‘OK, Mam,’ Cormac shouted from his bedroom in the new, deep voice he’d recently acquired. He was studying for yet more exams, but never seemed to mind.
‘Tara, Mam,’ Fion said tightly for fear she’d crack the mud pack, which felt like concrete and still had another five minutes to go.
The five minutes seemed to take for ever. Fion went downstairs and splashed the mud off in the kitchen. She went into the living room and examined her face in the mirror over the mantelpiece, and tried to decide if her skin looked softer, clearer, healthier, firmer, all the things it had promised on the packet. She wasn’t quite sure. Mam had said the mud pack was a waste of time and money because Fion already had beautiful skin.
She had nice hair, too, thick and brown. But it was a very
ordinary
brown. Perhaps if Mam used one of them Tonrinzes when she set it tomorrow morning, auburn, say, it would bring out the highlights. She wondered if Mam had auburn in stock. She’d ask the minute she came home. No, she wouldn’t. She’d go round now and check and, if necessary, call in the chemist’s first thing tomorrow and buy one.
There was no need for a coat, not even a cardy, on such a lovely May evening. The sun was sliding behind the roofs of the houses, a great, flaming ball, briefly
turning the grey slates into sheets of gleaming gold. Fion hummed to herself as she hurried along the street and through the entry into Opal Street. She opened the door of the salon, expecting to find her mother fiddling with a dryer – she hadn’t noticed one was giving trouble. She was surprised to find no sign of Mam, either in the salon or the kitchen. The back door was locked, so she wasn’t in the lavvy.
Perhaps she’d decided to call on Bernadette and Grandad, or she might have gone round to Orla’s. Fion checked the box of Tonrinzes, found an auburn and was about to leave, when she realised she hadn’t brought a key to lock the door – and why had it been unlocked in the first place? Mam must have forgotten to lock it when she left. Never mind, Neil would do it when he came home. She assumed he was out as there wasn’t the faintest sound from the flat, no gramophone, no wireless.
She was about to leave a second time when she heard a woman laugh. The woman laughed again and Fion recognised Mam’s warm, rusty chuckle.
From upstairs? Fion frowned. There was nothing wrong with Mam being upstairs, but why had it been so quiet until she laughed? And there was something odd about the laugh, something
intimate
.
Fion went to the bottom of the stairs. For some reason she felt reluctant to call out, announce her presence. She crept up a few steps until her eyes were level with the landing floor and glanced through the banisters. Neil’s parlour, once a bedroom, was at the front. The boxroom was now the kitchen and the bedroom overlooked the backyard.
The doors to the parlour and kitchen were wide open, the one to the bedroom firmly closed and it was from behind this door that Fion heard her mother laugh again. Then Neil said something in a tone of voice she’d never
heard him use before, soft and tender, throbbing with passion.
Mam was in bed with Neil Greene!
She could never remember leaving the salon, going home, but she must have done, because she was lying on the bed again – not crying, because she would never cry again, just staring at the ceiling, cold and shivering, numb with shock. Neil was in love with Mam, not her. He’d probably invited her to the dance because he felt sorry for her. It might even have been Mam’s idea, to sort of make up for being demoted, for no longer being manageress of Lacey’s in Marsh Lane.
‘My life is a failure,’ Fion said aloud.
‘Did you just say something, sis?’ Cormac shouted.
‘No,’ she shouted back.
‘A complete failure.’ She was whispering now, though there was no need to whisper, because everyone knew. Doreen Morrison and Chrissie O’Connell had refused to work with her, the customers hated her, her family felt sorry for her. ‘I’m useless. There’s something wrong with me.’
Fion felt overwhelmed by a black cloud of hopelessness and despair. When Mam came home, she shouted that she had a headache and had gone to bed early, and no, she didn’t want an aspirin, thanks.
‘I think you should start eating properly again as from tomorrer,’ her mother called. ‘I reckon you’re overdoing it.’
‘Yes, Mam.’
Maeve came home from her night out with Martin and Fion pretended to be asleep. She remembered she’d planned on having Maeve as a bridesmaid and wanted to curl up in embarrassment at even thinking such a thing. What a fool she’d been! And what was going to happen tomorrow? There was no way in the world she would go
to that dance with Neil, and what reason could she give for refusing? If only she hadn’t gone on about it so much to everyone she knew.
