“I . . . I don’t know what . . . you’re talking about.”
“Oh, you know very well, young lady! Your poor mother’s beside herself with worry about you. Now: what are you up to?”
“IT IS NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS, YOU NOSY, MEDDLING BUSYBODY.”
“It is none of your business, you nosy, meddling busybody.”
Ida, aghast.
“Your mother is right. You’re . . . you’re not yourself, Ruby Clare.”
“HOW WOULD YOU KNOW WHO I AM?”
“How would you know who I am?”
“Don’t you talk to me like that! And don’t you be going near that lake.”
“Lake? Who said anything about the lake?”
“You were down in them woods and you weren’t pickin’ no blackberries neither. And you lied to the priest, God forgive you!”
Ruby had had enough. She didn’t need the voice to prompt her; she knew what to do. She marched into the sitting room.
It was time to confront her mother.
“Come back, here!” Ida shouted. “Your mother needs peace.”
“Right, Mammy, what’s goin’ on here? Why are you talkin’ behind my back? If ye have anything to say, say it now to me face.”
“I tried to stop her, Martha, but she wouldn’t listen.”
“You keep out of this, Ida Nettles. This is between me and Mammy.”
Martha, seated in an armchair, put a hand to her heart. She looked frightened. “My goodness, what’s got into you at all?”
“Nothing’s got into me. I’m tired of being treated like a child. I’ll say what I like, and if you don’t like it, that’s tough! All you do is complain about me to Father Kelly.” She pointed at Ida. “And now her.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Ruby. You’re . . . going the way of your grandmother. She—”
“You keep Grandma outta this! She was a good woman and you hated her ’cos she was in the way when you married Daddy. You wanted this house to yourself and . . .”
“SHE HAD TO GO TO HER BEDROOM AND LIVE LIKE A PRISONER, BECAUSE YOU HATED THE SIGHT OF HER.”
“. . . she had to go to her bedroom and live like a prisoner, because you hated the sight of her.”
The color had drained from Martha’s face. “How could . . . how could you know that? Dear God, you were only a baby. You . . .”
Ida stood behind Ruby, ears cocked for every last morsel of detail. There was enough mileage in this story to keep the whole village going for a week at least.
The mother began to weep.
“Now look what you’ve done.” Ida pushed Ruby out of the way and went to comfort Martha.
“I’ve done nothing.” Ruby rounded on her. “How dare you push me?!”
“What’s all this?” Shrill voices in the doorway had them all turning to look.
May and June stood on the threshold, June carrying a large plaster angel under one arm.
At sight of them, Ruby sped up to her bedroom and slammed the door shut.
She settled on the bed and tried to calm herself. With those two home, all hell would break loose.
“THERE IS NO DARKNESS BUT IGNORANCE. YOU ARE PROTECTED.”
“Yes, yes, I know . . . I know. There is no darkness but ignorance. I—”
A sharp rap at the door.
“Ruby, are you in there?” May’s voice. Testy, impatient.
“Yes. What do you want?” Ruby pressed her thumb and forefinger together, hard. In the sure knowledge the Goddess would come through.
“I want to talk to you . . . for a minute.”
“Why?”
“I’ll let you know when you open the door.”
Ruby heaved herself off the bed and turned the key in the lock.
May did not look well. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her face was chalk-white.
“Are you all right?”
“Of course I’m all right. Why wouldn’t I be? You’re the one that’s not all right. Why are you upsetting Mummy again?”
“I WAS NOT UPSETTING ANYONE. I WAS MERELY POINTING OUT SOME FACTS.”
Ruby took a deep breath and looked her sister straight in the eye. “I was not upsetting anyone. I was merely pointing out some facts.”
May snorted, face twisting in a sneer. “‘I was merely pointing out some facts,’” she imitated Ruby in a childish voice, shaking her head from side to side. “You wouldn’t know a fact if it came up and bit you in your fat, ugly face.”
“HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT, YOU WRETCHED WAIF.”
“How dare you speak to me like that, you wretched waif.”
“What did you say?” May in shock.
