The Beach Book Bundle: 3 Novels for Summer Reading: Breathing Lessons, The Alphabet Sisters, Firefly Summer (172 page)

She had told him no more despite his concern.

Sheila knew that if anyone was going to be hurt by what she had done it would be Patrick. She had discovered that Kerry O’Neill was taking boxes and packages into a disused tunnel which led to Fernscourt.

He was involved with a gang of hoodlums, probably thought they were freedom fighters instead of bank robbers, which was what they were. Sheila knew that on the morning of the hotel opening the tunnel would be closed off, the gang taken into custody, and as a courtesy to Patrick O’Neill and to all the employment he was bringing to the area, his son would not be questioned until the following day.

There was a belief that Kerry O’Neill, though most certainly some kind of an accomplice, was not involved in the criminal side of things. Or not yet. Sergeant Sheehan said that it was all being done to pay his gambling debts.

She thought of Seamus Sheehan’s son in the home, of Patrick’s son running with bank robbers, of her own husband’s son, who couldn’t come back from England for his father’s funeral.

Many times Sheila had wished that she had given birth to a boy. A child of her own who would grow up under her eyes. This morning as she dressed for the day and all it would bring, Sheila felt glad that she had no son. She was better off today only worrying about herself.

   Dara’s hopes of a long leisurely time to get ready had been dashed. First there was all the work clearing up the bathroom, then Mam wanted to be helped.

Mam looked very pale and even unwell. There was a light sweat on her forehead and she had that distraught look she sometimes got.

“It’s going to be fine,” Dara said soothingly.

“What is?”

“The opening. The day!”

“Oh, yes. Yes, of course.”

Dara looked at her, concerned. Mam hadn’t been at all well of late. Look at the way she had felt after the trip to Dublin. Don’t say it was going to be the same now. Dara held up the navy-and-white outfit. It had been chosen by Rachel Fine, of course. Hadn’t everything? It was smart, but Dara would have dressed Mam in something less severe. It had a lot of small buttons down the back which would need to be fastened.

Mam smelled of good soap and talcum powder. More gifts from Mrs. Fine. Perhaps as the years went by Mrs. Fine’s gifts would wear out, and her influence would die away. Mam had said very firmly and very briefly that she would not be coming back again to Mountfern.

Dara sat by the dressing-table part of the green room. She looked long at Mam’s face to see any signs of illness.

“Would you tell me if there was anything wrong, if you felt badly?” she asked her mother.

“Yes and no. Yes, if we could do anything about it.”

“Then there
is
something wrong!”

“No, I feel jittery today, that’s all, a bit like going to the compensation case. You know the feeling.”

Dara knew the feeling; she
had
the feeling. She wasn’t at all sure that Kerry would like her dress. She had spent such hours choosing it in Dublin, and spent so much money on it. It looked a simple red silk. In the hand it looked only like a crumpled scarf, but when Dara put it on, she looked great! Or she hoped she did. But you’d know with Kerry.

She had fastened the tiny buttons, and Mam looked very well, smart and stylish. The dress had a full skirt. Mam never wore clothes that let you see her legs properly, even though they looked perfectly all right.

Dara felt the overpowering sympathy that she sometimes did for her mother, who could not stand up and who knew that she would never be able to stand again.

“Dara, one little thing about today.”

Dara sighed. It was going to be about not smearing on too much make-up, not disappearing with Kerry, about being understanding to Michael, or keeping an eye on Declan, or trying to stop Eddie from alienating the whole parish.

“Yes, Mam,” she said dutifully.

“If I were your age, and I were as lovely as you … I would not want to listen to someone saying what I’m going to say now, but it’s only very short, and then we don’t have to talk about it again today. All right?”

Dara nodded. What alternative had she?

Kate took her hand. “I just want you to know how sad I am that Rachel isn’t here today. She worked on every stone of this place as much as any of Brian Doyle’s men, as much as Patrick ever did. And at this moment she’s in New York City, probably crying her eyes out and thinking of it all.”

Dara had taken her hand away and was moving restively.

