‘Granny, I made this one in play school for you. That’s you in the bed and that’s Jinx beside you and that’s Mummy and me.’
Maeve Dillon nodded as she studied the purple-haired version of herself lying like the princess and the pea on layer after layer of multi-coloured bedding.
‘Thank you,’ she struggled to say as Molly’s dark eyes fixed on hers.
‘This one I made at home with all my colours,’ Molly boasted proudly.
She slowly unfolded it. It was a garden, but no ordinary garden. It was covered in zany flowers that burst from the ground and the trees and fell from the sky, in the middle of it all stood her grandmother, with her sunhat on, and her sloppy gardening clothes and a huge smile.
‘That’s you, Granny.’
Kate and Romy looked at each other, both suddenly overcome with emotion as Molly chattered on. Spires of pink lupins and foxgloves and heavy blue delphiniums and white, sweet-scented nicotiana were bursting with life from their mother’s border outside the french windows.
Chapter Thirty-nine
TIRED, ROMY WATCHED as the nurse’s car pulled into the driveway. Deirdre Jennings had been here for the past four nights in a row, bringing a bag of knitting and the latest John Grisham novel to get through the long hours minding her patient.
‘She’s very drowsy,’ Deirdre said.
‘I know. She slept most of the day. Aunt Vonnie called in for a while this morning but she kept nodding off.’
‘Well maybe she’ll be up for a chat later on then!’ smiled the middle-aged woman, going into the kitchen to make a cup of tea.
Romy kissed her mother good-night, looking forward to a long soak in the bath before falling into bed. She had a huge respect and deep gratitude for Deirdre and the rota of nurses who cared for her mother night and day, their kindness and professionalism ensuring that Maeve could remain at home.
When she came down to breakfast in her dressing gown in the morning Deirdre told her there was a slight change.
‘I changed her nightdress – she’s been a bit clammy and sweaty, running a temp. I think it’s her chest. She could have an infection. I’ve left a message with Dr Deegan to look in on her.’
‘Is there anything I can do?’
The nurse hesitated.
‘Just keep her comfortable. You don’t want her getting too hot or cold. I’ve given her something to try and bring it down. It’s hard to tell with these things. Listen, I’m going home for a sleep but I’m on again tonight and I’ll see you then.’
Her mother looked wretched and Romy was relieved when Myles Deegan finally appeared.
‘The nurse was right. She does have an infection and we need to treat it. There are two ways. I phone an ambulance and get her readmitted to the hospital where she’ll be put on a drip and oxygen and monitored carefully, or she stays where she is and I treat her with high-dose antibiotics here at home. If she needs oxygen I’ll get it set up here for her. What do you want to do?’ he asked gently.
Romy hesitated.
‘Will she get better?’
‘I can’t answer that. She’s beginning to fail, her body is under severe pressure. She may have had another slight stroke, who knows. Unless we do a battery of tests, I couldn’t say. Pneumonia in this type of situation is relatively common.’
Romy stood, watching her mother, unsure what to do, reluctant to be the decision-maker.
‘I know she doesn’t want to die in hospital,’ she said slowly. ‘She wants to be here at home.’
Maeve Dillon, aware of their conversation, had opened her eyes, coughing slightly, raised up on the layers of pillows around her shoulders.
‘Maeve,’ said the doctor gently. ‘I think you might have a chest infection. I can treat it here or otherwise you’ll have to go back into the hospital. What do you want?’
Her mother shook her head, her hand firmly patting the bed she was lying on.
‘Home, here?’
‘I’m taking that as an answer,’ murmured Myles Deegan, clasping her mother’s palm.
Myles Deegan co-ordinated it all, starting her mother on a course of high-dose antibiotics and giving her an injection straight away.
‘I’ll talk to Brigid before she comes over and get her to wait for the oxygen to be delivered. I’ll leave her this tray here in case she needs it and I’ll call back up before I go home this evening. Don’t worry, Maeve will have the best of care, I promise.’
‘I know that,’ Romy said.
