by Ber Carroll
‘He’s your boyfriend, isn’t he?’
‘Well . . .’ Sarah had hedged.
‘Oh, come on. I’m not a fool. The kitchen crackled with chemistry the minute he came in!’
Sarah was alarmed. ‘Oh my God! I hope it’s not that obvious. My grandmother . . .’
Nuala smiled slyly. ‘Don’t worry. I’m saying it was obvious to me, that’s all. Anyway, what’s with all the secrecy?’
‘For a start, his mother wouldn’t approve,’ Sarah replied with a grimace. ‘She wouldn’t like to think of her son being distracted from his music studies. Least of all by me! She sees herself as a cut above everyone else in the village.’
‘But you don’t need to keep it from your grandmother, do you?’
‘It makes things easier,’ Sarah shrugged. ‘Being friends means more freedom. We can go to the park and Nan doesn’t watch the clock . . . doesn’t worry.’
‘Does she have reason to worry?’ Nuala asked astutely. ‘What do you get up to at the park?’
Sarah blushed. ‘Kissing, that’s all.’
‘You’ve gone all red.’
‘Thanks for pointing out the obvious.’
‘So you only see John during school holidays?’
‘Yes. And we write to each other while he’s away. Every week.’
Sarah smiled at the thought of John’s letters. They were almost as good as having him next to her, talking. In some ways, even better. With letters there were no silences. No inhibitions. John told her everything, about the antics of the boys at the school, how much he loved the master classes at the academy, and how much he missed holding her.
‘God, you have it bad for him, don’t you?’ Nuala remarked.
It was true, Sarah did have it bad. She thought about him all the time, and when he was home it was as if her body was on tenterhooks, aching for his next touch. She was glad that Nuala knew: her feelings for John were too big to keep to herself any longer.
‘Oh God, I’m sick with nerves!’ Nuala exclaimed when Sarah came to stand next to her in the school hall. ‘Would they ever put us out of our misery?’
Sarah couldn’t understand Nuala’s nervousness. She had categorically decided, much to her father’s disappointment, that she’d had enough of studying and wouldn’t be continuing on to university. Nuala planned to join the work force, earn a decent wage and enjoy herself spending it. Her Leaving Certificate results didn’t have any bearing whatsoever on her plans.
The principal’s secretary, a painfully thin woman with oversized spectacles, entered the hall and a hush fell over the girls.
‘Good morning.’ She bestowed them with a brisk smile. ‘Sister Stella has now compiled all of the results. When your name is called, please make your way quietly to her office. When you are finished, wait outside the school for your friends. Do not return to the hall. Your names will be called in alphabetical order. Angela Buckley is first . . .’
The longest half-hour of Sarah’s life followed. Sometimes it was of benefit to have your surname towards the end of the alphabet, like when you had to read out loud in class. The bell would ring before the teacher reached you. Inevitably, they would start at A again the next day. Sarah dreaded reading out loud and was thankful that her surname began with R. Not now, though. The longer she had to wait, the more she doubted herself. There was the question in Irish that she didn’t get to finish. And the trick multiple choice answers in Physics . . .
The big clock at the front of the hall edged past eleven-thirty and Sarah thought of John. He’d have his results by now. As it was impractical for him to travel to Dublin to get them in person, he’d been told to phone the boarding school at eleven-thirty. Was he pleased with how he’d done?
‘Sarah Ryan,’ called the secretary.
‘Good luck,’ whispered the few girls remaining.
With trembling knees, Sarah walked towards the principal’s office. She knocked.
‘Come in.’
Sister Stella was seated behind her desk, a well-worn piece of furniture that had many scratches and marks.
‘Sit down, Sarah.’
Obediently, Sarah sat in the straight-backed visitor’s chair. Sister Stella smiled across at her. Then she let out a loud sneeze.
‘Pardon me,’ she fished a handkerchief from her pocket, ‘I seem to have picked up a summer cold.’
