‘That’s great, so it is,’ Oonagh beams at me, and then she looks suddenly serious. ‘But, June, you should never have done so much work today. You must look after yourself now.’
‘I feel fine, Oonagh, full of beans. It’s just that I do so wish Robert had not left me.’
‘Does he know you’re expecting?’ she asks, putting more peat onto the fire.
‘Yes, of course he does.’ I look at the turf crumbling into the flames, and the sparks shooting out of them. ‘I told him, and he still decided to go . . .’
I did not mean to say this to her, because suddenly it sounds disloyal. But I can’t help it, because I need someone else to reassure me, to explain to me just why my husband has left.
‘The war is important to him, June,’ she speaks gently, and pauses. I know she is going to tell me something significant. I look at her. Her face is as soft as the cosy room, her brown hair falling in fuzzy loops around her perfect skin. She is a little plump, what Mother would have described as fat, and there is nothing remarkable about her face, but somehow, in that firelight, with dusk creeping in through the open door, Oonagh looks like a goddess to me. I put my hands on my belly and wait for her to speak.
‘I wasn’t even born when Robert’s brother James D. was killed, but I remember my sisters talking about him many a time. He was a legend in the locality.’
She takes a sip from her tea and then laughs softly.
‘The way my sisters described him, I used to imagine this medieval knight in my head. I would dream about James Fanning, dressed in silver armour on a white horse charging off to war. Who he really was got mixed up with tales from my storybook. Robert was only one year and one month younger than James. I believe they were very close.’
How odd: Min and I, Robert and James so close in age, such sibling bonds. Oonagh shivers suddenly, and pulls her shawl tighter around her shoulders.
‘You never met their father, did you?’ She asks, turning her gaze away from the fire and looking directly at me.
‘No.’
‘He was very hard on Robert.’ Oonagh looks back into the flames. ‘I heard that after James died, he hounded Robert, comparing him to his brother. You would think he wouldn’t want his other son to go off to fight, possibly die as well, but it was the exact opposite. I think that’s why Robert finally left, because he never did follow in James’s footsteps.’
‘So why is he doing so now?’ I ask hotly. ‘When he has least reason to? His parents are dead, and he has me . . . and the baby . . .’
‘I don’t know for sure,’ says Oonagh, ‘but maybe it’s something to do with the past. He could be wanting to be rid of his guilt for good.’
I stand up suddenly and slam my cup down on the kitchen table.
‘How stupid!’ I exclaim. ‘How very stupid!’
‘Come,’ Oonagh reaches up, and pulls me down by the arm. ‘There’s no point in upsetting yourself.’
She sighs.
‘This is the way it will be for women throughout time, is it not? It is our work to stay strong, and mind the fort. You should be proud of Robert. He is a sound man, as my Daddy says.’
She says this as if she knows something else about him. I sit down.
‘Sure, you know that already?’ she asks me.
‘Yes, of course.’
‘I’d say he never expected the Sheridens to return after all this time,’ she continues. ‘Not after what happened all those years ago. People don’t forget so easy.’
Oonagh obviously thinks I know what she is talking about. I feel embarrassed to tell her otherwise, so I let her go on, trying to guess what she must be talking of.
‘Sure Mrs Sheriden’s return, and how things were between Robert and her husband, all of that could have had something to do with his decision too, don’t you think?’
She asks me this guilelessly, looking straight at me with her butterscotch eyes.
‘Yes, possibly.’ I avert my gaze, not wanting to reveal my ignorance.
‘Well,’ she says, suddenly getting up and going to the sink to wash her cup. ‘I don’t think you should dwell on such things. You need to be looking after yourself, and keeping your spirits up. We shall all say our prayers, and before you know it the war will be over and Robert will be home to mind you and the baby.’
She stands at the door, her shawl tight about her, her silhouette black against the grey sky, and I can no longer see clearly the features of her face.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow, so,’ she says.
‘But you’re not due to come.’
‘Well, I shall just check in on you, and rob some of those apples for Mam.’
