On the Edge of the Loch: A Psychological Novel set in Ireland (14 page)

He noticed now that something he had just done or said, he had no idea what, had brought a pleasure-full meditation to her face. Clearly, her thoughts were playing for her a private reverie. He reached for the door handle.

‘Wait! Sure you don’t feel like a nice cup of tea? Or something stronger?’

‘Maybe another time.’ As he spoke, his mind travelled a line from the tip of her retrousse nose, down over red lips and bare neck, to her breasts. ‘Thanks again for the ride,’ he said anxiously.

‘Glass of Jameson?’ she asked. ‘I promise I won’t tease you any more. Scout’s honour.’

‘Another time,’ he said, realising that he was still considering her invitation, and that his compliment was not flattery; beautiful she was.

Her smile spilled disappointment. He pushed open the door, stepped out of the car.

‘Wait,’ she called out, leaning across the passenger seat, chin raised. He hesitated, then kissed her. Light as the kiss was, from both of them, she remained closed-eyed for moments longer, then pulled herself upright. ‘I had a brilliant time,’ she said in a voice more serious and personal than he had heard from her before. ‘Interested in the céili tomorrow night?’

‘I’ll keep it in mind.’

‘You’re different. You know that?’ she said, thrust the gear stick forward and accelerated away.

* * *

Next day, Saturday, the day before Lenny would be back, he rose early, tense and un-rested. Maybe she’d surprise him, arrive today, in time for breakfast at the Beehive.

But time crawled by, filled with confusion, too much thinking. The avocado telephone sat silent to his glare and wish. Sometime in mid-morning he propped himself against the pine headboard for another attempt at reading
Borstal Boy
. Soon he hurled the book at the wall. Reading was impossible, every line derailed. He retrieved the book. Now he allowed passages to float away. Occasionally, Behan’s familiar world spirited him off into interludes, only to be drawn back by sounds of doors opening and closing and a compulsion to stare at the phone.

A long while later he dialled the reception desk for the time, which he already knew: 6.24pm. Later he made the same call, asked if anyone had tried to reach him, a message of any kind. Room 17. Tony MacNeill. Anything?

Yes. There was a note, he was told, in his box. A woman, didn’t leave her name, telephoned at 4 o’clock, asked the clerk to take down a message for Room 17, for Mr MacNeill. That was it.

Why had no one told him, he asked. He got the note from the desk, read it, crumpled it, flung it across the tiled lobby as the clerk watched. He then retrieved it and re-read it:

Saturday, September 3rd 1994

Dear Tony,

Will not be returning to Aranroe until Tuesday.

Sorry. I hope to see you then.

LQ.

* * *

Shortly after eight o’clock something stirred outside his room. He listened, waited, pressed his ear to the door. Rustling, moving. He pulled open the door. In front of him, behind dark glasses, smiling, as if awaiting his approval, it was her, for an instant.

But suddenly it wasn’t; it wasn’t Lenny Quin.

9

1971

Outside Aranroe

Streams of blue chimney smoke billowed from the thatched cottage into an unpredictable sky. Still no one answered the knocks. The uniformed girl and the erect, black-coated man sought refuge by the front door from a crisp November wind.

‘See, I told you. They’re away in the vegetable beds,’ the girl said, her long auburn hair in turmoil. ‘When a gable gate is open you’ve always to go around back; everyone knows that.’

The man tugged at her, talked into her face. ‘Watch that tongue of yours, young lady. I’ve spoken to you about your cheek, haven’t I?’ He then yanked his collar higher and rapped harder at the wooden door.

‘You’re a silly person; I bet you don’t even know that,’ the girl said.

‘Listen you! I’m taking no more of your guff; do I make – ’

‘What is it?’ Leo Reffo appeared at the gate by the gable, his earth-stained forearms protruding from tightly-rolled sleeves.

‘Good day to you, Mr Quin,’ the man said, approaching.

‘The name is – ’ Leo stopped, left his sentence unfinished. His questioning eyes connected with the girl’s, then shifted back to the man. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I’m Turlough O’Riordan, the new inspector for St Agnes’s. I have an item here to show you.’ He pulled outward on his heavy coat and began searching inside. As he did, Leo slipped the girl a knowing nod. ‘Appears I’ve left the papers in the car,’ the man said. ‘I’ll get them.’

‘No need,’ Leo said. ‘Something the matter? Why’s this lassie not in school?’

