She put her hand out to steady herself, but Bill did not move to help her.
“Molly is my daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was going to—”
“How could you do this to me?”
“After she died, I could not even think—”
“I had a right to know.”
“I am sorry.”
“I had a right to grieve her, to be at her funeral.”
“I know.”
“I had a right to say goodbye.”
“I know.”
Connie’s voice was croaky dry, tears pushing on to her face.
“Connie, in the months I knew her, I loved her. You know that. I had a right to grieve as her father.”
“I can’t explain it, only the pain and heartbreak were too much. I did not know what I was doing. I did not want to live. I was only existing. I had a breakdown, Bill. I couldn’t even think. I don’t remember much of the last two years, a black fog of grief.”
She made to move to him, but he put his hands up.
“You shut me out. You should not have done that.”
He paced the length of the room.
“Connie, I have to take it in. This is huge, I need time.”
His face contorted, his fists clenched, he pushed past her to the hall. He wavered for a moment, but he did not turn back. Next thing, she heard the front door bang and the car start up. He took off too quickly, crunching the gears in his rush. She watched Bill’s car bump down the avenue towards the rhododendron bush and around the bend out of sight. It was then she allowed herself to collapse on the floor, crying bitter tears.
She was still there when the Ludlow ladies came in for their dance class.
“Jesus, what has happened, Connie?” Hetty shouted, running to her.
Eve, seeing her friend’s stricken face, ushered the other women into the dance studio, telling them Connie was feeling a little unwell and would be with them shortly.
“But I thought we were going to be able to see the exhibition, a proper preview before everybody else,” Eithne Hall piped up. Eve threw her a fierce look.
“In good time, Eithne. Now please, ladies, go into the dance studio. Start with the warm-up exercises. The class will begin shortly.”
Grumbling, the small group made their way into the dance studio, as Eve helped Hetty bring Connie to the kitchen.
“What happened?” Eve asked gently.
Connie did not answer. Hetty scurried off to get the whiskey. She placed a generous measure in front of Connie, who downed it in one go.
“Bill is not coming back. I don’t blame him.”
“Give him a bit of space. He did not come all the way here to storm off during a row. He will be back,” Eve said.
“I told him he was Molly’s dad. I got the DNA test results just two days before Ed killed her.”
Hetty sat down at the table. “The poor man.”
Connie looked at her. “It is terrible news for him. I was wrong, I know that now, but I was not thinking straight. He surely can see that.”
“Give him time,” Eve said quietly. She looked at Connie. “Do you think Ed suspected?”
Connie let her head drop into her hands, afraid to answer that possibility.
“I can’t take the dance lesson, not now.”
“Not a bother, we can manage on our own. Hetty, you set up the music and what have you, I will be along in a few minutes to help whip the women into shape,” Eve said.
Hetty, slightly miffed Eve was trying to get rid of her, nevertheless did as she was bid.
Eve reached out, holding Connie lightly across the shoulders.
“You have come so far. This is just another hurdle. Bill’s true colours will shine through. Give him time. Only you know the pain he is feeling right now.”
“He hates me, for sure.”
“He shouldn’t. There will be outrage, huge pain and, hopefully too, the realisation you did what you had to do at the time, good or bad.”
“I hope you are right, Eve.”
Eve smiled, silently saying a prayer she was right and this poor woman could somehow grab a chance of happiness with the man she clearly loved.
“I had better get into the dance studio. I hope it is still standing with that lot horsing about unsupervised,” she said, leaving Connie sitting tracing the contours of a pink flower on the oilcloth, so deep in thought that she did not even hear Eve leave.
The Ludlow ladies in the dance studio had a lot of ideas about what was wrong with Connie Carter, but neither Eve nor Hetty would be drawn on it.
Kicking off her shoes and walking to the top of the class, Eve clapped her hands to grab the group’s attention.
“Ladies, the best we can do at this stage is get on with it for Connie’s sake. She is under the weather, but we enjoy the dancing so much we will carry on regardless.”
“Are you going to show us your fancy footwork, Eve?” Eithne called out, to the sniggers of the others.
“I am going to do my best,” Eve said, motioning Hetty to switch on the music. “One, two, three, turn.” Eve tried to avoid looking in the mirror. Not all the women joined in, until Hetty had her say.
“Eve, we are mightily sick of these meek steps. Could we not change the tempo? I was going to ask Connie anyway.” Hetty ran to her handbag, pulling out a CD. “Anyone for line dancing?”
A chorus of approval ran through the group, making Eve laugh.
“All very well, but do any of us know line dancing?”
Hetty stepped to the front of the group. “I have been teaching myself at home, following a video. I could show everybody.” Hetty gave the CD to Eithne to put on. “It is the Cowgirl’s Twist, but it will do fine for us today,” she said, making the others snigger. Hetty, ignoring the excitement, got in front of the group. “I will teach a few basic steps. Let’s have fun! Follow me,” she said, turning her back to them.
Eve turned the music down a little, so they could properly hear Hetty.
Hetty, her hands down by her sides, called out loud as she moved across the floor.
