Con had grinned up at Donovan McBride and then thrust the ball into Dana’s hands. ‘Sorry I shoved you, alanna,’ he had said cheerfully. ‘Now let’s take the ball on to the lawn where there ain’t no horse muck.’
That had been just one incident of many. Children’s parties, trips to the seaside, learning to row a coracle on
the nearby lake, then visits to the cinema in town, shopping expeditions and helping in the harvest fields when they were older, and always, always, horses. Stallions, mares, colts, fillies and foals, a constant procession of them to be watched and loved, tacked up, ridden and rewarded, and always she and Con together, closer than brother and sister, seldom at odds.
But she’d been silent for too long. Feena was staring at her over the pile of plates she was about to replace on the Welsh dresser. ‘Dana?’ she said anxiously. ‘You’ve not seen him for three whole years and you’ve not tried to get in touch. My dear child, you could’ve written to him at any time during those three years. You’ve made it pretty plain that you’ve been assuming he was still here; why didn’t you at least send him a note? Put yourself in his shoes for a moment. You’d left here after a blazing row; you wrote to him once, a very stiff and starchy letter giving him an address which proved to be useless. You must’ve had other addresses to which he could’ve sent letters … you’ve just told me you share accommodation with your friend Polly. Why did you not send Con that address? You can’t blame him if he thought he no longer mattered to you and turned to other friends.’
‘Other friends?’ Dana could not help her surprise and dismay showing. ‘But Con and I didn’t need anyone else whilst we had each other.’ A dreadful thought struck her. ‘Are you trying to say he’s got a girlfriend?’
‘Yes,’ Feena said baldly, and now when she looked at Dana there was a gently mocking smile on her face. ‘Did you think he was the sort of man to pine over one girl when the world is full of pretty women? You underestimate him, my dear. He’s had at least a dozen girlfriends – well,
maybe I exaggerate, but he’s been serious enough with three or four of them to bring them home from time to time.’
‘I see,’ Dana said quietly. ‘I suppose he’s not – not actually married? Of course, if he is …’
Feena laughed and reached out to take her daughter’s hand. ‘Are
you
married, alanna? For all Con knows you might have a couple of kids by now.’ She laughed again. ‘For all I know you might’ve made me a grandmother. Oh, how Johnny would hate being married to Granny McBride!’
Dana tried to join in her mother’s laughter but it was difficult. All she wanted was to get away like an injured animal and lick her wounds, but she must not let Feena realise how the news of Con had affected her, so she lied boldly. ‘Oh well, I suppose I must confess that Con isn’t the only one. I’ve had three or four boyfriends in Liverpool myself and one of them is pretty serious. His name’s Ralph – Ralph Freeway – and he’s part owner with his brother Jake of the Freeway Cinema where I work. He’s joined the air force, just like Con, and wanted us to get engaged before he was sent abroad for training, but I wouldn’t. I wanted to see Con first; a pity that’s impossible but he’s clearly not pining for me any more than I’m pining for him. So when I go back to Liverpool I’ll agree to the engagement and next time I come home I will bring Ralph, because you simply must meet him. You’ll love him, Mammy, honest to God you will.’
‘If you say so, alanna. But only a moment ago you were saying words to the effect that you and Con had a special relationship, and now you say you’re getting
engaged to some young man you’ve never mentioned before. Are you sure …’
‘Yes I am sure,’ Dana said swiftly, pinning a bright smile to her lips. ‘I’ve always thought of Con as a brother; that was why I was so upset that he seemed to have forgotten me. I know brothers and sisters don’t always get on but Con and I scarcely ever quarrelled. So we’ll dance at each other’s weddings and no doubt when the war’s over and we both come back here with our partners, I’ll talk girl talk with her and Con and Ralph will drink Guinness in the village and discuss the war and the air force and all the other things men talk about when there are no women present. But in the meantime, if you’ll be good enough to give me Con’s address I’ll drop him a line apologising for the way I’ve behaved.’ She gave a rather artificial little laugh. ‘I owe him that much. Unless you think he’d rather I didn’t even write?’
