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

There were doors on either side, all identical, with small windows of gridded glass beside each handle. One door was open and as she passed she caught sight of someone lying on a bed, an arm flung over her eyes, body covered with a flowery duvet.

As she climbed the stairs, she grew fearful again. It was very likely that Joan wouldn’t know her, or wouldn’t welcome her if she did. A woman in a white overall banged through the fire doors at the top of the stairs, her head tilted to one side to see past an armload of sheets. She passed Ali without acknowledgement. Ali went through the doors and found herself looking down another corridor. On either side were large wards where people sat on beds or circulated slowly in dressing gowns. It looked like an ordinary hospital. She wanted to ask someone where to go, but the only official person she could see was a woman mopping the corridor ahead.

The woman was facing away from her, wearing ordinary clothes: pale tight jeans and a baggy jumper. She was humming a song, something just beyond naming, but familiar.

Maybe it was the tune, or something in the way she moved, or the way her curly hair piled together in defiance of gravity, but before she was within ten feet of her, Ali experienced a rush of recognition, like a blast of hot water from her heart. She stood still and watched the woman move the mop to create shining figures-of-eight across the sea-green linoleum.

‘Joan?’

The mop turned first, skimming round in a semicircle, Joan turning neatly behind it as if executing some kind of dance step.

‘It’s you.’ Joan smiled and fine lines radiated from the sides of her eyes and bracketed her thin mouth. Otherwise she seemed not much changed. Smaller, certainly. Ali was more than a head taller than her now.

‘I didn’t think you’d know me.’

‘Didn’t I see you the other night?’

‘You haven’t seen me in years …’

‘You were with that man – Gay Byrne.’ Joan’s smile faded and her eyes grew wide. ‘Oh God.’

‘What is it?’

‘Something bad happened to you. I forgot.’

‘You saw me on the telly – is that it?’

‘The telly. Yes.’

‘I’m visiting Buleen, so I thought I’d come and see you. Is that all right?’

‘I suppose I can finish this later.’

Joan put the bucket and mop away in a cupboard, and led Ali to a large room full of vinyl armchairs and smoke, occupied by half a dozen people. A woman was lying on the floor. Sleeping, Ali presumed, since no one seemed concerned about her. Two men in shirt sleeves were hunched over a card game. Joan proudly showed Ali a big television that was set into a cabinet in the corner.

‘That’s what I saw you on.’

‘I’m still amazed you knew me. It’s been so many years.’

‘She’s on the telly!’ Joan announced to the room at large. Heads turned to them and quickly away. The woman on the floor slept on.

The lounge felt like a cross between a youth club and an old folks’ home. There was a pool table on one side of the room, but no sign of any cues or balls. Instead, the surface was covered with boxes of jigsaws and piles of scuffed magazines.

‘Do you have a job here, Joan?’

‘I like to help out.’

‘But you stay here all the time, do you? As a …’ Ali searched for the right word. Patient or inmate seemed too direct.

‘Oh yes, full-time.’ Then, in a low voice, looking round as if worried the others would hear, ‘They take care of me.’

‘So you do want to be here?’

Joan ignored her. ‘What’s Gay like? Is he very short?’

‘He’s normal-sized, I guess, and very like himself.’

‘He looks short on the telly. Have you got cigarettes?’

Ali reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out her packet of Silk Cut. ‘I don’t think I have a light.’

‘I can get you a light,’ said a voice behind her. She looked round to see that a young man with a straight fringe had crept up on them. Weaver appears mistily, she thought. Other faces had perked up hopefully around the room. More impressive to have cigarettes than to be on the telly. She gave the boy a cigarette, then one to Joan and took another for herself. The boy walked over to the card game.

‘Tony, can I have a light?’

Tony took a lighter from his jeans pocket and, as he did so, Ali noticed the bunch of keys hooked to his belt. He winked at her as he struck the flame.

Over by the window, a girl her own age with a bad complexion was staring. Ali waved the packet of cigarettes in her direction and the girl approached with all the brash confidence of a woodland creature. They lit their cigarettes one by one from the boy’s fag, drawing in deeply to make the glow catch across. The timid girl pressed the lit cigarette to her own so hard that the tip of the lit one became unhinged. The boy grabbed it from her, cursing.

‘Watch it, Peter,’ said Tony, never lifting his eyes from the cards. The boy shuffled off to sulk in a corner, holding the cigarette pointed to the ceiling. The timid girl sat in the chair beside Ali, a little smile on her face. Ali smiled back awkwardly.

Joan leaned across and poked the girl’s knee. ‘Go on with you.’

The girl moved away, and Joan leaned closer to Ali.

‘You’ve gotten very tall. Have you heels on?’

Ali showed her the flat soles of her sandals. ‘My dad was tall.’

Joan bit her lip and put her hand to her chest. ‘Your poor daddy. God, I remember you coming to Caherbawn with your mammy, and the tears still wet on your cheeks.’ She looked as though she would cry herself.

‘You weren’t too happy either, were you, Joan?’

Joan shot a look around, settling on the card players.

‘I have to be careful. They rely on me to be cheerful.’

Joan picked up an ashtray and