In the Company of Others (37 page)

Forty

‘Hey, Dad.’

‘Hey, buddy.’

‘Thanks for callin’ back. I wanted to tell you I’m not done.’

‘Great. Terrific!’

The kitchen crew going hammer and tong.

‘Bet you’re done, though. You’ve been gone a long time for a guy who doesn’t like to travel.’

‘Right. But I’m not done, either. We’ll be a few days yet, I’ll let you know.’

‘She apologized.’

‘Wonderful.’

‘Said she was sorry she called me a rich puke of shallow character.’

Classic Lace Turner. Self-educated largely through the services of a rural bookmobile, now an honor student at the University of Virginia. Impeccable grammar, colorful way of putting things.

‘Are you a rich puke of shallow character?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Trust me, she doesn’t think so, either. How about you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Did you apologize?’

‘For what?’

‘Come on. Whatever you said or did to make her punch you.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘May I ask what it was all about?’

‘I wasn’t going to tell you, because it makes you crazy. But since you’re asking—we had a date, I was late.’

A cloud of steam over the stove top; Bella hoicking a roast from the oven.

‘How late?’

‘There was this friend who came by, I never get to see him—’

‘How late?’

‘An hour.’

‘First time?’

‘I wish. I’ve been late a lot, and she hates it; I mean, really hates it. But hey, Dad, love is three-sixty-five, twenty-four/seven. Why get upset about a few minutes?’

They’d had the Punctuality Talk many times over. It was a thorn. ‘That sounds good, but . . .’

‘But what?’

‘Love shows up on time.’

The dreaded phone silence.

‘Well, look, son, they’re busy here. Know that we love you. Catch you later, gotta go.’

That was Dooley’s sign-off protocol—he’d never used it before. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

He was thinking of Evelyn Conor as he went upstairs. He felt he should be there, but Feeney had sent him home. ‘You have a date with your wife,’ Feeney said. ‘Best to keep it.’ Anyway, off to Tobernalt and Innisfree tomorrow and no chance to visit Catharmore. This wasn’t feeling right.

Jack Kennedy’s was loud, crowded, upbeat. They sat at the bar.

‘You’re plenty beautiful,’ he said.

‘Thanks. I love it when you talk like that.’

‘Proud of you.’

‘Proud of you back. Bella says skip the meatloaf.’

‘What’ll it be, Missus Kav’na? I hope you’re not a teetotaler like th’ rev’rend here.’

‘Ah, no,’ she said, ‘not a’tall. I’ll have th’ poteen, if you’d be so kind.’

Jack Kennedy amused. ‘Th’ poteen, is it? An’ which kind would it be?’

‘Which kind do you
have,
Mr. Kennedy?’

‘I can pour you th’ fightin’ kind, th’ lovin’ kind, or th’ cryin’ kind.’

‘I’ll take th’ cryin’ kind, for we’re leavin’ soon an’ I’ll be sad t’ go.’

Jack marveling.

‘Just kidding,’ said Cynthia. ‘Make it a ginger ale, straight up.’

Laughter all around.

‘I can’t take her anywhere,’ he said.

She sipped her drink.

‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.

‘How bad could the meatloaf
be
, Timothy? Because now I’m hungry for meatloaf.’

The Vauxhall crunched onto the Broughadoon gravel at nine-thirty. Laughter floated out to them.

‘Merriment,’ she said. ‘’t is a lovely sound.’

‘We’ll be having our own merriment soon enough.’ At fall break, four boys, mostly grown, each a dazzle to their adoring younger sister. Picnics in Baxter Park. Grilling in the back yard. And Barnabas looking for a handout. Oh, yes.

‘Let’s sit on the bench,’ she said. ‘It’s been ages.’

‘Good. But let’s go through the lodge. Too much gravel to navigate.’

Pud raced out, tail wagging. No shoe. Maybe he should get serious and help the little guy find his shoe. He leaned down, gave Pud a scratch.

‘Did you take his shoe again?’

‘I did not,’ she said. ‘Scout’s honor.’

‘Rev’rend! Missus!’ William by the fire in his blue jacket, a pocket handkerchief, a tie they hadn’t seen.

‘It’s Mr. Yeats himself!’ said Cynthia.

‘You’re slaggin’ me, now.’

‘Not a bit. You look wonderful.’

William’s cheeks coloring, eyes bright. ‘Thank ye, thank ye. Sit down an’ take a load off your foot, Missus. Y’r Pud was at th’ door since ye went out, not lookin’ left or right.’

They sat on the sofa. He patted the vacant cushion; Pud leaped onto it.

