When he had finished he was sporting a huge chocolate grin like a big child. He made us all laugh so much, and then he chased Christina around the house pretending he was a giant chocolate bear.
CHRISTINA
The lights went out. An occasional shaft illuminated the heads of lone readers, but there was a new peace in the cabin. Most slept. The cabin crew had disappeared and a hush spread through the plane. With all these strangers she shared something so personal – the world of dreams.
She looked over at Cian. His head was resting on the small white pillow and the blue and green blanket was pulled up to his chin. She felt safe when she watched him sleep because his perfection was so clear to her then, and life became simple.
They were speeding through the thick black night, yet in this machine time stood still. The minutes crawled and she had the sensation of time turning backwards, running upstream. Was it possible to start again?
They hit some turbulence and the seatbelt lights blinked orange. Cian stirred in his sleep, but he was too far in to wake. She pulled down her little table and spread her hands on it. They were very small, like a child’s. She looked at her wedding ring, the only adornment, fingered it and then began to pull it off. It stuck on the knuckle. It was impossible to get it free and in the end she gave up.
The veins on the back of her hand were raised, like a map of blue lines. Her blood was the river that ran through her and its source could never be denied. That’s why she was here. She didn’t want anything off her mother, not even an explanation, not now. She just wanted to see her face, survey the flesh, the blood, the breath of this woman she was a part of. Here I am, she would say. I just needed to meet you.
That would be enough for Christina.
THE SLURRY PIT
Christina doesn’t want to go, but her daddy tells her she must. He says that her cousins have come over especially for the day to play with her, and besides, Angeline is too busy making lunch to look after her.
But I can help her, she says, I can lay the table.
No, says her daddy, you’ll get in the way. It’ll do you good, get a bit of colour into your cheeks.
Reluctantly Christina puts on her coat and wellies and goes out into the yard. It’s raining a bit and the day is grey and damp. She wants to be inside, in the warm golden hub of the kitchen, dancing to the radio while Angeline cooks. The icy rain bites her cheeks and she blinks, looking across the filthy yard at her three cousins, who seemed completely unaware of the weather. Their jackets are open, hats and gloves off and their hair down, strung around their faces in wet, tangled strands. They’re the image of each other.
Helen, Sue and Annie are playing chase but Christina can’t make out who’s It. They keep shoving each other and Annie falls over in the muck, but she just laughs. She doesn’t seem to care that her jeans are streaked with mud and her face spattered and dirty. They’re so rough. Christina tucks herself behind her daddy, a tiny shadow, hoping not to be noticed.
Christina!
Helen comes bounding towards her. She’s a real tomboy, and today she’s wearing a cowboy outfit, a black hat with a marshal’s silver star on it and a holster with two guns.
Draw! she yells, and takes them out, firing at Christina. Ah, you didn’t draw, she moans.
I don’t have a gun, Christina says quietly, ducking just in time before Annie and Sue land fistfuls of muddy gravel on them.
Ow! Helen shouts, turning around. I’ll have the pair of ye! She runs off after her two younger sisters.
Come on, you lot!
It’s her Uncle Raymond. The men are getting into the Range Rover.
Where are we going? Helen asks as the three sisters clamber into the back, squeezing Christina into a corner. They feel wet and clammy next to her and Sue keeps sneezing.
Up to the pigs, says her daddy.
But the girls aren’t listening any more, busy instead squeezing each other.
Dad, Annie’s pinching me.
No I’m not.
The men ignore them. Uncle Raymond lights up a cigarette and her daddy turns on the radio. It’s Irish music, what Angeline calls diddly-i music, but her daddy likes it and whenever they’re in the Range Rover on their own, he puts it on. Pressed up against the window, Christina makes a small hole in the condensation and looks at the wet fields. Notes from the music fill her head, making her heart spin faster, and she pulls her fingers down the side of the pane, making damp patterns. The rain is heavier now, lashing the sides of the jeep, and against the slate sky the grass looks shockingly bright green. It’s a lovely colour.
They have turned off the lane and are driving down a boreen. Her cousins giggle as they bounce around in the back of the jeep. Suddenly Sue, the youngest, leans across Helen and pulls on Christina’s sleeve. Christina, where’s your mammy gone?
Helen pushes Sue back into her seat. Don’t ask her that, silly.
Sue looks at her sister defiantly, and then, leaning across her again, she pokes Christina. Is Auntie Greta coming back?
Helen pushes Sue right off the seat and she lands with a thud on floor. Ow!
Serves you right, Helen says. I told you not to ask.
Annie is sitting behind them. She leans forward and rests her elbows on the back of the seat. She presses in close to Christina and whispers, Did she run away?
Helen’s eyes narrow. What did you say to her? Do you not remember? Mammy said we were to say nothing about Auntie Greta! I’ll tell on ye both now, so I will!
Helen glances over at Christina, but she’s turned away, her nose pressed up to the window, letting the steam from her breath make clouds. She sees a brown horse cantering in a field alongside the jeep and she’s outside too now, cantering beside it. She’s not there any more. She doesn’t hear what her cousins are saying.
