The Transatlantic Book Club

by Felicity Hayes-McCoy

  ‘Well, yes, but then your poor dad died and she didn’t want to leave me . . .’

  ‘Ay, well, she can’t expect to sponge off you forever.’

  Pat was shocked. ‘Ah, Frankie, that’s no way to talk about Cassie. She’s only here out of kindness, and she’s not sponging at all. She has two jobs.’

  He gave her a bit of a smile and turned to go again. At the top of the stairs, he paused and said he’d a busy week ahead of him but he’d give her a shout before he came round to clear Ger’s desk. He was gone before she could say a word, and Pat sat down at the table. How stupid she’d been, she told herself, to imagine Ger’s blue pullover would ever have fitted Frankie. There was some cold coffee in her cup, so she drank it slowly and finished eating her corn flakes. She left the dishes on the table because she couldn’t face washing them. But she stood up and went to sort Ger’s clothes.

  Chapter Seven

  Cassie’s work on the one day a week she spent in Lissbeg Library would mostly consist of manning the desk when Hanna was otherwise engaged. The basic procedures were straightforward, and the vital thing to remember was to keep the desk in your eye line should you leave it. Some people, Hanna explained, took the view that they had a right to personal service. ‘The different sections are clearly indicated and, obviously, the books are shelved in alphabetical order, but they’ll still want you to find things and place them in their hands. Just be polite and help, okay? It’s always quicker and easier. But, if I’m not at it myself, you mustn’t forget that the desk is your primary responsibility.’

  ‘Okay. Got that.’

  ‘You’ll need to check the returns for unexpected bookmarks.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘You’d be surprised. Anything from a rasher to a ten-euro note.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Absolutely. Now, some readers will ask for book suggestions.’

  ‘Really? Because I can deal with bacon but I won’t have a clue about that. The last proper book I read was Wuthering Heights in high school. That was cool but it’s pretty ancient, isn’t it?’

  ‘Usually they’re just looking for what they call “a good read”. There’s a display here at the front where I put the new bestsellers, and a shelf marked Recommended Reading. There’s more eclectic recent stuff there, plus a few classics, and I change the books every Monday morning.’

  ‘What if somebody wants to look something up?’

  ‘I’ll talk you through the reference section later, and you can familiarise yourself with our online resources. Spend some time on that today and tell me if you have any questions. But don’t worry, people will know that you’re a replacement. They won’t expect you to have the answer to everything.’

  ‘Cool.’

  As they made their way between the shelves Hanna smiled. ‘You’ll need to be aware of our resident eccentrics.’

  Darina Kelly, a ditzy middle-aged mum, and Mr Maguire, a retired teacher, were serial joiners. If a club was set up, or a group formed, they were always first in line. Neither would have expected to be bracketed with the other, but Hanna always thought of them with the same resigned frisson of dread. On good days, she recognised that their eagerness was admirable. On a busy day, or during an interesting session, she frequently cursed Darina’s non-sequiturs, and Mr Maguire’s pedantic affectations. She knew, however, that Darina struggled with the pressures of late motherhood and that Mr Maguire was lost without his classroom.

  Cassie grinned. ‘No problem. I’m used to dealing with rich weirdos on luxury cruises.’

  Hanna remembered that her daughter, Jazz, who’d worked for a budget airline, often said the same thing about dealing with difficult customers: ‘Don’t worry, Mum, I’ve coped with plenty of weirdos on late flights to Málaga!’ Evidently you got eccentrics at both ends of the economic scale.

  Over the next couple of hours she showed Cassie how to find books in stock and to input requests on the interlibrary loan system; walked her briskly round the audiobooks and music section; warned her that toddlers in Children’s Corner must be accompanied by a responsible adult; and concluded by showing her where the mugs and biscuits were kept in the kitchen. ‘And remember this. The public mustn’t bring food and drink in, so you and I don’t have tea breaks at the desk.’

  ‘Got it.’ As they stood in the kitchen doorway, Cassie looked down the oak-panelled room, which was flooded with morning sunlight. ‘It’s a nice place.’

  ‘I like it. Well, actually, I love it, so I hope you’ll be happy while you’re here. By the way, you needn’t worry about the exhibition space: in the summer we’ve got volunteer guides but, ultimately, it’s my responsibility. And the gift shop isn’t open at this time of year.’

