bit. I prefer to call it the arsehole of nowhere."

  For a second, an uneasy silence hung on Ronan’s bitter words, whilst Conor shot daggers at him with his frosty glare. Ellie was afraid of saying something stupid again and fidgeted with the spoon on her saucer.

  "You're the Devil in Disguise." Frankie broke the icy deadlock.

  "Exactly." Came Conor's acidic reply.

  Ena sat down between her brother-in-law and nephew, "Well, Cormac, are you guys set for tonight?”

  Cormac quickly swallowed the last of the crustless sandwich triangles, "As ready as we’ll ever be, Ena. Ellie, what about you? Do you already have plans for your first night? I’m sure you’ll find lots here in Lusty to keep you amused.”

  Ronan sneered, “Aye, loads.”

  Ena hadn't heard her son’s sarcasm, "Perhaps, you'd like to visit some of our local attractions."

  Ronan scoffed again, this time attracting his mother's disapproval. Her glower was more than enough to restrain him.

  "Our chapel is one of the finest in the county," Ena resumed her hostess role, "And our local hostelry has been passed down the family line for five generations. Doherty's Bar and Lounge has many fine period pieces."

  Cormac's eyes appeared to brighten at the sound of 'bar' and he nodded in eager agreement.

  "El
lie, you may have already noticed that not that many people visit Lusty.” Ronan stared out of the living room window, “The last one before you was a German who had got off the bus in Lusty thinking he was in Belfast. The eejit was here two days before he realised his mistake. His photograph still has pride of place above the fireplace in Doherty's. That’s what my Ma means by a fine period piece."

  Ena shook her head and rolled her eyes, “Don’t you listen to him, Ellie. Lusty’s a lovely place.”

  "Actually, you’re right, Ma,” Ronan winked at Ellie, “How could I have forgotten? Lusty has something of far more historical significance - something people come to study from far and wide."

  Ellie could sense mischief.

  "I don't know if the tree in its present state will be of any interest…" Conor had also picked up on Ronan's devilment.

  "Why, Conor, what could be of more interest to someone interested in old oak trees on estates, than the old oak on your estate?" Ronan persisted, clearly self-satisfied that his provocation was working.

  The power struggle between the two boys baffled Ellie. Ronan appeared to have the upper hand, forcing Conor to fidget with his cuffs, in an external manifestation of his internal discomfort. Ellie could neither understand why Conor was so elusive about the tree, nor understand why Ronan seized every opportunity to antagonise him.

  "Conor, what about the big house instead?” Cormac slapped his thigh excitedly, "You could show Ellie the old house - ghosts and stuff – you’d enjoy that, Ellie.”

  “Of course.” Conor's relief that the Liberty Tree was no longer the topic of conversation was very clear.

  As much as Ellie would have loved to visit the old house, she only had a couple of days in Lusty and was starting to worry that she may be following red herrings,

  “That would be great, Conor, but would there be time? I leave again on Monday.” She explained earnestly.

  Cormac’s enthusiasm was literally bursting out of his fuzzy edges, “Well, Conor, I know it’s getting late, but there’s no time like the present.”

  Chapter 22

  Five minutes later and at just after nine in the evening, Ellie was leaving the Airbnb with Conor. For a sleepy village, everything seemed to happen so fast in Lusty. Ellie checked that she still had the key and pulled the front door closed behind them.

  "What about me, Conor, don't I get an invite?" Ronan shouted from the living room window.

  "Let me think about it - no." Conor scowled back as he led the way out from the Airbnb and towards the lane.

  Ronan shouted again, "Ellie! Come here!"

  Ellie and Conor were just about to turn into the lane. Even though she felt a little like an obedient dog being called back by its master, Ellie nonetheless hurried back over to Ronan. He was now standing at the front door, resting against the doorframe; exactly as his father had done earlier. He was pointing to his cheek.

  "Oh." Ellie nervously pecked a kiss on his cheek and hoped to God that she had interpreted his signal correctly.

  Ronan yanked her towards him and kissed her on the lips for the second time that day. Again the kiss was brief, but enough for Ellie's heart to feel like it had imploded.

  Ronan had that puckish glint in his eye again, "Don't forget our date – let’s pick up where we left off when you get back."

  "Okay" Ellie’s heart had rebooted, but only just.

  "Let’s meet up in the hottest spot in town at ten." Ronan mocked Ellie’s English pronunciation of ‘town’.

  Ellie couldn't help but feel foolish. Like Conor before him, was Ronan simply making fun of her?

  "Ever been to a Karaoke?" He added casually.

  "No."

  "Then get ready for a night of firsts.” Ronan gave her a delicious broad smile and walked back inside the Airbnb, slamming the door behind him.

