Seán, who’d sat staring rigidly through the windscreen, gave her a look. ‘I guess you don’t want to go back inside.’
‘No.’
‘Should I take you home?’
Pat shook her head helplessly. Half the girls in the house had had plans to come to the céilí later, and they’d still be running about swapping clothes and makeup. She’d never get up to her own room without somebody seeing her.
Seán frowned. ‘Will we go back to my place, then? You could wash your face and stay for a while, if you like. I could give you a drink and drop you home later.’
Unable to think of what else to do, Pat nodded, praying that no one from the club would see them go.
Seán rented a couple of rooms a few blocks away. They were built on top of a lock-up where he kept his mowers and tools, as well as his car. You climbed an outside iron staircase, which led directly to a bedroom, which was also the living space, and there was a bathroom and a kitchen at the front. Pat went into the bathroom and did her best to clean her face with soap and water. The narrow kitchen she’d passed through to get to the bathroom looked as if it was never used. When she came out, Seán was sitting on the divan bed and there was a bottle of whiskey and a couple of glasses on the coffee-table. The only other table, which stood at the window, was obviously used as a desk. The walls were lined with shelves on which folders and files stood side by side with crime stories and gardening books.
She sat on a small green-upholstered chair, which, as it was far posher than anything else in the room, looked as if it might have come from his parents’ place. Seán poured the whiskey and held out a glass. Seeing her reaction, he gave her his lazy smile. ‘Go on. It’s medicinal.’ She took it and knocked it back in one slug, feeling the warmth spread from her stomach into the rest of her body. Having swallowed the shot he’d poured for himself, Seán sat with his hands dangling between his knees. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘I just . . . well, I don’t know . . . I had a bit of a shock.’
‘I can see that.’
‘It’s about my wedding.’ She tipped the glass back again, as if there was more to be had from it.
Seán didn’t offer a top-up. Instead, he looked at her gravely. ‘You said you and Ger and your friends were having a double wedding this fall.’
‘We were. But Mary’s decided that she and Tom are getting married this month.’ Pat bit her lip till it hurt. She couldn’t think why this news appeared to have turned her into a jelly. After all, it was just Mary being Mary. In the beginning she’d probably thought that the foursome thing would get them a double-page spread in the Inquirer. But, on second thoughts, she must have decided that without Pat and Ger around, all the focus would be on her and Tom. ‘Mary was always a bit self-centred. I told you about the four of us that day we went to the lake. I suppose one reason I’m a bit upset is that I won’t be there for their wedding.’ She swallowed hard and gripped the squat glass with both hands. ‘I mean I’m just trying to take in the fact that they’ll be married next month.’
Seán poured another finger of whiskey into her glass. ‘You know what I think? I reckon you ought to stay here in Resolve.’
‘Well, yes, I’ll have to. My ticket’s booked for September.’
‘No. I mean I don’t think you ought to go back at all.’
Pat goggled at him. ‘To Finfarran? Why not? Why shouldn’t I?’
‘Hey, I’m no marriage counsellor, but I am a good listener. You talked an awful lot up there at the lake.’
‘What did I say? I mean, what are you saying?’
‘Hey, I know it’s none of my business, I’m just calling it like I see it.’ His eyes were still grave and his voice was very gentle. ‘I just don’t think it’s fair to marry someone you don’t love.’
* * *
There was a spurt of flame in the range and a cinder leaped out. Pat laid the letter aside and picked up the tongs. She had a mat on the floor in front of the range so there was no harm done to the linoleum. All the same, she closed the door so nothing more could roll out. Ger always used to tell her not to be careless. He’d say there was plenty of heat to be had without opening up the door. And that was true, but Pat had always loved the dancing flames. Now, sitting down again, she straightened her shoulders and picked up the envelope. She’d never let Ger down while he’d lived so, if he’d trusted her to find his letter after he was gone, she’d better open it up and see what it said.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Mary Casey climbed the stairs to Pat’s flat, pausing at the bend to catch her breath and arriving on the landing in her usual state of outrage. She tried the handle, found the door locked, and knocked on it imperiously. Getting no response, she clicked her tongue and, taking her phone from her bag, banged out a text: ARE U IN THE LOO OR WHERKE ASRE YOU IM AT THEDOOR, Having rapped on the door again and got no answer, she sent another text. WOULDE YOU OPEN UP
Finally, she shouted through the keyhole. ‘I’m going nowhere, girl, so you might as well let me in!’
