Alice, on the other hand, sipped her coffee and buttered her cherry bun, smiling and nodding as though she’d been watching this all her life. At first, she looked around her rather nervously. They had the booth to themselves, and nobody else seemed to be taking any notice. Even the girl who cleaned the table, sweeping the crumbs on to the floor, clattering plates and cutlery on to a tray already piled mountainously high – even she never as much as looked up. Alice watched baby Laura latch on to feed, saw the way Elizabeth stroked the little head, and kissed the tiny fist, remembering with a shock how she, too, had caressed and kissed the grown woman sitting in front of her. Her eyes filled. Time was such a monster: she’d give anything to have those days back again. If she couldn’t have them, then she was damned sure she wasn’t going to make the same mistakes again. She made a tremendous effort to regain control, concentrating hard on her cherry bun and the cup of scalding coffee.
Beth looked up, surprised to see Alice’s eyes glinting with tears. Or was it a trick of the light? The next time she put down her coffee-cup and looked across at her daughter, her eyes were normal again.
‘She’s such a lovely baby,’ she heard her mother say. ‘Just like you were – although I don’t remember you or James being as strong as Laura is. I can’t believe the way she’s holding her head up already.’
Beth felt the warm glow of her mother’s approval. She began to relax, to feel her hostility begin to melt, although it was always just below the surface, on the lookout for any slight, any criticism, overt or implied, any hint of disapproval.
Alice saw her daughter’s shoulders suddenly relax, her face clear. This is it, she thought to herself. This is how I get her back. She leaned across the table and laid her hand on the soft, downy hair at the back of her granddaughter’s head.
‘You’re doing a wonderful job, Elizabeth. She’s such a happy baby. Anyone can see how she’s thriving. I’m looking forward to her first smile.’
Beth looked at her then, interested.
‘When does that happen – can you remember?’
‘I certainly can. James was exactly six weeks old, you were just five weeks, and your first smile was for your father – a real broad, beaming grin. He was delighted.’
And Alice herself smiled broadly at the memory.
Maybe this will be okay, Beth thought. Her mother had not interfered, had not fought with her, not even once on this visit. Filled with sudden generosity, Beth felt sorry for her mother, sorry for all the wounds each had inflicted on the other.
‘Why don’t you come over next month and stay with us for a few days? We’d love to have you.’
It was almost painful to see the way her mother’s face lit up with pleasure.
‘I’d love to,’ she said, without hesitation.
And it had gone well, all the visits had, until the separation. Even now, as she clutched her pillow, sobbing as silently as she could, Beth knew that the last ten years had been her fault. Too full of anger at the world, she hadn’t even given Alice a chance. It hadn’t helped that Tony had always been her mother’s ally – not that Alice had ever known that, of course. He’d always got on well with her, treated her gently, with perfect, old-fashioned, English courtesy. He had charmed Alice from their first meeting, and she had been nobody’s fool.
‘You’re lucky to have found him,’ was what she’d said – but quietly, not squaring up for a fight, no criticism of Beth implicit in the compliment to her husband.
Suddenly, Beth missed Tony with a violence that took her completely by surprise. Why had she let him go? This was just the time of their lives, with Laura grown, when they could really have enjoyed each other: if only she’d stuck it out. Life held enough surprises as it was, surely, without her constant longing for something different, her restless searching after novelty. Wasn’t what she had done to Tony every bit as bad as what Olive was now doing to James? Beth felt deeply ashamed at the suddenly perceived similarities between herself and her sister-in-law. Maybe that was why she disliked Olive so much: she saw too much of herself in the woman whose shallowness she despised. Quiet nights at home and the occasional Sunday lunch out: they could be okay, as long as you were with the one you loved. Couldn’t they? She wanted him to hold her again, to make her laugh at herself, to love her as he once had. She had never missed him like this before, not even once in ten years: this physical ache that seemed all mixed up with love and loss and yearning.
‘It’s grief talking,’ she whispered to herself in the darkness. She would see things differently in the morning.
Shock did strange things to people, at a time like this.
SIX
Leavetaking
ALICE WOKE EARLY, the rain heavy against the front windows of the house. September again; the evenings were already beginning to shorten. In just a few weeks, the clock would go back and winter would be here for real: long dark evenings, without even the possibility of a walk. The thought depressed her. She pulled the curtains back and looked down into the front garden. The grass was already covered with a light blanket of leaves, swirling around the shrubs and rose trees as she watched. She must give Keith a ring; he’d help her rake them up and dump them in the compost heap out the back.
She turned to take her dressing gown off the hook behind the door and suddenly froze. What was she doing here? For several moments, Alice’s mind became completely blank. She was conscious of nothing, other than standing there, looking down at her feet. The floor seemed to be swimming away from her, racing off into the distance, the way the sand had pulled at her toes one day when she’d stood by the water’s edge in Laytown. The waves had crashed around her feet, drawing her with them, the hideous pull of the water too strong to resist. She’d screamed and her dad had come running, but not before she’d landed flat on her face, nose and mouth breathing in grit and saltiness. She’d howled in terror.
