by Boyce, Niamh
Seamus began to talk and once he started there was no stopping him. On and on he went, about some maharajah of Indore who had, would you believe it, married some American divorcée he’d met on a health voyage. ‘Them Americans, they’d turn the head of the Pope himself.’
Sarah hadn’t a notion what he was on about, didn’t want to know. Seamus got the hint and gave up. Instead he began a song about a gypsy. It was very soothing. Sarah felt happy, almost carefree, by the time the trap pulled up alongside Mai’s. She waved Seamus off, not daring to ask him in for tea. She opened the latch and called out hello.
48
I donned Mrs B’s red fox-fur coat and headed in for the market. I was roasting and people stared. I didn’t care. I couldn’t stop thinking about the box under the herbalist’s bed. Birdie was sitting on a stool in her doorway as I marched past.
‘Emily, a minute.’ She waved her stick.
What is it about people that no one minds you one bit till you’re too busy to stop and talk to them?
‘Charlie’s grand, in great form.’
I answered the question before she could ask it. Birdie didn’t laugh. She was wearing a black headscarf and hadn’t bothered with her rouge.
‘Who died?’ I asked.
‘Veronique.’ Her voice was hoarse and weak.
‘I had no idea, I’m so sorry, Birdie.’ I rubbed her knee. Stupid Emily.
‘There were so few at her funeral – she should never have moved to that town. This here’ – she banged her walking stick off the ground – ‘this here was her town.’
‘That’s terrible. Is it like half of you has died, like you’re missing an arm?’
That made her smile. Death does strange things to people.
‘I’ll never lose my appetite for life, Emily, but it is terrible, and a terrible shock. In a way she feels closer now than when she was alive. Do you understand?’
‘Not really.’
‘You will one day. Veronique had a few things you’d like, silken fabrics, and such; when the dust has settled maybe we could take a drive over, have a look at the place. Deciding what to do with the Emporium will be a headache.’
‘The Emporium?’
‘Her pokey hole of a shop, that’s what she called it. Veronique was beautifully bananas.’
There was the pot calling the kettle black. All the same, I pitied poor Birdie, left to clean everything up at her age.
‘I don’t mind helping out, but not today, I have something to do today.’
‘Come back to me about it, Emily.’
‘I will.’ I patted her knee again.
Jesus, what was it with me and old ones’ knees? Poor Birdie. I’d call back when I had more time, send Charlie down, that would cheer her up. For now I had to move fast enough not to be waylaid by anyone else.
The market was sparse; the herbalist hadn’t any customers yet. He watched as I wove towards him, but as I got near he studied his array of bottles. I stood where I had the first day I’d got up the courage to present myself to him: in front of his table, a little away. He knew I was there, but he didn’t look up and smile this time. Instead he growled.
‘Get that fox-fur off you this minute.’
‘What do you really do to the women that go to you?’
He looked this way and that, then stepped out from behind the stall and cupped my face in his hand, as if to examine me. Then he pressed a thumb underneath my eye and dragged the skin down. Looked in one eye and then the other in this manner. I saw the dark pores on his face, the stubble that was too deep for the razor, smelt the musky salt of his armpits.
‘What do you really do?’
‘Nothing they don’t ask for,’ he said. ‘“Jesus help me.” That’s what they all say, every one of them. And does he? No. But I do. I save the day.’
He pinched my chin, raised his voice. ‘If you are very constipated, I suggest salts, young lady; now, if you don’t mind –’
‘A bit of lady trouble, Doctor?’ the chicken and dog man shouted over.
‘Some people get the wrong idea altogether,’ said the herbalist.
He was trying to mortify me into leaving, but I stood my ground. I wasn’t going to be shaken off so easily.
‘Take off that fur now!’ He tugged the neck of the coat.
‘I saw your box of tricks, Don Fernandes.’
He dropped his hand and just stood there. We looked at each other: it was like there was no one else alive in the whole town but us two and I was terrified of what he was going to do. I had gone too far. When he spoke, I expected him to roar, not to whisper, which was what he did. He whispered so softly that I could barely hear him.
‘Do you think Doctor Birmingham works without tools, Emily?’
‘He never took out a rod to examine me.’
He held his belly and started laughing then. His eyes were very angry. I worried that he might lash out and hit me.
‘Emily, you are funny. The rod, as you call it, is a door stop. It jams the door closed when I’m treating someone. Now get that fox-fur off you this minute.’
He stepped towards me, but I ran, ran as fast as I could away from the man I’d been running towards all summer.
49
Carmel felt more at ease with Sarah gone home for a few days. Or maybe the new medicine was working. The herbalist had tweaked the mixture again: it was now a stronger pick-me-up. He was very good at listening to a woman, at understanding the importance of this treatment without its being pointed out to him. At first she had been shy about asking for a greater strength, but the herbalist was fine about it, said she could have anything her heart desired. It made her feel ashamed of having entertained the gossips and the inflammatory things they’d had to say. The other tonic didn’t seem to have worked, not yet, not this month.