She blew her nose three times, tucked the handkerchief away, sipped from a glass of water, and finally cleared her throat to read.
‘Mathematics: A, English: B, Chemistry: A . . .’
A huge weight lifted from Sarah’s shoulders as she listened to the nun reel off the A’s and B’s. She didn’t need to convert the grades into points, anyone could tell that there was more than enough to qualify for university.
‘Congratulations,’ said Sister Stella at the end. ‘Your marks were the best in the school this year – an excellent result for all your hard work.’
Rather suddenly, she stuck her arm across the desk. Surprised, Sarah extended her own. So fierce was the nun’s grip, the life was nearly squeezed out of Sarah’s hand.
‘Good luck with university. It’s Commerce you’re doing, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, Sister.’
The nun nodded with approval. ‘You’ll be very suited to it – you have a great aptitude for mathematics, as well as good leadership qualities.’
‘Thank you, Sister.’
‘Most importantly, though, you’re a hard worker.’
‘Yes, Sister. Thank you, Sister.’
Sarah went outside with the brown envelope that carried official proof of her results. Nuala came bounding over.
‘How did you get on?’
‘Good,’ Sarah beamed. ‘Very good, actually. How about you?’
‘Well, I passed. That’s all I wanted – so I’m happy.’
Sarah looked across the road and saw a bus approaching.
‘I’d better hop on that. I have the afternoon shift at the shop.’
‘Okay. See you at the disco later on. What are you wearing?’
Sarah was already running across the road. ‘I don’t know.’
She’d been so worried about her results that she hadn’t given more than a fleeting thought to the disco that was jointly organised by the girls’ and boys’ secondary schools in celebration of the Leaving Certificate results. Now Sarah was excited at the thought of going. Everyone would be there. John would finally be able to put faces to all the names.
‘Oh, Sarah!’ Peggy had tears of pride in her eyes. ‘I knew you were worrying about nothing. And to get top of the class . . .’
‘I know – I can’t believe it.’
‘Well, you should believe it! And you should have more confidence in yourself in the future.’
Sarah might not have been confident all along, but she was now. She suddenly couldn’t wait to go to University College Cork. Her grandmother’s shop had given her a taste for business, but there was so much more to learn. She would discover her niche, her career, over the next four years. It would be something to do with numbers, something that was fast-paced and exciting. In her mind’s eye, she could visualise herself behind a desk, speaking authoritatively into the phone, her secretary waiting on the side. She would be very important, the boss of the secretary and ten or twenty others. She would be fair but tough.
‘Did John come over while I was gone?’
Peggy shook her head. ‘There’s not been a word from across the road.’
‘Do you mind if I pop over to see how he got on? I won’t be long.’
‘Take as long as you want, love.’
Delaney’s pub consisted of two rooms, the bar and the lounge. Most of the patrons clustered in the bar area, sitting on backless stools and watching the horse racing on the TV set at the far end of the mahogany counter.
John, wearing a white shirt and black pants, was behind the bar. He looked up when Sarah came in. His lips twisted in a smile that looked more like a grimace. She immediately
began to worry.
Sarah sat on one of the stools and watched as he angled a glass under the Guinness tap. A mixture of froth and beer oozed into the glass and he pushed back the handle when the pint glass was half full. Sarah wasn’t the only one watching John’s movements. Mr Glavin sat with folded arms and a critical face as the froth separated from the stout. John stacked some dirty glasses and, after a minute or so, returned to fill the rest of the glass. Finally, he set it down in front of the old man, who took a slug, a layer of froth sticking to his upper lip. He emitted a small gasp of pleasure before giving John a begrudging nod of approval.
John, having checked along the counter to see that all his customers were content, came Sarah’s way.
‘Well, how did the acclaimed winner of RTE Musician of the Future do in his Leaving Certificate?’ she asked in an upbeat tone.
