The paint cost a small fortune, what with brushes, rollers, paint cleaners, and sandpaper. But Snow took the bite out of the bill by informing me that we’d save a lot by doing the work ourselves. When I countered that it would take all summer, she pooh-poohed the notion, demanding to know how long I thought it’d take with half a dozen brush wielders.
“Which half dozen?” I asked, but knew the answer, because Snow invariably operated on the Tom Sawyer principle. A born executive, my daughter.
“Never mind, Mommy, the task is well in hand.”
“That’s why the sweet talk and all the hamburgers?”
She gave me a tolerant look and then smiled in her sweetest fashion. “That’s how to manage a queendom. Only, Irene was her own prime minister and I just appointed myself yours. She recruited a labor force when necessary. Why not you?”
“Oh?”
“Yes, oh.” Snow gave an admiring sort of snort. “She might have been philanthropic, but she was smart too. D’ya know that Ann Purdee qualifies as a lady tailor? She whipped up Irene’s clothes. We know that Kieron is a first-rate carpenter. Mary Cuniff is a bookkeeper, she only cashiers because the hours are better while Molly is young, and old Mrs. Slaney was chief cook and bottle washer until she got so crippled with arthritis. Oh, Aunt Irene had her queendom, but her courtiers were carefully selected.”
“What about Sally Hanahoe?”
“Typist, but she has better hours as a supermarket clerk.”
So our next stop was Sally’s supermarket, where I wished she could have got a commission on the tremendous total we ran up. After that large outlay of cash, a visit to the bank was necessary, to cash more travelers’ checks. The bank manager was so charming and helpful (he’d known my great-aunt, of course) that I ended up opening an account—much more sensible than carrying around large amounts of cash.
As we drove back to the house, Snow let out a satisfied sigh. “Now tomorrow we should turn this heap in. It’s costing us a fortune.”
“Not as much as all this paint.”
“Paint’s an investment, Mommy, and the Mercedes runs, so why waste money running this?”
A very good point.
“But we have to tax the car and transfer your insurance. I don’t think the American policy is good here.”
“How do you know so much?” I asked my daughter.
“Oh, I asked Nevil and Mark. Your best bet for insurance is—”
“Snow?”
“Yes, Mommy?”
“Are you managing your mother?”
She gave me her most charming smile. “Me? Whatever gave you that idea?”
“You!”
The phone was ringing as we entered the house, so I couldn’t continue the argument.
“Mrs. Teasey, Michael Noonan here. Would it be inconvenient for me to stop by with some papers that require your signature?”
“Not more bad news?”
“More?” There was, thank goodness, a ripple of laughter in his voice, so his tidings couldn’t be all that devastating. “I don’t think so. Would half seven be too late … or too early?”
“No, no. You do know where I am?”
Again that ripple of amusement. “I’ll see you then, so.”
Snow was carrying in all the paint gear, muttering under her breath about Simon never being around when you needed him, the rain, and how heavy paint was. The next thing I knew, she was all set to start work immediately in the dining room.
“Not to worry, Mommy.” How quickly my daughter got acclimated in language differences. “All the paint’s latex, and there’s no smell. Says so on the label.”
“We have to strip the wallpaper off first …” I hadn’t the words out of my mouth before Snow had seized a loose edge and zip, a whole panel came flying off in her hand.
“No problem at all.”
If one is going to undertake a major task like painting a large room, there are certain preliminary steps that the careful workman takes: covering furniture, moving it away from the wall, putting cloths down to protect the carpeting. We did none of those things, but somehow or other, three and a half hours later, we had a Wedgwood-green dining room, with ceiling in matching color, most of the easier-to-reach trim had been done, and we had got the groceries put away, too.
“There! Now doesn’t that make you feel better, Mommy?”
“I’m not so sure about ivory draperies, though …”
“Hey, Mom!” Simon returning from any absence manages to inquire after me in the roar of a bull calf, a summons guaranteed to pierce the unwary eardrum. “What have you gals been up to—Like, hey! Wow!” He whistled admiringly, absently giving me his customary hug and kiss. “You didn’t waste much time, did you, Snow? Why didn’t you wait for me? And that trim’s not done.”
