Carn (13 page)

Sadie stared at the proffered stone in a daze.

“Are you not going to say anything then?” said Una. The other girls clustered about her like starlings. Una spoke effusively of the new house they were going to buy on an estate
which had just been completed on the edge of the town.

“Well Sadie,” said Una wistfully, “did you ever think you’d see the day?”

On the way home that evening, no matter how she fought it, Sadie felt as if she had leprosy. The dread inside her would not subside and when her mother, casually placing a plate of salad before
her on the table said, “You’ll want to mind yourself now young lady that you’re not left on the shelf. They’re all wiping your eye. They’ll all watch out for
themselves, you can be sure of that. Lord bless us, how the time passes,” she did not reply.

Lying awake at night, she saw herself standing along the wall in The Sapphire, her heart thumping as she prayed that when she took their hands and allowed herself to be led on to the floor that
they would not smell of drink or talk mindlessly of football or farming. She no longer set her sights high, afraid now in her own mind to challenge Una’s words when she spoke of the days of
the Golden Chip and Dave Robinson (“Hadn’t we little sense?”). And despite herself, she knew she was now approaching what she had always feared, a time when any kind of warmth
would do. Whenever any memories of the Golden Chip came back, she did not dwell on them, leaving them to recede without pursuit. Whenever there was any mention of that time in the company of
others, she raised her eyes up to heaven like the rest, disowning all involvement.

When the outing came, she linked arms at the back of the bus and sang boisterously along with the communal songs. She got drunk on lagers in a pub not far from the castle they had visited and
put her arms around a girl who said, “How did I used to think you were stuck up?”

She went with them to The Sapphire on Saturday nights and like them stood clutching a cigarette packet outside the toilet, hunted eyes flitting about the hall as they evaluated social status and
personal hygiene. She fixed her hair anxiously, holding pins between her lips and examining acne blemishes in detail, no longer listening to the tiny whispers in her head that said,
“Sadie—Sadie. What are you doing here? Do you hear me Sadie?”

As she circled the floor of the The Sapphire, she rested her hands on the shoulders of her partners and looked away, struggling to endure the fumes of drink and the mindless babble of local
affairs. She sat with them in parked cars, lay beneath them on coarse upholstery or against the pebbledash of a wall as they travelled her body like bears in the safety of darkness. She
anaesthetised herself so that her true feelings would not emerge and word travel back to the factory where she would find herself standing alone again. She did not hear when they said, fumbling
with their clothing, “They’re getting good bands here now,” or “They’re doing a lot of building on Church Hill.”

She came home every Saturday night with the sound of hissing cymbals in her ears. She made herself toast and tea and sat listening to Radio Luxembourg. She remained there until there was nothing
in her mind except a steady repetitive buzz. Then she went upstairs and fell into a deep sleep from which she didn’t care if she ever woke.

Una Lacey had her reception in the Turnpike Inn. It was a double event for her father and mother were celebrating their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary that very day. And the
council had decided to make a presentation to Mr and Mrs Pat Lacey on this occasion.

Beneath the balloon-decked ceiling, the priest stood in the centre of the floor and whipped off his jacket, urging everyone both young and old to join in. Una Lacey and her new husband were
ushered out for the hokey-cokey. The men at the bar uttered mild vulgarities behind their hands, guffawing loudly to themselves. They stared at Josie Keenan who had wandered in off the street and
was brazenly surveying the proceedings from the corner of the bar. Then they looked away sharply lest they should make eye contact with her.

