The Bright One (4 page)

Would the time come, Peggy Byrne had wondered, watching her children leave one by one, when there would be no Byrnes at all left in the county?

‘Isn't it the truth that the Byrnes have lived in this place as far back as anyone can remember?' she asked – inconsequentially to Molly, but she was used to that from her mother.

‘Indeed it is so,' she agreed.

They were there before the time when the sailors from the Spanish Armada had been washed ashore from the wreckage of their ships in the stormy seas. They were already there even farther back, when the Vikings had scaled the cliffs, or sailed up the estuary.

‘I wonder what news Josephine has?' Molly said.

Her mother handed her the letter. It had been opened, but not read, for the simple reason that Peggy Byrne could not read.

‘See for yourself. Read it out, and mind you speak up now! Will I not want to hear every word?'

Molly read in a loud, clear voice. Josephine was well, her husband was well, the children were well. Maureen was now engaged to be married, to a teacher. Kate was expecting her first baby.

‘So, I am to be a great-grandmother!' Mrs Byrne said. ‘Will I ever be seeing the child?'

‘Of course you will!' Molly said. ‘You know you can visit Josephine any time you have a mind to. She's invited you often enough!'

‘I am seventy-five. I am too old to be travelling to the ends of the earth,' Mrs Byrne objected.

‘Akersfield is not the ends of the earth, Mammy,' Molly said. ‘And perhaps one of them would come over and fetch you.'

‘Get on with the letter,' Mrs Byrne said. ‘What else does she say?'

‘Not much more. “The mills are busy again,”' she read, ‘“making cloth for uniforms. Everyone thinks there will be another war with Germany.”

‘At least it will not be Ireland's war,' Molly said. ‘Ireland is neutral.'

‘And so she was before,' her mother reminded her. ‘What difference did it make to me?'

‘I'm sorry, Mammy. Oh, there is a postscript. Josephine says she encloses a ten-shilling note! I don't see it. She must have forgotten!'

‘I have it,' Mrs Byrne said, smiling a secret smile. ‘I have it in a safe place.'

Ten shillings, Molly thought! What will she do with it? She never goes out, and she will not spend a penny unless she has to.

She folded the letter and handed it back to her mother, who she knew would peruse it many times, trying to connect the squiggles on the paper with the news she had heard.

‘Mrs Hanratty gave me a parcel,' she said, changing the subject. ‘I'll open it up, so, and if there is enough to divide I will give you some. If not, I will send you a dish.'

‘Take it home,' Mrs Byrne said. ‘It will save me the cooking of it.'

That would be as well, Molly reckoned. She doubted her mother ever took the trouble to make a decent meal, not now when she had no-one else to cook for.

‘Let Kieran bring it,' Mrs Byrne said.

‘If he can, Mammy,' Molly said. ‘He is working for Luke O'Reilly in the shop. But one of us will bring it.' She rose to leave.

She had to hurry home. There was the midday dinner to prepare. Kieran would come home for that, with little time to spare, so it must be on the table, and it went without saying that the other children would be starving. Whether James would be home or not she had no idea. With part of her she longed, as she always did, to see him; with another part she dreaded it, for fear of the outcome.

Breda was sitting on the doorstep, apparently doing nothing, though Molly guessed that she was looking for her father, whether to carry on the feud or to make it up, she couldn't guess. Either way, it would be a positive action. Breda was never one for hiding her feelings, good or bad. Of the other children, there was no sign.

‘Where is everyone?' Molly enquired.

‘The twins have gone to the beach,' Breda said. ‘They wouldn't let me go with them, which is not fair.'

‘And Moira?'

‘I wouldn't be knowing where Moira is. She just went off. She is full of secrets!'

‘Ah well, I dare say they will all be back the minute dinner is on the table,' Molly said. ‘You children all have alarm clocks in your stomachs. Did you and Moira do the potatoes?'

‘
I
did,' Breda said virtuously. ‘Moira went off and left me to do it. And I've put the pan on the fire.'

‘Good girl!'