The door opened and, as Mary surged in, Pat closed it behind her and went to sit by the range. Standing with arms akimbo, Mary glared her. ‘Holy God Almighty, look at the state of you!’ She strode across to the kettle and switched it on. ‘Tell me what’s happened.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’m here because Fury O’Shea turned up and pushed me into his van. And I’m half choked by the stink of sawdust and linseed oil and dog, so don’t be annoying me. I’ve better things to be doing on a Saturday afternoon, I can tell you. But Fury said I was wanted and here I am.’
Mary set about making tea, refraining from comment on Pat’s placement of teaspoons and slamming cupboard doors until she discovered a packet of ginger nuts. She drew in a chair opposite Pat’s and placed a stool between them with the tea tray on it. For a minute it seemed as if Pat was going to eject her, but then, as Mary thrust the tea at her, with a biscuit in the saucer, she took the cup and her eyes filled with tears. ‘Ger left me a letter.’
‘Did he so?’
‘It was in a box in a Carrick solicitor’s office.’
‘And what did it say?’
Pat shook her head, unable to speak. Mary leaned forward, dunked the biscuit in the tea, and held it out to her. ‘Eat that, drink up, and for Christ’s sake tell me. Was he hiding a wife and thirteen kids back in Cork?’
Pat put her cup down and pressed her hand to her lips. ‘Ah, don’t, Mary, honestly, it’s dreadful.’
‘Well, where’s the letter? Give it here and I’ll read it for myself.’
‘I burned it. But I’ll tell you. It’s Frankie.’
‘Ah, Jesus Christ, it would be. Go on.’
‘He was blackmailing Ger.’
For once in her life, Mary appeared speechless. Before she could recover, Pat continued: ‘That’s what it amounts to. And, Mary, it was going on for years. Since one of the times Moss Canny came home to Finfarran on holiday.’
‘Hold your horses, now, what’s this got to do with Moss?’
‘Isn’t that what I’m telling you? The time Moss got sent away in disgrace he’d been mixed up in some property deal. I don’t know the ins and outs but it was some way against the law.’
‘I wouldn’t doubt him.’
‘Will you listen? Ger was mixed up in it too. They said that they’d cut him in if he’d let them put money through his bank account. I don’t know how it worked, but he ended up making a rake-off.’
‘How much?’
‘The letter said two thousand.’
‘When did this happen?’
‘A bit after we were married. Round when Frankie was born. Moss would have been a few years older than we were, and the rest of the lads involved were the same, or older still. You remember the crowd Moss hung round with?’
‘I do. Bowsies, the lot of them. Ger wouldn’t have had the nerve to tell them where to stick their deal.’
‘That was it. He didn’t. And t
hen the guards started asking questions and the Cannys got Moss away. It was the same with the other families. They stuck their lads on a boat. And Ger didn’t know what to do so he just put his head down. But the two thousand was still in his account.’
‘And the rest was gone?’
‘Moss took it out before he left and Ger heard no more about it.’
‘But where does Frankie come in?’
Pat’s hands began to shake and she grasped the arms of her chair. ‘One of the times Moss came back on holiday, Frankie was in his teens and he’d gone off to some bar in Carrick. Moss was there drinking on his own. He must have thought it was a great joke to pick up with Frankie and start dropping hints about Ger. And by the end of the night didn’t Frankie have the whole story? And from then on he was holding it over poor Ger.’ There were beads of sweat on Pat’s forehead. ‘Right to the day he died, Frankie had him under his thumb.’
