Mary Kate

by Nadine Dorries

  ‘What do you know – I was just asking the very same thing,’ said Teresa.

  ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, ladies,’ said Keeva, ‘but it sounds like it’s someone who wants to book a taxi from the airport to Tarabeg.’

  ‘Well now, who would that be?’ said Teresa. ‘There’s been no one up at the presbytery with news of a relative coming home.’

  ‘I have no idea. We haven’t heard of anyone in the bar either.’ Keeva placed the last ashtray with a map of Mayo in its centre on the shelf and picked up the empty packing chest. ‘Tea, is it, ladies?’

  Rosie and Bee replied in chorus and followed Keeva into the back. But Teresa walked over to Mrs Doyle. The look Mrs Doyle slipped her told her all she needed to know. This was it. Joe Malone really was despatching one of his descendants to collect the money he’d sent to Tarabeg all those years ago. Bridget’s letter had not been enough, and the telex from America earlier in the week had not been a hoax.

  Over in New York, Miss Carroll moved the phone away from her ear and looked at the handset. She could barely understand what was being said to her and began to feel nervous. ‘I wish to book a cab to meet a Mr Joe Malone at Shannon Airport. His plane lands at nine o’clock on Saturday morning. Will this be acceptable, or shall I call a taxi firm in Cork?’

  ‘Oh Jesus, no, don’t you be doing that at all – devils, they are, the lot of them, and if they can get away with charging ye ten shilling over the odds, they will. We will be there to meet him. Mr Joe Malone, did you say it was?’

  ‘I did indeed,’ said Miss Carroll. ‘I wonder if, whilst I have you on the telephone, you could help me with something else. We are trying to track down the Malone family of Tarabeg Hill – would you be aware of their whereabouts? Mr Malone is related to them.’

  Mrs Doyle gave a good impression of acting surprised. ‘The Malones, you say? Ah now, there haven’t been any Malones on Tarabeg Hill since the war, I would be saying.’ She gesticulated wildly to Teresa and pointed at the phone as the clatter of china and chatter in the kitchen told her that Rosie, Bee and Keeva were busy in the kitchen. ‘It’s about Joe Malone,’ she mouthed.

  ‘I knew it,’ Teresa whispered back, and pressed her head closer to Mrs Doyle’s.

  They could almost hear Miss Carroll’s frown. ‘Well, that is very sad indeed. I do hope Mr Malone’s journey will not be in vain after all this time and planning. He is very keen indeed to make contact with his relatives.’

  ‘Carroll? Did you say you were a Carroll?’ said Mrs Doyle. ‘Now, there were Carrolls running the post office in Belmullet and they moved to Brooklyn nearly fifteen years ago, I would say. It was just after the war they went. Been in Belmullet since before the famine, they had. Would they be related to yourself? How are they doing? We haven’t heard a word since the day they left and we often wonder.’

  *

  It was agreed that Teresa Gallagher would make the run to the airport in Father Jerry’s car. Whether or not he would let her take it overnight was a moot point. Between them they decided that if he objected, Teresa would suffer a lapse of memory and drive off in it anyway, while Father Jerry was drinking in Paddy’s bar, having claimed to Teresa, as he always did, that he was off visiting the sick. Two wrongs would very definitely make a right.

  The older women had gathered around Daedio’s bed not two hours after the call from America came through. Teresa had arrived with Ellen, and Bridget with Mrs Doyle.

  ‘But Teresa can hardly feckin’ walk,’ said Daedio as they discussed the plan.

  ‘I can walk better than you and that’s a fact,’ Teresa said. ‘And besides, I don’t need to walk – I’m driving. I’ll stay at my sister’s overnight and then make the run back in one trip the following day. There won’t be much I don’t know about Joe Malone by the time we get back here.’

  Mrs Doyle shuffled in her seat. This was not a satisfactory state of affairs. Her privileged position as postmistress ensured that she was always the one ahead of the news. ‘I could always ask Sam to collect him in the mail van,’ she offered.

  Teresa drew herself up to her full height and adjusted her hatpin. She was the only visitor not to have removed her hat. ‘And how does that work?’ she said in a scathing voice, looking at Mrs Doyle over the top of her wire-framed spectacles. ‘Shall we ask Sam to bring him all the way to the farm as well, straight to the door? And how do we protect the postman, asking him to collect a man who is the descendant of a known murderer? He may not be safe.’

