‘I’ll tidy that up,’ Jerome said before she had a chance to speak. Peggy just smiled at him again, and walked through the door Frank held open for her.
‘Well,’ Paddy swung around and grinned at Jerome. ‘If I’d known that there was this much excitement to be had in Casey’s on Saturday afternoons, I’d make it my business to be in Crumm every weekend.’
‘And you haven’t even heard about the dead body yet,’ Jerome said with a sigh. ‘Sit down there, Paddy. We might as well have a pint.’
THIRTEEN
The way from The Angler’s Rest to the shore of the lake was more of a dirt track than a road. Peggy tried covertly to tuck her blouse into her denim skirt as she walked half a step behind Frank all the way down the hill. She smoothed her hair as best she could with the flat of her hands, and silently cursed that she hadn’t washed it that morning. The sun was still hot, although the air had definitely cooled a little over the previous few weeks. She watched how Frank seemed to be noticing everything around him as he walked. His left hand was tucked in the back pocket of his jeans, giving the impression of someone in a relaxed frame of mind, but Peggy could tell from the way his eyes scanned their surroundings that this was a man at work. She noticed the blond hairs on his tanned arm. They walked in silence until they came to a fork in the road, and Frank turned to look at her.
‘This way?’ He pointed to the right.
‘Yes.’ Peggy thought for a moment. ‘Or we can go this way and I can show you the old bog road.’
Frank said nothing; just nodded his head and started on the path to the left. The route almost immediately lost any semblance of a road proper, and soon they were walking side by side on a grassy path through a lightly wooded area. It was cooler here. The sound of branches whispering and swaying filtered down from above them. After a moment or two, the trees cleared, and they found themselves standing on the shore of the lake.
Peggy stopped and waited for Frank to say something. Right out in front of them were two parallel lines of black stumps, no more than ten feet apart. The two lines began at the edge of the wooded area, just a little down from where they stood, and continued on across the silt and into the water, where they disappeared under the lake about fifty feet out. Frank walked out to the nearest stump and put his hands on it.
‘This was the bog road into the old village.’ Peggy walked over to the stump opposite Frank’s. ‘These trees once lined the road. I’d only seen them once as a child, years ago, another summer when the water was low.’
Frank stared out into the lake, following the line of the stumps with his eyes.
‘I was probably twelve or maybe thirteen. But they were never this obvious before.’
She walked out further to the next tree stump, and examined it with her hands. A rotten piece of wood came away in her grasp. ‘I suppose the trees just rotted,’ she said. ‘Unless they cut them down?’
But Frank didn’t answer her. His attention was fixed on something else in the water, further out.
‘So that’s the mill out there?’ he said, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand.
Peggy followed his gaze. ‘It must be,’ she said. ‘I’m probably not the most helpful person to have out here.’ She bit her lower lip. ‘I’m afraid I’m like someone living beside the Taj Mahal, but never noticing how beautiful it is. It’s always just been the lake to me. And I amn’t old enough to remember anything from before the dam was built.’ She cast her gaze across from one end of the lake to the other. The sun came from behind a wisp of cloud, making the surface sparkle like glitter. ‘Coleman probably is your best bet, you know.’
Frank just smiled at her, but still he said nothing. He stuffed both hands in his pockets and walked a little further along the ghost road.
‘Did you used to swim here as kids?’ He turned to face her. ‘You and Carla? And Jerome?’
Peggy shook her head. ‘Not so much.’ She walked out a little further before noticing the water starting to ooze around her runners. ‘You’re not really supposed to swim here. It’s not safe.’ She laughed. ‘I mean, we used to, of course, sometimes. But if they open or close the dam, it can cause underwater currents, so we weren’t supposed to. Anyway,’ she smiled at him, ‘the water’s always freezing.’
A wedge of geese flew past suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, and they both raised their heads at the sound. Peggy watched Frank as he tracked them with his eyes across the lake and over Slieve Mart until they were gone from sight.
‘So the body’s gone?’ she said suddenly.
