Light a Penny Candle

by Maeve Binchy

  ‘Nicer, really, to be in my own place,’ he said.

  Elizabeth had arranged a little holly for him and put the few cards he had received on the mantelpiece rather than leaving them on the table still in their envelopes.

  It was good to work for a school and a college, Elizabeth told Stefan, they kept nice civilised hours, closing down well ahead of Christmas. Shops were a millstone, since people always wanted to buy at the last moment. She was arranging a table with a selection of items they had not sold. She made a card with beautiful lettering suggesting that people regard them as Christmas presents. Stefan had thought she was wasting her time; Johnny had said that people didn’t come into antique shops to buy gifts at the last minute.

  On Christmas Eve however they were all sold.

  ‘I take my hat off to you,’ Johnny said, generous as usual with praise. ‘I never thought we would do it. Look Stefan, even those salad servers, we’ve had those for months. It was clever of you to think of doing those gift cards with the name of the shop. Not only is it good advertising but people will not feel so much that they’re giving somebody something used or second-hand. With one of these little cards it becomes an antique. You could have been a great businesswoman.’

  ‘I am a great businesswoman,’ Elizabeth said.

  ‘No, no, you’re a wife, and before we know where we are you’ll be a mother.’

  Elizabeth looked at him in amazement. Not even Henry knew yet, she had only had it confirmed yesterday, and she wanted to tell Henry tonight as a Christmas surprise. She was indeed pregnant. She and the doctor had worked out that the baby must have been conceived on her honeymoon and would be born in June.

  Trust Johnny Stone to have guessed.

  There were Christmas drinks at the office. It was all very informal, the senior partner had said, but of course it was nothing of the sort. Everybody examined the wives critically, Elizabeth had known this without having to be told. She knew that she would be under a microscope. She was going to do him credit.

  The hairdresser brushed Elizabeth’s shoulders and together they admired the handiwork. She looked exactly right, she thought: white frilly blouse, cameo brooch, smart grey jacket, and grey and blue check skirt.

  ‘Going somewhere nice?’ asked the hairdresser who would be working until 7.30, she told Elizabeth, then after an hour’s journey home she would start to stuff the turkey for her Mum.

  ‘Yes, my husband’s office are having a little party,’ Elizabeth said.

  ‘I’d love a husband and an office party,’ the girl said.

  ‘That’s funny,’ Elizabeth said, ‘I used to think there was something safe about having a husband and office party too. It sort of lets you know where you are in the world.’

  ‘You have a nice time, Madam, you look very well.’

  She spoke when she was spoken to, she didn’t want to seem pushy, but she answered clearly and directly. She told the senior partner about her art classes and how she also worked in an antique shop. When he said that he had a very old picture which had been in his family for years she expressed polite interest and murmured appreciation.

  She parried Simon’s flowery compliments very skilfully, she talked to other wives in a sunny way. From time to time she saw Henry straightening his tie and glancing at her proudly; he looked less tense and worried as the time passed – she even saw him laughing at one stage. How dreadful to have jobs like Father and Henry did where nervous people become more nervous. And no one could relax.

  The senior partner was speaking to her again: ‘Are your own family in the law, Mrs Mason?’ he asked silkily. Around him people waited for her reply. Would she apologise, would she claim distant cousins who were barristers or solicitors?

  ‘No, far from it, banking is my background. I’ve had to learn a whole new language. I never heard of precedents and injunctions and indentures … you may find this hard to believe, but a great deal of the world hasn’t heard of them either!’

  The senior partner laughed, and then so did everyone else. Some test had been given, and Elizabeth had passed. Soon she whispered to Henry that she thought it might be time to leave. They didn’t want to look like hangers-on.

  Simon asked them whether they would like a Christmassy nightcap, before he set out to Barbara’s house for the festivities. Elizabeth steered them away from it. She wanted to tell Henry the news.

  They sat for hours by the fire and talked about the baby. Henry said that he had to pinch himself to make sure he was awake. This time last year he had been on the train to Liverpool to stay with Jean, now he was a married man, and an expectant father. He put cushions behind Elizabeth, he insisted that she do no work next day, he would do all the cooking. They planned the nursery, the schools … they talked of the holidays they would all have together.

