Big English Girl

by Paula Clamp

  "Terrific, Mrs Burke. Can you teach me to do that?" He asked cheekily, holding out the microphone for her response.

  "How flexible are you?" Mrs Burke asked sexily, still half in a trance.

  "I can't make Tuesdays."

  Paddy chuckled before bouncing away again. Ellie couldn't see where he then went to, because suddenly everything before her eyes went completely black. At first she could feel the warmth of the fingers that were covering her eyes and then the soft breath.

  "Guess who?”

  Ellie was delighted to find that when the hands were removed, they belonged to Ronan. His cool tone from their encounter in the early hours of the morning had all but vanished and he was apparently back to his flirtatious self.

  "Paddy has told us all that you’re leaving earlier than planned, Ellie. I thought, maybe, you'd just left without saying goodbye." Ronan looked genuinely hurt.

  "I've decided to get an earlier flight."

  “Don’t do that.”

  “But I have to.”

  Ellie looked across at his tanned face, his long, blonde hair swept and gelled back and his crisp linen shirt. There was no trace of Ronan’s irritable mood from their last time together.

  "Oh, sweetheart," He playfully linked his arm in hers, "Our first ever fight. Let's make up." Ronan grabbed Ellie around the waist, as if he was about to carry her off.

  Ellie self-consciously worried that Ronan may try to lift her and realise how heavy she was. She pulled away, "So, what have you been up to all morning?"

  "Well, you're not going to believe this, Ellie.” He sounded excited, “I went over to Cormac’s and Frankie’s to help count last night’s donations and on the way back, the strangest things started to happen - I started getting stopped by people from the village."

  "Why?"

  "At first, it was just folk randomly coming up to me and wanting to shake my hand - next was Bap's grandma. The old doll shuffles up to me, carrying a very heavy, archaic hi-fi. You have to imagine this - she's struggling with its weight, but looks determined to bring it over to me. When she does, she says, 'Are you the Campbell boy?' 'Aye’ I said. 'Are you the one who saved our Bap’s life?’ 'Aye’, I said and then she plonked this bloody great hi-fi in my arms and said, 'Like my husband, this thing hasn't worked since I got it. Can you fix it?'"

  Ellie laughed, "You must have thought it was a thank you gift."

  "Too right. But that was only the start of it - everywhere I've been this morning, people come up to me to fix stuff, or give me problems to solve."

  At which point a young boy sauntered up to Ronan with a razor blade held aloft.

  "Have you got a razor that'll fit this blade?" The boy asked.

  Ronan turned to Ellie, "See what I mean?"

  Ellie laughed, but didn't have an opportunity to continue their conversation as Ronan was promptly dragged away by Paddy to present the prize in a competition. He shrugged his shoulders as if to say ‘what can I do’ and off he went; always the popular boy, who everyone wanted a piece of. Ellie could only watch and envy the girl who would eventually capture Ronan’s heart; the girl he would flirt with and actually mean it.

  "Good, you’re still here.” Rosie was now right beside Ellie, “Why don't you join in the dancing – Mrs Burke appears to have lost her partner."

  Thankfully, the animosity of the previous night appeared to have dissolved from Ellie’s other friends too. She had very quickly grown to appreciate Rosie’s company and her no-nonsense approach to life. Here was someone, in the absence of her own mother, whom Ellie would have liked to have spent more time with.

  "What about you and Cormac? You certainly knew how to dance last night.” Ellie couldn’t help but give a knowing look.

  "Not you as well, Ellie? Ena gives me a hard enough time about Cormac as it is." Rosie swept her long, greying hair over her shoulder and blushed.

  For all of Ellie's plans to leave her search unfinished, she couldn't resist this last opportunity, alone with Rosie, to try and resolve a few unanswered questions.

  "Have you lived in Lusty all your life, Rosie?"

  "Aye, except for a spell when I was living in Dublin."

  "Oh - when was that?" Ellie asked casually, masking her interest.

  "I came back to Lusty in January 2006." Rosie replied swiftly, before adding a more vague, “Or there about".

