Circle of Friends (19 page)

“Fine.” He said nothing, he just waited.

“I would like to go to university this term,” she began.

“In Dublin?”

“Yes. And there are a few things standing in the way.”

“Oh yes?”

“Like that I cannot afford it.”

“How much does it cost in Trinity now?”

“It’s not Trinity and you know that well. It’s UCD.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know actually.”

“For years Trinity wouldn’t let Catholics in, and now when it does, the Archbishop has said it’s a sin to go there, so you know it’s UCD.”

He put his hands out as if warding her off. “Peace, peace,” he said.

Eve continued. “And since you ask, the fees are sixty-five pounds a year for three years for a BA, and after that I would like to do a diploma in librarianship so that would be another sixty-five pounds. There would be books to buy. I am talking about one hundred pounds a year.”

“And?”

“And I was hoping you would give it to me,” she said.

“Give? Not lend?”

“No, give. Because I wouldn’t be able to pay it back. It would be a lie to ask for a loan.”

“And how will you live there? You’ll have to pay for rooms and everything.”

“I told you. It’s not Trinity. There are no rooms. I’ll get a job in a family, earn my keep. I’d be able to do that. It’s just the fees I don’t have.”

“And you think we should pay them?”

“I’d be very glad if you did.” Not grateful, Eve told
herself firmly, she had sworn she would not use that word. No matter how much Mother Francis had warned her. Glad was the nearest she could get.

Simon was thinking. “A hundred pounds a year,” he repeated.

“It would be for four years,” Eve said. “I couldn’t really start unless I knew I wouldn’t have to come and beg for it every year.”

“You’re not begging for it now,” said Simon.

“That’s right, I’m not,” Eve said. She felt a great pounding in her head. She hadn’t known it was going to be remotely like this.

He smiled at her, a genuine smile. “I never beg either, it must be a family trait.”

Eve felt a hot flush of anger. Not only was he going to refuse her, he was going to make fun of her as well.

She had known that she might be refused, she thought it would be with apologies cold and distant, closing the door firmly, and this time forever. She had steeled herself against it. There would be no tears. No pleading. Neither would there be recriminations. She had heard enough in the gossip of the town to know that her father had sworn and cursed this family long years ago. She wasn’t going to let history repeat itself.

She had rehearsed staying calm. “So what do we do now?” she asked in a level voice. There was nothing arrogant or pleading about it.

“That seems perfectly reasonable,” Simon said.

“What?”

“What you ask for. I don’t see any reason why not.” His smile was very charming.

She felt that to smile back would put her in some kind of danger.

“Why now?” she asked. “Why not before?”

“You never asked me before,” he said simply.

“Not personally,” she agreed.

“Yes. It’s quite different to be asked indirectly, by a religious order who never made any other approach to me.”

“What approach might they have made?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Hard to say. I can’t say I’d have liked them to ask me to tea or to pretend a friendship I didn’t feel. But it was rather bald just to ask for money on your behalf as if you hadn’t a mind or a voice of your own.”

She considered it. It was true. Of course it was also true that she should never have had to ask him or any of the Westwards for what was rightfully hers. And Mother Francis had been sent away twice with a flea in her ear.

But these were not the subjects at issue. And the need was for calm, not for raking up the past.

“I see,” she said.

Simon had almost lost interest in it. He was prepared to talk about other things.

“When does term start, or has it started?”

“Last week. But there’s late registration.”

“Why didn’t you register in time?”

“I tried another kind of life. I couldn’t bear it.”

He must have been used to short answers. It seemed to satisfy him.

“Well, I’m sure you won’t have missed very much in a few days. All I ever see in Dublin when I go there is students from both universities drinking coffee and talking about changing the world.”

“They might, one day.”

“Of course.” He was courteous.

She was silent. She couldn’t ask him to get the money now, she didn’t want to launch into any thanks. The word grateful might slip out. She sipped her sherry thoughtfully.

Their eyes met. “I’ll get a checkbook,” he said, and went out to the hall. Eve heard him rooting around amongst the papers and documents stacked on the table.

By the window the old man sat silently staring with unseeing eyes at the unkempt garden. Out on the lawn the
sister who must have been nearly twenty years younger than her elder brother played with a couple of large dogs, throwing them sticks. It was like a foreign land to Eve.

She stood there like the visitor she was, until Simon came back in.

“You’ll have to forgive me, I am not saying this in any way to be offensive, but I don’t know if your name is Maloney or O’Malone, or what.”

“Eve Malone.” She spoke without expression.

“Thank you. I didn’t want to go out and check with Mrs. Walsh. It was one or the other, ask you or ask her.” He smiled.

Eve did not return the smile. She nodded her head slightly. He wrote the check slowly and deliberately, then folded it in half and handed it to her.

Common politeness must make her thank him. The words stuck in her throat. What had she said before, what had been the word which had pleased her? Glad.

She used it again. “I’m glad you were able to do this,” she said.

“I’m glad too,” he said.

They did not use each other’s names, and they knew there was no more to say. Eve put the check in the pocket of her cardigan and stretched out her hand.

“Good-bye,” she said.

Simon Westward said exactly the same thing at the same time.

