Echoes (40 page)

James always looked deliberately well-dressed, as if he were posing as a very elegant man at the races.

“Is your nice American friend Mary Catherine loaded?” James had asked her unexpectedly in the Annexe one morning when she was having coffee and reading an article in
History Today
at the same time.

“Loaded?” She pretended she hadn't understood.

“Loaded with money, weighed down with wealth.”

“I have no idea,” Clare said, looking at him with her big dark eyes opened wide in innocence. “What a strange thing to ask.”

“Well, I can hardly ask
her,
” he complained.

“But why not? If you want to know, isn't she the one you should ask?”

“It looks odd. And anyway women are so apt to take things the wrong way.”

“I know,” Clare said sympathetically. “Isn't it sickening?”

“You're laughing at me.”

“I am not. I'm horrified by you if you must know.”

“It's just that I was half thinking of going to the States this summer—see how American I've become? I don't say ‘going to America' I said ‘going to the States'—and if I could stay with Mary Catherine's family for a bit it would cut down the cost.”

“Sure, but why would it matter if they were loaded or not? Couldn't you stay with them, if she asked you, even if they were just ordinary, and not wealthy? Wouldn't it be a bed wherever it was?”

James looked down into his coffee cup. “Yes, but it is my last summer holiday before I settle down to work. I'd like to go somewhere where they have a bit of
style.
A swimming pool, a ranch or a big apartment on Fifth Avenue . . . She's very secretive about where she lives. That's why I asked you.”

“Why don't you just come back to Castlebay as usual? I think the complications about America are wearing you out.”

“You don't understand anything, Clare. That's your problem.”

“I know.” Clare grinned at him. “It's always been my problem. I'm as thick as the wall.”

They parted friends, and yet Clare felt guilty. This pompous man was being a real heel toward two of her friends. It was disloyal sitting in the Annexe and giggling with him.

 

Emer and Kevin said they would be delighted if Clare came to stay for Easter. She had offered them a deal: she would babysit, wash up every single thing that went into the sink and do two hours a day digging the garden. In return could she have a place to stay and a little food? She had written to Angela and said she couldn't bear to go back to Castlebay: this was just the period when she had to revise and prepare for her First Arts. She'd try to square David Power too. She left a note for him at the medical faculty. He rang her that night at the hostel.

“Why should I help you?” he asked in a mock temper. “You never helped me at Christmas.”

“Your romance didn't suffer as a result of it,” she said sharply.

“Do you have a fleet of detectives?” he inquired.

“Please, David, it's just that I really do have to work. I'm the scholarship girl, don't forget. I don't get chances to repeat things. And I don't get any time at home. It's not like your house.”

“OK.
I'll
go along with
your
lies.”

It annoyed her. “Thanks very much, David. I'll see you in the summer, I'm sure,” she said curtly.

“Oh, I'm sure you'll have thought up something else by then,” he said.

She hung up immediately before she could lose her temper with him.
Spoiled, self-important pig.

 

“They
don't
resent it.”

“They do, Clare. They mightn't even realize it, but you've grown in ways that they never will. You speak better than they do, than you used to. You look better. It's not just the book learning.”

Clare twisted her glass in her hand. She and Angela were having a drink in the corner of Dillon's Hotel lounge. There was a beautiful view of the beach. Shortly, Josie would be putting her cover on the typewriter and would come for the game of tennis. Some things hadn't changed over the years. But Clare realized that Angela was right. She did have much more confidence. Her own mother would never dream of coming into the hotel and sitting down in the cushioned chair looking out over Castlebay. That wasn't for the likes of them, she would say. Her father wouldn't stand at the bar and drink his pint in the hotel either, it would be Craig's or nowhere. Jim and Ben would be tongue-tied and shoving at each other. And as for Chrissie! She and Mogsy wouldn't be caught dead inside a stuffy place like that, she had said on more than one occasion. Clare sighed. Lord knew that Dillon's Hotel was hardly the sophistication capital of the world, but wasn't it maddening to think that she was the only member of her family who would feel comfortable there having a glass of shandy.

“I'll be very nice at the wedding. All day.” She smiled at Angela.

“Good, I don't want to sound like a sermon on charity but you have had so much more than Chrissie and you always will have. Make it as nice a day for her as possible.”

“All I'll get for my pains is Chrissie giving out to me all day, and if I'm
nice,
that will be further cause for complaint.”

“You promised.”

“Yes. What about your brother, when he was being ordained? Was that a hard sort of day?”

“No.” Angela's voice seemed distant. She was looking out to sea. “My father didn't have a drop to drink. Dr. Power gave him some tablets and told him it was dangerous to drink with them. I don't know whether it was or not. And my poor mother had a hat with a veil. I'll never forget it—and gloves. No, that day was no trouble at all.”

“You don't talk about him much nowadays.”

“I'll tell you some time.”

“Sure. I'm sorry.”

“Here's Josie and Dick.” Angela looked up brightly. “You're looking very well, Josie. Very pretty.”

“Thank you. I've been on another diet. The summer visitors will be here at the end of the week. I'm trying to ensnare one of them.”

“One in particular, or just anyone?”

“Well, I have my eye on one. But he's a bit hard to get.”

Clare didn't catch Angela's eye. She had told her about Josie and James Nolan going to the States for the summer; and debated whether or not she should tell Josie this.

Angela had said she should have let it fall casually ages ago, but Clare said it was very hard to let things
fall casually
when Josie sat up on her bed and hugged her knees and made plans for the summer.

 

“This is the last night we'll sleep together,” Clare said to Chrissie.

“I'm sure neither of us are sorry about that,” Chrissie sniffed. She was examining her face in the mirror with dissatisfaction. There was a definite spot on her chin.

