Betty
‘AH GIRL, WHAT KIND ARE they, arriving in a donkey and trap?’
Ciara runs the Hoky over the carpet, not looking up as she speaks to me. Since her guests arrived, she has been waiting for them to leave so that we could dissect them. To Ciara Moore, the O’Learys are nothing but a bit of fresh meat. Once she gets the measure of them, her interest will dry up.
‘It was a pony, not a donkey.’
I feel I need to stand up for them. I can’t say why.
The majority of Ballycrea has been subject to Ciara’s opinions, it’s harmless really.
She helps the housekeeper at the local convent most afternoons, making tea and sandwiches for the nuns.
Her way of making up for all of her hissing gossip, I suppose.
‘Small difference, what year are they living in? Very strange people, I think. I’m staying away.’
Of course, she isn’t going to stay away from the O’Learys. Nobody is. Nobody could, in a town of this size. When she realises I’m not going to indulge her, Ciara changes tack.
‘You’re very good to stay and help with the cleanup.’
From the moment I walked in the door this evening, we both knew that I would be staying late to clean up with her.
When the crowd started to thin, Bill and John stepped outside.
I suppose they think they’re doing us a favour by keeping out of the way.
At my house it would be the very same, with Ciara staying back to help, and the two lads stood outside.
‘He wasn’t bad looking, was he? The oldest lad, Tom.’
She smiles, watching me from the corner of her eye. As though her husband isn’t only a wall away from her.
‘I thought you were staying away?’
Tom wasn’t bad looking, but they’re all good-looking when compared to John Moore.
‘That child was only gorgeous. She was weak for the pups, Ciara.’
I say, carrying the chairs back over to the kitchen table. It’s hard to put an age on the little girl. It’s hard to put an age on any of them, really, they all look a little bit older than they say they are.
‘Well, it’s the first time I was grateful for any of those pups. Otherwise what would the poor girl have done all evening? What were they thinking, bringing her out so late?’
The youngest of Ciara’s children is seventeen now, and heading for Bessborough in September.
I suppose she has long forgotten the years when she would walk through the square with three of four children hanging off her.
I suppose she feels fit to judge the O’Learys, now her own children are finished with her.
Having never had a child myself, I feel it isn’t my place to speak.
‘They’re probably up to ninety with moving house and didn’t think. Or maybe she’s too young to be left on her own. Tom is a nice lad, alright.’
‘He was tense though, on edge like.’
‘If you’ve nothing nice to say, Ciara, then say nothing at all.’
I don’t know where I picked up this way of talking like a teacher. Like a mother. She puts the Hoky away and folds her arms, sighing.
‘He was a nice fella. A bit too glad to talk about himself, but he was grand.’
I hear Bill outside, laughing with John. Smoking, no doubt. I’ve asked him a hundred times not to smoke.
‘I never had a chance to talk to the other two. Are they twins or what?’
‘They could be. Ah, but the child was beautiful, wasn’t she?’
Rather than answering me, she lets a silence sit between us. The sort of silence that anticipates somebody saying something awkward.
I wouldn’t say I’ve taken it too far. She takes a breath in, but lets it out without speaking.
She is building up to something. How embarrassing, I really hope I haven’t taken it too far talking about the child.
I hope we aren’t about to dredge up all my failings once more.
The cleanup is more or less done when she comes out with what she is holding in.
‘Do you think Bill would have a few hours’ work to give Tom? John says he sounds desperate enough.’
All that anticipation, for this? I suppose not everything is about children, having and not having them. I suppose Ciara doesn’t pick up on all these subtleties, the way I would have expected her to by now. Or perhaps she does, and knows better than to mention them.
‘Well, he could probably give him a few hours alright, but not enough work to support the family. I wouldn’t want to insult him.’
‘Sure three of them are adults, can’t they all get a bit of work?’
How easily we move on from the little girl. Although a part of me can’t move on from her. A child without a mother, such a shame.
‘What did you make of your one, Anna?’
Ciara asks me.
‘Era, she seems harmless enough.’