‘Thank you so much, Oonagh.’
I cannot tell her how grateful I am for her company because she would think me pathetic. Her concern momentarily lifts my spirits, but once I walk back into our bedroom it is as if someone has smacked me in the face. I survey the room and the symbols of our marriage: the bed strewn with bedclothes, the scent of last night’s lovemaking still within it; a pair of Robert’s socks screwed up into two little black balls on the floor; the wardrobe door hanging open, empty hangers and a few straggles of his wardrobe left. I walk over to the dressing table and pick up the picture of us both on our wedding day, walking down a street in London, his stride confident and mine compliant.
Where is Robert now? I look out at our land, and already I can see the moon illuminating the dark trees. The leaves are swirling like snowflakes in a soft breeze, like singed memories, spinning through my mind. I peer across at the road, dark with shadows from the row of sycamores that line its path, hoping I can see the image of a man, walking back, returning home. Maybe Robert has changed his mind, and the pull of his wife and child-to-be are just too strong for him. Maybe, when it came to getting on that train to Belfast, it became too impossible to abandon me?
I am confused by everything Oonagh and I have spoken about. I don’t understand what Claudette Sheriden has to do with Robert going to war, but one thing I do know, call it woman’s instinct – there was some kind of relationship between them in the past. Why could Robert not tell me himself?
I sit on the bed and shake myself angrily. I think of the terrifying world my sister has been occupying during the Blitz, and I pinch the flesh of my arms until it hurts. Selfish, silly woman! Robert has not abandoned me. He is protecting me from the evil of Nazism; that is what he is doing. Didn’t he explain it to me, so that I would understand, be prepared to be a proud soldier’s wife, a mother of the free-thinking world? How could I complain, when my own sister is trapped in the home front?
But I cannot ignore it, this seed of discontent, this feeling of abandonment. It is bitter and raw and tells me something. I am not cherished. I am not loved.
NICHOLAS
Geraldine does come back, but not on her own. Nicholas sees her car winding down the lane as he sits on the roof attempting to slip in some new slates. He has abandoned the idea of thatch – too expensive, too much commitment. He’s not sure how long he will be here in Cavan. Yesterday and today have been dry, so he has taken advantage of the good weather before it gets cold again. The summer has been so short. Already he can feel an autumnal chill as he sits on the grey slate in his T-shirt, the wind slipping under the thin cloth.
It’s now late afternoon and he has only been off the roof twice, both times to see how the dog is. The vet said it was lucky. If Nicholas hadn’t picked it up when he did, the dog would surely have died at the side of the road. But it is a tough little mongrel, most likely abandoned, although Nicholas cannot think why. The dog is the most gentle creature he has ever come across. The first time he tried to stroke the animal, it flinched and began shaking. It was frightened of him, and Nicholas realized that the previous owners must have hit the dog. But it is beginning to trust him and starts to eat out of his hand. The vet had set its leg and the animal is now tentatively hopping around the kitchen on the other three. It seems it will have a permanent limp.
‘Hello,
there!’
Geraldine jerks her head up in surprise. She is getting out of the car. She stands with her hands on her hips, squinting into the sunshine.
‘Hello, Nick. How are you?’
He swings his leg over the top of the roof so that they both dangle over the guttering. ‘Great. Working hard.’
‘I can see that. Sorry, I hope we’re not disturbing you.’
Her passenger door opens and a little old lady gets out. Geraldine rushes round the side of the car. ‘Here, Granny, let me get the door.’
The woman brushes Geraldine away. ‘I’m not an invalid, Geraldine. Remember I wanted to cycle over.’
Geraldine sighs. ‘I know Granny, but I’m not able for that.’
Nicholas twists his body around and climbs down the ladder.
‘Nick, I want you to meet my granny.’
‘How do you do? I’m sorry my hands are filthy,’ he says, wiping them on his jeans.
‘Delighted to meet you,’ says Geraldine’s granny. ‘It’s great to see someone looking after the old place.’
