A Week in Winter (35 page)

Miss Howe drank tea from a mug and refused to be drawn into giving any praise for Stone House or for the holiday in general. Carmel struggled on, even when Miss Howe lectured her on the merits of learning poetry by rote.

Suddenly Miss Howe asked to look through what books Carmel and Rigger had in their library.

‘We’re not really the kind of people who’d have a library,’ Carmel began.

‘Well then, what a poor example you will be giving your children,’ Miss Howe snapped.

‘We will do the best we can.’

‘Not if you have no dictionary, no atlas, no poetry books. How are they going to see the point of learning if there is no sign of learning in the home?’

‘They’ll go to school,’ Carmel said defensively.

‘Yes, that’s it, leave everything to the school, and then blame them when things go wrong.’

Miss Howe’s tone was hectoring. It was as if she were speaking to a disobedient child in her school rather than a kindly woman who had tried to help her to enjoy her holiday.

‘We wouldn’t blame the school; we’re not like that.’

‘But what have you to offer them? What is the point in anything unless the next generation get a good grounding and a proper start? You don’t want them ending up uneducated and in a reform school like your husband.’

Carmel could take it no longer.

‘I’m sorry, Miss Howe, but I cannot have you insult my husband like this. If he told you about his past, and he must have because Chicky wouldn’t have told you, then he did so in confidence, not to have it hurled back at us in accusation.’ Carmel was aware that her voice was sounding shrill, but she couldn’t help herself. What was wrong with this woman?

‘I’m sorry but I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Now. I’m too upset, and I’ll say something I might regret. I know nothing about you or your life and why you are so horrible to everyone, but someone should have shouted stop long, long, long ago.’

Without warning, Miss Howe’s face crumpled. Suddenly, she put her head down on the table and cried so hard her whole body shook.

Carmel was astonished. For a moment, she didn’t know what to do, but then she tried to put a comforting hand round Miss Howe’s shoulder.

Stiffly, Miss Howe brushed it aside. There were two spots of red on her long, pale face.

Carmel made a fresh pot of tea and then sat down in front of her unwanted guest and gazed at her in silence.

Slowly, hesitantly at first, Miss Howe started to talk.

‘It was 1963. I was eleven; Martin was eight. There were just the two of us. President Kennedy came to Ireland that year, and we all went out to line the route to see him.’

This was all unreal, Miss Howe talking about her private life fifty years ago.

‘I remembered that we hadn’t locked the downstairs windows at home. That was my job. The house was empty. Dad was at work, and my mother was going to her sister’s and they were very strict about locking up. So even though I didn’t want to, I had to leave the grand place I had and run home. In the house I heard noises like someone was being hurt, so I ran upstairs and my mother and a man were on the bed, naked. I thought he was killing her and I tried to drag him away . . . and then my mother went down on her knees to me and begged me not to tell my father. She said she’d be good to me for the rest of my life if I would keep this little secret between us, and the man was getting dressed and she kept saying, “Don’t go, Larry. Nell understands. She’s a big, grown-up girl of eleven. She knows what to do.” And I ran out of the house and I telephoned my dad at work and said to come back quick because a man called Larry was hurting my mother and she wanted me to keep it a secret and he came home and . . .’

‘You were only a child,’ Carmel said soothingly.

‘No, I knew. I knew what she was doing was wrong and that she had to be punished. I wasn’t going to be part of any secrets. I
wanted
her to be punished. I didn’t know Larry was Dad’s great friend. But even if I had known, I’d still have told. It was wrong, you see.’

‘And what did your father do?’

‘We never knew, but when Martin and I got back from waving at President Kennedy, our mother was gone and never came back again.’

‘Where did she go?’ Carmel tried to keep the horror out of her voice.

‘We never heard, and Dad looked after us but he was no good and then he took to drink. And he kept thanking me for exposing his whore of a wife and he would hit Martin over nothing. And Martin got in with a tough crowd at school and did no study whatsoever. I just put my hands over my ears and studied all the hours God sent. I got scholarships all the way and when my father died of drink, I managed on my own. Martin said I’d ruined his life twice. First I’d sent his mother away and now I’d lost him his father.’

