Circle of Friends (4 page)

“Go on.”

“That’s all I know,” Patsy said. “And don’t be asking that poor child and upsetting her. People with no parents don’t like endless questions.”

Benny took this as good advice not only about Eve, but about Patsy herself.

Mother Francis was delighted to see the new friendship developing, but far too old a hand in dealing with children to say so.

“Going down to the Hogans again are you?” she said, sounding slightly put out.

“Do you mind?” Eve asked.

“No, I don’t mind. I can’t say that I mind.” The nun tried hard to conceal her enthusiasm.

“It’s not that I want to be away from here,” Eve said earnestly.

Mother Francis felt an urge to take the child in her arms as she used to do when Eve was a baby given into their care by the accident of her birth.

“No, no of course child, strange though this place is, it is your home.”

“It’s always been a lovely home.”

The nun’s eyes filled with tears. “Every convent should
have a child. I don’t know how we’re going to arrange it,” she said lightly.

“I wasn’t a nuisance when I arrived?”

“You were a blessing, you know that. It’s been the best ten years St. Mary’s ever had … you being here.”

Mother Francis stood at a window and watched little Eve go down the long avenue of the convent out to Sunday lunch on her own with the Hogans. She prayed that they would be kind to her, and that Benny wouldn’t change and find a new friend.

She remembered the fights she had to keep Eve in the first place, when so many other solutions were being offered. There was a cousin of the Westwards in England who would take the child, someone who would arrange Roman Catholic instruction once a week. The young Healys who had come to start the hotel were reported to be having difficulty in starting a family. They would be happy to have Eve in their home, even after their own children came along, if they did. But Mother Francis had fought like a tiger for that small bundle that she had rescued from the cottage, on the day she was born. The child they had reared until some solution could be found. Nobody had seen that Jack Malone’s solution would involve throwing himself over the quarry one dark night. After that there had been no one with better claim to Eve than the nuns who had reared her.

It was the first of many Sunday dinners in Lisbeg for Eve. She loved coming to the house. Every week she brought something which she arranged in a vase. Mother Francis had shown her how to go up the long windy path behind the convent and pick catkins and wild flowers. At the start she would rehearse arranging them with the nun so that she would do it well when she got to the Hogans, but as the weeks went by she grew in confidence. She could bring armfuls of autumn colors and make a beautiful display on
the hall table. It became a ritual. Patsy would have the vases ready to see what Eve would bring today.

“Don’t you have a lovely house!” she would say wistfully and Annabel Hogan would smile, pleased, and congratulate herself on having brought these two together.

“How did you meet Mrs. Hogan?” she would ask Benny’s father. And “Did you always want to run a business?” The kinds of questions Benny never thought to ask but was always interested in the answers.

She had never known that her parents met at a tennis party in a county far away. She had never heard that Father had been apprenticed to another business in the town of Ballylee. Or that Mother had gone to Belgium for a year after she left school to teach English in a convent.

“You make my parents say very interesting things,” she said to Eve one afternoon as they sat in Benny’s bedroom, and Eve marveled over being allowed to use an electric fire all for themselves.

“Well, they’ve got great stories like olden times.”

“Yes …” Benny was doubtful.

“You see the nuns don’t have.”

“They must have. Surely. They can’t have forgotten,” Benny said.

“But they’re not meant to think about the past, you know, and life before Entering, they really start from when they became Brides of Christ. They don’t have stories of olden days like your mother and father do.”

“Would they like you to be a nun too?” Benny asked.

“No, Mother Francis said that they wouldn’t take me, even if I did want to be a nun, until I was over twenty-one.”

“Why’s that?”

“She says it’s the only life I know, and I might want to join just because of that. She says when I leave school I have to go out and get a job for at least three years before I even think of Entering.”

“Wasn’t it lucky you met up with them,” Benny said.

“Yes. Yes, it was.”

“I don’t mean lucky that your mother and father died, but if they had to wasn’t it great you didn’t go somewhere awful.”

“Like in stories with wicked stepmothers,” Eve agreed.

“I wonder why they got you. Nuns usually don’t get children unless it’s an orphanage.”

