by Maeve Binchy
‘Okay, you can have the car.’
‘What? You can’t just say that, you can’t give me your car.’
‘I didn’t know I even had it until two minutes ago, of course I can. But trade it in, will you, get something else. Everyone will remember it too well. I’ll have the papers somewhere, I might even have them with me, I brought out a whole lot of papers to sort out. I’ll give them to you tonight.’
‘I’ll never be able to thank you, God, a car, me.’
‘It’s all right, Mam would like you to have a car. I have a feeling that she would. It would make you more independent.’
‘A car all of my own, I don’t believe it.’
Aisling had to look away so that he wouldn’t see how moved she was at his pleasure.
It was a strange, lonely Christmas; she felt she had grown away from them even in the few short months since Mam’s death. They had all been bound together by the sadness and tension of Mam’s funeral. Now it was different.
Donal was in Barrys’ most of the time. Anna had been most successful at work. She sat in Mam’s eyrie at first but had the sense to realise that this upset people.
‘My Lord, I thought it was Mrs O’Connor,’ they would say.
‘Of course, you soon will be Mrs O’Connor,’ they might add. Anna organised her own office, she decided to call Dad Mr O’C. Aisling smiled at that. She had thought Mrs M was more affectionate than ‘Mrs Murray’ too. It was odd, this whole in-law bit.
‘It will be nice for you to have Anna as a sister-in-law,’ she said to Niamh.
‘Yes, though it didn’t work for you and Joannie Murray. You were great friends before you married her brother and then you didn’t get on with her at all.’
‘I didn’t get on with either of them at all,’ said Aisling and they giggled.
Dad was low and sunk into himself, it was hard to see what would cheer him up. She took him for a walk on St Stephen’s Day. They walked out on to the Dublin road, a lot of cars passing them going to the races in Dublin and people they knew tooting their horns. ‘I wonder are they thinking that it’s two years today since that bold strap ran out of the place and here she is bold as brass back again? But maybe they’re not thinking about me at all. I might have to face that fact.’ Dad’s face looked gloomy; she felt he was only walking to please her, as she was to please him. ‘Maybe we’ll turn back now will we?’
He turned obediently and they faced down into the town. ‘You’re not to worry about us, Aisling, you know,’ he said out of the blue. ‘We’ll all be fine, and you have your own life to lead.’
‘I do worry.’
‘Well, it’s not going to do any good. Your mam is gone but she said to me before she went that nobody was to try to drag Aisling back from London, she’d come when she was good and ready.’
Aisling’s eyes filled with tears. How well Mam had understood.
‘But maybe I should come back, Dad.’
‘No, not until you’re good and ready. Your home is always here for you, but don’t come back to look after us, we’ll be fine.’
‘I know, Dad.’
‘And haven’t you contributed to the peace of nations already by giving that lout a car for under his backside so that he can drive himself off out of my sight?’
‘Dad, what a way to talk about Eamonn.’ They both laughed.
‘You know that I’d prefer to say a lot more, but seeing as it’s Christmas, and I was at communion, there’s no point in cursing and swearing.’
She did a lot of walking during her visit home. It was easier to think, walking. People nodded at her or stopped for a few words. Mainly they told her that her father was managing well enough and that young Anna Barry was being a great support. Nobody mentioned Tony or the Murrays. It was as if her marriage had never taken place.
She walked past the bungalow one day. It had bright new curtains. She wondered idly what had happened to all the furniture and what they had done with the fawn curtains when they put up these orange and white ones. The orange and white ones were nicer. They had done the garden too, the new people, cousins of Mr Moriarty, she remembered. She hoped they would be happy there. There was nothing wrong with the bungalow. She wondered who had wiped up all the blood in the end.
*
She walked to Maureen’s house. Maureen was surprised and not altogether pleased to see her.
‘What are you doing, lady of leisure?’ she asked.
‘I was calling to see you,’ said Aisling, feeling she had had this conversation with Maureen a million times. She was tired of it. She remembered Mam saying that Maureen had been born a moaner and would be one for the rest of her days. Aisling turned to go.
