Daedio lay back on his pillows and smiled. ‘I cannot even begin to tell you why,’ he said, ‘but you have just made an old man very happy.’ And with that, the glass slowly slipped from his fingers. He closed his eyes and, this time, fell asleep for real.
31
‘Go on, Peggy, you’ve done now. Away home. Keeva is keeping Finn tonight.’
Peggy blushed; she knew the importance of that statement. Rosie blushed too. She had missed her husband in more ways than one. Soon he would be home and he’d have come to a resolution over Mary Kate, because she knew for sure that he wouldn’t be returning to Tarabeg without one. With his mind still at last, she wanted to show him what he’d missed.
Once the door was closed on Peggy, she ran upstairs, pulled out her favourite negligée that she’d bought, amid deep blushes, for her honeymoon many years ago and hadn’t worn since, and ran back downstairs to bathe. When Michael walked in through that door, she would make his homecoming one to remember.
Two hours later, Rosie opened the door of the old range and placed Michael’s dinner inside. A new electric oven had been installed and Rosie loved it, but Michael refused to remove the range and Rosie had to admit it had its uses, such as now, when the heat from the fire kept the old oven just warm enough.
It was late and, despite Mrs Doyle’s message, there was no sign of Michael. Disappointed, she took herself up to the bedroom. She sat at the dressing table in her gossamer negligée, brushing her auburn hair until it shone, listening to snatches of conversation from Paddy’s bar across the road each time the door opened and closed.
She returned the silver-backed brush to the green-frosted-glass dressing-table tray, all of which had once been Sarah’s. ‘Do you not feel a bit odd, lying in a dead woman’s bed?’ Philomena O’Donnell had asked her shortly after she and Michael had married.
Her answer had been, ‘No. I don’t feel Sarah there at all, and besides, I have a job to do, looking after the children and Michael. I don’t worry about ghosts.’
She opened the drawer of the table, took out the box Michael had thrown in it, and placed the emerald heart around her neck. It nestled in the hollow of her throat as her fingers caressed it, the stone absorbing the light. She looked in the drawer and found a lipstick that had belonged to Sarah and which she’d not thrown away. It had retained its deep red colour, despite being a little hard and waxy. Unlike some of the other women in the village, Rosie didn’t have any rouge, so she dabbed the lipstick onto her cheeks and rubbed it in. Sitting back on the stool, she admired the effect. She smiled, pleased with her reflection, and wondered why she’d never worn rouge before. It accentuated the freckles across the bridge of her nose and made them look attractive.
The house was so silent, she could hear herself think. Her house, her home, her Michael. All she had ever wanted. ‘Rosie Malone,’ she whispered, ‘smile, you got the life you dreamed of.’
She decided to apply the lipstick to her lips as well. Although she’d never done it herself, she’d seen Keeva do it often enough. She started on the bottom lip and worked her way along and round, up to the top, tracing her Cupid’s bow. And then her heart stopped dead. Over her shoulder, staring into the mirror next to her, was the haunting reflection of Sarah, as beautiful as the day she died.
Rosie’s hand began to shake, smearing the lipstick around the side of her mouth. She dropped it on the dressing table. Her eyes filled with tears and the image blurred. She blinked and as quick as she had arrived, Sarah was gone. But the feeling of dread she’d brought with her remained. Rosie hurriedly unfastened the clasp and pressed the emerald heart back into the box and into the drawer, just as she heard Michael shouting, ‘Rosie! Rosie!’ as he ran up the stairs.
‘I’m home.’
He exploded into the room, removed his jacket, threw it onto the chair and then leapt onto the bed and lay prone with his shoes on and his arms folded across his chest. ‘Get you,’ he said as he caught her reflection in the mirror. ‘Are you wearing lipstick? It doesn’t suit you, makes you look pale, as if you’ve seen a ghost.’
Rosie crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Well?’ she said. In the back of her mind a thought niggled that he hadn’t even noticed the negligée and her naked body beneath. She had wanted to feel womanly, appear desirable. She suddenly felt ridiculous.
