Tara Road

by Maeve Binchy

A wind blew, lifting some of the leaves and blossoms up from their feet.

  'Let's go back to the house, Danny.'

  'Thank you so much.'

  'For what?'

  'For not screaming at me. I've had to give you the worst news anyone could ever give anyone.'

  'Oh no,' she said.

  'What do you mean?'

  'You gave me much worse news than that before.'

  He said nothing. They walked together across Memorial Park back to Marilyn Vine's car.

  Colm Barry called at Number 16 Tara Road.

  'You really did work on a rehab programme?'

  'Oh yes, certainly.'

  'So can you help?'

  'You know I can't. Caroline will have to want to do it herself, then I can help.'

  'But we can't drag her there.' He sounded very lost.

  'There is a place, a centre?'

  Colm nodded. 'Yes, a fine place. But what use is it?'

  'You could go there, check out the programme, meet some of the people. Tell her about it.'

  'She'd only close her ears.'

  'She doesn't love that guy Monto?'

  'No, but she loves what he provides for her, and now he's doing deals in my restaurant.'

  'You're not serious.'

  'Last night, I know that's what they were doing, I know it.'

  'You can't have this, Colm. He'll get the place closed down, what hope for you or Caroline then?'

  'What can I do? I can shop him, but that would be to destroy her.'

  'You and Caroline have shared enough and have had enough history for you to be able to talk to her. Tell her that you may lose your restaurant, beg her to give this centre a try. Tell her I'll go with her and sit through the assessment with her if she likes.'

  When he left, Marilyn looked at herself in the mirror. She still had the same auburn hair, slightly longer now than when she arrived. Her eyes were still watchful, her jaw firm. Yet she was totally different inside. How could she possibly have changed so much in these few short weeks? Getting involved with strangers and trying to alter the course of their lives. Greg wouldn't believe it was possible.

  Greg. She decided to telephone him, but to her surprise they told her that he was taking some reading days. That wasn't like Greg, but she called him at home. His machine said that he would be away for a week.

  For the first time in their married lives he had not told her where he was going or what he was doing.

  Suddenly she felt very lonely indeed.

  When they got back to Tudor Drive, Ria suggested they have tea.

  'No, Ria, sit down, talk to me… try to talk, don't bustle about doing things like you used to do at home.'

  'Is that what I did at home?' She felt very hurt, annoyed.

  'Well, you know whenever I came in and wanted to talk there was this in the oven and that on the burner and something else coming out of the deep-freeze and people coming and going.'

  'Only the family, our children if I remember.'

  'And half the neighbourhood. You were never there to talk to me.'

  'Is that what a lot of this was about?'

  'I suppose it was to cover what wasn't there,' he said sadly.

  'Do you really believe that?'

  'Yes I do.'

  'Well, of course, I won't get tea, I'll sit down and talk to you now.'

  That didn't please him either. 'Now I do feel a shit,’ he said. 'Come on, let's have tea.'

  'You make it,' she said. 'I’ll sit here.'

  He put on the kettle and took out the tea bags. Maybe she should have let him do this kind of thing more.

  'You have a message on the machine,' he said.

  'Take it for us, Danny, will you?' The old Ria would have leapt up with a pencil and paper.

  'It's Hubie Green, Mrs Lynch. I didn't catch Annie's telephone number and I thought it would be good to give her a call during her weekend away. I did leave you an e-mail about it but I guess you don't have time to look at your messages now with all the action going on. Say Hi to Mr Lynch for me.'

  'Do you want to call him with her number?' Danny asked.

  'No. If Annie had wanted him to have it then she'd have given it to him,' Ria said.

  Danny looked at her admiringly. 'You're right. Shall we check your e-mail in case there are any more messages?'

  'I thought you wanted to talk, now who is putting it off?'

  'We have the evening, the night to ourselves.'

  The old Ria would have started to fuss about what they would eat for supper and whether it should be earlier or later. But now she just shrugged. 'Right, come into Greg's study and see how good I am at it.'