‘Oh, don’t be so huffy, come on in and have tea. It’s just that nobody knows what to make of you, that’s the problem. Nobody knows what you’re at.’
That was the problem all right.
Back in London after the holiday she discovered that Johnny had just come back from Majorca; it had only been a week’s visit. Susie was not in sight. Elizabeth had been right about that. She found that the three doctors were so happy to see her back – they realised that nobody could do their work like Miss O’Connor, she had indeed become indispensable – they said they would like to raise her wages and suggest that she have extra holidays if she would agree to stay with them for at least a year. Johnny had been right about that. She heard from Elizabeth that there had been some very awkward and embarrassing scene at Henry’s office because he had not got the expected New Year rise. Henry had become hysterical, and did what nobody ever did: he made his disappointment known in public. He had been slightly overexcited and caused great alarm to everyone. Simon had been right about that.
*
‘I don’t know what more I can say. I can’t tell you more clearly that we have enough, Henry, you and I and Eileen, we have plenty. We have more than almost anyone we know, can you not stop talking about the damn rise? It couldn’t matter one fig.’
‘Not to you, but to me it does. What have I been doing all those years? Why have I been slaving away and taking work home? Who has been more attentive to their work than I have, what other member of staff can honestly say that he has been as conscientious as I have?’
‘But that’s not the point. …’
‘It is the point, that’s what this office system is based on. It’s not marks for being brilliant. God dammit, Elizabeth, it’s not an American movie about lawyers, we’re not getting a bonus or rise for dramatic appearances in courts. It’s just a system, when the work is done well and reliably, everyone gets a rise. Well, not everyone, but anyone who has done their part. …’
‘Henry you’re upsetting yourself for. …’
‘Of course, I’m upset, I didn’t get a rise … can’t you see what that means?’
‘It means nothing, you’re becoming hysterical. Last year you got one, your work was not out of the ordinary; this year you didn’t, your work was not out of the ordinary for you. So what? We don’t need their money. We have plenty.’
‘You’ll never understand. …’
‘Apparently not, but I’d have some hope of understanding if you didn’t shout.’
‘I’m only upsetting you. I’ll go out. …’
‘Darling love, it’s Sunday lunchtime. We’re just about to have lunch. Why are you going out?’
‘I’m upset, as you said, very upset, there’s no point in upsetting you and Eileen.’
‘I love you. I love you so much, I wish you wouldn’t go out. You’re not upsetting me, you’re not upsetting Eileen. Look, she’s smiling at you … why don’t you take your coat off? Come back and sit down. …’ She had followed him to the door. He pressed the button for the lift. ‘Please Henry, stay and have lunch, this is the way we always thought it would be, you know, when neither of us had a proper home, the two of us and a baby and whatever we wanted for lunch, not what somebody else wanted. …’ The lift was coming up. ‘And I want you, I don’t want you wandering down
to the embankment and getting your death of cold, that would upset me much more.’
He came back and took her in his arms. ‘You have a fool for a husband.’
‘No, I don’t, I have the man I love.’
‘Eileen,’ he called and she crawled from the sitting room, ‘Eileen, you have a very foolish father, remember this always. But your mother, she’s worth a million pounds.’ Eileen smiled happily at them both.
‘Will we have a joint birthday party? It’ll be the last one before we’re thirty?’ Aisling examined her face as minutely for lines these days as she had done for spots long ago.
‘That’s a great idea. I’d like that. Any excuse is good enough for me.’
‘Right, will we have it in your place, it’s bigger?’
‘No, the neighbours, they’re difficult, and the stairs.’
Aisling looked up in surprise from examining her eyes.
‘Yes,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Why do I think I can fool you? It’s Henry, he’s very unrelaxed these days, I think a party would fuss him.’
‘Great, we’ll have it here. Let’s make a list … Old faithfuls, Johnny, Simon, Stefan, Anna, your Pa?’
