‘You lied to me about the mortgage on this house. You don’t have one.’
‘Oh but we do, we do indeed,’ he said.
‘No, Dan we don’t, I was talking to Declan, he said no way.’
‘You spoke to Declan about our business?’
‘Not our business. Your business, your house, your mortgage, your loans.’
‘Stop this now, Amy.’
‘Why did we get married?’
‘Oh Jesus, Amy, I have far too much on my mind to be answering idiotic questions like this.’
‘Idiotic?’
‘Yes, idiotic. I have a hundred things on my mind, and half a dozen people outside who are meant to be helping me in sorting them. What happens? You start blabbering about things you know nothing about to Declan and alarming him.’
‘He’s already alarmed.’
‘And you freeze Kevin out just as I had him ready to invest in my business.’
‘Oh, sorry. I should have said that I was glad to hear he had dumped our friend Geraldine and that he must come into the bathroom and do a line of cocaine with that bird brain, should I?’
Dan was momentarily startled.
‘That was out of order, I told him, totally out of order.’
‘It was and so are many things about today’s gathering. You invited nobody here out of friendship. What’s Mr Hayes doing here, for example?’
‘To give it an air of respectability, I suppose. To let Kevin, Declan and even Sally Anne see how well I’m doing. If there’s an old-style lawyer part of it all then they’re not at risk.’
‘What makes you think Mr Hayes is respectable?’
‘Ah come on, Amy, don’t babble at me now.’
‘Well, he’s best friends with Silver’s father and he is some sort of a crim, I gather from Donal. Mr Hayes has more than one house in Florida, he was telling the girls that the Cayman Islands were full of mosquitoes. He’s going to the States tomorrow to tie up a property deal. Doesn’t look straight and steady to me.’
Dan was pale now.
‘Mr Hayes knows Mouth O’Sullivan? I don’t believe you.’
‘Well don’t then. I don’t care anymore.’
‘God, I have to talk to him.’
‘I think he’s left already, he was making fussing noises a while back. Early start in the morning.’
Amy sounded as if she was a million miles away from all these people, and their comings and goings. It was as if she had unshackled herself from it all.
Dan looked anxious. ‘Nobody else has gone, have they? I mean, I need to talk to Sally Anne.’
‘I’m sure you do,’ Amy didn’t sound as if she cared.
‘No, not that way, you fool. I want her as a client.’
‘Is that what they call it?’
‘Sally Anne is rolling in money. She is in a few dodgy businesses and she needs to bury money for a while. I wanted to take it on for her. But she was twittering on about not mixing business and pleasure. As if Sally Anne knew the meaning of the word pleasure.’
‘Whatever you say,’ Amy couldn’t have cared less.
‘It’s just the way she goes on, she’s not interested in sex or affairs or fellows or anything.’
‘My goodness!’
‘No that’s true, she never was, she was interested in money. And through her line of business she got plenty of it.’
‘And her line of business was what exactly?’
‘From what I gather a string of . . . sort of clubs, you know, clubs with floor shows and . . . sort of opportunities to meet people.’
‘Brothels?’ Amy suggested.
‘No. Well, not really. But she does need to put her profits away somewhere carefully for a few years. She’s been taking legal advice.’
‘Oh that’s how Mr Hayes knows her.’
‘Don’t be idiotic, Amy, as if old Hayes would get involved in Sally Anne’s business or she listen to an old fusspot like him. She’ll have a sharp American lawyer.’
‘Whatever you say,’ Amy shrugged.
‘So that’s what a lot of this is about. Getting Sally Anne’s money to invest for her and it couldn’t come at a better time for me. If you see what I mean.’
‘Not really, wouldn’t it be a client’s account?’
‘Yes, but you know there’s always a little flexibility.’
‘Yes, I see.’
‘You don’t see.’
‘I see, but I don’t understand.’
‘That’s the way I feel about all this.’ He indicated her red and white sponge bag.