  ‘You might not be safe either,’ said Daedio, ‘and anyway, Joe was no murderer, he was a bank robber.’

  ‘Well, he died in prison, and that’s what they do to murderers in America. It was very suspicious altogether, if you ask me,’ said Ellen.

  Everyone in the room blessed themselves and was silent for a moment.

  ‘I really don’t think you’ll be safe in a car with an American stranger for all of those hours,’ said Daedio, looking more concerned by the moment. ‘Joe never told us about any children, so the man can’t be from this family. They say America is a place where the Devil runs free in the streets.’

  ‘I will be collecting him because that is the only way we’ll know who he is, what his intentions are and how he knows about the money. We are one step ahead of him. Tell me, what murderer would harm an old woman with a stick who was giving him a seat all the way to where he wanted to go? Besides, do you see this…?’ Teresa brandished her hatpin. ‘Straight in his neck, that would be. I’d stab him and I’d ram it all the way home. Spies did more on less during the war. I’ll be safe all right. I’m not sure how I’ll keep my hat on after though.’

  They were all speechless and everyone took a sip of their whiskey-laced tea while they allowed the image of Teresa murdering an innocent American visitor in Father Jerry’s car to exit their minds.

  ‘How much money is there, Daedio?’ said Bridget.

  ‘I wish I knew. I’ve never unwrapped it since the day Annie rolled it all up into fat cigars and stacked them in the chimney.’

  ‘It can’t be that much, surely to God. Shall we count it?’ said Mrs Doyle. ‘I’m used to money, seeing as how I handle it every day.’

  ‘That would be a start,’ said Bridget.

  ‘Aye, maybe I should give him half of it when he comes and not tell him about the other half,’ said Daedio.

  ‘That’s not what Annie wants,’ said Bridget.

  They all turned to the only woman in the village with the sight.

  ‘Annie came to me last night and she told me that Mary Kate will be in need of that money one day, and the seven acres it bought as well. She said the money will stay just where it is.’

  They all gasped.

  ‘Did she say anything else?’ Daedio asked.

  ‘Aye, she did. She said for you to stop giving out to Nola all the time and to behave yourself. Oh, and she also said to remember to cover the sign up over Michael’s shop door and to get Pete Shevlin to drag the whins down to the bottom of the boreen and block the turning up the hill, and then to put the bull on the boreen. If you do that, the American will never be able to find the farm.’

  ‘Well, if ever I needed proof that Annie is still with us,’ Daedio said, ‘that was it just there. Organising us all and telling us what to do. Every word that ever fell out of that woman’s mouth was a right one.’

  ‘Where’s the money?’ Mrs Doyle got up from the seat and brushed down her skirt.

  ‘’Tis there. See? That loose brick.’

  Mrs Doyle ran her hand along the wall and felt one of the large lime-painted bricks slightly jutting out.

  Half an hour later, she was still pulling rolls of dollars out of the wall cavity created by Annie as Bridget threw the tea slops out of the front door onto the grass and filled the mugs with neat whiskey. Teetotaller Teresa, who had placed her hand protectively over her mug and shaken her head with a disapproving sniff when the whiskey had been added to the tea, mouthing, ‘Not for me, thank you’, was now
the first to hold out her mug when Bridget unplugged the straw stopper from the top of the bottle. As they continued to count, they all needed it.

  22

  Mrs O’Keefe and Deidra could tell that there was something amiss the second a subdued Mary Kate arrived home from the Marcuses’. She walked straight through the kitchen and disappeared into the bathroom.

  ‘I’ve been waiting for you. Are you coming to the dance or not?’ Deidra’s words went unanswered as the bathroom door closed. ‘That does not look good,’ she whispered to Mrs O’Keefe as she placed her purse into her beaded clutch-bag ready to leave for her night out.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Eileen O’Keefe. A frown crossed her face and she instantly decided that she wouldn’t pry. She would allow Mary Kate the time to settle and then, if she felt comfortable enough, she was sure Mary Kate would tell her what was wrong. ‘Don’t ask her anything else, she will tell us soon enough,’ she whispered to Deidra.

