Tara Road (54 page)

'You know what I mean. Have we our heads above water? Are we in the black?'

Barney laughed. 'Come on, Danny, has the sun softened your head? When were we ever in the black? The red is where we live.'

'I mean will we be able to climb out this time?'

'We always did before.'

'You've never had to sell Polly's before.'

'I don't have to sell it now.' There was a slightly steely sound to Barney's voice. Danny said nothing. 'So if that's all, will you get on with having a holiday, and be in good shape when you're back here on Monday.'

'I could come back now if you needed me. I'd just drive straight up, leave the others here.'

'See you Monday,' said Barney McCarthy, and hung up.

Danny bought himself a small brandy to stop the slight tremor in his hand. The barman looked at him sympathetically. 'Family life all cooped up in a small boat can get a bit ropey,' he said.

'Yes.' Danny spoke absently. His mind was far away in Barney McCarthy's office. He had been dismissed on the phone, that was not an exaggeration. He had seen Barney do it so often to other people. Now he was at the receiving end.

'How many kids?' the barman asked.

'Two, and one on the way.'

'God, it must be pure hell for you,' said the man who had seen a lot of human nature in running a lakeside pub, but had never seen a face as white and strained as this fellow's.

'I'm going to go to a psychic with your sister,' Marilyn said to Ria on the phone. 'May I use your car?'

'I'm going to lessons on the Internet with your friend Heidi. Can I use your laptop to practise on?'

Sheila Maine was delighted to hear from Ria. Gertie hadn't told her that she was coming, what a marvellous surprise.

'Does Gertie write a lot then?'

'Usually an air letter every week. She fills me in on all that's going on.'

Ria's heart lurched to think of the fantasy life poor Gertie needed that she had to write a catalogue of imaginary goings-on. 'Gertie's great, I see a lot of her,' Ria said.

'I know, she tells me. She's in and out of your house all the time, she tells me.'

'That's right,' Ria said. Gertie didn't write and say why she was in and out of the house in Tara Road, that she was usually down on her hands and knees scrubbing floors in it to make Jack's drinking money. Still, people had to have some area of dignity. This was Gertie's.

'Will you come and visit me in Westville? I've a lovely house for the summer. The children will be coming out too in a couple of weeks' time.'

Sheila said she'd love to visit and that she'd drive over on Saturday with her children; Max was working shifts so he wouldn't be able to come. It was only an hour away. 'And you tell that handsome husband of yours that I'm really looking forward to seeing him again. He was so welcoming to us when we were in Tara Road that time.'

With a shock Ria realised that Gertie's letters about the never-never land that was Dublin must have failed to include mention of any kind of marital disharmony. Not only her own. She decided to wait until Sheila Maine arrived before telling her the story. It was too long and wearying for the telephone. It was a story told too often and becoming more incomprehensible with each telling. People thought she was over it all by now, they didn't realise that Ria still felt the phone would ring and it would be Danny. 'Sweetheart, forgive me' is what he would say, or 'Can we start again?'

Ria had answers for both questions. She would say yes and mean it. He was the man she loved and this had all been a terrible mistake. A series of incidents that had escalated and got out of control. Ria told herself that if she didn't think about, pray for it, and hope for it too much, it would happen.

Rosemary said that Mrs Connor was amazing, Marilyn would be astounded by her. Rosemary looked particularly well today, Marilyn thought, in a very dressy rose silk dress. It was the kind of thing you might wear to a wedding rather than to entertain a neighbour. She poured tea in the beautiful roof garden where they had been admiring the planting that had been done by a nursery.

Rosemary said that Mrs Connor should be investigated by the Fraud Squad. She saw nothing, revealed nothing about the future, charged a fortune and looked more and more poverty-stricken and tubercular.

'You've been to her?' Marilyn was surprised.

'Yes, a couple of times when we were kids. I went with Ria and Gertie.'

'And what did she tell you?'

'Nothing at all, but she told it with great pain and anguish in her face. She puts on a good show, I give her that.' Rosemary was being fair.

