Firefly Summer

  It all had been simple. Just provide a depot, they said, the tunnel was a fine idea. Better than a warehouse, a lockup shed.

  The boxes had been stacked. There were crates of drink, and big boxes with cartons of cigarettes.

  Kerry understood about the weapons. He wasn’t so clear about the drink and cigarettes. McCann had been laconic. These things are sold, they make money, money is needed for supplies.

  From time to time he wondered what kind of movement they were in. At times he even suspected basely that they might well be in no movement except a gang of their own. But it didn’t concern him now. He had stored their goods, he had wiped out his debt.

  The day was starting. He felt that tingle of excitement he knew when something new was about to start. Kerry felt good. There was nothing he couldn’t do. Look at what he had done already.

  He had shipped Rachel Fine back where she belonged.

  He had paid his poker debt.

  He would sort out the situation with his father. Father wanted a son around here, for Christ’s sake. He wouldn’t make a lot of waves.

  There would be speeches, and no doubt Father would say something about how sad it was that his wife Kathleen hadn’t lived to see this day.

  Kerry knew his mother would not have wanted to live here in this town. But if she were to see what was happening she would be proud of him. That her son had not forgotten her. He fingered his tiepin. That he had not let anyone else take her place.

  Papers Flynn liked Kerry O’Neill.

  He never understood that Kerry could be laughing at him. Kerry often complimented him on his clothes, and said that he thought it was a great idea to tie so much string around the waist – it could be the in thing if the fashion writers got a hold of it.

  Papers didn’t rightly know what Kerry was saying half the time. But the boy always seemed to be smiling, which was good. And of course Kerry sometimes slept rough too. Papers knew that he slept in that tunnel.

  He had been in to investigate it for himself a few times. In theory it should have been a great place to stay, but Papers thought it was a bit closed in, he preferred somewhere less restricting.

  Papers never asked himself why someone with Kerry O’Neill’s wealth slept out. There didn’t have to be a reason. He would greet him nowadays as a fellow knight of the road.

  On the morning of the opening he was pleased to see Kerry on the river bank.

  ‘All spruce and ready for the great occasion, I see,’ Kerry said to him.

  Papers grinned, pleased. ‘It’s going to be a nice day for it,’ he said, looking at the sky.

  ‘Well, Papers, just so long as it won’t interfere with your enjoyment of the salmon,’ Kerry laughed.

  Papers felt he was being invited to more than a drink in the Thatch Bar. He didn’t know how to cope. He decided to change the subject and trade information instead.

  ‘If you’ve still got your place in the tunnel you’d want to keep an eye on it,’ he said confidingly. ‘I saw Sergeant Sheehan and Mrs Whelan looking at it last night, and the sergeant was there again this morning.’

  Kerry’s heart turned into a lump of lead. It was one thing losing a thousand pounds at a poker game. It was another thing altogether losing the contents of those boxes in the tunnel.

  If they were discovered and seized Kerry’s chances with the crowd he had been dealing with were very poor indeed.

  He left Papers abruptly and walked to a point between Loretto Quinn’s and Jack Coyne’s establishments, where he could see the towpath properly. Sergeant Sheehan was walking back towards the bridge.

  The staff could hardly believe that Mr Costello was not there to direct everything in his quick light voice that brooked no argument. Instead there was a series of conflicting orders. Nobody could say whose job it was to set out the glasses and whether they should get their final polish before they left the hotel for the marquee or when they were in place on the tables.

  The drink which had been kept in cold rooms . . . should it be moved out early or left to the last minute? The temporary staff hired for the day, who was in charge of their arrangements?

  Please God let it be true that it was only a quick visit to the dentist, they told each other. Otherwise there was going to be the most appalling confusion and nobody liked to think of Mr O’Neill’s face, and the humiliation in front of all the people who were going to be arriving.

