Part Six

‘This must be a quiet month for you,' Nancy said.

‘It's funny, if you're selling sites, August is busy.'

Oliver Rossiter had driven up from Wexford to collect Nancy and take her to see the site at Lucas Park.

‘Sites look better in the sunshine,' he continued. ‘It's a pity it's so cloudy today.'

Beyond St John's Manor, they stopped at a For Sale sign posted beside a rusting farm gate. Since the road was narrow, Nancy wondered if it was safe for Oliver to park.

‘We'll hope for the best,' he said. ‘And we won't be long. There's really not that much to see. Just the site. It's more a field now, but it has outline planning permission for a bungalow.'

Perhaps if the sun were shining, Nancy thought, it would look more appealing. But now it was merely a small field enclosed by low ditches under a grey sky. It would not take much to create a drive for easy access to the road. Jim might know whether gravel or tarmacadam would be best.

She imagined the bungalow in place, its tiled roof, its horizontal windows, and the places where the fresh white paint would soon be tarnished by damp. As she walked around the site, it seemed the wrong place to build anything.

‘You should really talk to a landscape gardener,' Oliver said. ‘There's a good German woman in Bunclody. Someone like that could transform the site.'

Nancy had an idea what Jim would say were he to be shown this site. In all the plans she was making, she thought, she should do nothing that might seem impulsive or ill-advised.

‘I'll need to think about it.'

‘Is it the price? I could talk to them about that.'

‘Maybe it's too near the road.'

‘Do you want something away from the road?'

‘I thought I wanted something near the road, but now I'm not so sure.'

‘On the other hand,' Oliver said, as they made their way back to the gate, ‘no one likes going up a long lane. I have a site near here that's been on the market for a while. And that's up a lane. We're thinking of handing it back. I hate not selling a property, but that's the way it's going to be.'

‘Where is it?'

‘Just down the river, near Ballyhogue.'

‘Can I see it?'

Back in the car, Nancy worried that Oliver might start to believe that she was wasting his time. She had contacted him because he was based in Wexford town and she didn't want to approach any of the estate agents in Enniscorthy, who would be too curious about her plans. He had shown her several sites by now, agreeing that he would not disclose her identity to the owners. At the beginning, she had been certain about what she wanted. She felt that he must be wondering about her.

‘I said I would show this site to a prospective client one last time, so this is the last time. And I did warn you, didn't I? It's up a lane.'

He turned and smiled.

Even as the business had begun to fail, Nancy had, after George's death, continued to make deliveries in the countryside around Enniscorthy on Friday evenings. That was, she remembered, when she was at her lowest, when she had to face the possibility that her suppliers could no longer be paid, when Miriam and Laura had come to see that she had nothing in reserve, no money, no energy, no plan. At times when she returned, she would find that her daughters had been involved in some dispute with Gerard that had left him in tears.

Oliver turned up a steep and narrow lane on the river side of the road.

‘I know this lane,' she said. ‘I made deliveries here. A woman called Mags O'Connor lives up here with her sheepdogs.'

‘She's in the County Home now. She's the one selling the site. A right bag of tricks, she is.'

‘I always found Mags to be very nice. I'm sorry I had to stop the deliveries.'

‘One of her nieces got full planning permission to build a bungalow up here and then she changed her mind.'

The lane had become more rutted and overgrown since Nancy used to drive up here.

The field was large, with a view of the river. After the narrowness of the lane, it felt open and bright.

‘But how would you build?' she asked. ‘It's on a slope.'

‘I suppose they had plans to flatten it. If you could get an excavator up here, that could be done in a day. The soil is soft. No big stones or anything like that.'

‘You're a good salesman.'

‘No, I'm serious. The thing is if you could clear that brush on the other side of the ditch, you'd have a better view of the river. Mags says there used to be a pathway down. It would still be a right of way.'

‘How much does Mags want for this?'

‘Fifteen thousand.'

‘What?' she said. ‘Is she mad?'

‘Mad is one of the words. But, if you didn't mind the lane, it's a great site. It really is.'

‘Can you imagine the wind from the river in the winter?' she asked. ‘There's no wind like the one that blows towards you from a river. I can't remember who used to say that.'

