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

by Joseph Éamon Cummins

  ‘Married?!’ Tony jumped to his feet. ‘Bullshit. That’s a lie. Who said that?’

  ‘Does it matter? My faith deserted me. I didn’t want to believe it, that it was over, that she could – ’

  ‘She didn’t! I know she didn’t. Someone was fucking with your head.’

  ‘She’d found happiness, had her life back, I told myself. A future to look forward to. Children. Everything I ever wanted for her. What right had I to interfere with her dream.’

  ‘You abandoned her; that’s what you’re saying. What kind of relationship is that? Dumb-ass stupid.’

  ‘Hey, Brit, want me to mangle the bollox?’ Fogo approached. ‘Will I bury the fucker for you?’

  ‘Sit down, you uncivilised God-forsaken moron,’ Aidan roared. ‘Sit down!’

  Fogo’s hand shot up, middle finger raised. ‘Fuckhead,’ he said, then retreated to his lookout onto the dark wasteland.

  Aidan turned back to Tony. ‘I don’t know what kind of relationship it was. Not in words, I don’t. I never knew. Only what it felt like: everything. In a world better than this one. But I have never abandoned her, not to this day.’

  ‘You’re here in Dublin, a hundred and fifty miles from her, and for three years you never phoned her, even to say you were alive?’

  ‘My friend, your mind is too young, too innocent. Look at me.’ He hauled his body up out of the chair. ‘Look at me!’ he yelled, forcing Tony’s compliance. ‘Would you approve of your beautiful young daughter sharing my life? Would what you see standing here before you be good enough for your precious daughter?’

  ‘You mean Charles Quin; he had a hand in this? Or Leo Reffo?’

  ‘I don’t know. Don’t know about any of that. I believed Lenny had found love. That’s all. In the letters I’d written, before I went up there, I told her how my leg was getting stronger. That the doctors were surprised at how well my skull had healed. I was almost as good as new, I told her. Same old Aidan, almost.’

  The air between them turned quiet, interrupted only by the rat-tat-tat of rain. Aidan’s hands swept through his silver mane as a wretchedness seemed to come over him.

  ‘I begged her to write back, tell me we could still have our dream, become the invisible couple we’d often joked about. Or not, as the case may be. Whatever she wanted. Just let me know. I heard nothing back. After a while I didn’t write any more. Then I realised I was having some kind of breakdown. As it turned out, not too serious. She was praying for me, I told myself. That’s when I started pulling myself together. For a long while now I’ve been really strong again. Over it all. Over Lenny. Finally.’

  ‘You’re forty-something and you learned what about life? If you’re not brave enough to go all out for what you want, who the fuck’s going to give it to you? The god you pray to? Who? Who the fuck’ll give it to you? I’m asking you, who?!’

  ‘Anto, that’s you. Who you are. Me, I trust in God, and in people. Too much in both at times, perhaps. But like I said, none of that matters now. Really, it doesn’t. Even if they lied to me in Aranroe, if Lenny knew nothing of it, now she has you. And I can see you’d let no man change that. So, God bless you both.’

  Aidan’s chair rolled over the gritty floor, followed the arc of the table until the two men were closer than they’d been up to now. With firmness in his countenance, Aidan rose up, stood unaided.

  ‘No, Anto, I’m sorry. I go on here. I, too, am part of this land, and forever will be. I will never go back to England. Nor anywhere else, ever. Not even in a box.’

  * * *

  Shortly after exiting the tenement he found a phone kiosk by the river. He pulled the brass handle, then stalled, tussling with his thoughts. Two linking girls moved toward the kiosk. He stepped inside. The girls crinkled their faces and waited against the Liffey wall.

  ‘Kate, shhhhh, don’t say my name! Is Lenny nearby? Just say yes or no.’

  ‘Tony, where are – ’

  ‘Kate!’

  ‘She’s in the lounge with Ferdia, playing draughts. Something’s wrong, what is it? Where are you?’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong. I only have a minute, Kate, I’m in a coin box. You guys getting along well?’

  ‘Everything’s wonderful, Tony. Lenny’s crazy about you, she never stops – ’

  ‘Kate, what are your plans, you and Lenny?’

