The Lake (11 page)

‘Wow.’ Fergal pushed the three glasses together in a triangle and lifted them in his big, meaty hands. ‘That’s shockin’ awful. Awful.’

‘What’s that you said, girl?’ The three of them turned to see Coleman looking up at Peggy. His face was pale. His forehead was furrowed such that his two wiry eyebrows joined in the middle, almost totally obscuring his eyes.

‘What’s wrong with you, Coleman?’

‘They found tags on the body. Is that what you said? The body at the lake?’

‘That’s right,’ Peggy smiled at Fergal as he stole away from the counter with his drinks.

‘Dog tags, you said? Like army tags? Metal things?’

‘Yes.’ She turned to the mirror behind her and straightened her hair-clip. ‘Maxwell. That was the name on them I think.’

Coleman sat upright on his stool. He picked up his box of cigarettes and put them down again. Peggy saw him look up at Doctor, but the man seemed to have slipped back into his regular state of semi-consciousness and wasn’t paying any attention.

‘But it was a young girl, you said?’

‘Well, late teens they think. Maybe around my age, it’s probably hard to tell. Jerome, will you get the Delaneys two pints before they pass out? Carling.’

Jerome did as he was asked. Peggy walked around the counter to collect some empty glasses. When she returned with them, she noticed that Coleman was still sitting upright, his eyes wide, like someone who had stuck his fingers in an electrical socket.

‘You all right, Coleman?’ she said. She put her glasses down and touched his sleeve. The cloth felt coarse and dirty beneath her fingertips. ‘Coleman?’

Suddenly the old man leaned forward and heaved himself off the stool. He took one last swig from his pint and lifted the packet of cigarettes from where he had thrown them. He lifted his eyes to Peggy’s and stared at her for the briefest of moments. Then he turned away and walked out of the pub, pulling his cap from his pocket as he went, and planting it on his head.

Peggy watched him go. She glanced at the clock on the wall. Half-past ten. She had never known a day in Casey’s Bar when Coleman Quirke hadn’t been one of the last to leave. Doctor suddenly seemed to become aware of his friend’s unexpected exit, and he leaned across the bar and took the half-full glass of stout from where Coleman had left it. He held it close to his body and looked around him like a child with a stolen biscuit.

‘What did you do to Coleman?’ Jerome asked as he passed behind her and reached for the ash bucket.

‘Nothing!’ Peggy shrugged her shoulders. ‘He just stood up and left. He didn’t even finish his drink.’ She looked over at Doctor, but his attention was back on the musicians.

Jerome took a cloth from the sink and emptied the contents of an ashtray from the counter into the bucket. ‘Weird,’ he said. As he went to pass in front of Peggy he stopped, and stood for a moment, staring at the pearl hanging around her neck. Then he stood back, taking it all in, her best blouse, her mascara, her tamed hair. Peggy crossed her arms and glared at him.

‘Ah, Peggy,’ he said with a sigh and went to clean the ashtrays on the tables. Peggy was trying to think of a suitable riposte when the door through to the house opened behind her to reveal a very flush-faced Carla, followed by Tom Devereaux. Peggy’s jaw fell open when she saw the smug smile on her sister’s face, her fingers entwined in his. Tom’s shirt was open at the neck, and his eyes were gleaming. The general glow that seemed to surround them dimmed a little when Carla saw Peggy’s face, and she dropped Tom’s hand just as they came into the bar. Carla stared straight at her sister. Peggy lowered her eyes and busied herself at the sink.

‘Sit down over there,’ Carla said in a husky voice. ‘I’ll bring you over a drink.’

From the corner of her eye, Peggy could see Tom’s look of self-satisfaction diminish as he realized he would have to cross from the safety of behind the bar to the very public space on the other side. He nodded in Peggy’s direction, but she decided it best to pretend that she hadn’t noticed. She stood with her hands in the water washing glasses, only looking up when his back was to her. She saw him scan the room as he made for a table in the far corner. No doubt he felt safe enough this far from home. But still. This was Ireland. You never knew.

Peggy could sense Carla’s presence beside her like a rabbit might sense a fox. Her body burned with the indignation she was afraid to verbalize. While she struggled with what to say, Carla pulled a pint of beer. Peggy looked at her sister, standing brazenly behind the taps as if nothing was wrong. As if she hadn’t just appeared from the house hand in hand with her married lover. As if her married lover wasn’t sitting twenty feet away from them right now, waiting for a post-coital pint of Guinness.

