Even as she stared, doubting the evidence of her own eyes, Enda, who had run out of the courtyard, swerving to avoid the four members of the hunt and their dreadful burden, came back and stopped by them. Very gently she placed a bouquet of Christmas roses, pink, purple and white, to hide that terrible face.
Then someone screamed. She started forward, wanting her mother’s reassurance that this nightmare was just that, a nightmare, but someone was shaking her, slapping her face, telling her to pull herself together, asking why she had not done as she was told and stayed away. ‘I didn’t want you to see …’ It was Con’s voice, and then she felt his arms lift her from the ground and knew she must have fainted. ‘Oh, my love, my love, we wanted to spare you …’
She knew, then, that it was she who had screamed, who whimpered still, she who had ignored Con’s express wish that she should remain indoors. He had laid her gently in one of the old cane chairs and she opened her eyes and began to tell him how sorry she was that she had disobeyed, but her voice came out as a tiny thread, no more than a whisper, and Con had moved away; he and Johnny Devlin were comforting Feena, making arrangements. Without realising it she had heard those arrangements, knew that the blanket should have hidden the appalling sight, knew too that they were carrying her father around from the stable yard to the front door, so that what was left of him might lie in the parlour, a room which was seldom used, until it was ready for burial.
Presently, Dana struggled to her feet. Neither her mother nor Con was in sight, but the servants and some members of the hunt were milling around, talking in hushed voices, though even Mr Devlin and Declan had disappeared. Dana straightened her shoulders and banged on the table for silence. She knew that a good few members of the hunt, probably even the Master, would not know that Donovan McBride was dead, or, if they
knew something had occurred, might still think him only badly injured. It was only those who had seen him before Con had covered him with the blanket who would realise the enormity of what had happened. But I am a McBride, Dana told herself. I may be only seventeen, just a kid with ginger hair and a million freckles, but I’m still a McBride and these people are my guests. So she rapped on the table again, louder this time, and when all the faces in the room had turned towards her, and when the little groups still standing outside in the stable yard had done likewise, she spoke as her parents would have done.
‘There’s been an accident. My – my parents are dealing with it, but I am their deputy and ask you all to fill your glasses and drink a toast to the success of the hunt. When you have done so, please eat heartily of the meal which has been prepared.’
She smiled as brightly as she could, then beckoned Deirdre to begin filling the long lines of glasses from the jugs of punch and, to set good example, cut herself a wedge of steak pie. Then she began to help others to the food upon the long kitchen table, and even as she bit or pretended to bite into her slice of pie, knowing that it would choke her if she tried to swallow, with the image of her father’s ruined face still in her mind’s eye, she heard a soft voice behind her. ‘Well done!’
It was Con, of course, ready to help, to take command, to do anything she asked of him. It would have been nice to turn into his arms and let loose a great wail of sorrow and anguish but she told herself that she was a McBride, someone of importance in the community. She and her mother must somehow weather this storm and they would begin by hosting the party which the head
of their house had planned and would want to see held. So she turned and smiled brightly at Con before asking, ‘Where’s my mother?’
‘In the parlour with Deirdre and old Mrs Murdoch and one or two of the other ladies,’ Con said. ‘I know I needn’t tell you that you mustn’t go in there; it was only shock and fear that sent you flying into the stable yard, but oh, Christ, acushla, I wish to God you’d not had to see …’
‘It was my own fault,’ Dana said through rigidly smiling lips. She would not think of the sight she had seen in the stable yard, though she was sure it would haunt her for the rest of her life. ‘Come on, Con. Daddy would say …’ her voice trembled and she had to pause before completing the sentence, ‘Daddy would say that guests must be fed and watered after such a day. Mammy’s too busy and so are the older women, but this is something we can do: feed and water ’em, like Declan and your daddy are doing to the horses out in the stables right now.’
An hour later, the servants were clearing away the remains of the food and drink; there was not much left, for no matter how tragically the day had ended it had been a grand hunt much enjoyed by everyone. Even the little red feller had made it to his earth before the hounds had caught up with him, so the day had been a success for him too. And now alone at last, with Donovan McBride’s body decently prepared for what must follow, Feena and Dana, Con and his father slumped on to straight-backed wooden chairs in the kitchen, ate food which might have been sawdust, drank wine that tasted like water and tried to come to terms with the realization
that their lives had depended almost totally upon one man and now he had gone.
