by Liz Lyons
Alison grinned. Talking to him was so easy; she felt she could say anything to him. No point then in ignoring the huge elephant sitting in the corner any longer. Con Abernethy might as well be sitting between them in Conlon’s.
‘Look, Ciara is just looking out for Leda. You can’t blame her for that and she may have exaggerated the story a bit. I mean, I’m sure your dad wouldn’t – didn’t actually do anything. Did he?’
‘To be honest, he says he didn’t and I want to believe him but I can’t be absolutely definite that this whole thing with Leda is entirely innocent. I’m just back from home now where all hell is breaking loose between my mam and dad. He seems remorseful that he might have led Leda on but he says that she made most of the story up to compensate for a pretty poor home life. I think he’s telling the truth but he is a politician after all and his job is to make people believe him. He’s good at that. As for my mam, she was never his biggest fan so she wants his guts for garters.’
‘Well, I think he has a point about Ciara’s parents. I’ve never met them but from what she says they are not with it at all. Ciara seems very glad to be away from home, says her dad is clueless and her mother has been depressed for a long time. So maybe Leda is just engineering a way out for herself too. She stayed with us for a couple of days in December. Ciara was trying to persuade her to stay longer but she hightailed it home without even telling us and took a week’s kitty money with her. Ciara was livid but it made her realize that she can’t force Leda to do anything. She might be Ciara’s little sister but she has a mind of her own, that’s for sure.’
‘Does this mean that Ciara is going to be on your doorstep tonight ready to give me a whack on the side of the head with the mop and bucket when I walk you home?’
Alison looked at her watch. It was half past midnight. At this time Ciara would be in her bed with the loud hiss from her wonky radio stealing out from under her door. She had taken to leaving it on all night, liking the comfort of the voices. Silence made her think about all sorts of depressing things, she had told Alison, and that was a dodgy prospect if you needed your sleep. ‘No, you’re safe enough at this hour. Besides, if Ciara ever found the mop and bucket in the first place it would be a cause for celebration. She doesn’t do housework. It’s just as well she is great fun because she is a disaster when it comes to cleaning up. I can get a taxi anyway, you don’t have to walk me home.’
‘I am your taxi, Alison. I would love to walk you home if you’ll let me.’
He wrapped his scarf around her neck to keep her warm and they took the route along Charlemont Street and over the Grand Canal still chatting under the orange glow of the street lights, strung like rough amber jewels across the night sky. Alison found out that Dan lived in a house owned by his father off Leeson Street. It was divided into a number of flats and he and Anthony Geoghan, another medical student, shared the roomiest one at the top of the house. Dan thought that his father owned a good few houses around Dublin but Con Abernethy kept specific information about his property portfolio close to his chest. He admitted that his mother hardly knew the ins and outs of his father’s business dealings either, so anxious was he to keep it private. It seemed strange to Alison because she was so used to her mother and father discussing everything and working so closely together every day. Alison related the funny stories about Jean McDermott and her drinking habits and how she seemed to have forgotten that she had let out her upstairs flat to two students.
‘She always seems fairly disoriented when she sees us and calls us both Mary. She never forgets the rent though. We are her passport to the off licences around the village. Well, our rent money and the sick pay that she seems to be getting from the civil service for work-related stress. The stress seems to have centred on actually having to turn up.’
‘God, I am risking life and limb going to your front door tonight. First I have a gin-swilling landlady who thinks you are a trespasser and then a flatmate who would swing for me if she knew that I was an Abernethy from Leachlara.’
‘Just as well I am worth the risk then, isn’t it?’ Alison chipped as they reached the picture-book gate and pathway of 9 Sycamore Street. It was a lesson in how deceiving appearances could be because the inside of Jean McDermott’s house had little beautiful to recommend it.
Dan towered over her as he pulled her into a warm embrace. He kissed her softly on the lips, lingering and soaking in her taste. She thought she could happily melt into him. After the longest time he pulled away gently from her. ‘I had better let you go inside. It’s cold.’
Alison agreed though she felt no cold at all, just his arms around her and his face above her beaming down his gorgeous smile.
