On the Edge of the Loch: A Psychological Novel set in Ireland (26 page)

‘No, I don’t. I don’t know.’

‘Ah you do. There’s more than one kind of friend. Real ones, half-real ones and the other ones. It’s only when you’re in a ditch, me old father would say, that you get to tell the difference.’

‘What do you know about Lenny’s mother, Mrs Quin?’

‘No harm telling you, no Mrs Quin – only for a short while. Róisín Doyle, that’s Lenny’s mother, she and meself were very fond of each other. Grandest lassie you’d ever meet. Sickly her whole life, unfortunately. Passed away when Lenny was only a wee thing.’

‘I figure Charles Quin and Lenny fell out somewhere along the way?’

‘Sure isn’t Leo the best man to tell you all that. He knows things I could never swear to.’

‘Why the hell does nobody around here talk straight? Any chance you could answer that?’

‘Has to be us Irish, the way we’re born, sir. Same as your good self, if you’re Irish, I mean, like you told me.’

Tony exhaled loudly. It was too much like hard work to figure out what he was or wasn’t being told. ‘Dublin, Paddy, remember I told you? The heart of the city, born and reared.’

‘Irish through and through so.’

Tony pulled back, turned his eyes to the passing countryside. They drove over Aranroe Hill, past the grey fortifications of Claire Abbey, down narrow roads running between lines of birches and breezy sycamores, then into a lush demesne of dairy farms and the smell of livestock.

‘This is me own place,’ Paddy said, turning into a white-walled yard. ‘Have to nip in for a minute. We’re grand for time.’

Tony gestured agreement.

‘Eilis will have a cup of tea for us. I’m ravished with the walking, the flesh’ll be falling off me, no one will know me. They’ll think I’m me brother Mick, skinny as a tinker’s greyhound.’

From inside the house came the sound of raised voices.

‘The young fella and young one, at it again,’ Paddy said. ‘Bickering like cats and dogs from the time they get up. At twelve and fifteen.’

Tony shrugged. ‘Kids fight.’

‘
Ciúntas, cuairteoir!
’ Paddy yelled on reaching the door, and turned to Tony. ‘That was asking them to let on we reared them in a good Catholic home with no insanity on either side that we know of.’

In the kitchen, a long boy with a pimpled face and untidy hair leaned over a bare wooden table. Opposite him, hairbrush in hand, sat a plump teenage girl with a heavily made-up face. By the sink, hands on hips, a small, trim woman smiled in greeting.

‘Eilis, this is Tony, Mr MacNeill, from Dublin; he’s here to climb the mountain.’

Eilis extended a damp hand. ‘I heard. Sit down there and make yourself comfortable. You’ll have a cup of tea, you will? And a bit of soda bread?’

Tony started to decline but Paddy intruded.

‘Few sambos, Eilis, would be grand. This poor man must be falling out of his standing with the hunger. And I might have a bit meself too. All me exercises are finished for the day, thank God; Tony here is me living witness.’

Tony nodded, then noticed again that the girl’s stare on him had not let up.

‘Madeleine, Madeleine,’ Eilis said, with no response. ‘Maggie McCann!’

The girl jumped, then sighed through two-tone maroon lips.

‘That’s Madeleine,’ Eilis said, completely calm again. ‘And that’s – ’

‘Ma, Ma,’ the girl scowled.

‘That’s Magdalena, I mean. Sorry, my mistake. At fifteen, these days they can call themselves after whoever they like.’

‘Anyway, sure me and Tony know each other already,’ the girl said.

Eilis’s eyes quizzed the girl. Tony looked at Paddy. Paddy at Eilis. Then all three re-targeted the girl.

‘‘Member, the other day? Cilla and me saw you at the Beehive and you asked us did we want to have breakfast with you.’

‘Of course, I do.’ Tony smiled, just then realising.

‘And that’s Pearse,’ Eilis said, ‘the youngest, twelve on Friday.’

‘Hello,’ the boy muttered then flung a glance at his sister. ‘Tell her, Da, she won’t give me the key for ma’s bike. I have to go down to Roy’s house.’

‘Sorry. Y’have legs, haven’t you,’ the girl said. ‘Might be using it meself. Told you.’

‘Should go back to the hospital and get them to drop you on your head again,’ the boy said, whereupon his sister’s face flushed.

‘Pearse McCann, you’ve been warned about that,’ Eilis said. ‘That’s enough! No more!’

‘She started it. It’s not her bike.’

Paddy pulled the door. ‘Out, the pair of you. Now, both of you.’ He oversaw their exit before rejoining Tony and Eilis at the table.

