by Maeve Binchy
Elizabeth wondered what Aunt Eileen had said that had pleased Father, because she knew it could be nothing like the great outpouring which she had received herself. Eileen remembered all the good bits of when Mother was young, and how Mother had written when Elizabeth was born and said they had never seen such a perfect baby in the hospital, and how Eileen had laughed because they had never seen such perfect babies as Sean and Maureen in Kilgarret either. Eileen begged her to remember the good bits of Mother and put aside the sad bits: that’s what she did with Sean, she always remembered him laughing and enthusiastic and giving her flowers for a birthday, and being absorbed in a book. She never remembered him fighting with his father, sulking, or worst of all being blown to bits by a mine. Try to think of her mother as someone very like Elizabeth herself, half earnest and practical and half flighty – not as a figure in a mental home. Not that.
Eileen added that Aisling had seemed in very poor form these days, just between themselves. And if there was any possible chance of Elizabeth rushing over for a visit, then it might be a wonderful time to do it. It would cheer Elizabeth up after all the sadness, and certainly Aisling’s face was never known to be long when her friend was round. But Elizabeth would be very discreet and not mention this, wouldn’t she?
It was tempting but it wasn’t possible. Time to make up at the school, at the college, at the shop. No, there was no way that Elizabeth could go to Ireland. As she was thinking that she might telephone Kilgarret the telephone rang. It was Johnny.
Would she like to go and hear a bit of skiffle or was that too loud and cheery after all she’d been through? Elizabeth said she’d love it. She’d meet him at the skiffle club, it would be just what she’d need, take her mind off things.
‘Was it dreadful, funny-face?’ he asked.
‘Very bleak. Yes,’ she said.
‘I know. I didn’t write or send a wire, meaningless really. Just prefer to remember her as a very glamorous doll. That’s what she was when I saw her.’
‘Right. True,’ she said.
‘Old Harry all right? Must have been a bit of a relief in the end for him? Seeing as she wasn’t going to get better?’
‘I’m sure you’re right.’
‘Well, I’ll see you at nine.’
‘Great,’ she said.
The telephone rang again. It was Henry.
‘I know you won’t want to go out and be jolly and cheerful, but if you liked I could cook you a meal, and we could just sit and talk about it,’ he offered.
‘No,’ Elizabeth said slowly, ‘no, it’s lovely of you but there’s something I have to do.’
Henry was apologetic at once. He should have realised it was too soon to intrude. He would give her a couple of days.
‘I’d like to come tomorrow if you’re free,’ she asked.
He was delighted, he would come and pick her up. Call for her. That was nice. Johnny didn’t call for her. She said she was looking forward to it.
She had a slight headache when she met Johnny at the club. He said he knew how to cure that and he asked for a coffee with some rum and a stick of cinnamon in it. Oddly, her head did feel a little better.
‘How does it work?’ she asked.
‘It burns the headache away,’ Johnny said, taking her cold hand and leading her over to a group of people at a table. He seemed to know them all. She was introduced to them by first names and she wondered which woman he fancied now. It was possibly the small giggly one but she was married to the man beside her, surely. He had his hand on her shoulder and she wore a wedding ring. What difference did it make being married? Anyway the romance, if it was one, would not last long. Johnny held her and she leaned against him as she drank her spicy coffee.
‘It’s nice that you’re back, pussy cat,’ he said stroking her neck. ‘Are we going back to the flat later?’
‘Yes, definitely,’ she said. She must have imagined the speaking glances between them, Johnny and the small giggly woman.
She lay in his arms, and he sighed happily. She realised that this was the only reference to her sad pilgrimage to Preston – vanishing off to the other end of the country – no soothings, no sorrow, no consolations. Johnny didn’t like thinking about sad things, so he never thought of them. He had told her that years and years ago. Simple, wasn’t it?
