Light a Penny Candle

by Maeve Binchy

  I’ll certainly come to your wedding. I hope Tony won’t, I don’t think Mam would be able for it, or Dad to give the time, I think it would fuss Maureen to death, but she might like to be asked to show off to the Dalys. I’d hate Niamh to go, she’s had far too much in life already without being invited to a smart London wedding. Donal would adore to go, he would love it. So please make sure to ask him.

  I’ll post this before I reread it and decide that I am mad —

  love, Aisling

  They found the dream flat. It was on the top floor but that didn’t matter. They were young and strong, they told each other, and if ever the funny little lift did break down, they could manage the climb. It had big rooms with high ceilings, a huge living room and dining room opening into each other. ‘For our elegant dinner parties, Mr Mason,’ Elizabeth had laughed. A huge bedroom with bathroom attached. ‘For endless weekends without getting out of bed, Mrs Mason,’ Henry had said, putting on a music-hall leer. There was a big kitchen, and three other rooms. A study, they agreed, a guest room and a nursery. When the regulation boy was followed by the regulation girl they would think again: either change the study or move to a house with a garden.

  ‘By that time you’ll be the senior partner … we can probably have a weekend cottage as well,’ Elizabeth said teasingly.

  They held hands in the spring afternoon and walked around their new home. Henry had been opening and closing doors happily. ‘I do hope so,’ he replied soberly.

  ‘We are going to be ridiculously happy here, you and I,’ she said.

  After the terrible letter from Aisling Elizabeth had held herself back with an effort. She wanted to telephone, she wanted to write back an outpouring of sympathy. She was even tempted to find an excuse for a visit. But something made her feel that Aisling should have a cooling-off period. So she replied with a mildly sympathetic note about things seeming to be bad, but perhaps they were not quite as bad as they sounded. Elizabeth said she would wait to hear more news before agreeing that life was as black as Aisling seemed to think.

  This appeared to have been the right course. A few weeks later there was a very cheerful letter. Tony had taken the pledge. He had gone to some priest in Waterford who was a marvellous man for getting people off the drink. This priest had been a two-bottle-a-day man himself once and now he was marvellous. He even offered Tony a drink while he was talking to him, and Tony had taken one but refused the second. He had agreed that it was ruining his life. He had come back to Aisling like a lamb. There had been no plans to have the other matter investigated, but now that the drink problem was over perhaps that would sort itself out. Aisling sounded very happy. She said that Tony had been paying far more attention to his work and that there were a lot of things that needed to be done to Murray’s. They were both happy and busy again, and looking forward to coming to London for the Wedding of the Year.

  ‘I brought that girl up very nicely. Look at the fine letter she’s written.’ Eileen showed it to Sean with a pleased smile.

  ‘It’s from Elizabeth, I thought it was from Niamh.’

  ‘Niamh!’ Eileen snorted. ‘That one, it’s very few letters we get from her unless she wants something … no, this is about her wedding.’

  ‘You’re not suggesting we go across the whole way to England for it now are you? Holy God, Eileen you get tired enough coming back up here from the shop, and there’s no way I could find the time, no it’s not possible.’

  ‘Read it you clown,’ she said affectionately. ‘She knows all that, that’s what I mean, didn’t I bring her up nicely, she’s a credit to me.’

  Elizabeth had written that she and Henry were so looking forward to a good representation from the O’Connor clan, but she wasn’t going to insist that the grown-ups came. They’d have to talk to Father all the time for one thing and that would simply not be worth coming over to London for; whatever virtues Father had, small talk was not amongst them. She said she didn’t want to interrupt Niamh from her studies, she knew Eamonn would hate it, but perhaps Donal and Maureen might like to come … she was looking for their views on this.

  ‘Well, that’s very sensible of the girl,’ Sean said. ‘Maybe Maureen would like to go, would Brendan go with her? It might cheer the pair of them up. I don’t know whether Donal would have much interest though. …’

  ‘Donal would give his eyes to go … we’ll see about Maureen. I hope the child has a nice day for herself. I would go, I would really, but I get that tired if I do anything. …’

  ‘Ah, stay where you are Eileen, and don’t worry about the tiredness, it’s been a divil of a summer, everyone’s exhausted with the heat.’

