The Bright One (9 page)

In the short time before tea Kathleen showed them the garden. With its high walls, its lawn, its riot of summer flowers, it was an oasis in the city.

‘There's one thing I'm after knowing,' Molly said as she walked with Kathleen. ‘Are you happy? Are you truly happy?'

Did she ever need to ask, she wondered. Wasn't it all there in her daughter's face, in her eyes, in the set of her mouth. But she needed to hear it spoken.

‘Oh Mammy, of course I'm happy! I was never so happy in my life! Oh, I miss you, I miss you all, but I think about you and pray for you often.'

‘That's all right then. You seem to have made the right choice.'

But there was a long way to go yet, a lifetime ahead of her daughter.

‘Do not forget, 'tis not too late to change your mind,' she added.

‘I know that,' Kathleen said. ‘But I won't.'

The next day, after early Mass, and breakfast, they all set out with Kathleen to explore the city: its squares, its gardens, churches, buildings; its rivers, its shops. It was the buildings, the magnificence the like of which she had never seen and could not have imagined, which impressed Breda most. They were so high, so big, with carvings and pillars and statues everywhere.

‘Even the post office is fit to be a palace,' she said.

Kathleen had taken them to the post office in O'Connell Street because Molly had bought a picture postcard which she must send to her mother.

‘Why are you sending a card when we'll be home tomorrow and you'll see her?'

‘Because it will please your grandmother,' Molly said. ‘I shall send love from all of us.'

It was the shops which interested Moira most of all. She could have spent a week just gazing in the windows, and so, for that matter, could Molly. It was Kathleen who reminded them that there wasn't the time.

‘There's so much still to see,' she said.

They ate the sandwiches with which the convent had provided them in a park, and drank from a water fountain, then all too soon, it was time to return to the convent, to pick up their bags and make their farewells.

‘And are you happy about your daughter, Mrs O'Connor?' Sister Teresa asked.

‘I am so,' Molly answered. Happier, she thought, but would she ever be reconciled? If she were a good Catholic she would be. Perhaps in time it might happen.

‘You can come again,' Sister Teresa reminded her.

Did she have any idea, Molly wondered, the difficulty she'd had to afford this trip? But of course she would do it again, somehow, sometime.

‘And what about you, child?' Sister asked Moira, with a smile. ‘Will you not follow in your sister's footsteps, in the footsteps of our Lord?'

Moira said nothing. She could think of few things she would like to do less than live here forever.

Molly was amused by the look on Moira's face. There, at any rate, was one child she'd never have to give up to the Church!

All the same, Moira was thinking, one day, and that day not too far ahead, she
would
be back in Dublin. She was determined on it. It was her belief that you could get most things if you wanted them hard enough.

In the train on the way home, they were most of the time silent, partly because they were tired, but also because they were absorbed in their own thoughts.

Kieran was happy that he had seen Kathleen's contentment in her new life. They had not talked much, but what they had said to each other, and even more the sight of her, had strengthened him in his own vocation. He looked forward more than ever now to starting his training. Less than four weeks to go.

Moira was engrossed in planning how she would get back to Dublin, how soon. Would she get a job? What sort of job? Could she serve in a shop? Or a café? She didn't mind what it was, just as long as she could earn enough money to live there. But how would she find out these things?

Molly leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She was glad to have seen Kathleen. She'd been pleased to have seen Dublin, though she could never live there. Too dirty, too noisy. Not the convent, of course, that was different. Though she dreaded the short time which must elapse before Kieran left home, she was glad to be returning, looking forward now to seeing James and the twins.

It was Breda who broke the silence, taking from her pocket and examining once again the small medal of Saint Francis which Sister Teresa had given her.

‘'Twas lovely, wasn't it? Everything was lovely. I like seeing places, but Kilbally is best of all!'

