Summers end, p.1
Summer's End, page 1
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 1 Sarah Love
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names,
characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the
author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Ebook Published 2012
by Poolbeg Press Ltd
123 Grange Hill, Baldoyle
Dublin 13, Ireland
E-mail: poolbeg@poolbeg.com
www.poolbeg.com
© Geraldine O’Neill 2011
Copyright for typesetting, layout, design, ebook
© Poolbeg Press Ltd
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781781990810
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photography, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
www.poolbeg.com
About the author
Geraldine O’Neill was born in Lanarkshire, Scotland. She has lived in County Offaly, Ireland, with her husband, Michael Brosnahan, since 1991. She has two adult children, Christopher and Clare.
Summer’s End is her ninth book.
Acknowledgements
After nine books I know I should be like many authors and keep this brief, but it never works out!
My usual warm thanks to Paula, Gaye and staff at Poolbeg, and to my agent Mandy Little and the staff at Watson Little.
Thanks to Malcolm Ross-McDonald and the Offaly Writers’ Group, and Arts Officer Sinéad O’Reilly, for their continued support.
I’m very grateful to my friend and former teaching colleague, Declan Murray, for his generous and invaluable help in researching the cinemas of the 60s in Ireland for Summer’s End, and I enjoyed the entertaining chats about it.
Thanks to all the people who helped with the Sarah Love book launch, which raised funds for Dochas – the cancer support charity in Tullamore – especially Mary Cowen, Des Doyle, Mary Stuart, Siobhán McCormack-Ryan and Pauline Walshe. Thanks also to all the local businesses in Offaly who supported the event.
Much appreciation to all the lovely ladies from Offaly who attended the Acorn night – too many to name – it was a night I will always treasure and be grateful for! I remember and think of each one of you.
Writing Summer’s End brought back fond memories of our time in Ponteland Teacher Training College and all our old friends. I didn’t expect to return there so quickly after re-visiting Newcastle in Sarah Love, but I never know where the creative spirit will take me with each book!
I’m forever grateful to the friends and family from Scotland, Stockport and Ireland who continue to support my work and ask when my next book is due.
Congratulations to those with special birthdays this year: brother-in-law John, sister Berni, Mike’s mum Mary, sister Teresa, my mother Be-Be and friends Patricia Dunne and Joe Slamman.
Congratulations also to my nephew Tony on his marriage to Lisa!
Thanks to Teddy and Be-Be O’Neill – my parents and my greatest fans.
As always, I owe a debt of gratitude to Mike, Chris and Clare for their love and endless support.
Summer’s End is dedicated to three men who have had a special
place in my life for a long time:
Martin Doherty, Kevin Brosnahan and John Hynes
We shall not cease from exploration And the end of all our exploring Will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time.
T.S. Eliot
Chapter 1
January 1966
Lily knew she shouldn’t feel happy about going to a funeral, but it was a perfect excuse to get away from college for a while. It would give her time to forget the fool she had made of herself the other night.
After months of being curious about him, she had caught the eye of the young-looking history lecturer across the late-night bar. She had noticed him when he joined the staff at the beginning of term, and was immediately drawn to his smooth caramel-toned skin and beautiful dark eyes. And although she knew his colour and culture would have been too different for some of the girls, it made him all the more interesting to her. She had been disappointed that he wasn’t teaching her course and had waited for the chance to get to know him.
They got chatting and he bought her a glass of wine. They were still talking and drinking when the rest of her group had gone back to the student halls.
He told her that he had just finished his PhD in London before moving to Newcastle, then he told her about growing up in what he called the ‘fusion culture’ in the Seychelles with his English mother and Seychellois father. She listened intently as he talked about the art, music and food, and the colourful festivals.
It was unlike any other conversation she’d had before, and it stirred her curiosity and interest about different people and places.
As they walked back to the student houses in the dark, he asked her about growing up in Scotland. She told him about Rowanhill, the small mining village she grew up in, which was happily served with a train service going in one direction to Glasgow and the other to Edinburgh. She described how she had travelled to the cities to shop and mooch around most weekends since she was thirteen or fourteen. They stood outside chatting for a while and then he invited her into his flat for coffee.
That was when she made the mistake. And she couldn’t blame alcohol; she’d only had a couple. The all-day hangover she suffered when she first arrived at college had made her wary of it. She couldn’t have imagined how the months of wondering about him would evaporate in just a few minutes. A few humiliating minutes when she realised she was well out of her depth.
