There was probably some logical explanation, she decided. At the moment, sitting on the edge of the bed watching her mother sort through the clothes in the open suitcases, she felt too frazzled and overwhelmed with everything to give it more than a passing thought. Her mother, exclaiming over a rose-colored cashmere sweater, was clearly happy to have her back. The contents of her suitcases were also scoring big.
“I can tell this one was expensive.” Her mother had the sweater by the shoulders. “Deirdre will tell you it’s all the marketing you pay for, but I’d know the cost of this from a mile off.”
Eileen stifled a yawn. Instinctively she glanced at her watch, still set on California time, but couldn’t work her brain around the significance of the time difference. Should she be feeling tired? Wide awake? Her face felt stretched from all the laughing and smiling, her eyes hollow. I’m home, she kept telling herself, but somehow the idea wouldn’t sink in.
“How does it feel to be home?” people had been asking her ever since she arrived. “Great,” she’d reply. “Fantastic.” In truth, she didn’t know how it felt. After all these years, maybe this couldn’t really be called home. But then Los Angeles never felt like home, either. “I’m going home,” she’d told Mr. Schwartz and he’d understood right off that she meant Ireland.
“Will you wear this for Kieran’s party Saturday?” Her mother was holding up a little black cocktail dress.
A little black cocktail dress for a December evening in Clonkill.
Embarrassed, Eileen stretched out across the bed and closed her eyes. Kieran was having a party? She opened them again. “What’s the party for?”
“Well, you, of course. Dierdre says he’s been planning it for weeks.”
“Oh.” She smiled and sat up. Kieran was having a party for her.
“Now I wouldn’t bother you with this,” her mother was saying, “but you were asking about Deirdre and you’ll find it out for yourself soon enough. See she took it hard when you told her she couldn’t come to visit. Mind you, I was disappointed too, but the difference between us, Deirdre and myself that is, is that I understand the demands your life places on you. Anyway, I was thinking, maybe you could help her smarten up a bit for the party. I think it would do an awful lot to mend fences.”
DEIRDRE DROPPED BY the next morning. When Eileen wrapped her arms around her, she could feel her sister’s stiff resistance. After a few formalities, they seemed to run out of things to say to each other. They were sitting around the table and Deirdre casually set a newspaper down over the clutter of breakfast things. Half listening to her mother talking about the bus trip to Dublin she’d planned for the three of them later that week, Eileen realized that the picture on the front page was of Deirdre. She reached for it, aware that Deirdre was watching her.
“It’s nothing,” Deirdre said. “An appointment to the bog preservation committee. Nowhere as grand as the sort of things you do.”
Eileen shook her head. “No, this is interesting. I didn’t even know the bogs needed preservation.”
“They didn’t when you left,” Deirdre said. “Now they’re chipping away at them. They want to build an airport on—”
“Oh right, Kieran mentioned that in the car yesterday.”
“How did he seem to you?” Deirdre asked in a flat voice as though the question held no particular interest.
“He looked good,” Eileen said truthfully, although she felt her face color. “I didn’t know what to expect, but…” She picked up the newspaper again. “So Deirdre, talk to me about this—”
“Ah no, Eilie.” Her mother groaned. “Not bogs at this time of the morning. Bogs are bogs, they don’t change very much in millions of years so after twenty-five years you’ll not see anything different. Now listen, Deirdre, Eileen’s bought some lovely presents for everyone. I’ve opened mine, wait till you see it, I think I’ll wear it for Kieran’s party. Go upstairs and bring Deirdre’s down,” she commanded Eileen.
Eileen, who would have preferred to wait until she and Deirdre had established, reestablished, some sort of sisterly bond, started to protest but her mother had that dogged look on her face that said no one would have a moment’s peace until the present was unwrapped.
“Am I to open it now?” Deirdre asked with no other comment when Eileen handed her the box.
“Sure, go ahead.” The turquoise jewelry was all wrong, she could see that now. Embarrassed already, she watched Deirdre’s stumpy, purple fingers work the wrapping paper.
