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I spin around to follow the sound.
‘Annie, love, it’s good to see you. I was beginning to worry you weren’t coming today.’
Mr Talbot, a well-liked local farmer, is standing behind me with his hands on his hips and a bright smile emphasising his weather-beaten jaw.
‘I’m late,’ I say.
‘Had a lie-in, did you?’ His smile grows wider.
I nod sheepishly.
‘Is your mother with you?’ Mr Talbot asks, raising the peak of his cap as he looks around.
‘Not this morning.’
Mr Talbot’s lips curl downwards, and his eyes soften and narrow. ‘Is she poorly again?’
‘Yes,’ I lie, feeling heat creep across my nose and around my cheeks. ‘She’s having a lie-down.’
‘I’m very sorry to hear that,’ the friendly farmer says, eyeing me knowingly. ‘She’s taken quite a few bad turns lately. It’s not good. I hope she’s been to see the doctor.’
‘It’s just a cold.’ I swallow, feeling awful for lying to such a kind and concerned man.
Mr Talbot’s nose crinkles across the bridge, and his eyes tell me he doesn’t believe a word coming out of my mouth. But he is a gentleman, and I smile as I realise he won’t pry any further. He steps away from me and rummages around in some boxes next to his feet.
‘Sales must have been good today,’ I say, exhaling sadly. ‘You’ve nothing left.’
‘People were out earlier than usual this morning,’ Mr Talbot explains. ‘Must be the weather. There’s a storm coming this afternoon. The day is angry. See?’ Mr Talbot points a finger at the sky. ‘Folks don’t want to walk home in torrential rain.’
I look up. I hadn’t noticed the thick grey clouds gathering overhead. The weather has taken a sudden, aggressive turn, and I dread the long walk home. If I return wet as well as empty-handed, my father will be twice as livid.
‘Here we go,’ Mr Talbot says, pulling out a brown paper bag from one of the bottom boxes. ‘I saved a few bits and pieces for my favourite customer.’ He opens the top of the bag and stares inside. ‘I’ve packed carrots, turnips, eggs, and’ – Mr Talbot tilts his head towards an older farmer I don’t recognise at the far side of the square – ‘Mr Cosgrove has thrown in some of the best lamb cutlets in Ireland, just for you.’
My body is instantly lighter, and I must wear my relief on my face because Mr Talbot nods as if he understands.
I fish around in my skirt pocket for the coins I threw in haphazardly this morning. I’m shaking by the time I pull out a fistful. I open my hand and stare at the measly sum that Ma and I will need to make stretch the rest of the week.
‘How much do I owe you?’ I ask, knowing lamb cutlets are outside my budget.
There would always be one tasty chop in the bag for my father, but the rest of the meat should be cheap offcuts for my mother and me.
Mr Talbot places his huge hand around mine, and his rough, dry fingers spread like a sycamore leaf around my hand to close my fist over the coins again. ‘No charge today, Annie.’
‘But the lamb?’ I wobble. ‘It’s expensive.’
Mr Talbot shakes his head. ‘A get-well-soon gift for your mother. It’ll make a fine stew. She’ll need a good feeding if she’s under the weather.’
Tears torment the corners of my eyes, but I don’t dare blink and let them fall. ‘Thank you, Mr Talbot. I’ll be sure to tell my mother of your kindness.’
‘You do that, Annie. Maybe wait until your father is out of earshot. I wouldn’t want to get you or your mother in any trouble now.’
I flinch but gather myself quickly, hoping Mr Talbot doesn’t notice. His remark proves that he’s more astute than his thick accent and broad shoulders would lead people to believe.
I know the town talks. Athenry is a tight-knit community. Neighbours are always happy to help each other out in times of need. But the same neighbours are also comfortable gossiping behind one another’s backs. If you’re not gossiping, you’re being gossiped about. Hearsay and rumours are the fuel that keeps the engine of the community running. My family gives the town plenty to chew on.
‘Thank you, Mr Talbot,’ I say, scooping the heavy carrier he passes me into the crook of my arm. ‘Thank you so much.’
The bag is unmercifully awkward, and I suspect the bottom will give way before I make it the five miles home. I instinctively rest it on my hip. The weight makes me suspect there are a substantial number of potatoes in the bag also. My mother will be delighted. A bruised hip when I reach home is a small price to pay.
