by Nesta Tuomey
On Wednesday Claire was convinced that this was the night Terry would ring and she declined an invitation to go to a French film with some of the girls in her class. She sat in her room all evening, gazing absently at her books but with an ear cocked for the telephone.
It rang twice that evening. The first time she picked it up there was a pause and then she heard the engaged tone, the second time her mother answered it and laughingly replied. Disappointed, Claire went back along the landing to her own room. It was only Wednesday, she reminded herself. Still early yet.
She did not give up hope of hearing from Terry until the new week had started. When she could bear it no longer, she went across the street to talk to his twin. Claire couldn’t believe that Terry would treat her so casually. She swallowed hard. There had to be another reason.
Sheena avoided her eyes. ‘I’m not allowed to say,’ she whispered at last. Say what? Claire began to be worried. Had he crashed, was that it? Her thoughts leapt in alarm.
‘Oh Shee, he’s all right, isn’t he?’ she cried. She had visions of him lying in a heap of smoking twisted metal, his back broken, his face disfigured. Her voice rose almost to a scream. ‘Please, Sheena, you’ve got to tell me.’
Sheena glanced at her in alarm. ‘Stop it, Claire. It’s not Terry...’ Now she was embarrassed. ‘It’s Grainne.’
Claire stared. What had Grainne got to do with anything? She had seen for herself how Terry had ditched her at the party. Since then he had told her that the affair had been purely physical and he had never really loved her. So how could it be Grainne?
‘She’s pregnant,’ Sheena whispered, staring at Claire. ‘You must promise not to let on you know. Mum will have a fit if she finds out I’ve told.’
Pregnant? Claire felt her cheeks flush.
‘Mum’s waiting for the result of the test,’ Sheena said, looking at Claire pityingly. ‘She doesn’t know about you and Terry.’
Claire nodded and turned away. She felt cold and sick and wanted more than anything in the world to bury herself somewhere so deep she would never come to surface again.
Two days into their gunnery course Terry and Con were top boys of their unit once more. Terry’s dash and verve were matched by a similar lighting reaction in Con, and what had started out at the beginning of the cadet course as a kind of friendly rivalry between the two young men to attain first place, had deepened into strong friendship.
All week the sorties had kept Terry fully occupied but when not engaged in artillery practise, he was haunted by visions of being tied in a loveless marriage to Grainne. Con never pried or took offence at his moodiness, just supported him tactfully with an infectious grin and an encouraging word.
Not that Con was having an easy time of it himself, Terry thought, as he successfully fired his quota of SNEB rockets and went into a tight climbing left hand turn, his participation in the sortie finished for the day. Con’s gunnery captain had read his friend’s impressive dossier and, ever since, had been intent on reducing him to size. Fireballs Brennan hadn’t got his nickname for nothing. All week the man had been harassing Con, never letting up on his views on ‘today’s brash young pilots’. Even more disturbing to Terry was the gunnery captain’s fixation with holding Con off from firing his machine gun, or releasing his rockets, until the very last minute on the firing run. Scary, Terry thought, remembering how early in the course they had all been warned of the danger of pulling up at too low an altitude, not to mention the risk of richochets and bombs so near the ground. Only Con was such a damn good pilot, Terry reckoned, he would have been in trouble. He knew from his own experience just how much skill it took, heart pounding and muscles aching, to pull up the nose of the Marchetti and climb back into the sky. Terry did not think he would ever forget the shock he had experienced earlier in the week, when finding himself almost below 800 feet, the outer limit for safe recovery.
Now Terry flew in a holding pattern with the other Air Corps’ aircraft and doubtfully watched Con’s plane go zooming down for the last time on the target. Con was disturbingly low. Terry heard his own gunnery captain voicing this same observation on the radio to Con’s captain, but Brennan had replied curtly that they were no lower than usual.
As Terry watched the exploding shells glint and sparkle against the circles traced on the sand, he was uneasily aware that the blast was dangerously close to the underbelly of the aircraft. He turned his head and saw that Captain O’Driscoll was watching the Marchetti with a preoccupied frown.
