by Tyler, Anne
But Kate Ryan knew she wasn’t essential anymore. They didn’t need her like they had once needed her. John was stronger and more his own man, he made decisions with certainty, he coped with the pub as she had once wished and prayed that he would. He still found time to write his poems. He was not as gullible as she had once thought him to be. He was firm with the children, he drove a car, their own car, around Mountfern. He was a slimmer, fitter man than the man of three years ago, more confident in every way.
But he didn’t lean on Kate as he once had. He didn’t need her at every turn of the day.
That was why she needed some goddamn compensation. Not that money was any good, but the reason she should get anything was because her husband didn’t depend on her anymore.
And the only man who had the faintest understanding of this was the man who was meant to be their great enemy. Patrick O’Neill.
“I can’t like that young Costello,” Fergus said to Kate.
“You can’t like anyone with hand, act or part in Fernscourt.”
“Wrong. There’s a lot of decent people working for him. Don’t make me out to be unreasonable.”
“Lord, you’re the most reasonable man in the world usually; this is your only blind spot. What has poor Jim Costello done now?”
“I heard him talking to Canon Moran, meant to be a sort of private chat. But I could see what he was getting at.”
“You listened to his confession!”
“No, it was in the open air out in the church grounds. You know, beside the garden that O’Neill’s workmen built up for them. He was telling the poor doddery old canon how great it would be if the bishop came to the opening.”
“Well the bishop is coming to the opening, surely?”
“Yes, but Jim wanted him to speak at the blessing bit and he was explaining this awful insincere way to the canon that Mr. O’Neill wouldn’t like to suggest it, and Mr. O’Neill wanted it to be the canon who spoke, but wouldn’t it be great if the bishop were to say a few words too. You know, a lot of devious bullshit.”
“And you’re the one always giving out about Patrick’s language!”
“The poor old canon thinks he’s the one now who thought of asking the bishop, he’s back up at the presbytery trying to word the letter.”
Kate changed the subject. Fergus was getting moody.
“And how is your Miss Purcell up there with the clergy?”
“As happy as anything.”
“Well it leaves you a bit freer, anyway. Whatever you want to do you don’t have to take her future into consideration.”
“I don’t want to do much, Kate. I just want things to stay the same.”
To his surprise she leaned across from the wheelchair and patted his hand. “I know. I know just what you mean,” she said.
“Are you going to the hotel opening, Mary?” Fergus was civil.
“It’s very kind of you to be so interested but the answer is no. Some one person should be here to keep the door open in case in the Republic of Ireland there happens to be one or two souls who are not going to the opening and think they might be served a drink in a wayside pub.”
Mary’s face was flushed with anger and loyalty to her stance about the rightness of everything the Ryans did and the wrongness of the O’Neills.
Fergus blinked wearily. He had brought this attack upon himself and there were many ways that he supported her entirely. But she was a trying woman.
He had only broached the subject of the opening to her on instructions from Sheila Whelan.
“Say the odd kind word to Mary when you’re passing,” Sheila had asked.
“Have you a suit of chain mail for me to put on when I’m talking to her?”
Fergus had been bitten too often to feel easy about saying anything to Mary Donnelly.
“She’s a great woman when you get to know her. She has all the qualities of a good wife—loyalty, determination, everything.” Sheila sighed.
“Are you trying to make a match for her by any chance?”
“Oh, I think it would be a brave soul who would attempt to make a match for Mary these days.”
“Or for me?” Fergus teased.
“Oh, we’re dying to marry you off, Fergus,” Sheila said.
“Who’s we?”
“Kate and myself, we’d love to settle you down. But I’m only giving you a big head. Listen, when you see that cousin of mine, Mary, will you tell her she’s to go to the opening of the hotel. It’s only a false kind of loyalty to the Ryans saying she is going to boycott. Use your charms.”
“My charms haven’t much of a track record,” Fergus had said gloomily.
And indeed he felt he was right, Mary Donnelly showed no reaction to his charming manner except to reject the notion of going near the new hotel. She sniffed and said that the Ryans were going not to show offense, and because they had a standard of manners much higher and more generous than the O’Neill family.
Fergus sighed again. Talking to Mary was like trying to climb up a waterfall.
“Can I talk to Kate? I have to get her to see Kevin Kennedy, that’s the barrister. I want to fix up a proper consultation but Kate’s always too busy making potato cakes, or hemming serviettes or some other nonsense. If the woman could only understand that she must give her whole heart and mind to Kevin Kennedy and the court case, then she won’t have to hem all those table napkins.”
“Will you be able to get her a great compensation do you think?” Mary looked eager and excited. “I’d love more than anything for her to take a fortune off that man. I’d really love it.”
“That’s not the way it’s going to be, he’ll pay nothing, it’s the insurance company. I don’t know, I really don’t. These cases are like throwing a dice. It could be any figure that comes up.”
“There must be some system.”