She waved cheerfully at the child, who seemed disappointed to see her go, and walked down the avenue of the house that had been her mother’s home with her back straight, because she knew that she was being watched from the house. From the kitchens, from the garden where the dogs were playing, from the drawing room and from a wheelchair.

She didn’t let the skip come into her step until she was outside.

In the convent Mother Francis and Kit Hegarty were having lunch in the window of the community dining room, and a place had been set for Eve.

“We didn’t wait for you,” Mother Francis said, her eyes anxiously raking Eve’s face for the answer.

Eve nodded twice. The nun’s face lit up.

“I’ll go now. I have a lot of things to do. Eve, your meal’s in the kitchen. Bring it out and sit here with Mrs. Hegarty like a good girl.”

“Perhaps …” Kit looked uncertain. “Can’t I go and let you two talk.”

“No, no, no you’ve not finished yet, I have. And this is Eve’s home and mine. We have years to talk. You’ll be going away soon.”

Eve brought out her heaped plate of bacon and floury potatoes with a white sauce. She placed it on the table and saw the sad tired face of the older woman watching her.

“Sister Imelda’s always trying to fatten me up, but it’s no use. When you’ve got my kind of way of going on it just burns up food.”

Mrs. Hegarty nodded.

“I expect you’re the same,” Eve said. She felt almost light-headed with relief. She was only making small talk until the lunch was over, until she could run up the road to tell Benny the news, until she could talk to Mother Francis alone when this sad woman went away.

“Yes, I am the same,” Kit Hegarty said. “I never rest, I hardly ever sleep. I think about everything too much.”

“You’ve had a lot to think about,” Eve said sympathetically.

“Not always. Frank used to say to me that I couldn’t sit down, that my eyes were never still.”

“People say that to me, too,” Eve said, surprised.

They looked at each other with a new interest, the two
who had been competing for Mother Francis’s time and attention. They didn’t think it odd that she hadn’t come back to them. They didn’t notice that Sister Imelda never came in to take away their plates. As the gray clouds that raced along behind the big banks of convent trees turned black, as the short winter afternoon turned into evening, they talked on.

Their stories fell into place, like pieces of a jigsaw. Eve Malone needed somewhere to live, a place where she could earn her keep. Kit Hegarty needed someone to help her with her guesthouse. She had no heart to stay in it all day now that Frank, the reason for all the work, had gone. They both could see the solution and yet were afraid to voice it.

It was Eve who spoke first. In the convent which had been her home, Eve softened her voice to ask. Eve, who could never ask for a favor, who hadn’t been able to form words of thanks for the £400 in her cardigan pocket, was able to ask Kit Hegarty could she come and live with her.

And Kit Hegarty leaned across the table and took Eve’s hands in hers.

“We’ll make some kind of a life out of it,” she promised.

“We’ll make a great life out of it,” Eve assured her.

Then they went to tell Mother Francis, who seemed very surprised and thought it must be the direct intervention of God.

B
rian Mahon had been drinking now for several days. Not a real batter, nothing that had involved any violence or a brawl as it sometimes did, but steady drinking. Emily knew that things were shaping up for a fight. And this time it was going to be about Nan’s bedroom.

Nan had decided that from now on she would study there in the evenings. She had said it was not possible to study downstairs with the radio on and the family coming and going all the time. Nasey had fixed her up a simple desk and Paul had put a plug on an electric fire. This is where she would work from now on. Emily sighed. She knew that Brian would object as soon as it was brought to his notice. Why had he not been consulted? Who was going to pay for the electricity? Who did Nan think she was?

The answer to the last part was that Nan thought she was a lot too good for Brian Mahon and Maple Gardens. Her mother had ensured that over the years. As she brushed her daughter’s golden hair, Emily had always made the girl believe that there would be a better and a different life. Nan had never doubted it. She felt no need to conform to the life-style of a house ruled by an often drunken father.

Nan Mahon was not afraid of her father because she knew with a certainty which her mother had helped to create
that her future didn’t lie in her father’s kind of world. She knew without arrogance that her beauty would be her means of escape.

Emily wished that there was some way that she could take Brian aside and talk to him in a way that he would listen. Really listen and understand. She could say to him that life was short and there was no point in crossing Nan. Let her work up in the bedroom if that’s what she wanted. Be nice—be pleasant about it, then she’d come down and sit with them afterward.

But Brian didn’t listen to Emily these days. If he had ever listened to her. She sighed to herself as she opened up the new delivery of Belleek china, and put the packing neatly into a big container under the counter. She arranged the little jugs and plates on a shelf so that they would best catch the eye and began to write out price tags in her meticulous handwriting. Emily Mahon sighed again. It was so easy to run a hotel shop, and so hard to run a family. People didn’t realize how often she’d like to make her bed in the corner of this little world, amongst those nice car rugs and cushions with Celtic designs on them. It would be simpler by far than going back to Maple Gardens.

She had been quite right of course. The row had well begun when Emily Mahon let herself into the family home.

“Do you know anything about all this?” Brian roared.

Emily had decided to try and play it lightly.

“Well, I must say that’s a great greeting to one of the workers of the world,” she said, looking from her husband’s hot, red face to Nan’s cool and unruffled expression.