An Irish Country Family--An Irish Country Novel

by Patrick Taylor

  She hunched forward and frowned.

  “Before I was given a diagnosis today I was convinced—now please understand, I was wrong, thank God—but I was convinced I had a fatal disease.”

  Her eyes widened, and her hand flew to her mouth. “What did you think you had?”

  “Doesn’t matter. I was rattled. Tried to diagnose myself, and scared myself to death.”

  “Oh, Barry, I’m so sorry.”

  “So, it’s not just recovering from the mono, I have to get over the fear, too.”

  Mum leaned forward and put a comforting hand on his. “How awful, and I do understand. It’s the not knowing, isn’t it?”

  Barry frowned. “How did you know?”

  “How do you think I felt during the war when the BBC announced, ‘One of our ships was sunk today’? I was a young bride with a baby to bring up. I immediately convinced myself it was Dad’s Warspite, and hardly slept until I got his next letter. So, I know how the floods of relief feel too.” She smiled. “I know it’s horrid, but you’ll get over it, I promise.”

  Barry felt the warmth of her hand on his, the warmth of the soup in his belly, the warmth of her words. She knew just how he felt. “Thanks, Mum. Thanks a lot. It always helps to have someone to confide in.”

  “It does.” They sat in silence for a moment, both looking out on the bay.

  “Now, finish your sandwich.” Mum sat back.

  Barry took a bite.

  “You’ve always been able to talk to me, son, but you find it more difficult with Dad, don’t you?”

  He nodded, spared from having to answer because his mouth was full.

  “It’s not surprising, really. His father was from a townland outside Ballymena in County Antrim. He died just before the war and I only met him once or twice. He was very strict with Tom, I think. Couldn’t abide any display of weakness. Your dad finds it hard to show affection. Add to that, you were five in 1945 when you first met him.” Her smile was wistful. “You were terrified of him, you poor wee dote. There are more casualties of war than those on the battlefield. I think that five-year gap kept you and Dad from being close.”

  “I do love him, Mum.”

  “I know. I do know, and I know how very hard you’ve tried to please him, but he’s not a man who wears his heart on his sleeve. He’s very proud of you but finds it hard to tell you.”

  “Thanks, Mum.”

  “I always worried it was a lonely life for you with no brothers or sisters. After the war, when Tom left the navy to study engineering, money was so tight and there hardly seemed enough time after his studies for a child.”

  Barry thought about the times he’d spent with his father as a boy. The outings had been memorable—precious, but rare.

  “Once he’d finished his engineering training, Dad and I decided that a nine-year gap would be too much for me to be having more children.”

  “I had you, and my friends. But I’ve often wondered. Thanks for telling me.”

  She took a deep breath. “I’d have liked more, but—the bloody war. I missed you so much when you went off to boarding school.”

  “I’m so sorry, Mum.”

  She pulled a white handkerchief from her apron pocket and dabbed quickly at her eyes. “Can’t be helped. I was lucky to have you, and lucky your father came back from the war. Plenty didn’t. Now.” She stood and kissed her son’s head. “Tom Laverty’s a good man and so are you, Doctor Barry Laverty.”

  He smiled and so did she.

  She lifted his tray. “I’ll be back in a jiffy with your dessert.”

  Barry looked round the familiar, comfortable room, the high, wide marble fireplace with two ceramic black-and-white Dalmatian dogs flanking the grate and Mum and Dad’s wedding photograph in the middle of the mantelpiece. Dad, a keen sailor, had acquired three pencil sketches of yachts by the Ulster artist Cresswell Boak. They were hung one above the other on the chimney breast. The suite sitting on a rich green carpet was arranged to capture the warmth from the fire in the winter and that splendid view through the bay window of Ballyholme Bay year-round.

  Mum reappeared, bearing a bowl of her homemade vanilla ice cream and toffee sauce. “Here,” she said, “eat that up. You said your throat had been sore.”

  “Thanks. That really is a treat.” Barry tucked in.

  “So, how are you enjoying being a houseman?”

  “It’s fair enough,” he said. “I’m working in casualty at the moment. Some serious illnesses. We start any urgent treatment and tests and get them admitted. I never see them again. Then there’s a long procession of walking wounded who have to be processed as quickly as possible.”

