by Maeve Binchy
'Glutton for the movies, aren't you?' she said.
'What?' Tom said, startled.
'That's the third you've got today. Are you catching up or something?'
He was so handsome, big shoulders, fair hair, a gorgeous smile. The kind of fellow you hardly ever met these days.
'Yeah, that's what I'm doing. Catching up,' he said.
She got the feeling he wasn't talking to her properly, that he couldn't really see her. She shrugged to herself. Maybe he was on drugs or something. When the cinema finally closed on Sunday there was still light in the sky. It must be the lights of the city causing a glow. Tom drove back to the premises and let himself in again. He wondered was the spy from the insurance company lurking somewhere, waiting for Tom to trash the place a second time. He wondered would he have anything to eat. After all, it was like a child in a sweetshop to be here. The rented freezers were stacked with food, or he could make a simple omelette. But food would taste like sawdust in his mouth. He sat down with his head in his hands. He lay down again on the sofa in the front office. He had slept here once before, in the run-up to the launch party last January. It had been cold then, and he had laid every coat he could find over him. Tonight was warm, and he needed nothing to cover him. He lay in the dark and looked at the ceiling. Soon he would sleep, and the awful, shocking hurt and jealousy would go away. But that hadn't worked at the cinema. The plots of all those movies had meant nothing to him. All he could see was Marcella. Talk to her, talk to her, he told himself. She might well be sitting up in Stoneyfield, anguished, waiting for him to come back. But what would be the use if they were not able to talk? What could he say, or she say that made any difference now? With horror Tom realised that there was nothing to talk about any more. They were way beyond that now.
'Any sign of Tom these days?' Joe asked his parents.
'Didn't you see him on Friday night at this trade fashion show?' Maura Feather sniffed. She still suspected that she had somehow been misled about the nature of that evening, and that neither of her sons had wanted her to attend.
'Yes, of course I did.'
'And isn't that only the day before yesterday?' his mother said.
'Is that all it is? How extraordinary.'
It seemed like a lifetime since the night his brother's great love Marcella had come back so unexpectedly to the hotel with Paul Newton to the party, instead of going to Tom's little dinner in the Italian restaurant. Joe didn't dare to think what Tom had made of it all.
Marcella telephoned four times on Saturday and was puzzled to find the answering machine on on each occasion. He had known she wasn't coming back on Friday night. She had told him, for heaven's sake. Why the sudden attitude? Maybe he was sitting waiting in Stoneyfield, brooding, sulking, looking like a little boy and needing to be cajoled and patted down.
'Tom,' she called as she went into the flat, but there was no reply.
The place was quiet, too quiet. Also tidy, too tidy. She realised at once that he wasn't at home. She looked around for a note, but there wasn't one. Marcella sat down and took out a cigarette. For a woman who claimed and believed that she didn't smoke, she was getting through rather a lot of cigarettes these days.
'I'm sorry if our dancing made you feel badly, Mother,' Maud said on Sunday.
'Dancing?' Kay Mitchell asked, confused.
'Father said the sound gave you a bad head and made you sick.'
'I don't remember,' she said.
'Could we get you a cup of tea or anything?' Maud wondered.
'That's very nice of you, dear, but why, exactly?'
'Well, you didn't come down for breakfast or lunch or anything, and we thought you might be hungry,' Simon explained.
'No, you are kind, but not at all,' she said.
Simon and Maud went downstairs. Their father was at the kitchen table in a very black humour altogether. Most of his rage was directed against old Barty, who had disappeared without trace, apparently. They knew from the past that it was unwise to ask about food when anyone was upset. So they took a tin of peaches and some bread out to the garden.
'Do you think they're sort of, you know… ?' Simon asked Maud.
'You mean, Mother's nerves getting bad and Father about to wander?' Maud spelled it out.
'Something like that,' Simon was upset.
'Don't let him see you crying. Let's go into the shed.'
'It's locked, isn't it?'
'No, Walter went out earlier and left it open. I went in to see was there a skipping rope.'
Simon scooped up the peach tin and scurried into the shed. His father's lectures on behaving like a man and to stop this very poofy dancing were becoming increasingly hard to take.
Tom went for a long run. It was a warm evening, and if he had been able to take in some of the things he saw he might have enjoyed himself. But he didn't see very much. He let himself into the premises. At first he thought he saw someone watching near the courtyard, but decided he must be imagining things. He went in and slept on the big chintz sofa. He slept badly, but had he gone back to Stoneyfield he would not have slept at all.
The phone rang harshly beside her. This would be Freddie now. She would be very cool. It wasn't Freddie Flynn, it was her niece Marian, ringing in floods of tears from Chicago. Through all the sobs she could only understand one word, repeated over and over, and it seemed to be the word 'men', then she heard how useless and unreliable and hopeless they were. Geraldine sighed a deep sigh. Harry was obviously as bad as every other man. They didn't breed them better in Chicago than anywhere else. But gradually it became clear, Harry had not run off with someone else and cancelled the wedding. The wedding was still very much on, it was just that Harry and his family hadn't booked the hotels for the rehearsal party and the recovery party, and they were now absolutely at their wits' end about what to do. Geraldine made soothing noises.
