Rainbow's End (54 page)

The rest of the day had gone well, Deirdre thought, as she lay in bed that night, trying to keep a decent distance from Mrs Nolan, for she was sharing the bed with her. Seamus had come home and been friendly and amusing, and the other brother, Kenny, who was married and living out at Goldenbridge, wherever that might be, had come round with his wife and small baby, assuring his mother that they would all come to the ceilidh the following day. They had had a good hot meal and, because the evenings were light still, had been taken on a short tour of the neighbourhood, Seamus walking between her and Donal and telling them stories about the people who lived and worked in the various streets and houses. He had offered to take them further afield at the weekend, for this was his Saturday afternoon off, but he had been evasive about his twin brother.

‘He works all over,’ he said in answer to Donal’s query. ‘But don’t worry, you’ll see him before you go off to Ennis, so you will. Sure an’ Garvan’s as curious as the next. He’ll be wantin’ to tek a look at these brand-new English relatives of his.’

Deirdre did not intend to admit that she was curious too, but she did ask Seamus if he and Garvan were really identical.

Seamus had looked embarrassed and shrugged. ‘Like enough to fool people when we’d a mind,’ he said at last. ‘But when we’re together . . . now I wouldn’t say we were identical, exactly.’

Thinking it over, however, Deirdre decided that she liked Seamus very much and thought the rest of the family a pleasant lot. And what was more, this family were very much in sympathy with her intense interest in Clare and what they would find there.

‘My fambly come from the Burren, way back,’ Mrs Nolan had told her as they prepared for bed. ‘Liam’s great-grandmother left Clare long ago – at the time of the famine, I dare say – and never returned, but I’ve always had a hankerin’ for the country, so I have. Mebbe we’ll come and pay you a visit once you’re settled.’

‘That would be lovely, if everything goes all right wi’ the solicitors in Ennis,’ Deirdre had said. ‘Mind, the fellers in Liverpool said it were just a formality, because we were the right people, an’ that. But they said that if the place were too much for us, or very run-down, we’d need to know the solicitors in Ennis, so’s we could sort it out.’

‘Sure an’ you’ll be fine, the lot of ye,’ Mrs Nolan murmured sleepily. ‘Tomorrer I want Ellen to come to O’Connell Street wit’ me, so’s I can buy her somethin’ useful or pretty for a weddin’ present. Would you be after comin’ wit’ us, alanna?’

Deirdre had said she would go, but she hoped that it wouldn’t take all day to buy whatever it was. She hated shopping, especially when there was a whole new city to explore outside, and Seamus had promised to tell Donal how to find the bird market, which should be a bit of fun, Deirdre thought.

She decided that she would plan a reason for not accompanying Ellen and Mrs Nolan and lay for a while, plotting to herself. But she had had a long day and, much sooner than she wished, she slid into the land of dreams.

Once the Nolans and the Dochertys got used to each other the days passed in no time. They met scores of friends and relatives at the ceilidh and were showered with invitations to visit and, on their last day in Dublin, Seamus went out early, presumably to Mass, and returned with Garvan in tow.

They were very alike, Deirdre felt, but she thought that Seamus was the handsomer of the two. Garvan had a dark, brooding look and a sarcastic twist to his lips, and almost the first thing he said to her, when they were alone for a moment, was ‘I s’pose you don’t wear a hat much, even though you’re a bleedin’ Englishwoman – scared of settin’ light to it wit’ that flamin’ hair!’

Deirdre had given him a cold glare and ignored him after that, but now, it appeared, she was going to be unable to do so, for Donal wanted to go to the cattle market and Seamus had offered to take him, Liam and Ellen were off on some ploy of their own, Mrs Nolan was busy indoors . . . and Garvan, with an ill grace, had offered to ‘show the young wan somethin’ a bit livelier than ould O’Connell Street or the Cat’olic cathedral’.

It would have been rude to say she’d rather do almost anything than go anywhere with a feller who made personal remarks about her red hair, but Deirdre was determined not to be rude. Besides, she thought that the offer was in the nature of an olive branch and should be taken courteously. However, having agreed to go, she saw no reason why she should not warn Garvan that she would not allow him to insult her once they were alone. ‘No more of your cheek, feller,’ she said briskly as they walked, side by side, down Francis Street, weaving their way between the stalls which lined it. ‘For stand it I will not. I’ll give you a thick ear an’ a bloody nose if you try it, what’s more, an’ you can explain
that
away to your mammy!’

Garvan had given her a startled glance and grinned, though he had vouchsafed no reply.

After waiting a moment, Deirdre asked curiously: ‘What’ve you gorragin red hair, anyway? You give me a dirty look soon’s you saw me – no need, as I could see.’

