by Faith Hogan
‘Takes one to know one,’ Amanda retorted, ‘when it comes to having a big bum.’ Beneath the glassy ray of the street lamp, Amanda did a double take. Was Tess’s face bruised and battered-looking? She could have sworn as the old girl walked past that there were bruises and perhaps stitches too. The thought threw her off balance a little. She’d spotted the plaster on her hand before Christmas and for a moment she wanted to turn back and ask if everything was all right. It was what you did, wasn’t it? Enquired after your neighbours? Well, not when your neighbour was Tess Cuffe and she was as likely to call you all the names under the sun as she was to engage in any kind of civilised conversation. So, instead, when she reached the point where she was opposite her house, Amanda crossed the road, leaving Tess to make her way round the square once more. Truthfully, she was out of breath anyway, if anything Tess had only spurred her on to work a little harder. God, there was a part of her that felt more determined than ever to get fit – well, fitter than Tess Cuffe anyway.
Chapter 11
Forty-eight years earlier…
Tess knew that moment, the moment Douglas kissed her, was the axis on which her life turned. She dreamt of it, not just when she slept, but during classes when she really should have been listening to her lessons. She slept deeply at night and drifted through the weeks in a kind of wafting reverie. They ran into each other most days in college and even if he wasn’t exactly thrilled when she told him she’d agreed to sing at the club again, he offered to chaperone herself and Nancy. She liked that he was a little old-fashioned; not a fuddy-duddy, he certainly wasn’t that. Their kiss confirmed for her that he was everything that she wanted and nothing like the provincial types she’d dreamed of getting away from. Tess had never considered herself a romantic, but suddenly she was swept away on notions of happy ever after with Douglas Buckley, it really was quite wonderful.
True, he had very set ideas, but Tess admired that. He knew what he wanted out of life and so, if he didn’t really like the jazz scene – they’d find more common ground when she was playing in the National Concert Hall one day. He wasn’t keen on Stephen either, but then they were very different people. Stephen had what Tess would call the common touch. His friends were all working class, and Tess had a feeling that it wasn’t so much that Douglas looked down on them, as he didn’t really ‘understand’ them.
He wasn’t exactly upper class himself, but he had standards, he told her. He loved hearing about Ballycove and their father and the schoolhouse. Funny, but when Nancy spoke about it, somehow it all sounded so much grander than Tess remembered. Douglas’s father worked in mills in a small town west of Dublin. His mother cleaned the Bishop’s palace and Tess had a feeling that Douglas saw this as a mixed blessing.
‘It’s not that I’m ashamed of them, but I’ve always thought I can be so much more,’ he told her one lunchtime. They were sitting at a crowded table, the arts students always stuck together, and Tess had made her way across to join them. ‘That’s why I’ve worked so hard to get here. It’s not everyone that gets a Bishop’s scholarship,’ he said proudly and his chest puffed out a little further as he said it. ‘Although,’ he leaned in closer to whisper, ‘I’m not so sure he’d be so keen to send young men from his parish if he knew the kind of ungodly carry-on that I’ve witnessed since I’ve arrived here.’ Douglas shook his head and Tess knew he was talking about an American girl called Rhonda who it was rumoured had slept with four different boys since she’d arrived.
‘Well, even the Bishop will have read let us not cast the first stone,’ Tess said mildly.
‘Tess, honestly, you haven’t got a clue, women like that are just bad news and even the men that they lead astray only end up hating them for it in the end,’ Douglas said quietly.
‘Oh, Douglas, I’m sure it’s all just rumours,’ she said. Her father would be impressed with Douglas’s scholarship, she supposed it meant he had a good brain, but that wasn’t why she was falling for him. She couldn’t put a reason on what attracted her to Douglas, it was something magical, something within her that reacted to him. ‘Nancy’s making shepherd’s pie this evening, if you fancy it,’ she said as she gathered up her books for a history of music class that she had little interest in.
‘About six?’ he asked and looked down at his watch. ‘I’ll bring along my chessboard, shall I?’
‘If you like.’ Tess said, but she half wished he wouldn’t. Chess bored the socks off her, but Nancy enjoyed it, so Tess listened to the radio while they played.
