Chapter 43
We gathered in the large drawing room at the front of the house, where we all perched on long couches, and we heard the story of Lolly DeCourcey from the woman who loved her best.
‘Lolly was pregnant,’ said Mrs DeCourcey.
‘My beautiful girl was only nineteen and utterly devastated.’ Mrs DeCourcey looked away for a moment, her voice softening even further.
‘She didn’t tell me, but the shame of it was too much for her.
The poor girl. I wish she’d come to me. Every day, I wish she’d come to me. ’
There was silence in the room and then Mrs DeCourcey spoke again.
‘It was a terrible day. The kind of life sentence you wouldn’t wish on your mortal enemy.’ Her eyes met Granny Annie’s and then mine.
I cleared my throat. ‘We need you to tell your story to the committee, they need to be reminded who Lolly was. And we need her grave to be marked. But first is to retain her cup.’
‘Talk to the committee,’ said Granny Annie. ‘Would you come with us now?’
Eddie was nodding. ‘Matty Moran is a lone voice on the committee. You might be able to focus their minds.’
Mrs DeCourcey turned to her nurse. ‘My hat, please. And my shawl.’ She glanced back at Mary. ‘It’s one of your mother’s,’ she said. ‘I still have it and it’s still perfect.’
Mary glowed. ‘I’m so glad.’
Henry caught my eye and nodded encouragingly, just as our band set off again, this time our number having increased by two – Mrs DeCourcey being pushed by her nurse.
We marched through the village and down to the harbour, where faces turned towards us, watching us being led by an aged woman in a wheelchair, her face proud, her eyes narrowed in determination.
‘Is that Antoinette DeCourcey?’ I heard someone say. ‘I thought she had died years ago.’
Slowly, every face had turned to watch us, and there in front of the marquee with the fluttering bunting was someone who looked like a lord mayor, a gold chain around his neck, and a row of men in badly cut and ill-fitting suits of various shades of brown.
And there was Matty, his jaw set, quite as determined as Mrs DeCourcey.
‘That’s the regatta committee,’ said Henry to me.
The two older Richmonds had stopped talking and were also staring at us.
People parted as we drew closer to the stage, the music which had been playing stopped, and there was silence. Ellie had run over and joined us, standing at the back of our gang.
The lord mayor stood in front of us. ‘Ah, Mrs DeCourcey,’ he said, as beads of sweat glistened on his forehead. ‘What an honour to see you.’ His teeth were yellow when he smiled. ‘What a pleasant surprise. It’s been a while since you’ve graced the regatta.’
‘Why are you considering dropping the Lolly DeCourcey Cup? And why are you planning on honouring Oliver Richmond?’ She turned to face him, the ire and fire in this woman in her nineties utterly undiminished.
Oliver Richmond adjusted the collar on his polo shirt. His son’s smile was fading to a sneer.
‘My daughter died here at the regatta fifty years ago. And you now think she is no longer worth remembering?’
‘We understand your feelings,’ said the mayor, ‘but times change and we modernise and all that.’
‘Tell me what is so modern about the Oliver Richmond Cup?’
William Richmond stepped forward, his face a similar colour to his cerise top. ‘Mrs DeCourcey, well, isn’t this an honour?’
‘An honour, why?’
And then, behind him, Oliver made a move, his mouth pursed arrogantly.
‘I’ll handle it, Dad,’ said William, keeping his eyes on the battalion of septuagenarians and the one nonagenarian who were glaring at him.
‘No, you won’t,’ said his father, elbowing him as he shuffled past him.
‘I’ll deal with her.’ He turned slowly to face Mrs DeCourcey.
He looked like he detested her. ‘Are you complaining about my little honour, one the community feels determined to give me after the years of employment I have given the people of Sandycove?’
‘You ended my business, Oliver Richmond,’ said Mrs DeCourcey.
‘You and your father. You wanted us gone. You wanted no one to hear of your shame. And mine.’ She closed her eyes for a moment.
‘I’ve lived with this for fifty years. My own daughter, my beautiful Louisa, so alone and she didn’t come to me, she didn’t talk to me. Oh, it’s been agony.’
