“Ah, child dear, come home or I’ll come over for you.”
Her voice had broken, and, moments later, Tom was on the line. He, too, had urged Hanna to come home but, half in tears, she’d refused him. Even in the following weeks when it had seemed to her that her marriage had been a mistake, she had never thought of leaving London. If she and Malcolm had called it quits, her plan had been to return to her studies. Instead he had convinced her that the perfect life was still attainable; she would find their beautiful house and one day there’d be another baby. And she did find it. And then there was Jasmine, the flowerlike baby who had lived and thrived and grown up to be Jazz, the scrappy teenager who was now a woman about to embrace life. And even if Malcolm had lied and cheated and turned their marriage into a sham, he was still the only one who could share Hanna’s grief about the miscarriage. For years he had remembered the date of it and, saying nothing, had brought her flowers, not picked from his mother’s garden but bought from a flower seller on a corner near Sloane Square whose stall had once been a bright landmark seen from the window of their flat. That was one of the memories that had twisted Hanna’s stomach when she’d first discovered Malcolm’s affair with Tessa. Now, sitting high above the ocean, for no reason that she could fathom she found that it hurt her less.
32
With his eyes still closed, Conor groped under the bed, found his phone, and snoozed the alarm. Then, sticking his head under the pillow, he tried to go back to sleep. Five minutes later his mum tapped on the door and looked into the room.
“Are you getting up, Conor? Your dad’s fussing.”
Conor groaned. He recognized that nervous note in his mum’s voice. It meant that his dad had had a bad night and the day was going to be complicated. Now that his mobility was limited, Paddy McCarthy knew how lucky he was to have two sons prepared to get to grips with the work on the farm. But he still found it hard to accept his physical state, and the painkillers he relied on made him irritable. Some nights a combination of discomfort and depression meant that he hardly slept at all; and the following days were hard for all the family.
Today Joe and Conor had heavy work ahead of them in the fields while Paddy had plans to sit indoors doing paperwork. In fact there was no need for him to wade through the stacks of forms, receipts, and invoices that he hated, because Joe had transferred most things to paperless transactions; but without some level of involvement Paddy felt useless, and he had never got the hang of the computer. So, though nothing was actually said, a certain amount of paperwork had been retained to keep him busy. Conor was never sure that that was a good idea. They all knew it was a sham, and, at the end of the day, it meant a less-than-efficient business. Which worried everyone.
Conor’s mum looked apologetic. “He wants you to go to Lissbeg on the Vespa before you go up the field.”
“What for?”
“Ah, he was in there playing cards with Johnny Hennessy last night and he left his glasses after him.”
This was a disaster. Without his glasses Paddy couldn’t get on with his hated paperwork, and the fact that he couldn’t drive to Lissbeg to retrieve them himself would be driving him mad. Conor rolled out of bed and said he’d be down in a second.
“Thanks, pet. You know how it is . . .” Orla McCarthy’s voice faltered and Conor cursed inwardly. They all knew how it was and none of them wanted to blame his dad, but there were times when you’d almost want to throttle him. All the same, it must be hell to be so dependent when not all that long ago you’d have made nothing of lifting a mountain. These days if the poor man only wanted a night in Moran’s pub in Lissbeg, he’d have to be driven there in Johnny Hennessy’s car and helped in and out like he was ninety.
When Conor came into the kitchen Paddy was seething.
“What time did you stop drinking last night that you’re still in bed this time of the morning?”
Paddy was still thrown by the doctor’s edict that he was now off alcohol for life. The fact that lots of people drank coffee or stuck to soft drinks in the pubs these days didn’t matter to him; a hand of cards in Moran’s made no sense at all if he didn’t have a pint at his elbow. In fact, it took all the combined efforts of his family and Johnny Hennessy, who’d always lend anyone a helping hand, to get him out of the house of an evening: last night had been his first time in Lissbeg for weeks.
Now he looked at Conor sheepishly, aware that he was being unfair. Conor ignored his question and asked where he’d left the glasses.
