“Look, have another scone, put back some of that weight you’ve lost. It doesn’t do to get thin at your age, you know. You’ll end up looking scrawny.”
I had to laugh. The last time my mother had called me scrawny was when I went home after the baby was born. I was scrawny then. I’d lost so much weight I’d had to buy new clothes to wear and not only because I no longer needed maternity things.
Mrs. Cleary stopped by our table and of course Mam asked her to join us. Soon the two of them were into discussing Mary Robinson’s chance of being elected president in the upcoming election.
“It’ll change things for the women of Ireland, having a female president,” my mother declared. “We’ll be second-class citizens no more, I tell you.”
“I should think so. The women will all come out and vote for her. She’ll be a shoo-in. Sure, even America never had a woman president.”
“Oh, yes. We’ll finally get a say in things. And we can thumb our noses at those who think we’re a backward country. Look at all the changes in the last ten years.”
Mam waved her butter knife around like she was about to slay a dragon. She was so much more at ease since the farm was re-mortgaged and the worries about money had abated, which put me in mind of Daniel and his money.
After a few weeks in the psychiatric ward Maggie showed no real improvement. I was worn out from working and then going back to Dublin for one or two nights on my time off, then back to work again. The hospital suggested I find a nursing home for her, so I checked out St. Mary’s, which was considered to be the best facility of its kind in the land. My next challenge was telling our parents. The proper thing would have been to go down to tell them in person. I ruled that out, given my condition and their ignorance of it. Because we didn’t have a phone in at the farm yet, I made arrangements with John Joe up the road that Mam would be there to take my call.
“What is it? Are you all right?”
As usual she shouted into my ear, cutting to the chase as she talked over my hello. I broke it to her as gently as I could. She was incredulous.
“But Maggie’s never had problems like that. Never.”
“Well, there was that time she was sent home from the convent.”
“Ah, that! That was only strain because the life didn’t suit her. It’s not the same. Something must have happened.”
“Well, a shock of some kind, the doctor says. Sometimes a breakdown just happens.”
Apart from some small, inconsequential social lies, I’d never lied until Daniel and I began to date. Since then I’d done nothing else, it seemed to me. Lies were like a fungus, spores grew out of each other until the original thing was covered and distorted by the overgrowth, totally unrecognizable as itself. The lies I had to tell made it harder to counter my own shock at this turn of events. There would be no question now of Maggie taking my child, and I had no idea in the world what I would do.
25
The recent ease between Daniel and me had not returned by the day before his dinner. Fresh flowers were in almost every room, bedrooms had been aired out, all the preparation and the cleaning done by Marg Hislop and her daughter. The caterers would arrive next day. In Daniel’s case, rest would have been a good thing, but he was too keyed up. Jude worried he’d wear himself out and not be able to sit at the dinner table.
“Don’t worry about me,” he told her. “I’ll be there no matter if the sky falls. I’ve been looking forward to this ever since I thought of it.”
But in fact there was nothing to do but wait until his guests arrived next day, and he finally agreed to lie down for a while in mid-afternoon. Exhausted as well as nervous about seeing Oliver Pike again, I sat in the parlour and tried to read a book. Jude was there polishing the silverware that was already gleaming. I fretted that Oliver might let on Daniel and I knew each before, but I consoled myself that as a literary agent to the like of Daniel and other such men, he must be able to keep a discreet tongue in his head.
“Delia, has something happened between you and Daniel?”
Jude’s voice made me jump. Unwilling to talk about it, I tried to marshal my thoughts.
“I mean, it seems a bit distant between you this past week. It’s none of my business, I know, but if I can do anything to smooth things over, or if you want to talk, I’m here.”
I fairly trembled with relief. Surprised and a bit touched that she cared and offered, I had to stop my eyes from filling. I gave myself a good mental shake and tried to get a grip. Not a person who cried easily, I’d been on the verge of it way too often these past couple of weeks.
“It’s nothing to worry about, Jude. Daniel is preoccupied with this dinner, and I’ve been chivvying him to take it easy. You know he hates that.”
As an explanation it would do. In any case, it was the best I could come up with.
“I’ve thought about what you said about Iris and a paternity test. Daniel would have to agree. I’ll ask Iris to do the test after this is over. If she doesn’t want to, or is hesitant at all, I’ll let it go.”
“Good. Good. I’m sure she’ll agree. But make sure she’s comfortable with it if it turns out to be a disappointment. You know how upset she was when nothing came about in Wales.”
Some of my tension left with this news. It would take some of the weight off my shoulders about Iris, bring us one step closer to resolution, without me having to say anything at all. Even so, I worried that if the test turned out negative, Iris would be despondent. It would close another door, one she must herself be thinking about. In this I was wrong.
No sooner had Jude finished her polishing and gone back to the dining room than I took myself off for a walk. At the cross between the road into the village and the one out of it, it struck me that I had nowhere to go. Our farm offered no comfort to me this day, and my stomach had no place for a piece of Peggy O’Shea’s pie or her questions. In the end I turned to the road out towards Knockdeara. When I reached the hill topped by the oak I climbed over the low wall and made for the tree I had come to think of as my tree. Spread out below me was the village on one side, the pier and harbour on the other, and behind the drop to the road to Knockdeara.
