“Of course you would,” Beatrice soothes, “and in a few days you’ll have everything you want. Look, you and Mona are exhausted. Will I ring Traynor’s and organize a few trays of sandwiches? Lily will do soup if we ask. Wouldn’t it be grand to have a big pot of soup on the go?”
“I suppose,” he says gruffly. He carries the bottle and glass to the door and signals Ellen to follow. She indicates that she’ll join him soon and he slams the door after him.
Mona says, “I don’t believe it. You got round him. He even agreed to caterers coming in. He wouldn’t listen to a word I said, dug in his heels against my every suggestion.”
“He just needs peace and quiet,” Beatrice says, donning an apron she found in a drawer. “Will we get stuck in, Mona? When word gets round, others will soon arrive.”
“Are you sure I can’t help?” Ellen asks.
Mona throws her a cold look, but Beatrice smiles. “Your job is to keep Matt company, Ellen.” The phone trills into life and Beatrice runs out to the hall to answer it. When she returns she says, “That was Colum. They’ll all be here tonight. Ellen, go into Matt while we tidy up. Tell him they located Stephen.”
“We’d better make up a few fresh beds,” Mona says.
Ellen finds Matt staring out the window at the side garden. He turns when he hears the door open. “I was too hard on you,” he says. “Completely out of line.”
It’s as close to an apology as she’s likely to get. “That’s okay. Colum and Stephen are on their way.”
“We all know the drill, know what’s expected of us,” he says tiredly.
“It must be a bit of an ordeal.”
“Yes and no. At least it’ll restore a bit of order. Everything’s been all out of kilter the last while.”
She takes his hand, suddenly aware of the coarse, dry texture of his skin. “It’s all over now.” Suddenly she’s worried that it’s the wrong thing to say.
He throws her a strange look. “Yes, it’s all over. She’s gone.”
“She’s not suffering anymore.”
“No, the suffering is finished.” He withdraws his hand.
They stand in silence for a long time. There’s the sound of furniture being moved about. In the distance a vacuum cleaner roars into life. “My mother was laid out in this room,” he volunteers. “They put the coffin on the dining table. Mona has been at me for weeks to wake Julia here.” He looks grim. “Funeral homes are a great invention. The dead don’t clog up the house. It tidies up the business and allows people to return to everyday living.”
“But —”
“But nothing.”
There’s no mistaking his meaning. Ellen knows well enough to hold her tongue. She feels particularly stupid not to have gleaned quite how oppressive his marriage was.
He lapses into a forbidding silence that she hasn’t the courage to break. The mantelpiece clock ticks. The room resonates as if breathing. Outside an occasional sun casts long shadows in the garden. Crows caw close to the house.
Moments pass. Matt sighs a few times and she wonders if he hears her answering sighs.
Eventually Beatrice carries in a tray with tea and cake and sets it on the table. “Here’s something to sustain us. Have to keep body and soul together.”
Matt manages a half smile. “Thanks, Beatrice. You’re very good.”
She presses a slice on him. “Come on, Matt. I’m sure you had no breakfast. You have to keep up your strength over the next few days.”
Obediently he eats. Beatrice and Ellen talk about cutlery, plates, and glasses, and estimate the numbers to be catered for after the funeral. Lily Traynor’s name gets a mention. “Her quiches are second to none,” Beatrice says. “And as for her salads!” They measure and lob their utterances to each other and watch Matt covertly.
After a short while he stops eating, sits back in his chair, stretches his neck, sighs, and closes his eyes.
“Will people adjourn to Hegarty’s after the burial?” Beatrice asks.
He answers with his eyes shut. “I suppose. Would you set the ball rolling, Beatrice? I’m past all caring. You’re good at that sort of thing. The boys will take over once they arrive.”
“Consider it done, Matt. How about a lie down for a while?” she asks as she collects the tea things. “I’d say you could do with a rest. Don’t worry about the milking. Simon will help out there.”
“I’m perfectly capable of looking after the farm,” he says wearily.
