Fiona

by Gemma Whelan

  As Fiona sauntered through the terminal, Una held tightly by the hand, Sean by her side, her leather book bag on her shoulder, stuffed with a notebook that was active with ideas, she felt a surge of contentment. The film loomed above her; she did not forget for an instant that she still had a formidable task ahead in getting her story to the screen and dealing with family matters, but she was grateful for a small reprieve and dared to hope that she might actually have a chance at happiness.

  Fiona led Sean and Una in to her apartment building. She picked up her accumulated mail from the concierge, to the sheer delight of Una.

  “You have your own doorman!”

  Fiona laughed. “A lot of buildings in New York do; it’s nothing too fancy.”

  She felt like she was stepping back in time. After the brightness of Los Angeles, her apartment seemed, small, even cramped. Una zeroed in instantly on the dolls and the doll-making chest.

  “Oh, look. Did you make all these, Aunt Fiona? They’re really neat!”

  Sean went over to look at the dolls with Una while Fiona checked her answering machine. There were a couple of messages from Pam; she was going to swing by and say a quick hello. And then there was a message from Sean. Fiona thought she was hearing things, glanced over at Sean who was completely absorbed with Una in examining the dolls, turned down the volume and started the message again.

  “Hi Fiona. Sending my voice across the airwaves to your dreaded machine to break the spell! Am planting great wishes for a fabulous future for the film, and for a fabulous future.”

  Fiona smiled. She put the kettle on for tea and joined Sean and Una with a tray of snacks.

  “This is Grandma Clarke.” Una was explaining to Sean. “She’s just like in her picture.” Sean reached for another doll and asked Fiona. “Is this her also? A younger version?”

  “Yes. That’s the first doll I ever made.”

  “And what about this one, a work in progress?”

  Fiona laughed and laughed.

  “What’s the joke, Auntie Fiona? Tell us the joke!”

  “Sorry!” Fiona calmed down. “It’s just the ‘work-in-progress’ part is so true. It’s me. It’s a doll of myself, but I had just started when I broke off to come out to L.A.”

  “Are you going to finish it?” Una wanted to know.

  “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll take it on the plane. Would you like me to show you how I do it, Una? Maybe you can finish the doll?”

  Una was beside herself with excitement. “Really? You’d let me? What if I mess it up?”

  Fiona laughed again. “It doesn’t matter, really. You can practice, and we can always start another one.” She looked over at Sean with a twinkle in her eye. “I’m breaking the spell!” Sean smiled back and winked. Una caught the wink.

  “What spell? Why did you wink?”

  “You don’t miss much, do you?” Fiona joked. “It’s just that I’m not taking everything so seriously, Una, not letting everything make me sad.”

  “Like Grandpa dying. And yours and Dad’s little sister all those years ago, too?”

  “Exactly. Like that.”

  The doorbell rang, and Pam made a theatrical entrance. She gave Fiona a huge hug, then stepped back and took in her outfit. “Wow! You look smashing. I approve of the new rags!” Then she shook Sean’s hand heartily and greeted Una.

  “Fiona is my aunt.” Una announced.

  “I know, I know.” Pam replied. “And you’re off to Ireland together. Exciting!”

  Pam sat down for a cup of tea.

  “Who are you?” Una wanted to know.

  “Me? I’m the Wicked Witch of the East!” Pam joked. “But I only scare adults. Children are too smart to be scared. They know when someone is just kidding!”

  “Well, I know you’re not a witch and I’m not scared.”

  “Good, we’re good, so. And I see you’ve discovered Fiona’s dolls. Aren’t they amazing?”

  “They are awesome,” Sean chimed in. “Works of art.”

  “Speaking of which,” Fiona retrieved a bound bundle from her book bag and handed it to Pam. “A wee bit late, but a story nonetheless. More to follow.”

  “Great. Way to go, girl!”

  “Is that a book, a new book?” Una wanted to know.

  “This one is just a story, Una. But the book idea is forming; it will come.”

  “You see.” Pam finished up her tea. “Los Angeles was good for priming the muse!”

