Light A Penny Candle (78 page)

‘I beg you, I beg you, come in today and have lunch with me. Bring Eileen. We’ll go anywhere you say. I have to talk to you about it. I can’t explain it on the phone. I can’t keep saying how I know and what was said, it’s too bitty. …’

‘I’ve got the drift, and as I say, Simon’s wrong.’

‘Elizabeth, darling, he explained the whole thing to me, he’s
not
wrong, Henry’s got it wrong. … I’m only warning you for your own sake, I don’t want to be one-up or anything. Christ, I didn’t want to be told all this stuff in the middle of the night did I?’

‘I know, and you are a good friend to pass it on.’

‘I’m not a good friend if you don’t take me seriously! Look, there’s a queue forming here, I have to go. Please, please. One o’clock. Debenham’s? Selfridge’s? Where …?’

‘I can’t come. Not today. I’ll talk to you tonight.’

‘Tonight he’ll know.’

‘You’re exaggerating things, Aisling, you haven’t heard every in and every out of all of this, I know, that’s all there is to it.’

‘I have to go. I’ll ring again.’

‘I may have to go out to meet Stefan. I’ll talk to you tonight.’

Father telephoned Elizabeth – which was highly unusual of him. She wondered whether he’d thought of some little celebration for Henry, but Father never dreamed up little celebrations.

‘Do you know if Henry is insistent on south of the river …?’ he asked without making any real greeting.

‘What on earth do you mean, Father?’

‘I’m looking for houses for us, as you know … but two likely ones are north of the river and I think he has his heart set on south.’

‘Oh, I think you should look at the north of the river ones, too, Father.’

Elizabeth put her head down on her arms and cried. To be nearly thirty and to have all this to cope with. A father who couldn’t make up his own mind about what side of the cornflake bowl he should face towards him; a husband who had managed to frighten himself into a panic all of his own making … when had things last been easy? When and where? And why would they never be easy again?

‘Why you cry, Mama?’ said Eileen.

‘Mama’s tired,’ said Elizabeth.

‘Mama go to bed,’ said Eileen.

‘Mama too busy,’ she said.

The telephone rang again.

‘Hallo, is that my stepdaughter or my step-granddaughter?’

‘Harry.’ She had totally forgotten that today was the day he was arriving. Could she be having some kind of nervous trouble, she wondered suddenly? There was a time when she had held down three jobs, looked after Mother, Father and Harry at varying distances. Now she was hardly able to remember what day of the week it was.

‘Harry, where are you?’

‘I’m at Euston, you couldn’t make it. …’

‘No, couldn’t do it, couldn’t get a baby sitter. …’

‘Never mind, darling, I hung around a bit, shall I come over now, or what? Do you want a spot of lunch out?’

She considered lunch with Aisling at a smart Oxford Street store. … That would be fun, Harry would like it, Eileen would giggle and get a lot of attention from people at their tables. … But no, it was too much effort, she’d never get Eileen ready. Let him come here. …

‘Lunch here when you arrive,’ she said.

‘That’s my girl, everything all right is it?’

‘Why shouldn’t it be?’

‘You sound a bit fussed.’

‘Can I speak to Aisling O’Connor, please?’

‘I’m afraid she’s gone to lunch, this is the book-keeper here – can I help you?’

‘No, go back to the books.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

Elizabeth hung up.

‘Henry, can I beseech you not to make a scene in the
office
? Henry I am your oldest friend, you nearly married my sister. Will you listen to me? Listen to me. This must be discussed somewhere else. Every time a voice is raised, more office excitement is generated. We have to walk out of here calmly, do you hear me,
calmly
. As soon as we are out of reach of the office we will take a taxi to wherever we like, wherever you like. …’

‘But. …’

‘I’m going to open this door as soon as I have your promise that you will be quiet.

‘Yes. …’

They walked like marionettes out of the office. The eyes of everyone in the office followed them as they walked woodenly to the stairs.

Henry tried to think of somewhere to go but he couldn’t remember the names of any bars. Or anywhere at all that he could go.

Simon tried to remember the names of places where they might not want to go again, because he knew they might never be able to. Just before he left he spoke to his secretary. ‘Ring our wives, tell mine everything, tell his nothing.’

‘Yes, Mr Burke,’ she said.

Elizabeth never liked the women who worked in the office with Henry; there was a slightly know-all air about them. None more so than Jessica, Simon’s secretary.

