Tara Flynn

by Geraldine O'Neill

  Madeleine was standing by some flower-beds in the garden, staring out into the distance. She didn’t notice her schoolmate until Tara called her name. Then she came running down the drive to meet her, her long blonde hair blowing in the breeze.

  “Did anyone in the car see you?” she asked anxiously.

  “No,” Tara replied. “I was standing out of the way, in the bushes.”

  Madeleine’s face and shoulders relaxed with relief. “It’s not because it’s you . . .” she explained weakly. “They don’t like me having any friends at the house. Mother says that I’ll make lots of new friends at boarding school next year, and that I won’t have time to see any from around here.”

  Tara looked down at the ground. “Maybe I should just go back home,” she said in a hurt, strained voice. “I met my father out on the road, and he gave out to me for coming up to see you. He’ll tell my granda, and when I go back home . . . I’ll be in trouble, too.”

  Madeleine bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Tara. It’s all my fault for telling you to come up here. I don’t want to get you in trouble, but I’m really happy you came. You look very different . . . you look very nice in your new suit.” In truth, Madeleine felt the suit was much too fancy for an ordinary Saturday afternoon in May, but she didn’t want to hurt Tara’s feelings. “Come into the house, and I’ll get you a drink of lemonade. You must be thirsty after walking all that way from Ballygrace.”

  Tara – mollified by her friend’s compliment about her outfit – followed her across the gravel path and up the huge white steps of the Georgian house. “Are you really glad I came?” she checked.

  “Oh, yes!” Madeleine said, coming to a halt on the top step. “I’m delighted you came . . . I like you much better than all the other girls in the class.”

  “Do you?” Tara said, pleased and curious at the same time. “What do you like about me?”

  Madeleine suddenly giggled. “I don’t know – everything, I suppose. I like your lovely curly hair and your nice long fingers. I could play the piano much better if I had fingers like yours.”

  Tara held her own hands up in front of her face, as though seeing them for the first time. “My hands?” she said incredulously. “Everybody always likes my hair – even though I wish it was straight like yours – but nobody ever said I had nice hands before!” And she started to giggle, too. It was funny, she thought, how she found it easy to believe anything that Madeleine said. Tara felt she always told the truth, whether you liked it or not – whereas Biddy always said the things that she knew would please you.

  Madeleine pushed the heavy, polished wooden door open and Tara Flynn walked into Ballygrace House for the very first time. She did not know where to look first, as huge mirrors, fancy rugs, vases of flowers and paintings overwhelmed her. She followed Madeleine through the magnificent hallway, trying to drink in every detail as she passed.

  Never, ever, had she imagined being in a house so grand. And never would she have pushed for an invitation had she known just how intimidated it would make her feel. After following her friend through several narrower corridors, Tara found herself in the biggest kitchen she had ever seen. Her eyes roamed round it, taking in the huge dressers full of fancy-patterned delph and the magnificent cooker, from which emanated a mouth-watering smell of meat cooking in the oven.

  “Here you are,” Madeleine said, setting a glass of pale-coloured lemonade and a plate of home-made shortbread down on the pine kitchen table. “When you’ve finished, we’ll go upstairs to my bedroom to do the fractions.”

  “That’ll be grand,” Tara said taking a dainty bite from a piece of shortbread. It was made from white flour she noticed, and wondered how Mrs Fitzgerald had managed to get pure flour, when everyone else had to make do with the horrible dark stuff with the bits in it.

  Madeleine stood out in the hallway, obviously eager for Tara to finish her snack, and go upstairs to do the fractions. But Tara was in no hurry to be out of the warm, spicy-smelling kitchen. She was enjoying herself and was going to take her time.

  She wanted to remember every single detail, so that she could describe it to Biddy and Mrs Kelly when she got back home. With the glass in her hand, Tara walked casually over to examine the ornaments in one of the dressers. She took a sip of the lemonade and nearly choked with shock. It tasted awful! It didn’t taste a bit like the minerals she was used to.

  “What’s wrong?” Madeleine asked, noticing her friend’s puckered face.

