The One I Was (15 page)

‘Yippee!’ Mum called out. A pang of envy filled me; Cathal hadn’t driven as fast when I was on the toboggan.

‘Careful,’ Smithy called out from the steps.

The sun came out and flooded the scene with white light that bounced off the snow, shining on Mum’s and Andrew’s smiling faces. This snow had achieved something quite unexpected: made us all happy together at last. I could still hear them laughing as they reached the end of the drive. Just as he had before, Cathal made them dismount while he turned the car. The return trip back towards the house was taken at speed. Andrew whooped. I moved towards them, ready to claim my turn. The toboggan was only yards away from the house now.

Its nose shot up. Andrew and Mum were flying through the white light, an untidy jumble of limbs and scarves, before they sprawled over the snow.

I ran to them. Andrew stood up, beaming. ‘That was the best bit.’ He rubbed snow out of his eyes. Mum sat up very slowly, holding her left wrist. Her face was twisted with pain. ‘I think I might have done something.’ She tried to straighten her leg and let out a yelp of pain.

18

‘Broken wrist. Badly sprained ankle. She can’t drive and she can barely walk, either.’ Smithy glared at Cathal. ‘I warned you about that drive.’

‘It wasn’t his fault,’ I said. ‘It was just an accident, Smithy.’ Cathal gave me a quick, appraising glance, mixing surprise with something else: relief, perhaps.

‘Just when she was starting to pull herself together.’ Smithy slammed a bowl of soup onto a tray. Mum was resting upstairs after the trip to accident and emergency, which had resulted in her left wrist being x-rayed and plastered. ‘How’s she going to manage?’

Cathal opened his arms, seeming to accept both blame and responsibility.

‘At least she didn’t break her neck,’ Smithy said.

Cathal had hardly spoken since he’d driven Mum back from casualty. I remembered how he’d looked as he helped her into the house, supporting most of her weight as she struggled over the snow on the crutches, her broken wrist strapped. His face had been illuminated by an emotion so strong it had been uncomfortable to look at him. He must feel so sorry for her, so worried. Perhaps he blamed himself. Lucky for Mum he was so tall and strong. When they came to the steps he’d scooped her up and carried her in his arms with one of his powerful yet graceful movements.

Later, as I was going to bed, I heard in him talking in Mum’s bedroom.

‘Clarrie, my darling.’ His voice was very deep and low. ‘Don’t worry about a thing. Leave it all to me.’

I couldn’t hear my mother’s reply, but I felt relief that Cathal was here to look after things.

And yet there was something in his tone, something I couldn’t define, that worried me. Didn’t he sound almost happy to be in charge? He came down again and I heard him in the dining room. Glass clinked. He must be pouring himself some of the brandy or whisky left in the crystal decanters from when Granny was still alive.

*

When I went to see her in the morning, Mum was propped up in bed. ‘Hello.’ Her eyes brightened as I approached.

‘Are you still hurting?’

‘They’ve given me painkillers.’ She yawned. ‘They make me a bit sleepy.’

I looked at the other tablets on the dressing table.

‘I’m running out,’ Mum said, following my gaze.

‘Ask Cathal to get you some more.’

Mum lowered her head towards the quilt.

‘What’s happening downstairs?’ she asked.

‘We’re going to do the future tense in Latin this morning. And then some history. Elizabeth I.’

‘He’s a good teacher,’ Mum said. ‘Perhaps his plan is a good one.’

I remembered. ‘Turning Fairfleet into a school?’

She nodded. ‘A tutorial college. One way or another I’m going to have to make some hard decisions soon.’

‘For the tax?’

‘Oh, I’ve paid that now. But it’s left me without much money.’ She smiled. ‘But I shouldn’t be bothering you with this, Rosie. Go and do your homework. And then perhaps it’s time to decorate this house for Christmas.’

Christmas! I had almost forgotten about that.

Cathal hadn’t. After lessons had finished he went down to the basement and returned with the cardboard box of decorations.

‘Your mother told me where to find them.’

‘I could have done that for you,’ Smithy said. He ignored her.

‘I’ll bring in the tree I bought yesterday.’

‘You’ve already got it?’ Normally Andrew and I went to help select the tree. But Cathal wasn’t to know this.

‘We’ll make it look beautiful. It’ll cheer up your mother.’

‘Glad you’re trying to make it up to her,’ Smithy said.

