‘Farmers never use the front door save for weddings and funerals,’ she said. ‘We always come straight into the kitchen. Take your coat off and sit down – you look exhausted.’
‘I am,’ Linnet said. She was looking round the kitchen. It was big, with windows on either side of the back door and there was an odd sort of squeaky, twittering noise . . . it seemed to be coming from a cardboard box set down close to the big black cooking range. She peered into the box and saw it was heaving with fluffy yellow chicks. She had seen day-old chicks for sale in the city so she knew what they were but had never got so close to a group of them before. She looked across at her sister, heaving the kettle off the top of the range. ‘There are chicks in that box – can I touch them?’
‘Course,’ Lucy said, tipping the contents of the kettle into a battered old teapot. ‘There’s kittens, too, see the hatbox? Spit must have had them whilst I was away.’
Linnet went over to the hatbox, which was on the other side of the range. The kittens were, if it was possible, prettier than the chicks. Linnet hung over both boxes in turn, cooing incoherently. This was a farm, there would be baby cows, baby horses . . . she was so happy she almost forgot that she was on strange ground and when Lucy thrust a cup of tea into her hand she very nearly forgot to thank her.
‘Lucy, do you have baby cows and baby horses as well? Oh . . . thanks for the tea, I’m dry as dust! Only I’ve never seen a baby cow . . .’
Lucy laughed and came and pushed her sister gently into one of the shabby, comfortable chairs, then bent over and plucked a kitten out of its nest. She plonked it on Linnet’s lap and then balanced a large slice of fruit cake on the arm of the chair.
‘Here, you can hold a kitten if you like – I remember when I dearly loved baby things! Then, when you’ve drunk your tea and eaten your cake we’ll have a tour of the house. Later we’ll go round outside, but I think for this afternoon the house will be quite enough for you to take in.’
‘I can’t believe it,’ Linnet kept saying as she ate the cake and stroked the kitten and sipped at her tea. ‘I just can’t believe I’m here, where Mammy . . . our Mammy . . .’
Her voice broke and she ducked her head but Lucy saw the tears and knew that no matter how badly little Evie had behaved towards her, Linnet had loved her mammy. Lucy went over and sat on the arm of her sister’s chair.
‘It was all a long time ago, alanna,’ she said gently. ‘Our mammy’s long gone, long gone. Now we must make our own future, but we’ll never be alone again, because you’ve got me and I’ve got you. And whatever we do, wherever we roam, we’ll hold each other dear in our hearts. Now, are you going to come over the house with me, or must I go by meself?’
Linnet gave a sigh, pulled a hanky from her sleeve and blew her nose, then stood up. She put the kitten back in its nest and ate the last of her cake. Then she smiled across at Lucy. ‘I’m ready,’ she said. ‘Will I bring my bag up so you can show me where I’m to sleep tonight?’
The neighbours were delighted with Linnet.
‘The image of Maeve, the little darlin’,’ Mrs Kelly said, sighing sentimentally. ‘But Maeve was plain, useless to deny it, and she’s a pretty t’ing, that sister of yours. So I don’t know why they look alike, I just know they do.’
‘I noticed it meself, first go off,’ Lucy confessed. ‘And you know what, Linnet’s like Maeve in other ways, too. She catches on so quick over farming matters you’d think she’d been reared here. I show her how to do a thing once and it’s there in her head for ever, I’m sure. And though she never got much chance of cooking while she was a nanny, she picks up my recipes in a moment so she does.’
‘Aye. But it’s because she wants to understand, to be a part of it,’ Mrs Kelly said shrewdly. ‘I explained about broody hens and d’you know, she’s writ it down? So she won’t never forget, she said.’
‘I’m so glad,’ Lucy said. ‘I wanted her to take to it, but I never dreamed she would – not so fast, anyway. But as it is, I do think that we might make a go of it between us. You see, once Caitlin and Declan marry there will be a big gap here, and you only come in a couple of mornings a week now. So if Linnet did decide to stay there would be work for her.’
‘Aye, there would. And what about her young man? She says he’ll be coming on the train in a few days.’
‘That’s right. They’re hoping to marry so Linnet wants to talk to him about it. Mrs Kelly, he’s from a – a very poor area of Liverpool, he knows nothing about farming . . .’
‘But he comes from farming stock, Linnet told me so.’
‘Yes, but I think that was so far back – they left in the ’forties, because of the potato famine – that I doubt he’s got any interest in the land at all at all.’
