by Tara Heavey
‘What do you think you’re doing?’
Pearl nearly stumbled down the last few steps. ‘Oh, Lord. I didn’t see you there, Myrtle.’
‘Clearly not.’
‘I was just looking for a toilet.’
‘Something wrong with the Portaloo?’
‘Yes, actually. It’s blocked.’
‘Oh. Well, there’s one at the end of the hall. Downstairs,’ she said, with emphasis.
‘Oh, thank you so much.’
Mrs Prendergast watched her, making sure she was going directly to the loo and making no detours. Honestly. Bunch of nosy, incontinent old biddies. She must have been mad agreeing to all this.
But then she went outside and her heart lifted. She could never have imagined such a thing. In her garden. Well, it wasn’t technically her garden any more. But her garden. Her home. And she was part of it. Part of something really good. She felt the prickle at the back of her eyes again. She’d have to get that checked out. Probably glaucoma.
She stepped into the sun and into the milling throng. It was good to feel anonymous. She meandered along the path, humming slightly, her hands behind her back.
‘Hello, Marnie.’
She stopped. She wanted to believe she was hearing things but she knew she wasn’t. She turned and looked up at him. ‘Hello, Martin.’
‘Long time no see.’
‘Indeed.’
‘You’re looking well.’
She didn’t reply. She was too busy taking him in. Same frame. Less meaty now. Same features – craggier than before. Same blue eyes, a little faded but still Martin. He still had most of his own hair and teeth by the look of it.
‘It must be…’
‘Forty years.’
‘Is it that long?’
‘I’ve been keeping count.’
He smiled and she was back in the jazz cellar in Soho, barely twenty years old, her blue felt skirt swirling around her, about to be swept off her feet.
Her sum knowledge of Martin up to now had been that he was still alive. Lance saw him from time to time but she didn’t ask questions as she didn’t want to know. The memories kept popping up, one after another, like a slide show. Her eyes grew cold.
* * *
Myrtle held the blade to Martin’s throat. Nobody moved. It was like some gruesome still life, her standing above him dramatically, him down on one knee, his neck twisted awkwardly. The clock ticked on the wall. A dog barked in a neighbouring garden.
‘Now don’t do anything stupid, Marnie.’ Martin’s voice was calm and cajoling.
‘I’ve already done something stupid,’ she said. ‘I married you.’ Then she grabbed a handful of hair on the top of his head. ‘And don’t. Tell me. What to do.’ She tugged his hair roughly, several times, to emphasize her words. The blade dug deeper into his throat each time. A drop of blood trickled down his neck and fell on to the collar of the white shirt she’d ironed for him the night before. He felt the wetness.
‘Oh, Jesus, Marnie. Please don’t. I’m sorry. Truly I am.’
She was amazed at how calm she felt. How strong. She, Myrtle. Holding a man twice her size and breadth at her mercy. She knew it was partly luck she had him in such a position that, at the smallest move he made, she could slit his throat wide open. Like a horrible great gaping red grin.
She felt as if she were outside her own body, looking down on herself. Amazed at the bloodthirsty thoughts of the woman below her and the level of hatred she felt for her own husband. But not appalled. Never appalled. It was just. This was justice. She looked at Lance. He was hiding under the table, his head in his hands. He couldn’t see. Just as well.
‘Now, you listen to me and you listen to me carefully, Martin Prendergast. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t slit your throat right now.’
‘Because I’m your husband.’
‘Hah! Not good enough.’ She tugged his hair another three times. Martin whimpered as the blade bit deep. She could have laughed. What a coward. All this time and she’d never known.
‘Please don’t, Marnie.’
‘I may decide to spare your life but I have my conditions.’
‘What? What are they? Anything.’
‘Anything?’
‘That’s what I said.’
