Scarlet Feather (47 page)

Cathy said as he was leaving, ‘She’s probably at home already, furious that she couldn’t be with us.’

‘I’d say that’s where she is all right,’ he said with what he hoped was a grin, rather than the beginning of a howl.

Of course she wasn’t at home. It was one a.m., and Mr Newton’s party would only begetting going. He sat down and drank a lot of cold water to try to get rid of the taste of whatever he had been eating. He nodded off at the kitchen table. And woke suddenly to hear the phone ringing. It was twenty minutes after three o’clock.

‘Tom?’

‘Yes, Marcella?’

‘Tom, the thing is…’

‘Yes?’

‘The thing is, the party is only just getting going here. So I wanted to say I’d be later, and I’m sorry, but you know the way these things happen.’

‘Of course I don’t know the way these things happen. It’s nearly four o’clock in the morning. You’re not coming home, is this what you’ve phoned to tell me?’

‘Not immediately, and in fact some of the girls were thinking we should get a room between us and maybe stay…’

‘Please stay, Marcella,’ he said.

‘It might be more sensible, what with taxis and—’

‘Goodnight,’ he said.

‘Are you cross?’

‘No, that’s not the word,’ he said.

‘Tom, please, tell me you understand that it’s all for the job.’

‘Stay there, please, Marcella. Please stay.’

‘Not in that cold voice, not making me feel—’

‘Stay there,’ he said, hung up and took the phone off the hook in case she called again.

It was an extraordinary Saturday morning. Tom was busy, saying nothing whatsoever about Marcella not having come home last night, or Cathy’s pregnancy and all it would involve for the company. He couldn’t believe that Neil was still in Africa knowing nothing of this news, and he didn’t like the lines of anxiety in Cathy’s face when she had told them this. Cathy was busy saying nothing whatsoever about not having spoken to Neil, or Marcella’s non-appearance at the supper last night and all it might involve in Tom’s life. She couldn’t believe that Tom hadn’t known until the last moment that there was a business do Marcella had to attend, and she didn’t like the pale, waxen look on his face all evening. So they talked instead about the Chicago wedding, which was running into murkier waters all the time and was now under three weeks away. How had August 19th crept up on them so quickly?

Is Marian like you at all?’ Tom wanted to know.

I’ve no idea, I’ve hardly seen her since I was a child. She left when she was seventeen, and I’ve been over once and she’s only been back twice. And I don’t know
what
Harry is like, so we can’t get any clues to their character.’

‘Do we know anything about the kind of people they’ll be asking from Chicago?’ he tried.

‘No, not a notion.’

‘And the Irish contingent?’

‘A few of Mam and Dad’s sisters and brothers, their children, a couple of cousins, all of them anxious to have the ties off, the shirts open and get stuck into the pints.’

‘What would they like?’

‘Prawn cocktail, roast chicken and ice cream with chocolate sauce.’

Tom groaned.

‘And the message from Chicago sounded a bit pissed off about the typically Irish fare.’

‘Yes, a huff has been taken, not to me personally mind, but behind my back to Mam, and to Geraldine… The “wouldn’t you think Cathy would know what’s expected” sort of thing. It would sicken you.’

‘Do you think we should just
give
it to them, for an easy life?’ Tom looked very tired.

Cathy wondered had he slept at all, they might have had words when they got home. ‘I don’t really, Tom. I know what you mean, we don’t need all this aggravation, doing something right when they want a load of old rubbish.’

‘But what about the customer being right? And another thing, there’s not going to be anyone there who’d know us, that we’d feel ashamed in front of…’

Cathy frowned. ‘I know there’s truth in what you say, but honestly, I want it to be right for them, all this crowd are going to be eating in restaurants in Dublin the rest of the time they’re here, they’ll be having a rehearsal party in one hotel and a recovery party in another, they’ll
see
that no one except on St Patrick’s Day cards in New York eats bacon and cabbage. They’ll all be at desperately expensive places. Places that will rob them blind.’

‘Heigh-ho,’ Tom said. ‘Have they booked?’

‘Well. I’d hope so, they’ve been talking about them for six months.’

‘We’d better send another e-mail,’ he said. ‘Should we try pushing a choice of glorious Irish lamb and Irish salmon, we could even send them pictures of that dressed salmon we did a few weeks back, it was gorgeous.’

‘It’s not draped in shamrocks and Irish flags,’ grumbled Cathy.