‘I’m sorry. Yes, I am sorry truly.’
‘For what, Amy? For taking these pills?’
‘No, for lying to you.’
‘It’s monstrous, Amy, it’s the greatest deception I ever heard.’
‘Would you not have liked making love if you had known there was no chance we could conceive?’ She was deadly calm as if it was something she was researching for her class at school.
‘No, yes, anyway that’s not the point,’ he began to bluster.
Amy stood up from the white stool where she had been sitting.
‘I’d better go back,’ she said in a dull voice.
‘Amy, this is not over.’
‘Oh, it’s well over,’ she said.
‘You’ll leave me now because the money’s running thin. You were very happy to stay for the good times.’ He was very angry.
‘I haven’t been very happy for a long time,’ she said and went out.
Mr Hayes had indeed gone, Joan had got the girls to gather the plates and glasses from the grass and bring them to the kitchen. Martin, Kevin and Donal were still in a little circle around Sally Anne.
Silver was sitting under the tree making a daisy chain.
‘Sophie and Sasha, would you like to walk into Knockglass with me?’
‘What for?’ Sasha was always suspicious in case homework would be mentioned.
‘Aren’t we having a party, Mummy?’ Sophie asked.
‘Daddy’s having the party, darling, come on we’ll go and see Norah. No homework, Sasha, and I’ll send you out for ice-creams for us all. I want to talk to you about something.’
‘Will we say goodbye?’ Sophie was always polite.
‘No need, I’ll tell Joan. And Donal. Then we’ll head off. Okay?’
The girls thought it was okay. Mummy didn’t usually come up with ideas like this.
They picked flowers for Aunt Norah as they walked.
There was a carnival in Knockglass. With some very old dodgems and a kindly fatherly man in charge. Amy gave him money for the girls to have rides.
‘Will you take great care of them?’ she asked.
‘I will indeed. Do you want a go yourself, Mam?’
‘Later, maybe, I’ll be around for a while,’ she said.
And she sat in Norah’s room without having to say too much.
It was as if Norah understood without an explanation. She told her aunt that she would like to apply for the local teaching post if it wasn’t too late. The shadows from the trees in the square grew longer, as they talked and planned. And soon the cries from the merry-go-round died down and the children came back carrying four ice-creams.
Norah, without being asked to, told them all about the lovely school by the river and how the children went on nature walks.
She sowed the seeds and made it seem like a fairyland.
Then they walked back to Golden Willow.
The guests had all gone.
Joan and Martin had obviously cleared up everything.
The kitchen table was covered in parcels wrapped in foil. These would go back to the city. The hum of the dishwasher was comforting in the corner.
Dan was sitting in the billiard room, the girls rushed to tell him about their adventures on the dodgems, and the ice-creams. He put an arm around each of them.
‘We did this bit right anyway didn’t we, Amy?’ he said.
‘We did indeed.’
‘I just wanted more of it, was that a crime?’
‘No. No, of course not.’
‘You want another billiard room, Daddy?’ Sophie was astounded.
‘I did, but your mother was right of course, as she always is.’
He looked sad, almost as if he were about to cry.
‘Imagine!’ Dan said. ‘Imagine, we never played the First Golden Willow Billiard Tournament.’
‘We can do it another weekend, Dad,’ Sophie consoled him.
‘I wish we didn’t have to go back,’ said Sasha, as she always did.
‘Maybe you won’t always have to?’ Dan suggested. ‘Is that right, Amy?’
‘That’s right, we have a lot of talking to do first.’
‘When will you do that?’ Sophie was interested. ‘Dad comes home so late.’
‘It will be done,’ Amy said.
She told them they didn’t need to bring all the sheets and duvets home, she would be coming down again during the week, she could see to it then. Could the girls find the thermal bag and fill it with the leftover food. Great. And pack their toys, schoolbags and books and anything else.
They scurried off to do it and Amy sat with Dan in the billiard room.
‘I see Donal left his motorcycle behind.’