  “The lemonade . . .” Tara said, sniffing the glass suspiciously. “It tastes a bit funny.”

  “It’s real lemonade. Mrs Scully makes it using lemons and sugar.” She gave Tara a funny look. “Don’t you have it at home?”

  Tara felt her face flush, realising she had said something stupid. “Yes,” she said quickly, “but this just tasted a bit different.” She took another sip of the strange drink. “It’s fine when ye get used to it.”

  “Well,” Madeleine said, glancing anxiously out into the hallway again, “hurry up and finish it, and then we can go upstairs.”

  Madeleine’s bedroom was even fancier than Tara had imagined. It was like something out of the American magazines her Aunty Mona sent over last year, with lovely wallpaper and curtains and blinds and rugs. She also had a collection of teddy bears, a big rocking horse and a doll’s house with tiny wooden furniture. When Tara commented on her toys, Madeleine shrugged and said that most of her and Gabriel’s things were in the nursery. Tara wanted to say: “Can I have a look in the nursery?” because she had read about a nursery in one of her books – but she felt it wasn’t the right thing to say.

  While Madeleine rummaged in a big wooden desk looking for her maths book, Tara’s eyes scanned the room. There was a huge mirrored wardrobe which almost took up a full wall, and a matching dressingtable and bedside cabinet. Even the bed was fancy, with wooden cherubs carved into the headboard and bottom of it, and a lace cover over the quilt and snow-white pillowcases.

  Real pillowcases, Tara thought enviously, not ones made from old flour bags.

  “You’re really lucky having a bedroom like this,” Tara said quietly. “When I grow up, I’m going to live in a big house and have nice things like this. I’m going to work hard at school and get a good job with lots of money.”

  Madeleine’s gaze moved from her maths book to Tara’s determined face. “There’s a much easier way to have nice things than working for them . . .”

  “What d’you mean?” Tara asked.

  “You just have to marry a rich man. Mother always tells me that. She says I’ve to make sure that I don’t get lumbered with someone like my father.” She looked out of the window now, a strange look on her face. “My mother’s family were very rich, you know. They weren’t happy with her marrying my father . . . his family were quite poor, really. He went to America when he was young and made his fortune out there. Then he came back to Dublin and married my mother. After a few years, he lost every bit of the money he had made and he nearly lost my mother’s money, too.” She turned back to Tara, who was all ears at the amazing story. “My mother says if she had her time over again, that she would pick a wealthy, older man to marry. She says life is much easier if the man has the money. She says all you have to do is look nice and agree with everything they say.” She gave Tara a sidelong glance. “You’d do very well, Tara, with your lovely red hair and pretty face. I bet you could marry a rich man if you really tried.”

  Tara looked appalled. “Oh, I could never marry a man I didn’t love! You’d be tied to him for the rest of your life.”

  “Not if he was older,” Madeleine said lightly. “He would probably die before you, and then you could marry someone else.” She laughed. “My mother says she wishes she’d done that. A friend of my grandfather’s wanted to marry her when she was eighteen – he was an American millionaire – but she turned him down.” She spread the maths book, opened at the section on multiplying fractions, on top of the desk. “My mother
says turning him down was the biggest mistake of her life. Apart,” she gave a high-pitched giggle, “apart from marrying my father!”

  For once, Tara couldn’t think of a thing to say. She had never heard of such a thing in her life as ordinary people marrying for money. But then, Madeleine wasn’t ordinary – and neither were her family.

  After an hour, and having mastered the basics of multiplying fractions, Madeleine suggested that they could have a little break. “Have you ever ridden a pony, Tara?” she asked, as they bounded down the stairs.

  “Well . . .” Tara said cagily, “I’ve sat on the ass’s back loads of times . . . and I was on Fox’s pony last summer.”

  Madeleine giggled again. “No . . . no – I meant on a pony with a saddle.”

  Tara swallowed hard on her pride. “I haven’t actually ridden a pony with a saddle,” she reluctantly admitted. Then she quickly added, “Not that I can remember anyway.”

