The Glass Lake (68 page)

“Not much, mainly wine conversation, fish conversation. The fact that Laura Evans has gone the route of all other ladies before her, and probably after her.”

“She was a drunken tramp,” Louis said. “I can't think why a man like that bothered with her.”

“Perhaps he was lonely.”

“With all that money! You saw his house, how could he be lonely?”

Lena didn't agree at all. But he was on the point of leaving, she didn't want an atmosphere, a silly row over something that mattered not at all.

“Why was James talking about fish and wine anyway?”

“We were in a restaurant. He brought me to lunch, he was passing by.”

“When was James ever passing by?”

“Funny, that's just what I said to him.”

“So what was it, then?” He really did look ill at ease.

But she was light. “Well, that's what I'd like to know. He looked as if he were going to tell me something, and then he seemed to decide against it.”

“What kind of thing?”

“I haven't an idea. Maybe he has a new Laura Evans installed. Who knows? He went back to talking about fish and wine and all.”

“And did neither of you talk about me at all?” His voice was light, but he was poised. She could sense it.

“Only to tell me that you work all the hours God sends.”

He came over and put both his hands on her shoulders. He kissed her on the forehead. It was a solemn sort of thing to do, like a ceremony, or someone acting in a play. “See you at the wedding tomorrow,” he said.

“Try to get some sleep,” she said to his back as he ran lightly down the stairs.

She went in to Ivy as she had promised.

“Is he out or in?” Ivy asked.

“Out.”

“Good, I have you for longer, then.” Again Ivy took out the wine-colored velvet suit. Again she thanked and blessed her good friend Lena. “Without you none of this would have happened. None of it,” she said in a choked voice.

“Give over, you'll have me crying now.”

“Ernest's out with some of the lads, we can have a drink, you and I.”

“Don't tell me you're still meant to be on the wagon?” Lena laughed.

“Ah yes, but wait till I get my lines, as they say. When I'm a Mrs. again, then I'll introduce alcohol slowly back into our lives.” They raised a glass to the future.

“And what are your plans, Lena? You who sort out everyone else's life.”

“I don't know. Louis and I were talking about going to the seaside for a holiday next year.”

“Imagine. That would be great!” Ivy was very impressed.

“It's not definite yet, of course.”

“No, of course.”

Lena longed to cry on her friend's shoulder, to tell her that she thought there was something serious afoot. Something which James Williams was about to tell her though he had chickened out at the last moment. Something she had read in Louis's eyes when she had spoken of the holiday next year. And when he had come and put his hands on her shoulders.

She couldn't think what it might be. What could be worse than the affairs he had hidden from her over the years? But this was the night before Ivy's wedding. This was no time to sit and drink and cry that there ain't no good in men.

“Do you think it's silly having the few drinks near the station?” Ivy asked.

“No, I think it's brilliant. You said Ernest doesn't want a big formal sit-down thing. This way it's a nice familiar setup that we all know and like. I've been in and arranged the sandwiches.” She had also arranged a small wedding cake but that was to be a surprise.

“When I married Ron,” Ivy said, “I had a girl called Elsie as my bridesmaid. I haven't an idea where she is. I don't know what happened to her.”

“I don't know what's become of my bridesmaid first time around either,” Lena said. “I suppose she came to my funeral. I forgot to check.” Her smile was a little watery.

Ivy always felt uneasy when Lena joked about the events of long ago. To her it was unfathomable that someone should have to pretend to be dead instead of getting divorced properly. “But I'll never forget you, Lena. I mean it. You're truer than any friend I ever had.”

“I think this port is making you weepy,” Lena said. “I think I'm going to have to side with your husband and keep you off it altogether.”

“My husband,” Ivy said in wonder. “Imagine, tomorrow I'll be Ernest's wife.”

“It's all you deserve,” said Lena.

Her heart felt like a cold, heavy stone.

T
HE
letter from Kit was three pages long. Lena's first reaction was anxiety. Why was she saying so much, was there something that had to be told…but as she skimmed it quickly it seemed to carry no terrible message.

Kit wrote about the man called Francis Xavier Byrne who had been the one responsible for the events in Sullivan's garage and how Sister Madeleine had harbored him as if he were a runaway fox.

She wrote very simply about how her father had been beaten but had recovered well.

I know you'd be glad to hear Maura looked after him so well that he's as good as new again, and back making jokes and laughing like always
.

I tell you this because if you just read about it in the paper that you get you might think it was worse than it was. It's strange that you read news
of Lough Glass still. I don't know what kind of things to tell you about the place
.

The Hickeys have extended their shop. Mr. Hickey has taken the pledge and Mrs. Hickey says that this means with the money they save they'll own a fleet of butcher's shops all over the country. Sister Madeleine's house stands empty, the door swinging open. I went to see it last week, there were rabbits inside and a couple of very tame-looking birds. I expect they thought she was coming back to feed them. The worst thing is that people say she was never any good, that she was more superstitious than saintly. I always liked her anyway and I'm not going to change
.

Clio feels the same. I don't see a great deal of Clio these days. She's very much “in love” as she says with an awful fellow called Michael O'Connor, whose father owns a lot of hotels. He's very rich. His brother is in our class at Cathal Brugha Street and is even worse. I'm not “in love” with anyone yet
.

Stevie Sullivan in the garage turned out to be much better than he looked as if he was going to be. His brother is still a monster though
.