“And the reason that she’s not here is Kerry. She did nothing wrong, nothing bad, nothing that she couldn’t stand up in the pulpit and talk about. She got a little drunk, and she’s not used to drink, that’s all.”

“Mam, please …”

“I said it’s short. Kerry drove her out, Dara, for these reasons: he didn’t want her to marry his father. He has always been much more fond of his mother than of Patrick; he thought that Rachel should not replace her.

“Then he got into great debt at a card game and he asked Rachel for money … It’s very complicated, but he didn’t get it finally, so he let everyone think that he and Rachel were together. You’ve heard that, I know. I just wanted to set it straight in your mind.”

“Oh, Mam, I heard the real story from Kerry,” Dara said.

“You heard a story from Kerry. I doubt if it was the real one.”

Kate’s eyes were far away. “You’re a grown girl, Dara, you are sixteen—although I think that’s young, I’ll still think you’re young when you’re twenty-six … I am not poisoning you, I’m warning you. That’s all. Of course you’ll be with Kerry today, and he will be charming and lovely and make you feel good. But I felt you had to know that he is dangerous.”

   Michael wondered for the fiftieth time was his jacket a bit sissyish. It had looked fine in Dublin. But hadn’t everything? Tommy had said it was great; you’d expect Michael to break into a waltz as soon as he put it on. Grace had been noncommittal. She had been slightly annoyed that he had found the time and possibility of going to Dublin with Dara when he hadn’t gone with her.

For no reason Michael kept remembering Maggie talking about the hotel opening. She said there would be television personalities coming to it and that maybe they would all be introduced to them on account of knowing the O’Neills so well. They had laughed at Maggie for her enthusiasm. And she was dead for over three months when the hotel did open.

Something had gone out of their summer, something more than Maggie. They stopped being a group somehow. They hardly saw Jacinta and Liam now, and as he had feared Grace was a million miles further away now that she was just across the river.

   Tommy Leonard wished that he had a new jacket like Michael’s. He wished that he didn’t have skin that looked as if it had been treated with Harpic lavatory cleaner and he wished that he had smooth blond hair that looked good whatever way it fell, instead of spiky awful hair not unlike Eddie Ryan’s.

He had heard there was going to be dancing in the Thatch Bar. His mind went back a year to when the Ryans had that great party in the outhouse that was now the café. He remembered not being quick enough or interesting enough to keep Dara’s attention when Kerry came into the room. He wondered could anyone ever be quick or interesting enough. It wasn’t
only
looks. Dara wasn’t so shallow that she would go for appearances only. But Kerry was so sharp and clever. He knew when to say nothing and when to smile. He seemed to know what people were thinking, and say it first.

Suppose Kerry was to get a job somewhere else. Would that make everything all right? Or would the whole place still be watching out for him, looking up the road, almost waiting for him to come back?

Whatever Tommy wore, Kerry would wear the opposite, and he was sure Kerry would look just right today. If Tommy wore his best suit, you could be sure that Kerry would be in some pale blue sweater and jeans, and if Tommy wore his corduroys and Aran sweater, Kerry would be in a formal suit and tie. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to see what he was picking out to wear?

   Kerry was up very early.

Everything had been neatly stored in the tunnel. They knew to keep well away, today of all days.

It all had been simple. Just provide a depot, they said, the tunnel was a fine idea. Better than a warehouse, a lock-up shed.

The boxes had been stacked. There were crates of drink, and big boxes with cartons of cigarettes.

Kerry understood about the weapons. He wasn’t so clear about the drink and cigarettes. McCann had been laconic. These things are sold, they make money, money is needed for supplies.

From time to time he wondered what kind of movement they were in. At times he even suspected basely that they might well be in no movement except a gang of their own. But it didn’t concern him now. He had stored their goods; he had wiped out his debt.

The day was starting. He felt that tingle of excitement he knew when something new was about to start. Kerry felt good. There was nothing he couldn’t do. Look at what he had done already.

He had shipped Rachel Fine back where she belonged.

He had paid his poker debt.

He would sort out the situation with his father. Father wanted a son around here, for Christ’s sake. He wouldn’t make a lot of waves.