And now she was desperate to avoid him.
She pushed the mortifying memories away and thought of her escape. She loved travelling, and the fact she was flying for the very first time was a bonus. And it wasn’t as if she knew her father’s aunt very well. She would be solemn and commiserating with her close relatives.
Lily Grace held her compact mirror up, studying her face and light-brown hair which still had a few streaks of the blonde she had as a child. She supposed she wasn’t bad-looking, but there were times she wished she was taller and more curvaceous. Her second cousins in Ireland would see a big change in her. Her last visit was when she was sixteen. She was twenty now, and in her second year at teacher training college, just over the border in Newcastle-upon-Tyne.
She had applied to the traditional Catholic colleges in Scotland, but the exam points were higher than England. Her careers tutor had advised all the teaching candidates to apply to an English college just in case, so she had chosen Newcastle.
Lily had been interviewed at three different colleges, and when the results came out she had enough points for the Scottish ones, but she opted for Newcastle which had also accepted her. It was far more modern than the others and it was mixed. A religious, all-girls teacher training college held no appeal for her. With four brothers, she was well used to boys, and had attended a mixed secondary school in Hamilton, some ten miles from Rowanhill. Another plus was that she would get to live on a college campus in England, whereas if she stayed closer to home she would have to travel from Rowanhill by train on a daily basis.
There was no contest. She had got a taste of the bigger world at her Newcastle interview and wanted more of it.
Her mother, Mona, on the other hand, had been devastated. “Why on earth are you going away to England, when you could go to a college here?”
“I liked it better,” Lily said. “And it’s only a few hours’ j
“But you didn’t apply to Inverness,” her mother had argued. “And it’s not even a Catholic college. Imagine going all the way to England! What will the Parish Priest say?”
Lily shrugged. What did it have to do with him?
“Well, that’s lovely,” her mother had said. “And it’ll be me that has to face him every day.” Mona had been the priest’s housekeeper for over a decade and found herself in the firing-line if any of her children strayed off the conventional religious path.
“Are you sure?” her father, Pat, had asked her later when they were on their own. “You’ll be a good distance away from us.”
“I’ll be home every six weeks,” Lily said. “And I’m absolutely sure.”
She had remained firm in her decision when Father Finlay called around, and told him that going to an English college wouldn’t change her religious views one bit. She didn’t elaborate on the fact that she already disagreed with many things about the Church.
“I find it very odd,” the elderly Irish priest had said, “that anyone would want go to England if they didn’t have to.” He raised his eyes heavenwards. “But then I shouldn’t be surprised – you’re not the first one in the Grace family to go down a different road.”
He was of course referring to Pat’s sister who had married a Protestant, and her cousin Kirsty who had caused uproar when she took up with an older man her parents had disapproved of.
While Lily was delighted with her choice and happy to explain to anyone why she had chosen the modern college and fantastic campus, her mother had remained tight-lipped.
A few weeks after Lily left – laden down with a huge case and bags filled with Scottish bread, pies and packets of Oddfellows sweets – Pat had noticed a change in his wife. Although Lily phoned her regularly, she stood at the window each morning watching for the postman with letters from Newcastle. And he had to stop her phoning the halls of residence every other day to see how Lily was settling in.
Mona’s sad demeanour reminded him of the time when Lily had been seriously ill with polio as a child. Her determination had pulled her through, but the slight weakness it left in her legs had put paid to Lily’s plans to be a dancing teacher.
One Friday night he phoned the pay-phone in Lily’s student house to check that she was free the following day, and then he told his wife they were going to Newcastle first thing in the morning.
“We’re driving to England?” Her hand had flown to her throat. The only holidays they took were to Ireland or one of the nearby seaside towns. “We can’t . . . it’s too far away.”
“It’s only a three-hour drive. We’ll leave about nine and be there after twelve. And then we’ll see her. Isn’t that what you want?”
By eight o’clock Mona was sitting with bags full of more bread and pies. By midday, they had found signs for the Northumberland college, and a few minutes later were signing the visitor’s book at the Porter’s Lodge.
“Well, what do you think?” Lily asked, as she walked around the college campus between her parents, linking both their arms.
“It’s beautiful,” Mona said, as they stopped to study the circle of immaculate Victorian houses situated around a large green oval of lawn and flower-beds. “England is nothing like I imagined.”
