The Letter (33 page)

‘Mamma, me not want to go. Please.’

Chrissie reached out for him, but was too late. The car door was slammed shut and she felt herself being pulled backwards as she watched the car slowly crunch away on the gravel. Little William stood up on the back seat and looked through the window, his face contorted with grief as he cried out for his mother. Chrissie could not hear his words but his little blotchy red face was indelibly etched in her memory. She knew he would be well-cared for. But she also knew that no mother could love him as much as she did. In the three years they had been together she had lavished all her attention on him and made him the centre of her world. Billy may not have wanted his child, but she had more than enough love to give for the both of them. Of course, over the years Chrissie had attempted to trace her little boy, but the Mother Superior was immovable. Chrissie had been forced to sign a letter saying she had no rights to him, and wouldn’t attempt to contact him at any stage in the future. This piece of paper had been waved in her face several times over the years.

Chrissie stood in the kitchen now waiting for the kettle to boil. This was one of the few changes that had been made, and it was more than welcomed. Gone was the huge pot in the middle of the room that was used for heating water and now tucked neatly into the former fireplace was a cast iron range cooker. Admittedly, it still required turf cut from the bog for fuel but at least it was all done inside the oven and Chrissie could close the little door to keep out the worst of the smoke. She poured the water into the little stained teapot and waited for it to brew. She could see Jackie through the window as he led their carthorse through the yard. Old Sammy had passed away years ago and Jackie had bought this new one as an unbroken three-year old at the horse fair. At nearly eighteen hands high he was a tremendous beast, dark in colour with a white stripe down his face. Jackie had said that he bought him because he reminded him of Orwell’s horse, Boxer, from Animal Farm. Jackie remembered that that fictitious horse was an incredibly hard worker who was stoic in the face of adversity, astonishingly loyal and worked until he literally dropped. He told Chrissie that if he named his new horse after him, maybe some of this work ethic would rub off.

It hadn’t. In all his years of farming, Jackie complained that he had never encountered a more stubborn, bad-tempered, work-shy beast and he could not have been more different from his namesake.

Chrissie crossed the yard carrying the two mugs of tea and handed one to Jackie. Boxer snorted at her arrival and looked sideways at her, showing the whites of his eyes.

Chrissie laughed. ‘He looks demonic sometimes.’

Jackie patted the horse’s flanks and took the tea.

‘He’s alright really, aren’t you, fella?’ Jackie saw the best in everybody, man and beast.

Boxer snorted again and pawed at the ground with his front hoof.

‘Thanks for the tea.’ He took a sip and then rested the mug on the fence. ‘I’ve been thinking, how about we drive into town tonight and have a meal?’

‘It’s a bit extravagant, isn’t it?’

‘I thought it would be nice, you know, give you a break. It would be a chance for you to dress up for once, let your hair down, have some fun. It’s been ages since we’ve done that.’

Poor Jackie, he never stopped thinking of her welfare and she sometimes thought his kindness and generosity were more than she deserved. There was a part of her that wished she could love him in the way that he obviously loved her, but she had had her heart broken irreparably once before and she was not going to go down that road again.

He took another sip of tea as he waited for her answer.

‘Alright, then,’ she said brightly. ‘Let’s do it. To hell with the expense.’

Jackie’s face cracked into a broad smile as he winked at her. ‘Good girl.’

Chrissie smiled at his enthusiasm and squeezed his arm. The years had been rather kind to him considering the hard work he had endured. He had aged in a rugged, craggy way that only came with being exposed to the elements in all weathers. His red hair was much lighter now, more strawberry blond in fact, but peppered through with the inevitable grey. He had remained in largely good health, the only evidence of the advancing years being apparent when he stood up from a crouching position, a manoeuvre he could not perform without groaning and clutching his back.

Once all the animals were fed, watered and safely secured for the night, Chrissie and Jackie climbed into their battered old van and headed into town. As they made their way down the deeply-rutted farm track, the van rocked violently from side to side, which always made Chrissie giggle. Once out on the lane, the ride was smoother and Chrissie was able to let go of the dashboard and relax a little.