“Well, it's the end of one part of your life. It must be exciting,” Clare soldiered on.

“Well, I'm twenty-one. It's time I was married.” Chrissie was defensive.

“It'll be a grand day.”

“Yes, it will. It'll be grand without any pats on the head from you, either.”

“I'm not patting you on the head. I'm just trying to say I'm pleased. That it's great. That it's the first wedding in the family. That's all.”

Her face was angry. Chrissie softened.

“Yes, well. All right. Sorry. I suppose I'm a bit jumpy and everything.”

“You're going to look terrific. The dress is fabulous.”

It was hanging on their wardrobe with an old sheet draped over it to keep it clean.

Chrissie looked at it mournfully.

“And your hair, it's super. I've never seen it so nice.”

“Yes, well. Peg's coming round in the morning to give it a comb out. You know, get it right for the veil.”

“Maurice will be delighted with you.”

“I don't know. Look at this spot. It's going to be desperate in the morning.”

“Listen. I tell you what to do. I'll dab a bit of Dettol on it. And don't touch it—do you hear? The Dettol won't work if you touch it, and then in the morning if it's not gone we can put some extra makeup on it. But it will have flattened a bit if you don't touch it.”

“Why were you never like this before?” Chrissie asked suspiciously.

“Like what?”

“Interested in spots, and ordinary things.”

“I always was, but you used to say I was mad, remember?”

 

Fiona Doyle said she'd be happy to look after the shop for them while they went to the wedding. She asked how thick she should cut the bacon and was there anyone she should or should not give credit to. Tom said she was a model shop girl and that if ever the photographic business folded, there'd be a job for her in O'Brien's ten minutes later. Agnes said that Fiona was a brick to come down so early because it gave them time to get ready themselves without rushing out into the shop every time the door opened.

There had been a pink card with “All Good Wishes on Your Wedding Day” from Tommy, and a nicely wrapped tablecloth from Ned with a small greetings card wishing them every happiness, and regretting that he wasn't able to be there. Clare saw the fine hand of Father Flynn in both of these gestures.

Chrissie had been pleased. It hadn't struck her as remotely odd that neither of her brothers would return for her big day. Agnes was pleased too. She had somehow resigned herself to the thought that the boys weren't coming home again. Gerry Doyle had assured her they were well settled there, and wasn't it better in this day and age, when half the country were down taking the mail boat to England looking for jobs, that her two sons had got there first and got themselves established. In fact Agnes O'Brien was more cheerful than she had been for a long time. Her ankle had recovered now, everyone said that it was her accident which had finally been responsible for the Committee putting up the new steps and railings, so she was regarded as a bit of a heroine.

She dabbed unaccustomed powder on her nose and looked affectionately at Tom as he struggled into the new suit he had bought. He had needed one anyway, and this was the perfect opportunity. He struggled with the unfamiliar fabric which seemed hard and full of pointy bits and corners.

“I'm just so relieved,” said Agnes. “Glad that she's settling down.”

“Mogsy Byrne isn't the worst, I suppose,” Tom O'Brien said reluctantly.

“No, when you think the way Chrissie
could
have gone.” They'd never spoken of it before, but they had been through their worries. Was Chrissie getting a name as being fast? Did she hang round with the girls who were known to be up to no good in the caravan park? They were lucky that poor Mogsy, not the brightest man in Castlebay, but the brother of Bumper Byrne who was certainly the sharpest, was going to take Chrissie on for life.

There had been a time when Chrissie had held out for Dillon's Hotel; but after a look at the menus, the rates and whole set-up she listened more carefully to her future brother-in-law's advice. Bumper and his wife Bid had advised Chrissie not to throw away her money just making the Dillons rich. Why pour out all that money so that Young Mrs. Dillon could have a new fur coat? Chrissie had wanted the day to be very splendid, but she and Mogsy listened obediently and heard that it could still be splendid without paying out a fortune. And this way they could invite more people; which was always good for business, and it didn't insult people and cause grievances.

In fact Chrissie and her Mogsy had come round to the view that Dillon's Hotel would be a very stuffy place to have a wedding anyway.

So they were having it in the big room behind Father O'Dwyer's house. It had been a storeroom once, but Dr. Power and Miss O'Hara had somehow managed to persuade Miss McCormack that it should be used for the parish. Father O'Dwyer took very careful note of what she said. Now it was used for fêtes, and sales of work. They had the Irish dancing competitions there too, and recently it had been used for weddings or christening parties. There were long trestle tables covered with cloths, and there was a big tea urn. There would be plates of sandwiches, and bridge rolls, and sausage rolls. There would be jelly and cream as well as the wedding cake. Gerry Doyle was going to take the photographs, and cousins were coming from three separate towns for the occasion.

Chrissie and Mogsy had said they were keeping it small, but that still meant forty-five people. Just enough, Agnes thought, pleased for it to look respectable. There was no question of a rushed job. Nobody could say it was a hole-in-the-corner affair.

Clare was being very good over all the arrangements, Agnes noticed with surprise. And she was keeping Chrissie calm this morning; she had even bought some bath oil at Murphy's chemist and said that Chrissie should be allowed to have the bathroom to herself for half an hour so everyone else should wash quickly or else wash at the kitchen sink. Agnes hadn't expected Clare to be so helpful. Usually she and Chrissie had nothing but harsh words.

The young couple were going on a week's honeymoon to Bray: which was just another seaside resort, but still it would be miles away from Castlebay and that was the main thing. Then they would be back, a married couple living in the new house, and Mogsy would be organizing the churns and the milk collection; and Chrissie would be back in the butcher's shop, but with a new respect now. There would be two rings on her finger, she would be “Mrs. Byrne,” and she could talk about “my husband.” Agnes felt a great surge of sympathy for her large, brassy, argumentative daughter.