Lily had laughed. “This is only a small bit of it, and of course Newcastle isn’t the biggest city.”
“It’s big enough,” her mother said.
An hour later, after lunch in the dining-room and two sherries in the Students’ Union bar, Lily knew that parents’ fears about her had evaporated.
She was now in her second year and she had made the journey from Newcastle to Rowanhill so many times she no longer gave it any thought. She was delighted to get a break from college, and since it was for a funeral in Ireland she could string it out to nearly a week. Luckily, it was a term when she didn’t have any teaching practices, so she wouldn’t be letting any school down.
It was wonderful to be able to fit in a quick visit home to Scotland and then fly over to Ireland. She would also have a couple of days back home after the funeral. A great way to fill the last grey week in January. She had arrived home last night, Tuesday, having caught an evening train to Edinburgh, and her father had picked her up at the station and driven her down home to Rowanhill.
The blustery, wet weather and dark mornings added to the excitement. She felt she was cheating it by travelling, instead of looking at it out of the college windows.
Lily had sat up until twelve with her parents and two brothers, drinking tea and catching up on family news and local gossip. She loved her independent life in Newcastle, and she loved teaching – but she also loved coming home to Rowanhill.
She was surprised to discover she was the only female going to the funeral along with her father and two of her brothers: Seán, who was nearly thirty and married with two children, and Declan the youngest of her brothers, who was single and still living at home. Michael and Patrick were too busy with their own families and working in the family taxi and coach business.
“I thought you were coming with us,” she said to her mother.
“Oh, I couldn’t face it. The thought of going up in an aeroplane terrifies me, and then driving down those dark wee winding lanes would just finish me off. It’s bad enough in the summer never mind the heart of winter.”
“But it’s all right for me to suffer the terrible trip?” Lily said, making big eyes. “Travelling from Newcastle tonight and going straight to Ireland tomorrow afternoon.”
“Get away with you!” Mona gave her a sidelong glance and then started to laugh. “There’s no need for you to go at all, and well you know it.”
Lily’s brother Declan winked at her. “Admit it: you just fancied a holiday off college and the chance to fly in a plane.”
“No, I feel I should go to the funeral. She’s Dad’s aunt.”
“What’s her full name then? First and second.”
“It’s Mary Grace.”
“Rubbish,” Declan laughed. “Her name was Grace before she got married. If you know her well enough to go to her funeral, you surely should know her married name.”
An indignant look crossed Lily’s face for a second – and then Declan winked again and she started to laugh. “Her name doesn’t matter, I just think it’s nice for some of us to go to represent the Grace side of the family. And anyway, it’s ages since I’ve been to Ireland. I’ve been working every summer while all you boys went over there fishing.”
“Well,” her father said, “I’m delighted that you’re coming with us, Lily. And so would my Aunt Mary be, whose second name is Jordan by the way. At least we won’t need to worry about having to make chat to people when you’re there. You can talk the hind legs off a donkey.”
Everybody laughed.
“I’m really excited about flying,” Lily said, grinning. “One of the girls at college goes abroad all the time and she was telling me all about the food and the drink they give you.”
“It’s only Ireland,” Pat reminded her. “It’s just over an hour in the air, so you won’t have time for much.”
“How long will we be there?”
“Four to five days. The removal is tomorrow night and the funeral is on Thursday. We’ll travel back on the Sunday. Seán and I can’t leave the lads any longer.”
“You’re entitled to take time off,” Lily said. “You’re always working.”
“We’re needed – we’ve got a lot of runs on with both the coaches and the taxis.”
“Michael and Patrick will manage without you and Seán,” Mona told him, “and they can always get someone in if they get busy over the weekend.”
“Five days in Offaly at this time of the year will be long enough,” Pat said. “And it will give Lily a day or so when we come back home.”
Mona didn’t argue. There had been times when her husband had gone to Ireland every chance he got. “It won’t do Seán any harm having a bit of a break – in fact, he could do with it.” A determined look came on her face. “Eileen has a list of jobs waiting from him every evening he gets in from work. She’s obsessed with the house being perfect, and everything has to be the latest fashion. She had him fitting wall-lamps after work the other night and, when the screwdriver made a slight mark on the wallpaper, she told him to watch or they would have to repaper the whole room!” She clucked her tongue. “If it’s not painting or decorating, he’s running her or the kids over to her mother’s house. She hardly gives him time to have a bite after work before he’s up and running again.”
