G03 - Resolution (21 page)

“Kay,” said her mother sternly, glancing disapprovingly at her friends, “go outside and watch for Henrietta.”

They stood on the gravel path and lit cigarettes to keep the midges away, feeling uncomfortable and excluded from the throng. The sun began to burn their faces and they moved into the shade of a large tree next to a path made from ancient gravestones. “Why do they all call you Kay?” asked Leslie.

“My Polish grandmother chose Kilty. Dad only agreed because he thought she was dying. She was always dying. When I was ten she finally did pop her clogs and they changed it to Kay.”

“I like Kilty better,” said Maureen.

“So do I,” said Kilty, puffing inexpertly on her cigarette, “but it’s immigrant so Mum doesn’t. They’re happy to socialize in the Polish Club but don’t want anyone to know Dad’s a Jew.”

“That’s a pity,” said Liam, ” ‘cause Poles love the Jews, don’t they?”

A cloud of midges moved round from the far side of the tree and chased them back into the sunshine. By the time the ushers came out to round up the guests they were cowering in the church door, hiding from gangs of increasingly narky flies. Kilty waited outside so that she could warn them when the bride arrived.

It was cold inside the chapel. The organist played long, senseless notes and people whispered greetings to latecomers filtering in through the aisles. There was a small commotion at the back of the church and they saw Kilty scuttle up to the front pew just as the organist belted out a chord that commanded attention. A hush fell over the congregation and the participants in the ceremony began their strange, stiff dance.

Maureen watched Kilty up at the front. Her face was set in a harsh reserve and her prominent eyes looked tired and worried. She seemed plain and slightly pretentious. The clasp that had looked so pretty when they picked her up now hung from her thin hair like Gene Kelly off a lamppost. She seemed to shrink when she was with her family, as if her spirit was wilting.

After the ceremony the newly expanded Goldfarb family gathered outside for the photographs and Kilty stood at the edge, just outside the tight little group. Maureen realized as she watched that Kilty was the runt of the litter too, and thought suddenly of Una. She looked at Liam, laughing at a joke Leslie had made. He’d have told her if the baby had been born. She knew he would. First babies were often late.

Kilty sat silently, looking out over the road, as they drove back down the loch to the reception. Liam asked her if she was all right and she said, yeah, yeah, she was fine, give her a fag, for Christ’s sake.

The hotel was a small country house on the banks, close to a marina and a water-ski center. Much extended at the back, the building was essentially a small modern conference center with a nice front. Inside, the decor was of the shortbread school: dark tartan wallpaper and faux country trimmings. A giant stag’s head hung over the ornamental fireplace. It took one and a half hours of watching other people have a nice time before they could go in and sit down. They were bored to the verge of violence by the time the prawn cocktail arrived.

Their dinner companions were three single men and a slim, plain young woman who laughed at everything the men said, as if she was afraid they would attack her and was trying to fend them off. During the meal the men didn’t acknowledge any of the strangers across the table and didn’t seem to know Kilty at all. They had been at school with Henrietta and hadn’t seen one another since.

Eventually Kilty picked up, sitting upright and unclenching her jaw. She joined in the conversation a little and whispered to Maureen that the day was almost halfway through. It wasn’t really, but Maureen said, yeah, it would be over soon enough. She was enjoying being out of Glasgow, away from the complications, playing the wedding game of drinking as much complimentary wine as quickly as possible and making it look casual. As the meal wore on, the strange school friends talked loudly, insulting one another and laughing insincerely, jostling for status.

“You’re the world’s biggest prick,” said one and the other man laughed.

“Well, pal,” he said, pointing with his fork, “you’re the world’s smallest prick.”

They laughed, joined in descant by the nervous woman. It was getting depressing. Quite suddenly, Liam joined in the laughter, slapping the table with inappropriate vigor, and pointing at the vying men. “I think you’re both pricks,” he shouted.

The other side of the table refused to talk to them after that and began to whisper among themselves. Maureen watched as the laughing woman, now sulking in unison with her compatriots, ate. She gathered tiny morsels onto her fork and raised it to her open mouth, moving her head forward, pulling the fork away slowly, distastefully scratching the food off with her front teeth.

