A Keeper

by Graham Norton

  Mrs Lynch had recalled everything she could about the night Mary had died. The sound of an ambulance waking half the parish and the next morning people piecing together where it must have been going. Everyone was braced for bad news and, like dark clouds delivering rain, it came. She told Elizabeth about the funeral. Teddy holding the tiny baby, her, she was that baby, and his mother, Mrs Foley, leaning on his other arm, hardly able to walk, she was so broken by grief. People had offered help, delivered food, called up to the house, but everyone had been sent away.

  A couple of nights later, Mrs Lynch had been watching the television, when there was a knock on the door. It was Teddy, soaked to the skin in the rain, holding his baby. He was a man of few words but from what she could gather, his mother wasn’t coping very well and he wondered if their neighbour Mrs Lynch could take care of the baby for a while. Naturally she had been apprehensive, her own children were school age by then and she hadn’t relished the idea of nappies and sleepless nights, but Elizabeth had been a model baby. The calmest, happiest child that she had ever seen. A couple of months went by and there was no sign of the Foleys taking back their little one. Edward would call down with milk, or a bucket of spuds, and check in on his daughter, but always headed home empty-handed. Mrs Lynch had begun to feel as if this child would be hers forever. Then she heard a couple of rumours that Edward was courting. She couldn’t quite believe it. Mary wasn’t more than a few months dead. But then with no fanfare it was announced he had remarried.

  While people couldn’t begrudge Teddy Foley a little happiness, this did seem odd. Not just because it was so fast, but because this was a man who had never had a girlfriend, barely spoken to a woman, and now in the blink of an eye he had managed to bury one wife and then find another one. Of course Mrs Lynch imagined that baby Elizabeth would be going home. She assumed that this rushed wedding had been brought about by a desire to give the baby a new mother, but that wasn’t what happened. Edward explained that his wife was ill and wasn’t up to looking after the child. A week passed and then another but still she was ill. At the time there were two schools of thought. Those with wilder imaginations began to suggest that no wife existed at all. Only one woman had been seen with him and they had had a blazing row outside Carey’s. The whole marriage was just Edward Foley finally parting ways with his sanity. The more sympathetic amongst the community believed that he had managed to find a new bride but worried that this one was even more sickly than Mary. They braced themselves for further tragedy to visit Castle House.

  As it transpired everyone was proved wrong. Patricia Foley recovered after a few weeks and one evening a nervous Edward came to Mrs Lynch and returned home with his precious parcel.

  By this point in the tale Elizabeth had begun to weep again in earnest and Mrs Lynch decided that her audience could bear no more. She glossed over the subsequent events, bringing her story quickly to an end by saying, ‘And then we heard Teddy’s new wife had left and taken you with her.’

  ‘Why? Why did she leave?’ Elizabeth pleaded, her mouth as red and wet as her eyes.

  Mrs Lynch got up from the table, busying herself at the sink.

  ‘No one knew. It was all very sad. But now if you’ll excuse me I must get ready. Cathy will be back to take me down to the hairdresser’s.’ It was a lie but she had spent enough time with this woman who had unwittingly trailed such sadness through the house. It seemed incredible that this was what had become of the happiest of babies. The interview was over and Elizabeth had stumbled out to her car.

  The fog seemed to be edging closer. Elizabeth pulled her scarf tight around her neck and got up from the wall. So many lies. Her father wasn’t dead and the mother she had buried wasn’t really hers. Had her mother, the woman who had raised her, stolen her? But Edward knew where they lived, he could have come to find her whenever he wanted. Why hadn’t he come?

  Around the side of the house, the wind picked up and Elizabeth zipped up her coat to stop it flapping open. She was below the ruins of the castle now. It seemed much bigger from this angle than when she had seen it from the farmyard. She felt dwarfed by it. This was the ancient home of the Foleys and as far as she knew she was the end of the line. Or was she? Who knew what other secrets these walls held and now there was also the promise of her unborn grandchild. She pulled up her hood. There was too much going on in her life. When were things going to become easy? How many more dramas would she have to endure before things became simple? That was all she wanted. To go to work, come home, make grilled cheese sandwiches and read a book until bedtime. She turned around, stretching her arms out, and let out a wild yell, which was whipped out to sea by the breeze.

