Light A Penny Candle (22 page)

‘What was that?’ Mr Brace had asked. ‘I don’t know about it.’

‘Oh, it was maybe a hundred years ago, you know St Bernadette and all the miracles and the people being cured and all,’ said Elizabeth.

‘Well Raphael could hardly have known that in advance,’ said Mr Brace. ‘He wasn’t around to know about the miracles, was he?’

Elizabeth reddened and determined not to speak again. Mr Brace was sorry for her and lent her some books on art history, and one of his precious books of reproductions.

‘I get bad-tempered, and shout at people in class,’ he said. ‘Some day you’ll be in front of a lot of kids and you’ll be the same.’

‘Oh, I won’t be a teacher,’ Elizabeth said definitely.

‘What will you be?’ he asked with interest.

Elizabeth looked at him blankly. ‘I have no idea, but I suppose I’ll think of something when the time comes.’ Her face looked troubled. He was the first person who had asked her that question. Mother had never wondered what she would do and neither had Father. But perhaps a lot of people had to face this kind of decision alone. She tried to remind herself of what Aunt Eileen had always said to Aisling whenever there was a crisis or a cry that things were unfair. ‘Self-pity brings tears to the eyes quicker than anything else.’ Aunt Eileen would be proud of me, she thought from time to time as she walked by herself back to Clarence Gardens, her books under her arm, glad to be out of the big, tiled corridors in the school but not anxious to get back into the empty house.

Often she delayed and walked by the library. They had little exhibitions from time to time and it was nice to stroll around and examine their tables full of model buildings, or ancient Greek reconstructions. The librarian, Mr
Clarke
, was a kind man. He was an albino and he had very poor sight. He told Elizabeth that in fact he could see much better than people had thought, it just looked worse because he peered so much. He had got the job during the war and had built up the library so well, now nobody could take it away from him. He found art books for Elizabeth to read and, even more helpfully, he got her the prospectus and application forms from the local art college.

‘I don’t think I could really study art, could I?’ Elizabeth asked him doubtfully. ‘I mean, I don’t know anything about it.’

‘That’s why people study things,’ Mr Clarke said, his white head bobbing up and down excitedly. ‘That’s the point.’

Walking back from the library, she often stopped and examined the window of Worsky’s second-hand shop, or rather, antique shop. There were lovely things in the window. She used to tell Mr Clarke about the funny little screens and wondered where they were made. Mr Clarke said she should go in and ask, the owner would be glad to tell her.

‘But I don’t have any money to buy anything, I can’t go in can I?’ Elizabeth was hesitant.

‘Of course you can, that’s what people like, even more than making a sale, to chat about beautiful things. …’

And of course he was right. Mr Worsky showed her the panelling in the screens, explained how lacquering was done, and it was all so much more interesting than
anything
she had ever heard at school. She looked up more books in the library and told Mr Brace about it after art classes.

If only Aisling were here, she thought a hundred times. She would make such fun of her three friends. Beer-Belly-Brace, the albino in the library and the old Polish refugee, Mr Worsky in the antique shop. But it was good to have three friends. And she was able to go to the cinema too, a lot of girls had no money for that, at least once a week she went to the balcony by herself, to the four-thirty show. She saw
Gone With the Wind
four times, and she quite understood why Ashley loved Melanie and not Scarlett. She had written that to Aisling and, as she expected, Aisling had disagreed. Aisling thought that Melanie was a wet, mopey, old baggage and she spoiled the story by being so good.

Other people sang songs about being sweet sixteen and just sixteen and the joys of being seventeen. But Elizabeth didn’t join in much. She thought it was a long lonely apprenticeship, and the day she got the news of her scholarship to the art college, she hoped that the weary business of growing up was now over. Father said he hoped it would lead to a secure job; Mother wrote and said that a lot of Honourables were going to art school now and she might meet some. Aisling said she couldn’t understand it, Elizabeth had been no good at drawing at school, but Sister Martin who taught drawing was pleased. Mr Brace said she was the first of his pupils to do so well, Mr Clarke in the library gave her four old art
books
which were considered surplus stock and inscribed them all for her. And Mr Worsky in the antique shop said that now she was an official art student she might even like to come and work in the shop sometimes.

She did get the job in Worsky’s antique shop. She called in one Saturday, shortly after she had started at the art college and felt she was a
bona fide
artistic person. At the back of the shop, lost in a catalogue, stood a much younger man than Mr Worsky. Elizabeth’s heart lurched, in case the shop had been sold. She hadn’t been in for a few weeks.