‘The Bishop is a great man for the chess, you know,’ he said contentedly and she smiled, because she realised he was only doing what he thought would make a better life one day for him and maybe her.
Tess could see past the chess, the bishop and even the fact that he hadn’t tried to kiss her again. Tess had a feeling that when things were right it would all happen and Douglas would sweep her off her feet and she would feel so happy then.
In spite of Douglas’s reservations about the Sunset Club, he still insisted on tagging along with herself and Nancy each week. He always grumbled, just a little, but after the first few weeks it felt like they had a standing date. The jazz crowd were not her friends, not really. They might have been, she certainly enjoyed them, but she had college to think of and of course Douglas. While they stayed late in the club, she would happily make her way back to the flat with Douglas and Nancy. She pulsed with the expectation of what would pass between them, if Nancy went into the flat and left them alone in the darkness.
‘Oh, really, Nancy, of course you’ll come along,’ Douglas teased her that evening.
‘No, I don’t think so, you’ll take care of each other without me. I’m really tired, what with college and then shopping and making the dinner, I’m just beat.’ She yawned delicately, just as Nancy did everything in life.
‘Maybe you don’t have to go tonight, Tess?’ Douglas rounded on her and she thought it was rather sweet that he didn’t want to abandon poor Nancy while they went out to have fun.
‘I’m afraid they’re expecting me, I can’t just let them down, you know that, Douglas.’ She had already changed into a dress she’d picked up earlier that week in the market. It was a midnight blue, shimmery, sparkly, clingy cocktail dress and as it rubbed against her skin, it awakened ever cell in her body to the possibilities of Douglas Buckley. She suspected it might be a lot more expensive than the price tag, but she didn’t ask if it had fallen off a lorry and the old girl selling it hadn’t made a thing of it. ‘Nancy doesn’t mind if we head out, we’ll be back early, promise.’ She kissed her sister on her forehead and wrapped her coat about her shoulders. ‘Come on, Douglas,’ she called as she made her way out the door, a fizzing excitement rising inside her because she knew, deep within her, that this would be the night they kissed again.
*
The show had been like every other, apart of course from the fact that Nancy was not there. But Douglas was and Tess sang her heart out for him in every tune. Later, he helped her into her coat and, when she turned to face him, stood just a little closer than was usual, her face skimming past his chest for one enchanting moment.
They talked of all the usual things on the way home. Douglas complained of unfair rent and a miserable landlady, a useless professor and the approach of colder weather. He worried about Tess and Nancy and what would happen if the college should increase its fees, as rumour had it was a possibility. But then they stood at the entrance to the flat and suddenly it seemed as though they had run dry of things to say and the silence stretched tight as a demand between them. And then it happened. Tess wasn’t sure which of them leaned in first, but soon, his lips were on hers and they were kissing, long, warm wet kisses that ran into each other so she thought she couldn’t breathe. Her heart pounded in her chest and a delicious feeling swam somewhere deep inside of her and she knew that it was longing, sweet and wonderful and arduous. Between the kisses and the fumbling, he murmured so much in her ears that at this stage, she knew
he felt the same. He was only holding himself back, really, she could feel it when she leant against him.
‘God, Tess, it’s not right what you’ve done to me.’ His whispers played in her head for days afterwards. ‘I always thought I’d be… you know, hold it for my wedding night, but this…’ he had been shaking, trying to hold back the tension between them.
‘Come on, Douglas,’ she knew the risks, but she was playing with him, perhaps she was playing with fire if it was anyone else, but this was Douglas. She was in love with him and she could tell, even if they hadn’t said the words, he was in love with her too.
‘What kind of man would I be if I…’ he shuddered, pulling himself away from her. ‘No, Tess, it wouldn’t be right. Our kind of people, we just don’t. It’s not right, carnal knowledge, before your wedding night, it’s just so…’ and still, she could hear his breath, forced, and it aroused her so much more than he even realised.
‘Carnal?’ she finished his sentence and laughed then. It was a game, really, to her. ‘Okay, I’ll go in to the flat and get my beauty sleep if that’s what you want,’ she said, kissing him lightly on his lips as she straightened out her dress around her. ‘The next thing you’ll be telling me is that nice girls don’t kiss,’ she was joking.