“Of course you are. Nobody’s suggesting otherwise, but it’s the custom to help each other out at times like these.”
He nods. His eyes are ringed with tiredness and his skin looks dull. “Of course, you’re right. Sorry.” Ellen marvels at how Beatrice can calm him.
“Go on up now. You’re exhausted. We’ll look after things down here. We’ll call if you’re needed.”
He gets to his feet and yawns. “I’ll grab some shuteye while I can.”
Suddenly he’s gone. Beatrice looks at Ellen. Her shoulders sag and her head droops. Whatever animated her expression has evaporated. She looks to have aged ten years.
Ellen touches her arm. “Are you okay?”
Beatrice almost pulls off a smile. “I’ll be grand in a moment. I just have to pull myself together.”
Ellen realizes what she means. “I’m an eejit. You’re thinking of John, aren’t you?”
Beatrice compresses her lips and nods. “I find these occasions unsettling. A death, any death, sets off so many associations and memories. I have to keep whipping myself to go on.”
“I don’t know how you do it.”
“It’s simple really. You have a choice. Go on or give up. I decided to keep going.” She stands up and flaps the tea towel as if fanning herself, and her face regains some of its sparkle. She has sourced some reserves of energy. “Now, do you mind being put to work?” she asks.
“Not at all. I’m only delighted. Won’t it upset Mona? By the way, where is Mona?”
“She’s in the kitchen. She wasn’t up to facing Matt. Look, Mona will have to accept the way things are. We need to pull together to keep Matt on an even keel. And why wouldn’t you be here? You’re family. I’m the odd one out, if you want to look at it that way.”
When Mona sees Ellen clearing out the fireplace in the drawing room, her face closes down with repressed irritation.
By mid-afternoon the house is clean. A van draws up to the kitchen door. “Well timed, Lily,” Mona says. “We could do with some of what you have.”
It’s raining outside. Lily’s son rushes in carrying a huge pot and places it on the cooker. “Vegetable soup,” he says. They unload trays of sandwiches covered in foil.
“I’d say you’ll have a fair crowd up tonight,” Lily says. “There’s egg, salmon, ham, tomato, salad — you name it, we have it.”
“I hope Matt’s happy with what I ordered.”
“He won’t notice anything except there’s a bill to be paid,” Mona says.
“Give us a shout if you’re running low,” Lily says.
“I’d say this will be ample, Lily.”
“You should have let me take care of all this,” Mona says in a whinging tone. Her expression says that she feels sidelined.
“Would you prefer me to go? Is that it, Mona?” Beatrice asks.
“No, not at all,” Mona says, her eyes darting about nervously. “He’d kill me if he thought I ran you. It’s not your fault the way things are. You’re very good to help out, I have to say.” She can’t keep the querulous note out of her voice.
“It’s no bother. I’m only too happy to have the chance. Anyway, we won’t be on our own for long.”
“Once all the baking is done, they’ll be up.”
Lily has watched the exchanges with interest. “How’s Matt taking it?” she asks.
“He’s like a dog!” Mona complains. “He hasn’t said a civil word to me in weeks.”
Beatrice starts. “He’s drained, the poor man,” she says. “
The last while has been rough. We sent him up to rest.”
“And you, Mona? You must be worn to the bone,” Lily says.
Mona puffs up like an affronted hen ruffling her feathers. “As well as can be expected. Everybody asks how Matt is doing. They forget she’s — she was my sister.”
“Nobody’s forgetting that, Mona. You’ve been a trooper the last few weeks, practically living over here. I’m sure Matt’s grateful.”
“If he is, he never shows it.”
“You know what men of that generation are like.”
Mona is mollified. “I could do with some of that soup, Beatrice,” she says. “I don’t know when I last had a proper meal. The last few days have been dreadful. We were run off our feet looking after her.”
“It’s no wonder Matt’s on a short fuse,” Lily says.
“I did most of it,” Mona says. “Well, he did the shopping and some cooking,” she concedes, “but I nursed her. Still, better that she died at home. If she’d gone into hospital, that’s where she’d have finished up. It all worked out in the end.”
