by Colm Toibin
“My parents are going to move out to the country soon. My mother’s people came from Glenbrien and her aunt left her a place out there and they’re doing work on it at the moment.”
Eilis did not say that her mother had already told her this. She did not want Jim to know that they were discussing his living arrangements.
“So I’ll be on my own in the house over the pub.”
She was going to ask him in jest if he could cook but realized that it might sound like a leading question.
“You must come for your tea some evening,” he said. “My parents would love to meet you.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“We’ll arrange it after the wedding.”
It was decided that Jim would drive Eilis and her mother and Annette O’Brien and her younger sister Carmel to the wedding reception in Wexford after the ceremony in Enniscorthy Cathedral. That morning they were awake early in Friary Street, her mother coming into her bedroom with a cup of tea, telling her that it was a cloudy day and she was hoping now that the rain would keep off. The night before, both of them had left their clothes out carefully for the morning. Eilis’s costume, which she had bought in Arnotts in Dublin, had had to be altered, as the skirt and the sleeves were too long. It was bright red and with it she was wearing a white cotton blouse with accessories she had brought from America—stockings with a tinge of red, red shoes, a red hat and a white handbag. Her mother was going to wear a grey tweed suit that she had bought in Switzers. She was sad that she had to wear plain flat shoes, as her feet hurt her now and swelled up if there was any heat or if she had to walk too far. She was going to wear a grey silk blouse that had belonged to Rose not only, she said, because she liked it but because Rose had loved it and it would be nice at Nancy’s wedding to wear something that Rose had loved.
It had been arranged that if it were raining Jim would collect them and drive them to the cathedral but if it were fine he would meet them there. Eilis had written several letters to Tony and had opened one that had told her about a trip to Long Island with Maurice and Laurence to look at the site they had bought and to divide it into five plots. There were strong rumours now, he said, that services like water and electricity would soon be coming very cheaply in their direction. Eilis folded this letter and put it in the drawer with Tony’s other letters and the photographs from the day at the strand in Cush, which Nancy had given her. She stood now looking at the picture of herself and Jim, how happy they seemed: he with his arms around her neck, grinning at the camera, and she leaning her head back, smiling as though she had not a care in the world. She did not know what she was going to do with these photographs.
As her mother watched the weather, Eilis knew she was hoping for rain, that it would please her more than anything for Jim Farrell to come in his car to collect her and Eilis and take them the short distance to the cathedral. It was one of those days when the neighbours, because of the wedding, would feel free to come openly to their doors to inspect Eilis and her mother in all their style and wish them a nice day out. And there would be neighbours, Eilis thought, who already were aware that she had been seeing Jim Farrell and would view him in the same way as her mother did, as a great catch, a young man in the town with his own business. Being collected by Jim Farrell, she thought, would be for her mother the highlight of everything that had happened since Eilis came home.
When the first drops of rain hit against the glass of the window, a look of undisguised satisfaction appeared on her mother’s face. “We won’t risk it,” she said. “I’d be afraid we’d get as far as the Market Square and then it would spill. I’d worry about the red running into that white blouse of yours.”
Her mother then spent the next half-hour at the front window watching in case the rain eased off or in case Jim Farrell came early. Eilis stayed in the kitchen but she made sure she had everything ready were Jim to come. Her mother came to the kitchen at one point to say that they would usher him into the parlour, but Eilis insisted that they should both be ready to leave once Jim came in his car. Eventually, she went to the window with her mother to look out.
When Jim came, he opened the driver’s door and emerged briskly with an umbrella. Both Eilis and her mother moved fussily into the hall. Her mother answered the door.
“Don’t worry about the time,” Jim said. “I’ll drop the two of you straight in front of the cathedral and then I’ll park. I think we have plenty of time.”
“I was going to offer you a cup of tea,” her mother said.
“No time for that, though,” Jim said, and smiled. He was wearing a light suit, a blue shirt with a striped blue tie and tancoloured shoes.
“You know I think this is just a shower,” her mother said as she made her way out to the car. Eilis saw that Mags Lawton next door had appeared and was waving. She stood at the door waiting for Jim to come back with the umbrella but did not return Mags’s wave or encourage her to make any comment. Just as she closed the door and went towards the car, Eilis saw two other doors opening and knew that, much to her mother’s delight, news would spread that Eilis and her mother in all their style had been collected by Jim Farrell.
“Jim is a perfect gentleman,” her mother said as they walked into the cathedral. Her mother, Eilis noticed, moved slowly, with an air of pride and dignity, not looking to her left or her right, fully aware that she was being watched and fully enjoying the spectacle that she and Eilis, soon to be joined by Jim Farrell, were making in the church.
This was nothing, however, to the spectacle of Nancy in a white veil and a long white dress walking slowly up the aisle with her father while George waited for her at the altar. As the mass began and the church had settled down, Eilis, with Jim beside her, found herself entertaining a thought that had come to her in the early mornings when she lay awake in her bed. She asked herself what she would do if Jim proposed marriage to her. The idea, most of the time, was absurd; they did not know one another well enough and so it was unlikely. Also, she thought that she should do everything possible not to encourage him to ask, since she would not be able to say anything in reply except refuse him.
