Mary and Bridget McCarthy – the spinster sisters – live on their small farm about two miles outside the village. They keep a cow for milk, some hens for eggs, and grow their own vegetables. With Bridget’s salary from teaching, they want for nothing. She always was the smarter of the two, more academic. Two years older, harder, with a sharp tongue. Mary is gentler, more eager to please. She trained to be a nurse in Dublin and spent four years in England. They say she did meet her mother when she was in London. She never mentioned it herself. When Frank McCarthy got poorly she came home to mind him. He left the house and farm to both of them – equal shares. They have lived there ever since.
After finishing training, Bridget was fortunate to get a job teaching in the local primary school. She was made headmistress in her early thirties. The future looked bright. Then, the incident with the two boys in sixth class happened. After complaints from the parents, she was summoned to a meeting in the priest’s house. The boys should not have been in the girls’ toilets, they agreed, but she had exceeded the accepted levels of punishment. ‘Excessive,’ was the word they used. She was moved to another school some miles away. An all boy’s school, rougher, with the parents less likely to complain. Her job and pension were safe but the rumours never went away.
Paddy Brennan arrived, as usual, yesterday evening for his Saturday visit. A big dinner was waiting for him. Bacon, cabbage, and new spuds from the field. All washed down with a pint of milk. Later, they brought the man upstairs to their bedroom and undressed him. It was the older sister’s turn this weekend so Mary held his hand while Bridget mounted him. They know he is a man with his own problems. He has to endure a lot of life’s vinegar. A taste of honey once a week is the least he deserves.
They awoke early this morning. A big plate of porridge was prepared for Paddy. After breakfast, he walked back across the fields to his own farm while the two ladies prepared for 11:30 mass. In many ways, it is the social highlight of their week. They go to the top of the church – always did. Their father made sure of that. It did not matter what people were saying. There was no reason to be ashamed.
It had been the talk of the parish at the time, of course. Patricia McCarthy and her fancy man. A foreigner – Spanish – they said. Actually, he was an insurance salesman from County Galway. He had arrived at the farm that fateful morning; Frank working in the fields. She was off to London with him within the year. Husband and daughters abandoned. As far as the two were concerned, he had stolen their mother from them. How could they ever trust a man? Sugar and Spice – sometimes nasty, sometimes nice.