'But she must have told you something specific?'

'Interestingly she told me that I was a bad friend.' Rosemary laughed.

'And were you?' Marilyn had a slightly disconcerting way of asking questions directly.

'No, I don't think so particularly. Look, I'm in business, you have to be a bad friend to someone every hour doing deals.'

'I guess.'

'But I was a very good friend to Polly Callaghan last week. She came in and wanted a brochure printed. You know, full colour, big pic and everything. And I knew somehow that the bill might just not be paid. Now I like Polly. I didn't want to lose her friendship over this so I said let's do a straight swap. I take something from your stock and you have the printing free. And I got this dress. How about that for enterprise and the barter system?'

'And did she know why you did it?'

'She may have.' Rosemary was thoughtful. 'Barney McCarthy would know certainly when she tells him. Anyway enough about all that. Why are you going to Mrs Connor anyway?' she asked Marilyn.

'To talk to the dead,' Marilyn said.

And for once in her life the cool confident Rosemary Ryan was at a loss for anything to say.

Marilyn realised that if she were to drive Hilary to this remote place where cars parked in a field she had better put in a little practice in driving. Even though she drove an automatic car at home she had been used to driving a stick shift too, so the gears were not beyond her. She had been warned by everyone about Dublin traffic, the way people fought for parking places and were leisurely about indicating when they moved from one lane to another. Nothing prepared her for the number of near incidents she encountered on her first outing. Shaking, she came back to Number 16 Tara Road. Colm saw her getting rather unsteadily out of the car and asked was she all right.

'I swear they pull out right in front of you,' she said. 'I nearly wasted a dozen pedestrians. They just roll across the road no matter what colour the lights are.'

He laughed easily. 'The first day is always the worst, anyway you're home now and are going to have visitors by the look of things.' He nodded towards the gate where Nora Johnson and Pliers were making their entrance.

'Yoo-hoo, Marilyn,' called Nora.

'Oh hell,' Marilyn said.

'Tut-tut, Marilyn,' said Colm in mock disapproval, but he slipped away out to the back garden and let her cope with the visit on her own.

'Hilary and I were going to have lunch together, we wondered would you like to join us?'

'Thanks, Mrs Johnson, but I don't really feel like going out just nowGCa' Marilyn began.

'Well, never mind, we can eat here.'

'Here?' Marilyn looked wildly around the garden.

Nora Johnson was almost inside the house already. 'Wouldn't it be much nicer, easier for us all?' she said. She was not a person who would sense when she might not be welcome. Not anyone to be rebuffed by a little coldness. There was no hint heavy enough to move her.

Aw, what the hell, Marilyn said to herself. I coped with Dublin traffic, I can make a lunch, can't I? Forcing a smile on her face she beckoned Ria's mother to come in.

Hilary came along not long after. 'Mam said we'd meet here, where are we going?'

'Marilyn's going to cook for us,' Nora said, pleased.

'It'll be like old times in this kitchen then,' said Hilary, settling down happily. 'What are we going to eat?' There were chicken pieces in Ria's fridge and some potatoes from the garden in a wire basket. 'IGCOll peel those,' Hilary offered.

'Thank you,' Marilyn said, struggling to take in a recipe pinned to the inside of the store cupboard. It didn't look too daunting, it involved honey, soya sauce and ginger, all of which seemed to be on hand.

Pliers had settled down in his own corner, Clement on his own chair. It was, as Hilary said, like old times in this kitchen, only with a different woman standing at the cooker.

Annie and Brian had remembered something very important. If they were to enter Clement for the cat show the form had to be handed in today.

'You'll be back in Dublin in two days,' Finola protested.

'But that's too late,' Annie wailed. 'We thought Clement could get a Highly Commended. The form's probably on the hall table with all the mail in Tara Road.'

Bernadette shrugged. It was one of the many things in life good and bad that just happened. She was sympathetic but offered no solution. Danny was out phoning, he wasn't there to help.

Finola Dunne recognised a crisis when she saw one. 'Go and ring Mrs Vine,' she suggested.