His look, this time, had a trace of admiration in it, though he frowned and tried to look cross. ‘Quick, aren’t ye?’ he said in a sneery sort of voice. ‘’Tis clear you’ve not met Seamus’s girl-friend yet.’

‘No, but Donal has,’ Deirdre said, remembering. ‘So she’s got red hair, has she? I thought Donny grinned like an eejit when he mentioned they’d seen her. But what’s that got to do with it? Your brother wouldn’t choose some little tart; I reckon she’s nice. He is!’

That made Garvan grin and he was much better when he grinned, Deirdre decided. But it clearly didn’t change his opinion of girls with red hair, and herself and Seamus’s young lady in particular.

‘Oh, nice,’ he said scornfully. ‘I just don’t see what he wants to get tangled wit’ a girl for, that’s all. All girls do is make a feller marry ’em, an’ then they hang on his sleeve an’ have babies an’ ruin his freedom, that’s what they do.’

‘You might as well say fellers ruin girls’ freedom,’ Deirdre said obstinately. ‘An’ it teks two to mek a baby, Garvan Nolan, or hasn’t no one telled you the facts of life yet?’

Garvan wanted to laugh, she could tell, and this of course made him angrier. It is always infuriating to want to laugh when you’re trying to be serious and to vent your annoyance on someone. ‘Girls aren’t ever free, not in the way a feller can be,’ he growled. ‘Besides, who needs girls?’

‘Your brother does, seemingly,’ Deirdre said. ‘Surely you like some girls, don’t you, Garvan?’

He stopped in his tracks at that, right beside a fat woman in black with a huge basket of lilac and laburnum. He stared unseeingly at the flowers, then bent down and picked out a bunch of lilac, purple, pale-blue and white, and dug in his pocket for the necessary coins. ‘You come wit’ me, gorl, an’ you’ll find out what use I’ve got for women,’ he said in a low tone. ‘Come on . . . there’s a tram!’

‘You said we could go down to the quays’, Deidre said breathlessly. ‘An’ then you said you’d show me Phoenix Park.’ She followed him up the stairs and on to the top deck, of the tram, slumping on to one of the hard wooden seats. ‘You din’t say nothin’ about no tram rides.’

‘I’m goin’ to show you somethin’,’ Garvan said obstinately. ‘It won’t tek but a moment if we go an’ come back be tram. Then you can go to the quays, or to Phoenix Park or both . . . if you still want to, that is.’

Deirdre decided that she had better humour him, so she began to talk lightly of this and that, commenting on the buildings they passed, though she did herself no good in Garvan’s eyes by saying involuntarily and with no thought of being rude, ‘Mind you, I thought Dublin would be bigger an’ more imposin’ than Liverpool, but it ain’t. It’s smaller and more . . . more countrified, I s’pose you could say. Still, small things is nicer’n large in some ways.’

Garvan snorted. ‘Wait’ll you see Phoenix Park, that’s all,’ he said darkly. ‘Come on, we get down here, so we do.’

They left the tram, crossed the road and went through an imposing gateway, and at this point Deirdre stopped short and caught hold of Garvan’s sleeve. ‘Wait on, this here’s a cemetery! What d’you want to bring me here for?’

Garvan turned and glared down at her. He was tall and brown-skinned from working constantly in the open, and suddenly it occurred to Deirdre that perhaps she should not be here with him – after all, she scarcely knew the feller and the huge graveyard was almost deserted.

‘To show you somethin’,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not goin’ to turn into a vampire an’ bite your t’roat out.’

Deirdre giggled. She had told the twins that morning about the cinema show she and Donny had seen just before they left Liverpool and how she’d been afraid to go upstairs to bed that night. ‘No, I know
that
,’ she said scornfully. ‘But I just don’t see . . . oh, awright, I’m comin’.’

He clearly knew his way unerringly, that was one good thing, Deirdre thought, as they threaded their way across the huge cemetery. They stopped by a small mound without a headstone and Garvan picked up the stone vase which lay there and put the lilac into it, then jerked his head at her to follow him. ‘I’ll put some water in it,’ he said. ‘There’s a tap. Come with me.’

Deirdre followed and watched in silence as he filled the vase and carried it back to the grave. Then she said rather uncertainly: ‘Is it your da, Garvan? Or your gran? It’s very nice of you to buy flowers to put . . .’

He interrupted her without apology, staring at the lilac in the vase, not looking at her. ‘It’s Maggie McVeigh, the gorl you’ve seen in the photograph. She . . . she brought us up, me an’ Shay. So now you know what happens to gorls who are fond of me. I . . . I kill ’em, like I did Maggie.’