“We left something for you, dearest brother of them all,” she said, rubbing green paint into her nose. “I’m starving of the hunger.”
I was too, and we had just finished when the doorbell wheezed.
“You could fix that if you felt constructive,” Snow told Simon as I made for the front door.
Mr. Noonan, looking far too clean and dapper, smiled at me expectantly.
“I forgot all about you!” Not the most tactful remark to make, however honest, and I groaned. (Destroy the Image!)
He laughed and told me not to worry and what had we painted and could he see, and Snow took over while I washed paint off my arms so I wouldn’t Wedgwood-green important documents. I returned to find that she had initiated an inquiry about the Mercedes, and Michael Noonan confirmed that I could apply for insurance.
“Now, as to these.” He rustled papers and eyed my daughter in such a way that she took quick steps in another direction. “This is for the Trust Fund, now standing at five thousand four hundred thirty-two point thirty-four pounds. The estimated death duties are four thousand two hundred thirty pounds, give or take the odd pound and pence. As soon as probate is accomplished, you will have these funds unfrozen,” and he passed me statements from the same bank I had dealt with that morning, one for a savings account, the other for the checking: a total of another nine hundred forty-five point sixty pounds.
“I can’t use that until after probate?”
“That’s right, but you can use the trust fund.”
“And all the just debts are paid?”
He slipped another sheet in front of me. “These small accounts were settled, and of course your aunt had paid for her funeral before the event.”
“Pay now, go later?” I couldn’t have stopped the words had I smothered saying them, and the pair of us burst out laughing. “Oh, forgive me. It’s just that—”
“Don’t apologize,” said Michael Noonan. “You’ve the same humor as your great-aunt, too. She’d’ve loved that. Pay now, go later. Seriously, though, Mrs. Teasey, it is an established custom here to pay for your funeral ahead of time.”
Well, with £800 in a savings account and another £145 plus in a checking account, my aunt had not been hungry.
“Mr. Noonan, there’s one thing that has puzzled me. There was nothing left in the cupboards when we got here …”
“Great Scott, Mrs. Teasey, I told Ann Purdee to clear everything out of the larder, to keep rats and suchlike out of the house.”
“Oh, thank heavens.”
“No, Irene Teasey never wanted for food, not with Ann and Mary Cuniff and Kieron about.” His eyes screwed up with some humorous recollection. “‘Sides, she had a sort of sideline, I guess you Yanks would call it, that always guaranteed her petty cash.”
“She did? What?”
He grinned but refused to answer. “Later. Now let’s look at that Mercedes.”
We all went out to examine our vehicle. Michael peered thoughtfully under the hood. I always suppose that men instinctively understand automobiles but apparently Michael Noonan knew doodly-squat about motors. Just then someone called from the front of the house.
“Sounds like Shay Kerrigan,” said Sn
ow, and I could have choked her. “I’ll go bring him around. He knows from cars.”
“Snow!”
“Well, she’s the right of it,” Michael said with a grin. “I don’t. And Kerrigan does.”
“You know him well?”
Michael grinned at the squeak in my voice. “You’ll find that Dublin is a very small town, Mrs. Teasey, and everyone knows everyone else.”
Shay greeted the solicitor as affably as if they were longtime friends. And then Kieron Thornton joined the board of experts. Some may say that the Irish will talk a thing to death before they lift a finger. Not so, or maybe it was the Mercedes. I don’t care. What matters is that before I could protest, Shay and Michael were taking the tires to the nearest gas station to be filled, and had said they’d get me a proper battery until the existing one could be charged. They brought back filled tires, petrol, and a battery, and spent the next hour happily setting the car to rights, and off its blocks. And even helped me “sort out” the insurance and tax thing.
