Imelda stood up and marched out of the dark confessional, blinking in the daylight into which she emerged, wanting to open the door to where that so-called man of God sat and batter him with her fists. The Church be damned, she raged, ushering her children down the aisle ahead of her, and so what if she was cast into damnation? Hell couldn’t be much worse than the life she was living now.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Keelin
Summer 1972
“Put the good toilet roll in the bathroom, and fold the first sheet in a triangle. Give the sink a wipe, and for goodness’ sake tidy up those magazines and straighten up your bedspread,” Imelda said exasperatedly, standing at the door of her daughter’s bedroom with a cross look on her face. Keelin turned from where she was sprawled on her beanbag and lowered her Jackie magazine.
“Oh, Mam!” she exclaimed when she noticed her mother’s new hairstyle. “I love your hair. It’s like Jane Fonda’s in Klute.”
“Do you like it? I’m not sure about it.” Her mother stared doubtfully at her reflection in the oval mirror on Keelin’s dressing table. “It’s shorter than what I’m used to.”
“It’s fab, Mam! Very sophisticated. I like the feathery bits at the side. Wait until Dad sees it.”
“Huh, I might as well be wearing a pink wig for all the difference it will make to him,” snorted Imelda, and Keelin felt a surge of irritation. Sometimes her mam could be so mean to Dad and she hated it. But she knew better than to say anything in his defence, so she hauled herself out of the beanbag and went to her bed to straighten the offending bedspread. Why she needed to do this she’d no idea. Surely the aunt, whom she’d never met, wouldn’t be upstairs snooping in her bedroom.
“What time is Auntie Brigid coming?” Keelin changed the subject.
“Later this afternoon. She’s going to the home place first to pick up Nana and Granddad, and to see Granny Dunne’s grave. When you’ve tidied up here, come down and help me make the egg mayonnaise and cheese and pineapple skewers.” Imelda studied her daughter, frowning. “Change out of those shorts and put a dress on,” she said briskly. “I want you looking your best when you meet your aunt for the first time.”
“OK,” Keelin sighed, wishing this auntie who worked as a nun in Africa would hurry up and get her visit over with so that life could get back to normal. Since her mother had heard that her sister “the nun” was coming home for her first visit in more than ten years, she’d nearly driven Keelin mad with all the extra housework that had to be done. The net curtains had been taken down and washed. Keelin had to clean all the windows until they gleamed. The tiles in the kitchen had had to be re-grouted, and Imelda had ordered new lino for the floor. Larry was instructed to plant more summer bedding than usual, although Keelin had to admit the pots of cascading petunias, hollyhocks, busy lizzies, and campanula that her father had planted made the garden look ever so pretty.
Keelin straightened up the flower-sprigged bedspread with the lemon frill. She had a pillowcase to match. Her friend Lisa thought Keelin had a very posh bedroom and envied her having a room to herself. Lisa had to share with her two sisters. Their room always looked like a pigsty.
She was lucky, Keelin admitted. She was one of only three girls in her class to have a bedroom to herself. But she was also one of the only girls who had to work on Saturdays, whether she wanted to or not. Keelin had to stock shelves in her parents’ supermarket on Saturday mornings, and her brothers had to help their grandfather and uncle up on the bog in Ardcloch to earn their pocket money. Some of her friends were having the whole summer off, scot-free. She was babysitting for one of her mother’s friends three mornings a week.
Lucky for Keelin that she liked the little boy she was minding. He was a real cutie. She smiled thinking of him. She was teaching him his ABCs on his toy blackboard, but one day she wanted to be standing in front of a real blackboard, teaching. It was what she planned when she left school. Study at Carysfort Teacher Training College in Dublin and become a primary school teacher. Her parents had told her if she studied hard and did well in her exams she could apply for a place in college. Imelda in particular was very keen that it should happen for her.
That was one of the things Keelin most liked about her mam. Imelda believed women should be educated and independent, and have their own money. She believed in equality. She was even a member of the Women’s Liberation Movement. She didn’t make Keelin and her brothers go to Benediction and Devotions and Holy Hours, like a lot of her classmates had to. Once Keelin had overheard her mother saying to her dad that she didn’t believe in all that “religious shite” anymore and she only went to Mass on Sundays “to keep up the façade, for the sake of the children.”