  If Jim Costello were here the staff wouldn’t be making ten trips back and forth when two would do. Jim would have a timetable, a schedule and a calm manner that would snuff out any crisis before it had time to develop.

  If Jim Costello had been here he would have seen the red sweating face of Kerry O’Neill as the boy ploughed back and forth through all those brambles and briars around the fairy fort. As he got the last lot through, there was a groan and the sound of falling earth. The pit posts had collapsed, barring the way behind him.

  Kerry laughed aloud with relief. His laugh could be free while he was underground. When he came to the surface he controlled it. From now it was simple.

  Kerry was in his shirt sleeves, struggling with boxes and crates. To the staff who had been hired for the day he was just one more worker bringing just one more load to join the general store of food and drink.

  To the regular staff he was O’Neill’s troublesome son who had decided to do a bit of work for a change because Mr Costello had been struck with the toothache.

  Nobody found it the slightest bit odd to see boxes being stored in the huge glass conservatory at the back of the main house. After all this was a gala, there were probably going to be drinks in every room, not only the official bars, the marquee and the Thatch Bar.

  There were more boxes than Kerry would have believed possible. His heart pounded with the fear of discovery, and his arms and back ached with having to carry the weight of so many loads.

  The conservatory had been an inspired idea. It was one of the few rooms that would not be in use, and the chance of them being accidentally investigated by an eager barman would be unlikely.

  It had been decided that there was too much glass in this room, too many panes and too many plants to make it a suitable place for a party. Jim Costello had been at enough functions to know that it was not wise to mix euphoria, free liquor and plates of glass.

  Kerry’s carefully stacked boxes would be safe here. Until they could be collected tomorrow. One phone call saying what he had done. And then he was clear.

  ‘I can either take the tooth out now, which will guarantee you have no pain, or I can give you a temporary filling and we’ll try to save the tooth later.’

  Jim Costello did not need a moment’s thought. ‘Give me a mirror,’ he asked.

  He looked. The missing tooth would show – only a little, but it would be seen.

  ‘I’ll have the filling, if you will,’ he said. He lay back in the chair.

  He knew there was nothing to be gained by fussing and looking at his watch, the man was going to take his own time doing the job no matter how agitated the patient was. Better relax and realise that the world can if necessary go on without you.

  Grace was surprised to see Kerry.

  ‘You look terrible,’ she said.

  ‘Can I use your bathroom?’

  ‘Yes, but what happened?’

  ‘I want to clean up. I have to go back to the lodge and get changed, and I don’t want anyone to see me like this and ask questions. God, how I hate questions.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Grace said sulkily.

  In a few minutes he looked more presentable. Now no one would comment.

  ‘Well, are you looking forward to the day?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes and no. Michael is still very down. I hate people not to be good-tempered.’

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’

  ‘Oh, he’s being silly, he’ll get over it. When can we go back into the tunnel?’

  Kerry laughed suddenly. ‘Any time you like,’ he said, then he stopped. ‘Hey wait, don
’t go back there; there’s been a subsidence. It’s dangerous now, some of those old posts have given way.’

  ‘They couldn’t have . . .’

  ‘They have,’ he said curtly. ‘And anyway; no fooling around, you hear. You’re not to be just anyone’s. You’re Grace O’Neill, you’re very important.’

  She hugged him. ‘Oh, Kerry, it’s nice that you’re all cheerful again. Maybe today . . . maybe Father . . .’

  ‘Yes, it could happen. Why not?’ Kerry left her room and ran lightly down the stairs, through the hall filled with sprays and blooms and people from the florist’s. As he was going down the steps of the hotel to his car, he saw Jim Costello coming up.

  ‘Your big day,’ Kerry said pleasantly.

  ‘Yes, great beginning with a butcher in a dentist’s chair,’ Jim said ruefully.

  ‘I heard. Is it okay?’

  ‘Look at it this way, I don’t think he loosened too many of the others, and I’ve wiped away most of the blood.’

