Light a Penny Candle

by Maeve Binchy

  ‘She was a very good wife.’

  Aisling sat on the bed and patted his hand. ‘Weren’t the two of you lucky that you had such a marriage for thirty-six years? Not many have that much Dad, try to see it that way.’

  ‘I will, I will, I’ll try.’

  ‘What was the worst bit, do you think?’ Aisling’s eyes were red and sore. They sat in the bedroom with a large glass of whisky each beside them.

  ‘I think that old woman saying that Eileen used to give her food for the children when they were babies. I can see Eileen doing that so easily, with no fuss.’

  ‘Yes, and poor Jemmy from the shop, I thought that was terrible. He kept wiping his nose with his sleeve and saying the poor mistress won’t be back, she won’t be back.’ They both took a big gulp.

  ‘If you think that’s bad, Elizabeth, wait till tomorrow. That’ll be terrible altogether.’

  Elizabeth dreamed that Johnny came to Kilgarret and told them that Eileen wasn’t dead, it had all been a mistake. Aisling dreamed that Mam had said she should marry Johnny and bring him back to Kilgarret to help Dad in the shop. They both woke up tired and slightly hung over. And now the funeral.

  More flowers had arrived for the coffin, and this time there was a choir in the church. The family sat in the front right-hand pew. Elizabeth kept studying the little plaque in brass which was screwed on to the back of the seat that she leaned against. Pray for the Friends and Relations of Rose McCarthy departed this life January 2nd 1925 R.I.P. She wondered would they arrange a plaque for Aunt Eileen and in years to come would some holy people kneel there in the church and pray for the friends and relations of Eileen O’Connor? She kept thinking about the plaque: it took her mind off the coffin with all the flowers on it which was only a few yards away at the altar steps.

  Aisling had often wondered how people could bear the sadness of seeing a body go down into the ground. Why didn’t they say goodbye at the gates of the cemetery and let the undertakers do the rest? But when Mam’s body came to the churchyard she knew why. You had to go the whole way, and finish off the life with the person. She watched, drained now of all emotion, while they took the flowers from the coffin and laid them gently on each side of the grave. Then, tenderly and softly, as if Mam might still feel the pain, they lowered the coffin down. Then Dad took the first clay and threw it down. It was filled in and the flowers were put back on top and the people moved away, to Maher’s or to Hanrahan’s or to the hotel for a drink. And a lot of them came back to the square where, this time, there were plates of cold ham and cold chicken and salad, presided over from the kitchen by Peggy, who never stopped crying all the time. Her tears even fell into the milk jug and she sniffed and said that if the mistress were alive, the Lord have mercy on her, she’d drop stone dead to see such carry-on in her kitchen.

  They had been fifteen days away. Eileen had only lived ten days of the two weeks she had been given. Henry came to the airport to meet them. He was overjoyed to see little Eileen and swore that she had got bigger in the time she had been away. Henry was very sympathetic and when Elizabeth and Aisling told him about some of the scenes in Kilgarret his eyes filled with tears.

  ‘Come home and stay with us,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Don’t go home to an empty flat. It would be much better if you came back to us.’

  ‘Yes, do,’ said Henry kindly. ‘It’s too soon, you’ll only fret.’

  ‘No, honestly I’d prefer it. I think I’d like to get myself settled in. Anyway, Johnny will probably be around, I’ll let him know I’m back.’

  ‘Oh, Johnny’s gone to Greece,’ said Henry. ‘He told me last Friday, there was a chance of a group going on the Sunday so he went with them. He sends you both his love.’

  ‘She seemed very upset that Johnny had gone to Greece without letting her know,’ Henry said later.

  ‘Yes, well, she’s upset anyway for a start … and he’s very callous, Johnny, for another thing. Once you realise that, it doesn’t affect you, but Aisling doesn’t realise it yet.’

  ‘When did you realise it about him?’ Henry was diffident in asking, he didn’t want to pry.

  ‘Oh, I think I knew from very early on. But I agreed to live with it. Aisling has more spirit than I have. I don’t think she’ll accept things so easily. …’

  ‘So what will happen?’

  ‘The affair will end, and then I promised her mother that I would try to persuade her to go back to Kilgarret.’