John F. Kennedy smiled benignly down on everyone. Streamers flew wildly and whistles rent the air. Sadie was making her way back from the dance floor when she felt a hand on her shoulder and she
turned to face Benny Dolan. She was taken aback when he asked her to dance and she became flustered and tried to stammer a reply. But they were already caught in the surge of dancers and there was
nothing she could do but go with it. She was even further taken aback when Benny Dolan did not speak of mundane local affairs but of his biking holiday in Turkey with Joe Noonan, whose sister
worked with her in the factory. He talked non-stop and Sadie found herself laughing as he gestured and mimicked tales of their travels. When the dance ended, he put his arm around her waist and
said, “A drink maybe?” Sadie nodded, reddening a little. They sat down and he ordered a drink. They began their conversation anew by swopping acquaintances and experiences from work but
then they got on to music and travel. For the first time in a long time, Sadie Rooney began to feel at ease. Joe Noonan joined them for a while. He squeezed Sadie’s arm and said,
“Whatever he tells you, believe none of it. It’s all lies. Istanbul? The furthest he ever got was the school trip to Cavan.”

Sadie’s head eased itself onto Benny’s shoulder. The priest sailed past red-cheeked, clutching at his flailing jacket. The middle-aged woman beside them leaned over and said to
Sadie, bleary-eyed, “Who’s the lucky girl then?”

“Una Lacey,” replied Sadie. “A friend of mine.”

“Lacey? Did you say Lacey?”

Sadie nodded. The woman frowned and pursed her lips. She was somewhat the worse for drink and had been muttering to herself. “Lacey,” she said under her breath.

Just then there was a roll of drums and a microphone whistled. A burly man with a red face introduced himself as Jack Murphy, the secretary of the council and lifelong friend of Mr
Lacey’s. He fumbled with his notes and began to speak. He said that today was a very special occasion and that, although it was somewhat unorthodox, he and his colleagues had felt that it was
appropriate to take this opportunity to honour one of Carn’s finest families. He praised Mr and Mrs Lacey to the skies and said that he hoped that now Una was getting married there would be
many more Laceys. This was greeted with wild cheers. He cleared his throat and continued. He went on to say that in the past few years, Pat Lacey had almost single-handedly revived the fortunes of
Carn Rovers Football Club to the extent that they were now one of the finest teams in the country. They had brought great honour not only to the town but to the county also.

He then called on Mr Lacey to come forward and accept the silver platter as a gift from the council and the people of the town to himself and his wife on the occasion of their twenty-fifth
wedding anniversary. There was a mighty cheer and the priest clapped louder than any. Pat Lacey stood on the stage, somewhat embarrassed. He coughed and adjusted the microphone. He said that he was
astounded, that he had done nothing to deserve such a presentation. He was at a loss for words, he said. It was not he but the people of the town themselves who had revived the dormant spirit of
Carn Rovers FC. And in particular men like Father Kelly and James Cooney who had given so much of their time and energy. Whistles rent the air. No, continued Pat Lacey, Carn had the best club and
the finest club in the whole province. He accepted the silver platter and, turning once more to the eager assembly, raised his arm and said, “Remember—this is the year Carn leaves all
other towns behind. Here We Go Carn!” Hats were flung in the air, streamers flew wildly. They clapped and cheered as the band struck up a rousing medley.

The woman beside Sadie had moved in among them. She was still smiling to herself. Her lips went in and out as she mumbled half-sentences. She leaned over to Sadie and said something but she did
not catch it and looked around her awkwardly. But Benny stepped in and said, “How’s things out by the railway? Aren’t you in the cottage?”

Josie smiled and nodded.

“I’m going to the bar. Do you both want a drink?”

“Yes,” Sadie replied.

She got into conversation with the woman who gave her her life story. She had lived a long time in England. Sadie was beginning to warm to her as she continued, although much of what she said
was rambling and disjointed. She dropped ash on Sadie’s dress as she said, “My father died when I was young. I left here when I was sixteen. I left here when I was your age.”

“First chance I get, I’m going too. I’m going to do a secretarial course. You can get work over there no problem.”

“You’ll do better than I did. That wouldn’t be hard.” Her head lolled as she steered the cigarette to her lips.

“I was thinking of studying at night and getting some kind of qualification.”