‘It's a lonely place enough,' he said.

‘Is Mags in her right mind?' Nancy asked.

‘Unfortunately, she is.'

‘Can you tell her the price is double what it should be?'

‘She knows that.'

‘Can you tell her you have someone who would like to buy it, but the price would have to be right?'

‘The first thing she'll want to know is your name.'

‘You can tell her my name. Every time I delivered groceries to her, she told me how nice the Sheridans were. So here I am, tell her, as nice as ever.'

‘I have to warn you that she likes a fuss and wants to have visitors. Having a site for sale keeps her going.'

‘You mean she doesn't want the selling part to end.'

‘I think she wore out the patience of the Enniscorthy agents. And she wore out mine too, I have to say.'

—

A few days later, Oliver phoned her.

‘I could have predicted it, but here it is. She wants to see you.'

‘What exactly did she say?'

‘She said tell you to come and see her before the end of today or she will sell it to someone else.'

‘Did she recognise my name?'

‘She knows who everyone is.'

At four o'clock, as arranged, Nancy found herself at the gates of the County Home, noticing the prominent sign that said ‘Mortuary' as though that might be the building most people would need to find.

In the hall, she encountered a nun and told her that she was looking for Miss Mags O'Connor.

‘Mags O'Connor, Mags O'Connor,' the nun said. ‘That is all I ever hear.'

Mags O'Connor, who seemed to have grown larger, was seated in an old armchair in the day room near the door.

‘There you are, Nancy,' she said. ‘Like a bad penny. I told Oliver that it couldn't be Nancy Sheridan. Sure, what would she want a site up a lane for? And where would she get the money?'

‘We all have our secrets, Mags.'

‘You know, I remember when you married George and old Mrs Sheridan told someone that she believed he could have done better. But everyone knew that, Nancy. Everyone knew you were lucky.'

‘Or maybe George was the lucky one.'

‘There's that too. Now, why do you want a site?'

‘I'm telling no one that.'

‘Where are you getting the money? From the chip shop? I hear your daughter married one of the Waddings from beyond Clonroche. Is the site for them?'

‘You look very well, Mags, and comfortable.'

‘I am tired one minute and I forget what I was asking. Tell me, Nancy, why do you want the site?'

‘I'd need it at a much keener price.'

‘So I heard. So Oliver told me. Funny you went to him in Wexford and not one of the local people. So who is it for? Are you buying it for someone else?'

‘No.'

‘Well, if you don't tell me, I'll never know. And I can't guess. That's old age.'

‘The site is too expensive.'

‘Who is buying it?'

‘I am.'

‘There's someone else behind this.'

‘I am marrying Jim Farrell from Rafter Street and that's where we are going to live.'

Nancy could not believe she had spelled it out. She watched Mags taking it in.

‘And is that a secret?'

‘It is.'

‘Well, it's safe with me. Didn't Jim do a line years ago with that girl who went to America? Eilis Lacey?'

‘He did.'

‘I hear she's back.'

‘She is.'

‘You'd better marry him quick, so.'

Mags looked around the room and then fumbled in her bag for a moment.

‘I often forget where I am.'

‘The site is too expensive.'

‘Does that man you mentioned have plenty of money?'

‘No, he doesn't.'

‘Well, the whole town drinks in the pub. Now, the best thing is if he comes to see me himself instead of sending you.'

‘You'll have to deal with me, Mags.'

‘Does he not know about the site?'

‘He'll hear about it when I get the price right.'

‘You learned business the hard way. Dunnes took all your customers away, one by one. I hear you're a sight to behold in the chip shop late at night, every amadán in the town waiting for their bag of chips. How much do you charge for a bag of chips?'

‘I'm here to make a reasonable offer for the site.'

‘Oh, Oliver will deal with all that. Tell him to come and see me.'

—

When Nancy phoned Oliver a few days later, the price of the site had been halved.

‘You obviously charmed her.'

‘She could not have been nosier.'

‘That's what the other buyers said too, but she wouldn't lower the price for them.'