Nicholas sees her face light up as she looks around her. So this is Oonagh Tuite. Here is someone who knows about the woman in the house, who knows what happened.
‘Come in, please, for a cup of tea.’
The white dog trembles in the corner as they enter the kitchen.
‘Oh, you got a dog,’ Geraldine exclaims when she sees him.
‘Well, it wasn’t intentional. I found him on the side of the road, run over.’
‘How awful. The poor thing.’
She goes over to the dog and crouches down in front of him, patting him gently.
‘Oh, he’s a darling. Grainne is always on about getting a dog. But Ray doesn’t want one.’
‘Why ever not?’ asks Oonagh sharply, and in those three words Nicholas can discern that the old lady might not like Ray.
‘Oh, you know, Granny – too much work, too much mess.’
‘Well, you’d be looking after the thing. It would hardly bother him. Everyone in the country should have a dog.’
She sits down at the table and places her bag on the floor, folds her arms and looks about her. She must be at least eighty, thinks Nicholas, but she doesn’t look more than seventy. Her hair is pure white and thick, curling about her collar, and her eyes are as bright as a robin’s. She is small, and he feels like getting her a cushion to sit on, as the table seems too high for her.
‘Well, the place isn’t that different,’ she says, looking around her. ‘Sure, it’s the same warmth and cosiness in the kitchen. That was always the heart of the house.’
Nicholas puts the kettle on.
‘Did you live here with the Fannings?’
‘Lord, no. I was living at home on the farm. I had only just met Paddy, but we weren’t even walking out then. To think that within the year I was married to him!’
Nicholas rummages around in the press, and to his relief he finds a packet of Jaffa cakes, opens them and puts them on a plate.
‘I hope you don’t mind us calling in on you like this,’ Geraldine says, ‘but it was rather spur-of-the-moment. I was taking Granny for a drive, and then I thought why not see if you’re in. I thought she might like to see the old place.’
‘I wanted to cycle,’ Oonagh says. ‘If I don’t keep moving I seize up.’
‘Yes, but we only decided to come once we were in the car.’
Nicholas pours boiling water in the pot and then sets everything on the table. He only has mugs. Does the old lady want to drink out of a teacup?
Oonagh points at the basket of windfalls on the dresser.
‘I see you’ve been harvesting,’ she says. ‘I remember that first autumn when June arrived and we went into the orchard together. It was the day her husband left to fight in the war.’
‘What was his name again, Granny?’
‘Robert. Robert Fanning. Oh, my da adored him, so he did. Even though he thought Robert was plain mad to go off fighting for the English. He never understood that. But he didn’t judge him and he never told a soul.’
‘Did you have to keep it a secret?’
‘Well, of course, because there were some round here who would have viewed it as treason to have gone off and fought for the English. Although many did fight for them, and many died and were forgotten about. Disgraceful.’ She sniffs, and takes a hankie out from her sleeve, blowing her nose.
‘Are you cold? Will I light the fire?’ Nicholas offers.
‘Not at all. I’m grand,’ Oonagh says, taking a Jaffa cake and nibbling it delicately.
‘Granny came to see June Fanning every day more or less, didn’t you? It used to take you an hour to walk from your house to hers.’
‘Yes, and I didn’t have the bike then, because the tyres were gone and we couldn’t get the rubber during the war. But it didn’t seem like such a long walk. We were used to it. You young ones driving everywhere, it just makes you lazy and fat.’
Nicholas notices Geraldine reaching out for a Jaffa cake and stopping, hand in mid-air. She sees him looking at her and blushes.
‘Go on, please,’ Nicholas says.
‘I shouldn’t,’ Geraldine replies, but takes one all the same. As she bites into it, he notices the orange filling is the same colour as her hair.
They sit in silence for a moment.
‘Have you seen her?’ Oonagh is looking directly at Nicholas, her eyes unblinking, youthful in her lined face.
‘Her?’
‘June.’ Oonagh replies impatiently.
‘Don’t be silly, Granny,’ Geraldine starts to say.
‘Yes,’ Nicholas replies, staring back at Oonagh. The old lady breaks into a smile and nods.