Granny Annie put her hand on her arm. ‘The same for me. I’ve been wracked with it, thinking of her all alone, that she didn’t ask for my help.’
The two women looked at each other, tears in their eyes.
Oliver Richmond was staring at Granny Annie. ‘Annie?’
‘Oliver.’ She spoke coldly, giving him the kind of look which had regularly stopped me and Johnny in our tracks years ago. ‘I should have come back years ago, but little did I imagine the Richmonds would still be disregarding the lives of others.’
‘Dad.’ It was Charlie. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Go away,’ hissed William. ‘We’re dealing with this.’
‘Dad,’ wheedled Charlie. ‘Tell me.’
‘For feck’s sake, Charlie. Go. Away.’
Charlie stepped back.
‘Look, Mrs DeCourcey, what exactly do you want?’ William spoke rudely to her, like an offhand schoolboy, not the middle-aged man he was.
‘What’s your problem exactly? All I want to do is honour my father, my family, and if anyone had a problem with it, then they should have spoken up sooner.
Where were you when the committee were debating this?
The majority of them have voted to change the name to that of my father.
A man who has worked all his life for this community.
My great-grandfather started the laundry, long before you married into the village.
’ He looked at her. ‘You’re a blow-in. We’re born, bred for generations in Sandycove.
And you’re telling me that it’s not time to rename the cup?
We own the biggest boatyard in the marina.
Half those which competed today were serviced by Richmond Boats. ’
‘Which you stole!’ It was from a voice in the crowd and everyone turned to look.
There was a man with a red face and a shock of white hair.
‘We were trying to buy it. We had a consortium, me and the other fellas. And the night before we were ready to sign, you got wind of it and offered more money than we could eke together. And you know it!’ He jabbed a finger in Oliver’s direction, stabbing the air.
‘It was business,’ said Oliver. ‘That’s how it works.’
‘And you closed down the knitting circle,’ I called out.
‘It was you who put pressure on the council to close us down. We had something really special.’ I tried to do justice to Finnuala’s speech.
‘It was somewhere to gather, a business which united, rather than destroyed.’ I looked across at Mary, who nodded back.
‘And it was a throwback to one of the village’s greatest enterprises, the one set up by Antoinette DeCourcey all those years ago.
You closed it down as well, just after Lolly died. ’
Mrs DeCourcey had turned her head slightly and was giving me a side-eye as though she was a little alarmed I knew so much about her.
‘Yes, you did!’ shouted Eddie, and there were other voices of support, including from Johnny.
‘Hell yes!’ he called. ‘You Richmonds ride roughshod over everyone!’ He looked at me, one eyebrow slightly cocked. He was enjoying himself.
Now Granny Annie spoke. ‘The worst was how you, Oliver, treated Lolly. You professed your love to her, promised her the sun, the moon and the fecking stars, told her how desperate you were to marry her and then, as soon as she was pregnant, dropped her like a hot snot.’
Johnny looked at me. We’d never heard Granny Annie talk like this. ‘Hell yes!’ he called again.
‘That never happened,’ said Oliver, glancing at his son, William. ‘My word against hers, and anyway I didn’t know she was pregnant. It wasn’t my fault that she was…’ He paused, trying to think of an acceptable term. ‘Mentally unwell.’
‘She wasn’t mentally unwell,’ said Granny Annie. ‘She was scared and frightened. She was betrayed, let down, and panicked. I know because I talked to her. It was me who thought sailing in the regatta was a good idea, hoping to get her back to her old self. We sailed together in my boat…’
‘Your red-sailed boat,’ said Eddie, touching Granny Annie gently on the arm. She turned and slipped her hand into his.
‘Yes, my red-sailed boat,’ she said, tears in her eyes. ‘She thought she’d lost Oliver, she thought she’d lost everything.’
‘She never had him,’ said William. ‘Stop with this talk now, whoever you are.’
Granny Annie rose to her full height, which wasn’t tall exactly, but she could do imposing when she wanted to.
‘I’m Annie O’Sullivan, Lolly DeCourcey’s best friend,’ she said.
‘We were all friends once upon a time. Oliver and Lolly, me and Eddie, Mary and Betty. Finnuala and Sheila. Matty, Diana. Remember? I know you do, Oliver, I can see it in your eyes. I know you still think about Lolly and what happened and how she did what she did because of you. And I don’t believe you really want to erase it all?
