‘And turn the stables into garages,’ said Patrick gloomily and then grinned at her. ‘Much more of this and we’ll give ourselves nightmares. Look, the vans are here.’
In a moment the lull had become the storm. There was no time for melancholy as Mary struggled to stop the men taking all the suitcases containing clothes and essentials and putting them into store. When, finally, the ramps had been lifted and the bolts slammed into place she walked through the house for the last time. Nothing had been left, even the rubbish was stacked in a neat pile outside the back door. She went quickly into the yard, there was nothing for her here, the spirit of the house was gone.
It took some time to pile the children into the car with an assortment of toys, books and sweets and when they were ready to set off Murphy had gone.
‘He could be away for hours,’ wailed Mary.
‘If he’s not back in ten minutes we go without him,’ said Pat. ‘We’ve a boat to catch.’
‘You heartless brute, you couldn’t leave a subnormal dog to roam the wilds. He’s not even bright enough to worry sheep, he’s frightened to death of them.’
‘You should be happy to lose him, you’re always saying what a nuisance he is,’ complained Patrick, puffing on a cigarette in an effort to control his impatience.
‘Yes, but you’re worse and I’m not deserting you, am I?’ snarled Mary, gazing wildly up and down the lane. ‘There’s a car coming. It looks like Fred.’
She cowered against the gate as the limousine hurtled into the yard. It contained not only Fred but a frozen-faced Mrs Swallow trying to ignore the huge and muddy form of Murphy bouncing around on the fawn back seat.
‘Found him wandering about two miles away,’ boomed Fred, unwisely opening his door and staggering under the impact as Murphy made his exit. Mary hastily caught him.
‘It was kind of you to bring him,’ said Pat stiffly. ‘We were just leaving.’
Relations with Fred had been tense of late. Pat had gone to the opulent, overdone house a week before the wedding and told Fred that he was leaving. It could not have been a surprise but he received the news with a very bad grace.
‘Well, Paddy,’ he said coldly, ‘the parting of the ways it seems. You could have given me some notice, of course, but that’s always the way, bite the hand that feeds you.’
‘Come off it, Fred,’ remonstrated Pat, but the little man took no notice, blowing his nose hard on a capacious white handkerchief.
‘I should have expected it, of course, but it’s always a shock to have friends turn against you. I’m too trusting, that’s always been my trouble.’
‘I’ve noticed. Anyway I don’t think you’ll have much difficulty finding a replacement, just wave your cheque book about.’
‘Friendship means more to me than money,’ declared Fred with conscious dignity. ‘Give my love to Mary. I only hope you do the right thing by her, at any rate.’
Pat had left before he lost his temper, leaving Fred’s wedding invitation on the table. Fortunately he did not come but sent an ornate silver punch bowl and cups inscribed ‘To Mary and Patrick, from Fred and Jean Swallow, with fondest love’.
It was hideous, but neither of them could look at it without irrational feelings of guilt.
Today, all was sweetness and light.
‘I wanted to have a word with you before you left,’ smiled Fred. ‘It’s about my namesake, Swallow, I’ve been thinking.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Pat warily.
‘I’d like you to keep the name. Now, we’ve had some good times together, Pat, and Mary and I have always been the best of friends.’ He moved to put an arm around her, then remembered his wife and took a step backwards. ‘And I don’t think we should lose touch altogether. How about an arrangement for that one horse?’
He bounced up and down on his little legs and Pat smiled in genuine amusement.
‘Sounds like a good idea Fred,’ he said soothingly. ‘But we’re in a hurry right now. How about coming to stay when we’re settled, then we can talk about it?’
‘The wife and I would be delighted,’ said Fred, ‘wouldn’t we, dear?’ She sat stony and silent.
‘We must be going,’ said Patrick hastily and after goodbyes all round they were on their way.
‘How could you invite them?’ accused Mary. ‘One of the few good things about moving was getting away from her.’
‘Oh, I like Fred when I’m not actually under his thumb. Anyway, what with Sam and Edna, your parents, Susan, and all the other people you’ve invited to stay they’ll be lost in the crowd.’
‘Yes,’ said Mary thoughtfully. ‘We might need four bathrooms this time.’
‘You have the makings of an extravagant woman. You realise we shall never be alone?’ Mary traced the line of his hand on the steering wheel with a languid finger. ‘We’ll manage somehow,’ she murmured and he reached over to put a hand on her knee.
‘Mummy, Ben’s hitting me,’ screeched Anna and a war erupted on the back seat.
Brogan withdrew his hand. ‘Damned kids. When the next one comes we’ll get a nanny.’
‘But I’m not pregnant.’
‘Give me time you hussy, we’ve only been married a fortnight.’ He grinned. ‘We’ve got all our lives before us, enough for a football team.’
‘Make it five-a-side and I might agree.’
She leaned back in her seat, stretching luxuriously, deaf to the squawks and yells around her. Winter was upon them once again, and the trees were bare, but for her it was summer. She would spread her petals to a summer sun and glory in its warmth. Please God this time there would be no frost.
A Summer Frost Page 25