She had a slight headache again the next night when Henry called for her, but she didn’t mention it. She was afraid he might want to call off the evening, or that he would suggest an aspirin and some hot milk, which would be so dull compared to what Johnny had thought up. He had come in and talked to Father for five minutes. Just enough to include Father, but not involve him. As Elizabeth fetched her coat she heard Henry saying, ‘I’m afraid I don’t know the form, Mr White, about extending condolences on the death of an ex-wife – but I’m very sorry that Elizabeth’s mother has passed away.’
Father seemed able to deal with formal kinds of conversation like this, he probably had a lot of it in the bank. ‘Thank you, Henry,’ he said. ‘Elizabeth’s mother had a very uneasy and disturbed life. It is to be hoped that she has found peace at last.’
‘Indeed, indeed,’ Henry said respectfully. Elizabeth allowed them a few seconds of silence before she came in.
‘Well, we’re off now, I won’t keep her out too late, Mr White,’ Henry said. Elizabeth felt that this is what other girls must have had, ten years ago. She had missed out on it. She never knew any courtship, boys coming to the house, dates and having to be home at certain times – it made her feel very young and happy for some silly reason.
Henry had everything ready for the meal: a tin of tomato soup in one saucepan, and four scrubbed potatoes in another; on a grill-pan he had two small lamb chops and four halves of tomato. A tray was set with a little jug of mint sauce and bread and butter already arranged on a plate.
‘It’s just simple, but I thought it would be nice for you not to have to cook for yourself,’ he said. He looked innocent and almost afraid that she wouldn’t approve of his preparations.
Elizabeth’s face broke into a great smile of delight. ‘How marvellous to be waited on like this. You are thoughtful and kind.’
Henry flushed with pleasure. ‘I just wanted you to sit back, after all you’ve been through. Tell me about it.’ He poured her a glass of wine and sat her down in front of his gas fire in the sitting room. He sat on the floor opposite her.
‘Tell me what happened … you left here on the train. …’ He looked at her, interested in her and what she had been through. The sympathy on his face was genuine. He really did want to know all about it. Slowly she began to tell him … and when she told him how small Mother was, like a little shrivelled doll, and how much Harry had cried, Henry’s eyes filled with tears … and then Elizabeth’s eyes filled with tears and she wept on Henry’s chest beside the gas fire for a long long time. They both blew their noses loudly and Elizabeth went into the bathroom to dab her eyes with cold water and Henry began his laborious preparations in the kitchen and guarded the lamb chops against burning with furious concentration.
Henry had a married sister, Jean, who lived in Liverpool, that was where he was heading for Christmas. His parents had died when he was still young. His father had died the night before he was to join up in 1940 and Henry had been only fourteen. His mother had lived a life of terror and constant anxiety over the war. And then, just after VE day, she too had died suddenly. Henry always remembered the war as taking both his parents away – he could never understand why people looked back half-affectionately to all the solidarity and matinées during those years. He had no nostalgia, a schoolboy with a mother whose nerves were on the point of snapping; it was by no standard the best time of his life.
Yes, he was very fond of Jean, she was a nurse and she had been wonderful to him when he was starting to study law, she had helped support him and given him money for his fees and indenture costs, and she had tided him over until they had sold the family house and had some money of their own. Jea
n had married Derek and they had one small son. He was called Henry too. Henry was going to get him a train for Christmas.
It all sounded very safe. Henry would take the train to Liverpool and Derek would come to meet him: then they would collect the Christmas tree together and take it home. Young Henry would be asleep; the three adults would decorate the tree. Henry didn’t seem to know whether he got on very well with his sister and brother-in-law or not. He didn’t even understand the question. Jean was his sister, he went there for Christmas. That was that. Elizabeth felt a little foolish about her questions … they sounded like an interrogation. She had hoped that he might say that he and Jean had always been great friends, that they had laughed at the same things, and that he liked Derek enormously. Elizabeth had wanted to hear that at Christmas they sat, Jean and Henry, and remembered the good things about their mother and father, that they told each other everything and caught up on the year’s happenings as easily as if they had only been separated a week.
