Semi-Sweet (33 page)

“He did.” No need to go into the details, the roundabout route they’d taken.

“And how did it go? Did you get on well?”

“Very well—he’s actually in a band in his spare time. He plays the saxophone.”

“Oh, a musician—that’s wonderful.” Her mother’s voice bubbled with enthusiasm. “Oh, I just knew there was someone much better
waiting for you.”

Hannah smiled. Geraldine had her walking down the aisle with him, at the very least. But listen to how upbeat she sounded.

“So when are you meeting him again?”

“Saturday night—he plays in the new wine bar by the river.”

“Yes, I know it—at least, I know of it. I’m sure it’s full of young ones. Can you imagine me and your father turning up?”

Hannah grinned. “Actually you’d love the music—they play all the old songs. But yes, the crowd would be a bit younger.”

“We’ll stick to Dillon’s,” Geraldine said. “But I’m delighted with your news.”

“Of course it’s early days.”

“Early days, of course.”

Hannah glanced at the wall clock. “I should go,” she said. “It’s nearly time to tidy up.”

“Let me know how Saturday night goes,” Geraldine said. “I presume I can tell your father.”

“You can.”

She hung up and slipped her phone back into her pocket. Saturday night, two nights away. She began planning what to wear.

Take me to a hotel,
Nora had said.
I want to do it on a king-size bed.
So he had.

It hadn’t been hard to organize. Nora had booked the hotel room in Galway for one night in her name, paying in advance with
Patrick’s company card. In the morning she’d called in sick and taken the bus to Galway. She’d booked in at noon and gone
upstairs.

He’d arrived at one and walked past the reception desk, briefcase in hand, business-suited, attracting no attention at all
when he’d taken the lift to the third floor and knocked on the door of Room 324.

They’d ordered a room-service lunch. They’d run a bath and made full use of the generously proportioned bed before and after.
They’d left at five and driven the hour back to Clongarvin.

We must do it again,
she’d said, squeezing his thigh in the car when he stopped to let her out on a side street, well away from prying eyes.
You’re full of energy.

You’re not so bad yourself,
he’d said, glancing around before slipping a hand under her skirt.

Next time she might bring him to Adam’s flat, make him pass within three blocks of Indulgence to get there. Nothing like a
bit of danger to keep things interesting.

“But you’re playing in the wine bar,” Hannah said.

“I’m not on till nine,” he pointed out. “We could get an early bird—which, of course, would suit a cheap Scotsman perfectly.
Would seven o’clock give you enough time to get home from work and out again?”

“I suppose it would,” she said, a slow smile blooming on her face.

“How do you feel about Indian?”

He made her laugh. He listened when she spoke; he wasn’t only waiting for her to finish so he could say something else. He
smelled of soap, nothing fancy. She liked the clothes he wore. She liked his shoes.

After she hung up, Hannah wiped her hands on her apron and walked through to the sitting room, where Kirby was curled in his
awful charity-shop chair. She stood for a minute, listening.

“What do you think, Kirby?” she asked. “Is our boy showing promise?”

The dog lifted his head and thumped his tail against the side of the chair as the first two lines of “Mary Had a Little Lamb”
floated down from upstairs for the umpteenth time.

Hannah settled on the couch and reached for the remote control, humming along. Half an hour later, as the closing credits
of
Coronation Street
were rolling, Adam walked in.

“I heard you practicing,” she said, switching off the television. “Very promising.”

“Do you know how to breathe through your abdomen?”

“No.”

“That’s what I have to do, apparently. Look.” He placed the flat of his hand below his waistline. “You have to feel the breath
coming from down here.” He inhaled. “I think I’m getting it.”

Hannah smiled. “That’s good. Your teacher and her mother will be so proud. Have you discovered yet if she’s single?”

“Not exactly—I couldn’t very well come out and ask her—but there’s no sign of a man around the place.”

“Sounds promising.” She let a beat pass, and then said, “I’m going out to dinner tomorrow night.”

“I thought you were going to Vintage.”

“I am, but I’m going to dinner first. With John,” she added. “We’re getting an early bird.”

“Good for you—I’ll see you at the bar afterwards, then.” He picked up the remote control and sat next to her. “I might ask
Nora along.”

“Fine,” Hannah replied.

Adam scanned the Aertel screen, humming as he checked that night’s program schedule. After a few seconds, Hannah recognized
an out-of-tune version of “I’ve Got a Crush on You.”

Alice hadn’t planned to go to the cemetery after the memorial Mass. She sat a few rows back from the front of the church and
recited the prayers, and stood and knelt when everyone else did. She watched the parents and their families standing and kneeling
in front of her, the father’s head bent, the mother’s blond hair tied in a low ponytail.

