Promised Land (20 page)

‘You’re sleeping in my bedroom,’ Heather told her, helping her to carry her things upstairs. ‘Mummy said that I’m to have the camp bed and put up in Hilary’s room. It’s awful sharing with Hilary. She sits up reading books all night with the light on. Mummy and Daddy think she’s studying but really she’s reading all these lovey-dovey romance books. Do you read those sort of books?’

Ella shook her head.

Heather showed her where everything was before disappearing to her sister’s room.

Ella climbed into bed and pulled the blankets up around her as she tried to relax. The wall opposite her bed was covered in photos and cut-outs from newspapers and magazines, all of horses. The child
was
obviously obsessed with them. A row of rosettes, pinned to one side, were testament to her skill as a horsewoman and her love of the animal.

Her father had horses on the farm when she was young, a plough horse called Queenie and a mare called Sheba. She had learned to ride both of them, up along the top field and down by the river, jog, jog, jog, lifting up and down in the saddle like her father showed her.

She must have dozed off but woke about an hour or two later to the sound of raised male voices coming from the room below. Mac’s father must be home. Embarrassed, she lay still in the bed, not wanting them to realize that she was awake by the creaking of the floorboards. A desperate need to urinate took over and in the end she was forced to go out to the toilet across the narrow landing.

‘You couldn’t go for one of your own! Not good enough for you were they!’

‘Hold on Dad, don’t say that!’

The voices floated up from downstairs and she couldn’t help but hear them.

‘You brought a papist under my roof, a follower of Rome.’

‘She’s my girlfriend, Dad! You haven’t even met her yet!’

‘A Catholic, that’s more than enough for me.’

Despite the warm early summer’s evening she shivered. A door banged downstairs, and she just
managed
to slip back inside the bedroom before Mac’s father appeared on the landing.

She couldn’t believe it, the two of them had been fighting and over her by the sounds of it. She dreaded the next morning, having to face the family and Mr McNeill. What the hell was she going to say or do? She stayed awake for an hour or two worrying about it, angry at Mr McNeill and hoping that Mac would slip into the room and make everything all right. She waited and waited but he never came.

Chapter Twenty-four

THE SUN SPLIT
the heavens the next morning and Ella woke to the glimpse of a blue unclouded sky, when Joyce McNeill came in with a cup of tea and some toast for her, and pulled the curtains open. Pushing her hair from out of her eyes she gazed at Joyce, wondering if she had heard the row the night before. If she did, she made no mention of it.

‘Peter and his father have gone off for a walk with the dogs. They’ll be back in about an hour or so. I’ve put the immersion on for you, Ella, in case you’d like a bath or something and you can help yourself to some more breakfast when you get up.’

Gone off for a walk, that didn’t sound too bad, perhaps they’d patched things up, or maybe the row had sounded worse than it actually was. All families had rows, God knows; she should know about that if anyone should.

Joyce was wearing a pale lilac-coloured twinset with a co-ordinating pale blue skirt. She was a very feminine woman and wore a dab of face powder
and
lipstick even at this hour of the morning. Ella sat up stretching aware that she looked a right mess compared to the pretty woman standing at the side of the bed.

The tea was weak, just the way she liked it, and she buttered the bread and spread it with some honey from the porcelain bee jar.

‘Thank you Mrs McNeill, I’m not used to this.’

‘Please call me Joyce, dear.’

‘Joyce.’

The older woman smiled, smoothing the pale green sateen bed cover. ‘Peter tells me that your parents are dead. It must be hard to be on your own, Ella, but I believe that you have a brother down the country.’

Ella didn’t know what to say.

‘It’s hard for a girl growing up without a mother. My own mother died just before Gordon and I got married. I cried on my wedding day just thinking of her.’

Ella didn’t know what to make of Mac’s mother, here fussing over her like she was a daughter.

‘Heather’s riding in the parish gymkhana this afternoon, you and Peter might like to come along later and see her. She’s quite a good rider actually. There’ll be a tea tent and a crafts and floral display too. You never know, you might enjoy yourself!’