If she had brushed with a Christmas like this, it would somehow make her own a little better. She and Father had weathered many a festive season together since Mother had left home, but it was never easy. Father would grow more and more morose as the build-up to Christmas Day continued, and by the time she carved the chicken he would be positively sepulchral. Elizabeth had learned how to cope with this: she just chattered pleasantly and inconsequentially as if she hadn’t noticed any gloom or lack of reciprocal chatter. Then the dishes were washed, and they built up the fire and listened to the radio. She did not even know what Johnny had planned for Christmas; it had never included helping her to enjoy herself and it never would. Johnny had no family – many people might think it normal that he should come for his Christmas feast to Elizabeth and her father. But Johnny didn’t do things that depressed him. He would let her know casually; it might be Scotland like it was last year. Six of them had rented an old crofter’s cottage and had spent four glorious days, walking and exploring the Highlands, and eating and drinking in front of a log fire. Elizabeth was wan with envy when she heard about it.
As it turned out Johnny went nowhere for Christmas because he got a bad attack of flu; it coincided with one of his little dalliances, and an Italian girl, who fancied herself as a Florence Nightingale, patted his brow and handed him drinks of water. Elizabeth called at the flat on Christmas Eve. In no way did she let the bewildered Francesca know that she was a long-standing love of Johnny’s. She behaved calmly and kindly as if she were visiting a friend. She ignored the long white dressing-gown on the back of the bedroom door, she never let her eyes fall on the clothes thrown over the bedroom chair, the make-up on the dressing table or the look of embarrassment on Johnny’s face.
‘I just came to wish you Happy Christmas, and Stefan said you were in bad shape so I did what they do in books – I’ve brought you some beef tea. …’ She laughed happily. And after a moment, Francesca laughed too. Johnny managed a smile. ‘So, Francesca can you perhaps heat this up … it’s meant to do magic things … but let’s not question what. If it’s an old wives’ tale, let’s just believe it.’
Francesca scampered into the kitchen happily to find a saucepan.
From his fevered face Johnny’s smile still looked good. ‘I didn’t know you’d come over, I thought … I thought. …’
‘I know, you thought I’d be discreet. It doesn’t matter.’
‘What?’
‘It doesn’t matter. I think the worst has passed now, it will get better after this.’
Johnny reached out for her hand. ‘It will change, I promise you, it won’t always be like this.’
She patted his hand and stood up. She was very good at misunderstanding conversations, she had been doing it deliberately for years. She insisted on believing they were talking about his bout of flu. ‘You’re absolutely right, it will change, tomorrow even, it will have lessened. Of course it won’t always be like this. …’ She blew him a kiss from the door. ‘Happy Christmas, Johnny, oh, and Francesca …?’
The tousled head appeared from the kitchen. ‘Oh … you go Eleezabett. So soon?’
‘Yes. I just wanted to say Buon Natale. That’s it, isn’t it?’
‘Si, Buon Natale.’ Francesca was delighted. As Elizabeth walked down the familiar stairs she could imagine Francesca sitting on Johnny’s bed spooning him the beef tea, saying how nice Eleezabett was. And she could imagine Johnny impatiently changing the subject.
Henry came back three days after Christmas. It had been very pleasant, very quiet, very seasonal. Why had he come back so soon, Elizabeth wanted to know? If it was so nice there why had he not stayed until the weekend, until New Year’s Eve?
‘Because I missed you,’ Henry said simply. ‘I wanted to see you again.’
Henry wondered if Elizabeth would like to go to dinner with him on New Year’s Eve.
‘Let me cook a dinner for you instead?’ she suggested. ‘Father will be away, there’s a New Year bridge gathering, he’s very excited about it.’
Henry had brought a bottle of champagne and Elizabeth had one already cooling, so they decided not to wait until midnight. They could drink one now and one then.
‘You know I’m very fond of you, I’ve become so very, very fond of you,’ Henry said at one stage.
‘I’m very fond of you too,’ Elizabeth said.
