Tara Road

by Maeve Binchy

  'Where are Annie and Brian?'

  'Oh. I see. Not… hallo Bernadette, or I love you sweetheart, or it's good to be home. Well, since you ask where the children are, try to remember back as far as breakfast when they said they were going to make a series of calls saying goodbye to people like your mother-in-law, my mother, Marilyn, whoever, and you said they were to be home by ten at the latest.'

  He was instantly contrite. 'Jesus, Bernadette, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry and crass and stupid and selfish. I had a day—boy, did I have a day, but that's not your fault. Forgive me.'

  'Nothing to forgive,' she shrugged.

  'But there is,' he cried. 'You've given up everything for me and I come in and behave like a boor.'

  'I gave up nothing for you, it was you who gave up a lot for me.'

  Her voice was calm and matter-of-fact as if she were explaining something to a child. 'Let me get you a drink, Danny.'

  'It might make me worse.'

  'Not a long, cool, very weak whiskey sour, it's mainly lemonade.' 'I'm no company for you, a grumpy old man harassed by work.' 'Shush.' She handed him the drink and raised the level on the player a little. 'Brahms, he works magic all the time.'

  Danny was restless, he wanted to talk. But Brahms and the whiskey sour did their work. He felt his shoulders relaxing, the frown-lines going from between his eyes. In many ways there was nothing to talk about. What was the point of giving Bernadette a blow-by-blow account of the unpleasantness in the office today? How Larry their bank manager had been downright discourteous on the telephone. How a big businessman had pulled out of a consortium that was going to do a major development in Wicklow because he said Barney and Danny were unreliable, possibly tainted partners. How Polly had called to warn them that the word was out they were on the skids. How Barney had proved elusive and distant over all these matters as if it didn't really concern him.

  And, worst of all, Danny's niggling fear that the personal guarantee he had given to Barney on Number 16 Tara Road would be called in and that he would lose the house. And not only would there be no home for Ria and the children but there would be nothing to sell. Some things were too huge to talk about, Bernadette was quite right not even to attempt it.

  Clement sat in his chair but glanced wistfully at the door that would take him back to the big comfortable bed with its white counterpane where he had been sleeping happily for so long.

  As she served Colm's food, Marilyn told them more about Westville. She explained the alumni weekend and how everyone would come back and tell each other how young they looked. 'My husband will be coming back from Hawaii so you'll meet him then.'

  'Will he be staying in the house, your house?' Annie asked.

  'Yes, apparently your mother very kindly said he could.'

  'Will your son be coming back too?'

  'I beg your pardon?'

  'Your son? Isn't he in Hawaii with Mr Vine?'

  'My son?'

  Annie didn't like the look on Marilyn's face. 'Um yes.'

  'Who told you that?'

  'Mam did.'

  'Your mother said that Dale was in Hawaii?'

  'She didn't say his name but she said his room was all there ready for him to come back.'

  Marilyn had gone very white.

  Brian didn't notice. 'Will he be there when we're there? Maybe we could have competitions with the basketball?'

  'Did your mother say anything more?' Marilyn's voice was scarcely above a whisper now.

  Annie was very alarmed. 'I think she said she'd asked Mr Vine about him but she didn't get any details so she doesn't know if he's going to be coming back or not.'

  'Oh my God,' Marilyn said.

  'I'm very sorry… should I not have asked? Is anything… wrong?' Annie began.

  'What is it?' Brian asked. 'Is he not in Hawaii? Did he run away?'

  'I see now what he meant,' Marilyn said.

  'What?'

  'Greg said that your mother sounded very religious…'

  'She's not a bit religious,' Brian said disapprovingly. 'Nora always says she's heading for the hob of hell.'

  'Shut up, Brian,' Annie said automatically.

  'What a stupid thing to do. I never stopped to think that of course that's what she would imagine.' Marilyn looked utterly anguished.

  'So he's not in Hawaii?' Annie asked.

  'No.'

  'Where is he then?' Brian was getting tired of this.