She could not stop herself from wondering, however, what would happen if she were to write to Tony to say that their marriage was a mistake. How easy would it be to divorce someone? Could she possibly tell Jim what she had done such a short while earlier in Brooklyn? The only divorced people anyone in the town knew were Elizabeth Taylor and perhaps some other film stars. It might be possible to explain to Jim how she had come to be married, but he was someone who had never lived outside the town. His innocence and his politeness, both of which made him nice to be with, would actually be, she thought, limitations, especially if something as unheard of and out of the question, as far from his experience as divorce, were raised. The best thing to do, she thought, was to put the whole thing out of her mind, but it was hard now, as the ceremony went on, not to dream about herself being there at the altar and her brothers home for the wedding and her mother knowing that Eilis would be living in a nice house just a few streets from her.
When she came back from receiving communion, Eilis tried to pray and found herself actually answering the question that she was about to ask in her prayers. The answer was that there was no answer, that nothing she could do would be right. She pictured Tony and Jim opposite each other, or meeting each other, each of them smiling, warm, friendly, easygoing, Jim less eager than Tony, less funny, less curious, but more self-contained and more sure of his own place in the world. And she thought of her mother now beside her in the church, the devastation and shock of Rose’s death having been softened somewhat by Eilis’s return. And she saw all three of them—Tony, Jim, her mother—as figures whom she could only damage, as innocent people surrounded by light and clarity, and circling around them was herself, dark, uncertain.
She would have done anything then, as Nancy and George walked down the aisle together, to join the side of sweetness, certainty and innocence, knowing she could begin her
life without feeling that she had done something foolish and hurtful. No matter what she decided, she thought, there would not be a way to avoid the consequences of what she had done, or what she might do now. It occurred to her, as she walked down the aisle with Jim and her mother and joined the well-wishers outside the church, where the weather had brightened, that she was sure that she did not love Tony now. He seemed part of a dream from which she had woken with considerable force some time before, and in this waking time his presence, once so solid, lacked any substance or form; it was merely a shadow at the edge of every moment of the day and night.
As they posed for photographs outside the cathedral, the sun came out fully and many onlookers came to view the bride and bridegroom getting ready to travel to Wexford in a large hired car decorated with ribbons.
At the wedding breakfast, Eilis spoke to Jim Farrell on one side and on the other a brother of George’s who had come home from England for the wedding. She was watched fondly and carefully by her mother. It struck her as almost funny that every time her mother put a morsel of food into her mouth she looked over to check that Eilis was still there and Jim Farrell firmly to her right and that they seemed to be having an agreeable time. George Sheridan’s mother, she saw, looked like an elderly duchess who had been left with nothing except a large hat, some old jewellery and her immense dignity.
Later, after the speeches, when photographs were being taken of the bride and bridegroom, and then the bride with her family and the bridegroom with his, Eilis’s mother sought her out and whispered to her that she had found a lift to Enniscorthy for herself and the two O’Brien girls. Her mother’s tone was nearly too pleased and conspiratorial. Eilis realized that Jim Farrell would believe that her mother had engineered this and she realized also that there was nothing she could do to let him know that she had not been involved. As she and Jim were watching the car going off, and cheering the newly married couple, they were approached by Nancy’s mother, who was in a state of happiness, aided, Eilis thought, by many glasses of sherry and some wine and champagne.
“So, Jim,” she said, “I’m not the only one who says that the next outing we’ll all have will be your big day. Nancy will have plenty of advice to give you when she comes home, Eilis.”
She began to laugh in a cackling way that Eilis thought was unseemly. Eilis looked around to make sure that no one was paying them any attention. Jim Farrell, she saw, was staring coldly at Mrs. Byrne.
“Little did we think,” Mrs. Byrne went on, “that we’d have Nancy in Sheridan’s, and I hear the Farrells are moving out to Glenbrien, Eilis.”
The expression on Mrs. Byrne’s face was one of sweet insinuation; Eilis wondered if she might make an excuse and simply run towards the ladies’ so that she would not have to listen to her any more. But then, she thought, she would be leaving Jim on his own with her.
“Jim and I promised my mother we’d make sure she knows where the car is,” Eilis said quickly, pulling Jim by the sleeve of his jacket towards her.
“Oh, Jim and I!” exclaimed Mrs. Byrne, who sounded like a woman from the outskirts of the town making her way home on a Saturday night. “Do you hear her? Jim and I! Oh, it won’t be long now and we’ll all have a great day out and your mother’ll be delighted, Eilis. When she came down with the wedding present the other day she told us she’d be delighted and why wouldn’t she be delighted?”
“We have to go, Mrs. Byrne,” Eilis said. “Can you excuse us?”
As they walked away Eilis turned towards Jim and narrowed her eyes and shook her head. “Imagine having her as a mother-inlaw!” she said.
It was, she thought, merely a small act of disloyalty, but it would prevent Jim from thinking that she had anything to do with Mrs. Byrne in her present state.
Jim managed a wintry smile. “Can we go?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, “my mother knows exactly where the lift to Enniscorthy is. There is no need for us to stay here any longer.” She tried to sound imperious and in control.
