that! Up every Sunday with the hat on her and the nose stuck in the air. When the whole country knows Jemmy McQuaid had her fixed before she was married. I wonder what they’ll have to say when they hear a few home truths like that, them and their thieving sons!”
“Please, Mammy!” Pat would beg anew as she shook the life out of him in front of the fireplace, insisting that a repeat performance was never to be permitted.
“Pat McNab,” she’d cry, shivering, “you’ll have to learn to stand up for yourself! For if he’s taking shillings off you now, what will it be later on? For God’s sake, ask yourself! What will it be later on?”
His mother’s trembling lip returned to Pat now as he sat facing the fire’s dying embers, in his hands the gilt frame which contained the oval photo of the only girl he had ever loved. The inscription beneath read: Bridie Cunningham, March 1972. He swallowed painfully as he traced a line from the top of her head to the point of her chin and thoughtjust how right his mother had been. “Just as she always was,” he reflected. For Traynor indeed didn’t call a halt after he’d extorted a few shillings. He had never had any intention of doing so.
Pat stared at Bridie in her knitted woollen cap and black polo neck. Sometimes she wore a gold chain with it. He got up and stood staring out the window, thinking of those times (dead now) when he would wait across the street from the convent until she and her colleagues emerged through the gates in an explosion of navy blue serge. He smiled. In some strange way, he knew that it had all been inevitable. For once Patsy Traynor realized the intensity of his love for her, it had soon become clear that it was only a matter of time before he would endeavor with all his might to attend to that litde matter too, not ceasing until he had succeeded in taking away from him the only woman—apart from his mother, of course—that Pat McNab had ever had the good fortune to love.
It was the autumn of 1971 and Bridie was going past the vegetable shop in her day clothes—a bright orange and red tank top with jeans covered in newspaper headlines.
“Hello, Pat,” she said.
“Hello, Bridie,” was Pat’s reply.
“That’s a nice day, Pat,” Bridie elaborated.
“Bridie,” Pat began in a dry, sort of choking voice, “I was wondering if you were going to the dance on Friday?”
“You bet I am, Pat!” cried Bridie excitedly. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world! They’re my favorite band!”
“Are they?” cried Pat excitedly. “They’re mine too! Who are they?”
“What, Pat? Why, the Square Pennies! Ha ha!”
“I might see you there, then!”
“Yes! I’ll look forward to that!”
“Good-bye, Bridie!”
“Good-bye, Pat!”
Nineteen seventy-one—Oct. 16, 12:35 A.M. NOW that the dance was over, with the musicians packing all the gear into the van (the Square Pennies! Ireland’s Newest Sensation!) and people streaming out into the humming, lit-up car park, as Pat stood with Bridie out among the cars he began to realize that what he was experiencing could possibly be the most beautiful and exciting night of his entire life. He found himself once more staring at Bridie’s hands. He couldn’t get over them. They were the smallest hands he had ever seen! His excitement overwhelmed him to the extent that he feared he would fall directly into the puddle in front of him.
“Look at how small your hands are!” he cried aloud. A man and his girlfriend turned from an Audi 1100 to look at him.
“What, Pat?” said Bridie.
“Nothing, Bridie,” Pat replied. “I’m sorry.”
Bridie reddened a litde and took Pat’s hands in hers, her smaller ones.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” she intoned.
Pat coughed and said, “Bridie—would you like to come to the dance with me again next week?”
Bridie nodded and squeezed one of his fingers a litde.
“Yes, I will!” she said, adding, “Pat—do you know that I’m going to Dublin in a wee while?”
The startled reply leaped unbidden from Pat’s parted lips.
“What?” he cried.
Bridie lowered her eyes.
‘Yes. I’ve been accepted into college. I’m going to be a teacher, you see.”
Pat’s head reeled.
“Teacher? What? Sums and all—?” he cried—a tension as though steel wire had been abruptly strung all about it—manifesting itself in his chest.
Yes. I’m going to be a primary teacher. I’ve always wanted to be one ever since I was a litde girl. Oh! I can hardly wait!”
Pat trembled involuntarily.