‘Mr Burke said to telephone you, Mrs Mason, to say that he and Mr Mason have just gone for a drink.’

‘No, he didn’t say why.’

‘Or where. …’

‘Just to let you know, I suppose, in case you were expecting Mr Mason home earlier or something.’

Aisling and Johnny went to the pictures, and he said he would say goodbye to her at the cinema because he was going to have an early night.

She telephoned him an hour later and there was no reply from his flat.

Harry said that he found it a bit more tiring than he expected, the long journey, so he might turn in early. He went to bed sadly. Elizabeth was in poor health. Not like Violet or anything, dear me, no, but she was under a great strain, the poor girl.

He hoped that Henry was going to come home with good news about the job soon. But better leave the two of them to it. She hadn’t stopped looking at the clock all evening: she was worried sick.

They were eventually refused any more drink at the pub and they went to have fish and chips. It helped. Or it helped Simon. It didn’t really help Henry. He was still crying. At one stage he had taken a menu and listed all the good things he had done in his life. His conscientiousness, his honesty, his fairness, his refusal to do another man down, were all added up and set against the list of wrongs that had been done him.

‘Where did I go wrong?’ he whimpered, ‘I did all the right things, I’ve done nothing wrong. Honestly, I’ve thought and thought. It’s not my fault if. …’

Simon was by now losing patience. Glancing at his watch he interrupted. ‘Look, Henry, it’s getting very, late – oughtn’t you to be going home? Elizabeth will be. …’

‘Elizabeth!’ snapped Henry. ‘That
was
a mistake. She’s so busy with her arty job – far too busy to take any notice of my problems, she’s no time for. …’

‘Henry, you’re being ridiculous. For the last time, there is
no
conspiracy, Elizabeth is not. …’

‘No time for Eileen, even. Only ever has time for Aisling. Irish tart. I know. Anything that moves. I know, I heard them talking. Not just Johnny. …’

‘Go home, Henry. You’ll feel much better tomorrow.’

‘I’m not going home … I know where I’m going.’ Henry smiled drunkenly.

‘Where? Shouldn’t you go home? Will Elizabeth …?’

‘To hell with Elizabeth … she doesn’t understand. She snaps at me for nothing. I don’t want to. …’

‘Well if you’re sure you can manage old chap … I must be going. …’

‘I’m much better now Simon, I see what you mean – the whole thing needs to be handled with cunning, not scenes in the office, it’s behind the scenes … isn’t it …?’ He laughed foolishly.

‘That’s it,’ said Simon anxiously, ‘so you want a taxi. …’

‘No, you head home … I’ll go and dally … dilly-dally … I’ll dilly-dally on the way.’

‘See you tomorrow, Henry, bright and unemotional.’

‘Bright and unemotional,’ Henry muttered.

‘Oh God, I seem to have a genius for attracting drunks. Henry Mason, I have never seen you drunk in your whole life … why tonight and why me …?’

‘I want to talk to you. …’

‘Sure, you can talk to me, don’t wake the house though. …’ Aisling struggled into her dressing-gown, and let him into the flat.

‘You’re undressed very early. Do you always go to bed before ten?’

‘It’s long after ten actually, but let’s not worry about that, and I was tired. Right, will you have a coffee?’

‘I’ll have a drink. I gather you have a lot of drink here. You’re a rich woman now, you can have as much drink as you like. …’

‘I have one bottle of vermouth here, and it would make you as sick as a dog, but if you must, you must.’

‘Why don’t you have a drinks cabinet like rich people have …?’

‘Henry, you’re very funny when you’re pissed, because I had a husband who died a screaming alcoholic and I don’t feel that I should indulge too much myself. …’

‘That’s what I came here for, to indulge.’

‘Well, if you want vermouth, but it’s very sickly, I warn you.’

‘Not vermouth.’

‘Thank God, will we both have a cup of coffee then, and
will
I ring Elizabeth? Does she know you’re headed to me?’

‘How could she know I was here? You don’t tell your wife when you go to see a whore. …’

Elizabeth rang Bethan. I hate disturbing you so late – but is Simon there …?’

Simon shook his head from the chair, his mother and father-in-law were there, and he was doing an imitation of a family man.

‘No, sorry Elizabeth, I believe he’s out with Henry. They must be out celebrating.’

‘That must be it.’