‘Don’t even start,’ Carla said, not lifting her gaze from the drink before her. ‘Just mind your own bloody business.’

Peggy’s jaw opened involuntarily again, but she closed it with great effort. Her sister’s audacity stunned her. She wasn’t up to having this conversation with her now. Not here. Not with a full bar.

Their brother, it seemed, felt otherwise, and just at that moment he appeared in front of them, standing next to Doctor, who was still nursing Coleman’s pint. He slapped the white plastic tub of cigarette butts and ash down on the bar in front of Carla.

‘Are you fecking joking?’ His eyes were black, his voice low but threatening. Peggy was a little taken aback. ‘You’re not sitting here in the bar, with him.’ He tossed his glossy black head back in the direction of Tom Devereaux, who was trying to look inconspicuous. ‘You can do what you want in the house, but you are not having him and his wedding ring here in the bar for the whole of Crumm to see. Bring those drinks into the kitchen and I’ll send your friend into you, after I’ve had a little chat with him.’

‘Don’t you effing dare,’ Carla hissed back at him. Her elevated position behind the bar meant she had to lower her face to meet Jerome’s. Peggy could see her white knuckles gripping the bar tap.

‘It’s none of your effing business who I drink with in this bar, or any other. Don’t you effing dare try the father act with me. Who the hell do you think you are?’

Peggy stood rooted to the floor, her hands submerged in the suds. She wanted to intervene, but she didn’t want to create more of a scene than her siblings were making already. She could see Bernie O’Shea looking at them and over at Tom. Oh she’ll be loving this, the auld bitch, Peggy thought.

‘Get him the fuck out of here.’ Jerome’s voice was thick with threat.

‘Jerome, please,’ Peggy whispered. She could hear her own voice break. The Delaneys chose that minute to conclude a set, and the sound level in the room suddenly dropped. Carla opened a bottle of cider and poured it into a glass. Peggy could see her sister’s hands shaking. Jerome hadn’t moved from where he stood facing her over the counter. And then she sensed Carla’s capitulation. She watched her lift the two full glasses and stare straight at Jerome.

‘You are such a hypocrite,’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘Who cares who I’m seeing? It’s no one else’s business. I’ll see whomever I want to see.’ She stood up straight and tossed her head so that her long straight locks flicked over her shoulder. Even her hair looked defiant. ‘So you can feck off with yourself Jerome Casey. Stay out of my life. And I’ll stay out of yours.’

‘I’ll let your friend know you’ll be in the kitchen with those,’ Jerome said without a pause.

‘No. Don’t you fecking go near him. For all I know you … ’ She stopped suddenly … Peggy was shocked at the weight of antipathy she could feel radiating from her sister.

‘Peggy,’ she said, ‘tell Tom I’m bringing these out to Ma’s old seat in the back garden.’ Her eyes flickered over to Peggy and back to her brother. Peggy saw the tears waiting to fall.

‘I feel sorry for you,’ Carla said, and turned towards the back door. Peggy didn’t see Jerome’s reaction, for just then a customer came up to the bar to order drinks.

‘I’ll get those,’ Jerome said. His voice sounded normal again, but Peggy was still shaking.

After Carla and Tom’s brief appearance in the bar, it seemed to Peggy that the evening took on a different colour. Jerome hardly said another word to her, but served drinks and cleaned glasses in silence, his face dark, his expression sombre. Peggy tiptoed around him, afraid to catch his eye in case he might speak to her with the anger and hostility he had used with their sister. The noise level seemed higher than normal even for a Saturday, and she was getting a headache. She wished the music would stop. It seemed to be making things worse. The four randy fishermen were now standing around the two Delaney boys like gamblers at a cockfight, cheering the musicians on with their whoops and claps and drunken attempts at dancing. One of them tried to get Peggy in a twirl with him, but she pushed him away without any of her usual good humour. She’d give him a kick if he tried it again.

She went behind the bar and pretended to tidy the till. Jerome stood rinsing glasses behind her. His silence was like a presence behind the bar with them. Peggy slammed the till drawer shut and looked up at the clock.

‘Will you call time?’ she asked. She stood next to Jerome at the sink, challenging him to look at her. He wouldn’t.

‘I’m going outside. I need some air.’

