‘Go on,’ I said.
‘Well, it’s the scrubland. Over yonder. At the back of the school.’
‘You mean the Copse?’
He nodded. ‘Is that what you call it? I call it the waste ground, the patch of trees. Whatever it’s called. It is the answer to our little problemmo re financing.’
I quickly translated for the sake of Sister Kennedy who had been rootling around in her bag for her glasses. ‘Mr Crowley thinks he might be able to help us with the plan to buy computers,’ I explained.
‘God willing,’ she said, smiling back at him, putting her large spectacles on her face and pulling back as though startled by him in close up.
‘Ah, but Sister Kennedy,’ he said. ‘It’s not God that’s going to solve this problem but me, with your blessing. Anyway, I’ve had the thinking cap on, the old brain box in gear. We can’t produce rabbits out of hats, we’ve got to be creative, think outside of our boxes, throw potatoes in the air.’
‘Try something new,’ I translated.
‘God will advise,’ said Sister Kennedy confidently. ‘He always knows exactly what to do.’
‘We will ask Him most certainly,’ assured Brian, ‘but first we must come up with a plan and then we will see if God will bless it. We are, after all, talking about a pointless, meaningless piece of land. Something that has no use. But could have real and long-lasting value and change the lives of the youngsters. We need to find a fella, someone who will take it off our hands. Now, I don’t know if such a person exists. We need a charitable sort of person, someone who would do it not for his own gain but for that of the school.’
Sister Kennedy, Noleen and Brendan nodded enthusiastically. Beside me, Mary paused from taking the minutes, shuffled uncomfortably.
‘Now doesn’t that sound like a lovely plan?’ said Sister Kennedy. ‘The kindness of strangers is a beautiful notion. Reminds me of the Good Samaritan. Are you suggesting Mr Crowley that you have found a Good Samaritan, someone who will be able to provide our children with computers?’
Brian made deep and meaningful eye contact with her. ‘I’m going to try,’ he said, in a quiet, intense voice. ‘I don’t know if I’ll succeed. But it’s a good plan, I think. If I may be so immodest, it’s even a great one…’
‘Then I’ll pray for you,’ she said. ‘And you’ll do it, I know you will.’ She looked at us around room. ‘We’ll all pray for you. We’ll pray that this Good Samaritan turns up. Won’t we?’ She eyeballed us beadily and urgently. ‘Won’t we?’
‘Yes, Sister Kennedy,’ we all said.
Brian promised us all he would do his best, for the good of the school, for the good of our children. He would do it for Ireland, for our proud benighted nation. He would do it for love. By the time he finished, Sister Kennedy, Noleen and Brendan were moist around the eyes, swept up by his words. Mary rolled her eyes at me.
‘Protocol states that any proposals regarding anything that would affect the school must first be approved by the board,’ I said, ‘but that the current principal of the school has the final say. So, Brian, it’s an interesting proposal but the ultimate blessing must come from me.’
‘Indeed it does,’ said Sister Kennedy. ‘But God moves in mysterious ways. I find that when one asks Him for guidance He bestows wisdom on those who must make the decision.’
‘Most mysteriously,’ said Brian, nodding with the humility and wisdom of a living saint. ‘I ask God for His guidance when I am making all my decisions. And He never fails to show me the way. Just this morning, I was ordering a breakfast roll in the Spar, two rashers, and two sausages, my usual. I asked God, if that was the right choice. And He answered me. Today, He guided me to ask for black pudding as well. And I must say, it was a revelation.’ He winked at me.
Noleen smiled slightly uncertainly. Brendan looked utterly confused. Only Sister Kennedy smiled. ‘That’s exactly right, Brian,’ she said. ‘God is everywhere, even at the hot food counter of Spar.’
*
Mary Hooley, my school secretary, was a beacon of good-sense and intelligence. And although I sensed that she wasn’t sure about Brian’s Great Idea, I was determined that I could talk her round. After all, it would mean a break from raffles and bring and buys and bric a brac stalls. Our great economic leap forward.
