Chapter 33 #2
‘The last one, to give me Dutch courage to face your father. Thinking of it, I always needed Dutch courage to face your father,’ she smiled weakly.
‘What time is the funeral?’
‘Two o’clock, but they’re coming to take him away at nine in the morning. There’s a mass at eleven just for the family. Father Moynihan wanted to take him this evening to have him lie in overnight, but I thought you might like to say a private goodbye.’
Sorcha grimaced then drained her glass. ‘Come on, Mammy, let’s go and get it over with.’
‘Yes, I suppose we’d better.’
The two of them stood up. Sorcha led the way out of the kitchen and across the landing to the closed dining-room door. She swallowed hard, then turned the handle and opened the door.
The coffin was lying on the highly polished dining-room table. Sorcha blessed herself, as did her mother. Then she reached for her mother’s hand and, together, they shuffled forward and peered inside the coffin.
Apart from the fact that he’d lost a considerable amount of his hair in the past five years, her father looked exactly the same. Clearly, he’d worn better than his wife. In death, his lips were tinged with grey and his skin looked like alabaster.
‘Shall I leave you for a few minutes?’
‘No, stay, Mammy, please.’ Sorcha gripped Mary’s hand, finding her father’s presence in death as intimidating as it had been in life. Both women stared at the body in silence.
‘Done a grand job, though, hasn’t he?’
‘Who?’
‘John the undertaker,’ Mary whispered, as though she might disturb Seamus from his eternal sleep if she ever raised her voice.
‘Yes.’
‘And you think the suit was right?’
‘Perfect.’
‘Well now, do you want to stay any longer?’
Sorcha shook her head and they both filed out of the dining room.
‘There, you’ve seen him and I don’t think we need to bother again.’ The relief on Mary’s face was evident as they made their way back to the kitchen. ‘Can I get you anything to eat, Sorcha? You must be hungry from your journey?’
‘No thanks, Mammy. I’m past eating.’
‘Well, what about a big Irish breakfast tomorrow morning?’
‘That would be lovely, but we might not have time.’
‘Ah, ’twill take me no time at all. Now, would you like a bath? I’ve heard it’s fierce filthy up in those aeroplanes.’
‘No,’ Sorcha smiled, ‘but I’d love a cup of tea.’
Mary crossed to the range and stood the large stainless-steel kettle on a hotplate. The visit to the dining room seemed to have sobered her up somewhat.
‘It’s a shame Con wasn’t able to make it.’
‘Yes. Unfortunately he’s off to the States next week. The band are giving a huge concert in New York and they’re rehearsing at the moment.’
‘How famous he’s become, Sorcha! Who’d have thought it? And him living like a knacker in a hut on the beach. Those I told will be disappointed he’s not with you.’
‘Really?’ Sorcha watched her mother pour the boiling water into the blue enamel teapot, still doing sterling service after all these years. ‘I would have thought Con was the last person people around here wanted to see. They couldn’t wait to rid the town of him.’
‘But now everyone is his best friend.’ Mary stirred the teapot. ‘Last year we had a journalist asking questions about Con around the town. You’d not believe the number of people who swore they were like a brother to him and the amount of women who had once been his sweetheart. He came here too.’
‘Did he? And what did you tell him?’
‘I didn’t get a chance. Your daddy slammed the door in his face.’
It was one of the only things Seamus had ever done for which his daughter was grateful.
‘There you go, a nice hot drop.’ Mary put the cup down in front of her.
‘Thanks.’ Sorcha sipped the tea. ‘Ah, there’s no one in the world that can make a cup of tea like you, Mammy.’
‘Thank you, I’m sure.’ Mary smiled and sat down at the table. ‘Sorcha, there are so many things I want to ask you about the last few years. It’s hard to know where to start.’
‘I know.’
‘Maybe after tomorrow we can sit down and catch up properly. Or are you rushing back?’
‘I . . . I haven’t thought about it yet, Mammy. Let’s take one day at a time, shall we?’
‘Of course.’
Sorcha stifled a yawn.
‘You poor thing. You’re exhausted and here’s me chattering away like an old fishwife.
Let’s get you to your bed. You’ll need your sleep before tomorrow.
