Rainbow's End (55 page)

Indeed, by the time they were wending their way home through the narrow streets of the Liberties once more, they were in such accord that she asked him impulsively if he had ever worked on the land, for she had noticed at the Smithfield that he seemed both knowledgeable about and interested in all they saw.

‘I like to work outdoors,’ Garvan admitted. ‘That’s why I stand the markets or muck out the shippons or drive cattle.’

‘Then why don’t you come with us?’ Deirdre suggested eagerly. ‘It’d be a rare ole game if you came too. I’d like it, honest to God I would, an’ Donal would be glad of someone who knew a bit, same as he does.’

‘Aw, you’re coddin’ me,’ Garvan said slowly. ‘Donal and Liam won’t want anyone else.’

Deirdre laughed. ‘Course they will. We’s not nearly enough to run two farms. ‘Sides it’ll be a case of the more the merrier, if you asks me.’

There was a short silence whilst the two of them continued to stroll along the pavement, then Garvan fetched a deep sigh and turned to face her. ‘No, it wouldn’t work. I’m a city feller at heart, I dare say. Turn right here, it’s a short cut, so it is. We’ll be home in no time now.’

‘But I’m not askin’ you to stay for
ever
,’ Deirdre pointed out reasonably. ‘Just for a bit, Garv, until we’re settled in, like. And then, if you find you like the work . . .’

‘Can you see me, workin’ side be side wit’ your brother an’ mine?’ Garvan said derisively. ‘They’d not stand for me ways for two minutes wit’out drivin’ me mad, naggin’ at me to do t’ings their way. No, no, I’m best here in Dublin, so I am.’

And though Deirdre tried for the rest of the walk home he stuck to his guns and continued to insist that it would never work, that the others would not want him, that he would be as out of place as a fish in a field.

‘Oh, have it your own way, then,’ Deirdre muttered at last as they climbed the stairs to the Nolan home. ‘But you’re mekin’ a mistake, I’m tellin’ you.’

‘No, I’m not. I know meself too well,’ Garvan said promptly. ‘I couldn’t take orders from me brother, nor from a pip-squeak five years me junior. Now stop naggin’, you little witch, or we’ll fall out, so we shall. And I don’t want to fall out wit’ you, because red hair or no, you’re not a bad kid at all at all.’

‘All right then,’ Deirdre said. ‘But mark my words, Garv, if you don’t come with us you’ll be missing one heck of an adventure! Put that in your pipe an’ smoke it, Mr Clever!

Chapter Fifteen

They had got up at the crack of dawn, in great excitement, and Aisling Nolan and Ellen had busied themselves with preparing a packed meal to eat on the train.

‘I’ll miss ye,’ Aisling had said as they worked, and had been surprised to find that she really meant it. ‘But as soon as you’re settled me an’ Ticky’ll be after comin’ for a visit, like you said. Eh, but it’ll be grand to see Clare – all me life, whiles me gran were alive, we heard about Clare as though it were the Promised Land. Yes, I envy you, so I do.’

‘We’ll be glad to have you,’ Ellen said. She put down her buttery knife and leaned across the table to take her mother-in-law’s hand for a moment. ‘You’ve been mortal good to us Dochertys, takin’ over your beautiful home the way we have, an’ we’ve not felt strangers for a moment, despite us bein’ English. There!’

Aisling laughed. ‘Sure an’ wasn’t I waitin’ to dislike the lot of ye?’ she said honestly. ‘And wasn’t I disarmed the moment I set eyes on ye? You’re the very girl for my Liam, so you are, an’ between ourselves, alanna, I’ve a feelin’ that you’re goin’ to be good for our Garvan too. In fact, between us two again, nothin’ could be better for Garvan than to get away from Dublin. Nor for Seamus, neither,’ she added. ‘Life isn’t as aisy for twins as you might t’ink . . . but you’ll be knowin’ that, wit’ Deirdre an’ Donal on your hands. The t’ing is, my lads have been inseparable all their lives an’ suddenly, isn’t there another interest in Seamus’s life that’s even more important than his brother? For he’s in a way to bein’ serious about young Beatrix, you know. And havin’ Garvan nearby, always wit’ a jealous eye on his carryin’s on, weren’t helpin’ none. I’m sure the best t’ing for both of me boys is to get away from each other, lead their own lives for a bit. An’ you takin’ Garvan, what’s always been difficult, away wit’ you will give Seamus a chance that he’d all but give up on, so he had.’

‘I hope so,’ Ellen said. ‘But we’re takin’ Garvan for our own sakes too, remember. Another pair of hands – and especially hands which know what they’re doing! – will be a tremendous help. Mind you, Dee’s a young devil; she’ll lead him a dance one way and another, so I can’t guarantee he’ll stay the course.’

