The Fall Girl (9 page)

I take a few paces back and it's just as well, because he slams the car door shut and starts banging on our front door, shouting at my parents to open up.

My father comes round the side of the house with a spade in his hand.

‘What the … Xavier!' He stops in his tracks. He seems as baffled as I am by his brother-in-law's behaviour.

‘Look at him.' Xavier staggers and points an accusatory finger at my father. ‘Honest Joe himself.'

My mother opens the front door. ‘What in God's name is going on?'

‘Come on, Dad,' Madeleine pleads, ‘this isn't the right time. We can come back when you're sober.'

Xavier shrugs her off. ‘I'm not drunk. I'm angry.'

‘What's wrong with him?' My father looks at Madeleine.

‘He's upset,' she says, ‘and not without cause.'

My mother's head is darting right and left. ‘Will you get
him in off the street,' she scolds my father, ‘before he makes a holy show of us?'

‘Hah!' Xavier snorts. ‘We wouldn't want that now, Rita, would we?'

‘Dad!' Madeleine says. ‘Please.'

Nuddy Neary comes out of the butcher's and walks his bike along the footpath to the house two doors from ours, where he stops to light his pipe.

‘Joe.' My mother nods towards Nuddy. ‘Do something, will you?'

Xavier is rooting in his pocket. ‘It's all in here,' he says, ‘the proof.'

‘Xavier,' my father says softly, ‘whatever it is, we can sort it out. Why don't you come inside?'

‘And sit with youse two, youse pair of thieves.'

‘Dad!' Madeleine shouts, and points at me. ‘For God's sake!'

For a few moments no one speaks, and Nuddy grabs his handlebars and walks past us, tipping his hat three or four times as he goes.

I look up at my uncle. His mouth is hanging open. He looks so sad, like Pierrot. My chin is wobbling. I start to cry.

‘Now look what you've done.' My mother looks daggers at Xavier. ‘We'll be the talk of the village, thanks to you.'

Xavier takes his empty hand from his pocket.

‘Leave the man alone, will you, Rita?' my father yells. ‘Can't you see how distraught he is?'

My mother gasps.

‘Frances.' Xavier teeters towards me with open arms. ‘I didn't know … I'm sorry, sweetheart.'

Madeleine pulls him back. ‘Dad, leave her. You've frightened her. I'll take her for a walk. You go inside and speak with Rita and Joe.' She looks at my parents. ‘I'll be back in a while.'

Madeleine tells me not to worry; that the row has nothing to do with me or her and that it's best to let them at it. They'll sort it out among themselves.

We're barely at the end of the street before the heavens open and we have to dash into Jimmy's pub to take shelter. If my mother knew, she'd be raging, her having no time whatsoever for pubs or anyone who frequents them.

Inside, the lounge is dark and gloomy. It reeks of stale smoke and furniture polish. There's a man in a suit having tea and a sandwich at a small round table. At the counter, three men in wellies are sitting on high stools and chatting. When we take a table near the door, the barman walks over to us with a notepad.

‘What can I get for ye, ladies?' he asks, lifting a pencil from behind his ear.

Madeleine orders coffee with cream for herself and cola and crisps for me.

A couple of minutes later, Nuddy Neary swings open the door and tramps across the lounge to the counter.

‘The bould Nuddy,' one of the men says. ‘What's the crack with you today?'

‘Oh, how the mighty have fallen,' Nuddy says, rubbing his hands.

One man nudges another. ‘It must be a good one. Would you look at the smug gob of him?'

‘Come on, Nuddy,' the barman says, ‘spill the beans.'

‘Boys,' Nuddy takes off his cap and pulls out a stool, ‘I regret to tell yis that yis missed a very interesting fracas down the street.'

‘Jaysus, who's fighting, Nuddy?'

‘Ah now, that'd be telling yis,' he says, sitting down and pulling out his pipe.

‘For fuck's sake, Nuddy, you can't come in here tantalizing us with the makings of a nice bit of gossip and then refuse to spin the tale,' one of the men says.

‘Aye,' says another, ‘that's like giving a child a sweet and not allowing him to take the wrapper off.'

‘Yis are overlooking one very important matter, boys,' Nuddy says.