  Names. They could have written a dictionary between them. Richard Mason, Susan Mason, Margaret Mason, Terence Mason. Henry’s father had been called George, too, so that settled it: George Mason if it was a boy.

  ‘Would you like to call it Violet if it’s a girl?’ Henry was solicitous and courteous.

  ‘No, I think not. I think Father would be upset, you know, every time we mentioned her name. No, your mother’s name … you told me, but I’ve forgotten?’

  ‘Eileen,’ he said.

  Father was embarrassed, and delighted at the news. He seemed reluctant to hear about dates and missed periods and doctors’ tests proving positive, but he was quite pleased with the notion of himself as a grandfather.

  He had arrived bearing a bottle of sherry for their Christmas tree. He didn’t even know it was mean, Elizabeth told herself as she unwrapped it and noticed that it was almost as cheap a brand as you could buy. They had bought him presents – nice playing cards in a fancy leather case, and a thick cardigan with leather bits on the elbows. But Father hadn’t chosen anything for them.

  ‘We should look on the sherry as an advance on last year. He never gave me any presents at all,’ Elizabeth whispered when they were in the kitchen.

  ‘Oh he must have. Surely?’

  ‘I can’t remember anything. No, he wasn’t that kind of father.’

  ‘I’m going to be a doting father, I’m going to buy everything in the shops for Little Eileen.’

  ‘Or Little George. And I’ll be a doting mother too. I won’t run away from Little Eileen. …’

  ‘Or Little George.’

  ‘If they’re all going to go off like prize eejits to some house party then let them go, Ma-in-Law,’ Aisling said. ‘There’s no use in being martyred over it. Tell them you hope they’ll have a great time.’

  Mrs Murray agreed that it was better not to appear too dependent. So well did she follow these instructions that Joannie was moved to telephone and wish them a Happy Christmas. Aisling was in the house and answered the phone.

  ‘I feel a bit of a heel, letting you cope with Mummy but, well, there is Tony, and the two of you can share it.’

  ‘Oh heavens no, you mustn’t look at it that way, we’re going to have loads of fun here,’ Aisling said.

  ‘Yes, well, sure. Is Tony there?’

  ‘Tony?’

  ‘Tony.’

  ‘Tony Murray? Your brother?’

  ‘Oh, Aisling, don’t be tiresome, what are you playing at?’

  ‘Nothing, I just wondered why on earth you thought Tony might be here?’

  ‘It is his mother’s house and you’re there, and it’s coming up to Christmas. …’

  ‘Ah no, none of these are reasons. No, no Tony, might be in the hotel. Or I believe he even drinks in Hanrahan’s now, he’s barred from Maher’s, politely, of course, but barred nonetheless.’

  ‘Oh, do stop this nonsense.’

  ‘Nonsense is what it is, but there we are. Some people like to live like that, drinking what’s left of their brains away. I don’t, and you don’t but your brother – and my husband – seems to want it like that.’

  ‘Can I talk to Mummy?’

  �
��Of course you can, and listen, thanks a million for ringing up to say Happy Christmas, and have a great time at the house party. It’s in Scotland, I believe.’

  ‘Yes, anything to get out of this dump.’

  ‘But you got out of this dump, you went to Dublin.’

  ‘I meant Ireland.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right, I’m sure Scotland’s much less dumpish. Hold on till I get your ma … Mother-in-Law, it’s glittering Joannie just off to her house party, giving a little tinkle to wish Mama compliments of the season.’

  Mrs Murray laughed at Aisling’s affected accent. ‘Well, it was nice of her to ring anyway, wasn’t it?’ she said later.

  Aisling said nothing.

  ‘It was,’ Mrs Murray answered her own question.

  Aisling said, ‘I was just thinking of all those years when Joannie and I were inseparable … and I thought you were remote and sort of untouchable … and here we are, neither of us with a word left to say to Joannie but thrown together for Christmas. …’

  ‘Not thrown together. …’

  ‘We’ll be spending Christmas on our own.’

  ‘We won’t be on our own.’

  ‘We will if we’re lucky.’

  There was a do in the hotel on Christmas Eve. Aisling came for an hour.

