by Maeve Binchy
Sometimes he sat beside Celia and he would tell her tales of the world of banking. He told her of all the new machines, and the days of bank inspections, and how the tourists would drive you mad, and how in the summer you’d have a line half a mile long of Spanish and French students all wanting to change about £1 each of their foreign money. Celia didn’t tell many tales of the hospital, but she often gave him helpful advice about his own father, all in a low voice so that the others didn’t hear her talking about incontinence pads and velcro fastenings for clothes.
But tonight it was the young Kennedy fellow sitting beside him. There was something seriously wrong with that boy. His brothers Bart and Eddie were the nicest fellows you could meet in a day’s walk, but whatever had happened to young Kev he looked as if he had seen the Day of Judgement. You only had to address a civil word to him to have him leap out of his skin. Try to tell him a good story and he’d miss the point altogether. Mikey thought he’d teach him a few tricks that might be of use to him, to be able to do a trick in a pub. But the young fellow looked at him with the two eyes staring out of his head and didn’t take in a word of it. In the end Mikey let him be, staring out the window as if the goblins were going to leap out of the hedges and climb into the bus after him.
Mikey nodded off. It was easy to sleep in the bus. The two girls behind him were already asleep, dreaming of fellows probably. Mikey dreamed that his father was well and strong again and had opened some kind of import and export agency in Rathdoon and that he, Mikey, was the manager and that he was able to give grand summer jobs to Phil and Paddy and Gretta delivering letters to people up and down the street. He often dreamed of the children. But he never saw a wife for himself in the dream. Mikey Burns had missed the boat as far as wives were concerned. Too nervous and eejity at the time he should have been looking for one, and now at forty-five he wasn’t the kind of forty-five-year-old that would be in the race at all. Better not make a fool of yourself going to dances or picking up fast-knowing women in pubs and being made to look thick altogether.
When they crossed the river and were really in the West they paused for the ten-minute comfort stop, and the half pint to open the throat a bit. Celia came up to him quietly and put an envelope into his hand.
‘That’s for the bedsores: it’s all written on it, keep him moving as much as you can.’
‘Aw Celia you’re terribly good, can I pay for this?’
‘Are you mad Mikey? Do you think I paid for it? Dublin Health Authority would like you to have it as a little gift.’ They laughed. She was very nice.
What a pity he hadn’t found a grand girl like Celia when he was young and promising looking. After all, he had a grand well-paid job now, he’d be able to make a home for anyone. The reason he didn’t really have one wasn’t money, it was lack of interest. He couldn’t be buying a place and furnishing it and getting tables and chairs in it all for himself. The room he rented was grand and comfortable and he denied himself nothing. He had a grand big telly and he had bought a mirror himself to fix to the front of the wardrobe the way he’d go out properly dressed. He had a lovely radio beside the bed which was a lamp and a clock and an alarm all in one. When he went out to people’s houses, and the Dublin fellows often invited him up to their places, he was always able to bring a big box of chocolates, a fancy one with ribbon on it. He was able to give a good account of himself.
But when he’d been a young lad, who were they except the sons of poor Joey Burns and his mother had taken in washing and cleaned people’s floors? It hadn’t held Billy back: Billy strutted round Rathdoon as if he owned it, as if he were as good as any other citizen of the place. And wasn’t he right? Look where he was now, he had all kinds of business interests, he employed five people in Rathdoon. He had the take away shop; nobody believed there was a need for it until it appeared. Half the families in the place ate Billy’s chicken and chips on a Saturday night, and they had fried fish too, and hamburgers. And they sold cans of lemonade, and stayed open late to get the crowds going home from Ryan’s, and Billy had put up two huge mesh litter bins at his own expense and everyone was delighted with him.
And he had an insurance business as well. Not a big one but anyone who wanted cover went through him – it could all be filled in quickly in the house. And he had some kind of a connection with a fellow who came to do tarmacadaming. If you wanted the front of a place all smartened up then Billy would get other people with their places facing the same way to agree and the man with the machine and the tar would come and it was cheaper for everyone, and the place looked a king to what it looked before. A whole section of the main street looked really smart now, and Billy had got a tree planted in a tub and it was like something you’d see in a film. Billy had the brains and Billy never ran away the way Mikey ran off up to Dublin after his mother had died. Billy had stayed to marry Mary Moran who was way beyond anyone they’d ever have thought about. Or that Mikey would have thought about.
He was looking forward to being home tonight. He had a computer game for the twins’ birthday. It was several cuts above the Space Invaders they had tried out once, and it could be plugged into any kind of television; he had been playing it on his own television all week but the shop assistant said it would work as well on a smaller set. The twins had their birthday on Monday and he was going to give them the game on Sunday afternoon. He would set up the room with the curtains pulled and pretend they were going to watch something on the television, and then would come the surprise. He had got a smart red girl’s handbag for Gretta, even though it wasn’t her birthday, because he didn’t want her to be left out, and a yellow rabbit for the baby in case it might have feelings of discontent in its pram.