The lane was only single-track but fortunately they rarely met anything coming the other way. As they rounded a bend therefore it was a complete surprise to see two cyclists heading straight for them. Jackie slammed on the brakes and the van skidded into the hedge. Chrissie put her hands over her ears as the hawthorn scraped along the window like nails down a blackboard.

‘Christ Almighty!’ exclaimed Jackie, who never swore. ‘I wasn’t expecting that.’

The two cyclists, a young couple in their thirties, held up their hands by way of apology as they dismounted their bikes and pushed them past the van.

The man was especially apologetic. ‘Sorry, sir. We shouldn’t have been riding two abreast.’

Jackie nodded as he put the car into first gear and continued on his way.

‘That was unusual,’ mused Chrissie. ‘I wonder where they’re going.’

‘It was a bit odd,’ agreed Jackie. ‘He definitely wasn’t from round here though. In fact, he sounded American.’

Chapter 38

After negotiating the rather treacherous, uneven farm track, William and Tina eventually arrived at Briar Farm. The journey had taken much longer than expected. They had come as far as they could by bus and then cycled the rest of the way. The bus driver had taken some persuading to allow them to put the bikes on his bus, but had eventually relented. Although it was still early in the evening, they were much later than they had anticipated. They propped the bikes up against the fence and entered the yard. The sun was low in the sky and it cast a golden light over the farm buildings; there was still plenty of heat in it. Other than a few hens scratching round in the yard, the place was eerily deserted. William put his hands on his hips and surveyed the tiny cottage.

‘It doesn’t look as though anybody’s home.’ He ran his fingers through his hair as he beckoned to Tina to come to the front door of the cottage. ‘We’d better make sure.’

They both stood in front of the heavy door, hardly daring to breathe as William tentatively rapped on the wood. His heart was hammering in his chest and his mouth was suddenly bone dry. He had waited a lifetime for this moment. The door was so thick that his knuckles barely made a sound but, respectful as always, he waited a good few seconds before trying again.

‘I don’t think anyone’s in,’ declared Tina. ‘What shall we do now?’

William wandered over to the front window and cupped his hands over his eyes as he peered through into the tiny front room. ‘You’re right. There’s no-one here.’

‘What now then?’ repeated Tina.

‘I don’t know. We’ll just have to wait I guess. Let’s take a look around.’

They strolled over to the large barn at the far end of the farmyard and then stopped in their tracks as they heard a rustling sound coming from inside. William tapped on the door. ‘Hello, is there anyone in there?’

They both jumped back in alarm at the sound of two dogs barking manically, throwing themselves at the huge door. They sounded so ferocious that William grabbed Tina’s hand and they ran without a backward glance in the direction of the cottage.

‘Well, if there is anyone around, they sure know we’re here now!’ William’s heart was now fit to burst as he vaulted onto the stone wall that surrounded the little garden. He helped Tina up and they sat side by side, pondering what to do.

‘I guess we’ll just have to wait,’ concluded William. ‘They can’t be out all night. Not with all these animals to look after.’

They could hear what they assumed to be pigs snuffling and grunting in another low barn and there was a rather bad-tempered looking horse in a nearby paddock.

Tina squinted at the slowly setting sun. ‘At least it’s a pleasant evening. Let’s have a drink, shall we?’

She jumped off the wall and skipped over to the bikes. She pulled a tartan thermos flask and a grease-proof wrapped package from the basket on the front. She laid out a tea-towel on the wall between them and opened the package.

‘Oh, good old Mrs Flanagan. Look, ginger cake!’

William looked at the dark, moist slab of cake.

‘I can’t. I’m too nervous to eat.’

Tina had cut two slices and was about to take a bite when she changed her mind. ‘You’re right, maybe we should wait.’

William laughed. ‘Don’t be silly, you go ahead. I’ll have mine a bit later.’

Tina adopted a serious tone. ‘Are you alright, William?’ It was most unlike him to refuse food.

She put her hand on his knee and he covered it with his own and smiled.