‘And he never forgave you?’

‘No. He made nothing of himself. I haven’t seen him for years. He rang the school not long ago, I don’t know why. I don’t want to see him again.’

‘So he has not been part of your life since then?’ Carmel asked sadly. The best she could hope for was to escape from this situation before she heard any more; already she knew that Miss Howe would never forgive herself for the loss of self-control, nor would she forgive Carmel. She must have looked anxious to end the conversation because Miss Howe spotted it.

‘All right, so you want me to leave now. I’ll leave. I don’t care!’

Carmel reached out to shake her hand. ‘I will bid you farewell, and wish you well in the future.’

‘You will bid me farewell,
bid me farewell
, no less,’ Miss Howe sneered. ‘What a great line of clichés you will teach those unfortunate children. I weep for them and for their future.’

‘Then go and weep over them. We will love them and look after them always and give them a great life,’ Carmel said sadly.

‘I suppose you and your husband will spread this all over the country before the night is out,’ said Miss Howe bitterly.

‘No, Miss Howe, that is not how we behave. Rigger and I are people of dignity and decency, not of gossip and accusations. What you have told me is your business and will go no further.’

As Miss Howe left, Carmel sat at the kitchen table shaking. Rigger would be furious; Chicky would be annoyed.
Why
couldn’t she have held on to her temper? Miss Howe would never forgive her for knowing about her past.

‘I don’t want that Miss Howe in our house again,’ she told Rigger when he came home. ‘She said we were ignorant parents, and that she wept for Rosie and Macken.’

‘Well, she’s the only one who does,’ Rigger said. ‘Everyone else is delighted with them. And who the hell cares what Miss Howe says?’

Carmel smiled at him. It was quite true. She would comb her hair and they would go for a walk on the beach; they would walk along the damp sand and gather shells as the salt air stung their faces. They would give their son and daughter the best life they could.

Later that day, Rigger whispered to Chicky that it was only fair to warn her that words had been exchanged between Carmel and Miss Howe.

‘Don’t worry,’ Chicky said. ‘She was never likely to get us any business. She’s just told me she’s going back to Dublin tonight. In a while she will be gone and out of our lives. Tell Carmel not to give it a second thought.’

‘You’re great, Chicky.’

‘No, I’m not. I’m lucky. So are you. Miss Howe was not.’

‘We made a bit of our own luck.’

‘Perhaps, but we listened when people tried to help us. She didn’t.’

Before dinner, Chicky carried Miss Howe’s small case to the van.

‘I hope
some
of it was to your liking, Miss Howe,’ she said. ‘Perhaps when the weather is better, you might come back to us again?’ Chicky was unfailingly courteous.

‘I don’t think so,’ Miss Howe responded. ‘It’s not really my kind of holiday. I spent too much of my life talking to people. I find it quite stressful.’

‘Well, you’ll be glad to get back to the peace and quiet of your own place,’ Chicky said.

‘Yes, in a way.’

The woman was brutally honest. It was her failing.

‘Did you discover anything here? People often say they do.’

‘I discovered that life is very unfair and that there’s nothing we can do about it. Don’t you agree, Mrs Starr?’

‘Not entirely, but you do have a point.’

Miss Howe nodded, satisfied. She had spread a little gloom even as she left. She would sit alone on the train back to Dublin and then get the bus back to her lonely house. She looked straight ahead as Rigger drove her to the railway station.

Freda

W
hen Freda O’Donovan was ten, Mrs Scully, one of her mother’s friends, read everyone’s palms at a tea party. Mrs Scully saw good fortune and many children and long, happy marriages ahead for everyone. She saw foreign travel and small inheritances from unexpected quarters. They were all delighted with her, and it was a very successful party.

‘Can you tell my future too?’ Freda had asked.

Mrs Scully studied the small hand carefully. She saw a tall, handsome man, marriage and three delightful children. She saw holidays abroad – did Freda think she might like skiing? ‘And you will live happily ever after,’ she said, smiling down at Freda.