“I SAID HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT, YOU WRETCHED WAIF. YOU ARE BEHAVING LIKE A CHILD. NOW, GO BACK TO YOUR TOYS AND LEAVE ME ALONE.”
“I said how dare you speak to me like that, you wretched waif. You are behaving like a child. Now, go back to your toys and leave me alone.”
May began backing out of the room. “Oh God, you have gone mad. I know now what Mummy meant on the phone. She said you weren’t yourself. And—”
Ruby shut the door quietly on May’s stunned face. She turned the key in the lock.
The action had her sister hammering frantically. “You bitch! You mad bitch! You’ll pay for this, Ruby Clare. You’ll really, really pay for this. We’re going to put you in the loony bin, where you bloody belong.”
But Ruby had had her say.
My, did it feel good!
Chapter twenty-four
God-savus, Biddy, have you found the talking teeth yet?”
Midafternoon, Rose, Paddy, and Jamie pulled out chairs at a Formica table in the Cozy Corner and settled themselves. At that slack hour there were no other customers, apart from itinerant scrap dealer, Barkin’ Bob, in a corner, laboring over a gravy chip while humming a speeded-up version of “Amazing Grace.”
“’Cos, you know,” Rose continued, “from the time my Paddy was in with you last week, I thought maybe a body would of run across them, like.”
Biddy Mulhern, for thirty-five years the proprietor of the greasy spoon that was the Cozy Corner, leaned over the counter, cradling her bosom in flour-coated arms, and said, “Well, you know, Rose and Paddy, you’ll never believe it.” She disappeared from view, and seconds later, a set of shiny pink dentures appeared on the trio’s table.
“God-savus,” said Rose, staring in disbelief. “Yer talking teeth, Paddy.”
“Well, that’s the damnedest thing.” Paddy snatched them up. “Niver thought I’d see them again.”
“Are you sure they’re yours?” Jamie asked. “’Cos one pair-a dentures is very like the other.”
“Oh, they’re mine all right, Jamie . . . would recognize the wee blighters anywhere.”
He pointed to the inside of a molar. “See that wee dot of red paint—”
“I put that there, Jamie,” Rose chipped in, eager to have her say. “So he could tell the differs between the talking pair and the eating pair. But that’s neither here or there. Who found them anyway, Biddy? And we’ll have a cuppa tea and some of your flaky knobs. I was tellin’ Jamie here how good they were.”
“Good enough,” said Biddy. “Well, you’ll never guess who found them. Honest Thomas was the first to find them, and then Sergeant Ranfurley handed them in.”
“Get away!”
At the mention of Ranfurley’s name Jamie scowled.
“The sergeant came in here yesterday,” continued Biddy. “Had them in a paper bag. Tolt me that Honest Thomas had found them sitting on Butcher Magee’s windee-sill, and handed them into the station.”
“But how did the sergeant know to give them to you, Biddy?” asked Paddy, perplexed.
“He said that since this was the only café in the town it was more than likely so
mebody had taken them out before having a bite to eat. And that I would very likely know who that body might be. They were his very words.”
“God, he’s a terrible smart man,” said Rose.
“Oh, he’s not a sergeant for nothin’,” observed Paddy, attempting to put the teeth back in.
“Now, Paddy, where’s yer manners?” Rose grappled the dentures from her husband. “I’ll give them a wee warsh under the tap, ’cos you niver know how many pairs of hands have been on them, and you could end up with mumps in yer mouth, or worse.” With that, Rose took herself off in the direction of the ladies.
Jamie felt moved to speak. “But, Paddy, if they’re yer talkin’ teeth, sure you don’t need tae put then in now, ’cos you’ve got your eatin’ teeth in already.”
“Begod, ye know, you’re right, Jamie. Never thought of that.”
Biddy set a tray down on their table and off-loaded the tea and cakes. “Now, Jamie, flaky knobs for you and Rose . . . and some iced fingers for you, Paddy, ’cos the knobs might stick in yer dentures and we wouldn’t want that.”
