“Who’ll be first?” Frankie wondered as they admired the table.
It looked very festive with its colored candles and paper napkins, and plates of food. They had speared an orange with little cocktail sticks, each one bearing a cube of cheese and a portion of pineapple. They had stuffed hard-boiled eggs, where the yolks had been taken out, mixed with mayonnaise, and put back. There were bottles of beer and glasses of red and white wine.
“I bet you it’ll be that Kevin O’Connor,” Kit grumbled.
“I don’t think he’s all that bad,” Frankie said. “You have him actually crawling on the ground he’s so afraid of you, and still you won’t be civil to him.”
“He has been very uncivil to me indeed in the past,” Kit said. “It’s hard to forget that sort of thing.”
“You have to forget.” Frankie shrugged. She almost shrugged herself out of her strapless taffeta dress and made a note not to raise her shoulders again.
“Do you, though?” Kit was wondering.
“Do you what?”
“Do you have to forget?”
“Jesus, Kit, of course you do, otherwise wars would be going on forever and women would be commiting suicide over fellows they loved.”
“But what’s the point of anything if it can be forgotten, wiped out, start again?” Kit asked.
“Listen, we’re having a party, not a debate,” Frankie said. “Who do you hope to end up with tonight?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the fellow from my own hometown. He’s very good-looking, Stevie.” Kit said this partly to put the glamorous Frankie in the position of knowing that Stevie was out of bounds, partly to convince herself. In her heart she knew that Stevie was cheap and obvious.
The doorbell rang. “Here we go,” said Frankie, bouncing off to answer it. Frankie came back in, eyes rolling up to heaven and followed by the most handsome man that any of them were ever likely to see in a long time.
In his dinner jacket and his hair longish but clean and shiny, with his outdoor look from working all weathers, more fit than any of the college sportsmen, and with a smile that would stop a hundred women in their tracks, Stevie Sullivan was like something that stepped down from a poster outside a cinema.
“Well, don’t you look great!” Kit said before she could help herself.
“You beat me to it,” he said. His eyes were warm and admiring on her bare shoulders and the peach-colored silk dress with its halter neckline.
Kit had been worried about not wearing a bra, but the girl in the shop had assured her the dress was so well formed in the bodice that no undergarment was needed. She thought she felt Stevie Sullivan’s eyes examining the bodice as if he were making the assessment too, but then she was sure she imagined it.
The doorbell rang again at that moment and several more guests arrived. One was Kevin O’Connor. He made straight for Kit. “I just want to say that Matthew is here, but he’s under observation from all of us. Anything untoward and he’ll be sent home. Just so that you understand.”
“Matthew?” Kit said, confused.
“Yes, who made the unfortunate mistake and behaved in a manner that was unseemly when you were working in the bar. That’s him over there at the door. I said I’d come in and clear it with you. He’s replacing Harry, you see.”
“It’s all right. He may stay,” Kit said regally. “As long as everything is under control.”
“You have my word on that,” Kevin assured her.
“My God, Kit McMahon, don’t you have Dublin brought down to size,” Stevie said admiringly.
“Ah you don’t know the half of it, Stevie.” She tucked her arm companionably in his and brought him around to introduce him. She saw from the looks he was getting that she wasn’t alone in her admiration. Stevie Sullivan dressed up and in a place like this was a knockout. Far too good for Clio’s horrible little sister. Suddenly Kit remembered the purpose of the whole evening. She must distract him from Anna so that Anna would go back humbly to Emmet. She must dazzle the eyes out of him at this dance. It mightn’t work but she was certainly going to give it her best try.
It was the usual Saturday night in the Golf Club and the Kellys and the McMahons were finishing their dinner as they did so many weekends. It seemed impossible to believe that this had not always been the way things were.
They talked about the children. Clio wasn’t studying that much, they knew. When she came home for visits it was always to sleep. “I don’t think she sleeps at all in Dublin.” Lilian worried about her elder daughter. Maura McMahon worried about where Clio slept but this was not the time or the place to bring up such a subject.