‘Morning, Mary!’ I said. ‘How are we doing? Are we millionaires yet?’
Mary was counting the takings from the sponsored readathon from the previous week. ‘Morning, Tabitha,’ she said, eyes on the change. ‘We’re up on last year. So that’s good news.’
‘Have we broken the €100 yet?’
‘Not yet, but look there’s another ice cream tub of coppers to go.’ She gave it a good shake, the sound of no more than a fiver’s worth of coins.
‘We’ll get there, Mary,’ I said. ‘One day we’ll have enough to fix the roof, resurface the playground and invest in some technology. If we… if we give Brian’s idea a go.’
‘Hmmm.’ Mary was the cousin of Lucy, Michael’s political perk. Ireland being a small place where everyone is separated by a mere three or four degrees.
‘I’m starting the think that this could be the best thing for the school, Mary,’ I said. ‘People are selling bits of land all over the place; for house building in gardens or development in other ways. We would just make sure it was unobtrusive… anyway,’ I went on, talking despite her obvious lack of enthusiasm for the proposal. ‘I’ve had another phone call from Brian Crowley. He’s found someone who’ll give us the money for the Copse.’
‘Has he now?’ Mary’s eyebrows were raised to her hairline. ‘Dress a goat in silk and he’s still a goat.’
‘What?’ I laughed.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘It’s just that he is very fond of his own voice and he’s all cufflinks and a hard handshake. And he takes up a lot of space. More than he needs. He really likes to spread out.’
I laughed again. ‘But that doesn’t mean it’s not a good plan.’
She nodded. ‘It’s the man-spreading and the arm waving. I like people who take up the right amount of the world. Not more than their fair share. And he speaks far louder than he needs to, like what he is saying is so important that it needs to be said at a higher volume.’
‘Tedious,’ I agreed. Living with Michael, I had a thicker skin when it came to the overly-confident male. And anyway, I was blinded by the money and all we could achieve. And not for the first time did I banish thoughts of my socialist mother from my mind. Sometimes we all had to welcome our inner capitalist. For the greater good, I kept repeating. For the greater good.
‘My mother,’ said Mary, ‘always said don’t trust men who fancy themselves more than you.’
‘Good advice. I’ll remember it.’
‘Or women, in my case,’ she smiled. ‘But I know what she was trying to say.’
‘Just think of the money. New chairs for the Sixth class girls, instead of the rickety ones they have. A new surface for the playground, books for the library, whiteboards for every classroom, fix the front gate...’ What else? ‘And a disco for the kids. We haven’t had an end-of-year party for them in five years… that would be nice… And… well, there’s just so much we could do.’
‘If you think it’s a good idea, Tabitha. But I don’t mind all the sponsoring, the cake sales…’
‘But there’s only so many cake sales we can hold. At this rate, we’re going to turn the entire population of Dalkey diabetic.’
She shrugged and went back to her counting.
‘Tea?’ I said.
‘Oh yes, please, Tabitha,’ she said. ‘If only to soak up the biscuits I’ve brought in.’
‘Pass me your mug,’ I said. ‘And I’ll go and give it a wash.’
As I took it from her, I knocked a pile of books off her desk and, scrambling to put them back, I picked up Chinese for Beginners: Mastering Conversational Mandarin.
‘Chinese, eh, Mary?’ I said, teasing her. ‘Your next exotic holiday destination? Or p
erhaps a job in international finance…’
Her face froze as she tried to smile. ‘I don’t think counting these coppers will get me a high-flying job,’ she said, quickly slipping the book into her handbag. ‘And I am quite happy with my annual trip to Florence to visit the galleries.’
‘So, Brian’s found his Good Samaritan, eh?’ said Mary. ‘And what will this Good Samaritan do with the land?’
‘A house? A community centre?’ I said hopefully. ‘Whatever it is, we’ll make sure that it’s something positive. Not a casino or a strip club or a…’
‘Oh, Tabitha!’ she said suddenly, looking up. ‘I’m forgetting everything lately. We’ve had a letter. From the Department. Staffing issue solved. They are sending a new teacher next week. Richmond somebody. Funny name.’
