by Paula Clamp
Ellie was already half-an-hour late for her ten o’clock date with Ronan. Thirty minutes felt like an appropriate amount of time to not look too keen. Rummaging through the small selection of clothing that she’d brought in her rucksack, Ellie searched for something appropriate for the karaoke. The light, cotton dress she was wearing felt too conservative for her mood. Ellie decided that this night, she was going to be the one to play games. The evening had turned quite balmy and jeans weren't an option either. At the bottom of her bag, jammed between her pyjamas and a pair of sandals, she found her denim, knee-length skirt. She held it up to check for creases, but wasn't satisfied that the skirt was what she was looking for either. Besides her on dressing table, Ellie found a sewing kit and with the scissors she sliced off ten inches from the bottom of the skirt. Twinned with a white vest, Ellie now had what she was looking for. The sandals added another inch to her already long legs. Standing in front of the full-length mirror, she then brushed out her long hair, deciding that for once it could be as unruly as it wished. Ellie removed a dried speck of blood from her ankle, where she had nicked it when shaving the day before. As she licked her finger and wiped it away, she found it impossible to imagine that less than twenty hours ago, she was waving goodbye to her father on the step, as he then coolly closed the front door, securing the complicated series of deadlocks and bolts that Ellie often wondered were for keeping in, rather than keeping out. So much seemed to have happened since Ellie had left and yet the cut had barely healed.
Ellie quickly tidied away her things and piled the books that Father Daly had given her onto the bedside table. She took one further inspection in the mirror and thanked God that outside was now dark.
Chapter 27
When Ellie, eventually, made her way over to Doherty's Bar and Lounge, the image of a cartoon house came to mind; one that was literally bursting at the seams and jumping up and down. The sound of singing and laughter oozed out of every open window. She could almost see the pencil drawn quavers and semi-crotchets bouncing into the evening air. In stark contrast, the exact opposite of the bar's vitality was mirrored by the black, coldness of the empty chapel beside it.
When Ellie opened the bar door, four people fell out. The place was packed tight and a dusty fog hung a few feet above everyone's heads. Above that, arms were held aloft, carrying pint and half-pint glasses of Guinness, as people tried to avoid spilling when making their way back to their seats. Ellie guessed that the average age was about thirty due to most people being either over-fifty, or under-ten. On her tiptoes, she tried to spot someone familiar. In the far corner, on a small stage, an elderly woman was singing YMCA. Paddy, who was hosting the karaoke, would join in every now and then, whenever she lost her way on the auto-cue. Hanging precariously above the stage, was a banner - 'Frankie’s Graceland Appeal'.
Where on earth had all these people come from? Ellie took in the full magnitude of what was before her. Finally, beside the stage, she spotted the guest of honour, Frankie. Lined up in front of him were a wide assortment of pint glasses, cocktails and shots, continually being added to as yet another customer at the bar could be heard shouting, 'And another for Frankie'. A steady stream of well-wishers queued up to shake his hand and pat him on the back. Cormac stood beside his son, looking stunned by all the attention, whilst Frankie sat back and lapped it up.
Ellie attempted to manoeuvre herself through the swaying mass, but trying to avoid elbows and pint glasses was a slow and hazardous process.
"Ellie, what do you want to drink?" Soupy yelled over from the bar.
At last, a familiar face, "A coke, please. Thank you. I’ll get you one back. Where is everybody?"
"Ena and Rosie are by the fireplace. Go over and I'll bring your drink over to you."
Ellie gave Soupy a thumbs-up signal and squeezed her way across the room. The vision of Gulliver arriving at Lilliput came to mind.
"Ellie, Love, sit here." Ena shuffled along the bench to make way for her lodger, "We've got the best view of the stage." Ena looked very pleased with herself.
Soupy returned from the bar and from a tray he handed Ellie her drink and a glass of white wine to both Ena and Rosie. He had opted for whiskey, a very large one.