Feena stared at her daughter, clearly nonplussed by her words, and when she answered it was slowly. ‘Dana, my love, Con has asked us not to pass his address on. For a short time he went out with Sinead McCulloch but she began pressing for marriage and telling folk in the village that he’d given her a ring. Con said he’d got no intention of marrying anyone, but things were quite difficult for a while. And when young Grainne took a shine to him and began writing him love letters it was the last straw. He told us not to pass his address on, and we haven’t, but I’m sure he didn’t mean that to include you.’
‘Oh, it doesn’t matter; I wouldn’t like dear Con to think I was pursuing him,’ Dana said. ‘What it is to be a good-looking and popular young man, eh, Mammy? Forget it. Only when you write do tell him how sorry I
am for the quarrel, and horrible Mrs Haggerty sending his letter back. And now let’s go and take a look at the rest of the horses.’
She got to her feet as she spoke and headed for the back door, taking her coat off the peg and putting it on, but Feena, following suit, shook her head. ‘I shall do no such thing, Dana. You must write a letter – with your address on it, of course – and I’ll enclose it with my own. Then the choice will be Con’s. He can write direct to you at whatever address you give and I’m sure he’ll do so. But he’s abroad at the moment, in France I believe, so don’t expect an immediate reply.’
‘Right,’ Dana said as they crossed the stable yard. ‘By the way, Mammy, what’s happened to the O’Learys? The lodge was so clean and tidy I almost thought I was in the wrong place. Don’t say you’ve given them the sack after all these years?’
Feena laughed at the mere suggestion. ‘No, of course not; your father would never have permitted such a thing, and both Johnny and myself always try to do what Donovan would’ve wanted. The fact is that Mary McKenna – who was Mary O’Leary – came home to live with her parents after her husband ran off with some young fancy piece he met on a visit to Dublin. She’s a nice young woman – well, she’s not that young, she must be forty – and a stickler for cleanliness and hard work. She keeps the lodge immaculate and we employ her up at the castle three mornings a week, which gives her some money of her own. But you’ll meet her, no doubt, before you have to rush off. How long can you stay, love? After all, you’ve already told me there are plenty of jobs in Liverpool now England’s at war, and obviously whilst
you’re with us you won’t need to be spending much. In fact we’ll pay you if you’ll exercise the horses for us.’ She smiled lovingly at her daughter. ‘I wish you could stay for ever, my little darling, but it’s up to you. It’s a decision only you can make.’
But here she was proved wrong, for within a week of Dana’s arriving at Castletara the British government made another announcement, having clearly realised their mistake. All places of entertainment were to be opened once more, and that of course included the Freeway Cinema and its popular cafeteria. Dana, listening to the wireless, could only pull a rueful face and tell Feena and Johnny what they must have already guessed: she would have to go. Jake would be hard pressed to get the cinema opened up with more than half his staff missing, and the cafeteria would remain closed until Dana was in charge once more.
Resignedly, Dana said her farewells, carried her haversack downstairs and piled into the old Morris in which Johnny would drive her to the station. She had put all her belongings on the front passenger seat so that she and Feena might sit side by side in the back, discussing how soon Dana would be able to return to Castletara. Feena wept when the train drew in and many promises were exchanged, some of which might actually be kept, Dana thought, as she waved to the two figures gradually growing smaller as the engine speed increased. When they had quite disappeared she sat back in her seat in the empty compartment and allowed herself the luxury of a hearty bout of tears. She had written an abject apology to Con telling him that she would stay at Castletara for at least a month, but this had proved
impossible and because of her obstinate refusal to let her mother give her Con’s address against his expressed wishes she would have to wait for his reply. She had managed to gather that, in this case at any rate, abroad meant France, which was not so very far away. So she comforted herself with the hope that he would write back, believing her to be at Castletara, and that Feena would redirect his reply to Temperance Court as soon as it was received.
Chapter Thirteen
‘ARE YOU READY
, Dana?’ Polly’s tone held an edge of impatience. ‘You’d best get a move on. You know how fussy Jake is about opening up on time.’
Dana, emerging red-faced from the bedroom, sighed but took her coat from its peg and began to put it on. ‘Friends who’ve gone into the forces complain about being tipped out of their beds every morning at some ungodly hour, but thanks to staff shortages I reckon we’re even worse off,’ she said bitterly. ‘What’s the weather like, Poll? Don’t say it’s raining again!’
