Summer's End, page 16
They were equally as pleasant as Joe and when they were settled with their tea and bread and ham, they asked her about Scotland and she repeated all the information she had already given Joe and Rose. They asked her about Celtic and Rangers and Hamilton Academicals and she smiled and told them she didn’t follow any particular team herself but that her father and brothers were big Celtic fans.
She then explained all about the funeral they had come over for and told them about the Grace family’s relations. Dara’s father said he vaguely knew them and Joe and Frank said they thought they knew her cousin Marie and her boyfriend. She then told them about the area her mother came from in Galway and about that side of the family.
“Ah, sure you’re Irish through and through,” Jimmy Ryan said. “Even though you have that lovely Scottish accent.”
Lily was helping Rose with the washing up at the sink when Dara said he was going to have a quick wash and change his shirt and would be ready to go out in five minutes.
When she had first arrived, she would have been anxious if he had left her on her own, but she now felt relaxed enough with his family to chat away without him.
“That fella will have himself washed away,” Frank laughed. “If he’s not in the bath, he’s ironing shirts and even T-shirts. So much for the long-haired unwashed students!”
“I think Lily would prefer him like that to somebody who can’t be bothered having a bath,” Rose said.
“You’re a hundred per cent right there,” Lily said, and she was delighted when the girl laughed along with her.
“Sure I have a bath once a year whether I need it or not,” Joe said and they all laughed.
As she dried the mugs and plates, Lily thought about Dara’s family and it struck her that in many ways they were very like her own. The men were all very friendly and had that same initial over-respectful manner that her father and brothers had. The big difference, of course, was the fact they were missing a mother, and Lily instinctively knew that that was the reason for the quietness in Rose.
When they were sitting on their own, Lily asked Rose what she was going to do when she left school at the end of the year.
“I’m hoping to get into nursing,” she said, “but I’m worried I won’t get a place near home. My two best friends are planning to go over to Manchester. They have relations there.” She made an anguished face. “But I don’t feel brave enough to travel that far. I’d rather be at home if I could get a place in Tullamore Hospital.”
“Is that the only one nearby?” Lily asked.
“No, there’s Portlaoise General.”
“Would that not suit you?”
She lowered her head. “It’s next to the mental hospital and I don’t think I’d like to work so close to it. I think I’d find it too upsetting.”
Lily nodded. “Well, hopefully you’ll get a place in Tullamore.”
* * *
The Canal House was a big bustling bar, nicely furnished and well laid-out. It wasn’t a dance night, but the band was good to listen to and they got chatting to a couple that Dara knew from school called Liam and Maura.
Other people came over to stand at their table and Dara introduced Lily to everyone, and she could tell by the way everyone greeted Dara so warmly that he was well thought of.
Later, as they walked back to the bed and breakfast, Dara turned to Lily.
“I have your address and college phone number,” he said, “and you have my number at home and at the cinema.”
She smiled. “Who will write first?”
“Me,” he said. “I’ll write tomorrow and it will get to you early in the week.” He paused. “What time did you say you get back to college?”
“About five.”
“I’ll ring you after six,” he told her, “when I get into the cinema.” He laughed. “There’s a chance my call won’t be noticed on that bill as easily as the one at home.”
“I’ll miss you,” she said.
He put his arm around her and hugged her close. “If we write and phone regularly the time will pass quickly until we meet up again.”
Chapter 20
As the almost empty coach rolled up the wide, curving drive of the college towards the main campus, Lily felt a little knot in her stomach – a mixture of apprehension and excitement. The familiarity of the wide curving fields that swirled around the college and the tall swishing trees, the circle of perfect grass with the flowery border and then the elegant houses, made her feel like she did when she first arrived.
As she made her way down the coach steps, bumping her case as she went, she felt the same air of possibility around the place. The feeling that drove her away from the stifling predictability of things back home.
Several students who were waiting to board the coach called out to her and asked if she’d had a good trip. She smiled and gestured to them and said it had been fine and she would catch up with them later.
She moved a safe distance from the crowd and then put her case down for a few moments to catch her breath and reacclimatise herself with the place that would continue to be her home for the next year and a half. Her gaze moved to the white patches of snowdrops on the lawn and then to the purple and yellow crocuses which now covered the small hillocks and the areas under the tall beeches.
The snowdrops were in their final flourish, some of them already flat to the ground and brown at the edges, while the crocuses were fresh, straight and new.
It struck her then that she had seen few flowers in Ireland. The bed and breakfast had been the only colourful garden she’d noticed.
Here, she was surrounded by them. The well-tended but naturally rambling grounds and the colourful flower-beds had caught her eye when she first arrived for her interview. She had also noted the respect the students had shown the place, walking around the groups of flowers and small hedges, and the friendly banter between them and the gardeners who tended them.
The thought of waking up in this beautiful setting daily – to wander from her living quarters to the state-of-the-art lecture rooms, the well-stocked library or the restaurants or bar – had given her the determination to secure a place.