John had achieved his ambition to win the prestigious competition and, after a live performance on the Late Late Show, he was somewhat of a local celebrity.
‘A in Music, B in French, but downhill from there – I failed Chemistry.’
All the practising for the competition had obviously taken its toll.
She made a sympathetic face. ‘Well, good thing you didn’t want to go to Trinity.’
‘It would have been nice to at least have had the option,’ he said sharply. Then he added in a softer tone, ‘How did you get on?’
‘Five A’s and two B’s.’
‘Congratulations.’ His voice was hollow.
‘Come on, John,’ she said, trying to coax him back to his usual positive self. ‘You were practising for the competition – you won the competition, for God’s sake.’
‘I still feel dumb.’
‘Don’t!’
‘It’s embarrassing, not getting good enough marks for Trinity.’
‘You’d no intention of ever going to Trinity! You’re going to use the RTE grant to study in Paris, remember? The great Cécile Marcel invited you personally, and I’m sure she couldn’t care less about your Chemistry marks!’
One of the customers cleared his throat, letting John know that his services were needed.
‘Do you think your dad will drive us to the disco tonight?’ Sarah asked as she stood up.
‘I’m not in the mood to go – sorry.’ And with that, he walked away.
Sarah felt hurt.
He’s just disappointed, that’s all, she told herself as she crossed the street to the shop.
In the end it was Mr Fahey who gave Sarah a lift to Kilnock.
‘I’ve scored some bouncer work for the night,’ he said, looking as proud as if he’d found himself a full-time job. ‘I’ve never done it before, but I’m sure there’s nothing to it.’
He was shorter than Sarah and of a slight build. She doubted that he had the mettle to handle a swarm of drunken teenagers. She hoped he’d be all right.
‘I’ll be leaving at two-thirty,’ he told her as he locked the door of his car. ‘Be back here by then if you want a lift home.’
Sarah headed towards the pub across the road where she knew she’d find her school friends. The air inside was thick with smoke. She blinked, her eyes watering.
‘Sarah!’ She felt a heavy arm sling across her shoulders. ‘I heard you’re the star of your school.’
She turned around to see Daniel Fox, his good-looking face distorted with the effects of alcohol.
‘I did okay,’ she said warily. ‘How about you?’
‘Failed Maths and Irish,’ he replied, sounding bizarrely proud.
She nodded because he looked as if he didn’t need her to commiserate.
‘There’s Nuala,’ she said, seeing her friend. ‘See ya.’
‘Ah, there you go again,’ he called after her. ‘Snobby Sarah Ryan – too good to talk to someone like me.’
Sarah ignored him and pushed her way through the crowd.
‘What were you talking to Daniel about?’ Nuala whispered urgently. She’d had a crush on Daniel for months now but couldn’t get him to notice her.
‘He failed Maths and Irish,’ Sarah replied matter-of-factly. ‘I’m getting a drink. Do you want anything?’
It took ages to get served at the bar and Sarah spilt half the drinks on the way back. She stood next to Nuala. Waves of conversation and laughter rose and fell around her. The cigarette smoke cast a haze over the talking, laughing faces. She felt strangely detached. Like she didn’t really belong. Like she should be somewhere else. With John. Then she became annoyed with herself. Why couldn’t she have a good time without him?
The dance hall was a basketball court by day. Rotating lights, extra seating and a cocky DJ were all that was needed to convert it into quite a convincing discotheque: you just had to remember not to look at the blue and yellow lines on the floor. Alcohol was not allowed, the admission fee was five pounds, and it cost ten pence to put your coat in the cloakroom.
Nuala was determined to hang on in the pub for as long as possible, though. ‘There’ll be nobody on the dance floor yet,’ she declared. ‘Better to arrive when it’s really going. Make an entrance.’
The bar staff eventually rang the bell for last orders and Nuala decided it was time to make their ‘entrance’. They left the pub and walked uphill to the hall. A breeze blew against them, soft and pure after the heavy smoke in the pub. The sky was a canvas of stars. Nuala was mildly drunk, Sarah cold sober.