Whilst her companions chatted amongst themselves, Ellie scanned across from the stage, along the bar and over to the door. Standing just inside the door was Ronan. He didn’t look like he’d seen her. He was casually relaxed, with his thumbs tucked into his jeans' pockets. Studying him from a distance, Ellie knew without a shadow of a doubt, that Ronan was conventionally handsome in a very conventional way. He was chatting to a girl about the same age as Ellie, but she had poker straight, blonde-hair and delicate, defined features. Ellie felt ill with jealousy. The attraction the girl had for Ronan was obvious and who could blame her. Ellie quickly recognised the language of fingers through hair and the carefree giggles and she instantly regretted the half-hour that she’d kept Ronan waiting. Whilst she studied the girl, however, Ellie failed to realise that she too was under scrutiny. Ronan had spotted her and smiled. As he continued his conversation with the girl, he kept checking back across at Ellie. There was something tantalising about this; something empowering about watching the pretty girl at the bar flirting for Mid Ulster, but it was the big girl from England who, incredibly, appeared to have his full attention.
Soon after, Ronan made his farewells to the girl and kissed her on the cheek. Ellie could see the girl's eyes follow Ronan's back, as he wove his way across the room. She also saw the look of disappointment as the girl realised exactly where Ronan was heading.
Ronan squeezed himself besides Ellie on the bench. Tiny goose bumps appeared on her arm.
"Are you cold?" Ronan whispered into Ellie’s ear.
Why did she have to be so obvious? Ellie didn't have a clue of what to make of Ronan. She knew absolutely nothing about him, really. If she was going to put an end to feeling like the butt of everyone’s jokes, maybe, it was time that she took back some element of control.
“Ronan, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”
"I'll mind if you don't." He rested his elbow on the table.
"Are you still at school?"
Ronan laughed, "Is that it?”
Ellie blushed.
He looked so intently into her eyes that she could feel her resolve melt away, “I give you a free shot to pry and that’s the best you’ve got?”
"Sorry."
"Look, I quit when I was sixteen. I'm in between jobs at the moment - biding my time, doing just a bit of this and a bit of that…” Ronan smiled and his entire face lit up, “Keeping out of mischief mostly."
Ellie was yet again completely out of her comfort zone. Was she simply a toy to play with in order to keep Ronan occupied? He had already made it quite clear that he detested small-village life. She felt like a ping-pong ball, bouncing back and forth between Conor and Ronan. Each time she thought she was getting to know one of them, they’d throw her completely off course and she was left floundering.
Ellie was more than a little relieved when an elderly man with a stick, stood up on the stage and slowly eased himself into an unaccompanied version of The Green Fields of France. The mood of the party changed. His rough, slightly out of tune air, added a sombre edge to the ballad and a few handkerchiefs began to appear in the crowd.
"Where did all these people come from?" Ellie decided to take the opportunity to change the topic of conversation to something she could handle.
"Most are tenant farmers - making just enough to get by."
"And who owns the land?"
"Sullivans of course."
But that didn't make sense. Ellie had seen the modern map and how the Sullivan land had been drastically reduced over the years.
"Are you sure that it still belongs to the Sullivans?"
Ronan looked slightly puzzled by Ellie's question. A small dance floor, suddenly, cleared in the middle of the bar and three couples began waltzing to the old man's last few
verses.
"Would you care to dance?" Cormac had fought his way over to their table and held out his hand to Rosie.
"No, no, my dancing days are over." Rosie turned crimson.
"Go on, you young thang." Soupy pulled the table out slightly to let her pass.
"No, really, thank you."
"Go on." Heckled Ena, Soupy and now Ronan in unison, to the point where it would have been embarrassing for Cormac if Rosie had further declined.
Rosie tentatively held onto the outstretched hand and let Cormac lead her to the dancefloor. Just as they took their positions, the old man finished his ballad and the couple was left to awkwardly applaud and await the next singer. Ellie could sense Rosie's self-conscious nervousness. The fact that Rosie and Roisin could very likely be one and the same person, made Ellie feel uncomfortable and guilty, but also hungry to know more.
Luckily, for the uneasy couple, the old man was persuaded to sing again and he chose another slow ballad. Cormac held Rosie at an appropriate, polite distance and the two waltzed gingerly around the ten-foot-square space, occasionally bouncing off other couples like pinballs.
