A Greyhound of a Girl (12 page)

“Mammy?”

Her mammy was so tall, Scarlett couldn't see her face clearly, because the sunlight from outside brightened the ground and some of the wall but not all the high parts of the parlor.

Scarlett saw her mammy wipe her face with the sleeve of her cardigan. Her mammy usually had a handkerchief up the sleeve, but she mustn't have had one there this morning.

Scarlett saw her bend down a little and smile.

“What?”

“Are you crying?”

“I am.”

“Why are you crying?”

“I'm sad,” said Scarlett's mammy. “I'm a bit sad. Or, at least, I was till you came in and saved me.”

“Did I save the day?” Scarlett asked.

“Oh, you did.”

“I found you.”

“You did.”

Scarlett's hand was now in her mammy's, and that was lovely. They didn't move. They stayed in the parlor.

“Are you sad now?”

“No, I'm not,” said Scarlett's mammy. “Sure, I'm never sad with you around.”

“Why were you sad?”

“I was thinking of my own mammy.”

“The one that died long ago.”

“That's right,” she said. “ 'Twas long ago. But when I come here—Well, this used to be home, didn't it? Before I wandered up to Dublin. So …”

“Were you sad about the lost baby as well?” Scarlett asked her mammy.

Her mammy's smile was still there.

“I was,” she said.

Scarlett's mammy had lost a baby. Scarlett had heard people whispering that in the kitchen—the kitchen at home, in Dublin, where they lived when they weren't on their holidays.
She lost the baby. She's after losing the baby
. It
had happened long ago, when Scarlett was so small, she was able to stand in the kitchen for ages before anyone noticed her. Her mammy wasn't there but that hadn't worried her because her daddy was. Sometimes that was how it happened—he was there and she wasn't, or she was there when he wasn't. But now, standing against the table, nearly
under
the table, she heard about the lost baby. The lady from next door, a hairy woman called Missis McLoughlin, who made lovely cakes and scones—she had just whispered it.
She's after losing the baby, God love her
. And Scarlett noticed something: her daddy wasn't there now. And who, she wanted to know, was the lost baby? And how could her mammy have lost a baby when Scarlett had never even seen the baby, and she was always—nearly always—with her mammy?

But she said nothing.

She stayed there and she listened.

Then the women saw her.

“You're awake.”

“Is Mammy finding the baby?”

“What?”

“Oh, God love her.”

They gave her biscuits and let her watch the telly for
much longer than ever before, and then her daddy came home by himself and he explained all about the lost baby after all the neighbors had gone back to their own houses.

“Your mammy was going to have a baby,” he said, when there was just the two of them. “But now she isn't.”

“Why not?”

“She had a thing called a miscarriage.”

“What's that?”

“It's when the baby stops growing in her tummy.”

“Why?”

“I don't know,” he said. “It just happens. Sometimes.”

“Where is it lost?”

“What?”

“Missis McLoughlin said the baby was lost,” said Scarlett. “I heard her.”

“Oh,” said Scarlett's dad. “That's a phrase. A way of saying it. It doesn't mean the baby's actually lost. It just won't be born. It won't become a baby.”

“I want a baby.”

“Yes.”

“A sister or a brother.”

“Grand.”

“Especially a brother.”

“Okay.”

“When's Mammy coming home?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Is she in the hospital?”

“Yes.”

“Is she lost?”

“No. She's grand. She's tired. And sad.”

Now Scarlett was bigger and she'd be starting real school when the summer was over. The milking parlor began to feel a bit cold, like it always did after a while. Scarlett and her mammy both shivered, together, while they were still holding hands. It made them laugh.

Scarlett saw her mammy looking around.

“What are you looking for?”

“I thought I felt something,” said her mammy.

“There's nothing in here,” said Scarlett. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“What did you feel?”

“Nothing,” said her mammy. “I just—No.”

“What?”

“No, it's just—”

“Tell me. Mammy, you have to.”

“I thought I heard someone else laughing when we were laughing.”

“There's no one here.”

“I know that.”

“I want to go now. Come on.”

“Good idea.”

They walked outside, into the sun, and the little bumps on Scarlett's arm, the bumps that were made by the cold, disappeared. They went back inside her skin.

“Did you really hear someone laughing?”

“No,” said her mammy. “I couldn't have. It was the echo of us laughing, that's all. Do you agree?”

“Yes,” said Scarlett. “That's all it was.”

“That's that explained, so. You must be hungry.”

“Yes, I am.”

“You had a great ol' sleep.”

“Yes, I did.”

They were walking back across the yard, to the house. Scarlett could feel the sun, like it was patting her head. She liked it. Her mammy called it “the Wexford touch.”

Her mammy always walked quite fast across the yard.

“Why don't you like the greyhounds?” Scarlett asked.

“Oh, God,” said her mammy. “Sure, I never did like them. I never did. They were too big.”

“But so are you,” said Scarlett.

Her mammy stopped, and laughed.

“True for you, girl,” she said.

Scarlett watched her mammy put her hand over her eyes, like the peak of a cap, so she didn't have to squint. She was looking at the greyhounds behind the fence.

