“Maybe it will come in time,” Eve said.
“I don’t think it will, but I can’t bear to throw them out. It wouldn’t be right.”
“You could store them, until you are ready.”
Connie looked at Eve and Hetty.
“It was nearly two years ago, when Ed killed my Molly.”
Hetty let out a cry she tried to muffle. “Sweet divine Jesus, what are you saying?”
Connie did not answer. Eve put a hand on Hetty’s knee, telling her not to ask further.
“I have to find a place where I can cope. I have to find a way. Maybe my time at Ludlow Hall will do that.”
“Would you not be better at home in America?” Hetty flushed red up her neck. “I didn’t mean that to sound as unwelcoming as it did. It is just that home is the only place, when there is so much grief and loss.”
“Except there isn’t a home any more. Our house was only rented. And anyway, Ed killed Molly in her bed. How could I even walk down the corridor to the bedroom again? I went into meltdown after that, maybe lost my mind. I don’t know. It was so hard.”
Hetty began to blubber. Connie put a hand out to comfort her.
“Thank you, you have a soft heart,” she whispered to Hetty.
Distracted, Eve got up to get the cookie jar and put it on the table.
“Connie, do you want to make a memory quilt for Molly?”
Hetty looked up, wiping away her tears. “We could make it together.”
“You mean from her clothes, cut them up?”
“Yes. We will have to cut out the patches, so you need to be sure you are willing to let that happen.”
“It brings up a lot of memories, but in your case, it will be the sweet ones with Molly,” Hetty said, her voice shaking.
Connie was silent, the only sound in the kitchen her fingers streaking across the table.
“It will be a beautiful quilt, you can rely on us to do a good job,” Hetty said gently.
Connie smiled. “Can I help? Will you show me how to do it?”
“Of course we will,” Eve said, Hetty clapping her hands in excitement. Eve stood up and looked in the cardboard box. “There are a lot of clothes here. How would you like us to arrange the quilt?”
Connie sighed. “Molly’s favourite top was her train pyjama top. Do you think we could make that the centrepiece? It describes my independent girl so well.”
Eve began searching through the plastic vacuum bags of clothes, picking out the pyjama top with a train engine on it.
“That would be a lovely centrepiece,” she said, Hetty nodding in agreement.
“Will we sort through the clothes, cut out the squares and present them all to you, maybe year by year, or do you want to take part?”
Connie swallowed her tears.
“I don’t think I want to be around when you are cutting the clothes up, but I do want a memory quilt for Molly. Can you include everything in those bags?”
“We will do our best,” Hetty said.
“Why don’t you have a look at your dance studio? John O’Reilly said he will be back on Monday, as he has gone as far as he can. The mirrors are due to be delivered today.”
Connie stroked the pyjama top.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, before disappearing into what used to be Arnold’s study.
The walls had been plastered and painted white, the floor lacquered in a heavy clear varnish. Arnold’s desk was pushed into a corner. She thought she might leave it there to hold her music system.
The room was light and airy, the floor with just the right amount of give. Spotlights had been put in at the ceiling. When the mirrors arrived, the studio would be near finished.
Kicking off her shoes, she began to step out, slow tentative steps until she heard music in her head, then she pirouetted across the floor. Flopping into Arnold’s desk chair, she wanted to ring Bill, tell him to come to Ludlow Hall. When she was ill she had had Eve explain the situation to him, to put him off from visiting. It was time to talk to him directly.
Swinging around to look out over the paddocks, she picked up her phone and hit his number.
“Bill?”
“Connie! Did you get the flowers?”
For a moment, she hesitated, remembering Eve arriving up the stairs with the flowers, her face beaming. She did not expect Connie’s reaction: shouting, telling her to take them away, throw them in a bin. How could she tell him they had kicked up so many memories, of the white coffin hidden under bunches and bunches of flowers, the house full of bouquets afterwards.
“They were beautiful and lasted so long. So lovely,” she said, detecting his relief. “Bill, I have been in a bad place. I am not sure how much Eve told you, but I am getting there. Being away from the US, in this place, is helping.”
“I understand, Connie. You know I will do whatever you ask.”
“I want to see you, Bill. I don’t know what is going to happen after that, but I owe you that much.”
“This might be the time to tell you, I have accepted a position at University College Dublin. I start in the next few weeks. Maybe one weekend I could call on you.”
“I would like that.”
“I love you, Connie. I will give you all the time you want.”
“Bill, I love you too. Just be patient.”
“I will ring when I arrive in Dublin, we can talk some more.”
Amy was right: it wasn’t his fault. He was not the one who made the decision to kill Molly. He was not the one who waited until her mother was out of the house, stole into her bedroom . . . But her burden of grief had pushed him away.
Connie jumped up, pacing the room to clear her mind.
“Here I am. Just love me, Mommy.”
She walked back to the kitchen.
“I was thinking I would like to help,” she said.
Eve pulled out a chair. “You can do some tacking, while we cut out the rest.”
Hetty ran off to get the sewing box in the drawing room.