‘You’re to leave this house immediately. You’re to go directly to your solicitor and tell him you’re transferring this entire property, including the garden, into my sole name. Then you tell him you’re giving me a divorce on the grounds of your unreasonable behaviour. If my terms are unacceptable to you, I have some fresh bruises that the police might be interested in. Not to mention a very sympathetic doctor who will be more than happy to give me a detailed medical report going back years. Now. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is everything all right?’ It was the gardener. He was standing at the back door, a turnip in each hand, his face incredulous.
‘Yes, thank you, Paddy. Mr Prendergast was just leaving.’
She released him. He sprang to his feet and faced her, backing away, rubbing his neck.
‘Mad bitch,’ he murmured.
She crossed her arms in a fishwife position. ‘Leave your keys on the counter, please. You won’t be needing them any more. And I’ll have you know that the locks will be changed this evening so don’t get any funny ideas.’
Like a man who’d seen a ghost, Martin dropped his keys on the kitchen counter and backed towards the door. When he reached it, he looked at the gardener, one last time at Myrtle, then turned and left. Only when he was out of view did Myrtle collapse on the floor, the knife clanging on the tiles beside her. She began to shake.
‘Jesus Christ. I’m calling the police,’ said Paddy.
‘No, don’t. Please. He won’t be back. Lance, come here, my darling.’
Lance didn’t move. Myrtle crawled under the table. ‘Lance, it’s all right. It’s over. He’s gone.’
Lance lifted his head and looked around. Then he threw himself into his mother’s arms and they rocked together until they’d both calmed down.
‘You’re not going to throw me off your property, are you?’
‘I couldn’t if I wanted to. It’s not my property any more.’
‘You’ve sold the house?’
‘No, just the garden.’
He nodded. ‘This is a great set-up. I’m delighted to see it being put to such good use.’
‘Is that so?’
He looked sharply at her. ‘Yes, it is. You remember how fond I was of this garden.’
‘Yes, I remember. Fonder of it than you were of me.’
‘Now that’s not fair.’
‘Don’t you turn up here after all this time, Martin Prendergast, and tell me what’s fair.’
‘You’re right. I apologize.’
She inclined her head.
They started to walk along together.
‘It’s been under lock and key, you know, for the last forty years.’
‘What? The garden?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why would you do something like that?’
‘So I wouldn’t be reminded of you, of course.’
‘Of course.’
‘How did you know about the party?’
‘I saw one of the flyers. I moved house a while back. I’m living quite close now.’
‘I know. Lance told me, in case I had the misfortune of bumping into you. You’ll forgive me if I don’t invite you over for dinner.’
He laughed. So familiar. ‘You haven’t changed a bit, Marnie.’
‘Oh, yes, I have.’
‘You know, I have too.’
‘A leopard doesn’t change his spots.’
‘No. But people do.’
‘I seriously doubt it. Not where you’re concerned.’
‘Look.’ He stopped walking and they turned to face each other. ‘Did Lance tell you I had a heart-attack?’
‘He might have mentioned it.’ What did he want fro
m her? Sympathy?
‘When something like that happens, it makes you think. I know it sounds clichéd, but it reminds you of what’s important in life.’
He was staring into the middle distance and she took the opportunity to examine his features for any signs of the ravages of ill health.
‘There were two reasons for me coming here today,’ he said. ‘The first was – well – I couldn’t resist taking the opportunity to see this place again. I’m glad I did. And I’m glad I saw you too, Marnie.’
‘Nobody calls me that any more.’
‘I’m sorry. Myrtle. Because my second reason for coming today was to say sorry.’
She remained silent.
‘For everything I’ve ever done to you. Every hardship I’ve put you through. The hitting.’ He bowed his head. ‘Our baby. All the babies you never had. I’m so sorry, Marnie – Myrtle. It’s not possible for me to make you understand how guilty I feel. Do you think you’d have it in you to forgive an old man?’
She gazed at him for a while.
And she thought of all those times.
All the bruises.
The hurts.
The scars that still bore witness on her body. The wound across her soul, which at times felt mortal.