Or perhaps your shame has got the better of you, hanging over you, dogging you all these years. Am I right?’
Oliver coloured. As did William. But Oliver was first to rouse himself.
‘Why should I have done something I did not want to do? Why?’ He banged his stick on the floor for emphasis.
‘I mean, it would have ruined my life. I was only nineteen. She wanted to tie me down. Explain to me, how that was fair?’ He sounded mean and petulant, a man my grandmother’s age, all that wisdom and experience accrued from years on this earth, and yet nothing to show for it.
‘And if she wasn’t unwell… mentally… then what happened, as you put it, wouldn’t have happened.
Thousands of girls were in that situation… ’
There was a collective intake of air, as shock reverberated through the crowd. The men in the brown suits were listening.
‘Will someone tell me what the hell is going on?’ said Charlie.
‘Not. NOW.’ William bared his teeth at Charlie.
The mayor stepped forward. ‘Gentlemen, please. The committee will have a discussion…’
‘Make it quick,’ said Mrs DeCourcey.
‘We will. We will.’ He smiled again. ‘It’s just that time is of the essence and we need to start the race now and we will make our announcement after it…
’ He left the stage and Oliver and William tried to follow, but the men in the brown suits turned their backs and pulled the flap of the marquee, leaving them outside.
Father and son turned to grandson. ‘Get your arse into that boat and win the bloody thing, will you?’ William snarled at Charlie.
Charlie scuttled off, catching my eye as he went past.
‘Good luck,’ I said.
He tossed his head. ‘I won’t need it,’ he said. ‘Fleetfish is the finest boat out there. I’m going to win the cup.’
Lucy pulled on my sleeve, pulling me away. ‘We have to get ready for our sail as well.’
Lucy and I headed to the marina, where everyone was gathering, all the little boats were in the water, being bailed out and ropes coiled and tidied away under seats.
One man, wearing a pair of multicoloured leggings and a tiny ponytail sprouting from the back of his head, was limbering up, stretching from side to side as though he was a giant frog.
‘That’s Marcus Mulcahy,’ said Lucy. ‘The only person who is likely to beat Henry. He takes it all very seriously. But he’s good. Excellent, really.’
Two women were in a small boat, both in matching red tracksuits.
‘The two Sarahs,’ said Lucy. ‘Best friends since primary school. Don’t do anything without each other. They’re our biggest competition.’
Another woman had tied a scarf around her head and was pushing out from the jetty.
‘That’s Monica Leahy,’ said Lucy. ‘She’s very good. She would have been my biggest rival if I was still in that class.’
There was a shout. ‘Watch it!’ Monica shouted as another boat veered too close. ‘SEA HOG!’
‘Keep your scarf on, Rambo!’ It was Charlie Richmond. ‘Chillax!’
‘I can’t believe he’s giving it another go,’ said Lucy. ‘I mean, he can’t actually sail. His boat is nice though. I’ll give him that.’
Even to my untrained eye, it was very stylish. Black and sleek, like something a Russian oligarch might choose.
Lucy and I stepped into Maeve. ‘So tell me,’ I said, ‘what do we need to do?’
‘Right, we get out of the harbour and then sail towards Sandycove around the left of the island, through the sound and then there’s a finish line.
There are a few categories – men’s solo, women’s solo, and then women’s double sculls and men’s.
There are junior categories, older categories which Uncle Eddie is taking part in.
And then the winner of the overall best sailor receives the cup. ’
I looked over at Charlie and again felt a little sorry for him, someone who was trying so hard to be something he just wasn’t – a sailor.
But he should also stop trying to be the perfect son, because there was no pleasing his father.
And that was something we all had to learn.
When I returned to Boston, I was determined to have an actual life, a bit of fun wouldn’t go amiss.
And I was definitely going to stop going to those dawn exercise classes.
The thought of an extra hour or two in bed was greatly cheering.
And butter. I would seek out Irish butter and jam.
It wouldn’t be the same, but what else could I do?
Hopefully it would be enough of Sandycove to keep me going.