  “Yeah. Though I don’t think it’s the location necessarily.” Fiona began. “Anyway, it happened.” She stole a glance at Sean. “And it might have been your lucky computer! I’ve had it shipped to Ireland so I can use it for re-writes, by the way.”

  “Cool! Whatever works! Oh, big news. Sam and I are tying the knot in the fall, date to be decided, but taking the plunge!”

  “Oh, Pam!! Fantastic! I’m so thrilled for you.” Fiona flung her arms around her. “Let’s catch up when I get back. Have a real date?”

  “You’re on!” She started to go. “And I’m off—and don’t you have a plane to catch? Good luck with the filming, Sean. Keep me posted, Fiona—and don’t forget your dialing finger!”

  Fiona laughed. “You have to admit I’m better than I was!”

  “I give you that—I’d say a hundred percent improvement so far!” And Pam was gone. They cleared away the dishes. Fiona gathered a few items she wanted to take to Ireland, and they headed out to find a taxi.

  “Is this where you live, Fiona? All the time?” Una asked when they were in the cab.

  “New York? Yes. Maybe when you’re older you’ll visit me here?”

  Una nodded. “And Sean. Will you visit Fiona here too?”

  Fiona blushed. Sean was taken aback and briefly speechless. Out of the mouths of babes. Una was articulating what was unspoken between them.

  “Of course,” Sean rebounded. “We’ll be working on the film for quite a while. Fiona will want to see it before it opens.”

  As they approached the Aer Lingus terminal, the bars and restaurants got busier and louder and there were noticeably more Irish accents. It was 6.45 pm, about an hour before departure. Families and friends were having their last drinks together before going through the final checkpoint and sending the passengers on. Fiona realized she was drawn to the Irish accents. She couldn’t help the melting of recognition and familiarity that overcame her at the mere sound of the rising cadences, soft and sibilant, excited and gregarious.

  “Would you two like a bite to eat?” Sean asked. “It could be a while before we eat on the plane.”

  “I’d like Irish food.” Una piped up. “Fish and chips!”

  “Technically English—but Irish enough!” Fiona laughed, and they found a booth and ordered up some fish and chips.

  “Are all these people Irish?” Una asked as she munched on a crispy chip. “Are all the Irish people in New York?”

  “Well—there are a lot of Irish here. Not all, but a lot.”

  “Do you have Irish friends here? I don’t think Daddy has any Irish friends.”

  “Speaking of Irish,” Sean joked,” shall we have a little refreshment before we board? To get into the Irish mood?”

  “Why not.” Fiona smiled. “And to help us to sleep on the long flight!”

  “What’ll you have?”

  “A half pint of Harp—for medicinal purposes of course!”

  Sean got two halves, and a lemonade for Una.

  When they boarded the plane, the Aer Lingus flight attendants pulled them further into the Irish vortex.

  “What language is she speaking?” Una asked, fascinated.

  “It’s Irish, Gaelic.” Fiona explained. “The national language of Ireland.”

  “Will people there speak Irish? Will I be able to understand them?”

  “Don’t worry, everyone speaks English. And the flight attendant will make the same announcement now in English.”

  “I was there before, you know. But I was five, I think. I just re
member Grandma and Grandpa.”

  When Una spoke it hit Fiona even more forcefully that both of her own parents were indeed dead. A mere two years previous, they were both hale and hearty and young. They lived in the memory of this little girl. Declan and Julie’s next child would never know them, and if she herself ever had children, they would never know their maternal grandparents.

  Una was full of energy and noticed everything. She admired the smartly designed green and navy uniforms on the attendants. She practiced tilting back her seat and was thrilled with the coloring books the crew brought for her. She told the attendant that she was half Irish and going to visit her grandparents’ farm. When a mother and her eight-year-old boy settled in behind them, the boy protesting loudly about the game his mother had forgotten to pack for him, Una was disgusted that such an old boy would act so silly. Fiona and Sean smiled over her head at the sensible little madam they were bookending. Then Una started to read out loud from the Irish book of baby names she had brought. “I’m trying to pick my new sister’s name,” she explained to Sean. “So, you can tell me what you like. You, too Fiona.”