“It was the back bar in Moran’s. I must have put them down on that ledge near the door.”
“No problem.” Conor downed his tea and nodded at the clock. “I won’t be long gone.”
As he wove his way through the morning traffic to Lissbeg, Conor told himself that he had indeed come home pretty late last night. It wasn’t usual. Late nights didn’t make sense if you had to get up early to work on a farm, and going out drinking cost money. But yesterday he had met Dan after work and they’d bumped into Bríd and Aideen. The four of them had ended up in the deli with the blinds down, eating leftover quiche. Then he and Dan had invited the girls for a drink. They went to a place just off Broad Street where the décor was more modern than Moran’s and the pints were just as good. Bríd and Aideen squeezed in behind a corner table and Conor and Dan had gone to get the drinks. When they came back Bríd grabbed a glass and raised it.
“Onwards and upwards!”
She had spent ages filling in forms trying to get grants to help promote the deli, she said, and today she’d had yet another refusal. Dan asked what she was going to do.
“I dunno. Just keep on keeping on. I wanted to get help to design fliers and someone to look at my business plan. But I suppose we’re on our own.”
As Dan went for some peanuts, Aideen mentioned the council’s consultation meeting. Maybe they should turn up at that and ask questions? Find out what the big plan was and see if they could feed into it? Maybe they could make a case for encouraging tourists to come and visit Lissbeg.
Conor had a feeling that whatever the council’s plan was it was likely to be dumb. As he sipped his pint he told them about the daft evening he’d spent with Miss Casey in Carrick.
“I’m telling you lads, the woman talking that night was scary. According to her, the average visitor to Finfarran falls into three distinct categories, all of which can be characterized as digitally aware and smart-phone savvy.”
“So?”
“God knows. She said it like it was some big deal.”
“But what was she on about?”
“Some app she’s designed to provide the smart-phone savvy tourist with a hands-on holiday experience. And there was a minister down from Dublin, nodding away, delighted with her.”
“Ah, for God’s sake!” Dan ripped open a packet of nuts and tipped them out onto the table. “Half the tourists I get are only dying to ditch the smartphones. Sure, they’re slaves to them at work.”
“Well, according to your one in Carrick, she’s going to replace an outdated, generalized interface with the ultimate in niche marketing.”
“And you believe her?”
“Of course I don’t, and half the room didn’t either. And the other half weren’t interested. The council just wanted the place packed on account of your man down from Dublin.”
Bríd snorted. “God, wouldn’t you think somebody somewhere would just take the time to listen to the likes of us.”
Aideen, who’d been trying to get a word in edgewise, pointed out that the posters for the consultation meeting actually said YOUR COUNCIL IS LISTENING.
Dan looked at her scathingly. “Sure, my dad’s worn out writing letters to the council and they never take a blind bit of notice.”
Before Aideen could answer Bríd thumped the table. “You see? The big guys get heard and the rest of us never get a word in.”
After a few more drinks she was thumping the table even harder.
“Do you know what it is, we should call our o
wn meeting. Say we’re fed up being told what to do and we want a proper consultation process!”
As he approached Moran’s pub on his Vespa, Conor realized that from that point onward, last night had got a bit blurred. Nobody actually got drunk, but there was a great deal of table-thumping and a general sense that something needed to be done. Dan was fed up because he’d had to sideline the eco-tours and go laboring for Fury O’Shea to make ends meet, and Bríd said that half the girls she’d been at school with would have stayed in Lissbeg if they hadn’t been forced to go off somewhere else for employment. At closing time the four of them had said goodbye with a great sense of purpose, though Conor couldn’t quite remember why. Now, pulling the Vespa into the yard beside Moran’s, he peered in the window of the back bar. Mrs. Moran saw him and came to open the door.
“Ah, there you are, Conor, you’re here for your dad’s specs.”
She lifted the glasses case from among the bottles behind the bar and handed it to Conor, who fastened it into his pocket.
“Thanks a million, Mrs. Moran.”