Mary would never let him near his father on the Friday night, she’d have a supper warm for him, or if it had been a busy day she’d run across the road to the family take away and get him fish and chips as soon as she saw the Lilac Bus pull up. She used to thank him so much for coming back to help with his father, and she’d tell him funny things about the children and what they had done during the week. They were back at school now so there would be tales of what divilment Phil had got up to and the threatening messages that came home about him from the Brothers.
Mikey was the second to get out. They would leave Dr Burke’s daughter up at the golf club entrance; her parents were always there of a Friday night and she’d go and join them. Then when it came to the end of the street the first drop was Mikey. He would take down Nancy Morris’s huge suitcase which weighed as light as a feather and leave it inside the bus because she and Kev Kennedy would be next out, and Kev had nothing with him ever except a parcel which he kept under his seat.
Mikey advised them all to be good and if they couldn’t they should be clever and if they couldn’t be clever then they should buy a pram. He laughed happily and closed the door behind him.
There was no light in the kitchen and no meal on the table. There was no sign of Mary and no note either. He didn’t mind not seeing Billy – his brother was usually up at the take away or in Ryan’s doing some deal with someone. But Mary?
He looked in the other rooms. His father was asleep, mouth open, wheelchair near the bed, on the chair a large chamber pot, optimistic since the old man was never able to time things so accurately.
There was a smell of disinfectant mixed with better smells. Mary had big bunches of flowers round the room. She always said that she thought it cheered the old man up, and sometimes she had seen him stretch out and touch the flowers gently. He snored lightly, there was a night light, and a Sacred Heart lamp as well.
Then he went up the stairs quietly. The twins had bunk beds; their toys and clothes and books were all around. Phil slept in a ball with his fists clenched; Paddy was more peaceful, lying on his side. Gretta looked funny with her long straight hair brushed out. He remembered her with plaits for as long as she had been old enough to force her hair into them. She had a smile as if she was dreaming. She was a thin little thing, gawky and plain
-looking but she had a smile that would tear the heart out of you. Even when she was asleep.
The door of Billy and Mary’s bedroom was open: they weren’t there. The baby round and soft like a cream bun lay in its cot near the bed. There was a lovely white lacy bedspread, and on the wall there was a picture of Our Lady in a field of flowers. It had a blue lamp lighting under it. It was called ‘Queen of the May’. Mary told Mikey once that the day she and Billy got engaged he had won a competition at a carnival where you had to throw rings over things and he had chosen that picture for her because she liked it so much.
Mikey put his small bag in his own room which was neat as anything. She always had a bright clean pillowslip on the top as if he was the highest quality coming for the weekend. Sometimes Mikey’s mind went back to what the house had looked like in his mother’s day when they hadn’t any such style or time for it.
It was puzzling, but maybe she had gone to get him fish and chips. He waited downstairs and listened to the news on the television. And eventually he began to get worried. They never left the children all alone in the house, even though they were perfectly safe, but it was just the way they were. His anxiety increased. He walked across to the take away and to his surprise there was Mary serving. There were four people waiting for their order and only one of the young girls who worked there was behind the counter. They were working flat out.
‘Mikey, Lord is it that time already?’ She was pleased but flustered to see him.
‘Will I get behind there and give you a hand?’ He knew the way he had done it with them a few Saturday nights during the summer when they had been very busy. And the prices were on the wall.
‘Oh Mikey, would you?’ She was very grateful.
He hung up his jacket and took an apron from a drawer. In a few moments they had the crowd thinned, and Mary was able to draw breath again. She spoke first to the girl who worked there.
‘Treasa, would you take off your apron like a good child and run up to Ryan’s. Tell them that we’re short-staffed tonight and we’ll be closing early. Tell them if they want anything to come down in the next half hour for it otherwise they’ll be disappointed.’
‘Who will I tell, mam?’ the child seemed worried.
‘That’s a point – not much use telling poor Mrs Ryan these days. Let me see, if there’s anyone behind the bar helping, like Bart Kennedy, anyone like that, someone who looks in charge.’
‘Celia’s home: she was on the bus, she’ll probably have got behind the counter by now,’ Mikey said.
‘That’s it, tell Celia.’
Treasa skipped off up the road, pleased to be out of the heat.
‘Where’s everyone?’ Mikey looked around.
‘Oh there’s been a lot happening, I’ll tell you all when we get back. Keep a brave face on it for half an hour more and then it will be done.’ A trickle of people came in, and Mikey served them, and just as Mary had guessed would happen a great influx came from Ryan’s pub. They were full of good-natured abuse about it being against the law of the land to close the chipper before the pub. Mary had laughed good-naturedly and said wasn’t she going above and beyond the call of duty to let them know now rather than have them going home with stomachs full of beer and nothing to soak it up.
She didn’t want a portion for herself, so Mikey wrapped up his own choice, and when they had drained the fat, scrubbed the tops and swept up anything that could be swept up into black plastic bags which were tied with little wires at the top, they crossed the street and went home.
Mary heated a plate under the hot water tap, got out the tomato sauce and some bread and butter.
‘Will I wet you tea or would you like a drop of anything?’
They got a bottle of Guinness each and sat down.
‘Billy’s gone. Gone for good.’