“Follow me, right foot, left behind, right again and bring the left to meet the right.”
She did not wait for them.
“Change to the left. Left foot, right behind, left again, bring the right to meet the left foot.”
Not able to keep up, some got their sides wrong, bumping against each other, collapsing giggling when they shuffled the wrong way.
“Hetty, I think we will do it one leg at a time,” Eithne quipped, and the others laughed loudly.
Hetty persisted until each woman concentrated on her steps. The mood lightened and there was the odd happy giggle.
When the doorbell rang, they ignored it, forgetting about it when there was not a persistent follow-up.
“I think we may have found our dance. Connie will kill us,” Marcella said, as they gathered up their things and moved to the exhibition in the drawing room.
“I have to say I am not surprised Molly’s quilt has been picked for the Obama tour: head and shoulders above the rest,” Eithne Hall announced, as they moved along examining in detail each item on display.
When the time came to leave, it was Hetty and Eve who let out the Ludlow ladies.
“Do you think we should stick around and see how Connie is?” Hetty asked.
“I think maybe she wants to be on her own. We can check later or tomorrow,” Eve said, smiling when she saw Hetty’s face fall.
Date: May 20, 2013
Subject: THE LUDLOW LADIES’ SOCIETY
Ludlow ladies,
We have to pick a representative to travel to Glendalough and be on hand in case Michelle Obama has any questions regarding our memory quilts.
While I was willing to put myself forward and endure the security red tape that surrounds a US president, it has been pointed out by a number of you that Eve Brannigan might be the best person for the job.
&nb
sp; Never one to push myself forward, and mindful of the high stakes, I am going to withdraw my name. We cannot afford, ladies, to be bogged down by petty rivalry at such an important time for the Society.
It seems fitting that Eve Brannigan should represent this society at the Obama exhibition. Eve has been the backbone of the Ludlow Ladies’ Society for decades now and we all love her so. If anyone represents all that is good about a Ludlow lady, it is Eve, who in her own life has triumphed over adversary. This too is the woman who gave a lifeline to our society, when we needed it most. Eve is a beautiful, kind person and an excellent representative for the Ludlow Ladies’ Society. We are so proud of her and of the quilt completed by Connie, with the help of both Hetty and Eve, which will go on display at the Obama exhibition.
The Ludlow Ladies’ Society has been propelled into the limelight and we will not be found lacking at this auspicious time.
Kathryn Rodgers
Chairwoman
30
Eve arrived early at Ludlow Hall. She was already busy tidying up the fabric left over after the memory quilts, when Hetty came along.
“I thought you could do with a bit of help, can’t have you overdoing it, considering you are meeting the First Lady later in the week.”
“Are you jealous?” Eve laughed.
“Damn right I am, you will be plastered over the Wicklow People as well.”
“I was thinking more of an interview on Good Morning America.”
Hetty dropped the patches from her hand. “Are you serious?”
“No,” giggled Eve. Hetty made to swipe at her with a long panel of purple lace fabric.
“You had me going there for a while,” Hetty said, her face betraying that she was still slightly miffed. Looking out the window, she saw Connie.
“I am surprised to see Connie giving a class.”
“She is made of steel sometimes, said she could not let her business go down or Ed Carter would have won out.”
“I would have buckled a long time ago.”
“Somehow, I don’t think you would.”
Hetty went to the far end of the room, where a pile of fabric was stashed in the corner.
“Are you making your outfit for meeting Michelle Obama?”
Eve straightened up. “I am not. Don’t you think I have scrimped and scraped long enough? Michael is bringing me up to Arnotts in Dublin tomorrow, I am sure I will find something.”
“Don’t go for green, too obvious. Blue would be lovely on you.”
Hetty looked around when Eve did not answer.
Eve was folding Molly’s little clothes left over after making the quilt, carefully putting them in a special pink box Connie had bought in Arklow. She pulled a blue fleece jacket from inside a red jacket to fold it separately. Catching it up, folding it in half, she felt the crumple of something balled into the pocket. Sticking her hand in, she picked out a piece of paper.
Bright blue paper from a child’s notebook, with butterflies across the top, it was never intended to carry heavy thoughts. The writing was adult and rushed. Casting her eye over it, Eve felt a weakness pass over her, a piercing cry emanating from inside her.
Hetty rushed to her.
“What is wrong? Has something happened?”
Eve, buckling over, held the note out to Hetty.
“From the child’s pocket.”
Hetty flattened it out, before reading it slowly and carefully.
“Jesus Christ, does Connie know about this?”
“I wouldn’t say so.”
“Does she have to know? It will kill her.”
“We have to tell her.”
They walked over to the window together, to watch Connie in the field with the mother and toddler group dancing with big bouncy balls.
“I hate to shake her world up again,” Hetty said.
“She is strong.”
Hetty shivered. “That will take more than strength.”
“We will wait until her classes are over. You may have to teach line dancing again to the Ludlow ladies,” Eve said, and Hetty, though she tried not to, giggled.
Eve folded the note along the worn lines of the paper.