‘What's that?'

‘It's wild thirsty work, this tale-spinning.'

The men laugh.

‘Get the wee bollocks a pint, young fella,' one of them tells the barman, who's on his way out from behind the counter with our order on a tray.

‘Well, seeing as yis are so nosy, I'll tell yis,' Nuddy says. ‘There's something wild fishy going on at the Falls'.'

‘Keep it down there, will you, Nuddy?' the barman says, taking a second glance at me and realizing who I am.

Nuddy looks behind him and sees Madeleine and me.

‘Wasn't that a shockin' shower?' he says, turning back to the men, and they all start going on about the weather.

‘Crosslea is a very pretty village,' Madeleine says. ‘Do you like living here?'

‘Not really.'

‘Why not?'

‘I don't know.'

‘Where would you like to live?'

‘London. Aunty Lily said I'd love it.'

‘Then maybe you will live there some day.'

‘Do you like it?'

‘Yeah, I guess I do. It's home. It's where I work.'

‘Are you the nurse or the telephonist?'

‘Guess.'

‘The nurse.'

‘You're right. How did you know?'

‘I just did.'

‘So, what do you want to be when you grow up?'

‘A mammy.'

‘Yeah! Me too,' she says. ‘That's every girl's dream, isn't it?'

When we get back, Xavier has left.

‘He said he'd park up at the chapel gates and wait for you there,' my father tells Madeleine.

‘OK.'

‘And will you tell him,' my father falters, ‘I'm sorry.'

‘I will.'

He lays a weary hand on my shoulder. ‘I think it might be best if you went to your room for a while, Frances,' he says. ‘Your mother is horrid upset.'

I've been awake half the night. I can't say for sure that it was the row that tipped my mother over the edge. She'd been in very bad form since the funeral, the death, the illness … I'm not sure how far back. And what about that man at the funeral? Whoever he was, he wasn't welcome. Had the row something to do with him? And if so, what?

At the graveside, I slip my hand into my mother's and rest my head on her arm. I want to comfort her the way Xavier's daughters are comforting him, but her hand stays limp and she won't look down at me, so I let go of her and back away.

‘Are you OK?' Nancy asks, touching my shoulder.

Father Vincent is finishing the rosary. The undertakers are catching hold of the ropes underneath the coffin. Xavier is looking down at it and crying, ‘Lily, ah no, Lily.'

‘I don't like this bit,' I tell Nancy. ‘Can I go now?'

She takes my hand and we weave our way through the mourners. A short distance away, an elderly woman from the village is holding on to a headstone.

‘Are you OK, Sadie?' Nancy asks her.

‘Och, I'm grand. It's just me oul chest. I got a bit breathless on my way up and decided to rest here.'

‘You poor thing. Come on with me and I'll give you a lift home.'

‘You don't mind?'

‘Not at all. Hold on to me,' she says, offering the woman her arm. ‘Take your time.'

I hear the scraping sound of a shovel.

‘I'll wait for ye at the car,' I say, hurrying down the gravel path. I don't want to think about what's happening.

Just outside the gates, a man is leaning on the bonnet of a car, smoking a cigar. It's one of those thin ones with a white tip. The car looks familiar but the man doesn't, and I think he must be one of Xavier's relatives from the North.

‘Hello,' he says, smiling.

‘Hello.'

‘Did you know Lily – the lady who died?'

Now I think there
is
something familiar about him, but I'm not sure what.

‘Yes, she's my aunty.'

‘Your aunty. I see. So you must be Rita and Joe's daughter?'

‘Yes.' It's his accent. He speaks just like my parents, Nancy and Father Vincent.

‘How old are you?'

‘Eight and a half.'

‘That old?' He broadens his eyes as though he's impressed and then takes a long contemplative drag off his cigar.

‘Is your grandfather here today?'

‘He lives in Australia.'

‘What about the other one?'

‘He's dead.'

‘Dead?'

‘Mmm.' I nod.

‘I see.'

He rubs a piece of fallen ash off the sleeve of his tweed jacket. I can hear Nancy and Sadie's footsteps approaching and I don't want to be caught talking to a stranger, so I say goodbye and walk away.

