On the Edge of the Loch: A Psychological Novel set in Ireland

by Joseph Éamon Cummins

  Leo turned from the window, found Peggy’s troubled regard still on him. He threw his cap on the table and made for her, open-armed. ‘You’re a wise woman,’ he said into her de-curlered hair. That’s why I’m marrying you. One reason anyhow. The other one’s the thing you won’t be saying no to after next Saturday.’

  Her look of mock disgust was followed by a parting kiss. Then suddenly her hands sprang to her hair, picking and pulling. ‘The state of me. God almighty. A head full of rats’ tails the night of me own hens’ party; it’ll be over if I don’t gallop now, without the bride-to-be.’

  ‘I heard the word in the village,’ he called after her, ‘that I’m the luckiest man in Aranroe to be marrying Peggy O.’

  ‘Don’t be falling for that old gossip,’ she shouted back. ‘You’re only a big ruffian. Even so, I might love you. Slán, mo mhile stór.’

  6

  Outside the Beehive they lingered as linked couples stole away under twinkling stars and the ocean beat in all the little streets.

  ‘Well?’ Lenny asked again, her hands tucked inside her jacket. ‘What will we do?’

  ‘Great night. How about I walk you up to your place? Then I’ll head back down to where I’m staying.’

  ‘Fine,’ she said curtly. ‘Up the hill together, half an hour. That’s it?’

  No right response came to him, so he said nothing. What was she suggesting? Without the clues of experience he had nothing to tell him. Except fantasy. ‘We can do whatever you want,’ he said. His words hung in the air.

  They walked on under moonlight, out beyond the edge of the village, with no agreed destination. Lenny moved purposelessly, gazing up frequently into the whispering sycamores. Tony halted their advance, coaxed her to look at him.

  ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘Tell me you don’t feel it!’ she said, as though discarding the politeness of new friendship. ‘Is it just me? Is that it?’

  ‘Is what you? What? Tell me what’s on your mind, Lenny.’

  ‘On my mind? Well, for one, the Abbey’s just ahead. And notice I don’t call it home.’

  For the next minute they walked in separateness and silence. When they reached Claire Abbey’s gates her mood seemed less troubled. She led him in under the perimeter trees and leaned against the castle wall.

  ‘Too nice a day to end. I want to stay out. Stay out and play. For a long, long, long time. I know, you don’t have to say it: I’m thirty-five sounding fifteen. Whatever that says about me.’ She took both of his hands in hers and squeezed. ‘Tony, know what I’d like? I want to go back with you, to your place.’

  His averted gaze was pulled back by her closeness. ‘Lenny, it’s, it’s – ’

  Out of the black bogland a spear of light shot across them. The white Mercedes had turned in off Aranroe Hill and now rumbled to a halt just feet away. For a moment nothing stirred but the glimmering of the light beams. Then a door clicked open. A dark figure stepped out, glared across the car roof at their partly hidden outlines.

  ‘Leonora?’ the man called and waited for a response. ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘Everything’s fine!’

  ‘You’re certain? You know it’s getting quite – ’

  ‘I’m fine, I said. Fine.’

  The man remained motionless.

  ‘Quite fine! Thank you.’ Her articulated words pierced the ether.

  The man said no more; his car continued along the weaving stretch toward the castle.

  ‘My dutiful father. Now can we go?’

  ‘I remember the car. At the station last year.’

  ‘Can we go?’

  ‘Sure. Where can we – ’

  ‘Anywhere! That’s where. Any damn where. This has been one of the best days of my life. Can you understand that, can you?’ She turned away then quickly back, and held him. ‘I’m sorry; I don’t want this to end, a kiss against a cold wall. I don’t want to be alone tonight.’ Their embrace intensified. ‘I want you to love me, Tony. I want to love you.’

  * * *

  In the bare room Lenny perched on the edge of a worn sofa. Tony flitted with distractions, certain of nothing but what joining her would mean, before his head was right. In the sanctuary of the bathroom he cursed his hesitancy. Was it fear or street sense or insanity? At twenty-eight, what stopped him? What was wrong with him? With being here? He allowed himself one minute, no more, to get control.

  Nine years of incarcerated fantasies, all his dreams of this. And now it wasn’t as he envisaged. He wasn’t. It wasn’t simple or fearless. His unease felt asinine, given how he felt about her. Fuck his crazy mind, he cursed. Fantastic woman, waiting for him, a woman who wanted him as he was: flawed, shaking. And he was dishonouring the moment, and her. He didn’t deserve this freedom.