Ronan leant forward again, towards Ellie, "My Uncle Cormac has been after Rosie for years. Bless, look at them both.” Ronan’s gorgeous smile lit up his entire face, “That could be us in forty years’ time."
Chapter 28
"May I join you?"
Father Daly appeared, as if by divine intervention, at the side of Ellie and Ronan’s table. His heavily lined face was pinched around the mouth and his hollow dark cheeks looked like he'd been punched and the imprint left behind.
"Sure, Father, take my seat," Ronan stood up, "I'm off to see if they’ve got any decent music."
Ignoring the impact his ‘forty years’ time’ comment had on Ellie completely, Ronan dissolved back into the crowd. She was beginning to think that Irishmen were a species like no other. Ellie’s experience with boys was minimal, but she’d read enough romances to know that it shouldn’t be this much of a head-spinner.
"Ellie, I was hoping to find you here." The priest laid a dusty magazine in front of her, "I discovered this tucked away in some old boxes." He turned the first page and the spine tore slightly, "It's a wee bit battered. A bit like myself." The priest winked at Ellie, “Have a flick through that and see if there's anything of interest to you."
Even though her faith in God had diminished with her mother’s untimely death, the fear of retribution for lying to a priest was hard for Ellie to bear. Rather than look the old man in the eye, Ellie focused on his arthritic fingers clasped around the glossy pages. She sheepishly accepted the magazine and inspected the front-cover; a May 2006 edition of the National Geographic. Carefully, she then flicked through the pages and pretended to be interested in the photojournalist’s journey with nomads, or the treasure-filled palace of the Ivory Coast President, or the thumb that was sixteen feet high and carved from fine, white marble.
"Thank you very much, but I don’t think there's anything in it relevant to my mother."
"Look again," Father Daly had a high-pitched voice, as if, having been broken as a boy it had then fixed itself as an old man, "Look towards the front."
She looked, but all Ellie could find were a few short letters to the editor.
"Let me look for you." Ena lifted the magazine from Ellie and silently read through the letters.
Ellie casually scanned the room, trying to avoid eye contact with Father Daly as she searched to see if Ronan was returning. Once or twice there was an awkward eyeball-to-eyeball connection with the old priest, but Ellie was quick to look elsewhere.
Ena balanced her reading glasses on the tip of her nose. Her lips moved as she silently read. Her long nail followed each word. Suddenly, Ena's lips stopped moving and she stared down at the page. She didn't take her eyes away from the print.
"What is it?" Soupy retrieved the magazine from his wife's tight clutches and read aloud at the point where Ena’s finger had been pointing.
"Dear Editor - I have just read your editorial in last month’s edition, concerning rare Irish trees. I am deeply touched by the problems faced by the plight of the Liberty Tree in Lusty, Mid Ulster. I congratulate the photographer on his excellent depiction of the struggles…" Soupy looked up from the page at his wife and then continued to read, "…of those unfortunate people. Dorothy Seyff, Montreal, Quebec."
Ellie turned excitedly to the priest, "What could that be about, Father? Do you still have previous month’s edition?"
"Sorry, Ellie, I don't." He looked just as disappointed as Ellie, "This was the only edition I found. But I thought it would at least lead you to something."
Ellie took the magazine from Soupy and held it tightly, fully intrigued about the rest of the story, "Well, Father, do you happen to remember when a journalist from the magazine visited? That must have been quite an event for Lusty."
"I wasn't here then, Ellie."
Ellie quickly turned to her other companions, "Ena, Soupy, you were here then, right?"
"No." Ena wasted no time in responding, "We weren’t living her then, were we, Love?"
"No." Her husband appeared to be slightly dazed.
“Somebody must have been here.” Ellie was desperate to find who that ‘somebody’ could be.
Searching the bar for Ronan, she caught a glimpse of Rosie; her long, greying hair kept falling into her eyes with each exuberant swing by her dance partner. Ellie could lip read Rosie’s curses as Cormac kept clumsily crushing her toes. Surely, Rosie would know what happened in the village back then.