‘Well…’ he said and he stole another kiss before standing over her. ‘Well, maybe nice girls do kiss, but good girls don’t,’ he said laughing and he made his way off out of the square.
*
It was Nancy’s evening for doing the laundry, but when Tess looked at her sister, she sensed a lethargy that found no cure in rest. With each day that passed, Nancy seemed to shuffle further into a paler, smaller version of herself. Tess assumed her weariness had its roots in melancholy – she missed Ballycove and the familiarity of home.
Tess put her arms around her, ‘Let me cook and take care of us tonight, while you rest.’ She set about preparing eggs and warming up the slightly stale bread. While she cooked, Tess hummed the tune to one of the jazzy numbers she had agreed with Stephen.
‘You’re happy,’ Nancy smiled as she laid the table for them both.
‘I am. I’ve agreed that I’ll start a second night in the club this week for the rest of the year, they’re adding my name to the billing.’
‘Oh, Tess, no. Not in that dive, I thought you’d be leaving it all behind you after Christmas. What happened to playing at wedding ceremonies?’ Nancy dropped further into the seat, ‘Tell me you’re not going to let yourself get tangled into that scene, it’s so…’
‘So? It’s money, just a job, and I think it’s great.’
‘But, Tess, you’re so much better than that. We have enough money in what Father sends, you don’t need the money, not really. What would Father think? And Mamma? It’s not why they sent you here, they have dreams for you and those dreams never involved shaking your hips while old men leered at you. You could be…’
‘What?’ Tess turned towards her, it was better to have it out now, she knew that, otherwise, it would fester between them. ‘What could I be?’
‘Well, what about your dreams to sing in the National Choir or maybe even some day sing in the Royal Opera House?’
‘Those dreams are still safe.’ Tess dropped down opposite Nancy now, held her eyes with a little more coolness than she could ever remember between them. Before they came here, before she enrolled in Trinity College, Tess had conviction. She had been the best singer they knew. Back in Ballycove, no one could touch her voice. Here, she was in a sea of talented people. Instead of being the big fish, she’d turned into a small mackerel swimming among the shoal. The truth was, the Sunset Club had been her first chance to shine since she came here and Tess needed that just as Nancy needed air. ‘And anyway, it was good enough for Ella Fitzgerald.’
‘Ella Fitzgerald was black and she was so much more than just a…’ Nancy said quietly. ‘It’s just so sleazy – can’t you see that?’
‘Honestly? Nancy, I see the chance to make about ten pounds a week and that will pay for clothes and hairdressing for both of us.’ It was true, her sensible country girl clothes and long, home-styled hair was just another marker to separate Tess from the place she wanted to be. ‘Just because I’m singing there, doesn’t mean I’m going to be losing the run of myself or doing anything to put my course into jeopardy. This is just fun, if you let yourself enjoy it, it could be fun for both of us.’
‘I’m not sure what’s right anymore,’ Nancy didn’t sound convinced, but it had always been this way. They say there’s usually a dominant sibling – they’re not always the oldest, or cleverest, or the most beautiful, but they are the one born with the guts and Tess had always known she was that sister.
‘Anyway, haven’t I got Douglas to keep an eye on me?’ Funny, but Tess knew instinctively that Douglas Buckley would look after her – she was still pinching herself that he had chosen her. She didn’t have to say it to Nancy, her sister had to already know.
‘Yes, of course. He’s a good man, Tess,’ Nancy said absently, ‘I think I’ll just go and have a little lie-down, I’m not hungry now.’ Nancy left Tess standing with a half-cooked omelette that it turned out neither of them much felt like eating.
Chapter 12
January 5 – Monday
The whining sound woke Tess before five o’clock in the morning. In the beginning, she thought it was the radio, normally the thick walls blunted any sounds from thwarting her sleep. Perhaps it was one of those disc jockeys who belt out questions and then wait for listeners to ring up to do their jobs for them. Tess hated them almost as much as she hated weather forecasters with their inane cheerfulness regardless of whether they were bringing news of sun, showers or snow. When she caught sight of the clock, she knew it wasn’t the radio. Her room was at the front of the flat, normally the only thing to wake her was the postman, singing loudly out of tune to his Spotify subscription. In himself, he was a torture, but his racket was different to this. This noise grated on her nerves in its insistence.