  “Thanks!” Fiona laughed. “Okay, go ahead.”

  “Sorcha, Chiara, Niamh . . . you have to help me with how to pronounce them . . . Shauna—that’s just like Sean! Are you Irish, Sean?”

  “Part Irish, Una, my grandparents came from Ireland. Those names are beautiful.”

  “I’ll read some more, I’m half-Irish, you know! Then we can pick! Aisling, Sinead, Emer, Maeve. What would you pick Fiona?”

  “I love the name Aisling . . . Niamh—that’s pretty too.”

  “Me, too, Niamh is nice . . . you say it with a ‘v’ sound. Okay . . . Siobhan, Caitlin, Nessa . . . ”

  “That’s beautiful, Nessa.” Sean interjected.

  “I’ve always loved that name.” Fiona agreed.

  “You could call someone Nessa in one of your stories, Aunt Fiona!” and Una continued. “Orla, Eilish, Bridget, Caitlin, Coleen, Grainne, Fionula, Maire, Mairead . . . . ” until she trailed off, wore herself out and drifted into a deep sleep. Fiona removed the book from her hands and tucked it in beside her. She and Sean exchanged a smile. Then Fiona opened her copy of the New Yorker and immersed herself in a short story. Sean delved happily into reading The New York Times. Una slept peacefully between them.

  When the pilot touched down and the passengers applauded, Una was delighted and clapped along. “It’s like a play, Fiona. They’re clapping ‘cause the play was good!” Fiona laughed and instinctively planted a big kiss on the crown of Una’s head.

  “Thanks for teaching me that, Una. You’re right. It’s a wonderfully generous gesture, and saying thanks, too. I think that’s it.”

  Sean had rented a car at the airport and drove them to Cregora—with plenty of friendly reminders from Fiona and Una to stay on the left side of the road. Una squealed when they ran over potholes. Soon they were in the countryside and passing by the farms where the farmers were out on tractors, some of them cutting hay, others stacking bales, still others on foot driving their cows in for morning milking. Fiona pointed out the chapel steeple to the newcomers, and they slowed down as they approached the village and drove up through the main street. They passed Foley’s pub, the rival to the Cregora Arms, and Clancy the butcher, and the bookshop where Fiona had worked one summer while she was still in school. They passed Frank’s bakery, which looked closed. Fiona did not point it out to Sean and Una. They approached the laneway that led to the farm, turned into the yard, scrunched on the gravel and they were in front of the farmhouse.

  “Oh, it’s a really old house!” Una clapped delightedly.

  Fiona laughed. “It’s called Shantiga—which does mean old house.”

  Sean got out and looked over the farmhouse. “How old is it Fiona?”

  “Our family has been here since the 1850’s. It was originally a small one bedroom cottage, now you’ll see—it has expanded considerably!”

  “It’s stunning.”

  Fiona was surprised at Sean’s open admiration. She had never thought of their house as particularly special. Una had approached the huge red door and was marveling at the size of the keyhole. “Gosh, the key must be enormous to this door!”

  “It was pretty big.” Fiona conceded. “Mam and Dad replaced it with a smaller lock just a few years ago, but they left the keyhole intact.”

  Sean was admiring the construction: two stories of sturdy, reddish brown bricks, a gray slate roof, massive chimneys. The large solid windows were shaded with white lace curtains. “Tradition.” She heard Sean say. “Centuries of tradition. That’s your heritage.” Fiona took this in, stood there a few moments longer and led them in to her family home.

  Fiona had let Nellie know their arrival time, and she made a great fuss over Una and Sean. The kettle was on, the scones were in the oven and they had had a mini tour of the house. As they sat back down in the kitchen, Nellie had laid out service for five and handed them all a steaming cup of tea.

  “Your uncle is on his way over, Fiona. He’s mighty anxious to see Una and to meet Sean. He’s very excited about the film—well, aren’t we all! Of course, we’re hoping you’ll make us all famous!”

  At the mention of Una and Frank in the same breath, Fiona’s cup slipped from her hand and smashed into tiny pieces. It was her mother’s best china, brought out for the guests.

