by Maeve Binchy
“They couldn’t rustle up ten people between them who’d come to the wedding,” Patsy told Mrs. Hogan.
Patsy was thrilled by the decision. It would mean that her own wedding would now have no competition.
Eve was surprised to get an invitation to Patsy’s wedding. She had expected just to go to the church to cheer her on. She realized that of course she and Patsy would be neighbors, up on the quarry path. She assumed that Mossy’s mother had heard dire reports of the goings-on at the party, and would look on her as a shameless hussy who gave drunken parties. Eve didn’t realize that Mossy told his mother as little as he told anyone else. She was getting increasingly deaf, and since she only knew about the world what he told her, she knew remarkably little.
She knew that Patsy was a good cook, and didn’t have a family of her own to make demands, so Patsy would be free to look after Mossy’s mother in her old age.
Mother Francis saw Dr. Johnson passing the school in his car. She was looking out of the window, as she often did when the girls were doing a test, and thinking about the town. How she would hate to leave Knockglen, and go to another convent within the Order. Every year in summer the changes were announced. It was always a relief to know that she had another year where she was. Holy Obedience meant that you went without question where Mother General decided.
She hoped unworthily each year that Mother Clare would not be sent to join them. She didn’t exactly pray that Mother Clare would be kept in Dublin, but God knew her views on that. Any day now they would know. It was always an unsettling couple of weeks waiting for the news.
She wondered where Dr. Johnson was going, what a strange demanding life, always out to see someone being born or die or go through complicated bits in between.
Major Westward was dead when the doctor arrived. He closed his eyes, pulled a sheet over his head and sat down with Mrs. Walsh. He would phone the undertakers and the vicar, just to alert them, but first someone had better find Simon.
“I telephoned him this morning. He’s on his way from England.”
“Right then. Not much more that I can do.” He stood up and reached for his coat.
“Not much loss,” he said.
“I beg your pardon, Dr. Johnson?”
He had looked at her levelly. She was a strange woman. She liked the feeling of being in the Big House, even though it was Big rather than Grand. She would probably stay if Simon brought home a bride, grow old here, feel that her own state had been ennobled by her contact with these people.
It wasn’t fair of him to be snide about the dead man. He had never liked old Westward, he had thought the man arrogant and ungiving to the village that was on his doorstep. He had found the disinheriting of Eve Malone beyond his comprehension.
But he must not tread on the sensibilities of other people. His wife had told him that a thousand times.
He decided to change his epitaph.
“Sorry, Mrs. Walsh, what I said was ‘What a loss, such a loss.’ You’ll pass on my condolences to Simon, won’t you.”
“I’m sure Mr. Simon will telephone you, Doctor, when he gets back.”
Mrs. Walsh was tight-lipped. She had heard very well what he had said the first time.
Jack Foley’s parents said that he was behaving most unreasonably. What were they to think, or indeed to say? Was the wedding on or was it off? Obviously since the urgency had gone out of it and the three-week run-up time had been and gone they could assume that she was no longer pregnant. Jack had snapped and said he couldn’t possibly be expected to discuss all this with them at this early stage while Nan was still convalescing.
“I think we can be expected to know whether you now have reason to call off this rushed marriage.” His father spoke sharply.
“She had a miscarriage,” he said. “But nothing else is clear.”
He looked so wretched, they left him alone. After all their main question had been answered, the way they hoped it would be.
Paddy Hickey proposed to Kit Hegarty at a window table in a big Dun Laoghaire hotel. His hands were trembling as he asked her to marry him. He used formal words, as if a proposal were some kind of magic ritual and wouldn’t work unless he asked her to do him the honor of becoming his wife.
He said that all his children knew he was going to ask her, they would be waiting, hoping for a yes, like himself. He spoke so long and in such flowery tones that Kit could hardly find a gap in the speech to say yes.
“What did you say?” he asked at length.
“I said I’d love to and I think we’ll make each other very happy.”
He got up from his side of the table and came round to her, in front of everyone in the restaurant dining room he took her in his arms and kissed her.
Somehow, even in the middle of the embrace he felt that people had laid down their cutlery and their glasses to look at them.
“We’re going to get married,” he called out, his face pink with pleasure.
“Thank God I’m going off to the wilds of Kerry, I’d never be able to come in here again,” said Kit, acknowledging the smiles and handshakes and even cheers of the other diners at the tables around them.
Simon Westward wondered could his grandfather possibly have known how inconvenient was the day he took to die. The arrangements with Olivia were at a crucial stage. He did not need to be summoned to a sickbed. But on the other hand, he would be in a better position to talk to her once he was master of Westlands in name as well. He tried to feel some sympathy for the lonely old man. But he feared that he had brought a lot of his misery on himself.
So, it mightn’t have been easy to welcome Sarah’s ill-matched husband, a handyman, to the house, but he should have made some overtures of friendship to their child.
Eve would have been a good companion for all those years, petted and feted in the Big House she would not have developed that prickling resentment which was her hallmark as a result of being banished.
He didn’t like thinking about Eve. It reminded him uncomfortably of that last terrible day in Westlands when the old man had lashed out all around him.