  THEN

  Edward had slept in the room with Patricia and Elizabeth. The baby had been the first to drift off and then Patricia, sitting on the bed, had allowed her head to lean back on the pillows for a moment before sleep had claimed her too. Edward had stood up and looked at the two sleeping figures before him. He thought of Mary then. The simple, happy life that might have been, rather than this unholy mess. He leaned down and turned out the lamp. He waited for a moment and then, like a ghost in the darkness, he lay down on the floor beside the bed. The rough thread of the old carpet felt good against his cheek, and the sweet scent of baby talc and lotion soothed him towards sleep. He listened to the soft breathing and told himself that he could fix things. There had to be a happy ending for someone in this sorry tale.

  At some point in the night Patricia had woken. She lay there listening for Elizabeth but then realised she could hear heavier breathing. ‘Edward?’ she whispered, but he didn’t respond. He must be asleep, she thought to herself, not bothering to wonder why he was still in the room. As she waited to fall back to sleep she had an unexpected feeling of contentment. Was this all so terrible? Edward was a kind man and she adored the baby. Maybe she should stop struggling and embrace this as her life. She had read somewhere that if you were drowning the best thing to do was not to fight it. Just breathe in the water and fill your lungs. Should she do that? Just inhale and surrender herself to this new life? Was pretending to choose something that very different from actually wanting it? Later when Elizabeth’s crying had woken her, she turned on the bedside lamp and found that she and the baby were alone once more.

  The next day after breakfast, Patricia had been armed with some tired-looking yellow dusters and a tin of polish to dust and clean a room she had never even stepped foot in before. It was one of the front rooms by the entrance hall and Patricia doubted it had been used in a year or more. Dead flies were scattered on the windowsills and woodlice lay in dusty graves in the corners of the room. The door had been left ajar so that she could hear Elizabeth if she started to cry.

  Patricia didn’t like to admit it but cleaning did give her a strange sense of satisfaction. She was methodical and thorough. She tackled the window frames and pictures first, then the floor and finally the furniture. It irritated her that she hadn’t been given access to the Hoover. She knew there was one, she’d heard it, but for some reason she wasn’t considered responsible enough to use it. Did Mrs Foley think she was going to ride it to freedom?

  Kneeling on the windowsill trying to get cobwebs out of the folds in the curtains, she looked outside. A dense rain was being driven almost sideways across the front of the house. Today was not ideal for an escape attempt. She got down and looked around. How long had this furniture been here? The small brown sofa with a gold trim along its cushions looked so old she doubted that even Mrs Foley as a blushing bride had ever seen it looking new. The carpet on the floor was threadbare enough to have been rescued from the ruins of the castle.

  An engine! Patricia threw down her duster and pressed herself against the window to see if she could catch a glimpse of the vehicle. A flash of dark green disappeared behind the side of the house. It was just Teddy. She returned to her work, wondering if she would share the fate of the flies, to be found one day, a crisp husk waiting uselessly at the window.

 
; A few moments later, Edward stuck his head around the door.

  ‘A letter for you there.’ He held out an envelope and smiled.

  Patricia crossed the room and took it without uttering a word. She had to keep reminding him that this situation wasn’t normal and would never become anything close to that. Her feelings from the night before had unsettled her. Was she beginning to crack? Had Mrs Foley’s plan begun to work? She must not consider surrender. Edward left her alone.

  Turning the envelope over she saw that it was addressed to Mrs Edward Foley. Her first instinct was to crumple the paper in her fists and throw it away, but she was fairly sure that the handwriting belonged to Rosemary. She checked the postmark. It was Buncarragh. Her heart beating faster, she sat down and ripped it open.