‘The problem is I don’t know quite … where I stand … you know.’
Elizabeth looked at him, puzzled.
‘You know I’m aware, of course, that you are very friendly with Johnny Stone … but I don’t know how. …’
Elizabeth still looked at him and said nothing.
‘You see, I don’t want to be foolish and hope that you might be interested in me, if this chap, if there’s something … so I hoped you might tell me what you think.’ He looked so hopeful and eager, and almost dreading her reply. Elizabeth had never known such a sense of power in her life, but she did not get any enjoyment from it.
‘It’s a long story. …’ she began.
‘Oh, I don’t want to know about the past … that’s got nothing to do with me … heavens, no. It’s just about what you feel now … what you want.’
‘I don’t love Johnny Stone any more,’ she said. Her voice echoed in her head. It was true. Henry’s face faded from her, she just thought of that fact. She did not love Johnny. It had happened without her knowing, for the love she always carried around for him had gone and she hadn’t noticed it disappearing, it was only now that someone asked her where it was that she became aware that it was missing. She smiled at Henry as his face came back into focus. ‘That’s true,’ she said simply.
‘Well, is it possible that you might in time love me?’ He was hesitant, unsure still. ‘I don’t want you to feel I’m rushing you or demanding you give me an answer, but if you thought that. …’
‘But I do love you already,’ she said.
Henry was so delighted he looked like a big child. He pushed his fair hair until it stood up around his head like a halo. Up to now he had kissed her lightly on the lips when he was leaving her, now he pulled her towards him and kissed her for a long time.
‘I think you are the most wonderful person in the whole world. You are such a beautiful girl … I can’t believe you might love me,’ he said happily as he looked at her proudly.
‘You’re very good to me … no wonder I love you,’ she said.
‘Will you marry me? Can we get married some time in the New Year?’
She sat up from his arms, startled. To Henry love meant marriage, to most people love meant marriage. Henry was anxious to give up all his other chances, close down any alternative options and live with her, Elizabeth White, for the rest of his life. That’s what he was aching to do. And she wanted it too. She wanted to be safe and happy and to look after him. She wanted the two of them to be together and plan things and share things. Yes, she would love to marry Henry Mason.
‘I’d love to marry you, Henry Mason. Of course
I will,’ she said.
Sean had never found conversation with Ethel Murray easy: she was one of those women who spoke so firmly that there seemed nothing to add after any of her statements. He would have escaped her this time, only Eileen was in bed. She hadn’t been herself over Christmas – she said it was all the rich food. And there had been too much work in the shop coming up to Christmas. She had determined that they would find a good girl in the New Year and pay her a proper wage. Sean had agreed, had said he would enquire around immediately after the break.
Ethel Murray called unannounced. She wore gloves which she fiddled with and she seemed very ill at ease. They talked politely about how they had all got over Christmas, the nice new priest and what a grand voice he had, just what the choir needed. They remarked that the world had come to a bad state when the poor Pope had to spend his Christmas broadcast on the wireless talking about the danger of atom bombs.
Finally Ethel Murray managed to get to the point. She wondered whether Sean and Eileen might have any … well, any information about how Tony and Aisling were getting on. It was as simple as that.
Sean was astounded. Weren’t they getting on fine? Had there been any trouble? He had heard nothing – what was she talking about? Had there been an incident? Ethel Murray’s face revealed that she had talked to the wrong person. She tried to back-track but now Sean was even more upset than she was. Let her say it straight out what was in her mind.
What was in Ethel Murray’s mind was Aisling’s announcement during the Christmas lunch that she intended to ask her father for a full-time job back in O’Connor’s in the New Year. Her Mam was tired and overworked and a woman in her mid-fifties who should have a rest, and Aisling had nothing to do all day so she might as well fill in the time somehow. Tony had said nothing, but then poor Tony had been a bit under the weather. There must be something wrong, and hard though it was for Ethel to broach this to Sean and Eileen she thought she would do so in confidence … and ask their advice.