It was just about suppertime and the parade of cars back into the village was underway, the whine of their engines as they tackled the hill a counterpoint to the cawing of crows. Four magpies foraged down the slope from me. One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a wedding and four for a boy. The old rhyme came to me as I watched them. The crows croaked protest at the invasion of their territory. The magpies took no notice. From the hill the change in colour of the trees created a fine muted patchwork of brown and gold against the turned earth of the farmers’ fields. A few Holsteins lying under the trees a few fields away complained they needed milking. I took a deep breath and settled my back against the oak. Gradually the smaller sounds penetrated, the distant low of a cow, an unarticulated shout from one of the sailors on the pier, the flap of a crow’s wing as it lifted over the treetop.
My mother and Mrs. Cleary had it right. Things had changed since 1968. I was, after all, a grown woman. Whatever came out about me now would be old news, a nine days’ wonder, and life would go on. The onslaught of memories assailing me from being around Daniel, June and Iris had exhausted me. Since I had lost myself under the rhododendron in the driveway, terror that I would go the same way as Maggie haunted me and drove me to a decision. I was finished with hiding things and lying. Iris was grown up and could make her own decisions. I would have to talk to Mam. Soon. There under the oak, I made a solemn promise to myself and Maggie that, no matter what, I would never speak to another living soul about the thing that ruined her. That part of the story I would keep to myself. I rose as the sky dimmed, and with more peace than I’d had since Daniel Wolfe approached me in Peggy O’Shea’s café, I headed back to the Big House. The first thing on my list was to put a call through to Leigh Sweeney.
&nb
sp; 26
For the first time in weeks I slept like one drugged: soundly and late. I threw back the curtains to a lovely autumn day. The sky was a cloud-studded blue that faded out toward the horizon. Jude was raking leaves from the driveway amidst a shower of brown, yellow and red that littered it again as soon as she cleared it. The pines looked dark and stoic amid the autumnal glory. Being late, I turned away from the window and dressed in a hurry, then made my way down to check in on Daniel.
“Well, Delia, “ he said when I went in. “Today’s the day.”
“It is indeed, Daniel.”
As I got him ready for his big day, helped him wash, as my fingers rippled across the washboard that was his backbone, I remembered him as he was when I loved him. Handsome. Solid. He had the determination and charm that a young, naive woman like I was then took for something I could have by proxy.
“Do you remember Adele Sweeney?” I asked him.
“Adele? Sweeney? No, I can’t say I do. Should I?”
The soap slid down his back chased by water from the showerhead. I thought of the baptism of my child, the water that ran over his forehead and startled him, so that his hands spread like starfish and his eyes opened blue and wide.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said.
When Oliver and Lil did arrive, I was in my room. Dressed for dinner, I twisted and turned to examine my reflection in the wardrobe mirror for any little imperfection. The doorbell chimed and Oliver’s voice rumbled up to me as Jude greeted him at the door. I gave my shoulders a last brush-off and emerged on the landing at the same time as Iris. She wore a dress that matched exactly her cornflower-blue eyes and fell in soft folds to just above her knees. Her usual boots were replaced by high heels. She wobbled slightly as we walked towards the stairs.
“High heels kill me,” she said.
“Well, you don’t have to go far.”
She smiled at me and I saw her mother in her. I touched her cheek.
“You look beautiful,” I said.
She beamed. I wanted to stand there forever, exactly so, both of us in our finery, to keep the warmth between us. Perhaps this one evening could be calm, social between us all, with no questions about the past. Perhaps I could simply enjoy myself in the moment and put off all the unravelling of the past that would leave in its wake who knew what? I kissed her on the cheek and took her arm in mine. She gave me a glance of surprise and, maybe, a little apprehension, before she laughed and we descended the stairs together.
27
Daniel had joined Jude, Lil and Oliver in the foyer. Oliver had lost some hair, found a small paunch, grey hairs and few lines, but was otherwise unchanged from when I last saw him.
“Delia,” he said, “what a surprise. I’m so glad you and Daniel made up. Is this your daughter?”
Iris’s arm disengaged from mine as I heard her gasp.
“Hello, Oliver. No, she’s not my daughter. And I’m Daniel’s nurse.” I put an emphasis on nurse.
Oliver flapped his hands, looked behind him for rescue which wasn’t there, and smiled so much I thought his face might break.
Daniel introduced Lil. She was close to six feet tall. Statuesque. Her hair was long and dark brown mixed with grey. It hung right down to her waist. She wore flat shoes and no makeup. She exuded the energy you imagined Boudicca leading the Iceni might possess. I felt completely overdressed next to her.
“Oh, sorry, who is this lovely person?” Lil asked.
I introduced them, and we all made our way into the parlour.
