Treading carefully, Hanna moved farther into the garden. Beyond the statue of St. Francis was a bench, half-hidden by a blowsy hydrangea. She walked toward it along rutted gravel that scrunched underfoot. The bench was made of silvery wood, bleached by time and lack of care. Hanna sat down on it, leaned back, and closed her eyes. Though she had attended the convent school she had never before been in the nuns’ garden; back then it had been presented as a secluded sanctum steeped in holiness, an idea fostered by the fact that it could only be accessed from the nuns’ side of the building, where the pupils never went. For a few moments she concentrated on switching her focus back and forth between the distant sound of traffic and the song of a robin behind her. The mental gymnastics occupied her brain and eased her troubles briefly. Then the robin was silent, and, opening her eyes, she saw that she wasn’t alone.
Startled, she sat upright. In front of her was a stocky, white-haired woman dressed in a neat navy-blue skirt and cardigan, a white blouse, and black laced shoes. Her hands, which were linked at her waist, were knotted by rheumatism, and, though she radiated a quiet energy, she must have been well into her eighties. Hanna automatically assumed the voice she used for the old dears in the library.
“Are you lost? Can I help you?”
The woman sat down beside her and folded her hands in her lap. “No, I’m not lost. I live here.”
“Here?” Hanna looked around at the neglected garden. Clearly this was a demented old biddy who’d have to be taken care of. She had reached for her phone and was already mentally calling the police station when, glancing at the wrinkled face beside her, she caught a look of amused intelligence. Then the faded blue eyes blazed with humor and the old woman held out her hand.
“Technically, of course, you’re a trespasser but, sure, I wouldn’t let that worry you. I’m Sister Michael.”
It took several seconds for Hanna to remember what she’d vaguely known ever since she’d returned to Finfarran—that two elderly nuns still lived in the convent building. Apparently this was one of them.
The old woman looked at her inquiringly. “Were you a pupil here yourself?”
“Yes, but I’m afraid I’m not sure that I remember you.”
“No, well you wouldn’t, I wasn’t a teacher. I worked in the kitchen.”
She must have been one of the lay sisters whom the pupils had occasionally glimpsed in the corridors. Usually they were the daughters of large families, who had gone into the nuns, as people used to say, because they had no dowry to bring to a marriage. But the nuns, too, required a dowry from those who joined the order, so girls without money provided domestic help in the convent. In her school days Hanna had always thought of them as a bit downtrodden, but the woman beside her had a quiet air of confidence that was extraordinarily restful.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a chuckle. “Not exactly Miss Havisham, am I?”
It was so precisely what Hanna had been thinking that she found she had nothing to say. Somewhere in the back of her mind she had an image of the surviving nuns as veiled figures drifting through shuttered rooms, lit by a Gothic glow from tarnished candlesticks. Sister Michael in her laced shoes and polyester cardigan didn’t fit the picture at all. The nun laid her hand on Hanna’s arm. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”
Taken aback, Hanna shook her head and said of course not; she was a trespasser in this woman’s garden so she could hardly say anything else.
“What has you so angry?”
Hanna could never quite explain to herself what happened next. The direct question seemed to unblock something inside her and suddenly tears were spilling down her face. What sort of an ass must she be, that men could so easily fool her? First Malcolm and now Tim. She had trusted them. Not in the same way, of course, because Malcolm was her husband whereas Tim was just a friend. But in the end it all boiled down to the same thing. They had both lied to her because they’d both known she’d be fool enough to believe them. Prompted by the occasional quiet question from Sister Michael, she poured out the whole story of Malcolm’s betrayal, Tim’s perfidy, her own vision for Maggie’s place, and the shocking discovery that now she was threatened with unemployment and unpayable debt. Of course she was angry, she wailed, she felt like a total fool for not seeing what was happening. And she had no one to blame but herself. There was a long pause in which she heard the song of the robin again and the sound of cars on Broad Street. The old woman sat beside her, saying nothing. Eventually, Hanna reached for a tissue and blew her nose. She felt incredibly tired. Resisting an urge to rest her head on her knees, she turned and looked at Sister Michael. The faded blue eyes met hers thoughtfully.
“Do you know what it is, girl, I’d say you were a terrible time-waster.”
It was the last response that Hanna had expected. Sister Michael planted her sensible shoes in the gravel.
“Your husband was a cheat and this Slattery man’s a liar. That’s no shame on you, girl. But sitting there snuffling when you should be getting organized! That’s a mortal sin.”
Hanna opened her mouth to reply but, to her amazement, the nun winked at her.
“I’d say what you’d want to do now is forget about your feelings and start fighting back.”
“But what can I do?”
“Well, the first thing we’ll do is attend this consultation meeting in Carrick. We’ll keep a low profile, mind, but we’ll check out the lie of the land. I’d like to see your Tim Slattery for myself.”
