by Maeve Binchy
“She was never nice about me. All she said ever was shut up and go away, like you say.”
Chrissie was looking at Clare’s feet. “Put your foot out.”
“Why? I won’t,” Clare said.
“Go on, just for a moment.”
“You’ll put that awful red paint on it.”
“No, I won’t. I wouldn’t waste it. Go on, let’s see.”
Suspiciously Clare put her leg out of her bed and Chrissie examined her foot.
“Show me the other one,” she said after a while. Nervously it was produced. Then Chrissie pronounced that Clare was deformed. Her second toe should be longer than the big toe, Kath’s was, Peggy’s was, Chrissie’s was, anyone you saw on the beach had feet like that. Clare fought back. Why was it called the big toe if it wasn’t the biggest one?
Chrissie shook her head. “Oh well,” she said.
Clare was frightened now. “I think I’ll go and ask Mam,” she said, scrambling off the bed. A hand thrust her back.
“You’ll do nothing of the sort, Mam will want to know why we were talking about toes, she’ll want to see mine maybe, keep your awful complaints to yourself, and don’t be seen in your bare feet.”
Clare crawled back onto her bed.
Chrissie looked at her and decided to be sympathetic. That was worse than anything else that Chrissie had ever done.
“Listen, nobody’ll notice, and I tell you, I won’t give you away.”
Clare looked miserable still.
“And Josie Dillon’s not too bad. It’s better than having no friend, isn’t it?”
“Did you have a friend at school, Miss O’Hara?” Clare wanted to know.
“Yes, several. Why?”
“I just wondered, what happened to them?”
“Well, Nellie Burke is working up in Dr. Power’s house. She was a friend when I was about your age. And Margaret Rooney, she went to England and got married, she lives near my sister. And Cissy O’Connor became a nun God bless her, she’s praying for all of us in a convent up in the North.”
“They weren’t working like a demon like you were, like I am?”
“Oh no, they weren’t working like demons at all. They thought I was mad.”
Clare was pleased with this, it made her path seem less odd.
“But when I got to the big convent, to the secondary school, it was different because there were lots of people there with the same interests. You didn’t have to hide your work or anything. And when I went to the training college I had great friends altogether, still have in a way, but of course it’s not the same now that I’m away, most of them teach in Dublin you see. But there’ll be plenty of time for you to make friends, don’t worry.”
Angela was being reassuring. Someone must have been getting at the child. Wouldn’t you think they’d be delighted to see someone try to get on? Give some encouragement and support. But it had never been the way.
“I do worry a bit. I don’t want to be abnormal.” Clare was solemn.
“Well, I hope you’re not bigheaded enough to think that you’re something special. That would be a sin of Pride you know.”
“I suppose so.”
“You can know it, not suppose it. It’s there in black and white in the catechism. The two great sins against Hope are Pride and Despair. You mustn’t get drawn toward either of them.”
“Were you ever tempted a bit to either of them?” Clare was an odd mixture. She could be quite familiar and probing sometimes as if she were the equal of the teacher sitting opposite her, yet she could also be totally respectful, and up at the convent she never gave a glimmer of the intimacy they shared in the O’Hara cottage.
“If I was, I suppose it was a bit more toward Despair,” Angela said. “Sometimes I used to think I’d never make it and what was it all for anyway. But I did and here I am, and I’m teaching the second great genius to come out of Castlebay, so will you open your books and not have us here all night talking about sins against Hope and friendships long gone?”
Clare giggled and got out the special copybooks she had bought in Miss O’Flaherty’s shop, a different color to the school ones so that she would never get confused. They both knew that nobody at school would be pleased if they knew that Miss O’Hara was giving hours and hours of private tuition free to a ten-year-old. It was never mentioned. And at home Mam thought that Clare was getting help because she had fallen behind a bit. It was a devious business studying your books in Castlebay.
When the summer came David began to wish heartily that Nolan’s family had never decided to rent the house on the cliff. First there had been the letters, they wanted the Very Best house, and could the Powers send them a list of accommodation. Castlebay wasn’t like that, there were twenty houses on the Cliff Road that people let for the summer, usually a month at a time. And up toward the golf course there were other kinds of houses, smaller maybe but great for people who played golf all day. And then at the other side of the bay there was a jumble of houses, some owned by people who lived twenty miles away but who came out to stay there for the summer. People just knew the houses and knew what they wanted, it was very hard to explain all this to the Nolans. Molly Power was worn out from trying to explain.
She settled on Crest View and arranged the letting with Mrs. Conway’s sister who owned the house. She spoke of the professional people from Dublin, who would arrive with the three children and their maid and she insulted the Conways and all their relatives by suggesting that a coat of paint be put on the porch which was peeling somewhat under the constant wind and spray. But huffed though they were the Conways arranged that the porch be painted. They weren’t going to have any professional family from Dublin casting aspersions on the house they were renting by the sea.
David was worn out inspecting Crest View with his mother and being forced to face unanswerable questions about where the Nolan parents would sleep, in this front room or that. And would Caroline Nolan share a room with the friend she was inviting? And did David think the room on the stairs was big enough for the maid? Dublin maids might have notions about themselves.
