The September Girls (15 page)

But Brenna didn’t smile back. ‘Katie insisted I had four children,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, Nancy! She actually
knew
there was a fourth lying in me belly.’ The first of Katie’s predictions had already come true, and she refused to accept Nancy’s insistence that it was nothing but a coincidence.

 

Colm didn’t come home early for Cara’s party. It had completely slipped his mind, he confessed when he arrived to find everything over. Nancy had taken Fergus to Parliament Terrace, Katie MacBride had gone, Tyrone was playing outside and Cara was asleep.

It hadn’t been a very happy meal. The custard had tasted burnt, Brenna felt too distressed to enjoy herself and it was clear that Nancy was finding it hard to be civilized to Katie who arrived in all her finery so she’d be ready for the clients who would arrive in an hour’s time. She didn’t mention Brenna’s visit that morning, not even after Nancy had gone. It was as if she’d forgotten all about it.

‘I’m sorry, Bren,’ Colm said, apologizing for the third or fourth time.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Brenna said dully. ‘It really doesn’t matter.’ She wondered if another of Katie’s prophecies been taken care of, leaving only the great tragedy and the crying woman to look forward to. She doubted it. Just missing your daughter’s birthday tea couldn’t possibly be counted as a betrayal.

 

In the kitchen of Parliament Terrace, different tensions hung in the air. Anthony and Fergus were happily stuffing themselves, despite Fergus having eaten less than half an hour ago, although the food in Shaw Street hadn’t been nearly so rich. In her high chair, Sybil was being fed shreds of chicken breast mixed with mashed potato and grated carrot by Nurse Hutton: not exactly party food, but there was trifle and apple pie for afters, followed by birthday cake. Eleanor and Daniel Vaizey were tucking into the crab vol-au-vents and slices of ham and egg pie that Nancy had made that morning. Marcus had brought up two bottles of white wine from the cellar.

Marcus was pretending to watch his adored daughter eat, but the smile on his face was forced and his body was stiff. Nancy picked at her food. Despite her size, she had only a small appetite and had had enough to eat at Brenna’s. Her smile was also forced and her body as stiff as that of her employer. She couldn’t remember ever having felt so fearful, the reason being that it was evident to anyone with eyes that Eleanor and Daniel were head over heels in love.

Why hadn’t she noticed before? Nancy wondered. Perhaps it was because she’d never seen them together, not at such close quarters, not sitting next to each other, shoulders touching, hands touching occasionally, knees almost certainly touching under the table. Or perhaps they’d only just realized they were in love. What they didn’t realize was that the sheer rapture on their faces, the way their eyes smiled when they met, the air of excitement and joy that surrounded them, almost visible in its intensity, gave the game away completely. They may as well have held up a notice announcing, ‘WE ARE IN LOVE.’ It was
that
obvious.

What’s going to happen now? Nancy asked herself. It was the same question she’d asked when she’d left Shaw Street and Colm hadn’t turned up for Cara’s tea. She’d never seen Brenna looking so down: not just because of Colm, but the twaddle she’d been fed by that bitch, Katie MacBride. Then, as now, she couldn’t think of an answer.

Sybil tried to snatch the candle off the birthday cake, unable to understand she was supposed to blow it out.

‘She’ll know what to do next year,’ Nurse Hutton said. ‘Won’t you, darling?’

Sybil replied by thumping her hands on the tray of her high chair.

‘Let Anthony do it,’ Marcus said when it looked as if the nurse was about to do it herself.

Fergus gave Anthony a nudge that must have conveyed what was expected of him and he blew out the tiny, flickering flame. Fergus gave him another nudge and they grinned at each other. It was as if the two boys shared a brain, Eleanor thought.

This was quite the nicest meal she’d ever had in Parliament Terrace. Everyone appeared to be enjoying the party hugely, even Marcus. He could scarcely take his eyes off Sybil, who was growing into such a pretty little girl with a lively personality. It upset Eleanor that she didn’t feel all that close to her daughter - those first three months in bed had done enormous harm - but she was pleased that Marcus had built up such a wonderful rapport with his little girl. It often happened in families that the parents favoured different children - Daddy’s girl’ or ‘Mummy’s boy’. The equilibrium was unlikely to be spoilt by them having another child, as Marcus hadn’t visited her room at night since Sybil was conceived, greatly to Eleanor’s relief. She found his visits something of an ordeal.