‘So, William, how about a checkers game tomorrow evening?’

‘Will do. Seamus is stayin’ close to home for a little. I’ll try to go easy on ye.’

‘Very kind of you.’

‘Are ye goin’ up Catharmore tomorrow?’

‘Not tomorrow. We’re off to Tobernalt.’

‘It’s good ye’re seein’ th’ sights now. Did Jack Kennedy treat ye right?’

‘He did.’

‘When ye do go up, might I come along?’

‘Now, William.’

‘Takes th’ Gards a while to make it over to us, we’d be well away by then.’

‘Sorry. Against the rules.’

‘I’ll be no trouble a’tall; she’ll never know I’m about.’ William leaned forward. ‘I’ll sit in th’ portico. If she knows I’m about, ’t will be because ye told her.’

‘And if she asks me, I’ll have to tell the truth. She’ll have both our heads.’

‘I’ll sit on th’ front steps, so.’

Right up there with the midges.

‘Can’t do it, William.’

More laughter from the dining room. ‘Having a bit of fun, the Sweeneys.’

‘Aye. Sweeneys like their bit of fun,’ said William, looking glum.

‘It might be a while,’ he said to Cynthia. A while for the Sweeneys to uproot and go to their slumber, for the kitchen to settle down and hear what Bella had to say. He felt the urgent pull to Catharmore. ‘Half an hour,’ he said. ‘Would that be okay?’

She knew what was on his mind. ‘Take your time. I’ll just have a chin-wag with William.’

‘I’ll tell ye about th’ bloody Black an’ Tan that came along our road when I was in th’ cradle, how my grandfather did his bit for Ireland.’ William drew out his handkerchief, gave a honk. ‘An’ where are ye off to, Rev’rend?’

‘Mesopotamia,’ said Cynthia.

Fletcher met him in the hall. ‘She’s completely done in. Dr. Feeney left a few minutes ago.’

‘Won’t stay long. Just wanted to be here. How are the wrists healing?’

‘Th’ splint can come off soon, we’ll be doing OT, get those joints movin’. We think th’ break is fine, she’ll need th’ cast at least another four weeks. ’Tis th’ hematoma that’s th’ worst of it; my heart’s breakin’ for her, Rev’rend.’

‘Make that two of us.’

The lamp burning in the corner, Cuch looking up as he came in, the air close. He sat, elbows on knees, head in hand.

‘Is it you?’ she whispered.

‘It is.’

A long silence; minutes must have passed. He thought she may be sleeping, then she turned her head and looked at him.

‘I lost the peace. You said that would happen if we wander.’

The Enemy ever prowling to and fro. ‘It was fear that pulled you away—Paddy, and all that happened today,’ he said.

‘What will we do? How will we all go on without each other, the way things were?’

‘The way things were didn’t work.’

‘Yes, but they were familiar. At Cathair Mohr, we care for each other after our own fashion.’

‘I understand.’

‘Do you really understand, Reverend, or is that what you were trained to say?’

‘It’s how my own family cared for each other. I do understand.’

He couldn’t tell her what Bella hadn’t yet confessed to Liam and Anna, that wasn’t his precinct. What if they learned Paddy had hired Slade to do it? Anything could happen.

‘Let’s work on the fear,’ he said, ‘on running back to his peace.’

‘Work on leavin’ off the drink, work on being courageous, work on defeating the pain. Work, work, work, Reverend, and now I must work to reclaim what I thought had been given for all time.’

‘Faith is radical and often difficult. It’s the narrow footpath, not the broad wagon road. Have you asked him to draw you back and take the fear away?’

‘He should be good enough to do it without being asked. He’s God, after all.’

‘Here we go, then. Hold on to your hat.’

He touched her forehead, prayed for her—for the fear to be released, for peace to flow in.

In the long silence, her even breathing. ‘What shall I do without you?’

‘You’ll do just fine without me. You have the one who’s always available—for peace, mercy, grace, forgiveness—you name it. And of course there’s Fletcher as long as she’s needed, and Seamus and Liam and Anna and Tad and Feeney . . .’

‘Anna, perhaps, but not Liam. I was unfair to her, but I’ve been especially unfair to Liam. How does one know, Reverend, what a mother is supposed to be if one has had no mothering? I suppose mothering comes from a place of deep feeling, but after the fire, that place was locked away.’

‘Ask Liam to forgive you.’

‘Paddy,’ she said, her thoughts elsewhere. ‘I tried to help him—with everything—but in all the wrong ways, I see.’

‘Ask Paddy to forgive you.’

She gave him a fierce look. ‘If I do all you say, Reverend, I shall be a hundred years old before I catch up.’