  'He's dead,' Marilyn Vine said. 'My son Dale is dead.'

  Danny felt a lot calmer after an hour. Perhaps he was just exaggerating the situation. Bernadette drifted into the kitchen to prepare the smoked chicken salad. There was never any hiss of pots boiling, souffles rising, pastry-making covering the whole place with flour. He had never known how gentle and undemanding life could be, how free from frenzied activity. And there was more than enough of that in the office.

  'Have I three minutes to make a call?' he asked.

  'Of course.'

  He dialled Finola. 'This is Danny Lynch. I wanted to apologise very sincerely for my bad temper with you.'

  'I expect the children asked you to do this.'

  'No, not at all, they're not here.'

  'Or Bernadette?'

  'You know your daughter better than that, she has never mentioned it. Not once. No, this is from me. I was out of order.'

  'Well, Danny, what can I say?' She sounded totally nonplussed.

  'The answer to your question is that our company is in financial trouble, but I am utterly certain we will get out of it. We have plenty of assets. Bernadette will not be left destitute, believe me.'

  'I believe you, Danny, and thank you. Perhaps I should not have asked. It's just that you have so many other responsibilities as well as Bernadette.'

  'They'll be looked after, Finola. Are we friends now?'

  'We always were,' she said.

  He hung up and saw Bernadette watching him from the doorway. 'You are a hero,' she said. 'It's just as simple as that.'

  In the kitchen of Number 16 Tara Road a silence had fallen.

  Eventually it was broken by Brian. 'Did he have an awful disease or something?' he asked.

  'No, he was killed. A motor-cycle wreck.'

  'What did he look like? Did he have red hair like you?' Annie asked.

  'Yes. Even though we have no Irish blood at all, both Greg and I have reddish hair, so for poor Dale there was no escape. We're both tall, so he was tall too. And lean. And sporty. He had braces on his teeth, you know lots of the kids in the States do.'

  'It's coming in here a bit too,' Brian said, not wanting Ireland to be left behind.

  'Sure it is. He was one great kid. Every mother thinks her son is the best in the world, I was no different.'

  'Have you a picture of him, a photograph?' Annie asked.

  'No, none at all.'

  'Why not?'

  'I don't know. It would make me too sad, I suppose.'

  'But you have pictures of him at home; Mam said he was very good-looking and he had a lovely smile. That's why I was sort of hoping he'd be there,' Annie said.

  'Yes.'

  'I'm sorry.'

  'No, it's all right, he was good-looking.'

  'Did he have any girlfriends?'

  'No, Annie, I don't think so, but then what does a mother know?'

  'Bet he did, you can see it in all the movies. They start very young over in America,' Brian said wisely.

  And they sat and talked on about the dead Dale until Annie realised that Commanding Officer Bernadette would be on the warpath and they'd better go.

  'I'll drive you,' Marilyn offered.

  They saw Rosemary on the street. Marilyn looked at Annie as if asking whether she wanted to stop and say goodbye to her mother's friend. Imperceptibly Annie shook her head. Marilyn accelerated so they wouldn't be noticed. She was very relieved. She found it increasingly hard to give the barely civil greetings that were required between neighbours. Interesting that Annie seemed to feel the sa
me way.

  Marilyn left the children at the end of their road. She had no wish to engage in any kind of conversation with Danny Lynch or his new love. She drove back to Tara Road, her mind churning.

  When she parked at Number 16 she realised with a sense of shock that she didn't really remember the journey. Yet she must have taken the correct turns and given the appropriate signals. Marilyn felt very ashamed. This was how accidents were caused, just as much as by speeding, people driving with their minds somewhere else. She was shaking as she parked Ria's car and let herself into the house. She went and sat down at the table. Ria had left three cut-crystal decanters on the sideboard. In her note she had said that they were mainly for show, since she and Danny had always drunk bottles of inexpensive wine. She hoped that the contents were still drinkable and if so Marilyn was to help herself. There was a little brandy in one, something that looked like port in another and sherry in the third. With a shaking hand Marilyn poured herself a brandy.

