An Ocean Between Us

by Rachel Quinn

  ‘Tis himself,’ Kevan said as Niall shut the door behind him.

  ‘Certainly is.’

  ‘Grand.’ Kevan lowered his voice. ‘There’s something I need to ask you.’

  Niall smiled as he leaned back on the doorframe and gazed into space. ‘Whether I had a nice walk along the strand with the sweetest girl in County Wicklow?’

  ‘Ah, no, Niall. Please don’t tell me you’re seeing the girl from the dance?’

  ‘Do I detect a spot of jealousy?’ Niall said. ‘Jealous of me being a bachelor and yourself being . . .’ He noticed Kevan’s worried expression and his grin cracked. ‘What?’ he said. ‘What is it?’

  Kevan’s boots clumped over the wooden floorboards. He opened the door and ushered Niall out first. ‘C’mon,’ he said as they both stepped out. ‘Let’s take a walk.’

  Kevan headed for the recreation ground and Niall followed.

  ‘This is hard for me, Niall. I’ve been volunteered by Jimmy and Dermot to talk to you.’

  Chapter 4

  Mr Sweeney nodded, as though weighing up a matter of life and death, then took a moment to warm his hands above the glowing peat fire.

  ‘A soldier, y’say?’

  ‘Stationed somewhere in County Kildare,’ Briana replied.

  ‘Ah, yes. They have the barracks there, sure they do. But . . . you don’t think Aileen’s a little too young to be courting?’

  ‘She’s eighteen, Daddy.’

  ‘But she’s a daft eighteen sometimes.’

  ‘Ah, no. She’s bold beyond her years, knows her own mind.’

  ‘There’s that, all right. Aileen will be Aileen.’ He pointed his thumb at her. ‘And tell me, what do you think of this fella?’

  ‘He seems a grand sort.’

  ‘And Aileen likes him, does she?’

  ‘Oh, she does. They make a right pair, the two of them, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Because that’s important to me.’ He shifted in his seat. ‘I don’t want to see my own daughter getting let down by a man.’

  ‘I don’t think he’s that sort, Daddy. He seems very nice.’

  ‘You can never tell. But if he’s a soldier . . . mmm, he’ll be earning a steady shilling if nothing else. And he’d have to be fit and healthy to be a soldier. Does he look fit and healthy?’

  ‘Sure, he’s not what you’d call a tall man, but he has broad shoulders and he’s fierce strong with it.’

  ‘Good.’ Her father sighed, as if that was his final word.

  ‘So, you’ll be happy to meet him?’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Will you be here tomorrow evening?’

  ‘Ah, well . . . mmm.’

  ‘What?’

  He gazed into the fire and paused for thought. ‘Tis fine, so it is. I was going to see a farmer about swapping a couple of our chickens for a leg of pork, but a man wanting to be courting my youngest daughter is more important. Never let it be said that I don’t care about my own daughter’s future.’ He looked up at Briana and took a moment to draw breath. ‘And what about yourself, Briana? You’re almost twenty-one now and not yet married.’

  ‘Ah, I have enough time yet, Daddy.’ She let out a nervous giggle. ‘I’m busy looking after Aileen first. After that I can be searching for a husband of my own.’

  ‘As long as he’s better than the last two fellas you picked.’

  Briana forced a smile she knew to be crooked. ‘Anyway, shall I be asking Mammy to lay an extra place for tomorrow’s tea?’

  ‘Aye, you should do that. We might even have one of the chickens.’

  ‘Thank you, Daddy. I’ll . . . I’ll just go and tell Aileen.’

  But she had no need: Aileen was waiting just inside the bedroom listening to every word, hoping and praying that Daddy would agree to have Niall round for tea.

  When Briana went in, Aileen gave her an open-mouthed grin and started doing an impromptu jig on the spot.

  Briana had to smile. ‘Ye daft article, ye.’

  The next evening, the table was covered with a cloth, the cutlery was a little more neatly laid out than usual, and the butter was fresh from Cready’s that day rather than the suspiciously yellow substance that they were all used to. It was clearly a special occasion, and by the look in their eyes, Aileen’s brothers were anticipating a bigger and better meal than usual.