  Expertly she went for her Mailbox and saw three messages. One from Hubie, one from Danny's office, and one from Rosemary Ryan.

  'Do you want the office?' she asked.

  'No, who needs any more grief?'

  'Well, will I see what Rosemary says?'

  'More bad news surely,' he said.

  'She knows? Rosemary knows?' Ria was startled.

  'She had heard already from her own sources, then I met her yesterday just as I was leaving. She drove me to the airport.'

  Ria brought Rosemary's message up on the screen. Ria read the message over several times, as if trying to read between the lines. She didn't want to raise their hopes unnecessarily.

  Ria, Danny, you should access the Irish Times this morning.

  There's an item about Barney that would interest you. All may not be lost after all. Enjoy New England.

  'She says we should look up the Irish Times, the business gossip column,' she finally said.

  'Can you do that?' he asked, impressed.

  'Yes, hold on a minute.'

  Very shortly they had the website and got the item. The paragraph said that rumours around the city seemed to suggest that Barney McCarthy's financial death might be like that of Mark Twain, somewhat premature. The word was that there had been a rescue package from sources outside his company. Things didn't look as dire as had been thought. Ria read it aloud, her voice getting lighter all the time.

  'Danny, isn't that magic?'

  'Yes.'

  'Why aren't you more pleased?'

  'If there was anything, Barney would have phoned me here; he has the number. This is just him doing the PR job.'

  'Well, let's see what your office says on this. He might have sent you an e-mail.'

  'I doubt it, but let's call it up anyway.'

  'Message for Danny Lynch could he please phone Mrs Finola Dunne at her home number urgently.'

  'I told you it would be grief,' Danny said.

  'Do you want to call her?'

  'No, I can get the earful about how irresponsible I am when I get back,' he said.

  'You'll probably get a similar earful from my mother too,' Ria said ruefully.

  'No, to give poor old Holly her due, she'd put it all down to That Adulterer, as she calls him. Though these days it's hard to know who she'd describe as that.'

  They had gone back into the kitchen and picked up their mugs of tea. The garden lights went on automatically, lighting up the place. Ria sat down and waited. She ached to speak, to reassure him about that paragraph in the newspaper, to encourage him to ring Barney and Mona at home. But she would do none of these things, she would wait. As, apparently, she should have waited in the past.

  Eventually he spoke. 'What are you saddest about?' he asked.

  She would not say that she was most sad because she thought he had been coming back to her. That would be the end of any meaningful conversation between them again. She tried to think what was the next most awful thing on the list.

  'I suppose I'm sad that your dreams and hopes are ended. You wanted so much for the children and indeed for us all. It will be different now.'

  'Will we tell them together tomorrow, do you think?' he asked.

  'Yes, I suppose so. I was wondering if we should let them have their holiday in peace but that would be lying to them.'


  'And I don't want you to have to do it on your own, make excuses for me as I know you would,' he said.

  'There are no excuses to make. Everything you did, you did for us all,' she said. Danny looked quite wretched. She was determined to cheer him up. 'Right, they'll be home tomorrow, let's try and guess what horrific thing Brian will say.' He forced a smile and Ria went on determinedly. 'Whatever we guess it won't be quite as bad as what he'll come up with.'

  'Poor Brian, he's such an innocent,' Danny said.

  Ria looked at him, calmer than she had been for a long time. He really did love his family, and this was Danny without any disguises. Why did she not know what to do to help him or make things better? She just knew what not to do. Almost everything that her instinct told her would be right would only annoy him.

  Tears fell down her face and splashed off the table. She didn't lift her hand to wipe them away, half hoping that in the fading light he would not see. But he came up to her and gently took her tea mug out of her hand and placed it on the table, then he pulled her up from the chair, held her close to him and stroked her hair.

  'Poor Ria, dear, dear Ria,' he said. She could feel his heart beating as she lay against him. 'Ria, don't cry.' He kissed the tears from her cheeks. But more came in their place.

  'I'm sorry,' she said into his chest. 'I don't mean to.'

