Bella Osborne - Willow Cottage – Part Three - A Spring Affair

Carly tapped Fergus’s arm. They were sitting in the back of his dad’s old Mini. Although, Fergus was more sort of folded into the back seat with his head only a fraction off the roof lining, which he bumped with monotonous regularity every time they hit a pothole, which was frequently. Fergus turned to look at her. An advantage of having a deaf partner was that instead of whispering she could simply mouth something and he would be able to lip-read it. He wasn’t the best at lip-reading and strangers were particularly tricky, but with Carly he understood every time.

‘What the feck is going on?’ she mouthed. Fergus snorted a chuckle and his dad glanced into the rear-view mirror.

Fergus signed back to her. ‘Going to see Granny.’

‘I thought that’s what he said. But she’s dead.’

Fergus snorted again and Carly gave him a nudge in the ribs.

‘Is your man all right back there?’ asked Mr Dooley in his thick Irish accent.

‘We’re both fine, thanks, Mr Dooley,’ replied Carly as she was signing to Fergus to stop snorting.

‘Ah, now you want to be calling me Cormac,’ said Mr Dooley.

‘Okay,’ said Carly as she took in what Fergus was signing in reply.

‘… it’s traditional that everyone goes to spend some time with the deceased …’ he signed.

Carly knew her wide eyes would be sufficient response. Fergus patted her thigh and then took her hand in his and squeezed it gently, and she tried very hard to relax.

‘Cormac?’ said Carly tentatively, not wanting to distract him too much from his erratic pothole swerving.

‘Yes, love.’

‘Are there family flowers we can contribute to or do we need to buy our own wreath? We weren’t sure which would be the right thing to do.’

‘No, no, you don’t need to worry about that. You see, Granny requested no flowers at the funeral on account of her pollen allergy,’ explained Cormac, his tone serious as he nodded at the rear-view mirror.

‘Oh, I see,’ said Carly, forcing herself not to dissolve into inappropriate hysterics.

They arrived at Granny’s house and peeled themselves out of the tiny car.

‘I’ll be back in about an hour,’ he said, looking at his watch.

‘An hour?’ asked Carly, a fraction louder than she meant to. She was guessing there was nowhere she could get a black chai tea.

‘Did you want longer with yer granny?’ Cormac asked Fergus.

Fergus thankfully shook his head. ‘An hour’s fine, Da. Thanks.’ He put his arm round an anxious-looking Carly and led her inside. The small terraced house was dark and silent. They entered the front room where a vast amount of heavy drapes adorned the windows. As her eyes adjusted to the poor flickering light cast by numerous candles, Carly caught a glimpse of an open coffin before the door was closed behind them.

A sudden movement caught Carly off guard and she had to stifle a scream. ‘Ahh, Fergus. Good to see you, just awful sad about the circumstances, but yer granny would be glad you made it,’ said a short man as he left a chair next to the coffin and threw himself into a bear hug with Fergus. The man stood back to appraise him.

‘You look well, that English piss-like beer must be suiting you then?’ he guffawed.

‘They have Guinness there too, Uncle Padraig.’ She was impressed; Fergus’s lip-reading was better than she’d thought because she could barely understand the mumbling man with his heavy Irish drawl. ‘You remember Carly?’

‘Still a beauty, you are. Is he looking after you, now?’ he said, pulling her into a tight squeeze. Carly opted for copious amounts of nodding and grinning and hoped that would be enough of an answer to whatever it was he’d said. He turned to Fergus. ‘You need to get a ring on that there finger, so you do,’ he added, waving Carly’s left hand at Fergus, making her feel like a puppet.

Uncle Padraig let go of her and with an arm round Fergus ushered him to a corner for a private chat. She noticed Fergus gently reposition his uncle in front of him so he could lip-read and ask him to repeat what he’d said.

Carly didn’t want to look like she was eavesdropping so she turned away and then had a nasty surprise when she realized how close she was to the open coffin. She took an involuntary sharp intake of breath but steadied herself.

Granny was laid out in a simple dress and cardigan and looked just like she was asleep although as Carly cast her eyes towards Granny’s feet she had to stifle a chuckle. Granny was wearing rather fetching bootee-style slippers. Carly was fighting hard to control the giggles that were starting deep inside her. She was desperate to drag Fergus over but he was still deep in muffled conversation. There was lots of backslapping from the men and they joined her at the coffin.

‘Ahh, she’s sleeping peacefully now. Bless her,’ said Padraig as he put his arms round Fergus and Carly. ‘Now, will you do me a wee favour and translate to me laddo here?’ he asked Carly.

‘Of course.’ Carly faced him but now he was fiddling with his phone.

‘Hang on … just a minute there,’ he said slowly as he scrolled up and down the phone’s screen.

Fergus took Carly’s fingers in his and held them with the lightest of touches, and when she looked at him he was smiling. She squeezed his hand. It was an odd place to have a moment, but a moment it was. They could have been anywhere; it was just the two of them acknowledging the other one’s closeness.

‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ whispered Fergus.

‘And me,’ signed Carly, with her free hand. Fergus’s fingers tightened their grip and Carly felt something ping deep inside. This was what she wanted; she wanted to feel that closeness between them that she had feared was slipping away. Fergus turned his head to look at Granny and, mirroring him, Carly did too.

Suddenly Granny’s voice echoed around the sparsely furnished room. ‘Can you hear me?’ she said. Carly gripped Fergus’s hand and he looked at her with the same relaxed smile because he couldn’t hear it. Carly shot a look at Granny. ‘Now that you’re here I wanted to say a few words …’ Granny’s lips were definitely not moving and Carly was sure she’d never been a ventriloquist.

‘Are you not going to be telling him what she’s after saying?’ Uncle Padraig was looking mildly irritated as he waved his phone. Carly opened her mouth and then closed it again because she was feeling a little queasy, but she managed a nod. Padraig rolled his eyes. ‘I’ll start it again then,’ he said, as he fiddled once more with his phone. Carly let out a deep sigh and tapped Fergus’s arm so he was ready to read what she signed.

Thankfully it was a short message that Granny had recorded a few months ago, at her birthday gathering, saying what a good life she’d had and how proud she was of all of her family. She finished with an odd sentence. ‘… and remember: it’s easy to halve the potato where there’s love.’ Carly knew she was frowning but she couldn’t help it. What was the woman talking about?

Fergus started to laugh and Padraig joined in. ‘I’ll leave you to your prayers,’ said Padraig, his face abruptly becoming sombre. He patted Fergus on the shoulder and left the room. Fergus stood for a while with his head bent and his eyes closed and Carly did the same until she’d run out of things to pray for. She had another look at Granny in her bootee slippers and it made her smile. Maybe that was the idea? You never knew with the Irish, they were always up for the craic.

The Irish seemed to have a good balance when it came to death, thought Carly. The funeral was a long drawn-out and sad affair, as funerals often are, where many cried and a few wailed, which took Carly by surprise at first but a steadying hand and a few words about Irish traditions from Cormac had her understanding it all a little better. Once that was over it was all about celebrating Granny’s life, all the things she had done and achieved. And while it wasn’t the most adventurous or high-achieving existence, everyone had high praise for her as a mother, grandmother, friend and neighbour, and to the people who knew her best that was what really counted.