‘Well, if he’s not goin’ to be a farmer, then mebbe the feller could get a job in Cahersiveen,’ Mrs Kelly said with unimpaired cheerfulness. ‘Or mebbe he could go to sea and come back to Ivy Farm and his wife when he was ashore. They’ll be an asset to Cahersiveen, the young folk.’
‘We’ve not met Mr Sullivan yet; he may not be nice at all,’ Lucy said, but Mrs Kelly just laughed and shook her head reprovingly at the younger woman.
‘Not nice, when Linnet loves him? He’s a dote, I’m sure of it!’
Roddy got off the train at Cahersiveen station and it was raining: gentle, soft rain, the sort that gardeners love, but the sort that penetrates clothing, soaks hair, even infiltrates footwear. The sort of rain, Roddy thought ruefully as his stout seamen’s boots thudded onto the platform, which meant you turned up at your destination looking like a drowned rat and squelching. Which didn’t matter on some occasions and mattered very much on others. It mattered today.
A week ago he had arrived home after an exhausting voyage to find his mother in a state of high excitement.
‘It’s Linnet,’ she had gasped almost before he was through the doorway. ‘She’s gone off to Ireland wit ’er sister, Lucy! The gel came for ’er, Roddy, after all these years, an’ a lovely gel she is, too. Their old grandad died an’ left ’em the farm between ’em so they ’ad to go back an’ see to things – lawyer’s things, you know. Linnet left a letter – she wants you to tek a voyage out, son, an’ go over there. You’ll go, won’t you? Now don’t gerrall obstinate an’ pig-’eaded this time, just give it a bit o’ thought, don’t start . . .’
‘I’ll go.’ He didn’t have to think. Where Linnet was concerned there could be no thought, no reasoned judgement. He loved her, wanted her – damn it, he
needed
her, as she needed him, though whether she knew it yet was another matter. They quarrelled and fought, hurt each other, made it up, quarrelled again. But that did not mean that they weren’t deeply in love, though sometimes he got so exasperated with her . . .
‘You’ll go, son? You’ll tek a voyage out an’ go over to Ireland? Well, an’ I thought I’d ’ave to argufy an’ explain . . . Here, read the letter, though I’ve telled you most, I reckon.’
She hurried across to the mantelpiece and took down a brown envelope wedged behind the clock. It had his name sprawled across it in a rather wild hand, very different from Linnet’s usual neat script. He commented on it as he slung his ditty bag on the table and began to slit the envelope open.
‘She were in an ’urry, judgin’ by the writin’.’
‘That’s right, she were,’ his mother agreed. She was peeling apples and the kitchen smelled sweetly of the fruit. ‘It all ‘appened so quick, son, you’d scarcely credit. You see, what ‘appened . . . but I’d best let you read the letter.’
Roddy, reading, grunted. But the letter was a good deal clearer than his mother’s garbled explanation for all that.
Dear Roddy,
My twin sister has come for me because we’ve inherited the farm where Mammy was born and bred. I left the Cowans because they went to London. My sister’s name is Lucy and she’s very, very nice. The address is Ivy Farm, Cahersiveen, County Kerry. I don’t know how long I’ll be here, but it would help me a lot if you would come over for a week or so. Lucy would love to meet you. Could you come? It would help me a lot. Please come.
Your Linnet.
Below was a small pencilled sketch map of the area with arrows leading from the main street, across the bridge and out to a small square labelled Ivy Farm.
Roddy read every word through twice and studied the map; then he put the letter down on his knee. He whistled thoughtfully beneath his breath, then glanced at his mother through his eyelashes. What exactly did she know? He had had his suspicions about that Cowan feller, always so quick to take Linnet out in his car, to pay her a bit extra, to dance attendance on her. But he’d not said anything to Linnet because she would have been offended and said Mr Cowan was a gentleman, as if that made any difference! Gentlemen, Roddy was sure, had exactly the same feelings, urges and the like, as fellers. Besides, Linnet wouldn’t let any bloke go too far, Roddy knew that. None better. His own hopeful advances were always slapped down and briskly, too.
Mrs Sullivan looked up from her work. ‘Did she tell you the Cowans ’ad moved to London? Oh, she were treated shabby there, but she just laughed – you know Linnet – and said she were glad to be out of it. So off she went to Ireland wit’ a month’s money in ’er pocket in lieu o’ notice, ’appy as Larry.’
‘Oh,’ Roddy said rather feebly. ‘There weren’t no – no trouble, then?’