And it reminded him of Nan.
Somebody had sent him a cutting from The Irish Times, with the notice of her engagement. The envelope had been typed. At first he thought it might have been from Nan herself, and later he decided that it was not her style to do that. She had left without a backward glance. And as far as he could see from his statement, had not cashed that check. He didn’t know who had sent the newspaper cutting. He thought it might have been Eve.
Heather asked Mother Francis, would Eve be coming to their grandfather’s funeral.
Mother Francis said that somehow she thought not.
“He used to be very nice once, he got different when he got old,” she said.
“I know,” Mother Francis said. Her own heart was heavy. Mother Clare was going to be sent to Knockglen. It was all very well for Peggy Pine to urge Mother Francis to take the whip hand, and to show her who was master, and a lot of other highly unsuitable instructions for religious life. It was going to disrupt the community greatly. If only there was some kind of interest, some area she could find for Mother Clare to be hived off.
“Are you in a bad humor, Mother?” Heather asked.
“Oh, Lord child, you really are Eve’s cousin. You have exactly the same way she had of knowing when anything was wrong. The rest of the school could tramp past and never know anything.”
Heather looked at her thoughtfully.
“I think you should put more faith in the thirty days prayer. Sister Imelda says it’s never been known to fail. She did it for me when I was lost, and look at how well it turned out.”
Mother Francis worried sometimes about how Heather had latched on to some of the more complicated aspects of the Catholic faith.
Nan asked Jack to meet her.
“Where would you like?” he asked.
“You know Herbert Park. It’s quite near you.”
“Is that not too fa
r from you?” They were curiously formal.
If anyone saw this handsome couple walking there they would have assumed that this was another summer romance and smiled at them.
There was no ring to give back. There were very few arrangements to unpick.
She told him that she was going to London. She hoped to do a course in dress designing. She wanted to be away for a while. She didn’t really know exactly what she did want, but she knew what she didn’t want.
She talked flatly, with no light and shade in her voice. Jack fought down the guilty, overwhelming surge of relief, that he was not going to have to marry this beautiful dead girl and spend the rest of his life with her.
When they left the small park with its bright rows of flowers and the pit-pat of people playing tennis they knew that they would probably never see each other again.
The day dawned bright and sunny for Patsy’s wedding. Eve and Benny were there to help her dress. Clodagh would be down to see that those two clowns didn’t get anything wrong.
Paccy Moore was going to give her away. He had said that if she wanted someone with a proper leg he wouldn’t be a bit insulted, and he might make a bit of clatter with the iron going up the church, but Patsy would have no one else.
His cousin Dekko was going to be the best man, and his sister Bee the bridesmaid. It gave the appearance of a family.
The best silver was out despite Patsy saying that a couple of Mossy’s cousins might be light-fingered. There were chicken and ham, and potato salad, and a dozen different types of cake, and trifle and cream.
It would be a feast.
Clodagh had plucked Patsy’s eyebrows and insisted on doing a makeup.
“I wonder would there be a chance that my mother might see me up in heaven,” Patsy said.
For an instant, none of the three girls could find an answer. They found it too moving to think that Patsy would need the support of a mother she had never known, and her easy confidence that this woman was in heaven.
Benny blew her nose loudly.
“I’m sure she can see you, and she’s probably saying you look lovely.”
“God, Benny, don’t blow your nose like that in the church. You’d lift half the congregation out of their seats,” Patsy warned.
Dr. Johnson was driving the party up to the church.
“Good girl, Patsy,” he said, as he settled Paccy and the bride into the back of his car. “You’ll tear the sight out of the eyes of that old rip above.”
It was exactly the right remark, the partisan response to show Patsy that she was on the winning team, that Mossy’s mother wouldn’t even be a starter in the race.
Dessie Burns had abandoned Moderation that morning. He tried to wave a cheery greeting at them from his front door, but it wasn’t easy with a bottle in one hand and a glass in the other. He somehow went into a spin and fell down. Dr. Johnson looked at him grimly. That would be his next call, stitching up that eejit’s head.
It was a great wedding. Patsy had to be restrained several times from clearing up or going to the kitchen to bring out the next course.
They were waved away at four o’clock.
Dekko was going to drive them to the bus, but Fonsie said he had to drive to Dublin anyway, so he’d take them to Bray.
“Fonsie should be canonized,” Benny said to Clodagh.
“Yes, I can see his statue in all the churches. Maybe they’d even make this a special place of pilgrimage for him. We’d outsell Lourdes.”
“I mean it,” Benny said.
“Don’t you think I don’t know.” A rare look of softness came into Clodagh’s face.
That night Mother asked Benny if she’d mind if they sold Lisbeg.
She knew she mustn’t appear too eager. But she said thoughtfully that it was a good idea, there’d be money to build up the shop. It was what Father would have liked.
“We always wanted you to be married from here. That’s the only thing.”
The signs of Patsy’s wedding were still everywhere, the silver ornaments from the cake, the paper napkins, the confetti, the glasses around the house.
“I don’t want to get married for a long, long time, Mother. I mean that.” And oddly she did.