  What had happened today? What had changed so that she could talk about Dale, tell strangers that he had freckles on his nose and braces on his teeth? Admit that she couldn't carry a picture of him in case she would convulse with grief just by looking at it? Why had the direct questions of two children whom she hardly knew released these responses that her husband, friends, colleagues could not make her give?

  It was almost dark now but the reds and gold of the sunset had not disappeared totally from the sky. She was living in a house and a city that Dale had never seen. Nobody here had known her when she was a mother, a loving fulfilled mother with a future ahead of her. They only knew her as frosty, buttoned-up Marilyn Vine, and yet some of them still liked her. She had met people who had problems as bad as hers. For the very first time since the tragedy she now knew this was true.

  People had told her to count her blessings but had not been able to think of one blessing that was worth mentioning in the context of her own great loss. And nothing Greg or anyone had said had helped at all.

  It was stupid to think that she had turned a corner in one night. Marilyn was not a person who believed in miracle cures. It was an emotional occasion, that was all. These two living children were going to go to 1024 Tudor Drive where Dale Vine had played and slept and studied in his short life. They would make friends as he had done, and swim in the swimming pool where he had dived. They might even find the stopwatch and time each other and their mother as he had timed her when he was alive. 'Come on, Mom, you can do better than that,' he would shout. And she had done better.

  She sipped her brandy and noticed that there were tears on her hand. She hadn't even realised she was crying. She had never let herself cry before and had dismissed as pop psychologists those who told her she must let go and give in to sorrow. Now she sat weeping in this darkening room with the sounds of a foreign city around her, the different traffic noises, the cries of children with Irish accents, and the birds with unfamiliar calls.

  The great ginger cat sat looking at her on another chair. She was drinking brandy and crying. She had said his name aloud, and the world had not ended. Annie and Brian had asked questions about him. What would he have done as a career? Did he eat meat, which were his favourite film stars, what books did he read? They had even asked what kind of a motor bike he was riding when he was killed. She had answered all these questions and volunteered more information, told them stories about funny things that had happened at Thanksgiving, or Dale's school play or the time of the great snowstorms.

  Dale. She tried again, fearfully, but no, it hadn't disappeared. She could say his name now. It was extraordinary. It must have been there the whole time and she hadn't known. And now that she knew, there was nobody she could tell. It would be cruel and unfair to telephone her husband, poor baffled hurt Greg wondering what he had done wrong and how he had failed her. It would be so wrong to call him in Hawaii, and say that something had happened to unlock her prison. It might just be because she was here in a place he had never known. But Marilyn believed that it was more than that. She needn't fear going to a place where Dale had been, somewhere where she had seen him smile and rush up with yet another new enthusiasm.

  She always knew that Dale had loved her own spirit of adventure, her willingness to learn. She had followed his lead in everything, to be a stronger swimmer, a demon at computer games, Sumo wrestling fan, and gin rummy player. Only at motor bikes had she turned away from him. For month after weary month she had agonised in case it had all been her fault. Suppose she had promised him a bike when he was the age to drive one, then he might not have gone along with those wild boys and their dangerous drunken plans. But tonight somehow she felt a little differently.

  Annie had said in a matter-of-fact way that of course you couldn't let him mess around with motor bikes, it would have been like letting him play with a gun. And Brian had said, 'I expect he's up in heaven and he's very sorry he caused you all this trouble.'

  And nothing anyone had said before, since the moment she had been told the news about the accident, had made any sense at all until this. She put her head down on the table and cried all the tears that she knew she should have cried in the past year and a half. But they weren't ready then, they were now.

  Ria drove to the next town and got the bus to Kennedy Airport. A month ago Marilyn had made this journey, a whole month. And in another thirty days Ria would be going home. She closed her eyes and wished hard that this would be a wonderful, unforgettable month for the children. It was no longer a matter of trying to outdo what Danny and Bernadette had given them. That seemed unimportant just now. They deserved a holiday, a good time, the feeling of hope, the prospect that the future might not be grim.