Mary picked up the cup of tea and thrust it at her again. ‘Drink that there now, before you say another word.’
Pat took a sip of tea and looked at her piteously. ‘Can you believe it?’
‘Was he asking Ger for money?’
‘Well, no, I don’t think so. But he didn’t need to, did he? He’d only to say what he wanted. The farm and no work along with it, the house and the big car. I’ve been thinking about it, Mary, and I know how it was. He was the eldest son. Everyone knew he was Ger’s favourite – God, they probably thought he was mine as well, the way I did nothing to school him.’ Pat looked at Mary imploringly. ‘But you know why that was!’
‘I know you never had the heart to cross Ger.’
‘I should have done. I know that now. But you’re right, I hadn’t the heart to. He doted on Frankie. But he did do his best for Sonny and Jim, Mary. He sent them to college and gave them a good start. And they have done well in the end of things. And they’ve got their health and strength, like Ger said.’
‘Ay, he got rid of them because that was what Frankie wanted. And he was cute enough to make sure they didn’t emigrate to Resolve because, if they had done, they might have heard the story from Moss as well.’
Pat gulped. ‘I know. You’re right. He was afraid of everything. Everything and everybody. Even his own sons.’ With a Herculean effort Mary said nothing. Pat squared her shoulders. ‘I know what you’re thinking, but you never understood Ger. He wasn’t like Tom. He wasn’t big and beautiful and strong. He’d had every bit of courage he was born with beaten out of him. He wouldn’t have lasted ten minutes in prison.’
‘Ah, for God’s sake, girl, he’d never have ended up in prison. He could have called Frankie’s bluff and told him so.’
‘But how do you know that? You don’t, and he didn’t either. And you can take that smug, superior look off your face! You know damn well it was you who made me marry him. You wanted him out of your own way so you dumped him in my lap.’
‘I did not!’
‘Mary, would you for once in your life be honest? You never fooled me.’
‘Well, why did you marry him, then, if you didn’t want to?’
It seemed to Mary that Pat’s eyes had sunk deep in her head, and the voice in which she replied was that of a stranger. ‘When I went to Resolve, I thought I was marrying Ger because I couldn’t bear to hurt him. I told myself that if I said no, or changed my mind afterwards, I’d be doing what people had done to him all his life. Knocked him down. Made a fool of him. Told him he was worthless. So there I was, working away in the clothing factory, making money and buying things for my trousseau, and for yours. And then my mam told me you’d changed the date, and that you and Tom would be married before I got home. That was when I realised the truth.’
‘I don’t know what you’re saying.’
‘No, you don’t. Because I didn’t know it myself until then. There was a lad I met in Resolve, though, and he made me see it. We spent one long day together by a lake that was called Two Wings. And he was good to me when my mam rang and told me what you’d done. It was because of him that I faced something I hadn’t admitted before.’
‘What was that?’
‘He made me see who I was really in love with. It was Tom. Right from the start. It’s true that I didn’t want to hurt Ger. But that didn’t come naturally. It was something I’d learned from seeing Tom, and from reading poems that made me feel people’s pain. And from standing back and looking at life while you reached out and grabbed it. Do you know something, Mary? I used to tell myself you and I were different. I suppose I prided myself on that, but I’m not sure I had a right to. I never grabbed things. I wasn’t greedy. But I can’t say I wasn’t manipulative. I could have stayed over there and maybe been happy. But I came back here and married Ger because I couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing Tom again.’
‘Are you saying . . . ?’
‘Ah, for feck’s sake, don’t be a fool, of course I’m not! Tom never loved anyone but you. If I’d done right, though, I would’ve stayed away and made an end of the foursome. It wasn’t healthy.’