The letter had been tucked behind her telephone and she passed it to me and I scanned the words on the letter. We are pleased to inform you, et cetera, that Redmond Power will be available to join Star of The Sea National School, he comes very highly recommended…
‘It’s Redmond,’ I said, finding my voice. ‘Not Richmond.’ He was back. Red was back. ‘He’s just Red, though. No one calls him Redmond.’ Like a ghost from my past, he had returned and I’d been haunted by what I’d done, ever shaking off my shame and I still felt an excruciating gnawing of guilt inside which always surprised me how strong it still was.
She turned around. ‘You know him?’
‘Yes. Not for years though. He went to America. San Francisco.’
‘And where did he get the name from?’
‘John Redmond. The Nationalist hero. His family was pretty political.’
‘He’s come home, so,’ said Mary.
I nodded, eyes slightly blurry with shock and tried to focus on the words. He will join the school until the end of the school year and dependent on performance and your feedback, a longer term of employment can be decided upon… we are, however, sure that Mr Power will be a good fit for Star of the Sea…
He sounds just what we are looking for,’ Mary called over from the kettle area.
Perhaps there was another Redmond Power? I sat heavily onto the edge of the desk. But another Redmond Power, a teacher? Unlikely. It was Red, it had to be. Back in Ireland after… what was it? After eighteen years. A lifetime. The letter was still in my slightly trembling hands. I bent my head over it, as though I was reading it, studying it intelligently, but inside I was all over the place, excitement, terror, elation and fear jostled for prominence.
‘You can’t throw a cat in this country without it landing on some fella you know. We’re like toast crumbs, us Irish. We get everywhere. He sounds just the ticket. Fig roll?’ Mary placed a mug of tea on the desk in front of me. ‘I think today is a three-biscuit kind of day.’
‘Does he know it’s me?’ I said. ‘Does he know the name of the school principal here?’
‘We can presume so… the department would have given him all the information.’ Mary looked at me, puzzled, studying my reaction. ‘Nice is he?’
I was being ridiculous. Yes it was a shock but it was such a long time ago, us, the whole thing. We’d both moved on. He was probably married, an array of children. And obviously I had Michael. I’d just have to get on with it.
Redmond Power was real, he existed. Not just a figment of my imagination, he was alive. The love of my life. Memories flashed into my mind, and I could see him again. I thought I’d forgotten everything, but it was all still there. I had remembered everything.
‘Yes, he was nice. The nicest.’
Before
The night before he left for San Francisco, Red was waiting for me on the steps of the bandstand on Dun Laoghaire pier. For a moment, I stood, watching him, as he looked out to sea, deep in thought. Muscular and tanned, his dark black hair cut short, his thick eyebrows, his beautiful brown eyes. I didn’t want the world to keep turning, I just wanted to stay like this forever, looking at Redmond Power, with this glorious feeling inside me, my world in blossom. And then he looked up and saw me, his face breaking into the happiest of smiles and the two of us just grinned at each other, and then I began to run towards him, knowing the next thing I would know would be the feel of his chest, the pull of his arms and the sound of his voice. His arms pulling me into him, his kisses. ‘I love you,’ he would say. ‘I love you, Tabitha Thomas.’
Chapter Three
Behind Mary was the shape of a man coming into focus. ‘Mr Power to see you, Tabitha.’ Green cotton jacket, smart jeans. I’d read his CV that the department had sent over as though it held secrets or a code to something and then after all these years of not knowing anything and there it was, in black and white, jobs, experiences, volunteering, interests. A whole life. He’d put down Irish poetry and drama and climbing as his interests. The latter must have been a Californian thing. He mentioned some places I’d only half heard of – Yosemite, Sequoia and Joshua Tree. But climbing? I’d tried to imagine this new Red, this climbing Californian Red.
Over the years, it had become increasingly difficult to remember anything, even the colour of his eyes, the shape of his face or his height. But now here he was. Indisputably, unmistakeably Red. I would have recognised him anywhere. Hair greyer, but face the same, though more tanned, slightly lined, but the look in his eyes, the shape of the mouth, his ears! - hadn’t changed. More handsome, if that was possible. Being older suited him.