  Back at the desk, Cassie studied a list of online resources. After a few minutes, she swung her chair round in surprise. ‘Wow, libraries offer a shedload of stuff.’

  Hanna laughed. ‘It may look daunting but you’ll soon get up to speed.’

  ‘I’m not daunted, I just didn’t know you could access so much. Dumb of me.’ Cassie wrinkled her nose. ‘I’ve been wondering if Pat could join a club here again. Something exciting to take her out of herself.’

  ‘Well, we do have a book club but I’m not sure I’d call it exciting.’

  Cassie looked at her anxiously. ‘She was still in shock and pretty miserable, but Pat got out and met people at the Shamrock Club. I think it was good for her.’

  ‘There’s a leaflet about it there. Why not take it home to her?’ Hanna was tempted to add that dealing with loss would take more than just joining a book club. Nevertheless, one had to start somewhere, and she understood Cassie’s sense of being on a mission. Unlike Pat’s quiet stoicism, Mary’s grief when Tom died had expressed itself in loud demands for attention and, irritating though these had been, Hanna had felt it was her job to make things better. Mary had moved on since then but, emotionally, she was still high-maintenance, relying heavily on family for company, and texting neighbours with fussy requests that were largely calls for attention. Pat, who was far more self-contained, would never make demands on neighbours or family, but perhaps that was all the more reason to fear that she’d become reclusive.

  Then again, Pat had Mary. Until recently, Hanna had assumed their friendship was one-sided, with Pat offering constant support and Mary being a trial. But since Ger’s death Pat had increasingly turned to her oldest friend, who’d responded with a warmth that Hanna saw as uncharacteristic. Perhaps, she told herself wryly, there was still hope for herself and her difficult mother. Maybe, at this late stage in her life, the leopard was changing her spots.

  By the end of the day Cassie had successfully issued loans and received returns under Hanna’s supervision, and the library’s regular users were clearly enjoying her presence. As Hanna unplugged the computers and lowered the blinds, she asked about Cassie’s plans for the rest of the evening. ‘Have you recovered from the jetlag?’

  ‘You don’t get much coming in this direction. But I did spend ages last night Snapchatting with Erin.’

  ‘She’s your cousin?’

  ‘Her gran, Josie, is Pat’s first cousin. I don’t know what that makes Erin and me. Thirds or something? Anyway, Josie got Pat the job in Resolve when she went there a million years ago.’

  ‘Nice that you and Erin get on.’

  ‘She’s fun. I like her a lot.’

  ‘Do you think you’ll go back and visit?’

  They had strolled down to the kitchen where Cassie bent down to take her bag from the locker under the coatrack. ‘Could do. I dunno.’

  As she stood up her face was flushed and she seemed slightly forlorn. Hanna felt a rush of sympathy. ‘It’s a shame there isn’t more family here to help Pat.’

  ‘Yeah. Well, my mom and dad had to go home directly after the funeral. So did Uncle Jim and his lot. It was a big deal to take time off work.’

  ‘Of course.’ Hanna reached for her jacket. She hadn’t had any intention of criticis
ing Pat’s family. The remark had been prompted by her reflections on her own problems with Mary. Lifting her own bag from the locker, she leaned against the doorjamb. ‘Everyone here in Lissbeg will want to do their best for Pat. She’s well loved. You mustn’t think there’s no one around to give you and her a hand. My mother can be difficult but she’ll always be there for Pat. They go back a long way.’ Taking the library keys from their hook, Hanna grinned at Cassie. ‘Actually, Mary’s at a bit of a loose end, these days. My daughter, Jazz, is away with her other gran, and Mary’s missing them. So you may find her at Pat’s quite a lot.’

  Cassie laughed. ‘I’m kind of fond of your mom. She’s feisty.’

  ‘That’s one way of putting it.’ Hanna checked the kitchen switches and led the way to the door. ‘The point is that you’re not alone, Cassie. The whole town will be looking out for Pat.’

  Cassie nodded thoughtfully. ‘I know that. You’re right, though. It’s at times like this that families need to face stuff together. I hadn’t thought of it that way before.’

