He smiled back at her. “Okay. I know she’s in good hands.”
Hanna watched the streaks in the sky darken and wondered if she’d ever been so terrified before. Now, with tiredness kicking in, the events of the night were beginning to seem like a dream.
Malcolm nudged her. “Look, I want to say thank you.”
“For what?”
“Well, for what you said in there just now. About things being okay. I appreciate it.”
They had been standing with their arms linked, but now Hanna pulled away from him.
“What, you thought I was going to drop you in it?”
“No, but . . .”
“But I might have. Is that what you mean? That I might have exploded the myth of our blame-free divorce.”
“Look, Hanna, forget it.”
“You are a piece of work—you know that, Malcolm? Our daughter could have died. And all you think about is how to keep covering your tracks!”
Malcolm held up his hands. “Look, we’re both tired. I said thank you. That’s not what you wanted to hear me say. That’s fine.”
“You’re damn right, that’s not what I wanted to hear you say. I want to hear you say you’re sorry. But that’s never going to happen, is it? Because you don’t even accept that you were wrong.”
She watched him assume his familiar armor. The calm voice, the reasonable manner, even the tilt of the head that she’d seen him use in the courtroom. When he spoke again they might just as well have been back in the stupid hotel room in London.
“I didn’t want to fall in love with another woman. It happened. Would you really rather I’d told you at the time? Do you know what you were like after we lost the baby? Helpless. Useless. You were lost yourself.”
“I was the one who said we should end the marriage! You were the one who insisted that I stay!”
“And you did. And you found the house. And the house was what saved you. Do you deny it?”
She couldn’t deny it. And she hated him for cross-questioning her.
“You found the house. And then I found Tessa. It was rotten timing but it wasn’t my fault.”
“And then you spent the next twenty years making a fool of me!”
“I’ve told you before, I did what I deemed best.”
Hanna pressed her back against the hospital railings. What was the point of any of this? She was over Malcolm, long over him. And she was done with all the guilt and with feeling a fool. Biting her lip, she ducked her head and then looked up at him.
“All right. Forget it. I’m sorry. You’re right, I’m tired.”
His face softened and he took her by the shoulders.
“We could have lost Jazz but we didn’t. That’s all that matters. As for the rest, well, maybe we both made mistakes.”
He pulled her gently toward him and his eyes were just as she remembered them. So was the faint smell of his aftershave and the early-morning roughness of his cheek as he bent to kiss her. When he let her go he was smiling.
“That felt good.”
It had felt good to Hanna, too. Suddenly she was pierced by the memory of the cup of tea he had brought her in bed after her miscarriage and the sweet scent of the jasmine he’d given her in the London garden on the night when he’d come up with Jazz’s name. Now his hands were warm in the chill morning air as he raised her face to his and she closed her eyes.
“There were a lot of good times, weren’t there, Hanna? Why don’t we try for them again?”
For a moment it all seemed perfect and possible. Then Hanna opened her eyes and stepped back.
“What about Tessa?”
“I never stopped loving you.”
“No, I mean what about Tessa? How’s she going to feel?”
It was daft, she knew, to be worrying about a woman who’d deceived her for so many years. But Malcolm and she were divorced now and Tessa, who had stuck with him, deserved some consideration. She looked at him, planning to suggest that they take things easy. He could go over to London and talk to Tessa. Then, when he’d told her the news and was back to see Jazz, they could go from there. It wouldn’t be easy. But maybe it was possible. Both she and Malcolm were older now, so perhaps they were wiser. And perhaps he was right and the truth was they’d both made mistakes.
Then, as her mind snatched at possibilities, she looked at his face and saw his reaction to her question. For the space of the blink of an eye he’d returned to the courtroom, and, behind the familiar armor, he was selecting his response.
Hanna’s own eyes narrowed and she stepped back. “She’s left you, hasn’t she?”
His face told her nothing but she knew she was right. Tessa was gone.
Malcolm shrugged. “Yes, Tessa and I have split up . . .”
“When?”
“What does that matter?”
“When?”
“Recently. But that’s got nothing to do with us.”
“Right. Get this. There is no us. Not now. We have one thing in common, and that’s our daughter. You need to understand that, Malcolm. Whatever we had in the past is gone. And it’s you who chucked it away.”
Stepping up to him, she spoke calmly. “And here’s something else that you need to take on board. I won’t be party any longer to your fiction about our divorce. Jazz is a grown-up now, not a schoolgirl, and the next time she asks me a question I’m not going to lie. So perhaps, before that happens, you should tell her the truth yourself.”
As she spoke, the taxi pulled in at the curb. She’d call him tomorrow, she said, stepping away from him. And if Jazz’s condition should change before that she’d certainly let him know. Then she watched the cab drive off and went back into the hospital. The only real mistake she’d ever made, she told herself, was to let Malcolm Turner mess with her head.
When she came back to reception the others were still there. Mary had announced she was going nowhere till that boyo from London was gone. Now, after a shrewd glance at Hanna, she prepared to go home without resistance. Fussing round, gathering coats and handbags, Pat urged Hanna to come, too.