  ‘We walked around Dublin today. Lenny’s staying till Monday evening. She’s taking the afternoon bus tour to Kilkenny tomorrow. I’ve been called in, unfortunately; I have to work, but she said she’s grand going on her own. I’m taking Monday off instead; we’ll go somewhere nice. Tony, she’s really worried; she phoned you earlier, your B&B, and again after we got home. Where have you been?’

  ‘What time is she getting into Aranroe on Monday?’

  ‘The 7pm train, gets there at ten past ten. She was afraid you’d fallen or got lost up in the mountains. What’s wrong, Tony?’

  ‘No. Nothing. Just thinking . . . about strange people – ’

  ‘Tony, you’re not okay.’

  ‘I’m fine! But I have to run.’

  ‘Wait, tell me what you were saying. What strange people?’

  ‘It’s nothing, just people, in general, can be strange. Have to run, Kate.’

  ‘Wait, hold on.’

  ‘Can’t. Have to go. Something to do. Then I’ll – ’

  ‘Something dangerous! That’s Anto I’m hearing. That’s Anto’s voice. Listen to me: you have nothing to prove any more, to anyone, even yourself. Are you listening to what I’m saying?’

  ‘Kate, come on, I don’t want to hear this. I know, I know who I am. I’m free of all that.

  ‘Think of all you’ve achieved, Tony. Don’t throw it away.’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong, Kate! I’m telling you. It’s just, just nothing, it’s – ’

  ‘Stop it! Stop telling me lies. I can feel it. I hear Newark in you. You’re angry about something, or someone.’

  ‘Kate, look, I’m dead tired, that’s all. I got four hours sleep. That’s what you’re hearing. Nothing more.’

  ‘Is that so? I all but reared you, remember that. I’m here, now. No judging, no advice, just to listen. Tell me what’s wrong, Tony.’

  ‘Have to go.’

  ‘Tony, remember our agreement, last year? The day of your release? If trouble came to either of us we’d trust in each other, tackle it together. Remember that?’

  ‘And a few months after that you said no to Brendan when he wanted you to get back together. You took care of it, Kate, didn’t you? On your own, the way you should. You didn’t need my advice. Same for me now. Anyway, look, there’s nothing to worry about. Now I have to – ’

  ‘Have to, you have to. Don’t give me that. You don’t have to face anything alone. No one does; that’s one of those myths. My problems with Brendan started ten years ago; splitting up and staying split was the solution, Tony, not the problem.’

  ‘Didn’t mean it that way. You were a hundred percent right. But I’m after a different freedom. Been waiting for it since I was seventeen. Now I’ll take care of what I have to to get it. See you very soon, big sister.’

  ‘Wait, Tony!’ At that moment she noticed Lenny moving toward her with a conflicted look. ‘Tony, Lenny is right here, beside me. I’m going to put – ’

  ‘No. Kate, Kate – ’

  ‘Darling,’ Lenny said, pausing. ‘I’m missing you. I kept calling. You’ve been up in the mountains all this time, the whole day?’

  ‘Good bit of it. Then I was out. Rambling. You enjoying yourself?’

  ‘It’s great. Be perfect if you were here. To hold me in bed tonight.’

  ‘Things will be, everything will be fine. Very soon.’

  ‘Tony, is Kate upset? Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine, not a thing wrong. Kate just wants me to get down to Dublin sooner. But listen, I’m in a coin box now, people are waiting to use it. I better run. Just called to see how you were doing.’

  ‘Reall
y, really good, Tony, really excellent. Kate’s wonderful. I’m taking a tour to Kilkenny tomorrow afternoon, so I won’t be back in Aranroe till late on Monday. You’re not taking the hiking trail up on Mweelrea tomorrow, I hope? You promised, not without me.’

  ‘Not without you. Not without you.’

  ‘Better not. We’re doing it together, like we said, as soon as the weather looks good.’

  ‘Gotta run – ’

  ‘Tony, nothing’s changed, has it, between us? You sound different, down. If ever something is – ’

  ‘Nothing’s changed, Lenny. Nothing. Just dead tired, that’s all.’

  ‘I love you so much. Get rest, go to bed. Hear?’

  He caught himself smiling at how her words stirred him, a brief diversion from the mission spinning in his head. ‘I will, don’t worry. Have a great time in Kilkenny.’

  ‘Good time. Can’t be great without you. You sure nothing’s getting you down?’