'Maybe Cathy will come up with something, she's there on the ground… She won't have an awful lot else to do, will she?' Marian snuffled and wept.
'Stop crying, Marian, it will all be all right.'
'Geraldine, you're so good at calming people down, how did you get to be a member of our family, answer me that.'
Geraldine stared dumbly across her expensive apartment and wondered about this also.
He reset the machine and left the apartment. He would not come back tonight, he had packed gear that would take him through the weekend. He would not be here to listen to her explanations. He did not want to listen to the fact that it didn't matter that the party meant nothing, and that she was being so good and honest about having told him that she should begetting a pat on the back for it all.
It had taken Shona Burke twenty-four hours to know whether she would accept the invitation or not. She didn't want to go, but the wording was very hard to refuse. She wondered how long it had taken to write. Days, possibly. She could not be expected to respond instantly. She would write her letter carefully too. When other people were out enjoying a summer Sunday, Shona Burke would spend the hours composing her reply.
Geraldine was also in her apartment in the Glenstar building. She could not believe that Freddie had done this to her. Called her in front of his wife and told her that plans had changed. Pretend he was talking to the dry-cleaner's. She would not accept that. Not from anyone. No matter how tense the situation might be at home, no matter how great the pressure from his wife, and possible suspicion, Geraldine was owed more than a travesty of a phone call like that. When Freddie apologised, as he would, when he tried to explain how it seemed the only option open to him, she would listen to him coldly. As Geraldine had told him, she always behaved perfectly, she was the ideal mistress, she wished only the same consideration in return. She turned her wrist so that the jewels on her watch caught the light. Yes, of course he had been considerate to give her this and other gifIs, but that wasn't the point. She needed respect as well.
'Ah yes, but a hijack is a hijack. They have showers in Wicklow too. My only hope to
get you to myself is if we go straight there…'
'But hon, my messages…' he wailed.
'They're in the glove compartment, all of them, and you can't call anyone on a Sunday anyway,' she said.
And in the afternoon sunshine they drove down to Wicklow, and he told her tales of the conference and the people they met and what had gone well and what had been stymied as usual.
Tom tidied up the apartment at Stoneyfield meticulously. He packed an overnight bag for himself and put it in the back of the van. The phone rang just as he was leaving. He listened to hear who it was. It might just be Marcella. Or it might not. But he would not pick it up. After the click there was a hesitant intake of breath, and then whoever it was hung up. He played it four times to see what he could decipher. It was definitely Marcella.
She was shocked that he had left the phone on the machine. After what she had done, she had expected him to be waiting and ready.
He wondered where she was calling from. He wondered why he had never got that call identify gadget that Cathy had… What would it have told him? It would have identified which hotel his brother had booked for this thug who had bought Marcella. Would it make it better if he could exonerate all the other hotels in Dublin and just blame one?
Holly's hotel did a big Sunday-lunch trade, it was just the right distance from Dublin. People brought grannies and mothers-in-law there. It always reminded them of their youth, some kind of continuity in a changing world. It had an old-world charm, a lot of chintz and the same waitresses year after year. They checked in at the big, old-fashioned desk with all the keys to the rooms hanging there with their coloured tassels. People were moving to and fro in the hall behind them. Among them, Molly and Shay Hayes. There was a lot of shouting about what a small world it was.
'Having a little anniversary, are you?' Molly wanted to know.
'No, Neil has just come back from Africa, he was at a forum on refugees,' Cathy explained.
'Hope you sorted them out,' Shay said glumly.
'Well, we did our best, Mr Hayes, but you know, there was so much red tape, and these things go so slowly.'
'Still, as long as you put the boot in, we've quite enough of our own in need here, without letting in a lot of people who don't know our ways…'
Neil's mouth was open in astonishment.
'We've got the room key, Neil, don't you think we should go on up?' Cathy said hastily.
'I don't exactly understand…'
'And neither do I, people speaking languages no one can understand getting free houses and filling up the place…'
'Mr Hayes… Molly… you'll have to excuse us, I haven't seen this man of mine for nine whole days. Do you mind if I drag him upstairs with me?'
'Not at all, I'm all for that sort of thing, there's not enough of it about these days,' Shay Hayes said approvingly.
They scampered up the stairs and burst into the big sunny room. Where they could let themselves laugh properly.
'He's a monster, that man… I don't know why we're laughing,' Neil said, almost ashamed of himself.
'Listen, you've met a thousand, I've met a thousand, but the hall in Holly's hotel isn't the place to fight it out,' Cathy pleaded. 'Forget him. Tell me all about it, I want to know what you did there from the moment you arrived.'
He sat down in one of their little chintz-covered chairs to tell her, the words tumbling out: the delegates who were expected and did not turn up, the surprise celebrities who came to give support, meetings that were cancelled, the others that started impromptu but grew to be more important. Cathy ordered a bottle of wine and a plate of sandwiches to be sent up to the bedroom as he told of what was being done and what an amazing amount there still was to do. Then he said he'd have the shower that had been promised.