“Ooh, what is it?” Carmel wondered aloud as Deirdre lifted the square of cotton over the necklace. “Oh, it’s lovely.” She’d grabbed the necklace and was holding it in front of Deirdre’s black knit cardigan. “Oh, look at that will you? See how the color brightens her eyes, Eileen.”
Deirdre waved her mother away and set the necklace back in the box. “Thank you, Eileen,” she said stiffly. “Very nice.” She rose and carried her teacup to the sink. “I should push on, I’ve a lot to do today. Kieran’s got guests booked and though his daughter is meant to help out, between the baby and this notion about leaving for America…” She glanced at Eileen. “I gather Kieran intends to talk to you about—”
“He did,” Eileen said. “Almost before we were out of the airport.”
“Aye, well he’s worried sick about it, the girl’s as headstrong as they come. She can twist the boy she’s married to around her little finger, as she can Kieran.”
She drew on the gray cloth coat that had been draped over the back of her chair. Head down, she appeared to be studying her feet. “Ah…welcome home, Eileen. It’s nice to have you back and…uh, Friday, I’m leading a bog walk for some schoolchildren. If you’re interested, you’d be welcome to join in.”
“Thanks,” Eileen said, touched. “C’mere.” She hugged her sister again and this time Deirdre wasn’t as stiff. “Thank you,” she said again. “I’d like that.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“WHO’S A LOVELY BABY THEN?” Kieran asked his granddaughter. “Who’s the most beautiful baby in the whole world? Yes, it’s you little Stella,” he told her. “And you know why? It’s because you have a very handsome grandda.”
“Will you listen to him?” Tara said to no one in particular as she piped meringue over a tray of lemon tarts. “His old flame blows back into town and he suddenly sees himself in a whole new light.”
“It’s a pity for you darling,” Kieran told the baby, “that you have such a foolish woman for a mother. Are you sure you’d not want to come and live with me? I’ll feed you ice cream every night and chocolate biscuits on Sundays.”
Tara, shaking her head at the folly of besotted grandfathers, went on with her work. He’d requested the tarts for Eileen’s party the following night. Much to Deirdre’s annoyance, he kept coming up with more kinds of food that he wanted to serve, more of this, more of that. Yesterday, Deirdre had thrown up her hands and again threatened to leave town until all the foolishness over Eileen’s visit had blown over.
“I should’ve known better when I told her to come in the first place,” Deirdre had grumbled. “I was thinking it would do my mother good to see the girl again. Little did I know it would create this uproar.”
As for himself, he’d hardly stopped thinking about Eileen since he’d dropped her off at her mother’s. Even now, grabbing a few minutes of cuddle time with the baby, his mind kept turning to Eileen. Now and then though, the baby’s flailing foot would kick at his heart, or he’d find himself caught up again in the pink perfection of her ears, but, he had to say it, Eileen was giving Stella a bit of competition.
“So, Daddy, what was it like seeing her again after all these years?” Tara, ever the incurable romantic, as her mother had been, wanted to know. “Did you kiss her?”
“I did not,” he said. “And I’ll remind you that she has a gentleman friend back in America. According to Mrs. D that is.”
“Did you not ask her yourself?”
The baby had gone to sleep in his arms an
d he shifted her into a more comfortable position, making sure her head was supported as his daughter Tara had instructed. His daughter instructing him. As though he hadn’t once held her just as he was now holding this child.
“Da. Did you not ask her yourself?”
“I did. ‘Not being one to beat around the bush,’ I said to her, ‘is it or is it not true that you have a gentleman friend back in the States and, if it’s not true, there’s a new motel on the Galway Road, American style so you’ll be quite comfortable.”
“Daddy.” Tara, pretending to be scandalized, covered her ears. “Don’t tell me things like that. And in front of the baby, too.”
“No, I didn’t ask her,” he said. “That’s your answer.”
“But you like her?” Her back to the counter now, the piping bag in one hand, she was watching him, amused but clearly intrigued. Her father, who fell asleep over a book before ten each night, behaving…well, not quite himself. “She’s attractive, you said?”
“She’s easy to be with,” he replied. “That and we laughed a lot together, just as we used to. I liked that.”
