by Maureen Lee
Chris Ryan was there to remind her of her insensitivity to other people’s feelings. He was with his wife who wasn’t much older than Ruby’s girls, and their son, a delicate little boy of ten who had severe asthma.
Before, at similar gatherings, Chris and Ruby had done no more than smile at each other, perhaps exchange a few polite words. Today, however, Chris followed her into the kitchen when she went for a glass of water after a hectic game of Charades.
‘I was thinking about us the other week,’ he said.
‘Us!’ Ruby replied, taken aback.
‘You, me – us. Did you know we had a terrible scare with Timmy? It was about a month ago. We thought he was going to die.’
‘Oh, Chris! I’m so sorry. I knew he had asthma, that’s all.’
‘He had a particularly bad attack. We didn’t think he was going to make it.’ His eyes clouded over. ‘I can’t think of a worse torture than watching the child you love suffer. You’d give everything you possessed if you could take the pain away, suffer it yourself. Nothing, no one else in the world matters. I guess that’s how you felt about your girls when Rob and Larry died.’
‘I guess it was,’ Ruby said slowly.
Chris smiled drily. ‘It’s taken me all this time to understand. I was a bit of a prig, wasn’t I?’
‘I wouldn’t say that.’
He leant against the wall, hands in pockets. When she’d been in love with him, Ruby had thought him very attractive with enormous charm. In her eyes, he probably wouldn’t have changed had they stayed together Now he was just an ageing man, almost sixty, with thinning hair. There was nothing exceptional about him.
‘I wanted to see you for two reasons,’ he said. ‘One was to confess I’d been a prig, the other to say goodbye. The three of us are off to New Zealand in February. We might not see each other again. The Liverpool air’s no good for Timmy, it’s too damp, and I’ve been at a bit of a loose end since I stopped being a copper. I’m going to start my own security firm.’
‘Good luck. I hope Timmy’s health improves and you do well.’ She held out her hand and Chris took it.
‘I often think about the year we were engaged, how it would have been if we’d got married.’ He held on to her hand and squeezed it. ‘I wish I hadn’t been such a fool, Ruby. I’ll always regret it.’
Ruby pulled her hand away. ‘Well, you shouldn’t,’ she said brusquely. ‘It was over and done with a long time ago. You should look to the future, not the past. I always do.’
Not long after Christmas, Matthew Doyle put his big house in Aughton on the market – he urgently needed the cash – and came to stay with Ruby while he looked for somewhere cheaper.
‘I thought you owned loads of houses and flats,’ Ruby exclaimed when the idea was first muted.
‘I got rid of them years ago. They were hardly worth the trouble,’ he said.
‘You didn’t get rid of this one.’
‘Because it’s different, that’s why. This is my second home, the place where, lately, I come and shelter when I’m in trouble.’
Ruby bit her lip. ‘There’s only the little bedroom where there’s hardly room to swing a cat. The others have all got students.’ It didn’t seem right that the owner of the house should have the smallest room.
‘The little bedroom will do me nicely, Rube. It shouldn’t be for long.’
Ruby prepared the room for her temporary guest, painting the woodwork glossy white and the walls a pretty eggshell blue. She bought new bedding - brushed nylon that didn’t need ironing - and a rug for beside the bed. She realised she was quite looking forward to having Matthew stay – if she hadn’t been so horrible, they could have been friends years ago. There were times when she wondered if she was her own worst enemy.
‘Very nice,’ Matthew said approvingly the day he arrived, not long after breakfast when everyone had gone. It was the first of February, bitterly cold, despite the clear blue sky and the distant sun, not nearly strong enough to melt the layer of glittering ice that covered their part of the earth. The garden was a frosty wonderland and the bare trees looked eerily pretty in their cloak of white. It was a day Ruby would never forget and always regret, despite her frequently expressed belief that one should never look back and regret anything.
She took Matthew upstairs. ‘I hope the bed’s long enough.’
‘Beds usually are.’
‘Lately, you seem to be growing taller,’ she remarked.
‘I’m growing thinner, that’s what. It’s probably an optical illusion.’