Their earphones crackled suddenly and Captain Brennan’s irascible voice erupted in their ears. ‘The bloody fool! I warned him he was past interception point.’ And seconds later a frenzied, ‘Pull up, man. Pull up!’
Terry froze in his seat and stared through the rain-spattered windscreen as Con’s aircraft fell sheerly away, with its power spent, like a child’s discarded toy tumbling out of the sky.
‘Good Christ!’ Liam O’Driscoll’s gasp startled Terry and he sucked in his own breath in dismay, as the aircraft continued its slow dive earthwards. Next on the radio transmitter was a confused babble of voices and, seconds later, the sound of impact.
Watched by the appalled eyes of the airborne unit, the aircraft hit the ground and exploded in a bright, blossoming flash.
Terry felt the impact of his own shock and his throat was dry with horror and grief. His friend who had been closer to him than his brother was dead. Terry wanted to cry out at unfairness of it and in his mind kept soundlessly repeating the same protest, until it broke from his lips in an anguished groan. ‘No! Oh God no, not Con.’
Below, moving fast along a track between postage stamp fields, an ambulance and two fire engines screamed towards the pall of smoke ballooning out over the crashed aircraft.
‘Nothing anyone can do now,’ Captain O’Driscoll said heavily.
Terry hardly heard the terse command to regroup and return in formation to the base. After a look at his face, Captain O’Driscoll took over the controls, still stunned himself by the disastrous end to the sortie.
NINE
Jane had waited anxiously all week for the results of the pregnancy tests, but due to a go-slow at the hospital it was not until the following week that they were posted. They arrived at the clinic on the day after the funeral of the two crashed airmen. By this time Mary McCann was throwing up each morning, and Grainne had fully regained her spirits and was out again with Trish every night, enjoying herself.
Jane read the result of Grainne’s test with dread. So she was pregnant. Her slight hope that it might have been a false alarm withered and died. She sat with her head bowed, swept by waves of hopelessness. Terry’s life was spoiled. If only he had loved the girl, but she knew he did not. She found she was weeping and brushed aside her tears. A child was the sign of life, of hope, Jane reminded herself. Her first grandchild should be an occasion for rejoicing.
She picked up the report again and glanced at the result of Mary McCann’s test. Positive, as she had expected. Running her eye over Mary’s other laboratory tests Jane saw that her condition had worsened. There was a marked increase in coproporphyrin as well as delta-aminolevulinic acid. And this time the report showed that slight leukocytosis was present. Her eye swept further down the page and was arrested by a footnote.
N.B. Accompanying urine specimen corresponds to an amazingly identical degree to McCann specimen, even down to typical colour changes within specified time. Could it be a case of duplication or an error in labelling?
Another symptom of porphyria was the gradual change from normal-coloured urine to dark brown, red or even black. How could Grainne have porphyria? It seemed highly improbable!
Jane tapped the report thoughtfully with her biro. She reached for the telephone and rang the laboratory.
When she put down the phone there was no doubt in her mind that both specimens had been produced by the same woman. She felt a stirring of hope.
She went to the door and called Grainne. When the girl entered J
ane told her to sit down, then handed her the report. ‘I would like you to take your time and read this,’ she said. ‘I think you will grasp the significance of two urine specimens testing out identical in every way.’
Grainne saw her face and burst into tears.
‘This is very serious,’ Jane said quietly. ‘I am not sure if interfering with a patient’s specimen and falsifying tests is a criminal offence . If, however, you are still insisting that you are pregnant, I will arrange for you to be admitted to the hospital where full tests and checks can be carried out under supervision.’ She waited. In answer, the girl sobbed louder.
‘But you don’t really want that, do you?’
‘N..no.’
‘Very well then. Of course, there is no question of your staying on here. I would like you to leave the clinic at once.’ Jane crossed to the door and opened it. ‘Whatever is owing to you will be sent on. Goodbye, Grainne.’
The girl went snivelling through the door and Jane closed it after her. Her legs felt suddenly unsteady and she went to sit behind her desk. ‘Thank God,’ she whispered. She had always prayed she would never be required to sanction another abortion and now she was spared this agonising dilemma. The telephone rang. Slowly, she picked it up.