“There is a sort of system, but it depends what way it’s presented. It’s very practical you know, very matter of fact. What were her earnings, what could be said to have been lost in terms of money? There’s something built in for pain and suffering, and then there’s a category called mental distress. But it all depends on judges and juries in the end, and they’re often cautious men, careful with other people’s money even if it’s insurance companies. Oh God, I wish I knew.”
“You sound very worried.” Mary’s face looked quite pleasant when she wasn’t making some strong point, she had a softness about her that wasn’t in her normal style.
“I am worried, Mary, I’m worried that Kate and John are turning down their only chance of getting what they deserve and are owed. They don’t seem to grasp that this is the one and only time they’ll ever get any stake together for any kind of life.”
“And show that bastard what the courts of Ireland think of him.”
“Yes, but with respect, Mary, mightn’t we do better if we played down that side of it?”
“I know what you mean, I’m as bright as the next man. I’ll sing low on the revenge bit—is that what you mean?”
“That’s what I mean.”
“I’ll feel it in my heart though,” Mary said.
“So will I,” said Fergus.
“Oh bring him along, certainly,” Kate said when Fergus suggested a consultation with Kevin Kennedy.
“He’s quite important, Kate, you won’t just play along and joke and make eejity remarks about it being half your own fault?”
“I never make eejity remarks. Remember when I was your righthand woman in the office, don’t say I make eejity remarks.”
“I remember. I remember well,” Fergus sighed.
“So, I’ll be polite and use long words. But isn’t he on our side, is he not our lawyer, why do I have to be impressing him and putting on an act for our own counsel? Isn’t it the judge and the jury I have to do the tragic queen act for?”
“It’s no act, Kate. You are badly injured in the name of Jesus, will you stop being the bravest girl in the school about this and start thinking of your futu
re and your family’s future?”
“You’re cross with me.”
“I’m furious with you. You think it’s not quite nice somehow to let anyone know how much your life was changed that day, how much your chances lessened. One day, one day when it’s too late you’ll wish you’d listened, you will be very sorry then. In three or four years’ time when the pub might need a new roof, or when Dara might wonder why there was no money to send her to university or the kids might want to go on a school trip to Rome or John, God forbid, might get a virus pneumonia and be off work for four months and you’d have to pay someone to come in and run the pub … Won’t it be a great consolation to yourself to say that way back in 1966 when you had your chance, your one chance to explain your case, you were too refined, too well-brought-up or some kind of bullshit to get the compensation you and your family deserved? Fine warm comfort these high and mighty principles will be to you and your family then.”
His eyes blazed with rage on her behalf.
Kate changed immediately. She sat upright in her chair and reached for a notebook.
“You are perfectly right as always,” she said without a trace of irony. “Tell me what kind of things will we cover with Mr. Kennedy when he comes.”
Kevin Kennedy wore an expensive suit but it was crumpled, and his shoes needed a good shine. Kate looked at him and decided that he was a bachelor whose housekeeper was lazy and indifferent. He had a big mane of greying hair, a rather theatrical bow tie and nicotine-stained fingers which groped restlessly for more cigarettes still Kate judged him to be about fifty, and realized after a very short time that he was much sharper than he gave the impression of being. He seemed to shamble through explanations and accounts but yet he remembered everything that had been said and came back to points which she had been sure he had forgotten.
He was very good at drawing her out. Kate found herself responding easily to his questions about the limitations to her life caused by the accident. She agreed that their earnings were considerably diminished since she could no longer work for Fergus in the mornings and since they had to pay out a salary to Mary Donnelly. Kate told how her concentration had lessened, she found it very hard to read a book to its end, whereas once she always had her nose in some book from the library.
Fergus was startled to hear this, she had never said it to him. But that was often Kevin’s gift, he managed to make people tell things. Very often when he was on the other side of a case cross-examining, his gentle persuasive voice made people tell things they wished to keep secret. But here in Kate’s green room Kevin Kennedy was slowly drawing the picture he would need.
Fergus sighed with admiration as Kevin talked to the Ryan couple about how their life had changed, the pain, the huge incapacity, the lack of being able to act as a real mother to the children the way other mothers could, like going up to the school or joining in any outings and activities.
“And of course your normal married life, the life between the two of you that you would have expected to have?” Kevin Kennedy was gentle.
Fergus felt a hot flush coming up his neck.
Long ago, long before Kate’s accident, he had put the thought of her sex life with John Ryan far from his mind. He knew it must exist but he never wanted to think about it, and yet it used to come back to him, the notion of the two of them entwined. He assumed that since the accident it had been out of the question. To his embarrassment John was beginning to stammer.
“Well, I wouldn’t say that it was exactly over … you know, sort of …”
Fergus felt the bile rise in his throat. Surely John could never be so gross and unfeeling as to expect Kate … No, it wasn’t possible. He felt unsteady for a moment.
“I’ll slip out and get something from the bar …” he said.
“Thanks, Fergus.” Kate was cool. “I asked Mary to get a tray ready, perhaps you could bring it to us …”
He went out, loosening his collar.
“Kate said she thought sandwiches and a bottle of the good Jameson,” Mary suggested. “I have it here ready and all, I didn’t want to go and disturb you.”