  Kerry laughed. He used to think Costello an arrogant little guy. But he did have a sense of humour. And a great sense of command. Kerry stood and watched while he managed to restore order to the huge hall in moments.

  Jim Costello looked back at Kerry too. The fellow seemed high or excited. He laughed too readily, like people do when they are in the middle of something dangerous.

  Kate had sought the moment to tell John their news. She had not been able to find it.

  She had thought that last night when the bar closed they might sit in the garden and she would tell him then.

  But the bar just wouldn’t close. The sense of excitement about the opening was everywhere.

  Mary Donnelly had worked like an automaton. She said it might be the last good night’s business they ever had. Keep serving, keep pouring, keep clanging the till.

  There was no danger of a raid. Sergeant Sheehan wouldn’t be so discourteous. And even if some of his superiors would be here for the official opening of Fernscourt, none of them would arrive the night before, so a little after-hours drinking would not be anything to come down on too heavily.

  There was no time last night. They were both too tired. She had been going to tell him this morning, until all the drama in the bathroom and Carrie’s predicament had intervened. It almost seemed like a surfeit of pregnancy to tell John about hers!

  Perhaps this evening, in the peace and quiet. Perhaps that would be a good time.

  She settled herself in her finery, and waited for him to come and wheel her across the footbridge and to the party.

  The music was marvellous. Tales from the Vienna Woods, a selection from The Gondoliers and some rousing Sousa marches. Jim Costello had known the right band to hire, and the right repertoire for it to play.

  On all sides of Mountfern they smiled when it struck up. The gala opening was under way.

  For ages Dara sat on the window seat looking at the crowds gathering.

  She could see cars coming down the big drive that led from the main road to Fernscourt. Local people walked up River Road and were crossing by the footbridge.

  She saw Dad wheel the chair across, and a little lump came in her throat. Mam would so much have liked to have walked. Poor Mam, missing Mrs Fine in spite of everything.

  Dara had not been upset by her mother’s remarks. That was what Mrs Fine would have said, after all. All that about Kerry being dangerous.

  She stood up and smoothed the red dress. It did look very, very good. And nobody had said anything about the make-up which meant that she didn’t have quite enough on. She would put on more lipstick and go across. Kerry would be waiting for her.

  Mary Sheehan couldn’t understand it. Her husband had said that he had to do one simple job which would put him in great standing with the lads and the superiors today. He had brought guards in early from the big town, saying that there was a cache of stolen goods in some hole or tunnel over on the towpath.

  The guards arrived early in order to have it all cleared by the time any festivities began. They had gone in and found nothing but children’s playing things.

  Seamus Sheehan had looked in disbelief at the clay and the splintered wood. This hadn’t been heaped like that last night. The tunnel had stretched further. Surely it had?

  But then he hadn’t followed it. He hadn’t needed to. The boxes and crates had been here in this room. This room now with nothing but children’s tables, chairs and a broken sofa.

  Sergeant Sheehan stared in front of him as he sat stupefied in his chair. It was no use that Sheila Whelan backed him up. What did people from the big town make of Sheila except to think she was the local postmistress? They weren’t to know that she was the soundest person in the place.

  He had been a fool not to have gone in straight after McCann had left last night. He had thought it would be better to do the thing by the light of the day.

  He had been wrong.

  One of the men from the Tourist Board stood near Patrick and told him who the people were. This was the Protestant bishop arriving now, a very big gesture, people would talk of this for a long time. There were TDs from all political parties and one cabinet minister. There were other hoteliers there, and the man from the Tourist Board said that their faces were forty shades of green. They muttered from one vista to the next about the size of the grant O’Neill must have got, the money he must have sunk in it, the hopelessness of trying to compete with anything like this, the folly of believing that there could ever be a return on such expenditure.

  Patrick loved it. Every moment of it.