‘No, for God’s sake, let’s not ask Father, not to something that’s meant to be a bit of fun.’
‘Elizabeth, you said he was much better. …’
‘He is, but he’s not jolly … let’s not. …’
‘Fine. Johnny’s friend Nick is back living with him again.’
‘Oh, Nick from the travel agency …?’
‘Yes, he’s getting a divorce, his marriage went up the spout, he keeps saying … he’s quite nice. And I can ask the girl in the flat below, Julia. …’
‘Oh, I remember … the one that. …’
‘Yes, the one that Johnny was ogling. Well, if he does he does. I learned that from you. No point in trying to hide all the competition from him.’
‘You learned pretty fast.’
‘I was much older and sadder than you.’
‘You’re never really sad, Aisling, that’s your magic … that’s why Johnny likes you so much. I think he probably likes you more than anyone he ever met. I’ve never said it before because it seemed … well, intrusive, and maybe even giving you a false hope. But I’ve seen him and he listens to everything you say, and throws his head back, laughing. And he is delighted with all your bright ways.’
Aisling looked embarrassed.
‘Yes, I know, it does sound a bit flowery, but I know what I’m talking about. With me it was different. I was so young and so silly but I put on this great mask of independence for years. He admired my sort of gutsiness I think. But with you it’s different. I think he’ll stick with you. …’
Aisling stood up and stretched out her arms wide. ‘Yippee. That’s the best news I’ve heard yet. I’m never sure of him, not for one moment. Is that the only reason he’s so important – just because people can’t be sure of him?’
‘I don’t think it could be. Not unless he were really something to begin with. If he were empty and silly, half the world wouldn’t be breaking their hearts over him so regularly.’
‘Quite right. Now that you’ve told me this I think we’ll strike Julia off the list. Why let her come up two floors just to break her heart over Johnny Stone when you and I know she’s only wasting her time?’
Ethel Murray spent an hour sitting at the dining-room table and reading and rereading the letter she had written to Aisling. She would not send it, the girl would misunderstand it. The solicitor had told her she must make no remarks that could be taken up in any way and she must make no offers or promises. Did the letter give anything away or make any concessions? Who could be sure? She had wanted to write to the girl. But maybe it was wiser not. She was wracked with indecision. Why was there never anyone to advise her?
Eventually she tore it up and sent Aisling a telegram instead.
Regret inform you Tony Murray died peacefully today
Requiescat in Pace.
Ethel Murray
‘She couldn’t go to the funeral. What on earth could she do? Standing up there at a dreadful little ceremony and from a hospital. I know what they’re like, Mother died in a hospital. It was terrible, terrible. Just the Murrays there, not speaking to her. Standing in widow’s weeds. Of course she couldn’t go. It would be ridiculous.’
‘All right, don’t go on so, I just said that I would have expected her to go. You said yourself that the Irish were very conscious of attending people’s funerals. That’s all.’
‘It’s the way you said it, you were criticising her.’
‘No I was not, but there are plenty of things I could criticise if I had a mind to. …’
‘Oh, let’s stop, Henry,’ Elizabeth said wearily. They seemed to be rowing all the time these days. About nothing. Once she saw Eileen looking at her. She wondered had she looked at Mother and Father like that when she was nearly two? And had they worried about her or each other?
*
‘I don’t know what to say to you.’ Johnny sat across the room, ‘I don’t know what I should do, sympathise or not.’
‘They don’t have a section on this in an etiquette book,’ Aisling said. She looked pale and tired. She had been awake all night. The telegram had been so cold. They were cutting her out, keeping her away, when she never had any quarrel with them. Tears of self-pity had come in the night. What would have been the right course, wait until he fell down from drink or his liver gave out in Kilgarret? Perhaps she should have done so earlier. He could never have lived two and a half years drinking the way he had been when she left him. Perhaps Mam was right, she should have stayed. Now she had enemies, hostile people who sent her bitter telegrams, she had people who didn’t know what to say to her. In Kilgarret and even here.