Jerome glanced up at the clock and back down into the sink. ‘Right so,’ he said.

When she saw she would get no more from him, she turned and walked through the bar to the front door. A few thirsty customers tried to get her attention as she went out, but for the first time in her life, Peggy Casey flatly ignored them.

The quiet of the night outside The Angler’s Rest rang in Peggy’s ears. She stood totally still for a few moments, her eyes closed, breathing in the crisp, cool air; air blown up from the lake, carrying with it scents of the last cut of hay and the jasmine that her mother had planted in their own back garden. She took deep, cathartic breaths, purging her lungs of the smoke she had been breathing inside all evening. The smoke, the noise, the tension stayed behind her, inside Casey’s Bar, and she just stood and allowed the dark cloak of the night outside to wrap itself around her.

She went to sit on the old bench propped up against the wall next to the front door. Her legs tingled with relief when she took her weight off them. If only she could relieve the tension she felt in her heart as easily. She had never seen Carla and Jerome speak to one another like that before. It had upset her. Sure, they’d had their arguments growing up as all siblings had. With only two years between them, it was only natural that they should fight. Sitting there, she could very easily recall plenty of occasions when Carla had turned her attention away from teasing her to teasing her brother who, it occurred to Peggy, had never done much to warrant her ire. She remembered Carla and her friends taunting Jerome about his hair on a regular basis. Jerome had always had beautiful hair. Not unlike herself, Peggy thought, removing the clip and letting it fall around her shoulders. Dark, thick, glossy hair. Carla had most likely just been jealous of it. But sitting on the bench outside of the bar now, she could remember clearly back ten years, could picture the big tree in front of where she now sat, could picture a coven of fourteen-year-old girls sitting on the grass, school bags scattered around them, white shirtsleeves rolled up and white knee-socks rolled down. Girls, becoming aware of the power they could wield, and choosing to wield it on a young Jerome, walking home alone from school, lost in his own teenage thoughts. Peggy tried to remember where she might have been during the encounter. Possibly in the very same place she now sat. And her stomach twisted as she remembered the cruel remarks and vicious rumours given a voice that afternoon. Remembered the embarrassed young man, stoically walking past the gaggle of giggling girls. Enduring. Absorbing.

Now that Peggy thought about it, she realized there had been many such encounters. It wasn’t so surprising to her that Carla should treat her brother like that. But something had changed now. Jerome had taken a stand with Carla tonight. And Carla had backed down.

Two years of finding their way in a world without parents had meant that the Casey children had evolved, grown into adults. Their places in life had been shaped. Their places in the family too. Jerome and Peggy may not have chosen to be the ones to continue the family business, but that was what had happened, and this evening had shone a spotlight on the new order of things. Peggy felt a rush of feelings all at once. She saw clearly now what Frank had seen earlier that day down at the lake. This was her life now. Her business; hers and Jerome’s. It was no longer their father’s place. They were in charge. Theirs were the only important opinions, and they laid the law in the place, even when it came to Carla. Carla had seen this evening that which Frank Ryan had seen within hours of meeting the Caseys. So why had it never occurred to her before? And why did she now suddenly feel so conflicted, sitting out here on the old wooden bench under the anaemic light of the Harp sign fixed to the wall above her?

The sounds of the bar suddenly amplified, and the door swung open beside her.

‘’Night, Peggy.’

‘’Night now, Peggy.’

‘Goodnight now, lads.’ Peggy tipped her head at the two men leaving the bar. ‘Safe home.’

The world outside Casey’s was quiet again. Was that it? Had she just realized that nothing lay in her future except bidding goodnight to the same old faces every evening, for the rest of her days? That with the satisfaction that came with being in charge of The Angler’s Rest public house in Crumm, came the realization that that’s all she might be? Ever? That far from visiting exotic cities in distant countries, far from working in plush hotels and an exciting and varied career, she might be stuck in Crumm for the rest of her life, placing orders and totting up ledgers until her long, dark tresses were silver, and there was no one left to remember how she had once been a young girl with dreams and plans outside of Crumm and The Angler’s Rest? Peggy couldn’t remember a time when her heart felt so heavy. She felt like standing up at that moment and walking away. Leaving Crumm and heading for anywhere else.

But where? She had no one to go to. Her college friends were almost all working abroad now. And anyway, she hadn’t been good at staying in touch with any of them when she had moved back to Crumm. And they hadn’t stayed in touch with her.

