The Herbalist (Niamh Boyce) by Niamh Boyce

Author:Niamh Boyce
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780241964576
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2013-06-05T14:00:00+00:00

29

Mrs B was in a terrible way – came into Kelly’s when I was there and said she couldn’t find Rose.

‘But it’s only two o’clock in the day,’ said Mrs Holohan.

‘Why so worried – isn’t she all of sixteen?’ I added.

‘Ach, what would either of you two know about good mothering?’

Mrs B had tried to be nice to me since Mam died, but she kept forgetting.

‘You see,’ said Mrs B to Carmel, ‘she’s not that well; she’s rather frail, not able for much sun.’

‘I’m sure one afternoon of warmth won’t kill her.’

Mrs Holohan was even grouchier than usual. Maybe Dan was casting his eye over their shop girl’s big bum. She should’ve kept me on. I’d have been less of a temptation, seeing as I had a man of my own, and no behind to speak of. Think of the devil and he shall appear. Dan arrived in wearing his sermonizing face. He shook out the newspaper.

‘You’re not going to believe this propaganda!’

Mrs Holohan set her head on her arms, so she could at least be bored in comfort. Mrs B suddenly had something important to do, so I scarpered too.

It was one of those days when I just felt homely on our road, glad to know every bump and turn. The hedges were alive with butterflies, berries and bindweed. The sun was like a warm hand on my neck. It felt like Mam was reaching down from heaven, touching me with her love.

I didn’t wait for the gate. I squeezed through our hideout hedge and into our garden. When I was small I used to crawl through it on my belly, with my elbows walking me through the grass like a red injun. Mam used to tie feathers in my hair and draw stripes across my cheeks with her lipstick.

I heard a laugh. A girl’s laugh. I put my hand to my eyes to block the glare of the sun. Sitting on our parlour window-ledge, swinging her feet, was the fragile Rose. Charlie was inside, leaning out of the open window with his elbows on the sill. She looked very small, sitting there, very young. She wore a red-and-white floral dress with a narrow white belt. I was most put out. Didn’t she have a big fine house of her own without coming to our run-down one?

Charlie was talking away, his head to the side, looking up at her face. And she was smiling. Was he telling her about the desperado coming to hide out in our parlour? Was he telling her everything about us? She pulled a branch from the tea-rose bush, twisted off a small flower and handed it to Charlie. Charlie put it behind his ear. He looked funny. It made me smile.

I started walking towards them. Rose saw me first: she stopped laughing and hung her head, as if I was a mean person who didn’t want people to have fun. Charlie hopped out on to the gravel.

‘Hey, Em,’ he said before I could ask any question.

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