Heart and Soul (47 page)

“You're not the worst, Clara,” her daughter Linda said.

High praise indeed.

Fiona and Barbara went to have a look at the hall in Father Flynn's center.

“It's a
bit
basic,” Barbara said.

“But we can do something with it—and we can afford it. We
can't
afford the wedding palace where Declan and I rise up in a swirl of dry ice …and anyway, you know that's not what I want. I just wonder is it worth everyone's time coming up here? You know, cousins from the country, David from England, Vonni from Greece?”

“They only want to see you happy and have a rake of food and drink. And this Vonni, and this David, would they think less of you because it's not all chrome and glitter?” Barbara persisted.

“Of course they wouldn't.”

“So, last thing, is it grand enough for Declan?”

“Barbara, you
know
Declan.”

“Right. So all we have to do is make sure those twins don't poison us all. Let's go and make Father Flynn's day with a booking.”

Rosemary heard voices in the kitchen when she got back home. Bobby was talking to someone. Her heart lifted for a moment, thinking it might be Carl. The silly boy couldn't keep this up forever. She would be gracious and courteous to him. Show him that she was above his petty behavior. But it wasn't her son. It was that imperious Clara from the heart clinic.

“Imagine, they entertain you in the kitchen, Dr. Casey!” Rosemary sounded shocked. Her look at Bobby was intended to say that he would suffer for this later.

“I called because Bobby didn't come for his appointment this morning and I was in the area anyway.”

“Oh, and what exactly has you in this area?”

“Concern, Mrs. Walsh. Concern that Bobby didn't turn up to his appointment. There was no reply when I telephoned.”

“Really, Bobby.”

“I know. Sorry, love, I couldn't make the phone. I was very out of breath.”

“And also I was looking for a Chinese gardener who services some of these blocks of apartments nearby. Our Ania, from the heart clinic, has gone missing. I wondered if he had anything to say.”

“And had he?” Rosemary asked.

“Not really, except that he wanted to give her some money he owed her and that there was plenty more work if she needed it.”

“And where
is
she?”

“She's in Poland. She got upset about something and took herself off the day after your party, apparently.”

“Rosemary would have paid her, whatever the going rate was. I know she would,” Bobby said suddenly.

“Sorry?” Clara hadn't understood what he was saying.

“Shut up, Bobby,” Rosemary said.

“No, it's not fair that they should think any of this was
your
fault,” Bobby said, his face burning with the will to make everything right.

“I'm off now,” Clara said, not wanting to be in the middle of their squabble. “Will Carl bring you into the clinic tomorrow, Bobby?”

“Carl's left home,” Bobby said.

“Yes, well, a taxi then?”

“I can bring him in,” Rosemary said.

“Anytime tomorrow morning is fine, Bobby. We'll always make room for you,” Clara said and swept out. She paused and looked at the view of the yachts out at sea and the purple Head of Howth across the bay. This house was the last word in terms of a desirable property. But it hadn't brought much happiness to the three people who had rattled around in it. What a terrible waste.

Fiona was in the bus on her way to her parents’ house. She hoped they would be enthusiastic about this hall. The great thing was they could have it anytime and Father Flynn said he would be delighted to marry them.

Someone had left an evening paper on the seat, so Fiona looked at it idly. There was the usual celebrity gossip: film stars visiting Ireland and news of soccer teams in England. Then she saw a small paragraph. A young man had been found dead in a city squat, most probably from a drug overdose. There was no identification and the Guards authorities were anxious to trace anyone who knew him. He was about twenty-five to thirty, small build. The only clue lay in a watch. It was engraved with a date and the words “Love always, Fiona.”

Shane?

Dead from an overdose in a Dublin flat?

Fiona thought she was going to be sick. She staggered to the exit and got off the bus still holding the newspaper. There was a number
to contact. But wait—she didn't want to get involved. She hadn't thought about Shane for months, years even. Why bring it all back?