  All the men had their hair combed flat, the women wore their second-best dresses, and little Frank had even washed his hands – an event as rare as hens’ teeth, Mammy had said, after which Frank said she should know about that as she’d only that afternoon wrung the neck of one, gutted and plucked it. By now she’d roasted the creature and wasn’t too far away from serving it up with a big pot of carrots and two huge pots of potatoes.

  Daddy, Fergus and Gerard were sitting at the dinner table playing cards, something which spoiled the atmosphere according to Mammy, but when the knock on the door came they hurriedly gathered the cards up and put them away.

  Mammy, Briana and Aileen exchanged expectant glances. Everyone knew whose duty it was to let guests into the cottage, and Mammy took off her apron and patted her hair as she stepped over and reached for the handle, letting out a barely audible cough as she opened the door.

  And Niall was there, uniform and all, neat hair and all, clean face and all. Best of all, a bunch of lilies and roses sprouted from his fist. He’d obviously made a big effort, and Aileen could feel her excitement fit to burst out of her body, only just managing to keep control. Niall was also still, having the good sense to wait until he was asked before entering the cottage, although he took his cap off in expectation.

  ‘These are for you, Mrs Sweeney,’ he said. ‘Well, for the house, I suppose.’

  ‘Ah, they’re beautiful, so they are. Lovely colours.’ She turned to show them to her husband, who nodded and said, ‘Grand.’

  A few minutes later, after Niall had shaken everyone’s hand, he sat down with Aileen’s father at the table.

  ‘Tis grand to meet you, Mr O’Rourke. I’ve heard a lot about you.’

  ‘I hope it hasn’t put you off,’ Niall replied. ‘And please, call me Niall. I’m quite an average man, and I’m only wanting your permission to court your daughter.’

  ‘Average?’

  ‘I mean, I haven’t got wealth or anything. But I’m a hard worker and I have high hopes.’

  Mr Sweeney nodded, then leaned forward to listen better. ‘Tell me more about your background, son.’

  And while Mammy looked after the food, the world stopped turning for the rest of them as they listened to the soldier man talking to the head of the house. A smile to all of them signified Niall had finished his speech.

  ‘You must earn a shilling or two from the army?’ Mr Sweeney said, then quickly held a hand up as if to take back the question. ‘No, tisn’t my intention to pry, but tis a secure job with decent money, I’d be guessing.’

  Niall nodded. ‘It’s enough.’

  ‘And tell me, do you save or spend, generally?’

  ‘Well, ah . . .’ Niall struggled to continue. ‘Y’see, I send most of it back to my ma, my da being . . .’

  ‘In the war. So I heard. Twas a terrible thing, that war to kick the Brits out of here. I remember it well.’

  ‘Ah, no.’ Niall smiled awkwardly. ‘Twas the Great War, toward the end of it. 1918.’

  ‘Ah, well . . . I see.’ Daddy looked down and nodded a few times. ‘I suppose a soldier is a soldier – we were all the same country back in them days whether we like it or not. And it must have been a terrible time for your ma.’

  ‘Oh, she still talks about it, all right – the day she got the news.’

  ‘And how is she keeping now?’

  ‘She’s grand, thank you for asking, Mr Sweeney.’

  There was more talk of what Niall had done in the army – which seemed to be very little – before they were interrupted by Mammy serving up the tea. The two oldest boys got a leg each, Niall, Aileen, Briana and Fra
nk shared the breast, and the parents settled for a wing each. On each plate, however, the piece of chicken was lost among a large pile of boiled carrots and a mountain range of half-mashed boiled potatoes with a river of molten butter running through it.

  They all closed their eyes and said grace, after which the glasses were filled with water and the gravy boat was passed around.

  Aileen, seated across the table from Niall, caught his eye and nodded madly at him. He looked to Briana for advice and she nodded just as vigorously.

  They started eating, but Niall paused, cutlery in hand. ‘So, Mr Sweeney, how would you feel about me courting Aileen?’

  Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at the head of the house.

  Mr Sweeney took a long pause before pronouncing, ‘Ah, twill be grand by me, son.’

  Briana bowed her head, trying to hide a self-satisfied smile. Aileen and Niall stared at each other for a few seconds, until Aileen dared a quick grin, unseen by the others. Niall smiled back and everyone carried on eating.

  ‘So, Mr Sweeney,’ Niall said. ‘What is it do you do for a living?’