“I will put it back in the pocket. She will want it like that.”
They worked quietly, gathering up the last bits of fabric and placing them in boxes, brushing up stray threads still left on the rug.
“Michael can put them up in the attic for her another time. Just now we can push the boxes into the kitchen,” Eve said.
When they heard Connie waving goodbye to her class, they waited nervously, standing in the middle of the kitchen. Connie came in, a big smile on her face.
“Those kids are such darlings. I feel better from just being with them.” She stopped, looking from Eve to Hetty. “What’s up?”
Eve held out the blue fleece.
Connie gasped.
“Where did you get that? Molly wore it the day before she died. I looked for it, could never find it.”
“It was caught inside a jacket. They must have been taken off together.”
Connie’s heart skipped. She could see Molly in her rush at the door, pulling the two of them off, shouting when she got stuck, so that Connie had to help her. They were both laughing, Connie throwing the red jacket on the shelf beside the shoes, not bothering to pick it up when it fell down the back.
“There is something in the pocket.”
“What?”
Eve pushed the fleece into Connie’s hands.
“We are going back in to do the final bits in the drawing room. We will be there if you need us.”
Hetty, passing Connie, gave her a quick hug.
“Stay strong, sweetheart.”
Connie, her hands shaking, opened out the fleece. Clasping it to her face, she felt the softness, feeling Molly, smelling her, running with her in the woods that day, laughing over food at the local diner.
Gingerly, she put her hand in the pocket, caressing the crumple of paper. Gently pulling it out, she unfolded it carefully.
My lovely Molly,
Come dance with me. Trust me, little one, and we will dance all day every day.
I love you so completely.
Mommy is going to leave. I know she is going to take you away from me.
I can’t let that happen, we must be together always.
I have found a way. Mommy is strong. She can be on her own.
I want to take you to another place where we can play every day.
Come dance with me. Trust me, little one, and we will dance all day every day.
Daddy
Her heart thumped. Anger tore through her. She had never thought of that fleece until the boxes arrived, but she did not see it. Ed had run and jumped in the woods with them, making mountains of leaves. He had stood watching Molly laugh, screech and play. How could he do that, and then what followed? The note might have been written to Molly, but Connie was sure Ed meant it for her. It was a cruel act carefully thought out and designed to torment her.
Suddenly, she crushed the note tight in the grip of her hand. Reaching for a saucepan, she fired it in. Quickly, before she had time to change her mind, she struck a match, holding it to a bright blue corner. The blue of the note changed to purple and black, and the butterflies were obliterated one by one as the heat of the fire took hold. The inside of the saucepan blackened. Connie waited until every fragment of the note had disappeared, before throwing the pot into the sink and turning on the tap.
His words no longer had power, melted to blackness, flaky first, then sodden, washed away down the drain.
Connie called out to Eve and Hetty that she was going down by the yew walk. She left the house, Molly’s voice in her head.
“Here I am. Just love me, Mommy.”
“Do you think we should go after her?” Hetty asked.
Eve, walking to the kitchen to throw a few last threads she had found in the corner of the drawing room in the bin, saw wisps of smoke in the air, the blackened pa
n in the kitchen sink.
“Somehow, I think she is fine. We will get a start on tidying up the Hall. She wants it looking right for the exhibition’s official opening tomorrow.”
*
Connie sat on the bench at the yew walk. People were trooping into Ludlow Hall, walking around to the back to the country market. The gardens, yew walk and lake were cordoned off. She hoped the visitors would respect the blue rope, the small signs saying “no entry”.
Ludlow Hall was a hive of activity. Rebecca Fleming’s laugh penetrated through, the outside generator for the industrial-type fridges hummed loudly and there were the cries of children playing in the front paddock while their mothers bought food at the market.
There were times when she had found some comfort in the thought that Ed must have been out of his mind, deluded, or that he had killed himself in despair after suffocating Molly. The note put all that to nought.
This was the second note of his she had set alight. She had burned the note he had tossed on the kitchen counter and was found by police. It was a different time, the burning offering no reprieve from the words, which haunted her every waking minute.
All I ask is that you understand and forgive, Connie, and bury us together.
She refused to comply with his request, standing firm that her daughter would not be interred with her killer. Unable to vent her anger on Ed, she blocked Bill from her life when she should have taken him in. She pushed him away, instead of inviting him to share together their enormous grief.
A small child came toddling down the yew walk, skipping, sometimes falling and picking himself up. Connie looked to see if there was a parent hovering nearby. The three-year-old catapulted past her, making towards the jetty and the lake.
When nobody appeared to follow, Connie ran after him. Catching his hand, she turned him around, enjoying the feel of his little hand in hers, his innocent trust in the direction she was taking him. They were nearly back at the house when a young woman, her face blotted with worry, tore into the yew walk shouting, “Colm. Colm.”
The boy answered, pulling his hand from Connie, pelting towards his mother. She scooped him up, laughing and crying at the same time, pirouetting across the ground like it was a stage. When she saw Connie, she stopped abruptly.
The Ludlow Ladies Society Page 26