Shade by Neil Jordan Read Free Book Online Page A

of all to cross that curving rivulet and to join the two children who, lately, had come to sit on the other side observing her.
    “Don’t look,” said Miss Shawcross, who was walking her along the bank to demonstrate the differences between shamrock and clover. Emily, of course, didn’t look, but Nina herself couldn’t help stealing a glance. The girl’s hair was a sunbleached blonde, her dress yellow, short and faintly tattered, and her feet bare. The boy. beside her was smaller, squatter, and at that moment was observing the mud squeezing between his toes from the wet riverbank.
    “Clover,” said Miss Shawcross, “has four leaves and is common to all of the British Isles. Shamrock has three and is particular to Ireland.”
    “Shamrock,” shouted the boy from across the bank. “Shamrock shamrock shamrock.”
    “Shut up Georgie,” said the girl.
    “Don’t look,” again whispered Miss Shawcross. “Shamrock was used by St. Patrick to convert the heathens on this island. He bent down and plucked some—” and Miss Shawcross bent down and plucked some, and said, “three persons in the one God. Three leaves on the one shamrock.”
    “But it’s got four,” said Nina.
    “No,” said Miss Shawcross, “a shamrock can only have three.”
    “It’s got four and it’s a clover,” said Nina.
    “Clover,” shouted the boy. “Clover, clover.”
    “Shut up, Georgie,” said the girl.
    “Well, if it’s got four it must be clover, but shamrock has three. We’re going back to the house now, since it’s teatime. And don’t look.”
    And Nina walked back to the house, one hand in Miss Shawcross’s mottled one, walking with Emily’s gait but stealing a glance backwards with Nina’s eyes. And Nina’s free hand waved.
    At tea that evening Nina wished, not for the first time, that Miss Shawcross was gone. An image crossed her mind as she ate her salted herring, placing it neatly on the downward curve of the fork and raising it delicately towards her mouth, of the governess lying placidly among the seaweed that rippled beneath her father’s shellfish plant, like the maiden of the river, hair undulating with the water. The image vanished as soon as it came, like a ripple on the same water, obscuring the desired picture beneath, and Nina felt immediately guilty and asked Emily to take over. Emily did, and finished her meal without any untoward displays.
    Afterwards Miss Shawcross wished, since it was Friday and her evening off, to visit the town of Drogheda. Dan Turnbull took her in the horse and trap. And Nina watched the bonneted head diminish as the trap passed through the gates, banished all thoughts of Emily and ran through the low archway, past the glasshouse, down the long field towards the chestnut tree. There she swung and let her skirts fly. She swung high, till she could see the sun shimmering over the sea, over the metal-roofed cottage that she noticed, for the first time, adjacent to the beach. Four or five children were tumbling down a sand-dune, running up it and tumbling down again. She felt a longing like a physical pain beneath her ribcage, she felt wet smudges trickling down her cheeks and realised she was crying.
    “Why are you crying?” Dolly asked her, Dolly, who she had placed face down in the branches immediately, above.
    “Because,” said Nina, “because because because.”
    “Because you’re lonely,” said Dolly.
    “How do you spell lonely?” asked Nina, mindful of her ABC’s.
    “L-o-n-l-y,” said Dolly.
    “Maybe,” said Nina. She swung high again, and Dolly disappeared momentarily from view. She saw two children detach themselves from the fury of sand round the dune, running forwards. The girl with sunbleached hair and the boy.
    “You want a brother,” Dolly intoned, as she came back into view.
    “Why not a sister?” asked Nina.
    “Because,” said Dolly, “because because because . . .”
    “How do you spell because?” asked Nina, anxious to change the