He was standing beside her cutting vegetables. They had exactly the same stroke, the same rhythm, it was as if they were rowing a boat together. There was something companionable and calming about it all. Even their conversation wasn’t demanding, but it was enough to take their minds off their worries; they couldn’t brood about Neil and Marcella if there was work to be done, food to be sent out, bills to be paid and the wedding of the century to organise.

James Byrne came in to go over the accounts.

‘How did the fashion show go last night?’ he asked politely, and was surprised at the curt response.

‘Fine,’ Tom said.

‘Great,’ Cathy said.

James Byrne asked no more. He went through the prohibitive cost of renting equipment, and noted the slow progress of dealings with the insurance company, which was really dragging its heels.

‘When will Neil be back from Africa?’ James Byrne asked innocently.

‘Tomorrow,’ Tom said.

‘Monday,’ said Cathy.

Both answers were barked out in exactly the same way as the previous ones. James Byrne looked from one to the other, and hoped that his friend Martin Maguire had not been right when he said that there was a curse on this place. These two, Tom and Cathy, used to be great friends, and the happiest of young people to work with. Today they were like wild animals waiting to pounce.

‘The reason I said Monday was it’s just that we’re going to a hotel tomorrow night,’ Cathy said. In case you were planning to talk to him about the insurance company.’

‘Sorry,’ said Tom. ‘It’s not my business when he comes back.’

James Byrne was mystified. He turned to a different and hopefully less tense subject. ‘I want to check that you have work upcoming that will be paid at the time; we can’t afford to give anyone ninety days’ credit at the moment.’

‘Yes, my brother paid half in advance, and when he gets the final wine list on Monday he’ll pay at once,’ Tom said.

James noted it down.

‘And then there’s my sister’s wedding, they’ll pay on the dot too,’ Cathy added.

‘You both have very admirable families,’ James murmured.

‘Haywards pays for the bread by the month,’ Tom said.

‘Mad Minnie pays by the week, but it’s only tiny.’

‘We’ll be doing two jobs at the studio for Ricky, about three hundred pounds’ worth; he’d pay on the night if we asked him.’

‘There’s a funeral next Wednesday; Quentin’s will get that money for us fairly quickly.’

‘Good, good.’ He nodded gravely at their list.

‘Are you anxious, James?’ Cathy asked suddenly.

I’m always anxious,’ he said with a weak smile.

‘But no, is it serious, the cash flow, the situation?’

‘Very serious,’ said James Byrne. ‘Very serious indeed.

When Cathy got home at lunchtime there was a message on the answering machine saying that Neil’s plane would be delayed on Sunday, but that he’d still love to go to the hotel in Wicklow. He’d ring from the airport when they got in, and he loved her.

When Tom got home at lunchtime there was an envelope on the mat. A note from Marcella saying she’d be back about noon, and maybe they might go out somewhere and have a nice cheerful lunch, that she’d ring him first. And that she loved him.

On Saturday lunchtime Geraldine got a phone call which was hard to understand.

‘Hallo, is that the dry-cleaner’s, it’s Frederick Flynn here. I was meant to collect a jacket this afternoon but as it happens I won’t be able to, I have to go away suddenly.’

‘Freddie?’ she gasped.

‘Yes, thank you so much for understanding, can I ring you on Monday? Good, good, you’ve been most obliging.’

‘What are you telling me, Freddie?’

He had been coming round in an hour’s time. They were going to have two whole nights and a full day together. His wife was going to Limerick.

‘Yes, thank you for making special arrangements for me, but I have to go to Limerick.’

‘No, Freddie, you don’t have to go, you said
she
was going.’

‘Again, thank you for being understanding.’ He hung up.

‘Hallo, is that Mr… er, Muttance Scarlet?’

‘Muttie here. Who’s that?’

‘It’s Mr Mitchell, actually.’

‘Oh, is that Cathy’s father-in-law?’Muttie asked.

‘No, it’s… um… it’s… er… Simon and Maud’s father.’

‘Oh, good, how are you, Mr Mitchell? Lizzie and myself, we’re here waiting for them to arrive any minute, but they’re not here yet.’Muttie thought he wanted to speak to the twins.

‘No, and they won’t be there, I mean, they weren’t able to go.’

‘They’re not coming?’

‘No, I’m sorry, Mr Muttance. Very sorry.’

‘And are they sick or something, Mr Mitchell?’