‘Will you mind my scarf for me until I see you again?’
‘Yes. I will take good care of it.’ They kissed again and Dan waited until Alison turned the key in the Chubb lock and disappeared inside, first turning back to offer the favour of her smile and a wave.
He walked the length of Sycamore Street, turning left on to Ranelagh Road and heading for Leeson Street Bridge. His pace was energetic and his head buzzed with the excitement that Alison was truly nicer than he had dared to imagine. It was a good twenty-minute walk home. He hoped that it was a journey he would repeat until he knew all the strides of it by heart.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘Two weeks, Alison, and I still haven’t laid eyes on him. I’m beginning to think you’re making up this whole Dr Dan business and that you’re really sneaking out to see crap films in the Stella, ones you know I’d bawl you out for wanting to see.’
‘Of course I’m not making him up! You will meet him soon, I promise.’ Alison thought maybe now would be a good time to drop the bombshell that she knew more about the Abernethys of Leachlara than Ciara could possibly imagine.
‘I’m not sure I think much of him if he lets you walk home from all these places that you meet him in. It’s not very chivalrous, is it? Not exactly the bumper package of gentlemanly charisma that you had him down as, I am afraid.’
Ciara was enjoying having a tease at Alison’s expense. She had been away with the birds for the last couple of weeks, out nearly every second night and she had been so tight-lipped about the romance. It seemed to Ciara that she was afraid to mention Dan in case he disappeared in a puff of smoke. Ciara firmly believed that men were not so scarce that they had to be handled so delicately but she also knew that she and Alison were about as different as it was possible to be and still get along, so they were not likely to agree on the cleverest way to pursue a romance. Still, she did think it was about time she met Dan, to see the altar that Alison insisted on worshipping at.
‘Shows how observant you have been, Ciara. Dan has walked me home every single night that we have been out. He just hasn’t ventured up to meet you yet, that’s all.’
‘What have you said, Alison Shepherd? That I would eat him without salt if he came up, or is it the bold Jean McDermott that would skull him with one of her empties for defiling one of her precious lodgers?’
Alison steeled herself for the nuclear fallout. She had a skimpy ten minutes before Dan was due to call for her with the intention of meeting Ciara. She hoped to deliver her in relatively peaceful form but amiable was not a word that could ever capture the spirit of Ciara Clancy.
‘Do you remember you said that the man that’s carrying on with Leda, your old landlord, had a son our age or a bit older?’
‘Yeah. He was well ahead of me in school. Why?’
‘Well, Dan, my boyfriend, is Dan Abernethy from Leachlara, Con’s son. A bit of a coincidence really, isn’t it?’ Alison trailed off, her confidence faltering in the face of Ciara’s incredulous look.
‘Hold on. The Daniel Abernethy I know went off to study law. His mother sickened everyone in Leachlara that would stop to listen to her that one day he would be Attorney General or Chief Justice, whichever paid the most. Whatever else he is he’s not your doctor.’
‘He started law in UCD but he didn’
t like it so he reapplied and got medicine, which is what he wanted to do in the first place.’
Ciara had fallen silent. She had even started to absent-mindedly sort the tray of cutlery that sat on the worktop, which was a sure sign she was not her usual relaxed self. Alison was afraid that she wouldn’t speak before Dan arrived so she did her best to make light of the situation.
‘Look, Ciara, I know it’s a teensy bit awkward and everything but just give Dan a chance, please. He’s sound, really down to earth, and even if his dad is a louser he can’t be held responsible for that surely?’
‘What do you mean “even if”? After all I’ve told you about him you should be in no doubt that he is indeed the biggest shit around, preying on my little sister while his wife lives it up like the Queen. That woman wouldn’t clean her shoes with the Clancys and he just takes advantage of Leda because there is no one looking out for her at home.’
