I had not been the love of his life, certainly; nor, perhaps, he of mine. We had been violently attracted to each other but the affair had fallen at the first hurdle, which proved it had not the makings of a lifelong passion. I felt myself crippled by the blow and perhaps he too was bruised, but he would soon get over it. And so must I. There never could have been a happy outcome as long as Anna still loved him. I was wiser now and I would turn my present suffering to my own benefit. In future my course would be determined by prudence. When hope – that she might not be able to forgive him, that he might not be able to forget me – tried to worm its way into my thoughts, I resolutely crushed it. There would be no more lapses of judgement, no more shameful episodes.
As dawn broke I welcomed the gathering of the seven-toed cats. It was a relief to leave the hot, rumpled sheets, to go to the window and refresh my tired eyes on the beauty of the woods and mountains. I put dishes of meat and milk out on the roof and watched the cats as they ate. Afterwards, they would find places to sleep it off, the sagging canopy of the half-tester being a favourite place for a nap. The race to get breakfast ready for the dining room and trays sent up to Maud and Violet sufficed to rid my face of an appearance of woe. Constance was the soul of tact, never speaking of the past unless I did, which was rarely.
With Constance’s full support, I had my way about giving Violet a more varied diet. To economize on time and labour we began every dinner with something like soup or a savoury mousse, food that was soft and easy to eat so that Violet could have some of the same. Puddings were things like fruit purees, custard or jelly. These changes meant that Violet’s teeth must be cleaned, which was anathema to Pegeen and Katty. That they did not use a toothbrush was evident from their own sparse and blackened fangs so I took on the job myself. Violet quickly learned to open her mouth to facilitate the teeth-cleaning. I suppose the strong taste of toothpaste must have added savour to her monotonous existence.
Now we drew back the curtains each morning and they stayed open until dusk. Constance and I talked in loud cheerful voices and visited Violet as often as we could. Flavia was a ready convert to the new regime. She gave up several hours each day to reading, singing and talking to her mother. It was not long before we were able to convince ourselves that Violet was becoming more responsive. We could not understand the meaning of the noises she made but we agreed that she was groaning, grunting and sighing more often. Then she introduced a new sound into her vocabulary: a high-pitched wail, like a child’s. It was actually quite distressing but we told ourselves that all change was for the good. It was Flavia’s idea to bring objects to put into Violet’s hand: ordinary things like marbles, pencils, buttons, petals and fir cones. After she had explained what the object was and cupped Violet’s unresisting fingers round it, Flavia would gaze intently at the still face for signs of recognition. Her disappointment was so evident that sometimes I questioned the wisdom of what we were trying to do.
‘Flavia,’ I said one morning, perhaps three weeks after my arrival at Curraghcourt, ‘let’s move your mother’s bed to the opposite corner so she can be near the window. She’ll have much more light and she’ll be able to feel the air on her face.’
As the bed was on castors and the floorboards bare – we had thrown out the existing carpet as being too dirty to clean – we managed this between us without much difficulty. Liddy came in just as we were manoeuvring the bed into place. She was by nature impatient, restless and easily bored and spent much less time with Violet than her sister. Also she was at a more self-conscious age and found it disagreeable to hold one-sided conversations. But at my suggestion she had manicured her mother’s nails which Pegeen had cut into ragged points. After Liddy had massaged Violet’s hands with cream they looked twenty years younger and you could see how beautifully shaped they were. We substituted a mild soap and a sponge for the carbolic and huckaback which Pegeen used to wash Violet’s face and applied face cream twice daily to Violet’s cracked lips and cheeks. The change in her appearance after two weeks was remarkable.
‘Do you think she’ll feel cold?’ asked Flavia doubtfully as I opened the windows to let the breeze play on Violet’s face.
‘Could you find an eiderdown, do you think?’
‘I’ll go,’ said Liddy, who was always keen to get away from the disinfectant smells and those they ineffectually masked.