  ‘How precise women are,’ said Henry.

  *

  Later still, when they had put Eileen back into her own cradle, Elizabeth said, ‘You’re worried about something. What is it?’

  ‘I didn’t mean to burden you the moment you came home.’

  ‘I’m well home now. What is it.’

  ‘It’s so unfair, that’s what it is. I don’t mind the act itself, it’s the sheer injustice I can’t stand.’ Henry looked very upset and Elizabeth was alarmed. ‘I could see it happening, I told you, I told you, I said, I don’t believe a word they say. I was right. I knew they were never going to hire a junior, it was too pat.’ It was a complicated and troubled tale of office politics. There had been a vacancy, the most natural thing would have been to hire a young solicitor, somebody just qualified who would come in at the bottom and be trained in the general work of the practice. But that was not what had happened. Instead, a man of Henry’s age had been appointed, a man who had come from Scotland specially – and you don’t come all the way from Scotland without some promises, some understandings. He and Henry were going to share an office, he and Henry would deal with the conveyancing work – together.

  Oh, the senior partner had made fine speeches about the work having grown, the need having doubled. But anyone with half an eye could see what had happened.

  Elizabeth listened with her heart heavy. She had heard this kind of story before. Often. From Father.

  XX

  JOHNNY HAD A marvellous sun-tan when he got back from Greece, and his hair had grown longer. Stefan told him he looked like a proper teddy boy, but Elizabeth, who was in the shop, said it suited him.

  ‘Tell me all about it … was the sea really as blue as it was on all those postcards you sent?’

  ‘I’m awful, I didn’t send any cards at all,’ Johnny laughed, sounding not at all repentant. He told her some light-hearted tales of a minibus which had taken them all precariously to Greece and back; of Susie, who had driven it most of the way and who could speak Greek and catch fish with her hands. Susie. Elizabeth thought about the name. Susie. She wondered if it would send little knife-stabs of pain into Aisling the way it used to do to her.

  ‘How did it all go over there?’ Johnny jerked his head. ‘Was it harrowing?’

  ‘It was terribly sad, really heartbreaking, but harrowing – no. They make much more of a thing of funerals than we do.’

  ‘Oh, Irish wakes and all that.’

  ‘No.’ Elizabeth was annoyed.

  ‘Sorry.’ Johnny was puzzled. ‘I don’t seem to please anyone today, I telephoned Aisling to tell her I was back and she was very bad-tempered.’

  ‘Well her mother has just died.’

  ‘I know, but I said, would you like it if I come around and cook you some Greek food tonight?’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And she told me what to do with my Greek cooking, frying pan and all. I wonder if they were all listening in Harley Street.’

  Elizabeth gave a scream of laughter. ‘Did she really? Isn’t she marvellous?’

  ‘Bloody hell, marvellous? She’s a madwoman.’

  ‘What are you going to do about it?’

  ‘I’ll rethink my position.’

  Perhaps that’s what she should have done all those years ago? But then, thank heavens she hadn’t. It would be far too exhausting to cope with Johnny’s moods by having equally dramatic moods in return. No, it was just as well she hadn’t been as fiery as Aisling.

  Aisling refused an offer of dinner in a French restaurant, a
nd a weekend trip to Brighton; she tore up his single rose with its fern and threw it out the window of her flat. After two days he waylaid her on the street going to work.

  ‘Might I ask what all these tantrums are about?’

  ‘Will you let me pass, please?’

  ‘Aisling, I just want to have dinner with you. What’s all the melodrama for?’

  ‘Excuse me, you’re getting in my way.’

  ‘What did I do, tell me, tell me?’

  ‘You went to Greece without me, you mean bum.’

  ‘You wouldn’t come with me … you couldn’t. …’

  ‘And so you went off on your own.’

  ‘Well of course I did. We’ve no hold on each other, no tie. …’

  ‘No tie? We’ve no tie? We’re lovers, for Christ’s sake, surely that’s some kind of tie …?’

  People were beginning to look at them, amused. The handsome, tanned man and the angry redhead shouting at each other before nine o’clock in the morning – it brightened the day for passers-by.