  It had been a divil of a winter too. Eileen had been tired for over a year.

  Maureen thought about the invitation for a long time. Brendan didn’t want to go, but there was nothing to stop her going on her own, he said. No, of course it wouldn’t be too expensive, she must go if she really wanted to. No, they could easily find the money. Yes, he had been putting a bit by – what for? Well for a bit of a holiday for them all next year. Maybe a house in Tramore for two weeks.

  Now a house in Tramore wasn’t really a holiday, it would mean that Maureen would have to cook and clean and clear up for the family plus Brendan’s mother and his aunt. That wasn’t exactly what Maureen thought of as a holiday. A slightly rebellious streak came to the surface.

  ‘Yes. It would have been nice, but if you’re sure you don’t mind me having the money I think I would like to go to London. It’s the rest, you see, as well as the change, no four children to look after for a few days.’

  Brendan did some rapid thinking. ‘Oh you must go, that’s definite. I hadn’t fixed it about a house in Tamore. We could consult of course, maybe if we all went to a guesthouse for a week instead … what would that be like? There’d be no cooking or anything for you in a guesthouse. But if you’re dead set on going to London. …’

  A week in a guesthouse, now that was a proper trade-in. That was worth losing the wedding over. Maureen wrote a long letter to Elizabeth and thanked her warmly. She said that Elizabeth had always been very generous to her, and she still had the beautiful bon-bon dish which she had sent her for her wedding all those years ago. She said that another reason why she was sorry to miss it all was that she would love to have seen what an atheist wedding was like. Now she would never know.

  Elizabeth had booked a restaurant room for the reception. It would have been far nicer to have had the group to lunch at home, but so many things were against it. Clarence Gardens, Father, Father and Harry. Neutral ground was far better.

  Mrs Noble in the restaurant had never met a bride as composed and business-like as Elizabeth. Here was a young woman with whom it was a pleasure to do business, she said several times. She had suggested a charge of thirty shillings a head. Elizabeth had pointed out that through this wedding she would be introducing a lot of possible clients, her husband’s guests would include lawyers and businessmen, and on her own side she would have the artistic world. Mrs Noble might see fit to reduce the price in the hope of making new contacts.

  Mrs Noble thought not, she thought that thirty shillings was a good price.

  Elizabeth pointed out that Mrs Noble might take into account the bottles of sparkling wine which would be ordered on top of the regular rate; on each of these bottles Mrs Noble would make a profit.

  Mrs Noble said that she might just make a small profit on the whole undertaking if she were to charge a guinea a head. At this stage both women smiled and shook hands, and Mrs Noble threw herself whole-heartedly into making the occasion a success.

  Elizabeth confided that she was paying for this herself: there would be thirty guests, and she paid in advance. She did not want a sit-down meal, she wanted people to pass through constantly, offering drinks and the hot sausage rolls, the plates of chicken and ham, the wedding cake and the coffee. Mrs Noble seemed to understand.

  ‘Will it be a bit difficult?’ she asked sympathetically.
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br />   ‘A bit.’

  ‘Second marriage is it? Divorces and exes and so on?’

  ‘No, only one divorce, my Father, my stepfather will be here … but there’s not an easy mix … or maybe everyone thinks that.’

  ‘Everyone thinks it dear, but hardly anybody says it, that’s why you’re streets ahead.’ Mrs Noble was positively motherly. ‘We’ll give you a great day dear, just you see.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to meeting Aisling, I’ve met all the other people you like … Harry, Stefan, Johnny, Anna. Aisling’s a funny name though.’

  ‘It means a dream or a fairy woman in a dream. I forget now, I just think of her as that name. I never heard anyone else have it. I hope you’ll like her. But it really won’t matter if you don’t.’

  ‘What on earth do you mean? Of course I’ll like her. I’m sure I will.’

  ‘No, I wasn’t trying to be hurtful, I mean that before she got married, she said she hoped and hoped I would like Tony and that he would like me. And, well, to be truthful we didn’t all that much.’

  ‘Well that’s not your fault. Tony’s a drunk isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, but Henry can I ask you, however excited and relaxed and friendly we all become, let’s not say anything about that.’