“Carn manages to get rid of the young ones, one way or another,” said the woman.

“What’s your name?” asked Sadie. “Have you still got people about the town?”

“Josie Keenan. The only people I have are in the graveyard above.”

“I’m sorry,” Sadie said and rose as Benny returned with the drinks.

He took the woman’s drunkenness in his stride. “Oh you’ll have to watch that landlord of yours. He owns two hundred acres and he wouldn’t give you a tosser.”

“Move over there,” interrupted Joe Noonan as he sat down and swigged from his drink.

Josie was accepted into the company and talked a long time to Sadie about the change in Carn.

“I don’t see much change,” said Sadie, laughing, “apart from Blast Morgan’s new overalls.”

The drink flowed.

Josie sang along with them as they linked arms and chorused, “For he’s a jolly good fellow, for he’s a jolly good fellow . . .”

Una Lacey came over trailing her train and bade them all goodnight. They blew kisses at her. They were still singing when Una’s father approached with his hand extended, saying goodbye to
everyone. When he saw Josie his face went deathly pale. He stumbled against a chair and turned to cross the hall. Josie looked away and went to the ladies toilet. He stood with his back to her,
trying to conceal his quivering lip with his hand. As Josie returned, one of the guests, a member of the Tidy Towns Committee, said to Pat Lacey, “I say Pat—who’s that there? I
haven’t seen her before . . . who invited her?”

Every nerve in Pat Lacey’s body tightened. He stood frozen to the spot. “I don’t know,” he repeated drymouthed. “I don’t know.”

The other man shrugged his shoulders, disorientated by Pat Lacey’s reaction. Then he called to one of the waitresses and disappeared into the swaying crowd.

The carousing went on until late. Josie left the Turnpike with the others. They stood in the main street, still singing. Josie told them they were all welcome out in the Hairy Mountains any
time. Joe Noonan put his arm around her and said she was one of the best, even if she had a bit of an English accent. As they stood there the warm breeze fanned their cheeks.

“We’ll have to meet again Josie,” Sadie said, “I really enjoyed that.”

“We’ll arrange it soon, okay?” interrupted Benny.

“
We’ll meet again
. . .” sang Joe Noonan, staggering against a lamppost.

“
Who knows where who knows when
. . .” answered Josie.

“Right then,” said Benny, “be seeing you, okay?”

Josie walked to the corner with Joe Noonan and then set off towards the railway where the Hairy Mountains rose up in the distance like black tidal waves.

Sadie got up on the pillion of Benny’s motorbike and they spent an hour cruising the back roads of Carn. “Some bike, eh Sadie?” cried Benny against the wind.

“Fabulous,” replied Sadie.

When they got back to the town the Golden Chip was still open and they went in for a coffee to sober up. “Tell me more about your travelling,” said Sadie. Benny’s eyes narrowed
and with a mischievous glint he put his arm around her neck and said, “We’ll travel the world together you and me. The back of a Kawasaki all the way to Katmandu.”

And the more they talked, the further Sadie drifted away from the deadening whirr of the assembly line and by the time they left the café, she felt she had known Benny Dolan a long long
time.

They stood together outside her house. “I want to talk to you all I can,” she said. She stared up at the stars and felt his warm breath on her neck. She was up there with them, far
from Carn and in that instant it all came back to her, the way it had been in the Golden Chip, all those days came at once and she felt a surge of energy running through her. She stroked his face
and said, “Benny. Oh Benny.”

He quivered a little and said, “I’ve always fancied you Sadie . . .”

“Benny. We could go anywhere . . .”

“Anywhere,” replied Benny. “Anywhere.”

And they sat on the window-sill until first light of dawn and Sadie awoke on his shoulder and smiled as she watched a sparrow trot along the paling fence at the bottom of Mr Galvin’s
garden.

IX

When Northern Ireland erupted shortly afterwards, Maisie Lynch blamed drugs.