The Ghost of Grania O'Malley. Michael Morpurgo
here, no money. Bed and breakfast, a few tourists in the summer, sell a lobster or two, but that’s it. There’s nothing here for the young people to stay for. I don’t like Michael Murphy any more than you do but, like him or not, at least he’s brought work to the island. That gold mine will mean work for a generation or more, and money to develop the island.’
‘Oh yes.’ Her mother’s blood was up now. ‘And at what cost? We’ll have streams of arsenic from the mine running down the hill, poisoning our children and our sheep – and that’s what the experts said, not me. They’re kicking old Mister Barney out of his shack, when the poor old man just wants to be left to finish his days in peace. And you know and I know that they won’t employ islanders in the mine. They say they will, but they won’t. People like that never do. They’ll bring in outsiders, blow-ins.’
‘I’m a blow-in, or had you forgotten?’ said her father. There was a silence. ‘Look, Cath,’ he went on, ‘in the last three years, ever since this thing started, we must have been through it a thousand times. You’ve made your point, you’ve argued your case. Your last chance was Dublin. You said so yourself, you said it was the last ditch. For goodness sake, even your own mother says you should give it up.’
‘Don’t you dare use my mother against me!’ Her voice was sharp with anger. ‘What’s happened to you? You’re supposed to be an artist, aren’t you? A thinking man? Can you not see that it’s against nature itself to cut the top off a mountain, any mountain, no matter where, just for a pot of stinking gold. All gold is fool’s gold, don’t you know that? You cut the top off the Big Hill, you dig out whatever’s inside, and you suck out the soul of this place. There’ll be nothing left. What’ll it take to make you see it, Jimmy?’ She cried then and Jessie could see in her mind’s eye her father putting his arms round her and shushing her against his shoulder. ‘I can’t let them do it, Jimmy,’ she wept. ‘I won’t.’
‘I know, I know. But whatever happens, Cath, don’t go hating me for what I think. I’ve been honest with you. I must be honest and say what I think, you know that. We’ve a whole life to lead here, Jess to look after, wood to sculpt and hundreds of silly sheep with their limping feet and their dirty little tails. We mustn’t have this thing between us.’ After that there was a lot of sniffling, and then subdued laughter.
‘And talking of honesty, Jimmy Parsons.’ It was her mother again, happier now, ‘Jess tried the Big Hill again, didn’t she? That’s how she hurt herself, isn’t it?’
‘You can’t stop her, Cath. And what’s more I don’t think we should. All right, so she fell over and hurt herself, but at least she tried. And if that’s anyone’s fault, it’s yours. You were forever telling her, remember? “You can do it,” you’d say. “You can do anything you want, if you want it badly enough. Forget about your lousy palsy.” Well, that’s just what she’s doing. She’s set her heart on reaching the top of the Big Hill. She’s a brave little heart and I’m not about to stop her from trying.’
‘How far did she get?’
‘To the top, of course. Doesn’t she always? You know Jessie and her capacity for wishful thinking, for telling stories. But I think maybe she got a lot further up this time. She was so happy, so pleased with herself. Wouldn’t it be just about the best thing in the world if she really made it, if one day she really made it right to the top of the Big Hill?’
‘There you are then, Jimmy,’ said her mother, so softly Jessie could scarcely hear, ‘another reason if you ever needed one, and maybe the best reason, why the Big Hill has to be saved. Call it holy, call it magic, call it what you will, but there is something about that mountain, Jimmy. I can’t describe it. I’ve been up there hundreds of times in my life and you know something? I’ve never once felt alone.’
Listening in her bed, turning her gold earring over and over in her hand, the indisputable evidence that she had indeed reached the summit of the Big Hill that afternoon, Jessie was tempted to go downstairs, burst into the kitchen and tell them the whole story from beginning to end: the climb, the voice, the earring, everything. She was boiling with indignation at her parents’ disbelief, at their lack of faith. Yet she knew there was no point in protesting. She had been caught out often enough before, and by both of them too. She was a good storyteller, but a bad liar because she always went too far, became too fantastical.
Yes, she could dangle the earring in their faces, but what of the rest of the story? Why should they believe her just because she’d found an earring? And were they really likely to believe she had heard a voice, and had a conversation with someone who wasn’t there? She wasn’t even sure she believed it herself. She looked down at the only solid evidence she had. The earring was still wet from Barry’s bowl, so she dried it on her nightie. Downstairs she could hear the television was on. The Big Hill argument was over, till the next time.
She climbed out of bed and sat down in front of her mirror. She held the ring up to her ear and turned sideways to look at herself in profile. She’d try it on. She’d had her ears pierced in Galway the year before. She took out her sleepers. It hurt a little, but she persevered through all the wincing until finally there it was, swinging from her lobe, glowing yellow-gold in the light.
‘Perfect,’ said a voice from behind her, the same voice she’d heard up on the Big Hill. A warm shiver crawled up her back and lifted her hair on her neck. ‘Pretty as a picture. It never looked half as good on me. Maybe one day I’ll find you the other one for the other ear. I’ve got it somewhere. And by the way, who’s that boy in the room next door?’
‘My cousin Jack,’ Jessie breathed. ‘He’s from America.’
‘Well, now there’s a thing,’ came the voice again. ‘America. I’ve been there, you know – a long while back, it’s true, but I’ve been there. Maybe I’ll tell you about it one day, when we know each other better.’
‘I’m not going mad, am I?’ Jessie said. ‘You really are there, aren’t you?’ Jessie shivered. She was suddenly cold.
‘Sure I am, Jessie,’ said the voice, ‘and you’re not at all mad either, I promise you that. It’s just that I want something done and I can’t do it all on my own. I need help. I need a friend or two with a bit of spirit, if you see what I’m saying. In my experience, and I’ve had a fair bit of it in my time, you have to choose your friends very carefully.’
‘But what do you need a friend for?’
‘All in good time, Jessie.’ The voice was fainter now. ‘I’ll be seeing you.’
For just a fleeting moment, there was a fading face in the mirror behind her. Jessie had the impression of a mass of dark dishevelled hair, radiant bright eyes and a ghost of a smile on the woman’s face, not old exactly, not young either; somehow both at the same time. She turned around. The room was quite empty. She could feel there was no one there any more, but she knew for sure that there had been someone, and that whoever she was had gone. She had imagined none of it. She took the earring off, dropped it back into Barry’s bowl and covered it over with the stones. She wiped her hand on her nightie and swung herself into bed.
From next door came a low rhythmic roar. It was some moments before Jessie worked out what it could be. Jack was snoring, just like Panda did, only louder. Suddenly the door opened and her mother stood there, silhouetted against the light.
‘You awake still?’
‘Yes, Mum.’
‘How’s the bump?’
‘Fine.’
‘Shall I give you a kiss goodnight?’ Her mother sat down on the bed beside her and snuggled her close. ‘Love you both, you know,’ she whispered in her ear. ‘But I’m not going to back down over the Big Hill. You understand that, don’t you?’
‘Course.’
She kissed her forehead and sat back up. ‘And don’t worry about Jack. He’s a nice enough boy, you’ll see. He’s not had a happy time, y’know, what with his mother going off