“Thank you, Pat, that’s kind but I want to look in on Jazz again. I’ll stay awhile.”
As Hanna helped Mary into her coat she winked at her, lowering her voice.
“You were right again, Mam, but don’t expect me to admit it.”
Mary Casey just hugged her fiercely and told her to go back to Jazz.
60
As soon as the others had left, Hanna went back to the room and found Jazz still asleep. An hour later, when a nurse looked in, she was still sitting by the bed.
“I’d go home if I were you, Miss Casey. You’ll see her in the morning. She’s safe here with us.”
Hanna could hardly bear to leave Jazz in the white sterile bed, dressed in a hospital gown and hedged in by machines. Still, the nurse was right. Sitting here made no difference. And anyway, she realized, she was bone tired.
The receptionist gave her the number of a car service and reminded her not to use her cell phone in the building. When she walked out the air was still chilly even though the sun had risen. Malcolm would be well on his way back to London, she thought, and Mary would be home in the bungalow. Now, before she could reach for her phone, she heard Brian Morton’s voice. He had been sitting on a bench near the door, and, as he came toward her, she saw he was carrying her coat.
“It’s cold. I thought you’d need this.”
Hanna looked at him in disbelief. “Have you been sitting there all night?”
“No. But I do live just around the corner and I called to see how things were. They said the rest of the family had already gone home and you were just leaving. And I remember how cold early mornings can be after a long night in a hospital.”
He helped Hanna to put on the coat.
“They wouldn’t say much about the patient but I gather she’s okay.”
“She’s sleeping. They say she should be fine.”
“Well, I thought I’d come round and offer you
a lift home.”
“God, I never even thanked you for bringing me here.”
“Well, you can do that in the car.”
As they walked to the car, he asked her where he should take her.
“The hideous bungalow?”
Hanna managed a weak grin. “No, please! It must be almost breakfast time and I couldn’t stand the hairy rashers.”
He drove her to Maggie’s house between hedges that were shining with dew. Leaning back in the passenger seat, Hanna felt her muscles, which had been tensed for hours, begin to relax.
Then, as Brian pulled up in front of the gate, she realized that the coat he had brought her had been on the back of her seat in the council chamber. After he’d driven her to the hospital he must have gone back to the meeting.
“Yes. Well, I didn’t want to intrude. I just thought I’d get out of the way and phone later.”
“So you must have been there for the vote. What happened?”
Brian got out of his seat and went round to open the passenger door. As she stepped out of the car she saw the look on his face.
“Hanna, I’m sorry, the proposal went through.”
“You mean the council’s proposal?”
“Yes. It was a small majority, and they did debate your submission at length. But in the end the original motion was carried.”
Brian took her by the elbows and told her he was sorry. “I know how much it meant to you.”
Hanna felt numb. It didn’t seem possible that all the creativity and effort that had gone into the submission had been for nothing. And now, sleepless and exhausted by the shock of Jazz’s accident, she could hardly remember what it had all been about in the first place. She didn’t want a conversation, she just wanted to close her eyes and escape from everything. Yet there was one thing that it seemed important to say.
“Look, I’m sorry. This whole thing started off shrouded in secrecy. And a couple of times when you and I talked I know I was less than honest.”
“That’s bad.”
“Like I say, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to lie to you and I hated it when I did.”
“Well, I guess that’s good.”
Brian opened the gate and they walked down the path by the gable end of the house. When they turned the corner, the huge sky at the end of the rutted field was shining like mother-of-pearl. Hanna breathed in deeply. After the overheated antiseptic smells of the hospital, the salt tang of the ocean air was delicious. They came to the door and she turned at the threshold. Brian, who had been holding her arm, let go and looked at her. In the pause that followed, Hanna knew that they both wanted him to stay. She would open the door and the house with its wide hearth and painted walls would welcome them. She’d light a fire against the chill of the morning and brew coffee and serve it in the wide pottery bowls. Maybe they’d talk or maybe they’d just sit there and drink it. Or maybe they’d go through to the bedroom, to the deep warmth and comfort of the brass bed she’d not yet slept in.
They looked at each other, sharing the thought of all the possibilities, but Brian didn’t move. Had it been Malcolm, things would have been different, but Hanna knew that with Brian the decision would be up to her.
Brian looked down at her grave expression. It would have been easy for him to have followed his instincts, swept her into his arms, and carried her through the door, like the hero of a novel. But this was real life. And this was Hanna—vulnerable, angry, clever, stupid, and now exhausted. If they made the wrong move now, he knew, one or another of them would probably have to leave Finfarran. But if they got this right there was a chance it might transform their lives.
Hanna reached out and placed her hand against his shoulder. Under the thick wool of the jersey he was wearing she could feel the hollow of his collarbone. That was the place on Malcolm’s shoulder where she’d laid her forehead when she’d run to him in the hospital; she could still feel the raindrops on Malcolm’s overcoat and the familiar strength of his arms. Now she linked her hands behind Brian’s neck and drew his head down to hers. Then, pressing her two hands against his shoulders, she pushed him away.