  'I know, I know. The shock, the terrible awful shock.' He still stroked her and held her away from him, smiling at her to cheer her up.

  'I think I am a bit shocked, Danny, maybe I should lie down for a bit.'

  They went to the bedroom where she had been hoping he might join her tonight. He sat down and gently he took off her lilac-and-cream-coloured blouse, which he hung carefully on the back of the chair. Then she stepped out of her silk skirt and he folded that too. She stood in a white slip like a child being put to bed with a fever, and he turned back the sheet and counterpane for her.

  'I don't want to miss your visit. I want to get value out of your being here,' she said.

  'Shush, shush, I'll stay here beside you until you get a little sleep,' he said.

  He brought a face flannel from the bathroom wrung out with water and wiped her face. Then he stroked her hand as he sat beside her in the chair. 'Try to sleep, dear Ria, and to know how fond of you I am, how very fond of you.’

  'I know that, Danny.'

  'That never changed, you do know that?'

  'Yes I do.' Her eyelids were heavy. He looked so tired as he sat there minding her, his face half in the light that came in from the garden. She sat up on her elbow and said, 'It will be sort of all right, won't it?'

  He put his arms around her and held her again. 'Yes, Ria, it will be sort of all right.' His voice was weary.

  'Danny, lie down on the bed and sleep too, just close your eyes. It's been worse for you.' She didn't mean any more than that, lie down in his clothes on top of the bedspread and sleep beside her for a couple of hours.

  But he clung to her and she realised that he wasn't going to leave her go. Ria didn't allow herself to think about what might be happening. She lay back in Marilyn Vine's bed and closed her eyes while the only man she had ever loved gently removed the rest of her clothes and made love to her again.

  Greg decided to tell Ria that he was going to Ireland but the answering machine was on. He debated whether to leave a message and decided against it. He stood in the phone booth at Kennedy Airport and considered calling Marilyn. But suppose she told him not to come? Then they would be worse than they had ever been. His only hope was to call her and say he was in Dublin. Which he would be very soon.

  He heard his flight being called. It was now too late to call his wife even if it were a good idea.

  There had been no reply from Danny. Rosemary was very annoyed. She had driven him to the airport, he was in a house with an e-mail facility, a telephone. He would have known what to make of that cryptic piece in the paper. He would be tired of playing Happy Families and trying to bolster up Ria. Why didn't he call her? Rosemary told herself, as she had told herself many times before, this was not going to continue.

  What she felt for Danny Lynch was neither sensible nor in any game plan. It was in fact the most basic urge imaginable. No other man would do. She had put up with sharing him with Ria for years, and with others like that disgusting Orla King. She had even put up with the infatuation for the wraith-like Bernadette. But he had always been civil and courteous before. He wasn't even that these days.

  She was glad that she had not rescued him; she was just quivering with curiosity to know who had. The woman who wrote this column in the Irish Times was very informed. It would not be a flyer, something deliberately planted. Rosemary believed that Danny Lynch and Barney McCarthy were genuinely going to be pulled out of the fire. All she needed to know was by whom.

  'Frances, you know the way I told you never to tell Jack I did a bit of cleaning for you?' Gertie said.

  'And I never have,' Frances Sullivan said.

  'No, but things have changed now. Now I do need him to know I come here, you see he thinks I get the money somewhere else.'

  'Yes, but surely he won't come and ask me?' Frances looked fearful.

  'No, but suppose he does, it's all right now, I'd prefer him to think that this is where I get the money.'

  'Yes, Gertie.' Like a lot of people Frances was becoming increasingly wearied by the menacing presence of Gertie's Jack Brennan in her life.

  'Thanks, Frances, I'll just go and tell Marilyn and then Polly and it will all be out of the way.'

  Marilyn was in the front garden in jeans and T-shirt. She looked very young and fit for her years, Gertie thought.

  'I hate having to burden you with my problems.'