‘But Moira will have to do them all on her own tomorrow,' Breda insisted. ‘'Tis not fair otherwise. She gets away with everything, that one.'

‘She will not do so this time,' Molly promised. ‘Won't I see to that?'

Potatoes, which they grew on the scrubby piece of land at the back of the house, were the mainstay of their diet, day in, day out. Only on Sundays was there meat, and that in a good week. A rabbit, a boiling hen too old to be productive any longer; on the best occasions, a small piece of beef.

Molly knew a score of ways with potatoes: potato soup; boiled potatoes with onion sauce; potato scones cooked on the griddle to a golden brown, then drenched with butter (for she only made scones if there was butter in the cupboard); boxty – grated potatoes bound with flour and water and fried; potatoes mashed with scallions, or with carrots and turnips; and many others. Today, having stayed overlong at her mother's, she was in a hurry. Boiled, with onion sauce, it would have to be.

Moira walked in at the door, and would have glided across into the bedroom except that Molly put out an arm and held her back.

‘You are just in time to peel me an onion!'

‘Oh, no, Mammy!' Moira cried. ‘Not an onion! Won't it make my hands smell all afternoon!'

‘Give them a good wash,' Molly said, ‘and at the same time you can wash the paint off your face!'

She was stirring the thickening sauce, the smell of the onion and milk, sharply appetizing, filling the low-ceilinged room, when the twins rushed in, followed immediately by Kieran. Patrick and Colum at once took their places at the table.

‘Go and wash your hands!' Kieran ordered.

Grumbling, they moved to obey him.

‘And see to it that you bring more water in before you go out this afternoon,' Molly said. ‘I have washing to do.'

Breda and Moira were already at the table, both of them seated; Breda because she was too small to stand, Moira because, since her father was not present, there was a spare stool. The twins stood, as always, but Kieran, as the eldest, had a seat. Moira, with a wrinkled nose, sniffed at her hands.

‘Disgusting!' she said.

‘There is nothing disgusting about the smell of good food!' Molly said sharply, handing out the plates. ‘Patrick, do
not
start to eat until I have said grace!'

She said it quickly, not wishing the food to go the least bit cold. They murmured ‘Amen', blessed themselves and began to eat. After a moment, Breda said: ‘When will Dada be back?'

‘Don't speak with your mouth full,' Molly said automatically. ‘How can I tell? I will expect him when I see him.'

‘Will he not be wanting his dinner?' Breda said hesitantly.

‘He will so,' Molly agreed. ‘Are you to save him some of yours?'

Breda put down her fork.

‘I will too.' She said it reluctantly. She was very hungry. ‘But you must make Moira save some of hers!'

Molly smiled.

‘You can eat up, Breda,' she said. ‘And you also, Moira, if you had thought of saving some. I have kept back enough for Dada. It was a kind thought, Breda, but did you think I would not save your Dada his dinner?'

Though it might well be dried up and hardly fit to eat by the time he decided to put in an appearance, she thought to herself. At least it seemed that Breda had forgiven him, though that did not surprise her. Breda's passions were swift and strong, but in the end her loving nature overcame them.

‘How did it go in the shop?' she asked Kieran.

‘Well enough. Would you be wanting me to bring you anything back this afternoon?' He rose from the table and cleared away his plate.

‘Thank you, no,' Molly said. ‘I will be down myself tomorrow.'

It was impossible to embark on her shopping until she knew what James would bring home, something or nothing. Would it be bread and lard they'd be eating the rest of the week, or perhaps rashers, or even, please God, a tin of salmon? In any case, she had a fancy to see Kieran at work. Just supposing he took a fancy to the job, and Luke O'Reilly, who had no children, to him, so that he forgot his vocation.

She was at once deeply ashamed of the thought, and swiftly put it away from her. May God forgive me, she chided herself.

‘I must go,' Kieran said. ‘'Twould look bad to be late on my first day.'

He was stepping out of the house when, away at the top of the street, just rounding the corner, he saw him. Turning back into the house he called:

‘He's here! Dada's here!'