61
When she entered the house it welcomed her with stillness. She closed the door and leaned against it, seeing Brian’s figure block the light from the window as he passed it and walked away. The morning sunlight had begun to warm the room but Hanna still felt cold. Kneeling on the hearth, she put a match to the kindling and watched small flames begin to flicker up through the sods of turf. She wondered if she was too tired to boil a kettle, but the idea of the warmth of the bowl between her hands and the rich taste and scent of the coffee spurred her on. When the coffee was brewed she carried it to the fire and sat down on the rush-bottomed chair.
At first all she felt was relief that Jazz was alive. Then the fact that she might well have been killed hit her again like a blow to the gut. Shivering so violently that she almost spilled the coffee, she set the bowl on the floor, took the shawl from the back of the chair, and wrapped it round her. After a few minutes the shivering stopped and in the quiet that followed she almost laughed, thinking of how much like Maggie she must look, crouched over the fire with a shawl round her shoulders. It had never occurred to her to wonder what Maggie used to think about, sitting all alone in the house. Now, sitting here herself, she thought about Brian. What would it be like if he, too, were here by the hearth? If they’d come into the house together, she’d lit the fire while he made the coffee, and she’d allowed herself to be comforted and cared for? It would have been different. But it wouldn’t have been what she needed. Or wanted. At least, not yet. First she needed to understand what she had and how far she’d come to get it.
This wasn’t the house of her childhood dreams. The naïve young man with his curly-brimmed hat, his flowered waistcoat, and his pink-cheeked wife with her baby and her quilted petticoat, had no place here. This wasn’t a stylish project fit for a design magazine or a perfect retreat from a stressful world. Instead it was a place of compromises. The elegant kitchen that she loved was a secondhand windfall. The dresser by the hearth still belonged more to Maggie, or even to Fury, than to herself. In fact, none of the furniture or possessions that surrounded her were symbols of hard-won independence. They were the story of her reintegration into a community that, for years, she had failed to value and that now might be her salvation.
As firelight and sunlight filled the room Hanna began to feel warmer. Dropping the shawl from her shoulders to her elbows, she took up her coffee again. She still felt strangely distanced from the news that Brian had brought her. The fight for Lissbeg Library had been lost. Soon—not at once but inevitably—she would find herself out of a job. It was certain that there’d be nothing for her in Finfarran’s library service. Tim would see to that. Perhaps, with so many new contacts in the community, she was better placed now than she might have been when it came to finding something else. But with work already so hard to find on the peninsula, would anyone offer a job to a woman her age? This was the hard fact from which Brian’s company tonight would have shielded her. But the truth was that she was happier to face it at once and alone.
There was a knock at the door and Hanna went to open it realizing that, paradoxically, she was hoping Brian had come back. But it was Fury on the threshold, with his waxed jacket hitched round his skinny hips and The Divil sniffing at his heels. Hanna stood back to let them in. She had yet to find a table for the house, so her three straight-backed chairs were standing against the wall. Fury moved one of them to the fire and placed another between his chair and Hanna’s. Then, reaching into the poacher’s pocket in his jacket, he produced a disreputable-looking package and laid it on the chair that stood between them. The Divil curled up on the hearth as near to the fire as he could get.
“I hear the child in the hospital is grand.”
Hanna smiled. It was inevitable that Fury would be up to date with the news.
“She’ll be fine. You heard we lost the vote, too, I suppose.”
“I did, of course, and I saw it coming. Sure, Joe Furlong and Ger Fitz and the rest of the money men had it all stitched up beforehand.”
His smugness irritated Hanna. If he was so sure that they’d been wasting their time, she said, why hadn’t he said so earlier?
“Because it wasn’t a waste. It was a triumph.”
Look at the way people had come together, he said. People like Conor’s dad, Paddy McCarthy, who’d hardly come out of the house a few weeks ago and had ended up on a committee; and the next thing you knew he was coming to grips with a computer and laying stuff out on spreadsheets. And what about the seniors? You wouldn’t see them kowtowing to Father McGlynn again, not now that they’d tasted freedom. What about all the young people and their networking? And Sister Michael out in the garden surrounded by friends when she used to be stuck in a sickroom? And what about Hanna herself?
“What about me?”
“Isn’t it obvious? There you were driving round the peninsula for years with a face on you like a hen’s arse. And look at you now! A grand lift in your step and a big smile for everyone.”
“Well, the chances are that I won’t be smiling for long.”
“Why so?”
“Because I’ll be down on my uppers. We’ve lost the fight and they’re going to close the library.”
“Ah, woman dear, do you think I’m a fool entirely? They’ll do nothing of the sort.”
Fury nodded at the package he’d put on the chair.
“Look what I’ve brought you.”
Hanna opened the wrapping. Inside was the lectern made of ash wood with its brass leaves and its newly carved ribbon of berries. Baffled, she looked up at Fury who was sitting back looking smug.
“Isn’t it a great thing altogether, Miss Casey, that it’s a book that will save your library and put the money men in their place?”
Taking the lectern into his own hands, Fury smiled at her. He hadn’t waited till the end of the meeting last night, he said. He’d seen which way the wind was blowing so he’d driven round to Castle Lancy.
The Library at the Edge of the World Page 28