Hannie Rising Page 7

  "What is he saying, Johannah?" Dolly's whisper could be heard throughout the courtroom.

  Judge Dwyer answered for her. "I'm saying that you must no longer live alone, Mrs. Little. If your daughter is unable to have you with her, you must look at an assisted living facility. Do you understand?"

  Two identical spots of red appeared on her mother's cheeks. She turned to her daughter, chin up, head held high. "Am I to go into a facility, Johannah?"

  Somewhere outside the four walls of the courtroom, the bells of Saint John's Church rang twelve times announcing the lunch hour. A horn blasted. In the too narrow streets, traffic stalled, greetings were called out, conversations began and ended. In the space of a nanosecond, a thousand thoughts circled in and around Johannah's mind culminating in the only conclusion possible. "Of course not. You'll be coming home with me."

  "Seamus, too?"

  Johannah swallowed. For the first time in two years, the scar on her leg ached. "Seamus, too," she said, hating the miserable, encroaching finality of the words.

  * * *

  "You're joking!" Liam's voice hovered somewhere between laughter and disbelief when he heard the news. "There isn't room for her. Where will she stay?"

  Johannah rinsed the unwashed dishes he'd left in the sink and stacked them in the dishwasher. "That's hardly the issue."

  "It bears thinking about."

  "We'll sell her house. That will give us enough to add on here."

  "You're talking months. What happens until then?"

  Johannah sighed and turned to face her son. He was sitting at the table, books and papers spread out before him. Patrick's words came back to her. Liam was a grown man, healthy, able-bodied, attractive and ungrateful. Her voice had an unusual edge. "It doesn't really affect you, Liam. You're gone until quite late every day and when you're here, you're studying. You contribute nothing to this household. It would be gracious of you to be as kind as possible when you and your grandmother are together and it would be a great help to me."

  His response was reasonable and removed as if the events of the morning had nothing to do with him. "You know I'll do all I can. But I wonder if you realize how much work Nan can be. She's an incessant talker and she complains constantly when she doesn't get enough attention. I'm here for a purpose, Mom. I don't have time to entertain her."

  Johannah didn't answer. She'd stopped listening two sentences before. When did ones child cease to bring on that breathless, dizzy, adoring feeling that made everything he did seem precious and memorable, worthy of marking it down in the baby book or running for the camera? Where did the feeling go? When had she, Johannah Enright, lost it? When did she no longer want to catch him up in her arms and squeeze him close and safe against her chest? When had that warm loving feeling been replaced by a strong desire to slap the smug expression from his face?

  Objectively, she looked at her son's long, lean jaw, at the sharp jutting bones and the stubble of hair, two days worth, covering his cheeks and chin, at the sensual mouth that had done God knows what with the loveliest Kerry had to offer. Where had her baby gone? Where was the soft, round, rosy-cheeked cherub who'd shrieked with delight when she'd picked him up after a day at the crèche? It wasn't fair. She wanted him back. Time had passed so quickly, too quickly. This tall, black-haired man who'd spoken of his grandmother, the woman who'd changed his nappies, as if she were an inconvenient stranger wasn't the child Johannah had raised. She struggled to love him. He was her son. There was no alternative but to love him, but should it be a struggle?

  "Mom?" Liam waved a hand in front of her eyes. "You're away with the faeries. Are you all right?"

  Johannah shook her head, erasing the cobwebs in her brain. "Yes, Liam. I'm fine. To answer your question, I don't know what it will be like having Nan here, but there is no alternative and we'll all have to adjust. I can't do it all myself so, yes, you as well as Kate, and to some degree, Evan, will share in the responsibility. Your schooling is a priority for me as well as you, so I'll accommodate you wherever I can, but I'm human, too. None of this, including having you and your sister back home, has been easy for me. Please take that into consideration while you're complaining." Her smile was forced. "That's it then. I'll go and clear out the study as that's the only spare room left in the house."

