Chapter 2
‘There’s a band playing at the GAA hall Saturday week,’ Mairead informed the girls as they filed out of the hall after morning prayers.
Her three friends raised their eyebrows as they walked down the corridor towards their classroom.
‘I heard they’re meant to be fierce good,’ Mairead continued. ‘They’ve put up posters in the town. You’ll see after school.’
‘What sort of band?’ asked Katherine O’Mahoney as they entered the classroom. ‘And who’s in it?’
‘A proper band, with guitars and drums. Con Daly’s the lead singer.’
All four girls sat down at their desks and opened their satchels.
‘He’s a bad ’un,’ imparted Maureen McNamara gravely.
‘With his daddy having been a drunken eejit and his mammy dying when he was small, what chance did he have?’ asked Katherine. ‘Living in that godforsaken hut all alone on the beach. I’d say he needs to be pitied.’
‘You always did have a soft heart, Katherine O’Mahoney. My brother says Con has a grand voice, though. He heard him in a bar in Clonakilty a while back,’ Mairead concluded.
Sister Benedict’s heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor.
‘Well, I’m on for going,’ whispered Mairead. ‘Who’ll join me?’
There was no time for further discussion as Sister Benedict entered the classroom.
The four girls reconvened after school. On the walk down the hill into Ballymore village they discussed the situation.
‘All the St Joseph’s boys will be there. My brother Johnny.’ Mairead nodded in Katherine’s direction. She blushed. ‘Tommy Dalton.’ Mairead looked at Maureen who studied her feet. ‘And for you, Sorcha, any boy who takes your fancy.’
‘And how are we meant to be getting out of our houses on a Saturday night to watch a band?’ asked Sorcha.
‘Don’t worry your heads about that. I have it all worked out,’ Mairead added confidently.
‘Go on then,’ challenged Katherine.
Mairead looked smug. ‘Well, my mammy and daddy are going up to Milltown on Saturday morning to see my auntie. They won’t be back until Sunday lunchtime.
Johnny’s meant to be looking after me. So, you can tell your parents you’re all coming to stay the night.
They don’t need to know Mammy and Daddy are away.
As long as we’re all there for mass on Sunday morning, they’ll not be suspicious at all.
’ Her eyes shone with pride. ‘There now, what do you think?’
The three girls looked at each other.
‘And what if they found out where we’d been? Jesus, Mary and Joseph! I’d be crucified!’ said Maureen.
‘They won’t, though, will they? They’d never think that their sweet little daughters would be dancing the night away with boys!’ giggled Mairead.
Sorcha shook her head uncertainly as they came to her turning on the road. ‘I’m not sure, so, Mairead.’
‘Well, you think about it, Sorcha O’Donovan. Most of us are nearly seventeen. We’re not babies any more. So what if they do find out? Will they put us in Cork city jail and throw away the key? I doubt it!’
Sorcha blushed. ‘You’re right, Mairead. I’ll think about it. See you tomorrow.’
She waved and walked down the narrow winding street into the large Georgian McCurtain Square.
In the centre, enclosed within iron railings, was a formal garden with a small fountain that gurgled meekly.
The professional people of the town resided here, in terraced, four-storey houses that were the envy of many.
Sorcha crossed the square and approached her front door.
On the left-hand side was a shiny brass plate that read:
SEAMUS O’DONOVAN, SOLICITOR
Her father used the three large downstairs rooms for his practice. The family lived above on the next three floors. Sorcha turned the key and headed for the stairs.
‘I’m home, Mammy,’ she called, divesting herself of her hat, blazer, gloves and scarf. She walked down the corridor and opened the kitchen door. A wonderful smell of bacon filled her nostrils as she went to the scrubbed oak table and kissed her flour-covered mother.
‘Hello, darling. Did you have a good day? There’s a hot drop in the pot.’
‘Thank you. I did have a good day. Do you want a cup of tea?’
‘No, thank you. I need to finish this pie. Helen is coming for supper.’
Sorcha bristled. ‘Oh, Mammy, does she have to?’
‘Yes, you know she does. Poor thing, with no parents to love her. It’s the least we can do. And don’t be forgetting that she’s a distant cousin of your daddy’s, Sorcha.’
Helen McCarthy was in Sorcha’s class at the convent, even though she was almost eighteen. Her parents had died in a car accident when she was five, leaving their large house and fortune to their only daughter. Since their death, Helen had been taken care of by an elderly aunt.
Sorcha never mentioned Helen’s monthly visits to her schoolmates.
Helen’s mother had been English and a Protestant, uninvolved in the church community in the village.
The family had always kept themselves separate; as a small child Helen had gone to a private primary school in Bandon, only joining the convent at the age of twelve.
