Dublin 4 (8 page)

‘You are, you are. Very,’ he said.

‘I’ll write the letter, but I won’t go.’

‘Good girl,’ he said.

*   *   *

Dear Mrs Murray,

What a nice surprise to get your letter.

I didn’t even think you’d remember that we
had met. It’s very nice of you to say such flattering things about my work and I am most grateful for your dinner invitation on the night of the exhibition.

I am writing this from Wales where I am spending a quiet holiday. (My post is forwarded to me, so that’s how I got your letter.) I should be very happy to accept. I look forward to renewing my friendship with you, your husband and your other friends.

Sincerely,
Ruth O’Donnell

Carmel held the letter tightly in her hand after she’d read it. Relief flooded her face. She had been almost certain that Ruth O’Donnell would accept, but there had been the slight fear that she might ruin the whole plan. Now everything was all right. Everything was on target.

That night Dermot told her that she was looking very well, very healthy-looking. Carmel smiled, pleased. ‘I’ve been walking a lot lately, I find it does me good.’ That was true, she did walk and it did make her feel as if it were doing good. But she didn’t tell him about the facial she had had – the second this week. The beautician had been giving her a rejuvenating mask. And she didn’t tell him that she had now settled on veal with marsala for the main course, and pears baked in wine for the dessert.

She didn’t tell him that she had got a letter that day from Ruth O’Donnell.

*   *   *

Bernadette and Anna had lunch together. Anna had a salad and a coffee; Bernadette had a huge lump of French bread and cheese, and drank a pint of Guinness.

‘Only point in having lunch in a pub, really, having a pint,’ she said.

Anna swallowed her disapproval. They had met to discuss what they should do about Mother and Dad, if anything. There was no point in beginning by criticising each other.

‘Are you sure … it’s not just gossip?’

‘No, a lot of people know, apparently we’re the last to know.’

‘Well, that stands to reason,’ Bernadette said logically, ‘people aren’t going to discuss our father’s little peccadillos in company where we are sitting there listening.’

‘Now, should we say anything?’

‘What could we say? Do you mean ask Dad is it true?’

Anna thought. ‘Yes, we could do that I suppose, and sort of say that we think it’s dreadful and that it must come to an end.’

Bernadette pealed with laughter.

‘Anna, you are marvellous, you’re just like a
dowager duchess. “I think, Father, this is quite dreadful. It must come to an end. Back to Mother. Quick quick. As you were.”’ She rocked with amusement at the thought of it. Anna did not rock at all.

‘Why is that funny? What do
you
suggest?’

‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh. What
do
I suggest? I don’t know. I suppose we could ask him does he intend to go off with Ruth and leave Mother, because that’s the only thing we have a
right
to know really. I mean, if he does, she’ll crack up …’

‘Yes,’ Anna agreed. ‘That’s the point. He must be made to see that he can’t do that to her.’

‘He may want to do it, but he must realise that’s what’s going to happen, and I suppose he should be given the facts about how much he can rely on you and on me … to pick up the bits.’

‘Well, he can’t expect us to look after …’

‘No, he probably doesn’t expect anything … I think he should be put in the picture, that’s all …’

Anna was surprised to see her younger sister being so firm. She always thought of Bernadette as a bit eejity, but she was being very crisp today.

‘Well, Frank and I are thinking of going to Australia in the New Year …’

‘To Australia, like Uncle Charlie?
He
didn’t make a fortune.’

‘That’s not the point. There’s a crafts co-operative we are interested in. It’s not definite yet, but I don’t
want Mummy to be one of my reasons for going or staying … I mean I’ll write home every week and all … but I don’t want to go not knowing whether she’ll end up in a mental ward or whether she’ll be all right …’

‘Yes … yes.’ Anna felt left behind.

‘And
you’re
not really going to move in and look after her, are you, Anna, you’ve got your own life … Dad should be told this … just so that he knows the options.’

