“Come in to the house, Ellen. I insist.”
She surprises herself by getting out of the car. “Ah, why not?” she says, struggling for an elusive nonchalance. “How’s your own mother?” she asks.
“She’s well. I take it that Kitty is fully recovered?”
“Yeah.” He opens the door and waves her in ahead of him. This is all wrong, she realizes. She’s not going to be able to carry it off. She’s in danger of breaking down and making a show of herself. He’s still somewhere in the vicinity of the door. “You know, I’d better not,” she says. “I’ve been out all afternoon. Kitty will be wondering where I am. I’m late enough as it is.”
He’s silent for a while, and she wishes that he’d do some talking while she fights with herself. “Ellen,” he says eventually, “are you coming in or not?”
“Look, I’m really sorry I said no that time,” she blurts out. “It was so stupid. I just couldn’t get my head around the idea of living with you.” And she’s striding toward the car, but he’s beside her, and he catches her so that she’s forced to stop.
“What are you saying?” She doesn’t recognize his voice. It doesn’t sound like him. “Have you changed your mind? What happened?” he asks.
“It took till this afternoon for me to realize — that you’re the best thing that has happened to me. I’ve been so stupid,” she says unhappily.
“What do you mean ‘the best thing’? Better than Kitty, a better bet than Dublin, handy to have about — is that it?”
She’s shocked. “Those are dreadful things to say. It’s nothing like that. Not a bit of it. I mean I got stuck, afraid to move in with you because I thought I’d lose out. I’ve just copped it. There’s been way too much playing safe in my life. The move here was the first breakthrough. Then I got hung up on being independent. It took a while to see that I needed to break away from that.”
His expression is unreadable. “Do you want me?” he asks. “Will you live with me?”
A cough catches in her throat. “I think so, but do you still want me? You’ve hardly been about this last while.”
“That’s a bit rich. You and Kitty have been living in each other’s pockets, and it’s very daunting. Don’t forget that you shot me down the time I made a move. That doesn’t boost a fellow’s ego, now does it? And you don’t send out signals. You can be very enigmatic, you know.”
“I’d never have had the courage to come here today if I thought you were back. It’s a big thing putting yourself on the line.”
“Tell me about it,” he says gruffly. “I thought I couldn’t have been plainer about wanting to move our relationship up a notch. And I was even congratulating myself on the timing, imagining that it would help you to put the Kitty conundrum behind you.”
“You thought you’d help me?” she says.
“Now, don’t tell me I’m patronizing you,” he says exasperatedly. “What can I say that’s right? I love you — want you — need you? What’s the politically correct way to negotiate all this stuff?”
“I’ve been agonizing over everything this last month.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that. But we’re still on your ‘no,’ remember?”
“May I change that?”
“Honestly, even when you’re under pressure you remember the difference between ‘may’ and ‘can’! And of course you can change your mind. So, finally, is this a ‘yes’?”
“Yes, to everything. Will that do?”
“I’m glad to see some positivism — or is that positivity? — at last. And I warn you that I intend to take every advantage of you. Come here,” he says, gathering her to him. “It was awful you not being with me in Portugal. I was miserable. You’re never to do this to me again.”
“There’s no danger of that,” she manages to say before he drags her back with him into the house.
Nineteen
BEATRICE COVERS PLATES of sandwiches with foil, counts out crockery and cutlery, checks the apple tart and jam sponge, and stands back to admire her handiwork.
The doorbell rings. She whips off her apron and makes her way out to the hall. “Evening, Matt. You’re the first,” she says. There’s a tricky moment as they size each other up. When she rang and invited him to the gathering, she anticipated a brusque turndown. Instead, he seemed glad to be asked.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he says, and indeed a recent haircut and color touchup, application of light foundation and lipstick, and stylish deep green dress with matching shoes take years off her.
