The Insect Rosary

by Sarah Armstrong

‘Never mind what I said in private to you,’ she interrupted Donn. ‘I’ll be off in a couple of days, I expect.’

  ‘What time?’

  Agatha snapped her head up. ‘You’re in a rush to see the back of me, Nancy.’

  ‘It’s only I was going to ask to borrow the car so we can get some juice and things that . . . things like that.’

  ‘We always used to walk,’ said Agatha, ‘didn’t we Donn? Five miles to school and back. No-one thought twice about it.’

  Nancy looked at her and thought about asking when she’d last walked to the shops and back, but changed her mind.

  ‘Maybe there’s a bus we could catch,’ said Elian.

  Agatha shook her head, ‘By the time you get to a bus stop you’re in the village.’

  ‘Can we hire some bicycles, maybe?’

  Nancy, Agatha and Donn all stared at him. He seemed to remember that Americans shouldn’t talk and put his head down. He ate studiously for a while but no one else spoke.

  ‘How far is it?’ he asked.

  ‘Two and half miles,’ said Donn.

  ‘That’s why I said it was five miles there and back,’ said Agatha, slowly.

  ‘Sure, thanks.’

  Nancy looked at the clock. It was nearly seven and she wondered how early they could all go to bed and start again tomorrow. Or maybe they should take a walk after dinner. It was the countryside that people came for, after all. And it wasn’t raining for once. Elian could use his smartphone to navigate a route somewhere and then he could feel a little bit in charge of events. That would make him happier. She would feel happier when Agatha was off being holy and Donn might be a bit more talkative.

  Nancy kept her voice light. ‘Has anyone heard any more about when Bernadette is coming?’

  ‘I thought you’d all worked this out months in advance,’ said Elian. ‘Didn’t you speak to your mother about it?’

  ‘I did. I thought it was all arranged.’

  ‘No one arranged it with us. We weren’t told,’ said Agatha. ‘Your ma just said that you were all coming over to say goodbye to the farm, for some reason, and could we air the rooms. We weren’t so much as asked, were we, Donn?’

  Elian and Nancy looked at each other.

  ‘We could stay somewhere else,’ Elian said quickly. ‘We don’t want to intrude.’

  Nancy clenched her hands around the cutlery.

  Donn said, ‘It’s all arranged now and Bernadette is coming.’

  Nancy said, ‘But you really don’t know when?’

  ‘We didn’t know when you were coming until this morning and we get our orders to collect you.’ Agatha cut her chicken but didn’t seem to be eating much. ‘Your ma would know when. Haven’t you spoken to Bernadette herself?’

  Nancy shook her head. ‘Not for a while. It’s expensive.’

  It had quickly become a Christmas and birthday card relationship, friends on Facebook to catch up with the basics and little other contact. Her mother still used the phone, and even sent letters with funny little stamped heads.

  ‘You should phone her,’ said Elian. ‘Then at least we’ll know what’s what.’

  ‘I will,’ said Nancy. She didn’t want to and wondered how she could persuade someone else to do it for her. ‘I might phone Mum tonight, just to let her know we’re here safely.’

  The rest of the meal took place in silence and Nancy relaxed. She looked around, spotting the familiar corners, and noticed how the door to Cassie’s room framed Agatha at her end of the table.

  Walking down the driveway, Nancy didn’t know which way to take them. She knew which of the nearest fields belonged to the farm, but she somehow thought Donn rented most of them out now.

  ‘Let’s walk along the road,’ she said.

  ‘There’s no sidewalk,’ said Elian.

  ‘If a car comes, just get on the grass.’

  Hurley stumbled on the cattle grid and Elian picked his way across before losing a toe between the bars.

  ‘What the hell is this, a man trap?’

  ‘It’s to stop the animals coming this way.’

  ‘Jesus, you could break your legs.’

  She was hoping that when they came to the peat bog, part owned by the farm, she’d spot it and they could talk about bog men dragged from the depths, stained black by the peat and rigidly clinging on to their past and the way they died. More likely though, Elian would question whether it shouldn’t just be left for future generations, rather than burned on the fire. She had liked digging the peat blocks and turning them to dry out quickly. It seemed a better use than crumbling it into pots of tomato plants, which always seemed to want more water than she could remember to give them. She had no green fingers, unlike her mother, or patience, but in that she and her mother were quite matched.

