*
‘Sister Kennedy, these are for you.’ Brian placed a box of Black Magic in front of her. ‘A little bird told me you were partial to something sweet…’
We were at the board meeting to come to a final decision about the selling of the Copse.
Brian had a formal offer that he was waving around. ‘We’ll sign all the documents next week,’ he said, slipping it back into the inside of his jacket.‘My lawyers and Freddie Boyle’s lawyers are drawing everything up. All ship-shape.’ He smiled his crocodile smile, his tiny teeth poking over his thin lips.
I’d finally received my formal valuation of the land this morning. It was worth three times what this Freddie Boyle was offering. But the money seemed so unimportant, suddenly. We would survive another winter with a leaky roof. We’d makedo with the chairs we had. The playground would remain a little bit gravelly. The children could share the creaky computers we already had. Selling the land was wrong.
And there was something about Brian that I didn’t like or trust and I knew he would have known the land’s real valuation. I may not have concrete proof that he was conning us but my suspicions were enough. I was going to trustmy gut. It was time to halt the plans.
‘Chocolates… how lovely.’ Sister Kennedy took the box. ‘I am most partial to something sweet, Mr Crowley,’ she said, going slightly pink. ‘How… howkindof you.’
‘And for you, Noleen.’ He presented Noleen’s gift with the flourish of Launcelot to Guinevere. ‘A Chocolate Orange by the chocolatiers known as Terry’s…’
‘Thank you, Mr Crowley.’ She took it fromhim, eyes shining, examining it as though it was the Noor diamond. ‘They are my favourite. The last time I had one of these was Christmas 1985. Do you remember, Sister Kennedy? Santa paid a visit to the school and he gave all the children one of these and there was one left over. And he gave it to me.’ She stopped. ‘Obviously, it wasn’t the real Santa, just the caretaker dressed up. I’ve neverforgotten it.’ She looked misty-eyed and lost in memory. ‘He was made to leave, though, soon after. He’d been stealing from the lost property. Selling the items on a market stall at the weekend… such a shame… he was a good man. A very good man…’ She drifted away, lost in 1985.
Brian ignored her and turned his attention to Brendan. ‘And for you, sir, I’ve bought you some whiskey liqueurs. A manlike you must like a tot from time to time. You have, I would imagine, a palate for fine Irish whiskey.’
‘Well… I would like to think… oh, well, that’s, that’s very kind of you, Mr Crowley.’ Brendan looked so pleased that it was as though he’d never been given a present before.
‘I’m afraid, I don’t have anything for you Tabitha,’ he said to me. ‘Your office is well stocked with sweet thingsas it is. I don’t think you need any more.’ He smiled, baring his miniscule teeth. ‘All those biscuits I see waiting to be scoffed.’
‘Brian, I don’t think gifts are appropriate at this meeting. They are unnecessary and could be construed as bribery,’ I said.
‘Should I ask for them back?’ he smirked. ‘Is that what you think? Take them back from these good souls here when all I want to do is bringsome sweetness and light into people’s lives.’
Sister Kennedy, Noleen and Brendan were clutching their gifts. They looked at me as though they were children and I was trying to take away their Christmas presents.
‘It’s a very nice gesture,’ said Noleen, going pink and looking to Sister Kennedy for approval. ‘Very kind, Mr Crowley. Very kind of you indeed.’
‘Very kind,’ said Sister Kennedy.‘You remind me of one of theMagi.’ She took him by the hand. ‘The kings who traversed afar to give gifts to the Holy Child.’ She smiled. ‘Such a simple act, to give a small gift to someone else. But a beautiful one. Thank you.’ She picked up the chocolates. ‘And the name of them…’ she laughed. ‘Black Magi… so appropriate.’
‘They’re Black Magic,’ I tried to correct her. ‘The chocolates. Black.Mag-ic.’ I had lost this one and all I was achieving was making myself into someone seeming jealous and Grinch-like. ‘Let’s just not make this a regular part of the meetings,’ I ended.
Sister Kennedy bestowed upon Brian her most beneficent of smiles, as though he was the naughtiest boy in school but also her favourite. ‘I’m going to share these with my meditation group. I think that a small chocolateeach wouldn’t go against any rules. I think that Tabitha is warning us against bribes and incentives, but we all know, Mr Crowley, you’re not trying to influence us. They are hardly brown envelopes, which I think is the preferred way of doing business in this country. Or so I hear on the radio.’
‘Envelopes full of cash can be arranged,’ winked Brian and the two of them shared a laugh.
‘Can weget on?’
‘Yes, I can’t stay late either,’ said Sister Kennedy. ‘Regretfully. I have a most pressing arrangement.’
‘Not before one of these,’ said Brendan who was opening his liqueurs and passing them around. ‘We’ll be drunk if we’re not careful.’ He held the box in front of me. The smell was overpowering, the Proustian experience of a 1970s Christmas.
‘No thank you, Brendan. I really want toget down to things.’
‘Some lady’s in a hurry,’ said Brian, who had two liqueurs in his mouth, one in either cheek, the words barely discernible over the chocolate and whiskey mushy spittle. ‘Well, maybe I’ll take over… hmmm? This meeting is to bring the board up to speed, vis a vis, ergo, veto thesituacionthe sale of the rubbish ground, erstwhile known as the Copse. Not cops. That’s somethingelse entirely…’
This was met by polite smiles from Brendan and Noleen as Sister Kennedy looked merely confused. Brian continued, unabashed by the lukewarm reception to his attempt at humour. ‘As you know we have our buyer – or Good Samaritan, Sister Kennedy…’
‘You are clever Mr Crowley,’ she said carefully laying her liqueur in front of her to enjoy later. ‘
‘These chocolates are a celebration,really. And he’s a perfect buyer. Freddie Boyle is his name. I think, if you don’t mind me saying, Sister Kennedy, I think that you would particularly like him. Boyle has a priestliness to him. A spiritual quality that would not look out of place giving Mass on a… on a…’ For a moment, he looked confused, as though he couldn’t quite remember the usual day for Mass.
‘Sunday?’ I suggested.
‘Yes!Sunday!’
