Meet Me Under The Ombu Tree (10 page)

Dermot opened the door and led her in. The interior was dark and musty. The windowpane keeping the rain out was small and covered with moss, allowing scarcely any light to enter through it. The roof was like a giant sieve, releasing heavy drops that splashed onto the floor and furniture. Not that the furniture warranted care - the table was clearly rotten and a stack of shelves had already crumbled and hung precariously off the wall.

This used to be Antonio’s shed,’ Dermot said, sitting down on the bench. ‘Don’t stand on ceremony, Sofia Melody. Take yer place.’ Sofia sat down and shivered. This is Doctor Dermot’s cure for a cold,’ he added, handing her the bottle after he had taken a large swig himself. ‘Ah, it certainly reaches the spot.’ He gurgled happily. Sofia put it to her nose and sniffed. ‘Don’t sniff it, girl, drink it.’

‘Strong stuff, Grandpa,’ she said before knocking it back and taking a big gulp. As the ball of fire shot down her throat her body convulsed and her mouth opened wide like a dragon, letting out a long, agonizing wheeze.

‘Atta girl.’ He nodded appreciatively, patting her on the back. For a second she was unable to inhale; but then the fire entered her veins and raced through her body causing the pain to turn to exquisite pleasure and she inhaled extravagantly. Turning to her grandfather with burning cheeks she smiled, somewhat vaguely, before taking the bottle for another go.

That’s some secret you’ve got there, Grandpa. Some secret,’ she giggled, putting it to her lips again. After a few swigs she no longer felt wet, or cross with Agustin. In fact, she thought to herself, I love Agustin, and Rafa and Mama. I love them all. She felt dizzy and happy, deliriously happy, as if nothing in the world mattered and everything was funny. She laughed for no reason. Suddenly everything was hilarious. Dermot began telling her dislocated stories of his ‘Ireland days’ and Sofia half listened to them with a grin that quivered loosely on her glowing face. He then took it upon himself to teach her a few Irish songs.

‘I met her in the garden where the praties grow . . .’ he began. In Sofia’s drunken state he had the most beautiful voice she had ever heard.

‘You’re like an angel, Grandpa. An
angel,
¹
she said unsteadily, her eyes misting over.

Neither knew nor cared how long they had been in the shed, but once Der-mot had drained the last drop from the bottle they both decided to make their way back to the house.

‘Shhhh!’ hissed Sofia, pressing a finger to her mouth, missing and finding her nose instead. ‘Oh,’ she gulped in surprise, withdrawing it shakily.

‘Don’t make a noise,’ Dermot said loudly. ‘No noise at all.’ Then he laughed a loud belly laugh. ‘Good God, girl, you’ve only had a few swigs and look at the state of you.’

‘Shhhh,’ she hissed again, holding on to him to steady herself. ‘You’ve had the whole bottle. The whole bottle. I can’t believe you’re still standing,’ she exclaimed as they weaved their way precariously through the dusk.

‘I met her in the garden where the praties grow . . .’ He began again and Sofia joined in tonelessly, following his lead a word behind him.

As they fumbled with the doorknob it opened all by itself.

‘Open sesame!’ slurred Dermot, throwing back his arms.

^l
Por Dios
, Senor O’Dwyer!’ gasped Soledad. ‘Senorita Sofia!’ She recoiled when she saw Sofia, ruddy-cheeked and smiling stupidly. Gathering them in she hurriedly shuffled Sofia down the corridor to her rooms. Dermot staggered off in the other direction. As he wandered into the sitting room, Soledad heard the cries of horror from Señora Anna.

‘Sweet Jesus, Dad!’ she squawked. Then there was a crash, most probably the empty bottle breaking on the tiles. Soledad didn’t wait to listen, she closed the door to her quarters quietly behind her.

‘Dear child, what have you done?’ she lamented when they were safely inside her tidy room. Sofia grinned back inanely.

‘I met her in the garden where the praties grow ...’ she droned.

Soledad helped her out of her clothes and ran a hot bath. She then forced her to drink a glass of water mixed with a heavy dose of salt. Sofia promptly threw her head down the loo and proceeded to throw up the fire that had made her feel like nothing mattered at all. It had been blissful but now she felt nauseous and sorry for herself. After a warm bath and a cup of hot milk Soledad put her to bed.

