Anna
ONE OF THE QUIGGLY GIRLSis called up to sing. It’s all fine, isn’t it? For once, everything is fine. I feel comfortable in the hall. I feel happy. Happier than ever when Betty comes towards me, soft thunder in my ears, white lightning in my eyes.
Behind her there is a young man. Although older than me, I’m sure. A tall, thin man, with fuzzy hair. Betty is all talk.
‘Anna, you’re looking great! Love the hair.’
A brown suit on him, too short in the arm, too wide on the shoulder. Something comes across Betty’s face that I don’t really understand. A look you used to give to your friends, a look I have seen exchanged when I come near.
‘I thought you’d like to meet Liam Hennessey. He’s the only proper dancer in the hall.’
Betty presents him as though she has made him. As though he is something I might be impressed with. Liam smiles, shy but assured, as though he doesn’t want to admit it, but he believes that he really is the only proper dancer in the hall. My god.
‘This one will put manners on you, Liam!’
Everybody around us has started to dance to the Quiggly girl’s song, and we are getting in their way. Betty is acting like a boy.
‘Go on, Liam, show her how it’s done.’
She nudges him towards me, a huge smile on her face. Surely she isn’t trying to set me up?
Liam smiles at me again, wordless, and doesn’t ask before taking my hand and waist, and stepping me around the floor. If he is the only proper dancer in the hall, then we’re in real trouble.
Looking over my shoulder, I see Betty dancing with Dr Desmond, and she glances over at me. Still smiling, and nodding. Wanting, for some reason, this dance between myself and Liam to go well. If it makes her happy, I’ll stick it out.
He’s a nice enough man, only that his breath smells of his fish dinner, and he insists on leaning right into me while he speaks. Still, he seems like a fairly safe pair of hands to be in.
After two obliging songs, I look around for Betty, and see that Dr Desmond is dancing with somebody else. I wish I was happy to waltz around the room in the arms of Ballycrea all night, but without eyes on Betty, my throat has closed, and I am faint.
The back of her head, disappearing out the side door of the hall. A moment of relief in catching sight of her, and a surge of panic in her disappearing again. Gone out without her coat into the cold night.
Where would she be going, all on her own, when the whole parish is in here? When I am in here? Where would she be going without me? And what right has she to disappear from me, unexpected and unexplained?
I want to chase her outside, but Liam Hennessey has a real grip on me. He is going to make the most of every last second he has with me. Big rosy cheeks, fish-breathed. Asking me questions about where I’m from and the things I like. But I can’t remember the name of the town Tom said we came from. Incessant questions. And the music getting louder. With my palms on his chest, I push him off me, knocking into Mary Doyle and her fella. She is too polite to shout at me.
‘Mind yourself.’
Her fella says, and puts his hand on her stomach. Mary Doyle is pregnant. He isn’t happy. I want Betty to step between us. But she is outside. I choke out an apology as I run out the side door of the hall.
I want to cry, to fall into her arms. But when I see her, it all goes away. It’s just the two of us. Finally, at last. Betty leaning against the pebble-dashed wall, next to a heap of bicycles. The soft sounds of the hedge and the sky. Her face lit up in the dark, she looks up at the stars.
‘Why did you disappear?’
I sound more desperate than I would like to. But I suppose I am desperate. Everything inside was too fast and too close, and I need her to bring me back to my centre.
She jumps back when she realises it’s me. I didn’t mean to scare her. I never mean to scare anybody. It’s just hard for me when she leaves so suddenly, without a word. That’s what I need to say to her.
‘I just needed a break. It’s so warm in there. Where’s Liam?’
She’s looking around me, as though Liam is just behind me. But she doesn’t look at me. A tiny little detail that perhaps she doesn’t think I will notice. But I notice everything. I feel everything. What would it cost her to just throw her eyes over me? The cheek of her, to come outside for a little rest when all she does is cause unrest. If she needed a break from everything in the hall, that means she needed a break from me. What did I do to make her feel that way? If I just tell her what I feel, everything will be fine. And still that desperate, rough talk comes from me.
‘Shake a leg, girl, you’re fine.’
My upset is coming out like disgust. Well, I suppose that in some small way, I am disgusted with her. I’m disgusted with myself, with my over-familiarity. But something about Betty wanting a moment to herself is infuriating, and I don’t know how to order my feelings. Idon’t know how to pause long enough to articulate my frustration, to know what is an overreaction and what is justified. I wish I knew how to separate things like that; I wish I knew how to clear my thoughts. Instead, everything melts into one feeling, and I can’t speak it without causing damage.
‘Come on, Betty, come back inside with me. We could have a dance.’
Something within me is about to crack. I don’t know how to make it stop, or how to feel something else. In any other circumstance, with any other person, I could allow a bit of distance. It’s just that she seems to know me, to understand me in a way that nobody else does. When you finally feel understood, it’s a very hard thing to let go of. I suppose you won’t know what that is like, because everybody loved you and wanted you, and nothing for you was difficult.
