Echoes (60 page)

 

James Nolan had left champagne cooling, and when they got back to the Nolan house, Breeda was ready with a tray of glasses.

“This is more like it,” Caroline said.

“It was very nicely done, very nice,” her father said.

Dr. Power took his glass of champagne and walked out into the well-kept garden. A man was mowing the lawn. For other people it was an ordinary working day.

Molly saw him standing by himself and went out to him. She stood beside him wordlessly.

“You were very good, Moll,” he said.

“Good?”

“You didn't want it, but you didn't let that spoil their day. Even though your heart wasn't in it.”

“Clare . . .” She paused.

He said nothing.

“She looked very well, I thought. The outfit was smart.”

 

Inside, the champagne was flowing. Caroline wanted to know why Clare hadn't carried that super handbag away with her when she was leaving. “There was a fearful coldness between James and David, did you hear? James was nearly not going to be the best man?” She was giggly and conspiratorial.

“I
didn't
know,” Valerie said, giving her the cue to go on.

“
Apparently,
when David told James about the marriage, and the
hurry
and the
dramas
and all, James said, very reasonably I think, but anyway he said
bad luck
or something, and David said what do you mean, and James said that
really
David didn't
have
to marry a
scrubber,
and David poured his glass over James—it was in a hotel bar all this—and walked out, and James had to run after him. Gosh, it was
awful.
”

“Wasn't it?” Valerie said fervently. “Wasn't it about as
awful
a thing to say as anyone could think of?”

“No, what I mean is . . .” Caroline saw she had put her foot in it.

“Isn't it
quite
extraordinary how James ever managed to make it to being an attorney with a mind like that?” Mary Catherine said in amazement.

 

June had always been a stifling month, waiting for the end of term.

Angela had written to Sean and Shuya in reply to their excited letter. Yes, indeed, she would be here, she would be in the cottage as always, and once they had decided what they were going to do, they could come and tell her, she would be happy to see them all, as she was always happy to see them.

Sean had said no. He hadn't written to anyone in Castlebay about his changed life, who would he write to? But Angela had been very firm on that one: it was Sean's story to tell, not hers. He must be the one to decide who to talk to and what to say.

No letter with any change of plans came. There was no reprieve.

They would be here on Saturday.

On Saturday morning, panic came over her as she was buying meat in Dwyers'. Chrissie, back at work, wanted to know if Miss O'Hara was going to have a party.

“No. Why?” Angela said, alarmed.

“Well, you're just after buying enough meat to feed an army.”

Angela looked in horror at the huge lumps of meat. Without thinking she had bought dinner for Sean and his family. She felt dizzy and leaned against the wall.

“Are you all right?” Chrissie asked, frightened. “Jimmy! Give Miss O'Hara a hand.”

She had steadied herself again.

“I'm very sorry. I've got a bit of summer flu, I think.” She paid for the meat, put it in her bicycle basket, and wheeled it home. She didn't dare to get on the bike for fear she might faint. Though in a way it wouldn't be a bad time, if she had to die, to die now. She sat at home glumly all day. Why had she not had the courage to tell people after her mother died? Why had she lied to them, and gone along with their messages of sympathy, their requests for prayers? She had never taken a penny of their money: she had said that it should all be sent to the missionary headquarters. But they wouldn't remember that.

She thought of the nice, honest people who always asked after him, the people she had fooled, rather than the awful people who would crow with horror. She didn't care all that much about the Sergeant McCormacks and the Mother Immaculatas. She thought about Dick Dillon, and her heart went down to her feet.

 

It was a beautiful day, the kind that they would sigh over, the trippers in for the day, the visitors down for the month, the shopkeepers who had been hoping for weather like this all year.

Shuya and Sean would sigh with pleasure too, and Denis and Laki would be as delighted with the long golden beach and the bright blue sea. She never remembered feeling so sad.

She had shown herself she was a person of no courage. She hadn't the courage to beg them not to come, nor the courage to go to the station and welcome them with open arms. What a useless, spineless friend and sister she had turned out to be.

They would have been here three hours at least now. They had taken the overnight boat from England, the morning train to the town, and since there was no one to meet them to take them to Castlebay, they would wait for the bus. They would have been in their caravan for an hour.

Had they taken the children for a swim? Had they gone to O'Brien's shop to buy provisions? Had Sean leaned eagerly across the counter and shaken Tom O'Brien's hand?

“Don't you remember me, Mr. O'Brien? I'm Dinny O'Hara's son Sean. And this is my wife, and these are my children. Say hallo to Mr. O'Brien, Denis . . .”

Were they on their way up the street now? Had they reached the corner? Were they turning down the golf-course road?

She had said she would be in her cottage. She wanted to run away.

She never remembered the clock ticking so loudly or her heart moving so oddly in her chest.

She sat and waited.

And waited.

By the time the children should be well in bed, there was a knock on the door. She steeled herself and went to it slowly. There was no sound of voices on the step. Perhaps they were upset that she hadn't come to meet them.

She opened the door.

It was Dick Dillon.

“Hallo,” she said faintly. She stood leaning against the door. She made no move to ask him in.

“I was wondering if I might come in at all? Or would that be out of the question? I do come to call here occasionally, you know.”