  “Are you all right, love? What’s the matter?” Nellie was all concern.

  Sean looked anxious too and rose to see if Fiona was all right. She tried to recover. “Sorry. I’m fine. I don’t know . . . it just slipped.”

  Nellie already had the situation under control, was mopping up, getting a fresh cup, pouring Fiona her tea, noticing that her hands were shaking.

  “You need a lie down, pet.” Nell was all consideration. “Have your cuppa and a scone and then get some rest. It’s a long flight that, isn’t it, all the way from California?”

  At that moment Frank arrived, shouting a greeting as he entered the outside door. He shook hands with Fiona, greeted Sean and bent down and shook hands with Una.

  “You’re my Uncle Frank!”

  Frank laughed heartily. “Well, yes, indeed, I am. In actual fact, I’d be your grand uncle, little girl.”

  “That’s good. I need some uncles.” And they all laughed, Fiona pretending she was amused. “I don’t have very many relations.”

  “Well, we are happy to oblige you young lady.” And he patted her on the head and sat down for his cup of tea. “Your parents let you off on your own then?”

  “Oh, no. I’m not on my own. My Aunt Fiona is minding me!”

  Frank found this very amusing. “Aren’t you the clever little one?”

  They chatted amicably, Una keeping them all amused while they drank their tea and ate the scones, smothered in butter and homemade raspberry jam.

  “I’ll give Declan and Julie a ring to let them know we arrived safely. Do you want to say hi to them, Una?” And Fiona took Una by the hand, leaving Sean to chat with Nellie and Frank who were vying for roles as extras in the film.

  After the phone call, Fiona brought Una up the steps she had mounted so many times with Orla. She felt suddenly frightened and protective of her little niece. As soon as Nellie mentioned Frank wanting to meet her, Fiona’s suspicious hackles went up. In an entire lifetime of living with the memory of the abuse by her uncle, it had never once occurred to her that he would molest anyone else. She had managed to compartmentalize the entire experience as being about her and him. They were the only two people involved. Now Fiona started to wonder if Frank had ever molested any other children, other girls. She assumed not, as the village was so small that it would have come out—surely it would have come out. Nonetheless, she felt the need to keep Una close by her. They were going to sleep together in Fiona’s old room until Declan and Julie arrived, so that should be easy.

  Fiona saw that Nellie had made up the bed with crisp cotton newly ironed sheets and the b
lue quilted eiderdown, and it looked fresh and inviting to her weary body. She glanced at the light wooden lockers on either side of the bed, each with a rose shaded reading lamp. Nellie had already brought up their cases.

  Una ran over and sat down on the stool in front of the dressing table. Like the wardrobe, it was antique oak, had a huge oval mirror and two swinging side mirrors, a big smooth surface, and a little jewelry drawer. Fiona sat down beside her, and they looked at their reflections in the mirrors. Fiona and Orla had often sat side by side on this very stool when they were children and played dress up and games in front of the mirrors. They had a game of projecting into the future their relative ages. “When I’m fourteen, you’ll be ten.” “When you’re seventeen, I’ll be thirteen.”

  She’d be thirty-one now. Time Past.

  And here was young Una—happy and carefree and on her own big adventure. Time Present. Fiona’s reflection confirmed how she felt herself. Wrecked and worried. She unloosed her hair, let it cascade onto her shoulders, and Una picked up a hair brush and began to smooth out the tangles.

  Nellie had agreed to come over every day and help out with the meals and the house while the family was visiting. Fiona had also proposed that Sean hire Nellie as caterer for the film—and she could get other women from the village to help out.

  “When you taste her dinner tonight, you’ll see what a fabulous cook she is!”

  “I’ve already tasted her scones—that’s a great start! Has she cooked for large numbers?”

  Fiona laughed. “Well, she brought up a whole crew of huge lads—each counts for two! And at the same time, she came over here anytime she could when Mam was in hospital. Herself and Aunt Rita helped out a lot.”

  “Who’s Aunt Rita? Oh I remember now.” Una added. She gave you Alice—she and Uncle Frank.”