  It was dancing night and Deidra’s toes were already tapping on the terracotta tiles she’d mopped less than an hour ago. She was beside herself with excitement and a glum Mary Kate had not suppressed her mood.

  ‘Will ye be coming with me, Mary Kate?’ she asked again, as soon as Mary Kate surfaced. She was quivering with excitement in her pale lemon summer dress, smooth stockings and white slingback sandals with kitten heels. Her auburn hair had been brushed out and fell softly around her shoulders as she tucked her bag under her arm. Deidra felt like a movie star and it showed in her eyes, which were glistening with anticipation. ‘I can lend you one of my frocks. I have three now, since I began earning me own money. Come on, would you? You can be ready in ten minutes. Sure, you’re gorgeous – all you need to do is change your dress.’

  Mary Kate smiled wistfully. Going dancing… Wasn’t that just what she had dreamt of doing once she’d made her escape from Tarabeg? Hadn’t she imagined herself in a fine dress – one she owned, not one she’d borrowed – being twirled around a dancehall by a good-looking young man? Right now though, it was the last thing she, her aching feet or her buzzing head wanted. Much as she’d tried, she hadn’t been able to shake Dr Marcus from her thoughts on her walk back up the avenue.

  Mary Kate smiled. ‘I will so, Deidra. It’s just that it’s my first week and all that,’ she said apologetically.

  Deidra’s face softened. ‘I know. My first week I could just about drag myself up the stairs away to my bed. One night I lay down for a minute with all my clothes on, closed my eyes and never woke up till Mrs O’Keefe shook me the next morning. She thought I was dead. Imagine!’

  Deidra’s laugh made Mary Kate smile and on impulse she threw her arms around her shoulders and hugged her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered and she swallowed down the lump in her throat that had appeared from nowhere.

  ‘Oh sure, don’t be saying sorry to me. I’ve Joan waiting at the bus stop now. You’ll not be getting away with it next week, mind,’ she shouted as she crashed out of the back door so loudly, it must have been heard in every house on Duke’s Avenue.

  Eileen O’Keefe and Mary Kate spent the night in the sitting room. The black-and-white television in the corner was on good form, apart from the occasional snowstorm, which prompted Eileen to jump up and start playing with the aerial protruding from the top of the set. ‘Tell me when it gets better,’ she said to Mary Kate as she stood on a chair behind the television.

  ‘Up a bit,’ said Mary Kate. ‘Over to Bluey. There, stop.’

  With the aerial half pushed through the wire of Bluey’s cage, which was suspended in front of the window, they were entertained to the point where Mary Kate could sit back in the chair and allow herself to think. There were no demands for conversation and for that she was grateful. The only comments from Mrs O’Keefe were statements rather than questions – ‘Would you look at the state of him!’ – as the images flickered across the screen.

  They’d eaten lamb chops for supper and even though Mary Kate felt sick as a result of the day’s events, she found she was hungry and devoured the lot. Bluey sang along to the advert for Palmolive soap and they both laughed as he objected to the aerial protruding into his cage. He pecked at it in annoyance and tried to push it out, using the top of his beak.

  ‘He won’t electrocute himself, will he?’ asked Mary Kate.

  ‘Oh heavens, no. If there was the slightest possibility of that, he would have been burnt to a crisp years ago. One night I had to put it all the way in and he sat on it, caused terrible interference he did and wouldn’t let me take it back out again.’

  Mary Kate felt the tension she hadn’t even been aware of leave her shoulders.

  Eileen was pouring another cup of tea from the pot when, noting that Mary Kate was now well rested and well fed, she decided to take the plunge. ‘I’m assuming today wasn’t a very good day then?’ She looked up from under her heavy lids and could see the colour drain from Mary Kate’s face. ‘You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, and it isn’t my place to pry. Just to remember, though, the first week in any new job is very hard – it’s the same for everyone.’

  Mary Kate sat forwards on her seat and accepted the tea. She really wanted to confide in Mrs O’Keefe. The words were nudging at her lips, desperate to escape. She could trust Mrs O’Keefe – the woman was a saint, her home a haven of kindness and generosity. She sipped her tea and made the decision to keep her own counsel. It was not her place to speak and tell anyone the Marcuses’ business. Least said, soonest mended, she thought to herself as she put the cup down on the saucer.