‘My husband would have wanted everything to continue as though he were still alive,’ Feena said stiffly, reaching a hand round to rub the small of her back. ‘Ah God, but it’s weary I am. However, the bailiff from the Creech place says his master wants the chestnut Con was riding; fortunately he and my husband reached an agreement on the price before …’ She hesitated, her voice breaking. Then she shook her head and spoke firmly once more. ‘Earlier in the day, I should say.’
‘That’s good, so it is,’ Johnny Devlin said approvingly. ‘He’s a generous man and will pay up before quarter day when he hears how you’re circumstanced, Feena.’
He seemed about to say something else, but Con cut across him. ‘The Englishman wants Beauty. The price is poor for such a grand chaser, but I thought since it’ll be a cash sale …’
Feena and Dana spoke in chorus. ‘Yes, let him go,’ they said, Dana adding: ‘We’ll be better off with him gone, though I dare say it was none of his fault.’
‘That’s true,’ Con said. ‘He caught his hoof in a rabbit hole, and when Mr Donovan shot over his head the poor feller couldn’t stop himself …’ He finished in mid-sentence as Feena gave a little moan. ‘Sorry. But Beauty’s a grand horse. The Englishman’s got a real bargain.’
Real bargain … real bargain … bargain … gain …
And Dana was lying in her bed at Temperance Court, her pillow wet with tears and Polly’s small hand on her shaking shoulder.
‘It’s all right, you’re safe, Polly’s got you,’ her friend was repeating. ‘Whatever was all that about? Oh, Dana,
you’ve been having the most awful nightmare. It took me almost five minutes to wake you.’
Polly had been having a good day. She loved her work at the cinema but particularly enjoyed those days that she worked as an usherette, because she got to see the films through twice. Today the B feature was in black and white, and starred the Marx Brothers in
A Day at the Races
. Polly laughed so hard that she had to nip out of her seat and rush along to the ladies’ cloakroom before going to the stock room to fill her tray before the main feature, which starred Bette Davis. She was looking forward to her supper, for today was Friday. Ernie would be meeting her outside the cinema and had promised her fish and chips. She had not seen him for a couple of weeks and thought when they spoke that he had seemed distracted, as though his work and his friends there were more important than she. Piqued by his attitude, Polly had exerted all her efforts to persuade him to meet her outside the cinema when her shift ended on Friday, telling him that she wanted a serious talk.
‘Right; I’ll pay for the fish and chips, our Polly,’ he had said grandly. ‘You can buy a bottle of cherryade if you like. Pity the cafeteria don’t do fish and chips, but Dana says …’
‘… Dana says the smell of the fish and chips would put folk off, especially the next day, ’cos it’s real difficult to get rid of the smell,’ Polly finished for him. ‘Of course you could take me to the cafeteria anyway, ’cos it stays open after work so’s the customers can have a meal before going home.’
‘Oh aye, poached eggs on toast and that,’ Ernie said
disdainfully. ‘But after a long day at me factory I need summat real sustaining …’ he had paused, and she could picture him grinning at her, his eyes alight with mischief, ‘summat like smelly old fish and chips,’ he concluded.
Polly often had her supper up in the cafeteria but now, thinking it over, she decided she was glad Ernie had suggested that they should have fish and chips. The fact was she was very anxious to have a serious talk with him and she had no wish for Dana to hear even scraps of their conversation, since a good deal of it would revolve around Dana herself.
So when the performance ended Polly fetched her light jacket, said goodnight to various friends and members of staff and made her way out of the cinema by the side door, grinning widely at Ernie, who was waiting outside, for though it was ten thirty in the evening the June days were long and light and a jacket was all that was necessary, even if they walked all the way home and did not bother with the tram. As she joined Ernie he caught her hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow, remarking that he could just murder a plate of cod and chips. ‘We’ll walk to the fried fish shop, then we’ll catch a tram to Temperance Court and eat in your kitchen, so we’d best buy enough for Dana as well,’ he said, but Polly pulled him to a halt, shaking her head.