  Since he’d laid eyes on her this morning he had not stopped picturing her naked. Hadn’t been able to nor wanted to. Nor stopped imagining her next to him, her scent, the feel of her. Through all those hours the body and spirit of this woman had tortured his senses. For a whole year, in fact. A lifetime. Now he had to deal with it.

  Through the slightly-ajar door he stole her reflection from the mirror: half-reclining on the double bed, long legs, cotton dress, bare shoulders, her neat rounded breasts high up and distinct. His imaginings put tremors into him, forced him out of hiding. Just then her expression caught him, a face kind, bearing sureness, wiser than he would ever be.

  ‘Tony,’ she said, jolting him into the actuality of the moment. ‘Come beside me.’

  He sat on the edge of the bed, close to her.

  ‘I want to tell you something,’ she said.

  ‘No, no, no, you have to tell me nothing.’ He stood up. ‘Nothing. No.’

  She placed a finger to her lips and looked at him with need. Her hand brought him back to her.

  ‘I want to say this; please allow me. I’ll be thirty-six in March. I’ve been in love before, one time. Just in case all this seems some other way to you, I want you to know you are very, very special to me. Being here like this, it’s not something I do. I haven’t made love with anyone in close to four years.’

  ‘No, you don’t have to explain to me. Nothing. Not to me. I wasn’t thinking anything – ’

  ‘Shhhhh. Darling, no more talk . . . Make love to me.’

  His eyes climbed her slim, bare legs and over her curving form, then his hands, delicately, tentatively, and he kissed her sea-fragrant flesh, her shoulders, her chest, her trembling mouth, and a shared glance told that each was pledged, in abandon.

  ‘We can turn out the light,’ she whispered, ‘if you’d prefer.’

  ‘Can’t imagine not seeing you.’

  She unloosed both shoulder strings, slipped out of her clothing. ‘Then see me, Tony. Love me. Never stop.’

  Her smooth, pale flesh, warm to his hands, pushed his throbbing to the edge.

  ‘I want you so much,’ she whispered in a whisper full of dreams. ‘I love you.’

  7

  1964

  Aranroe Village

  In the icy air rang the chant of carols. And from overhead a shining angel and strings of bulbs gave life to the dark street.

  Child tightly by the hand, the gaunt woman hurried past tinselled shop fronts, avoiding passing faces. Her bulky overcoat, buttoned high, lent substance to her slightness. Outside McCann’s Village Hardware her hurry halted. She glared down once again at the wild-haired young girl wrapped in a scarlet raincoat, then struggled in against the weight of the shop door.

  ‘There y’are, Róisín Doyle,’ Paddy called out. ‘Bit under the weather? Something the matter?’

  ‘Not too bad, Paddy,’ she said in a tired voice.

  ‘And how’s the wee lassie? Didn’t get her mammy’s flaming hair.’

  ‘Sure red’s a curse, Paddy. Anyway, she’s grand. Six in March, wild as a vixen.’

  Paddy’s big apron-draped frame leaned across the bare-board counter. He poked his thumbs into his ears, stuck out his tongue, a
nd flapped his fingers at the child. Instantly, she mimicked his tease, expelling a blare of spit and air until her breath ran out.

  ‘God in heaven bless us and save us,’ he said with alarm. ‘Wasn’t me that taught you that. I never do things that bold.’ He picked a bulls-eye from a big glass jar and dropped it into the girl’s waiting palms. Then he turned back to the woman.

  ‘What can I do for you, Róisín?’

  ‘Do you mind if I ask you a sort of a personal question?’ she said, leaning closer to him. ‘When you were setting up the new shop, did you have to get a solicitor?’

  ‘I did. Sean Breathnach, up the road. If you don’t mind me asking: you wouldn’t be going into business against me?’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Paddy. Nothing like that. Is he a decent sort, Mr Breathnach?’

  Paddy brightened. ‘Grand lad. I still owe him a few quid and he never says a word.’ He drew back his shoulders, assumed an affectation: ‘“A pound or two, Patrick, in your own good time”, that’s it, all he says. Be sure you tell him it was me that sent him the business. Say you’re on the best of terms with meself and he’ll see you right.’

  ‘I’ll do that so.’

  ‘I’ve one shilling off the new artificial Christmas trees, just in from Germany. For yourself, one-and-sixpence off; how’s that?’

  ‘Not this year, Paddy. All I need is one of them plastic clothes lines.’

