The Copper Beech (43 page)

Leo sat in the kitchen of The Glen making a very unsuccessful effort to comb Moore’s hair. He had inherited the frizz from his mother and the colour from his father. He was six years old and in the last pageant that Shancarrig school had put on he had been asked to play The Burning Bush. This was apparently his own choice.

Foxy was delighted. Leo was less sure.

Moore Dunne was turning out to be a bigger handful than anyone could have believed. Foxy had insisted on the name. While he worked in England he said that he had discovered it was very classy to use one family name added to another. Leo’s mother had been Miriam Moore, this had been the Moore household.

Moore’s younger sister, Frances, was altogether more tractable. ‘We’ll liven her up yet,’ Foxy had said ominously.

Unlike many of the builders who had returned from England in the prosperous sixties with their savings and their ideas of a quick killing, Foxy Dunne had decided to go the route of befriending rather than alienating architects.

The eight small houses he had built within the grounds
of The Glen had a style and a character that was noticeably missing in such similar small developments in other towns. A huge row of semi-mature trees had been planted to give the new houses privacy, but also to maintain the long sweep of The Glen’s avenue.

Major Murphy had lived to see his grandchildren but was buried now in the graveyard beside his wife.

From the big drawing room of The Glen Leo ran the ever-increasing building empire that Foxy had set up. All his cousins in the town now worked for him, the cousins who had once barred his father from crossing the doors of their shops. His cousins Brian and Liam waited on his every word and his uncle treated him with huge respect.

Foxy’s father was not around to see the fruits of having totally ignored his son. Old Dinny had died in the county home some years previously. Foxy’s own brothers, never men to have held down jobs for any notable length of time, most of them with some kind of prison record, were now regarded as remittance men. Small allowances were paid as long as they stayed far away from Shancarrig.

The main alterations that had put Ryan’s Shancarrig Hotel on the map for tourism had been done by Foxy Dunne. It was he who had transformed the cottages by the River Grane, his only concession to any sentimentality or revenge having been his own personal presence as they levelled to the ground the house he grew up in.

The church hall, which was the pride of Father Gunn’s life, was built by Foxy at such a reduced rate that it might even have been called his gift to the parish.

Foxy kept proper accounts. The books that Leo kept were regularly audited. The leases to the property he bought and sold were handled by his friend Niall Hayes. Maura came up from the gate lodge every day to do some of the housework and to mind the children. As always,
her son Michael came with her. Michael was growing up big and strong but with the mind and loving heart of a small child.

Moore Dunne was particularly fond of him. ‘He’s much more interesting than other big people,’ Moore pronounced.

Leo made sure she told that to Maura.

‘I’ve always thought that myself,’ Maura agreed.

Leo and Maura had a cup of tea together every morning before both went to their work – Leo to cope with Foxy’s deals and Maura to polish and shine The Glen. Together they looked at the advertisement offering their old school for sale.

‘Who would buy it, unless to set up another school?’ Maura wondered.

‘I’m very much afraid Foxy wants to,’ said Leo. He hadn’t said it yet, but she knew it was on his mind. It was as if he could never burn out the memory of the way things used to be. Not until he owned the whole town.

They heard the sound of his car outside the door. ‘How’s Squire Dunne?’ he said to his son.

‘I’m all
right
,’ said Moore doubtfully.

‘Only all
right
. You should be tip top,’ Foxy said.

‘Well yes, but I think there’s another cat growing inside Flossie.’ Moore was delighted.

‘That’s great,’ said Foxy. ‘It’ll be a kitten, or maybe five kittens even.’

‘But how are they going to get out?’ Moore was puzzled. Maura giggled.

‘That’s your mother’s department,’ said Foxy, heading for the office. ‘I have to think of other things like planning permissions, son.’

‘For the school?’ Leo asked.

‘Aha, you’re there before me,’ he said.

She looked at him, small and quick, eager as ever, nowadays dressed in clothes that were made to measure, but still the endearing Foxy of their childhood. She followed him into the room that was once their drawing room, where her father had paced, and her mother had sat distracted, and Lance and Jessie had slept uncaring by the fire.

‘Do we need it, Foxy?’ she asked.