  She frowned. “But you are happy at your work? I always want you to be happy.”

  Barry nodded, smiled, and finished his ice cream.

  “More?” He heard the hope in her voice.

  He smiled. “No thanks. I’m stuffed,” he said, and was rewarded with a smile. “And yes, I’m happy, but I’m really looking forward to my next three months on the medical wards.”

  “That’s good,” she said, “and you are getting enough to eat? Enough sleep.”

  “Of course.” Which wasn’t quite true, but why worry her more?

  She leant forward. Her tone was serious. “I’m very glad to hear that.” Laugh lines came back to the corners of her eyes. “And any lady friends?”

  He laughed. Trust Mum. She always asked. “As a matter of fact, there is. Her name’s Virginia Clarke. She’s a student nurse.” And he relished the thought of her.

  “If you like her then she must be nice.”

  “She is. Very.”

  “So why don’t you bring her home soon, so Dad and I can meet her?”

  Barry raised his eyes to the heavens. “I’ve taken her out twice. Twice. I’m not fully qualified until I’ve finished this year. I don’t know what kind of career I want, general practice or speciality, so I’m not thinking about getting—”

  “Married? I know, son, but I’d like to meet her anyway.”

  Barry shook his head and smiled. “All right. I’ll ask her for dinner. But let me get better first.”

  “Of course, Barry, but now, how would you like a nap? You must be tired.”

  “I’d like that a lot.” And indeed, even though the excitement of being home had given him extra energy, he did feel drowsy. He might be mending, but he wasn’t completely better yet. He stood, put the rug back in its place, and as he headed downstairs wondered how soon it would be before he could invite Virginia to Ballyholme.

  * * *

  “Hang on,” Virginia said. “I love to walk through sand in my bare feet.” She sat on the grass at the edge of Ballyholme Beach and began to remove her shoes.

  “I’ll keep mine on,” Barry said. He looked around. “Mum was right suggesting we go for a walk.” And, he thought, she understood I’d like to be alone with Virginia.

  The September sun had lost the scorching heat of August. A soft onshore breeze chased fluffy clouds before it cast small, rippled shadows on the waters of the bay. Grey-and-white glaucous gulls, and smaller black-headed gulls, soared, glided, and squabbled overhead.

  When she stood up holding her shoes in one hand, Barry said, “I’m going to take you to Ballymacormick Point. Mum took me there a lot when I was little. The National Trust acquired it in 1952 to preserve it.”

  “Come on then. Let’s get going.”

  Together they crunched over the dry sand.

  She took a deep breath. “I love the salty smell of the sea.”

  Barry chuckled. “Actually, that wonderful salty smell, and I love it too, is coming from decaying seaweed.”

  “What a romantic man you are, Barry Laverty.” She laughed, then became serious. “But I’m so glad you’re feeling much better.”

  He reached out and took her hand. “I went to see my GP, Doctor Bowman, on Friday. To my great delight he pronounced me physically fit to return to duty on Monday. Tomorrow. There’s only one snag. He said
that to be on the safe side, I’ve not to kiss anybody for another ten days. Damn it. But I’m so happy you were off today and able to come down for dinner.” He squeezed her hand and she returned the squeeze. God, it was good to see her.

  When they came to a narrow freshwater stream tinkling over its stony bed, Barry released her hand and jumped across. “Come on. I’ll catch you.”

  She jumped, and he enfolded her in his arms, feeling the softness and warmth of her through her silk blouse. “I do love you, Virginia Clarke.”

  “And I love you, Barry.” She laughed. “And it took you collapsing to make me recognise that.”

  He held her at arm’s length and looked into her eyes, knowing that for him all was well with the world; well, pretty much all. The nagging discomfort after his emotional shock was still there in the background, but rapidly fading as with each day he felt stronger.

  “I like your mum.”

  “She’s not hard to like.”

  “She certainly seemed pleased to meet me. And not a bit shy. It was sweet what she said.”

  “About you being very lovely and having beautiful green eyes?”

  “Yes, that,” she said, blushing.

  “It’s the truth.”

  “Flatterer.” She smiled. “And she’s very protective of you, telling you not to overtire yourself—‘like a good boy.’”