‘Yes. But isn’t it all a bit harsh … a bit final? Mightn’t we be sort of taking too much for granted …’

‘Yes, that’s the point … it was you who said we must meet and discuss what to do. I think that’s the only thing to do if we do anything, let him know just how far he can rely on us so that there’s no misunderstanding.’

‘Yes, well I don’t know, maybe we should say nothing … Mother’s probably better able to look after herself than we realise …’

‘And you were saying that she actually seems more lively these days.’

‘Yes, and she looks better, her skin looks less sort of muddy … and she’s lost a bit of weight I think …’

‘She always seems very cheerful when I call in or ring.’

‘Yes … when you think how awful it was that time her nerves did get bad.’

‘Oh years ago, when I was still at college?’

‘Yes, it was awful, she used to go and see this psychiatrist and cry all the time …’

‘What did they do with her, how did they cure her?’

‘Oh Bernadette, you know psychiatrists, they don’t do anything or cure anyone …they just listen and say yes, yes … or so I hear.’

‘Why do people go on going to them then?’

‘Who knows, I suppose the world’s a bit short on people who will listen and say yes, yes …’

‘But she did get better, she stopped crying and everything …’

‘I told you, it works, all this yes yessing.’

‘And we’ll say nothing for the moment …’

‘I think not, don’t you?’

*   *   *

Joe arrived a week before the party. He telephoned one morning and said he was in town.

‘Did I send you enough money?’ Carmel sounded anxious.

‘Darling, you sent me too much money. How are you, Carmel, am I going to come and see you?’

‘No, I’ll come and see you. I don’t want you coming here until the night …’

‘Where will we go?’

‘Let me see … I’ll go into the hotel … We can have tea or coffee sent up, can’t we?’

‘Yeah, it’s costing a fortune the hotel … I wonder are you putting too much money out on all this, Carmel? There might have been another way …’

‘I have the money … I’ve always had money, that was never a problem … I’m so grateful to you for coming over, Joe, I’ll never be able to thank you. I wish your friend had come too.’

‘No, a job’s a job. Henry understands … it would have messed things up if he’d come here. He says you’re as mad as a coot but he wishes you luck.’

She laughed happily. ‘Oh good, he’s on our side. I’ll come down to the hotel this afternoon. What room are you? I’ll just slip along and get into the lift …’

‘Oh Mrs M., you sound as if you’re accustomed to this kind of racey life,’ Joe laughed. He was pleased that Carmel was so cheerful, he had been afraid that it might be a very glum Carmel. A sort of doom-laden Lady Macbeth. This sounded a lot more jolly. He sat back in his bed and lit a cigarette. It was really the most extraordinary business.

*   *   *

‘How nice of you to call, Ethel. No, I’m fine … and you? Good. And David? Great. Oh, what a pity, no, I’m just off out as a matter of fact. Yes it is a long time, isn’t it? But never mind, we’ll see you next week, won’t we? The eighth. Oh good, good. No, not a thing, thank you, no, no, it’s all under control. But
very nice of you to think of it, Ethel … What? Oh yes, everyone’s coming … but it’s only a small gathering, heavens, compared to all the ones you go to. Yes, that nice Ruth O’Donnell – I had such a sweet letter from her, Wales is where she was. She’s looking forward to seeing you all again, she said. Was there anything else, Ethel? I’m in a bit of a rush. Right, see you both then, love to David. Bye.’

*   *   *

‘Yes, Aunt Sheila, I’m on my own. I’ve plenty of time to talk. She seems in great form to me, very perky. And looking very well, I think she looks better now than I’ve seen her looking for a long time … good, yes I thought I wasn’t imagining it. No, of course I don’t mind you talking frankly. I mean I know you’re her oldest friend, for heaven’s sake. No, honestly Aunt Sheila I’m telling you the truth, I haven’t noticed anything odd about Mother recently … she’s in very good form … Yes, well she doesn’t have much time for me either. No, I’m not actually sure what she
is
doing but whatever little things they are seem to keep her occupied. The way I look at it, isn’t she far better this way all cheerful and mysterious than she was the time she got upset and her nerves were bad? Do you remember she sat there all day and we all found it a terrible drag to talk to her … she had no interest in anyone.’

