Free Where Old Ghosts Meet by Kate Evans Page B

the ground … where was he? Off gallivanting in God knows where, buying bloody fancy hats for strange women. She squeezed her eyes shut, not fully understanding where this sudden fury had come from and at the same time desperate to keep the words that bubbled up inside her from breaking out and finding a voice. But in truth she knew that this would not happen. The words would remain unspoken, contained. The Molloys knew all about staying quiet, knew all about keeping a lid on things. It was a way of life with them.
    So Nora and Peg sat together in the gathering dusk, still and quiet, two women in a haze of memory, each seeing a different side of the same man. Finally, when the silence became unbearable, Nora allowed her old voice to emerge from its silent corner.
    â€œHis father, my grandfather, to us he was just ‘the Da’s da,’ nothing more, no real name, no face, no identity. Can you believe, Peg, I never in my life set eyes on his wife, my grandmother? I never went to her home and she never set foot in ours, and I don’t know why.”
    For a moment Nora held Peg’s eyes but then she looked away, unwilling to confront the other persona of Matt Molloy that hovered close by.
    â€œEverything went wrong for him, girl, everything. It wasn’t his fault.” Peg’s chin came up ever so slightly. She still didn’t look at Nora but instead turned to look beyond the horizon where her memories lay, secure and intact. “I’ll tell you the truth of what I know, Nora, but first I must make us some tea.”

7
    Evening was drawing in and already the table by the window was in shadow. Beyond the dark headland the sky was awash with a deep purplish mauve. Tinged with touches of pale peach and backlit by the golden light of sunset, it was surreal in its beauty. A car passed along the road, the headlights sweeping the ceiling and walls. The two women sipped tea and were silent for a moment until the hum of the engine faded away.
    â€œYears ago, Nora, people expected life to go on as usual. On the island, soon as a youngster was old enough, it was expected that he’d go in the boats with his father. I don’t know how it was in Ireland then, but according to Matt, it was pretty much that way for him. He had one plan for his life but his mother had another.”
    â€œYou’re cut out for the priests, son, hand-picked by God Almighty.” His mother gripped his arm tightly. “What else would you be doing, with all those brains God gave you? Shovelling cow dung below in the byre for the rest of your life? Anyone who flies in the face of God,” she whispered urgently, “will have no luck. You mark my words.”
    â€œThere’s other ways to use brains.” He wished she’d let go of his arm so he could leave. Instead he said tentatively, “I could be a teacher or maybe work with The Gaelic League.”
    â€œAh, catch on to yerself.”
    He heard the first note of irritation in her voice.
    â€œThe Gaelic League, now there’s a bunch of dreamers if there ever was one, just what you need, the poet fella, Yeats, and her ladyship from Sligo. What’s her name? Gregory, Lady Gregory. Thinkin’ they can solve the problems of the poor people of Ireland by writin’ poetry and puttin’ on plays above in Dublin. Makin’ us the laughin’ stock of the world, that’s all they’re doin’. Yes, Lady Muck herself, grand company for a young fella like you. Don’t you go lettin’ anyone in the town hear you sayin’ the like of that.”
    â€œBut Doctor Sommerton tells me there’s talk now of expanding the university above in Dublin, to make more spaces for Catholic young fellas like me. He says I should apply.”
    â€œI might have known.”The grip tightened on his arm. “He’s the one has been puttin’ them daft notions in your head again. Where, in the name of God, does the doctor