  “She’s always been like that.” He shook his head but smiled. “I think all mothers are protective of their grown-up sons.” He chuckled. “My dad’s not. He reckons, and I quote, ‘You’re big enough and ugly enough to look after yourself. He expects me to be self-reliant. You’ll meet him later. He plays golf every Sunday afternoon, so don’t feel slighted that he wasn’t here when you arrived. I reckon if the queen herself came to tea on a Sunday afternoon at 21B Ballyholme Esplanade, Dad would be playing golf. I hope you’ll like him too.”

  He led her through two rough stone gateposts that marked the start of the footpath. “Better put your shoes on. The path gets rough from here on.”

  She sat, dusted her soles with the flat of her hand, slipped on her shoes, then reached out her hand so he could pull her to her feet and, briefly, into his arms again.

  They started along the path that followed the shore between grasslands, and patches of yellow-flowered whin bushes and scrub.

  Two birds like small geese with pink nebs and dark green heads pitched with a splash into the shallows inshore, showing off the black, chestnut, and green patches on their wings.

  “Shelduck,” Barry said. “Pretty birds.” He chuckled. “And so are you. Very pretty. No, that’s not good enough. You are beautiful. God, I wish I could kiss you.”

  “So do I, but there’ll be plenty of time for that later.” She squeezed his hand.

  He remembered her saying on Monday, “There’ll be plenty of time when you’re better.” Then, he’d been convinced there would not. Now? Now, they had all the time in the world. “Yes,” he said, “yes, there will.” And he grinned from ear to ear.

  The short waves splashed against the rocky shoreline.

  A swirling in the water close inshore caught Barry’s eye. He lowered his voice. “Keep still and turn your head slowly.”

  Virginia obeyed.

  “Wait.”

  Moments later a shiny grey head with twitching whiskers and enormous limpid eyes the colour of polished mahogany surfaced not ten yards from where they stood. The creature stared at them, snorted through its wide V-shaped nostrils, breathed in, and slipped below the surface.

  “Grey seal,” Barry said.

  “Are you sure it’s not a selkie?”

  “A what?”

  “You know, a selkie, a magical half seal, half woman. If she comes ashore she sheds her sealskin and becomes a beautiful woman. If a man steals her sealskin, she can’t go back to sea and has to become his wife.”

  “I’ve never heard of that. When Dad sometimes told me Irish stories, he talked about the giant Finn MacCool and his followers, the Fianna or Cuchulain, who led the Red Branch Knights of Ulster.”

  “Typical man. No time for stories about girls.” But she was smiling.

  “Perhaps, but I have time for you. A lot of time.”

  “When we can both get free together.” She sighed. “The first time you tried to ask me out I gave you my usual brush-off line about having a class and that getting qualified was important to me.”

  “True, and when we walked up Cave Hill you told me about wanting to go on and be a midwife. That you hadn’t gone into nursing to snag a doctor. ‘To marry up.’ You were serious about it.”

  “And I didn’t expect to fall in love with you, Barry, but I did, and now I want to see a lot more of you.”

  Barry glowed inside. He started to walk again. “Me too, but the next two months are going to be tricky. Our shift system in casualty doesn’t leave much room for swapping, but come November I’ll be on 5 and 6, and Jack or Norma can cover for me when you’re free in the evening.”

  “I am a nurse,” she said. “I do understand what life can be like for young doctors. I’ll try to be patient.”

  He stopped and hugged her. “What are you doing next Monday?” He let her go.

  “As far as I know, I’ll be off duty.”

  “And come hell or high water I’ll be too. I’m going back to work tomorrow, so Mum will run us both up to the Royal after dinner, and by the following Monday I can kiss you.” He hugged her again. “And if I have to wait any longer, I’m going to burst.”

  19

  Wrote My Will Across the Sky

  May 10, 1969

  “So, this is where you’d pose then, Julie, when that Mister Hunter, Mister Bishop’s cousin, had you do hair modelling for him?”

  O’Reilly watched Donal Donnelly’s eyes widen. He was wearing his Sunday-best suit, white shirt, and blue tie. His carroty hair was neatly trimmed. He whistled. “Boys-a-boys, but there’s a quare clatter of equipment just for til take a few snaps.” He was staring at large cameras on tripods, arrays of floor-and ceiling-mounted spotlights, and white reflecting umbrellas on stands.