Aisling nodded decisively. ‘So I t’ought,’ she said. ‘More power to her elbow, I say. And knowin’ Garvan, it’s the very treatment he needs, so he does.

‘But there’s somethin’ I been meanin’ to say to you, Ellen, when I got you to meself. It’s . . . it’s not easy for me to tell you this, but I felt I must. I . . . I wasn’t kind to young Maggie McVeigh, not when I found out she was after marryin’ me boy. In fact, I was downright wicked. But I tried to get her back, say how sorry I was, put t’ings on the right footing, and sure I never got the chance, for didn’t she up and die on us?’

‘I know, Liam told me,’ Ellen said, manfully repressing a smile at her mother-in-law’s turn of phrase. ‘Well, all I can say is if it made you easier on me I’m grateful. But – Liam hasn’t said much – didn’t you think Maggie was suitable for Liam, then?’

‘It wasn’t that so much as the fact that she come from a quare fambly, so she did. The McVeighs died in a very sad way . . . but Maggie’s sister is no better’n she should be, an’ her mammy was what I’d call feckless. I didn’t want me son to end up wit’ a girl who might revert to her mammy’s ways the moment she got out from under me roof.’

‘I see,’ Ellen said and glanced across at the older woman just as Aisling glanced up at her. They smiled and Aisling, impelled by heaven knew what desire to get it off her chest, added: ‘And truth to tell, alanna, I wasn’t any too sure how I’d manage wit’out me son’s money an’ support comin’ in. But now, havin’ managed wit’out him for years, I can afford to be generous.’

Ellen couldn’t help laughing, but she liked Liam’s mother the better, she told herself, for her honesty. And the two of them continued to work together harmoniously until the sandwiches were all made and packed into a basket, together with a number of small iced buns and two tall bottles of cold tea.

Whilst they had prepared the food the rest of the party had been busy as well. Deirdre, Donal and Garvan had finished their packing and Seamus had gone off to borrow a handcart to carry their belongings along to Kingsbridge station for the first part of their journey.

It was Seamus thundering up the stairs, in fact, which alerted Ellen and Aisling to the fact that they must leave.

‘I’ll get me coat,’ Aisling said breathlessly, carrying the basket out on to the landing. ‘Liam will fetch down your bags, alanna, and no doubt Donal will help Deirdre with hers. Garvan’s been ready this past hour, pacing up and down the courtyard waiting for his brother.’

Ellen picked the basket up – it was heavy – just as Deirdre emerged from her room, her face bright with anticipation, her coat slung round her shoulders, for the morning was warm although it was not yet sun-up. ‘Oh, Ellie, ain’t it excitin’?’ she asked. ‘Donny’s taken the bags, I’ve just got me birds to bring, then I’m all ready.’

Rather to Ellen’s dismay, Donny had spent some of his money on a large cardboard box with airholes in the top, inside which a dozen or so fluffy yellow chicks now resided, and had insisted, when reprimanded, that it was really a present for his sister and a useful one at that.

‘You wouldn’t let me bring me lambs, telled me I must sell ’em an’ buy more when we were settled.’ he said mutinously, when Ellen tried to tell him that the birds would only be a nuisance and an added responsibility. ‘Every farm needs poultry, don’t it? An’ poultry’s usually the women’s business. So Dee’s startin’ off on the right foot, wi’ a nice little flock o’ hens.’

‘They’re probably all cockerels,’ Liam said. ‘Then what’ll you do wit’ them, me fine bucko?’

But Donal refused to be cast down by this pessimistic utterance. ‘We’ll eat ’em, roast, for us dinners,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Besides, there’s twelve of ’em – I don’t think they can all be cockerels, Liam.’

‘Don’t try arguin’ wi’ the twins, Liam,’ Ellen advised him. ‘For they’d argue the hind leg off a donkey even if they were totally in the wrong. Besides, they’re the ones who’ll be lookin’ after their wretched livestock all the way from Dublin to the Burren. I dare say by the time we arrive they’ll be wishin’ they’d listened to your advice – but they won’t admit it, if I know them.’

So now Deirdre hugged the cardboard box to her bosom and listened lovingly to the cheeps from within, and Donal carried a squelchy bag full of bran mash, boiled vegetable peelings and various household scraps to feed them with, whilst Seamus pushed the handcart laden with their luggage and the others strode on ahead through the streets which were beginning to brighten as the sun slowly rose.