‘I’ll feed you up. I hope you like plain cooking. I can’t be bothered with anything fancy. I’ll make us some tea.’ She turned to leave, but he caught her arm.
‘I appreciate this, Rube.’
‘It’s not much, considering all you’ve done for us.’
‘Have you ever wondered why?’
‘Sometimes.’ Ruby shrugged carelessly. ‘I assumed it was because I reminded you of Foster Court, of your gran. Me and the girls were your substitute family.’
‘Is that really what you think?’ He was frowning slightly and his eyes looked very dark. She could feel the tension in the long thin fingers on her arm.
‘What else is there to think?’
‘There could be another reason.’ The fingers were trembling now.
‘And what would that be?’
He released her arm and sat on the bed. ‘I’ve always found it hard to talk to you. Because I wasn’t short of a few bob, you thought I was being patronising. You like to be on equal terms with people or, better still, on top. Well, now it’s different.’ He looked at her directly and Ruby was reminded of the first time they’d met, when he’d been so unsure of himself. It was an expression she’d never seen since. ‘By the end of the year, I’m likely to be skint, so now I can tell you how I feel – how I’ve felt, ever since you came through the door downstairs covered in paint. I...’
The phone rang. ‘Just a minute,’ Ruby said, and ran down to answer it.
It was Clint, wanting Daisy. ‘She’s at the dentist,’ Ruby informed him. ‘Didn’t she tell you?’
‘Oh, yes. I forgot.’ He began a rambling explanation. They were meeting for lunch, but he’d be late. He’d see her in McDonald’s instead of by the theatre. ‘If I don’t turn up at all, I’ll drop in the Forum sometime this afternoon and say hello.’
There was a mirror by the telephone. Ruby stared at her reflection. She saw a woman who didn’t look her fifty-seven years, a woman who nowadays would be described as handsome, as good-looking women were when they grew older. Her black hair was sprinkled with grey - the tint she’d had for Christmas had almost washed out. Her neck was lined, getting scraggy, she thought. Perhaps she’d better start wearing polo necks. After a while, as Clint’s voice droned on about something or other, the reflection grew blurred, while at the same time the meaning of Matthew’s words, of what he’d been about to say, became clear. He’d been about to tell her that he loved her! He’d almost got the words out, but she’d thought it more important to answer the phone.
There were footsteps on the stairs, brisk and fast. Matthew was coming down, his face stony. He was wearing a padded jacket, obviously on his way out.
‘Clint,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I have to ring off.’
‘Don’t forget to tell Daisy.’
‘No.’ She slammed down the receiver just as Matthew opened the front door. ‘What was it you wanted to tell me?’ she called, surprised to find that she was trembling and her heart had leapt to her throat. It was vital that she hear the words he’d been about to say before she’d interrupted him so rudely.
‘It doesn’t matter now.’ His voice was bitter. ‘Anyroad, it was nothing important.’
The door slammed. Ruby groaned and sank on to the stairs, head in her hands. She’d made many mistakes in her life, but now she’d just made the biggest mistake of all.
Ellie hadn’t thought it possible for Christmas to be so dead miserable. She’d gone wi
th Felix to the little village church for Midnight Mass and woke up late next morning.
Christmas morning, she thought gloomily, and imagined waking up at home where there’d be loads of presents under the tree which would be opened after breakfast – Gran always made a lavish breakfast on such a special day and everyone would eat it together for a change. The telly would be on, even if no one was watching, and carols could be heard all over the house.
She supposed she’d better get up. Ellie put one foot on the floor, winced, and put it back under the covers. The linoleum was freezing and she didn’t have any slippers. She managed to get dressed without getting off the bed. Her tummy was getting quite big, she noted, although the baby wasn’t due till May, and she was already wearing maternity frocks. She threw back her shoulders, took a deep breath, and went downstairs.
‘Good morning, Ellie.’ Felix was in the parlour, a small, dark room at the back of the house, where a fire struggled to burn in the black grate and half a dozen Christmas cards stood on the mantelpiece. Liam hadn’t sent one, nor had he, so far, made the promised telephone call. Ellie had no wish to speak to him if he did. ‘Would you like some tea?’ Felix enquired courteously.