“That Ranfurley’s only an oul’ bully,” Jamie muttered, remembering how he was manhandled and handcuffed, and made to sit in a cell for the best part of four hours because auctioneer Bertie Frogget had pulled a fast one over the price of his heifer.
“I heard about that, Jamie.” Biddy stood with the tray pressed to her chest. “But don’t you know, he wouldn’t arrest the like of Frogget, ’cos he’s a big Prodizent with plenty of money . . .”
“Now you’ve said it, Biddy.” Jamie laid into a flaky knob, grateful for Mrs. Mulhern’s support and understanding.
“. . . but wasn’t it good that Rose and Paddy got you out? ’Cos, God knows, you maybe might’a been still sitting there, countin’ the four walls.”
“Oh, it was very good of Rose and Paddy . . . don’t know what I’d do without them, Biddy.”
Rose returned with one set of cleansed dentures.
“Now, Paddy, I’m putting these in me handbag. We wouldn’t want yeh to lose them again.”
“Good enough, Rose.”
The door opened, bringing in the blare of a car horn and the sprightly Ida Nettles.
Biddy excused herself and went back behind the counter. She was eager to hear the latest gossip. Her friend rarely disappointed.
Ida plonked down her doctor’s bag. “God, Biddy, you wouldn’t believe what’s happened since I seen you last.”
At the table, Rose’s ears pricked up.
Ida lowered her voice. “You know that daughter of Martha Clare’s?”
“Ruby? Oh, I know Ruby surely. Her and her daddy used to come in here every Friday . . . but she’s never been in since his death, God help her. Would maybe be too hard for the poor critter.”
“Well,” Ida said. “She’s goin’ crazy, so she is. Talkin’ to herself, and poor Martha’s beside herself with worry.”
“What? Poor Martha doesn’t need no bother, with Vinny not about no more.”
“How is Martha?” asked Rose, unable to resist a conversation developing without her input. “Haven’t seen her about in a long time.”
Ida turned her attention to Rose. “Well, now, she’s not so good, Rose, ’cos that daughter of hers . . . that Ruby one . . . is giving her a lot of bother, so she is.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Rose said. “I wouldn’t know Ruby that well.”
“I know Ruby,” Jamie announced suddenly, remembering the pleasant young woman he’d met in the field not so very long ago.
All eyes turned to Jamie. Rose’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. She thought she knew everything about Jamie’s life, but how come he hadn’t told her about Ruby Clare?
“That’s right,” Ida chipped in. “Martha was telling me that she put you out of the field you were wantin’ to rent.”
“God, Jamie, you didn’t tell me that,” said Rose.
“Och, I only met her for five minutes, Rose, and she didn’t put me outta the field . . . She said her father died in the field and that’s why she didn’t want to rent it out.”
“Well, that was a very good reason not to want to let it,” Paddy added.
“Aye, I thought so, too,” agreed Jamie.
“Anyway, she’s going a bit crazy,” Ida continued. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she ended up in St. Ita’s one of these days.”
Jamie blanched at the very sound of St. Ita’s. He knew what it meant and hoped Ruby would not have to go in there, either.
Rose, alert to the sadness in her friend’s feelings, said, “God willing it won’t come to that for poor Ruby. She must miss her daddy very badly. Vinny was a great man altogether.”
Barkin’ Bob stirred himself in the corner and prepared to take his leave. He came forward and left money on the counter.
“Good day tae you, Mrs. Mulhern,” he said tipping the brim of a brand-new Stetson.
“Right you be, Bob,” said Biddy. “See you again.”
They all watched from the café window as Bob climbed into a shiny green van with the words Bob’s Wares emblazoned in gold lettering on the side.
“God, Bob’s lookin’ terrible well these days,” Paddy remarked. “He can sell stuff for nothin’ and still make a profit. Don’t how he doz it.”
“Oh, bargains galore,” enthused Rose. “I bought twelve toilet rolls, thirty-seven clothes pegs, two pairs of tights, and a hairnet off him yesterday, for only a fiver.”
“Now, I heard that he was left a legacy by some relative in Amerikay,” Ida said.
