Small Things Like These by Claire Keegan

Author:Claire Keegan [Claire Keegan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Faber and Faber
Published: 2021-11-14T16:00:00+00:00

6

‘You’ve missed first Mass,’ Eileen said, when he got home.

‘Wasn’t I up at the convent and then they wouldn’t let me leave without going in for tea.’

‘Well, it’s Christmas,’ Eileen said. ‘Wasn’t it the proper thing to do.’

Furlong made no answer.

‘What did they give you?’

‘Tea,’ he said. ‘And cake, was all.’

‘But did they not give you something else?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘For Christmas, I mean. They never let the year pass without sending down something.’

Furlong hadn’t thought more of the envelope.

When Eileen opened it and took out the card, a fifty-pound note fell into her lap.

‘Aren’t they very good,’ she said. ‘This’ll more than pay for what’s owing at the butcher’s. I’ll collect the turkey and ham in the morning.’

‘Show me.’

The card depicted a blue sky with an angel and the Virgin and child on a donkey, being led along by Joseph. The Flight into Egypt, he read, on the back. On the inside, in a hurried-looking hand, was written: For Eileen, Bill and Daughters. Many happy returns to you and yours.

‘I hope you thanked them,’ Eileen said.

‘Why wouldn’t I?’ Furlong twisted up the envelope and threw it in the scuttle.

‘What has you out of sorts?’ She was taking the card, putting it up on the mantelpiece beside her other things.

‘Nothing,’ Furlong said. ‘Why?’

‘Well, get out of those clothes then and change – or else you’ll have us late for second Mass.’

Furlong went out to the back toilet then and took up the soap and lathered his hands slowly at the basin and washed his face and began to shave, drawing the blade very close in places, and nicked his throat. In the mirror, he looked at his eyes, the parting in his hair and at his eyebrows, which seemed to have grown more closely together since last he’d looked at himself. Best as he could he scrubbed his nails, trying to get the black out from under them. With a fresh type of reluctance he then changed into his Sunday clothes and walked with Eileen and the girls to the chapel, feeling the pavement steep and very slippery in places.

‘Have ye change for the collection box?’ Eileen asked the girls, smiling, as they were entering the chapel grounds. ‘Or has your daddy given it all away?’

‘There’s no need for that type of ugly talk,’ Furlong sharpened. ‘Have you not enough in your purse for the one day?’

Eileen’s smile vanished and a type of astonishment spread across her face. Slowly, she drew out her purse and handed ten-pence pieces round, to the girls.

In the porch, they blessed themselves at the marble font, dipping their fingers in, making ripples on the surface of the water, before going on in through the double doors. Furlong stood down near the door as they walked up the aisle, and watched how easily they genuflected and slid into the pew, as they’d been taught, while Joan carried on up to the front, genuflecting and kneeling there where the choir was seated.

Some women with headscarves were saying the rosary under their breath, their thumbs worrying through the beads.

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