Why meet his mother under these circumstances? But she couldn't turn away either. He deserved a burial, a mother, someone to identify him. She sat on a bench beside the bus stop and considered her options. She could ring the Guards and give Shane's full name and address. She could find his mother and warn her of what was in store. She could do nothing. If she hadn't found that newspaper she would never have known.

But it was clear to Fiona what she had to do. She called the number printed in the newspaper. “I think the dead body is a man called Shane O'Leary If you were to ring the police station in a place called Aghia Anna in Greece, they would give you the phone number of the police station in Athens that booked him three years ago. They will have his fingerprints and details. Who am I? I am nobody. Really, I'm not important. It's just to help you and maybe his mother, if she's still alive. No, I have no more to say.”

Then she closed her phone and waited for the next bus.

That night, as she was going to bed, Fiona realized that she had no feelings at all about the dead Shane. She had hardly any memory of their time together or why she had loved him so much. It was impossible to remember why someone could love so madly, so one-sidedly. It must mean that she had been insane for a whole part of her life.

Father Flynn was showing off his hall proudly. He was explaining to a young Polish couple that his first wedding would take place at the end of August, a marriage between a young doctor and a nurse from the heart clinic and they had given permission for this couple and another pair to come to the wedding and see if they liked it all.

“They must be generous people.” The couple were surprised.

“They are good people, yes. And the caterers are marvelous. You'd love them.”

“They might be very expensive.”

“No, I think not. They did a great buffet for a Slovakian christening. Unspeakable char-grilled vegetables—none of the people had ever seen them before, but in the end everyone was delighted with it.”

“And perhaps we can make some decorations for the hall. You have nice curtains, but not many pictures.”

“We had a lovely Polish girl, Ania, who worked here with us, but sadly she's gone back home.”

“Maybe she is very happy there,” the young couple suggested.

“Maybe …” said Father Flynn, who had heard a fair amount of the story from Johnny, Declan and Fiona. Wherever Ania was, he didn't think she was very happy.

Ania was, in fact, in discussion with Lech, one of her brothers-in-law. They were going to remodel the shop for Mamusia. They would make a big, long window here and put two garments in it. A friend would write the sign.

“You worked very hard to make all this money, Ania.”

“She deserves it. I disgraced her.”

“That's all in your mind. You weren't the only one that Marek fooled. He's in jail now. Did you know?”

“No, I didn't know.” She was startled that she didn't feel anything at all at this news. Neither relieved nor upset. Just indifferent.

Lech had his metal measuring tape out and was writing down figures in his notebook. Ania looked out and prayed that this would work. She hoped so much that ladies who wanted a spring outfit would come up this hill and consult with her mother. Everything would have been worth it then. Yes, even all her mistakes.

There was somebody coming up the hill as she watched. A man with a bag on his back. He paused now and then to look around him, to take it all in. She looked again.

It was.

It was Carl.

•   •   •   

Amy said that she liked working in the clinic. There was a good atmosphere. “I hope that this Ania
never
comes back. I hope she meets a rich Pole there who owns a dozen restaurants. Then I can go on working here until I die,” she said to Clara.

“I wouldn't bet on it, Amy,” Clara said. “I hear that her fellow went out there after her. We could look up any minute and she might be right there, at that door.”

“The nonsensical things people do for love,” Amy said.

“I know! Isn't it just? Are you still with your fellow, Ben, the nice embalmer?”

“Yes, I am, as it happens. Fancy you remembering.”

“Oh, I remember. I liked him.”

“I suppose you and he being vaguely in the same business, you had quite a lot in common,” Amy agreed.

If Clara was disturbed to be considered in the same line of business as an embalmer, she showed nothing.

“Does your dad get on with him?”

“I don't think he knows what to talk to him about. He's always afraid that Ben will start to talk about dead bodies, which he rarely does. Anyway, Dad's all caught up with your woman nowadays.”

“My woman?”

“You know, Mrs. Thing, from Lilac Court.”

“Claire Cotter! Never!”

“Is she awful?” Amy asked eagerly.

“No, she's marvelous. Ideal for him, actually.” And Clara was relieved to find that she actually meant it.

“Okay, if you say so. I'll look at her with warmer eyes.”

