The Ghost of Grania O'Malley (5 page)

Jessie was never much good anyway at her writing – that was why she hated doing it. Whatever she did, however hard she tried, her writing always came out all spindly and crooked. Everyone else could do it better, and faster too. Jessie's hands simply wouldn't do what her brain told them to do. And it wasn't just her hands that wouldn't obey her. It was her toes too. Whenever she tried to write, her toes would curl up under her feet and cramp themselves. She couldn't stop them. Mrs Burke came and bent over her to see how she was getting on.

‘You're just going to have to try harder, aren't you, Jessie?' She'd said it often enough before, but it still hurt. ‘I mean, just took at that writing. It's like a demented spider. I've told you till I'm blue in the face, hold your pencil this way, with the forefinger pressed down. You can grip it better.' How would she know what my hands can and can't do? Jessie thought. Doesn't she think I want to grip it better? ‘Turn the page and try it again, Jessie.' Jessie sighed audibly, and with insolent intent. ‘That'll be quite enough of that, Jessie Parsons. I'm not going to treat you any different from the others. It's no good you feeling sorry for yourself all your life.'

That was the moment when Jessie had finally had enough. ‘I do not feel sorry for myself, Miss,' she said, so fired up now that she could not stop herself. ‘And you do treat me differently. You wouldn't take me up the Big Hill with the others, would you? You said I couldn't climb it. Well, I did. I climbed the Big Hill. I climbed it all by myself.'

‘You did what?'

‘I climbed it,' Jessie insisted.

Mrs Burke's furious frown lightened to a half-mocking smile. ‘I don't think so, Jessie. I think what you mean to say is that you climbed it in your head. You always did have a powerful imagination. But what you mustn't do – and I've told you this before – is to confuse the one with the other, fact with fiction. Perhaps your father helped you up, gave you a piggyback, was that it?'

‘I did it on my own,' Jessie said, her eyes fixed on Mrs Burke, the defiance quite undisguised, quite fearless.

‘Jessie Parsons.' Mrs Burke looked down at her severely and arranged a wisp of grey hair behind her ear. ‘What you are telling me is an untruth, a lie, and if I teach you just one thing before you leave this school it will be to tell the truth.' The class were all silent now, all watching. Mrs Burke went on, her voice thin with menace, ‘You did not climb the Big Hill, and I won't have you say that you did. I won't have you use your disability as a weapon against the world, as an excuse for lying. You will write out fifty times, and neat, mind: “I did not climb the Big Hill.” Is that quite clear and understood? You have one week. I'll not hear another word about it.'

There were lots of words about it, mostly from Marion Murphy, all of them disbelieving, most of them mocking. Jessie endured them all – it was the best way. Jack kept out of it and said nothing, until they were walking home together after school.

‘Did you?' he asked suddenly.

‘Did I what?'

‘Did you climb that hill like you said?'

‘If I say I did, I did,' Jessie snapped.

‘All the way to the top?'

‘Yes, and with these two legs,' Jessie said acidly. ‘They're the only ones I've got.' They didn't speak for a moment or two.

‘I brought my Rollerblades,' said Jack.

‘So?'

‘You want to try?'

Jessie smiled for the first time that day. ‘All right,' she said, and they walked on for a while before she asked what she had been wanting to ask ever since she first saw him. ‘What do you have all that steel in your mouth for?'

‘Keeps my teeth straight,' Jack replied.

‘I've got calipers. You know what calipers are?' Jack didn't. ‘Same as your thing, only for legs,' Jessie explained. ‘I don't like them, so I don't put them on, unless I have to. You know what Liam Doherty called you?'

‘No.'

‘Jaws,' she said, and he flashed his teeth at her and laughed.

The rollerblading was not a great success, not for Jessie anyway. They used the road at the end of the farm lane. It was tarmac, and smooth enough in places; but there were always a lot of pot-holes and bumps in the way, and, worst of all, sheep droppings. Then there were sheep themselves and Mole, loitering with intent, somehow always in the way. For days and days she practised with Jack, but no matter how hard she tried, the only way she could ever stay upright was by hanging on to him. Whenever she let go, she simply fell over. In the end she was forced just to sit on the bank and watch him whizzing along the road, gliding and weaving with consummate ease. It was not doing much for Jessie's self-esteem, and anyway she had her lines to do. Mrs Burke had given her a week. The week was almost up and she hadn't even started yet. She left him to it.

