Time Present and Time Past (15 page)

‘Don't make it so long until you come again,' Veronica says. Fintan promises that he will bring Colette and Lucy with him the next time; Veronica and Edward say they will arrange for their children also to be there. They say that they will let Fintan and Martina know when next they're in Dublin. Their cousins embrace them and wave them off from the step; Martina toots the horn of the car in farewell.

Where does it all end? Perhaps here, in a country pub, somewhere between Armagh and Dublin. It seems as good a place as any to conclude. After the visit, neither Fintan nor Martina is in a rush to get back to the city. Both are keen to have a little time to decompress, to process the day's events, and so they have sought out a hostelry; got lucky, too, for it's a good one, snug and appealing, with low beams and an antique mirror advertising soda water, another one advertising Guinness. They've installed themselves in a corner beside the fire. Fintan has ordered a large Bushmills and is getting quietly, happily, sozzled. He rarely drinks spirits and so they go straight to his head when he does; and he's also very careful with his behaviour concerning alcohol when his children are around, wanting neither to give them a bad example, nor to spook and upset them. This is noble of him, as he loves strong drink, so that a glass of whiskey or a cognac is a great treat, and one in which he rarely indulges. He's aware of Martina watching him from the other side of the table, faintly amused, but he knows that she understands completely where he's at with this, and why he needs it. Martina is drinking black coffee.

He's aware, too, that each of them is in a very different mood, although he isn't quite sure why. Meeting Edward has left him euphoric. He feels a kind of elemental delight that reminds him of the births of his children. He knows that he has been babbling on excitedly ever since they left the house, long before he started drinking. Martina, however, has been unusually pensive and quiet.

‘You were absolutely right about one thing,' he says. ‘It wasn't about the past.' Martina puts her head to one side and looks at him curiously.

‘What makes you say that?'

‘Because it wasn't. It just wasn't. If you think about it, we spent far more time talking about our lives as they are now, rather than talking about Granny Buckley and when we were children.'

‘That's true,' Martina concedes.

‘When we were in the stable yard, it was so strange. I recognised it, more than remembering it. But I'd thought I'd feel differently if I were ever to be there again, in the place where that photograph was taken. I mean, I thought I'd feel
something
. And I didn't. Nothing at all.'

‘Neither did I. But I seem to have drawn a different conclusion from the day to you. It did make me think about the past rather than the present, and about how completely over it is: you can't really get at it again.'

‘And it can't get at you either,' Fintan says, and again Martina looks at him quizzically.

‘What do you mean?'

Fintan's at something of a loss as to know how to reply.

Martina turns and looks away towards the soda-water mirror, with its images of bottles and flowers. She blinks and presses the tip of her index finger to her lower lashes, blinks again, and suddenly Fintan sees her beauty figured forth once more: not just her physical beauty, but the light of her soul. She pulls the tulip scarf from around her neck and it flows down onto her lap, gathers there to form a luminous silken puddle.

‘Do you want another drink?' she asks, turning back to him. Fintan shakes his head. ‘Yes you do,' she says with a ghost of a smile. ‘Don't tell fibs.' She gestures to the barman and points to her brother's glass. They sit in silence until the whiskey has been served.

‘I hope you don't regret coming up here,' he says at last, and she looks surprised.

‘No, not in the least. It's been a good day. Important. We'll come back again.'

The barman crosses to the fire and adds coal to it from a brass scuttle, momentarily quenching the flames, but they flare up again as the fuel settles. He engages them briefly in conversation about the weather, and Fintan asks him about the pub.

‘You're not from around these parts?' the barman says, and Fintan and Martina smile at each other.

‘We are, I suppose, yes,' Fintan replies, ‘in a manner of speaking.' The barman lets it go at that.

When he has gone back behind the counter Martina says, ‘I must see Colette one of these days for lunch. Will you tell her that?'

‘She'll be more than happy. She always likes spending time with you.'

‘She's a wonderful person.'

‘She is. But so are you,' Fintan says, and Martina laughs.

‘You're drunk, mister.'

‘I may well be. But I'm happy. Very, very happy.'

Martina laughs again, pulls the coloured scarf from her lap and drapes it around her neck. ‘Time, please, gentlemen,' she says. ‘Ding! Ding! Drink up, please! Come on, mister,' as Fintan knocks back the last of his whiskey and stumbles to his feet. ‘Time, please! We'd best be getting you home.'

I wish to thank John McHugh and the committee of the Heinrich Böll Cottage, Achill Island. Thanks also to Derek Johns and Linda Shaughnessy at United Agents; to Stephen Page, Hannah Griffiths, Mary Morris and Rebecca Pearson at Faber and Faber; and to Paul Durcan, Mary and Angela Madden and to my husband Harry Clifton.

Deirdre Madden is from Toomebridge, Co. Antrim. Her novels include 
The Birds of Innocent Wood, Nothing Is Black, One by One in the Darkness
, which was shortlisted for the Orange Prize, and 
Authenticity
. Her most recent novel, 
Molly Fox’s Birthday
, was also shortlisted for the Orange Prize. She teaches at Trinity College, Dublin, and is a member of the Irish Arts Academy, Aosdána.

HIDDEN SYMPTOMS

THE BIRDS OF THE INNOCENT WOOD

REMEMBERING LIGHT AND STONE

NOTHING IS BLACK

ONE BY ONE IN THE DARKNESS

AUTHENTICITY

MOLLY FOX’S BIRTHDAY

for children

SNAKES’ ELBOWS

THANKS FOR TELLING ME, EMILY

JASPER AND THE GREEN MARVEL