There was a pause. After what seemed a long time, Freda sighed. Although her mother seemed pleased about what she was hearing, Freda was confused. She just knew that none of it was true.

‘I want to know what’s going to happen,’ she insisted, and she started to cry.

‘Whatever’s the matter? It’s a good future,’ said her mother, pleading with her daughter not to make a fuss about silly fortune-telling.

But Freda wouldn’t listen and just cried harder. She was having no part of this prediction. It just wasn’t right. She knew. Sometimes, she thought she knew what was going to happen, though she had already learned to keep quiet about it.

She didn’t see a husband and three children. And she certainly didn’t see herself living happily ever after. She cried all the more.

Freda’s mother just didn’t understand why Freda was so upset. Never had she regretted anything as much as persuading Mrs Scully to tell a child’s fortune, and she would make sure it never happened again.

Mrs Scully wasn’t invited to tell fortunes after that. And Freda never told anyone what she saw about the future.

Life at home was quiet and a bit frugal for Freda and her two older sisters. Her father died young, and there was no money for luxuries like central heating or foreign holidays. Mam worked in a dry cleaner’s, and Freda had a very undramatic time at school, where she was bright and worked hard and got scholarships. She had her heart set on becoming a librarian; her best friend, Lane, wanted to work in theatre. The two were inseparable.

Freda couldn’t remember when she got the first inkling that she might have some unusual insights. It was hard to describe them. The word ‘feelings’ didn’t quite cover them because they were more vivid than that. Nor did she recall when it had been that she realised not everyone had the same insights; but over the years, she had learned not to talk about them to anyone. It always upset people when she mentioned anything, and so she had kept quiet; she didn’t even talk to Lane about it.

There was no passionate love life: as a student, Freda went to clubs and bars and met fellows but there was nothing there that made her heart race. Mam was inclined to be overcurious about Freda’s private life, and yet at the same time disappointed to hear that there was no love interest at all.

Freda loved books, and felt she had everything she ever wanted when she got her library certificate and was lucky to find a place as an assistant at the local library. Her sisters, though, were dismissive about her lack of love.

‘Well, of course you can’t find a fellow. What do you have to talk about except books,’ Martha said.

‘You could have bettered yourself if you had tried,’ Laura had sniffed.

Freda looked very defeated, and her sisters felt remorseful.

‘It’s not as if you’re a
total
failure,’ Martha said encouragingly. She had a very stormy relationship with a young man called Wayne, and was not predisposed to believe the best of men.

‘You did get taken on as a library assistant, and now you could earn a living anywhere.’ Laura was grudging but fair. She was going out with a very pompous banker called Philip, to whom style and reputation meant everything.

Theirs was not neutral advice.

It was during the run-up to Christmas that Freda got another of her ‘feelings’. They were having a family lunch to plan the Christmas festivities. Freda was coming for the day for sure, but Laura would be going to Philip’s parents’ big Christmas Eve do. Martha was very irate because Wayne would make no plans. What kind of person made no plans for Christmas?

Their mother edged the conversation back to the turkey. They would have their Christmas lunch at three p.m. with whoever wanted to join them, and that would be fine.

Laura fidgeted; she had something she wanted to share. She wasn’t absolutely certain but she thought that Philip was going to propose to her on Christmas Eve. He had been very vague about his parents’ party. Normally he put a lot of store by these events, and would tell her in advance who everyone was. No, there was something much bigger afoot. Laura was pink with excitement.

And totally unexpectedly Freda knew, she didn’t just suspect but she
knew
that Philip was going to break off his relationship with Laura before Christmas; he was going to tell her that he was expecting a child with someone else. It was as clear as if she had seen a newspaper headline announcing it, and Freda felt herself go pale.

‘Well, say something!’ Laura was annoyed that her huge news and confidence was not meeting with any reaction.

‘That would be wonderful,’ her mother said.

‘Lucky you,’ Martha said.

‘Are you
sure
?’ Freda blurted out.

‘No, of course I’m not sure. Now I’m sorry I told you. You’re just saying that because I dared to say you couldn’t get a fellow of your own. It’s just spite.’

‘Did you and Philip ever talk about getting married?’ Freda asked.