She was back five minutes later. ‘There aren’t any spare eiderdowns so I brought this.’ She laid a coat over the bed. ‘It was Mummy’s. It’s real mink. I was wondering if I might have it, actually, since it isn’t much use—’
‘Look! Look!’ cried Flavia.
We watched, holding our breaths, as the fingers of Violet’s left hand uncurled at the touch of the fur. They trembled as they moved slowly across the shining dark brown hairs, not more than an inch either way, but the movement was unquestionably deliberate. I felt the back of my neck prickle.
‘Liddy, you’re a genius!’ I said.
Flavia burst into tears.
‘Flavia, this is your miracle as much as anyone’s,’ I said. ‘You’ve been so good about spending time with her and—’
‘I’m not crying about that,’ sniffed Flavia crossly. ‘I don’t mind it was Liddy who thought of the coat. I’m crying because Mummy’s alive. She’s properly alive. Now everyone’ll have to believe she’s going to wake up.’
‘Well, perhaps, but we mustn’t assume too much …’
But Flavia was not listening. ‘I’ll go and find some more things for her to feel.’ She was halfway through the door before she came back to kiss her mother. ‘I won’t be long, Mummy darling. Don’t go away because I’ve got so much to show you.’
I felt afraid then. Afraid that Violet might be too severely brain-damaged to make further progress. That Flavia’s hopes might be cruelly dashed. And it would be my fault.
‘I suppose she’d better keep the coat,’ said Liddy with a trace of regret.
‘Are you absolutely certain?’ asked Constance, whom I found in the granary. ‘It wasn’t just a tremor?’
‘I’m certain. The thing is, until today we’ve been trying to stimulate her right hand. When we changed the position of the bed it was her left hand which was nearest. People who have strokes are always more paralysed on one side than the other, aren’t they?’
‘I know so little about it. I did question the nuns after it happened but they were unforthcoming. The Catholic view is that misfortune is sent by God as a cross to be patiently and humbly borne in atonement for sin. And I feel sure it would never occur to Dr Duffy to go against any counsels that came from Dublin, the fount of all medical wisdom. I feel so guilty now that I didn’t try harder.’ Constance’s face assumed its habitual expression.
‘You shouldn’t feel that. For one thing you’ve had more than enough on your plate. And for another, how do we know this isn’t going to end in disaster? Flavia’s convinced now her mother’s going to get better. It’s quite possible Violet won’t make any more progress and I shall wish I’d never interfered.’
Constance emptied a sack of chicken corn into a bin. ‘We must risk that. Let’s give it all we’ve got. I remember that coat. She looked so lovely in it. Poor dear Violet.’ She lifted several empty sacks as though hunting for something.
‘What are you looking for?’
‘A hammer. My wardrobe door’s fallen off again.’
‘Will this do?’ I extracted a mallet from the spokes of a bicycle wheel.
‘Thanks. Everything’s in such a mess—’
‘Just a minute.’ I interrupted her. ‘How many bikes are there? Are they in working order?’ I pulled upright the one that was on the top of the heap. It was rusty but had its full complement of wheels, saddle, handlebar and chain.
‘They were left here by a ladies’ cycling club from Japan. They’d pedalled all the way from Dublin – not in one day, naturally, but staying at B & Bs – and they were in the terminal stage of sanity. It had rained every day and by the
time they got to Connemara the roads were roaring cataracts. Poor things, all you could see were glistening eyes and black topknots through the coating of mud. We took them in and gave them tea while they telephoned for a coach to take them back to Dublin and the next plane home. They were exquisitely polite but you could see that for them this was a far cry from the Emerald Isle as promoted by travel agents. Between November and March it varies from khaki through every shade of brown to the colour of dung.’
‘This is a pretty good bike.’ I hopped on and cycled slowly round the barn. ‘Gears and everything. It just needs a bit of oil.’ I came to a squeaking halt in front of Constance. ‘I’ve just had an idea.’
Constance snapped her hand smartly up to her temple. ‘I wonder how officers of the Imperial Guard saluted. Palms facing down or outwards, do you think?’
A little later I was crossing the hall on my way to the kitchen when I heard the telephone bell vibrating within the sedan chair. I leaned inside to answer it.
