Where Old Ghosts Meet - Kate Evans [9]
“We had a couple of chairs at home very like this one.” Nora ran her hand over the faded brocade, smoothing the threadbare arm. “They were set on either side of the fireplace and they too were old with a musty smell off them, not offensive, just a part of home.” She sat back against the heavy horsehair cushioning, feeling how snugly it settled in around her back. “When we were children,” she continued, “my sister and I would kneel together at one of those chairs when we’d be saying the family rosary. We’d search amongst the crevasses and down behind the springs, looking for pennies or any other treasures that might have fallen from pockets.” Her hand slipped automatically into the gap between the seat and the arm of the old chair. “Between the Hail Marys we’d whisper and giggle, remembering all the bums that over the years had created the big hollow in the middle of the seat. When we got to naming names, things usually got out of hand and giggles became great snorts of laughter. My father would get mad then and separate us.”
Peg laughed. “My dear, that’s how it is with children. Much the same the world over, always up to some mischief.” It was very quiet in the little kitchen.
“Matt liked to sit in that chair of a night when he read his books.” Peg raised a finger to scratch at the hairline just above her left eye. “Sometimes he’d read to me. He’d say, ‘Listen to this, Peg, listen to this.’ He was a wonderful reader, your grandfather. The words would flow so beautiful. Sometimes I didn’t understand right, what he was readin’ to me, but it put me in mind of music. That was good enough for me most times.” For a while she sat, eyes downcast, lost in thought.
Nora took the chance to study the face of the woman she had come to see. Her skin, pale and dull, hung in limp folds along her jawline. Her mouth had all but disappeared. Across her forehead and about her eyes there were deep careworn lines. Time had not been kind to this face.
“I’ve never had that chair cleaned, you know. All the dust of the island is still there and the dirt too, I’ll allow.” They both laughed softly. It was then Nora saw the bright mischievous twinkle that lit up a pair of lovely grey eyes and transformed the ravaged face to one full of life and humour.
Her eyes wandered from the woman to her surroundings. At a glance Nora could see that the room was a multi-purpose space. Across from where they sat, a small kitchen unit ran along one wall. By a large window on the back wall, there was an old wooden kitchen table surrounded by three old-fashioned chairs. There was clutter everywhere. Things were tucked into corners and piled on every available space. There were letters and brown business envelopes, newspapers piled on the floor, a bag of knitting on a wooden stand, several potted plants and, to her surprise, elegantly perched on the front window ledge, a fat marmalade-coloured cat. It blinked once, a long slow blink as if to acknowledge her presence, and then resumed its frank unperturbed stare.
“Do you have any pictures of my grandfather?” She dragged her eyes away from the cat.
Peg indicated the wall behind Nora, where a whole assortment of photographs all done up in frames hung between the two small front windows. Nora rose from her chair for a closer look. Some of the pictures were old and yellowed, some were new. There was a little girl in a long white communion dress, looking shy, a young man in a soldier’s uniform, legs tightly bound from ankle to knee. A coloured portrait of a young woman in a nurse’s uniform, holding a bunch of roses, stood out from the others. Then she saw him: a pallid serious face looking right at her. She waited for a rush of affection, a feeling of excitement, but there was nothing. She moved in closer for a better look. He was quite good looking, a strong jawline, a neat well-shaped blunt nose and, on top of all, a thick crop of dark curly hair brushed to one side and sticking up, looking remarkably like a whin bush that had