‘I found her,’ he said, in a much more subdued tone of voice, ‘and she isn’t coming home, not yet. She’s looking after a family in a very swanky doctor’s house. Rosie, I will give her until Christmas, I would say, before she’s back here, begging Declan to take her to the dance. Is there any food?’ He looked up at her pleadingly.
She couldn’t help it. Even though her pulse was only just returning to normal after she’d caught sight of Sarah, she smiled back at him. ‘Shall I bring it to you up here?’
As she lifted her dressing gown from the back of the door and made her way downstairs, Michael rose from the bed and, crossing to the window, looked over to Paddy’s bar to see Father Jerry slipping through the door. His mind wandered to Cat and the night they had spent together. He had been cleansed of his sin, but the guilt lay heavy on his heart.
Father Jerry had been leaving the churchyard after the Angelus when Michael had driven into Tarabeg. ‘Michael, are you coming across to Paddy’s to tell me all the news?’ he asked as he clicked the church gate closed after him. ‘Have you Mary Kate with you?’
‘No, Father, I have not.’
Father Jerry looked disappointed, but before he could respond, Michael said, ‘Father, will you take my confession?’ He removed his cap and held it against his chest.
Father Jerry searched his eyes and seeing his sin and guilt cowering there, had turned on his heel without another word and walked back up the church path.
Ten minutes later, her dressing gown tied tight across her negligée, Rosie carried in a tray with a bowl of steaming stew and the pint of Guinness that Tig, having seen Michael’s car arrive, had sent over. ‘This will revive you,’ she said as she pushed the door open.
But there was no reply. Michael was under the covers, fast asleep, his clothes in a pile on the floor.
*
Mary Kate’s return to the Marcus house on Sunday evening took some explaining. Mrs O’Keefe was far from happy about it. ‘He’s in bits,’ Mary Kate said. ‘Mrs Marcus has left and taken the children with her, and I have to go back, just to see is he all right. He’ll have been on call all day, and it’s Joan’s night off.’
‘This is not what I promised your father,’ Mrs O’Keefe said as she tipped up a cardboard box of Trill with a huge picture of a canary on the front and filled the budgie feeder with millet.
‘Mrs O’Keefe, I’m not a fool. I will not do anything that would bring shame on my family or you. I just want to see that he is all right.’
‘Go on then. You have one hour, and don’t be later than that, mind. I don’t want to be going out at this time of night looking for you, do you hear me?’
Mary Kate already had her hand on the door. ‘I do and I will be,’ she said. Without another word, she flew down the steps and along the avenue.
When she burst in through the back door, he was waiting for her in the kitchen, as they’d arranged.
‘Oh, you’re here. How are you?’ she asked as she walked up to him.
Joan had cleared up the kitchen after supper. Without the children there, it was spotless.
Nicholas was standing with his back against the sink. Without saying a word, he opened his arms, and Mary Kate ran willingly into them. He didn’t kiss her or even try to; he just held her close and stroked her long hair, which hung down her back.
After a moment he said, ‘I don’t imagine you have long. Let’s sit down.’ He led her over to the chairs and cupped both of her hands in his. ‘I’ve spoken to my in-laws,’ he said and she detected anger in his voice. ‘They’ve told me they’ll fight me in every court in the land if they have to, and that they’ll name you if I try to
divorce my wife. They seem to think that Lavinia is an angel and that I deceived her, and they said things about you that I would never repeat. Mary Kate, for the sake of your reputation and your future happiness, you must return to Ireland, now.’
Mary Kate pulled her hands away and sat up straight. ‘No, I will not. This cannot be right,’ she said. ‘You’ve done nothing wrong. Mrs Marcus has behaved abominably – she’s turned your life upside down, and the boys’ lives too.’
Nicholas reached out and took her hands again. ‘Mary Kate, I have no proof and neither does she, but I imagine a divorce-court judge would believe the word of a wife and mother forced to run from her own home before he’d believe the word of the sort of man she’ll make me out to be. Robin will never confess to having had an affair with my wife.’
He lowered his head and let it rest on her shoulder. ‘There is no other way to protect you. You have to leave and never return. I will have to pick up the pieces here. If she’s really vindictive, she might even try and get me struck off. I cannot have you associated with any of that. With my dying breath, I will protect you and your reputation.’