  'Sure, what is it, Gertie?' Marilyn listened and with great difficulty controlled her impatience. In her newly directive mood, she could easily have urged Gertie not to be so foolish, such a hapless victim encouraging more senseless violence and even neglecting her own children in the process. But one look at that haunted face made Marilyn retreat from any such action. 'Right,' she sighed. 'It's okay this week to tell him, let me know if it changes next week.'

  'You're lucky and strong, Marilyn, I'm neither, but thank you.' She left to go to the bus stop across the road. Polly Callaghan was the third person she must warn.

  Rosemary drew up her car. 'Can I drive you anywhere, Gertie?'

  'I was going over to Polly, I wanted to give her a message.'

  'She's in London, back after the weekend.'

  'Well I am glad I met you. Thanks, Rosemary, you saved me a trip, I'll just walk up home then.'

  'They did invent a telephone system, you know, you could have called her,' Rosemary said. It sounded somehow very dismissive and cruel.

  'Are you cross with me about something, Rosemary?'

  'No, I'm in a bad mood. Sorry, I didn't mean to bark.'

  'That's all right.' Gertie never held a grudge for long. 'Man trouble is it?'

  'What kind of man trouble do you think I might have?' Rosemary asked with some interest.

  'I don't know, choosing between them I imagine,' Gertie shrugged.

  'No, it's not that. I'm sort of restless, I don't know why, and people are being difficult. Your woman in there hasn't spoken to me for ages. What did I do to get up her nose?'

  'I don't know. I thought you were great friends, going to fashion shows and all together.'

  'Yes we were, that was the last time she spoke to me,' Rosemary said in wonder.

  'So was there any coldness?'

  'None at all. She drove me home… I didn't ask her in.'

  'Well, she'd not be sulking about that.'

  Rosemary remembered back to the night, and Danny coming to the summerhouse. But there was no way, no possible way that Marilyn could have… She pulled herself together. 'You're absolutely right, Gertie, I'm imagining it. All well at home?'

  'Oh fine, thank you, just fine,' said Gertie who was relieved that Rosemary wasn't really intere
sted anyway.

  They slept wrapped up together as they had done for years in Tara Road. When Ria woke she knew she must not stir. So she lay there going back over all the events of the day and evening. She could see the time; it was eleven o'clock at night. She would like to get up, have a shower, and make them both an omelette. Together they would sit and talk about what was to be done. They would make their plans as they had long ago. And it was all going to be all right. Money wasn't important. Even the house they had built up together could be replaced. They could get another one, a smaller one. But she would take no initiative, she would lie there until he moved.

  She pretended to be asleep when he got out of bed, picked up his clothes and went to the bathroom. When she heard the shower being turned on she joined him there with a towel wrapped around her. She sat down on one of Marilyn's cork-and-wrought-iron bathroom chairs. She would let him speak first.

  'You're very quiet, Ria,' he said.

  'How are you? she said. There would be no more taking the initiative. The wrong initiative.

  'Where do we go now?' he asked.

  'A shower, a little supper?'

  He seemed relieved. 'Sandalwood?' he said of the soap.

  'You like it, don't you?'

  'Yes I do.' He seemed sad about something, she didn't know what. He went to his own room to get clothes. She followed him into the shower, then put on yellow trousers and a black sweater.

  'Very smart,' he said as they met in the kitchen.

  'Annie says I look like a wasp in this outfit.'

  'Annie! What does she know?'

  They were walking on eggshells. Not a mention of what had happened. Or of what might happen next. Nor did they talk of Barney McCarthy or Bernadette, or the future or the past. But somehow they filled the time quite easily. Together they made a herb omelette and a salad; they each drank a glass of wine from the fridge. They ignored the message light winking on the answering machine. Whoever it was could be dealt with tomorrow.

  And when it was half past midnight, they went back to bed. In the big double bed that belonged to Greg and Marilyn Vine.

  The phone kept ringing, as if someone was refusing to accept that there was nobody going to take the call.

  'Technology,' yawned Danny.

  'Hubie Green, desperate for our daughter's telephone number,' giggled Ria.