"Ladies, gentlemen and honoured visitors, we all know that in Lusty we like to make all our visitors as welcome as possible. So could you all now please join me in welcoming another guest to the stage this evening." Paddy was definitively warming up to his Master of Ceremonies role, "With a warm Lusty welcome, please give it up for the Big English Girl."
The frenzied crowd was then silenced as a mass of puzzled faced searched around looking for their victim. It didn't take them long to work out that the tall stranger in the corner, with her head forward and her hand covering her face, was the girl in question.
"Big English Girl! Big English Girl!" the chant was muffled at first, but the more Ellie tried to hide, the louder it became.
The taunting was compounded now by foot stamping.
Father Daly gently prised open one of Ellie’s fingers and availed himself of a tiny glimpse of Ellie’s left eye, "You'd be best to get it over with and then they'll leave you alone for the rest of the night."
Ellie didn't reply; she couldn’t. How could Paddy do this to her?
Ellie felt that she was doomed if she did and doomed if she didn’t. Everyone had been so friendly and welcoming since she’d arrived and the last thing she wanted to be seen as was some stuck-up, snooty English-girl, who didn’t know how to enjoy herself.
A riotous applause exploded the moment Ellie stood up, then straightened down her mini-skirt and began the long, lonely walk up to the stage. She felt nauseous. The sea of expectant faces parted, but her route still comprised of jeers, the heady-odour of stout and the occasional hiccup.
"Good girl." Paddy whispered into her ear as Ellie took her place at the microphone.
Ellie could only look down at her feet.
"What songs do you know, Ellie?"
“Jesus, Paddy, how could you? I don’t know any.”
With her foot, she tried to shoo away a boy who was looking up her skirt. He was aged about ten, with eyes so closely set that Ellie at first mistook it for one big one. He finally backed off a little from the edge of the stage.
"Surely, everyone knows Elton John and Kiki Dee?" Paddy chuckled.
Ellie’s mouth was completely dry. Reluctantly, she looked up from her feet and out over the jumbled mess of highly enthusiastic faces. To the right side of the stage, she could now see her reflection in the chrome of a discarded drum-kit. The familiar expression of the rabbit caught in headlights came instantly t
o mind. The musical introduction began and a courteous hush followed from the crowd. Ellie could now see that Ena, Soupy and Father Daly were standing, smiling at her; as were Rosie and Cormac on the dance-floor. At least Ronan was nowhere to be seen.
The slow introduction at least gave Ellie a chance to try and compose herself. Here in Lusty, she had an opportunity to be somebody who she wasn't. Miles away from home and her life, she could be somebody else entirely. Ellie’s voice felt creaky, but she prayed that if she held herself together, she could hide her weak voice behind the noisy chorus. The auto-cue began to roll and the first word of the verse lit up in rubber-duck yellow.
Ellie tentatively began to sing, "Don't go breaking my heart, I couldn’t if I tried…Oh no!" She spluttered, suddenly, in a blind panic, "Paddy, the auto-cue is stuck!"
"Make it up," Paddy fidgeted with the controls, "They're either too old, or too young, to notice anyway."
"I can't."
"You can."
She quietly mumbled the next few words, before struggling with, "Nobody knows it," followed by yet more mumbling.
Thankfully for Ellie, Paddy could feel her pain and sang along with her until the auto-cue rebooted. Ellie's and Paddy’s duet continued, completely out-of-tune, but good enough for the crowd to get into it. Surprising herself even more, Ellie was also starting to enjoy being up there on the stage. People were looking at her for reasons other than her height. There was a sense of freedom as she sang in front of a group of people, who had only come into her life less than twelve hours into her three day trip - in a place she had never been to before - and no doubt would never return to again.
"And nobody told us…” Ellie hesitated in the middle of the final chorus. She wasn't lost for lyrics this time, but was lost for words at the sight of Ronan standing in the doorway. He appeared to be having an argument. It was not so much the sight of Ronan that froze her to the spot, but the pounding fist Ellie could see on its way to his jaw. The fist was attached to an elongated wrist, jutting out of the long sleeve of an ill-fitting, crumpled hoodie.