‘What can I get you?’ he asked pleasantly. ‘Or would you like to browse around a bit?’

He was very very handsome, he had a sharp face – that’s what Elizabeth thought was the word you would use to describe it – sort of pointed features, and a lot of black hair falling over his forehead. He looked like a film star.

‘Oh, I wanted to see Mr Worsky. He is still here isn’t he?’

The young man smiled. ‘Oh yes, of course he is, he’s having something he hasn’t had for a long time. A day off. I’m Johnny Stone, his assistant.’

‘Oh yes, of course, he told me about you.’ Elizabeth smiled with relief. ‘But he described you as an old man, or I mean I thought you were much older. …’

‘He didn’t describe you to me at all… but you are very young and very attractive, if I may say so.’

Elizabeth smiled and blushed a bit. ‘Thank you very
much
,’ she said. ‘You’re very kind. I’m Elizabeth White and he once sort of, half-said that if there was extra work here on a Saturday morning he might consider me.’

‘If he doesn’t, he is a very foolish man, and Stefan Worsky is not that.’

‘Oh good, then you’re on my side,’ said Elizabeth earnestly. ‘Can you tell him that I’ve started now, up at the art college, and I’m doing design courses, as well as history of art, and if it’s all right I might call in one afternoon during the week and ask him if he’d really like me to help out on Saturdays. …’ She looked around. The place was empty. ‘It’s not very busy, do you think he’d really need help?’

‘It’s early still,’ said Johnny Stone. ‘In half an hour the place will be humming. I could ask you to start this morning but that would be a bit pushy. I bet I’ll see you next Saturday. I certainly hope so. …’

‘I hope so too, Mr Stone,’ Elizabeth said solemnly.

‘Oh come on,’ he said.

‘I hope so too, Johnny,’ she said, shaking his hand.

‘That’s better,’ he said.

The engagement between Maureen O’Connor and Brendan Daly was announced in spring, and a September wedding was planned. It certainly came as no surprise to anyone; the surprise had been that they had waited so long. Their walking-out period had been considered long even by Kilgarret standards. Eamonn had heard a joke about them; he heard that Brendan had finally plucked up
courage
to ask Maureen and he had said, ‘Would you like to be buried with my people?’ He had thought it was great, and he kept telling everyone, until his father had told him to shut his big ignorant mouth.

‘Isn’t it bad enough having the girl being made a fool of by that brood of tinkers without having you laughing like a horse?’

Eamonn was stunned. He had no idea anyone was being made a fool of; he checked it out with Aisling.

‘Apparently, by being seen with him or something, she was saying that she was willing; by his not naming the day it looks as if he was taking a bit of time to make up his mind. They’re all cracked in this town,’ Aisling said absently. ‘But what’s the worry? She wanted him, she’s getting him. That’s the system.’

Maureen had been talking about the clothes for the wedding non-stop. Aisling and Sheila Daly were to wear pink. Pink was the right colour for bridesmaids’ dresses. It was a pity about Aisling’s hair, and the clash, but it couldn’t be helped, Maureen wasn’t going to change her whole wedding just because her younger sister had such extraordinary red hair. Aisling shrugged. She could always have Niamh. No, that wouldn’t do, it would look as if there had been a row, it would give cause for gossip. Anyway Aisling and Sheila Daly were around the same height.

Occasionally, Aisling tried to ask Mam was Maureen being normal about this wedding, or was she a bit disturbed; but Mam wasn’t giving any sensible answers.
She
said that a wedding day was something so special that people should be allowed to have any kinds of fancies they wanted. After the wedding day, being married soon settled down to ordinary things again, so that’s why people let brides go into such states of excitement. No, Mam hadn’t been able to go into a state of excitement herself because things were difficult in those days, there was less money, things were more chancy, people had to concentrate so hard on having a living, a stake in somewhere. Mam’s family had lost any bit of money they ever thought they had; Dad’s family had nothing. But this was now; things were far better than the terrible twenties. …

‘But Mam, she’s daft altogether, it’s only old Brendan Daly. I mean it’s only the Dalys she’s marrying, you’d think it was the royal family. Do you know she asked me to get thinner for the day! To lose a bit of weight for the ceremony. I couldn’t believe it.’

