Kathleen McGurl - The Forgotten Secret

He was there now, waiting for her. ‘Well! Here we are, then,’ he said, smiling broadly. She was not sure whether to hug him, kiss his cheek, or shake his hand. In the past she’d have thrown herself at him, arms round his neck, legs around his waist if her skirts were loose enough and she was sure he could take her weight. But they were grown-up now, and surely that wasn’t seemly behaviour? She was still dithering when he resolved the issue for her – holding out his arms and taking her two hands in his. ‘Well,’ he said again, ‘you’re all grown-up now, Mary-Ellen, so you are!’

‘Still just Ellen, to you, though,’ she replied. There were altogether too many Marys around the place without adding to them by using her full name.

‘The lovely Ellen,’ Jimmy said, bringing a blush to her cheek. ‘You’ve changed.’

‘How?’

‘More beautiful than ever,’ he said, so quietly she wondered if perhaps she hadn’t heard him properly. When she didn’t reply, he let go of her hands, took her arm and began walking through the park. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me how my last year in school was?’

‘How was it?’

‘Boring as all hell.’

Ellen gasped to hear him use such a word, and Jimmy laughed. ‘The teachers taught me nothing. Nothing at all. But I studied enough to pass my exams, so the old man’s pleased with me. Now I’ve the whole summer at home to help with the harvest and decide whether I want to go on to university and become a lawyer, or stay here and become a farmer. Wildly different choices, aren’t they?’

Ellen nodded, willing him to say he wanted to stay in Blackstown. ‘What will you do?’

‘Ah, my sweet Ellen. Sometimes fate has a way of deciding things for us. Sometimes something becomes so important to a person that they actually have no choice. They just have to follow where their heart leads them, no matter what.’ He gazed at her as he said these last words. For a moment she thought he was going to pull her into his arms and kiss her, right there, in the middle of the park, where other folk were strolling and might see, and might recognise them and tell her father! But she’d take that risk. Her heart surged. Surely he was saying that she was the most important thing in his life, the thing his heart would insist he follow?

But his next words changed everything. ‘Ellen, let me tell you what happened this year at school. The teachers taught me nothing but I learned plenty, anyway. One of the old boys organised a club, called the Dunnersby Debaters. But we weren’t a debating society. We were there to learn Irish history, the real history, not the English version the masters taught. We learned the Irish language. We heard all about Wolfe Tone, and the 1798 rebellion, and all the other attempts to rise up against our oppressors. We learned exactly what happened in the 1916 Easter uprising, and why we must not let those efforts die in vain. Ireland must have home rule. One way or another, we must find a way to achieve it. I joined the Fianna Éireann too, and learned to shoot, so when the time comes I’ll be ready.’

His eyes were blazing as he made this speech. She could see the passion surging through him like wildfire. They’d spoken before, a year or two ago, about the prospect of Irish independence, but had mostly been repeating what they’d heard their parents say. Ellen had never been sure whether it would be good for Ireland or not – would the country not be worse off if it threw off its connections to its powerful, wealthy neighbour and branched out on its own? Was it not better to be a little part of a bigger nation, than a small, poor nation that was independent?

But clearly Jimmy had made up his mind the other way. What would that mean for him? What would it mean for her, and the future she hardly dared dream about, a future with Jimmy at her side?

Clare, February 2016

‘So, how was the house, Mum?’ my son Matt asked, when I met up with him for our regular weekly coffee a few days after coming back from Ireland. Matt had graduated from university a couple of years ago, and now worked for an IT consultancy based in London, which meant we could easily meet up.

I sipped my Americano before answering, trying to decide how best to describe Clonamurty Farm. ‘Hmm. Dilapidated,’ was the word I picked in the end.

‘But with potential?’ Matt was studying me carefully. ‘Mum, there’s a twinkle in your eye. You can’t disguise it.’

I smiled. He probably knew me better than anyone, Paul included. ‘Yes, it certainly has potential.’

‘So?’

‘So what?’

‘So are you going to move there, do it up, get in touch with your Irish heritage and all that?’

‘Your dad doesn’t want to. He wants to sell it to a developer as soon as possible.’

Matt frowned. ‘It’s not his to sell though, is it? What do you want to do with it?’

I picked up a teaspoon and stirred my coffee, which didn’t need stirring, before answering. When I looked up Matt was still frowning slightly. I wanted to tell him to stop before the lines became permanent. I wanted to rub my thumb between his eyes to smooth them out. ‘Well. How do I answer that?’ I said, still playing for time.

‘Truthfully? Come on, Mum. You can tell me anything – you know that. I won’t tell Dad.’

‘OK. The truth is, I don’t really know what I want. Part of me says yes, your dad is right, we should sell it, take the money, invest it for the future, give some to you and Jon.’

‘And the other part?’

I took a deep breath. ‘Says I should move to Ireland, no matter what.’

‘With or without Dad?’

‘It’d probably be … without him, I think. He wouldn’t want to look for a new job in Ireland. Perhaps he’d come over at weekends, or …’

‘… or you’d use this as a chance to leave him?’

There they were. The words. Out there, in the wild. Matt had said it, not me, but I needed to answer. It felt like the point of no return. I took yet another deep breath, this one shuddering. ‘Ye-es. I suppose so.’

I don’t know what reaction I expected from him. But it wasn’t this. He leapt up, grinning, came round the table and leaned over me to hug me. ‘Oh, Mum. At last! You’re doing the right thing. You know you are. It’s time for you to have a life of your own, not dictated by Dad. He’s always putting you down and trying to stop you doing anything for yourself. I know you stayed together for me and Jon, which is lovely of you, but we’re grown-up now and if you two separate, we won’t mind at all. It won’t hurt us. Jon feels the same – I know because we’ve discussed it.’

I picked up a napkin and dabbed at my eyes, which had sprung a leak. It was a weird feeling, knowing our two sons had discussed their parents’ relationship and come to the conclusion I should leave my husband. Very weird. ‘We’ve been married twenty-five years, Matt. It’s a lot to throw away and I need to think it through carefully before doing anything.’

‘You’re not throwing anything away. You’re just moving on to a new phase in your life. It’s the perfect opportunity, Mum. You’ll have somewhere to live and money of your own, so you won’t be dependent on him or any divorce settlement. You’ll be far enough from Dad to stop him interfering. Because you know he’ll try to.’

I nodded. Yes, he would try to interfere. He’d try to stop me. ‘But I’d also be far from you and Jon.’

‘Ryanair fly to Dublin for about fifty quid return. We could come over to see you for weekends every couple of months. I’d love to see my great-grandparents’ farm.’ Matt sat down again opposite me, but kept hold of my hand across the table. I loved that my sons were so tactile and affectionate.