‘Please.’ He treated her like an invalid, which she didn’t mind, preferring to be waited on rather than the other way round.
He went to fetch the tea and Ellie sat in one of the old-fashioned armchairs and held out her hands to the fire. The armchair felt damp. Everything in the house felt damp; the walls, the floors, the furniture, her bed. It was no wonder Liam and his sister had left. Even their mother had gone the minute her husband died. He’d been a miser, according to Mrs McTaggart who came in three times a week to do the washing and clean. Eammon Conway had owned the village chemist which was a little gold mine, being the only one for miles, but had refused to spend a penny on his family or the house. Instead, the money had gone on the horses, so there was nothing for his wife and children when the fatal heart attack struck.
Now Felix ran the chemist’s shop, but it was no longer a gold mine, Mrs McTaggart said sadly. A supermarket had since opened in the village, only small, but called a supermarket all the same. It sold aspirin and cough linctus, cold cures and corn plasters, all much cheaper than the chemist’s, so people only called on Felix when they needed a prescription or had ailments that required medicine the supermarket didn’t stock.
Felix brought her a cup of weak tea. ‘What would you like for breakfast?’ He stared at her intently from behind his pale-framed spectacles.
‘Just some toast,’ Ellie sighed. The look no longer bothered her. It was the way Felix looked at everyone, as if he was trying to see behind their eyes to some deep, inner part of them.
‘We’re having chicken for dinner,’ he said proudly. ‘Neila will be along in a minute to roast it.’
The chicken would be no bigger than a pigeon. Felix was finding it hard to survive on the profits from the chemist. There were times when Ellie felt quite sorry for him, which was odd, as she was inclined to regard inadequate people with contempt. But Felix never complained, never lost his temper, and had the patience of Job, as Gran would have said. She actually felt a sneaking liking for him. He wouldn’t be nearly so hard up, she thought darkly, if he got rid of Neila Kenny, who’d been his father’s assistant. Perhaps he didn’t like to sack her because she was his girlfriend.
It was a strange relationship. She’d never seen them touch, let alone kiss. At first, she’d assumed they did those sort of things during the dinner hour when the chemist closed, but Mrs McTaggart said Neila went home for dinner and Felix treated himself to half a pint of Guinness in one of the local pubs.
Neila Kenny was older than Felix, a large, raw-boned woman of about thirty-five, with scrappy hair and a face that the most charitable person in the world would have to admit was ugly. The shabby, shapeless clothes she wore looked as if they’d come from a jumble sale. Her stony grey eyes regarded the newcomer with hostility and Ellie found her just a bit scary.
Her favourite person was Mrs McTaggart, who brought her home-made scones and girdle cakes, otherwise she would have starved – even the toast when Felix brought it would be horrid, either underdone or burnt. Craigmoss didn’t have a gas supply and the ancient electric cooker was unpredictable.
There was no knowing whose fault it was – Neila’s or the cooker’s – that Christmas dinner turned out such a disaster; the chicken almost raw, the potatoes hard, the Brussels sprouts soggy.
Throughout the meal, Neila subjected her to the third degree, asking questions about Liam that she’d asked before, as if trying to catch her out in a lie. Where had they got married? she asked suspiciously. Was it a white wedding? Did they have a honeymoon? Why hadn’t she gone with him to Geneva?
‘I’m expecting a baby in case you haven’t noticed,’ Ellie replied in answer to the last.
‘Your wedding ring’s awfully thin. Is it secondhand?’
‘Yes, it’s all we could afford.’
Ellie stayed put while Neila cleared the table. From the lack of spoons, she assumed there wasn’t to be a pudding and, so far, there’d been no sign of anything alcoholic to drink.
Neila retured with a tray containing three cups of tea and three mince pies. ‘I hope these are all right. I got them from the supermarket. They’ve been warmed up a bit in the oven.’
Ellie burnt her tongue on the mincemeat filling. She yelped and left hurriedly to get a glass of water from the nineteenth-century kitchen which led to a miserable, barren garden. She stood by the sink, dangled her tongue in the icy water, and thought how stupid she must look, how dreadful everything was, and how incredibly unhappy she felt.
‘Are you all right, Ellie?’ Felix enquired from the door.