Gertie rang on the door of Number 16 Tara Road. 'This has to be the most embarrassing moment of my life, Marilyn.'

'Yes?' Marilyn was flushed and anxious. The mixture of honey, soya sauce and ginger looked very glutinous and was sticking to the bottom of the saucepan while the chicken still seemed raw.

'But you know the way I come tomorrowGCa could I come today instead?'

'It's not really suitable Gertie, I'm cooking a lunch.'

'It's justGCa it's just it would help matters greatly at home if I were toGCa'

'I'm so sorry. But if you want to be away from home would you care to join Ria's mother and sister for lunch?' Marilyn felt her head buzzing. She was dizzy from her first attempt to cope with Dublin traffic. She was cooking a complicated dish for people she had not wanted to entertain, under the eyes of a menagerie of watchful animals. Now she was asking a third and very stressed woman to join them.

'Ah, no thank you, Marilyn, that's not what it was at all.' Gertie was fidgeting with her hands, her eyes looked frightened.

'Then what is it, Gertie? I'm sorry, I'm not sureGCa'

'Marilyn, could you give me the money for tomorrow and I'll do the 'work of course laterGCa?' It was so hard for her to ask.

So hard to hear. Marilyn flushed. 'Yes, yes,' she muttered, embarrassed, and went to find her wallet. 'Do you have any change?' she asked without thinking.

'Marilyn, if I had any change would I be here like this asking you for tomorrow's money?'

'No, how stupid of me. Please take this.'

'This will cover tomorrow and all of next week,' Gertie said.

'Sure, fine, whatever you say.'

'You could ring Ria in America and she'll tell you I always honour it.'

'I know you will, and wellGCa goodbye now.'

Marilyn came downstairs flustered and unsettled by the conversation. 'That was Gertie,' she said brightly. 'She couldn't stay.'

'No, she had to get Jack's drinking money to him,' said Nora Johnson succinctly.

At that moment they all realised that one of the saucepans seemed to be on fire with what looked like a toffee coating on the bottom.

'That will never come off,' said Hilary. 'And those are very expensive saucepans.'

They left the saucepan to soak and Marilyn began again. As Hilary had said, it was a mercy she hadn't wasted the chicken fillets, the other bit was only old sauces.

The telephone rang. It was Annie and Brian from the River Shannon. Could Marilyn please find this form? She went upstairs again to the front room where she kept all the mail neatly on the sideboard. She found the form and called them back at the pub where they were waiting for news.

'Great,' Brian said. 'All you have to do now is drive it around to the address with the one-pound entrance fee.'

'Yes, wellGCa'

'Thanks very much, we'd hate for him not to enter.' Annie had taken the phone by now.

'I don't have to take Clement to the show myself?' Marilyn asked anxiously. 'Walk him around a ring or anything?'

'No, they sit in cages actually, and to be honest I'd quite like to do that myself, but if you liked to come along or anythingGCa?'

'Yes well, we'll see.' Marilyn ended the conversation.

'Are they having a good holiday?' Nora sniffed at the unlikely prospect of this.

'I didn't ask them,' Marilyn cried with a great wail because she saw that the second saucepan was burning and neither of these two women who were used to Ria Lynch being in total charge had lifted a finger to rescue it.

Was this what she had come all the way to Ireland for? This ludicrous, exhausting kind of day? Getting more and more enmeshed and involved in the lives of total strangers?

There was a letter from Mam in the mailbox on Tudor Drive.

Dear Ria, I should have been better about writing letters but somehow God does not put enough hours in the day. And talking of God as we were, I hope you've found a Catholic church out in that place for my grandchildren to go to on Sundays. Marilyn said that she gave you all the details, phone numbers and Mass times and everything, but you don't have to pretend to me that you are a regular Mass-goer, I know better. Marilyn doesn't go to the Protestant church here, and of course she might be of the Jewish faith, but I didn't like to suggest the synagogue to her. She's a grown woman and can make her own choices. I'd be the last one to interfere in anyone else's life.