“I’m not working a farm now so I can indulge myself. Come in, come in.” She ushers him into the sitting room where she has set up chairs around an oval table. Flames hiss and spit from the fire-place. “The wood in that log is damp,” she says, explaining the fire-guard.
Matt warms his hands by the fire. “Funny how you need a fire to take the chill out of the old rooms. It’s years since we had a game of cards in this house, in any of the houses for that matter. There was a time when we were always playing. Fair dues to you, Beatrice, for resurrecting the tradition.”
“We’ll see how it goes. It may happen only the once.”
The doorbell goes again and Beatrice hurries to answer it. “Brrh, that’s a cold night,” Matt hears, recognizing Ellen’s voice. “I warn you that I’m not a great card player,” she says as she comes into the room. “You’ll have to make allowances.”
She’s followed by Eugene. “I’ll help,” he says.
“Huh,” she says dismissively. “He was supposed to show me how to play a hundred and ten yesterday, but the minute I started to get the hang of it, his competitive instinct kicked in and he trounced me every time. There isn’t much incentive to learn.”
Eugene grins. “Once you’ve mastered the basics, you need a bit of a challenge to advance you.”
“You ensured that I’ll be thrown in at the deep end is what it is.”
“Typical. They can’t bear to lose, these men, can they?” Beatrice says with a smirk.
“He very nearly put me off completely,” complains Ellen.
“I’ll watch out for you tonight,” promises Beatrice. “Eugene can take his chances.”
Ellen makes a face at Eugene. “I don’t need you now!”
“That’s women for ye!” says Eugene, shrugging amicably. “They never show any appreciation.”
“Are there many coming?” Matt asks as Beatrice mixes drinks.
“Lily and Damien Traynor and Denis Foynes. You don’t know Denis, Ellen. He’s a farmer, lives over Carrigeeshal way. He’s one of those confirmed bachelors, a nice man, very dry, you’ll like him.”
“Know Denis? Of course she knows him,” Matt interrupts, and Beatrice looks nonplussed.
“He used to deliver logs for the fire. I’d hang about when he arrived with the tractor and trailer,” Ellen says. She looks about. “I was half afraid that Father Mahoney might be here. You know what he told me? He said he’d noticed that I don’t receive Holy Communion at Mass, that it was appropriate considering my circumstances. I’m very tempted to present some Sunday to see how he reacts.”
“He was praising your sense of propriety,” Beatrice says. “Technically, what he said was right.”
Ellen snorts. “Them and their rules! I think that the Church concerns itself too much with the minutiae of people’s lives.”
“Saving our souls. Isn’t that the point?” Beatrice says cheerily.
“They can save your soul, if you want.” Ellen grins. “I’ll look after my own.”
To change the subject, Matt says, “Father Mahoney’s a devil for the cards. Forgets all his Christian charity in the heat of the game, enough cursing from him to beat the band. Whatever your opinion of our priest, Ellen, were he here now, he’d be a gentleman.”
“Have you seen my new kitchen, Matt?” Beatrice asks. He shakes his head. “Want a look?” He follows her across the hall.
“Must have cost you a fortune,” he says when he sees it.
“Don’t expect him to be impressed, Beatrice. He’s only humoring you,” Ellen says from behind Matt. “He’s not into kitchens.”
“Ellen,” protests Matt. “I happen to like Beatrice’s kitchen. Nothing wrong with yours either.”
“He’s full of eloquence, isn’t he?” Ellen says as she leaves the room.
“Pay her no heed, Beatrice.”
“Oh sure, I know full well not to get stuck in the crossfire.”
“So, you invited Eugene,” he says.
“Eugene? What’s the problem with inviting him? Don’t you like him, Matt?”
“He’s fine, but I’m still uneasy about that business between him and Ellen. It’s getting very serious.”
“There’s a new world order, Matt,” Beatrice says crisply. “They’d have been ostracized years ago, but I’m not going to treat them as if they’re social pariahs.”
“Don’t get me wrong. That’s not what I mean. I’ve no time for the way things used to be, but I have trouble with some of the adjustments. What if they were to have a child?”