  ‘Oh, I just do a bit of helping out.’

  Niall nodded, waiting for more, but it didn’t come. ‘Helping out?’ he said. ‘What exactly . . . ah . . .’

  For a moment, knives stopped cutting and jaws stopping chewing. All eyes were on Niall.

  ‘Aach, it doesn’t matter,’ he quickly added. ‘Sure, as long as it pays the bills.’

  ‘There’s no shame in not having a trade.’

  ‘Ah, now I wasn’t suggesting otherwise, Mr Sweeney.’

  ‘Of course you weren’t. And we manage. A little labouring, a few errands here and there. We grow a lot of our own vegetables and keep chickens. We manage.’

  ‘Tis a lovely cottage you have here,’ Niall said, which earned another approving grin from Aileen.

  Toward the end of the meal, as the plates became empty and the stomachs full, Mr Sweeney placed down his knife and fork and turned to Niall. ‘So, what do you think of that there trouble going on beyond?’ he said.

  Niall took a moment to hurriedly finish his last mouthful before saying, ‘You mean, the war?’

  Mr Sweeney nodded. ‘The thing they have with Germany.’

  ‘Ah, tis very worrying, all right. But they say the tide is turning. The Germans and Italians have been pushed out of North Africa. They say Italy’s likely to fall before the end of the year.’

  ‘I can’t say I follow it in too much detail, but tell me—’ Mr Sweeney lowered his voice. ‘—is there any truth in the rumours?’

  ‘Rumours?’

  ‘I thought you might know, you being with the army and all that.’

  Niall didn’t speak, but glanced around the table for help, which was not forthcoming. ‘I’m . . . I’m sorry,’ he eventually said. ‘I don’t know what you mean, Mr Sweeney.’

  ‘You can tell us, son. The rumours that the Irish Army are taking precautions to defend our country.’

  ‘You mean, in case the Germans invade?’

  Mr Sweeney laughed. ‘Not at all. In case the British invade. Sure, they’d say it was strategic, like, to stop us siding with the Germans.’

  Niall hesitated, shrugging awkwardly. ‘Ah, I’m sure we wouldn’t be wanting to do that – siding with the Germans.’

  ‘And why not? Why not if it would save us from the unholy Brits?’

  This time there was a longer pause, and it was left for Mrs Sweeney to break the silence. ‘Could we talk about something else?’ she said. ‘I’m sure Niall doesn’t really want to be grilled about them there political things, do you, son?’

  Niall smiled, but it was a stiff smile. ‘I’m just a soldier, I don’t know too much about the politics, but I know they’re . . . complicated.’

  ‘What do you think of Leetown?’ Mrs Sweeney said. ‘Tis grand, is it not?’

  ‘Ah, tis a lovely little place,’ Niall said, the words now coming more freely. ‘The long strand, the river, the fields. Some nice views all round, so there are.’ He looked around the table, his eyes settling on Fergus and Gerard. ‘Tell me, do you lads do much fishing?’

  And so the talk turned to daily habits, how well-built the wooden bridge was, how many animals people kept out in their backyards, how unreliable the trains were of late, the whereabouts of the older Sweeney children, and how Cready’s had started selling some peculiar things of late since that modern thing called ‘the electric’ had been installed, such as ice cream. Mr Sweeney became a little subdued, obviously preferring to talk politics, but the rest of them were happier discussing the history, residents and weather of Leetown – especially those mists that rolled in from the Irish Sea like platoons of silent ghosts – before conversation turned back to Niall’s hopes and fears for the future.

  As for hopes, he told them he didn’t have much in the way of ambition, only to have paid work for as long as possible, to care for his ma, and one day – and there he stole a glance at Aileen – to settle down.

  Aileen noted that if there were any fears he kept them to himself, which she took as a good sign, and the conversation thinned to a healthy silence while they waited for young Frank to finish eating.

  ‘Thank you very much, Mrs Sweeney,’ Niall said as she started clearing the table. ‘That was delicious.’

  ‘You’ll not get spuds much better than Ma’s,’ Fergus said.

  ‘I can well believe that,’ Niall replied. Then he noticed young Frank staring at him. He smiled back.

  ‘How did your da die?’ Frank asked.

  ‘Frank!’ his mother said. ‘Sure, don’t you know that’s a rude question.’