‘What were you thinking of?’ she asked, the frown creasing her plump brown skin.

‘I don’t know. It just happened.’ She moaned.

‘You’re lucky it only took a few gulps to get you drunk. Poor Señor O’Dwyer,

it’ll take him all night to sober up,’ Soledad said sympathetically. ‘I’ll go and tell Senora Anna that you’re unwell, shall I?’

‘Do you think she’ll believe me?’

‘Why shouldn’t she? You don’t smell of alcohol any more. You’re lucky to get away with it. Can you imagine how much trouble you’d have been in had she discovered you?’

‘Thank you, Soledad,’ she said quietly as Soledad made for the door.

‘I’m used to covering for your grandfather. I never thought I’d be covering for you,’ she chuckled, her heavy breasts wobbling beneath her uniform.

Sofia had almost slipped into a deep sleep when the door opened and Anna walked in.

‘Sofia,’ she said softly. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ Then she walked over to feel her child’s brow. ‘Hmmm, a bit of a fever. Poor old you.’

‘I’ll be better in the morning,’ Sofia muttered, guiltily peeping out from under the blanket.

‘Unlike yer grandfather who’ll feel as sick as a dog tomorrow,' she said curt—

iy-

‘Is he ill too?’

‘III? He wishes he was ill, I bet. No,’ she said, placing her hands on her hips and sighing wearily. ‘He's been drinking again.’

‘Oh.’

‘I don’t know where he hides those damned bottles. I find one, he hides a new one. It’ll be the death of him one day.’

‘Where is he?’

‘Slumped in his chair, snoring like a pig.’

‘Mama!’ gasped Sofia. She wished he had been nursed back to sobriety by Soledad like she had.

‘Well, it’s his own silly fault. There are only so many times I can tell him. He won’t listen so I won’t preach.’

‘Are you just going to leave him?’

‘Yes, I’m just going to leave him,’ she repeated brusquely. ‘Why, what would you rather I did?’

‘I don’t know, put him to bed with a cup of hot milk,’ said Sofia hopefully, but her mother only laughed at her.

‘He’d be lucky to get anything at all. Now,’ she said, and her voice changed. Sofia winced beneath the sheets. ‘Agustin tells me you weren’t very polite

today.
⁷

‘Polite? We played a game of backgammon and he won. He should be pleased he won.
⁷

‘That’s got nothing to do with it, and you know it,
⁷
Anna said tersely. ‘There’s nothing more undignified than a bad loser, Sofia. He tells me you just stalked out leaving a bad atmosphere. Don’t let me hear it happen again. Do you understand?
⁷

‘Agustin exaggerates. What did Rafa say?
⁷

‘I don’t want to go into this, Sofia. Just make sure it doesn't happen again. I don’t want people to think I haven’t brought you up properly, now do I?’

‘No,’ she replied automatically. Agustin’s a sneak
and
a cheat, she thought to herself crossly. But she was too sleepy to argue. She watched her mother leave the room and sighed with relief that she hadn’t been caught. She thought of her grandfather asleep in his chair, all wet and drunk and uncomfortable and she longed to go and look after him. But she felt too unwell to get up. Later when Soledad quietly entered her room to check on her she was far away, riding the clouds with Santi.

London,
1947

It was a cold overcast morning, and yet everything about London enchanted the young Anna Melody O’ Dwyer. She opened the large French windows of her hotel room in South Kensington and stepped out onto the small balcony. She pulled her dressing gown tightly around her and imagined that the hotel was her palace and she was an English princess. She looked down at the foggy street, at the bare trees that lined the road, twisted and crippled in the cold and wished she could leave Glengariff for the romance of London. The tarmac glistened like liquorice in the yellow light of the street lamps and a few cars hummed past, like grey ghosts disappearing into the smog. It was early but Anna was so excited she couldn’t sleep. She tiptoed inside and closed the windows quietly so as not to wake her sleeping mother and her fat Aunt Dorothy who twitched like a beached walrus in the next-door room.

She wandered over to the marble table and picked up an apple from the fruit bowl. Never in her life had she seen such luxury, although she had often dreamed about it. This was the kind of hotel Hollywood movie stars lived in.