‘Are you kidding? After years of agonising and searching, not to mention a journey which has taken me across the Atlantic and across the Irish Sea and back again, I’m now finally going to meet my mother. Of course I’m alright. Nervous, yes, but excited too. I just know everything’s going to be just fine.’

Chrissie and Jackie had almost reached the outskirts of Tipperary Town, a journey which had taken almost an hour in their rickety old van. The quiet country lanes now gave way to larger roads and Jackie was able to speed up a little.

‘Almost there,’ he said, turning to Chrissie. ‘You hungry?’

She smiled at him affectionately. ‘Starving.’

‘I thought we could go to the Cross Keys.’

Chrissie’s eyes widened. ‘The Cross Keys? We can’t afford that.’

‘Let me worry about that.’ He reached over and patted her knee.

Chrissie reached up and touched his cheek gently. She knew she didn’t deserve him and hated herself for not being able to return his obvious devotion to her. There was no doubt about it, Billy had ensured that she would never trust another man again. It pained her to admit it, even to herself, but her father had been right about him all along.

She suddenly clamped her hand over her mouth. ‘Oh my God!’

Jackie instinctively pressed the brake. ‘What is it?’

‘The hens! I forgot to lock up the hens. How could I, after what happened?’

The month before a fox had stolen into the yard just before dusk and killed every last one of their little clutch of hens. He had only taken one but killed the rest just because he could. The bloody carnage had even shaken Jackie and he had gone into the barn and returned with a look of grim determination on his face and a rifle slung over his shoulder. The fox got away that time but they had both resolved to be more vigilant in the future. Jackie went to the market the next day and resolutely replaced all the slaughtered hens.

‘We’ll have to go back, Jackie, I’m so sorry.’

There wasn’t a more patient man who ever set foot upon this earth than Jackie Creevy. He looked at Chrissie kindly. ‘Never mind, we’ll do it again sometime.’

‘We will, Jackie, I promise.’ She glanced across at him and studied his profile. He was clean-shaven and smelled of lemon soap. He was wearing a crisp, white shirt that hardly ever saw the light of day and beige trousers that would normally be impractical on a day to day basis. ‘I’m really sorry, Jackie.’

‘Stop apologising. I know you would never forgive yourself if something happened to those hens.’

She bit her lip and gazed out of the window as Jackie executed a three-point in the middle of the road.

‘Don’t worry, we should be home before dusk.’ He looked across at her and smiled fondly. ‘I’m sure there won’t be any shocks waiting for us when we get home.’

Chapter 39

The sun had dropped behind the mountains by the time Chrissie and Jackie arrived back at the farm but it wasn’t quite dusk and Chrissie’s heart was in her mouth as she climbed out of the van and looked around frantically for their little family of chickens. She found them over by the large barn, scratching away without a care in the world. She rounded them up and ushered them into their coop. Then she let the dogs out for their last run and they immediately ran round her feet in circles. She refilled their water bowls and then went to check on Boxer’s trough. It was only then that she noticed Jackie was over by the house talking to a couple. She wondered who on earth they could be. They never received casual visitors. She was still carrying a metal pail as she made her way, slowly at first but then a little more quickly, towards the group. Jackie heard her coming and started to come towards her. He held out his hand. ‘Chrissie…’

But Chrissie did not hear him and she felt her head begin to swim. She stopped a few feet short of the little group and they all stared at her. She felt as though her head was full of cotton wool and her eyes struggled to focus through her tears. She opened her mouth to say something, but her voice was drowned out by the sudden crash of the metal pail as she let it fall to the floor.

She took another step forward and covered her mouth with her hands. Then she tentatively reached out to the young man who was gazing at her so closely and the years just melted away.

‘Billy? Oh my God, Billy. I always knew you would come back.’

She ran to him and buried her head in his chest as her tears began to flow. Slowly he placed his arms around her and squeezed her gently. She pushed back a little and stared into his face. She thought how handsome he still looked, how the years had been kind to him, and as she cupped his face in her hands she searched for the scar above his left eyebrow. There was no scar and the jolt she felt was like an electric shock. Of course this wasn’t Billy. How could she have been so stupid?

Jackie placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her round. ‘This isn’t Billy,’ he said gently.