“So? They’d muddle through, like most people.”
He laughs. “Can’t please me. I suppose I’m too anxious.”
“Said with feeling. Do you still find the going tough?”
“Yes and no. Difficult, but also strangely” — he searches for the word — “liberating.”
“You’re lucky with Stephen.”
“He’s very dutiful. I told him that he doesn’t have to look out for me any longer.”
“We all have to move on. I kept postponing things after John’s death, but then I realized I had to start up again. It’s the only way.”
“And I’m delighted with this venture. Yours was always a great house for occasions.”
“Yes, Jack was sociable. I blame the TV for some of the fall-off, makes us all lazy.”
“Julia didn’t like having people in the house. She did it to keep up appearances. If so and so had an event, she had to have one. Then, she wasn’t a great card player and she was a poor loser.”
“She wasn’t alone there. Lots of people get sore.”
The doorbell gives a strident bleep. Beatrice opens the door and finds Damien and Lily Traynor shivering on the doorstep.
“Your bell isn’t working,” Lily complains. “We had to ring it three times before you heard. We’re perished standing here.” She hands Beatrice a large white box, the usual pavlova, as she rushes in.
“You shouldn’t have, Lily. Thanks. Sorry about the wait. Go and heat up in front of the fire.”
Damien takes his and Lily’s coats and hangs them on the coat stand in the hall. “You’re great to revive the card games,” he says.
“I don’t know about reviving them,” Beatrice says. “I was looking for an excuse to set up an occasion.”
“This beats the cards in the hall. It has the personal touch.”
“We must all be here now,” Lily says, counting the chairs at the table. “Or are we missing one?”
“Denis Foynes,” Beatrice says.
“Denis will be late for his own funeral,” Lily jokes. “None of us has a prayer if Denis’s in good form. It’ll be ‘winner takes all.’ I didn’t know you two were into playing,” she says to Ellen.
“Eugene plays in the hall, but I’m almost a complete novice. I probably took part years ago when Sarah, Mollie, and Peg had people in for cards, but that’s all forgotten now.”
“I wonder will ye stick at it this time?”
“You want her to take some kind of loyalty test, do you?” jokes Matt.
“This could be my first and last card game,” Ellen says. “I’m feeling very daunted.”
“Don’t worry, Ellen. We’re very kind the first time. It’s the second time we get tough, lots of verbal abuse,” Matt says.
“Otherwise known as bullying and harassment?”
“Correct.”
“Don’t mind any of them, Ellen,” Beatrice says. “They have to abide by house rules here.”
“The cards used to be great,” Lily says. “A different venue every week. Terrible rivalry — very hot and heavy at times — and then catching up on all the gossip over a cup of tea afterward.”
“Has everybody a drink?” asks Beatrice. “I’m a dreadful hostess.”
“Let me do barman,” Matt offers.
“Work away.”
“What about the motorway?” asks Eugene. “Word is that a decision has been made.”
“There’s another meeting next month. They’re saying now that it’s all being set back a few years because of — how do they put it? — pressures on the exchequer,” Lily says. “They’re supposed to have settled on the route, and the Killdingle bypass is sorted out. It won’t come as close as we feared.”
“So we’re off the hook,” Matt says.
“There’ll be a heavy turnout at that meeting, and a good few spats before it’s finally sorted,” Damien says.
“Whoever thought when we were growing up there’d be a motorway nearby?” Lily says.
“I still think it’s awful,” Ellen says.
“Ellen’s a Luddite,” Matt says.
“Can’t turn back the clock, Ellen. This is the price we pay for success,” Beatrice says. “But I agree in a way. We have to guard against some of the excesses.”
“We may as well sit down,” suggests Lily. “We could be waiting a long time for Denis. Who’s dealing?”
“I will,” Damien says.
“Five euro a head,” Matt says. “That’s the bank.”