‘You didn't tell me your name.'

I stop and look back over my shoulder. ‘Frances.'

‘Frances,' he says theatrically. ‘A good, strong Christian name. Well, nice meeting you, Frances.'

‘Nice meeting –'

‘Oh my God! What are
you
doing here?' Nancy says, glaring at the man.

‘Paying my respects, of course.'

‘You shouldn't be here. If Rita gets wind of you turning up, she'll do her nut.'

‘I'm not here to cause trouble, Nancy,' the man says, holding up his hands in surrender. ‘I came, like the rest of ye, to bid farewell to Lily.'

‘Well, now that you have, away with you. They'll be leaving the graveside any minute.'

‘I'm going, I'm going,' he says, standing up straight. ‘Goodbye, Frances,' he says, turning to me and bowing his head.

‘Bye.'

‘Take these,' Nancy says, handing me her car keys. ‘Run on down to the car and wait for us there.'

Hurrying along the bank behind the line of parked cars, I wonder who the man is and how he knows my parents, my aunty and Nancy. Before I get into the car, I look back and see that the two women are still standing at the gate. They're looking down the road in the opposite direction. Even on my tippytoes, I don't manage to get a final glimpse of the friendly man. When I hear a car door slam and an engine purring, I know it's him.

Nancy seems bothered as we drive back to Crosslea. She doesn't talk.

‘A relative, is he?' Sadie asks, breaking the awkward silence.

‘No. No relation at all.'

‘Must be an oul flame then,' she coughs, tapping her bosom.

I haven't a clue what she means and obviously Nancy doesn't either because she says, ‘Don't talk rubbish.'

Sadie ignores her, saying that they all come out of the woodwork for a funeral, and now I'm convinced that her mind must be packing up as well as her chest.

A couple of days later, I let it slip to my parents about the man. They keep giving each other funny looks and my mother's face turns puce.

‘Did Nancy not tell ye?' I ask.

‘She did surely.' I catch my father giving my mother a wink. ‘He's just an old neighbour from Glendarragh.'

‘Why do ye not like him?'

‘Because,' my mother says with tight lips, ‘he's an undesirable. And anyway, what were you thinking about talking to a stranger?'

‘He wasn't a stranger. He knew ye and Aunty Lily and Nancy.'

‘But
you
didn't know him, did you?'

‘Arragh, no harm done,' my father says. ‘Just don't allow yourself to get dragged into conversation with a stranger again.'

My mother stands up and heads for the hall.

‘Where are you off to?' my father asks.

‘I told Nancy after Mass this morning that I'd call in to her later for a cup of tea. She should be home from work by now.'

I haven't washed my hair for several days. A glimpse at my reflection in the mirror brought a smile to my face when I saw it was standing on end at peculiar angles.

That's never you, Frances Fall? Well, fuck me pink!

After our chat in the school toilets, Lesley and I meet up every day at lunchtime. When Kat tries to tag along, Lesley says, ‘Who are you, her fucking shadow?'

Kat looks at me for support, but I don't want her company
any more than Lesley does, so I say, ‘Well, what are you waiting for?' without the slightest twinge of guilt.

The following day, we see Kat walking around the grounds of the school alone and Lesley wonders how I stomached hanging around with that pig's melt for so long.

‘At least,' she says, ‘you live in a village and not on a poxy pig farm.'

All Lesley's friends are townies and I can't believe my luck at being accepted by her cool clique. She tells the others how we used to do Irish dancing together when we were kids and that they should see the po-face of my mother; PMT wouldn't have a look in.

When I ask her if she still dances, she laughs and says, ‘Oh aye, every Saturday night out in the Ulster Arms.'

‘You mean a céilí?'

‘Céilí! Where do you think we are, Conne-fucking-mara?' No, not a céilí. A disco, ya eejit ya. Why don't you come with us some night?'

‘I might,' I say, but, after a few weeks of making lame excuses, she cajoles me into admitting that I'm not allowed to go to dances, or any other nocturnal social gathering for that matter.

I can't get the thought of going dancing with Lesley out of my mind. The niggling anger that's been brewing up inside me since the summer is coming to a head. My mother and I have been needling each other for months now.