The din outside now was so loud, she wondered if something was trapped in the outer porch. She’d never been keen on that porch. It served no real purpose, just more windows to be washed, at best a place to leave her umbrella. These days she didn’t even bother locking it. To her sleepy ears, it could be anything. There was no choice really. She had to go and investigate.
She cursed as she pulled on her thinning beige dressing gown. She padded over the plaited parquet softly, as though there was a danger of waking someone else at this ungodly hour. If it was a damn dog she’d march him to the pound herself. She solved the mystery as soon as she opened the door. The cat volleyed through her ankles and slipped around her sitting room door. Well, she thought, on this occasion, he’s not going to do any damage and if it keeps him quiet, where’s the harm in letting him sleep easy for a few hours. Outside, the morning looked like night. Still, it had that frosty dewy feel to it, where everything seems crisp, new and full of promise in the quiet before the day ahead. The stillness caught her up with an arresting optimism.
‘Oh, look at you,’ she stroked the soft coat and the cat looked up at her with the most soulful eyes she’d ever seen on an animal. In the kitchen, beneath the sink there was a large box, filled with recycling. She wasn’t sure that he’d fit in it, but it was the best she could do for now. ‘God, you’re a bruiser,’ and the cat gazed at her as though Tess was the best thing he’d seen in yonks. Tess felt her heart soften and lifted him as gently as she could into it. ‘Mind you, I suppose, when it comes to heavyweights, I’m hardly one to talk.’
The flat at least felt warm as she moved through the kitchen. The stale smell of last night’s dinner wafted from the top of her bin; a muggy colostomy of leftovers, dank mothballs and neglect, all permanently seeping within the fabric of everything she knew. There was an oppressive, if reassuring, feel to knowing that all was as she left it when she went to bed, even if it was shabby and meagre.
From the fridge, she took a half pint o
f milk, emptied it into a bowl before taking the cold from it in the microwave. ‘Well, Robyn’s certainly going to be missing you this morning.’ When she looked at him now, it was hard to believe he’d caused so much trouble over the last few weeks. He’d caused all the bother with Tess’s arm and then tripped her up so she ended up looking as though she’d done a few rounds in the ring. Only here, curled up in a pathetic ball Tess couldn’t find it in her heart not to feel sorry for the poor thing. It was too late to be angry with the hapless little pudding. Nothing could convince her that those awful people hadn’t just abandoned him, left him to his own devices while they swanned around the golf clubs and theme parks in the Florida winter sun. He was an inside cat, too expensive to be left roaming about – too cossetted to have the skills necessary for life on his wits. Just now, in that little porch, she’d seen him in his most pitiable moment and there was no going back to their old relationship of distinct dislike. Tess knew herself well enough to know, it was time to let bygones be bygones.
‘Who would call a fine cat like you Margaret? No wonder you’ve taken to throwing yourself in the way of grumpy old women, eh?’ There was no denying that Margaret was not a lady – she had enough appendage for any Tom to be proud of. Tess much preferred male cats anyway, less needy, she’d always thought. She stroked his soft silky fur and, somehow, it seemed having him here made everything feel more opulent in some peculiar way. ‘I think you’re more of a Matt? How’s that, Matt?’ She scratched him under his chin and he purred agreement. It was decided, for as long as he stayed, he would be Matt and, with that, their past encounters were wiped clean as far as Tess was concerned.
*
Once he settled in, Matt was thoroughly reluctant to leave. Tess tried to encourage him out the front door when they’d had breakfast, just to stretch his legs, but his response was a decided no. She thought about popping him into her shopping trolley, for a little amble about the square later, but decided against it then. The last thing she wanted was to give him motion sickness. By late morning, she knew if one of them didn’t get out the door, they’d be climbing the walls once it got dark, so she popped on her coat and decided to go for her daily toddle about the square while the weather held. The last few days, she’d been trying to time it so she didn’t bump into that awful Amanda who seemed to have come up with the same bright idea as herself. Of course, being Amanda, she had to walk around the square backwards – well, clockwise perhaps, but it felt as though she was walking in the wrong direction. Truly, who turns left first?