It was dark by the time they reached Kilbally. The journey back had been every bit as slow as the outward one, just as many loadings and unloadings and, because of that, because of all the banging and shouting, even though most of it was good-natured, Molly had found it too noisy to sleep, though the girls had slept and Kieran had dropped off for a short time.

Molly watched them and thought, guiltily, how lucky she was; these three here, Kathleen settled in Dublin, and her two lovely, rascally twins at home. Not to mention her lovely James. It was wicked to feel unhappy. She must not allow it.

Kieran had been awake for some time when they reached Kilbally station, but the girls had to be roused, Breda to be shaken because she threatened to fall off to sleep again immediately. Neither James nor the twins were at the station to meet them but Molly wasn't surprised. James was almost certainly out with the boats again and the boys had their own pursuits.

‘Oh, I'm so tired!' Breda yawned. ‘Give me a piggyback, Kieran.'

‘Wouldn't you be too old for that?' Kieran teased.

‘I am not. And I am not very big for my age,' Breda said. ‘Isn't everyone always telling me that?'

‘All right then,' he said. ‘Jump up!'

‘What about me? Aren't I tired too?' Moira demanded.

‘Then you must just put your best foot forward,' Molly said briskly. ‘It won't take long.'

As they neared the house she could see that the lamp was lit, which meant Patrick and Colum must be home. If James had not gone on the boat he would be down at the Harp. There was no way he would waste an evening on his own.

In fact, as they approached the house the door opened and James stood there, silhouetted in the light from the lamp. So he had not gone fishing after all, Molly thought. She was too pleased to see him to give more than a passing thought as to why. Her face widened in a smile.

‘Did you hear us coming? Were we so noisy?' she asked.

‘I was listening out for you.'

It was his voice which alerted her. She expected his usual exuberance, and a welcome; but his tone was flat, a nervous note in it.

‘What is it?' she asked. ‘Are you not well? Is that why you haven't gone on the boat?'

‘I'm well enough,' he said. ‘'Tis not that. Will you come into the house?'

They followed him in. Kieran loosened Breda from around his neck and deposited her on the hearthrug. Molly stared at James. He was white-faced, his eyes sharp with anxiety.

‘What is it? Whatever is it? What has happened to you?'

‘Nothing has happened to me . . . '

Suddenly, her strength drained away and she collapsed onto the nearest chair.

‘Patrick! Colum! An accident! Which of them is it? It's not both. Tell me it's not both of them!'

‘It is not an accident,' James said. ‘But yes, it is both.'

She jumped up again and grabbed at his jacket. ‘What are you talking about, James O'Connor?' She was shouting now. ‘For God's sake make yourself plain.'

‘They've gone. They have both gone.'

‘Where have they gone, Dada?' Kieran broke in. ‘Please tell us!'

‘Isn't that what I'm trying to do?' James said desperately. ‘They have left home. They have gone to England to join the British army. There is a letter . . . '

‘Give it to me!' Molly cried. ‘At once!'

He took the letter from behind the clock on the mantelpiece and she snatched it from him. Her hands shook so that she could hardly unfold it. She peered at it, then handed it to Kieran.

‘I can't see it properly. Read it out loud.'

‘“Dear Mammy and Dada,”' Kieran read, ‘“By the time you get this we shall be in Liverpool. We are going to join up together. Don't worry about us, we shall be all right and we will write to you when we get digs and we will send you money every week once we are in the Army. Love and God bless, Patrick and Colum.

‘“PS Please let Mr O'Reilly know and Mr Murphy.”'

No-one spoke. Kieran handed the letter back to Molly. She folded it carefully and put it in her pocket.

‘Which of them wrote it?' Breda asked.

‘I don't know,' Kieran said. ‘'Tis impossible to tell their handwriting apart.'

Molly stared in front of her. It was also impossible to believe. Of course it happened one way or another all the time, but it happened to other people, not to her. Until now.

‘They're too young.' Her voice was dull, as if the strength had gone out of her. ‘They're under age. They're only boys!'