‘Yes and no to that; let’s say that their mother is not at all well, due to them, so they have to stay here and look after her.’

‘And could I have a word with them, do you think Mr Mitchell?’

‘That would not be at all appropriate.’

Walter came home to what he hoped might be a late lunch on Saturday. He saw his father sitting alone at the table.

‘What’s wrong, Father?’

‘Just about everything, Walter.’

‘Tell me.’

‘Your mother’s gone back on the drink, those twins have been dancing with things on their shoes all around the house all day driving her madder than ever before, old Barty got into another game and lost so much that he’s gone into hiding.’

‘But what had he to lose? Old Barty hasn’t
got
anything to lose,’ Walter said.

‘Why do you think I’m so worried? I’m waiting for someone to come for the house,’ said Kenneth Mitchell.

‘No lunch?’ Walter asked.

‘Not unless you make some,’ Kenneth said.

‘Have the children gone out to those mad people in St Jarlath’s Crescent?’

‘No, I wouldn’t let them go, it was their bloody tap-tap-tapping that sent your mother over the top.’

‘So where are they?’ Walter asked.

‘Sulking in their room, I gather

‘Better be careful, Father, this army of women police will be after you if you break any of the rules.’

‘They’re my children, Walter. I’ve every right to say where they go for Saturday lunch.’

‘Yes, Father.’

Walter looked pointedly at a kitchen table on which there was no sign whatsoever of a Saturday lunch being made for anyone.

Shona sat in her flat and read the letter for the thirtieth time. She was being invited to dinner on 19 August by someone she had never thought she would see again.

Lizzie said to Muttie that he must not disturb Cathy: the girl was the colour of a sheet these days.Muttie said you had to fight now or give up for ever. That man who had pressed a pound coin into his hand would walk over them unless they made a stand. Mark his words, the twins wouldn’t be allowed to dance at the wedding if they gave in on this one. And the dancing teacher was waiting for them in the kitchen. He was going to ring Cathy this moment. She wasn’t at Waterview, she wasn’t on her mobile phone. He tried the premises.

Tom Feather had left Stoneyfield. He couldn’t bear to stay there in case Marcella came back to check was he all right. He had to be out of the place immediately. He answered the phone. ‘You missed Cathy,Muttie, she’s taken herself off for the afternoon. On my orders; I told her that it had been too long since she had seen the sea, and she’s never even visited James Joyce’s tower, so I sent her out to Sandycove to see both and clear her head.’

‘That was good of you. Lizzie’s been saying she looks tired. It’s just that I’ve a bit of a problem here.’

‘Tell me the story,’ Tom pleaded. Anything was better than being left with his own thoughIs. He listened to the tale.

‘I’ll go and get them for you,’ he said. ‘Just give me the address.’

‘We don’t want to make any trouble,’Muttie said.

‘Of course not,’ Tom said.

‘Good day, Mr Mitchell. I’m Tom Feather, come to collect the children to take them to St Jarlath’s Crescent.’

‘I’m sorry, I have no idea who you are.’ He spoke arrogantly, and a small tic began in Tom’s forehead.

‘If your son Walter is here, he can verify who I am. I work with your nephew’s wife Cathy. I’m sure my name has been mentioned to you, but in the meantime I’m collecting the children, their dancing shoes and their tape recorder as laid down in the terms of your agreement.’

‘Agreement? We have no agreement with you, Mr… er…’

‘With the courts, the social welfare department, with the Mitchell family.’

‘I don’t think this is any time…’

‘You’re so right, there
is
no time, Mr Scarlet is paying the dancing teacher by the hour and there has been a delay already.’

‘SIMON! MAUD!’ he shouted.

The twins had been listening fearfully and came out into the hall. ‘You should have been there ages ago,’ he said, mock severely.

‘But we couldn’t go, we made Mother ill,’ Simon said.

‘By practising the dancing, you see,’ Maud explained.

‘Nonsense, of course you didn’t. Right, get your shoes, hop into the van and we’ll be off.’

‘You have absolutely no right to barge into my house…’ Kenneth Mitchell began.

‘Take it up with the social worker, and with Cathy and Neil when he gets home tomorrow. I’m only the driver,’ said Tom, and slammed out of the house and into the Scarlet Feather van, which he revved up like a maniac. He saw Walter looking at him from behind a curtain at an upper window. ‘Hi, Walter,’ he shouted. ‘Always to the forefront when you’re needed, as usual, I see.’