He stiffened. Poor Cathal. His feelings must have been hurt. But he didn’t look put out for long. He dragged the tree into the room. When it was standing straight in its metal bucket he took his time over choosing baubles from the cardboard box, laying them out on the hearth rug and examining each one, rejecting some because they were the wrong colour or shape. I climbed up onto the sofa arm in order to stick the fairy in her usual position on the top of the tree. Cathal shook his head.

‘Not that tatty old object. Let’s use this instead.’ From a paper bag he extracted a large silver star. ‘A lucky star. I bought it yesterday.’

Although I felt sad about putting the fairy back in the box with the other discarded ornaments, I had to admit that the star looked just right when it was in position. Perhaps it would brighten the new year.

Smithy came in to draw the curtains. ‘That little tree looks a bit lost there,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you move it next to the piano?’

‘The tree’s not little.’ Cathal spoke softly.

‘And where’s the fairy?’

‘The tree is just fine as it is.’ He banged the arm of the sofa. Smithy took a step back.

‘Someone’s tetchy today.’

For a second the anger stayed on Cathal’s face. But by the time Smithy had left the room he looked composed again. He tacked lengths of ribbon from the picture rail and showed me how to peg the Christmas cards on to them with special metal clips he’d bought in town.

‘And for God’s sake, put the hideous cards somewhere where we don’t have to look at them.’

‘Like this one?’ I showed him a card with shiny embossed red-and-gold candles.

He made a face. ‘Tie that horror to the very bottom of the ribbon over there.’ He pointed to a dark corner.

Smithy returned with another batch of cards. ‘Your mother opened these and gave them to me for hanging up.’ She watched me pin the candles card where Cathal had directed. ‘That card is from one of your grandmother’s old air auxiliary friends. She came to the funeral and she’s known your mother since she was a baby.’

I paused, card in hand.

‘We can’t all be top of the ribbon,’ Cathal said smoothly.

‘The bottom is where you put tradesmen’s cards and cards from distant acquaintances,’ Smithy retorted. ‘Family and old friends go on the mantelpiece.’

It was easy to roll my eyes at Cathal when Smithy walked out, but when I went up to see my mother later on I felt a pinprick of guilt. Smithy might be annoying, meddling and
old-fashioned, but she was part of Fairfleet, just like the old furniture and the pictures. Cathal sometimes encouraged me to laugh at her. That wasn’t right.

I went up to see Mum. She was out of bed, hobbling around the room. ‘So gloomy in here this afternoon. Light the candles on the dressing table, darling,’ she said. ‘I can’t do it with one hand.’

I took the box of matches from her and did what she asked. Immediately the room looked more Christmassy.

‘That’s better.’ Mum sat down on her bed with a grunt of discomfort. ‘Tell me what’s happening downstairs?’

I told her about the tree decorating and the spat about the card. Mum smiled, but the smile was only fleeting and replaced by a frown. ‘I need to get down there. Trouble’s brewing between those two.’

‘Can you manage the stairs?’

‘Cathal doesn’t want me to try. He says it’ll put too much strain on the ankle. He’ll carry me down later.’

I looked away from her.

‘Rose, you mustn’t think it’s like that between us.’ My mother took my hand. ‘Cathal and I … well, he’s just helping out until we’re back to normal.’

What was normal, I wondered. Life as it had been when Granny was still alive? That time was gone.

‘What about the tutorial college?’ I asked, to distract myself from thinking about my grandmother.

She looked down at my fingers. ‘I don’t know about the college. He’s keen, but I’m not sure. It’s quite a commitment to take on when you don’t really …’

‘Really what?’

She shrugged. ‘Know your business partner that well.’

Strange that she should say she didn’t feel she knew Cathal. He certainly seemed to know her. I’d seen him watching her, learning about her: how she liked her tea and coffee, books she liked, television and radio programmes she enjoyed. He studied her with those eyes of his that showed so little expression unless sudden anger flooded them.

Perhaps Mum was worried that she hadn’t been paying such close attention to him.

*

The postman came when I was alone in the kitchen, during the morning break from lessons.

‘Your drive’s like the Cresta Run.’ He handed me more Christmas cards. At the table I sorted them into piles for Mum and for Smithy, who received a couple each year. Andrew and I only had the one: from Dad. Camels in a desert.

‘Very nice and appropriate.’ Smithy came in and nodded approval. ‘That card must go on the fireplace. Cathal or no Cathal. Where is he, anyway?’