  Chapter 11

  Liam

  Left on his own, Liam revisited the conversation he'd just had with his mother. Surprised at the tone of her usually soft-spoken voice, he'd watched her leave the room without replying. She seemed different lately. He'd noticed it before but assumed her new independence was a necessity arising from the loss of his father. In retrospect, he wondered why he'd thought any such thing at all. Mickey Enright, beloved by all who knew him, especially his children, was a lightweight compared to Johannah. She was the heart of their family, the rock from where all security came. Mickey's death, although painful emotionally, had not crippled her. If anything, as far as Liam could see, it made her life easier.

  Shaken by the unbidden thought, he had a sudden urge to leave his parents' house. Gathering his books, papers and laptop into his arms, he called out, "I'm going to the library to study."

  "Collect your Nan on the way home," Johannah replied. "I'm in the middle of doing over the room."

  "I don't know when I'll be finished," he said and immediately wished the words back. "Never mind, I'll be back with her in time for tea."

  "You're a good boy, Liam," she said which made him feel even worse.

  What was it about his mother that made him want to wrap his arms around her and pull her out of the wind? If she'd been the slightest bit pitiful, if she complained or nagged at him or told him he was worthless, he would have laughed and not given it another thought. But she did none of those things. She simply plowed on, doing the right thing, never reminding him that he owed her money or left the toilet seat up, forgot to post the electricity payment or fill the car with petrol. Instead of slagging him about his faulty memory and poor choices, she smiled, opened her door and held out her arms. It was those dark places under her eyes, that fragile determination in the face of whatever life tossed her way, her desire to make everyone around her content if not happy and that desperate optimism that wouldn't fold no matter what adversity fell directly on top of her that made him grind his teeth and kick himself. She was the one sheltering him, and anyone else who came her way. The least he could do, the very least, was to collect his grandmother and bring her home.

  The library in Tralee was small by any standards, but it had computers, usually occupied by foreign nationals, wireless Internet service, private cubbies, and except for a few mothers with toddlers and the occasional senior citizen who could see well enough to read print, relatively empty.

  He found a spot, flipped open his computer and settled in, resolving to give full attention to his studies for at least two hours before collecting his grandmother.

  Liam was well into his first hour when a man with an arm load of books sat down across from him. They made eye contact and the man smiled. For a brief instant, Liam felt as if all the air had been sucked from his chest. He recovered quickly drawing a deep, strangled breath. Whatever was the matter with him?

  The man pointed at Liam's laptop. "Convenient, aren't they?"

  "They are."

  "There's a queue for the library computers."

  "Always."

  The man extended his hand. "You've the look of your mother. I'm Patrick, a friend of hers."

  "Really?" Liam doubted he'd seen the man before in his life, yet there was something familiar about him. "How do you know her?"

  "She stops in at The Daily Grind before she goes in to work."

  "I didn't know that. Are you waiting to use the computer?"

  Patrick nodded. "I don't have one of my own. What are you studying?"

  "Economics, mostly marketing. I've two years before I earn my degree. I took some time off to work but the economy got in the way." Liam, usually recalcitrant, felt an unusual u
rge to disclose. "I'm living at home again. It isn't easy. My sister had the same idea."

  "Imagine how your mother feels."

  Liam frowned. "Has she said anything?"

  "It would be normal, don't you think, for a woman accustomed to doing for herself, to feel overwhelmed having her children and grandchild under her roof again?"

  "That's not the worst of it," Liam confided. "My grandmother is moving in as well. She's not always clear in the head and while she's not bad in small doses, I can only imagine what living with her will be like."

  Patrick appeared to have slipped into deep thought. Liam wanted feedback and for some reason he wanted it from this man, this stranger who knew his mother. "My mom will need help with her."

  "Yes," Patrick agreed. "She will. It's fortunate that you and your sister are home to support your mother emotionally and to help with expenses, of course."

  "Right." Liam tapped his pen against the cover of his notebook. It was the second time in less than an hour he'd been reminded his mother was supporting him. "The thing is, it's difficult to concentrate at home."