It was odd to see Francis Street deserted and to turn left into Thomas Street, quiet as the grave with not a soul stirring. Even the Guinness Brewery was quiet still, and when they reached the fountain at the edge of James Street and turned into Steevens Lane they saw a gentle white mist curling up from the distant Liffey, and by the time they turned into St John’s Road and saw the imposing station building in front of them the sun had come up and was gilding the dome which towered above the entrance.

The station was not deserted, as the rest of the city had been, but neither was it full of people. Porters strolled about, a man with a brush was attacking the foyer and there was a short line of people waiting to buy their tickets from the man behind the small glazed window.

‘I’ll get the tickets,’ Liam said. ‘The rest of you get on to the platform . . . an’ if the train comes in before I’m back wit’ you, try to get a carriage to ourselves.’

But they were in plenty of time and stood in a small group on the platform, whilst Aisling sniffed and said in a tearful voice that she didn’t know what she’d do without them, she was sure, and Seamus first unloaded all the luggage, then loaded it up again, reasoning that it would be easier to run along to the luggage van with the handcart than with each of them burdened with bags.

The train came in with a great deal of noise and fuss; Ellen kissed her mother-in-law, smiled at Seamus, pushed the luggage into the van and persuaded Deirdre to part with the chicks, for the time being at any rate. They found an empty carriage and settled themselves. Aisling was crying, Liam comforting her. Seamus shook Garvan’s hand and they both roared with laughter over some shared joke, though Garvan was pale and Seamus kept blinking. The engine driver was getting up steam, people were piling aboard, others were waving . . . the train was moving! Ellen and Deirdre hung out of the window waving to the two on the platform, then Deirdre got a smut in her eye and came inboard, giving Garvan a chance for a brief wave before he collapsed on to a seat and produced a comic paper from his pocket.

‘Well, we’re off,’ Liam said in a flat sort of voice which did not conceal his excitement. ‘Ennis, here we come, we do indeed.’

‘Not just Ennis . . . the Burren, here we come,’ Donal said. ‘Wish you’d let me bring me lambs . . . they was good lambs, now someone else is lookin’ after ’em and waitin’ for the money to roll in.’

‘Oh shut your face,’ Deirdre said rudely, jabbing him with an elbow. ‘Want a humbug? I’ve gorra whole bagful here!’

They settled down for the journey, spreading themselves over the carriage, glad it was not a corridor train, each boundlessly, endlessly excited at the thought of the adventure before them. Even Garvan, still wondering how he had come to let himself be cajoled and persuaded into becoming a part of this expedition, began to feel a delightful anticipation coursing through him. They were off – and whatever happened in Ennis, it was unlikely to be dull!

Left on the platform, Seamus and his mother waved until the train was out of sight, then grinned rather sheepishly at each other.

‘Goin’ to miss your brothers, Shay?’ his mother said half teasingly. ‘Sure and I’d never have t’ought to see you
encouragin
’ your twin to leave Dublin, go off wit’ an English family, but you did encourage him, didn’t you so?’

‘I did, Mammy,’ Seamus admitted, turning the empty handcart in the direction of St John’s Road once more. ‘It’s the best t’ing that could have happened for both of us, Mammy, because now we’ll be able to go on likin’ each other. But I tell you straight. Mammy, that if Garv had stayed, and gone on despisin’ my girl and mekin’ our lives difficult, it would ha’ been war between us.’

‘I guessed it.’ Aisling nodded. ‘Strange, isn’t it, son, that the pair of ye seem to have found yourselves girl-friends wit’ red hair? Though your Beatrix is a deal gentler and prettier than Deirdre, so she is.’ Seamus frowned, then shook his head. ‘Mammy, Deirdre’s a child, so she is. Garvan isn’t interested in her at all at all – nor in any woman.’

‘That’s what you say now, my son,’ Aisling said serenely as they emerged on the still-empty pavement. ‘But give it a year or two – she’s fifteen, is Deirdre, and that isn’t a child.’

‘Mebbe not. But you’re not after tryin’ to convince me that Garvan’s got his eye on her, are you?’ Seamus said incredulously, wheeling his handcart across the road. ‘Holy Mother, Mammy, he’s had a dozen opportunities to go out wit’ some o’ the prettiest girls in the store and turned ’em all down flat. Why should he feel differently over a wee redhead – an’ an English girl at that?’

‘Why indeed?’ Aisling said a trifle tartly, hurrying to keep pace with her long-legged son. ‘You t’ink you know Garvan better than anyone else could – but ’tis clear you don’t know human nature, nor that what repels one, attracts another. I’m tellin’ you, Shay, Garvan’s not gone all the way to Clare because he’s a fancy for farmwork.’