‘Norra bit of it,’ his mother said cheerfully. ‘They parted fr . . . well, I were goin’ to say they parted friends, but that ain’t true. They parted as nanny an’ guv’nor, I’d say.’
‘Oh. Well, that’s awright, I suppose,’ Roddy said, having given the matter some thought. ‘’Cos once or twice it seemed to me . . . but there, I were wrong. There weren’t nothin’ . . .’
‘No, nothin’,’ Mrs Sullivan said. ‘When’ll you leave, eh? End o’ the week?’
‘In a day or so,’ Roddy said easily. ‘Gorra get tickets an’ that. She’s give me the address so I’ll tell ’er when to expect me.’
It had not taken long to arrange to miss a voyage. He said he would probably be signing on for the following one and the shipping clerk just nodded. An experienced seaman could usually get a berth, they guessed he would probably be back.
Then there was his ticket for the ferry and his train ticket, too. He packed a few things in his ditty bag, kissed his mam, bought sweets for the kids, shook hands with his dad, and left. He marched down to the dock with a silly grin on his face because not only was he going to Linnet but she had said she needed him, had almost begged him to join her in Ireland.
He had rather enjoyed being a passenger instead of a deckhand, what was more. He prowled all over the ship, talked to the seamen, got taken on the bridge. He drank a couple of pints in the bar, refused to play cards with a group of sharp-looking characters in one of the lounges, leaned over the bows and watched the mysterious land grow bigger and clearer.
The train journey across Ireland was enjoyable, too, though overlong for an impatient swain going to see his lady-love. But sailors are used to seemingly endless journeyings so Roddy took this one in his stride and passed the time by examining the scenery – lakes, bogs, rolling meadowland and wooded hillsides – as the train chugged along.
It hadn’t started to rain until well past Killarney but now it seemed to have got into its stride. Because it had been so fine when he set out Roddy had not bothered to wear his seaman’s cap and now it was probably right at the bottom of his ditty bag so he just shrugged his shoulders up to protect his ears and headed for the roadway which he could just see past the station’s ticket office.
He did wonder about a taxi, but although he had had plenty of time on his hands both on the ferry and in the train, he found that he still needed to think. So he strode out along the street, scarcely glancing at anything or anyone, just savouring the fact that Linnet needed him, had sent for him, had signed herself ‘Your Linnet’ for the first time for months.
He knew that to reach the farm he must go down towards the sea lough and find Barry’s Bridge. He found it easily, first passing the ruined barracks on his right just as Linnet had said, and strode across its length, once again never glancing down at the water beneath but keeping his eyes fixed on the gently rising hills ahead. She was near, now! He could feel frissons of excitement chasing up and down his spine and his face wore a broad smile despite the falling rain, the weight of his ditty bag, and a secret worry that this twin of hers, this Lucy, might resent him, be jealous of his closeness to her recently discovered sister.
The road wound on and Roddy followed it until he came to the lane leading off on his left. There was no sign to say ‘Ivy Farm this way’, but Roddy knew that it was because of Linnet’s squiggly pencil-map, so he turned left.
He reached the mossy stone posts and turned in through them. He saw, spread out before him, the farm, the outbuildings, the yard where hens pecked and purred over their finds. He saw lilac and laburnum trees laden with blossom and a well with a slate roof and buckets standing beside it. The trees were diamonded with raindrops and the buckets, as he approached, were half full of water so that the drops rocked the surface and tinkled against the sides.
The farm was bigger, older, more impressive than he had expected. A thin, orange-striped cat came round the corner of the house at a trot, with something gripped in its mouth. It saw Roddy and in one swift, sinuous movement it turned and retreated the way it had come. I hope everyone’s not goin’ to be like that, Roddy thought apprehensively. I hope they won’t all turn and run when they clap eyes on me! But he approached the nearest door, a plain wooden one, ignoring the more elaborate one with the porch around it. He knocked. Waited.
Linnet knew he would be arriving some time today, but not when. For once she could not bring herself to leave the house, so she told Lucy that she would do the housework and make the midday dinner and she was busy now doing just that. She scrubbed a large quantity of potatoes, threw them in a saucepan with stock made out of beef and mutton bones, added some carrots and onions, and put it to simmer on the side of the stove. Then she made an apple pie, climbing up to the apple loft and carefully picking out the best fruit because she wanted her twin to know she really could cook and – and she wanted Roddy to enjoy the pie.