“So,” she said. “You want to know why I don't like the greyhounds, even though I'm a bit of a greyhound myself. Is that it?”

She barked, and Scarlett laughed.

“Yes,” said Scarlett. “Why? You're bigger than them.”

“Well,” said her mammy. “This might sound mad. And a little bit sad.”

She bent down, so her face was right in front of Scarlett's.

“I blamed the greyhounds for killing my mother.”

Scarlett wanted to run.

“Did they—?”

“No, no, they didn't,” said her mammy. “It was the flu. It's grand. I know that. But you see, I always thought if my mother had come into the house with me she'd have been
fine. But she didn't. She went and fed the hounds. And I always thought the hounds gave her the flu.”

She smiled.

“Mad,” she said. “But I couldn't help it. I had to blame something and I'd never liked them anyway. Let's get you fed and washed.”

“Just fed.”

“All right,” said her mammy. “You've caught me at a soft moment.”

She bent down again to Scarlett. “I love being with you,” she said.

“I know,” said Scarlett.

“I was younger than you when my mother died.”

“I know.”

“It's always sad.”

“I know.”

“I decided to blame the hounds,” said her mammy. “Because everyone kept telling me not to blame myself. You see, I'd had the flu as well.”

“Everybody gets the flu,” said Scarlett.

“That's very true,” said her mammy. “You're a wise one. But back then it was more serious. People died. My mother died.”

“She didn't die,” said Scarlett. “She just went away.”

“God,” said her mammy. “Where did you hear that?”

“Nowhere,” said Scarlett. “It was just in my head.”

Her mammy bent down and kissed the top of Scarlett's head.

“There.”

They went into the kitchen.

id you live in the pig shed after you died?” Scarlett asked Tansey.

“I did not, faith,” said Tansey. “Sure, why would I want to live in the pig shed? Even if I am dead and I can't smell anything.”

They were still in the kitchen.

“I just always thought it was spooky,” said Scarlett.

“That's not a very nice thing to say, Mammy,” said Mary.

“What?!”

“You said Tansey was spooky,” said Mary. “She's, like, your granny, after all.”

“I said the pig shed was spooky!”

“Because Tansey was in it.”

“But she wasn't!” said Scarlett. “She just said so!”

“But you thought—”

“Ah, now stop that, girls,” said Tansey. “You'd wake the dead. And I'm the proof of that.”

“Sorry.”

“So, look,” said Tansey. “It was bad enough dying—it wasn't nice at all, I'll tell you that for nothing. But leaving Emer alone like that—well, I couldn't do it. My husband—”

She looked at Scarlett.

“Your granddad,” she said, “was a lovely man and he did his best. And he did it very well. As reliable as the rain. He was a daddy
and
a mammy to Emer. And there was his mother as well and she was grand. But, still, I couldn't go. I had to stay. Until she became a mammy herself. And even then I couldn't let go. I was always worried she'd—”

“Tansey?” said Mary.

“Yes, dear?” said Tansey.

“Granny's in hospital.”

“I know she is,” said Tansey. “And that's why I'm here.”

She sighed. “I've been lingering,” she said. “That word again. She was so little, you see—I couldn't leave her. I was just so anxious. I still am.”

Then Scarlett spoke.

“We're going to see my mother—Emer—now,” she said. “Do you want to come?”

“Yes,” said Tansey. “I'd like that.”

She sat up.

“But I can't.”

“Why can't you?” Mary asked.

“Well,” said Tansey. “Look at me. I'm a ghost.”

“So?”

“The last thing a hospital needs is a ghost wandering around,” said Tansey. “All the heart attacks—can you imagine? Believe me, dear. Sick people don't want to see ghosts.”

“But the hospital's, like, horrible already,” said Mary. “No one would notice you. I mean, like—I don't mean you're horrible. You're not. But most of the people in there look like they've been seeing ghosts all their lives. Some of them
are
ghosts. Do ghosts smoke?”

“No,” said Tansey. “Unfortunately.”

“Why would you want to smoke?” Mary asked.

“I wouldn't,” said Tansey. “But I'd love to be able to cough properly. A good ol' cough now. That'd be grand. I'd love my lungs back.”

She smiled.

“Don't mind me,” she said. “Smoking's a filthy habit. It's not good for a dead person to be around with the living too much. You're making me jealous. With your
lungs
.”

She said it in a way that made Mary and Scarlett laugh.

“I'd love to see Emer,” said Tansey. “She's frightened, isn't she?”

“Yes,” said Scarlett.

“I can help, you see,” said Tansey. “I can—well—I can be her mother.”

She smiled. “Then I can go.”

“Go where?” Mary asked.

“Well,” said Tansey. “Where I should have been these years.”

“Oh. Yeah,” said Mary.

“‘Oh. Yeah' is right, girl,” said Tansey.

She smiled again.

“You can't cry,” said Mary.

“No.”

“But you can smile. How come?”

Tansey laughed.

“I'm not being cheeky,” Mary told her mother. “Just in case you think I am.”

“I don't!”

“I don't know the answer to that one,” said Tansey. “I never thought of it till now. I can laugh as well. Although it's years since I did.”