Fiona listened as Bobby said Carl had taken a few days off school unexpectedly and he hoped the boy was all right.

“You know, Bobby, I never met a fellow that was more all right than Carl. I wish I had had a teacher like him when I was at school.”

“It's just that he's probably taking time off to think about his life.
You know, he's at the age he should be having his own home. Like you are, Fiona.” Bobby admired the opal ring.

“Like I am,” Fiona said in an oddly quiet tone.

“Will we go shopping for wedding outfits?” Fiona's mother suggested on Thursday, when the stores stayed open late.

“I'll go and look for something for you, Mam.”

“It
is
customary for the bride to dress up too,” her mother said.

“Ania will make my dress. It was all arranged.”

“But isn't she …”

“Yes, she is, but she'll be back,” Fiona said.

Fiona received a text message from Ania: “Mamusia and I spent a long time thinking about your wedding dress. I know what will look wonderful on you. Will you trust us? You will be the most beautiful bride in Ireland. I am happy in my heart. Love, Ania.”

Barbara was going to lose fourteen pounds for the wedding.

It was realistic, she said, as she ate an egg sandwich filled with butter and mayonnaise. Two pounds a week was the recommended weight loss.

Molly Carroll and Maureen Ryan were going to a place called Big Day that specialized in Mother of the Bride outfits.

They were now firm friends and had urged each other not to go to town, not to be too fussy, not to be over the top.

Their husbands knew this was only a rallying cry to go completely mad.

They were discussing getting shoes dyed, coordinating handbags and having a professional makeup person on the day.

The twins were sick with excitement. They begged Cathy and Tom for some help.

“Why should we help you to do a rival gig?” Tom asked jokingly.

Cathy knew that you never joked with Maud and Simon. “Sure we'll come along and look at the place,” she said.

“It's not really a rival operation …” Simon began.

“They wouldn't be able to afford you two …” Maud agreed.

“The groom spent all the money on an opal ring.” Simon was censorious.

“So there's not a lot left over for the catering, you see.” Maud wanted there to be no gray areas.

“Show us the place and we'll tell you what you need.” Cathy cut across the ever-increasing complications of any conversation with Maud and Simon. “Show us the venue, kids, and bring a notebook,” she said.

Vonni had booked her ticket to Ireland. She showed it to Andreas.

“Come with me, old friend,” she entreated.

“No. You won't marry
me,
why should I go halfway across the world to be your escort at a wedding party?”

“Andreas, we would be
mad
to get married. I need you, Andreas. I might go back on the drink unless you're there.”

“No, you won't. You didn't drink in Ireland before. Why would you start now?”

“I might become unhinged.”

“No. It was my country and my countrymen that unhinged you. You've recovered now.”

“We never really recover.”

“Well, you're as near to it as anyone I know,” Andreas said, patting her on the hand.

David Fine's mother was surprised that he was going to Ireland to a wedding.

“Was that the girl who came here when your father was diagnosed?” she asked.

“That's right, Mother. Fiona.”

“I thought at the time that you two were sweet on each other.”

“Oh, no, not at all. She was in love with a madman back then, but fortunately she got over him,” David explained.

“So she's not marrying the madman, then?”

“No, marriage was the last thing
he
had in mind.”

“Will it be a Catholic wedding, do you think?”

“Almost certainly.”

“You'll need someone to mark your card, David, when to stand and sit and kneel.”

“Oh, I'll watch the others,” David said airily.

“And will it be a fancy wedding, do you think?”

“I have no idea. She's marrying a doctor. He's got red hair and is very kind. She sounds highly excited.”

“Of course she's excited,” David's mother said. “Isn't she marrying a doctor?”

“We should send flowers to the wedding,” Elsa said.

“Imagine. Vonni going back to Ireland for it,” Tom said.

“I wish we could be there. Where will we send the flowers, do you think?” Elsa asked.

“She mentions a church near the Liffey I guess the florist would know,” Tom said.

“Or we have her home address.”

“I'm glad she's happy,” said Tom. “This fellow sounds a much better bet.”