‘He was very nice, years ago, Johnny,’ she said, ‘I’m not going to become all maudlin and start crying for what could have been. But when he was much younger, when he used to come round and take me to the pictures, and talk to Mam and Dad, he was nice then. And we used to laugh at the pictures, and even that first time in Rome … he was very, very nice. He wasn’t always a bastard. …’
‘I know.’ Johnny was soothing.
‘He hadn’t a happy life, he never really liked working in the business, he didn’t get on with his mother – they rubbed each other up the wrong way. And then I wasn’t what he hoped either.’
‘Well, he was a bit of a disappointment to you too, chicken, don’t forget that.’
‘No, I don’t ever forget that. It’s just, well, it’s just such a waste, isn’t it? Here he is, dead in Lancashire, and nobody loved him and he never had any real happiness – dead from drink before he’s forty.’
‘He was a loser, the poor old Squire,’ said Johnny, and changed the subject.
At no time in the next months was it ever mentioned that Aisling was now a widow. She was now free to marry again. Aisling thought about it quite a lot. She thought that Johnny must have thought about it too, but it wasn’t something you said soon after a husband died. Any husband, even an estranged one. Elizabeth believed that Johnny had never given it a single thought. If Tony Murray were alive or dead, good or bad, present or absent, Johnny Stone would still have paid the same attention to Aisling. Aisling was certainly Johnny’s longest-lasting and brightest-burning romance apart from herself. In fact there were even fewer Susies and Julias than there had been. But marriage? Elizabeth was quite sure that this was never in Johnny’s plans.
Simon got engaged, out of the blue, to a very pretty Welsh girl called Bethan. They announced it quite unexpectedly at a gathering in the Battersea flat. Aisling and Johnny were there as well. It was going to be a very quiet wedding, they feared. Bethan’s parents were chapel, and very funny about drink and things, so the sooner and the quieter, the better.
In three weeks’ time actually.
‘Bet you she’s pregnant,’ Aisling whispered to Elizabeth when they were bringing things in from the kitchen.
‘Obviously, but how cunning to snatch Simon just at the right time of his professional life. He needs to settle down now, she’s nicely spoken. It could have been any of a dozen of them. Clever little Bethan.’
‘I wonder is Johnny at the right time?’ Aisling mused, with a gleam in her eye.
‘I don’t think it would be wise to find out,’ Elizabeth smiled. ‘Johnny doesn’t marry his pregnant ladies.’
‘Some of them didn’t give him a chance to decide whether he would or not. …’
In ten years that was the first time that the abortion had been mentioned.
Jimmy Farrelly, the solicitor from Kilgarret, had written to say that the Murrays had instructed a firm of solicitors in Dublin to handle the inheritance of Tony Murray. His letter was firm and to the point. There had been enough shillyshallying during Tony’s lifetime, Aisling must now decide to claim what was rightfully hers. The law said she was entitled to a one-third share in the business, Murray’s Provisions and Vintners; the other two shares were owned by Joannie and Mrs Murray. She owned the bungalow completely – it had not been sold, as she had heard, it had been let to the present inhabitants. She might wish to come to some arrangement about being bought out of the firm, but it was only sensible for her own future to come to a realistic decision soon. The longer the whole thing was held in abeyance, the less likely it was she would get her fair share. Mrs Murray and Joannie had instructed their solicitors to disinherit Aisling on the ground of deserting her husband.
‘I don’t mind what you do, child, your mother would have known more about such things than I do. Do what you think is fair. That woman has had a lot of trouble, if she can be pleased in some fair way try to see to it. You’ll always have your share of this business, such as it is, after my time’
‘Oh Dad, stop talking about your time, and after your time,’ she cried and hung up the phone.
Maureen said she should take them for everything she could. Otherwise they’d all be laughing stocks, everyone knew that Tony Murray was a drunk and a wife-beater. She had put up with a great deal too much. Take what she could. And to hell with their feelings.
