by Maeve Binchy
‘Merciful Lord.’ Eileen was shocked.
‘Oh yes, the Coghlans keep saying, thank the Lord Tony didn’t do himself any serious injury, and wasn’t he marvellous to swerve and avoid Lionel, and Lionel is white-faced, in the bed there trying to say he was only playing with his new bike when this drunk maniac came round the corner at a hundred miles an hour. Well, Lionel’s not saying that because he doesn’t know how, but that’s what he should be saying.’
‘But Tony wasn’t drunk in the morning, yesterday, was he?’
‘He was filled with the night before’s drink, he had no coordination, he was drunk.’
‘Well, thank God that nothing worse happened.’
‘Mam, what am I to do, will it be like this always?’
‘You know he took the pledge before, a lot of people take it after Christmas.’
‘Mam do I have to stay with him? Couldn’t I get … well … an annulment or something?’
‘What?’
‘You know, I told you about the other business, I’d have no trouble proving that to any court.’
‘Are you mad? Are you stark raving mad?’
‘But I can’t spend the rest of my life, Mam, I’m only twenty-six, I can’t. …’
‘Just tell me, what did you promise?’
‘What do you mean, promise?’
‘Up in that church, in front of all of us, what did you promise?’
‘At the wedding, do you mean?’
‘At the sacrament of matrimony, tell me some of the things you said. …’
‘The words of the ceremony. …’
‘Not words, Aisling, a promise, a bargain, a solemn promise … what did you agree to do?’
‘You mean better or worse, sickness or health. …’
‘I mean that, and you meant it too, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, well. But I didn’t know it was different. … It can’t be counted.’
‘Do you know what you are trying to do? Put aside the whole sacrament of matrimony. Oh dear, I didn’t know it wouldn’t all be sweetness and light. Sorry, let me start all over again. Is that what you think people should do? Is it?’
‘Mam, I don’t care what people do. I can’t be expected to stay married to a man who doesn’t want me in any way, who doesn’t care whether I’m here or not. I cannot be expected to stand like an eejit beside him for the next fifty years, which is what you seem to think.’
‘I do think. I certainly think that’s what you should do, and will do.’ Eileen looked at the stricken face, eyes dark-ringed and troubled. ‘Everything seems worse than it is this time of the year, there’s too much fluster and too many expectations. … Don’t be so dramatic, it will all work out.’
‘So you think, Mam, that no matter what happens, the only thing to do is to stay with Tony and hope that things will get better and will all work out?’
‘Of course I do, that’s the only thing to think, child. Will you come on up to the fire with me and have a cup of tea? I was making a sandwich for your father and myself – we’ll all have a bit of lunch together. Will you do that, he’ll be delighted to see you.’ Eileen was coaxing.
‘No Mam, I think I’ll go back to the bungalow.’
‘No, stay here, you’re cross with me now. You’re in a kind of a sulk, aren’t you?’
‘No, Mam, I’m not sulking. I asked you what you thought and you told me.’
‘But child, you can’t have expected me to say anything except what I did.’
‘I expected you to say that there was a case for annulment. I think that’s what I expected, but you didn’t.’
‘We’re not talking about technicalities. We’re talking. …’
Mrs Murray was surprised too that she hadn’t gone to the races. They had a cup of tea in the kitchen.
‘That was a great meal you cooked, can I have a bit of the turkey?’
Ethel Murray bustled around happily getting plates and knives, though Aisling only wanted to taste the skin and to please her by praising it all.
‘I suppose he’ll be all right at the races,’ she said.
‘Oh, I hope so … he’s a hard man to fathom. Can I ask you something seriously? Not wanting a polite answer, you know?’
‘Certainly you can.’ But Mrs Murray looked worried.
‘Would he have been better if he hadn’t married? You know, he didn’t drink all that much when he lived with you, do you think if he were single again, it might be … you know, like it was?’
‘But how can he be single again, isn’t he married now?’
‘Yes, but try to think, suppose he wasn’t, he hadn’t. …’
‘I don’t know, I really don’t. I don’t think it would have made any difference, he does drink too much, he drank before he got married and even more after, but I don’t think the marriage is the cause of it.’ She took Aisling’s hand. ‘You’re not to reproach yourself, you do everything that can be done, you’re a grand little wife, if only he had the sense. …’
‘No, you misunderstand me, I wasn’t asking was I a good or a bad wife, I was wondering did you think that Tony was really a bachelor at heart?’
Mrs Murray looked bewildered. ‘Well, I suppose there’s a bit of the boy in every man. Is that what you mean?’
Aisling gave up. ‘That’s what I meant. Hold on, don’t give me all that much. I’m going over to Maureen’s, I’ll have to eat something there too.’
Maureen’s house looked inviting and homely. Aisling wondered why she had always thought it was so bleak and dreadful. There was a big crib covered with cotton wool, the baby slept in a pram peacefully, Patrick and Peggy played with toys on the floor and Brendan Og read his new book.
‘I’d have thought you were at the races, no ties, nothing to keep you at home.’
‘Well I didn’t go, I came to see you instead.’
Maureen said she would heat up some mince pies.