There were striking anomalies in the way Irish men treated their women, I thought, with the examples of Sally, Mary, and Ann, the blackmail tactics used against young Maureen. Yet here were three very attractive men worrying and arranging to take care of my very minor problems. Or was it just another case of minor problems being fun and the long-term monotony of marital bliss unendurable? Gerry had told me never to marry an Irishman. Then I found myself contrasting these men with Teddie. Depending on his mood, Teddie would have 1) assumed that I was too stupid to handle the insurance/tax/negotiations, 2) complained bitterly as he assumed the burden, or 3) sneered so at my ineptitude that, out of spite, I’d’ve done the job—and quaked with nervousness that I’d somehow goofed. These men made no assumption of ignorance; they were being courteous and helpful. It would have been churlish on my part to refuse their aid.
Once all the necessary documents were assembled and placed on the small hall table under the shotgun (Had I got my license for that? No? Well, that could be done when I got the Garda to sign the taxation form…), Shay turned to the others and suggested that now a few jars were definitely in order.
“You lot,” he said to Snow and Simon, “are all right on your own, aren’t you?”
“We’ve our own engagement this evening,” replied my daughter haughtily. Then giggled. “You get my mother in early. She’s had a tiring day.”
I was told to go wash the rest of the paint off my face and be quick about it. Anomalies all considered, this was a much nicer brand of male superiority than I was accustomed to, and I flew obediently up the steps to wash and change.
Mother would have been ecstatic, and Betty would have remarked drolly that that was the sort of singles club she preferred for me.
We went to a nearby pub where a blind pianist held forth ably, often singing songs of his own composition. Not that I had much time to listen to him with the good-natured teasing and talking that went on. I was ensconced on a bar stool, and the three men loomed about me. Heady stuff, and very, very good for my ego. For the first time, no Shadow-Teddie lurked in the background, casting poisonous looks if I appeared to be enjoying myself in another male’s company. And this trio was outrageous. I laughed until my eyes teared and my ribs ached.
I had such a lovely evening that I actually let out a cry of disappointment when the barman called time. My three musketeers saw me home, none of them (they all declared) trusting the others to do so. It was fun until I passed the dark cottages where Ann, Sally, and Mary lived. All-that-glitters evening, I sternly reminded myself.
As I lay in bed, very tired, my mind churning with the evening’s good fun, I had only a brief wakeful moment to wrestle with another anomaly: All three men appeared to like each other, so why had my aunt turned so against Shay Kerrigan?
Shamus Kerrigan was also well known, and seemingly well regarded, by the Gardai at the Cabinteely station. I was told not to worry when Shay explained about the Mercedes, the necessary yellow form was instantly produced, and the matter of the gun license would also be attended to immediately.
Shay had dropped Jimmy off at the house to help the twins prepare the living room for painting, so we chatted affably about the redecoration all the way into town.
“If you need to pick up the odd piece of furniture, the auctions here are excellent for that,” said Shay.
“Oh, I’ll go to a secondhand furniture dealer.”
“That’s what I was suggesting. They call them auction rooms here. Much more dignified.”
Indeed it was. And we talked about the differences in terms and my struggle with the car-registration forms, and then he mentioned that he’d been in the States the previous year. He’d been particularly interested in building methods and restrictions. He’d been amazed to find out how much timber is used in America for building; American lumber is much better, whereas it would be horribly expensive in the States to build so exclusively out of brick and cinderblock. We talked about city planning and had a real laugh, since Dublin’s appeal for me was its lack of planning, with awkward turns in the city-center streets and one-ways where they were the most inconvenient (so Shay said), I found Dublin more and more charming, so un-big-cityish.
The insurance company occupied an old barn of a building on Wolfe Tone Street. There I ran into an unexpected difficulty in giving the proper information to the poor young clerk. About the only thing I had in order were the car’s papers. Mine were all in my married name, and when I filled in the form I had to explain about now using my maiden name.
Then came the question of my husband. The clerk insisted on knowing his name, and I insisted that he didn’t need it.
“Why, he doesn’t even live in this country, so what good will his name do you?”
Utter confusion, and he went away to consult with a superior.
