Free A Mad and Wonderful Thing by Mark Mulholland

together — quiet, comfortable, happy.
    â€˜You’ll make a fine teacher, Cora Flannery.’
    She lies across me, her head on my chest. ‘Why?’
    â€˜You have kindness, and that’s the magic key. In the long hours of teaching, it is an impatience or temper that will linger in the mind of the child. Remember that, Cora.’
    â€˜I will, Johnny. I’ll do my best.’
    â€˜The wonder of the child, that’s the golden ticket. And the heavy cross of the teacher.’
    â€˜You are a strange boy, Donnelly.’
    â€˜Just an observation.’
    â€˜Yes,’ she agrees. ‘It was.’ And we both laugh.
    We rise and prepare to go. Cora stands and looks out to the mountains. The border with Northern Ireland is just a few miles away, and a British Army observation post can be seen peeping over the ridge on the last western hill.
    â€˜Do you think we could build an army,’ she asks, ‘and run the invaders out of Ireland for once and for all?’
    â€˜If we could do one thing for Ireland, Cora, we should do that.’
    She takes my arm. ‘Come on, Mister Donnelly. Take me home.’
    We walk down the mound. We walk through the fosse under the beech trees, and down the shaded path.
    â€˜C’mon, Flannery, we’ll have a burst of a dance before we go.’ I take hold of her two hands and swing her as we spiral down toward the gate, with leaves, pebbles, and two red boots flying through the dappled air.
    We climb the stone stile at the round pillar and walk back into town. She slows at the corner of Castletown Cross where the country lane meets the main road. ‘Thanks for telling me those things, Johnny.’
    â€˜What things?’
    â€˜You know, that stuff when you were a child.’
    â€˜Well, that was all long ago.’
    â€˜Telling truths is a brave thing.’ She stops, turns, and looks to me. ‘Shall I tell you one?’
    â€˜Sure, only if you want to.’
    â€˜I have dreamed about you since I first saw you. How mad is that?’
    â€˜I’d say that’s pretty mad all right.’ Like I said, sometimes life is so good you just have to let out a big laugh. And I do.
    â€˜You better come in for a cup of tea with Aisling before you go,’ she suggests when we near the house. ‘What about a bag of chips?’
    â€˜Better not. I’m dining with the Philistines.’
    â€˜A bag between us?’
    â€˜Okeydokey.’
    We sit in the kitchen drinking tea, sharing the one bag of chips between the three of us. Aisling wants to know where we went, and she gets it on the first guess. Cora’s mam joins us and asks how we got on.
    â€˜Johnny said I had a very fine arse.’ My face immediately reddens. ‘And he kept stroking it with his little stick.’

Hopscotch
    WE MEET IN TOWN IN THE MIDDAY. SHE ARRIVES IN A GREY TOP AND a short tartan skirt over black tights, and she’s wearing the red boots. She gives me that smile. There is an Irish adage I have learned from Delaney: an rud is annamh is íontach — what is seldom is wonderful. But I could look on Cora Flannery every minute of every hour of every day, and in all that time I could not but see and know that she is a wonderful girl.
    We go to the Imperial Hotel, where Cora takes a table near the window, and I go to order coffees. An old woman stands before me at the counter. She buys a meal, and then with unsure steps tries to carry it to a table. I offer to help her, and I take her tray to a table next to ours. As she eats she coughs, and I go to the counter for water. When I return, Cora has moved beside her. I place the glass on the table, and she sips as she talks to Cora. I don’t interrupt. They have settled into some sort of a comfortable exchange. I am introduced when the dinner is finished, and I return to the counter and order coffee for three. We sit and talk of family, of streets, and of Ireland. When the coffees