They drove out of the car park of the Talbot Hotel and along the quays and then crossed the bridge. Eilis decided that she would put no further thought into what her mother might have said to Mrs. Byrne or, indeed, what Mrs. Byrne herself had said. And if Jim wanted to, and if it helped to explain his silence and the rigid set of his jaw, then he could do so all he pleased. She was determined not to speak until he did and not to do anything to distract him or cheer him up.
As they turned towards Curracloe, he finally spoke. “My mother asked me to let you know that the golf club is going to inaugurate a prize in memory of Rose. It will be given by the lady captain as a special trophy on Lady Captain’s Day for the best score by a lady newcomer to the club. Rose, she says, was always really nice to people who were new to the town.”
“Yes,” Eilis said, “she was always good with new people, that’s true.”
“Well, they’re having a reception to announce the prize next week and my mother thought that you could come to tea with us and then we’d go out to the golf club for the reception.”
“That would be very nice,” Eilis said. She was about to say that her mother would be pleased when she told her the news but she thought that they had heard enough about her mother for one day.
He parked the car and they walked down towards the strand. Although it was still warm, there was a strong haze, almost a mist, over the sea. They began to walk north towards Ballyconnigar. She felt relaxed with Jim now that they were away from the wedding and happy that he had not mentioned what Mrs. Byrne had said and did not seem to be thinking about it.
Once they had passed Ballyvaloo, they found a place in the dunes where they could sit comfortably. Jim sat down first and then made space for her so that she was resting against him with her back to him. He put his arms around her.
There was no one else on the strand. They looked at the waves crashing gently on the soft sand, remaining for some time without speaking.
“Did you enjoy the wedding?” he asked eventually.
“Yes, I did,” she replied.
“So did I,” he said. “It’s always funny for me seeing everyone’s brothers and sisters because I’m an only child. I think it must have been hard for you losing your sister. Today, watching George with his brothers and Nancy with her sisters made me feel strange.”
“Was it difficult being an only child?”
“It matters more now, I think,” Jim said, “when my parents are getting older and there’s just me. But maybe it mattered in other ways. I was never really good at getting on with people. I could talk to customers in the pub and all that, I knew how to do that. But I mean friends. I was never good at making friends. I always felt that people didn’t like me, or didn’t know what to make of me.”
“But surely you have a lot of friends.”
“Not really,” he said, “and then it was harder when they started having girlfriends. I always found it difficult to talk to girls. Do you remember that night when I met you first?”
“You mean in the Athenaeum.”
“Yes,” he said. “On the way into the hall that night Alison Prendergast, who I was sort of going out with, broke it off with me. I knew it was coming but she actually did it on the way into the dance. And then George, I knew, really fancied Nancy and she was there. So he could be with her. And then he brought you over and I had seen you in the town and I liked you and you were on your own and you were so nice and friendly. I thought—here we go again. If I ask her to dance I’ll be tongue-tied, but I still thought I should. I hated standing there on my own, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask you.”
“You should have,” she said.
“And then when I heard you were gone I thought it was just my luck.”
“I remember you that night,” she said. “I had the impression you didn’t like us, both me and Nancy.”
“And then when I heard you were home,” he said as though he had not been listening, “and I saw you and you looked so fantast
ic and I was so down after the whole episode with Nancy’s sister, I thought that I’d do anything to meet you again.”
He pulled her closer to him and put his hands on her breasts. She could hear him breathing heavily.
“Can we talk about what you are going to do?” he asked.
“Of course,” she replied.
“I mean if you have to go back, then maybe we could get engaged before you go.”
“Maybe we can talk about it soon,” she said.
“I mean, if I lost you this time, well, I don’t know how to put it, but…”
She turned around towards him and they began to kiss and they stayed there until the mist became heavier and the first hints of the night coming down, then they walked back towards the car and drove to Enniscorthy.
A few days later a note came from Jim’s mother formally inviting Eilis to tea the following Thursday and telling her about the reception in the golf club to honour Rose, which they could attend afterwards. Eilis showed the letter to her mother and asked her if she would like to go to the reception as well, but her mother said no, it would be too sad for her, and she was happy for Eilis to go with the Farrells and thus represent the family.
It rained all the following weekend. Jim called on the Saturday and they went to Rosslare and had dinner in the evening in the Strand Hotel. As they were lingering over the dessert, she was tempted to tell him everything, to ask him for his help, even his advice. He was, she thought, good, and he was also wise and clever in certain ways, but he was conservative. He liked his position in the town, and it mattered to him that he ran a respectable pub and came from a respectable family. He had never done anything unusual in his life, and, she thought, he never would. His version of himself and the world did not include the possibility of spending time with a married woman and, even worse, a woman who had not told him or anybody else that she was married.
She looked at his kind face in the soft light of the hotel restaurant and decided that she would tell him nothing now. They drove to Enniscorthy. At home as she looked at the letters from Tony stored in the chest of drawers in her bedroom, some of them still unopened, she realized that there would never be a time to tell him. It could not be said; his response to her deception could not be imagined. She would have to go back.