  Mentally adding up the numbers again, Ellie remembered the date on the 'volunteer' gravestone; so, the same time as Bernard's death, Rosie, (or Roisin as Ellie was now totally convinced) came back from Dublin. This was too weird to be a coincidence.

  Balanced against Ellie’s intrigue, was the deep desire to put the mysteries that surrounded Lusty behind her. At the same time, if there was any chance that both Roisin and Ciaran had a happy-ever-after, Ellie was desperate to find it. When her mother died, Ellie had given up on herself, but now she found herself wondering whether it was possible for others and, therefore, maybe possible for her too, to have a future that was bright and hopeful.

  Still pondering the dilemma, Frankie and Cormac appeared; father and son dressed in matching, ‘Frankie’s Graceland Appeal’ t-shirts.

  "I don't understand this country of ours, Rosie." Cormac was shivering, "Yesterday it was boiling hot and today - well, today it would founder you."

  Rosie nodded in agreement, blushing slightly.

  "So what's on your fundraising itinerary today, Frankie?" Ellie asked Frankie, who had also just discovered the wonder of Mrs Burke's hips

  He reached for Ellie's hand and held it tightly, “Crying in the Chapel”.

  Ellie stumbled for a reply, but luckily Cormac cut in, "Myself, our Frankie and Rosie were supposed to be presenting the first prize in the, Little Miss Curly Locks Competition - but now we're presenting the runner-up. That honour has gone to the new hero of the hour – guess who?”

  The multi-coloured flags were now flapping ferociously and the assorted stallholders were having difficulty keeping their wares from blowing away. The dull white clouds were greying in preparation of the anticipated rain shower and tarpaulins were being tightened. The Little Miss Curly Locks contestants looked miserable as their mothers tried everything they could to stop the carefully groomed curls from frizzing. Everyone looked desperate for the competition to be over and Paddy summoned all the judges over to the tiny makeshift stage. Frankie and Cormac jogged along, with Rosie opting for a brisk walk, peppered with intermittent skips.

  With everyone’s focus now on the junior beauty pageant, Ellie spotted a window of opportunity to grab some late breakfast. A slippery fried egg, wedged between something delicious described as a ‘soda farl’, was bought from a van and was now Ellie’s third most memorable meal, ever. She savoured every mouthful as she then made her way over to the rickety-wheel, close by the stage, which was being run by Ena and Soupy.

  “I hear you’re leaving us early, Ellie.” Ena didn’t waste time with pleasantries.

  “Yeah, that’s why I came over to explain and to give you back your key.”

  “You don’t have to explain anything to us, Ellie.” Soupy winked.

  Ellie soon realised how the rickety-wheel came by its name, when she was stood close to the huge, awkward looking contraption, balanced precariously on heavy, plywood legs. At the top of the wheel was a clothes peg, holding a piece of worn rubber and then the wheel itself was divided by marked lines into a giant pie-chart of hundreds of tiny segments. In a few of the segments were stickers with the names of prizes written on it. The star prize on the Lusty rickety-wheel was 'Cake'.

  At one pound a spin, Ellie gave it a go.

  "Steady now." Soupy cautioned, as Ellie gave the wheel a vigorous spin, not fully aware of the instability of the structure.

  She let go and the 'rickety, rickety, rickety, rick' from whence the wheel got its name followed. The piece of rubber flapped past the nails at the edge of each segment. After a handful or rotations, the spin finally wore itself out.

  "A year's
supply of Marmite?" Ellie looked incredulous as she read the sticker where the wheel had stopped.

  "You bet." Soupy hunted through some cardboard boxes underneath the trestle table and emerged with one jar in his hand, "There you go."

  "Will that last me a year?"

  "You’ve obviously not had it before."

  To try and steady the clumsy structure in the wind, Ena then disappeared around the back of the wheel, with a ball of string and some gaffer tape. With his wife out of the way, Soupy leaned over and slipped a thin pamphlet into Ellie's hand.

  "I found this under the sofa.” He whispered, looking over his shoulder for eavesdroppers, “It must have slipped out of one of the books you were studying this morning." Soupy gave his best, reassuring wink, just as a gush of wind tipped his over-combed hair.

  "Thank you. But I’m afraid I've given up on that."