In the foyer of the hall, they were passed by Mr Fahey, a determined look on his face, a head of dark hair locked under his arm. Sarah said hello before dropping her eyes to see who he was removing from the premises.
‘Daniel?’
Daniel, through no will of his own, disappeared outside. Nuala spun on her heel and ran after him. Sarah felt obliged to go too.
‘Daniel! Are you all right?’
Freed from Mr Fahey’s grip and bent over at the waist, Daniel didn’t respond.
Nuala glared at the bouncer responsible for removing the one boy she had wanted to impress that night.
‘You’ve no right to throw him out, none at all!’
Daniel started to retch and Nuala quickly changed her mind.
‘God, that’s disgusting,’ she said, her face screwed up with distaste as she stepped out of the way. ‘Let’s get inside, Sarah,’ she ordered, as if it had been all Sarah’s idea to go rushing to Daniel’s aid.
Nuala’s good spirits were restored when she saw that the dance floor was full to capacity. Hands raised above her head, she danced her way through the crowd. Sarah followed. She tried her best to enjoy herself. She danced under the spinning orbs, sang along with some of the songs, and smiled on cue. But her heart wasn’t in it. She didn’t want any of the immature boys who asked her to dance. She wanted John.
The last set of slow dances came on. The lights dimmed. Sarah was asked to dance: once, twice, three times. Mr Fahey was leaving at two-thirty: only forty more minutes to endure. Another boy sidled up and she turned him down with a shake of her head.
‘Crazy for You’ sounded out over the speakers. Sarah’s eyes were inexplicably drawn to the doorway. Her heart somersaulted at the sight of the tall, achingly-familiar figure standing there. John had come after all.
She was instantly scared that he wouldn’t see her.
‘John! John!’ She pushed her way through the crowd.
Finally they found each other and she was in his arms.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered.
They became one of the circling couples on the dance floor. Sarah’s body moulded to his. She rested her head on his shoulder. For the first time in the entire evening she felt like she belonged.
Sarah didn’t know exactly when she made up her mind. It could have been earlier in the day when she’d heard about John’s exam results and realised that Paris would take him much further away from her than boarding school ever had. Or maybe it was the sheer rush of love she’d felt when she saw him standing in the doorway of the disco. Or when he’d started to kiss her
, the intensity such that it seemed imperative they find somewhere they could be alone. Somewhere along the line, she didn’t know exactly when, she made the heady decision that tonight was the night.
Her hand tight in John’s, they left the hall and walked across the gravelled yard to his father’s car. She sat in the passenger seat while he took the wheel. She turned on the radio. Soon Kilnock’s lights were behind them, and there was much more than a dark country road in front.
A little way from home, John turned the car into a wide gateway and switched off the headlights. A half-moon provided enough light to see his face: his sensual mouth, dark eyes and the strong line of his cheekbones. Sarah was rocked by another surge of love for him. Two years of dating, kissing and touching had culminated in this moment where there was only one way forward. Very sure of her decision, she made the first move.
‘Let’s get into the back.’
The leather of the back seat was cool beneath her bare legs. She kissed him, softly at first, but soon she was carried away by his urgent response. She fell back on the seat, her legs straddling him as he lay on top. His kissing took on a new level of urgency as his slender fingers removed most of her clothes. The leather seat warmed, feeling much like a second skin.
Boldly, Sarah pulled down the zip of his jeans and took him in a confident grip. She heard him moan. Wet and hot under her hand, she imagined him inside her. She touched him against her cotton underwear. She wanted more. No barriers at all. She moved her underwear to one side.
‘Sarah?’ he asked in question. They had never gone this far before.
‘Yes.’
‘Are you sure?’ he checked again.
She loved him even more for that.
‘What about contraception?’ he asked.
‘It’s a safe time of the month.’