‘Hear you have an eye for Lenny Quin?’ Eilis’s tone was sober.

‘Nice person,’ Tony replied.

‘She is that, so are all the Doyles.’

‘Lenny’s mother’s people,’ Paddy explained. ‘From up outside Louisburgh; there since before the Great Hunger in the 1840s.’

‘Lenny sees them, the Doyles?’

‘She doesn’t, no, not now,’ Eilis said. ‘She’s back here these three years and I doubt she’s seen a Doyle in that time.’

‘She took off for America, then the Middle East, of all places.’ Paddy said. ‘Over ten years away. Came home just the one time and brought a friend with her. An English lad, Lord rest him, used to work helping people in poor countries. Killed not long after in Baghdad, when the Americans and Brits bombed the place.’

‘She told me. Some of it.’

‘Very hard on her, the poor thing.’ Eilis’s stare held on Tony. ‘You’ve been to war yourself; is it that that I’m seeing in you?’

He struggled to break from the woman’s kind eyes. Neither looked away. He shook his head, but she seemed unconvinced.

‘Before all that happened she was at the college up in Dublin.’ Paddy said. ‘Brains to burn. Didn’t often come back down to visit, and when she did you’d hardly see her.’

‘Dirty business, war. Break the heart of any woman, or man,’ Eilis said. ‘The agony it leaves after it. Did her not a bit of good. That and the bad luck that bedevilled her as a wee one, poor soul. Not easy to get over that sort of thing.’

‘Not at all, she’s well over all that, grand altogether now,’ Paddy insisted. ‘Strong woman. Bore her cross well.’

‘Same as did her poor mother,’ Eilis said. ‘One thing’s for sure, that man Leo Reffo is bound for heaven. Looked after her from the minute things went bad with Róisín, and not just that, with all the – ’

‘Holy God, is that the time it is?’ Paddy flicked a look at his wife and pushed up from the table. ‘Have to rush or Tony’ll be late for where he’s off to.’

‘Let him finish his sup of tea, man.’

‘He’s nearly late the way it is. No good all this yak about the past; we have to go.’ Paddy steered Tony through the door; a minute later the taxi beeped twice as Eilis waved from the yard.

* * *

Leo Reffo moved impassively, austere, waist-coated, arms protruding from roughly-rolled sleeves. He led Tony to a white-walled room with a small square window and said he’d return momentarily.

Tony’s searching stopped at a photograph of Lenny, a portrait, black-and-white, and out-of-place, he thought, in what felt like a museum. Opposite, a photo of a bride and groom hung alone. And from the mantle beamed the joyful face of a thin young woman. There was much to learn here, he thought, but the urgency of the occasion did not permit. And he still didn’t know what to expect from his host. He sat on the edge of a chair and pondered how he might begin this odd confederation of his own making.

Leo returned, stood before the fireplace.

‘Thanks for – ’

‘First thing you can do is hold your thanks,’ Leo said. ‘I’ll spell it out so you’re clear. Fellas that want to sniff around here for what they can take, I’ve seen off a few. There’s any number of women around Westport, and half-a-million in Dublin. Y’understand me?’

Tony stared back without malevolence, his mind turning. There was something to admire in this grey, angry man: directness for a start, and strength, traits he could relate to. But he was here with a mission, he reminded himself, not to admire the man.

‘You made your point,’ he said. ‘Now I’ll tell you where I – ’

‘What business do you have with me?’

‘I’m trying to tell you that.’ Tony’s voice hardened.

‘Fire ahead.’

‘I’m here, one, because Lenny doesn’t want me to contact her father. And, two, because she told me you and her are friends going back a long time. ‘

‘She told you to talk to me?’

Tony’s face stilled; he said nothing.

‘Then maybe you shouldn’t be here. Maybe she’s not all that interested.’

‘Look, you’re screwing this up. She is interested, and I’m interested in her. Right now she’s on her way to visit my sister in Dublin.’

‘If it’s money you’re after, you’re on thin ice.’

‘What the . . . what is it with you?!’ Tony got to his feet, moved to the bride-and-groom photo. ‘Is this you? Is it?’

Leo’s remained unmoved.

‘I can see it’s you. You loved someone once. This woman. I love Lenny. That’s the only reason I’m here. I need you to tell me some things – for her good, her happiness.’

Leo walked to the net-curtained window. Then he turned, leaned over the tabletop. ‘What is it you want to know?’

‘Lenny goes off for days, away somewhere. Why? Is she having some kind of medical treatment. Do you know?’