He laughed. Then laughed some more.

She smiled a little. ‘Bloody Protestant,’ she said.

The Sweeneys were still at it, but they’d spilled out to the garden, into an August night lit by fireflies and the glowing tips of cigarettes. Voices murmuring now, with the occasional bursts of laughter, little explosions of some long-held happiness or hope.

They sat in the dining room and had a decaf, watched a light moving on the lake. The kitchen was cleaning up.

‘Can you make it?’ he asked. ‘It’s been a long day.’

‘Weeks were crammed into this day. But yes, I can make it if you can.’

High-five with his deacon.

‘I hate that they took our journal,’ she said.

It did seem their own; no one else had been interested. ‘But we left off at a good place, I think.’

‘The lad improved, their marriage spared, Balfour off his back.’

‘The pony,’ he said. ‘Don’t forget the pony.’

She laughed. ‘Shall we drive by Balfour’s place tomorrow? Anna says it’s on our way home.’

‘Let’s do it.’

She looked toward the kitchen door. ‘Bella will be in a state. To have to work all evening with that on her heart . . .’

The kitchen door swinging open, and Bella coming to them, grave. ‘Are you doing . . . you know, what you should be doing?’

Cynthia embraced Bella. ‘Not at this precise moment, but yes, ever since you told me. God is with you and it will be good; it’s going to be good.’

‘If th’ Sweeneys ever leave,’ said Bella.

The Sweeneys’ guests were indeed leaving. They crowded into the lodge, saying their good nights to Liam and Anna and tossing fags into the fire and slapping each other on the back and speaking a bit of Irish into the bargain. The scent of wine and cologne mingled on the air, then out the door they went, crunching into the car park, as the remaining Sweeneys hied themselves to bed.

‘’t was a hard evening,’ said Bella. ‘Everyone is all-in, even Mamó, who never gets all-in.’ She was trembling.

He had never seen such trembling as had been roused at Broughadoon and Catharmore—his own included.

‘You’re brave,’ said Cynthia. ‘Your family will be, also.’

‘I’m tryin’ to be brave like Liam’s oul’ mum.’

There! he thought with sudden pleasure. There’s one for Evelyn Conor. And definitely one for Bella Flaherty.

He slept hard and woke fresh, as if he’d journeyed in himself to an unknown spring of curative power, and drunk of it through the night.

They lolled in bed. ‘When do you think we should go home?’ he asked. ‘We’ll need to allow a little time for Emma to get the tickets hammered out.’

‘When we see what Corrigan thinks of all this, I suppose. I can’t dwell on the thought of Bella getting a sentence. I cannot imagine it, I will not.’

He dressed and went down for her coffee and took it up, then went down again to drink his in the garden and pick up the fag ends, make himself useful. He checked his watch. They needed to get going by ten, Anna said.

Liam came out in jeans, a cotton shirt, barefoot. There was the smile, almost.

He rolled out the corny proverb with the kernel of truth in it: ‘The oul’ silver lining.’

‘Righto,’ said Liam. And there was the full smile he hadn’t seen in a coon’s age.

‘Bella was brave to tell us. She dodged a bullet with Slade, he would have mucked her life up for good.’

‘Paddy’s innocence will help your mother.’

‘Paddy, for God’s sake! I hope it teaches him a lesson, to spend time in th’ slammer.’

‘Did they release him?’

‘They’re holdin’ him ’til we take Bella in for a statement. He deserves a bloody fortnight in th’ can, just on general principles.’

He laughed. Liam laughed. Laughing was good.

‘Any fingerprinting done yet?’

‘They didn’t find Paddy’s, an’ Seamus’s were only around th’ light switch an’ furnace box. They’ll keep working.’

‘You’ll put in a good word for Bella.’

‘No question,’ said Liam. ‘Beg if we have to. I think she’s turned a corner, we mustn’t let it count for nothing.’

‘Amen. And is there, by any chance, what we call a chain of title for Catharmore? Would Paddy have it?’

‘I have Da’s papers, they came with his library. He was pretty meticulous about records. Endless fishing logs, correspondence with his solicitor, that sort of thing. Why?’

‘Curious. Reading the journal has us interested in how things fell out for O’Donnell and his crowd.’

‘Can’t do it now but I’ll give a look. We have a loft room where all that’s stored. I need to get up there anyway, for the provenance on the painting. Da made quite a thing of it, several pages on Barret, Sr., that I haven’t read in years. A must-do.’

‘How’s Anna this morning?’

‘Grand. Having breakfast with Bella in Ibiza, then we’re off to th’ Garda station.’