“Well, it doesn’t do him any good,” I told Shay. “Teddie wouldn’t pay for a postage stamp I used now, much less car insurance. Though he’s had the accidents, and I’ve never scraped a fender.”
The clerk was back. “Any accidents, miss … oh, missus?”
“Never!”
I was so positive that he didn’t belabor the point. I paid him my thirty-odd pounds, and then we had to wait about while they typed up a certificate.
“You know,” Shay said as we waited, “I don’t think you answered a single question according to his not-so-distant training. Obviously,” and he gave an exaggerated sigh, “you Yanks exist to bemuse, confuse, and confound us poor peat farmers.”
Thirty-three pounds made eighty dollars, reasonable in the light of New Jersey fees, but Shay tsked-tsked all the way to the tax bureau over the atrocious rate. To my relief, getting the car taxed was nowhere near as much of a problem, nor as expensive as I’d thought, the way he carried on.
So we drove back in triumph, taxed and insured. The Mercedes had been washed, polished, and shined in our absence, an accomplishment which brought lavish praises from us both. I insisted that Shay drive the kids in the Merc while I took the Renault back. I was glad I had listened to Snow, for the bill put a substantial dent in my dwindling cash reserves. We tried to persuade Shay to stay for lunch, but he had an engagement. Jimmy was going to help us paint.
“I don’t know why you should help us,” I said to him over the sandwiches we hurriedly fixed.
He flushed a little, and became engrossed in the texture of the bread.
“I’d just like to, Mrs. Teasey.”
“Every free hand is gratefully accepted,” said Simon, giving me the “leave it there” look.
Jimmy proved to be a slow but exceedingly careful worker. Almost too slow. As if… the notion crystallized in my mind … as if he was afraid of doing something wrong. Fortunately, Simon was also a methodical worker, while Snow tended to slap-dash through things, good for the over-all effect but not for details. As Simon was quick to tell her.
“Well, I don’t take all day to do a square inch,” she said, flaring at her brother.
&nb
sp; “The inch I do doesn’t have to be done over,” replied Simon, indicating the fireplace he was trimming.
“Well!” and I could see that Snow was taking umbrage.
“Do you help your father, Jimmy?” I asked, trying to find a neutral topic.
“My father? Oh, yes, in the garden. My dad’s a keen gardener.”
“You should see the greenhouses they have,” Simon said. “All kinds of crazy plants and flowers—and grapes.”
“Do you like gardening?” I asked Jimmy.
He finished a delicate stroke. “Well, yes.”
I laughed. “The ‘well yes’ that means ‘no.’”
“No,” he said defensively. “I do. It’s just that…”
“Just that sometimes you don’t do things exactly the way your father thinks they should be done?”
Jimmy sighed with relief that I’d said it, and nodded.
“The same old story,” said Snow, drawling her words out. “I guess dads are alike the world over.”
They took up the comparisons game. I listened because I was hearing what Jimmy wasn’t saying, and that was a situation that repeated itself all over the world too. He had three sisters and three brothers, and his father was a very busy barrister.
I began to see why Jimmy found us so fascinating: I was far more available to my children than his parents were to him, although there wasn’t a hint of criticism in his comments, merely resignation to the-way-things-are. He was a fair ways toward substituting Shay as an active father-figure in place of his own. I wondered if Shay was aware of this. According to Jimmy, Uncle Shay was brilliant, always ready to listen, and quite pleased when Jimmy’d drop in unexpectedly. Uncle Shay had the keenest flat in Blackrock, with a super view of the harbor and all modern conveniences.
“Yes, but what does your uncle do?” Snow asked. I’d wanted to ask, so I had to stifle my surprise when Jimmy replied without reticence.
“He buys up land for development, and he’s got an auctioneer’s license, and he owns a pub in Monkstown and a garage in Glasthule. My father says that Uncle Shamus ought to get married and settle down.” Jimmy laughed at such an outrageous future. “Uncle Shay says he’d rather stay single and act married than be married and act single, like some guys he knows.”
The Kilternan Legacy Page 16