  7 Connolly’s Quay,

  Buncarragh

  Dear Patricia,

  Sorry not to have written sooner but then you haven’t exactly kept the postman very busy yourself! I want to hear all your news. How’s married life treating you? Are you sick of milking cows yet? I hope it is all going very well and that the two of you are very happy.

  My big news is at the top of the page. I’ve bought a house! I’m thrilled with myself. It’s only small but it is all mine. It’s a few doors down from Busteed’s and looks out on the trees by the river. I sold my site on the home place so I thought I’d better do something with the money and not just spend it all on cakes and frothy coffee. I‘m officially a grown up! It’s not a hundred per cent yet but I think I might be going into business for myself too. Mrs Beamish is being a right cow. If I have to attempt one more shag hairdo, I might end up in prison. I’m not safe with the scissors. Fat bot’s mother came in the other day with a picture of your one, Jane Fonda! I felt like suggesting Kojak might be more her style … ha ha!

  *

  Patricia’s reading was interrupted by voices coming from the kitchen. They were getting louder and sounded angry. She pushed the letter into the pocket of her nylon housecoat and went to the door to hear better. It was Edward’s voice but she could make out only some words.

  ‘… got to go …’ and then something she couldn’t quite catch followed by ‘… never be happy.’

  Mrs Foley sounded furious. ‘Be a man! You’ve always been …’ then it sounded as if she had turned away because her voice seemed more distant, but then full volume again, ‘…with that baby.’

  Edward’s voice was even further away. It sounded as if he must be heading for the back door. ‘Mammy! There is only one thing that …’ His voice became muffled, so Patricia crept into the hall and edged along the wall towards the kitchen. Mrs Foley’s voice thundered through the closed door. ‘Edward Foley! You listen to me and you listen carefully. You lost your brother, you lost your wife and now you want to lose your daughter! You’re a fool and I will not let you do it!’ The back door slammed violently and Patricia scampered back to her dusting before she was discovered.

  Her back against the door, she found herself breathing hard. She had never heard Edward speak like that before. She felt that something in him was about to crack. If she kept up the pressure on him, maybe it would snap, and he would finally defy his mother.

  Upstairs Elizabeth began to cry. Patricia put down her duster and hurried off to see what the baby needed.

  The afternoon was long and dark. The wind was at its worst and drove the rain in angry squalls against the window. It was the sort of day that would have sent Patricia into a downward spiral, thinking about Buncarragh and the lives that were marching on without her, but today she barely had a thought for the damp darkness that shrouded the house. Having fed and changed Elizabeth, she had watched her sleep for nearly an hour and then when the baby had woken with a small flurry of cries she had picked her up at once and held her to her breast as she paced the room. Patricia bent down and kissed the tiny ear which in turn made the little mouth wrinkle into a smile. She put the baby on the bed and gently tickled her belly. The smiles became a gurgle of laughter and that small happy face became Patricia’s world. She slipped off Elizabeth’s knitted lemon booties and examined her perfect little feet. So beautiful. She blew kisses into the sole of the right foot, then the left, and Elizabeth began to cackle, a laugh like no adult would ever make. It was an expression of pure happiness, not designed to please anyone, or demonstrate anything, but simply because the sensation on her feet filled her to bursting point with joy. It thrilled Patricia. For the first time, she had a glimpse of what lengths a mother might go to to keep her child happy.

  The key turned in the lock, and Mrs Foley came into the room. The bubble of baby joy was immediately burst. Patricia stayed on the floor by the side of the bed. The old woman’s eyes looked red, as if she had been crying, and in the fading light from the window she looked tired and drawn.

  ‘Patricia,’ she said by way of a greeting. Patricia said nothing.

  Mrs Foley sat on the high-backed chair. The two women looked at the baby on the bed and Elizabeth, as if sensing the attention, wiggled her legs in the air.

  ‘Sweet child,’ observed Mrs Foley.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Patricia.

  A silence descended on the room and the old woman put her hands on her thighs as if she was about to launch into a low keening ballad. Patricia could sense her eyes boring into her. She felt the familiar ripples of anxiety starting in her stomach. What had the old crone got in store for her now?