“Is that so?” Biddy put in. “Well, I heard he’d won the football pools. Now, what’s this we were talkin’ about before Bob?”
“Ruby Clare,” Jamie declared, surprising them all.
Chapter twenty-five
The morning of June 20 dawned bright and clear. Ruby was delighted. The eve of the midsummer solstice, prelude to her great awakening, had arrived.
She was in the twins’ bedroom, cleaning up. It was best to get all trivial tasks dealt with, so that the remainder of the day was hers alone, to relax and prepare.
She shut off the vacuum cleaner and got down on her knees to peer under May’s bed. There was something lying in the far corner, which the vacuum brush could not reach. She stretched out a hand, retrieved an official-looking brown envelope, and sat on the bed to get her breath back.
May’s name was scrawled on the front, along with a date: Saturday, June 9. Ruby grew excited. That was the Saturday the twins had gone to Manchester to see George Best play the “friendly” match at Old Trafford. This just might be his autograph. There’d been such bad feeling between the twins and herself the previous weekend that she didn’t dare ask them for it.
The envelope had already been opened.
Ruby unfolded the sheet of paper. No, it certainly was not George’s autograph.
The letterhead read: Royal Infirmary, 12 Royston Road, Manchester. But the words underneath, printed in heavy black type, had her staring in disbelief. Abortion Aftercare Advice.
Her hands began to shake. She looked up from the page. Now it all made sense. It was the reason they’d gone to Manchester. It was the reason she’d heard them arguing late at night just a fortnight before. It was the reason May looked so unwell at the weekend.
What would their mother say if she discovered what her favorite daughter had done? Ruby recalled a lecture Martha had given the twins, when at eighteen, they’d started going out to dances. “Now if any of the pair of you fall pregnant you might as well go down that field and walk into Beldam Lake, because this family will not endure the embarrassment of having a harlot for a daughter. Is that understood?”
Strange that the mother hadn’t felt it necessary to give Ruby the same sort of lecture when she came of age. But in her heart Ruby knew why. Her eldest daughter was deemed too plain and graceless
to be of interest to men. She was destined to remain at home, to be a toiler and caretaker, allowing for safe passage into old age at her parents’ side. Getting dressed up to go out to dances would hardly figure in Ruby’s life. Martha had already decided the route she would take when she failed to impress Mr. Ryan in the Queens Arms hotel. Donegal had been a test, a rite of passage to see if she could hack it in the world beyond the Oaktree doorstep. A test she’d failed miserably.
May and June were the daughters who would marry. Slim and pretty, they deserved to be courted; deserved the right to bridal gowns and the delight of children at their feet.
Yes, children.
Ruby glanced down at the letter again. Under the heading What to Expect were several typewritten paragraphs with subheadings: Bleeding, Pain, Feelings of Guilt . . . She didn’t want to read any more. Was glad in a way that she’d been spared the world of men and dating, if that was the price one paid. May had her reasons for doing what she did. Now she, Ruby, by opening the letter, was also privy to the secret.
She stuffed the page back in the envelope, went immediately to her own bedroom, and placed the letter in a bottom drawer. She would finish the cleaning and prepare the more important business that lay ahead. She would not mention it to May, but if pushed, she might have to.
Back out on the landing she turned the key in her bedroom, but . . .
The sound of voices coming from below.
How could that be?
She’d left her mother alone in the sitting room reading a magazine. Martha hadn’t mentioned anyone dropping by. No doubt it was Ida Nettles back for more gossip, the old busybody.
Ruby packed up the vacuum cleaner and went downstairs.
She barged into the sitting room—and was at once pulled up short. There, in the armchair opposite Martha, was May. An unexpected sight that left her sister speechless.
“May’s not feeling well,” the mother said. “She’s taking the rest of the week off.”
“What . . . what is it?” Ruby managed to say. May had never come home from work in the middle of the week before. Now here she was, just when she was about to enact her ritual. Feelings of resentment and sympathy began building. “Have you . . . have you been to see the doctor?”
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