“No bother, son. How’s poor Paddy doing?”
“Well, he’s up and down but he’s grand, Mrs. Moran. I’d better get these yokes back to him.”
Joan Moran, who could talk the hind leg off a donkey, followed him out to the door. “And poor Orla, how’s she doing?”
“Grand. She’s fine. Look, sorry, Mrs. Moran, I ought to let them know I’ve got the glasses.”
He wheeled the Vespa out of Joan Moran’s hearing and sat on it, turning on his phone. A message from Dan Cafferky appeared in his in-box. I’d say we’d get a gud crowd 2nite. There were two other messages, both sent this morning. The first, from Aideen, said: I’ve rung round. The second, from Bríd, said: U want help wit chairs? None of them made any sense to Conor. But a vague memory from the night before began to take hold of his mind. Moments later, it was crystal clear and horrifying. Kick-starting the Vespa, he told himself that his dad’s specs were no longer the priority. He needed to get round to the library double quick and make a confession to Miss Casey.
33
Hanna was sitting at her desk inspecting a copy of The Female Eunuch returned by Darina Kelly when Conor put his head round the door. He was wearing his motorcycle gloves and had pushed his crash helmet up onto the top of his head. Beneath it his usually cheerful face looked apprehensive. Hanna looked up at him. “Well, it’s definitely not your day and there’s nothing wrong with the computers, so what on earth are you doing here?”
Conor had hung round the horse trough on Broad Street for a good half hour after he’d left Moran’s, waiting for the library to open. With one eye out for Miss Casey’s car, and still praying that he might be mistaken, he had rung Dan Cafferky and confirmed his horrific memory of the night before.
Miss Casey looked at him sharply. “Well, come in if you’re coming. Don’t hover.”
Conor took a deep breath and approached the desk. Standing in front of it with the crash helmet still perched on his head and his gloved hands clasped in embarrassment, he managed to get his story off his chest. There was a long pause during which he shot a nervous glance at Miss Casey. She wasn’t looking happy.
“Let me get this clear. You’ve called a public meeting to be held here in the library tonight?”
“No, really, I didn’t.” Conor’s face twisted in concern. “I mean I didn’t mean to. It was just that we were talking and everyone was really . . . engaged, you know, and then . . . honestly, Miss Casey, I don’t even remember what I said.”
“And that makes it better?”
It didn’t, of course, but it was the truth. After they’d left the girls last night, Dan had said that, according to the Met Office website, there was due to be an amazing meteor shower. Dan was going to watch it from the cliffs and would Conor come with him? It had sounded great, so they’d driven back to Dan’s place and walked out to a headland. Dan had brought a naggin of whiskey in his pocket and the two of them had sat there and shared it, looking up at a trembling silver curtain of shooting stars.
“So, you’re telling me that you got drunk?”
Conor supposed that he must have. A bit. He’d never meant to call a meeting in the library. But he must have kind of suggested it. And Dan must have got up this morning and texted the girls. And then the thing had snowballed. And, according to Dan when he talked to him just now, all sorts of people were coming. They’d fixed it for seven o’clock.
“Honest, Miss Casey, I’m sorry. And I don’t know what to do.”
There was a bright chiming sound from his pocket and he leapt like a startled faun. Directly above Miss Casey’s head was a large sign that read TURN OFF YOUR MOBILE PHONE. Frantically, Conor tried to remove his glove. The Velcro fastening defeated him until Miss Casey reached across the desk and released it briskly, like a nurse removing a Band-Aid. Dragging off the glove and pulling his phone from his pocket, Conor looked at the screen.
“It’s me dad saying he’ll maim me if I’m not home in ten minutes.”
To his horror, he heard his voice wobble as he spoke.
Annoyed though she was, Hanna couldn’t bring herself to add to his despair. “Look, calm down. If you’re needed at home, that’s where you should be.”
“But how am I going to stop them all from turning up this evening?”
“I’d say it’s way too late to try, so I wouldn’t bother. And half of the people who say they’ll turn up to things never do.”