“The first thing you have to decide is if you want others to know what the quilt is commemorating or would you prefer that to stay private. We can insert a piece saying ‘In Memory of Molly’. Rebecca Fleming is very good at the embroidery.”
“I am not sure I am ready for too many questions. Let’s not tell anyone anything, just yet.”
“You are lucky, there are quite a few of us for the Ludlow Ladies’ Society this week. We can get a good start on the quilt. We are thinking the usual size of a throw, and four big squares incorporating many little squares.” Eve faltered. “The squares make up the complete years. I suppose the fifth-year fabrics can be used to link up around the train pyjama top.”
She laid out the blue pyjama top on the table, taking other pieces of fabric – the floral dress Molly had worn the week before, the combat jeans she had on at the zoo the month before, and the sparkly skirt she wore at the birthday party at the end of the road – and laid them carefully around the pyjama piece.
“We will have to line the pyjama piece, but that is all right, we are never stuck for fabric. We will build up year five in small squares around it.”
Eve felt she was gabbing on too much, so she stopped.
“Am I doing the right thing, do you think?” Connie asked.
Hetty, who had returned with the sewing box, pulled out a chair and sat down.
“Keeping the good memories has to be a good thing. It is a giant comforter, a part of Molly to keep close.”
Connie looked straight at Hetty. “Your quilt has caused you so much upset, dredged up so much.”
“Because the good memories in my marriage were so few, completely obliterated by his abuse. But you have so many good memories, Connie, so much to cherish,” Hetty said, threading a needle and taking two patches of fabric, lining them up together and starting the stitch for her.
Handing the fabric to Connie, advising her to hold the patches together so they stayed even, Hetty helped her guide the needle in and out in
four long stitches along one side.
“Now, flatten it out right side up and you will get an idea of it all. Eve will run them up with the sewing machine later.”
Connie did as she was bid, using her fingers to smooth out the two pieces of fabric with her hand.
“That red corduroy was from her favourite trousers before she could walk. You hardly got the patch from the knees; they were mostly worn out. The black piece with the flowers, a little coat I bought in Macy’s for Molly. There was a hat to match. She looked so sweet, with her black curls pushing out under the hat.”
“You see, already the memories are flooding back,” Hetty said, making Connie smile.
Eve got out the iron and pressed the two squares. “We need to get everything cut before you decide on the layout. You know I won’t be back here until Monday.”
“I can come tomorrow,” Hetty piped up, “while Miss Fancy Pants is off for her dirty weekend in Belfast.”
Eve, reddening, swiped at Hetty with a tea towel.
“That is terrible. Michael Conway has asked me to Belfast for the weekend. Can’t we all be adults here?”
“Sounds very romantic. Michael is such a nice man,” Connie said, and Eve, realising she was not getting anywhere giving out, concentrated on filling the steam iron with water from the kettle.
“She will come back with a ring on her finger, I am sure of it,” Hetty said.
Eve clicked her tongue in annoyance, doing her best to ignore the two women beaming brightly.
22
Eve was ready the next morning early when Michael Conway called in a taxi to bring her to the train station.
She had packed and unpacked twice, worrying about what she should bring with her. Michael, in jeans and a jacket she had not seen before, looked very smart. They did not talk much in the taxi, a little nervous the driver, McDonald from out the road, would overhear.
At Arklow station, they stepped onto the Dublin train, sitting opposite two people from Rosdaniel on their way to work in the city. Eve snoozed until the train became so packed with early morning commuters that the carriage was stuffy and uncomfortable.
“We are first class to Belfast from Dublin,” Michael whispered, reaching under the table and holding her hand.
On the Belfast train, they had four seats to themselves, but still sat side by side, her head leaning in to him as he stroked her hair. By the time they got to Belfast, neither of the two of them cared if the whole of Rosdaniel saw them checking into the Europa Hotel as Mr and Mrs Conway.
Like two children, they delighted in the room, checking the softness of the bed, oohing and ahhing over the free toiletries and standing at the window overlooking the city view.
When Michael put his arm around her, Eve let him kiss her, kissing him back. When they moved to the bed, she trusted him, crying when he made love to her. He kissed away her tears.
“Eve, I have loved you so long. I tried to convince myself I was just happy to be in your orbit, but I am not prepared to ignore it any more.”
“Neither am I,” she said, taking his hand to her and kissing it. “I did not see it for a long time, but after James died, I realised I not only relied on you, but I looked forward to your arrival at Ludlow every day. If you had not been there, I am not sure I would have stayed at Ludlow Hall. You were always my rock, my friend, and probably the only person who understood me.”
They lay in each other’s arms, watching the lights switch on over Belfast.
The next morning when Eve woke up, Michael was standing by the window, his back to her.
“Is there something wrong?”
“Eve, I want it to be like this every day. I want to do all the ordinary, everyday things with you. I want us to marry.”
She sat up, trying to damp down her hair, which she knew was sticking out. Michael knelt beside the bed.
“What do you say, Eve? I want to shout out my love for you, not hide it.”
“Yes.”