‘Yes, Sally Anne gave him a lift in her car. I didn’t tell him. About her line of work, I mean.’
‘No, no.’
‘But she may have told him herself, she’s looking for someone to ghost her autobiography, she’s not looking for anywhere to hide her earnings. And she was a client of old Hayes; I got that one wrong too.’
‘And Kevin?’
‘Is too much of a coke head to make any decisions.’
‘And Donal?’
‘Is running away from me like mad, probably phoning Head Office emergency line as we speak.’
‘Oh God, Dan, that’s terrible.’
‘Mr Hayes, laughing all the way from here to offshore. What does he need with money at his age? My money, my clients’ money. Little shit.’
‘I’m sorry, Dan, really I am.’
‘Can I stay here when I come at weekends?’
‘No, I think not. It would only be delaying things.’
‘Where will I go?’
‘Won’t you have to go to gaol?’ her voice was flat.
‘Maybe not, not if I tell everything. And sell everything.’
‘You are not going to sell this place here. This is all I want, Dan, nothing else. You could send back the billiard table, though.’
‘There will be a bit of bad publicity.’
‘We’ll get over it.’
‘What will we tell the girls?’ he asked.
‘The truth. That business is bad, we have to cut down.’
‘About us, I mean.’
‘Oh, the minimum. Children hate too much information.’ And they stood up like strangers who had just met.
They headed for the big car that would be sold this week.
As they drove down the lane the girls seemed to think everyone was being too quiet.
‘Are you and Daddy fighting?’ Sasha asked.
‘No, darling, of course not,’ Amy said.
‘So why isn’t he singing “Amy, Wonderful Amy” and tickling your neck?’ Sasha asked.
‘Because Daddy’s old and tired and not as good at everything as he used to be,’ Dan said. They found this a totally satisfactory answer.
Miss Martin’s Wish
ELSA MARTIN HAD NEVER BEEN TO NEW YORK. SHE HAD A PASSPORT, even a visa to go to the United States, dating from when she had thought that she was going on her honeymoon to Florida.
That was when she had thought she was going to have a honeymoon.
The passport lay there in a box. It was in the same drawer as her grandmother’s little silver bag, and all the good-luck cards in an album that the children had made for Miss Martin. She could have thrown them out but the children had gone to so much trouble, put so many horseshoes and wedding bells on them, such glitter and decoration. It would have been like breaking up blossoms or standing on seashells.
For a while she had kept Tim’s letters there; the letter where he told her he had never really loved her and couldn’t go through with it, where he begged her forgiveness. But then after a year, Elsa had taken the letter and burned it because often she had found herself going to read it over and over again. As if she might find some insight, some reason why he had left; some thread of hope that he might be coming back.
People said that Elsa had been magnificent, they said that Tim must have been a rat or emotionally unstable. They said she was well rid of him, and they marvelled that she had taken it so calmly, ten days before her wedding day. She had returned gifts with a courteous and non-committal note: ‘Since by mutual consent our marriage will now not take place, we would like to return your generous present with our gratitude for your kind wishes.’ And she had continued teaching the following term as if nothing had happened, as if her heart had not broken into two separate pieces.
The children were more honest. ‘Are you very sad you didn’t get married, Miss Martin?’ a child might ask.
‘A little sad, not very sad,’ she would admit with a smile. In the staffroom they didn’t ask about the cancelled wedding, and Elsa didn’t want to fill them in, so it remained one of life’s mysteries. Probably a mismatch; better they found out before the ceremony, really, than afterwards.
Elsa’s sisters had never liked Tim because he had small eyes. They told each other but did not tell Elsa that their little sister had had a lucky escape.
Elsa’s friends hadn’t really got to know Tim very well. They were sympathetic but vaguely relieved. Tim had come out of nowhere very quickly and taken all Elsa’s attention. Perhaps it was doomed from the start.