39
On the morning of the consultation meeting, Conor had a call from Aideen. She was going to text round and remind people it was on tonight, she said, and would he do the same? As soon as he’d parked the Vespa in the courtyard he shot off a few texts to people like Dan Cafferky. Then he switched off his phone and went into the library. He couldn’t hang round waiting for replies because Miss Casey was due to go off to Carrick to pick up the van.
Ever since Oliver the dog man had begun his quest, Conor had been scrutinizing book covers. Now, as he started sorting returns, he spotted one from the Crime and Mystery section and took it triumphantly to Oliver, who was doing his twenty-minute trawl of the shelves. But in the heel of the hunt the hound of the Baskervilles turned out to have the wrong teeth. Oliver was raging about the disruption to his system but, fortunately, before he could describe it again in great detail, Miss Casey called Conor to the desk and asked him to give a nun a lift.
“She wants to attend the council’s consultation meeting. Could you pick her up when you’re driving in?”
Conor didn’t know much about nuns because you’d hardly see them these days. According to his mum, they used to be everywhere. You couldn’t move without tripping over them. Still, they didn’t wear veils and rosary beads now, so maybe it was just that you didn’t notice them. Anyway, it was no trouble to him to give a nun a lift into Carrick. The only thing was that it’d have to be in the car because she’d probably draw the line at the Vespa.
That evening he drove his car down Broad Street and round to the rear of the convent. Then he hopped out and rang the nuns’ bell. The door opened immediately and she came out in a gray anorak over an ordinary skirt and cardigan. Conor settled her into the passenger seat, helping her with the seat belt because she had rheumatic hands. She explained that the other old nun who lived in the convent was bedridden but Pat Fitz was sitting in with her. Conor had no idea why this one would want to come to the consultation meeting, but it wasn’t any of his business so he thought he’d better not ask.
He drove to Carrick slowly in case an ancient nun might get frightened, but they arrived in plenty of time. According to a poster in the reception area, the consultation meeting was on the third floor of the council building, in the room where Teresa O’Donnell had presented her daft app. Remembering how to get there from the last time, Conor steered Sister Michael to the elevator.
When they walked in, the room was half empty, and, except for a couple of county councillors, most of the people
there were council employees. At first Conor recognized no one but Tim Slattery, who was sitting in the front row beside a bald man with a clipboard. After a minute he spotted some of the women who ran the tourist place in Ballyfin and then he saw Aideen sitting beside Miss Casey. He and Sister Michael went and joined her, shuffling along an almost empty row of seats.
As he sat by Aideen, Conor lowered his voice. “Where’re everyone else?”
Aideen shrugged. It was like Miss Casey had said before his own meeting in the library—half of the people who say they’ll turn up to things never do.
A council guy got up at the lectern and announced that they were welcome. The purpose of the meeting, he said, was to present the targeted budget for the coming year. It was a bold, carefully considered plan that the council believed would deliver value for money. And, as everyone knew, in these difficult times, every cent spent on the public’s behalf had to be made to count.
Glancing down at his notes, he pressed a button and the first page of his presentation appeared on the screen. It was an artist’s impression of a vast new marina in Ballyfin.
As the talk continued Conor got increasingly annoyed. The presentation was all watercolor images of the marina and a shiny new council complex in Carrick. In between the pictures there were projections of figures and statistics and sound bites from people talking into microphones. Conor didn’t recognize one in ten of them but they all seemed to favor the proposal and words extracted from their comments kept flashing up on the screen.
Mighty.
Great news.
Way to go!
Then your man would go back to statistics, mostly calculations of the numbers of tourists Ballyfin would get from the cruise ships.
As soon as he’d finished Teresa O’Donnell stood up from her seat, clapping.
“As Head of Tourism for the county, I’d like to say that I’m really excited by this proposal. It has my department’s unqualified support.”
The council guy smiled and said the meeting was now open to the floor. After a pause, Gráinne from the tourist office in Ballyfin asked if approval for the plan meant the acceptance of the HoHo app. “Because if it does, it means redundancies in the Tourism Department.”
The answer was that these things were best dealt with one step at a time.
Then Joe Furlong, the guy from the huge hotel in Ballyfin, stood up and said he’d like to express the thanks of the people of Finfarran for the work that went into the proposal. It was great to see that, as well as investing in the little fishing village that was the best-kept secret in Ireland, there was money for enhanced amenities in the peninsula’s county town. Having made this announcement he sat down to applause led, once again, by Teresa O’Donnell.
Aideen looked sadly at Conor who, unable to contain himself, jumped to his feet. Who was Joe Furlong, he demanded, to speak for the people of Finfarran? If he spoke for anyone it was the money guys in Ballyfin. What about the rest of the peninsula that never got a look in? What about the effect of the stupid highway and the lack of decent Internet access? What about the state of the roads?
Hanna saw Tim Slattery look round sharply. His face darkened when he saw who had spoken, and when he turned back she could see that his shoulders were rigid. Sister Michael pressed Hanna’s arm, mouthing the words “low profile.” Hanna was about to kick Conor’s ankle when the young man at the lectern announced that questions must be substantive. Ad hominem comments, he said pompously, couldn’t be entertained. From the look on Conor’s face, it was obvious that he didn’t understand. He remained standing, expecting answers. Someone in the audience tittered. Glancing at Aideen, Hanna saw her blush scarlet. Nothing happened for a moment. Then Conor sat down abruptly, clearly feeling like a fool.