‘I don’t mean to sound like I doubt you, Ciara, because of course I don’t, but I am asking you just to give Dan a chance, that’s all. For me, because we are friends, please? He is not his father and can’t be held accountable for him. I mean, it would be unfair if anyone thought you were the same as your folks, wouldn’t it? Especially when you try so hard to be different. Give him the benefit of the doubt and see what he’s made of. If you still hate his guts after talking to him then fair enough. I can’t argue with that.’
‘Jesus, Alison, of all the effing men in Dublin, why did you have to pick him? I could introduce you to forty lads in our year that are probably better looking, great fun and, crucially, are not Con Abernethy’s son. You know I am hard-wired to hate him on sight because of his father. I think I’ll go before he comes. I just can’t think straight at the moment.’ Ciara grabbed a lipstick from the pile that languished on the mantelpiece. It was her unofficial make-up counter. She complained that the lights in her bedroom were so crap that she looked like a ferociously ugly man in drag when she applied her make-up there. Now all her potions lived in the living room accompanied by a dinky little compact mirror, one of about five that she had in various places in the kitchen, on the landing and atop the electricity meter inside the front door. It was a habit she was in to check her face for flaws or blemishes as many times as she could before she left the house. She was a firm believer that opportunities flowed to those who made an effort and she was determined not to miss any that might come her way. She applied lipstick now with a practised ease as Alison desperately tried to think of a way of keeping her from deliberately avoiding Dan. It would make things so awkward between them and she didn’t want that. Surely she shouldn’t have to choose between having a friend or a boyfriend? There was no justice in that. Ciara, intentionally avoiding Alison’s gaze, grabbed her coat, her latest charity-shop find, from where she had abandoned it on the sofa and had just fastened the first of the oversized buttons when the doorbell rang.
‘I think Redmond’s Lounge gets a bit crowded and it’s a bit hard to talk. Will we try the Ivy Tree instead? I’ve never been but it might be OK.’ Dan was doing his best to get things off to a good start with Ciara but first impressions were definitely not promising. It didn’t help that Alison had looked crestfallen when she had opened the door to him. When they turned on to Ranelagh Road Ciara finally addressed Dan, although she didn’t actually manage to look in his direction.
‘The Ivy Tree is a shit hole, full of old fogeys back from the golf and puffing like windbags on their cigars. At least Redmond’s has a bit of life.’
‘Fair enough, Redmond’s it is. That OK with you, Alison?’ Dan squeezed her hand, trying to give her a bit of encouragement. Alison nodded silently. It seemed that it was highly likely that this was going to be an absolute disaster, worse in every respect than she had imagined. Not only was Ciara not going to let Dan off the hook, it seemed she was looking around to see a bigger, better barb that she might hang him from.
As they reached Redmond’s, noise whistled out from behind the heavy double doors. Ciara turned to Dan. ‘You better be buying the drink. Some of us are on a grant, you know, and seeing as I wouldn’t choose to have a drink with you in a million years then I at least should have the comfort of not having to pay for it. No doubt Daddy has set you up with an allowance.’
‘Ciara, do you have to be so horrible?’ Alison was appalled at the way she was treating Dan and it moved her to speak for the first time since they had left the house. ‘I’ll buy the bloody drink. If you find it so difficult to be in our company I am very sorry but you are not exactly sweetness and light yourself.’
Ciara was a bit ashamed. Her intention had never been to hurt Alison but she couldn’t help feeling her family’s pride was at stake and that she was letting Leda down by having anything to do with that scumbag’s son. However, after two rounds of Heineken, bought by Dan because he insisted, she seemed to soften slightly. Her tone became a little less acerbic and her conversation developed a bit more flesh than the cut-and-dried remarks that had characterized the first hour. She had to admit that he was nice enough, charming if you were into that kind of malarkey – which she absolutely was not. Charm was someone scrambling to cover up the bad bits. Charm was someone intent on fooling you. Dan had filled out a good bit; he was unrecognizable as the lanky boy she half remembered. His shoulders were broader and if anything he seemed taller than the stalk from school. He was good-looking too and that irked her a bit because she had been expecting a junior Con Abernethy with the hair swept to one side, slimy and full of himself. She had to admit that being the son of a total creep obviously didn’t mean that you had to turn out to be a creep too and for Alison’s sake that had to be good news.