Frank turned to her. ‘Yes.’ He indicated with his head, and they started to walk back along the shoreline. ‘Dr. McKenna did a preliminary post-mortem this morning. She’s gone up to Dublin now. They’ll do a full PM on her there.’
Peggy thought about this. ‘So do you think it was … ’ she stopped.
‘I don’t know yet for sure,’ Frank said.
‘But it wasn’t natural causes?’
‘It would seem not.’ Frank slowed his gait until they were walking side by side along the bank. ‘Although, we can’t be one hundred per cent sure. Not yet.’
Peggy suddenly felt a chill, even under the glare of the three o’clock sun. ‘And was she old? I mean, when she was … when she died. Was it an old person?’
Frank just looked at her and shook his head.
‘Jaysus.’ Peggy thought about this.
Frank seemed to consider something. He sighed. ‘It seems she was late teens. Maybe early twenties.’
‘Right. Lord.’
‘But I’m fairly sure she pre-dates the lake. It’s … it’s been there a while. I think. At this stage.’ Peggy sensed that Frank was trying to reassure her.
‘We were just saying’, she said, ‘how maybe it was a Republican thing? You know? Something to do with the IRA maybe?’
As soon as she had the words spoken, she wished them back. She sounded ridiculous. Frank of all people would have considered that already. He didn’t need her pretending to be Miss Marple.
‘It’s possible,’ he said. ‘We’ll be checking into all missing persons files.’ He smiled at her. ‘It is possible.’
They continued walking, slowly. Peggy noticed how quiet Frank was being. For someone who wanted questions answered, he wasn’t asking too many.
‘So do you come across many dead bodies in your work?’ she asked.
He laughed. ‘One or two,’ he said. ‘Unfortunately. It’s not my favourite part of the job. As you might imagine.’
‘Still,’ Peggy thought aloud. ‘It must be exciting.’ She stopped walking suddenly, and pointed to the trees on the bank to their right. ‘We used to play at being detectives when we were kids. Myself and Jerome.’ She stared into the copse, remembering. ‘We would hide behind the trees there, watching the fishermen ready themselves and their boats, pretending they were Russian double agents, off to carry out some dastardly crime.’
Just as she spoke, a car and trailer pulled up in a clearing just ahead. Two men got out and started to untie their little boat.
‘You see?’ Peggy whispered. ‘Russian double agents.’ They laughed.
‘They don’t look very Russian to me, Detective,’ Frank said with a serious face.
The two men waved a hello and Peggy waved back.
‘You’re right. That’s Peadar O’Malley. He’s a regular at the bar. I’d better leave the investigating to you, Frank.’
They continued walking slowly along the shoreline, past the clearing where Peggy could feel the two men’s inquisitive eyes on her and Frank. She could imagine them wondering to each other who that was walking out with the young Casey girl. The air was still, with only the smallest of breezes playing with the tops of the tall evergreens growing along much of the edge of the lake. Behind the trees, sloping fields fell at a sharp incline down to the lake in shades of yellow and green, each field surrounded by a hedgerow, a boundary with its own story to tell. Peggy thought how long it had been since she had walked
down here as she did now with Frank. Her mother had liked to take a stroll here until she was no longer able to. Peggy had often held her arm as they had taken ‘a turn of the lake’, as her mother used to say. But Peggy couldn’t recall a time in the last two years when she had walked here. And now, with the warm breeze caressing her face, and the still quiet and enveloping peace around here, she wondered why not.
Frank seemed to be deep inside his own thoughts. They had been walking very slowly. Peggy regarded his profile as he walked ahead of her a little. He had strong-looking shoulders. A man’s shoulders. She tried to imagine what he might look like in his uniform. Her stomach burned. She racked her brain for something to say to break the silence that was starting to feel awkward.
‘We used to stand on those rocks and throw stones into the water at our feet.’ She pointed at a collection of large boulders, which were now easily fifty feet from the edge of the gently lapping lake. She walked over to them and climbed up to the highest one. ‘It really is incredible how low the water is now,’ she said, almost to herself. In a moment of boldness, she sat down on the flat face of the rock, her feet resting on another beneath it. She thought Frank hesitated a second before joining her.