Over the years, Myrtle had anticipated such a meeting. Rehearsed her speech. How she would make him pay for all that he had done to her. Pierce him with her barbed words. But as she looked at him now, the hulking frame diminished, the eyes full of sincerity, all the anger she’d counted on, the anger she’d planned and thought she wanted, it all fell away. As if she was shedding a skin – as if she were a giant, upright snake standing right there on the garden path. The old Myrtle slipped away from her and she felt lighter than she had done in years.
‘Soup?’ she said.
‘What?’
‘Would you like some soup?’
He frowned. ‘All right, then.’
‘This way.’
They moved through the crowds to the soup station.
‘Joyce. Any left?’
‘You’re just in time. We’re down to the last couple of bowls.’
‘That’s all we need.’
‘Actually, I always think it’s the best part myself. All the nice chunky bits sink to the bottom. Here you go.’ She handed a bowl to Martin and another to Myrtle. ‘I don’t believe we’ve met.’ She eyed Martin speculatively.
‘Oh, how rude of me. Do let me introduce you. Joyce, this is my ex-husband – Martin Prendergast.’
Joyce’s eyes popped and her mouth gaped. The ladle fell out of her hand and on to the ground. Everyone in the vicinity stopped what they were doing and stared. Mrs Prendergast clinked her soup bowl with Martin’s. ‘Cheers,’ she said.
The rumour that Mrs Prendergast’s husband had been resurrected and was at large in the garden spread like wildfire. But he was already gone before it was fully ignited. His ex-wife looked very smug. Aoife could tell she was enjoying herself.
‘Well. You certainly shocked the Union today. You shocked me too.’
‘Did I?’
‘You know you did.’
‘Oh, well. That’s what you get when you listen to scurrilous rumours. Although I must admit I’m going to miss my status as the local black widow. Now I’m going to have to find some other way of frightening people off.’
‘Where has he been all this time?’
‘Spain mostly. Building collapsible apartments. That’s where he went after I sent him packing.’
‘And why did you send him packing?’
‘Because he was a violent drunk.’
‘Oh! I’m sorry.’ Aoife was genuinely shocked. She’d never had Mrs Prendergast down as a battered wife. Really, the woman never failed to amaze. ‘You seem quite friendly with him now. That was him, wasn’t it? The tall, distinguished-looking man you were with?’
‘Distinguished.’ She laughed. ‘I suppose he is. Yes. That was Martin.’
‘You’ve forgiven him, then.’
She seemed to consider this for a while. ‘It was a long time ago. He’s gone through two other wives since me. He’s had treatment. I don’t think he drinks any more and I know he regrets what he did. So, yes, I suppose I have forgiven him. After all, if it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have Lance.’
‘He looks so like him.’
‘Yes, he does. And if it wasn’t for Martin, I wouldn’t be living in this house, with this garden. We wouldn’t be having this day, with all the people enjoying themselves.’ She smiled. ‘In a sense, we have Martin to thank for all this. He was the start of it all.’
‘That’s one way of looking at it.’
‘I’ve learned recently that it’s the only way of looking at it. You know, I heard this saying and it’s so true, that not forgiving someone is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die. I’ve decided I don’t want to drink poison any more.’
‘So you forgive Pearl for using your toilet?’
‘You must be joking. Come on, Harriet. You’re getting far too excited.’
Aoife watched Mrs Prendergast as she retrieved her retriever. She felt she’d just caught a glimpse of the real woman. It only happened once in a while before the barriers went up again. But it was something worth waiting for. Something special.
49
The soup and bread had been devoured and all the cakes and produce sold. The band was unstoppable. Aoife, Seth, Uri, Emily and Mrs Prendergast came together for the first time that day. None of them could stop smiling. The Autumn Party had exceeded all of their expectations.
‘Is it time for…?’
‘I think so. I’ll go and get it.’
‘Oh, hold on. We have one more thing to do first. Lance!’