‘Kilmuree five one seven.’
‘Is that you, Bobbie?’
I climbed in and closed the door. ‘Hello, Jazzy. How are you?’
‘Darling, how are you? Feeling a little better?’
Since the news of Burgo’s return to connubial bliss had hit the headlines Jasmine and Sarah had been kindness itself. They had rung so often to check on my state of mind and body that Maud had talked of having another line connected so that the family might once in a while communicate with the outside world.
‘Oh, I’m not too bad. Doing my best not to think about it. So where are you?’
‘Somewhere totally at the back of beyond but I’ve never lived in the country before and it’s super to be able to hear birds singing and see butterflies. It’s so quiet at night your ears hiss. We only moved three days ago. It took a while for Teddy to find something he thought I’d like.’
‘And do you?’
‘It’s a little too soon to tell but I think I shall. Actually it’s a perfectly foul bungalow. You never saw anything so hideous: three-piece suite, swirly patterned carpets, a forest of giant plumy things in the garden; but we’re so in love that nothing else matters. It’s dirt cheap because poor Teddy’s got to carry on paying her mortgage and the children’s school fees.’
‘Where is it exactly?’
‘Enfield.’
‘In Middlesex?’
‘Yes, I think so. The back of beyond, as I say. And I’m being such a good little housewife. We had to let the Filipinos go. They cost an arm and a leg and besides there isn’t room in the bungalow for them. It’s lucky you taught me how to cook corned beef hash. Teddy says it’s his most favourite thing to eat. Isn’t that extraordinary, considering it’s the only thing I can cook?’
‘Miraculous. What do you do all day?’
‘Well, as we make love practically all night long I get up quite late. Then I go for a walk. You never saw so many bungalows in all your life. And horrid little orange flowers planted in circles round the clumps of the same plumy things in every garden. There ought to be a law against them.’
‘African marigolds and pampas grass, probably.’
‘You’re such a knowledgeable gardener, darling, I’m in awe. Well, then I come back and have lunch and read the newspapers. Then I have a little sleep. I may do some dusting. Before I know it, it’s time for Teddy to come home so I have to really get cracking then. I get the gin and tonics ready and arrange the papers by the television. There’s a special cricket match on at the moment and he likes to watch that, and we have supper and he tells me what he’s been doing, just like an old married couple. It’s such fun. And then we dive into bed for the best bit of the day.’ Jazzy giggled and sounded so happy that I wondered if I had been misjudging Teddy. ‘But you’ve hardly told me a thing about you, darling.’
‘I know, but I ought to be peeling carrots for lunch. There’s so much to do here. Let’s talk again in a day or two and I’ll fill you in then.’
‘I hope you aren’t wearing yourself out. And pining for you-knowwho? Are you eating?’
‘Yes. Really, I’m fine, don’t worry. Every day I feel a bit more cheerful. Being busy is my salvation.’
‘I must say I hadn’t realized what fun it was being domesticated. Always something to see to. Let me see, what’s the time?’
I looked at my watch. ‘Twelve o’clock.’
‘Right. In exactly six hours I shall open a tin of corned beef. It’s been so marvellous to talk to you. Teddy’s so heavenly to be with, he’s so clever and wise, and noble, and of course quite indispensable for all the really important things.’ She giggled. ‘But there’s nothing like a girlfriend to really talk to, is there?’ For a moment I thought I detected a note that was not quite unadulterated bliss in Jazzy’s voice.
‘No, indeed.’
TWENTY-SEVEN
‘Timsy, where are the spades, forks and hoes?’ I peered into the back of the Land-Rover. All I could see were the baskets, seed packets, balls of string and coils of hose I had stowed there earlier.
‘Spades is it? Sure, you never give a man a moment to draw breath!’ In fact Timsy had taken to puffing hard as though in the last stages of exhaustion every time I approached him, even if the second before he had been lying in a chair with his feet up and his eyes closed. ‘But you could drive a pack of slaves without so much as a whip. Just one look from those sparkling eyes—’
‘Would you mind getting them now?’ I cut in ruthlessly. ‘You can drive and we’ll meet you down there. If you forget the spades and forks and things the cupboard stays locked.’