“Living dangerously,” Damien says.
Damien splits the deck, shuffles and reconstitutes it, doles out two cards per person, then three, dealing a spare hand on the table. “Five cards each,” he says.
“What are trumps?” Ellen asks.
“There’s no showing the top card on the deck,” explains Beatrice. “If somebody thinks they can make a lot of tricks, they’ll make a bid for the spare hand and pick the best five from the two hands. Then they make the call.”
“You can go down as well as up in this game, Ellen, so you have to be pretty confident to call it,” warns Matt.
Ellen groans. “Shouldn’t I just watch for a while? I think I’d be better off watching.”
“We’ll help when you go wrong,” Beatrice says.
The doorbell goes. “Just as we were about to start!” exclaims Lily. “Denis Foynes never lost it.” They throw the cards into the center of the table and Damien shuffles them again.
Matt lets him in. “Fix him a drink, would you, Matt, before he sits down?” Beatrice says. “Denis, I was going to introduce you to Matt’s niece, Ellen, but I’m told there’s no need.”
Denis, a dapper little man in his seventies, with gray hair and chapped rosy cheeks, gives a toothy smile. “Ellen and I are well acquainted. Isn’t that right, Ellen? I remember her as a child playing on the streets. Pert as you like. But this is the first time we’ve been formally introduced.”
Ellen smiles. “We’re always bumping into each other coming in or out of shops.” She turns to Beatrice. “When I was a kid, he’d buy me a toffee bar or give me the change when he bought cigarettes.”
“Proper little madam she was but she had ways of getting around you.” Denis places his drink on the table, sits down and rubs the palms of his hands together. “I’ve arrived, lads,” he says. “Let play commence!”
“What are you working at these days, Ellen?” Lily asks at the end of the first game.
Ellen laughs. “It’s the funniest thing. I’m coordinating an adult education program in Killdingle. The previous coordinator landed a full-time job and left suddenly. That seems to be the way with me. I fall into jobs.”
“It probably suits you better than the secondary school,” suggests Beatrice.
>
“How’s that?” Ellen asks, suddenly uneasy.
“You’ll be a free agent there. Nobody’s going to be on your case.”
Ellen relaxes. “I see what you mean. Actually, there is a good atmosphere in the place. I’ve been there only three weeks, but the people on the staff are friendly.”
“They appreciate quality when they see it,” Eugene says.
“Don’t be silly,” Ellen says, hushing him.
“Next game,” Damien announces.
“You’re not doing badly, Ellen,” Beatrice comments.
“Beginner’s luck,” Ellen says with feeling. She stays close to Beatrice, keeping an eye on her and following her lead.
Once or twice during the night, as she scrutinizes the play, pays attention to her companions, exchanges words with other players, and observes Eugene’s almost unnerving ease in the company, she feels a peculiar sense of dislocation, almost a double take on the evening, but concludes that this tension, this unsettled feeling, this strangeness, might be more properly termed relocation. And if she’s locked into a tableau that mimics a social occasion from thirty years before, what does it matter? It’s an optical illusion. Life couldn’t be more different.
The evening breaks up at eleven. Denis drives away first, followed by Lily and Damien. “When is it you’re off to the States?” Matt asks Beatrice.
“October.”
“That’s only a week away now.”
“She’s mad to see that little grandson,” says Ellen.
Beatrice laughs. “Wait till we see how we get on.”
It’s a cool, still night. The four of them stand in front of the house under a starry sky looking across the darkness to Ballyowen and Anglestown.
“You can see lots of lights from the houses on the other side of the valley,” Matt comments.
“More and more lights all the time,” Beatrice says.
“You’d wonder where all the people come from,” Ellen muses.
“People like you, Ellen,” Matt says playfully as he sits into his car.
“And Eugene,” adds Ellen. Eugene’s hand rests lightly on her shoulder. She feels his eyes on her. “You’d better get used to it, Matt,” she says. “You’re stuck with us now!”
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