‘They wouldn’t let me sit in sixth class for English, that’s why.’ The girl’s high-pitched voice flung out the words. ‘They wouldn’t let me because they said, they said that – ’

‘Please! Why don’t you allow me to explain, young la – ’

‘No, no harm,’ Leo interjected. ‘Let Lenny go first, then you can tell me. If that’s not a problem with you, Mr O’Riordan.’

The man’s face tightened. He said nothing.

‘They won’t let me sit in sixth class for English any more, and Mr MacMathuna always lets me, and they tried to make me stand in the corner. And I did nothing wrong. Nothing!’ She paused, breathing hard, features jumping. ‘I don’t care, I don’t care, I’m not standing in the stupid corner ever, ever, ever, I don’t care, I won’t!’ With a jerk she turned her back to the men and her face up to the mountains.

‘You see, Mr Quin? You see?’ The man’s glare switched from Leo to the child and back to Leo. ‘See this? Her behaviour has been a problem for some time, I’m reliably informed. And we have just not been able – ’

‘Hold your horses there,’ Leo said. ‘Before you head off on that road, tell me what she did; what’s this all about today?’

‘I didn’t do anything, I, I – ’

‘Shhh, shhh.’ Leo placed a finger to his lips. ‘Lenny, dear, let Mr O’Riordan tell me, please. Then’ll come your turn again.’

‘Thank you.’ The man said sharply. ‘We just cannot continue allowing Leonora into the higher classes. She seems unwilling to accept that she’s twelve; she must stay with the twelve-year-olds, in fifth class, not sixth, for all her subjects.’ He turned to Lenny, ‘Fifth, not sixth!’

‘They’re all stupid in fifth. I want to be in sixth. Mr MacMathuna said I could and he – ’

‘That’s enough, young lady. Mr MacMathuna is gone. He won’t be setting foot inside St Agnes’s ever again, not as long as I’m – ’

‘Tell me, Mr O’Riordan, what caused this? Was it something Lenny did?’

‘Yes, it was. And I might add that Sister was expecting responses to both notes she sent home with the child. Just today, Leonora defiantly refused to return to her class when requested to do so, and she’s been having an upsetting effect on her fellow pupils. And if that wasn’t enough, she was obstreperous with the principal, Reverend Mother DeLellis.’

‘You’ll have to explain to me what you mean by that word, about Lenny and the nun.’

‘Obstreperous? She was obstreperous, obstreperous, with Reverend Mother. And other teachers. Repeatedly obstreperous; I have that on good authority.’

‘I’m still no wiser what you’re saying. You’re using that same word. Just tell me what you mean.’

‘Impertinent. Impudent. Insolent. A half a dozen times or more. It would appear, too, that Leonora believes it’s perfectly alright to take items that are the property of other children.’

‘I’m not a child! I’m twelve and three quarters. And nobody ever ever calls me Leonora. Nobody! Why can’t everybody just let me alone!’

Leo said nothing, just placed a hand on Lenny’s shoulder as she locked her arms across her chest and turned away once more.

‘Now, about Sister’s notes,’ the man said to Leo, hiking his eyebrows for a response.

‘Aye, the notes.’ Leo’s words firmed. ‘A response is in order alright. But there’s no reason I can see not to address matters now, seeing that you’re here. You say you’re new to the parish; did anyone tell you that Lenny is top of her class in every subject bar one or maybe two, out of eleven subjects?’

‘Twelve. Twelve subjects,’ Lenny insisted. ‘I do religion too.’

‘As I was saying, that may or may not be the case – ’

‘It is the case,’ Leo cut in. ‘Look, as I see it, it’d be fair if you’d accept that she’s not the usual pupil, if you get what I’m saying. Looks to me like you’re bent on turning her into something she’s not; you’re trying to hay-tie her.’

‘The rules are the same for every pupil, Mr Quin. Every pupil. Without exception. Not that we’re insensitive about the mother being deceased, Lord have mercy on her soul. But despite that, we simply cannot – ’

‘You can’t make an exception. That’s what you’re saying. Even though she’s exceptional and we all agree on that? Why not? She’s not thirteen yet, but she’s won a medal for the school at the Young Scientist Exhibition in Dublin last year, and two more in the schools competitions, and other awards. What does that tell you, man?’

‘Seven medals I won!’ Lenny shouted without turning, and held up seven ink-stained fingers, a few bearing only half a finger-nail. ‘No other girl in St Agnes’s won any.’

‘Seven it is,’ Leo said.

‘Evidently, Mr Quin, you’re not willing to see this from St Agnes’s point of view. Nor do you appear to appreciate Reverend Mother’s difficulties.’

‘I’ll see it from my own point of view first, Mr O’Riordan. And what manner of difficulties are you meaning?’