  "Ssh! Ena gets uncomfortable about the past and the tree. I’m sorry we haven’t been able to give you the answers you’ve been looking for - but this may be helpful."

  Ellie politely did as she was told and flicked through the pages. A pamphlet titled The Tree of Liberty: a Documentary history of rebellion and political crime opened with a statement typed in bold:

  'Every patriotic Irishman (that is, by hypothesis, almost every Irishman now alive) who would so fain make the dear old country a present of his whole life and self, why does he not, for example - directly after reading this and choosing a feasible spot - at least plant one tree?'

  The article appeared to be something about sacrifice for your country, but Ellie couldn't work out what that had to do with the Liberty Tree in Lusty. After the horror in the confessional box, she was also in no hurry to find out.

  "Thank you Soupy, but could I please ask you to do me one last favour?"

  "Sure." He looked more than willing.

  "Would you keep this and give it back to Father Daly after I leave this afternoon? I really won't need it."

  "Don't you want to give it back to him yourself?"

  "No, I think it would be better if you did."

  Ena returned from the back of the ancient contraption looking all flustered and Soupy, hurriedly, hid the pamphlet under a pile of sacking. Ellie couldn't help but wonder how and where these two met. Ena was as far removed from Rosie as Ellie could imagine. Was Soupy so hurt after his break up with Rosie, that he could only ever find happiness with the exact opposite of his first love?

  Looking flustered, Ena’s heavily-lacquered hair began to give way under the blustery onslaught. The rickety-wheel groaned with the pressure of the new restrains and an immediate unlikely comparison to the Liberty Tree unsettled Ellie.

  "Don't just stand there?" Ena snapped at Soupy.

  He in turn jumped to attention and shielded his wife from the gusting wind with an umbrella, rolling his eyes at Ellie.

  "Hey, Big English Girl, want to buy a raffle ticket?" Paddy was now by Ellie’s side, wafting a book of tickets under her nose, "A pound for one and two pound for two."

  Ever since Ellie had arrived, every encounter with Paddy cheered her up. She so wished she could bottle his exuberance and good-humour and take it home with her.

  "I'm feeling lucky.” She searched for two pound coins in her pocket, “What could I win, Paddy?"

  "A crate of Harp, or a candle – only used once. I tried to get a weekend for two to Paris, but when I phoned the travel agent, she said 'Eurostar?' – I told her that I’d been on telly, but I'm no Jay-Z." He was visibly pleased with his little joke.

  "Very good, Paddy."

  "I only live to make people happy."

  Paddy had a way of always looking bewildered, as if life itself bewildered him. His infectious enthusiasm transferred to everything he did and said.

  "Could I help you with anything, Paddy?” Ellie wanted to make her last few hours in Lusty count for something.

  “Thanks, Ellie. Let me think…The Little Miss Curly Locks competition is over now. Not one of the wee critters had a single curl left on her head. Why don't you go and give poor Conor a hand?” Paddy tore off two raffle tickets and gave them to Ellie, “I don't know what's got into his head, but he's been busy setting up a kid's treasure hunt all morning. Whose eejit idea was that? It’ll come back to me."

  Paddy, suddenly, spotted a potential new customer for his raffle and hurried off, waving the tickets in the air. To Ellie’s left, hidden behind an abandoned tractor, Ellie only now spotted Conor in the far corner of the field. She could make out his bent back as he dug up clumps of dry earth with a spade and buried small, plastic-covered parcels. His sleeves were rolled up and he was wearing Wellington boots.

  On the other side, to her right, Ellie could also see Ronan surrounded by admirers, either wanting to pat his back, or to shake his hand. Fiona, his young female admirer, prowled two steps behind him. He looked slightly bedazzled by the whole experience, but his broad handsome smile never wavered.

  Ellie checked her watch. It was a quarter-to-twelve. How strange that she had been in Lusty for just over twenty-four hours and yet at every turn she met someone she already cared about; some of whom she knew of their past and their secrets and others were still a mystery to her. At that moment, Ellie wasn't sure which bearing she should take next.

  Ellie headed to the far corner of the field and in Conor's direction.

  Chapter 43

  "That looks like hard work. Whose stupid idea was it anyway?" Ellie called out.