  ‘Darling girl, of course I wouldn’t. …’

  ‘I know, I know. It’s just that I’ve told things to Aisling that she has never told to a soul, and I want her to think that I’ve respected all she said too.’

  ‘But telling me doesn’t count.’

  ‘Not to me it doesn’t. I tell you everything, my love, but it would hurt Aisling if she knew I’d breathed a word. Anyway he’s cured now, he doesn’t touch a drop she says, we’ll have to get Mrs Noble to serve some lemonade.’

  ‘An Irishman who doesn’t drink. There’s a turn-up for the books!’

  ‘Henry that’s exactly the kind of remark I’m afraid you might make!’

  ‘Oh, don’t be an idiot darling, of course I won’t. I tell you I’m looking forward to meeting them.’

  ‘Aisling will know Father, and Stefan and Anna – and Johnny of course. From her last visit.’

  ‘Oh did you know Johnny all that time ago?’

  ‘Yes, I knew Johnny when Aisling was over here last.’

  ‘What are you going to wear to the wedding?’ Maureen asked Aisling.

  ‘Do you know, I’d never given it a thought,’ Aisling said. ‘I’m very glad you reminded me. We might stop in Dublin and get something. And I’d better get Tony respectable.’

  ‘Isn’t Tony always respectable?’ Maureen sounded envious of the ability to buy clothes if they were needed.

  ‘He is not. When he was on the jar he used to look like a pig when he came home sometimes, half his suits are ruined, you know.’

  ‘Aisling, don’t talk like that about your husband.’

  ‘Maureen, you know Tony used to be pissed six nights out of seven, I know it, why pretend it didn’t happen?’

  ‘Oh I don’t know. It sounds very coarse the way you put it.’

  ‘It’s a lot more coarse taking it all for granted that he should come home maggoty drunk. No, he’s fine now, thank God, and please God, while we’re at it, it will last. But I’d be very hypocritical pretending to my own sister that my husband wasn’t in the horrors of drink until a few months ago.’

  Maureen was uneasy. She didn’t like this way that Tony was being discussed. ‘He’s very good to you Aisling, don’t ruin it by being too high and mighty. He lets you go on working in Mam and Dad’s, though what you want to for I’ll never know.’

  ‘I love it, it’s something to do, I earn good money which I put in the post office. Elizabeth taught me about saving. She was always very good, you know. That time I went over to London to see her she told me I was mad not to save. Do you know, all the years she lived with us in the square, she used to be mortified because Mam and Dad gave her pocket money …? They never gave it a thought, but she was embarrassed every week, she told me that. And she was only a kid of ten or eleven or whatever.’

  ‘She’s very nice, I hope she’ll be happy. I do wish I could go to the wedding, I really do. …’

  ‘You know I’d give you the money,’ Aisling said eagerly. ‘Go on, what else am I saving for except things like this? I’ll give you the fare. Please take it.’

  ‘I can’t, it’s not really the money, it’s the fact of going … you don’t know Brendan.’

  ‘He keeps saying you can go.’

  ‘Yes but. …’

  ‘Why not tell him you won the money on a horse …? Then he wouldn’t mind you having it, he won’t be able to say that your sister gave it to you. Let’s look up a race and see what won and say you had five pounds on it.’

  Maureen screamed with laughter. ‘I had five pounds on a horse … oh, Aisling, will you stop! He’d have me taken off to the county home in five minutes!’

  Simon said that it looked as though they had timed their wedding to coincide with a war – things looked very dicey in the Middle East. Elizabeth told him to stop being a scaremonger. Henry began to look anxious when Simon spoke like this.

  ‘Well, it makes sense, Henry, Nasser knows what he’s at, and the French troops aren’t all sitting in Cyprus for the good of their suntans are they?’

  ‘But there’s not going to be a war. I mean, they wouldn’t – or if they did, we wouldn’t – would we?’

  ‘We need the Suez canal, it’s as simple as that. Britain didn’t stand by in 1939 and let people walk over Europe, it’s not going to stand by now. Mark my words, everyone’s ready for it. …’

  ‘Oh I don’t think. …’ Henry looked so distressed that Elizabeth decided it was time to interrupt.