  ‘Positive.’

  ‘You do love me?’

  ‘‘Course. Be waiting for you at the station on Monday. Bye.’

  ‘Not bye. Don’t say bye. We’ll be together in two days. Dream of me.’

  ‘Always do.’

  He trudged along the river, past the Four Courts, then turned off into the old-city quarter of Smithfield. The rain had died off somewhat; and now in the puddled gloom, down narrow twisting streets, past raucous pubs spilling out revellers and anthems, he searched for a place to sleep. In a strangely invigorating way he felt part of this dark ward, saw it to be the sinew and bone and blood he was born to. A membership neither Aidan nor Lenny could claim. He belonged to the soul of an ancient capital. But even here, he realised, his Irishness and other passions were all mixed together in a grey-matter mess; he was adrift, raging once again against his dispossession, just as fiercely as in Newark, with still more to learning to do, and more to lose. He journeyed on, deep into the marrow of the original city, into a labyrinth of lightless arteries, a place primeval and womblike.

  * * *

  For a while after the call Lenny remained in the kitchen, the bloom gone. Moving back toward the lounge, she paused by the photomontage she and Kate had earlier shared, a melange of corduroyed urchins and rosetted first-communicants from a black-and-white past. MacNeills all, lined up on Dublin City streets, their innocence captured by a long-gone itinerant cameraman. Ferdia disturbed her reverie, holding out coins, the spoils of a draughts champion.

  ‘Ferdia, love,’ Kate called out and waited for the child’s attention. ‘Go and pour yourself a cup of juice.’ The boy bounded for the kitchen.

  The two women came together.

  ‘Kate, I’m worried about Tony. I’m sorry, but I feel I should go back tonight.’

  ‘He’s just exhausted, that’s all. And he misses you; that’s also why he’s not at his best. I wouldn’t worry.’

  ‘Even so. He’s been through a lot, and he’s such a good person. You think he sounded like he was in some kind of trouble?’

  Kate brooded before answering. ‘He’s fine. At twenty-eight he can take care of himself. Always could.’

  ‘But did he say anything? You know, anything out of the ordinary?’

  ‘Just that people were waiting to use the phone box. That’s why he was hurrying. He’s fine, don’t be worrying yourself.’

  ‘Kate, there’s a late train; I’ve taken it before. It’s nearly nine now. Could we? I know it’s silly, but I’d be –’

  ‘Let’s go. You’re worried. It’s not silly.’

  Lenny pushed her arms into her raincoat. ‘When I get there I’ll go straight to his B&B and I’ll phone you. I’m being paranoid, I know; I get that way. We’ll come back up very soon, and we’ll all go out to dinner together, somewhere really nice, maybe the Shelbourne, or the Westbury, or Patrick Gilbaud’s; it’ll be my treat.’

  A sentient smile lifted Kate’s countenance. She opened out her arms; the women hugged. ‘We will,’ she said. ‘Very soon. But we have to leave right now.’

  * * *

  Tony MacNeill pressed further into the darkness, almost marching for no reason that was clear to him. He was unfazed by these bleak streets, at ease in the glances of the stragglers he had passed, among whose kind he felt no blot or blur or stain, no number or shame, where he could flaunt his belongingness or parade in the comfort of anonymity. Gradually, though, this conceit gave way to snatches of the hell that had been his, a life lost to incarceration, soulless and alone, the agonies in holding on, staying human, remaining sane, and the poison of despair. And now, sifting in this night for what was still strong in his core, he was swept forward with no clear purpose.

  He drifted through a maze of foreign lanes suffused with the stink of the low-tide Liffey, ruminating among myths and realities, sucking in the night air, demanding lucidity, conviction, and ultimately a decision. And once again he passed a dim window sign that read Rooms. From there he skewed off onto Old Forge Hill, a snaking rise closed in by high, razor-wire walls; and at the top he stopped to curse a turmoil inside him that would not relent.

  Then out of this unyielding ether, slowly, something occurred, took shape: a compulsion, a compulsion to actualise the crazy notion forming in him, a lunatic notion, which his internal voice called him to execute. Then, like the stick of a blade, the pick of a sharp bone, the notion became a knowing, and a decision. Firm. Absurd. Impossible probably. And just then a big moon floated free, lit his watching eyes, sealed his resolve, and disappeared.