Across the table Alison’s hopes began to rise. Nerves had made her drink three glasses of sparkling water very fast and she felt a bout of hiccups on the way. Dan was telling them about his exams that were coming up soon and his voice lulled her into a calmer, happier mood. Listening to him made her feel everything would be just fine and, seeing Ciara finally making a bit of an effort with him, Alison breathed a small sigh of relief. ‘Will we stay for another one?’ she ventured, rising to go to the bar and leaving them alone to sink or swim.
The Dáil never sat on a Friday and although the protracted session on amendments to the licensing regulations on Thursday had run late, Con Abernethy had still decided to make the trip back to Tipperary. He was being very diligent about turning up at committees and debates because there was an election due in the summer and it never hurt to show dedication when more eyes than usual were trained on the government backbenchers. Home-town followers didn’t want you spending too much time away though; they reckoned your first priority should be their concerns and they expected you not to get carried away with your work in the Dáil or get too fond of your time in Dublin.
Politics was a hard station but he liked the glory of it, the excitement of the election count and the way he felt held in such esteem by the people of Leachlara and beyond. Still, people had short memories and favours would have to be done in the run-up to any election to guarantee the right result on the night. You were only as good as the last thing you had sorted for somebody and the loyalty of voters was seriously questionable. If you missed a funeral your slip-up could lose you a whole house and their extended family. It was no good sending Columbo or another representative either as they took that as a bigger slur than missing their big day altogether. He wasn’t sure what else he would do with his life if he weren’t a politician and the best thing about it was that it allowed him to live for the most part away from Mary, which was a very good thing indeed.
They should never have got married, he knew that now, but neither was willing to walk away, for plenty of reasons. Con did not want to be known as a divorced TD. In these matters the traditional way was always best, even if the personal price of that tradition was heavy beyond measure. Their match had made sense twenty-five years ago. He had inherited the Abernethy family home and a farm of land from his uncle and Mary was ‘a la
ying hen’, bringing money from the proceeds of the sale of her father’s grocery business in Thurles. It might have worked but Con had been unprepared for Mary’s coldness, which seemed to emerge the very second that she had called the house in Leachlara her own. She had withdrawn from their physical relationship the day she found out she was pregnant with Dan. She had taken to her bed by day and made it plain that he was not invited to join her by night. Con had got Eleanor Duffy, a friend of his late mother’s from the town, to help with the housework. From her alleged sickbed Mary barked instructions about the running of the house and Con had taken to being out as much as he could because he found it embarrassing to listen to. He fixed Eleanor up with cigarettes and hot whiskeys at the end of each hard day to compensate for her treatment at the beck and call of Mary Abernethy and her wages far exceeded what she might have expected to earn. Con had been overjoyed when Dan finally arrived; he had craved a son so he could show him the things that Con’s father had shown him, but also because he was the human embodiment of hope and trust in the future that had all but been extinguished by the barrier that had risen between him and his wife.
He thought that nobody in Leachlara, except his closest aides, knew that their marriage was a sham of false appearances and well-concealed disappointment and that was the way Con wanted it to stay. If your wife couldn’t be a positive addition to your life, he took it as read that she should not be allowed to ruin your chances either. More or less friendless, Mary seemed not to have confided in anyone except Dan, who to Con’s regret now knew that hatred and distrust had seeped into the cracks that love had failed miserably to fill. He counted on the fact that Dan knew his mother was a cold fish and the failure of the marriage rested mostly at her door. He had worked at having a warm and loving relationship with Dan and he was satisfied that that at least had been a success. His son talked to him, sought him out for advice and came to meet him in his apartment frequently while the Dáil was in session. Con wasn’t much of a cook but there were any number of places whence you could order meals to be delivered and he would listen to all Dan’s stories about his training while they ate the food and drank wine. He would leave the dirty dishes to one side because it was a novelty that he always relished not to have the plate taken out from under your chin by an overly zealous wife intent on clearing the evidence of any meal quicker than you had a chance to eat, never mind digest, it.