  "If I were you I'd be feeling a bit guilty."

  Liam nodded. "I know I should be more help, but this is my last chance. You see, I'm twenty-six. If I don't make it now, I never will."

  Patrick's lip twitched. "I see."

  Eager to make his point, Liam continued. "I lost my job and my apartment. Then my girlfriend left me. It was all due to money, or the lack of it. It's difficult to think of myself as anything but a failure. I have to make a go of it. My mom's always talking about the difference an education makes. She can't want me to waste my time taking care of my grandmother."

  "Probably not."

  Liam flushed. "It sounds like bollucks, doesn't it?"

  "A bit."

  "What would you do if you were me?"

  "Given your age, the same as you're doing but it isn't what I should have done."

  "What should I do?"

  Patrick smiled. "You already know the answer to that."

  "Life is complicated, isn't it?"

  Liam was surprised by the bleak look in the man's eyes and even more surprised by his comment.

  "Complicated is better than the alternative. In my experience, we can always do more than we think. I'll leave you on your own now. Give my regards to your mother."

  He smiled and, again, Liam felt that odd sense of déjà vu.

  * * *

  Dolly pressed her face against the window pane of number fourteen, Kevin Barry's Villas, a neighborhood more than fifty years old and still inhabited by the original families or their descendents. "I'm not buying any today," she said.

  Liam, standing outside on the porch step, waved to her. "I'm not selling, Nan. It's me, Liam. I came to collect you. Mom's waiting at home."

  "Collect me for what?"

  Liam sighed. Either Johannah hadn't explained properly or Dolly had forgotten. More likely the latter. "You're to stay with us."

  "I'm not."

  "Remember the court case? The judge said you can't live alone anymore."

  "He said no such thing."

  Liam felt the familiar surge of frustration sweeping through him as it so often did when dealing with his grandmother. "Please let me in, Nan."

  She opened the door. "You're sure you're my grandson?"

  "Perfectly."

  "Mind Seamus. He's feeling out of sorts today."

  Liam stepped inside and looked around for the dog. "Where is he?"

  She looked around. "He's around somewhere. I won't go without Seamus."

  Not in his wildest dreams had he imagined his mother agreeing to live with his grandmother's unpredictable dog. "I'll just ring home for a minute. Mom will explain it all to you again and then we'll be on our way."

  Liam stepped into the kitchen and nearly fell over Seamus sprawled on the rug. The dog lifted his head and growled. "Easy, boy," he said placatingly. "Easy does it. No one's going to hurt you." Keeping an eye on the animal, he pulled out his mobile, scrolled down to his home number, pressed the connect button and waited.

  Johannah picked up immediately.

  "She won't come," he said, keeping his voice low. "She doesn't remember the court case."

  His mother's voice was crisp. "Put her on the mobile, Liam."

  Liam walked back into the sitting room and handed the phone to his grandmother. "It's for you," he said.

  Reluctantly, Dolly held the phone to her ear. "Hello."

  Liam watched her face change from wariness to fear and finally understanding. She nodded and handed the phone back. "She said I'm to bring the dog. We'll come back together to collect anything else I need."

  Liam spoke into the receiver. "It's me, Mom. Is everything all right?" He lowered his voice. "Does Nan understand what's happening?"

  "I have no idea. Just make sure the two of them get into the car."

  "Two of them?"

  "Your grandmother and that damn dog."

  In a country where toddlers were weaned on breast milk and the "f" word, Liam could count on one hand the times his mother had used profanity. He wanted to laugh but somehow, under the circumstances, it didn't seem appropriate. "I'll see you straight away," was all he said.

  "She's angry," Dolly observed. "Johannah's always angry."

  "You can't blame her. She's got a lot on her plate." He eyed Seamus. "Do you think you could coax him into the car?"

  "He doesn't want to go. Neither do I. We're two of a kind."

  Liam would have given a great deal for a pint of cider. He looked around. "Do you have any spirits, Nan?"

  "I have whiskey."

  "That'll do. Where is it?"