*   *   *

Anna said to James: ‘You know that friend of Mother’s, the one we call Aunt Sheila who went back to teaching, remember? She was on the phone whinging and whining and says that she thinks Mother’s behaving oddly. How oddly, I ask, and she can’t explain. Apparently Mother is too cheerful. Did you ever?’

‘Poor Grandmama,’ said James, ‘it’s bad if she’s gloomy, it’s bad if she’s cheerful. She can’t win.’

*   *   *

‘You look a million dollars … you’re
not
an old hag … you’re smashing.’ Joe was full of admiration.

‘I had a make-up lesson … you know the kind of thing the women’s magazines advise you to do if your husband’s unfaithful. “Is your make-up old-fashioned,” they ask, and recommend you to try out the new shades …’

They both laughed, and she looked at him carefully and nodded with approval.

‘You look well, Joe, really well. I’m different, I’m just painted up a bit, that’s why I appear to be ok, but you’re really great … you look like a boy.’

‘An old boy,’ Joe laughed. ‘Oh, a very old boy … I’ll be forty-five soon. That’s not a boy these days!’

‘You look still in your thirties and you look terrific …’

Joe was pleased that her admiration was genuine. ‘Do you know what I did for us, I went out to that supermarket up in Baggot Street … Lord has the place all changed … and I got us a bottle of fizz, on me. I decided that if we’re going to do this mad thing we’ll celebrate it in style.’

‘Do you think we should wait until it’s done?’ Carmel was unwilling to celebrate yet.

‘Hell no, if we say we’ll do it, then it will be done.’ He opened the bottle with a practised hand and poured into the tooth mugs. ‘Of course, I still think you’re as daft as a brush.’

‘Why? To get what I want? To try and get what I want?’

‘No.’ He raised his glass to her. ‘Cheers, good luck. No, that’s not daft. To want it is daft.’

‘Cheers,’ she said, raising her glass. ‘Ninety calories for four fluid ounces … how many in this glass?’

‘I think we could say bang goes 180 calories there.’

They laughed like old times.

*   *   *

‘We’ve done nothing but fight since you came back. It’s the last thing on God’s earth that I want to do.’

‘We haven’t been fighting,’ Ruth said wearily. ‘I keep asking one question and you keep asking it back. I keep saying why do I have to go to this dinner and you keep saying why not. It’s not so much a fight, it’s a cul-de-sac.’

Dermot sighed. I keep telling you that we’re buying time, that’s all it is … buying peace of mind and opportunities … all of these things we want, and we can get them if you just come to the house and behave nice and naturally and let everybody tell you how wonderful you are for one evening. I know, I know, you don’t want to, but it doesn’t seem too hard a thing to me.’

She got up and walked around her kitchen. ‘And it seems amazing to me that you don’t see how hard it is to do. To go and talk to her, and to smile … and eat the food she’s been slaving over, and go to the lavatory in your bathroom, and leave my coat on your bed, your marriage bed … really, Dermot …’

‘If I’ve told you once there are single beds I’ve told you twenty times … this time you’ll be able to see for yourself.’

‘It’s almost as if you felt like a big man, having us both there …’

‘Christ, God, if you knew how that is not true … I’ll feel nervous and uneasy and anxious … and I’ll feel a cheat and a deceiver. Do you think I want to draw all that on myself?’

‘Please, Dermot …’

‘Please, Ruth, please … I never asked you anything like this before and I swear I’ll never ask you again.’

‘Oh, for all I know it could become a weekly affair, maybe I’ll be invited to move in … put a third bed in the room.’