  They went out into the afternoon sunshine. Tara followed Madeleine through the carefully manicured lawn, and down the path flanked on either side by rose beds. She walked past the two large greenhouses filled with plants and tomatoes, through the gate and into the field where the ponies were grazing.

  “My saddle is in the shed,” Madeleine said, leading Tara to the far end of the field. “I’ll put it on Daisy and then you can have a go at riding her.”

  A rush of excitement ran through Tara’s veins. This was even better than she had dared hope for. She had seen all round the big fancy house, had sat in the kitchen drinking posh lemonade and eating shortbread. And now she was going to ride a pony wearing a real saddle! She had often watched Madeleine and Gabriel riding round the field with their boots and riding hats on – but she had only watched from a distance, and as part of a group.

  “That’s it!” Madeleine called. She led the pony down the field with Tara perched on its back, wearing her friend’s riding boots and hat. “She’s going into a trot now.”“Am I doing it right?” Tara replied, anxious to learn the rudiments of riding with a saddle quickly, and trying not to think of how silly she looked with the boots and hat and her fancy suit.

  “You’re doing fine,” Madeleine assured her. “Just keep your back straight and your eyes looking ahead. It helps to keep your balance.”

  And as they had walked and trotted the pony round and round the field – Tara felt as though she were floating on a cloud rather than sitting on the pony’s back. She felt more elated than she had ever felt in her life.

  This, she thought passionately, is the way I want to live. Ballygrace House is the sort of house I want to live in.

  As she bobbed along, the fact that she was dressed all wrong in her floral American suit suddenly hit Tara like a bolt out of the blue. She didn’t know exactly what was wrong with it, but she suddenly knew that it was wrong for the occasion. She thought now about the funny look that Madeleine had given her when she had first arrived, and now she knew why. Madeleine’s plain skirt and checked blouse, and her hair now tied back in a ribbon – was the sort of thing she should have worn.

  “Shall we go back in?” Madeleine said a while later. “I suppose I’d better learn a few more horrible fractions before you have to go home.” She led the pony back to the shed where she kept the tackle, and helped Tara to dismount. “Are you all right?” she said anxiously, noticing that her friend had gone all quiet.

  Tara nodded, but to her horror she felt tears start to form in her eyes. Then – before she could stop herself – she suddenly blurted out, “You think my new suit’s awful, don’t you? You would never wear a suit like this.”

  Madeleine’s mouth opened in shock, and she seemed stuck for words. Then, she put her arm round her friend’s shoulder and said: “Your new suit is lovely, Tara. It looks really nice on you.”

  “But you wouldn’t wear it, would you?” Tara persisted. “Your skirt and blouse are not like this . . .”

  Madeleine took a deep breath. “I would love to have a suit like yours, Tara, but my mother would only let me wear it if I were going to church . . . or to a wedding. I would have to keep it for a very special occasion.” She patted Tara’s shoulder. “She says I have to wear my sensible, hard-wearing clothes at school and at the weekends. I wouldn’t be allowed to wear something expensive like your suit on an ordinary day . . . although I would love to.”

  Tara wiped the back of her hand over her eyes. “Would you? You’re not just codding me to make me feel better?”

  Madeleine made the sign of the cross on her chest with her thumb. “Hate God if I tell a lie.”

  Tara’s brows furrowed in thought. “My school-clothes are real dull, and I have to wear my old skirts and jumpers for working about the cottage. I don’t have any nice ordinary clothes like yours . . . I have only old things and my best clothes.”

  Madeleine shrugged. “I think it’s because our families are a little bit different. My mother’s very strict about my clothes . . . some of the things she buys me are very old-fashioned.”

  “You’re lucky to have a mammy to buy you clothes,” Tara said sadly. “Me granda doesn’t know anything about girls’ clothes, and me father’s always promisin’ to buy me things . . . but he never does. He wouldn’t even get me a bike.”

  At a loss at how to comfort her friend, Madeleine said, “Shall we go back into the house? We haven’t much time left for doing the fractions . . .”

