The Rosary Garden by Nicola White (best books to read now TXT) 📕

copied her, not really knowing why they were playing this game. The other car swooped past, then braked hard as it lit up Joan in the centre of the road. She scrambled to the side with one hand shading her face.

‘Maybe you should do this another time,’ said Davy.

‘I don’t want her coming to ours, for Joe to get wind of it. I need her alone.’

‘I’ve an idea. You drive on past her and let me out. I’ll talk to Joan, take her to Olohan’s Lane. You come join us. It’ll be quiet there.’

‘She mightn’t be so easily charmed.’

‘Leave it with me.’

He found her standing at the little triangle, the one with the tub of flowers and the signpost on it. She was looking down towards the bridge. He stuck his hands in his pockets and sauntered over.

‘Nice night for it,’ he said.

‘Is your sister coming?’

He slid his hands out of his pockets and transferred them gently, sliding, over her shoulders.

‘Joanie. How are you doing?’ He purred it. She met his eye only briefly. She was such a little thing. Big trouble in a small package. ‘Come away to the lane with me.’

She examined his face as if trying to remember something about him that wasn’t coming back to her.

‘No,’ she said, and his hands tightened.

Down by the old bridge a figure appeared and stood watching them. But it was only Una, come round the back way. Davy put his arm firmly around Joan’s shoulders and marched her down to the bridge. When they got near Una, he gave her a little push and backed off. He’d got them together, he could go back to the dance now, but he hesitated, curious to see how Una would handle her.

‘What do you think you’re playing at?’ said Una in her familiar scold.

Joan walked slowly to the centre of the bridge. ‘I want to show you something,’ she said. Davy could only just catch her words over the sound of the river rush. He moved with Una to flank her. Joan pointed over at the crumbling bulk of the old chapel ruins. ‘Do you know what’s there?’

‘What’s there?’ asked Una tightly.

‘It’s the cilleanach,’ said Joan. ‘My mother told me about it. It’s where the unbaptised babies go.’ Davy shifted to see exactly where she was pointing. It wasn’t the chapel, it was the little walled plot beside it, frothing with brambles and bracken.

‘It’s not used any more, Joan – it’s only stories,’ said Una.

‘That’s where he should be … my baby.’ She sagged as she spoke. ‘I’m very tired.’ She turned so that her back was against the wide bridge wall and tried to push herself up to sit on it.

‘Why don’t you and me talk about it,’ Una said. ‘Davy doesn’t understand about these things.’

That was so typical of her. Make him help when she needed him, then try and wave him off, like he was still a boy. Next she’d be saying it was women’s things, women’s business. Well, he wasn’t going anywhere. He stepped in and put his hands under Joan’s arms, gave her a hoosh up so that she could sit on the wall. Now she was at an even height to Una, eye to eye. This would be interesting, he thought.

‘Your child’s at peace, Joan. You need to understand that,’ said Una.

‘You told me he went to limbo. Someone at the hospital told me there was no limbo any more,’ said Joan. ‘I hate to think he might be floating alone in the dark, the cold.’ Davy made a small, involuntary sound. Una shot him a fierce look, put her hand to Joan’s arm.

‘Don’t talk like that.’

‘You said there would be other babies, but none came.’

‘You’ve been unlucky.’

‘If his remains were in the right place, he’d rest. Maybe another child could come to me then.’

‘That’s a bit morbid now,’ said Davy, trying to lighten things, but Una gestured him to shut up, no appreciation for his efforts. Well, all right then, she could handle it herself. He turned from them, ran his eye over the backs of the houses. Dark windows, everyone asleep or at the dance.

‘He is at rest,’ Una was saying. ‘On the farm.’

Joan started wailing then. ‘I’m not asking much of you, missus. I just want you to move him to the graveyard.’

‘Keep your voice down—’

He was vaguely aware of Una reaching for the girl, then a flurry of fast movement in the corner of his eye. Una knocked into him, holding her jaw, and Joan – Joan was gone.

He threw himself across the width of the stone wall, looked down into the dark. He could make out nothing, only some smears of river foam scrolling by.

‘Jesusgodnojesusno …’ Una’s voice ran out over the flowing water.

‘What have you done?’

‘She kicked me! She flung her leg out and kicked me!’

‘Did you push her?’

‘Of course I didn’t. She toppled herself!’

Una grabbed his hand and pulled him after her, over to the chapel and down the riverbank, sliding on the muddy grass. She hadn’t held his hand since he was a child. It was so strange, like a game. He was aware of wanting to laugh, to scream with laughing. They were feeling their way along the outside of the bridge, down to the arch, the stone damp and gritty under his fingertips. He kept looking at the surface of the water, its even drift. No splashing, nothing moving in it.

‘Are you sure she fell in?’

‘Don’t be a bloody simpleton,’ Una said.

‘I can’t see a thing.’

‘She’s probably hiding. Call her name, would you? Quietly.’

‘Jo-an?’ His voice was tentative.

They stood and listened; there was only the river’s steady flow.

Una shook his hand off, drew herself up and stepped off the bank, into the water. It was waist-deep at the edge, and her coat floated out around her, like a lily pad.

‘She’ll be hiding,’ she said, and waded her way under the arch.

Davy looked at her stiff posture as she disappeared into the shadow, her awful determination. What had