‘Hello Tab.’
He was taking me in as much as I was absorbing him, as though we were looking for clues to see what was left of each of us, the selves we had left behind.
His accent a little changed by all those years in America, but the way he said my name. Tab. The way he lingered on the ‘a’, resting on the ‘b’. No one else said it like that, they rushed through it.
And more than anything, I found I wanted to touch him, to make sure he was real, if his arms felt as strong as they used to... And to hear him say my name again. Tab. In my ear. Just for me. Tab.
‘Red, great to see you!’ I held out my hand, smiling broadly. ‘So, you’re back…’
He shook my hand, briefly. ‘Actually I’ve been back for six months now,’ he said, sounding as nervous as me, which was almost a relief, that he wasn’t totally immune to the past, that I wasn’t nothing.
‘Dad… my father’s been ill so I came home and… well, decided to stay on for a while.’
His father had practically adopted me as a long-lost daughter ‘Christy? How is he?’
‘A stroke. He was trying to pretend that he was grand that I needn’t come home. He’s recovering though. Hobbling around, still doing too much. Organising meetings, shouting at the news, writing his poetry. His usual vices.’ And then he smiled at me for the first time. ‘On the mend, in other words. I’ve been bringing him for walks down the pier. Well, shuffles along the pier. Takes us an hour just to get to the bandstand.’
For a moment our eyes locked. We used to meet at the bandstand and then walk along the pier, arms wrapped around each other, deep happiness passing back and forth, only needing the other to ignite and spark. He looked away.
‘That’s good to hear, that he’s on the mend.’
‘If he stops giving out to the television, it’ll do him and his heart the world of good.’
‘Just keep him away from politics,’ I said. ‘Let him watch Home And Away…’ I paused. ‘Is that still on?’
Red smiled. ‘I have no idea. It should be, that’s all I will say.’
‘It’s probably gone. Like all my old favourites… Dynasty, Dallas, Dukes of Hazard…’ We had immediately fallen back into the way we used to talk to each other. The one thing I had forgotten entirely. We never used to shut up.
‘Anything not beginning with D?’
‘Falcon Crest?’
He laughed. ‘You were never a soap addict.’
‘Well, maybe Christy and I should get together and become one. Save both of us.’
He was looking at me, curiously. Was he as surpr
ised as I was? I had imagined far more awkwardness, unresolved anger.
‘Would you like to sit down and we… we can go through things?’ In a moment, I had changed the mood to polite formality again. Red pulled out the chair in front of my desk, hands folded on his lap. No ring, I noticed. Not that it was any of my business. And yet… and yet.
‘The department have already interviewed you,’ I said. ‘So, we don’t need to go through your CV…’
‘Ten years teaching in elementary school in the US,’ he said. ‘Drama and English. Once I got my papers, that is. Before then, it was a few years of bar work. There were the obligatory painting and decorating years.’ He smiled at me. ‘Most of us Irish have those. And the year spent cooking in an Irish bar. Definitely put me off fried breakfasts.’
‘What kind of school did you teach in?’ I wanted to know everything. Where did he live, did he like it there, was he ever homesick, had Ireland changed much… had he ever thought of us?
‘It was in East Bay,’ he said. ‘Amazing school. I learned more from the pupils than I think I ever taught them.’
‘Like what?’
‘Life lessons really,’ he said. ‘About how education is more than just learning, it’s about arming yourself for the battle you are going to face when you have no one rooting for you. Nothing we were taught in teaching college.’
‘And I thought it was just all about getting the children to be quiet.’
He smiled. ‘I learned just how selfless and devoted and determined some mothers are to make sure their kids get to school every single day,’ he went on, energised. ‘I learned that I had no idea about the world, that living in Ireland had not equipped me for what life is like for all those who scrape by, who are treated as though they don’t matter.’ He blushed, a little, embarrassed by his enthusiasm.
Together Forever Page 3