“But I don’t even know what we’re supposed to be talking about!”
“Can you remember what you were talking about last night?”
“Well, there’s this consultation meeting that Aideen says the council’s setting up. And Dan reckons it’s rubbish.”
Hanna nodded at the poster she’d been given by Tim Slattery. “You mean that?”
Conor swiveled round and looked at it. “I suppose so. Aideen saw a notice up in Carrick.”
“Well, you can’t call a meeting to announce that Dan’s deeply suspicious of something he knows nothing about.”
“I know!” Conor clutched his head. Taking his elbow, Hanna steered him to the door.
“Look, go home. Stop worrying. I’ll keep the library open this evening till eight. The chances are that hardly a soul will turn up. But you can make a speech saying that there’s a consultation meeting coming up shortly, which people should attend. Then you can draw the attention of your audience to the notice on the wall.”
“Right.” Conor looked hunted. “Then what?”
“Then you thank them for coming and send them home.”
“Ah, God, Miss Casey, I don’t know what Dan will say to that.”
“Well, you have two choices. Tell your friends you had no authority to offer the library as a venue. Or do as I say and carry things off with an air.”
Hanna could practically see the wheels going round in Conor’s head. Then he clenched his jaw and nodded. “Okay, so, I’ll do that.”
“Good. And Conor, don’t tell the others. Even when it’s over. Not even as a good joke. I know this town, they’ll be laughing at you for seven generations.”
Conor nodded again, squaring his shoulders. “Right. I hear you. Thanks, Miss Casey.”
Back at her desk, Hanna hoped she’d made the right decision. It hadn’t felt possible to let poor Conor lose face. But having set her own face so firmly against using the library as a community venue, it was she, not he, who’d be laughed at if the evening turned out to be a farce.
At lunchtime Hanna decided to supplement her homemade sandwich with a coffee and a cake from HabberDashery. Usually when she was alone at the desk she closed for half an hour at lunchtime, giving herself a break in the kitchen with her sandwich and a book. She was supposed to take a full hour for lunch, and on the days that Conor worked she did, but many people in Lissbeg only had time to get into the library on their lunch breaks. So Hanna saw it as her duty to keep the door open.
Mary Casey thoug
ht she was a fool to herself.
“Name of God, girl, don’t you have a right to a proper dinner and a bit of peace and quiet? Do you think the traders in Lissbeg would keep their doors open for you one minute longer than they had to? Not a chance of them. They’d slam the door in your face as soon as the clock struck one!”
This was nonsense. The shops in Lissbeg stayed open at lunchtime, and had done so for ages. But Mary Casey’s fantasies about a sort of 1950s Ireland in which grocers sold sugar in twists of brown paper were increasing as she grew older. Hanna found them profoundly irritating, mainly, she suspected, because they frightened her. For the most part Mary’s aggression appeared to be fuelled by a great sense of gusto, but at times like these it seemed to express a failing grasp on life. If that was so, it inevitably foreshadowed a loss of independence in the future—and an increasingly dependent Mary wasn’t something Hanna wanted to think about. Not in the midst of her current plans to regain some independence for herself.
Locking the library door, she set out to buy her coffee. There was a line at the counter in HabberDashery where Aideen and Bríd were busy taking orders. As she selected a slice of almond cake and reached across the counter for her cup of coffee to go, Hanna congratulated Aideen on the crowd.
“I know. It’s great, isn’t it? And it’d be better still if we had room for a couple of tables. We get this big takeaway crowd at dinnertime, but it’s quiet the rest of the day.”
As she dodged through the traffic on Broad Street, she told herself Aideen was right; it would be nice to take her lunch break in the cheerful deli with its bright paintwork and delicious smells. Reaching the center of the street, she considered sitting on the bench by the horse trough. Then she decided against it. The scarlet geraniums in the old stone trough were attractive in the sunshine, but the cars parked all around it made it a depressing place to sit. So instead, carrying her takeaway, she returned to the kitchen in the library.
The Library at the Edge of the World Page 16