by Maeve Binchy
'Oh, they were fine,' he said,getting up to leave the table.
'No, sit down and tell me, Neil, did they have a welcome, any kind of a meal for them?'
'Yes, they had sandwiches.'
'Is that all?'
'The twins were so funny, they kept asking about their real tea. Sara took over, it's under control.'
And that was all she was going to hear. And it seemed it was not the night to tell him about anything else.
Tom was looking for the right way to mention the fashion show to Marcella. A way that would not reveal the sick feeling at the base of his stomach that she was going to be walking around half naked in front of strangers. He knew that this jealousy had nearly destroyed them before; he must keep it under control. She loved only him, he knew this, for heaven's sake. Why couldn't she just keep her clothes on and join him in the business? But he realised so well that this was destructive. It was impossible to fathom why someone as loving and happy in a relationship as she claimed she was still wanted to strut about in swimwear and lingerie. But he must be careful. This kind of suspicion and possessiveness was what had made her walk out before. He was walking on eggshells. To his surprise, she brought the subject up herself.
'You won't believe the colours that Feather Fashions have for the show, lime greens and fuchsias… nobody could want to wear that kind of underwear.'
Tom let his breath out slowly. At least she was telling him that it was lingerie.
'No, give me basic black lacy stuff any day,' he smiled.
'Just so that you realise it's all a bit of fun?' she said.
'Of course.' His heart was heavy. She was preparing him. 'And the swimwear, what colour is that?'
She seemed relieved that he knew about that much, anyway. 'The same, mad, wild colours, almost luminous… He either hasn't a clue what he's doing, or else he's got it just right… There's a very fine line between the two.'
He stared at her. She really was obsessed by the whole fashion business. It didn't have anything at all to do with stripping off in public. He would be mad to let that thought settle in his mind.
'Darling, you'll never believe who was just on the phone!' Kenneth Mitchell said to his wife as he came back from the phone in the hall.
'Who was it, dear?'
'Old Barty coughed up out of nowhere.'
'Barty… Our best man!' she cried, pleased.
'Yes, I told him he could stay. He's got a vintage car, or a veteran one, whichever… He's going to take it to some show.'
'What did he cough up?' Simon asked.
'Sorry?' His father looked at him vaguely.
'Was it blood?' Maud asked fearfully.
'Or a pint of stout.Muttie coughed up a pint of stout once, his wife Lizzie was very annoyed.'
Their parents looked at them, confused.
'Anyway, old Barty says he'll take us all for a spin in the car, Saturday. You kids too.' He looked at them, proud of the treat.
'But on Saturday we go to St Jarlath's Crescent,' Maud said.
'To see Hooves and Muttie and Muttie's wife Lizzie.'
'No, darling, you can go another day. Those people won't mind,' their mother said.
'No, we can't go another day, honestly they'll be getting ready. They're making a proper tea and everything, we asked for sausages.' Maud was almost tearful.
'Well telephone them and say it's off, that's a good girl.' Her father was brisk.
'Why do I have to do it?' Maud was now mutinous.
'Because I don't know them, my sweet child, and you do.'
'Why can't Simon do it?' Maud complained.
'Girls are better at that sort of thing, darling,' her father said.
'They'll be so upset,' Maud said to Simon.
'And I'm upset too,' Simon said.
'I wanted to see Hooves. I have a new trick to teach him.'
'It's not fair,' Maud said.
'It's not,' Simon agreed.
They looked at each other.
'Let's ring Cathy,' they both said at the same time.
Cathy said they were to leave it with her, just say that they had telephoned and found Cathy there and spoken to her as her parents weren't in.
'But that's not exactly true,' Simon said. 'We did ring you at Waterview.'
'Yes, but I could have been in St Jarlath's Crescent. I don't think we should worry about it, do you?' Cathy was brisk.
'A white lie,' Simon suggested.
'Hardly a lie at all,' Cathy assured him.
'Neil, this is not going to happen,' she fumed at him.
'Hey, peace, peace… I'm on your side, of course it's not going to happen.'
'So who rings your uncle and tells him, do you or do I?'
'I'll ring Sara,' he said. 'That's her job, and she'll tell them.'
'But she's not at work now, surely.'
'I have her mobile number,' Neil said, somewhat to Cathy's surprise.
As it happened, when old Barty turned up he didn't have his car at all, so the outing would never have taken place.
'Just as well the children went off to those people,' Kenneth Mitchell said.
'What people?' Barty asked as he sat down at the table and Kay fussed around vaguely, bringing in first a plate of bread, then a dish of butter, then removing the bread to toast it.
'Oh, some people who live up in some terrible place, but they've been very good to the twins
'Are they family?'
'No, or yes, in a way, through marriage. Very complicated…' Kenneth ended the discussion mainly in order to cover the fact that he wasn't entirely sure why his son and daughter had been looked after for months by a couple with the extraordinary names of Muttie and Muttie's wife.
'What did happen to your car, Barty?' Kay asked.
'Well, um… it's all a bit hard to explain… as old Ken here would say, it's all pretty complicated,' said Barty.