  Time now, he decided, although now he bore no sense of the passage of time, time to find a place, get inside, make peace if he could with what was upturning his mind. He would not be diverted from this, his new mission, for ultimately his life had to have worth. And when the voice inside paused he wondered if his mind was intact. Or gone, at last. Then the hide-and-seek moon re-emerged, luminous, like the shining silver sixpence he’d long ago earn for polishing all the shoes in the house for Sunday Mass. And in this cool blue light it was profoundly clear what he hadn’t until now accepted: his love of Lenny Quin had brought an end, and a beginning, clear as day and night. He would stake all on this.

  His eyes flicked open. He struggled up off the wet concrete, puzzled at his circumstances, at this place, at the journey that had brought him here, how it had happened. But he’d find his way out; he always had done. He’d get in out of the night, get warm, dry, think himself straight. In the far distance he found a lighted steeple. He steadied his legs, brushed damp and grit off his clothing, and went in search of a window sign he hoped was real: Rooms.

  19

  It was close to midnight when the nearly-empty train pulled into Aranroe’s deserted station.

  Neither Paddy McCann nor any car waited. Lenny set out up the hill, her breath fogging the raw country air. At Greyfriars B&B Hotel she tapped the metal knocker.

  After repeated knocks an upstairs window opened, a head poked out. No, Mr MacNeill was not there, the desk clerk declared. Lenny persisted. It was not his business, he said, to know the whereabouts of guests, and it was late.

  ‘But you haven’t checked his room,’ she shouted up. ‘This is very important. Please. What time did you come on duty?’

  The thin-faced man peered over his shoulder. ‘Two hours and ten minutes ago. If he doesn’t show up, try back in the morning.’ He pulled the window closed before she could plead further. But her fingers found the night bell and kept it depressed. The window re-opened. ‘Look, that’s enough out of you,’ the clerk said. ‘Our guests sleep at night. Now, be off, or the gardai will be here in minutes.

  She stabbed the bell again in long bursts. The clerk did not respond. ‘Bastard!’ she shouted, then laboured up the hill and through the entrance into Claire Abbey.

  At first light she confronted the same clerk across the front desk. ‘Tony MacNeill; I need you to check his room.’

  ‘All one can do is buzz.’ He dialled the room, listened briefly, and hung up. ‘Afraid not.’

&n
bsp; ‘Try again, please. Let it ring.’

  ‘If he was there, he’d – ’

  ‘Please! It could be a life-or-death situation. Ring again.’

  ‘As I said, if he was there he’d have answered. If he wanted to be disturbed, that is.’

  ‘He’s a climber. Be reasonable, will you. If he’s not here he could be up on the mountain, hurt. I need to check his room.’

  ‘Out of the question. That’s enough now; I have work to do.’

  She spun away, pulled open the lobby door, and beckoned. Leo approached.

  ‘I’m sorry, I know it’s early,’ she said, gripping him. ‘Tony’s missing. I think he could be hurt, on the mountain somewhere; something has happened to him.’

  Leo’s eyes deflected, then returned to her sadness. ‘Is it, could it be possible that he – ’

  ‘No, no, it’s not! No.’

  ‘Grand so. What can I do?’

  She told him of the clerk’s refusal to cooperate.

  ‘Room?’

  ‘Nine.’

  Behind the counter, Leo pressed the clerk onto a chair. ‘You’ll stay there if you know what’s good for you,’ he said. He took the key from the rack and handed it to Lenny.

  ‘What would it cost you?’ he said, glaring down at the clerk, ‘Tell me that. What would it cost you to care a bit more? The lad in there, that woman, they’re worth your – ’

  Lenny’s cry pulled him down the corridor. In Room 9 she sat on the edge of the bed she had one night shared. Leo’s eyes raced around the room; he pushed in the narrow bathroom door.

  ‘He’s gone,’ she said.

  ‘Not at all, he’s not. Just from here. He’s off to Achill, hiking, someplace like that. You’ll see, Princess.’

  ‘He’s gone. Everything’s gone.’

  ‘Just moved to a better B&B, and he couldn’t reach you, you were up in Dublin.’

  Her blue eyes rose up slowly until her anguish and Leo’s commiseration convened.