Mam laughed. ‘Will you wear a corset and tighten it up a bit and tell her you’ve lost weight? That’s what I’m going to do.’

‘She asked you to lose weight too?’ Aisling could hardly believe it.

‘Yes, but I’m getting on for fifty years of age. I should lose a bit and anyway I’ve more sense than you’ll ever have in your whole life.’

Aisling said she couldn’t study her awful grammalogues and do her shorthand preparation after such a shocking discovery about her mother’s lack of honesty.

‘Go off and write to your friend then,’ said Mam. ‘Give
Elizabeth
my love, and ask her whether she might come over for the Great Wedding. …’

‘That’s an idea.’ Aisling’s face lit up. ‘Will I tell Joannie about it too, she’ll be home from France in September …?’

‘No, better do nothing until the love birds have sorted out whether the Murrays are on their list or not.’ Mam smiled.

‘You are laughing at them,’ Aisling said.

‘I am not,’ said Mam.

Elizabeth sent a beautiful present for Maureen’s wedding. It arrived a good three weeks before the day, so there was plenty of time to admire it. It was a small, oval silver dish.

‘It’s what they call a bon-bon dish,’ Elizabeth had written. ‘But I don’t think anyone has bon-bons to put in them, we certainly don’t here. It would do for anything I suppose, maybe biscuits when you have your friends to tea, or bread even, if you were having people to lunch. It’s extraordinary to think of you as a married lady. You’re the first of my friends to become Mrs. I’ve sent a book on hallmarks too, so that you can work out what year it comes from and where it was made. It’s quite interesting. I’m always turning bits of silver upside down and looking up their history. If they don’t have these four marks then it isn’t silver. It’s a nice thing to know. I hope you’ll be very happy, and if I get good grades next June, perhaps I could come to Kilgarret for a visit and see everyone, and you could have me to tea.’

Maureen was childlike in her enthusiasm. Elizabeth was
the
first person to have called her a married lady, she was the only one to make something special about being married.

‘She’s so educated, and interested in things,’ said Maureen, busy learning all the hallmarks to blind the Dalys with this new sophistication. ‘I wish you were more like Elizabeth, Aisling.’

‘Oh people have always been wishing that,’ said Aisling cheerfully, ‘but it never does them any good.’

Secretly she thought it was a bit wet of Elizabeth to have written such a gooey letter to Maureen and she thought that looking up all these ridiculous names of towns and marks of sterling and makers was just
typical
.

Dear Elizabeth,
You said to write about the wedding, honestly I don’t know what to write. The main thing is that it went without any disasters. Father O’Mara was drunk, but people stopped him making a fool of himself, and Brendan Daly was a bit drunk. He’s my brother-in-law you know. I’ll be able to say things I heard from
my brother-in-law
, but I don’t think I heard anything from him. His sister Sheila, do you remember her at school? I’m not surprised if you don’t, she was mousy then and she is mousy now. She normally wears glasses but she didn’t for the wedding and she fell over everything, and her eyes were all screwed up trying to peer out. I told her she was better with them, but that was the wrong thing
to
say apparently. The speeches were endless, I looked really dreadful. I know I’ve thought I looked dreadful in the past but that was actual beauty compared to the bridesmaid dress. If ever you get over here I’ll show it to you. Maureen said it could be changed and used as a dance dress. I said I wanted to keep it for the rest of my life as fancy dress. Another wrong thing to say.

I told you, didn’t I, about sort of going with Ned Barrett? There’s nothing to it, we go for walks by the river, and a bit of messing about, but nothing great. We go to the pictures and meet inside too. I don’t think they’d forbid me to meet him but I couldn’t bear all the fuss, and people saying ‘You’re next’. I don’t want to marry Ned Barrett, I just want to practise on him. I was practising a bit down by the river on the corner near the boathouse when who came by but Tony Murray, you know, Joannie’s brother. He gave me a desperate look. I think he thinks Joannie and I are sex maniacs, because of the incident. Joannie’s gone to learn a year’s domestic science in a place where nearly everyone else is a lady or an Hon. That’s how posh they’ve become. She says it’s awful and she’d prefer to be at home. I’ve got an interview soon for a job, a
real
job, in Murray’s. Mam says that if Joannie and I are friends then I’m stupid to go and work in the office for them and get a salary. It will change the relationship. I don’t agree. Everyone’s got to
work
somewhere. What are you doing? You never tell me properly.