Timsy shot me one of his calculating looks, which sometimes cut through his obliging but dimwitted Irish retainer act, to check whether I was serious, then he went away in the direction of the barn where the implements were stored.
Constance, Sissy, the three children and I got on our bikes. Katty, who had declared she would sooner ride a broomstick, was to travel in the Land-Rover with Timsy. Pegeen was staying behind to look after Violet and Maud. Maria was excited by this departure from her humans’ usual methods of locomotion and ran in circles round us, barking her head off. Osgar was on a lead, the other end of which was held by Sissy who said she could easily steer single-handed. He looked far from pleased to find himself in this maelstrom of whirring wheels and incessant noise – Flurry and Flavia being compelled by whatever strange impulses direct juvenile behaviour to ring their bells without pause. Osgar flinched and growled and tried to sit down and was generally uncooperative until Sissy shouted abuse at him after which he settled into a depressed-looking lope alongside her, ears flat to his head, muzzle to the ground.
The children raced off and we grown-ups followed at a more leisurely rate. I found I needed to concentrate if I was neither to run over Maria, who was trying to bite our front wheels, nor be unseated by a pothole.
‘Are you managing all right with Osgar, Sissy?’ cried Constance as we came to a place where in less balmy weather a stream had crossed the track and large boulders had been washed down the mountainside to lie in our path.
‘Sure, a baby could do it! I was one of Donovan’s Flying Angels – bareback ponies, but it’s much the same thing. Look at me now!’ To our combined admiration and alarm Sissy attempted a handstand on the handlebars. This went well until the panniers of her Marie Antoinette costume fell over her eyes and she hit a stone. When we picked her up she was screaming with laughter despite a bloody nose. Poor Osgar had received a clout from the flying bicycle and was disinclined to get up again until Sissy hit on the expedient of biting his ear, after which he permitted himself to be dragged along by the neck. I began to have serious doubts about the wisdom of interference in all cases.
The walled garden restored my faith somewhat. Rose-bay willow-herb, ragwort and docks stood waist high. Every stone sheltered a luxuriant fern or two. In the centre was a dipping pond half filled with black mud. But despite years of neglect the fruit trees had continued to blossom and bear fruit in their
season. Already there were tiny burgeoning apples, pears, plums and cherries.
Recently I had put my early waking to good use. I had risked Mr Macchuin’s wrath by removing another book from the library – this time The Golden Treasury of Good Vegetable Gardening – and had boned up intensively on what everyone who aspired to call themselves a gardener should know. A programme of careful pruning would do wonders for the fruit crop next year. As it turned out July was the perfect time to prune fans, espaliers and cordons. I had studied the diagrams carefully and now I longed to take the secateurs from my bicycle basket and begin at once.
But first the others must be organized. The track ran through the garden in a wobbling curve to avoid the stone ramparts of the dipping pond. From an aesthetic viewpoint this was undesirable. The garden was divided into four by a wide path that ran at right angles to the track. An iron pergola covered the length of this path, bare now but most of it in good repair and perfect for runner beans and sweet peas next spring. Probably I would have left Curraghcourt by then so that would be up to Constance. But even in late July there were plenty of things that could be sown at once.
‘As soon as Timsy gets here we’ll begin in this section.’ I directed the attention of my troops to the south-facing side near the derelict greenhouses, which were bathed in sun whenever clouds permitted. ‘First we’ll clear away all the rubbish.’ I indicated an old oil drum, an iron bedstead, a pile of rotting deckchairs and several car tyres. ‘Then we’ll mark out two crossing paths to divide each quarter into four. We’ll have a programme of crop rotation. Brassicas here.’ I pointed to the relevant piece of ground. ‘Here roots, over there peas, beans and salad crops, and in the last quarter—Flurry, what are you doing?’
His head had disappeared inside a large galvanized tub on wheels. ‘I’m seeing what this is for.’
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