  Julie held little Tori’s hand. “He’s real professional, so he is.” Her long blonde hair was shining, and she had on an aquamarine and polka-dot sleeveless dress and white boots. “And thank youse both, Doctor and Mrs. O’Reilly, for this. Imagine us getting our family portrait done to hang over the fireplace once we get moved into Dun Bwee on Monday.”

  “It’s our pleasure. We wanted something to mark the occasion, now that all the work is done on the cottage.” O’Reilly chuckled. It felt satisfying to be outsmarting Donal Donnelly, Ballybucklebo’s arch schemer.

  Kitty was standing at O’Reilly’s shoulder, rocking the identical-twin Donnelly girls, Abigail and Susan Brigit, in their pram. He glanced at Kitty and pictured his elegant wife nearly choking with laughter earlier this week when O’Reilly told her his plans for today.

  They’d been having their preprandial drink upstairs in the lounge. “You know, Kitty, I’ve been thinking about that family portrait hanging over John MacNeill’s fireplace ever since we were there for dinner three weeks ago with that Mullan fellah.”

  Kitty sipped her G&T. “Go on.”

  “Bertie Bishop says he and his crew can move all Donal and Julie’s stuff from the cottage on the marquis’s estate to Dun Bwee this Saturday morning and then have the hooley in the afternoon. But he has to be certain Donal and his family won’t be in there.” O’Reilly let a puff of smoke from his pipe drift upward. “You and I, my dear Kitty, are going to give the Donnellys a housewarming present of a family photo-portrait, to be shot on Saturday morning in Belfast.”

  Kitty’s pealing laughter woke Lady Macbeth from where she had been sleeping in front of the grate.

  “That’s brilliant, Fingal. You are the Wily O’Reilly.”

  “I am, my dear, and so’s Bertie Bishop. Donal needs the company van for the move, and Bertie’s told Donal it won’t be available until Monday. Flo and Kinky,
Cissie Sloan, and Maggie MacCorkle will have all the catering done and ready to take to Dun Bwee, and all the hush-hush invitations have gone out. John and Myrna will be coming. Lars is coming too. He phoned me last night. Says he’s ready to see Myrna again.”

  “Good for him. It’s time he and Myrna Ferguson at least try to get comfortable with each other.”

  A crash brought O’Reilly back to the photography studio in Belfast.

  Four-year-old Tori, her blonde hair tied with pale blue ribbons, had knocked over one of the umbrellas, and Donal was setting it back on its feet. “No harm done, Tori, but try to be a bit more careful, love.”

  “Yes, Daddy. Sorry, Daddy.” She stuck her thumb in her mouth and clutched her dolly more tightly, the one she’d saved from last year’s house fire.

  The door opened, and in came Mister Hunter. “Sorry to keep you waiting, but I was on the phone. It is very good to see you again, Julie. It was fun when you modelled for me.”

  O’Reilly saw Donal’s brow wrinkle. He cocked his head and looked sideways at Mister Hunter. Had Donal, who was initially unenthusiastic about his wife’s modelling, been jealous of the photographer? “But it’s different this time,” said Donal. “You’re working for us now—at least for Doctor and Mrs. O’Reilly.”

  “Indeed I am, and happy to be. Again, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”

  He wasn’t one bit sorry, O’Reilly knew. Mister Hunter had been primed earlier to spin things out.

  “Julie used to come home all made up back then. Will I need some now?”

  “No, Mister Donnelly. We want you to look natural. Maybe a bit of powder if your nose is a bit red or shiny in the lights.”

  Donal clutched his nose. “There’s nothing wrong with my nose. I haven’t touched a drop, so I haven’t. I don’t need no powder. I’d never hear the end of it from the lads at the Duck. Me in makeup? They’d be calling me Danny La Rue, so they would.”

  O’Reilly chuckled. Danny La Rue was the stage name of the County Cork–born Daniel Patrick Carroll, a popular female impersonator.

  Mister Hunter laughed as he fussed with positioning two spotlights at exactly the right angle. “Julie. I hesitate to ask, but your hair is particularly fetching today.” He stepped back, cocked his head to one side, and studied it. “I don’t suppose you’d consider sitting for me again?”