Hanna found herself seething. She couldn’t bear the deliberately cruel way in which Conor had been subdued. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Aideen reach for his hand. Scarlet in his turn, Conor pulled away. Then, to her own astonishment, Hanna found herself on her feet.
“May I ask two questions which I believe to be substantive?” Grasping the back of the chair in front of her, she spoke loudly and authoritatively. “Is it true that if this proposal is carried, Lissbeg Library will be closed? And am I right in understanding that funding for all social services requires them to be centered in Carrick? In other words, is the peninsula’s entire social amenities budget to be invested in Carrick and its tourist budget targeted solely on Ballyfin?”
A group of council officers turned to stare at her. Tim, who knew her voice, remained facing forward. The young man at the lectern looked rather bewildered. Then, in the pause while he fumbled with his notes, Hanna spoke again.
“Small businesses up and down this peninsula are crying out for an infrastructure designed to help them grow. Pensioners in need of social services require more local provision, not less. I’ve heard nothing tonight that suggests that the majority of Finfarran’s communities are well served by this proposal. And I would suggest that our county councillors need to hear their voices and concerns.”
There was a deafening silence. Then the bald man with the clipboard stood up and spoke. The point about the voicing of public concerns was well made, he said, and most welcome. Council officers would be remiss in their duty if they failed to abide by statutory regulations with regard to public consultation. But of course they had not. Consultation was the purpose of this gathering tonight.
Immediately the young man at the lectern picked up the cue. If any member of the public had concerns or questions, he said, he’d be happy to address them at once. Hanna cut across him briskly.
“I’d like you to answer my questions, please. And, talking of pensioners being asked to travel miles to access services, are they likely to attend a meeting held at nine P.M.?”
Gráinne gallantly rose to her feet and declared that they were not. They wouldn’t risk the potholes, she said, not at this time of night. No more than they’d want to be trailing into Carrick whenever they needed a bit of support. Sure, how would they get here, with half the buses cut back? The cost of the gas would cripple them, never mind the state of the roads.
By now everyone in the room was looking at Hanna. The bald-headed official spoke again, sounding eminently reasonable. The regulations required a statutory period for submissions. So any member of the public unable to attend the meeting could offer their input online. Or, indeed, by post. Everybody would be accorded an opportunity to consider the proposals and some, it had been found, preferred to take their time. After all, these were matters that the council’s officers had been working on for months. His wry smile suggested that, unlike council officers, the average member of the public might need help with cursive writing. There was a ripple of applause that the official acknowledged blandly. Seeing that there was nothing more to be said, Hanna sat down and received a glowing look from Aideen. Then she saw Conor’s expression. As she watched, it slowly turned from bewilderment to outrage. Then, as she leaned toward him, he turned sharply away. Groaning inwardly, Hanna sat back as the meeting broke up around her. Once again she’d let her feelings dictate her actions, and taken a step without thinking.
40
“Well, you’d never make a nun!” Sister Michael’s eyes met Hanna’s in the mirror of the ladies’ restroom. Hanna winced. The one thing that she didn’t need now was a lecture on the virtues of discipline. Having spent the last ten minutes dealing with an increasingly frantic Conor, she was more than aware of her sad lack of it.
As soon as the meeting had ended she’d dragged Conor into a corner. And as soon as they got there he turned on her.
“Are they really planning to shut down Lissbeg Library?”
“Well, yes. I mean it’s clear that it’s part of their proposal. But we don’t know that it’ll happen.”
“You did know it was planned, though. And you never told me.”
Cursing herself for having spoken without thinking, Hanna explained that she hadn’t been sure.
> “I’d heard it said. But I didn’t know. And I didn’t want to worry you. I’m sorry, Conor, that was no way for you to hear about it. It was just that I lost my temper in there when I saw how that fellow was treating you.”
She could see indignation warring with gratitude in Conor’s face, and, despite her genuine regret for what she’d done, she almost found herself laughing. He was so fair-minded and so eager to forgive her. With an effort she controlled her own face and told him again that she was sorry.
“And you mustn’t worry. Nothing’s been decided.”
“But we know now, don’t we? It is part of their plan?”
“Yes, I think we do know. And we’ll talk about it tomorrow. Look, we can’t leave the others hanging round all night. You give Aideen a lift home and I’ll deal with Sister Michael.”
But now, meeting the nun’s blue eyes, she felt she was the one being dealt with.
Turning away from the mirror, Sister Michael observed her mildly. “We were supposed to be here just to check out the lay of the land.”
“I know, I’m sorry.”
Hanna cursed herself inwardly again and Sister Michael shrugged on her anorak.
“Well, I suppose there’s no point in crying over spilt milk. And I’ve got the measure of your Tim Slattery anyway.”
The Library at the Edge of the World Page 19