He stared at her, fork halfway to his mouth.
‘He went this day before lunch, he’ll not be back. Ever.’
‘Ah no, Mary. That’s not possible.’
She took a sip of her drink and made a face.
‘I never like the first sip, but it tastes grand after that.’ She smiled a weak little smile.
Mikey swallowed and said, ‘It was just a bit of a row, that’s all. People have rows, they get patched up.’
‘No, there was no row, there was no difference of opinion even.’
Mikey remembered the way the twins had said there was no fighting when he was around the place.
‘But just a bit of a barney now and then, these things sort themselves out, really they do.’ He was pleading now.
‘No, I’ll tell you it from start to finish – there was no row. Back there early on in the summer we did have rows all right: he was very touchy, I thought, bite the head off you as soon as look at you, but he said that’s the way I was too. The children even noticed us.’
‘So what happened?’
‘Well I don’t know, honestly. But anyway we had a great summer, as you know, business was booming. He used to be tired but he was never cross any more, and what with the baby getting to be so grand – you know they’re like divils for the first few weeks – anyway we hadn’t a worry under the sun.’ She stopped and looked away beyond him.
Mikey was silent.
‘Eat up your fish and chips, Mikey, you can eat and listen.’
‘I can’t.’
She lifted the plate from him and put it into the oven very low down. ‘You’ll eat it later then. Today was when it all happened, and if I hadn’t come back I wouldn’t have known: I wouldn’t have known at this moment. I wouldn’t have known until the end of next week. And the whole of Rathdoon would have known before me.’
‘Known what, for God’s sake?’
‘He’s gone off with Eileen Walsh, you know the one we said was too good to be working in a chipper. Well, she was far too good, she was only biding her time to go off with the owner of the chipper. That was the little plan. Could you beat it?’ The voice was steady but the eyes were over bright.
‘But it’s only a fancy isn’t it, it’s a bit of madness. I mean where would they go, and what would they do? And how could he leave you and the baby and the whole family?’
‘He’s in love with her. That’s the word: In Love. Isn’t it marvellous? He was never In love with me; he loved me, of course, but that was different apparently.’
Mikey stood up, but he didn’t know what to do so he sat down again. Mary went on with the story.
‘I was meant to be going into the town. There’s always a lift in on Fridays and I had a list of things we needed for the take away, not things we get from the suppliers, but stupid things, big ashtrays for example and a couple of tins of bright red paint – we were going to paint the windows to match the geraniums, can you believe? But to go on with what happened: You know old Mrs Casey who’s only just learned to drive, well she was giving me the lift and as soon as we were out on the road beyond the golf club, didn’t the engine splutter and make these desperate sounds.
‘Ah well, I said to myself, there’s my day in town gone for its tea. But she’s such a nice woman, Mrs Casey, you couldn’t offend her. I told her it was a blessing in disguise and I could get the things next week and maybe I’d go home and make an apple tart since Mikey’d be coming back on the bus tonight.’
A big lump came up in Mikey’s throat.
‘And I said to her to sit tight, I’d walk back and tell the Brennans in the garage to go out for her.’
Mary took another sip.
‘It was a gorgeous day, and I picked wild flowers from the hedges, and when I came in there was Billy at the table with a whole load of papers all round him. And I was delighted because he was meant to have been gone for the day. So I said wasn’t this grand and we’d have a bit of lunch the two of us – something we hadn’t done in years – and I saw that there was “Dear Mary” on one piece of paper and on another and only two or three lines on each. And I still didn’t know anything was wrong so I said, “Are you writing me
love letters at my age?” as a kind of joke. You see I thought he was just back unexpectedly and was writing me a note to explain that he’d been in.’
‘Oh Mary, isn’t this terrible,’ said Mikey, believing it for the first time since the saga had started.
‘And this is the awful bit: he started to cry, he started to cry like a child. Well, I nearly dropped dead – Billy Burns crying. I ran to him to try and put my arms around him and he pushed me away. And he was sobbing like a baby that’s getting teeth, so I said to him to hush it down or his father would hear. I’d left the baby next door but your father would have been having a doze and it would have frightened the daylight out of him like it was doing to me.’ She paused for a moment.
‘Then he said about Eileen, and her expecting and all.’
There was a silence and the clock ticked and the soft snoring sound of the old man could be heard from the back room.
‘And he said he couldn’t face me, and he was leaving a letter. And I said that he didn’t have to go now, not at once, that surely he could stay and we could talk about what was to be done. But he said there’d been too much talking and that was it, now he was going.’ Mikey put out his big hand and patted Mary’s arm hopelessly.
‘And there was a lot of this and that, but funny no fight, no shouts or me saying he was a bastard or him saying he couldn’t bear me any more, that I was an old nag or anything.’
‘Well, no one could think that,’ Mikey cried loyally.
‘No, he said I’d been the best wife and mother in the world, and that he couldn’t tell me how sorry he was, he was just heartbroken, he said. All the papers were to show me that the chip shop is in my name, and the thousand pounds in the building society is for me, and the name of a solicitor who’d be able to find him, who’d pass letters on.’
‘And where does he think he’s going?’