‘You silly goose!’ he’d said, wrapping her in the big white towel. ‘You got dizzy and lost your balance, that’s all!’
But she’d cried and cried, still feeling the icy fingers of water clutch malevolently at her ankles.
‘I couldn’t stand! I couldn’t stand!’ Alice wailed, clutching the towel around herself warmly. But there was no towel, and she was on her hands and knees in her bedroom, face wet from weeping, palms stinging from her hard fall onto floorboards.
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph,’ she whispered. ‘What’s happening to me?’
Shakily, she pulled herself up to standing, and shuffled uneasily over to her bed. She sat on the edge and waited for the trembling to cease. She examined her hands and knees. No obvious damage. She looked at her watch. It was only a few minutes after nine, so that was okay, then. She wasn’t missing hours – whatever had happened to her had taken only a couple of minutes, no more. She felt fine again, now; her head was clear. She’d been going to reach for her dressing gown. Well, she’d be damned if she’d let this, whatever its fancy Latin title was, ruin what was left of her life. Grimly, she stood up and pulled the gown off its hook. She wrapped it around her slowly, making sure the belt was tight, that there was no danger of her tripping on the hem. She wriggled her feet into her slippers, wincing as she did so. Her shoulders had already begun to ache from the impact of the fall.
She made an effort to talk herself through her routine for the day, testing that everything was still in place, that her mind wasn’t playing tricks. She began to tremble, shocked by the violence of the vision in her bedroom. She must hold on to the daily, the mundane, she must make sure her grip stayed tight. Today was Sunday, she was going to Mass at twelve and then to James’s for a late lunch. Before that, she had to put on the washing machine. And right now, it was time for breakfast.
After two cups of tea, Alice began to feel less frightened. The trembling had stopped, and her mind was sharp. She began to feel optimistic again: back to her usual capable self. The return to clarity reassured her, made her feel more philosophical. After all, this was what she’d been expe
cting for the past two months: what she had known was bound to happen, eventually. The only question now was one of timing. This morning had been very different from all the other little absences – finding herself sitting on the bathroom floor or rummaging uselessly in a wardrobe were one thing, but falling was quite another.
Perhaps it really was time to tell James. She’d decide today, after lunch, and tell him when he took her home.
*
‘All right, Gran?’
Keith kissed her cheek and helped her out of her raincoat.
‘Hello, Alice.’ Olive came out into the hall, immaculate in a jade-green linen dress. Alice felt the familiar prickle of irritation when she looked at her daughter-in-law. Olive was the only woman she had ever known who managed to wear linen and not crease it.
‘Olive,’ Alice murmured, obediently kissing her on both cheeks, as had become the younger woman’s custom. Much too sweet to be wholesome, she thought, crossly. The kitchen door crashed open, and there was Gemma, flushed, untidy, smelling of roast meat. Almost at once, Olive pushed past her daughter, closing the kitchen door firmly behind her.
‘Hiya, Gran!’
Gemma kissed Alice warmly, and Alice hugged her tight, tears springing suddenly to her eyes. She was almost exactly half of James and half of Beth, in looks, in personality, in mannerisms. Alice was glad that Gemma had so little of her mother in her.
‘Hello, pet.’
‘Come on into the dining room – Eoin and Shea are here, along with Cindy and Jackie.’
She made a comical face, and would have whispered something to Alice except that James suddenly appeared in the hallway behind them.
‘Your mother needs you, Gemma,’ he said, shortly.
Alice’s heart sank. She hoped that Olive wasn’t in one of her moods. By the look on James’s face, there was something going on. Alice hoped it had nothing to do with her – she’d felt, often, that her presence was an imposition on Olive, that she somehow intruded into her family. It was a long time since she’d made her feel really welcome. Alice reflected briefly, bitterly, that she’d been welcome enough during all the years of free babysitting.
Stop it, she told herself severely, and went resolutely forward, to greet her grandsons and their American girlfriends.
*
‘That was a wonderful meal, Olive, thank you.’
Alice tried to keep her voice warm, and grateful. Olive inclined her head, graciously, to the chorus of assenting voices.
‘You’re all very welcome,’ she said, pouring the remains of the dessert wine into Alice’s glass. It had been a wonderful meal – credit where credit was due. Alice wondered briefly how much of the real work had been done by Gemma.
‘What do you think of these two young men, Alice, and their potential to become the family’s first millionaires?’
James leaned towards her, jerking his thumb over at his twin sons at the other side of the table.
‘I think they’re wonderful,’ said Alice honestly, ‘and I hope all their dreams come true.’
There was a cheer and everyone raised their glasses to Alice’s toast. She sat back, then, and observed all the different faces around the table as they became involved in loud, intense, conversations. The wine had made her a little sleepy, and she was content to watch and listen. She felt curiously disconnected from the scene around her, as though she had suddenly dropped in from elsewhere, and all these people were strangers to her. She had a sudden, strong sense of not belonging – a rush of feeling that told her her time was nearly up. The slow crawl of the past couple of months had distorted everything, including her sense of time. It shocked her for an instant to realize that she had loved, and cared for as babies, five of the grown adults around this table.