  ‘Your mother expects us for supper,’ she said to Tony.

  ‘Sure who wants supper on Christmas Eve, won’t we be eating like pigs all day tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, but she still expects us.’

  People were beginning to look at them. Tony’s face got red. ‘Well, you go on up there if it’s making you fidgety. I’ll come up later.’

  ‘How much later? When will you come?’

  ‘When I’m good and ready, in my own good time. She’s my mother, it’s my house. I’ll go to it when and if I please.’

  ‘Well said, spoken like a man,’ said Shay Ferguson.

  ‘Well said, spoken like an arse-licker,’ Aisling said to Shay. People thought they must have mis-heard, Aisling Murray looked so innocent and unmoved, could she possibly have said that? No, it must have been something else.

  Shay was a dull red. ‘Well, I suppose you’ll be off now, Tony, this is the last we’ll see of you this evening. …’

  Aisling smiled at Shay. ‘Heavens, you must be deaf, Shay, didn’t you hear what Tony said? He’s going to leave when he’s good and ready, not before.’

  Shay looked even more put out. He laughed nervously. ‘Right, Tony, old stock, what’ll it be?’

  Tony turned round to say something to Aisling but she was gone.

  She went to the bathroom in the middle of the night: it was four o’clock. Tony had not come back. On her way back to bed she passed Mrs Murray’s door; it was ajar and the landing light was on.

  ‘I’m awake, Aisling,’ the voice said.

  Aisling went in. ‘Go back to sleep Mother-in-Law, being awake doesn’t make any difference. The best thing is trying to sleep … because then you have less time to think of it.’ She took the woman’s thin hand and stroked it.

  Mrs Murray’s eyes were troubled. ‘Of course, they may be back yet, maybe someone gave them a lift and they called into someone else’s house.’

  ‘Yes, that could be it.’ Aisling was soothing.

  ‘But on Christmas Eve … you’d think. …’

  ‘Maybe he went to the bungalow, maybe he forgot we were here; perhaps at this minute he’s fast asleep in the bungalow, and he’ll wake up in the morning feeling a right fool.’

  Mrs Murray looked at her hopefully. ‘Do you think that might be it?’ she asked.

  Aisling gazed at her, a thin, gaunt woman in her sixties: a widow; a son in the priesthood gone from her at Christmas; a daughter, half-crazed, gone looking for adventure on a package tour to a gathering of equally restless, lonely souls; and her pride and joy drunk in her home town, out doing the Lord knows what on the most sacred night of the year. Let her have an hour or two.

  ‘I’d say that’s exactly it, you know that car, it turns like a donkey automatically into its own yard. That’s where he is.’ She was about to leave.

  ‘But when he sees you’re not there … won’t he … can’t he …?’

  ‘He’ll probably get into bed without turning on the light so as not to disturb me.’ She didn’t tell anyone that she slept on the small divan bed, the one that everyone else thought was a sofa. The lurch of Tony into the bed beside her, waking her and smelling of drink and sweat, was more than she could take. He had said nothing the first night she had slept there, when they came back from Elizabeth’s wedding, so she had slept there ever since.

  Aisling remembered from somewhere deep down in her mind something that Elizabeth’s mother had once said. When things are worst, that’s when you should spend a lot of time dressing yourself up. I wonder does it work? she thought as she got up in the Murrays’ cold guest bedroom. She had not slept since she returned to her room. She had read instead. She had hoped it would distract her but it didn’t succeed. It wasn’t the author’s fault, she thought, trying to be fair. No book could take her away from the never-ending whirlpool. Tony needed help; how could he be helped if he wouldn’t listen? How could she get other people to help her to know what to do if they wouldn’t listen? There had been no answer at four a.m. There was none now as she dressed for mass.

  She wore her good dark coat, and she spent time shining up her shoes and her handbag with face cream. Elizabeth’s Mother had thought that if you looked all right to yourself at least you didn’t have that additional worry about looking like a tramp. … It saved you from self-disgust. She arranged her hair carefully, put on plenty of make-up and laid a mantilla on top of her red curls.