Molly rushed to the door, followed immediately by Breda, then Moira. The twins lagged behind just long enough to scrape their plates.

Molly took one look at her husband as he walked towards them, though he was still a way off. Her heart lifted. ‘Praise be to God!' she murmured. She could tell at once from his jaunty walk, his head high, his shoulders back, that things had gone well. She knew the shape of him. But even if they had not, the sight of him,
any
sight of him, would have filled the longing she always had when he was away for more than a few hours.

Breda rushed up the street to meet him. Moira hesitated, wondering whether it was quite the thing to do at her age, then decided it was, and followed after, though more sedately. The rest of them stayed in the doorway, waiting. When he drew nearer they saw the wide smile on his face, and met it with welcoming smiles of their own. As he reached the door, a daughter on each arm, Molly stepped back into the house, else he would embrace her right there, in front of the whole street, and though she would be proud, it was simply not done. They would be a talking point.

‘So all went well?' she asked quietly.

‘Well enough,' James said. ‘Not a fortune, but well enough.'

‘Have you brought us presents, Dada?' Moira asked eagerly.

‘What are they?' Breda said.

James frowned at them with mock severity. ‘So that's the way of it, is it? It is not your Dada you want home, 'tis what he has brought you! Supposing I say there is nothing, will I go away again?'

‘No, Dada!' Breda said. ‘I am pleased to see you, even though you did break your sacred promise to me.'

‘But you forgive me?' James said seriously. ‘Even if I'm empty-handed?'

Breda took a deep breath.

‘I forgive you.'

‘So do I!' Moira said eagerly.

‘You have nothing to forgive him for,' Breda said. ‘He did not break a promise to you, so!'

‘That's enough talk,' Molly interrupted. ‘Your Dada will do nothing, say not a word more, until he has had his dinner.'

She took a piled-high plate from the oven and set it on the table.

‘Get that inside you,' she said to her husband.

‘I can't stay,' Kieran said. ‘I have to be back at the shop.'

‘Can we go out again now?' the twins asked in unison. They were not bothered about gifts or homecomings. As always, they were contented with each other, following their own ploys. Even when they fought, which was not infrequently, it was their own private fight; they remained close in spirit as well as in flesh.

‘And you, Breda,
and
you, Moira, are not to sit there staring at Dada while he eats his dinner,' Molly said. ‘You can clear the rest of the table and start to wash the dishes.'

All the same, she was as curious as the girls about what he might have brought them all; but fair was fair and a man must be fed. She looked for some small gift, but hoped that he would not have been too extravagant. What she needed most of all was money. She was trying desperately to save towards the new shoes they would all need to go back to school at the end of the long summer holiday. None of their present ones could be repaired any more, and she would never, unlike some mothers in Kilbally, allow her children to go to school barefoot, though in the holidays it was less important.

James scraped up the last of his dinner, patted his stomach, sighed with satisfaction, then pushed the plate away.

‘Come here!' he ordered Molly.

She sprang to obey him, and he rose to meet her.

‘You have not given me a kiss,' he complained. ‘Does a man not get a kiss at his homecoming?'

The corners of her mouth turned up in a smile, but before she could speak he had pulled her into his arms and was kissing her with passion. Her hands stole around the back of his neck, and she was returning his kisses.

‘Other mothers and fathers do not kiss all the time,' Breda said sternly. It was so time-wasting when there were other matters of importance to come.

‘Then more fool they!' James said, releasing Molly. ‘Now,
dote
, would you be waiting for something? Is that it? And what can it be?'

‘Oh Dada, you
know
!' Breda said.

‘Yes, you know!' Moira echoed.

‘Don't tease them any further,' Molly begged.

‘Or you?' James said. ‘Aren't you just dying to know? Tell the truth, now!'

He began to feel through his pockets as if he had forgotten exactly where he had put the gifts, pockets large and small, inside and outside his jacket. Breda stood close, jigging up and down in a flurry of impatience.