  Chapter Eight

  Having crossed the road to pick up cheesecake from the deli, Cassie went home with the leaflet about the book club, intending to entertain Pat with stories about her day. There was plenty to tell. Darina Kelly’s kids, who were famously undisciplined, had arrived on their own, saying their mother had told them to read a book while she had her hair done. Setanta, a burly five-year-old, had announced loudly that his mum was having her roots touched. ‘When she doesn’t, she looks like marmalade on toast.’

  Gobnit, Setanta’s eight-year-old elder sister, had hushed him fiercely. ‘You’re not allowed to say that, Porky. Shut up.’

  ‘And you’re not supposed to call me Porky. If you do, I’ll call you FartFace.’

  Several respectable ladies had looked round in horror, and Setanta’s voice had risen several decibels. ‘You’re not the boss of me, GobnitFartyFartFaceKelly! You’re a pig!’

  Despite increasingly overt hints from Hanna, Darina often used the library as a crèche, so this was a scene that regulars had become used to. Ordinarily Pat, an inveterate people-watcher, would have been dying to hear how it had played out, but tonight she said she needed an early night. ‘I’d say it’s just the jetlag but I’m feeling a bit tired.’

  ‘Have you eaten?’

  ‘I have. I’m grand, love, don’t mind me. There’s dinner there on the range – you can help yourself.’

  But the casserole was very nearly untouched. There were five bulging bin bags on the landing and, checking them out, Cassie found them full of Ger’s clothes. She assumed that Frankie and Pat must have worked half the day to sort them, so no wonder Pat had been tired and a bit down. As she ate dinner, Cassie remembered her conversation with Hanna. Family needed to pull together after a bereavement, and Pat was going to need time and space. So perhaps, she thought, she and Uncle Frankie should talk about the process. Practical stuff like clearing the rest of Ger’s things, and how to raise Pat’s spirits on bad days. And how to share the task of keeping her going. Maybe they could plan some family outings to cheer her up.

  Fired by the thought, she crept upstairs and found Pat sleeping. So she left the flat quietly and went to get the car. She’d never had Frankie’s number so she couldn’t call to let him know she was coming, but it was still early evening so he wasn’t likely to mind.

  The Fitzgerald farm was on the southern side of the peninsula, where the cliffs were low and the land was most fertile. Ger had bought up neighbouring holdings, extending his property to the motorway in one direction and to the Atlantic in the other. Driving between miles of green fields, Cassie was charmed by her surroundings. There was rain on the wind and sheep and lambs were sheltering against the hedges. As the watery sun began to set, the evening became chilly and, in dips in the road, Cassie’s headlights pierced a drifting mist. Now and then they picked out a clump of tiny green ferns uncurling, like watch springs, against grey stones patched with white lichen. All this land now belonged to Pat. Eventually, Cassie supposed, it would come to her dad and uncles but, until then, she assumed, the farm would still be run by the manager. She couldn’t see Dad or Uncle Jim developing an interest in farming.

  Turning the car down the side road that led to Frankie’s driveway, she wondered if her dad had ever worked in these fields when he was a boy. It didn’t seem likely. The yard in Toronto was cared for by a gardener, who came each week with a mower and tools in a van; except for golfing, Dad never spent much time in the open air. Neither did Uncle Jim: he was always striving for weight loss but did all his bending and stretching with a personal trainer at the gym.

  The gate was open so she drove between the fancy gateposts and pulled up on the gravelled sweep before the door. Frankie’s wife, Fran, appeared on the steps. She was a statuesque brunette with brown eyes, long, curling lashes, and the placid, benevolent air of a well-fed cow. Cassie slammed the car door and ran up the steps to greet her. Looking vaguely surprised, Fran offered her cheek for a kiss. Cassie pecked it obediently. ‘Hi. Look, I’m sorry to turn up unannounced, and I hope it’s not inconvenient.’

  ‘Not at all.’ Fran gestured towards the open door behind her. ‘Would you like to come in?’

  ‘Well, if you don’t mind. I just thought maybe Frankie and I could talk.’

  ‘We could sit in the conservatory, if you like.’

  ‘Thank you. If you’re sure you don’t mind.’

  They progressed down the hall to a vast white conservatory. On the way, as if she’d only just noticed, Fran remarked that Frankie wasn’t home. Cassie felt flustered. ‘Look, maybe I should come back another time.’