‘Are you telling me you saw the ghost of June Fanning?’ Geraldine’s eyes are wide open, her face pale.
‘I think so.’ He can hardly believe he is telling this country housewife and her granny that he has seen a ghost. If he were telling anyone else, he’d feel like a fool. ‘She didn’t tell me her name.’
‘She spoke to you?’ Even Oonagh looks surprised now. ‘I never heard of that before. I heard that people saw her. The Reillys, who lived here before you, I think the daughter saw her in the attic, but she never spoke to them. What did she say?’
Nicholas tries to remember. For some reason that moonlit night seems hazy and confused and he can’t recall exactly what the phantom June had actually said and what he had imagined. ‘She said she had only one regret.’
‘Just one?’ Oonagh asks.
‘Yes, and I think she wanted me to play the piano.’
‘Ah,’ Oonagh says with satisfaction. ‘She loved the piano.’
‘Did you ever hear her play, Granny?’
‘No. The Fannings never owned a piano.’ She pauses. ‘I would have liked to.’
‘This is a very strange conversation,’ Geraldine announces, helping herself to another Jaffa cake.
Nicholas looks at Oonagh’s face, and behind the lines of her life he can see the young, energetic girl who worked side by side with June Fanning in his house.
‘Have you ever seen her, Mrs Tuite?’
‘No,’ Oonagh says ruefully. ‘She must have nothing to say to me. But then I haven’t been in the house for years, not since—’ And she breaks off.
‘Since what, Granny?’
Oonagh shakes her head. ‘Oh, since it all happened.’ She looks out of the window. ‘I remember we worked so hard that day picking apples, and I was so happy that finally someone had come here and broken that curse. It took another woman to take away the rotten actions of the woman before. My mother always said it. Claudette Sheriden was the biggest sinner in the parish. She said that woman killed Robert Fanning’s mother just by breaking her heart.’
‘Who’s Claudette Sheriden, Granny?’
‘You know where Gillian and Frank Creavy live?’
‘Yes.’ Geraldine gets up and points out the window through the orchard. ‘Nick, see the back of the house thro
ugh the small woods behind the orchard, well that’s the Creavys’ house.’
‘That house used to belong to a family called Sheriden,’ Oonagh continues. ‘And they believed themselves a bit above the rest of us. Claudette Sheriden was married to Phelim. She was a very uppity French woman. They were living in that house when June was here.’
Nicholas looks at the tall grey house behind the woods. He hadn’t really noticed it before, and yet now it stands out. Dark, and gloomy behind the bright-green leaves.
‘I remember thinking how brave June was the day her husband left. And she didn’t tell me she was expecting until the evening, and I was so cross with her because I wouldn’t have let her do half the work if I had known.’
Oonagh squeezes her hands together, and her cheeks are flushed, her eyes sparkling with memories.
‘I thought she was very posh, but kind too. And sophisticated. I remember being so impressed when she told me she could drive a car. Of course no one had a car then, apart from the people up at the big house and the Sheridens. But they didn’t drive anyway because there was no petrol. Sometimes you might see army lorries coming down to collect turf, or a single rider on a motor bicycle from Mullingar, checking out a reported sighting of a German spy parachuting into the woods. June was so worried about the Germans invading.’
Oonagh laughs. It is a robust laugh and seems too loud for her tiny body.
‘I told her that wasn’t likely, even though I had seen a robin that winter. Sure sign of an invasion! And she asked whether any spies had been captured and I teased her, telling her that Paddy had told me he had seen a German spy walking into Oldcastle Square after Mart one day to get himself a cup of coffee. And then I told her that it was more likely poitín that had made people think they had seen parachutes landing in the woods. And she didn’t know what poitín was, which made us even, because I had never heard of sloe gin.’
‘Goodness, Granny, you never told me any of this before.’
‘You never asked,’ Oonagh says simply. Then she turns to Nicholas and fixes him with her beady eyes. ‘Why is it June is still here?’
He can see she expects him to know the answer.
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