  The sky was still a pale blue in the west. The rain from the day was scenting the earth and grass, so the smell seemed stronger than on the hottest days. When they came to an aluminium gate at the entrance to a field the trampled and darker mud pooled around the entrances. The sheep stayed well away from them, despite Hurley’s insistence on climbing onto the lowest rung to dangle longer, juicier grass from the roadside. The sheep bleated a warning to each other and retreated well away from his hand.

  ‘Donn might ask you to help him move the sheep to a different field,’ she told him.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘For fresher grass. I’m just saying because he can get a bit cross if you run at them. If you fancied it you could, but I’m just warning you.’

  ‘Doesn’t his dog do it?’

  ‘Yes. Most likely.’

  That dog. She’d forgotten about it. Unlike Bruce it hadn’t run around to walk out with them, but lay down as if determined to herd them back into the house at the first nod from Donn. It must be a good sheepdog, or Donn wouldn’t bother to feed it. She’d seen him take the leftovers, the potatoes and chicken left uneaten at the table, and tip it into Bruce’s steel dish under the staircase. It had waited until he was back inside before it started to eat. It was clearly an obedient dog, when it came to Donn.

  She looked behind them, but the dog hadn’t followed. The grass in the verges sparkled with single strands of gossamer, stretching across and up and over, but she couldn’t see any webs. Hurley probably wasn’t interested in spiders any more. Elian looked at the way the landscape curved into groups of trees and pointed out to Hurley distant farmhouses. He was from a town and lived in a town. He’d taken her on road trips out into Michigan but they hadn’t really got out of the car anywhere where there weren’t already other people. One time they’d driven past a field of buffalo and she’d made him park up on the roadside so she could stroke their noses and take in the wilderness in their fur. Their food had been poured over the gate for them, straight onto the ground, and she could see uneaten strawberries in the mix which struck her as odd. After driving on for half a mile they’d seen a diner promoting its buffalo steak and her stomach had clenched. She knew the link between animals and meat, she’d been on a farm every summer for twelve years, but she’d never got used to it.

  ‘Shall we turn back?’ said Elian.

  The breeze had picked up and his fleece was zipped up to his chin, his shoulders hunched. She looked at Hurley, jacket flapping open and his hands in his pockets. They hadn’t made it to the end of the road but she nodded. On the way back she tried to conjure up memories to stick to the places they passed.

  ‘Down there was Mary’s house, that’s the sheep dip. The silo is over there.’

  ‘What’s a silo?’ asked Hurley.

  ‘I don’t know, really. Sometimes there were cows in there. It was next to the hay barn. We can go back that way.’

  They crossed the road and took the lane towards Mary’s until they got to the silo. The large barn, as high as two storeys, had holes in the corrugated roof but the smell of cow pats was as strong as ever. Elian and Hurley covered their noses. Nancy pointed to the hay barn, only half as full of bales as she remembered i
t.

  ‘Hurley, you musn’t go in there, OK? It’s full of rats and the bales can topple over and smother you.’

  Hurley looked at her as if going in there had not crossed his mind. They went through the gate, past the row of stable buildings, some of which no longer had doors.

  ‘It’s really dangerous in these buildings, too. The roof could come down at any minute.’

  If it was true more than thirty years ago it must be true now. She saw the stable with the door high up in the wall and walked up to the blue door. It took a few goes to pull the rotten door open enough to look inside. She took her mobile from her pocket and switched on the flashlight app. There were glimpses of stalls, of steps and of heaps of metal that glinted. She stepped back and realised that it was nearly dark outside. Elian was waving his phone around, above his head.

  ‘I haven’t had any reception since we got here. Have you?’

  She checked. ‘No.’

  She led them back through the mud to the next gate at the yard and, too late, she remembered the dog. They watched him for a moment before deciding to use the front door. In the space between the outside and inside doors they took off their shoes and left them, lined up and stinking, before taking it in turns to wash the mix of mud and whatever else from their hands in the kitchen.

  ‘Next time we’ll wear wellies,’ said Nancy. She hoped they would say something, something nice about the farm or the fields, or even the sunset, but they both slumped down at the table.