Mary Kate kissed the top of his head. ‘You do have proof,’ she whispered.
‘I don’t. It will boil down to her word against mine.’
‘Not with this.’ Mary Kate put her hands on his shoulders, gently pushed him away and removed the letter from her pocket.
Nicholas recognised it immediately. ‘She never took it?’ he gasped as he took it from her.
‘No. She turned the place upside down looking for it, but I got there first.’
Realisation softened his features and the first hint of a smile lifted the corners of his mouth. ‘I can use this to see my boys, to fight for them,’ he said, and she could see his thoughts racing. ‘Will you stay? Will you wait?’ He reached out and stroked her cheek. ‘Can I dare to ask you to wait until this is all over?’
At first Mary Kate couldn’t reply. She just nodded, tears pouring down her face as she clasped one hand over his and kissed his palm. ‘You can and I will,’ she said. ‘It’s all a mess, but I know we can find a way, because if there wasn’t a way, we wouldn’t have been put together like this. It must have been meant to happen.’
‘Come here,’ he said. Reaching out, he slid her across onto his knee. Her hands circled his neck and his hands circled her waist. ‘I will do everything in my power to make you my wife. Everything. You’re right: we need to take one day at a time, and each day will bring us a step closer. Are you sure, Mary Kate? It could take a long time. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to run a million miles from me and here.’
‘Am I sure?’ she repeated, mimicking him. Then she bent her head and kissed him, leaving him in no doubt that she would wait for as long as it took.
32
It was just before dawn when Joe and Seamus carried a singing Daedio from the back of the cart into the house. He was still holding his mug in his hand, half filled with porter, and he refused to be parted from it even when they’d settled him into his bed. He sank back gratefully into his soft pillows. ‘You can take the pot when I’ve finished,’ he said to Seamus with a prolonged chuckle. ‘That old bat will only give out to me in the morning if I spill it on the blanket in me sleep.’ He inclined his head towards the bedroom door through which Nola had just weaved her unsteady way, having slept all the way up the hill with her head resting on Seamus’s shoulder.
Daedio had been transported on Joe’s knee, with Joe sitting on the back of the turf cart, his long legs hung over the edge and resting on the wheel mounts to stop his feet from dragging along the ground. Even so, his legs slipped off each time the wheels fell into a rut. Daedio sang to Joe all the way up Tarabeg Hill and Joe committed every second of the magical night to memory.
The house was silhouetted against the brooding harvest moon, its orange light shot through with wisps of dark cloud as it rested above the crest of the hill, waiting to see them safely home before it dipped below the line of trees. The dew was already heavy on the ferns up the side of the boreen and Joe’s trousers were wet through by the time they reached the top.
‘You drank more than was good for you tonight, Daddy. You should be slowing down, a man of your grand age,’ said Seamus as he filled a pot with water for Nola.
The sound of a crash filled the room and Seamus dropped the mug into the sink and ran to the bedroom. When he emerged, he was laughing. ‘Sure, I cannot even remember the last time Nola went to bed fully dressed,’ he said. ‘Not unless I’d dragged her there.’
On this occasion, Joe was not embarrassed. In the relatively short time he’d become accustomed to the ways of the villagers. They lived close to the earth and took every aspect of life in their stride, including the more intimate ones.
Daedio’s shoulders heaved as he fought to contain his laughter. ‘Did ye see Teresa Gallagher? Oh my, I won’t forget the sight of that woman drunk for as long as I live. Once we got two down her, ’twas easy to keep going, and when she grabbed Paddy for a kiss, I thought Josie was going to clobber her.’
Seamus shook his head as he poked the fire and threw on half a dozen peat bricks. ‘There’s a chill in the air tonight,’ he said. ‘It will be the weather turning. What makes me smile tonight, Daedio, is seeing that harvest safely in. Tomorrow, Pete and I will store the last of it into the barns and then I can take the pigs to Castlebar.’