‘Before I say more, hear me well. The girl’s suffered more than her rightful share. Hurt her or cross her and you’ll have more than you – ’

‘Why would I do that?! Tell me. Why would I hurt her? I told you why I came here. I want her to be well, and happy. Like you do. Haven’t you figured that out yet?’

Leo slumped into a soft-chair, quiet, preoccupied. ‘When she finally made it home to us from Iraq our prayers were answered.’

‘She told me about that, and how you helped her recover.’

‘Has she spoken to you about anything else?’

‘Not much, not yet. But I know she will. I want to know.’

‘She can’t tell you about the early years. Too young. And she doesn’t remember.’ Leo straightened up in the chair. ‘My generation isn’t in charge any more. If you love her, like you say, and if she feels the same – ’

‘She does! There’s no if. None. We know each other for over a year. I know she told you; she must have told you.’

‘She didn’t. I heard.’

A silence descended between them. Tony’s gaze found again the photo of the young woman with Lenny’s eyes, then Lenny’s portrait nearby. But he let the quiet continue.

‘You say you love her,’ Leo said. ‘Maybe you just think you do but you don’t know yet; maybe she’d be a bother to you – so what is it?’

‘It’s yes. Yes.’

‘Yes to what?’

‘Yes, I do know. I don’t think, I know. I love Lenny.’

‘You’ll not take her away again; y’understand that too?’

‘I’m not doing that. I don’t live anywhere else. This is home, for me. Here.’

‘I’ll tell you the little I know. She gets bothered sometimes, living in a small village. Likes to go to Dublin, places she was fond of once, when she was studying; she walks by the canal and goes to galleries, goes to Bull Island and Iveagh Gardens, all over. Always comes back the better for it.’

‘No. That’s not it.’ Tony shook his head. ‘There’s more to it. The pills she takes, what are they for?’

‘For war.’

‘War?’

‘Medicine for war.’

‘I want to understand. Tell me.’

‘To help with the pain of all she’s been through. That’s what. Might be a doctor in Dublin she sees. That’s just my suspicion.’

‘Somebody must know more. Would Paddy McCann know? He talks to her.’

‘Not things like that. And he’d not be one to break her trust.’

‘Somebody has to know the doctor’s name.’

‘Could be one. A wee girl, a pal from college. Emer, that’s all I remember, small Dublin lassie with a sense of humour. She was here once, fourteen years ago, 1980, just before Lenny took off for America. They were good friends, going to graduate together. Only friend I ever knew her to have.’

‘They stayed in touch?’

‘Possible, maybe not. Back then we all hoped the two of them would travel off together, to work for the summer. But the girl didn’t go, instead went to work in RTÉ Television. Might be there still. Or could have emigrated, like so many. She’d be in her mid-thirties now. More than that I don’t know.’

‘She could be anywhere in the world. Fourteen years, no last name. That’s almost impossible.’

‘Then that’s your task, isn’t it: the almost impossible. If you want what you say you want, enough.’

‘I told you where I stand. It doesn’t change my mind.’

‘In that case, prepare yourself to be shocked. When she was in New York she met an Englishman and from what I – ’

‘Aidan Harper. I know, I know all about that. Lenny told me. Doesn’t matter.’

‘You don’t know.’

‘She loved him, for a while, so what.

‘Does matter.’

‘Not to me. What happened to him, and Lenny, it’s sad, but it’s years ago, it’s gone. ‘

‘They came here. On their way to Baghdad. Bad trouble over there at the time. She was happy, different, like she was contented inside. She couldn’t wait to go with him. Then they flew off together, and the next – ’

‘I told you, I don’t need to know. None of that matters. I knew he was here; Lenny told me.’

‘If you’ll listen, I’m telling you what she didn’t tell you. What nobody could tell you. Not even Lenny.’

‘What? . . . What?’

‘The man’s alive.’

Tony sprang to his feet. ‘Aidan Harper?!’

‘You heard me.’

‘That’s crazy. He was killed, in that shelter. Lenny saw it happen. Hundreds were killed.’

‘He wasn’t one of them.’

‘This is crazy stuff. Where do you get your information?’

‘I’ll tell you. Something I’m not proud of. After the bombs, she was here, re-living the hell day by day, every day; you could never imagine what she suffered. We were all afraid for her. Then four months after she got home two things happened: she started to pull out of it, and his first letter arrived to the Abbey. I saw his name on the back of the envelope. A dead man. I didn’t know what to do for the best. Right or not, I opened it. He had beaten death, he said, by holding onto a picture of her they found beside him. In all the months in hospital, the hope that kept him alive, he told her, was that picture, and seeing her again.’