‘What’s need?’ He put his arms around her shoulders and looked into her eyes.

‘Haven’t we enough?’ she said.

‘Love, it’s a gold mine. It’s
made
for us. The right kind of cottages, classy stuff, the kind rich Dubliners might even have as a summer place, or for visiting at the weekends. Do them up really well, let Chris and Eddie loose on them. Slate floors … you know the kind of thing.’ He looked so eager. He would love the challenge.

Perhaps he was right, it
was
made for them. Why did she keep thinking he was doing everything just to show? To show some anonymous invisible people who didn’t care.

Maddy Ross thought it was wonderful that God moved so mysteriously. Look at how he had closed the school just at exactly the right time for Maddy.

Now she could be quite free to spend all her time with the Family. The wonderful Family of Hope. Madeleine Ross had been a member of the Family of Hope for three years. And it had not been easy.

For one thing there had been all that adverse publicity in the papers about the castle they had been given, and the misunderstanding over the deeds.

There had been no intention at all to defraud or deceive, but the way the papers wrote it all up you’d think that the
Family of Hope was some kind of international confidence tricksters’ organisation.

And there had been the whole attitude of Father Gunn. Maddy had never really liked Father Gunn, not since that time long ago when he had been so patronising and so judgemental about her friendship with Father Barry. If Father Gunn had been more understanding or open and liberal about the place of Love in God’s scheme of things then a lot of events would have worked out differently.

Still, that was water under the bridge. The big problem was Father Gunn’s attitude today.

He had said that the Family of Hope was not a wonderful way of doing God’s work on earth, that it was a dangerous cult, that it was brainwashing people like Maddy, that God wanted love and honour to be shown to him through the conventional channels of the church.

It was just exactly what you would have expected him to say. It was what people had said to Our Lord when he went to the temple to drive out the scribes and the Pharisees. They had said to him that this wasn’t the way. They had been wrong, just as Father Gunn was wrong. But it didn’t matter. Father Gunn couldn’t rule her life for her. It was 1970 now, it wasn’t the bad old days when poor Father Barry could be sent away before he knew his mind to a missionary place where they weren’t ready for him.

And Father Gunn didn’t know about the insurance policy that Mother had left her. The money she had been going to give to the people of Vieja Piedra before they had been abandoned and the work stopped in midstream.

Maddy Ross still walked by herself in Barna Woods and hugged herself thinking of the money she could give to the Family of Hope.

They wanted to buy a place to be their centre.

She had wondered for a long time if there might be anywhere near here. She wanted to live on in Mother’s house and near the woods and river that were so dear to her, and held so many memories. And now at last she had found the very place.

The schoolhouse was for sale.

Maura showed the picture of the school to Michael that evening in their little home – the gate lodge of The Glen.

‘Do you know where it is, Michael?’ she asked.

He held it in both his hands. ‘Is my school,’ he said.

‘That’s right, Michael. It’s your school,’ she said and she stroked his head.

Michael had never attended a lesson inside the school, but he had gone sometimes to play with the children in the yard. Maura had often stood, lump in throat, watching him pick up the beech leaves as she had done before him, and all his uncles and aunts – the Brennans who had gone away.

‘We might walk up there tonight, Michael, and have a look at it again. Would you like that?’

‘Will we have tea early so?’ He looked at her anxiously.

‘We’ll have tea early so,’ she agreed.

He got his own plate and mug, made of Bakelite that wouldn’t crack. Michael dropped things sometimes. His mother’s china he never touched. Some of it was in a little cabinet that hung on the wall, other pieces were wrapped in tissue paper.

Maura O’Sullivan went to local auctions, always buying bargains in bone china. She never had a full set, or even a half set, but it didn’t matter since she didn’t ever invite anyone to dine. It was all for her.

They walked past the pink house and waved to the Bartons.

‘Can I go in and play with the twins?’ Michael said.

‘Aren’t we going to look at your old school?’ They crossed the bridge where the children called out a greeting to Michael, as they had done for many years. And would always do. As long as Maura was there to look after him. Suppose Maura weren’t there?

She gave a little shudder.