Daedio was still clinging onto the porter mug. ‘I nearly danced, tonight, Seamus,’ he said, grinning up at his son. ‘Me legs had a life of their own. Do you remember Mammy and me and the way we used to dance at harvest? We were the last to stop, always. Mammy used to say that if she could dance every night of her life, she would. Oh, she loved the fiddlers and the music all right.’
Bending down, Seamus placed his hands on either side of his father’s bed. The room flickered as the flames roared up the chimney like chained dogs and Daedio’s eyes shone up at him. ‘Daddy, I’m sure Mammy is dancing every night with the angels, and they’ll be a lot better at it than you.’
He lifted his father’s cap and flopped it back down on his head in an affectionate gesture. ‘Now give me that mug. We don’t want to wake up to a row in the morning, do we. Harvest dance or not, the cows don’t know that and we still have to be up soon. And Joe wants to be away to his bed already. Michael, Rosie and Finn are all tucked up, Paddy has taken the barrels in and everyone is heading safely home. All is well in Tarabeg. ’Tis only you and I, the last two men to be awake still.’
‘I’m still awake,’ said Joe. ‘I’ll sit with him awhile, Seamus. You go off to your bed and Nola. If you can trust an American, I think it’s time I helped out a bit around here, until I can get my own place. I’ll start by helping with the cows.’
Seamus rose, placing one hand in the small of his back and flinching. ‘Well now, isn’t that grand, and I won’t pretend my back won’t benefit.’
‘I wish Mary Kate had been there,’ said Daedio, his expression turning sad.
Seamus’s heart constricted in response. He had missed his granddaughter too. ‘I said the same to Michael and he said she’ll be back long before the next harvest, Daedio. He’s been to see her, he knows what he’s talking about. That was the best we’ve ever had, thanks be to God, and yourself there, Joe,’ he said. ‘You turned the head of every woman in the village.’
‘Feck, you did that alright,’ said Daedio, perking up. ‘I thought Ellen was going to faint when you danced with her, and did you see the frock on Mrs Doyle! She told me she was wearing a brassiere for the first time in her life, she did, and asked me did I want to see it. I said no, why the hell would I? Drunk as Matty Maughan she was. I’ve never seen that woman drink so much, and that’s saying something, it is. I said to her, come here, Mrs Doyle and give me a kiss first. Feck, she’s never kissed a man in her life – she nearly fainted, so she did.’ His shoulders began to shake at the memory.
Seamus blew out the candle in the hurricane lamp by the door a
s he made his way to bed. The kitchen was dark now, save for the firelight and the glow from the lamp that Joe had lit in Michael’s old room.
Joe rose and poured himself a glass of porter from the press, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder at Seamus’s door. ‘Do you want a top-up?’ he whispered to Daedio.
Daedio grinned and held up his mug. ‘’Twas grand to see you and Michael getting along so well at the party,’ he said, ‘but be careful with the poaching – those fellas know how to run. When are they taking you?’
‘Tomorrow night. Michael tells me that if I want to live in Tarabeg, I have to catch a salmon the size of my leg before I’m accepted.’
Exhausted from laughing, Daedio collapsed against his pillows. ‘Aye, that would be the way,’ he said. ‘I was glad to see Michael in such good spirits. He’s happy that Mary Kate will be home soon. She was never one for clearing up her own mess, so she won’t last long cleaning up after other people, and that’s a fact. I’ll give her until Christmas, so I will. Joe, tell me, did I see you kissing Peggy?’
Joe raised his eyebrows. ‘No, sir, you did not. What you saw was Peggy throwing her arms around my neck and heaving herself up until she planted her lips square on my own.’
‘Oh feck, she will live on that until the next harvest,’ said Daedio. ‘She’ll be telling everyone tomorrow she’s getting married. She loves the film stars, you see, and the poor girl, I don’t think she’s ever even seen a film. Did you see if Michael danced with Rosie?’
Joe furrowed his brow as he tried to remember. ‘I saw Tig and Keeva sitting on the hay bales like a pair of lovebirds while they were watching the children dancing.’
Daedio snorted. ‘Those two, they’re indecent. Paddy says that sometimes they’re that desperate in the day, they disappear into the walk-in fridge. Imagine! And after all this time. I have no notion what is wrong with them at all.’
Mary Kate Page 34