‘I thought I’d made myself clear. Reverend Mother has reported to me that the child – ’

‘I’m not a child!’

‘That the child – ’

‘I’m not a child!’

‘That she has too many times acted obstreperously with teachers. Plus, she takes what she wants, regardless of whose it is.’ The man’s increasing emphasis shot arcs of spit into the air. ‘And, and, she asserted recently, in front of the full class, that she knows more than Miss Trimble, the maths teacher. All round she’s been stubborn and uncooperative. Those are the good Sister’s actual words, not mine. Which, if I’m not mistaken, were stated in both her notes.’

‘Enough said. I’ll have a word with her. On one condition: that you do the same with the school. Tell them take it a bit easier. She’s a bright student. Make an exception now and then. Bend your rules. Would harm no one. You don’t have to break them. That’s what I’m asking.’

‘I sympathise, I do, Mr Quin. But school is not like a farm. It’s standard policy to treat every child the same, and for as long as I’m the area inspector that’s how it shall remain. Good day to you. I’ll be driving her back now.’

‘No! I’m not going back, ever!’ Lenny clung to Leo’s jacket. ‘They all hate me there. I hate them, I hate them, I hate them.’

‘Lenny, listen to me,’ Leo said.

‘No, I won’t go back. I won’t!’ She spun away, teeth clenched, fists thrown down by her sides.

‘Lenny, darling.’ She retreated out of Leo’s reach. ‘You want to be a great scientist, you have to go to school. Everyone – ’

She backed farther away, her bearing unchanged.

‘There! Just like I’ve been saying. I’ll deal with this.’ The man grabbed Lenny’s blazer at the shoulder. ‘You, are coming with me, right now.’

Leo’s right hand thrust forward, grabbed the lapel of the inspector’s big black coat. ‘Better you’d wait in your car, Mr O’Riordan,’ he said. The men’s breaths mingled in the air. For a moment neither moved.

‘I’ll talk to her. Alone. Right?’ Leo’s words carried conciliation but bore still an expectation of compliance.

In that moment Lenny took off, arms and legs pumping, up through the dandelion field, auburn tresses skying wild behind her, swept back by her abandon and haste, until she crested the closest hillock and merged into the meadow.

A while later, Leo found her hunkered amid the mountain grasses, weaving a string of flowers, consumed. His interruption drew from her an exuberant greeting.

‘Look what I made, a necklace,’ she said.

‘Very nice. Now you should wear it.’

She shook her head. ‘It’s for you. It’s nearly ready.’

‘Listen to me, Princess. The inspector’s gone, but you can’t do that ever again. You can’t let on I’m your father and this is where you live. This is very serious. Your father needs to be told what’s happening at school. He’ll talk to them and sort it out. Is that clear?’

Her indecipherable whispers flowed on, as though she were lost to a world woven by imagination and ink-stained fingers.

‘Lenny? Are you listening?’

‘Where’s Aunt Peg?’

‘She’s at the market in Louisburg. Did you hear what I said?’

‘I’ll tell him. When I see him.’

‘Better head up to your own place now. Go up by Grimes’s field; I don’t want you down near the paddock; the bull’s there. Off with you now. I’ll be watching.’

Lenny held up the flower chain with both hands. He lifted his cap, bowed his head, and accepted it.

‘You look nicer now,’ she said, bright and smiling. And in a flash she galloped down toward the paddock, where she stopped to fling a clump of earth at the staring beast, then ran along the hedging and all the way up the rise to Claire Abbey.

10

‘Hi,’ he said, holding the door, his voice energyless.

‘You can’t be that sad to see me. How do I look? I got all fancied up for you; I thought you’d like this better than muddy jeans.’

‘I don’t feel up to it, Cilla.’ His words grumbled out, devoid of courtesy or pretence.

‘Well, myself, I think I look nice. You could ask me in.’

‘No. Place is a pig sty.’

‘Well c’mon then, get your céili shoes on. You look like a bit of a dance couldn’t do you any harm. And you don’t have to worry, I won’t drive fast. I promise.’ She closed one eye and drew a cross on the right side of her chest. ‘Or I hope to die.’

‘Cilla – ’

‘Oh c’mon, stop it, will you.’

‘I’m not up to it, I told you. Anyway, I can’t – ’

‘You can’t dance? If that’s what you’re trying to say don’t bother ‘cause neither can I. I never could. Who cares? I just thought – ’

As her brightness faded he noted again the unadorned country girl: her paleness and green eyes, the sense of humour of someone who had never had to endure terrible suffering.