‘I hear you saw Tony’s face,’ Aisling said.
‘I didn’t mean to go blabbing to Mam, oh God, now you think I’m talking about you all the time. Wouldn’t you think Mam would have had the sense …?’
‘No, I’m not picking a row, I just wanted to ask you … do you think people talk about Tony a lot?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know, his drinking, fights down in Hanrahan’s, him neglecting the business and all.’
‘Oh Aisling, I never hear anything, I mean what would people say …?’
‘I don’t know, I was asking you. I wonder do they think he’s in a bad way … do people think he’s the kind of man that … you know … should be … ought to be …?’
‘Aisling, what are you on about?’
‘I don’t think I’m the right person for Tony to live with.’
‘But who on earth else would he live with?’
‘I don’t know, he could go back to his mother, or he could take a room in the hotel, or in Fergusons’, they have rooms there, they were going to do them up once, I remember. Maybe they could do them up for Tony.’
‘Are you feeling all right? What’s this, some sort of game or joke?’
‘No. I was just looking at alternatives.’
‘And what would you do?’
‘I could go back to Mam and Dad.’
‘Aisling, you could not.’
‘Why couldn’t I?’ Aisling looked genuinely interested. ‘Just why not? That way everyone would be happy.’
‘That way nobody would be happy. Stop behaving like a spoiled child just because you had a row with Tony and he went off to the races without you.’
‘It’s not like that.’
‘Well, it’s something like it. When I think of all the things you have to be grateful for, it makes my blood boil. …’
‘Like a drunken husband falling around the town?’
‘So he drinks too much, you should look after him more, and anyway, look at how much worse it could be. Suppose he was after women, suppose he was like Sheila Moore’s husb
and, or Brian Burns, look at him with a woman up in Dublin as well.’ Maureen stopped: Aisling’s face looked very grave. ‘Listen, you’re only talking rubbish, you’re not married as long as I am, you’re new to it.’
‘I’ve been married two and a half years.’
‘When you have a child it will all change. …’
‘If I were to tell you that side of it, you wouldn’t believe me.’
‘No, I know, Brendan’s a bit the same, he says we can’t afford another one, but when they’re born he’s delighted. He’s mad about the new fellow altogether. It would be the same with Tony.’
‘I’m sure you’re right. Let’s not talk about it any more,’ said Aisling.
‘You’re the one who brought it up,’ Maureen said huffily.
‘I know I did. I’m in a bad mood today.’
‘I knew you were.’ Maureen was triumphant. ‘When he comes back from the races, make it all up with him, have a bit of a cuddle and forget whatever the fight was about. That’s what people do.’
When Tony came home from the races it was one o’clock in the morning and he was in a blazing temper.
‘How dare you go down to Coghlan’s sympathising behind my back. How dare you go to that house. …’
Aisling had been asleep, she woke with a start. ‘Tony, you’re drunk, go to bed, we’ll talk about it in the morning. …’
‘We’ll talk about it here and now. I was in the hotel. I met Marty O’Brien, a brother-in-law of Dinny Coghlan. He told me you’d been down at the house asking after the boy.
‘Common politeness and a bit of humanity. Of course I did.’
‘Behind my back.’
‘Oh shut up, you stupid fool, you were propping up the bar in Leopardstown, how could I tell you I was going?’
‘Don’t call me a fool.’
‘You are a fool.’
‘And you’re a thief, where’s my money? I had a big roll of notes in my pocket. I didn’t have it when I got to the races, only a couple of fivers.’
‘It’s in the drawer, Tony, you know it is, I often do it when you’re going out. It’s in the top drawer where it always is. It’s to save you spending foolishly or being pick-pocketed.’
‘I don’t want a bloody keeper looking after me like an animal in the zoo. Don’t you ever do that again.’
‘All right.’
‘And another thing.’
‘Look, whatever it is will it wait till the morning? I’ve got to get up and do a day’s work. Dad’s opening tomorrow, so is Murray’s by the way, in case it’s of any interest to you. I’m going to our shop. I don’t know whether you intend to go to yours or not … but I’m having my sleep.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘What?’
‘If it’s of any interest to me. Murray’s opening. Of course it’s of interest to me. I own it, don’t I? It’s my shop.’
‘That’s right. People keep forgetting.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re in it so rarely, and when you are it’s to sign for fifty pounds. They see you coming and they say … here’s Mr Tony, he’ll need some cash … I’ve heard them.’
‘Are you implying that I neglect my work?’
‘Shut up and go to bed.’
‘Are you suggesting …?’
Aisling got out of her divan bed and began to strip off the blankets.
‘If you won’t let me go to sleep here, I’m going into the other room, let me pass.’
‘Get back there, or back into the proper bed where you belong. Do you hear me?’
‘Oh not tonight, Tony, I couldn’t bear it, not tonight.’
He looked at her, his eyes blazing. ‘What could you not bear?’
‘Don’t make me say it. I don’t want to try tonight. Please, Tony, let me past you.’
‘You’re a vicious woman,’ he said. His hand came out so quickly, Aisling didn’t see it; it caught her by surprise, across her jaw. The sting and the hurt jarred her whole body. He hit out again, this time harder. The blood came immediately from her lip or gums. She could feel it on her chin and falling on to her nightdress. She touched it and looked at her red hand in disbelief.