At the school she saw Dr Jims and his son Declan. The
For Sale
sign was there in the sunset. It would look big in other places; under the copper beech it looked tiny.

‘Good evening, Doctor.’ She was formal.

‘Hello, Declan …’ Michael embraced the doctor’s son, whom he had known since he was a boy in his pram.

‘Changing times,’ Dr Jims said. ‘Lord, I never thought I’d see this day.’

‘Don’t be denying me my bit of business, Dad …’ Declan laughed.

They got on so well these days, Maura realised. It must have been that nice girl Ruth that Declan had married. Some people had great luck altogether out of their marriages. But hadn’t she got as much love and happiness as anyone had ever got in the whole world?

Michael was looking at the names on the tree. ‘Is my name there, Mammy?’ he asked.

‘If it’s not it should be,’ Dr Jims said. ‘Weren’t you here as much as any child in Shancarrig?’

‘I’ll write it if you like,’ Declan offered.

‘What will you put?’

‘Let’s see. I’ll put it near my initials. There, see DB 1961? That’s me.’

‘You’ve no heart drawn,’ Michael complained.

‘I didn’t love anyone then,’ Declan said. His voice seemed full of emotion. The two of them had made a great production of getting out Declan’s penknife and choosing a spot.

Dr Jims said to Maura, ‘Are you feeling all right? You’re a bit pale.’

‘You know me, I worry about things. Nothing maybe …’

‘It’s a while since you’ve been to see me.’

‘No, Doctor. Not my health, the future.’

‘Ah. There’s divil a thing you can do about the future.’ Jims Blake smiled at her.

‘It’s like … I wonder sometimes in case something happened to me, what would happen … you know,’ Maura looked over at Michael.

‘Child, you’re not thirty years of age!’

‘I am that. Last week.’

‘Maura, all I can say is that every mother in Ireland worries about her child. It’s both a wonder and a waste. Life goes on.’

‘For ordinary people, yes.’

Michael gave a cry of pleasure, and came to tug at her.

‘Look at what he’s written. Look, Mammy.’

Declan Blake had drawn a heart, and on one side he had
MO’S
. On the other he said he was going to put
All his friends in Shancarrig
.

‘See what I mean?’ said Dr Jims.

Maddy Ross invited Sister Judith of the Family of Hope to come and see the schoolhouse. Sister Judith said it was perfect. She asked how much would it cost. Maddy said she had heard in the area of five thousand pounds. With her mother’s insurance policy, Maddy explained, there would be that and plenty more. She would get the deeds drawn up with a solicitor. Not with Niall Hayes. After all, she had taught Niall Hayes at school; it wouldn’t be appropriate.

Maria’s child was born in Galway. It was a girl. She was to be called Nora. Nora Kelly telephoned Una Barton with the good news. The old habits die hard and they still addressed each other formally.

‘Mrs Kelly, I’m so
very
pleased. I’ll make the baby a little dress with smocking on it,’ she said.

‘Maria’ll bring her back to Shancarrig on a triumphal tour, and you’ll be the first port of call, Mrs Barton,’ she cried. The Kellys inquired about the school and was there any word about buyers.

Mrs Barton paused. She didn’t know whether the children wanted it known or not. Still, she couldn’t lie to a woman like Mrs Kelly.

‘Between ourselves, Eddie and Chris are trying to get the money together, with grants and everything. They hope to turn it into an arts centre.’ There was a silence. ‘Aren’t you pleased to hear that?’

‘Yes, yes. It’s just I suppose we were hoping there would be children there.’

‘But there will. They’re going to live there with the twins, and me as well. That’s the hope, Mrs Kelly, but it may come to nothing.’

‘That would be great, Mrs Barton. I’ll say a prayer to St Anne for you. I’d love to think of your grandchildren and mine playing under that tree.’

The Dixons were just driving through when they saw the schoolhouse. They were enchanted by it, and called in to Niall Hayes to inquire more about it.

They found him singularly unhelpful.

‘There’s an auctioneer’s name and telephone number on the sign,’ he said brusquely.

‘But seeing that you are the local solicitor we thought you’d know, might shortcut it a bit.’ The Dixons were
wealthy Dublin people looking for a weekend home; they were used to shortcutting things a bit.