She thought she had said it too low, so she shouted it, making him beam and laugh, jumping up to hug her. Briefly he pulled away, doing a funny dance as they both giggled with joy, feeling young again.
“A ring. I want you to go back to Rosdaniel wearing a ring.”
“Hetty was right about one thing.”
“What?”
“She said I would come back from Belfast with a ring on my finger.”
“That Hetty is too good at observing other people.”
“I think with Hetty there is no real badness, she will genuinely be happy for us.”
“Eve, I don’t care what anybody says, I am not letting you go back to living alone when we get back to Rosdaniel. My house is bigger and more comfortable; you can make any changes you like.”
“I don’t know, Michael. I like being near Ludlow Hall. I like the little house.”
“I wish I could have bought Ludlow for you.”
“Connie needs Ludlow now. She needs to open her dance studio and start a new phase of her life.”
“She will surely sell it.”
Eve reached over, running her hand down Michael’s face.
“We will start a new life. I don’t need or want to go back to Ludlow Hall. I want to create new memories with you, not be pulled down by the old ones. What about Richie?”
“Richie told me a long time ago I should ask you out. He will be behind us.”
He kissed her, climbing into bed beside her.
“I have a feeling we may not see much of Belfast this weekend,” he said as he pulled her to him.
“You promised me a ring and for that we will get out of bed, but later,” she said in a mock firm voice.
“Yes, Mrs Conway, and I have to tell you, I will not let anybody call you Mrs Ludlow from now on.”
She smiled, feeling safe and happy for the first time in a long time.
*
Hetty was working quietly at the kitchen table when Connie got up.
“I thought I would get a head start; we don’t want Eve to think we were slacking while she was off gallivanting.”
“I wonder how she is getting on.”
“With Michael Conway by her side, I imagine very well indeed. It is about time those two got it together.”
Connie sat down opposite Hetty. “And what about you, Hetty, will you let romance back into your life?”
Hetty put down the fabric she was sizing up. “When you are battered and bruised, like I was, you don’t give anyone a chance to come close. That is just the way it is.”
“I know what you mean.”
Hetty slapped the table hard. “What are you talking about, girl? You can’t let this happen to you. You have to move on with your life.”
“Maybe I don’t want to move on. Maybe staying still is the best I can do.”
She jumped up to the window overlooking the yard.
“I am sorry, Hetty, I did not mean to snap your head off. I have lost my beautiful child in such a violent way . . . There are times I can hardly get through the next minutes, never mind the hours and the days. Trust, for me, is only a five-letter word, nothing more.”
Hetty came behind Connie and put her arms around her.
“I am not preaching. I know what it is like to live with pain in the heart. It is exhausting.”
Connie turned around, letting Hetty embrace her, tapping her on the back, like you would an upset child.
“Come now, if you do the tacking, I will finish the cutting out of the squares, so we can start laying out Molly’s memory quilt.”
Connie liked that Hetty used Molly’s name so easily and sat into the table, working awkwardly with the needle and thread. Hetty passed no comment on how long it was taking Connie to loosely sew two patches together.
“I would have loved a daughter. It must have been so special spending time with Molly.”
Connie did not answer immediately. When she spoke, it was as if she had forgotten where she was, caught up in the reminiscence, reaching into the recall to find
a type of comfort.
“I would throw everything away to get one more minute, even a few seconds with Molly. We were so close, I wondered could either of us ever live without the other. Look at me now. I am nothing. I have lost the one job I wanted forever.”
Hetty sighed loudly. “All the special times, if we could return . . .”
Connie, after a while, bit into the tacking thread to cut it and finish, flattening out the two pieces: one khaki green, the other pink and flowery.
“When she was three, she lived in those combat jeans. She loved them because they had side pockets and patch pockets down the legs. She insisted that the patch pockets were for candy, walking around with some in there like she was carrying gold. To think I worried about her teeth.”
“Each worry has its time and place. I used to fret people would find out my husband was hitting me. How strange was that?”
“Did you never look for help?”
“Where would I go? Everybody thought he was a great fellow. Anyway, if he found out, he would have killed me.”
Connie did not know what to say. She fingered the pink fabric with deep pink and purple flowers.
“Molly’s dress when she was two. We went to a wedding. She looked so cute. She loved all the attention, but would not sit still for the photographs. She had such a lovely flower in her hair. That day, I could see the adult in the contours of the child’s face.”
“How do you manage?” Hetty asked.
“How did you manage with that husband of yours? You just do.”
Hetty dropped the scissors, so that they banged on the table.
“Connie, I did not manage at all, I just pretended, so when others saw me on the street, they passed little remark. Giving off an aura of being able to cope is inherently reassuring for those around you.”
“I went into the lake, did you know that?”
“What do you mean, the lake?”
“I walked into the water . . .”
“Ludlow lake?”
“Nearly over my head. If it wasn’t for Eve, who got me out and looked after me, I might not be here today.”
“Oh my dear Lord, Connie, don’t talk like this. I can’t take it.”
“Eve looked after me well.”
The Ludlow Ladies Society Page 19