Keelin had been shocked. How could her mother not believe in the Church’s teachings? Especially when she came from a religious family that had a nun on the Missions? Neither Imelda nor Larry went to confession, and Imelda had told Keelin that she could make up her own mind about continuing to go when she turned sixteen. In the meantime, Keelin went once a month or so, unlike most of her classmates, who went weekly. Keelin wondered, did the nun who was coming to visit know of Imelda’s controversial opinions?
When her mother was in good humour—which seemed to be a rare thing these days, Keelin thought glumly—she could be impulsive and good fun. Last week, on a gloriously sunny day, she’d called Keelin, Cormac, and Peter to get up and give her a hand, because they were going to go to the beach for the day and she wanted to bring a picnic. She needed a day off, she declared. She’d had “enough of everyone.” So Peter got a day off from school, much to his joy.
Her brothers had packed the boot of Imelda’s Ford Cortina with windbreaks, tartan rugs, the yellow lilo, a football, a bucket, spade, and towels, and swimming togs, while Keelin had helped make the picnic. Imelda had sent Peter down to the shop to get Tayto crisps, lemonade, and chocolate bars; then they’d set off, giddy with excitement to be spending the day on the beach, an hour’s drive away.
The boys had set up the windbreaks, hammering the posts into the sand with flat stones while Keelin and Imelda had spread out the rugs and all their bits and pieces. Imelda had been first to dive into the surging Atlantic waves, squealing at the cold, urging Cormac to get down in the water and not be standing there shivering. Keelin dived in straightaway, preferring to get the shock of the immersion in the freezing cold water over quickly. The sun had been warm on her face and shoulders and she’d felt she was in heaven, the blue-green sea glittering so brightly she had to squint to look at it.
It had been a perfect day, all the better for its unexpectedness, and Keelin was happy to see the lines of stress soften in her mother’s face as she snoozed in the afternoon sun after their picnic. Imelda seldom took the time to relax. She was always on the go.
Perhaps after the nun’s visit she might bring them on another beach day, Keelin thought hopefully, sloping down the stairs to help with the buffet.
* * *
“Well, hello there! Aren’t you gorgeous! I can’t believe I have a niece who’s nearly as tall as I am.” Keelin stared at the woman with the smiling, startling blue eyes, a tanned face emphasized by the white band that held her nun’s black veil in place, who was holding out a slim, tanned hand to her.
“Hello,” she said shyly, shaking her aunt’s hand, which, she noted, had a very firm clasp. “It’s very nice to meet you. Erm… I’ve heard a lot about you,” she added, not sure whether she should call her Auntie, or Sister.
The nun laughed and glanced over at Imelda. “Have you?” she said. “All good, I hope.”
Her mother looked a bit flustered. When Nana, Granddad, and the nun had arrived, the two sisters had looked at each other, Brigid smiling, Imelda somewhat wary. But when Brigid had opened her arms, Imelda had reached in and hugged her sister briefly, and they had looked at each other and smiled. “Good to see you, Imelda. You look amazing,” Brigid said. “I love the trouser suit. Everyone’s wearing them, I see.”
> “And you look good, from what I can see of you, and very nun-like.” Imelda’s face softened in a smile of rare affection and Keelin’s grandparents beamed happily, delighted to have their daughter home from Africa.
“So what have you heard, Keelin? And what a lovely name that is.” Brigid gave her a light kiss on the cheek.
“Granny always reads your letters to me.” Keelin smiled. “I love hearing about Africa.”
“And I love living there,” the nun said, turning to Keelin’s brothers. “And these are my nephews, Cormac and Peter. Isn’t it wonderful to come home and have three lovely new relatives?” She shook hands with the boys, who bashfully shook hands back.
“Are you feeling better now?” Imelda asked her sister, ushering them all into the sitting room.
“I’m better than I was, but it will take a while. I was run-down as well. But it’s wonderful to be home in the gorgeous fresh air of the West. It will do my lungs the power of good.”