“Apparently Kit is going to a dance tonight,” Peter Kelly said. “Clio was on the phone full of envy about it all.”
“That’s right. They were having a party in some girl’s flat first, I think it was the College of Catering people.” Martin was always a peacemaker.
“Oh I’m sure. Anyway, Clio said that if she could get a lift home she’d come tonight.”
“That would be nice,” Maura said a little insincerely. She found her niece trying and unrestful. There was always some hidden tension there.
“I left a plate of sandwiches out for her,” Lilian said, fussing. “Anna’s not going to eat ever again she says, she has this belief that she’s as fat as a pig. Lord, they can be very hard to cope with sometimes.”
“I see young Philip’s home,” Martin said. “They could have come down together for the company.”
“Oh she’s full of some boy with a posh car. He might drive her.” Lilian sounded worried.
“Will he want to stay?” Peter asked.
“That wasn’t mentioned. And you know Clio, she’d snap your head off if you asked a question. We’ll have to wait and see. I did leave out some clean sheets and pillowcases in case.”
Maura said nothing. She knew the boy in the posh car was the son of Fingers O’Connor.
Francis Fingleton O’Connor was a legendary hotelier who had made a fortune through his four strategically placed hotels in Ireland. But he was even more legendary in his belief that he was attractive to all women, and that all a woman needed to make her feel feminine and desired was a grope and a feel, and a few suggestive remarks. Maura had met him on more than one occasion through her work and had disliked him intensely. She had kept her hostility until she was sure she was not observed and then had told him that his attentions were unwelcome, in such a firm tone that even Fingers O’Connor understood. But about this, as about so many things, she kept her own counsel.
Kit had mentioned that a son of his, Kevin, was in Cathal Brugha Street with her. An unpleasant lout, Kit had said. Maura told no tales, but was glad to hear it. Clio, on the other hand, seemed very involved with the boy’s brother. Maura felt sure it was the lure of the car and the lifestyle.
She brought up the subject of Emmet; there would be no dissension here surely. “He’s gone to the pictures tonight. Aren’t they all getting very grown up, all four of them with their own lives to live,” Maura said admiringly.
She thought that the Kellys didn’t seem particularly confident that their daughters were leading their own lives very well. One was coming back discontentedly from Dublin to sleep for hour after hour. The other was sitting at a kitchen table on her own, refusing to go to the pictures or to eat. And both of them such beautiful girls, Maura thought.
For the first time for a long time she thought of Helen McMahon. Her beauty had brought her nothing but tragedy.
“THEY’RE too old to get married,” Louis said about Ivy and Ernest. His tone was dismissive.
“Why not if they want to?” Lena knew that Louis would take this line. She had prepared herself for it, and was determined not to sound defensive.
“Ah come on, it’s ridiculous. Everyone knows they’ve been at it for years, why doesn’t he move in or she move in, not all this love, honor, and obey bit?”
“It’s a sign, that’s all.” She knew she was short.
??
?It’s a sign of nothing.”
“Not to people like us,” she said as if it was obvious. “We don’t need things like that, you and I…because I think we know, but other people often do need them. You’re usually so tolerant of the things people do that we don’t understand. Why can’t you be glad for Ivy and Ernest that they’re making a bit of a thing out of it?” It was exactly the right tone.
“Well yes, when you look at it like that…” It was as if he felt a burden, a threat, lifted from him. “Hey, let’s buy them a bottle and go down tonight. Make a bit of a party of it, remind them that it’s their last Saturday as free people.” He was all smiles now. He would charm them to bits.
Lena was right. Louis was the life and soul of the party. He had invited all the tenants to come in and wish the happy couple well. Each one had brought a little gift. Ernest and Ivy were overcome with the emotion of it all.
“How did you know?” Ivy whispered to one of the New Zealanders.
“Mr. Gray told us. He wanted it to be a bit of a celebration,” she said.