  Dolly's forehead wrinkled. "It's on the—" she stopped.

  Liam waited. "Where, Nan?"

  "You know, on the thing."

  "What thing?"

  "On top of the box that makes things cold."

  Shocked out of his purpose, Liam stared at her. His grandmother, the queen of prose next to his mother, couldn't remember the word refrigerator.

  She pointed. "Up there."

  Liam reached for the spirits, found a glass and filled it halfway. He handed it to Dolly. "Drink up, Nan. It will relax you."

  She drank it quickly, choked and then grimaced. "That's enough of that." She smiled at her grandson. "Will you have one?"

  "No, thanks. I'm driving."

  "A nacker won't hurt you."

  "Another time, Nan. Can you help out with the dog? Mom is holding dinner."

  "Just call him. He's a good dog. Really he is."

  Liam opened the door to the kitchen. "We're going for a ride, Seamus. C'mon boy." The dog growled, fangs bared. Liam backed away. "He's your dog, Nan. More than likely he'll do what you want."

  "Come, Seamus. Come, my love. Liam will take us in his car to Johannah's house. You'll like it there, won't you, my angel? It has a large yard."

  Slowly, the dog rose, stretched, and followed Dolly out the door to the car.

  Liam found the keys, locked up and followed them outside. "Don't you need your handbag or a suitcase?" he asked, sliding in beside her. The dog, all three-and-a-half stone of him, sat between her legs, his head, chest and forelegs splayed and hanging out the window.

  "I don't need anything."

  "Are you able to hold him, Nan?" Liam asked, silently praying that the garda would be working the other side of town. "I can close the window. He can sit in the back seat." He sent up a brief, quick prayer that the ripe doggy smell wouldn't kill them off before they made it home.

  "I wouldn't think of it, Liam. Seamus is all I have left that is mine."

  Chastened, not trusting himself to speak, he set the car into first gear and made his way toward Ballyard.

  Chapter 12

  Johannah

  "Nan, Nan," Evan shrieked from the window of his mother's car. "I got a haircut and I didn't cry. I'm to get a fish, a real fish."

  Johannah sat back on her heels, stuck the spade into the gro
und and removed her gardening gloves. She'd taken advantage of the good weather to hang out the laundry and trim the hydrangeas. "My goodness! Aren't you the smart lad?" She watched as Kate unbuckled his seat belt, freeing him to race from the car into her arms. Bracing herself for the full force of his weight, Johannah managed to stay upright as he tackled her. "A fish is it? What kind of fish?"

  "A goldfish. I'm to get a goldfish. Mommy promised if I didn't cry, and I didn't."

  Kate approached more slowly, stepping around the fuchsia hedge and across the grass. "He was very brave. Now, Evan, remember, the fish was promised if you don't cry the next time either."

  Evan's blue eyes widened. "Next time?"

  Johannah laughed. "I don't think he's sorted that one out yet." She stood. "Would you like to play on the swings?" She gestured toward the play set that Mickey had built in anticipation of Evan's birth.

  He nodded and slipped his hand into hers.

  Kate looked around. "Where's Nan?"

  "Napping. At least she was when I left her twenty minutes ago. I should probably go check."

  "Leave it for a minute, Mom."

  Johannah's heart sank. Kate looked preoccupied, even a bit worried. "All right. We'll swing Evan and chat."

  Settling her grandson into the swing, Johannah began to gently push him back and forth. He laughed, tilted his head back and attempted to pump the way Johannah had coached him. "Higher, Nan, higher."

  "You're high enough, Evan," his mother warned.

  Johannah lowered her voice. "Do you have something to say, Kate?"

  Kate hesitated and in the space of an instant, between gathering her thoughts and opening her mouth, Seamus rose from a comatose heap on the porch and, at a dead run, headed straight for Evan, teeth bared.

  Kate screamed, pulling Evan and the swing after her as she clambered up the slide. At the same time, Johannah deliberately stepped into the path of the dog in an attempt to shield her daughter and grandson.