‘Mum! I can’t go on like this.’ Terry’s voice cracked with misery. ‘I’ve got to see you.’
‘Yes, of course, Terry.’ She heard the shaky tone of her voice and firmly cleared her throat. ‘It’s time we had another talk.’
‘See you at the weekend,’ he said, and rang off.
Jane slowly replaced the receiver. Her first instinct had been to give him some indication that he was off the hook, but she decided not to tell him until after they had returned from their trip to Spain. Jane sighed. It seemed cruel to prolong his distress, especially after the tragic death of his friend, but this was one lesson she wished to drive well and truly home.
Claire was a little taken aback when Jane asked her to sleep in the house while she was away in Spain. Her feelings about meeting Terry were very mixed. In a way Claire wished Sheena hadn’t told her about himself and Grainne although it had undoubtedly softened the hurt at not hearing from him. She realised that it was shame, not indifference which prevented him from keeping his promise. Each time their relationship showed signs of developing, she thought, something always happened to drive a wedge between them.
On the day of departure she went over early to the McArdle’s house, knowing from experience that Jane would have lots of instructions to give Sheena and herself. Jane had written everything down on two foolscap sheets and Sellotaped them to the fridge door. But she still took time to go over it all with them again while Terry was out putting their cases in the car.
‘I doubt the telephone in the apartment has been connected yet so I’ll leave the estate agent’s number in case you need to get in touch,’ Jane concluded at last. ‘Liz here will help out in the evenings with Ruthie if you both have to go anywhere.’ She glanced at her receptionist and the girl grinned back.
Liz was the latest of the sprawling Murray family to work for Jane. Her mother and her older sister, Babs, had worked in the surgery way back when the McArdles first moved to the neighbourhood. She was pretty and easygoing and devoted to Ruthie.
Liz said earnestly, ‘Mammy said she’ll be glad to do any shopping while you’re away.’
Jane nodded at her in a distracted fashion and turned to the girls again, ‘Now don’t forget, Spain is one hour ahead of us. If you need to get a message to me be sure and ring before six in the evening.’
‘Mummy,’ sighed Sheena. ‘Please don’t worry. Nothing is going to happen. You’re the one going away, not us. We’ll be fine. Off you go and enjoy yourselves.’
Jane nodded. She supposed she was fussing a bit but if she didn’t get it all off her chest now knew she would spend the entire time away worrying about what she might have omitted.
‘Now you won’t forget to read my instructions?’ she reminded them.
‘No, we’ll throw them in the bin the minute you’re gone,’ Sheena said with a grin. ‘Of course, we’ll read them, Mummy. What do you think! Anyway, you know well that Claire has everything off by heart already. She’ll keep us on the straight and narrow, like she always does.’
Jane chuckled. ‘Thank God for Claire. If I was relying on you, Madam, I don’t know where we’d be.’ But she gazed affectionately at her daughter. She knew that Sheena had matured enough in the past year to take her responsibilities more seriously. She bussed Sheena’s cheek and pulled Ruthie into her arms. ‘Bye, darling.’
Ruthie tightened her arms in stranglehold about her mother’s neck. ‘Tell Adela I was asking for her.’
‘If I see her.’
‘And give Fernando my undying love,’ Sheena said wickedly.
Jane ignored her and kissed Claire. ‘Keep an eye on these monsters,’ she joked, ‘There’s a love.’
Claire smiled back, acutely conscious of Terry watching their farewells. He wore a scowling expression which she correctly divined as embarrassment. She met his eyes but he gave no sign that he was in any way thinking of her. He had made no apologies for not ringing her and she sensed he was tightly holding himself in check, lest he say too much. He strode out to the car without a backward look.
‘Four whole days on our own,’ Sheena gloated. ‘Let’s make the most of them.’
Claire nodded absently, her heart with the disappearing car. She told herself that she was mad to care so much. Terry probably couldn’t help flirting with every girl he dated. It was second nature to him. She swallowed her hurt and turned back into the house.
Terry got his first view of the apartment block, peering out of the rear window of Fernando’s car as it turned into the parking lot in front of Las Cicadas.