‘Ernie Frost, you’ve got a head like a sieve,’ she said severely. ‘Don’t you remember me saying that I wanted to have a talk about something which has been worrying me? I don’t want Dana overhearing, so let’s buy the fish and chips and take ’em down to that little garden on the corner. There’s a seat among the bushes
and unless a tramp has taken up residence we should be able to talk without interruption.’
Ernie was agreeable so the two of them joined the queue at the fried fish shop, were lavish with salt and vinegar and then made their way to the small square of garden, Polly giving a crow of triumph as she saw that the bench was unoccupied. They settled themselves comfortably, unwrapped the newspaper and began to eat, Ernie courteously slowing down when he realised that his share of the food was almost finished whilst Polly, though she had eaten all her fish, still had quite a pile of chips to go. Finally they both produced handkerchiefs and tidied themselves up and Ernie turned expectantly towards his companion.
‘Well, what’s up?’ he enquired curiously. ‘I hope you and Dana haven’t fallen out, though I doubt that. In all the time I’ve known the pair of you I don’t believe you’ve ever had a cross word; ain’t that so?’
Polly nodded vigorously and shoved her now greasy handkerchief into her pocket. ‘And we’ve not had a cross word now,’ she confirmed. ‘The truth is, Ern, I’m real worried about Dana. Way back, I think it must’ve been around February sometime, Dana had one of those dreams I’ve told you about, about her old home. You know that she talks like anything in her sleep and to tell you the truth I’ve been woken more than once by her laughing and teasing one of her parents or her friend Con or someone called Deirdre.’
‘Well? What’s wrong wi’ that?’ Ernie said as his companion fell silent. He laughed. ‘Sounds like fun, if you asks me.’
‘Ye-es. And so it was at first,’ Polly acknowledged.
‘Only then she had this awful nightmare. I couldn’t wake her at first, and I got worried – she was screaming, shouting that something was horrible – then she just sobbed and sobbed. I kept shaking her, telling her she was safe, that it was only a dream – only it was more like a nightmare – and she must wake up. She did, of course, but she didn’t want to tell me what it was all about, and I just thought she’d forget it, like I forget it when I have a nightmare. Only …’
‘Only what?’ Ernie prompted when Polly stopped speaking and simply stared straight in front of her. ‘Only what, Poll?’ he repeated. ‘Dammit, that was months ago! What exactly are you trying to tell me?’
Polly thought for a moment, then gave a loud sigh. ‘I know it was ages ago, but ever since that night she’s been … well, I suppose you could say she’s been different. She’s been going out quite a lot with Ralph and obviously enjoys his company. Well, you know that since we’ve been out in a foursome with them; I suppose you haven’t noticed that she’s been much quieter lately, though. It used to be she who joked, suggested outings, made beautiful picnic lunches, but she hardly ever does so now. In fact it’s you and me who do most of the talking, because Ralph is quite a quiet bloke, wouldn’t you say? She talks about joining one of the services but she hasn’t done anything about it. I don’t s’pose anyone else would notice there was anything wrong …’
‘Nor there is; anything wrong, I mean,’ Ernie said firmly. ‘For goodness’ sake, girl, she works hard and plays hard; what’s wrong with that? It sounds to me as though you’re making a mountain out of a molehill. We all had a good laugh that Sunday when we took a bus
into the country and went strawberry picking. She was in fine form then. She and Ralph picked twice as much as you and me; and ate twice as much as well.’ He chortled, digging Polly in the ribs. ‘I often wonder how them farmers who let you pick your own punnets o’ fruit manage to make a living since everyone gobbles strawberries before they start.’
‘Dana says they charge twice as much to cover what we eat,’ Polly said wisely. ‘Oh dear, Ernie, you’re making me wonder whether I’ve imagined the whole thing, but honest to God I
know
I’m right. She’s terribly unhappy underneath. She hides it most of the time and I bet not even Ralph has noticed, though he thinks of himself as a pretty close friend, if not actually her boyfriend. But I’m sure as I can be that what she really wants is to go home. I think she’s worried about the McBrides, wants to know how they’re getting on. She told me ages ago, quite soon after Caitlin left, that she had to leave home to earn some money because her family had fallen on hard times. She must wonder how they’re getting on without her; it’s been ages!’