She thought of Frank, and immediately chastised herself. What was she like? Dressing up with kohl eyes and her pearl necklace, pretending to herself that it wasn’t on the off chance that he might have appeared tonight. And he hadn’t. And why would he have? She’d been fooling herself, thinking there was more to their afternoon walk by the lake than there actually was. What would a man like Frank Ryan see in a girl like her? He had a life and a career and probably a girlfriend in Dublin. She’d been a fool, reading more into his soft tone and probing questions than there was. He was a detective, for God’s sake, she thought, chewing her nail. He was supposed to ask questions.

Peggy looked down at her hands. The skin on her fingers was dry and rough from washing glasses and shifting kegs. Her nails were in varying stages of bitten and broken. What would any man see in her? Maybe being stuck forever in Crumm was all she deserved. She shoved her hands into her skirt pockets out of sight.

‘Tough night?’

She jumped with the fright. Partly because she hadn’t heard the man approaching in the darkness, partly because she immediately recognized the strong, assured voice just feet away from where she sat.

Frank.

‘Hello.’

Hello. Really? Was that the best she could do? She squeezed the hairclip in her pocket.

‘Eh, I’m sure Jerome would serve you inside,’ she said. Then she remembered she was talking to a Garda, and she looked at her watch. ‘Eh, I mean, you know. If you wanted him to.’

‘Relax, Peggy.’ Frank smiled at her and walked slowly over to where she sat. The pallid, second-hand light thrown from old sash windows of the bar gave him an almost ghostly appearance. ‘I’ll leave the after-hours drinking criminality to Garda O’Dowd. I’m sure he hasn’t much else for doing. Ordinarily.’

She laughed nervously. ‘Yeah. Poor Michael has never been so busy, that’s for sure. Although there was the day last June when the Leaving Certificate students built a bonfire out of their school desks down at the bleachers. That had him occupied for a day or two.’

Frank smiled. ‘I’ll bet it did.’ He was standing right next to her now. She had to strain her neck to look up at him.

‘May I?’ He pointed to the seat next to her on the bench.

She was suddenly very aware of her stomach. ‘Of course. Sure. Yes.’

Frank sat down, and the old bench creaked under them both. He leaned back with his legs splayed in front of him. He exuded a confidence she could feel. His hands were clasped in front of him, and he surveyed the darkness before them.

‘It’s a lovely night,’ he said, not taking his eyes off the bushes and trees that separated the front of Casey’s Bar from the wilderness and the lake beyond.

‘Yes.’ Peggy coughed. ‘It is.’ She was very conscious of the denim-clad leg that was so close to her own bare knee. He was actually here. Sitting next to her. He had come.

‘Still busy inside?’ Frank glanced back at the bar, and then out in front of him again, as if he really didn’t care about anything that might be going on inside.

‘Yeah. Saturday night, you know. I had to get out for a breath of air.’ She crossed her legs and then uncrossed them again. ‘Saturdays are always busy.’

‘I remember that,’ he said. ‘I grew up in a pub too, you know.’

Just then, the door opened, and Jerome’s head appeared.

‘Are you coming back in or … ’ He stopped abruptly.

‘Jerome,’ Frank said without standing.

‘Detective. You’re still here? Not gone back up to Dublin?’ Jerome came a little further outside and stood sulkily by the door, his arms crossed.

‘No,’ Frank said, unmoving. ‘Still here.’

Jerome looked at Peggy. She wondered if he could see the pleading in her eyes.

‘Right,’ he said after a moment. ‘Well, when you’ve rested yourself Peggy, you might come inside and help me get these guys moving. Some of the visitors look like they’re in for the night.’

But then Peggy saw him hesitate, just for a moment. His eyes flickered from her to Frank and back again.

‘You know what? Never mind. I’ll manage. Frank.’ He nodded quickly at the detective and disappeared back inside the bar without another word.

Peggy smiled to herself. ‘No harm in letting him cope now and again,’ she said, half to herself, half to Frank. He smiled at her. She shivered.

‘So you grew up in a bar you said?’

‘Yeah. Are you cold?’

‘No.’

She shivered again. Frank looked like he didn’t believe her, but he said no more about it.

‘My father has a pub in Salthill. He owned it with his brother, but his brother’s dead now.’

