The Rosary Garden by Nicola White (good books to read for women txt) 📗

She put the baby on her hip and went to open it.

‘Peggy!’ she said, like she was surprised.

At first glance, Ali had the impression that the woman who entered was middle-aged, but soon she realised it was merely the heavy set of her body and her old-fashioned coat – a blue mac down past her knees, not right for the day. Her broad face was young, with full downturned lips, and her thick auburn hair waved backwards from her face, as if she were standing in a breeze. Ali wouldn’t have recognised her if she passed her on a Dublin street, but now – with the prompt of a name and this place – she knew her, could see the trace of the young girl she’d been. Dr Nolan had brought two daughters with him that Christmas, that’s right; neat girls in white socks and matching coats sitting side-by-side on the big sofa.

‘You remember Peggy, Dr Nolan’s daughter? This is my cousin, Ali.’

‘Yeah, hiya,’ said Peggy, unsmiling.

Roisín’s behaviour with her was careful, kind. She coaxed the ugly coat from Peggy and got her sitting on the sofa. Ali offered to make more coffee.

‘You haven’t seen the baby for a while, Peggy, hasn’t she grown?’

‘Uh-huh.’

Ali prepared the coffee as slowly as she could, leaving the two of them to talk. By the time she brought the mugs over, Peggy was haltingly relating a shopping trip to Limerick. Her eyes were on Emer, though, as were Roisín’s. Conversation sputtered between them, then converged on the baby. Emer wriggled on the carpet, and they sipped from their mugs and watched, calling out praise for every fat handclap or tumble. Ali could feel the energy draining from her.

She got to her feet and walked into the kitchen area, rinsed her mug under the tap.

‘Ro – I better be getting back up to town,’ she called over her shoulder.

‘If I had the car, I’d drive you,’ said Roisín, taking the opportunity to get up and move about. ‘But this one needs her nap anyway. Peggy, would you mind walking Ali up to the town for me?’

Ali started to protest, but Roisín gave her such a fierce look that she shut up. She already had Peggy’s coat out of the slim cabinet that served as a cloakroom.

‘Oh, Ali, I’ve got that thing for you. In the bedroom, I forgot.’

‘What thing?’

‘The thing I told you about.’ Her eyes were insistent. When they got to the bedroom, Roisín hissed, ‘There is no thing, ya eejit. I needed to tell you something.’

‘What?’ Ali was sure they could be heard.

‘Since you’re here on your own, you should pal round with Peggy a bit. She’s lonely. You could cheer her up.’

‘I doubt it.’

Roisín pushed her towards the door. Peggy was already outside the little fence, staring back at the caravan. There was something unnervingly still about her, like a post or a stone.

Ali and Peggy walked up the field in silence until they reached the bridge.

‘I remember you,’ Peggy said, ‘you wouldn’t let me play with you.’

‘What?’

‘It was a Christmas. You had a cookery set – was it? – and you wouldn’t speak to anyone or let them join you.’

It was hard to tell whether Peggy was annoyed or just teasing.

‘Sorry, I don’t remember that. I do remember the fancy coat you had on, though. Pale green, with a black velvet collar. You matched your big sister. I was jealous of those coats.’

Peggy stopped and smiled. ‘Brown velvet collars,’ she corrected, ‘and velvet buttons too.’ She looked down at her raincoat. ‘Wish I had it still. This thing’s horrible – my mother bought it for me.’

‘Take it off. It’s too hot for a coat.’

Peggy looked up at the blue sky for verification. ‘You’ll be thinking I’ve some kind of mad coat-fixation.’ But she unbuttoned the white plastic buttons, removed the coat and draped it over her arm.

Ali could see the end of the boreen ahead. They would be back in town soon; she could make her excuses and get away.

‘Where’s your sister now?’ Ali said.

‘Dublin.’

‘Does she like it?’

‘Suppose so.’

It made Ali wonder what her life would have been like if her mother had decided to stay on in Buleen. Would she have had the gumption to escape to Dublin, or turned out strange and morose like Peggy? She might even have gone mad, like Joan.

‘Sorry,’ said Peggy suddenly. ‘I’m not myself these days.’

‘Could be the sun,’ said Ali lamely.

Peggy managed a smile. ‘Could be.’

‘What do you do yourself?’

‘I do reception at Dad’s surgery some days, but that’s just for now.’

Ali couldn’t find anything else to ask and they walked on in silence. They reached the junction with the main road. Ali looked up towards the shops and spotted a familiar figure leaning against the phone box.

‘How’s your Uncle Davy?’ asked Peggy.

Ali looked up towards the phone box again. Davy had vanished.

‘He’s good,’ said Ali. ‘We came down yesterday in the train.’

‘Right. I’ll go this way,’ said Peggy, pointing at the road out of the village.

‘Okay. See you then, Peggy.’ Ali watched her walk away. Funny how people turned out. When you were a child, other kids were all of the same tribe; you could all get on together. Then they grew up and became really hard to talk to.

She started up the main street. Just past the phone box, Davy jumped out at her from a laneway.

‘Boo!’

‘Are you really older than me?’ said Ali. He drooped an arm over her shoulder and carried on up the street with her.

‘What were you doing with Peggy Nolan?’

‘I met her down in Roisín’s.’

‘Roisín’s too soft. How’s about a little libation for the Sabbath?’ He drew out some crumpled notes and a cluster of change from his pocket.

‘Maybe one. I don’t want it to turn out like yesterday.’

Cathal, the man with the baby-feet badge, was sitting on Melody’s windowsill with another guy, watching the world go by. The friend was tall, fierce-looking and fair as a Viking. Davy took his arm off her shoulder and