And then another:
FOR THE LOVE OF FATIMA, STOP!
‘Brian…’ I tried to remain composed, ‘one of those protestors is a retired professor, another is a daily churchgoer who volunteers at the homeless shelter in Dun Laoghaire five nights a week and the youngermembers are very impressive people, talented, hard-working and committed.’ I stopped and gave him my hardest stares, ‘And the fifth member is mymother.’ He knew this, of course.
‘Ah, do beg my pardon,’ said Brian, with a most oleaginous smile. ‘I had entirely forgotten, forgive my turn of phrase, it’s just that they are persistent, aren’t they?’ He flashed me a tiny-toothed smile that lookedentirely unapologetic. ‘Oh well, they’ve lost, haven’t they? They’ll all have to go and find something else to protest about. Like banning all cars and making us all ride bikes or wear hemp clothes.’ He passed me his fountain pen. ‘Ready?’ He slid the contract in front of me. ‘And here’s where it says land isnotzoned for development… you should be pleased with that?’
I, Tabitha Thomas, ashead teacher of Star of the Sea National School, hereby declare, as patron and governor of the school, as guardian of its pupils and as de facto landowner of the school, its buildings and of the land surrounding it, that the half-acre site, hereby known as the Copse should be sold to…
‘Brian…’ I began.
‘One moment,’ he said, ‘just sign and then we can have all the chats in the world and youcan tootle off to the assembly or whatever it is.’
‘Brian,’ I said. ‘I’m not going to sign. I don’t want to sell. I don’t care about the money. The school is actually doing all right, without iPads. We’ll carry on with our cake sales and book clubs and cheese and wine dos and as long as the children are happy, that’s all that matters.’
‘What?’ he paled. ‘Have you gone mad? What authority doyou have? This has been unanimously agreed by the boards of governors.’
‘But it’s not unanimous,’ I said. ‘There’s me. I haven’t voted but I have listened to all the arguments and have thought about it a great deal. We are not selling the Copse…’
‘But what is Sister Kennedy going to say?’ he said, sweat forming on his brow. ‘She is not going to be happy, I can tell you that. She was saying howmuch she admired the plan and what a difference it would make to the lives of the children, computers and the like…’
‘Brian, I don’t care about what Sister Kennedy says.’
‘Well!’ he spluttered, outraged. ‘I bet she would be interested in hearing your opinion of her,’ he said, talking faster now. ‘I bet she would like to know what you really think. As if she doesn’t matter. An ex-head teacherof this very school and she doesn’t matter! I’ve got a good mind to ring her straight away.’
There was a scrabbling sound from outside my door and a piece of paper was slipped under it. The word NO scribbled on it, layer upon layer of blue biro.
‘Why don’t you, Brian. But I’m the head teacher now and I am not selling. I have the final say.’ I stood up and walked to my office door, my hand onthe knob and, just as I pulled it open, there was Mary on her hands and knees.
‘Lost your glasses again, Mary?’
‘Paper clips,’ she said, feeling around on the carpet tiles. ‘I dropped some paper clips.’
‘One moment, Brian,’ I said, and Mary and I quickly ushered each other out of my office.
‘What’s going on?’ I whispered urgently.
‘He’s going tobuildon the land. I know for sure he is. Whateveryou do, don’t sign.’
‘I’m not going to, but how do you know?’
‘Last night, I was taking my usual evening walk along the Colliemore Road, just down from the harbour. It’s my constitutional. Well, it’s ours now, mine and Huan’s… sea air, you know...’
‘Go on…’
‘Well, I was sitting there, back against the wall, it’s a lovely spot, and you really get a blast of evening sun. There’s a large flatstone and you’re kind of hidden away. It’s sort of like meditating, in the moment or whatever they call it…’
‘Mindfulness. Now, go on…’
‘Anyway, so there I am, in my own world, pondering, as you do… when on the other side of the wall come two men…’
‘Right…’
‘So, I take no notice and they park themselves on the other side of the wall. And I’ve got my scarf tied on my head. My woolly one, tiedunder my chin. So, I’m in disguise…’
‘And?’
‘I recognised Brian Crowley’s voice immediately. You know, that throat-clearing thing he does.’ She then did a pitch perfect impersonation of the sound. ‘Andhisboomy voice that would carry right over the Irish Sea to Wales … and I heard every word …’