She felt utterly at a loss, too, as to what to make of Cindy and Jackie: first of all, which was which? She couldn’t tell them apart, even by the end of the evening. There was a strange sameness to them: long blonde hair, garishly painted fingernails, impossibly tight blue jeans. Alice was careful never to address them by name, in case she got it insultingly wrong. Anyway, they weren’t interested in talking to her. Their eyes were only for their men, and they preened themselves constantly, tossing their hair out of their eyes, crossing and uncrossing their legs, smoking. Alice was astonished at the amount they smoked. She’d thought that it was no longer fashionable among young, educated people.
‘More coffee?’ James asked her.
Startled, she shook her head.
‘No, thanks, I’m fine. More than one cup and I’ll never sleep.’
He leaned towards her again, concerned.
‘You look tired: are you okay?’
She nodded, grateful.
‘Fine for another little while. Maybe you could run me home in an hour or so?’
‘Of course – just give me the nod.’
Alice sat back again, retreating into herself with relief. Perhaps it was her new, strange sense of detachment, or perhaps it was obvious to everyone else as well, but Alice suddenly realized that Olive and James had not exchanged a single word during the whole meal. She was sure it wasn’t just her imagination. Carefully, she watched them, while pretending to be absorbed in one of Gemma’s long, outrageous stories about her first summer job in a London recording studio.
There was a careful physical distance between the two of them, that neither had breached during the course of the long meal. It was only now that Alice noticed how drawn James’s face was looking, how quiet he was among his chattering family. He watched his children as they spoke; from time to time, his expression became fond, indulgent. But Alice saw his eyes follow his wife as she left the room to refill the water-jug, and she was suddenly frightened for him. She’d never taken to her son’s wife, but that was neither here nor there. James had brought Olive home to meet his mother in the very early stages of their relationship, and Alice had known, instantly, that this was it. His quiet devotion to his girlfriend had reawakened all of Alice’s memories of the young Jack. The same old-fashioned constancy, the same single-minded pursuit of what he wanted – but, Alice had thought ruefully, without his father’s mischievous sense of humour. She had tried to warm to Olive, tried to treat her as a daughter: a difficult enough feat in itself. But the younger woman had always maintained a cool, impersonal demeanour and Alice had had to become resigned to the wide distances between them.
It was easy to see, too, what had attracted James to her in the first place, although Alice had been surprised that he had fallen for poise, elegance and ambition; she’d always felt that he would have looked more for warmth and a shared intelligence. Pushy, was what Alice had called Olive to herself, right from the very start. She had bitten her tongue on more than one occasion: James would brook no interference in his life. She could see at once that her son’s vanity had been flattered by the depths of his girlfriend’s ambition for him. That had made Alice uneasy. But she knew her place. James was an adult; he would make his own adult choices. All she could do was stand on the sidelines and hope that he wouldn’t spend the rest of his life picking up the pieces. And they had seemed happy enough up to recently. Alice had to admit that Olive had always been a super-efficient, super-competent mother: it was something James had really loved and admired her for. But now their life together seemed to be turning sour. Alice tried to think back, to remember when she had first seen the signs of danger between them. James had always been a good provider, they had raised children, kept house, gone on holidays together. But now there was something significantly different between them. What had appeared to Alice before as shadows, irritations, occasional outbursts of exasperation, now took on a definable presence between them. Once she became conscious of that, it seemed to her that she could see it everywhere, all around her. It was like an electrical charge in the atmosphere, a cold blue cloud that hovered over and between them.
‘Fanciful old woman!’ she said to the mirror crossly, as she dried her hands in the upstairs bathroom. But she couldn�
��t shake the fancy, and right now she wanted James to take her home. She didn’t want to see any more of it, not tonight. And there was certainly no longer any question of her moving in with James, not into an atmosphere like that.
‘Ready?’ he asked, smiling at her from the hallway. Shocked, she saw Jack’s face looking up at her, the same piercing blue of the eyes, the same slightly quizzical expression, head on one side. It was a fleeting familiarity only, and it had already disappeared by the time she reached the bottom step.
‘Yes. I’ll just pop my head in and say goodbye.’
*
She was happy to be home at last, in the comfort of her own, pared-down nightly rituals. James had been quiet in the car on the way back, and she hadn’t liked to disturb him. But she’d felt angry at Olive, nevertheless, feeling the hurt of her own child keenly, even though he was now a middle-aged man. She felt sure that Olive’s coldness had something to do with money; she’d place a bet on it. She’d always been an acquisitive woman – nothing wrong with that, in itself, she supposed. But she’d married James because he was different, after all: because she’d enjoyed his other-worldliness, his almost absent-minded attitude towards all things practical. And surely they had enough, anyway? Olive’s business seemed to be very successful, although Alice had never quite understood what it was that she did. Something to do with computers. And James’s job was steady, secure: the perfect combination. They’d been a good team, as far as Alice could tell. But there was poison in that woman: she could almost smell it. She’d be damned if she’d sit by and let her destroy her son’s life. Maybe James wouldn’t want to hear what an old woman had to say, but she was going to find a way to say it anyway.
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