“Double pneumonia isn’t to be sneezed at,” Imelda said, and the nun laughed, a hearty, infectious chuckle.
“I forgot how witty you always were, Imelda. Not to be sneezed at, indeed.”
“Sure, if you didn’t laugh you’d cry,” Imelda said drily, but Keelin could see that her mother was pleased and had begun to relax.
The afternoon passed in a blur of anecdotes and reminiscences, and Keelin sat, fascinated, listening to her aunt talk about sleeping in wattle and bamboo huts, and eating with leaves as your plates, and using your fingers instead of knives and forks, and of plucking bananas and mangoes off trees to eat. Her brothers wanted to know if there were crocodiles, and their aunt told them that, yes, there were, and they lived in mangrove swamps and river basins, and she had seen them when she was in a boat going to the villages upriver. She’d shown some photos of the white house with the long veranda where she lived. And photos of people in exotic, colourful clothes. A picture of a man riding a scooter and carrying a baby goat on his shoulders, two children in front and a big bundle on his head.
She told them about the dust blowing in from the Sahara, when they would have to wear scarves, and Keelin longed to be there in that exciting world.
“I think I’d like to be a nun, and work in Africa!” she exclaimed, fired by her aunt’s altruism and nobility of spirit.
Imelda did a double take and said firmly, “You can forget that nonsense, Keelin. It’s a whim. I never heard you show any inclination towards the religious life. You’ll finish your Leaving Certificate and do your teacher training,” she told her daughter in a tone that brooked no argument.
Brigid, sensing the tension, said calmly, “This is not a life you rush into, pet. It’s very different now, since Vatican Two, than when I joined. Do as your mother suggests. Finish your exams. Train for something. Live life to the full. I’m not in favour of young girls entering before they’ve had a chance to experience things. It can lead to great unhappiness. And besides, there are no guarantees that you would be sent on the Missions. You could be placed in a convent in Ireland, or France. It’s up to the Mother General where nuns are sent. Once you enter, you take a vow of obedience and give up free will.”
“It’s good to hear you talk a bit of sense to this one,” Imelda said grudgingly.
“But, Mam, I think I’d like—”
“Enough.” Her mother raised a hand and Keelin seethed inwardly. How dare her mother make a show of her, and dismiss her feelings as a whim! If she wanted to become a nun, a nun she would become, Keelin decided there and then.
“You have plenty of time to make a decision,” soothed Brigid, noting her niece’s crestfallen expression. Keelin saw the glare her mother flashed her sister and decided to say no more about becoming a nun. It would only lead to rows.
“We need to get going, Imelda. Thanks so much for a lovely spread and a very enjoyable afternoon.” Brigid rose to her feet and helped her father out of the armchair. Granddad Dunne was very stiff after a bout of lumbago, and Keelin, who knew she was his favourite, picked up his walking stick, which had fallen down beside his chair. “Here, Granddad, I’ll cycle over and see you tomorrow,” she promised, giving him a kiss.
“You’re a little treasure.” Her grandfather smiled, hugging her.
Brigid turned to Imelda. “I’m going to the Four Winds soon; why don’t you bring the children down and stay over, if it’s not too busy?”
“We’ll see,” Imelda said noncommittally. “I have to bring Larry’s mother to a hospital appointment. Dad has one next week, and the shop’s busy, what with the tourist season and everything.”
“Well, the offer is there,” Brigid said lightly, and Keelin knew somehow or another that she would get to see that house on top of the cliff before the summer was out, and that she and her Auntie Brigid were going to be the best of friends.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Summer 1975
“I agápi mou thélo,” the young Greek soldier whispered in her ear, his finger tracing a light caress across her bare shoulder and down her arm.
Keelin knew, from a love song that everyone on the island of Rhodes was singing, that agápi mou meant “my love.” She wasn’t sure what the other words meant, but she could guess, by the ardent desire that she could feel, as Christos Kostopoulos turned her head to look at him before he kissed her passionately, that he wanted more than kissing.