The semi-formal interview with the course lecturers – which she had dreaded after the dour Scottish interviews – had been almost enjoyable. She had relaxed and allowed her natural affinity with children, her love of reading and her curiosity about the learning process to speak for her.
Within a few weeks an offer of a place at the college had come with the proviso she pass her English and History Higher Examinations at no less than a ‘B’ level.
Relieved they had been happy enough with her Maths at an ‘O’ Level grade, Lily had immediately knuckled down to her British and American history studies and her English course books. Over the next few months, any time she felt like throwing the books aside to go to a disco or for a day rambling around Edinburgh, she only had to picture the college and she was back with her nose in the relevant pages.
Eighteen months later, the novelty of being in such inspiring surroundings had only slightly dimmed.
She was sorry now, as she looked around the campus, that she hadn’t properly explained all this to Dara. She knew he would have immediately understood – she knew he would love this place.
There had been so much to talk about and so little time to cover everything. If things worked out between them, she thought, they would have all the time in the world to talk.
Her gaze moved along the houses to the one where her room was – across the circular lawn – and she started walking towards it, carrying her case. She would write a long letter to Dara tonight, describing the place to him in detail so that he would get a complete picture of it – be able to imagine her in these surroundings. She would enclose one of the small college brochures which had pictures in it and would better explain certain things.
She had gone about twenty yards when she heard a male voice calling her name, and she turned to see one of the students from her history class coming across the lawn towards her.
“A wee lassie like you can’t carry that big case,” Bill Toft said, putting on a Scottish accent.
Lily laughed and dropped the case. He was a friendly Yorkshire chap – a bit gawky with studious, large circular glasses – who was always glad of a valid excuse to visit girls’ blocks. He lifted the heavy case, made heavier with the addition of Scottish bread, pies, pancakes and Empire Biscuits – onto his shoulder.
“Thanks, Bill, that’s good of you. I was struggling a bit.”
“No problem. Have you been home?”
“Scotland then on to a funeral in Ireland. Any news since I’ve been away?”
He thought for a moment. “We had the big rugby match on Saturday and we slaughtered the opposition.”
“I meant real news.”
They both laughed.
“Not much,” he said. When they got to the other side of the lawn, Bill put the case down and then carried it by the handle. “There’s a band playing in the bar tonight,” he told her.
“Is there? I’ve got to stay in and get that essay on the Industrial Revolution finished . . .”
“It’s two third-years on guitar and vocals and a brilliant first year on the keyboard.”
Lily screwed up her nose. “Not a real band then?”
“They’re good, not your usual college band, and they’re all music students.” Bill’s voice was authoritative – he was an expert on bands.
“I’ll see how things go with the essay.”
“It’s on until twelve, so you could come down for the last hour.”
“I’ll see . . .” Her tone was vague and noncommittal.
She was also expecting the phone call Dara had promised around seven o’clock. They went up the path to the house she shared with seven other students, four of the rooms upstairs and four down. She pushed the main entrance door open and held it open for Bill and the case, then she did the same with the interior fire door.
“You’re upstairs at the back of the house, aren’t you?” he said, hoisting the case on to his shoulder again.
“Yes.” She forced herself not to smile. It was a running joke with the girls on the course that he talked with great knowledge of where all their rooms were, obviously hoping to give the impression to the other lads that he was often invited in.
One of the girls on the upstairs floor came out now – Lily’s closest friend, Ann – and looked over the banister. She was wearing a turquoise dressing-gown and had a towel wrapped around her hair.
“Hi, Lily!” she called. “Welcome back! I’ve got a copy of the notes I made on Martin Luther King from the history lecture on Friday. I’ll drop them in to you when I sort them out.”
“Oh, thanks, Ann. I’ll catch up with you when I’ve got a bit further on with the essay I’m running late with.”
“Did everything go okay with the funeral and everything?”
“Yes, I’ll tell you all about it later.”
Ann suddenly looked alarmed when she caught sight of Bill and the appreciative smile on his face.
“Are you going to hear the band tonight, Ann?” he called. He went up the stairs two at a time now, showing how fit and strong he was to do this with a case on his shoulder.
“I’ll have to see,” Ann said, clutching her dressing gown tightly to her chest, and stepping backwards into her open door.
Bill put the case down on the landing. “They’re brilliant, they can do Status Quo, Bowie, Dylan and all that kind of stuff.”
“I’ll see . . .” Ann said, giving a weak smile to Lily before sliding back into her room and closing the door.
Bill looked at Lily. “When you get settled back in, it might be a good idea to knock on all the doors and let them know about the band. The women always need a bit of encouragement – they don’t realise that these guys are really putting themselves out there. Their own student audience can be the most critical.”
She smiled at him. “If I get my essay sorted, I promise I’ll come.”