She was up and dressed by the time Mac got back and neither of them made any mention of the night
before
. Mac’s father introduced himself to her in the kitchen and although he was civil and polite, she knew exactly what he thought of her. He was a shorter and sturdier version of his son, but totally lacking Mac’s charm and good humour. He was a dentist who worked in a practice up the town with another dentist and was just about due to retire. He had visibly shuddered when he heard her accent.

‘Don’t mind him!’ joked Mac, ‘he thinks the world begins and ends in Belfast and its environs.’

She couldn’t warm to Gordon McNeill at all and was relieved when Mac suggested they take a drive into Belfast to see the sights.

Bangor itself was a nice town, situated on the coast, looking out across the Irish Sea. Sailboats cluttered the seafront, flags fluttering in the breeze, the rigging making a pleasant, ringing noise. Mac was lucky to have been brought up in such a lovely place, and Belfast was within easy reach.

She was glad to have time on her own with him.

‘I heard your father last night, Mac. I wasn’t snooping or anything, it’s just that I woke up and I could hear the two of you arguing.’

‘Don’t mind him, Ella! He’s caught up in some antiquated bloody religious notion.’

‘He doesn’t like me!’

‘Like you! How could he like you or not when he doesn’t even know you? He’s a bigoted old bastard.’

Ella stared out of the window, not knowing what to say or do. She should have listened to Kitty.

‘The old man will come round. It’s just that he’s so bloody stubborn and always thinks that he’s right. Everything is black and white with him and there’s absolutely no middle ground.’

Ella sighed, unsure, hurt by his father’s reaction to her.

Mac reached over and took her hand. ‘What my father thinks about the two of us doesn’t matter. All that matters is how we feel about each other.’

She knew Mac was right and leaned over to kiss his cheek. She had absolutely no doubts about his sincerity and was determined not to let anything else destroy this weekend with him.

Mac took her up by Stormont, which was the old seat of the Northern Irish parliament. It was a massive structure, facing out over a valley. They walked all around it, admiring its fine architecture, which conveyed power and might. Belfast Zoo was situated close by it. They drove back towards town, Mac showing her Queen’s University and the town’s student area. Then they drove up through wooded hills, where gorse and heather and pines clambered over rocks and caves.

‘I used to play here at Cave Hill, when I was a lad.’

‘What sort of games did you play?’

‘Och, all sorts, robbers and bandits were meant to have hidden in these parts. Me and the pals were always trying to discover their gold, or precious jewels. We’d spend hours searching and climbing. Other times we’d pretend to be pirates or bandits, hiding out, ready to fight to the death before being captured. At night there were meant to be ghosts here but us brave boys never stuck around long enough to discover them.’

Ella giggled. Mac seemed so big and brave and strong now, it was hard to imagine him as a small boy running around these parts.

At the very top of the hill she gasped at the sight of Belfast Castle, which had a stunning view over the city.

‘Isn’t it beautiful,’ murmured Mac, kissing her hair and wrapping his arms around her. She could sense how proud he was of his own place and how much Belfast meant to him. If anything she loved him even more for it.

They ate lunch in a small tea rooms off Donegal Street, enjoying just being on their own. Mac let her have a look at a few of the shops, though she had no money to spend.

‘Ella, I think that we’d better get going if we want to see Heather riding in the gymkhana.’

Ella agreed. It would be fun for Heather to have her big brother there to encourage her.

They arrived in the nick of time at Hollywood House, a large Georgian mansion surrounded by
fields
where the gymkhana was being held. There was only one rider to go before Heather’s turn and Mac’s young sister was a bag of nerves. Mac tried to jolly her along and soothe her anxiety as the other girl jumped a clear round, the crowd clapping appreciatively.

‘Go on, Heather! You’ll be fine, sure you and that pony are just made for each other. You know that Lucy’ll jump her heart out for you.’