‘Yes. Look, could we go to a pub for a drink? It’ll be my treat.’ She hadn’t used any of the money Liam had given her and was desperate to get out of the house.
‘The pubs are closed today. Anyway, the Craigmoss pubs don’t welcome women, so you couldn’t go if they were open.’
Time had never passed so slowly. There was nothing to do, nowhere to go except the village. After a couple of forays, Ellie decided never to go again. There was only a handful of shops; the supermarket which was pathetic, the chemist’s, a tiny post office, a shop that sold wool, sewing things, baby clothes, and adult fashions she wouldn’t have been seen dead in. People were quite friendly and stopped in the street to chat but, even so, Ellie had a feeling they didn’t believe she’d married Liam and hoped to trip her up. What would they do if they discovered the truth, she wondered? Stone her to death, beat her with sticks and drive her from the village, ban her from Mass?
A library van visited Craigmoss once a week and Ellie spent most of the time with her head buried in a book. Felix insisted she visit the local doctor who examined her and advised she was putting on too much weight.
‘You need more exercise,’ Dr O’Hara said sternly. He made a note in his diary of when the baby was due – he would deliver it himself.
In order to keep sane, remind herself that a world existed outside the confines of Craigmoss, every few weeks Ellie caught the bus to Dublin, where she wandered round the shops, buying nothing, because it was important she keep Liam’s money for when the baby arrived and she could leave Fern Hall. Her only extravagance was a cup of coffee. She would sit in the restaurant, savouring the rich aroma, and try to plan ahead, impossible in Fern Hall where her brain felt as damp as the house itself.
But even with a clear head, it was hard to imagine what she would do once she had a child. Best not to think about it, see how she felt when the time came. If it was well-behaved, she’d buy a sling and carry it on her back and it wouldn’t stop her from having the adventures she had planned.
The weather improved and so did Ellie. The garden she’d thought barren suddenly sprang into life and the trees gradually became covered in pink and white blossom. She took a chair outside and read her book in the warm, spring sunshine. When Mrs McTagg
art finished her work, they would have a cup of tea and a gossip.
Mrs McTaggart was a widow, comfortably plump, with red apple cheeks and three grown-up sons; two worked on farms nearby, and Brendan, the youngest, was in prison in Belfast.
‘He’s a terrorist,’ his mother said proudly. ‘He threw a bomb at someone. They still sent him to prison, even though it missed.’
‘I like the name Brendan,’ Ellie opined.
‘You’d like Brendan himself. He’s a lovely lad. He went to school with your Liam. They were a pair of imps, always in trouble.’
‘What was Felix like when he was young?’ She couldn’t imagine Felix being young.
‘Clever, far cleverer than Liam, if you don’t mind me saying. It was always planned he’d go to university, but when the time came, he couldn’t bring himself to leave, apart from which there wasn’t the money. Liam was only thirteen, Monica a year older, and his poor mam was being driven silly by his philandering dad. So, Felix stayed. All them brains, but what does he do but get a job in the Rose as a barman.’ Mrs McTaggart’s normally cheery face was sober.
‘That’s a shame,’ Ellie said encouragingly. It showed how bored she was that she found this stuff of interest.
‘It is indeed! Maybe he’ll get his reward in heaven, because he certainly hasn’t had it on earth. Five years later, didn’t his daddy go and die! By then, Monica had already left for London, Liam was ready for university himself, and Eammon Conway hadn’t been in his grave for more than half an hour, before his wife ups and parks herself on her sister, leaving Felix with the chemist’s and a house no one in the world would want to buy. Not to mention,’ Mrs McTaggart added darkly, ‘Neila Kenny.’
‘What’s Neila Kenny got to do with things?’ demanded Ellie. ‘And what did you mean by his philandering dad?’
‘I shouldn’t really tell you.’
‘Oh, go on. I won’t repeat it. I’ll not be here much longer, will I? It doesn’t matter what I know.’
‘It’s not that. It doesn’t seem right to spread gossip.’ She gave Ellie a reproachful look, as if spreading gossip was the last thing on earth she’d do. ‘As to repeating it, I doubt if a soul in Craigmoss doesn’t already know.’