He called out from the bathroom, 'Hardly any point my getting any of that clean gear on, is there? I mean, you'll only be tearing it off me, won't you?'
'Do put something on just for the moment,' she called back. 'And come and sit here, it's so gorgeous.'
He came out, damp and clean, glowing in the dark blue shirt she had packed for him. He was so attractive. No wonder they always wanted him on television as a spokesman. Neil Mitchell was so convincing about everything. She looked up at him as he came over to the table and poured a glass of wine for them both.
This was the time to tell him.
'There's something I want to tell you. I've been wanting so much to tell you.'
He came and sat opposite her and held her hand. He smiled at her. Perhaps he had guessed.
'What do you want to tell me,' he asked.
'Neil, I'm pregnant,' she said.
Neil looked at her stunned. 'Say that again.'
'You heard what I said.'
'You're not,' he said.
'Oh, I am.' She was smiling broadly but searching his face, wanting to see the answering smile and not finding it.
'How did this happen?' Neil asked.
'I think you know how it happened, like the way it always happens.' This wasn't the way she had thought the conversation between them would go.
'Don't play games, you know what we agreed.'
'Yes, I do.'
'So, then, how did this happen?'
'One night when I didn't put in my diaphragm. And when we thought it was a safe time of the month. We did discuss it.'
'Oh yes, I'm sure we did, long and logically.'
'Neil!'
'Sorry. I'm afraid that I just can't take it in.'
A small lump of fear began to grow in her heart. 'I thought you'd be pleased.'
'No, you didn't think that, this is not something we agreed.'
She was very frightened now. He had released her hands and pushed his chair back. He had got a great shock. Too great a shock. She knew she must be calm now, and speak in the same unemotional tones as he did.
'Some things are above and beyond agreement,' she said simply.
'No, that's not so.'
'It's the way it feels.'
'Not in an age when we can control fertility, not when two people agreed in Greece that we wanted to be together always, live our dreams despite any obstacles that would be put in our way and without children.'
'We never said permanently without children,' she said.
'No, you're right, but what we did actually say was that if we changed our minds we would discuss it, and we haven't discussed it,' he said.
'We are now,' she said, with a feeling of unreality.
He must come round to realising what was happening and how wonderful it was. He must.
'How far is…'
'About thirteen, fourteen weeks.'
'So there's plenty of time…' he began.
'For us to get used to the idea,' she finished swiftly.
'Why didn't you tell me sooner? You must have known a long time. Why didn't you say anything?'
'I wasn't certain…' she began.
'But even if you thought… ?'
'There was never time to talk. You always had to go somewhere, I always had to go somewhere…' She wanted to be sure to take equal blame for their having no proper time together in their marriage.
'But this is so big. You could have told me… surely?'
'I tried several times, but then we had the fuss about Simon and Maud, and you talking about this posting abroad, and then the break-in and all the hassle about that, then the night before you went away you had to go out… no, you had to go, I know you had. So the days passed. I mean, was I to send you an e-mail about it?'
'Please don't be flippant, I beg you not to do that.'
'Oh, no, I'm not, not in the least bit flippant. Why do you think I got you down here to tell you? I wanted us to talk calmly. I was terrified to try and tell you at home with all that goes on, I needed there to be no interruptions.'
'So nobody knows? Your mother and father or my parents?' he asked.
'Of course they don't know,' she said truthfully.
He nodded as if ashamed
that he had asked. 'I know. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked you that.'
She felt guilty that he didn't know that she had already told Geraldine and that Tom and June had guessed… But it wasn't important, not nearly as important as the look on his face. She reached for his hand, but he moved away. Very slightly, but it was definitely withdrawing from her.
'It will take time to get used to it,' she pleaded.
'Time isn't necessarily something we have, hon.'
'What do you mean?' she asked in a voice that seemed to come from a thousand miles away; but she knew what he meant.
'Well, we have to make a decision, don't we?' He had never looked like this when he was facing the mighty Mitchells with the news that he was marrying the maid's daughter. He had never looked like this in the High Court.
'Decision?' she asked, to buy time.
There was a long silence.
'We agreed we wouldn't have children.' He was trying to sound calm.
'And we didn't intend to yet, but…' she said.
'But fortunately there's time to reverse this.' He looked at her, his face drawn, his eyes cold.
'You want me to have a termination?' she said.
'I want us to discuss it, yes.'
'We marched together in the Woman's Right to Choose demo,' she said. 'Do you remember the day?'
'Of course I do, and that's exactly what I'm saying. It is a right to choose.' Neil believed this passionately.
'The woman's right,' Cathy said in a small voice.
The pause seemed very long. He looked at her, shocked. 'You mean, we're not in this together, suddenly it's all what you want, not what we want? Where's my right to choose whether or not to be a father, tell me that?' He was trembling as he spoke.
'That's not the way it is, Neil.'
'But it is,' he cried. 'We agreed that night in Syntagma Square, that night we decided to be together for ever that we would not have children… We agreed it, nobody put a gun to anyone's head…'