Nancy was tempted to go immediately and find Jim at the bar. And then she thought it might be better to telephone him, but he was often brusque and businesslike on the phone during the day. She called him later when the pub was closed and he was upstairs. She told him about the site.

‘Hold on. It's near Ballyhogue?'

‘Not as far as there. Beyond Edermine.'

‘And beyond Macmine?'

‘Not as far as there.'

‘And up a lane?'

‘Yes, up a lane.'

‘Why would we live there?'

She could imagine him sipping his drink. His tone was calm; he seemed almost amused.

‘When you see it, you will know what I mean.'

She gave him precise directions so they could meet at the site the following afternoon.

—

Nancy made sure she was there before him. She smiled at the memory of waking that morning and being ready to pray, to go to the cathedral if necessary and get down on her knees, to ask for good weather, pure sunshine, even just for the first five minutes when Jim was at the site.

All morning there had been a summer haze over the river that was slowly burning off. Even as she waited, the air became clearer.

She imagined a long room with a window that might have a view of the river, it would be a kitchen and a dining space. She would like their bedroom to face east so the morning light could come into the room. Maybe put heavy curtains on the windows so the sun would not wake them too early. And before she did any more planning, she would get in touch with that German woman in Bunclody who could advise her on the garden. She would also need Laura's help with the interior decor, but would have to be careful not to allow Laura to boss her around too much.

She wondered if there was a moment when Jim would say no. As his car pulled up and he got out and looked around him warily, she asked herself if this very moment had not now arrived.

‘I drove up to a sort of ruined farmhouse,' he said. ‘I thought I was lost.'

‘Yes, you can miss the turn.'

She followed him closely as he walked the site, deciding to say nothing. A pale sun had broken through the haze.

‘This is a part of the country no one knows,' he said. ‘It's very isolated.'

‘That's what I thought when I delivered groceries here.'

‘And they think there's a right of way down to the river?'

She noticed that he was not saying he did not want the site.

She wondered how she had ever tolerated the town, the semi- detached house in Aidan's Villas where she was born, the narrow house in John Street they had moved to, and then George's house in the Market Square. Enclosed, watched-over places.

‘Are you all right?' Jim asked her.

‘I was thinking about the view of the river.'

‘It's strange that the river doesn't make a sound,' he said.

She listened. There was nothing at all, not even any birdsong. She wanted to ask Jim if he liked it here, but he had already moved away, walking towards the furthest ditch, rapt, it seemed, in his own thoughts.

—

In the days that followed, she drove out alone to the site each afternoon. The air was sultry, with a hint of thunder. The growth in the ditches was sumptuous and dense.

All she did was walk from one end of the site to the other. On paper, she had measured out the long room: it would be twenty-five feet by fifteen. She sought the perfect place where it could be positioned. The house, she imagined, would be built around this room. If she could get the long room right, then the rest of it would fall into place.

On the nights when she saw Jim, he said very little when she spoke about rooms and views and measurements. A few times, she found him looking away into the distance, as though he had not been listening. So she tried not to go into too much detail about these plans. It would all happen in its own time. She would let him know bit by bit what she had in mind. But she was impatient to get out of the town.

She would not miss the house in the Market Square. Although the rooms over the shop were big enough and bright enough, and there was no damp and the roof was good, she recalled with no pleasure trying to dry nappies in a house without a garden, or attempting to keep children amused on a hot summer's afternoon.

And then there was grief that would forever be associated with that house in her mind. She remembered when Miriam and Laura found her in the hallway with a pile of George's clothes, ready to take them to a shop in Wexford. They had accused her of throwing out his clothes behind their backs and, even when she told them that this was precisely what she was doing as a way of sparing their feelings, they remained angry with her.

‘Why don't the two of you do it then?' she had asked. ‘There's half a wardrobe left and all his shoes. You two do it!'

As she looked towards the river, she thought of all the cement and stone that made up the town, the hard surfaces and sharp angles. That was all she had known. She smiled at the idea that she would put the same energy into making a garden as she had into opening a fish-and-chip shop. And then she turned and looked at the western sky, realising that she should put another large window on this side of the house from where she could witness the light at the end of the day.