One Hundred Names (Special Edition)

he is among the world’s leading lecturers on homeopathic and new-age medicines, with many GPs actually agreeing with his findings, so yes, I think a lot of heed must be paid to what he says.’
    Kitty used her firmest voice, and, as Caroline opened her mouth to speak, she took a risk and jumped in front of the traffic and hoped they would slam on the brakes in time.
    ‘But that’s not why I’m here. I have nothing to do with Dr Bernard Carberry; I don’t work in that department. My mentor and friend, Constance Dubois, has once again had the great foresight to find another person of interest to the public, a person that the country needs to read about, the kind of person who is inspiring and warm-hearted and who has a long and wonderful story to tell us all. Your mother is helping me with my story.’
    Kitty realised she wasn’t just trying to give Birdie’s family a kick up the backside but that she genuinely meant what she was saying. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t yet find the link between the people she had so far met, their stories alone were interesting to her. She saw they were all staring at her in silence. Confused, she looked at Birdie and back at them, unsure what they were waiting for.
    ‘So don’t leave us in suspense,’ Caroline finally spoke. ‘Who is it you’re writing about?’
    ‘But …’ Kitty turned to Birdie with a frown. Birdie’s cheeks had pinked and she was looking down at her skirt, fixing the hem. Kitty thought she had made it perfectly clear. Anger filled her heart. ‘I’m here for the same reason as you are.’ She reached out and took Birdie’s hand. ‘To spend time with this wonderful woman.’ And when they still didn’t get it, she said, ‘I’m writing about your mother.’
    ‘That was a nice thing you did for Birdie,’ Molly said as Kitty was leaving the home that evening. They had sat outside in the sun most of the day, spending a few hours with Birdie and asking her more about her life, delving a little further, getting a little more personal as they grew to know one another better and as Birdie learned to trust her. Kitty felt she had a good insight into Birdie’s life growing up in the chapel town with her father as principal and only teacher of the local school. With no mother for Birdie to turn to her life was strict, regimented. Her father took care of the family in every way he could but there was no physical love. No hugs at bedtime, no whispers of affection. Birdie came from a prominent family in the village and as the daughter of the principal she had a certain sense of duty and expectation. As soon as she could, she left for life in Dublin. Her one caution to herself had been not to marry her father’s type and, to her credit, she hadn’t. She had married a kind and supportive yet traditional man in Niall Murphy, a civil servant, and they in turn had bred a family of doctors.
    ‘What do you mean?’ Kitty asked.
    ‘You know what I mean,’ Molly replied. ‘Word gets around here quickly.’
    ‘I meant it, you know. She’s an interesting lady.’
    ‘That’s an understatement.’
    This comment intrigued Kitty and she wanted to find out more about Birdie from Molly. ‘Are you heading back to the city, by any chance? Fancy splitting a taxi?’
    ‘I’m going the other way, but I can drop you to Oldtown, if you like.’
    Kitty would take whatever she could get.
    ‘It’s Birdie’s birthday on Thursday,’ Kitty said. ‘I overheard her family asking her out for dinner.’
    ‘Yeah, that’s right.’
    ‘She says she won’t go.’
    Molly shrugged and a smile appeared briefly on her lips.
    ‘What?’
    ‘Nothing.’
    ‘Something I should know?’
    ‘No.’
    Kitty didn’t believe her. ‘She’ll be eighty-five.
Eighty-five
. She should celebrate. Is there something you can do for her here?’
    ‘We usually have a cake. A chocolate one with candles. We bring it in during dinner and everyone sings. It’s nice. Birthdays don’t go unnoticed.’
    ‘I’d like to do something for her.’
    Molly looked at her. ‘You’re growing fond of her, aren’t you?’
    Kitty nodded.
    ‘Well, she won’t be here that day,’ she said, grabbing her leather jacket. ‘She’s taking a trip.’
    A swarm of residents arrived through the front door, conversation buzzing, and more piled out of the bus parked out front. The bus, an eighteen-seater, had St Margaret’s stencilled across the side.
    ‘They won the bowling match,’ Molly