He sighed as he sat down. ‘It really is a beautiful day.’
‘Mm hmm.’ She could feel her cheeks flush again. She pulled at the hem of her skirt, wishing for the millionth time that she had Carla’s legs.
‘You get on well together? You and your siblings?’
Peggy looked at Frank to see if this was part of some investigation, but she could imagine no sinister motive to the question. His eyes were trained on the stone building clearly visible in the still waters in the middle of the lake.
‘As well as most siblings, I suppose.’ She sat up straighter just as Frank leaned back on his elbows and turned his face to the sun. She watched him over her shoulder.
‘Myself and Carla can argue. But sure, that’s expected of sisters. We were never the pally types. Even though we’re the closest in age. Irish twins.’ She gave a little nervous laugh, and glanced over her shoulder again at Frank. She couldn’t tell if he was listening or not. She thought probably not.
‘You seem very different. You and Carla.’
The statement surprised her. Not just because, even with his eyes closed, Frank seemed to be paying attention to her, but because what he said was true.
‘We are very different. But hey, she’s my sister.’ Peggy pulled at a little wild flower that had taken the opportunity to grow up from a crack in the dry rock. ‘And she’s not all bad.’
Without turning her head, she could tell that Frank was looking at her.
‘Her boyfriend is married,’ he said.
It was a statement of truth, not a question. Peggy’s initial reaction was to defend Carla, but then she realized that Frank didn’t seem to be judging her. He was simply stating the facts as he saw them. Occupational hazard, no doubt.
‘Well,’ she started, ‘I don’t know if he is her boyfriend exactly.’
Even as the words came out of her mouth she could hear how hollow they sounded. Carla’s boyfriend was married. And a father. And her boss. None of which made him an ideal choice. She twisted the flower between her fingers.
‘Carla could have anyone she wanted,’ she said. ‘All the boys always loved her and her long legs and … ’ She was about to say her big boobs but stopped herself just in time. ‘She never had any trouble getting boyfriends.’ She could hear herself defending her sister and she wondered why she bothered. It was unlikely the favour would ever be returned.
‘Maybe that’s Carla’s problem,’ Frank said. ‘Maybe she needs a man. Not a boy. But it might be better for all involved if he didn’t already have a wife.’
Peggy turned. Frank was staring at her with his probing green eyes. She opened her mouth to protest, but his eyes stopped her. And anyway. He was right. Again. Carla did need a man. Someone with enough strength of character to take her on. Someone who could appreciate her good qualities; her thoughtfulness, her quiet consideration, her loyalty. Someone who could knock the corners off her without breaking her in the process.
Peggy saw immediately that Frank was the perfect type for Carla, and her stomach lurched involuntarily. He was the right age, the right position, and he wasn’t wearing a ring. He’d phoned someone last night from the bar, but from the little bit Peggy could hear of the conversation, it hadn’t sounded like a girlfriend. Not a happy one anyway. But Frank and Carla? Peggy cursed herself for not seeing it before. He had probably asked her to walk to the lake with him so that he could get a better idea of Carla’s status. Of course. That made so much sense. All the boys loved Carla. Why hadn’t she seen it? She was about to stand up and suggest that they go back to the bar, when Frank spoke.
‘My guess is Carla’s always going to be a lot of work. A high maintenance girl,’ he said with a smile. ‘I’d say you know that better than anyone. She’ll probably find a nice, quiet teacher or guard to marry, who doesn’t mind being controlled by his wife. Believe me, there are plenty of them about.’
Peggy could see with delight that Frank was not including himself in that category. She turned her face back to the lake to hide the smile that had planted itself on her lips.
They sat quietly for a moment. The two men who had parked their trailer in the clearing were now pulling their little boat off across the sand and towards the water. Peggy watched Frank watch them.
‘And what about your brothers?’ His eyes never left the two men.
‘What about them?’
Frank looked at her. ‘You get on with them?’
