Whitethorn Woods (22 page)

   The man that ran a garage was very doleful. If the road came it would kill his business stone dead. It was hard enough for people to park on his premises as things were, and getting back on the road was like Russian roulette.

   A woman who had a small guesthouse on the edge of the town was reported to be putting in new bathrooms and extending her breakfast room, once the new road was given the go-ahead. She would have an unending line of engineers, advisers and consultants looking for accommodation near the site.

   There were debates on television about the parlous state of Irish roads; the newly rich country would not remain rich for much longer if European exporters found only Third World crowded lanes and endless delays in delivering their goods to the right destination. Tourism would suffer if visitors couldn't get from one place to another without crawling in their rented cars behind a tractor or some huge lumbering bit of farm machinery.

   Places like the Fresh as a Daisy Launderette just couldn't wait for the road to arrive. They had never got any business from visitors anyway. And Fabian's the hairdressers thought they would do better if their clients had room to park their cars.

   But the garden center on the edge of town didn't want the new road. They had a nice little business, where travelers from east to west would stop, stretch their legs, visit the café and maybe fill the car with bedding plants or gift-wrapped azaleas for whoever they were visiting. If the new road came no one would need to pass this way anymore.

   And there were those, like the Rossmore Hotel, Skunk Slattery and Miss Gwen in Pompadours, who just didn't know.

   It was swings and roundabouts of course.

   They would lose the passing trade because nobody would pass through anymore. But it might mean that there would be more incentive for local people to come out and shop, get beautified or have a lunch in the hotel, once they knew there would be room to breathe and they wouldn't be mown down by impatient truck drivers on the roads.

   And there were the hundreds who had been helped by St. Ann. They couldn't believe that their fellow countrymen and women were prepared to turn their backs on the saint, allow her shrine to be dismantled. There was talk of people lying down in front of the bulldozers if they came to the woods, and obstructing all the earthmoving machinery.

   It was the least they could do to thank their saint for all the miracles that had been worked through her well. It didn't actually matter that these miracles had not been acknowledged and recognized by Rome like Fatima and Lourdes. People around here knew. And people from far, far away knew.

   Didn't they come in droves from miles across the sea?

   And still, greedy, money-loving people were prepared to ignore this great blessing, which had given so much to so many, just to get traffic moving faster and earn even more money than they already had.

   The canon was completely unaware of the issues and said only that we must pray for guidance in these, as in all, matters. Josef and Anna confided in Father Flynn and said they thought that the old man needed full-time care.

   "It's not that I am looking for more hours, Father," Josef said. "It's just that you should know. And of course I am always afraid that one day you will tell me he is going to a nursing home and there will be no job for me anymore. I hope I am not being selfish but I want to be prepared."

   Father Flynn said he understood very well and it was indeed a gray area. The canon seemed very happy where he was and it would be a pity to move him. His life had no purpose if he wasn't in the priests' house. Yet of course if he really needed more care, then he would have to have it.

   "It's just I was thinking of getting a job helping to build the road," Josef said.

   "You mean it's really going to happen?" Father Flynn was astounded.

   "I have Polish friends and they say that it will. They are going to stay with Anna and me, and, Father Flynn, you would not believe the great money they will earn building it." Josef 's face was full of hope and dreams.

   "Yes, but it's only money, Josef."

   "It's money that will buy a little shop for my brothers back home in Latvia. We have everything we need here but they have so very little."

   For no reason at all, Father Flynn thought of his friend James O'Connor, who had been ordained the same day as he had. James had left the priesthood, married Rosie, had two little sons. James worked in computer technology of some kind, he said it was great, easy work, and when you came home from the office you could put it all behind you.

   Not at all like parish work. No more of this standing up for the indefensible, or staying silent on matters you cared about. Father Flynn thought he would have loved it.

   Just loved it.

Skunk Sl at tery looked up as Kitty Flynn came into his shop with a good-looking woman he hadn't seen before.

   "How are you, Skunk?" asked Kitty. "We're getting ourselves a few glossy magazines and going off to Fabian's for a makeover."

   "More power to you, Kitty. It's never too late, I say," Skunk responded, not very gallantly.

"Always the man to flatter you," Kitty said.

"Are you going to introduce me to your friend?" Skunk asked.

   "That's not my friend, Skunk, that's my sister-in-law—don't you remember her?" Kitty said.

   "Kitty is another person who'll always flatter you!" Judy said. "I'm Judy Flynn, by the way. Brian and Eddie's sister."

   "Pleased to meet you, I am Sebastian Slattery," said Skunk.

   "You are not!" Kitty would argue with her shadow. "You're Skunk—you always were and always will be."

   Skunk and Judy exchanged glances of despair as Kitty burrowed among the glossy magazines.

   "I'm amazed I never met you before. Will you be around for long?" Skunk asked.

   "For as long as it takes," Judy Flynn said mysteriously.

Naomi approached Father Flynn. Normally she steered well clear of him. Naomi was used to steering clear of people, there were a fair few she had to avoid. Like Eddie's wife, Kitty, like Eddie's children, like his mother and most certainly his brother, Brian, the local priest.

   "Excuse me, Brian?" she began.

   Father Flynn nearly dropped to the ground in shock. "Yes . . . um . . . Naomi." What on God's earth could the girl want?

   "Brian, I was wondering if you could explain to me how Eddie could get an annulment of his marriage."

   "With great, great difficulty, Naomi," Father Flynn said.

   "No, I mean, it
can
be done obviously, it's a question of how." Naomi turned her big nineteen-year-old eyes on him.

   "It can't be done," Father Flynn said. "Annulment is saying that no marriage existed, and I have to tell you that a marriage did exist between Eddie and Kitty, and they have four children as a result of it."

   "It wasn't a real marriage . . ." she began.