A new laziness came with the ending of summer, and with Sarah out of the way Carmel and Dan were able to loll around and savour it. Carmel was well advanced in her reading of the banned novels. There had been no word from Grettie B since she had given her the money. There were no more unexpected visits and crying episodes. She concluded that things must have sorted themselves out.
They relaxed on the Sunday. Dozed most of the day, had their dinner at teatime and went for a walk down by the river. Carmel had held Dan’s hand once they passed the lock gates. It was so peaceful that they were both reluctant to turn back. She had given him a kiss when no one was looking.
Carmel decided that she should be happy with her husband and not envious of their shop girl’s comings and goings. When Sarah had started to come home late from the herbalist’s place on a Sunday, Carmel had been so resentful. How she would have liked to be part of something lively, a sing-song or story-telling. But when she’d heard it was just card-playing, she wasn’t too upset about being left out, and didn’t really mind Sarah partaking. It was nice to have the house to themselves for an hour or two.
Dan had minded; he had minded a lot. Gambling on Our Lord’s Day? Their shop girl, ingratiating herself with ne’er-do-wells? He was fuming.
But now that she’d had time to think about it, Carmel had it all in perspective. She just wasn’t as free as Sarah. She was a respectable married woman. She had had her fun and should be content with her world as it was.
The next morning she was up to open the shop. Carmel had forgotten how much she enjoyed working the counter by herself. Liked the news, hearing what everyone was up to. It wasn’t the same hearing it second-hand. She had been so weak after she lost the child that she needed to be away from it all for a while, because in those days she was the news.
Sometime that afternoon, as they looked through t
he ledger together, Dan mentioned that he thought Sarah should get a rise soon. The meanest man in the Western world putting his hands in his pockets? He frazzled her nerves when he said things like that.
Carmel tried to get back that soft satisfied feeling they’d had on their stroll down the river, that feeling of completeness in each other. But she couldn’t. The nice time was over. Carmel was beginning to think that an apple and a good book in her bed – once he’d got out of it – was the closest thing she’d be getting to heaven in this life.
50
There hadn’t been the warm reunion that Sarah had expected. Mai’s face had fallen when she saw her at the door. Thought she had lost her job. Her next concern was if anyone had seen her, any of the neighbours. When did Mai ever care about neighbours? She had actually stuck her head out of the door and looked up and down to see if there was anyone around, anyone that might have seen.
‘Look at the big chest on you,’ she said; ‘the whole place will know.’
‘I’ll stay inside.’
She didn’t of course. She spent most of her time in the back garden, weeding. It was good to be out in the sun, moving around instead of standing in the one place in a stuffy shop. The days flew, and Mai was kind enough to let her enjoy them and keep her worries, as much as she could, to herself. On the last evening, the Sunday, Mai made Sarah her supper and got down to business.
‘He’s been here.’
‘Who? James?’ It hurt Sarah to say his name out loud.
‘No, of course not. He wouldn’t dare. It was the father, Master Finbar. He invited himself for tea, and in not so many words said you’re not to show your face around here. He didn’t say it quite like that. You know the way he talks. Polite but in a way that would scare the bejesus out of you. “Sarah has a good job now,” he said. “Yes,” I said, “and we’re grateful to you for that.” “There’s nothing for her here, Mai. Her life is elsewhere now.”’
‘That’s not anything odd. Sure you said the same yourself, Mai.’
‘No, Sarah – it’s the way he said it. He was at your send-off; he must’ve seen what went on. He was outside that night smoking those foul fancy cigars of his. Then he rushed in and fetched his hat and coat. Not a goodbye or a thank you. And the face on him. Then you came in crying. I never put two and two together till he came here with his message. And it was a message, make no bones about it. A warning.’
Sarah covered her face. He saw. Then he must’ve seen that it wasn’t her fault – but did men understand such things? Oh, the shame.
‘You’re in a dangerous situation.’
‘Do you not think I know that?’
‘I don’t think you know much. Coming here. Remember what I told you about Annie Mangan?’
‘Yes.’
‘It was Jamsie boy put her in the family way, and his father who had her locked up. He never had any control over that son of his. I warned you against him. I warned you, but you wouldn’t listen.’
‘No, it was only me. It was always only me with him.’
‘No, it wasn’t, Sarah. It was never only you.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me the full truth before this, warn me properly? I thought you were fussing.’
‘It was rumour then, just rumour. What’s happened since has made me know that the rumour was true. I’ve asked around; there are many here who owe me a favour. It seems Finbar had her committed. Took her to the place himself, all the way to Galway. Now I wonder if she got there at all?’
‘Mai, don’t! You’re getting carried away.’
‘If you’re seen here in that condition, you’ll be the one to get carried away. Oh, why did you ever let that buffoon near you?’
‘How could you, Mai? You know what happened.’
‘Ah, henny, don’t cry. I know. I know, my girl.’
‘You could keep me here till my time.’
‘If he wasn’t sniffing about.’
‘He has no right to barge into your home.’
‘Aye, but barge he will. A curse on him and a curse on his son who did this to you. Still no word from London. I was sure Margaret would take you in.’