‘In the basement.’ I’d seen him go down there earlier on.

Smithy looked out of the window. ‘He must have slipped out through the hall without any of us noticing, then. Probably listening in to our private conversation.’ Her mouth pursed up. ‘Anyway, he’s outside now.’

The thought that Cathal had walked past the kitchen door without us seeing him made the back of my neck feel weird.

Hop, skip, thump came from the hall. I turned to see Mum, looking triumphant. ‘I’m trying to move around a bit more.’ She hobbled to the table and sat down, resting the old walking stick we’d found for her in the basement against the table. ‘It’s hard work for you and Cathal, Smithy.’

Smithy said nothing.

‘He must have found it hard yesterday,’ I piped up. ‘He had a drink. Just like Daddy when he had a bad day in the office.’

‘Cathal doesn’t drink,’ Mum said.

Smithy gave her a sharp look but said nothing.

‘He’s still planning to run his school from here, is he?’

‘I need to talk to him,’ Mum muttered.

‘Yes.’ Smithy folded the dishcloth over the taps. ‘I’m going to do some more upstairs. Then I’ll make the mincemeat.’

‘Oh leave the upstairs until after Christmas for goodness’ sake.’

‘Best to keep on top of things,’ she said, as she left the room. We heard her footsteps, very heavy-sounding for someone who wasn’t large, trudging upstairs.

‘Your grandmother would be worried that we’re exploiting Smithy.’ Mum sighed. ‘She needs more help. It’s hard work sorting out all the old furniture. She isn’t as young as she used to be.’

Talking of Granny reminded me of something. ‘Stay there,’ I told Mum, as though she were capable of running away. I dashed upstairs to find the newspaper cutting I’d taken from Cathal’s pocket and hidden under my mattress. ‘He had this in his jacket.’ The words came out in a gasp. ‘He must have cut it out before he came here looking for work in the summer.’

Mum read it and shrugged. ‘Perhaps he just happened upon it and thought it was a good time to come to the house and ask if we had jobs for him. There’s so much to sort out when someone dies.’

But something was still playing on my memory. I couldn’t pull it out, not now. It would come to me, later.

Mum looked at the kitchen clock. ‘Shouldn’t you be starting lessons about now?’ Andrew came into the kitchen. Approval flashed over his face as he saw Mum back downstairs again. ‘Cathal must be running late.’ He sounded scornful.

‘Why don’t you help Smithy with the furniture while you wait?’ Mum glanced down at the cutting in her hand as though she wanted to read it again.

He went up to the top floor. We heard his voice and Smithy’s from upstairs. They were carrying something heavy; every now and then Smithy would caution Andrew to take care. Something bumped on the landing. A series of further thumps came from the staircase down to the ground floor.

‘Let’s stop for a moment,’ Smithy said, panting.

The front door closed. Cathal walked into the downstairs hall.

‘Oh good, you can give us a hand,’ Smithy called, hearing his footsteps.

He hesitated. ‘I was just coming in to get water for the car windscreen washer.’

‘The car will have to wait. We’ll need you to help us carry this bookcase over the wooden floor. It’ll scratch it if it catches.’

‘Could you give me just a minute?’

‘Oh don’t mind us,’ she hissed. ‘Doing all the heavy work. Thought you were due back in the classroom, anyway?’

‘Smithy …’ Mum put the cutting into her pocket and hobbled out of the kitchen now.

‘I’ll help.’ I ran up to them.

‘Come on,’ said Andrew. ‘Let’s just get it done.’

It took some minutes to manoeuvre the bookcase over the wooden floor and down the stone steps to the storeroom in the basement where old furniture was stored.

‘You’ve done enough.’ Smithy wiped her hands on her apron. ‘Go up and get five minutes’ fresh air before your lessons. I’ll just cover this up with a dustsheet.’

Andrew and I were almost out of the front door when we heard Smithy scream. Looking at one another in horror we ran back inside. She came upstairs, her face putty-coloured.

‘In the pantry down there.’ She pointed to the basement steps.

‘What is?’

She shook her head. ‘In a vase by the sink.’

We went downstairs again. On the stone draining board in the pantry stood an old chipped Wedgwood vase that nobody liked, but nobody could bring themselves to throw out. Empty.

‘There’s nothing in the vase,’ Andrew called to her.

‘It was full of peacock feathers.’ We heard her tramp down the steps.