Nearer the time Mrs. Power arranged to have a box of groceries delivered from the town to the kitchen of Crest View to welcome them. David had watched his mother while she dithered over the list.
“I don’t think she’ll notice really what you order,” he had said helpfully. “Nolan says his mother is mad most of the time.”
“David, will you stop that silly kind of talk!” his mother had cried out in rage. “Here am I wearing my fingers to the bone, trying to see that you have nice friends for the summer, and that they are comfortable when they get here and all the help I get from you is to say that some poor woman you’ve never met is mad. Honestly.”
“I did meet her when she came to see Nolan at half term,” David said.
“And . . . ?”
“And it was one of her good days apparently.” He was unconcerned.
O’Brien’s shop looked well, he thought. It had a new sign over it, and one of the ice-cream firms had put up a big tin sign as well so it looked much more modern than last year. He supposed they’d all be working in the shop: all the O’Brien family, cutting ice creams, counting out sweets, putting oranges in white paper bags, giving change, getting greaseproof paper for the slices of cooked ham or the half-pounds of rashers. Wasn’t it nice for Tommy and Ned to have that to do as a way of getting pocket money in the summer?
There was no sign of either of them. He asked Chrissie where they were and heard they had gone to England months ago. What for? To work on the buildings of course. It gave him a start.
Chrissie didn’t know if they liked it or not. They only wrote very little on a Friday. They wrote every Friday? Well they sent something home of course. Of course. He’d forgotten. Mrs. O’Brien was serving another family, young Clare was cutting ice creams carefully and being watched equally carefully by those who were buying them. It would be a disaster if a twopenny ice cream were ever the teenie
st bit smaller than the allotted ridge. Only Chrissie had time to talk.
“James Nolan and his family are coming to stay up in Crest View.”
“Oh, the fellow who burned his mouth.” Chrissie giggled.
“The very one.”
“Well, he’s in great time. Gerry’s going to be organizing a picnic way down the sandhills of the golf links soon. He’ll tell you all about it,” she hissed conspiratorially.
That was good news. David had been wondering whether this visit would live up to the last. A secret picnic in the sand dunes—that would be great.
“Does he have any sisters or anything? Gerry was saying there aren’t enough girls, though I think there are,” Chrissie said.
“He has a sister, Caroline, and she’s bringing a friend but I don’t think . . .” He stopped suddenly. It mightn’t be polite to say that he didn’t think they were the kind of girls you invited to somewhere that there was going to be messing.
Molly hadn’t been so excited for a long time. To think that a Dublin family who were quite well known were coming to stay in Castlebay just on the word of a boy who had been a visitor in her house. She was very flattered. She hoped that young James Nolan hadn’t exaggerated the style of their living.
The letters from Sheila Nolan had been courteous and warm, but alarmingly had given the impression that Castlebay was a little like Monte Carlo. She had said she so looked forward to going to the Spa each day with Molly. The Spa? She must mean the seaweed baths, but they were old and shabby and rusty, and only priests or cranky sorts of people went to bathe there. Molly could hardly have them transformed with a coat of paint as she had done with the house.
But wouldn’t it be great to talk with Dublin people again, and laugh over Robert’s at the top of Grafton Street, and wonder was that nice Miss so-and-so still in Switzer’s and had Brown Thomas changed their displays? It was such a pity that there were so few people she could ask to meet the Nolans. The Dillons at the hotel were a very mixed bunch, and it was hard to think who else they could ask. The Nolans would think them very dull sticks.
Paddy had told her to relax, but men never understood anything. He said that he had seen the high and mighty of the land coming on holidays to Castlebay over the years and it was funny but they never seemed to want the comfort and style of home, there was something in the big bay, the cliffs and the sunshine that made up for everything else. He was certain it would be the same with the Nolans.
Yes maybe, but Molly wished they had the kind of life where friends dropped in for a sherry or they had a group of people to meet in the hotel. The danger of going out with Paddy was that every drunk and hopeless poor creature in the place would attach themselves with details of their symptoms. Molly also wished they had a conservatory. Wouldn’t it be lovely to say to the Nolans, “Do come into our conservatory with your coffee. We always sit here in the evenings.” Why hadn’t she pushed Paddy more about it? Bumper Byrne who did most of the building in the town said that it wouldn’t be hard to do but Molly had wanted someone with a little more style than Bumper. Now she had no conservatory at all.
Her heart fell when she remembered Sheila Nolan writing about where to shop. Shop? In Castlebay? Imagine a woman from Dublin who was used to going to places like Smith’s on the Green having to stand in O’Brien’s little shop and wait while those children laughed and skittered. That coarse Chrissie with the frizzy hair, and the thin worried-looking one, Clare, who often had a book in her hand if the shop was quiet. And they had nothing nice, nothing at all.
As she thought of O’Brien’s with no pleasure she remembered that she hadn’t put any flour or indeed any baking things at all on the list. The Nolans were bringing a maid after all, she might want to make scones or bread the first evening, they wouldn’t know where to shop. Molly should have thought of a rack of brown flour, white flour, bread soda, it would show she understood that they didn’t need to live off shop food all the time like people who knew no better.