Bill was a decent sort. To Lily’s knowledge, he had gone out with two girls in the eighteen months since they had been on the course, and both romances had finished after a few weeks. He was a fixture in the discos in the Students’ Union bar every weekend and, while Lily and her friends liked him, none of them were interested in him other than in a platonic way.
But that didn’t put Bill off, and he was openly hopeful that by being friendly with the different groups of girls, one of them would introduce him to another who might be interested in him. In a way Lily admired his cheerful optimism. If it had been a girl in the same boat, they would have pretended that dating was stupid and they were too busy concentrating on their studies.
And maybe, she thought now, that wasn’t such a terrible attitude either. Dara had pointed out that the distance between them might well be a positive. It would allow them both to concentrate on their courses and forthcoming exams without the distraction of seeing each other every day.
Lily thought it was one way of looking at it, but she didn’t like the idea of him being surrounded by lots of attractive girls in the university. She was somewhat heartened by the fact that there were few females studying architecture, so at least he wouldn’t be sitting with them during classes.
She unlocked her door and let Bill and the case in. He set it down by the window, then went to stand beside it, his two hands splayed out on the deep, white-painted sill.
“You’ve some view here,” he told her. “You can see the running-track and the football fields. You could watch the matches here without leaving the room. I must remember that.”
“The houses further up have a better view,” she told him. “You’d be better off making friends with some of the girls in one of those.”
She wandered over to stand beside him. There were the usual few eager PE students running around the track in shorts or tracksuits and people taking the path down to the student shop. A tall figure went past and Bill started waving and gesturing to him.
“D’you know him? Gerard what’s-his-name? ” Bill asked.
“Who?” When she looked down, she met the gaze of the dark-skinned lecturer she desperately wanted to avoid. She drew back into the room, her heart racing.
“The guy below, he’s one of the lecturers. Don’t you know him?”
“Not really . . .” Her voice was falsely bright.
“He’s a really nice guy. I was chatting to him in the Union bar the other night.” He laughed. “You must be one of the few girls that haven’t noticed him. All the ones that are on the course he teaches think he’s great. It’s a pity he doesn’t teach on ours.”
She looked at her watch; it was nearly half past five. “I need to get started on that essay, or there will be no chance of me making it to the band tonight.”
Bill moved towards the door. “Don’t forget to ask around.”
“I won’t,” Lily said, “and thanks for carrying the case.”
After he left, Lily went over the window to stand at the side of the curtains. There was no sign of Gerard. She was sure he had seen her. And worse still, he had seen Bill Toft in her room. Whatever he thought of her before, God knows what he would think now.
She stood for a good ten minutes just staring out over the playing fields and the patchwork of fields beyond. What, she wondered, if he had told anyone else? What if he’d gone to her student rep or even her personal tutor? She’d never heard of another student being in this position. Although the lecturers were friendly and helpful to their students, they were professional and kept their distance socially. She should have known that and not pursued him. Just thinking about it gave her huge butterflies in her stomach.
She would have to sort this situation out with the lecturer, she suddenly realised, and sooner rather than later. The next time she saw him passing by or saw him in the bar, she would ask if she could have a few private words with him. That decided, she made herself take several deep breaths, then, she lifted her case and put it up on the bed and started taking things out of it. She put the foodstuff her mother had packed in a big Tupperware box, sorted out the things that needed washing and put them in her laundry bag and then put the rest of the stuff in her wardrobe or chest of drawers.
When the case was empty, she dragged her chair over to the wardrobe and stood on it to put the case in the luggage shelf above. After that, she went to her bookcase and picked out the books she needed for her studies that night. She decided she wouldn’t bother with the evening meal in the student refectory, as she would only get chatting to people and it would delay her getting back to her work. She would work straight through now until quarter to seven and then she would open her door so that she could hear the phone ringing downstairs.
She went to the big shoulder-bag she had travelled with and took out the carefully wrapped Donovan LP. She slid the album out of its sleeve and held it with a finger in the hole in the middle and a thumb at the edges. Then, she flicked the wall-switch on, lifted the lid of her record-player and positioned the record on the spike.
A few moments later Donovan’s voice filled the room singing “Catch the Wind”. She sat back in her chair, listening to the music, and thinking of the day she and Dara had spent together in Dublin. When it finished, she stretched over to the record player and lifted the arm with the needle back to the start again. This time she closed her eyes, concentrating on the words.
It was beautiful, she thought, and the lyrics were like poetry. The opening line about chilly hours and minutes of uncertainty brought to mind all the ups and downs of the previous week, then when he sang to take your hand, along the sand, she felt a little pang as she remembered the walk along the seashore outside Dublin hand in hand with Dara.
Whilst the relaxing melody was lovely, some of the lines saddened her with descriptions of longing and a sense of loss. She listened a few times, moving the needle back and forth, and wondered about the girl it had been written for. Whoever she was, Lily concluded, she was special enough for Donovan to take the time and care to pen such a beautiful song.