Later that evening, she was still at the kitchen table writing her lines when she heard the tractor coming up the lane. Her mother came in, kicking off her boots, and washed her hands at the sink.

‘Homework?' she said.

‘Lines,' Jessie replied, curling her arm round to hide what she was writing.

‘Why? What did you do?'

‘Nothing. Just my writing wasn't good enough, that's all.' And she said no more about it.

‘How many have you got to do?'

‘Fifty.'

‘That's nothing at all. It was always at least a hundred when I was at school.' Jessie felt like having a good rant about Mrs Burke, but there was no point. It wasn't only Mrs Burke who thought she was lying about the Big Hill, was it? Everyone did, even her own mother and father. They might pretend to believe her, to make her feel better, but they didn't. Besides, Jessie had learnt a long time ago that neither of them would hear a thing against Mrs Burke. So any troubles at school, she always kept to herself.

‘Where's Jack?' her mother asked.

‘Upstairs with his Walkman. He's got two Walkmen and three Game Boys. Are they made of money or what?'

‘Your Uncle Sean's worked very hard for what he's got, Jess. That's maybe what's made him ill.'

‘What's the matter with him?'

‘He's ill, very ill. Let's just leave it at that, shall we?'

‘Will he get better?'

‘Yes,' she said quietly. ‘God willing.' She put her arms round Jessie's neck and hugged her. ‘You remember we've got to go out tonight, don't you? Island Meeting.'

‘It'll be about the Big Hill again, I suppose,' Jessie sighed, and her mother moved away. ‘Doesn't anybody talk about anything else around here?'

‘Don't you care what happens to it, Jess?' said her mother, sitting down across the table from her.

‘Of course I do, but why does everyone always have to shout about it? You and Dad, you go on and on. You never agree. No one ever agrees about it.'

‘Sometimes, Jess, you've got to shout, else people just won't listen.' She leaned towards her and lifted her chin so that Jessie had to look into her eyes. ‘And there's some things that are so important,' she said.

‘Not that important,' Jessie replied. ‘I don't like it when you and Dad shout; and besides, I don't know what the fuss is all about. The mining people, they've said they'll fix it afterwards, haven't they?'

‘There's some things you just can't fix, Jess,' said her mother. ‘It's like an egg. You cut the top off an egg, but you can't put it back on again, can you?'

‘Well, I'm not getting into your silly arguments,' Jessie shouted, throwing down her pencil. The tears came into her eyes. ‘You see? As soon as you start talking about it, we start shouting.'

Jack was standing at the door, pale and distraught. He looked from one to the other.

‘It's gone,' he said. ‘I looked all over. I've lost it.'

‘What is it, Jack?' Jessie's mother went over to him.

‘My lucky arrowhead. It was in my coat pocket, and now it's gone.'

‘We'll find it, Jack,' said Jessie's mother. ‘Don't worry. It's got to be somewhere, hasn't it?'

‘I never go anywhere without it,' said Jack. ‘It brings me luck.' And Jessie saw then that his eyes were red with crying. ‘If I don't find it, my luck's gone for good. I know it is.'

‘We'll find it,' said Jessie's mother. ‘It'll turn up, you'll see. Now, how about some nice soda bread and honey. You like honey? We've got the best honey in all of Ireland. Will you try some?'

Jack did like the honey, just so long as it was spread on top of peanut butter. It was about the first thing he had liked in all the time he'd been with them. Jessie looked on in awe as he ate four whole slices and then washed it all down with Coke. He seemed a lot happier after that. They turned Jack's room inside out looking for his arrowhead, searched through every drawer, through every pocket. It was nowhere. They went up and down the road where they had been rollerblading. Nothing. Then it came on to rain and they had to go in.

‘Tomorrow,' said Jessie's mother. ‘We'll look again tomorrow. I've got to get ready for the meeting.'