Better do it now, she’d have so much on her mind tomorrow when they arrived and anyway she’d be getting her hair done and making the last-minute arrangements. A walk would do her good, it was a lovely day. She set off down the Cliff Road trying to look at Crest View quickly as if she were a stranger who hadn’t seen it before. It certainly looked the smartest of the houses with its newly painted look. And Molly had seen to it that the grass was cut too, unlike some of the other places along the road. Down on the beach there was already great sign of activity, the season had begun. Paddy was surely right, the Nolans would love it.
She had hit a quiet time in O’Brien’s, only Clare was serving, and she was deep in a book.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Molly said.
Clare looked up, unaware that she should be paying attention to the customer. “Did you do clouds at school, Mrs. Power?” she asked.
“Clouds?”
“Clouds. Mam and Dad didn’t and I was wondering about the cumulus. There seem to be lots of different kinds of them. I thought it was one name for one cloud.”
“I haven’t time to talk about clouds now. I want to buy some flour—that’s if you are serving. Perhaps I should wait for your mother . . .”
“No, no.” Clare put down the book guiltily. “What did you want, Mrs. Power?”
The child got the flour and the bread soda, she even suggested lard and then she added the items up carefully on the back of a white paper bag. She looked so intense that Molly felt a pang of guilt about having put her down so strongly. She was very young and after all it was good to see a child trying to study. But she looked so streelish in that faded dress which was much too short for her and too wide around the shoulders. Why couldn’t Agnes O’Brien dress the child properly when she was on show for the summer? It gave such a bad impression of Castlebay. Molly’s irritation returned.
“It’s one pound four shillings altogether, Mrs. Power.” Clare proffered the list but Molly waved it away and rooted for notes in her handbag.
At that moment a group of English visitors came in to be served and Tom O’Brien, hearing the ping of the door and the voices, came out to serve them. They were nicely spoken people staying at Dillon’s Hotel and Molly looked at them with interest in case they might be possible company when the Nolans arrived.
Tom O’Brien stood like a landlord in an inn, pleased to see the civilized chat between Mrs. Power and the visitors. It was only when the door pinged again to admit further customers that he thought he should speed up the process and serve someone.
“Well I hope I’ll see you while you’re here,” Molly said, pleased to discover that the two English couples had brought a car and a dog each on their vacation. This alone made them into people of standing.
She turned to Clare. “I’ll take my change now and rush along home,” she said.
“It’s twenty-four shillings, Mrs. Power.”
“I know. I gave you five pounds.” Molly was impatient.
“Hurry up, Clare. Give Mrs. Power her change. Come on now.”
Clare hesitated. “You haven’t . . . um . . . given . . . me the money yet,” she said despairingly.
“Clare! Mrs. Power said she gave you a five-pound note.” Tom O’Brien was horrified. “Give her the change this minute. What did it come to? Twenty-four shillings. Give Mrs. Power three pounds sixteen shillings and stop dreaming.”
“Mrs. Power, you put the five pounds back in your handbag,” Clare said.
“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Power.” Tom pushed his daughter away from the drawer where they kept the money. He started rummaging for notes and coins.
“Look, Daddy, there isn’t a five-pound note there. Mrs. Power took it out but she put it back in her bag when she was talking to those people. . . .”
Everyone in the shop was looking on with interest.
Two spots of red appeared on Molly’s face. “In all my life . . .” she began.
“Please forgive this, Mrs. Power . . .” Tom O’Brien was mortified. He kic
ked the door into the back open so that Agnes could come out and help with the ever-growing group of spectators.
Molly had opened her bag and there on top of it for anyone to see was a five-pound note, hastily stuffed back there. She wouldn’t have hidden it anyway, she told herself, but now there was no opportunity to do so. It was far too obvious to everyone. The flush deepened on her face.
“It’s perfectly all right, Mr. O’Brien. Your daughter is totally correct. I did indeed put it back into my bag in error. How good that you have such a watchdog.” Graciously she handed over the note, waving Tom away and giving it deliberately to Clare.
Clare took it calmly and gave the change. She joined in none of the mumblings of her father, nor the assurances of how it could happen to anyone.
“Thank you, Mrs. Power,” Clare said.
“Thank you, Clare,” said Molly Power.
The door pinged behind her.
“She’ll never shop here again,” Tom O’Brien said to his wife.
It was a long day. Clare never got back to the chapter on clouds in her geography book. There was never a moment for her parents to speak alone with her or for her to explain the misunderstanding with Mrs. Power. As the hours went by she became less repentant and more angry with Mrs. Power. It was her fault after all, and she hadn’t apologized, not in the smallest way. Clare hated her father for having humbled himself, she could have killed him for being all upset and sorry over something which was that woman’s fault, not hers, not his.
The shop was empty for a couple of lovely minutes. Clare reached her hand out to her geography book and took it back. She looked across at her mother.
“It’s all right, he’ll forget it, it will all be forgiven and forgotten by tomorrow,” Agnes said soothingly.
“There’s nothing to forgive! She didn’t give me the money. Was I meant to give her three pounds sixteen shillings and her shopping? Was I?”