*
Mary and I were tidying up the office, doing a last sort out before the long summer holidays. Huan was still in her Moses basket, fast asleep. Mary tucked the blanket around Huan, who still had the little Chinese jacket on, making sure she was warm and comfortable.
‘Tabitha, I am so sorry. My own flesh and blood. Lucy carrying on with Michael’ Mary reddened. ‘What can I say? I feel ashamed because she is my cousin. Carrying on like that. There are far more decent ways to behave. Her Mammy has refused to leave her bed since she heard the news. Lucy’s on her way up there today.’
‘I’ve been thinking, though, Mary. That even decent people act undecently sometimes. None of us are perfect. I’ve made a hash of things in my life. There are many things that if I could go back, I’d do them differently.’
‘You’re right,’ agreed Mary. ‘It’s a right of us all to behave like complete eejits at times. I told my own mother about Huan when I picked her up in Beijing.’
‘What did she say?’
‘Shocked would be an understatement,’ she admitted. ‘But even before we said goodbye, I could hear her coming round to the idea. Who could resist a baby?’
‘Just think, Mary, if you hadn’t disobeyed your mother, you’d be in some convent somewhere. Can you imagine?’
‘And I wouldn’t have Huan. I wouldn’t have my…’ she tried out this new word on her lips. ‘I wouldn’t have my daughter.’
‘They’re good things, daughters,’ I said. ‘Obviously, I’m biased.’ I smiled at her. ‘But they are pretty cool.’ I thought of Nora, Rosie and me and of Rosaleen and the four mighty Thomas women. Mothers and daughters, grandmother and granddaughter. Such wonderful things to have and to be.
*
That evening, Rosie and I sat down in the living room, mugs of tea in our hands, to watch Clodagh’s last ever news broadcast. You would never have thought it was her swansong. She calmly and smoothly ran through the news, the face and voice of Ireland.
We were watching as Clodagh deftly fielded a debate between the owner of a huge chicken farm in Monaghan and a member of the union for farm workers, she then moved neatly into a report from America, looking at Irish emigres.
‘To the seaside village County Dublin of Dalkey, now,’ she said…
‘This is it! Oh God…’
Rosie grabbed my hand. ‘They surely won’t be mean like last time, will they…?’
‘The environmental protest at the Star of the Sea school came to a close today when the school principal announced that the plot of land at the centre of the protest would now not be sold. But there was an unusual domestic drama because the head teacher and one of the protestors are mother and daughter… Our reporter Barry Whelan went to see what was going on and if old hurts had been healed…’
We watched as the sea of children filled the camera, all of them chanting. And there was me, in the front, looking slightly manic, it has to be said. My voice sounded shaky enough and I could barely remember saying any of what I said.?
I was surrounded by children the whole time, with their arms around my waist, my hands on their heads, all their faces smiling and happy. The other teachers were in the tumble of humans, all of us one big wonderful community. I spotted little Donna, a junior infant, who has Down’s Syndrome, holding Red’s hand, the biggest grin on both of their faces. There was Mary with Huan in one arm and holding another child’s hand with her free arm. ‘Three cheers for Ms Thomas!’ Red shouted, and the children, buoyed up on natural excitement and enthusiasm – and the thought of the long school holidays – cheered.
‘Mr Brian Crowley, the head of the board of governors, expressed his opinion as to the decision made by principal Tabitha Thomas…’
There was footage of Brian walking along the street. ‘I don’t have a comment to make except to say how disappointed I am and that this is the wrong direction for the school.’
‘There have,’ continued Barry Whelan, ‘been allegations as to impropriety regarding the behaviour of a member of the board of governors, a Mr Brian Crowley, which the Gardaí say they are taking very seriously and anyone else connected to the school are not related to these allegations. A statement from the Dun Laoghaire Gardaí Station say that they are gathering information and will report back as soon as possible.’ There were shots of the Copse. ‘Ms Thomas has promised that the plot of land will be turned into a Peace Garden, a place for children, and, she says, teachers and parents, to find peace and quiet.’
And then there was me again speaking to Barry. I couldn’t for the life of me remember saying any of it. ‘We are all under tremendous pressure,’ I said, slightly breathlessly, my eyes wild, ‘and we need to give ourselves the space to reflect. Time out, if you will.’ Rosie squeezed my hand. ‘Our children,’ I went on, ‘know that they have not only the academic support and good teaching in our school but also the emotional support. We are a school which is not just chasing good exam results but happy and contented children. Mental health, happiness, pleasure and joy and the simple things in life have always been a part of our ethos, but today I am saying that it is the core of who we are as a school. I say to all our parents, that they are welcome to use the Peace Garden whenever they wish. They are part of our community too.’
‘As to the domestic drama, all seemed to be resolved…’ said Barry, cueing a shot of my mother and me hugging.
‘I can’t remember hugging her,’ I said to Rosie. ‘We don’t hug. We’re not huggers.’
‘Well, apparently you are. The camera doesn’t lie.’
I tried to think. Nellie and I had definitely hugged, and Arthur had gone in for one. Robbo had practically squeezed my insides out, the opposite to Leaf’s limpid but well-meaning hug.
It was coming back to me now. ‘Come here.’ Nora was standing there. ‘Just come over here.’
And we hugged, tears in my eyes, tears in her eyes – the woman who never cried. A swirling dream, the noise of the children cheering.
‘You did it,’ said Nora. ‘I knew you would. That’s my girl.’
‘It still would have been far easier if you hadn’t been protesting, wouldn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘but it wouldn’t have been half as much fun.’
‘I thought I was doing the right thing,’ I said. ‘I really did. I thought I was being the best teacher I could be, giving the children something we all thought they needed.’
‘Fresh air and exercise. The best medicine there is,’ she said, smiling, delighted with another triumphant protest. ‘We’ve all discussed the summer, helping get the Copse ready. Robbo’s even cancelling going to some music festival so he can help out. We’ll have it bramble-free in no time.’
‘Thanks Mum.’
‘Now, one thing I need to say. Rosie is a credit to you. You’re a natural mother. I wish I was more like you.’
‘Really?’ This was my mother. Being nice to me. Tears prickled in my eyes.
‘And another thing…’ she said.
‘Please stop. I’m more comfortable when you are being rude and dismissive.’
‘It’s just that… Rosaleen would have been so proud of you. And you’re just like her, you know that. You remind me of her every day. And you know that cutting, the one you took from Rosaleen’s cherry tree. Well, once it grows a bit, it’s going to be planted in the Peace Garden. What do you think about that?’
‘That’s a perfect idea.’
On television, we were back to the studio now and Clodagh was smiling. ‘What a great story,’ she said. ‘Good things do happen to the best people.’ And she winked.
‘Did she just wink?’ said Rosie.
‘I think so…’
‘And now,’ said Clodagh, on screen, ‘with the weather is the ever-lovely Bridget O’Flaherty…’