“You’ve got a good man there,” Ivy said to Lena.
“Yes,” Lena said.
Ivy looked at her sharply. “Deep down he’s full of heart,” Ivy insisted.
Ivy, who knew how unfaithful he was, how hard she tried to entertain him. Ivy, who alone knew that they were not married, could be fooled by this little gesture of goodwill.
Lena felt that life was all an act. “I know,” she said in a voice that had no life in it. She felt that she had stepped outside herself and that she was watching this whole scene without being a part of it. It was she who had thought of having a celebration to mark Ivy’s happiness. She had swallowed her own feelings of jealousy and envy at Ivy’s sudden rush of luck in the security of her man. Ivy deserved this, and Lena was glad for her neighbor and friend’s moment of happiness.
She watched the others looking at Louis, animated, handsome, and the center of attention. He is a sham, she thought angrily, he is a fraud and a con trick. Why had she wasted her life on him? Why was she not back in Lough Glass, where she belonged, with her family, with her children who needed her?
What was she doing in this ridiculous house in London, working her guts out for an employment agency up the road, drinking a toast to Ivy and Ernest in a roomful of people she hardly knew? This was a Saturday night, she should be at home in Lough Glass.
A terrible emptiness took hold of her. At home in Lough Glass doing what?
MICHAEL O’Connor and Clio drove through the night to Lough Glass.
“You do know we can’t sleep together at home,” Clio said.
“So you keep saying.”
“No, so I keep insisting. I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t just take it as a joke.”
“Peace, peace. We start the night in separate places and then you creep along to me. Right?”
“No, Michael, not right. This is the house that I was born in and grew up in. My parents are there with ears sharpened, waiting for every creak of the floorboards.”
“We’ll find a way around them.”
“No!” She sounded very angry.
He pulled the car into the side of the road. “What’s this, what are we fighting about?” he asked.
“About the fact that I did say to you before we left Dublin that this wasn’t on. I didn’t want you to be under any false impression.” She looked very troubled and very young. Her blond curls looked babyish and her lower lip was trembling like any toddler’s.
He softened. “Okay, okay. I take your point.”
“But will you take it when you’re in the spare room, Michael?” she asked.
“I don’t know. It depends on how eager I feel.”
“Unless you know that it doesn’t matter how eager you feel, we’re not going any farther. We stop right here,” she said.
“Oh really, and what would you do in the middle of nowhere?”
“I’d either get out and hitch or I’d come back to Dublin with you.” She sounded more confident than she felt.
“Aw to hell, we’re halfway there. I’ll drive you to Loughwhatsit and then go back to civilization.”
“It’s too much to ask.”
“The lady must be obeyed.”
“Honestly, Michael.”
“No, I want to see your place anyway. I have to report on whether my girlfriend is my social equal.” She assumed he was joking and laughed. “I’m deadly serious,” Michael said. “My father keeps asking me what class of a girl Maura Hayes’s niece is. I think your aunt was quite a goer.”
“A goer?”
“A flier.”
“Aunt Maura? You have to be joking.”
“That’s what he says, or sort of doesn’t say. A real party girl.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“It’s great. Like you, a party girl, full of fun.” He gave her a squeeze and then reminded himself that this was not the place or time. “No point in getting myself going, especially if nothing lovely lies ahead for me.”
They drove through the dark Irish countryside, through small villages, and past farmhouses with lights in the windows, past herds of cattle looking at them over hedges. Past wayside shrines to Our Lady of Lourdes. But they spoke of none of these things they passed. They had little conversation, Clio realized, it was not a life that involved much sitting down together and chatting about the way of the world.
But then they had something much more important, they had a very passionate love life. Most people weren’t lucky enough to have that. Ever. Clio knew now how hard it was to define love in poems or in paintings or in music. It was all about…well, closeness, being intimate. That kind of thing was impossible to describe.
She looked at Michael’s face as he drove. She wondered was he thinking something on the same lines. She placed her hand on his leg.