  And he loved it when Mr Williams the vicar introduced him to the Walters and the Harrises. People of substance, who had estates near Mountfern. Mr Walters said his father used to come here a lot in the old days, and Colonel Harris said that he had old pictures of the place in its previous existence. It was wonderful to see it rise again.

  They spoke as if a mere half century of being a ruin had been a slight inconvenience and that it had been no trouble for Patrick to get the place started again.

  Patrick gave several grateful looks at Jim Costello. The man was a wonder. He managed to be everywhere and yet unobtrusive. Small, handsome and efficient, courteous and determined. What he would give to have had a son like that!

  His own son was behaving well for once. His face looked flushed and excited. He was the centre of attention as he moved easily among the crowd.

  But while Costello moved about seeing that people were all right, that no one was left alone or feeling outside things, Kerry moved like a glorious light that has no purpose except to be looked at and admired.

  The twins crossed the footbridge together, as they had done so many times.

  In the days when their lives were full of fantasy and imagination they could not have dreamed up anything as splendid as this.

  ‘You look terrific, Dara.’

  ‘Thanks, Michael. So do you. Very, very smart.’

  Dara wanted to hold his hand for some reason, to reassure him. They walked up through the laurels. The marquee for lunch was by the landing stage and the barge. But the drinks and welcoming party were around the steps and the main hall.

  They came into the crowded forecourt and Dara saw him. There stood Kerry in his new white jacket that he had told her about, his pink and white shirt. He looked like a hero, not a man. She saw him laughing and bending a little to listen, then he threw back his head and laughed again.

  He was with Kitty Daly, who looked stunning. Her long hair hung loose like a huge halo around her, almost like a cape over her magnificent dress.

  Kitty was wearing the copper-coloured dress that had been made for Maggie. On Maggie it had been a big flowing dress. On Kitty, who was tall and leggy, the copper dress was a mini-dress.

  She looked at Kerry O’Neill with all the confidence of a beauty who doesn’t need to wonder if other people are looking at her.

  She would expect them to be looking. And liking what they saw.

  ‘Are you all right?’
Jim Costello spoke to Dara Ryan, who was holding on to one of the huge urns near the steps.

  ‘Yes. Yes, why?’

  ‘I thought you looked dizzy for a moment.’

  ‘No. No, I’m fine. Thank you very much.’

  Jim looked at her appreciatively. ‘You look very well, I must say, Dara, really very smart.’

  ‘Thanks, Mr Costello.’

  He wondered why her voice was so dead. She really did look well in that red silk. Unlike Grace, who looked like a meringue in all that pink linen and broderie anglaise.

  But Dara Ryan had no life in her eyes, she had hardly heard the compliment.

  Michael came back with two glasses of orange. They had sugar around the edge and a slice of real orange cut so that it was fixed to the glass.

  ‘Have this,’ he said.

  Dara took it silently.

  ‘She can’t know, she wasn’t here for the dress and everything.’

  ‘I know, I remembered that.’

  ‘She must have just found it at home.’ He was trying to take the pain out of Dara’s eyes.

  ‘Yes. Yes, that must have been it.’

  ‘And I’m sure he doesn’t like her really, it’s only with all that hair and everything . . .’ His voice trailed away.

  Papers Flynn and Mary Donnelly raised their glasses to each other as they sat in the warm autumn sunshine outside Ryan’s pub.

  Mary produced soda bread and slices of ham.

  ‘Much better fare here than we’d get across there,’ she said.

  ‘It’s that all right.’ Papers ate happily.

  ‘I never go for salmon all that much,’ Mary said.

  ‘Full of bones, it would have your throat in ribbons,’ said Papers, who had never tasted salmon in his life.

  Eddie saw Leopold crossing the footbridge.

  He remembered his mother’s advice: do nothing, nothing at all without careful thought. He stood there and tried to think carefully. What would a normal person do? Would they ignore Leopold? Or would they take him home? Would they offer him a plate of salmon? The more he thought, the more Eddie realised that careful thinking helped him not at all.