That’s all I really remember about it. That, and the ache in my arms from carrying back a crate of Jameson.
Right. Come on now, Jacky. Do something with yourself. Switch on the radio and see what’s happening out in the world.
Faintly, somewhere within the static, I recognise the noise of The Beatles. Your favourite. I switch it off again. Would I be insane tosuggest that the radio is mocking me? I clean the cottage. I feed the pony. I do all the womanly tasks that Anna doesn’t bother with, to give some purpose to my morning. Being the woman of the house is a career, I don’t know why she doesn’t embrace it.
The day is fresh, bright. A good day. Maybe I’ll just go down to the Nevans’ farm anyway. Tom and Bill will feel too much social pressure to turn me away. I might lie out in the field as Tom comes along with the plough, and have my throat cut by the blade, and be turned into the earth. What a fine thing it would be, to be made into the earth. To be made new again.
‘I Feel Fine’ gets stuck in my head, even when I only heard a few bars of it. Another song you never heard. I suppose you would have all the words learned by now. You’d be begging me to take you up to Dublin to see them play a concert. You’d be in love with me, and I’d feel fine.
At twelve, I walk through the town, down to Doyle’s, knowing there will be a bit of company for me there. I know that Teresa Doyle is probably a bit fond of me, but I pretend not to notice. She’s happy to talk to me, happy to listen. Happy to let her eyes melt across me. But I like her company. I want to see her. To let melt her eyes.
When I arrive, to my surprise, I see Tom and Bill, already half a pint in. Bill talking and messing with the black rings from the ring board. The sconces glowing. The fireplace lit.
‘Hard at work, I see.’
I stifle a scoff as I sit on the stool beside Tom. Bill is in an animated conversation with another man. Mary is pulling pints, but Teresa comes out from the back when I arrive, and hurries her sister away. She comes to stand with me. Radiant.
‘Actually, Jack, Bill is here on business. He’s making a deal with that man.’
‘Jack O’Leary, nice to see you.’
Teresa smiles and puts a bag of lemon drops before me. She lights a cigarette for herself. Tom tries to ignore her, but I know he is listening.
‘Hello, Teresa.’
I smile, hoping she won’t notice the cut on my cheek. I can’t help but laugh at Tom.
‘He couldn’t have left you on the farm while he came down for his meeting? You’re not a little boy.’
Teresa giggles. Tom rolls his eyes and turns away from us, unwilling to laugh at himself. Recently, Teresa has taken to asking her father to give me a few hours’ work. I suppose it’s hard for Ger Doyle to believe that I don’t have a taste for drink when I’m in the pub most days. Bill shakes the hand of the man he is talking to, pats him on the back and sends him off.
‘Job done! Another round please, Teresa. And one for our friend Jack, please!’
Bill says, rubbing his hands together. Whatever deal he has made, he is very happy with it.
‘Jack, how’s tricks?’
He asks me, and I am at once drawn to and repelled by his charisma. I used to be a man like this. Making deals in the pub, buying rounds, with everyone’s names in my mouth. I only ever did it to live up to Daddy, you know. Everyone in Kilmarra expected it from me. It feels good to let it all go for a while.
‘Quiet enough.’
I tell him. Tom shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable to have me interacting with Bill. His two worlds colliding, here in Doyle’s.
‘I’m going to ask Dad again today, Jack. Mary will be working less and less now with the baby coming, so we could do with the help.’I smile, unsure what else to do. This is what she likes about me; I never know what to say, I’m quiet, moody. I don’t think she would have liked the old Jack at all.
‘Thanks, Teresa.’
Bill leans in, listening to all of this. Wondering, I’m sure, how he could spin his web to make it all work out for me. It isn’t that I don’t want his help, I just don’t want him to think of me as another little son, like Tom.
And anyway, to be very honest, I’m half afraid to be standing on the same side of the bar as Teresa. To be at her mercy. A few days ago, she told me very earnestly that I am something apart from everything that she knows, and everything that knows her. A novelty, I suppose she meant to say. That’s the sort of thing that comes out of her when we spend a few hours together each day. What would come out of her if we were to start working together? All our evenings and nights, side by side.
‘Did ye see there’s a dance next Friday?’
Bill says to us all. He presents this as very good news, which pulls a sigh from me, and a smile from Teresa.
‘I saw that alright.’
Looking up at me from his pint, Tom is feeling the pressure to keep up his happy persona.