By the time they get to the farm it has stopped raining. The smell is awful when they get out of the Range Rover. Christina puts her hand over her nose but her cousins don’t seem to notice and run towards the sheds.
Come on, Christina, says her daddy.
They are standing on the other side of the slurry pit. Her daddy and Uncle Raymond step over it with ease. Helen is across in one bound and Annie follows her easily.
Christina stands nervously beside Sue.
You’re next, Christina, says her daddy, but she shakes her head.
You have to go over it, he says. It’s the only way through here at the moment.
No, she says quietly.
Helen and Annie stare at her. It’s not big, Helen says.
It’s easy, Annie says.
Come on, Christina, you’re holding everyone up.
It smells.
Ah Jaysus, come on then, Sue, you go first, says her Uncle Raymond.
Okay, Sue trills out happily, but as she steps towards the pit she slips on the concrete and Christina watches, horrified, as she sees her cousin fall into the foul pit. She’s screaming. She can see Sue’s blond head going under, being sucked down.
Christ, quick, Tomás! Uncle Raymond shouts.
He’s over the pit in one swift movement, leans in and pulls out his daughter while her daddy runs to get a bucket of water. They throw it over Sue’s face as she coughs and splutters and howls.
They all run back to the jeep then, the men yelling at the other girls to hurry and get in for Christ’s sake before their sister gets pneumonia.
Sue is in the front, wrapped in her father’s coat on his lap while her daddy speeds out the gate and down the boreen. Helen, Annie and Christina sit quietly in the back. Her cousins are pale and tearful, no longer fidgeting, suddenly meek. Christina can’t stop shaking. She clutches her hands together, but her teeth begin to chatter.
There’s a terrible smell in the Rover. It makes Annie throw up, but no one notices. The thick, putrid odour of pig shit is filling their pores.
When they get back to the house, Angeline goes up to the bathroom with Sue and the other children are herded into the sitting room, given long gla
sses of purple Ribena and told to behave. Her daddy and her Uncle Raymond disappear. It’s still raining outside, and the room is dark without any lights on.
She’s such a silly Sue, says Annie, the whites of her eyes gleaming in the half light as she begins to roam around the room, picking up ornaments and putting them down.
At least she gave it a go, says Helen, bouncing up and down on the sofa. Her cousins look over at her and Christina cringes.
It was too big, she says quietly.
No it wasn’t, Sue just slipped, Helen says.
Were you afraid? Annie asks.
Christina wishes they would go home now. She wants to go upstairs and play with her dolls.
Annie picks up a picture of Angeline and Christina the day of her First Communion.
Is Angeline your mammy now? she asks, smiling, a purple moustache from the Ribena framing her mouth.
Shut up about that, will ye? Helen yells and runs across the room, lighting on Annie. The two of them begin to roll around on the floor, pulling each other’s hair and biting.
Stop, says Christina, just stop, will you? Please, please!
She begins to sob, the fear and the shame of the last hour drowning her. Her two cousins sit up, a fuzzy, tangled heap.
Why are you crying? asks Helen.
GRETA
If the baby’s a boy we’ll call him Matthew, after my father, and if it’s a girl, then she’ll be called Lily, after my mother, because we called Christina after Tomás’s mother. This way it’s fair.
I’m fingering my favourite tree, touching its gnarled trunk and the brittle sticks which shield its base. It’s a tree growing within a tree, like the two hearts which beat in my body now.
Winter has stripped it of its glory, although today I can see little red buds on its skinny twig-branches. They’re so dense that cobwebs hang between them, and old leaves caught there from last autumn.
As I’m touching the tree, a feeling comes over me like a wave. It makes me sleepy. It’s as if a spirit brushes my forehead, clears all my fears away and holds me then, like a father holding his child.
A twig snaps, the wood stirs and suddenly the mood is gone.
I turn around. Angeline is behind me.
Are you following me? I ask her. It just comes out this way because it feels like she is.
And she says, Of course not, I always walk up here.
She comes towards me and today she is all in red. A huge woollen shawl is draped about her shoulders, and she has a big woolly red hat on and gloves. Her cheeks are glowing, and she exhales steam.
It’s still very cold, isn’t it? she says, standing next to me and looking out of a clearing in the trees towards the hills.
Yes, but it’s so beautiful when it’s like this. The light plays tricks and everything looks hazy. I point. Look at the gleam on the fields.
Yes, she agrees, it’s dreamlike, and then pauses before she asks me, Are you all right?
I tell her I’m a little sad because it’s my father’s birthday. She puts her arm through mine and gives me a squeeze. What are you doing here? I ask.
Oh, I have a headache and I thought the fresh air would do me good.
Let me see if I can make it better, I say.
She smiles at me then as if I’m a fool, but takes her hat off all the same.
I slip my gloves off and rub my hands. Then I touch her gently on the shoulders, and slowly work from her arms up to her neck, her jaw and the crown of her head. When I finish she’s completely silent. She stands with her back to me, staring at the fields. And then she says, in a hush, You have a gift.
I know, I say, but don’t tell anyone, otherwise they’ll all be round.