There was only one thing for it, Fion decided after a while, she’d just have to leave home.
When Fion woke up it was daylight, bright and sunny, though when she looked at her watch it was only six. The house was silent. She lay watching the sun filter through the curtains and asked herself if she still wanted to leave home.
She decided she did and that she would leave now, without telling anyone, before they got up, though she’d write a note. If she told Mam first, she’d only try to talk her out of it. Anyroad, she liked the idea of giving everyone a shock. Once she’d gone, they might appreciate her a bit more. She would come back in a year’s time having made her fortune. Fion visualised herself with 36-inch hips and wearing a dead smart costume – black and white check with a velvet collar. She would be nice to everyone, not a bit toffee-nosed.
Unfortunately, the family didn’t possess a suitcase. She managed to squeeze her underwear and a nightdress into the leatherette shopping bag that hung behind the kitchen door, and two frocks, a cardigan and some stockings into an Owen Owen’s carrier bag with a string handle. She’d just have to wear her coat, which was a pity, because the day looked as if it was going to be a scorcher. It took some time deciding which shoes to wear, because sandals would look silly with the coat and heavy shoes equally silly in hot weather. In the end she decided on the shoes and managed to squeeze a sandal into each of the bags.
What to say in the note? One of Cormac’s exercise books lay on the table. Only a few pages had been used.
She tore a page out of the middle, picked up Cormac’s fountain pen and sat staring at the blank paper. She wanted to write, ‘I’m going because I’m dead miserable and no one loves me,’ so they’d all feel guilty and sorry for the way she’d been treated. But it might be better to leave them full of admiration for her bravery and spirit of adventure. ‘I’m off to see the world,’ she could put. ‘Don’t know when I’ll be back.’
Upstairs, the springs creaked on the double bed and Fion wasn’t sure what got into her, because all she wrote on the paper was, ‘I know about you and Neil. Tara for ever, Fion.’ She folded it up and tucked it behind a statue on the mantelpiece, because if Mam found it straight away she’d only come chasing after her. Flinging her handbag over her shoulder, she picked up the bags and left by the back way, which was quieter.
A few minutes later Fion had reached Marsh Lane, already having doubts and wishing she’d left the note in a more conspicuous place. She kept looking back, praying Mam would appear and persuade her to come home. If only she had a friend in whom she could confide, who would give her some encouragement, say she was doing the right thing. Or even talk her out of it, which would be even better. But there was no one.
Except Horace Flynn! He was the only person who didn’t make her feel stupid, who was always pleased to see her. It was very much out of her way, but she’d call on him and say tara.
Horace Flynn didn’t welcome the knock on his door at such an unholy hour. It was barely seven. If he hadn’t thought it might be the postman with a registered letter containing someone’s unpaid rent – it happened occasionally – he would have ignored the knock and stayed in bed.
Wrapping his roly-poly body in a plaid dressing gown, he went downstairs and found Fionnuala Lacey outside. Had it been anyone else in the world, he would have given them the sharp edge of his tongue, slammed the door in their face, but he’d always had a soft spot for Fionnuala, though even she wasn’t exactly welcome at such an early hour.
‘I’m running away from home,’ the girl said breathlessly. ‘I’ve come to say tara.’
The landlord was a lonely man, entirely friendless until he’d struck up a sort of relationship with this unsophisticated and rather naïve young woman. He felt hugely flattered that she’d come out of her way to say goodbye and stood aside to let her in. ‘I’m very sorry to hear it,’ he said, which was true. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘I’d love one. There wasn’t time at home. I had to leave before anyone got up, see.’
‘Is there any particular reason why you’re running away from home?’
Fion followed him down the hall into the nicely furnished living room. She couldn’t very well tell him about Mam and Neil. ‘I’m twenty-four,’ she said. ‘I thought it was about time. I’m going to have lots of adventures.’
‘I hope you do,’ said Horace Flynn, who’d left Ireland forty years before in search of adventure and ended up a landlord whom no one liked. He noticed Fion’s two inadequate bags. ‘Would you like a suitcase?’
‘If you’ve got one to spare. Call it borrowing. I’ll bring it back one day.’
‘Keep it. I doubt if I’ll ever need it.’ Horace put the kettle on and went upstairs. He returned with a leather case with straps, which someone had once given him in lieu of rent.