  ‘The TV’s on in the front room,’ she said to Elian. ‘Why don’t you watch it for a while, while I phone my mum? Hurley, you can get ready for bed.’

  They went to the hall.

  ‘Are your relatives in there?’ whispered Elian.

  ‘The TV doesn’t usually switch itself on.’

  She watched him tentatively turn the door handle to the front room and edge his way in.

  ‘Close the door,’ she heard Donn say.

  He closed the door.

  ‘Can I have a shower?’ asked Hurley.

  ‘There isn’t one. Just have a quick wash, I’ll come up soon.’

  Hurley lingered and then went upstairs.

  Nancy picked up the receiver of the grey telephone, the same one as she remembered from before, she thought, and phoned her mother. It seemed to take so long using the rotating dial, but it finally began to ring. Her mother answered.

  ‘What’s going on, Mum?’ said Nancy, and she felt the knot build in her throat again. ‘What have you done?’

  ‘I’m fine, Nancy, thanks for asking. So you arrived.’

  ‘Mum, they say that Bernadette is coming.’ Nancy waited. ‘Is she?’

  ‘Bernie will be there.’

  Nancy closed her eyes. ‘When? When we’ve gone, yeah?’

  Her mother sighed. ‘You’re the two who should be close and aren’t. All my brothers and sisters who emigrated and I never bothered to write to more than once a year, I can’t tell you how much I regret that.’ Her mother breathed in to force out a fake laugh, ‘Think of all those fantastic holidays we could have had.’

  ‘You arranged this so Bernie could have a cheap holiday to the States?’

  ‘No. You know why. Just sort it out, love, for everyone. Time goes too quickly.’

  She could hear her mother’s voice breaking so made hers very light.

  ‘Agatha’s not pleased to have us here. It’s difficult.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. You know what she’s like. She’ll be off soon enough.’

  Nancy blinked back the ache in her eyes. ‘Elian hates it, Mum.’

  ‘This isn’t for Elian. It’s for you and Bernadette. Family needs to be close enough to say things that need to be said.’

  ‘Elian is my family.’

  ‘Then he’ll understand.’

  ‘But you never –’ Nancy bit her lip.

  Her mum coughed and then her voice was clearer. ‘Bernie is coming in two days. Just hold tight and rest up. See Agatha off and then put Hurley in her room. Don’t ask her, just stick him in there.’

  ‘But, what if . . .’

  ‘Move anything breakable, obviously. It’s going to be fine, and if it isn’t fine, it’ll be worth it in any case.’

  Nancy finally let the tears fall. ‘I wish we’d come to stay with you instead.’

  ‘I’ll be over in the autumn again. Just, please, Nancy, please make it up with Bernie.’

  ‘I don’t know if I can.’

  ‘Try.’

  ‘I will try.’

  ‘And tell her we still love her and always will. She can call anytime. She knows that, but tell her anyway.’

  ‘See you soon, Mum.’

  ‘Tell her we miss her.’

  The phone tinged as she replaced the receiver. She rubbed her face with her sleeves, took a deep breath and joined them all in the front room. Just the same. Brown flowers on the wall above the dado rail, the piano against one wall, dining table in the large bay window, the settee long ways across the middle of the room so you could walk right around it, and the lace antimacassars still in place on the headrests.

  She’d clearly entered after one of Elian’s anecdotes as he was saying, ‘Ten thousand Elvis impersonators can’t be wrong.’ Neither Agatha nor Donn were looking at him.

  The fire was burning peat bricks and Nancy sat on the rug in front of it, exactly where she used to sit with Bernie. Donn was in the armchair, Agatha and Elian sat at far ends of the settee. There were no curtains as there were no neighbours. She shivered.

  ‘Sit here, Nance,’ Elian said, patting the gap between him and Agatha.

  She sat down between them and he took her hand in his.

  ‘I forgot to check on Hurley,’ she said.

  ‘He’ll be OK.’ Elian’s grip started to hurt.