Joyce McNeill stood at the rope barrier watching anxiously as her daughter began her round, making a well-paced entrance and a good take-off at the first jump. Ella could see that the horse was one of that brave sort that was plucky and tuned to its mistress. It sensed the need for sureness and swiftness, jumping a clear round in no time. Heather blushed as the crowd cheered her efforts. Ella and Mac sauntered off having a look around the rest of the field. Ella was glad that she was wearing Terri’s polka-dot skirt as it felt cool and fresh in the afternoon heat, while the tight-fitting blouse accentuated her figure. Mac slipped his arm around her. They treated themselves to ice creams and decided it was much too hot to bother with the tea tent. Joyce had returned to her position on the floral and garden display tent and they went over to admire her handiwork. Cut flowers, pots of flowers, intricate multicoloured displays: Ella had never seen anything like it. She had a sudden surge of memory, thinking of a glass jar on the kitchen table filled with wild fuchsia and
montbretia
that her mother had picked from the hedgerows around their farm. Her eyes almost welled with tears at the thought of it. Mac was busy playing the interested son and talking to a group of middle-aged women who obviously knew him well. Each was trying to impress him with a display of their handiwork.

‘Ella, this is Mrs Robb and June Simpson, and my neighbour Adele Kane.’ Joyce began to introduce her to some of them. Ella politely admired the spires of tall delphiniums, the dahlias, the pale pink roses and the rich red ones, wishing that she knew just a tiny bit about gardening. Crops were her speciality, but these fine beautiful fiddly plants were something of a mystery to her.

She smiled politely at the women, who she could tell were bursting with curiosity as to who she was. Mac took her hand pointedly and rescued her. ‘Ladies, you will have to excuse us but I believe my sister may be jumping again and we wouldn’t want to miss it.’

In the centre of the field Heather and a boy of fifteen were tied for second place and would have to jump off. Heather and Lucy did it, and Heather leapt up and down with relief when the gangly boy in the white shirt knocked over a pole. Mac knew what it meant to his sister, winning a blue rosette at the gymkhana to put on her wall.

‘Wait till your father hears, he’ll be delighted!’

Mac had scooped her up in his arms saying how proud he was of her.

‘You’re my lucky mascot,’ she insisted. ‘You’ll just have to come along to all my competitions.’

Ella noticed that Mac made no promises; at least his sister wouldn’t be disappointed. Tired, the two of them slipped off home.

His mother served high tea promptly at six o’clock. Mac’s brother David and his wife Judith joined them. David worked in the engineering section of Harland and Wolff the world-famous shipbuilders, while Judith stayed home to mind their six-month-old baby son Gordon junior. Ella admired the little fellow, who made no objection to being passed around between Heather and Hilary and everyone, though she noticed the baby’s eyes kept following his mother, no matter what part of the room she was in.

‘He’s such a good baby!’ mumured Judith proudly and Ella couldn’t help but envy her. Mac stared at her when she took the baby and she could see David nudging him, making Mac look embarrassed.

Joyce had gone to immense trouble, perhaps trying to impress her, and the best china was set out on the dining table with the Belfast linen tablecloth and napkins.

Cold ham, chicken and salmon were surrounded by a large bowl of potato salad and plates of rich red sliced tomatoes, lettuce and scallions from the garden, thinly sliced cucumber and jellied beetroot, a summer feast. Ella passed around the homemade
soda
bread and sipped a cup of tea. On the sideboard there was a sponge cake layered with strawberries and cream and Judith had brought along a cake with lemon icing. The room grew warm and Gordon McNeill opened the French windows to the garden. It was a peaceful family scene and yet Ella felt ill at ease, out of place. Judith was sitting near her and at least made some conversation as Hilary, on the other side, was just ignoring her.

‘David and I were childhood sweethearts. We went to school together when we were young, and I used to live around the corner from them. His mum and dad and my parents have known each other for years and they were all delighted when we got married. David’s the only man for me.’

‘That’s nice,’ murmured Ella.

‘Have you and Peter known each other a long time?’

‘A while. We met at a party.’

‘Peter’s a good sort, very different from David. It’s funny how two brothers can be so unalike.’

Ella glanced across the table where Mac and his younger brother were deep in conversation. David was dark like his mother but otherwise bore a remarkable resemblance to his father, even with the same mannerisms. Mac was much taller and more handsome and as always appeared relaxed. His easy-going manner was one of his most attractive features.

‘Do you live in Dublin too?’

‘Aye, I share a flat with my cousin and two other girls. I’m from the country originally, a place called Kilgarvan in County Wexford.’