“Dick, I'm sorry. Come in.”

“I know you said you didn't want to come up this week, and that you'd explain it all later.”

“Well it didn't do much good my telling you that, did it?”

“I knew it was all right to come.”

“That was very arrogant of you.” Her voice was weary.

“No. It wasn't arrogant. I knew I could come. I knew they weren't here.”

“What?”

“I knew I wouldn't be blundering in on top of them. They're sitting down on the seat at the end of the town looking at the sea.”

He had discovered them by complete accident. He had seen them getting off the bus, he had looked because of the foreign woman, and the children being half foreign-looking.

“He didn't recognize me. I was in my drinking mode when he was here last. I'd only have been a blur to him or indeed he to me.”

“So how did you know?”

“The boy said when were they going to see Aunt Angela, and the woman said they were going to their caravan first, and Aunt Angela would be waiting up in her cottage for them later when they got settled in, today or tomorrow.”

“I'm sorry, Dick. I'm very, very sorry.” Angela wept. “I'm such a coward. I'm so bloody weak. I couldn't tell you.” She put her head on his shoulder and sobbed like a child. His arms went around her, and he patted her comfortingly.

“It's going to be all right,” he said, as if to a very small, very upset toddler. “Dick is here. He'll look after things.”

 

They sat in the sunset and watched the red ball disappear down behind a big navy line of horizon. Behind them, the music of the amusements and the cries of laughter, and around them the chitter-chatter of holidaymakers.

Denis and Laki were both fast asleep, exhausted. Already he had pointed out the Brothers School where he had gone every day, he had shown them the big rock pools where he used to play, and he had taken them into the Echo Cave to shout their questions.

Sean had remembered O'Brien's shop. But it had been much smaller then; he didn't know the boy serving there—it must be one of the young sons. He saw Mrs. O'Brien in the background; but he was shy suddenly. It wasn't the place to catch her eye and begin the great comeback. He had bought a coloring book and pencils in Miss O'Flaherty's shop, but she was busy serving someone else and he didn't know the young woman who served them.

On the street, a child of about eight looked at Laki with interest. “What land do you come from?” she asked.

“I was born in Japan. I am half Irish, half Japanese,” Laki said proudly.

“I had a Japanese doll when I was young. It didn't look a bit like you,” the girl said curiously.

They had eaten their meal and made plans for the next day; there would be swimming and a picnic lunch on the beach. But first they would call on Aunt Angela. The children had thought this perfectly satisfactory.

“This is a good place to have as another home,” Laki said. Sean had been talking about Castlebay as their “other home” for as long as the children could remember. But this time he said nothing.

“I'll show you the town,” he had suggested to Shuya. But when they came to the bottom of the street, he hung back; he didn't want to go to the dance, he was too old to take her to the amusements. A middle-aged couple on the bumpers? It would be idiotic. Then, in the hotel, sitting drinking, and seeing other groups: would he go up to them? If so, would he give his name? He remembered the Dillons vaguely, but he hadn't known any of them well.

He had hesitated as they approached Church Street. It was Shuya who pointed out the nice bench.

“That wasn't here, years ago,” Sean said. “Probably afraid that people might sit here and cuddle or do something outrageous like that.”

She put her arm around him. She sensed his unease, the flatness about everything.

“It's changed a lot, of course. Everything,” he said.

“It must have. Was that big amusement center always there?”

“Much smaller, much shabbier. And I don't think the dance hall was like that. Of course, in those days I wasn't likely to be going into it, so I hardly noticed it.”

“It's funny,” Shuya said. “Most people, when they go back, find that things have grown smaller. Here you find they have all grown much bigger.”

“You wouldn't know the place in ways,” he said. “It's very painted and bright and the shops have all got things hanging outside them, buckets, and water wings and sunhats. There was none of that in my day.”

There was a silence.

“Would you like us to walk up to your home, to see it, even if you don't want to go in?”

She was trying hard. It worked.

“Yes, that would be an idea. I don't think we'll go up Church Street. We can go up the Cliff Road. It's longer but it's very nice.”

“Let's go by the Cliff Road,” said Shuya.

They walked on to the golf-course road. Late golfers were coming back from their drinks after the last hole.

It was a warm, balmy evening. They walked on till they saw the house. The curtains were drawn and there was a light in the main room. Angela must be waiting there for them.

“Is it cheating to walk past it, and not go in?” he asked.

“Angela said come any time we were ready. I don't think you're ready now,” Shuya said gently.

“No. I'm not, somehow.”

“Well, then, it's not cheating.”

He pointed out where his room had been, and which had been the window he used to climb out of if he wanted to race out and have an early-morning swim. They marveled at the energy of a boy who could have raced down a half mile to the sea and a half mile back. . . . He would run on the road, and there would be cows going for milking. . . . He would be back in his room and studying again before anyone in the family got up.

He showed her the little geraniums that his mother had planted in the window boxes and said that it was wonderful they had survived so well. He pointed out the chimney where the birds had made a nest, and the porch where they had to scrape off the snow in winter in case it became too heavy and broke the glass.

Shuya whispered that now she had a very perfect picture of the way he used to live.