Her mother fell into a deep, heavy sleep once the doctor had gone and Romy took the opportunity to phone Kate and Moya. Both of them agreed to come home immediately.
‘I’ll be on the first flight I can get,’ promised Moya, upset. ‘Just don’t let anything happen to her before I get there.’
Aunt Vonnie had been philosophical.
‘We all knew she wasn’t getting any better. God be good to her. I was talking to Eamonn two nights ago and he’s coming over.’
‘When?’
‘His flight gets in early tomorrow morning. Conor said he’d collect him and drive him down here.’
Romy was much relieved that her mother’s older brother would be home to see her.
Over the next two days Maeve Dillon slipped further and further from them. They took it in turns to sit with her, as bit by bit she relaxed her grip on life, her lungs heavy, fighting for breath. Moya and Patrick had arrived with Fiona, Gavin and Danny. The three children were curious to meet their Aunt Romy and hear about her travels.
The nurses were discreet as each of them got a chance to be with her, peaceful and quiet, to say what they wanted to say. Fiona, a tall leggy version of her mother, hunched up her skinny knees and legs as she sat beside her grandmother telling her about the play she was doing in school, unembarrassed as she sang the song she performed: ‘Scarborough Fair’. Patrick led in the two small boys, who pushed and shoved to get nearer their grandmother as they made their final farewells.
Molly had said little, only that this time she was going to read Granny a story before she fell asleep, half making up the words of ‘The Gingerbread Man’.
Father Eamonn had read from his bible, anointed her with precious oils and sat simply holding her hand while Aunt Vonnie gently sponged her face with a wet facecloth.
In those final hours, the three of them decided to sit with their mother for the night. It was what she would have wanted.
‘I know you’re happy we’re all here together,’ said Kate slowly. Their mother appeared drowsy, drifting in and out of sleep, sometimes eyes open watching, other times eyes closed listening. ‘Back home.’
‘Like when we were children.’
‘You’re such a good mother,’ smiled Moya, reaching for her hand, ‘loving us all.’
‘Putting up with us! We’re all so different.’
‘Moya, the beauty! No matter what you put on you looked gorgeous and you got all the clothes and the shoes and the guys fancying you. While I was the sensible one, the clever one that got honours in her exams and nobody fancied.’
‘And I was the wild one,’ sighed Romy. ‘Maybe that’s what made me crazy, who knows.’
‘Romy, you don’t know how many times I envied you, wished that I was brave enough or bold enough to take up a backpack and go off round the world, do something daring and different,’ said Kate.
‘And I wanted to be clever and bright like you, Kate,’ confessed Moya. ‘I always felt I wasn’t intelligent or interesting enough. That people only liked me for my style, my figure, my clothes.’
‘Moya you are one of the nicest people I know,’ admitted Kate. ‘That’s why Patrick fell in love with you all those years ago. You must know that!’
‘And all I ever wanted was to be like the two of you,’ said Romy, ruefully. ‘I looked like a stringy boy for most of my childhood and was a disaster at school and college! I guess being bold was my way of getting attention.’
‘You were such a tomboy when you were small, Romy. Daddy a
dored you.’
‘Till Sean was born,’ she said. ‘That changed everything.’
‘He still loved you. But the consequences, one thing affects another,’ said Kate.
‘I blamed myself for not looking after him properly,’ whispered Moya. ‘It made me nervous when Danny was born.’
Silently they all considered the consequences of their childhood.
‘The thing is that despite all the differences, we’re here,’ insisted Kate, knowing that she had never felt closer to her sisters.
‘To think I wasn’t going to come home,’ sobbed Romy.
‘But you did. You’ve cared for Mammy. You’re the one has been here every day with her. Romy, never forget that!’
Maeve Dillon’s breathing had got heavier; her lungs sounded as if they were bags of water as she struggled to get air.
‘Mammy, don’t be scared! We’re all here with you.’
‘Talking away. We’re not going to leave you.’