‘Oh.’ Peggy suddenly saw Frank in a different light, although she wasn’t sure why. ‘And you never thought of staying on there? To run it?’

‘No.’ Frank’s response was quick and emphatic. Peggy thought she felt him regret his tone, but neither of them said anything. ‘We never lived there. I have a sister,’ he said. ‘No brothers. We lived a little further out west. I worked there summers and at weekends, of course, but then I joined the guards, and that was that. I was never going to take it on. They never expected me to. Anyway,’ he looked at her, ‘my father’s still in good health. Thank God. He doesn’t need me there. He’s well able to manage it himself.’

Peggy nodded. As it should be, she thought.

Frank looked off into the distance again. ‘Maybe one of my cousins might take it on one day,’ he said.

‘Not your sister?’ Peggy said with a smile.

Frank laughed. ‘Oh, no. My sister’s not the type.’

He turned slightly towards her, and Peggy thought she might spontaneously combust. Or at least throw up.

‘She wouldn’t have the temperament for it.’

Peggy knew that she should make some light-hearted comment about his idea of the type of woman who would run a bar, but she didn’t want to spoil the moment. Because Frank’s tone, and the way his eyes softened when he spoke, made her sure he wasn’t being derogatory. Quite the opposite.

They sat in silence for a moment. Peggy imagined him turning suddenly in his seat and putting his arm around her shoulders. She imagined his face right up near hers, his breath on her lips. She imagined him kissing her, his lips strong and firm against hers, his arm pulling her to him, his stubble scratching her cheek. She could almost imagine what it would be like, how he would taste, how she would surrender under his strong embrace.

‘’Night now, Peggy.’ She was startled from her reverie by the three Maher brothers leaving the bar, the two younger ones a little worse for wear. Fergal smiled at Peggy and tipped his head at Frank.

Peggy knew she was blushing. ‘’Night lads. Enjoy your day tomorrow.’

A few more regulars filed out of the bar, nodding their thanks to Peggy. She wished they’d all either stay or go. She didn’t want them disturbing her chance to have Frank to herself. She saw him look at his watch, and clasp his hands together again on his lap.

‘Were you busy all evening? Have you finished for the night?’ She wanted him to stay here with her. To keep talking to her as he had been.

‘Ah yeah. I was waiting on a call back from Washington, actually. They were checking up on the dog tags for me. There’s quite a time difference.’ He looked at Peggy as if she might not understand.

‘Eight hours,’ she said.

He looked surprised. ‘Yes. Eight hours. Well anyway, they’re looking into Mr. Maxwell for me. I was hoping to hear tonight, but looks like it might be the morning now.’

‘So they’re American?’ Peggy asked. ‘The dog tags?’

‘Yeah.’ Frank glanced at her. ‘It would appear so.’

‘Wow.’ Peggy didn’t know why it mattered, but she couldn’t help thinking how strange it was that the girl had on the tags of an American soldier. She had assumed they had belonged to an Irishman.

‘Anyway, I should know more tomorrow.’

‘Right.’ Peggy examined her fingers again. ‘So you’ll be here tomorrow?’

‘I’ll be heading back up to Dublin in the morning.’

‘After Mass?’

Frank laughed a little. ‘Yeah. Maybe. After Mass.’

Peggy wanted to slap her own face. She could sense that he was about to leave, could almost hear the words coming from his lips, I’d better be off, so goodnight now, Peggy, sorry things haven’t, you know, worked out, it’s been nice being here with you, but hey, you know how these things go …

‘So can I tempt you to a nightcap?’

She heard the words as though someone else had spoken them. She had thought them all right, but she had no recollection of actually asking her brain to send them to her mouth. But they were said now. She might as well go with it.

‘I realize it’s too late to sell you a drink.’ She looked at her watch again. ‘But I don’t believe there is any law against offering you one free of charge. As a … ’ she took a shallow breath, ‘as a friend.’

Before Frank had a chance to answer, some more customers exited the bar. Fishermen, visitors to the area unfamiliar to Peggy, who walked past the couple sitting on the bench outside Casey’s without even noticing them. She watched them stumble off into the night, arguing about the direction back to their lodgings. Then she stood and looked down at Frank.

‘Sure if I’m not imposing,’ he said, and Peggy released the breath her lungs had been holding for what felt like several minutes.

‘And your brother won’t mind?’