  ‘No, sit down. I’ll get you a vodka.’

  She indicated a sofa upholstered in large chintz roses and Cassie sat down. ‘Well, okay. Thanks. But I won’t have a drink.’

  ‘No?’ Fran’s big eyes widened. ‘I always have a vodka at this time of day.’ Fetching her drink from a miniature bar, she sat opposite Cassie in a vast rattan armchair. Cassie, who was wearing jeans and biker boots with a fleecy hooded sweatshirt, felt uncomfortably hot and underdressed. The conservatory was stifling, and Fran wore a flowered maxi dress with gold sandals, and a casually draped pashmina displaying her spray-tanned arms.

  ‘So, will Frankie be home soon?’

  Fran’s vagueness became more pronounced. ‘I never know, really. I’d say he might.’ She leaned back and smiled. ‘It’s nice to have a visitor. Why did you say you’d come?’

  ‘I didn’t. I mean, I just said I thought we might talk. He and I. Well, you too, of course. About Pat.’

  ‘She’s very sweet, isn’t she?’

  ‘Well, yes. She is. And the thing is . . . I wondered if you and Frankie and me could talk about the future.’

  Fran sipped her drink carefully, as if it required concentration. Her face wore a puzzled frown. ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’

  ‘Well, just, you know, I thought we might talk about sharing things out.’

  About to explain further, Cassie heard a step in the hall. Then Frankie came into the room and Fran’s face rearranged itself in a smile. ‘There you are! Look, Cassie’s here.’

  He was standing inside the arched entrance to the conservatory and, although the room faced the watery sunset, it seemed as if he’d blocked out all the light. Cassie wondered if she ought to stand up and kiss him. He didn’t seem to expect it, because he crossed the room and stood by Fran’s chair with his hand on her shoulder. Fran smiled up at him, saying Cassie had come round for a talk.

  ‘Has she?’ With his eyes on Cassie, he spoke to Fran. ‘And you never offered the poor girl a drink?’

  Fran looked hurt. ‘I offered her a vodka, Frank. She said no.’

  Before Cassie could say a word, Frankie went to the bar and came back with a vodka and tonic and a whiskey and soda, served in heavy cut-glass. Cassie found herself taking the vodka and tonic. It was far too strong and she put it down after the first sip.

 
Frankie had seated himself on the arm of Fran’s chair. Again he looked at Cassie and spoke to his wife. ‘And to what do we owe the honour of this unexpected visit?’

  ‘She says she wanted to talk about sharing things out.’

  For a second Frankie’s eyes narrowed, but Cassie, who had plunged in to explain, didn’t notice. ‘What I thought was, we could talk about how we could tackle this together. I didn’t want you to think I was taking over.’ She stopped speaking, feeling that Frankie was looking at her strangely. Then, eager to make herself understood, she went on, ‘I just wondered if maybe we ought to, well, coordinate. That’s all.’

  Fran smiled up at Frankie. ‘That’s kind, isn’t it? We could do that.’

  Relieved by her response, Cassie beamed at her. ‘Pat loved it when we went shopping in Resolve.’

  Fran looked at Frankie. ‘Well, I like shopping.’

  He laughed. ‘I never knew a woman who didn’t like spending men’s money!’

  Fran tittered and said he was a dreadful tease. Had the remark been made by anyone other than her uncle, Cassie would have jumped on it at once. But she was in his home, drinking his vodka, so it didn’t seem the moment to call him out for dumb-ass misogyny. Especially as Fran seemed happy to play along. ‘The point is that I know you want to be there for Pat, Uncle Frankie, so I’d like to feel that you and I are a team. Fran, too, obviously. You know?’

  Frankie’s face showed no expression. Then he knocked back his whiskey and put down the glass. ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘Great. So we’ll keep in touch?’

  As she reached for her phone to give Frankie her number, the atmosphere in the room still felt slightly strange. Cassie worried that what she’d said had been pompous. With a feeling that she was out of her depth, she said that her dad and Uncle Jim had wanted to stay around longer.

  Keying her number into his phone, Frankie said he believed her.

  Eager not to let the side down, Cassie assured him that Sonny had promised to call Pat often. ‘Uncle Jim too.’