That evening, Jack and Jessie were left on their own, with peanut butter and honey sandwiches for their supper. Jessie didn't like to admit it, but she'd taken quite a liking to them. She was eating them at the same time as she did her lines. The television was on in the corner. It was football again, or ‘soccer', as Jack insisted on calling it. Jessie was suddenly aware that Jack was looking over her shoulder. ‘You left a word out,' he said, pointing. ‘It says, “I did climb the Big Hill.”'

‘I told you, I did,' said Jessie.

‘I know, but Mrs Burke said . . .'

‘I don't care what Mrs Burke said. I've done lines for her before, hundreds of them. She won't read it anyway – she never does – and I'm not going to write it when it's not true. I climbed that hill and I'm not saying I didn't, not for her, not for anyone.'

Jack grinned broadly. ‘My dad would say you've got guts.'

‘Are you very rich?' Jessie asked.

Jack looked at her for a moment. ‘Yeah,' he said. ‘I guess you could say we've got pretty much everything you'd want. Two houses, one on Long Island and a farm up in Vermont. Two yachts, three cars. Rich enough, I guess.'

‘Three cars? What d'you want three cars for?'

‘Well, maybe two, and the VW Beetle I work on. I love engines.'

‘Your father, Uncle Sean, how come he's got so much money?'

Jack shrugged. ‘I don't know. He just makes it. Like he says, he makes money make money. Doesn't tell me a lot about it. He's great. He takes me places – hunting, skiing, all that. Just the two of us.'

‘What about your mum?' She knew she shouldn't have asked it, and she was relieved when Jack didn't seem upset.

‘I don't see her any more,' he said quietly. ‘Dad says it's best that way. Guess he's right too. They were always at each other's throats, shouting and stuff.' She wanted to ask him about how ill Uncle Sean was, but she didn't know how to. ‘All that shouting about the Big Hill, a few nights back,' Jack went on, ‘what was that all about?'

‘You heard it?'

‘And Marion Murphy at school. She kept going on about it, too.'

‘She would be,' said Jessie. ‘It's the lousy gold mine. You've got those who want it and you've got those who don't – not many now – in fact, just Mum and old Mister Barney. Marion's dad, Mr Murphy – he's the one that got it all going – well, he owns the Big Hill, and he's told everyone it'll mean lots of jobs and lots of money for the island. He's persuaded just about everyone now, even my dad. Tonight it's the final meeting, the last vote. Mum knows she'll lose, but she still won't give in. She says it's wrong. Dad says it's right. That's why they were shouting.'

‘There was a lot of that back home,' said Jack, ‘shouting I mean, Mom at Dad, Dad at Mom. And after that, they wouldn't even talk. Then Mom just left.' He was looking at her steadily, almost as if it were a warning.

Jessie was up in bed, and still thinking about what Jack had said, when she heard Clatterbang pull up outside. Panda was scrabbling at the door to get in, and then he was charging around downstairs like a wild thing. She heard a tap running in the kitchen and the kettle going on.

Her father was doing the talking. ‘Well, maybe they won't find enough gold to make it worth their while.'

‘But the damage will be done by then, won't it?' came the reply. ‘Either way, they've still got to take the top off the hill to find out. But anyway, that's hardly the point is it? You voted against me, in public, and for everyone to see. Only Mister Barney stood up for the hill, Mister Barney and me. And what did that Michael Murphy say? That Mister Barney was objecting out of self-interest, just because he was going to have to move house, and how the mining company had laid on such a wonderful house for him to move into. “A minor inconvenience,” he called it. Poor dear Mister Barney. And did you speak up for him? No. Did you speak up for me? No. I feel like you stabbed me in the heart, Jimmy. That's what I feel.'

Jessie pulled the duvet up over her head and clamped a pillow round her ears. She wanted to hear no more. She didn't want to think about it, but she couldn't help herself. She was wondering what would happen to her if they split up like Jack's mother and father had, about which of them she would be left with. She'd have more fun with her father. He could at least forget about her lousy palsy and treat her straight. She loved him for that. But then he never cuddled her that much. Her mother did. When she was in real trouble, it was always to her mother that she went. She'd cry up against her softness and her mother would smooth her hair, and Jessie loved her for that. She was crying now and trying not to because she didn't want them to hear. She heard a knock and her door opening. She pushed back her duvet. Jack was standing in the doorway.