‘Maybe she will – wouldn’t that be wonderful? And then after a couple of years we’d come back home to you, me and my baby.’
‘Won’t be a baby then, will be a toddler.’
Sarah smiled and hugged herself.
‘Would you be able to do it?’ Mai asked. ‘Love something that was forced into you? Love something that came from him?’
‘Good comes from bad all the time. You know that, Mai.’
‘You’re quare, Sarah.’
‘It’s the way you reared me, Mai. Was my mother quare?’
‘Mad as a hatter, Sarah.’
‘Was she?’ Sarah said gently, looking into Mai’s eyes and holding her gaze.
A soft oh slipped from Mai’s lips and a tear ran down her face. She clasped her hand over her mouth. Sarah stood up and began to clear their cups away.
‘Do you have any cake?’
‘I do,’ said Mai. ‘Madeira, made fresh today.’
51
I was cutting out my dress. The kind I’d dreamt of, not the kind I used to settle for. I was not thinking about the herbalist. I was not. I was cutting out my scoop-necked, bias-cut, royal-blue, ankle-length dress, being extra careful with the fabric, using a tracing from my very own pattern. It took me a long time to afford such a decent length of satin. I wasn’t going to rush it now. No such thing, I cut it one steady slice at a time, in good light, with my sharpest scissors and a clean mind. I wouldn’t think about him. One wrong move would make a hames of the job. You can’t be fussed and shape something beautiful. You just can’t.
I shut out the sounds of Charlie and Rita downstairs in the kitchen. Arguing again. Over golden-haired Rose and her Hollywood face, I’d put any money on it. Charlie was smitten with Rose, but he would never come straight out and say it. Instead he was cooling things with Rita, pretending to be a very busy man with his foundry work, his few cows and his yard of chucks. ‘Letting her down easy,’ he called it. The cows in the back field bayed to be milked and there was a gale brewing, but still no sign of a move on busy Charlie.
I was soon lost in cutting, like I was the blade slicing against the garment’s grain. Till, all of a sudden, I was done. I removed the pins from the satin and stretched my arms. Lifted the pieces from the sheet on the floor and placed them on the bed. Admired the wide sleeves and long bodice, the way they pooled like blue liquid. Branches tapped and scraped the window. Then came a slow scratch, and with it a silvery flicker of memory, like a caught reel of film.
The herbalist was standing in the corner of a dark room, wearing a white vest. He grinned at me and turned his head to the side, stretched out his tongue and gave the hula lady on his arm a long, slow lick. And I was there, just watching, numb, dumb and falling slowly forward into his wink.
Blood and nerves. Nerves, nerves … all those nerves. A syringe, a piece of wire, a rod. I held my breath, I would not think of him, or of what any of it meant. I would not.
I practised a hair-do for my new dress, settled on a smooth pleat, a swept-back fringe. My skin looked dingy in the mirror, but once I was all done up my complexion would glow and my satin gown would shimmer and I would be invited to dance. Several times. I would nod politely and step forward into a daring tango. So elegant I wouldn’t even have to speak. But when? Soon. It had to be soon. No good making a dress if you’re not going to show it off. I wasn’t going to end up like Carmel Holohan, creeping around the garden gathering small spuds for Eliza’s mush in her tatty fur from better days. Back when I was her shop gi
rl and fit to peg her sheets on the line, she used to parade around the vegetable patch with a trowel and shovel, letting on to be industrious. ‘I’d say that coat could tell some stories, Mrs H,’ said I. Carmel just gave a tinkly laugh as if her stories were too juicy for words. Then she turned up her collar and flew past the cabbages like a bear on its hind legs. She could be a terrible eejit sometimes.
I’d a bad dream that night and I thought it was because of the herbalist. I thought it was a premonition. I was back on Aggie’s boat, sitting at her table. Rain pitter-pattered against the window. The lamp was down to a glimmer; long shadows licked the ceiling. Across from me Aggie shuffled a deck of cards and the flab on her arm jiggled. She was dressed in her slip and her skin was the colour of lard. The fat man was tied up in the corner. His nibs won’t get next nor near you now, Aggie said. I cut out his tongue too for the hell of it. Delighted with herself, she dealt a row of cards face down, snap, snap, snap, and leant towards me. Pick one, my love, she said, her breath cold. She had turned into the old Aggie, the one who teased me so, but I did as I was bid, eased a card from the centre and handed it back to her. She grinned and held it up.
It was a Joker, the same leering, hopping jester as before, wearing slippers with bells on them. He was still waving a stick puppet that looked just like him. The ugly divil came right up to me then, and it wasn’t a puppet at the end of his stick; it wasn’t a puppet. It was a child.
Aggie gripped my chin, the way my mammy did when she wanted to wipe my face clean. See chicken, chicken sees everything. And the fat man in the chair smiled and his mouth was all bloody. Make it go away, I wanted to say, but the words had no proper sound. Your wish is my command, said Aggie, and she ripped the card right down the middle. The trickster gave a small cry as he was split in two.