imprecating pines.
When Catherine's solicitor wrote to me and told me that, irrespective of my protestations, I had no rights whatsoever apart
from those stipulated by the court of law, I wandered the streets of London, scooped-out and empty, steered towards the place
where no roses grow, the exterior darkness where there is only stony ground. Where even the idea of a rose would seem farcical.
I'd think of Ned and what he used to say:
—Them's the outland fields, Redmond. The most barren fields in the world. And I ought to know - for I wandered them long enough.
I sat in Queen's Park the best part of a day. You never know how special ordinariness is until you wake up one day and it's
gone. Queen's Park was where me and Immy had invented winterwood. I remembered that day so vividly. We'd been having breakfast
that morning and unexpectedly The Snowman came on. We continued eating our cornflakes, the pair of us mesmerised as we watched him walk on air, oblivious of all the
little houses below.
—He lives in it, doesn't he? I remembered her saying. That's where he lives, in winterwood, Daddy.
—Oh, yes - perhaps he does! I said, not thinking.
— Of course he does, you silly man! she chided me. Him and the Snow Princess!
I laughed and nodded.
—Whatever you say, my dear, I said.
We'd sit there on that bench as she twisted her bobbin and sang songs to herself, adrift in a private world of her own. Then,
all of a sudden, she'd point up and say:
—Look! He's walking in the air . . . !
I wouldn't be concentrating and she'd bristle whenever I'd say:
—Who? Who's that, Imogen?
—Oh, youl was all she'd say.
Because, of course, she'd have meant the Snowman.
For some reason as I walked those desolate London streets, more than anything I'd keep thinking about the day we had bought
the coat. The woman in Harrods could see how excited we both were.
—It really suits her, she'd said as she fixed the collar, she's a picture. What's her name?
—Immy, I said, without thinking.
— Imogen! my daughter corrected, slapping me playfully with her mitten.
—Well, Imogen's a picture, the assistant insisted.
To show you just how much those days actually meant, once, when I happened to be passing a children's clothes shop on the
Kilburn High Road, out of the corner of my eye I saw a coat the very same as Immy's. I'm not saying it was exactly the same - just similar. All I could think of was: I wonder what they're doing in Dublin right now? I would have caught a
plane right there and then but it simply wasn't physically possible.
It was to be some time before I found myself in a position to do that. And there were a few things I had to think about first.
Before I — as Ned might have had it — combined with myself in 'bold conspiracy'.
To alter the path of my life before I was destroyed.
After they'd gone, every day, without fail, I went to that park. I read Maurice Sendak over and over. And thought about the
old days. Not just with Immy but with my own parents as well. Before my mother died she used to come to my bedroom late at
night and turn the night light way on down. Then, ever so softly, she'd start singing 'Scarlet Ribbons', the song mama loved.
She used to tie a little ribbon to the bars above my bed. Tie it in a little knot, she said, and it will keep you safe and
free from danger.
—It stands for our love. Little Redmond and his mam. A little red ribbon that signifies their love. I love you, Little Red
- for you're the only thing that keeps me alive.
That was what my mother said after she sang. After she'd sung our song 'Scarlet Ribbons'.
There was a haberdashery near the flat in Kilburn. I bought some ribbon there. I kept it in my pocket and twined it around
my fingers.
—'Scarlet Ribbons', I'd hum to myself, wandering the aimless outland streets.
I even brought it home to Ireland, associating it, subconsciously, I suppose, with winterwood.
—You make up stories, I
When Catherine's solicitor wrote to me and told me that, irrespective of my protestations, I had no rights whatsoever apart
from those stipulated by the court of law, I wandered the streets of London, scooped-out and empty, steered towards the place
where no roses grow, the exterior darkness where there is only stony ground. Where even the idea of a rose would seem farcical.
I'd think of Ned and what he used to say:
—Them's the outland fields, Redmond. The most barren fields in the world. And I ought to know - for I wandered them long enough.
I sat in Queen's Park the best part of a day. You never know how special ordinariness is until you wake up one day and it's
gone. Queen's Park was where me and Immy had invented winterwood. I remembered that day so vividly. We'd been having breakfast
that morning and unexpectedly The Snowman came on. We continued eating our cornflakes, the pair of us mesmerised as we watched him walk on air, oblivious of all the
little houses below.
—He lives in it, doesn't he? I remembered her saying. That's where he lives, in winterwood, Daddy.
—Oh, yes - perhaps he does! I said, not thinking.
— Of course he does, you silly man! she chided me. Him and the Snow Princess!
I laughed and nodded.
—Whatever you say, my dear, I said.
We'd sit there on that bench as she twisted her bobbin and sang songs to herself, adrift in a private world of her own. Then,
all of a sudden, she'd point up and say:
—Look! He's walking in the air . . . !
I wouldn't be concentrating and she'd bristle whenever I'd say:
—Who? Who's that, Imogen?
—Oh, youl was all she'd say.
Because, of course, she'd have meant the Snowman.
For some reason as I walked those desolate London streets, more than anything I'd keep thinking about the day we had bought
the coat. The woman in Harrods could see how excited we both were.
—It really suits her, she'd said as she fixed the collar, she's a picture. What's her name?
—Immy, I said, without thinking.
— Imogen! my daughter corrected, slapping me playfully with her mitten.
—Well, Imogen's a picture, the assistant insisted.
To show you just how much those days actually meant, once, when I happened to be passing a children's clothes shop on the
Kilburn High Road, out of the corner of my eye I saw a coat the very same as Immy's. I'm not saying it was exactly the same - just similar. All I could think of was: I wonder what they're doing in Dublin right now? I would have caught a
plane right there and then but it simply wasn't physically possible.
It was to be some time before I found myself in a position to do that. And there were a few things I had to think about first.
Before I — as Ned might have had it — combined with myself in 'bold conspiracy'.
To alter the path of my life before I was destroyed.
After they'd gone, every day, without fail, I went to that park. I read Maurice Sendak over and over. And thought about the
old days. Not just with Immy but with my own parents as well. Before my mother died she used to come to my bedroom late at
night and turn the night light way on down. Then, ever so softly, she'd start singing 'Scarlet Ribbons', the song mama loved.
She used to tie a little ribbon to the bars above my bed. Tie it in a little knot, she said, and it will keep you safe and
free from danger.
—It stands for our love. Little Redmond and his mam. A little red ribbon that signifies their love. I love you, Little Red
- for you're the only thing that keeps me alive.
That was what my mother said after she sang. After she'd sung our song 'Scarlet Ribbons'.
There was a haberdashery near the flat in Kilburn. I bought some ribbon there. I kept it in my pocket and twined it around
my fingers.
—'Scarlet Ribbons', I'd hum to myself, wandering the aimless outland streets.
I even brought it home to Ireland, associating it, subconsciously, I suppose, with winterwood.
—You make up stories, I
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