“Didn’t you have help, Mona?” Lily asks.
“Oh, sure we had to at the end. Julia was all against it, but we’d never have coped without agency nurses and backup from the hospice. We had a hospice nurse in every night. They couldn’t have looked after us better. Still, we hardly got a wink of sleep the last three nights. She was very low. I was afraid to leave her. She took a turn for the worse this morning, so we got hold of Father Mahoney after morning Mass, and he got here in time to give her the last rites.”
“Take the weight off your feet, Mona, and I’ll heat up soup,” Beatrice says.
“I’ll away,” Lily says. “See you, Mona.” She looks across the room at Ellen.
“You know Ellen, don’t you, Lily?” Beatrice says. “Matt’s niece.”
Lily does a double take, swinging her platinum blond locks. “I’ve seen you about. If I’d paid proper attention, I’d have realized that you’re Brendan’s daughter. I remember your mother. When’s she due to arrive?”
“Oh,” Ellen says, flustered. “I haven’t told her yet.”
“Aren’t you the one?”
“All in good time,” says Beatrice.
“I’d best be off. Good afternoon to you all. You’re the image of your father, God’s honest truth,” she says to Ellen.
“So they say.”
Beatrice heats up soup, ladles it into a bowl, and sets it on a tray. “Open the door into the hallway, would you?” she asks Mona. “I’ll bring some up to Matt.”
“Didn’t he eat cake?” snaps Mona.
“I think I hear him moving about. He needs something more substantial. He hasn’t eaten properly in days — neither of you has. Would you mind opening the door, Ellen? Thanks. You’re a love.”
Ellen follows her into the hall and watches her climb the stairs.
The front door is open. The drizzle and mist have lifted and the sun is out again. Light floods the dark hallway. She steps out into the yard. To the left of the front porch, beyond the tarmacadam yard, is a patch of lawn dotted with evergreen shrubs. The sun’s futile rays glance off her. She breathes in. The air singes her skin with cold and she steps back smartly into the hall.
“He’s out for the count. I hadn’t the heart to disturb him,” Beatrice says from behind her, placing the tray on the hall table. She moves toward the door and steps outside. Ellen follows. Beatrice makes for the lawn and peers at some of the shrubs. “Hard to believe that they’ll be in bud soon,” she says. “We can’t see it, but it’s all starting to kick in, the engine of renewal. Marvelous, when you consider it. But we could be in for more cold snaps yet. I can remember snow in May.”
“I was just thinking how long ago Christmas feels, yet it’s only a few weeks.”
“Paula was disappointed to miss you.”
“If I hadn’t stayed with Mum over the holidays it would have been death by a thousand cuts.” She shrugs off her thoughts. “I’m so glad you’re here, Beatrice. We’d never have managed Matt without you.”
“It’s difficult after a death,” muses Beatrice. “Nothing tops it for making people feel disoriented and alone.”
His mother had suggested the marriage. She had gone to school with Julia’s mother and the two women remained firm friends, meeting up for Mass and Benediction, playing cards in the same group, exchanging books and gossip, bolstering each other’s widowhood.
Mrs. Hughes thought the world of Julia. “What’s your problem with her?” she asked. “She’s a shopkeeper’s daughter. The nuns educated her. She’s of good character. She can cook and sew and do all the chores. What’s more, she’s strong. Besides, she’s supposed to have a soft spot for you.”
“I haven’t the slightest interest in her.”
“You should. She’d be an asset to us. The family’s well-off.”
Chary of incurring his mother’s wrath through continued resistance, he took to calling to Julia’s house. His mother set the agenda and turned it into a culinary courtship, giving him milk or eggs or salted meat to bring to the house, and, through the medium of her son, offering her friend a goose at Christmas and a leg of lamb at Easter. She courted Julia by proxy.