Kay went back to the kitchen to sort out what to do next. Barty explained to Ken in a low, urgent voice that he had actually lost the car in a card game, and wondered would his friend Ken help him win it back. Kenneth Mitchell explained in an equally low and urgent voice that things were not as they used to be. Today's world meant a budget, a tight budget worked out by Neil, that thin-faced nephew of his, and policed by people like this boy's wife and a social worker. Had to account for every single thing. His incomings, small as they were, from a couple of directorships and the rental of a property, went straight into some fund or trust, and a living allowance was paid out each month. Degrading to say the least. Old Barty hadn't given up hope. Could they borrow against next month's living allowance? Kenneth proved to be a changed man in this area… Things were too precarious, he said. Sorry, Barty old man, can't do.
'The dancing teacher's coming round tonight,' Lizzie told the twins.
'Oh, good, will we wear our costumes?' Simon wanted to know.
'No, I don't want them getting all messed up, I've made up cheap kilts and cloaks for you so you can get the swish of it all…' Lizzie's face was glowing with pride over it all. 'The teacher says you need a bit of practice; suppose you were to take a tape home with you and practise in your kitchen back there?'
'Yes… yes, we could I suppose,' Simon looked doubtful.
'Or would that not be too easy?'Muttie wondered.
Simon threw him a grateful glance. 'You see, it's Father… He can't understand fellows dancing, he says, and he doesn't understand it being a family wedding. I said it was for our cousins coming from Chicago, and he didn't understand that either.'
Simon looked embarrassed by having to explain all this, but Muttie hastened to reassure him. 'Oh, a man like your father, who'd have travelled and all, he'd not be in the way of knowing the way things have changed, fellows dancing and leaping all over the place there are nowadays,' he said cheerfully.
'But it is a family wedding, isn't it?' Maud was always anxious to have things straight.
In a way… But of course…' Lizzie began. Humble again, and still
not wanting to claim any kinship with the great Mitchells.
It is of course a family wedding. Isn't Cathy the sister of the bride, and she's married to Neil, your first cousin. What on earth could be closer than that?'Muttie asked. This satisfied the twins totally, and they ran off to teach Hooves the new trick before the dancing teacher came.
Muttie and Lizzie looked at each other.
'We should never have taken them in,' Lizzie said.
'We should never have let them leave,'Muttie said.
Neil went into his father's office. The solicitors' firm was a busy one, long established and middle-of-the-road. They didn't send many briefs to Neil Mitchell, fiery defender of causes, but then he didn't need them. There was plenty of work coming in from elsewhere. Neil wasn't coming in about business; this time it was family. He saw Walter through an open door, and paused for a moment. By righIs the boy should be brought in on it, but then he was much more likely to hinder than to help. Walter looked up. 'Neil?' he said without much pleasure.
'Glad to have the kids back at home?' Neil asked.
'What? Oh, yes, they're great,' Walter said unconvincingly.
'No problems with your parents or anything?'
'No, no, they leave me alone, I'm glad to say… and of course I'm not always there.'
'I meant with them and the twins,' Neil said coldly.
'I see. Of course. No, I don't think so. Should there be?'
Neil gritted his teeth. What a self-centred little monster Walter had become. He thought only of his own entertainment, his own good time. Neil remembered suddenly that he had lent the boy his very expensive binoculars recently to go to the races. He had asked for them back twice when he was at the house.
'By the way, Walter, do you have those field glasses I lent you? You told me they were at the office.'
'You came all the way in here to get them back?' Walter's face was a sneer.
'Do you have them, Walter, please?'
'Keep your hair on.' He got up and went to a drawer which he pulled, but it was locked and wouldn't open. 'See, I did my best.' He looked so supercilious and unrepentant that Neil felt his knuckles clenching.
'Lock your drawers in the office as well as your room at home, I see?'
'Can't be too careful, I say,' Walter said cheerfully and picked up the telephone to show the conversation was over.
'Dad, we're going to have to give some thought to Kenneth and the whole set-up there,' Neil said.
'Are we?' Jock Mitchell was disappointed. It was a sunny day, and he had been hoping to slip away from the office in a few momenIs. He had his golf clubs already locked into the boot of the car, and was just waiting until the coast was clear in order to leave.
'Walk down to the car with me, Neil, we'll talk as we go.'
'No, Dad, I want you to write him a letter on your office writing paper.'
'What about?' Jock was testy now. He had carefully organised his clients and his associates into line with his plans; all he needed was to be disturbed by his brother.
Patiently Neil explained that Kenneth Mitchell was in actual danger of losing his children into care. A foster home, or even residential accommodation might be found if he continued to break the terms of the agreement.
'He's not doing that already, surely?'
'Well yes, he is, he's reneging on everything: no homework supervision, forgot pocket money, tried not to let them go back to the Scarlets' on Saturday, Cathy says there's no proper food there at all, they live on crisps, cornflakes and sandwiches.'
'Is Cathy taking too much on, do you think?' Jock asked.
'No, I don't think that at all, and they're trying to take holidays at the time of this wedding when the children are doing a dance, they've been learning the bloody two-hand reel for months.'
'At Lizzie's daughter's wedding?' Jock asked.