“That’s good of you.”
“Are you all right, Fergus?” She looked genuinely concerned.
“Yes, I’m just tired. Give me a large one while I’m waiting.”
“What are you waiting for?” Mary obediently poured him a double and waved away the pound note he offered.
“I don’t know really, just giving them a chance to talk, I suppose,” he said, wondering how long would Kevin Kennedy spend on lack of conjugal rights, and compensation for same. Wildly he wondered whether John was saying that really it wasn’t fair to blame Patrick O’Neill in this area because he and Kate were able to have a very satisfactory coupling despite everything.
Fergus felt his hands shaking and he gripped the glass tightly with both of them.
“It must be very hard, this kind of thing, when you’re a friend of the family as well.” Mary was sympathetic.
“Have a drink, Mary.”
“No thanks, Fergus, I don’t think …”
“Have a bloody drink.”
“Very well, keep your hair on. I’ll have a vodka and tonic, thank you very much.”
“Not at all. Good luck.”
Mary raised her glass solemnly. “Good luck, really and truly good luck. They’re relying on you.”
“No they’re not, they think they’re grand, they think it’s lovely to be financially ruined and crippled.”
“Shush now.”
“I won’t shush. And anyway nobody would rely on me, it’s Kevin they should rely on.”
“Oh him?” Mary sniffed. “From Dublin, and a man.”
“Yes, I suppose those are points against him. I wonder has it crossed your mind that I too am a man, Mary. Perhaps you should take that into consideration when you and I are having these little social drinks.”
“I know you’re a man, Fergus,” Mary said.
“I’m glad someone does, I’ve almost forgotten myself.”
“But you’re not a real man, not like ordinary men.” Mary was full of beaming approval. “Here, will you take this tray in that you came out for or they’ll think you fell into bad company.”
“You’re not the worst, Mary,” Fergus said, picking up the tray and carrying it back into the room.
They seemed to have exhausted sexual dysfunction or the possibility of suing for removal of conjugal rights. They were on to the topic of what they could expect to be awarded.
The tray was left beside Kate on the big round table which Rachel had found and covered with a floor-length green cloth. Nowhere else in Ryan’s pub had the elegance of this room.
They looked like four ordinary people having a drink, Fergus thought as Kate poured generous measures and added a splash of water from their only cut-glass crystal jug. No sign of their business together.
Sheila Whelan came back quietly by bus.
It should only be two hours and three quarters, but the bus visited every townland on the way. It took mountainy routes and it went almost full circles into the countryside to pick up and drop farmers from crossroads that were off the beaten track. There was plenty of time to sit and think.
Think about Joe with his gaunt face and his sad tales clutching her from the hospital bed.
It hadn’t turned out as he had hoped, he told her. He wanted to come home to Mountfern. To die.
“There’s no question of dying, Joe,” she had soothed him, her words automatic, her expression effortlessly kind. Even to the man who had left her all those years ago, hurling abuse to justify himself as he went.
His life had not indeed turned out as he hoped. There were children, four—two sons and two daughters—children that Sheila was not able to bear, and he had scorned the idea of adopting and raising another man’s sons.
The woman he had left everything for was a restless woman. The children had been reared wild, left to run wild. None of them would settle in anything, school or w
ork. The eldest boy had gone to England a few hours ahead of the Guards, it turned out.
Joe had got to thinking about Mountfern in recent weeks. He thought of all the people he knew there, Jack Leonard and Tom Daly. He hadn’t heard that Tom Daly’s little girl had met with such a terrible accident. Sheila told him about Maggie, but his mind wandered away in the middle of the story. She stopped after a while when she saw he wasn’t concentrating. It was too sad a tale anyway.
He remembered Jack Coyne and that nice dour Dr. White. Was old man Slattery around? No, well the son was a grand young fellow. And of course the canon. It would be good to wander down River Road to Ryan’s like in the old days. He had heard of the new hotel across the river, there was a lot of talk about it in the papers. He hadn’t known of Kate Ryan’s accident but he was sure that they’d got great compensation.
And since there were no real ties with Dublin, no—for all that he had a home—it was a house really—and she would understand that he wanted to go home at the end. She’d probably be pleased for him When all was said and done. So could he come back to Mountfern? Could he come home?
Sheila had talked to the nurse who recognized instantly that Sheila Whelan was someone to whom the truth was told. She heard that Joe had weeks and possibly only days to live She had confirmed what she suspected—that he would never leave his hospital bed.
She told him he could come home.
She begged him not to worry what people would say and what people would think. Nowadays, she said, people were much too busy with their own business to worry about the middle-aged postmistress and her husband. She said that Dr. White would be able to continue any treatment.
Joe’s eyes had filled with tears at her goodness. He had never meant to hurt her in the past, he had never wanted to be cruel.
She said she understood. She sat and held his hand until he fell asleep. Three days she was there helping him make his plans, telling him where they would put his bed.
He said it would be good in a way for her to have a man around the house again, and that was the only time she had cried. The tears had come down her face and she wept at the useless lives most people led and how little anyone understood about anyone else.