After general chat and drinks in the parlour we were finally summoned to the dining room by Jude. The room was transformed. The big teak table was covered by a beautiful damask cloth on which the place settings and glasses gleamed. Small rose posies dotted the length of the table together with silver candleholders with tall pale-orange candles. A few autumn leaves were strewn down the centre of the table. The only light in the room was from candles, both the ones on the table and those in globe bowls that decorated the sideboard. The shadowy corners seemed brooding to me, but as soon as we sat around the table a formal, slightly forced cheerfulness took hold of us.
Daniel presided over the gathering. Candlelight picked out the gleam in his eye, and his dinner jacket, though slightly large on him, disguised the worst ravages of his illness. He caught me looking at him, winked and tipped his glass to me. I gave a small salute back. Animosity between us did not change the past. Whatever peace with the past I might find would never come from Daniel. That I had realized up on the hill the day before. It wasn’t Daniel I needed to forgive, it was myself. That seemed a much harder task.
“Delia, what have you been up to since I saw you last?” Oliver wiped his moustache of crumbs.
“Oh, still a nurse. I do a lot of private care now as well. I was lucky to find my calling as a young person.”
Oliver’s eyes flicked to Iris, then Daniel and back to me.
“And you, Iris, tell me about you,” Lil said. She made it sound like a command. Iris glanced around the table before answering.
“My mother died. I’m looking for a family connection. I think she came from hereabouts.”
Lil raised an eyebrow and glanced at Oliver.
“Have you found any?” she asked.
Iris’s not yet silenced everyone for a moment. Then conversation resumed, as we ran through the issues of the day: would Mary Robinson win the election, how wonderful Nelson Mandela’s visit had been, the growing drug trade in the country along with the newfound prosperity that was taking hold. A few glasses of wine later, Lil said to Iris: “But why did you come here? You’re Scottish, right?”
“I am. I think I am,” Iris said. “My mother said I should look here for relatives. So I came. I believe she sent me to Delia.”
Oliver found something fascinating on his fork and Lil leaned forward to look at me.
“Delia? Well, lucky you found her.”
“We’re happy she did,” Daniel said. “Iris is like one of the family, aren’t you?”
He smiled benignly, his colour high from wine.
“Family. Isn’t that nice? Isn’t it?” Lil said to the table at large.
She beamed and looked around the table at us. Other conversations dried up. I tried to make up my mind whether she was truly stupid and unaware of the tension in the room or whether she relished it.
“Why did she send you to Delia?” she asked..
“I don’t know, really,” Iris said. “I thought maybe Delia knew my mother, but she says not.”
Oliver dropped his fork. Jude jumped up and went to find him another. One of the catering staff came in and began to clear the table in preparation for dessert.
“How intriguing,” Lil said.
“Your new book will be a hit, as usual,” Oliver said to Daniel.
Lil was not put off. She leaned forward to better see me. “And did you know her mother, Delia?”
“I knew a Margaret Butler when I worked in Cardiff,” I said. “But she didn’t have a child. At least not around the time Iris was born.”
“But you were pregnant then,” Jude chimed in.
Daniel gave a start.
“What’s that, Jude?” he asked. Nobody answered him.
Lil was fairly quivering with excitement. Mike had his hand on Jude’s arm. Iris, like Oliver, kept her eyes on her plate. The silence seemed to last forever as I gathered my thoughts.
“I was,” I said. “But Iris is not my child. I told you that. Whether any of you believe it or not, it doesn’t change the fact. Besides, she didn’t come here to find her mother, she came to find relatives. Isn’t that right, Iris?”
A blush rose up Jude’s neck. Oliver cleared his throat a few times.
“Yes. It is,” Iris said. “But since then I’ve not been able to find any trace of who my mother is, so I’m wondering about that. You
must know something, Delia, she sent me to you. You.” Iris leaned forward to better see me as she spoke.
“What does she mean, you were pregnant at the time?” Daniel cut in.
No matter my decision to stop as many of the lies as I possibly could, the habit of concealment sealed my throat. I gathered my resolve of the afternoon and tried to speak, but words literally would not come. I took a gulp of wine, cleared my throat and after a moment said as clearly as I could, “She means, when I was in Cardiff I was pregnant. I had a child. Michael John Buckley. He died within a day of being born.”
“How did I not know this?” Daniel heaved himself to his feet. “How did I not know?”
“Why should you know? Daniel, sit down, sit down, please,” Jude said.
Daniel sank slowly into his chair.
“Why, Delia? Why didn’t you tell me you would keep it?”
Jude knocked over her glass of wine. Everyone watched the red stain spread across the tablecloth.
I turned to Iris and spoke only to her.
“With all my heart I wish I could claim a living child. But I can’t.”
“Daniel, what do you mean? What’s going on?” Jude asked.
“It was a long time ago, Jude. A long time, but no use keeping it from you now. Delia and I had an affair. She was pregnant. I thought she was having, you know, something done about it.”
“What? When? When did all this happen?”
Nobody answered. Lil absently played with a butter knife, the blade catching the candle glow as it flicked back and forth.
Jude pounded the table with her open hand.
“When, Daniel?”
“The year your mother died.” His voice barely carried to the end of the table.
Jude gasped and cried out, “Oh my God. Oh, God.”
Left Unsaid Page 14