  ‘No I don’t think either, and I read the newspapers just as thoroughly as Simon. Neither of us has confidential chats with Anthony Eden, but nothing is going to happen. People are not ready for it. It’s only ten years since there’s been a war, nobody wants another one. Come off it Simon, just because you want to remain a gloriously free bachelor there’s no need to start rumours of wars once any other bachelor is wise enough to go and get himself married. …’

  ‘Were you always so sharp and witty, even when you were a little girl?’ asked Simon, teasing.

  ‘No,’ said Elizabeth. ‘No I was very mousy actually.’

  ‘Oh, come on, we’d never believe that,’ Simon said.

  ‘I can’t imagine you mousy, a beautiful blonde like you,’ Henry said.

  ‘Really I was so timid and shy. I was for ages, I got a bit less mousy at Kilgarret, I think. But it was only when Mother left home that I stopped being … so … well, so much part of the wallpaper.’

  ‘I suppose we should all be pleased that she did leave home in a way,’ said Simon.

  Henry frowned, that might be going a bit too far. But Elizabeth didn’t seem to think so.

  ‘Yes, it’s odd, I do think that more people benefited by Mother leaving home. Even Father. They wouldn’t have become any happier, only more miserable had she stayed. I never thought that I would hear myself saying that, I cried so much when she left I thought my eyes would fall out of their sockets … my face ached with crying.’

  ‘Oh Elizabeth, my poor Elizabeth,’ Henry said, reaching for her hand. ‘What a terrible thing to do to a child … poor Elizabeth.’

  Simon looked upset too.

  Elizabeth wondered what she had said that sounded so sad. It had all been true.

  Ethel Murray had sent a hundred pounds to the priest in Waterford in order that his good work could be continued. She thanked him warmly and said that her son’s cure had been miraculous. To her great annoyance the priest had sent back the hundred pounds. ‘It’s very kind of you and I know you meant well,’ he had said in his letter, ‘but I would prefer you to give this money to some charity in your own town. I didn’t cure your son, your son isn’t cured any more than I am, he has only agreed to stop drinking if he can. Please realise that if he does go bac
k to drink again it’s not because he is an evil man or uncaring, it is because the lure of it is too strong to resist. I am afraid every day when I wake up that I may be drunk by night time.’

  Mrs Murray was very piqued; she showed the letter to Aisling. ‘He’d have done better to have kept it, I suppose, and just sent you a thank you note. He’s being too honest.’

  ‘But he’s being far too pessimistic. Tony’s marvellous – he’s totally cured now. It’s a miracle. I’m not afraid to say to you Aisling that I thought one time that he was really dependent on the bottle.’

  ‘Well, he was,’ Aisling said, surprised that Mrs Murray seemed to think that it could have been otherwise.

  ‘Oh no dear, he was not. Doesn’t the fact that he hasn’t touched a drop for over six months prove that he couldn’t have been dependent on it?’ She smiled triumphantly.

  Mam had been pleased when Tony gave up drinking; pleased but not surprised.

  ‘I always told you that you were exaggerating your problems, child. Now that he has a nice clean house and a civilised wife to come back to, isn’t he grand?’

  ‘I don’t think it had to do with the nice clean house, Mam, though I am grateful to you for all your help that day.’

  ‘I was doing it for myself, not for you. Do you think I wanted Ethel Murray going around the town saying I’d reared a tinker?’

  ‘He’s not looking forward to the wedding at all, he’s said, oh, a whole lot of times, that it’s nonsensical going to a wedding when you can’t drink. …’

  ‘Well, can’t you go on your own …?’

  ‘I could and in many ways I’d prefer to, but you know that priest said I shouldn’t let Tony slip out of normal life. There wasn’t any help for him in just turning into a hermit.’

  ‘And he’ll enjoy it when he gets there.’ Mam sounded hopeful.

  ‘He doesn’t enjoy anything much, he sits there, you know, and he’s not a reader, Mam, he wouldn’t sit in a room peaceably and read like you and I would do, he doesn’t even read the paper with energy the way Dad does. He sits there looking in front of him.’

  ‘Well, I suppose you talk to him, presumably you don’t sit in silence.’ Eileen sounded a little anxious.