‘It always rains in November … unless it snows, of course,’ Polly said placidly. ‘Still, the wind ain’t nowhere near as strong as it were last month.’ She snorted on a laugh. ‘Do you remember that feller who came to talk to us about German spies and parachutists descending from the sky dressed as nuns, who got quite a barracking after someone said it were so windy that the nuns’ skirts would be blowed over their heads revealing clumping great jackboots and serge trousers? And some wag in the audience said they’d all get blown to Ireland or into the Mersey, they could tek their choice.’ She opened the door as she spoke, then groaned. ‘Oh, Gawd, it’s positively pelting down, and an umbrella would be blown inside
out before you could say Jack Robinson. I vote we catch a tram to the Pier Head and then a bus. No point in getting wetter than we have to.’
Dana agreed and the two scuttled, heads down, across the court, under the arch and on to the main road. Polly leaned towards Dana and bawled at the top of her voice, to be heard above the roar of the traffic. ‘There’s a good queue for the tram, which means one must be due any minute. Though whether we’ll get on the first one which comes along I doubt, even though it’s dead early. It’s all them perishin’ factory workers … ah, here comes one with another close behind!’
The girls managed to get aboard the second tram, and at the Pier Head they hurried through the lashing rain to where their bus would presently draw in. When it came, there was room for two on the front seat and the girls hurried up the aisle and sat down. Polly glanced at her wristwatch. ‘We’re going to be early early,’ she said cheerfully. ‘This bus normally picks up school kids, but of course they’ve all been evacuated, though I believe some mums are bringing their kids home. Well, you can’t blame ’em. We’ve had none of this aerial bombardment that the government expected, no nuns have come floating down from the sky, no beautiful ladies with very little clothing and German accents have appeared to try and wheedle state secrets out of our chaps …’
Dana giggled. ‘I heard a kid in the stalls last Saturday saying that they were being asked questions in school as to what they would do if England was invaded. The teacher mentioned these mythical nuns that everyone’s been on about and asked the kids what they would do if they saw a nun descending from the sky. Apparently
one of the really little ones piped up with: “I’d tell her she must of slipped out of heaven and she’d best change d’rection at once and go back up again afore she was missed!”’
‘Ain’t kids lovely? But with Christmas barely five weeks away they’ll soon stop thinking about bombs or invasions or anything of that nature. I reckon most everyone will bring their kids home for Christmas itself, but if they’ve got any sense they’ll send ’em back to the country afterwards. The Jerries have had their hands full with France and the Maginot Line and subduing the Poles, I suppose, but what they did to Madrid they’ll do to England, so we need to be ready, which means keeping the kids safe. So I reckon the streets and the courts will buzz for a couple of weeks and then we’ll get our lovely peace and quiet back.’
Dana’s eyebrows rose and she wagged a reproving finger at her friend. ‘I thought you liked children,’ she said indignantly. ‘Lovely peace and quiet indeed! Though I admit it will be nice when summer comes not to have to dodge under the lines of dripping nappies crisscrossing Temperance Court. Aha! Our stop’s coming up!’
By the time the girls entered the cinema by the side passage they were both soaked to the skin, for it had been impossible to use their umbrellas in the strong wind. They hurried to what Jake referred to as the staffroom and were divesting themselves of their outer garments, squeaking with dismay to find themselves almost as wet beneath, when the door opened and Jake came in. He grinned at Dana, who was wringing her hair out as though it were a dishcloth. ‘Well, well, well, do I see two drowned rats before me?’ He flourished an
official-looking form at them. ‘I’ve been accepted for the Navy!’ he said triumphantly.
‘I lied about my age, of course, though they don’t seem bothered if you’re volunteering. But the question is, what’ll we do with the dear old Freeway? We’re all right for a projectionist and an organist; Mr Levitt is sixty if he’s a day and I don’t see Reg’s age group being called up any time soon, either. I trust you two to manage the place, though you’ll probably need some assistance. It’s not difficult to keep the cinema itself running smoothly; you’ve got cleaning staff for the auditorium, I know, Polly, but what about the cafeteria? I dare say several of the waitresses will either go to work in munitions or join the forces; can you manage with the staff you’ve got, Dana? And can I take it that you’ll stay, at least? I know life in the forces must seem glamorous compared to running this place, but owning a cinema is what Ralph and I have always dreamed of doing. Will you promise to stick by me and keep the Freeway open and running smoothly until the war’s over?’