'Yes, at my sister-in-law's wedding as it also happens to be, and they're not missing it. Believe me, they are not.'
'Hold your horses, Neil.'
'And that's another thing, that bloody Walter keeps his drawers locked in his office, why's that? He borrowed my binoculars to go and follow the horses six weeks ago and says he can't get them out of his file cupboards.'
'That's nonsense, Neil, everything's on computer these days, you know that. There are no locked drawers here.'
Neil saw his father checking his watch. 'If you dictated the letter now, Dad, and got it signed, then we could all go about our business, whatever that business is.'
Very grudgingly Jock Mitchell took notes and called in a secretary. 'Sorry Linda, my son insists,' he said.
Muttie brought the children back on the bus.
'I don't mind it, honestly. I like the journey, you see, and it makes us independent if we're able to go to and fro on our own without annoying Sara or Cathy or Neil,' he explained to them.
'If you had been a wealthy person would you have had a car, do you think?' Simon asked.
'Indeed I would, I'd have had a big red Beamer.'Muttie smiled at the thought.
'What's that?' Maud wondered.
'It's a BMW. But no, to be honest, I'd probably have had a station wagon, a great big thing half the length of the footpath outside,'Muttie said.
'But there's only the two of you,' Simon objected.
'Ah, but just stop and think of all the people in St Jarlath's Crescent who'd like a lift somewhere,'Muttie said. 'You are very kind,Muttie,' Maud said. 'You really deserve an accumulator,' Simon agreed.
Walter came home on Saturday evening and found that old Barty was still in residence. The introductions were vague. There seemed to be a bottle of good whiskey on the table which was causing his mother some distress.
'Father, don't you think… I mean, weren't we meant to…'
'Nonsense, Kay knows well that she's not drinking and I'm not wandering off, we're here to give you a home.'
His father sounded quite reached already.
'The children will be home soon. They might have their private army with them,' Walter warned.
'That's a good point, let's put this bottle on hold for a while.' Kenneth tucked it away out of sight. 'And Walter, since we have you, if you're going to be out and about I wonder could old Barty have your room? He's in the small room on the stairs, it's rather like a boxroom,' Kenneth began.
'Oh, no, heavens no, I'm just fine where I am,' Barty began to bluster.
'Sorry, Dad. I'll be here for a few days but then I was hoping to go off to England to the races, I'll have my room right for you by then.' He smiled his warm Walter smile. Barty said nonsense, he'd be well gone by then. Kenneth said nonsense, where could Barty go, he'd even lost his beloved car in a card game. Barty said that would all be sorted out soon, he had plenty of chances to win it back. And Walter pulled up a chair at the table with them to discuss how and when… It seemed a subject very dear to his heart.
This time the twins persuaded Muttie to come in and say hallo, very much against his will. But he needn't have worried about being out of place. Kay Mitchell was already in bed, and the three men at the table looked up, mildly and politely interested.
'You've had supper at… um,' Kenneth said.
And as Maud and Simon began to tell about all the extra things they had with their sausages, the flat mushrooms and the filled baked potatoes, Kenneth Mitchell's interest flagged.
'You're so kind to look after them so well,' he said to Muttie, and shook his hand firmly.Muttie opened his hand. A pound coin was there, less than his bus fare home.Muttie's face flushed a dark red, and the colour went right around his neck.
'Thank you very much indeed sir,' he said with great difficulty.
Simon and Maud looked on, stricken. 'See you next Saturday Muttie,' Maud said. 'Thank you for a lovely time.'
'And for paying for the dancing lessons,Muttie, they can't have been cheap,' Simon added.
Muttie was backing out.
'Do you want to see our rooms,Muttie?' Maud asked.
'Another time
, Maud, thanks all the same.'
'Or look at the garden where we could have a kennel if Hooves came to stay,' Simon begged.
'Honestly, next visit, Simon, thanks. Good luck to you all,' and he was gone.
The twins had thought they might do the reel tonight at home. They had a tape of the music with them. This would be a new audience. But they noticed a bottle of whiskey had come onto the table, and their father and brother and old Barty wanted to discuss something other than dancing. Everyone was waiting for the children to go to bed, on a bright summer evening when they had been hoping to be up for ages more. With brief goodnights the twins marched grimly upstairs. Mother's door was closed.
They missed sleeping in the same room as they had in St Jarlath's Crescent. Everything was different now.
Cathy said they couldn't possibly take on a sales conference lunch for thirty on the very same day as Freddie Flynn's party.
'It will be dead easy,' Tom pleaded. 'They're slave-drivers these people, no lingering and enjoying themselves for the employees, no drinking and getting messy like a real lunch. They'll be back working in that hall at two-fifteen and we'll be out in half an hour after that.'
'Stop smiling at me like that, Tom Feather, it doesn't work here,' Cathy said. 'We want to do the Flynn thing right, we're being silly taking on something else that might put it at risk.'
'And do we or do we not want to get this business up and running?' he asked.
'We do, but not by beating ourselves down onto our knees.'
'Aw, come on Cathy, I'll do the lunch with June and you and Con keep things ticking over here. We'll be back to you before three. Yes?'
'We're pushing ourselves,' she said.