Individual strawberry cheesecakes arrived. They took two spoonfuls to eat and then the plates were whipped away and replaced with coffee. Various people gave bad speeches and a small army of waiters and waitresses came in and cleared a dance floor in front of the top table. A band clambered onto a stage at the side and set up. The doors at the far end of the hall opened and those invited to the reception only filtered in drinking second-best champagne. The first dance went without a hitch and Kilty began to relax.

“Nearly over now,” said Maureen, drawling slightly.

“I think the soonest we could go home would be in about an hour,” whispered Kilty.

Leslie came back from the toilet looking pale. Holding her fag between her teeth, she stood behind Kilty and adjusted the green flower in her hair.

“All right there, Leslie?” said Maureen, feeling warm and not a little pissed.

“Aye,” said Leslie. “My stomach’s killing me. I think I should lay off the drink for a while.”

“Is it a bug?” asked Maureen.

“Dunno,” said Leslie.

Kilty smiled at her watch. “Let’s get some air.”

It was cold outside, the air thick with the smell of cut grass and water. The setting sun was low behind the hills, casting a deep shadow over the loch basin. Kilty veered right, coming off the path, and walked down to the trees, sitting down on a grassy ridge, reckless of her dress now that the ordeal was over. Leslie, Liam and Maureen settled by her, lighting cigarettes to keep the midges at bay. Behind them the brilliant white lights from the hotel blazed into the night, spilling onto the black water. Houses and hotels were reflected around the dark perimeter of the loch. Maureen held up her cigarette in a toast to Kilty. “Well done, wee hen,” she said.

“Yeah, ye got through it,” said Leslie.

“Here’s to ye,” said Liam.

Kilty dropped her chin to her knee. “I hate it.”

“It’s done now,” said Maureen. “You’ll never have to attend a sibling’s wedding again.”

“I know,” said Kilty. “By the time this marriage breaks down I’ll be old enough to say fuck it.”

“Ye should say fuck it anyway,” said Leslie, master of the art of impoliteness. “I don’t understand why you’re so keen to humor them.”

Kilty tried to explain the need for approval to Leslie, who simply didn’t understand. Maureen smiled, thinking about her own family. Kilty’s family weren’t able to have open discussions and honest expressions of emotion. The O’Donnells could do nothing else. She looked at Liam. “Hey,” she said quietly, letting Kilty and Leslie continue their conversation, “how’s Una?”

Liam looked as if she’d slapped him. Frightened and offended, his mouth hung open and his eyes slid to the grass behind her. She felt suddenly cold, as if something small and hopeful had died inside her. He tried to speak but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“You can’t just do whatever the fuck you feel like,” insisted Kilty, behind him. “You have to have some regard for these people. They brought you up and stayed in and spent their money feeding you and dressing you and were nice when they were tired and stuff like that. There’s an obligation to do the right thing by them.”

Leslie sighed theatrically. “But you shouldn’t have to betray yourself to spare their feelings.”

“Boy or girl?” muttered Maureen.

“They’re good people,” said Kilty. “They’re just different from me.”

“Girl,” said Liam.

They sat and smoked and fought on the bank for a while, until the chill wind coming off the loch began to eat into them. Maureen looked out at the water, somehow knowing this was the last time she would see Loch Lomond, or the last time she’d see it like this anyway, without blood on her hands, with the precious conviction intact that she’d never really done anything irreversibly bad in her life. She looked up at the summit of the hills and saw herself falling, tumbling, hurtling down towards the deep, cold water. She felt like running back into the reception and shagging someone in the toilets.

“Shall we go and get our coats?” asked Kilty.

Maureen shook her head as they stood up, wanted to say no, wanting to stay. Liam rubbed her back too roughly before she was standing up properly and almost pushed her over. “Don’t worry,” he muttered.

Maureen wanted to be sarcastic and make light of it and say, thanks, yeah, that helps a lot, but her mouth wasn’t working.

Kilty thought they should go in and do one last tour of the reception to make it look as if they’d been there all the time. They went over to their table and sat down, drinking what was left of the wine. Liam guzzled spring water and watched Maureen nervously. On the dance floor three kilted men stood in a row, baring their arses to unwilling witnesses. One young buck’s mother got up, slapped him on the back of the head and dragged him away. The others whooped and hollered with delight, baring their arses again. Maureen surreptitiously trawled the table for bits of leftover drinks, downing anything she could find. Kilty turned to her. “We’re getting the fuck out of here.” She grinned. “You look very pale. Have you got a bug like Leslie?”