‘They'll pass easily enough for eighteen,' James said. ‘Older, in fact. They will have no trouble in enlisting.'

Molly came back to life, turning on him, suddenly and fiercely. ‘Why did you let them go? Why didn't you stop them? You said you had to stay behind to look after them. So why didn't you?'

‘When I left you at the station,' James said patiently, ‘I came home to bed. Hadn't I been on the boat all night? They'd gone to work as far as I knew. I slept until three in the afternoon. The note was here when I got up. They must have come home at dinner time and then left straight afterwards.'

‘And they must have been planning it,' Molly said. She turned to Kieran. ‘Did you know nothing of this?' she asked angrily.

‘Nothing at all, Mammy. You know they always had secrets between themselves.'

James put his arms around her but she pushed him off. ‘Try to look on the bright side,' he said. ‘They're young and strong. The Army is a good life, a man's life. They could do worse.' Inside himself he felt a new respect for them, felt closer than he ever had before.

‘The Army,' Molly snapped, ‘is where you get killed!'

Breda broke into loud sobs. ‘I don't want my brothers to get killed!'

‘And they won't,' Kieran said firmly. ‘I am certain of it. Do not think about such a thing. Before we know where we are there will be a letter from them.' He hoped he sounded more convinced than he felt.

‘Will you look at the time?' he went on. ‘You and Moira should be in bed and asleep. Go wash your hands and faces and get into bed and I will bring you a cup of milk and a piece of soda bread.'

‘I had the kettle on the boil,' James said to Molly. ‘Will I wet the tea?' He clutched at the idea of something to do.

He poured the tea, added a generous amount of sugar, and handed it to her.

‘How did you get on in Dublin?' he asked Molly.

‘Do not ask me about Dublin,' Molly said. ‘If I had not gone to Dublin this would not have happened.'

‘Not today, perhaps,' James said gently. ‘But it would have happened sooner or later. We both know that. We both know they would not have stayed in Kilbally all their lives. And it is better than crossing the water to America. It is not so far.'

‘They are going into the Army,' Molly said. ‘The Army might take them to the ends of the earth!' And might not bring them back, she thought.

Eventually they went to bed. James took Molly in his arms, holding her close but she would have none of it, and turned away from him. She lay there on her back in the darkness until James's heavy breathing told her he had fallen asleep, then she got up and went back to the living room. There, at last, she gave way to her grief, buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

Kieran lay wide awake in his bed. Was it only last night he had been so pleased to have a bed to himself? Now he desperately missed his brothers' presence; he would have been glad of the discomfort.

He heard his mother crying, wondered what he should do. Would she want to be left alone? In the end he couldn't bear it and went into her.

‘Oh Mammy,' he said. ‘I'm so sorry. Please try not to fret. I'm sure they'll be all right.'

‘Kathleen gone,' she sobbed. ‘And now my twins. And soon, so very soon, you! Oh Kieran, don't leave us! Promise me you won't go!'

She knew she should not ask such a thing. It was wrong; she was taking advantage of his love for her. But she couldn't help it.

Kieran was silent.

‘Wouldn't you have a good life here?' she persisted. ‘Marry a Kilbally girl – even an Ennis girl. Have children. You can serve God in Kilbally.'

He met the pleading in her eyes, and could hardly bear it.

‘And do you think I would not be liking any of that?' he cried. ‘But you know it is not for me. There are other things I must do, and we both know that.'

He had never felt so terrible about leaving, but, strangely, never more certain.

‘Please go to bed, Mammy,' he begged. ‘You will be so tired in the morning and there'll be a lot to do. As for me, I'll go and see Mr Murphy and then Luke O'Reilly. I'll offer to take Patrick's place in the shop for as long as I'm here.'

She looked at him. His young face was white with fatigue, his eyes clouded with worry. She was stabbed by contrition.

‘Very well,' she said. ‘I will so. And you must go to bed also.'

She got up from the chair and left him.