  ‘Sorry, Ma.’ Frank bowed his head a little.

  ‘He’s already told you,’ she added. ‘He died in the Great War.’

  ‘No,’ he moaned. ‘I mean, how – what happened to him?’

  ‘Ah, Frank. Won’t ye just stop it now.’

  ‘Tis grand,’ Niall said, his head bobbing between them like an unwilling referee. ‘I don’t mind talking about it. Twas a long time ago, sure twas.’

  ‘Well . . .’ She scowled at Frank. ‘Don’t feel obliged to.’

  ‘No, really. Twas one of the last campaigns, which only made it worse for Ma. He’d only just been home on weekend leave before going to the front, and told Ma the word was that the Germans were on the back foot, that they didn’t have much fight left in them. He went out to fight near a place called Amiens in northern France. The Allies were advancing, the Germans were retreating. It all seemed easy. But the Germans, y’see, they laid booby-traps as they left.’

  ‘What’s a booby-trap?’ Frank said.

  Niall turned a little red. Aileen glared at her mother.

  ‘That’s enough, Frank,’ Mrs Sweeney said. ‘We know enough, we don’t need the nasty details.’ She stood up and patted Niall on the shoulder. ‘Niall,’ she said softly, ‘would you be liking some apple and blackberry pie?’

  ‘Apple pie?’ Fergus blurted out from down the table. ‘We’re having apple and blackberry pie? Jesus.’

  She stepped across to him and gave him a crack across the back of the head with the palm of her hand. ‘I’ll thank you not to speak like that at the dinner table in front of a guest.’

  Fergus flinched, then rubbed his head as he pulled himself back up straight. She gave him another crack – even harder this time – before reaching for the last plates.

  ‘Ow!’

  ‘Sure, now I think of it, you’re not to use that word in vain at all. Now, behave yourself. We have company.’

  The apple pie was served, the three boys shovelling it into their mouths as if it were a winner-takes-all race.

  ‘So, Niall, son,’ Mr Sweeney said, ‘where are you going to be taking my daughter?’

  ‘I was thinking of the cinema up in Dublin.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘You know, that there picture house thing.’

  ‘With the movies – the moving picture things?�
��

  ‘Aye, or perhaps a show. It all depends when I can get the leave.’

  ‘Ah, grand.’ Mr Sweeney peered down the table. ‘Have you been to a show before, Aileen?’

  ‘I have not.’

  ‘I didn’t think so.’

  Aileen got up from her seat, put her arms around her father and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Thank you, Daddy,’ she said.

  ‘An apple-and-custard-flavoured kiss? Just what I need.’ He laughed and said, ‘Aileen will be Aileen.’

  Chapter 5

  Long Island, New York City, 1995

  Aileen peeks behind the curtain of the living room again. This time she rushes into the hallway to get her coat.

  ‘Cab’s here!’ she hollers just before she opens the front door.

  ‘Arturo’s?’ the man in the woolly hat says.

  ‘You know it?’

  ‘Kinda my job, lady. Italian, just off West Forty-fifth.’

  She nods and steps outside, buttoning her thick coat up against the wind. She turns and stares at the open door, her eyes searching for him. Seconds later he appears, slips his coat on, and soon the two of them are in the back of the cab.

  He leans forward, his head inches from the driver’s ear, and is about to speak.

  ‘He knows where he’s going,’ Aileen says.

  ‘Oh, right.’ He smiles and sits back.

  They both do nothing more than gaze out of the window, until the Long Island Expressway approaches Queens, and the scene is flecked with a fog of tiny snowdrops.

  ‘Why did we do it in winter?’ Aileen asks, as much to herself as anyone.

  ‘Do what?’ he asks back.

  ‘Get married. We should have waited until summer. If I’d realized we were going to spend the next fifty years celebrating our anniversary when there’s snow on the ground or cold, hard rain lashing down I’d have insisted on getting married in June or July.’

  He shows her a crooked smile. ‘Forty-nine, actually. And as I recall, you seemed to be in a rush at the time.’

  ‘Aah,’ she says, fluttering her eyelashes at him, ‘he remembers.’

  ‘Just about. That was a lot of years ago.’

  ‘Well, I prefer to count the passing of time in terms of children. I like to think we got married four children and seven grandchildren ago. Makes me feel not so old.’