“Tired,” said Maureen, and stopped dead. Si McGee was across the hall, wearing a white dinner jacket with satin lapels and a red handkerchief in the breast pocket, smoking a slim cigar. He was standing in a group of men, nodding at Mr. Goldfarb, as thick white smoke oozed lazily from his mouth and crawled up his face. Maureen caught Leslie’s sleeve. “McGee,” she said. “McGee’s over there.”

“Where?” said Leslie, looking around.

“The one with no chin,” said Maureen, panicked. “Kilty, who’s that man in the white dinner jacket?”

Kilty looked across to her father. “He’s a guy from the Polish Club.”

“That is Si McGee,” insisted Maureen.

Kilty looked at him again. “From Benny Lynch Court? No, that guy was at St. Aloysius with the rest of them.”

“Yeah, he was a scholarship boy,” said Maureen.

“No,” said Kilty, absolutely certain. “He’s got a string of estate agents around Lanarkshire. He’s quite well off.”

“Introduce me,” said Maureen, pushing Kilty in front of her.

“Look, Mauri, don’t say anything rude,” Kilty primed her, as they made their way across the dance floor. “You really don’t know anything about the guy except that his mother died. Will you behave yourself?”

“Yeah, I will,” said Maureen, nudging Kilty on with her shoulder.

Si McGee was not pleased to see her. He tried to smile as Kilty introduced them, holding out his hand as if he’d never met her before.

“I’m sorry about your mother,” said Maureen, as his eyes took in her tight dress.

“Yes,” he said, his accent even more clipped than it had been in the hospital. “Thank you.”

The businessmen looked at him curiously. “Is your mother ill?” said one.

Si looked at his shoes, forcing a smile again when he looked up.

“Mrs. McGee died,” said Maureen, making herself look gauche and thoughtless.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Si,” said Mr. Goldfarb, rubbing McGee’s arm and looking reproachfully at Maureen. “So sorry. Was it sudden?”

“Yes,” said McGee, taking Maureen by the arm and leading her away from the group, “quite sudden.”

He was tall actually, standing next to her, holding her arm tightly. She had thought him smaller. She lifted her shoulder awkwardly, trying to wriggle her arm free, but he held on. She stopped walking, keeping her body rigid, and his grip was so strong that her feet skated along the polished dance floor. Kilty caught up with them.

“Get your fuckin’ hands off me,” shouted Maureen, attracting the attention of the arse-baring men on the dance floor and subsequently the entire wedding party.

“I thought you were falling,” said Si, just as loudly. “You seem very drunk.”

“I saw you at my house,” bawled Maureen. “You were at my house.”

Kilty took Maureen’s other arm, and Si let go graciously, wiping his hand on his trouser leg.

“What did Ella do that was so bad?” hissed Maureen, just as her feet slid away from under her. She landed hard on one knee, blushing and cringing. An appalled hush fell over the hall. One of the arse-baring men giggled loudly. Si shook his head pityingly, and looked back to his friends for support. People around the dance floor whispered among themselves.

“Why did you drag me over here?” said Maureen, unsteadily pulling herself upright. “Are you going to beat me up now?”

Si McGee stepped back, surprised. “I thought you might want to come to my mother’s funeral,” he said.

Maureen stared at him and he stared back, his eyes wide and calm behind the glasses, mouth hanging open, meaning no harm. Distracted by a tiny movement, she looked at his neck. The roll of fat on his chin was quivering, giving away a hidden tension inside. “Where’s the funeral?” she asked.

“Ten thirty on Monday, St. Stephen’s in Partick.”

“I’ll see you there,” said Maureen defiantly, taking Kilty’s arm and walking away.

“Mauri,” said Kilty, when they were safely ensconced in the car, “I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy it, but you were really out of order there.”

“What did she say?” asked Leslie.

“She asked the guy if he was going to beat her up, apropos of nothing, when he was trying to invite her to the funeral.”

“His neck was shaking,” said Maureen.

Worried, Liam glanced at her in the rearview mirror.

“It was,” she drawled sullenly. “His neck was shaking.”