There would be speeches, and no doubt Father would say something about how sad it was that his wife Kathleen hadn’t lived to see this day.

Kerry knew his mother would not have wanted to live here in this town. But if she were to see what was happening, she would be proud of him. That her son had not forgotten her. He fingered his tie tack. That he had not let anyone else take her place.

   Papers Flynn liked Kerry O’Neill.

He never understood that Kerry could be laughing at him. Kerry often complimented him on his clothes and said that he thought it was a great idea to tie so much string around the waist—it could be the in thing if the fashion writers got a hold of it.

Papers didn’t rightly know what Kerry was saying half the time. But the boy always seemed to be smiling, which was good. And of course Kerry sometimes slept rough too. Papers knew that he slept in that tunnel.

He had been in to investigate it for himself a few times. In theory it should have been a great place to stay, but Papers thought it was a bit closed in, he preferred somewhere less restricting.

Papers never asked himself why someone with Kerry O’Neill’s wealth slept out. There didn’t have to be a reason. He would greet him nowadays as a fellow knight of the road.

On the morning of the opening he was pleased to see Kerry on the river bank.

“All spruced up and ready for the great occasion, I see,” Kerry said to him.

Papers grinned, pleased. “It’s going to be a nice day for it,” he said, looking at the sky.

“Well, Papers, just so long as it won’t interfere with your enjoyment of the salmon.” Kerry laughed.

Papers felt he was being invited to more than a drink in the Thatch Bar. He didn’t know how to cope. He decided to change the subject and trade information instead.

“If you’ve still got your place in the tunnel, you’d want to keep an eye on it,” he said confidingly. “I saw Sergeant Sheehan and Mrs. Whelan looking at it last night, and the sergeant was there again this morning.”

Kerry’s heart turned into a lump of lead. It was one thing losing a thousand pounds at a poker game. It was another thing altogether losing the contents of those boxes in the tunnel.

If they were discovered and seized Kerry’s chances with the crowd he had been dealing with were very poor indeed.

He left Papers abruptly and walked to a point between Loretto Quinn’s and Jack Coyne’s establishments, where he could see the towpath properly. Sergeant Sheehan was walking back toward the bridge.

   The staff could hardly believe that Mr. Costello was not there to direct everything in his quick light voice that brooked no argument. Instead there was a series of conflicting orders. Nobody could say whose job it was to set out the glasses and whether they should get their final polish before they left the hotel for the marquee or when they were in place on the tables.

The drink which had been kept in cold rooms … should it be moved out early or left to the last minute? The temporary staff hired for the day, who was in charge of their arrangements?

Please God let it be true that it was only a quick visit to the dentist, they told each other. Otherwise there was going to be the most appalling confusion and nobody liked to think of Mr. O’Neill’s face, and the humiliation in front of all the people who were going to be arriving.

If Jim Costello were here the staff wouldn’t be making ten trips back and forth when two would do. Jim would have a timetable, a schedule, and a calm manner that would snuff out any crisis before it had time to develop.

If Jim Costello had been here he would have seen the red, sweating face of Kerry O’Neill as the boy plowed back and forth through all those brambles and briars around the fairy fort. As he got the last lot through, there was a groan and the sound of falling earth. The pit posts had collapsed, barring the way behind him.

Kerry laughed aloud with relief. His laugh could be free while he was underground. When he came to the surface he controlled it. From now it was simple.

Kerry was in his shirt sleeves, struggling with boxes and crates. To the staff who had been hired for the day he was just one more worker bringing just one more load to join the general store of food and drink.

To the regular staff he was O’Neill’s troublesome son who had decided to do a bit of work for a change because Mr. Costello had been struck with the toothache.

Nobody found it the slightest bit odd to see boxes being stored in the huge glass conservatory at the back of the main house. After all, this was a gala, there were probably going to be drinks in every room, not only the official bars, the marquee and the Thatch Bar.

There were more boxes than Kerry would have believed possible. His heart pounded with the fear of discovery, and his arms and back ached with having to carry the weight of so many loads.

The conservatory had been an inspired idea. It was one of the few rooms that would not be in use, and the chance of them being accidentally investigated by an eager barman would be unlikely.