  ‘Will we be late?’ Mrs Murray fussed with her gloves: she too had dark circles under her eyes, but unlike Aisling she hadn’t shaded them away with liquid foundation and pressed powder.

  ‘No, plenty of time, and we’ll go by the bungalow in case sonny boy’s there. …’ Aisling spoke cheerfully.

  He was not there, but she prattled so ceaselessly Mrs Murray had no time to speculate on what could possibly have happened, and soon they were at the church.

  ‘Aisling, you’d think you were going to a dress-dance with all the pan stick you have on,’ Maureen hissed as they met in the porch.

  ‘Happy Christmas, sweet sister, to you also,’ said Aisling.

  The sermon was about love; Christmas was the season of love – Father said they must put some love in their lives, not enough to talk about it, not enough to buy gifts, but give kindness and understanding. Let everyone look into his or her heart and see where they could give more love today.

  I suppose I could decide not to kick him to kingdom come when he does get home, Aisling thought. That would be an act of love. But possibly superhuman. She looked at Mrs Murray’s hands clenched in prayer, her eyes closed. Oh God, send him back sober just for today. Please. Not for my sake, I don’t care any more, for his mother’s. Please. God, you were nice to mothers, can’t you give them a better deal? Look at Mam, all that business with Sean running away and being killed and all. And look at poor Mrs Murray, she’s really praying. Now if that’s not praying, God, what is? And I’ll put half a crown in the poor-box. Five shillings. Please God, because it can’t matter to you one way or the other where Tony is, so why can’t you send him home?

  *

  On the way out of the church Donal sided up to Aisling. ‘Listen, Eamonn said that Tony was in some kind of a fight down in Hanrahan’s last night.’

  ‘Well, he’s not home yet, so maybe he’s still in it.’

  ‘Not home, on Christmas Day?’

  ‘I know. Did Eamonn say any more?’

  ‘He said there was a matter of the barman taking away his car keys and Tony wanting them back.’

  ‘He must have been bad if they took away his keys in Hanrahan’s, usually they wouldn’t notice there if you hanged yourself in the back snug.’

  ‘I don’t know any m
ore, I thought I’d tell you myself, you know, rather than your hearing it from someone else.’

  ‘You’re very good, Donal.’

  ‘Will you do something for me, Aisling?’

  ‘Sure, what?’

  ‘Can you lend me a fiver? A five-pound note?’

  ‘Of course I can, more if you want. I’ve twenty pounds in my bag.’

  ‘No, five is plenty.’

  ‘Here you are.’ Only her eyes asked the question.

  ‘You see, there’s this dance tomorrow night, Niamh’s friend Tim is coming up from Cork, and he’s always got loads of cash, and Anna Barry … just in case I ran out. …’

  ‘Sure of course. Take another and buy champagne.’

  ‘No, I have a bit already, it’s just that I seemed to spend all my money on Christmas presents.’

  ‘You did too, you’re too generous.

  Donal shook his head. ‘What’s Christmas without presents?’

  His car was at the bungalow when they drove there.

  ‘Please, Mother, don’t lose your temper or be cross with him.’

  ‘No, of course I. …’

  ‘It’s just that I know how to deal with Tony when he’s been out all night. He needs to feel that we haven’t noticed, honestly.’

  ‘All right, dear,’ said Mrs Murray nervously.

  Shay Ferguson was there too; he had a folded table napkin dipped in a water jug and was making ineffectual dabs at a cut on Tony’s eye.

  ‘Happy Christmas Shay, Happy Christmas Tony,’ said Aisling, holding Mrs Murray who was about to run forward and see the extent of the injury.

  ‘Oh, play-acting again, are you,’ Shay said.

  ‘No, just a seasonal greeting. What happened, Tony?’

  ‘He had a bit of an accident with the car, he stayed up in my place last night.’

  ‘Are you all right, Tony?’ Mrs Murray couldn’t be stopped.

  ‘Oh, stop fussing will you,’ Tony said.

  ‘Tell us about the accident, was it someone’s wall sticking out, or someone’s dangerous parked car?’

  ‘I’m trying to tell you. The young Coghlan boy was out on his new bicycle wobbling and teetering over the road … he nearly ran straight into the car with Tony and myself in it. Lord almighty. …’