  5

  Then

  At home we never had potatoes like we did here. Mum always peeled them, huge flakes of red or brown skin sticking to the sink. Here they were boiled in their skins for hours, or at least until the insides were fluffy with air. You had to weigh them down with butter balls before they disintegrated in a small breeze. I had finished washing the potatoes, but not to Sister Agatha’s satisfaction. I was glad to put off the butter balls, made by rolling a spoonful between large cross hatched wooden paddles to pattern them. I could remember eating a number of butter balls, one after the other, until I threw up.

  ‘That’ll teach you,’ said Mum. And I never touched butter again. My potatoes were always in danger of floating away when a door was opened.

  Sister Agatha inspected my work. ‘I need eight apples for the pie.’

  I froze. ‘Where from?’

  ‘Where do you think? Cassie’s room.’

  My hands clasped each other. ‘I’m not allowed in there.’

  ‘You are when you’re sent there.’

  I walked slowly into the parlour and looked at the door, the pair to the larder with the glacé cherries. I’d heard things behind this door. Maybe this was my real punishment. It was waiting for me behind this door. I rubbed my hands together.

  ‘Hurry up!’

  I wasn’t going to get away with it by postponing it. I reached out for the handle.

  ‘What’s keeping you?’

  I opened the door and breathed out. It was how it always looked when I was allowed in. There were boxes of apples piled up in a corner, a sack of potatoes and a box of crisps that had been bought for our stay, even though we weren’t allowed more than one packet every two days. We’d never finish them in time.

  I stepped forward into the room that was always the coldest in a very cold house. There was a tiny window, and it was right behind the kitchen fireplace, but it never got any warmer. I crooked my sore arm and laid the apples along it, apart from three which I carried in my other, upturned hand. I became aware of a smell and stood, trying to place it. The closest I could get was the smell of a handful of coppers when you’ve been holding them too long. But there was something el
se, which kept sliding away, something I should remember but couldn’t.

  I left the room and pushed the door closed behind me. I took Sister Agatha the apples and she sent me back to the sink to peel them. Why would you peel apples, but not potatoes? It was all upside down. I did what I was told, the smell still nagging at me to recognise it. Maybe I was just anxious because Tommy had been here last night. I usually wasn’t allowed in there when he’d been in the house. I didn’t want to know why that room was his room, was linked to him.

  ‘So,’ said Sister Agatha, ‘you were one of the lucky ones in May. Tell me all about it.’

  ‘About what?’

  She turned, her hands covered in flour. ‘About what! About seeing the Holy Father at Wembley Stadium, that’s what.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, ‘it was good.’

  ‘What was he like?’

  ‘We were very far away from him, up the top really. I saw his little car.’

  Sister Agatha shook her head. ‘Do you know how many people would have given anything to be there that day? And that’s all you can say.’

  She twisted back to the pastry and took her frustration out on it, the flour dusting her black clothes. I could hear her muttering to herself. It could have been a prayer or a curse.

  ‘Agatha, why didn’t you become a nun?’

  She cleared her throat, ‘It turned out not to be my calling after all. Not at that time.’ She thumped the pastry.

  I’d watched The Sound of Music a little while ago and I knew that nearly nuns sometimes didn’t become nuns, but that seemed to be because they were summoned away by smartly dressed men to look after their children.

  ‘But why?’

  ‘“Even a fool who keeps silent is considered wise; when he closes his lips, he is deemed intelligent.’”

  ‘What?’

  ‘Sometimes it’s nice to stay quiet, Bernadette. God loves silence.’

  ‘But, did you –’

  ‘I came home to look after Da. That’s all there is to it. I was never a full nun and there is no mystery to it, whatever your mammy says.’

  I looked away from her and out of the window. Nancy was in the yard with Bruce, throwing a stick for him to chase down the lane and return to her. There were three ways out of the yard. If you turned left you’d arrive at the front of the house through a gateway half as high as the house itself, which led you on to the driveway and out onto the road closer to the village. If you went straight on you’d arrive on the main road much quicker. If you turned right, through the gate which was shoulder height on me, you’d pass by all the stables and outhouses, right down to the silo. There you got onto a little road which you could take left, back on to the main road, or right which led to other farms. I chose to take this route in my head as I peeled the apples: past the hedges, across the bridge over the stream and running past Mary’s house before her dogs smelled that I was there. I’d only been there with Donn and I wouldn’t want to go without him.