“My father worked for them. They sent him up to Westlands to earn some money because they couldn’t pay him much. That’s where he met my mother. They feel responsible I think.”

Benny was dying to know more. But she remembered Patsy’s advice.

“Well, it all turned out fine, they’re mad about you up there.”

“Your parents are mad about you too.”

“It’s a bit hard sometimes, like if you want to wander off.”

“It is for me too,” Eve said. “Not much wandering off above in the convent.”

“It’ll be different when we’re older.”

“It mightn’t be,” Eve said sagely.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, we have to show them we’re terribly trustworthy or something, show them that if we
are
allowed to wander off, we’ll wander back in good time.”

“How could we show them?” Benny was eager.

“I don’t know. Something simple at the start. Could you ask me to stay the night here, for one thing?”

“Of course I could.”

“Then I could show Mother Francis that I’d be back up in the convent in time for mass in the chapel, and she’d get to know I was to be relied on.”

“Mass on a weekday?”

“Every day. At seven.”

“No!”

“It’s quite nice. The nuns sing beautifully, it’s nice and peaceful. Really I don’t mind it. Father Ross comes in specially and he gets a lovely breakfast in the parlor. He says the other priests envy him.”

“I didn’t know that … every day.”

“You won’t tell anyone will you?”

“No. Is it a secret?”

“Not a bit, it’s just that I
don’t
tell anything you see, and the community likes that, they feel I’m part of them. I didn’t have a friend before. There wasn’t anyone to tell.”

Benny smiled from ear to ear. “What night will you come? Wednesday night?”

“I don’t know, Eve. You don’t have any smart pajamas or anything to be going to stay with people. You don’t have a good sponge bag, things that people who go visiting need.”

“My pajamas are fine, Mother.”

“You could iron them, certainly, and you have a dressing gown.” She seemed to be faltering. “A sponge bag though?”

“Could Sister Imelda make one for me? I’ll do extra clearing up for her.”

“And what time will you come back?”

“I’ll be at my
prie dieu
in time for mass, Mother.”

“You won’t want to get up that early if you’re visiting people.” Mother Francis’s face was soft.

“That’s what I’d want, Mother.”

It was a great evening. They played rummy with Patsy in the kitchen for a long time because Mother and Father went across the road to Dr. and Mrs. Johnson’s house. It was a supper to celebrate the christening of their new baby.

Eve asked Patsy all about the orphanage, and Patsy told more details than she had ever told Benny. She explained how they used to steal food, and how hard it was when she came to the Hogans, her first job, to realize she didn’t have to take any stray biscuit or a fistful of sugar and put it into her apron.

In bed that night Benny said in wonder, “I don’t know why Patsy told us all that. Only the other day she was saying to me that people with no parents didn’t like being asked questions.”

“Ah, it’s different with me,” Eve said. “I’m in the same boat.”

“No you’re not!” Benny was indignant. “Patsy had nothing. She had to work in that awful place and get nits and steal and be beaten for wetting the bed. She had to leave there at fifteen and come here. It’s not a bit like you.”

“No. We are the same, she has no family, I don’t. She didn’t have a home like you do.”

“Is that why you told her more than you told me?” Benny had been even more astounded at the questions Patsy felt free to ask. Did Eve hate the Westwards who were so rich for not taking her into the big house? Eve didn’t, they couldn’t, they were Protestants, she explained. Lots more, things Benny wouldn’t have dared to ask.

“You don’t ask things like that,” Eve said simply.

“I’d be afraid of upsetting you,” Benny said.

“You couldn’t upset a friend,” Eve said.

Benny and Eve, who had lived all their lives in the same village, were each amazed at the things the other didn’t know about Knockglen.

Benny didn’t know that the three priests who lived in the presbytery had been given the game of Scrabble, which they played every night, and sometimes rang the convent to ask Mother Francis questions like how you spelled “quixotic”
because Father O’Brien was going to get a triple word score.