“We’re very lucky, aren’t we?” Clio said.
“No, we’re bloody not…your parents are there waiting like grizzly bears to catch us.”
“They’re not at home yet, they’ll be up in the Golf Club,” Clio said.
Michael’s face brightened. “Maybe we’d have time before they got back,” he said.
Clio looked at her watch. It was ten o’clock, they were half an hour from Lough Glass, but her mother and father rarely left the Golf Club before midnight. “Drive faster,” she said, and was rewarded by Michael’s whoop of delight.
Sister Madeleine was restless. Yet again the evening seemed long and lonely to her. This was something she must not allow to happen. She had craved to be away from the ceaseless chatter and business of other people’s lives. She had always been proud to live comfortably with her own thoughts. But maybe that was in the days when she had faith in her own thoughts. Recently she was less and less sure of everything, and when the certainty had gone a lot of other things went too.
The shadows of evening over the lake seemed a little menacing now: the creaks and sounds in the trees around, the rustle in the undergrowth. She could see the lights of the travelers’ camp in the woods. They had a fire and they would make her welcome but she would cast a quietness on them. She would change their mood. She looked through the trees up at Lough Glass, and saw the lights of the one long street. In those houses were settled people, not travelers, not hermits like herself. She knew most of their stories, their secrets. There was hardly a home where they wouldn’t reach out a hand and pull her warmly into the house.
But there was something holding Sister Madeleine back. If she went calling, if she gave up this life of independence, she would be lost. She told herself that she was being full of fancies. She tried to imagine that she was one of the many who filed to her little cottage for advice. What would she have said?
“The great trouble with most of us is that we think too much about ourselves, that’s what makes our problems seem so much more important than they are. Now, if you were to think about someone else…” Very good advice, but the only person she could think of was poor Franc
is with his scattered wits wandering somewhere in the night. She wished she could believe he was settled and safe. He had been gone for three days. She shivered as she tried to imagine where he was laying his head this Saturday night. She wished it was still on the settle bed beside the open fire in her little cottage.
There was a buzz of conversation in Frankie’s flat. The party was going well. Frankie and Kit looked at each other in delight. It was working better than they had hoped. It would be magic when they got to the ballroom. Kevin O’Connor was standing beside Matthew, the one-time foulmouthed friend, as if he were a bodyguard. Kit had to stifle her amusement. Boys were so young really compared to girls. Those two were behaving as if they were Emmet’s age.
Thinking about Emmet, she realized she had been neglecting the night’s mission. It wasn’t enough to lure Stevie to Dublin for just one Saturday night, she must try and let him think she was interested in him so that he would forget Anna and concentrate all his attentions on her.
Really, those Kelly girls were very tiresome, Kit said to herself. Clio had behaved like a wounded deer just because she wasn’t included, but it would have been impossible to have her. The whole of Lough Glass would know that Kit McMahon had behaved disgracefully with Stevie Sullivan, which was what she was now about to do.
She smeared a little Vaseline over her lipstick to make her mouth look more shiny and moved over to where he was standing, talking cars, relaxed, at ease, as if he spent every Saturday night in the company of people in evening dresses and dinner jackets. He was far more comfortable there than some of the guests. Kit decided that he might not be as rough a diamond as she had thought, or perhaps he was just a very good actor.
“We’re thinking about who’ll go in whose car down to the Gresham,” she said. “Do you have room for a few in yours?”
“Sure,” he smiled easily.
Kevin was beside her blustering. “I’ll take you, Kit. I’ve got the Morris tonight, plenty of room, we can get four in the back.”
“I have to help Frankie as hostess and sort of be in charge.” Kit smiled at him sweetly. Kevin beamed back idiotically. He seemed to have been forgiven, welcomed back to the fold. She laid her hand on Kevin’s arm. “Hey, why don’t you be a sweetheart and get Matthew in the front seat where you can keep an eye on him and take those four girls over there?”