Fion looked pleased. ‘That’s big enough to take me
coat. I’ll change me shoes, if you don’t mind, put me sandals on.’
‘Go ahead.’ The kettle boiled. Horace made the tea and returned with two dainty cups and saucers on a tray. ‘Do you take sugar?’
‘I did till a few weeks ago. I don’t now.’
‘I thought there was a big dance tonight? You were buying a frock this afternoon, getting your hair done. You seemed to be looking forward to it, if I remember right.’
‘I was, but I’m not now.’ Fion shrugged nonchalantly. She was kneeling on the floor, folding her clothes inside the case, trying not to let him see her underwear in case it inspired him to pinch her bottom.
Horace sighed. ‘I’ll miss you.’
‘I’ll miss you too.’
It was worth being dragged so early out of bed for that. ‘Have you got enough money?’ Horace was astonished to hear the words come from his lips.
‘Yes, thanks. I’ve got twelve pounds. It’s me birthday money. I mean, it’s what I’ve been saving up to buy presents.’
‘That won’t go far – where are you going, London?’
‘I hadn’t thought about it. I suppose London seems the obvious place.’ People didn’t run away to Birmingham or Manchester or Leeds.
‘Just a minute.’ Horace went into the parlour and opened the strong box which he kept hidden inside an antique commode. He removed twenty pounds, returned to the other room and handed the money to Fion.
She blushed scarlet. ‘I can’t take all that! It wouldn’t be right.’
‘It wouldn’t be wrong either. If you like, look upon it as a loan. Once you’re on your feet, you can pay me
back. You don’t want to come running home with your tail between your legs because you’re out of money, do you?’
‘No.’
Horace had the feeling that she didn’t want to run away, that she wouldn’t have minded being talked out of it. He felt tempted to dissuade her, because he would have preferred her to stay, but was prevented by a feeling of unselfishness that surprised him. He glanced at her fresh, innocent, unhappy face. It would do her good. She’d make proper friends, learn to be independent, find herself.
‘Good luck,’ he said.
Fion gulped down the remainder of her tea and got to her feet. ‘I’d better get going.’
‘You’ll find plenty of cheap bed and breakfast hotels around Euston Station. They usually have the prices in the window. It would be best to stay there until you find somewhere permanent to live. Don’t speak to any strange men,’ he added warningly, suddenly concerned that the station would be teeming with men waiting for young girls like her to prey on, offering somewhere ‘safe’ to live.
‘I won’t. Thank you, Mr Flynn.’
He picked up the suitcase and took it to the door. ‘Good luck again.’
‘I’ll send you a card as soon as I’m settled.’
‘I’d appreciate that. I shall worry about you.’
‘I know about you and Neil. Tara for ever, Fion.’
Alice’s heart thumped painfully when she read the note that had been left on the mantelpiece. It was the first thing she’d noticed when she came downstairs.
How did Fion know? It could only be that she’d come
to the salon last night and heard Neil and her upstairs. She remembered thinking she’d heard a noise.
‘I’m sure the salon door just closed,’ she’d said.
‘As long as it didn’t open,’ Neil had replied lazily. ‘Come here! It’s been a good five minutes since I’ve kissed you.’
She’d let him kiss her, forgotten about the noise. Until now. Poor, poor Fion! She’d be heartbroken. Alice, overwhelmed with guilt, was desperately trying to think of the best way of dealing with the situation when it dawned on her that Fion had written ‘Tara for ever’.
She went to the bottom of the stairs. ‘Fion!’ she called, hardly able to breathe as she waited for an answer.
It was Maeve who shouted back. ‘She’s not here. She woke me up at the crack of dawn creeping about. That wardrobe door creaks like mad, Mam. It needs oiling.’
‘Oh, my God!’
‘What’s up, Mam?’ Cormac had woken.
‘It’s our Fion. I think she’s run away.’
But she wouldn’t run away for long, Alice told herself, not Fion. Fion was too clinging. She needed her family far more than the others. She wouldn’t know how to manage on her own. Alice would like to bet she’d be back before the day was out – it might even be within a few hours, because she hadn’t the nerve to go too far. Why, she might even be wandering around North Park at this very moment, already thinking about coming home.
When she did, she would have to be told what had happened between Neil and her mother as tactfully and as gently as humanly possible and then hope they would be able to keep the secret between the three of them.