Some things haven't changed. Father Baily is the same, and Mother Bernard and Brother Healy. They were always like that I suppose and always will be. Farouk is the same, he doesn't mind Dad and Maura's dog, he just ignores it and walks loftily out of the room if the dog comes in. I don't know why I'm telling you all these things. I suppose I thought if you go every week to buy the newspaper you must still care about what's going on
.

All the very best to you,
Kit
.

Kit was pleased that she had written. She didn't know why she had changed the nature of her usual curt little notes. It was as if she felt somehow that Lena Gray must be lonely and it didn't cost much to write a few lines.

Kit
,

I can't tell you how much I love to know what's going on. Anything you have time and energy to write is interesting. I'm deliberately making this a short note so that you will not think I am burdening you down with correspondence
.

And you were quite right in thinking that I would be glad to hear how well Maura looked after your father. I was very happy indeed to hear that and to know of his recovery
.

Love from Lena
.

Lena did not sleep. At two a.m. she was wider awake than she often was in the middle of the day. She got up and made herself some tea. It didn't work. She had read that you should do some physical work like cleaning silver. That one was easy; they didn't have any silver. The flat was tidy. She always kept it immaculate so that he would never say they lived in a poky place. She wandered around, restless, opening cupboards and drawers. They were all tidy.

It reminded her of the time those years ago when she had been about to leave Lough Glass.

She had spent so long leaving everything so that it would be perfect. She wanted Rita to be able to dispose of her clothes for her. She had even got all her shoes mended so that they could be given away. How was she to know that they would think she was dead? Why had Kit taken it into her head to burn the letter?

She looked at the wardrobe where Louis's clothes were kept. They hung there, the jackets she had bought for him, the shirts that she took to the Chinese laundry each week, the shoes that she polished until they shone. “Oh nonsense, I'm doing my own,” she had said the first time he protested, and he hadn't protested again.

Of course she had done too much for him. But if she had done any less it would have ended long ago. Long before now. She felt a chill. Why did she think it was ending now?

The phone was on the landing, the public telephone that any of the tenants could use. If she spoke in a low voice no one would hear her, no one would know her shame. She dialed the Dryden Hotel. A voice answered. She knew it was the night porter. “I just wanted to inquire about tonight's function,” she said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Just a quick question. What time do you expect it to be over?” she asked.

“I'm sorry, madam. There's no function tonight,” the voice said.

“Thank you, thank you very much,” she said.

She saw the dawn come over the city. She knew how to do small miracles with makeup, but not major miracles. Nothing that would hide black hollows in her face, nothing that would give a shine and sparkle to haunted eyes.

She remembered hearing a coal miner, who had managed to hack his way out of a pit disaster, saying on the radio:
I tried to think of something else, not the big thing. I wouldn't allow myself to believe that I might be dead, so I thought about the garden shed I was building, and I went through all the wood I'd need and the nails and the roofing. It saw me through
.

That's what she would do, Lena decided. She would throw herself so much into Ivy's wedding that there would be no time to think that her own life might be about to end.

She made a pot of tea, and toast with honey, and brought it down to Ivy.

“I don't believe you.” Ivy's delight was so great she didn't notice the hollows and lines in the face of her bridesmaid. Anyway on a wedding day people look only at the bride. “You're going to have every single thing you want today,” Lena said, her smile so wide it made her face ache.

She walked up to the Grace West Beauty Salon and handed Ivy over to their care. “I'll be back for you at ten-thirty,” she promised.

“I think Louis Gray will be glad to see me off your hands. I'm taking up so much of your time,” Ivy said.

“Oh don't mind about Louis.”

Grace gave Lena a sharp look. “Do you want anything? A bit of a comb-out, eyeshadow?” she asked Lena quietly.

“No, it goes deeper than that.” Her voice to Grace was bleak.

“You've been there before and back,” Grace said.

“Not this time.” They had moved away from Ivy's hearing.

“I don't believe you, I'd bet you five to one.”

“I'm not a gambling woman…” Lena's voice was flat.

“Oh yes you are, you gambled on that man of yours.”

“If I did I lost.”

Grace said nothing.

“By the way, Ivy doesn't know,” Lena said.

“Nobody knows,” Grace said. “You're just overtired, imagining things.”

“Yes, sure.”

She went home and dressed. She made no telephone call to the Dryden to discover whether there had been a split shift or not. She put the film in her camera, she prepared four envelopes of rice in case other people might like to throw it as well.

She emptied the wastepaper baskets into a paper bag so that she could take it down and put it into the dustbin. There she found a printed paper with the times and prices of flights to Ireland. It was crumpled up and thrown away. But it was not something she had ever had. So many times she had thought of flying there, but she had never gone so far as getting a brochure with the times of the plane departures.

Louis couldn't have been thinking of going to Ireland without letting her know. It couldn't possibly mean that his latest fling might be someone from Ireland. That would be too hurtful to imagine. Or someone that he was taking to Ireland on a magic trip. Some girl that he was going to impress with his fairytale ways in the Emerald Isle. She left it in the basket, just where it was, and straightened up her back. This day was going to be very long and very hard.

And now it was almost time to go and collect Ivy.

Ernest was nervous too, and his friend Sammy was no help. Just a stream of jokes in rapid-fire delivery. Nothing reassuring. Nothing to calm the nervous Ernest down and tell him that it was a few words said at whatever volume he wished to say them.