  Conor strolled over and threw a spade down at her feet, "Some blow-in who came in like a hurricane and wreaked havoc. Do you like digging, Ellie?"

  The familiar intensity of his gaze made Ellie, instantly, feel unsure of yourself again, "Why not? I've been digging holes for myself ever since I got here."

  Conor laughed. He stretched out his arms and uncurled his long spine. The knees to his trousers were muddied and his fingers and nails were filthy.

  "What's in the bags?" Ellie had spotted a pile of parcels in a wheelbarrow.

  "Rosie made them up for me - a few sweets and stuff. The Down Syndrome Association had already sent us some pens and balloons with their logo on, which I've put in as well. I've buried about twenty bags so far, but I reckon I'm going to need a few more yet." He pulled a face to signify that the digging was far harder than he’d expected.

  Ellie lifted a spade and began to dig into the baked dry earth; fully aware that the task felt like an extension of the stories she'd been trying to dig up, ever since she'd arrived. Conor watched her as he took a break. The soil was sandy and riddled with stones. The only life it appeared capable of sustaining were clumps of coarse grass and the occasional worm, which Ellie only discovered after she’d, accidentally, chopped one in two with the spade and both ends wiggled wildly. She shrieked with horror.

  "What, city girl? It's only a worm."

  Conor now joined Ellie, as he tied up the tiny treasure parcels and then dropped them into the holes that Ellie had created, before covering them back up again with his huge hands. The attraction that she felt for this boy's hands was over-powering. Their size was part of the fascination, but also the delicate and precise way he used them. Conor’s fingers were long and the knuckles plump and when he wiped them across his shirt, Ellie was amazed that he didn't tear shreds into the fine cotton. She so wanted to pull them up towards her and fully explore each crease and contour. As Conor now scooped up the dry earth and patted it flat, Ellie imagined them touching her hair and stroking her face.

  A small queue was now beginning to form, with each child attempting to memorise where the holes were being dug. But the soil was so dry and the parcels so small, that once the holes had been refilled, it was nearly impossible to spot them. Ellie could see Conor staring intently upwards. The clouds were now like grubby curtains being drawn across the fathomless sky. The wind whipped hard against anything that moved.

  “Do you think it’s going to rain?” Asked Ellie, reading Conor’s thoughts.

  "Cromarty, North Utsire,
South Utsire, storm force to gale force rising…rain imminent.” Conor grinned.

  "Hey, Miss, is it cold up there?" A small girl's voice resonated from down at Ellie's feet. The girl was surrounded by her friends.

  The girl had soft cheeks, the texture of apricots, and freckles that formed one seamless mass across her entire nose.

  But before Ellie could reply, the girl had moved on to another more urgent matter, "Hey, Miss, what's that say?" The child pointed to Conor's makeshift sign, crafted out of an old cardboard box and markers.

  "Well, can you spell out the letters?" Ellie asked playfully.

  “T…" The girl replied proudly, before gradually working her way through the letters, "R…E…A…" But she was running out of steam and sensing the bored frustration of her mates around her, she concluded with a flourishing, "…U, Q, Four."

  "Four is a number. It’s for counting." Ellie calmly corrected the child, "Letters are for writing words."

  "So, what is O?"

  "O is both a number and a letter." Conor stepped in, "It's a funny one."

  The girl beamed from freckle to freckle, "Like, tomato - that's funny. It's a vegetable and a fruit."

  "Exactly." Ellie applauded the little girl’s wisdom.

  The youngster was bursting with pride, "And do you know what else I know that's funny?"

  "What?" Conor and Ellie asked together.

  "A fella called William Tell shot an arrow through an apple whilst standing on his son's head."

  Conor and Ellie laughed. Now that he was beside her, Ellie could smell the earth on Conor’s clothes and a pleasing fresh scent of outdoor labour. She wondered what Bernard would have made of his son had he still been alive; the rogue philanderer, whose one and only son was into house restoration and liked organising kids' treasure hunts. Conor didn’t appear to be a chip off the old block; not even a splinter.

  "Okay, who's first?" Conor held out a washed, empty margarine container for the fifty-pence pieces and began herding the children onto the field, three at a time.