Pat looked at her bleakly. Then Mary took a pull of her tea and sniffed. ‘Ay, well, now you’ve said your spake, let me say mine. I don’t know what was healthy in Ireland in them days, between the priests and the nuns and the Brothers and the poverty and the lack of opportunity, not to mention having to make up our minds whether to go or stay. But what Ger used to say was the truth of it. You play the hand you’re dealt, and most of us did the best we could.’
‘Are you saying you’re glad I came back?’
‘I’m saying I don’t know what I’d have done without you.’
Pat turned her head away and looked at the dancing flames. ‘I thought the same about you the other day.’
They sat there not meeting each other’s eyes. Then Mary shook herself. ‘What are you going to do about Ger’s letter?’
‘I’ll see. It’s my problem, not yours. Why don’t you go home now? I’d say we both want a rest.’
‘Well, if you’ll take my advice about Frankie—’
‘I said I’ll handle it. And, before you go, I’ve a bit of advice of my own. It’s about your behaviour to Hanna.’
Mary bristled. ‘Oh, right! Advice on how to be a mother from a woman whose son blackmailed his da.’
‘That’s right. And I’m giving it to the woman who said she was no great hand at the mothering job herself. Remember? So shut up and listen. You treated Hanna like a rival all the time she was growing up. You did, Mary, so don’t try to deny it. You couldn’t wait for her to leave home so you’d have Tom all to yourself.’
‘And didn’t I take her back with open arms when she’d made a mess of her marriage?’
‘No, you didn’t. You opened the door and let her in but you nagged her half to death. But that’s in the past and it’s not what I want to talk about. Jazz will go her own way, and why shouldn’t she? And Louisa’s no relation of yours, she’s only Hanna’s ex-mother-in-law. But Hanna’s your daughter, Mary, and she feels responsible for you. So it’s the future, not the past, you need to be thinking about. You know I’m right, and there’s nobody else will say it to you. The fact is you’re turning into a caricature.’
‘What?’
‘You heard me. Look, you’re not in your dotage yet, girl. Hanna’s managed to build herself a new life. Don’t go claiming that the way you claimed her childhood. God alone knows what’s ahead of us, but right now you don’t need constant care. So pull yourself together while you’ve got time, or you’ll end up as a millstone round her neck.’
Mary rose to her feet and picked up the tea tray. ‘Is that it? Have you said your piece?’
‘I have. Did you listen?’
‘Text me if you want me after you’ve talked to Frankie.’
‘I will.’
‘And I’ll find my own form of transport. You needn’t go sending Fury O’Shea in his van.’
‘I didn’t send him.’
‘Ay, well, that’s as may be, but look at the
state of me. I’m covered from head to foot in The Divil’s hair.’
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Attendance numbers at the Transatlantic Book Club were rising, and for the last meeting of the month extra chairs had been set out on both sides of the ocean. In Resolve, they were now arranged on either side of a central aisle and, from the look of the miscellaneous collection of different heights and comfort, they must have involved plenty of heavy lifting. Extending the seating in Lissbeg had been simpler. The reading room was specifically designed for meetings, and the stacking chairs locked together easily. There was a charm about the view of Resolve on the screen, though, suggestive of the final scene in a vintage crime movie, when everyone gathers in the library and the detective takes the floor. The Brennan memorial range, which now appeared dead centre at the rear, added the bizarre counter-suggestion of an altar, with the cat lying asleep on it, like a white marble statue.
The seats over there were filling quickly. Most people were carrying copies of The Case of the Late Pig but Hanna could see that the Canny twins had arrived ostentatiously empty-handed. Evidently they still disapproved of the club’s book choice but remained determined, as committee members, to keep a watching brief. Mrs Shanahan, in a patchwork jacket, was chatting to a group of ladies, and Ashlee Braun-Mulcahy, the previous week’s technician, was ensconced in a wing-back armchair, which impeded the view of at least three people in the row behind her. Erin was in the front row, close to Josie and next to a dark, very handsome young man who was perched on a stool. Beside Josie, a well-dressed older couple was seated on the best chairs in the room.
The Transatlantic Book Club Page 25