What do you mean?
Tomás told me not to do it. He’s worried I’ll turn into a faith healer or something.
She laughs, and I laugh too because it seems like such a ridiculous idea. Then she pulls me forward and says, Come on, let’s go and have some tea, I’ve made a brack.
I groan, No more food, there will be no room for the baby soon.
CHRISTINA
Christina had known for years. She had chanced upon her mother’s address quite by accident, when she was only ten years old. It was her father’s birthday and Christina had been in his bedroom, searching through his large mahogany bureau, looking for Sellotape. She had been trying to wrap a present.
The envelope was torn open and stuck to her fingertips. She shook it off, and as she did she noticed the name scrawled on the back.
Greta Comyn.
Christina had started. Her mother never came into her daily life. She hadn’t thought about her for years. It had been almost as if she were dead.
Trembling suddenly, Christina picked up the envelope. It was empty. She flipped it around. It was addressed to her father. She felt her cheeks suddenly flushed, and bit her lips. Why had her mother not written to her?
Christina turned the envelope over again and read the back:
Greta Comyn, 1274 Chilberg Avenue, La Conner, Washington, USA
She heard her father outside and instinctively shoved the envelope into her back pocket. When he came in she didn’t ask him about it. For some reason, she felt it would be disloyal.
Christina had always looked after that old envelope. She took it out from time to time and wondered whether she should write. But something always stopped her – pride, or was it fear? Even now she had decided to just go. She hadn’t written first, or phoned. She had been so afraid of rejection that she wanted to turn up there in the flesh so that it would be literally impossible to close the door in her face.
Christina had never really believed that one day they would actually meet. Yet here she was in Seattle, in a hotel room, with Cian tucked into bed. She opened the state map she’d bought when they landed and looked at the pattern of little white islands and peninsulas which seemed to cling to the coast of America. Across a strait of blue sea there was one large island, coloured pale yellow and blank because this map was American. It was Vancouver Island.
She had known for years where Washington state was, in the upper north-western corner of America, yet this map fascinated her. She had spent all her life tucked away from the sea, and now she was heading towards the widest of them all, the Pacific. It was exciting. In between all the confusion and fear there was at least one positive thing. She was finally living her life, and no one was telling her what to do.
Christina got up from the bed and looked out of the window. It was completely dark now, with just the faintest tinge of purple in the sky. She looked down at Seattle, at the lights of the cars swishing by, the street lamps and the neon signs on the building opposite. From the plane she’d been able to see a huge mountain looming in the distance. It had looked like a volcano, like something from the Orient. It had been completely white, pure, with sheer slopes.
This was a completely new world.
She had seen Seattle from above, its tall, sheer buildings sparkling in the sunlight, and behind it a deep blue line, nothing beyond. She imagined all the people like her, passing through on a journey, looking for someone or something.
Christina glanced at her clock on the table. It was nearly midnight and Cian was fast asleep, Walter pushed up onto the pillow beside him so that they looked like brothers.
It was the twenty-first of June, the longest day of the year. It also felt like the longest day of her life.
THE WEDDING DRESS
Angeline wants Christina to come with her. It means a day off school, so her father takes a little persuading but Angeline insists, saying that she needs Christina’s advice.
What does a thirteen-year-old know about wedding dresses? her father asks, exasperated.
I want her to be involved, Tom, Angeline says, sidling up to him and giving him a kiss. Besides, she’ll need to be fitted for her bridesmaid outfit.
Well, I suppose it does make sense, he gives in grudgingly.
Christina spends ages choosing an outfit for their shopping
expedition. They’re going to Sligo, to an old school friend of Angeline’s who’s a dressmaker. It’s going to take over two hours to get there, so they have to leave early in the morning. Christina lays everything out on top of her chest of drawers, ready for the next day. In the end she chooses a blue and white striped polo neck sweater and a new pair of jeans that have embroidery flowers down the side.
It’s a bright sunny day, warm for March. Angeline drives fast. There’s a stereo in the Range Rover and Angeline asks her to choose a tape.
I brought some Abba, Christina says.
Great! Stick it on.
They sing along to ‘Name of the Game’, ‘Knowing Me, Knowing You’, ‘Dancing Queen’.
I’m very impressed, says Angeline, you know all the words!
Christina looks out the window, continuing to sing ‘Take a Chance on Me’. The day feels different and special. It’s exciting to be on the road with Angeline, to be going to Sligo, somewhere new.
They go straight to the dressmaker’s house, which is up a hill on the way out of town. There’s a view of the sea and the square-shaped Ben Bulben. It’s windy and colder than back home.
Mary, the dressmaker, takes them into the front room and brings out a folder full of pictures of dresses.
So many different designs! sighs Angeline.
Well, you’ll look gorgeous in all of them, Angeline, you’ve a perfect figure.
I don’t want to look like a meringue though!
In the end they pick something Mary calls classic, with a bias cut, very 1930s, in ivory. Seeing as it’s not your first, Mary adds. For Christina they choose a pale lavender dress with a soft A-line skirt, no flounces, but simple and flattering.
A Small Part of Me Page 9