All that pain she had felt over Jack seemed much less now.
She remembered how she had ached all over at the very thought of him and how she had wanted to be the one leaving to walk up the church to a smiling Jack Foley.
That ache was a lot less painful now.
Rosemary said that they should have a party in Dublin just to show that it wasn’t only the socialites in Knockglen who could organize things. A barbecue maybe, the night their exams were over, down by White Rock, on the beach, between Killiney and Dalkey.
They’d have a huge fire, and there’d be sausages and lamb chops and great amounts of beer.
Sean and Carmel would not be in charge this time. Rosemary would do the food, and her friend Tom would collect the money. The boys started contributing.
“Will we ask Jack?” Bill Dunne said.
“Maybe not this time,” said Rosemary.
Eve and Benny were going to share a flat next year. The digs in Dun Laoghaire would be closed. They were very excited and kept looking at places now before the vacation so that they’d be ahead of the posse in September.
They were full of plans. Benny’s mother would come and stay, maybe even Mother Francis might come and visit. There had been wonderful news from the convent. Mother Clare had broken her hip. Not that Mother Francis called it wonderful news, but it did mean that she would need to be near a hospital and physiotherapy, and all the stairs and the walking in St. Mary’s wouldn’t be advisable. Mother Francis was in the middle of the thirty days prayer when this happened. She told Eve that it was her biggest crisis of faith yet. Could the prayer be too powerful?
As they left one flat they had been examining, they ran into Jack.
He looked at Benny.
“Hallo, Jack.”
Eve said she had to go, seriously, and she’d see Benny later out in Dun Laoghaire. She was gone before they could say anything.
“Would you come out with me tonight?” he asked her.
Benny looked at him, her eyes went all around the face that she had loved so much, every line, every fold of the skin so dear to her.
“No, Jack, thank you.” Her voice was gentle and polite. She was playing no games. “I’m going out already.”
“But that’s just with Eve. She won’t mind.”
“No, it’s impossible. Thanks all the same.”
“Tomorrow then, or the weekend?” His head was on one side.
Benny remembered suddenly the way that his mother and father had stood on the steps of their house that night. His mother watchful and wondering.
Little things that she had learned during the past month about the Foleys made her think that this was always the way things were.
Benny didn’t want to wonder and watch over Jack for the rest of her life. If she went out with him now, it would be so easy. They would be back to where they had been before. In time Nan would be forgotten like the incident in Wales had been sort of forgotten.
But she would always worry about the next one.
The next time she just wasn’t around, ever smiling, always ready. It was too much to ask.
“No.” Her smile was warm.
His face was surprised and sad. More sad than surprised.
He began to say something.
“I only did what …” Then he stopped.
“I never meant it to …” He stopped again.
“It’s all right, Jack,” Benny said. “Honestly, it’s all right.”
She thought she saw tears in his eyes and looked away quickly. She didn’t want to be reminded of that day on the canal bank.
The firelight danced and they threw more and more logs on. Aidan had said he wondered were he and Eve leaving the conception of their eight children too late; and she assured him that they weren’t, it w
ould be wrong to rush these things. He sighed resignedly; he had known she would say this.
Rosemary was flushed and pretty, and Tom paid her the most extravagant compliments; Johnny O’Brien was in disgrace because he had whirled a blazing log and it had set fire to a great bowl of punch. The blaze had been spectacular, but the drink severely diminished.
Fonsie and Clodagh had come up from Knockglen. It would be a long time before anyone forgot their dazzling jive display on the big flat rock.
Sean and Carmel nuzzled up to each other as they had done from the beginning of time, Sheila from the Law Faculty had a new hairdo and a happier smile. Benny wondered why she hadn’t liked her so much in the old days.
It was all over Jack probably. Like everything had been.
The clouds that had been in front of the moon scudded past and it was almost as bright as daylight.
They laughed at each other delighted. It was as if someone had shone a huge searchlight over them, then more clouds came and made it discreet again.
They were tired now from singing and from dancing to the little record player that Rosemary had provided. They only wanted to sing something gentle.
Not anything that would make Fonsie start to dance again. Someone started the song about sailing along on Moonlight Bay. Everyone groaned because it was so awful and old-fashioned, but everyone sang it because they knew the words.
Benny was leaning half against a rock and half against Bill Dunne, who was sitting beside her. Bill was so enjoying the night, and was looking after her, getting her nice bits of burned sausage on a stick and some tomato ketchup to dip it on. Bill was a great friend. You wouldn’t have to spend your life watching him and wondering about him. You wouldn’t have to spend the night worrying if he was having a good time or too good a time.
She was thinking how comfortable he was when she saw Jack coming down the steps.
It was very dark and to the others it might just have looked like a figure in the distance. But she knew it was Jack coming to join the summer party. Asking to belong again.
She didn’t make any move. She watched him for a long time, sometimes he stopped in the shadows, as if doubtful of his welcome.
But Jack Foley would never be doubtful for long. He would know that these were his friends. The long, winding steps were quite a distance from the rocks where they sat around their fire. Probably not very far, but it seemed a long time for him to cross the sand.