You’ll be on parade, Sorcha, there’s no doubting that.
I reckon it’ll be one of the best-attended funerals ever in Ballymore, with all the folks rubber-necking to catch a glimpse of Seamus O’Donovan’s famous son-in-law. ’
‘Well, I’ll be sorry to disappoint them,’ Sorcha said bitterly.
‘I’m glad he’s not here. It’ll give us a chance to get to know each other properly again. Come on now, to bed with you. It’s almost midnight.’
Sorcha followed her mother up the stairs to her bedroom. She drew in her breath when she saw the way that it had lain undisturbed since the day she’d left it almost six years ago.
‘Everything’s as it was. I vacuumed and dusted every week, to keep it nice.’
Sorcha fingered the china animal collection on her dressing table. She’d treasured it as a child.
‘I’m amazed Daddy didn’t have the room fumigated and stripped,’ she laughed.
‘He was after suggesting we redecorated and got rid of your things, but I stood up to him on that one. This room was all I had of you and I wasn’t going to let it go.’
‘He really hated me, didn’t he?’ Sorcha sat down on the bed and clasped a teddy to her breast.
Mary looked to the floor and shook her head.
‘No, Sorcha. You’ve got it very wrong there.
He loved you so much. Worshipped you, in fact.
You took ten years to arrive, a gift from God.
When you fell in love with Con, he just couldn’t cope.
So, he did the only thing he could do and cut you out of his life altogether.
He had such grand plans for you, Sorcha.
’ Mary sighed. ‘It’s partly my fault. If I’d have given him more children like the rest of the women round here were able to give their husbands, then maybe the load on your shoulders would not have been so great.
Talking of which, I’m fairly surprised that you and Con haven’t a little one yet. ’
‘Ah, Mammy, it’s not for lack of wanting,’ sighed Sorcha.
‘It’ll happen, I’m sure. The trick is not to worry about it.
Now, have you your night things in here?
’ Mary lifted her suitcase onto the end of the bed and opened it.
Sorcha lolled on her mattress and watched as Mary busied herself hanging up her clothes and arranging the contents of her washbag on the dressing table.
‘There now, your things are sorted. I’ll leave you to get undressed.’ Mary hovered in the doorway, unwilling to leave.
Sorcha understood. She stood up, walked across to her mother and put her arms round her shoulders. ‘If you get lonely in the night, come and wake me.’
‘Oh, I’ll be fine, don’t worry your head about me.’
‘And, Mammy, it’s grand to be home.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘Goodnight, Sorcha.’
‘Night, Mammy.’
Sorcha sank into bed, every bone in her body aching for the peace and sleep.
But every time she began to doze off, she thought of the stiff, grey-lipped corpse dressed in its Sunday church suit lying on the dining-room table.
In the end she turned on the light, pulled down an old children’s book from her shelf and started to read.
After a few minutes, she became aware of the sound of sobbing.
She climbed out of bed and padded across to her mother’s room. As a child she’d been forbidden entry without knocking. Tonight, she opened the door and walked into the darkness.
‘Mammy? Mammy?’ Sorcha searched for the bed and climbed in under the sheets.
‘I’m sorry, Sorcha, really I am. I didn’t mean to disturb you. And you so tired.’
‘I couldn’t sleep either. Maybe we’ll both feel better when Daddy has gone out of the house.’
‘Yes, yes, I’m sure we will. Oh, Sorcha, I . . . I’m trying to be brave, but I can’t believe he’s gone. And you know the worst thing?’
‘What, Mammy?’
‘I don’t know whether I ever loved him. Sometimes I could swear I even hated him. But he was all I had. And in his way he was a good husband. He looked after me.’
Sorcha snuggled in closer. ‘Budge up and let me get comfortable. I’m staying here tonight.’ She rearranged herself on the pillows that had only two days ago supported Seamus’s head. Then she reached for her mother’s hand under the covers.
‘I missed you, Mammy, something fierce.’
‘You did?’ Mary sounded calmer.
‘Oh yes. Now, before the birds start their dawn chorus, let’s both of us try and get some sleep. Night, Mammy.’
‘Goodnight, sweetheart.’