As the months wore on and a year went by, Matt showed no sign of proposing. Julia tired of him sitting uneasily and mostly silently on a chair in her mother’s parlor. She took over the business of courtship, became the energizing force in their dealings with each other, and tried to spur him into action. At home his mother wore him down with her eulogizing of Julia. She told neighbors that he and Julia were “walking out” with each other. People began to ask when the big day was planned.
Julia was small-breasted and slim-hipped, her mouth always slightly open because of her bucked front teeth, a long, bony face — her head a fuzzy curly mop — nothing to look at, thought Matt. Could he tolerate her day after day, year after year, decade after decade? Would it drive him mad to have to listen to her inane chatter, or would he become immune to her?
He’d been working up to taking a stance, breaking it to her that they should go their separate ways, when Beatrice married Jack Furlong and that threw him into turmoil. He hadn’t even been aware of the wedding plans.
His mother crowed. “Jack Furlong must have been lovesick. What had she to bring to the marriage? Her family hasn’t two pence to rub together. Her father’s a small farmer, hiring himself out to make ends meet.”
“Don’t you say anything against her,” he warned.
“If she was so wonderful, why did ye break up?” she taunted. “Who wouldn’t pull? All your secret comings and goings — don’t think I didn’t know what was happening. Did she give you the shove? If only Brendan were here. He wouldn’t be hankering after a common little madam. Can’t you see the squalor she comes from?”
“Squalor, is it? There was never a more respectable, clean-living family. They might have to scrabble about to make a living, but they’re decent honest people. You’re an almighty snob, Mam. Look, Brendan couldn’t get out of here fast enough. He wanted to put as much distance as possible between you and him. Your beloved son couldn’t stomach the idea of knuckling down under your yoke. Vocation, my eye! It was his pass out of here!”
“Don’t you badmouth your brother. If he had stayed, you’d have had to sling your hook. And if you don’t watch your step, I’ll will the farm to somebody else.”
He laughed shortly. “And who will you leave it to, Mam? The church? Get away with you.”
“Don’t underestimate me.”
“That I’d never do. I have the utmost respect for your spite.”
At teatime that evening, in a more reasonable tone, she said, “Get shut of all those romantic notions, Matt. Don’t be pining after what you can’t have. You need a wife. I won’t be around forever. If you don’t settle down, you’ll rue the day. You’ll be like one of those pitiful old bachelors who still drive down to the creamery with their asses and carts.”
He confronted his reluctance to marry. It should have been merely a matter of resolve, but it wasn’t a decision he came to easily. He reminded himself how few expectations his parents had for their own marriage, and how little happiness it had delivered to them.
Julia’s good points? He rehearsed his mother’s arguments again and again. God willing, there would be children who would dilute their enforced intimacy. They would surely make an accommodation with each other.
When he proposed, she accepted immediately, almost as if she were afraid he’d withdraw the offer if she gave him a minute to think about it. There were no pre-wedding intimacies. Once or twice he forced himself to deliver a chaste peck to her cheek, and Julia initiated some awkward hand-holding in public.
As the wedding date approached, Julia’s attentions to him slackened. This reticence revealed itself for what it was on the night of the wedding. They were in their hotel bedroom in Galway on the first of two nights away from the farm. The weak light from the single lamp in the room muddied their complexions, draining any color from their faces. He sat on a chair by the window, restlessly smoking a cigarette, trying to decide whether she was too nervous to be touched, but wondering if she expected it.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” she said as she pushed their cases under the bed. “I can’t abide the idea of you laying hands on me. I’ll do my duty as far as having children is concerned. Don’t expect me to like it, that’s all.”
He stared at her. He’d been worried about trapping her into a marriage where love was absent. Once he’d even said, hesitantly, that he wasn’t in love with her, but he supposed they’d grow fond of each other and make a go of it. They were standing at the door of her mother’s house. She said nothing, looked down at the ground. He thought it odd at the time and then forgot it. Now it was clear that there was no love on her side. He stamped out the cigarette butt on the floor. “So a roll in the hay is out of the question?” he said challengingly.
Civil & Strange Page 14