The Spaniard had met them because there was a one-day taxi strike at Malaga Airport. Jane was touched by Fernando’s thoughtfulness and doubly glad she had telephoned early in the week to say they were coming. When he warmly inquired about las tres princesas Jane had to smile at this description of the girls and told him they were all well and sent their regards.
He’s a good-looking bastard, Terry thought grudgingly, his eyes fixed on the back of Fernando’s well-shaped head as the Spaniard swung the car into the roundabout and filtered into the flowing traffic. He noted the heavy gold watch on Fernando’s wrist and the way his dark blonde hair fringed the collar of his cream silk shirt. Terry ran his hand defensively over his own freshly cropped army stubble. So this is the guy Claire likes, he thought.
Clearly his mother liked him too, judging by the way she was chatting and laughing. Almost flirting, Terry thought in amazement. He hadn’t seen her so animated in years.
Fernando came with them to the door of the apartment. ‘I think everything is in order,’ he told Jane. ‘I made it my special concern. However, if there are any changes you would like made, please do not hesitate to ask.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ Jane said, looking around. ‘I love it.’
‘Then I am satisfied.’ Fernando smiled at her enthusiasm. ‘I wish you many happy moments in Spain, Señora.’ He bowed over her hand.
What a smooth talker, Terry thought in disgust as he carried the cases inside. He really knows how to lay on the syrup. To think women actually fall for that line.
Then suddenly it didn’t matter anymore. Terry had walked through to the balcony and was confronted by the view of the sea. He stared at the pale sands and billowing waves. It was every bit as beautiful as Claire had said.
Next day Jane and Terry went shopping and walked back to the apartment, heavily laden down with carrier bags full of household articles, ranging from crockery and cooking pots to tea towels and electric light bulbs.
It took them the best part of an hour to put everything away and by the time they were finished, the sun was low in the sky.
‘Want a drink, Mum?’ Terry asked, going to the fridge.
‘Mmm... that would be nice.�
�� Jane lifted a cushioned cane chair on to the balcony and lowered herself into it.
Terry poured chilled orange juice for himself and wine for his mother and they sat sipping their drinks and admiring the view.
Now would be a good time to tell him his worries are over, Jane thought, but something stopped her. Some reluctance perhaps to spoil the afternoon with mention of Grainne. Her mouth twisted in distaste. Not now, Jane decided. She found the whole subject too painful and distressing. Some time before they returned home she would carefully choose her moment. She put the matter out of her mind and gave herself over to enjoying the sun and the wine and the soothing sight of the sea. She began to yawn.
She was awakened by a light tapping on the apartment door and heard Terry get up to open it. There was a murmur of voices in the background and she struggled against the tide of weariness.
‘No, please don’t disturb her,’ she was dimly aware of a voice saying and then the door of the apartment closed.
‘Who was that?’ she asked as Terry came back.
‘That Spanish guy,’ Terry answered shortly.
Jane was awake now. ‘I hope you were polite to him.’
‘Of course, Mum,’ Terry’s expression was scornful. ‘I did everything but kiss
San Fernando’s hand.’
‘Now, Terry,’ Jane warned but she had to smile at his exasperated expression. How painful it can be, when young, to come up against someone so good-looking and well-off as Fernando Gonzalez.
Terry said sulkily. ‘He brought an invitation from his father to have dinner with him tonight.’
That evening Jane dressed with extra care, choosing to wear a filmy blue dress which matched her eyes and fastening about her neck a gold and sapphire pendant, which had been a present from Eddie on their tenth wedding anniversary. She was not a beautiful woman or even a strikingly good-looking one but she had a certain presence and there was about her a glow of goodness and gentle authority that was beautiful in itself.
Terry also dressed with care. He wasn’t going to appear at a disadvantage. He knotted his tie and eased down the collar of his shirt and regarded himself critically in the mirror. Maybe not as flash as pretty boy Gonzalez, he thought sardonically, but at least he was taller than him by an inch or two. As Terry attached his flying emblem to the lapel of his blazer he wished his hair was not cropped quite so close. Short cuts were all very well back at the barracks, he thought. He was unaware how well the military clip suited him, moulding the fine bones of his head and accentuating his cheekbones. He thrust out his jaw at an uncompromising angle and went out to join his mother.