  ‘A line, a line,’ he said, searching the shelves behind him, and in a moment slapped two on the counter. ‘The twenty-foot’s one-and-eleven pence, the thirty-foot’s two-and-six pence. And I have the wire ones in the back, thruppence a yard.’

  ‘The cheapest one’ll do, with the plastic.’

  ‘Twenty-foot: what if it’s not long enough?’

  ‘It’ll do.’

  ‘Look, take the longer one. I won’t be charging you. Wee Christmas present. If it’s too long just snip the end off with a pliers. Now is there anything else I can do for you?’

  ‘You’re a good ould soul, Paddy.’

  He glanced to both sides then leaned over the counter. ‘Y’know what, Róisín Doyle, like I told you before, and I hope you won’t take offence at me saying it again; I’ve often said to meself: if you weren’t a married woman I’d be – ’

  The brass bell over the shop door clanged. He straightened up.

  Róisín gave a weak smile, picked up her straw bag, and departed.

  On the footpath, the child tugged at her mother’s coat. ‘Mammy, I want to light another candle, to the Blessed Virgin. Can we? Just one more. I want to.’

  ‘Tomorrow, pet, not today. You have to be very very good today. For mammy, okay?’

  ‘The doctor didn’t give me a sweet. Remember you said? And he didn’t. And I – ’

  ‘Stop it! Stop it! He forgot, Leonora. He forgot.’ She yanked the child forward and said nothing for a while. ‘I’ll buy you sweeties. But you have to promise to be the best girl today, you hear?’ Just then a car pulled up beside them.

  ‘Hop in. I’ll run you up home.’ Paddy reached across the front seat of the maroon Morris Minor and pushed open the door. ‘All them clouds mean only one thing.’

  ‘Ah no, Paddy, not at all. I’ve not far to go. You’re very good just the same.’

  Paddy scrambled out of the car. ‘Tell me what’s the matter? If you’re short for the Christmas I can lend you a few bob till ‘65 is well in, up to March, if you want.’

  ‘No, Paddy, thanks, it’s not that. I’m just, I’m just a bit worn down. Nothing more.’

  ‘C’mon so, hop in. I’ll run you up. And I’ll stick the line up for you while I’m there.’

  ‘I wouldn’t take you away from the shop. You have – ’

  ‘Not a bit of bother. That lazy lump of a brother of mine is well able on his own when he wants. And anyway I’ve a bit of business up in Westport.’

  ‘No, really, Paddy.’ Her dark eyes lowered, and a moment passed before she swept errant auburn locks off the child’s forehead. ‘But if you wouldn’t mind, you could drop her off at Leo and Peggy’s. Peg’s knitting her an Aran cardigan for Christmas. And you won’t have to wait; one of them’ll walk her back over after she gets measured.’

  ‘Mam, mam, remember you said you’d buy me sweets, remember? I want a Trigger bar, a Trigger bar and lemonade.’

  ‘That’s enough! I told you, not now! Didn’t I? Didn’t I tell you?’

  ‘I’ve a brainwave!’ Paddy’s exuberance defused the moment and captured Róisín’s attention. He took Leonora’s hand. ‘It’s half-three now. Why don’t I buy her her Trigger bar and lemonade in Ridgeways, then run her up to Leo’s, and on me way back from Westport I’ll collect her and bring her back over to you. And sure maybe then meself and yourself could have a bottle of stout, or something stronger, for the holidays, if the humour’s on you. What do you say to that?’

  Róisín’s smile strained, then with a vacancy her eyes floated up to the lights and trumpet-bearing angel rattling overhead.

  ‘I want a Flake; I want to get it in Christina’s. I don’t want a Trigger bar any more, mam; I want a Flake and a bottle of lemonade in Christina’s.’

  ‘Flake and lemonade it is. But we have to ask Mammy first.’ His attention flashed back to Róisín. ‘Are you alright, girl, or what? You’re as pale as a ghost and you need to wipe your eyes. D’you want to nip in to the Beehive or Concannon’s and have a small one, warm you up, get some life back into you?’

  ‘Not at all, Paddy, thanks, the walk’ll warm me. Just drop her off, if you wouldn’t mind. She’s grand at Leo and Peg’s place, and they always make her a bit to eat.’

  ‘If that’s what you want, I will. I could knock on your door anyway, later, put the line up for you. Wouldn’t take me five minutes.’