She stayed in her seat while people came up to them afterward.

She waited until they filed down the aisle past her pew, the father’s hand cradling the mother’s elbow. So thin, she looked,
the mother. So pale and empty.

Outside the church Alice got into the car and drove to the cemetery, having made no conscious decision to do so. She walked
along the rows of headstones until she found them. Ten of them stood around the grave. Four older people, one of the men in
a wheelchair. The grandparents, she guessed. The mother’s sister there, too, dressed today in a gray jacket and a denim skirt.
A youth with a shaved head, two other teenage girls.

A small-enough family, the newest member wiped out now.

Alice stood three graves away and kept her eyes on the headstone in front of her in case they turned around. There was a murmur
from them that she couldn’t make out. It didn’t sound regular enough to be praying, but she couldn’t be sure.

They left eventually, walking past the spot where Alice stood. When they were out of sight, she approached the grave.

He was buried in a family plot, the granite headstone already covered with O’Brien names dating back to 1939. A small wooden
cross had been stuck into the ground just in front of the headstone, flanked by two fat, creamy-white candles burning in glass
jars. A photo in an oval brass frame was attached to the top of the cross, and a little metal plaque underneath read simply
JASON O’BRIEN 2006–2010.

Alice said an Our Father and a Hail Mary and a Glory Be, her eyes on the photo. His smile was wide. His teeth were tiny and
perfect. He had a chubby, baby face. She said an Act of Contrition, her lips moving silently.

Back home she stuffed a chicken, roasted potatoes with garlic and rosemary, and mashed carrots and parsnips. At dinner Tom
didn’t ask about the Mass, and she didn’t mention it, or her trip to the cemetery.

“I’m going to have to reduce Geraldine’s hours,” she said. “Just temporarily, till things pick up.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Tom answered. “I didn’t realize things were that bad.” He was still on full pay from the clinic—“extended
leave,” they were calling it—but that couldn’t go on much longer.

“I’d like you to think about going back to work,” she said. “It’s not good to be staying out so long. You’re only making it
harder for yourself in the long run.”

He chewed his chicken, and she waited for his response, and it was quite a few seconds before it became clear to her that
none was coming.

They met at the restaurant. He’d offered to pick her up, but Hannah had refused.
It’s only a ten-minute walk,
she’d said.
I need the exercise.

The weather was fair. The warming air smelled like the beginning of summer. Hannah sprayed on a citrus scent and chose a gray
dress with tiny pale blue polka dots whose folds played down her curves. She realized she was happy. She smiled at people
who came toward her, and most returned her smile.

“You look sunny,” John said. He was waiting outside, leaning against the restaurant wall, hands in the pockets of the chinos
he wore when he was performing.

Hannah laughed. “I think that sounds like a compliment.” She looked at the gray sky, streaked here and there with washed-out
blue. “D’you think we’ve any hope of a summer this year?”

“Absolutely.” He held the door open, and she walked ahead of him. “By September we’ll be wishing for a drop of rain.”

They weren’t the only early-bird diners. Waiters scurried around, depositing baskets of pappadams and dishes of chutney, uncorking
bottles of wine, whisking away the remains of meals. As they were shown to a table, Hannah was suddenly reminded of her last
meal out, the night Patrick had dropped his bombshell and she’d taken a taxi alone to the restaurant. Trying her best, as
each course was set before her, not to bury her face in her hands and howl. And here she was with someone new, who she didn’t
think would sleep with another woman behind her back.

“Tell me about the band,” she said as they sat, determined to push all negative thoughts away tonight. “The man who plays
the double bass doesn’t look Irish.”

“No—he’s Portuguese, but he married an Irish girl.”

“I see. And I assume,” she went on, thinking of Adam, “that Wally is with the clarinet player.”

John smiled. “No—they’re brother and sister. Both single, in fact.”

“Oh—my mistake.” Adam would be pleased.

“Fancy some wine?” John was scanning the list.

Hannah reached for her menu. “Why not? You choose—I’m not fussy.”

He was good company, as she’d known he would be. He described the village where he’d grown up, and she saw the narrow shingle
beach, the whitewashed houses cradling the shoreline, the fishing boats moored along the pier, the lobster pots bobbing on
the water. He told her about his parents, his fisherman father battling arthritis as fiercely as he battled the elements,
his volunteer meals-on-wheels driver mother. “Her apple jelly wins first prize at the village fete every year—I’m sure the
others are fit to throttle her.”