It had been so different with Daniel: miraculously and stupendously different, a truly magical experience.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured when Nancy gave her a slice of birthday cake. Daniel accepted a piece and she felt his shoulder press against her own. Beneath the table, their knees touched.

‘Is this the cake you iced?’ he asked. ‘It’s very artistic. Now I know where Anthony gets his talent from.’

Eleanor lowered her eyes and didn’t respond to the compliment. It was important - not just important, but absolutely vital - that Marcus didn’t guess they were in love. Nothing would come of it, they both realized that, but were happy to leave things as they were and just enjoy themselves.

It was at the art exhibition in Bold Street they’d attended three months ago that she’d realized he was attracted to her as much as she was to him. Afterwards, they’d had coffee in the Adelphi where the conversation was entirely innocent, but she’d felt an awareness developing, a feeling she couldn’t describe, as if she and Daniel were about to embark on a long, exhilarating journey.

For weeks, they had been content with merely knowing how the other felt, exchanging delicious little glances, experiencing the thrill of just being in the same room as each other.

Two months ago, when he was about to leave and she accompanied him to the door, he’d whispered, ‘I can’t stand this much longer, it’s driving me insane. I want you, Eleanor. I want you so much that I can’t sleep at night, I can’t
think
straight any more.’ He ran his finger around the collar of his sparkling white shirt, as if it were too tight, preventing him from breathing. ‘Is there a chance that we can . . .’

He left the rest of the sentence unsaid, but she knew exactly what he meant, feeling a similar tightness in her breast. ‘Shall I come to your rooms one day?’ she whispered back.

His blue eyes brightened. ‘When?’

‘Now! Leave and wait for me outside the Adelphi. I’ll follow in about half an hour.’

She didn’t know how she got through the next thirty minutes. She changed her clothes, right down to her underwear, and slipped into the pink crêpe-de-chine step-in cami-knickers trimmed with cream lace that she’d only recently bought. Had she had Daniel in mind when she bought them? she wondered, as she stared at her slim, girlish body in the mirror. She looked more like eighteen than twenty-five - and felt it. She was about to put on her new white crêpe-georgette frock with a stand-up collar and bishop sleeves that had cost the earth, when she recalled that they would have to catch a tram to Spellow Lane and it would be wise to wear something less obviously expensive. She chose a demure blue voile afternoon frock and a straw boater with a blue ribbon band that shouldn’t cause anyone to stare.

Nancy was asked to keep an eye on Anthony who was immersed in his homework - Daniel was tutoring him in maths and English too. ‘I’m just popping into town,’ Eleanor told her. She was surprised that her voice sounded so normal.

Another half an hour later, and she was in Daniel’s over-furnished rooms, lying on the big, bouncy bed, while he tenderly removed the clothes she’d only recently put on until she was completely naked and shivering with delight and trepidation at what was to follow.

But Daniel was as gentle as could be, entering her very slowly, moving leisurely while she adjusted to his rhythm and felt herself respond. The movements became faster and faster and she cried aloud because something was happening that had never happened before: a feeling of happiness, greater than she had ever known, was surging through her, flooding every vein and touching every bone, making her dry body come alive. The feeling grew and grew, becoming almost unbearable, until it ended quite suddenly. The ending was the best bit of all and she lay on the bed, completely exhausted. It was over and it had been a truly wonderful experience.

Daniel bent and kissed her on the lips. ‘I love you, Eleanor,’ he murmured.

‘And I love you,’ she cried.

‘Can you come again tomorrow?’

‘I couldn’t possibly. Once, possibly twice a week, is all I could get away with, or people will suspect something’s going on.’

Daniel pulled a face. ‘Oh, well, I suppose one or twice a week is better than nothing at all.’

Now here they were at Sybil’s party and Daniel was her son’s tutor and she was Marcus’s wife. She was perfectly satisfied with the first arrangement, but not terribly pleased with the second.

 

‘I’m going to learn to read proper,’ Brenna said. She was looking through a book that Cara had been given for her birthday: a child’s ABC with a picture beside each letter.