Deirdre thought for a moment, then snorted rudely. This must stop, she decided. What did he think she was, an eejit? Of course he hadn’t killed the girl, he was just trying to frighten her! ‘You didn’t kill anyone, Garvan, so stop givin’ yourself airs an’ graces an’ come down to earth! She was Liam’s gorl, what’s more, not yourn, an’ he don’t go around givin’ hisself airs an’ sayin’ he killed her.’

She expected Garvan to take offence, but he simply said quietly, ‘I did cause her death though, Deirdre. She was workin’ at the market, an’ she saw me across the street and shouted, an’ . . . an’ I pretended not to hear, so I did. An’ she ran into the road . . . a bus killed her, but it were my fault, all my fault.’

‘Yes, I dare say you was partly to blame,’ Deirdre said slowly, having given the matter some thought. ‘But just because you were stupid, that don’t mean you caused her death. Me mam’s always tellin’ us to look careful-like before we crosses a road. Your Maggie could ha’ been killed any time if she was quick to act an’ slower to think o’ danger.’

There was a long pause. Garvan stared at Deirdre across the grave and Deirdre stared straight back, refusing to drop her eyes even though Garvan’s were hot and angry. ‘Ye-es,’ he said slowly at last. ‘But it were me . . .’

Deirdre cut in at once, with brutal truthfulness. ‘No, it weren’t you, Garvan Nolan! You din’t push her under the bleedin’ bus, nor you didn’t shout to her to cross the bleedin’ road. So stop makin’ yourself important by pretendin’ that she died ’cos of you. That’s almost worse’n killin’ someone, if you ask me.’

‘Why, you nasty little redheaded English tart,’ Garvan gasped. ‘I’ve a good mind to give you a drubbin’, girl or no girl! How dare you say such t’ings to me!’

He was a good nine inches taller than Deirdre and a lot stronger, as well as being four years the older, but Deirdre did not intend to back down now. ‘Why not do a proper job an’ kill
me
, if you’re so sure of yourself?’ she taunted. ‘You could do it easy, then you’d have a real death to boast about.’

‘Boast?
Boast?
’ Garvan leaned towards her, his eyes narrowed into slits, his voice dropping to a hiss. ‘Why you nasty, foxy little bitch, killin’ you would be a boastin’ matter, that’s for sure! Likely the lads of Liverpool would crown me king jest for gettin’ rid of your sharp tongue!’

Deirdre was about to reply in kind when the humour of the situation struck her and she began to giggle, then to laugh out loud, clutching her waist and doubling up at the absurdity of it. Garvan held out for a moment, but laughter such as hers was irresistible and despite himself, he gave a muffled snort and had to turn his head away.

Deidre, wiping the tears from her eyes with the backs of her hands, walked round and joined him, looking into his face. ‘This is no place for a fight,’ she said briskly. ‘Shall us go somewhere else, Garvan?’

‘You’re a terrible gorl, Deirdre Docherty,’ Garvan replied with as much severity as he could muster. ‘Sure and you’ll get the pair of us t’rown out, so you will, wit’ no choice of leavin’ of our own accord.’ He took her arm and turned her towards the cemetery gates. ‘An’ mebbe you’re right at that, mebbe I’ve bin usin’ what happened to Maggie as a kind of excuse when t’ings went wrong for me. But guilt’s a terrible thing, so it is, an’ didn’t I feel I’d wrecked two lives, me brother’s an’ poor Maggie’s? Still, Liam’s makin’ a new start an’ so will I. Now, would ye like to see the Smithfield? We might catch up wit’ your brother, so we might.’

‘Yes, I’d like that,’ Deirdre said easily, falling into step beside him, ‘But don’t forgit we’re goin’ to Phoenix Park later.’

‘As if ye’d let me forgit,’ Garvan mocked. ‘Sure an’ it would be nag, nag, nag until you found yerself where you wanted to be. Come on then, we’d best get a move on if we’re to find your brother.’

They did not find Donal but they had an excellent day. Garvan, who never seemed to be short of a tanner or two despite his many and varied occupations – or perhaps because of them – treated Deirdre to fish and chips at a small eating house by the cattle market and later, to an ice-cream from a cart in Phoenix Park. And whatever they were doing and wherever they went, they talked incessantly and very soon Deirdre realised she was enjoying Garvan’s company as if she had known him and liked him all her life. And seeing his animated face and hearing his frequent chuckle, she was pretty sure that her companion was enjoying himself too – perhaps for the first time for a long while. It seemed to her, in fact, that the scene in the cemetery had acted on Garvan as a purge, getting rid of the festering guilt over Maggie’s death which had haunted him for so long.