  Ellie took a moment to consider what had just happened, but with no answers, she awkwardly ran back to catch up with Conor. When she finally caught back up with him, she was completely out of breath. Conor didn't look amused. Ellie was gasping for air and trying to maintain whatever dignity she had left. Were Conor and Ronan both playing games with her? So far, she hadn’t seen any other girls in the village, so was it simply a case of making fun of the only girl available? Or, was it that she was so big a target that she was impossible to miss?

  Conor grumpily then led the way down the lane and across the field towards the Sullivan Estate. In just a few minutes they had cut through broken down fences and gaps in the hedges. The route was so well used that it resembled a parting on a giant head of hair. Underneath their feet, white pebbles, like speckles of dandruff, had been rammed firm into the dry clay. To Ellie, the route felt nothing like what she expected of a main entrance to a country estate.

  In fact, this way was more like an illicit, secret path.

  Chapter 23

  Eventually, the pathway through the overgrown blackberry bushes re-affirmed Ellie’s suspicions that they were very definitely not being escorted to the front door. A dense hedge of holly opened out onto a small side-door, which didn't afford any opportunity to take in the full extent of the house's exterior. Quickly inside, Ellie was led though a series of small corridors, bare but functional. Conor manoeuvred swiftly, like a bat honing in on his spot in the cave. With his shoulder, he then rammed open a recently stripped, heavy oak door that reeked of nitromors.

  "Welcome to my home." Conor held the door open by leaning against it and making way for his guest.

  The door led into what must have been the principal feature of the big house - a great central hall with an octagonal balustrade gallery, lit from above through a stained glass dome. On the walls were paintings shielded by old bed-linen, around which was a rubric cube of metal scaffolding.

  "This is a beautiful feature." Ellie smiled and ran her finger along one of the iron rods.

  "Thanks – it is modern art." The sharp tone of Conor's reply revealed that his disgruntled mood from earlier hadn't waned, "I thought over the summer months I’d have a go at some restoration. It’s long overdue. A bit of a pain in the neck actually, but I told my Ma I’d do it and I want to prove to her that at least someone in the family can be responsible.”

  Ellie took in the full extent of the work that had been done thus far, "I can see that this was once a very fine home."

  "A house, Ellie - it was never a home."

  Ellie envied Conor his project; putting the pieces of architectural history back together. This was a massive challenge for one teenage boy.

  "What's through there?" She asked, enthusiastically, pointing to another recently stripped oak door to their right.

  "That's the music room. Please, go on through."

  This door too needed a firm shoulder to shove it open, but the result was well worth it. In an instant Ellie worked out that her entire house back home would fit within the four walls of the music room alone. The room was as tall as it was long, with a delicate ceiling of pendentives. The oak and mahogany floor had a central inlay of what appeared to be the Sullivan coat of arms. At each end of the room were Ionic column screens and against the walls were rows of straight-backed Empire chairs. In the far corner, covered by a dust blanket, was what looked like a baby grand piano. There was no doubt in Ellie's mind that this party room had been designed to rejoice in entertainment on an epic scale.

  "Wow, there must have been some incredible parties in here." Ellie attempted to make peace with Conor.

  "No." He appeared to have used up his allocated smiles for that day.

  Ellie redirected her attention to the long, glass doors which extended the room out onto the neglected parterre; where once formal gardens were now informally overgrown. A series of rusty locks seem to ensure that the doors could no longer be opened. Ellie turned back around and absorbed the room's fullness of size and emptiness of mood. She guessed from what she’d discovered of the Sullivan family history so far and the role of women within it, that their absence was reflected in the lack of a feminine
imprint on the stark, functional interior.

  Conor immediately read her thoughts, “You think it needs a woman’s touch?"

  “Well, kind of…” Ellie was taken aback by his insight into her inner thoughts.

  “Women don't last too long in this house.”

  Ellie thought for a moment about the Liberty Tree. Was the old tree a blight on the Sullivan women, in the same way that it was becoming a curse on Roisin - and may have been on her own mother? She reached for Conor’s sleeve and, carefully, turned him towards her. There were so many questions that needed answered.

  "Conor, what did happen to all the women in this house?"

  Conor, however, still appeared to be resistant to cooperation and he simply turned away and continued with the tour. Ellie followed in Conor's wake, but was not downhearted; she would try a different tack when the time was right.

  The dining room and drawing room flanked the south and north elevations respectively. Both cavernous rooms were completely empty. Back inside the central hall, Conor began to lead the way up the imperial staircase with its stark stone treads, wrought iron balusters and a ramped mahogany handrail. The octagonal skylight dome lighted the roof above.

  "All the rooms up here require major restoration, but this is the one I’m going to have a go at first."

  The door to the bedroom directly at the top of the staircase was already wide open. Mahogany wall panelling and a rich burgundy rug were more than enough to darken the large room. With a clutter of urns, sofas, occasional tables and tripod candlesticks embossed with winged lions, the shadowy room had an arcane ambience.