So did she. It was her first foreign holiday. She’d met Christos at a nightclub in the new town, down near Mandraki Harbour, a week previously, and he had taken her to see the Valley of the Butterflies on the back of his scooter and now they were strolling along a moonlit beach, the warm Aegean Sea lapping over their toes. The sound of bouzoukis drifted on the breeze from the beachside restaurant where they’d drunk retsina and eaten olives and kleftiko, a lamb dish that melted in the mouth, and baklava, the heavenly filo pastry, chopped nuts, and honey dessert that Keelin and her two housemates had fallen in love with.
This truly was the holiday of a lifetime, she thought happily, kissing her companion back, enjoying the delightful sensations coursing through her body. When Christos slid his hands over her hips and pressed her tight against him, and she felt how hard he was, she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
Keelin knew it was considered sinful to have sex before marriage. She’d been brought up with the notion that sex was dirty. It had permeated her school days, her college days, and would, if she let it, colour every relationship she had with a fella until she got married… if she ever got married. Here on this beautiful island where nothing felt sinful, and the slow, melodious flow of life made her feel vibrant and free, the straitjacket of dogma, so invasive at home, seemed a world away.
He was very gentle with her, lightly caressing her, and then his touch becoming firmer, insistent, and she was longing for him, her body delighting in the sensations he was arousing in her. When he came into her she gasped with pleasure and, briefly, pain, but pleasure took over and Keelin cast away her inhibitions and gave herself up to the moment, and felt utterly liberated as her young, healthy body made her forget, momentarily, all that she’d been taught in her Catholic upbringing.
* * *
“You did it with Christos.” Eva grinned, pointing an accusatory finger at her.
“How do you know?” Keelin said, laughing and blushing at the same time.
“You’re glowing! You lucky wagon. He’s gorgeous.”
“I know,” Keelin agreed, flinging herself down on the bed. “If someone told me I’d come to Greece and lose my virginity to a man I only met a week ago, who hardly speaks a word of English and who I’ll never meet again after the holiday is over, I’d have told them they were raving.” Keelin stretched sensuously. “Girls, I tingle all over!”
“Oh, stop boasting.” Norah scowled. She was still an unwilling virgin. “I’d be riven with guilt. I know I would. I was in the Children of Mary when I was younger. I’d feel impure. I can’t help it. I’m indoctrinated with it.”
�
�We all were, Norah. Get a few of these in you tomorrow night and feck the indoctrination. But make sure you use a condom.” Eva handed her a glass full of ouzo.
“So we’re not going to Mass tomorrow, I take it?” Norah took a swig of ouzo and raised an eyebrow at her friends.
“Nope!”
“I can’t. I’m in a state of mortal sin.” Keelin giggled, a tad tipsy.
“My mother was right. You’re a bad influence on me, the pair of you,” tittered Norah, draining the shot glass and holding it out for a refill as the first rays of dawn whispered through the curtains of their hotel room.
* * *
“I can’t believe it’s over,” Eva sighed, fastening her seat belt. “It was a brilliant holiday.”
“I’m so glad you persuaded me to come.” Keelin smiled at her friend. She was sitting in the window seat of the Aer Lingus jet that would fly them home. Norah was in the aisle seat, rooting for her Jackie Collins novel.
“I bet Christos was, too,” she said sotto voce, and the other two laughed. Norah, sadly, was returning home virgo intacta, having not been able to summon up the courage to go the whole way with Stavros.
Keelin sighed deeply. She wasn’t looking forward to returning to Ireland. She’d enjoyed so much about the holiday: her delightful interludes with her soldier, the laid-back culture, the heat, the food, the friendly islanders. The very foreignness of the place had been intoxicating. This was probably how Brigid felt about Africa.
What would her aunt think of her loose morals, sleeping with a stranger on holiday? She might not be too impressed, Keelin reflected. And would she think Keelin immodest for dressing in shorts and wearing no bra under her halter-neck top? What was so awful about the female body that it needed to be kept hidden, as if it were something tainted? Her legs had a sexy, even tan after her holiday. They look great and I’m proud of them, Keelin thought as the plane roared into the sky, wishing she’d the nerve to prance around the college grounds in her shorts and halter neck.
The Liberation of Brigid Dunne Page 14