‘Yes?’
‘Can you take the photograph now?’
‘Sure.’
‘Over by the apple tree?’
‘Perfect.’
They collected Liam and Kathy on their way. Then the seven of them arranged themselves in front of the tree. Emily sat on the ground flanked by the children.
‘You have to have Rose too.’
Emily’s mother handed her the baby, who sat benignly on her mother’s lap, still for perhaps the first time that day. Uri and Mrs Prendergast stood behind them to their left. Uri had his arm around her shoulders.
‘Oh, we must have Harriet too. Harriet!’
Harriet settled noisily on Emily’s feet, a few of the flowers that the children had twisted into her collar still there. Standing behind them to the right were Seth and Aoife, Seth standing directly behind Aoife, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, his head resting against hers.
‘Okay. Ready?’ said Lance. ‘Everybody say “vegetables”.’
‘Vegetables!’
He took a few shots, just to make sure.
‘Right. I’ll go straight to the chemist and get this printed. I see they have a new self-service machine.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I should just make it before they close.’
‘Oh, Lance, get a newspaper while you’re at it.’
Ever since they’d dug up the time capsule, Liam had been pleading with his mother to bury another. What better time? A crowd gathered around Seth as he dug the hole.
‘Right. Who’s going first?’
‘Me, me!’ Kathy danced on the spot.
‘Okay. What have you got?’
‘My Little Pony. I’m too big to play with her now so maybe some other little girl can play with her in the future.’
‘Very good. How about you, Liam?’
‘My yellow digger.’
‘Are you sure?’ said Aoife. ‘It’s one of your favourites.’
‘I want to put it in.’ Liam pursed his lips.
‘Okay, then.’
‘Emily?’
‘My contribution is this Babygro belonging to Rose that she’s grown out of. And my copy of Beowulf. I spent almost my entire first year of college reading this book and I never want to see the damn thing agai
n. In fact, burying is probably too good for it but here you go anyway.’
‘Thank you, Emily. While we’re at it, I’m putting in this pair of secateurs. They were the first tool I bought when I set up my gardening business. I found them the other day when I was clearing out my shed. They’re not much use for gardening any more, but I thought they might be… symbolic or something.’
Those gathered around murmured their assent.
‘Right. Who’s next? Mrs P.’
‘I’ve decided to put this back.’ Mrs Prendergast handed Seth the blue and white ceramic angel that had been unearthed in the first time capsule. ‘On the basis that it appears to work.’
‘Okay. Aoife?’
Aoife took a deep breath and handed Seth a small ornate pillbox. ‘This is a lock of my daughter Katie’s hair.’
There were a few seconds in which no one said anything.
‘Are you sure?’ said Emily. ‘It’s a very precious thing to bury.’
‘Don’t worry. I have about a dozen locks of her hair at home. And I like the idea of someone finding a little piece of her in years to come.’
‘Can I see?’
Aoife nodded and Seth handed Emily the box. She opened it and exclaimed at the sight of the red-gold curl, secured at one end by a tiny pink ribbon. ‘What a beautiful colour. I bet she was gorgeous.’
‘She was.’
‘May I?’ said Mrs Prendergast.
The box was handed around and Aoife felt proud and emotional as everyone admired her daughter’s hair. Finally, the box was handed back to Seth. ‘Dad, you’re the only one left. What have you got for us?’
Uri handed Seth a small threadbare teddy bear.
‘Dad, are you…’
Uri nodded. ‘This bear belonged to my little sister Hannah. I found it in the wreckage of our home after the war. For years I kept it with me in the hope that I might be able to return it to her. Today I lay that hope to rest.’
It was a little while before Seth could speak. ‘Thank you, Dad. Now if you could just hand me the newspaper and the photo, Lance. Thank you. I think we’re just about done.’
Seth packed all the objects neatly into the box and closed the lid. Then he placed it reverently in the earth and covered it with soil.
Liam burst into noisy sobs.
