Maeve Binchy - Evening Class

'Imagine, we're the only Irish people on the bus,' Kathy whispered. 'This is all ours, the others are visitors.'

And without being too bossy Fran organised the sixteen-year-old to get a smart yellow cotton dress, and to get her hair cut. At the end of the summer she was tanned and attractive looking, her eyes had lost the haunted look.

Kathy did have friends, Fran noticed, but not close, giggly friends as she had known when she was young, what seemed like a whole generation ago. Some of these friends went to a noisy disco on a Saturday, a place that Fran knew about from the youngsters at work.

She knew enough to know it was not at all well run and that drugs circulated freely. She always happened to be passing by at one o'clock in the morning to collect her sister. She asked Barry, one of the young van drivers in the supermarket, to pick her up on several of these Saturdays and to drive past the disco. He had said it wasn't a place for a youngster.

'What can I do?' Fran shrugged at him. 'Tell her not to go and she feels a victim. I think I'm lucky that I can have you to act as an excuse to get her home.' Barry was a great kid, mad for overtime since he wanted to buy a motorbike. He said he had saved enough for one third of it, as soon as he had half the price he'd go and choose it, and then when he had two-thirds he would buy it and pay the rest later.

'And what do you want it for, Barry?' Fran asked.

'For freedom, Miss Clarke,' he said. 'You know, freedom, all that air rushing past and everything.'

Fran felt very old. 'My sister and I are going to learn Italian,' she told him one night as they waited outside the disco, edging the advent of his motorbike nearer.

'Oh that's great, Miss Clarke. I'd like to do that myself. I went to the World Cup, I made the greatest of friends, the nicest people you'd meet in a day's walk, Miss Clarke, much the way we'd be, I often think, if we had the weather.'

'Maybe you'll learn Italian too.' She spoke absently. She was watching tough-looking people come out of the disco. Why did Kathy and her friends want to go there? Imagine the freedom they had at sixteen, to go to such places, compared to her day.

'I might if I have the bike paid for, because one of the first places I'm going to take it is Italy,' Barry said.

'Well, it's up in Mountainview School and it begins in September.' She spoke in a slightly distracted tone because she had just seen Kathy, Harriet and their friends come out. She leaned over and hooted the horn. Immediately they looked over. The regular

Saturday lift home was becoming part of the scene. What about the parents of all these girls, she thought? Did any of them care? Was she just a fusspot herself? Lord, but it would be such a relief when the term started again and all these outings were over.

The Italian classes began on a Tuesday at seven o'clock. There had been a letter from Ken that morning. He was settled in his little apartment; a flat didn't mean a flat, it meant a flat tyre over there. The stock control was totally different. There were no deals with suppliers; you paid what was asked. People were very friendly, they invited him around to their homes. Soon it would be Labour Day and they would have a picnic to define that the summer was over. He missed her. Did she miss him?

There were thirty people in the class. Everyone got a huge piece of cardboard to put their names on but this marvellous woman said they should be called by the Italian version. So Fran became Francesca , and Kathy Caterina . They had great games of shaking hands and asking people what their names were. Kathy seemed to be enjoying it hugely. It would be worth it in the end, Fran said, putting the memory of Ken going to Labour Day picnics out of her mind.

'Hey, Fran, do you see that guy who says Mi chiamo Bartolo- raeo? Isn't that Barry from your supermarket?' It was indeed. Fran was pleased, the overtime must have been good enough to sort out the bike. They waved at each other across the room.

What an extraordinary assortment of people. There was that elegant woman, surely she was the one who gave those huge lunches at her house. What on earth could she be doing at a place like this? And the beautiful girl with the golden curls Mi chiamo Ehzabetta and her nice staid boyfriend in his good suit. And the dark, violent-looking Luigi and the older man called Lorenzo . What an amazing mixture.

Signora was delightful. 'I know your landlady,' Fran said to her when they were having little snacks of salami and cheese.

'Yes, well Mrs. Sullivan is a relation, I am a relation,' Signora said nervously.

'Of course. How stupid, yes, I know she is.' Fran was reassuring. It was her own father's lifestyle, she knew it well. 'She said you were very helpful to her son.'

Signora's face broke into a wide smile. She was very beautiful when she smiled. Fran didn't think she could be a nun. She was sure Peggy Sullivan had got it wrong.

They loved the lessons, Fran and Kathy. They went together on the bus laughing like children at their mispronunciations and at the stories Signora told them. Kathy told the girls at school and they could hardly believe it.

There was an extraordinary bond amongst the people in the class. It was as if they were on a desert island and their only hope of rescue was to learn the language, and remember everything they were taught. Possibly because Signora believed that they were all capable of great feats they began to believe it too. She begged them to use the Italian words for everything, even if they couldn't form the whole sentence. They found themselves saying that they had to get back to the casa or that the camera was very warm or that they were stanca instead of tired.

And all the time Signora watched and listened, pleased but not surprised. She had never thought that anyone faced with the Italian language would feel anything but delight and enthusiasm for it. With her was Mr. Dunne, whose special project all this was. They seemed to get on together very well.

'Maybe they were friends from way back,' Fran wondered.

'No, he's got a wife and grown-up children,' Kathy explained.

'He could still have a wife and be her friend,' Fran said.

'Yes, but I think he could be having it off with her, they're always giving special little smiles. Harriet says that's a dead giveaway.' Harriet was Kathy's friend at school who was very interested in sex.

Aidan Dunne watched the flowering of the Italian class with a pleasure that he had not known possible. Week after week they came to the school, bicycles, motorbikes, vans and bus, even the amazing woman in the BMW. And he loved planning the various surprises for them too. The paper flags they made, she would give everyone a blank flag then call out colours that they were to fill in. Each person would hold up a flag and the rest of the class had to call out the colours. They were like children, eager enthusiastic pupils. And when the class was over that tough-looking fellow, called Lou or Luigi or whatever, used to help tidy up, tough type, the last one you'd ever think would be hanging around to tidy up, put away boxes and stack chairs.

But that was Signora for you. She had this simple way of expecting the best and getting it. She had asked him if she could make cushion covers for him.

'Come and see the room,' Aidan suggested suddenly.

'That's a good idea. When will I come?'

'Saturday morning. I've no school, would you be free?'

'I can be free any time,' she said.

He spent all Friday evening cleaning and polishing his room. He took out the tray with the two little red glasses that came from Murano, beside Venice. He had bought a bottle of Marsala. They would toast the success of the room and the classes.