‘That’s a good idea, Bren,’ Colm said encouragingly. He’d never known her so quiet and it worried him. He was genuinely sorry he’d missed Cara’s party, yet Brenna didn’t seem to care. Any other time, he’d have expected an ear-bashing that would have gone on all night, although she would have forgiven him by the time they went to bed.

‘I know all these words. A is for Apple, B for Bed, C for Cat.’ She let the book drop on to her knee with a sigh.

‘Are you all right, Bren? You don’t seem yourself tonight.’ He regarded her with concern.

‘I’ve had a busy day and I’m tired, that’s all.’

He felt even more worried: Brenna was never tired. ‘Would you like me to make you a cuppa, luv?’

‘That’d be nice, Colm. Ta.’

He fetched the water and put it on the hob. ‘The fire’s low, it’ll take ages to boil.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said listlessly, adding, ‘the Allardyces have bought an electric kettle. You just have to plug it in and the water boils.’

Was
that
was what bothering her? Was she jealous, wanting electricity in their own house so they could have a similar kettle? No, Colm decided. She wasn’t the sort to go into a decline all because of a kettle. Brenna was never discontented with her lot, although she moved mountains to improve it. If he hadn’t thought it downright impossible, he might have believed she’d overheard Lizzie Phelan invite him to a party at her flat tomorrow night and, what’s more, heard him accept.

‘There’s just a few friends coming,’ Lizzie had said. ‘I thought you’d like to come, too.’

He felt privileged to be regarded as her friend. ‘I’ll be there,’ he promised. It was only a party and he wouldn’t be doing anyone any harm. He’d say to Brenna he was going to his first Labour Party meeting and, if he was late home, that they’d all gone for a drink afterwards. If he thought for a moment that she’d have stood for it, he’d’ve told her the truth, but Brenna would never comprehend his relationship with Lizzie was merely a meeting of minds.

But now Colm was wondering if he could possibly lie to Brenna when she was in such a low mood? If there were no improvement by tomorrow, then he wouldn’t go to Lizzie’s party.

 

Next morning Brenna appeared much better, if not exactly her usual good-humoured self. She snapped at the children, snapped at Colm and, by the time evening came, he was glad to have the excuse of the meeting to get him out of the house, even though it was a lie.

‘Do you need to wear a collar and tie to the Labour Party?’ she asked sharply.

At first he thought his attempt to look respectable had made her suspicious, but it was merely a continuation of the bad temper the family had suffered from all day. He mumbled something about it not hurting to turn up looking decent. She didn’t reply.

Lizzie’s flat was on the top floor of a tall house in Mount Pleasant, not far from where it had been planned to build the Catholic cathedral: the work had been abandoned when they got as far as the crypt. The front door of the house was open and, as Colm climbed the stairs, he could hear dance music. He hoped he wouldn’t be expected to dance: after a few drinks, he could manage an Irish jig, but that was all.

‘Colm! There you are!’ Lizzie cried when he went inside. She wore a pretty, frilly frock - he’d never seen her in anything so feminine before. ‘Folks, this is Colm Caffrey. I won’t introduce you, Colm, you’ll never remember the names. What would like to drink?’

‘Beer,’ he muttered. The flat appeared to consist of one large room with a kitchen off and a door that no doubt led to the bedroom. There were about twenty people there and a few had turned to look when Lizzie had introduced him, but were now reengaged in furious conversations. Two couples were dancing. Colm attached himself to the edge of a group discussing world hunger while clutching plates piled high with sandwiches. Lizzie brought the beer and told him there was plenty of food in the kitchen and to help himself. Before he could say, ‘Ta,’ she was whisked away to dance by a chap wearing a cravat and a velvet waistcoat.

The conversation turned to the subject of D.W. Griffith, of whom Colm had never heard, but it turned out he directed films and one,
The Birth of a Nation
, was an all-time classic. He appeared to be the only one who hadn’t seen it, which wasn’t surprising as he’d never been inside a picture house. The turmoil in Russia following the revolution was next, and for the first time Colm ventured an opinion, ‘It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to that benighted country,’ he opined, using exactly the same words that Lizzie had used to him.