Behind Mary was the shape of a man coming into focus. ‘Mr Power to see you, Tabitha.’ Green cotton jacket, smart jeans. I’d read his CV that the department had sent over as though it held secrets or a code to something and then after all these years of not knowing anything and there it was, in black and white, jobs, experiences, volunteering, interests. A whole life. He’d put down Irish poetry and drama and climbing as his interests. The latter must have been a Californian thing. He mentioned some places I’d only half heard of – Yosemite, Sequoia and Joshua Tree. But climbing? I’d tried to imagine this new Red, this climbing Californian Red.
Over the years, it had become increasingly difficult to remember anything, even the colour of his eyes, the shape of his face or his height. But now here he was. Indisputably, unmistakeably Red. I would have recognised him anywhere. Hair greyer, but face the same, though more tanned, slightly lined, but the look in his eyes, the shape of the mouth, his ears! - hadn’t changed. More handsome, if that was possible. Being older suited him.
‘Hello Tab.’
He was taking me in as much as I was absorbing him, as though we were looking for clues to see what was left of each of us, the selves we had left behind.
His accent a little changed by all those years in America, but the way he said my name. Tab. The way he lingered on the ‘a’, resting on the ‘b’. No one else said it like that, they rushed through it.
And more than anything, I found I wanted to touch him, to make sure he was real, if his arms felt as strong as they used to... And to hear him say my name again. Tab. In my ear. Just for me. Tab.
‘Red, great to see you!’ I held out my hand, smiling broadly. ‘So, you’re back…’
He shook my hand, briefly. ‘Actually I’ve been back for six months now,’ he said, sounding as nervous as me, which was almost a relief, that he wasn’t totally immune to the past, that I wasn’t nothing.
‘Dad… my father’s been ill so I came home and… well, decided to stay on for a while.’
His father had practically adopted me as a long-lost daughter ‘Christy? How is he?’
‘A stroke. He was trying to pretend that he was grand that I needn’t come home. He’s recovering though. Hobbling around, still doing too much. Organising meetings, shouting at the news, writing his poetry. His usual vices.’ And then he smiled at me for the first time. ‘On the mend, in other words. I’ve been bringing him for walks down the pier. Well, shuffles along the pier. Takes us an hour just to get to the bandstand.’
For a moment our eyes locked. We used to meet at the bandstand and then walk along the pier, arms wrapped around each other, deep happiness passing back and forth, only needing the other to ignite and spark. He looked away.
‘That’s good to hear, that he’s on the mend.’
‘If he stops giving out to the television, it’ll do him and his heart the world of good.’
‘Just keep him away from politics,’ I said. ‘Let him watch Home And Away…’ I paused. ‘Is that still on?’
Red smiled. ‘I have no idea. It should be, that’s all I will say.’
‘It’s probably gone. Like all my old favourites… Dynasty, Dallas, Dukes of Hazard…’ We had immediately fallen back into the way we used to talk to each other. The one thing I had forgotten entirely. We never used to shut up.
‘Anything not beginning with D?’
‘Falcon Crest?’
He laughed. ‘You were never a soap addict.’
‘Well, maybe Christy and I should get together and become one. Save both of us.’
He was looking at me, curiously. Was he as surprised as I was? I had imagined far more awkwardness, unresolved anger.
‘Would you like to sit down and we… we can go through things?’ In a moment, I had changed the mood to polite formality again. Red pulled out the chair in front of my desk, hands folded on his lap. No ring, I noticed. Not that it was any of my business. And yet… and yet.
‘The department have already interviewed you,’ I said. ‘So, we don’t need to go through your CV…’
‘Ten years teaching in elementary school in the US,’ he said. ‘Drama and English. Once I got my papers, that is. Before then, it was a few years of bar work. There were the obligatory painting and decorating years.’ He smiled at me. ‘Most of us Irish have those. And the year spent cooking in an Irish bar. Definitely put me off fried breakfasts.’
‘What kind of school did you teach in?’ I wanted to know everything. Where did he live, did he like it there, was he ever homesick, had Ireland changed much… had he ever thought of us?
‘It was in East Bay,’ he said. ‘Amazing school. I learned more from the pupils than I think I ever taught them.’
‘Like what?’
‘Life lessons really,’ he said. ‘About how education is more than just learning, it’s about arming yourself for the battle you are going to face when you have no one rooting for you. Nothing we were taught in teaching college.’
‘And I thought it was just all about getting the children to be quiet.’
He smiled. ‘I learned just how selfless and devoted and determined some mothers are to make sure their kids get to school every single day,’ he went on, energised. ‘I learned that I had no idea about the world, that living in Ireland had not equipped me for what life is like for all those who scrape by, who are treated as though they don’t matter.’ He blushed, a little, embarrassed by his enthusiasm.
‘Well, I hope Star of the Sea is as rewarding…’
‘Thank you.’
Red was looking at the picture of Rosie on my desk. ‘Your daughter?’
I nodded. ‘That’s Rosie.’
‘She looks just like you… Like you were… you know…’ His words trailed off.
I stood up. ‘I think that’s everything. Mary has the class list of where they are at, what they’ve been working on, the names of the girls. Maybe you could have a look at that on the weekend and be ready to start on Monday?’
He nodded. ‘Bright and early.’ He got to his feet and held out his hand and smiled, as though we’d just concluded any normal meeting. ‘Thank you…’
We smiled at each other, as we shook hands briefly.
‘It’s good to see you,’ he said. ‘I always wondered…’
For a moment, I couldn’t find the words. My throat was dry. Me too, I wanted to say. I always wondered too. ‘It’s good to see you, Red.’
His hand felt warm and soft and strong and then he dropped mine and was gone.
Before
The two of us, on a trip to the Blasket Islands, off the coast of Kerry. Camping on the mainland and then taking a small boat out, clambering up the rocks. Red shouting out a line by Patrick Kavanagh, one that we’d all learned for the Leaving Cert and all knew by heart. ‘O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.’
*
‘You’re right, he’s very nice.’ Mary poked her head round my office door, interrupting my daydream. ‘Lovely so he is. We had a great old chat before I brought him in. Such a nice fella. Told me all about living in San Francisco. But you probably heard all the same. That story of being in the White House! Tripping up the steps. Calling Michelle Michelle instead of Mrs Obama. But naturally she didn’t mind.’
‘We actually didn’t really have time for too much personal chat,’ I said. ‘You know, all business.’
‘Well, time enough for a catch-up,’ she said. ‘Now, I’ve just had your mother on the phone.’
‘My mother? Why didn’t she call me?’
‘She said you weren’t answering…’
‘Phone’s on silent, that’s why.’ I’d turned it off when Red had come in and had forgotten to turn it back on.
‘Wants to know about the sale of the Copse. Asked me if it was true.’
‘Oh for goodness sake, I had a feeling she knew about it. She shouted something about trees the other morning. There’s no secret she won’t sniff out. MI5 should employ her.’
‘Secret isn’t in the Dalkey dictionary,’ Mary said. ‘Anyway, I told her that I’d pass on her message.’
Behind me, Mary’s phone beeped. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, after quickly checking it. ‘I have to make a quick call.’
From my window, beyond the hockey pitch, I could see the Copse. The trees were looking lovely at this time of year, all green leaves and squirrels. It would be a shame to see it go but this part of Dublin was pretty leafy. It wasn’t as though we were depriving a concrete jungle of its only trees and it wasn’t as it if we even used it.
‘Tabitha…’ Mary had returned. ‘Is it all right if I leave early today? Now, if that’s all right? I need to get into town. Molesworth Street. The office closes at 3.30 p.m.’