  But the events of the day had been too much for a girl from Tarabeg who had only ever witnessed drama when the tinkers came and cast a curse or when Murphy’s pig escaped and went on a rampage around the churchyard.

  She set her cup and saucer on the table, straightened her back, brushed her hair away from her face with both hands, placed her hands in her lap, turned to Mrs O’Keefe and blurted out, ‘There’s trouble in the Marcus house. All is not what it seems down there.’ And within five minutes she’d told Mrs O’Keefe almost everything.

  ‘Goodness me,’ said Eileen, ‘what a terrible experience for you. We need something stronger than tea – let me get us a drop of sherry out of the sideboard. What did the letter say exactly?’ she asked as she fumbled with the key to the door.

  Mary Kate blushed, took the deepest breath and told her.

  Eileen poured two glasses of sherry almost to the brim and carried the tray over to the chairs. ‘I’m going to fetch the bottle,’ she said. ‘I think we need it after that.’

  An hour later, when they had analysed every aspect of the day, Mrs O’Keefe decided it was time for dishes and bed, but not before she’d dropped a word of warning in Mary Kate’s ear. ‘The minute something is awry in that house that you aren’t comfortable with, you come straight down here. Hang up your pinny and get out of that door. Do you hear me?’

  ‘I do. It’s not as if you live far away, is it?’ Mary Kate smiled.

  ‘True enough. I don’t want your family saying I got you a job in a house of ill repute, that wouldn’t do at all, and anyway, my sister would be mortified. When I tell her about this tomorrow, she will pull you out, that’s for sure.’

  She rose and began to stack the dishes onto the tray. Minutes later, they were in the downstairs kitchen. ‘You wash and I’ll dry,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll wait up for Deidra to come home,’ said Mary Kate. ‘That’s if you don’t mind.’

  Eileen tutted and shook her head as she removed a clean tea towel from the kitchen drawer. ‘That girl is always giddy the morning after a night in the Cabbage Hall. She spends half the day singing songs and dancing around the furniture, she does.’

  Mary Kate ran the tap into the enamel bowl and added the detergent. Soon she was up to her elbows in suds and up to her neck in steam.

  ‘We will have that to put up with while I talk to my sister about what’s happened to you down there. You shouldn’t have had to read that note. W
hat kind of woman is she, for goodness’ sake?’

  Mary Kate was alarmed. The thought of Mrs O’Keefe telling her sister to pull her out of the Marcus house made her heart sink and she surprised herself when the reason dawned on her; it was the thought that she might never see Dr Marcus again. ‘Oh, I’ll be fine going back. I get the impression Mrs Marcus is never there. The doctor, he is the loveliest, kindest man and you should see the way he is with the boys – loves them, he does, it’s obvious from the way he is with them.’

  Eileen stretched up and slipped a plate into the rack on the wall above the sink. ‘Aye, well, isn’t it a pity his wife can’t behave in the same way.’ She cast Mary Kate a sideways glance. It was the tone of Mary Kate’s voice that had alerted her, a tone she had used herself when talking about her Pat all those years ago. ‘Mary Kate, I mean it – be careful. Do your job, that’s all. Don’t become involved. You are there to help with the boys and the house, not their marriage. I have no idea what he will do. I know what my Pat would have done if he’d caught me carrying on, and I can tell you this, it wouldn’t have had a happy ending. Out on the street on my ear, I would have been.’

  ‘I can’t believe people behave like that,’ said Mary Kate, handing over the second plate. ‘That their marriage vows can be put aside without a thought for the pain of others.’

  ‘Oh well, I’m afraid that’s because you’ve been brought up in the shadow of the Catholic Church. People do. There is no accounting for passion and the things it makes people do and that’s the truth of it. Lust and love – kingdoms have been lost for it, and when you consider what that one down there is getting up to’ – she jabbed her thumb in the direction of the Marcus house – ‘you can well believe it.’

  ‘It’s so hot,’ said Mary Kate as she ran the cold tap and splashed water onto her face. ‘I think I’ll go and meet Deidra at the bus stop. I’ve been running around and indoors for most of the day.’ She knew the area was safe enough and well lit and the bus stop was down the opposite end to the park gates.