  Tara cheered up. Things weren’t that bad. Madeleine really liked her new suit, so she would wear again it to Mass tomorrow. She had learned how to ride a pony with a saddle, and she was going back into Ballygrace House for another little while.

  Walking along the upstairs corridor to the bedroom, Madeleine suggested that they should wash their hands in the bathroom. It was there, when her friend flung the door open, that Tara noticed the true difference in their domestic conditions. The bathroom, which was much bigger than Tara’s bedroom, was like nothing she had ever seen before. Her eyes were large with amazement, as she looked at the huge enamel bath with its claw feet and gold taps, and the sink that had blue flowers painted all over it. But the sight that completely took her breath away was the lavatory. The porcelain toilet bowl was lavishly decorated on the inside and the outside, with the same blue flowers.

  After a whispered word with Madeleine, she was soon ensconced in the room, and sitting up on the floral throne with the highly polished seat.

  What a difference from the makeshift toilet in her granda’s garden shed! That was only a plank of wood with a hole in it, balanced precariously on some big nails, above a tin bucket. The wooden shed also let in big drops of rain and rattled with the slightest gust of wind. On one occasion, Tara had to endure the peeping eyes of a neighbour’s son, when she was trying to do her business in privacy. Her granda had given him a good kick up the backside when he’d caught him, which had made her feel only slightly better.

  Having used a proper lavatory now, Tara knew she would never be happy with the tin bucket again.

  Two hours and six pages of multiplying and dividing fractions later, Madeleine suddenly jumped up and closed her books. “You’ll have to go home now,” she said regretfully to Tara. “My mother and father will be back soon . . . and I’ll be in trouble if they find you here.”

  Tara slowly got to her feet. “I’ll have to go home anyway, me granda and me uncle Mick will be back from . . . will be back in soon.” She had nearly said from the bog, but something had stopped her. Madeleine wouldn’t know about things like cutting turf up the bog. Not like her and Biddy, who had to stack the sods into big piles, and go home with a sore back every night for a week. The Fitzgeralds would probably pay people to cut and rear the turf, and then have it drawn home. They did everything different from ordinary people.

  Tara stopped at the bottom of the staircase, reluctant to leave the fairytale house so quickly. “Could I have another little drink of that lemonade before I go home?” she asked. “It’s a fair walk back home and it�
��s hot outside.”

  “I don’t know . . .” Madeleine said weakly. “It’s just that Mother and Father could come back any time . . .”

  Tara was determined not to go before she was ready. “Sure they wouldn’t give out to you, when you tell them all the help I gave you with yer fractions, would they?”

  Madeleine’s eyes darted anxiously to the front door, and then back down the hallway towards the kitchen. “Wait here,” she said, and then moved quickly towards the kitchen door.

  Tara sighed with delight at having another few minutes to scrutinise her impressive surroundings. She looked down at the pale blue, white and salmon-pink tiles on the hall floor and then she looked up at the huge coatstand with the mirror surrounded by stained glass. She recognised the navy woollen overcoat that Gabriel wore to school every day.

  She felt a little twinge of regret that he hadn’t seen her all dressed up in her new American suit. He wouldn’t have said anything about it – he was too shy. And she was sure he wouldn’t notice that it was a bit fancy for a Saturday.

  The sound of a piano key being struck brought Tara’s attention to one of the closed doors in the hallway. She checked if there was any sign of Madeleine coming, and when there wasn’t she turned back to the door she had heard the noise coming from.

  She bent down and closed her left eye, then stuck her right eye to the keyhole. She could see a few chairs and a great big sofa and a huge, black, grand piano. Madeleine had moaned to her about having to practise, and Tara had imagined that she had an ordinary brown upright piano like the one Joe played. How could Madeleine complain about playing on a beautiful piano like that?

  Tara moved about, then changed to her other eye, to see if she could see better. She pressed hard against the door, then without any warning, the door suddenly flew open. Tara found herself looking up at a small, blocky, elderly woman, dressed in a maid’s pinafore and cap.