   "It was, Naomi. You weren't born at the time. I was there. It happened, you can't say it didn't happen. Now have I said one word to you about your living with Eddie? No, I have not. It's your business, yours and his, but don't go dragging the principles of canon law and the Church into it. Please."

   "He didn't know his mind then, he was only twenty, for God's sake, what does a young fellow of twenty know about taking on a wife and having children? He shouldn't have been allowed to do it."

   "What brought all this on, Naomi?" Father Flynn's voice was level. It wasn't much worse than anything else that was happening around him in his life these days. But it would at least be nice to know why after two years this girl wanted respectability and the approval of Church and State.

   "It's just that I want things to be fair and open . . ." she began.

   "Really?" Father Flynn was doubtful.

   "And, you see, my parents have discovered that I'm not a student anymore, they thought I was going to college and they're being a bit troublesome . . ."

   "Yes, I'm sure."

   "And so, you see, I told them that I was going to marry Eddie, and now they're all delighted again and getting ready for the wedding, so that's what we have to organize, you see."

   Father Flynn looked at her wildly. He thought that he had become master of the meaningless, comforting cliché. But on this occasion he could not summon up one single word to say.

Neddy Nol an brought his father in to see the canon once a week. The two old men played chess together and Josef would serve them coffee and biscuits.

   "Tell me, Canon, shouldn't we all be voting against this road if we get a chance?" Marty Nolan asked.

   "I don't think we do get a chance." Canon Cassidy's grasp on it was tenuous.

   "But you know what I mean, Canon, voting with our feet. Going to the meeting in the square and everything, having banners maybe. Don't we owe it to St. Ann?"

   "Why don't you ask Father Flynn, he's the brains of this parish," the old man said.

   "I did ask him, Canon, but he just went on about doing what our consciences told us to do." Marty Nolan shook his head in disappointment. "That's no use at all, suppose everyone's conscience told them something different. Where would we be then? It's guidance we need."

   "Do you know, Mr. Nolan, I think the days of guidance are long gone. I never thought I'd live to hear myself say this but it appears to be true."

   "It's a great worry for us," Marty Nolan said. "You see, people are making us offers for the land. Unmerciful sums of money. And I know it has Neddy awake at night wondering what to do."

   "But nothing has been agreed yet. Why would people be offering to buy your land?" The canon was bewildered.

   "I'm not sure, Canon, maybe they know more than we know. But you see the problem for Neddy. I mean, his own mother was cured at that well. No amount of money could ever pay for that."

   "Where is Neddy at the moment?" the canon said, possibly trying to change the subject. It worked.

   "Ah, you know Neddy, Canon, always the dreamer, he's wandering round Rossmore with his hands in his pockets, interested in everything, understanding nothing."

   "Well, we'd better get on with our game of chess then," the canon said. "Was it my move or yours?"

Neddy Nolan was in fact in Myles Barry's law office. "I've always been a bit slow, Myles," he began.

"I wouldn't say that at all. Haven't you done very well for

yourself, married a grand girl? Aren't you a friend to everyone in Rossmore?"

   "Yes, but, Myles, I might not be for much longer. All kinds of people are coming to me and suggesting we sell our property to them."

   "Well, isn't that good?"

   "Not really. They must have inside information or whatever it's called. They must know that the road really is coming and will go over our land." He looked very troubled.

   "I know, Neddy, but isn't that the luck of the draw? It couldn't happen to a better family." Myles couldn't see where the problem lay.

   "But I can't sell our land to speculators, people who are buying up bits here and there for no reason, except that they can hold the authorities to ransom by cornering all the available acres. Then when the time comes they can hold out and eventually sell it on again at a huge profit to the government and the builders. That's not the kind of thing we want to be involved in."

   "Well, no . . . no . . ." Myles Barry wondered where this was leading.

   "It's just a few of them have told me they are approaching you about it," Neddy said anxiously.

   Myles Barry played for time. "That's a fact, Neddy. But it's not illegal, you know, to make an offer for someone's land. You name a price and they pay it, and you put the money in the bank, and they sell the land on later for more money, because they'll have lots of little bits here and there to offer. Or you refuse it and take less from the government when the time comes and that's that. It's the system. Where's the problem?"

   "The problem is that it's all just about making money," Neddy said.

   Myles sighed and decided to be very direct. "Yes, it's true some clients have asked me to put in an offer to you but I said you'd need to get a solicitor of your own, and maybe an estate agent to advise you and I couldn't be acting as a sort of an intermediary and twisting your arm over it all."

   "Could you be our solicitor, Myles? I've known you forever, you were at school with my brother Kit." Neddy's face was without guile.

   "I could indeed be your lawyer, Neddy, but I suggest you get someone more high-powered than me. A big firm from Dublin maybe. There's serious money tied up in this. You'd want a really professional team working for you."

   "Is it that you don't want to let the other people down, Myles, by changing horses and representing me?" Neddy wanted to know.

   "No, there would be no conflict of interest. Nobody has mentioned any sums involved. I have seen no papers or proposals. I just said I wouldn't do anything until you got representation, that's all," Myles said.

   "So you could do it if you wanted to?" Neddy was distressingly direct.

   Of course Myles Barry could. But there would be much more money in it for him if he were to represent a consortium of local businessmen. He couldn't charge Neddy Nolan and his father proper fees. Especially if things were as they looked and the Nolans were going to hold out. The land would be bought eventually if the road went ahead, which it looked very likely to. Those particular businessmen who had approached him would not have sought out the Nolan farm unless they knew something from the council. Myles Barry had been given to understand that any reasonable demand from the Nolans would be met.

   Of course it was speculation. But that's how an economy worked. People took risks; they won or they lost. Only Neddy Nolan would see anything dubious about the whole system.