Peggy smiled. ‘Oh, everyone gets on with Jerome. He’s impossible not to get on with.’ She spoke with sincerity, thinking of her brother back at the bar and the troubles he might be going through that no one could help him with. Thinking of him, talking about him, she thought for one awful second that she might cry.
‘Does he live in Crumm, so?’
‘Yes,’ Peggy said. ‘Well, no. I mean, yes. Yes. He does.’
Frank raised an eyebrow.
‘He does. Live in Crumm,’ she said with forced conviction. ‘He and I run the bar. Hugo and Carla have full-time jobs. Jerome and I manage the business. That was how it was decided.’ She hugged her knees to herself and kept her eyes out on the lake before her.
Frank was silent.
‘It’s just; he stays up in Dublin a lot. With friends.’ She glanced back at Frank. He was still looking at her. She felt a wave of perspiration seep from her skin.
‘Is he not happy here in Crumm?’
Peggy’s eyes widened. What was with this guy? He’d only known Jerome for two minutes.
‘Eh, I don’t know. I suppose, I suppose Crumm just doesn’t, suit him.’
Frank just frowned and nodded his head. Peggy knew she should stop talking, but she hated awkward silences. And there was something about Frank. She wanted to talk to him. Probably because he actually listened.
‘Crumm is a very small place,’ she said slowly, ‘in every sense. Small place. Small people. And Jerome, well Jerome is a very big personality.’
Frank seemed to consider this.
‘It’s difficult being different,’ he said, after a moment, ‘in any walk of life. People like people who fit in. Who conform. But things are changing’, he went on, ‘and it’s easier in Dublin. People are more accepting in Dublin. In cities generally, I think.’
Even in the heat of the sun, Peggy could feel her cheeks burning from the inside out.
‘Maybe he is happier in Dublin,’ he said, ‘but you need him here, of course.’
‘I don’t need him,’ Peggy snapped. She immediately felt sorry and turned to see if she had offended Frank. But his eyes were as soft as ever when they met hers. She swallowed back her ire. ‘Sorry.’ She smiled at him. ‘I studied hotel management. After I left school.’
Frank looked surprised. Interested.
‘My plan was to go abroad. For
a few years, anyway. Work in one of the big hotels in London, maybe. Or America. For the experience. I thought I might come back after a few years and get a job in Dublin myself. In the Westbury, maybe.’ She suddenly felt a bit ridiculous. ‘Or, you know.’
‘So why are you here?’
The question could have been an innocuous one, but Peggy suspected that Frank was not enquiring about the practicalities of taking over a family business on the death of a father. Why was she still managing The Angler’s Rest? Why was she still living in Crumm? Why had she settled? The silence of the lake filled the space all around them.
‘It’s just one of those things,’ she said. ‘When Daddy died, the bar was closed for three days. We waked him in the house, and buried him up in Ballyknock. And then, the next day, we were all there together, and someone opened up, and that was it.’ She flicked at a fingernail with her thumb. ‘I suppose I’d assumed Hugo would stay. Well, everyone had. But the next day, he went back to London, and Carla went back down to Wexford. And, well, that was it. Myself and Jerome stayed.’
‘When was that?’ Frank asked quietly.
‘Two years ago now,’ Peggy laughed when she heard herself utter the words.
Frank sat up. ‘And you never thought of selling?’
Peggy shook her head, ‘It’s our home,’ she said in a small voice. ‘Our parents are dead. What would happen to us all if we had no home to keep us together?’
For a second, Peggy thought Frank might actually answer her question. He had been so insightful up until then, she actually hoped he would. But Frank just looked from Peggy out over the lake, and said nothing. And the reality of her admission became a real living thing. Out there now. Spoken. The truth. Peggy would never sell The Angler’s Rest, and her brothers and her sister would never stay. Peggy suddenly felt like someone had slapped her cheek. She clasped her knees tighter to herself. And they sat there, side by side, looking out over the lake, watching the little boat and its two crewmen row off into the distance.
The Lake Page 9