Her mother had asked for a suite. A sitting-room, bedroom and adjoining bathroom. The bedroom was really for two but when the concierge was told that this was a very special weekend he made them put a camp bed in so the three of them could all sleep together. Her mother was about to tell them that they couldn’t afford a bigger suite, that her family had all clubbed together to give her daughter a grand weekend, but Anna had stopped her. This was the one weekend in her life she was going to be able to live like a princess and she didn’t want it spoiled by some snotty concierge looking down his nose at her.

Anna Melody O’Dwyer was getting married. She had known Sean O’Mara all her life and it seemed the natural thing to do. Her parents were pleased. But she didn’t love him. At least, she didn’t love him in the way she thought that one ought to love one’s fiance. He was no Mr Darcy. Her heart didn’t pound when she saw him. She didn’t long for their wedding night; in fact, she predicted that it would be something of a damp squib and the thought made her squirm. She’d put him off for as long as she could. But it was what her parents wanted so she danced along in spite of the fact that she found the music somewhat distasteful. There wasn’t anyone else in GlengarifF for her to marry so Sean O’Mara would have to do. Sean and Anna had been matched from birth. There seemed no way of getting away from it, or from Glengariff. They would live with her parents and Aunt Dorothy until Sean had earned enough money to buy a house of their own. She rather hoped that it would take a while. Her mother had created such a warm home she was in no hurry to move out. The thought of cooking for a husband every night made her eyes water. There must be more to life than that?

Well, now she was in the De Vere Hotel, surrounded by things of such beauty and elegance she couldn’t help but wonder what her life might be like were she to marry a count, or a prince. She ran the bath and poured in half the hotel’s complimentary bottle of Floris bath oil so that the room filled with the rich scent of rose, then she lay in the hot water until the mirror matched the smog outside and she could scarcely breathe for the steam. She indulged in her favourite fantasies surrounded by marble and gilt, large glass bottles of bath salts and perfume. When she stepped out she covered her entire body with the lotion that went with the bath oil and ran a comb through her long auburn hair before pinning it back into a bun at the nape of her long white neck. She felt beautiful and sophisticated. Never in her life had she felt so pleasing to the eye and her heart literally danced a jig in her chest. When her

mother and aunt awoke Anna was dressed in her Sunday best and had painted her nails red.

Emer didn’t like painted nails or faces and when she saw her daughter done up like a film star she was about to tell her to wipe it all off. But this was Anna Melody’s special weekend and she didn’t want to ruin it, so she said nothing. Later when Anna was in the changing room in Marshall & Snelgrove, the grand department store on the much celebrated Oxford Street, she quietly assured her sister that she’d return to normal once she was back in Glengariff. This was her wedding weekend and she could do anything she wanted to. ‘Let’s face it, Dorothy,’ she said. ‘Life will be difficult enough for her once she’s married with children, the least we can do is indulge her while we can.’

‘Indulge
her, Emer Melody?’ wheezed Aunt Dorothy, appalled. ‘You and Der-mot have given that word an entirely new meaning.’

Emer and Aunt Dorothy had dressed up for their trip. Both marched down the wet streets in solid heels, thick suits and kid gloves. Dorothy had embellished her outfit with a somewhat mangy fox fur complete with paws and head, which she had found in a second-hand shop in Dublin. It was draped over her large shoulder, its jaw resting on the mound of her bosom that had miraculously been contained behind the strained buttons of her suit. They both balanced small hats on their heads with a large number of pins and had pulled the net veils down over their eyes. ‘We can’t let Anna Melody down,’ Emer had said when they had dressed that morning. Aunt Dorothy had painted her lips blood red and wondered how many times she had heard her sister say that. But she didn’t disagree. After all, it was Anna Melody’s special weekend and it wasn’t the moment to speak her mind. But one day she would. By God, she’d speak her mind one of these days.

Weary from shopping but still energized by the excitement of her first visit to London, Anna waited in the lobby of Brown’s Hotel for her mother and aunt to finish ‘powdering their noses’ in the ladies’ room before taking tea in the famous tea room. It was there that she met Paco Solanas. She was sitting waiting, her shopping bags scattered about her feet, when in he walked. He was charismatic and turned every head in the room. He had sandy-coloured hair cut very short and eyes of such a vivid blue that Anna thought they might slice right through her if he looked at her; which, of course, he did.