  She would not lose her patience with Annie and boss her and tell her what to do. Annie was a young woman, she would let her find her own level in this quiet sheltered place. Much, much safer in many ways than a capital city like Dublin. And, mercifully, three thousand miles away from Kitty. She would not let Brian's gaffes irritate her. There was no way you could impress anyone with Brian, she must learn to stop trying. He would say the most insensitive things to everyone. He would ask John and Gerry why they weren't married, Heidi why she didn't have children, Carlotta why she spoke funny English. There were acres of minefields for Brian to plough through. At no stage would she be ashamed of him or urge him to be more thoughtful.

  She ached to put her arms around him and for him not to pull away in embarrassment. She yearned for Annie to say, 'Mam, you look terrific you've got a suntan, I really missed you.' All the way to the airport Ria forced herself not to live in a world of dreams. It wasn't going to be perfect just because they hadn't seen her for thirty days.

  Remember that, Ria, remember it. Grow up, grow up and live in the real world.

  Danny rang the bell of Rosemary's flat. It was ten o'clock at night. Rosemary was working at her desk, she put away her papers. She looked at herself in the mirror, fluffed up her hair, sprayed on some expensive perfume and pressed the buzzer to let him come up.

  'Why won't you take a key, Danny? I've asked you often enough.'

  'You know why, it would be too much temptation, I'd be here all the time.' He gave her the lopsided smile that always turned her heart over.

  'I wish.' Rosemary smiled at him.

  'No, I suppose the truth is I'd be afraid I'd come in and find you in flagrante with someone else.'

  'Unlikely.' She was crisp.

  'Well, you have been known to indulge,' he accused.

  'Unlike yourself,' Rosemary said. 'Drink?'

  'Yes, and you'll need one too.'

  Rosemary stood calm and elegant in her navy dress by the drinks trolley. She poured them two large Irish whiskeys then sat down on her white sofa, her back straight and ankles crossed like a model.

  'You were born graceful,' he said.

  'You should have married me,' she said.

  'Our timing was wrong. You're a businesswoman—you know that the secret of the universe is timing.'
/>   'All this philosophy didn't stop you leaving Ria for someone else, and not for me, but we've been through all that. What are we drinking to? A success or a disaster?'

  'You never lose control, do you?' He seemed both admiring and annoyed at the same time.

  'You know I do, Danny.'

  'I'm finished…'

  'You can't be. You've a lot of fire insurance.'

  'We've called it all in.'

  'What about the Lara development?' This was their flagship, the forty-unit apartment block with the leisure club. The publicity had been enormous, every unit had been sold and resold long before completion. It was what was going to make them turn the corner.

  'We lost it today.'

  'What in God's name is Barney at? He's meant to have these hotshot advisers.'

  'Yes, but apparently they need collateral… that we're not so strong on.' He looked tired and a little rueful.

  Rosemary could not accept the seriousness of what he was saying. Anyone else whose business had been wiped out would be hysterical, fuming with rage, or frightened. Danny looked like a small boy who had been caught in somebody's orchard. Regretful, that was how he appeared.

  'What are you going to do? she asked.

  'What can I do, Rosemary?'

  'Well you can stop being so bloody defeatist, you can go out there and ask. Ask somebody for the support. Stop being so goddamn noble about it, it's only money when all's said and done.'

  'Do you think so?' He looked unsure now, not the cocky Danny who could conquer the world.

  'I know so. And you know it too. We are two of a kind, we didn't get where we are by bleating. We've all had to humble ourselves from time to time. By God I know I have, and you've had to too.’

  'All right, I will,' he said suddenly. His voice was stronger than before.

  'That's better,' she said.

  'Lend me the money, Rosemary, lend it to me now. I'll double it as I did with everything.' She looked at him open-mouthed in shock. He went on. 'I won't let Barney near it, he's past it and I owe him nothing. This will be my investment, our investment. I'll tell you what we'll do. I have a complete business plan…' He took out two sheets of paper with columns of figures written on them.