They sat around, leaning across the bed, watching her, pulling the quilt over them as their mother’s eyes closed and she slept, conscious a while later of the change in her breathing as almost with a single heaving sigh her life finally ended.
‘It’s over,’ Kate said, relieved that her mother was at peace and that the three of them had been together to witness her passing.
‘She’s gone,’ said Moya softly as Romy got off the bed and walked across to the french windows. It was early morning, the sun barely up as she flung the doors open wide to the garden.
Chapter Forty
THE FUNERAL WAS held in Rossmore’s parish church. The pews were packed with family and friends and neighbours, the altar decorated with flowers from the garden. Father Glynn the parish priest co-celebrated the mass with Uncle Eamonn, who didn’t trust himself not to break down when talking about his sister. Each of the grandchildren had carried up gifts to the altar, Molly bringing her picture of Granny’s garden, Derry encouraging her when she got nervous.
Kate sighed. She didn’t know what she would have done the past few days without him. He and Patrick had taken charge of all the arrangements, organizing the undertaker and the notices in the paper. Moya’s children had cried and cried. Kate was relieved that Molly was too young to understand death and the concept of not seeing her granny again.
Standing outside in the churchyard Romy could not believe how many people welcomed her home when they came up to pay their respects. She was not surprised to discover her mother had been a much loved and valued member of the local community. Her knees nearly buckled from under her when Brian O’Grady came forward to offer his condolences.
‘I’m so sorry about your mother, Romy,’ he said, taking her hand in his. ‘But I’m glad to see you home. Perhaps we might meet up when this is all over.’
She’d nodded like an eejit, trying not to cry, and didn’t know what to say. The electricity between them was still obvious and she wished she could be calm and composed like her sisters.
They had walked through the town to the graveyard where Uncle Eamonn led them in the prayers as her mother was finally laid to rest, then back to the Stone House for food and drinks.
It seemed strange to see the house filled with people and her mother not there to greet them. The gathering was subdued at first, but relaxed as drinks were served and people helped themselves to the buffet lunch they had helped Romy prepare.
For Molly it was a long day, and scooping her up in her arms like a monkey Kate held her while she talked to Uncle Pat and his wife, and her cousins who had travelled from Cork. Bill O’Hara and two others from the office came to say farewells before heading back to Dublin.
Those that had to travel began to head for home. Kate was relieved to get a chance to talk to Minnie before she left.
‘We’re in no rush, so give me Molly,’ pleaded her godmother. ‘I need to get a bit of practice.’
‘Practice?’
‘I’m getting one just like her,’ beamed Minnie.
‘What?’
‘Yes, I’m pregnant. Colm’s thrilled to bits that he’s going to be a dad.’
Kate looked over. Colm O’Halloran was the best thing that had ever happened to her friend. Quiet and thoughtful, he had calmed Minnie down. ‘I’m so glad for you both.’ Kate hugged Minnie, passing her daughter over. Molly was already making a beeline for Minnie’s fancy expensive Lulu Guinness handbag. Uncle Eamonn had aged, put on weight, and his hair was almost white. His sister’s death had been a huge blow to him. Kate brought over a glass of wine and sat with him as they reminisced about her mother.
Two hours later only the family remained, Uncle Joe insisting Aunt Vonnie go home and put her feet up.
‘She’s exhausted after the past few days. She and Maeve were so close I don’t even know if it’s hit her yet. She needs to sleep.’
‘Go home, Vonnie,’ pleaded Moya. ‘We’ll see you tomorrow.’
Kissing them all, their aunt and uncle made their departure.
After clearing away the dirty glasses and ashtrays they all sat around the kitchen table, Romy producing a huge lasagne and a tray of garlic bread. Everyone suddenly found they were hungry. Fiona and the boys tucked into the slices of creamy pasta and crunchy bread, complimenting their aunt on her prowess as a cook.
‘I made it a few nights ago and put it in the freezer.’
‘What’s going to happen to Granny’s house now?’ asked Gavin.
No-one knew what to say.
‘We’re not sure yet, pet,’ replied his mother. ‘We haven’t discussed it.’