Tara slowly shook her head. “You’re gone, Da.”
THE DAY OF EILEEN’S PARTY, Kieran stood at the door of the dining room surveying two long sideboards laden with platters of thinly sliced roast beef and an assortment of cheeses. In the kitchen, the refrigerator was full of more food—Irish, he’d insisted although he had nothing against the curries and other foreign dishes the new cook had been trying to introduce, much to Deirdre’s disapproval, into the dinner menus.
Still, Irish food had changed a great deal in the years since Eileen left and it wouldn’t hurt her a bit to know that while she dined in Beverly Hills restaurants, it wasn’t all taties and cabbage back in Ireland.
Ask him why it mattered that Eileen be given a taste of the best of Irish and he’d be hard put to explain, but he’d ordered Limerick ham, prawns from Dublin Bay, Galway oysters…telling himself all the while that it was really just national pride.
Deirdre clearly disapproved.
“You’ve gone a bit overboard, haven’t you?” she’d inquired when she read the bill from the fish market. “Lobster?”
He’d shrugged.
“Maybe it’s not my place to say it Kieran, but if you’re doing this to impress Eileen—”
“You’re right,” he’d cut her off. “It’s not your place.”
Now he glanced at his watch and drew in a breath. The day was slipping away and he still had a lot to do before this evening. Fortunately, there were just five guests staying at the lodge and he’d invited them all to the party.
Out in the back garden, he opened a gate at the far end and walked out into the field where Deirdre’s husband had stacked a towering pile of wood for the bonfire later that night. This, too, had provoked comment from Deirdre.
“For God’s sake, Kieran. You’ve a band set to play in the lounge for dancing. D’you really think anyone will want to traipse out into the cold night to stand around a fire?”
“Maybe not,” Kieran said. He didn’t particularly care. It was one of those softheaded romantic ideas, he supposed, but he’d once kissed Eileen in the light of a bonfire and it seemed fitting that there be one at her welcome home party. Remembering, of course, he thought after he’d trudged back into the lodge, that she had a gentleman friend back in the States.
He mentally checked off the things that still needed to be done and found Tara and Deirdre in the kitchen making barmbrack. He kissed the baby, who was gurgling happily in a portable swing, and rubbed his hands, cold from the outdoors. “Right then,” he said, “I’m off into town.”
Tara gave him a sly grin. “The way I cut your hair isn’t good enough, Daddy?”
He scratched the back of his head. “What’re you saying?”
“Someone called from the new hair salon wanting to know if you could come in at ten instead of half past since they’ve had a cancellation.”
Kieran, down on his haunches, shaking a rattle at Stella, glanced up to see both women watching him. Deirdre with a face that could curdle milk, Tara with a mile-wide grin.
“Ah stop it,” he said. “I needed a change is all.”
“Don’t forget your Armani suit, Kieran,” Deirdre called after him. “Wouldn’t want Eileen to see you looking like an Irish lodge-keeper.”
Wait till they find out about the fireworks show, he thought as he got into the car to drive into town.
“TWENTY-FIVE YEARS,” one of Eileen’s plump aunties was marveling. “Sure it seems like only yesterday that you and Kieran were courting and your mother was over the moon at the thought of him marrying into the family and now he’s a grandfather and look at you. Now will you tell us about Julia Roberts? She has an awful big mouth on her I don’t care what anyone says. I was just saying to your mother—”
“Never mind about that…” Another aunty tugged at Eileen’s arm. “Did you bring photos of your house on the beach, Eileen? The reason I’m asking is we’re thinking of a visit to the States next year and—”
“Twenty-five years,” a man with a bulbous red nose and watering blue eyes, possibly her Uncle Pat, said. “And you’ve not wanted to come back in all that time?”
“Just so you know,” the first aunt whispered in Eileen’s ear, “every time I look over at Kieran he’s looking at you.”