As she had a larger frame than most of her classmates, wore glasses, and was slower academically, she was an easy target for bullies.
Once a month, Helen came to the O’Donovans’ for supper. Seamus managed Helen’s trust and his practice took care of matters relating to the ten-bedroom mansion and two hundred acres which would come to Helen on her eighteenth birthday, as stipulated in her parents’ will.
Sorcha often confessed to Father Moynihan that she’d been cruel and thoughtless and would try to talk to Helen in the future, or join her for lunch in the refectory where she sat in a corner alone every day. But she never quite managed it.
‘Try and be friendly, Sorcha,’ begged her mother. ‘’Tis only a few hours, one evening a month. She is in your class, after all.’
‘Mammy, I’ll do my best, I swear.’
‘Like the good girl that you are. Off with you and finish your homework before Helen arrives.’
Supper was as difficult and uncomfortable as it always was. Helen sat there, focused on her food and little else.
‘So, Helen. Any thoughts on what you’re going to do when you leave school?’ asked Seamus in his friendliest voice.
‘I’m not sure,’ replied Helen, looking momentarily lost, before returning her attention to the plate.
‘Well, I’ll be wanting to have a talk with you very soon. It’ll be only a few months before the Lissnegooha estate is in your control.’
‘Yes,’ said Helen as she absentmindedly tore a piece of bread apart.
Pudding seemed interminable. When Mary stood up and began to clear away the dishes, Sorcha followed her.
‘I’ll help you.’
‘No, I’m grand by myself. You take Helen up to your room for a while.’
Sorcha gave her mother one of her special looks, then gritted her teeth and said, ‘Come on, Helen. Let’s go upstairs.’
Helen followed up the stairs behind Sorcha and took a seat on the edge of her bed. Sorcha pulled out her desk chair and sat on that.
She couldn’t think of a thing to say.
Helen’s hand began to tap nervously on her leg. She summoned her courage and spoke.
‘Are you going to hear the band at the GAA hall on Saturday night?’ she ventured.
‘How did you know about that?’
‘I’ve seen the flyposters in town and I heard you discussing it in the classroom this morning.’
Sorcha guiltily shook her head. ‘No, of course not.’
‘Oh,’ said Helen. She looked down at her hands and twiddled her thumbs.
Sorcha could see her nails were bitten to the quicks.
‘That Con Daly is in it.’ Helen reached into her pocket and brought out a crumpled flyposter, unfolding it carefully.
‘He’s . . . well, he’s very handsome, don’t you think?
’ Helen blushed to the roots of her unbrushed hair.
‘Yes, I suppose.’ Sorcha hadn’t really thought about it.
‘I talk to him sometimes, when I’m out riding on the beach. I can see his hut from my bedroom window. Wouldn’t it be grand to be like him, Sorcha? Living by yourself with no one telling you what to do.’
Sorcha watched Helen in amazement. It was more than she’d ever heard the girl say.
‘I think it would be lonely and cold in that hut. There’s not even a lavvy.’
‘People like Con and me, well, we get used to our own company. It comes from being different. We’re probably the same, in many ways.’
‘Except you’re going to be very rich with a big house and Con Daly has nothing except a shack he only borrows since his daddy died and they took away his house to pay the debts.’
Helen looked downcast. ‘Yes, I suppose.’ She folded the poster carefully and put it back in her pocket. Sorcha watched her visibly retreat into her shell. They sat in silence until Mary knocked on the door five minutes later to say Seamus was ready to give Helen a lift back home.
‘Bye then, Sorcha.’
‘Bye, Helen.’
She nodded and left the bedroom. Five minutes later, Sorcha went into the bathroom to begin her nightly ablutions.
Then she got into bed, pulled the covers over her and thought about the concert on Saturday week.
If she went, it would be the first time she’d ever told a lie to her parents.
Besides, what would she wear? Her mass dress?
Sorcha giggled at the thought of such a thing, turned over and closed her eyes.
She would sleep on it and see how she felt in the morning.
‘Mammy, Mairead has invited Katherine, Maureen and me to stay over at her house next Saturday night. Will it be all right if I go?’ Sorcha’s fingers were crossed behind her back.
Mary was busy scrubbing the kitchen floor. ‘I don’t see why you shouldn’t, if all your homework is done before you leave.’
‘It will be, I swear.’
‘Then you may tell Mairead that you’ll be there.’
‘Grand.’ Sorcha stood there, amazed it had been so easy.
Mary looked up at her. ‘Is there anything else you want, Sorcha? Would you like to help me scrub the floor?’
‘I . . . no. Thanks, Mammy.’
Sorcha skedaddled before she gave herself away.