Eve hadn’t known that Mr. Burns in the hardware shop was inclined to take to the drink or that Dr. Johnson had a very bad temper and was heard shouting about God never putting a mouth into the world that he didn’t feed. Dr. Johnson was of the view that there were a lot of mouths, especially in the families with thirteen children, that God had forgotten to feed.

Benny didn’t know that Peggy Pine was an old friend of Mother Francis, that they had been girls years ago and that when she came to the convent she called Mother Francis Bunty.

Eve hadn’t known that Birdie Mac who ran the sweetshop had a man from Ballylee who had been calling for fifteen years, but she wouldn’t leave her old mother and the man from Ballylee wouldn’t come to Knockglen.

It made the town far more interesting to both of them to have such insights. Particularly because they knew these were dark secrets not to be shared with anyone. They pooled their knowledge on how children were born, and hadn’t any new enlightenments to offer. They both knew that they came out like kittens, they didn’t know how they got in.

“It’s got something to do with lying down one beside the other, when you’re married,” Eve said.

“It couldn’t happen if you weren’t married. Suppose you fell down beside someone like Dessie Burns.” Benny was worried.

“No, you have to be married.” Eve knew that for certain.

“And how would it get in?” It was a mystery.

“It could be your Little Mary,” Benny said thoughtfully.

“What’s your Little Mary?”

“The bit in the middle of your tummy.”

“Oh, your tummy button is what Mother Francis calls it.”

“That must be it,” Benny cried triumphantly. “If they all have different names for it, that must be the secret.”

They practiced hard at being reliable. If either said she would be home at six o’clock then five minutes before the hour struck and the Angelus rang she would be back in place. As Eve had anticipated, it did win them much more freedom. They were thought to be a good influence on each other. They didn’t allow their hysterical laughing fits to be seen in public.

They pressed their noses against the window of Healy’s Hotel. They didn’t like Mrs. Healy. She was very superior. She walked as if she were a queen. She always seemed to look down on children.

Benny heard from Patsy that the Healys had been up to Dublin to look for a child to adopt but they hadn’t got one because Mr. Healy had a weak chest.

“Just as well,” Eve had said unsympathetically. “They’d be terrible for anyone as a mother and father.” She spoke in innocence of the fact that Knockglen had once thought that she herself might be the ideal child for them.

Mr. Healy was much older than his wife. It was whispered, Patsy said, that he couldn’t cut the mustard. Eve and Benny spent long hours trying to work out what this could mean. Mustard came in a small tin and you mixed it with water. How did you cut it? Why should you cut it?

Mrs. Healy looked a hundred but apparently she was twenty-seven. She had married at seventeen and was busy throwing all her efforts into the hotel since there were no children.

Together they explored places where they had never gone alone. To Flood’s, the butchers, hoping they might see the animals being killed.

“We don’t really want to see them being killed do we?” Benny asked fearfully.

“No, but we’d like to be there at the beginning so that we could if we want to, then run away,” Eve explained. Mr. Flood wouldn’t let them near his yard so the matter didn’t arise.

They stood and watched the Italian from Italy come and start up his fish-and-chip shop.

“Weel you leetle girls come here every day and buy my feesh?” he said hopefully to the two earnest children, one big, one small, who stood watching his every move.

“No, I don’t think we’ll be allowed,” Eve said sadly.

“Why is that?”

“It would be called throwing away good money,” Benny said.

“And talking to foreign men,” Eve explained to clinch matters.

“My Seester is married to a Dublin man,” Mario explained.

“We’ll let people know,” Eve said solemnly.

Sometimes they went to the harness maker. A very handsome man on a horse came one day to inquire about a bridle that should have been ready, but wasn’t.

Dekko Moore was a cousin of Paccy Moore’s in the shoe shop. He was very apologetic, and looked as if he might be taken away and hanged for the delay.

The man turned his horse swiftly. “All right. Will you bring it up to the house tomorrow, instead,” he shouted.

“Indeed I will sir, thank you sir. I’m very sorry sir. Indeed sir.” Dekko Moore sounded like a villain who had been unmasked in a pantomime.

“Lord, who was that I wonder?” Benny was amazed. Dekko was almost dead with relief at how lightly he had escaped.