Eileen, juggling a plate of food and a bottle of beer, stood in the smoky, jam-packed main lounge of Kieran’s guest house, a vast room with a timber ceiling, a bright wood fire crackling in the grate and the rugs and furniture pushed back for the dancing later. In every chair and couch people were eating with plates on their laps, while more people stood or leaned against the walls laughing and talking and shooting surreptitious looks or nods at the guest of honor, then smiling if she happened to look their way.
It felt weird and not entirely comfortable being the center of all this attention and Eileen had to stop herself from speculating on the conversations going on around her. “God, but she looks old, doesn’t she?” Or, “If you want my opinion, Kieran did himself a favor by marrying Libby.”
Still she’d worn one of the new outfits, a midnight blue Sex And The City number with a neckline down to there and a skirt that floated sexily around her calves. And there wasn’t much time for brooding with her mother grabbing her by the arm and taking her off to meet this aunty or that cousin. “Here’s your Uncle Pat” or “Say hello to your cousin Margaret,” or, bringing her up before a spike-haired girl with sooty eyes, “And this is Grainne, who you’ll not remember since she wasn’t even a gleam in her parents’ eyes when you went off to America.”
Although she kept trying to catch a glimpse of Kieran, it wasn’t easy. There had to be at least a dozen aunties and untold cousins and second cousins and second cousins once removed and she felt as though she’d been introduced to every one of them. Her glass was carried off periodically and refilled and between hugs and beery kisses and stuffing her mouth with the food people kept giving her and shaking hands moist from clutching pints, she was also trying to put names with faces.
Who was the one who’d just whispered that Kieran was looking at her from across the room? I’d say he’s still sweet on you. Was it Una or Finola? And could that one with the tight gray perm and ample bum, moving like a couple of flour sacks under a pink pleated skirt, really be Aunty Rose who, when Eileen had left for the States, had probably been about the age she herself was now and yet, even then had seemed old.
Ah, there was Kieran across the room, talking to a girl who looked exactly like Libby. His daughter, obviously. Watching the two of them, she had a weird flashback to the day when she’d just caught him kissing Libby. For a moment, she found herself hating this girl with her bouncing black curls. She quickly shook it off.
“Kieran’s done well for himself, hasn’t he?” someone beside her was saying. Nodding, she found herself lost in how her life would’ve been if he’d married her, not Libby, and it was their d
aughter and grandchild everyone was cooing over now. But she had no time to think for long because now she was being told about a brother who’d gone off to America years ago.
“Grand Rapids,” the woman said. “Last name’s Flaherty. You wouldn’t have heard of him, I suppose?”
“Eilie.” Her mother had her by the arm again. “You’re looking a little peaky. Give me your drink and go and put on some lipstick.”
“Leave her, Carmel,” the other woman ordered. “Now Eileen, is it Beverly Hills where you live? The reason I’m asking is…”
“You look peaky, all the same,” her mother said. “Does she look peaky to you, Margaret?”
“That’s a lovely dress, Eileen,” someone said.
“Expensive.” Eileen’s mother fingered the material. “All of Eileen’s clothes are expensive, of course. She can afford the best.”
AROUND ELEVEN, Kieran began steering everybody outside. Clutching bottles and glasses, the noisy throng followed him down the back passageway and into the dark night, torches on either side of the pathway illuminating their way. A couple of the musicians, local lads he’d hired, brought up the rear.
He’d imagined taking Eileen’s hand, leading her down to the field himself, but at the last moment his nerve had given out. He’d no desire to look like a fool at all, much less in front of all her friends and family, so he held back, consigning himself the role of stage manager. Much as he’d have preferred leading man.
“Ah, this is lovely, Kieran.” Mrs. D pushed up beside him to whisper in his ear. “You’ve outdone yourself, you really have.”
The weather was out of his control though. The wind had picked up and was whipping at his jacket. Women were clutching their hair, pulling their coats around them, shivering ostentatiously at the whimsy of him dragging them outside into the cold night air, even though he’d thought to provide a cauldron of hot cider liberally spiced with Jameson which, from the way some of them were walking, they’d already availed themselves of. In front of him now was the towering pile of wood. The musicians, as he’d arranged earlier, had moved to the front of the line and were playing “Galway Bay.”
25 Years Page 20