  ‘Another day, Paddy. You’re always going to trouble for me; you’re too good. Off with you now and do your business; don’t be delaying on account of me.’

  ‘Mammy, mam – ’

  ‘Whatttt?! Stopppp! What did I tell you? Stop!’

  The child’s face flushed. She hid behind Paddy’s baggy trousers.

  ‘I suppose Charles himself is away foreign?’ Paddy asked.

  Róisín shrugged distractedly.

  Paddy reached for the child, still huddling behind him, but she rotated with him, staying out of his view, and was thrilled at his show of bewilderment. ‘You’re being a very good wee girl,’ he said. ‘And you know what? I was told by a fairy princess I met on me way home last night – flying around above John Taylor’s Bar she was – that Santa’s making a grand big present for Leonora Quin of Aranroe, County Mayo, Ireland, Europe, the World. That’s what he wrote on it, and that’s what she told me, and he’ll be here very soon.’

  ‘Couldn’t tell you, Paddy, where the man is,’ Róisín said. ‘As you already know, I haven’t seen trace nor tidings of him this seven months. And don’t want to. It isn’t for all men, marriage. Not for him.’

  ‘They say God never closes one door unless he opens another. If things were meant to be that way ‘twas better it happen in the first year.’ After a silent nod from Róisín, Paddy’s tone changed. ‘And about yourself, girl, what is it you see yourself doing? Eventually, I mean. Edna O’Brien says there’s tons of Irish girls getting divorces in England, and marrying again. Anything of that sort cross your mind?’

  ‘I’m lost, Paddy. Lost. Gospel truth. Knowing what’s best is the hardest thing. Not for me I don’t mean, best for the child, if you understand me. What’s best for the child. Putting things right. All the legal stuff.’

  ‘Sean’s the man for that. He’ll see you right. And tell me this: the young one in the post office, she said you were down with a bad flu.’

  ‘Not flu, Paddy. But what’s the use complaining. The child’s healthy, there’s that to be thankful for. And there’s good people here, like Leo and Peg, and Dr Lappin and Fr Foley. But I never like bothering anyone.’

  ‘Good souls every one.’
<
br />   ‘And yourself as much as any, Paddy McCann. One of the best. And you should hear that.’

  ‘Ah stop, will you. No better than any other.’

  ‘I mean what I said. Or I wouldn’t say it. This day of any.’

  His eyes lifted to the strings of glowing lights. Then he regarded her directly. ‘Look, maybe a wiser man than me wouldn’t say this, but I’m saying it. I never could take to calling you Róisín Quin, so I won’t. If you weren’t a married woman, Róisín Doyle, I’d be asking you – ’

  ‘Married, Paddy? For eight months. Now only in name.’

  ‘I’d be asking you long ago, to go out with me, I would. And I know you know it.’

  ‘Life, Paddy. Desperate hard station.’ Her hand squeezed his. ‘The right somebody’ll come along for you. I know that. A lovely alive girl. Not half-taken like me. Won’t she be the lucky one. Fall for your good looks and kind nature.’ Her pause brought his regard back to her, whereupon her dark fluid eyes met his. The confluence ended at the blare of a car horn. Beside them Leonora cavorted in the driver’s seat, droning out engine sounds and pulling at the steering wheel.

  ‘Put the heart crossways in me,’ Paddy said, slapping his chest. ‘Time I was off, I suppose.’ He nudged the child over and fell into the driver’s seat.

  ‘Second thoughts, Paddy.’ Róisín hunkered down at the open window, ‘Ask Leo and Peg to keep her up there, not to walk her home. I’ll fly down and see Mr Breathnach; I could be delayed, could be late, you never know.’

  ‘I’ll do that. Any interest in the Christmas Pageant? It’s at eight tonight. I could collect you in the Morris. Car’s grand in the cold. I bet Leo and Peg won’t mind keeping an eye on the lassie.’

  Her unfocused stare hung in the divide as she reached in and stroked the child’s head.

  ‘You’re shaking, look at you,’ Paddy said. ‘That’s it, I’m dropping you up home this minute!’ He pushed out the passenger door. ‘Get in, girl, we’ll get a hot Jameson inside you, warm you up, do you a power of good.’

  ‘No!’ she said, a sternness in her white wintry face. Paddy offered no retort. ‘Go, Paddy McCann, go on. I need to get walking, that’s all. You’ll be sure it’s Leo you say it to, about keeping her? Wild she is, you know.’ Her attention turned to the child. ‘Only now and then, pet, not all the time.’