  ‘Has Teddy been talking to you?’

  Patricia turned to look at her visitor. ‘Talking?’

  ‘Telling you things? His story?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Mrs Foley gave an exasperated sigh. ‘You know things haven’t been plain sailing for him?’

  ‘I do,’ Patricia replied cautiously.

  ‘Well then, you know he hasn’t had it easy.’ She leaned forward, her dark eyes fixing Patricia with a hard stare. Mrs Foley spoke slowly and softly, picking her words with care. ‘You are not going to upset that boy any more.’

  Patricia’s mouth was dry and she found herself leaning away from the old woman. What was she planning to do? The thought that Edward’s mother was about to try and kill her suddenly seemed very real. She got to her feet and moved to the foot of the bed.

  ‘Do you understand me, girl?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I do,’ Patricia said quickly, not wanting to upset Mrs Foley any further.

  ‘So, if you don’t want to take care of this baby, I’m not going to make you.’ Mrs Foley stood up and before Patricia could react she had reached down and picked up baby Elizabeth. She carried the squirming bundle towards the door. ‘Happy now?’ she spat at Patricia.

  The two women locked eyes. Only the baby moved a muscle and even she seemed to sense that now was not the time to cry. Patricia’s mind was swirling, unsure of what her next move should be. Clearly this was some sort of game, but what was winning and who decided which woman lost? Through her confusion, one thing was sure: if winning meant losing the baby then she had no interest in victory.

  ‘Wait!’ Patricia called across the room. Even the way Mrs Foley was holding the child, not cradled in her arms, but gripped against her hip with one elbow like laundry, made her anxious. She dreaded to think what fate would befall Elizabeth if she was taken from this room.

  ‘Yes?’ Mrs Foley sounded calm, uninterested even. Patricia held out her arms to take the baby. One horrible moment of not knowing, and then Mrs Foley broke the spell, walking over to Patricia and handing her Elizabeth.

  ‘If you’re sure,’ she said with a triumphant smirk.

  NOW

  Elizabeth wasn’t certain why she had come back here. To pay her last respects, or did part of her still hope that the old man might suddenly be jolted back to consciousness by her presence and reveal her past? She parked her car on the apron of gravel outside Abbey Court. Quite a few of the spaces were taken, so she hoped it might be a better time for visiting.

  Inside, the doors to the day room were open and several older
people sat slumped in chairs, staring into the middle distance. A few of them had visitors with them, some chatting, others just sharing the silence. No one greeted her, so Elizabeth headed straight for Edward’s room.

  He looked as though he hadn’t moved since the day before: still propped up on pillows, arms crossed over his chest, eyes lightly closed. It wasn’t clear if he was asleep or simply resting. His parchment skin had a recently washed sheen to it even though there was an orange stain around his thin lips from whatever he had been fed. Patricia stood at the door for a moment just looking at him lying in his bed. This man, who her mother had erased from her childhood, was now the only real link she had to her past. Her father. She stepped forward.

  ‘Hello, Daddy.’ Elizabeth knew she was being foolish, but couldn’t help herself. She wanted to hear her voice say those words. There was no reaction from the bed, just the slow, even rasp of the old man’s breathing. She went and sat beside him. The picture of the wedding was still in her pocket and she had intended to return it, but now she had second thoughts. Surely it meant more to her than anyone else? She couldn’t imagine the collection of bones in front of her held together by faded pyjamas was ever going to want to see the face of his bride once more. They sat in silence. Somewhere nearby an electrical hum shuddered to a halt. Footsteps squeaked by on the polished lino of the corridor.

  As if to give her visit a purpose, Elizabeth reached out and took her father’s hand. It was warmer than she had expected and the skin was rough and cracked. Their fingers were interlinked and she studied his nails and knuckles and imagined the last time they had touched her. How tiny she must have been.

  Without warning Edward suddenly turned his head to look at her. She gave a little start of surprise. It was as if the dead had come to life. His dark eyes were open and staring at her and the tip of his tongue was moving gently against his dry lips.