  ‘Aisling, do shut up. You do what you want and I do what I want … that’s always been the way. …’

  ‘Good, what I want is to go to work, let me pass, let me pass, or I’ll get a policeman.’

  ‘Don’t be so childish. …’

  ‘Officer!’ Aisling called at the top of her voice and a startled young policeman looked around anxiously.

  ‘This man is preventing me going about my lawful business,’ said Aisling pompously.

  ‘Oh go to hell!’ shouted Johnny.

  ‘I feel so stupid, Elizabeth,’ wept Aisling in the kitchen of the Battersea flat. ‘I feel such a big hypocritical fool. Mam isn’t dead ten days and here I am roaring and bawling over your ex-boyfriend and asking you ways to get him back.’

  ‘Oh, it’s easy to get him back,’ Eizabeth said.

  ‘What will I do? I’ll do anything, anything.’

  ‘It’s easy, but it’s unfair, you can have him back and play by his rules. He’ll come back if you write him a jolly little note saying sorry for the prima donna act, have now recovered scattered wits. Why don’t I serve you a delicious meal of Irish stew and Guinness, and you can tell me all about your holiday?’

  ‘And will it all be all right then?’ Aisling was drying her tears.

  ‘Well, it depends on what you mean by all right. He may have to leave early, because he’s had to see some friend he met in Greece … that would be the pattern.’

  ‘So I wouldn’t have him back at all.’

  ‘Well, if you play your cards right you will, the holiday romance will fade, or she’ll want more than he can give … and then if you’re nice and sunny and not making demands he’ll come back to you.’

  ‘It’s ridiculous, it’s intolerable. Who could put up with that sort of behaviour …?’

  ‘Well, I did for about seven years. For a quarter of my life, when you come to think of it.’

  Simon called on Tuesday night when Henry had gone to a bridge class.

  ‘You’ve just missed him,’ Elizabeth said.

  ‘I know, that’s why I came.’ Simon looked so relaxed and urbane that Elizabeth decided to play his little game with him.

  ‘Now am I to take this as a frightfully indiscreet revelation of a forbidden passion for me, or are you arranging a surprise birthday party for Henry in the office?’

  ‘Neither my dear, I wouldn’t dare to aspire to the first, and as for the second, our stuffy office doesn’t go in for birthdays. No, simply a lonely bachelor wonders where he could possibly find a welcoming cup of coffee and a charming hostess. Thought comes unbidden to brain, wife of colleague, the lovely Elizabeth, and here I am.’

  She made him coffee, he admired the sleeping Eileen, he made small talk about Aisling, about Father, about the Worsky shop. Then he said, ‘I’m rather worried about Henry at the office, this is really what I wanted to talk to you about.’

  Every antenna was quivering. She did not want to hear this conversation, she did not like the way it was being done. ‘Oh, anything about the office, don’t you think you should discuss that with Henry himself?’ She spoke lightly but firmly. A lesser man might have got the message and retreated.

  But Simon was insistent. ‘No, it’s not telling tales, and tittle-tattle just for the sake of gossip, I’m worried about his work. He takes too much time and gets himself into knots. …’

  ‘Listen, Simon, I’m very serious, I know you mean well and that your motives are utterly honest … but you must understand that I cannot, I will not be drawn into a discussion about my husband’s work in your firm. You and he are old enough friends. You’ve known each other forever. You can tell him far more easily than me what’s wrong.’

  ‘But this is just it – he won’t listen to me.’

  ‘Well, I do not want to hear whatever it is and to be put in the position of having to decide whether to pass it on or not. No, it is not fair, and you will not do it to me. If I have a problem at work I speak about it to the person involved not to their husbands or wives. So should you.’

  ‘I tell you, I have tried, I do this as a last. …’

  ‘Or if I find people not able to listen to a conversation I write them a letter … it’s easier to list things in a letter.’

  ‘Some people are so sensitive and thin-skinned, imagining insult and rebuff, that they would think a letter was a worse way of doing it.’

  She smiled thinly. ‘Well, I suppose if I were in that position I would do my best to find another way out, one that involved no conniving or disloyalty.’

  ‘You are a magnificent person,’ Simon said.