‘Will we still be able to come here on holidays?’ he pressed.
‘A boy after my own heart,’ murmured their uncle. ‘I’ve been coming almost every year since I was ordained.’
‘It depends,’ interrupted Kate. ‘We’re presuming the house has been left between the three of us. If so, then we might decide to sell it.’
‘Property prices here are still buoyant,’ added Patrick. ‘A house like this would be very much in demand. Once you had an approximate value it would be easy enough to calculate any taxes payable, and come out with a final figure after dividing it three ways.’
‘Patrick, shut up!’ retorted Moya. ‘There’s no point in calculating, because for the moment I have absolutely no intention of selling, unless Kate and Romy make me. Who knows, I might want to come back and live here myself some day!’
Patrick flushed, unsure of Moya’s plans.
‘I suppose I would have thought of selling,’ admitted Kate, ‘but now I’m not sure. With Mammy gone it’s all we’ve left of her. It’s like a bolt-hole, a place for me and Molly to escape to, but Romy, you might need the money or want to go back to America.’
Romy played with the salad on her plate, considering.
‘There’s nothing that important for me to go back to,’ she admitted honestly. ‘I guess everyone that’s important to me right now is sitting around this table. I’d be happy to stay right here.’
‘Would you move to Dublin?’
‘I think I’m finally figuring it out.’ She shrugged. ‘I’m a small-town girl. I like visiting cities but give me a place like here any day of the week.’
‘You could live here,’ urged Moya. ‘Make and sell your jewellery and designs.’
‘I’ve no plans, Moya, but I could be persuaded, so we’ll just wait and see.’
Derry was sitting quiet, Molly beside him, her eyes closing.
‘Hey young lady, it’s about time for bed.’
‘Can I put her to bed?’ pleaded Fiona, hopping up from the table. ‘Please!’
Kate laughed. Her niece seemed to be very taken with her little cousin.
‘Come on, Molly,’ she coaxed. ‘I’m going to put you to bed.’
‘Daddy and I will come up to kiss you later,’ Kate promised.
‘We’re going to play a game,’ suggested Fiona, taking her hand. ‘You’re a baby and I’m . . .’
‘I’m not a baby,’ said Molly
.
‘Oh all right then, you’ll be a big girl.’
Kate laughed as she watched them go, helping Romy to clear the plates and pack the dishwasher as the boys said good-night also.
Derry slipped outside, Kate following him. It was a perfect night, and though she should be dead with exhaustion she was wide awake as they walked in the garden.
‘I’ll head back to Dublin in the morning, Kate, but before I go I need to ask you something,’ he said slowly.
Her heart dropped.
‘You know how precious Molly is to me,’ he began.
‘I know,’ she said softly.
‘Well the truth is there are only two women in my life that I love. One is three years old and the other is her . . .’
She took a breath. Why today of all days?
‘And the other is you. I loved you from the minute you walked into Bushes bar and flung a pint over me, it’s the truth. I wanted our few nights to last for ever but I just hadn’t the guts to admit it. Being Molly’s father is wonderful but it was never enough when it was you I was after.’
Kate stared at him incredulous. She had waited such a long time to hear him say it. ‘I love you,’ he said, pulling her into his arms.
‘You have the worst timing ever,’ she said, gulping back the tears, ‘the crappest way of saying things.’
He wiped the tears from under her eyes with his thumbs.
‘Will you marry me?’ he asked.
‘The last time you asked me I had just given birth.’
‘I know.’
‘And now I’ve just buried my mother.’
‘Births, marriages and deaths. It does make you think, Kate.’
She sighed.
If he loves you, marry him, Kate! Her mother’s words came back to her.
‘I do love you,’ he repeated. ‘And besides, I’ve got you a wedding present already.’
‘You what?’
Derry pulled a folded piece of drawing paper from his pocket. It was a sketch. A plan of a yacht.
‘They’re building her up in Belfast. She’s yours and should be ready to sail in about twelve weeks’ time.’
The Stone House Page 27