And the years went by, five of them. The children grew up and forgot that Miss Martin had ever planned a wedding for which they had all made cards. The other teachers in the school forgot too. If a new teacher came and enquired about Miss Martin’s private life they would have to root around in their memories of the incident some years back. A wedding called off at the last moment? It didn’t rate as important in their lives.
But it was still the centre of Elsa’s life. She tried everything possible to uproot the burning anxiety to know why someone thought she was a fine person to share his life hopes and dreams with one day, and the next day was able to say that it had all been a mistake. If it wasn’t anything she had done then it must be something to do with the person she was. It was a huge matter to put behind you, but of course you had to pretend to—otherwise people accused you of brooding and tried to take you out of yourself, which was wearying and irritating. Elsa’s friends thought she was very absorbed with her schoolwork, her colleagues thought she had a busy life with friends. That way it was easy to remain within yourself, which was where she wanted to be.
Christmas was always meant to be the poignant time, the season that pointed out what the lonely were lacking; but, oddly, Elsa never found that Christmas was any worse than other times. One year she had gone to one sister, a tense household in South London where a lot of the discussion centred around alcohol and whether her brother-in-law was possibly partaking of too much of it. Another year she went to another sister, a haphazard home where Elsa did most of the cooking and clearing up; and then to a colleague’s house where they had rather too much carol singing and rather too little food. Last Christmas she had spent walking in the Scottish Highlands with a recently divorced friend who wanted to talk angrily about the innate badness of men and how they should all be wiped from the face of the earth.
And now it was the fifth Christmas. For some reason this year she refused every offer, always grateful, always assuring them of something else long planned, but never specified. At the Christmas Concert in the shabby prefabricated annexe that served as a school hall she adjusted the wings of the angels, the fleece of the shepherds and the crowns of the Three Wise Men as she had done for
so many years in this school. The children were over-excited, surrounded by their admiring and proud parents. They all flocked to Elsa and hugged her goodbye. And, as she did so often, Elsa thought that teaching was so much better than any other job, particularly at Christmas. Imagine if you were in an office with interminable Christmas parties. How could anyone bear the false cheer, the fake bonhomie?
‘Where are you going for Christmas, Miss Martin?’ they asked her from the comfort and safety of their parents’ arms.
Usually she said something vague and non-committal, and that she would try not to eat too much Christmas pudding. But this year, for some reason, one of the children, little Marion Matthews, said confidently to the others, ‘She’s going to America. She told us she was.’
Had she? Elsa hadn’t remembered saying anything of the sort.
‘Remember? Miss Martin’s going to make a wish for us from the Statue of Liberty,’ cried Marion triumphantly.
Elsa remembered. There had been some story they read in class about people making a wish when they passed the Statue of Liberty in New York.
‘Have you made a wish there, Miss Martin?’ they had asked.
‘No, not yet,’ Elsa had said. ‘But when I go I’ll make a wish for you all.’
They had considered it with the seriousness of seven-year-olds. Would Miss Martin wish for the new hall for them? If they had a new hall they could do all kinds of things, dancing classes, basketball, proper gymnastics. Elsa had said lightly that of course she would, but they must remember that all wishes didn’t necessarily come true.
The Christmas vacation began. The children would have forgotten next term that Miss Martin was going to make a wish for them. Their minds would be too full of the adventures and gifts of a busy holiday. But Elsa didn’t forget. She went to the drawer to look for her passport. Her face had looked different then, she thought, the eyes less weary, the mouth more relaxed. But perhaps this was fantasy.
At the back of the passport were ten folded bills, each for twenty dollars. They had been there for five years, losing value. Why had she not changed them back into pounds? Perhaps it had all been too painful at the time, and then she had forgotten them. Still, it was a good omen: a whole two hundred extra dollars to spend on herself when she got there. She would give herself some little luxury. She would think not at all of what the money had been intended for. She didn’t even know why it was there. Had she changed it herself, was it a gift? Strange that she could remember so much about that time with frightening clarity and other things not at all.