‘I hate telling her lies and making a fool of her,’ Bethan said.

‘It’s easier for her not to think we all know that he’s gone out on a bender,’ Simon said.

‘But where is he?’ Bethan wondered.

‘Who knows? It’s early still.’ It was eleven o’clock. Simon poured another drink for himself quietly, and his in-laws drank their cups of tea.

Johnny said that Virginia could certainly stay the night – he agreed that it would be silly for her to look for a taxi at this late hour. He put on the record player in his sitting room, and turned back the bed neatly in the bedroom so that it looked inviting but not too obvious.

Harry had a bad dream and woke up; he looked at the
clock
. It was only midnight, and he had been asleep for two hours. Oh well, a man of sixty-two must expect to feel a bit weary after the journey down from the North.

‘Let’s just say that you were very drunk, and why don’t you go now, and I’ll forget what you said?’

‘What did I say?’

‘You said I was a whore, but you didn’t mean it.’

‘I do mean it, I just want to know if I can join the group.’

‘Oh, Henry, go home. You can’t hold your drink … don’t be silly.’

‘Don’t you dare call me silly.’

Aisling looked alarmed. She had a feeling that he was going to hit her, he was so like Tony that last night, yet he wasn’t nearly as drunk.

‘Come here. …’ He reached for her. ‘Come here. If you do it with everyone else, why not with me …?’

She leapt up and ran around to the other side of the room.

‘I’m just asking you once more. I have not led you on, encouraged you in any way, to believe … I am your wife’s best friend … this is idiotic, it is … what can I say it is … it’s grotesque.’

‘You like it with everyone else. …’

‘Please, Henry, get it into your head … I have … I’m a lover, or whatever, of one person. Johnny Stone … nobody else …’ She faltered. Damn Simon Burke to the pit of hell, and her own stupidity – it must have been
Simon
who suggested he come here. … ‘He’s a good friend of yours, of all of us.’

‘Oh yes, he is a good friend of yours, all right. I know that.’

‘Henry, of course you know that – we all know that. Now, can you stop all this nonsense and go home?’

‘A
friend
of yours, and a
friend
of Elizabeth’s – how many other
friends
have you two had?’

‘Henry, you know quite well that Elizabeth’s affair with Johnny was over when she met you. It’s you she loves, you great lump. …’

‘But you met him years ago when you came to London first, you told me.’

She was becoming very tired of him indeed. How could she shift him? ‘I met him when he was Elizabeth’s boyfriend that time … the time of the trouble … the business. …’

‘The business?’

‘Henry, go away, you’re being very tiresome, go home and talk to Elizabeth about it.’

‘The business?’

‘You know, Elizabeth told you everything, the time she had the abortion, that was when I met him first. But he. …’

‘Elizabeth had an abortion …?’

‘But you
know
about all that Henry. Elizabeth told you. …’

‘You are a filthy bitch. You are not fit to. … You whore. … I do not want you to. … Neither. …’

‘Get out. You know all this. Elizabeth said you know
about
each other’s pasts. That’s grand, I thought then, and that’s grand I still think. But you’re determined to pick a fight and you won’t with me. I’m an expert in handling drunks.’

He got up and went out without saying a word. He went too quietly. She called down the stairs after him, he said nothing.

Johnny and Virginia were in bed when the phone rang. Johnny leaned over to answer it. It was a public call box.

‘You’re a murdering bastard,’ a drunk’s voice said.

‘Who is that?’ Johnny didn’t recognise the voice, but the speaker was obviously drunk or upset or both.

‘You let her murder the child. I know all about it now.’

‘Who? What are you talking about?’

‘Elizabeth,’ the voice said and hung up.

Harry woke again. He wondered whether to see the doctor and ask for some sleeping pills. But no, this time there was a reason, there were voices outside his door.

‘I don’t care about the job, I don’t care about it, if you were bloody sacked I wouldn’t care. Why didn’t you ring me …?’

‘You are a murderer … you murdered a child, I know about it.’

‘What on earth are you talking about? Henry, come in and shut up. You’ll wake Harry. …’

‘You and he murdered a child. I know, everyone knows … you did, and you didn’t tell me. I would never have married you if I had known, never.’

‘Henry, keep your voice down. You’ll wake Eileen. There, she’s awake already. Now, come in from that door, stop swaying there, and tell me where you heard this ridiculous story. …’