‘Ash, oh, Jesus, Ash, I’m sorry.’
She walked slowly back into the room and looked at her face in the mirror. It seemed to be her lip that was bleeding but a tooth felt loose in her mouth so it could be that that was causing the blood.
‘I could kill myself. Ash I didn’t mean to, I don’t know why I did it, Ash are you all right? Let me see – God let me see. Oh my God. …’
She said nothing.
‘What will I do, will I get a doctor? Ash I’m so sorry. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it. I’ll do anything you say. …’
The blood was trickling on to her lap.
‘Here, Ash, don’t just sit there, you have to do something. Will I call someone?’
She stood up slowly and walked towards him. ‘Go into the other room and go to bed. Go on. Now. Take these blankets.’
He didn’t want to go. ‘I’m so ashamed Ash, I didn’t mean it, I wouldn’t hit you for the world, you know that.’
She handed him the blankets and shamefacedly he went. She took the suitcase very deliberately from the top of the cupboard and began to pack. She wrapped a towel around her neck to catch the little drops of blood that fell from her lip. Very precisely and neatly she packed winter clothes and shoes. Underwear and jewellery. She took off her rings and left them in a conspicuous place on top of the dressing table. She took down a second suitcase, and she put in two blankets and two sheets. She collected letters and photographs and packed those too. After an hour she thought it was safe to open the bedroom door … from their spare room came the sound of Tony’s heavy breathing. He had split her lip but he could still sleep. She collected a few small things from around the house; a silver sugar bowl that Mam had given her, a teacup and saucer with huge roses on them that Peggy had come to deliver as a wedding gift.
She wrote a very short note to Tony. She told him that she was going to the hospital to have her lip stitched; she would say it was the result of a fall. Then she would leave in her own car and would not come back. There would be no point in asking any other family where she was because they would not know. She wrote a long letter to Mam; she said that she had tried every avenue, sounded out every opinion and nobody seemed to think that she could turn the clock back, so she was going to abandon the clock instead. She said that she didn’t mind what cover story Mam used, whatever they wanted to say would be fine with her. Sickness, a new job, gone to visit a friend. … But she thought it might be better just to say straight out that Aisling had not been able to live with Tony any more and had gone away. That way there could be no speculation and wondering about it. It would be out in the open.
She told Mam about her lip. ‘I’m only telling you so that you’ll know it wasn’t idle fancy and selfish wishing for a happier lifestyle. I know too that there are women in this town whose husbands beat them, and women in every town. But I will not be one of them. I will not, and that’s as definite as I ever was about anything.’
She said to Mam that she would ring her in a couple of days, and the kindest thing of Mam to do was not to try to organise a reconciliation because there wouldn’t be one. Only if Ethel Murray became difficult and began to cause trouble was Mam to tell her about Tony’s violence. Otherwise better leave the woman a few illusions.
Her lip only needed one stitch. It was done by a young house surgeon whom she didn’t know.
‘Are you a student?’ she asked him.
‘No.’ He was shocked at the thought, but she hadn’t intended to insult him, she was thinking that she would never know about the dance that Niamh had gone to with Tim the medical student, and whether Donal and Anna Barry had fallen in love, and if Donal had been able to buy rounds of drinks with the fiver she had given him.
She knew two of the nurses and saw by their faces that they didn’
t believe her story of a fall.
‘Come back during the week and I’ll have a look at it,’ the young doctor said.
‘Sure, thank you very much,’ Aisling put on her coat again and got into the car. She dropped the note for Mam into the shop, not into the house, she wanted Mam to read it in the peace of her eyrie when she got there early in the morning.
She took one last look back and drove out of Kilgarret on the Dublin road.
PART FOUR
1956–1960
XVIII
IT HAD BEEN the happiest Christmas that Elizabeth had ever known. Even in Kilgarret long ago she had felt a little separate, it wasn’t quite her Christmas, she was comparing it with the ones she had known before and would go back to. This was her Christmas. Her husband, her father, and her baby starting to take shape. And in her home. It was as if she were being rewarded for all those other Christmas days, trying to console Father, trying not to worry about Johnny finding somebody new. Now it was all safe and as it should be.
Father had been happy to leave on Boxing Day; he wasn’t at ease as a house guest. She had seen him nervously pacing in his dressing-gown with his sponge bag over his wrist.
‘What’s the matter?’ she had enquired, he looked lost.
‘I didn’t know whether to go in or not, someone might have gone in the other door.’
‘Father, I’ve told you a dozen times, if we go in one door we lock the other one so that no one comes in.’
‘Very complicated way of having a bathroom,’ he said.
Henry was looking over some papers in the dining room. Father and Elizabeth lingered over breakfast in the kitchen.
‘Was Mother ill much when she was expecting me?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘What? Oh. Oh, I don’t know.’
‘But you must have known, I mean, did she tell you that she felt groggy or what?’
‘I’m sorry, I have no recall for all those details. I could never write a book – I wouldn’t remember the interesting bits. …’ That was Father making a little joke. Or trying to.