  ‘So you really did come here to seduce me …’ She tinkled a laugh she did not feel, the conversation had given her a cold fear in her heart.

  ‘Alas no, I don’t dare risk further rejection – but if you had married me, what a pair we would have been! Together we would have conquered the world! Why didn’t you marry me?’

  ‘Let me think. Oh I know, you didn’t ask me.’

  Simon hit his forehead in a theatrical gesture. ‘Oh, of course!’ he said.

  ‘And also because I love Henry very dearly, so I married him,’ she said with a note of warning.

  He took the warning, they talked a little more. Should they have a television? Simon was afraid that if he did he would stay in all night and forget to go prowling around in search of adventure. Elizabeth was afraid that she would sit glued to it all the time. He asked her if Aisling had any views on the new Pope, and Elizabeth said that Aisling’s only comment had been that if he was a man of seventy-six there was no way he was going to be eager to annul her marriage for her. That was her only interest in popes these days.

  ‘Has she given up her faith?’ asked Simon, imitating Aisling’s intonation.

  ‘It’s hard to know, you never know with Catholics. It seems to be much more part of them than you think. Even when they don’t believe, they have something inside them that makes them think they do.’

  ‘That’s very deep, too Jesuitical for me. I must leave.’ He left graciously, joking, waving flamboyantly as he ran lightly down the big marble stairs … never mentioning again the subject he had come to discuss.

  Donal and Anna had put off their wedding until the spring. They thought it would be too overshadowed by Mam’s funeral. Anna had come to work in the shop.

  ‘What’s a graduate doing in the shop?’ muttered Aisling when she heard. ‘She’s a B.A. for heaven’s sake, what’s she doing rabbiting about with Mam’s ledgers and my ledgers?’

  ‘Why don’t you go over and sort her out?’ Elizabeth laughed.

  ‘I might just do that.’ Aisling was undecided.

  ‘Will you go home for Christmas do you think?’

  ‘I don’t know, Johnny hasn’t said anything, he may have a plan like last year.’

  Elizabeth knew he had a plan but it wasn’t like last year, it involved Susie. Still, it wasn’t up to her, of course, to smooth the path for Aisling but sh
e couldn’t bear to see the naked disappointment.

  ‘I’d say they’d love to have you back in Kilgarret, it’s going to be a rotten Christmas for your Dad.’

  ‘I know, but I don’t want to arrange to go and then Johnny suddenly say that we’re meant to be off to Spain or wherever. He’s been talking a lot more about Spain recently.’

  Elizabeth knew that was right, she had heard him booking the holiday in Majorca for himself and Susie. ‘You should ask him outright what his plans are, not just wait about, there’s no point in everyone being messed around.’ Her voice was sharper than usual. Aisling wondered should she talk less about Johnny to Elizabeth, it was impossible to fathom what her real feelings towards him were.

  Aisling went home to Kilgarret, where she heard to her great relief that Mrs Murray had gone to spend Christmas in Dublin with Joannie.

  ‘Do you know that your car is still there?’ Eamonn said to her. ‘I’m surprised to see you coming off the bus. I’d have thought you’d have used your car. Had it in Dublin, you know.’

  ‘My car?’ It seemed like a different world: the cream-coloured Ford Anglia that she had been given by Tony to celebrate her learning how to drive. ‘Where on earth is it?’

  ‘It’s back up behind the yard. Oh ages ago, the guards told Murray’s it had been abandoned at the airport, and eventually someone drove it back down here, and Mr Meade said it should be left up here. Mam said none of us were to drive it. I could have done with it, but that was an absolute. Aisling’s car, the O’Connors will not drive round Kilgarret in the car Tony Murray bought for Aisling’

  ‘Do you drink a lot Eamonn?’ she asked him suddenly.

  ‘What do you mean?’ He was annoyed and bewildered.

  ‘Well you used to, not like Tony but you used to get fairly pissed in Hanrahan’s a lot.’

  ‘No, I don’t drink so much since you ask. I was getting a desperate beer belly on me, and, well, I’ll be thirty this year. I thought I could get into the way of it, and after … after. …’

  ‘After the Tony business?’

  ‘Yes, after that a few of us drew in our horns.’