Betty
BILL HAS SPENT THE DAY nursing his hangover. I wanted to leave Tom’s party after the first hour, but he would have stayed on all night. I suppose his relationship to the O’Learys is very different from mine.
An hour ago, he finally roused himself up and out to get a few messages in town. It started to rain ten minutes after he left. Good enough for him.
A small knocking on the door. And it’s going to be Anna O’Leary.
I know it is. Suddenly I realise I don’t know how far away Bill is.
I’m all on my own. She’s going to invite herself in and sit in my kitchen for hours, taunting me.
I feel a little panic pricking the back of my neck as I open the door.
I’m not annoyed at Bill anymore. I want him to come home.
‘Peggy!’
Here she is. All alone. Her little coat darkened by the rain. Not at all who I was expecting. The worst turns into the best.
‘Are you by yourself?’
Of course, I don’t want her wandering around on her own in the rain, but it would be better than Anna following her down the hill.
She looks down at the ground, like she is embarrassed.
Like she suddenly regrets coming to my house.
I hurry her inside. When the heat of the fire meets her and she breathes in the cake baking, I see her shoulders drop.
It’s a horrible thing to see a child wound up so tightly.
‘Sit down there, pet. Show me your coat.’
Her feet don’t reach the floor when she sits in Bill’s big armchair by the fire.
Something about it drives nails into my heart.
Perhaps it’s seeing how small she really is.
I put a plate of brown bread alongside her.
A cup of tea. Butter, jam, sugar, milk. There is a pause before she adds three spoons of sugar to the tea. Alright, that’s reassuring.
‘How are you keeping, pet?’
She bites into the bread. It’s as though I haven’t spoken. She hasn’t said a word since arriving. Why is she here?
‘Do you want to give me a hand outside, Peggy? I’ve weeding to do. Or we could stay in here and have a little chat?’
Surely she will choose talking over weeding in the rain. Her hair is soaked, the ends dripping onto her cardigan. Who let her out like this? Taking the hairbrush from my bag, I stand behind her and start to work through her tangles. At last she speaks to me.
‘Could we stay inside and chat?’
Maybe it’s easier for her to talk when she can’t see me. Maybe I could finally get some truth out of her about her family. She starts to bite her nails, and I bat her hand away from her mouth.
‘How are things up at home? Everyone behaving themselves?’
I begin to braid her hair. I remember my mother teaching me how to do Dutch braids when I was a child. This afternoon, I will teach Peggy.
She sighs, looking at the radio, perhaps for a distraction. Dropping her wet hair, I give her what I think she wants, and turn it on. Some pop music plays: The Beatles, I think.
‘Oh, I just love this song!’
Although I’ve heard this song enough for one lifetime, I keep a happy lilt in my voice, hoping to lighten things up. But I feel her tensing again. Going to speak and then stopping herself, over and over.
‘Had you a nice time at the party, Peggy? I bet you never stayed up so late!’
It doesn’t work. Nothing seems to work. And I’m made to confront my ineptitude with her; I may be maternal, but I am not her mother.
I’m fine for playing, and teaching, and the nice times.
But when it comes to all her deep emotions, I fear I am wandering beyond my depth.
When her hair is braided, I move around to kneel before her. There are tears in her eyes.
‘What’s wrong, pet? Did something happen?’
And perhaps knowing that I will not relent, she answers me.
‘Do you know Teresa Doyle?’
She says, without looking at me. Ah, this.
‘I do. Her father has the pub in town. Her sister Mary is having a baby.’
The tears tremble, threatening to spill. I can almost hear her heart knocking in her chest. I wonder if she can hear mine.
‘She’s mad for Jack. I saw them together last night.’
I put my hand over hers. Of course, this would be hard for Peggy, when herself and Jack are a little double act.
‘Teresa is a lovely girl, Peggy. It must be nice for Jack to have somebody who likes him.’
I stop worrying about finding the right way to respond, because I don’t think that there is one. If I’m responding at all, I’m doing more for her than anyone up in the cottage.
‘It just all reminds me of Lillian.’
‘Do you miss her, pet? Is that what’s wrong?’
I don’t know why, but it surprises me when she starts to cry. She nods her head again.
‘Do you want to talk about her?’
Words are almost bulging from her mouth, but she doesn’t say anything. Like she wants to tell me about Lillian, but she won’t allow herself to. The rain picks up. A mile away from comfortable, I ask something that I know I shouldn’t.
‘Did something bad happen to Lillian?’
And I’m half afraid for her to answer. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. But Lillian died so young, and there’s obviously something on Peggy’s mind. There’s obviously something up. And I think this must be at the heart of it all. Unable to speak, Peggy nods. Something bad did happen.
‘Go on, pet, you can tell me if you want.’
A big breath shakes out from her. I almost want to stop her, but I need to know what happened to Lillian Kealey.
‘We were all mad for her.’
Peggy says, pulling back the crying. Am I cruel to make her talk about this?
‘I saw it happen from the bedroom. They all thought I was asleep. But I saw what happened.’
Slowly nodding, I stroke the back of her hand. Encouraging her to keep talking, keeping us both steady.
‘You can’t tell Jack and Tom and Anna that I said anything.’
Say it, child. What happened to that woman?
I hold my breath.
‘What happened, Peggy?’
Bill bursts through the door.
‘Only me, dear!’
He cheers, landing something down on the table.
‘Jesus, I’m not over the drink at all. Here, you won’t believe who Rob Keating claims to be doing a line with!’
As he comes into the front room and sees Peggy crying on the armchair, the volume goes from his voice. And suddenly, his face matches mine. This sort of worried, surprised look. Only he doesn’t know what he is supposed to be worried and surprised about. He puts on a happy voice.
‘Oh sorry, ladies, am I interrupting?’
He asks, but doesn’t leave us. Peggy sighs. She is exhausted. I go and take down the biscuit tin and put it in Peggy’s lap.
‘Go mad, girl, have as many biscuits as you want.’
I pull Bill into the kitchen, where we have a conversation of very fast whispers. I don’t want her to think I’m leaving her alone, but this needs to be sorted.
‘Ring Tom there, or Jack, and tell them Peggy is staying here tonight. Say the weather is to get worse, we don’t want her walking home. Don’t be asking me questions now.’
He takes the phone off the receiver right away.
‘She’s not ours to keep, Betty.’
Bill whispers, but I ignore him. She’s mine for the minute.
Clearly nobody is looking after this child properly.
I’ll have to tell him about Lillian. About my scarf in Anna’s handbag, and the way she speaks to me.
Maybe Bill will have the other half of the story. Maybe we can sort it out between us.
I go back to Peggy, lift her up and sit her in my lap and put my two arms around her. I put a custard cream into her hand. Even though her eyes are big and shining, she doesn’t cry. She smiles at me, backing away from the edge of a revelation. And not knowing what else to do, I smile back at her.