by Maeve Binchy
'So what were you shouting at Lizzie about?'
'You heard what I was shouting about. I hate your aunt Hannah. I don't hate your mum and dad, believe me.'
'Why do you hate Aunt Hannah?'
'You hate her too, you've often said so,' Cathy said defensively, coming down to their level.
'But you're not meant to hate her, and anyway, you're married to Neil.'
'That's the problem, she doesn't like my being married to Neil, she thinks that my family and I have no class. That annoys me, you see.'
'Do you want to have class?' Maud wanted to know.
'No, no way. I don't give three blind damns what she thinks about me, I've plenty of class. But she looked down on my mother, and I can't forgive her for that.'
'Do you want us not to tell?' Simon's eyes narrowed at the wonderful opportunities and power that lay ahead.
'Tell what?' Cathy asked, wide-eyed.
'All this about what you said, and about our father roaring round and our mother getting drunk to help her nerves.'
'But that's the way it is, isn't it?' Cathy looked from one to the other, bewildered.
'Yes.' Simon was on less firm a footing now. 'But do you want us not to tell about your hating Aunt Hannah?'
'Tell anyone if you want to, I don't tell her you hate her, it's just a matter of being polite, really. But it's not a secret, is it?'
Simon saw his vantage point disappear. He gave a last try. 'Suppose we told Neil?' he tried.
'Neil is sick of hearing it, Simon, but if you'd like to tell him again, please do. Now let's go and buy some supper, since you didn't make us a pie today.'
They finished their ice creams and drove off. Cathy allowed herself a small smile.
In the Chinese restaurant the children studied the menu carefully. 'Are you and Neil rich or poor?' Simon asked.
'Tending to be more rich than poor, but if you don't mind my saying so, it's not a question you ask people… Just so that you know.'
'But how would you ever find out, then?' Maud was interested.
'Sometimes we have to face it that we can't know everything.'
'I needed to know.'
'You did?'
'In order to know how many dishes we could order,' Simon said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
'Oh, I see. Well, there's four of us.'
'We could have Imperial Menu A for five,' Maud said.
'Let's have it. I'd love Imperial Menu A.'
'Don't you want to check up the price of items first?'
'No, Simon, I don't.'
'You must be very rich indeed, richer than your father.'
'What?' she was exhausted.
'Muttie, your father. Do you hear things in your head, like he does?'
'I didn't know he heard things in his head.'
'Yes, all the time. The sound of hooves, thundering hooves.'
'Oh, like the races, I see.'
'He says they go at the same rhythm as your heart. Did you know that, Cathy?' Maud wanted to share any new things that she had learned.
'I'm not sure I did.'
'And Muttie says that the sound makes your blood run faster in your veins and gives you a better life.'
'Oh, it does? we must try that then,' she said as she grabbed the price list and ordered Imperial Menu A for five.
'I don't think it's something you try.' Simon was doubtful.
'You have it or you don't. We both have it, as it turns out,' Maud positively smirked with pride.
'I'm very sorry if you do, very sorry indeed,' Cathy said.
'Why?'
'Because you'll spend the rest of your lives deafened by the hooves, and have no time or money for anything else,' she said grimly.
Back at Waterview the twins set the table, washed their hands and sat down politely, 'Would you like a can of lager?' Simon offered.
'God, no. Thank you all the same, Simon.'
'It's just that Muttie says it relaxes him.'
'I'm totally relaxed as a matter of fact,' Cathy said.
The phone rang, it was Tom. 'All going okay?' he asked.
'I'm hanging in there, Tom.'
'Kids are still with you, I gather?'
'Absolutely.'
'So I won't ask you, did everything else go all right?'
'Amazingly it did, no problems at all. And at your end?'
'Good, tiring but no disasters,' he said.
'I'm sure it was,' she sighed.
'You'll have a day off next week, I'll organise it.'
'I know you will. Glad it all went well. Good luck, Tom.' She hung up and came back to the table.
'Is Tom doing a waitressing job tonight?' Maud asked.
'Catering,' Cathy corrected.
'Yes, is he?'
'Sort of, yes. What's the black bean sauce like?'
'A bit salty but okay. Can we finish this?' Simon was spooning it out of the containers.
'Sure, I've enough, and I've left Neil's in the oven.'
'And the shoemaker isn't coming?'
'No, Simon, he's not.'
'I hope he never comes,' said Simon. 'You always get upset when you talk about him.'
'They go back to school next week,' she told Neil that night in bed.
'Should make it a bit easier, I suppose,' Neil said.
'Tell me something, Neil.'
He put down the copy of the law reports he was reading and turned to face her. I know the question you are going to ask, and the answer is none.'
'What am I going to ask?' Cathy laughed.
'What plans did I make for the twins today?' he smiled ruefully. 'Honey, it was a desperate day.'
'I know; mine was fairly filled, too,' she said.
'I know, I know, and then I was late home, but Cathy, I can't work while they're here, I just sat in a cafe. It's terrible to be kept out of your own home because children keep asking question after question.'
'I suppose it's what kids do,' she said.
'I'm going to get them made wards of court,' he said simply. 'I'll start proceedings tomorrow.'
She looked at him, shocked. 'But they'd have to go into care, a home, a foster family, total strangers.'
'We were total strangers a few days ago…' he began.
'But they're family,' she said.
'Not yours and mine.' Neil was trying to sound firm and in control. I can't have this,' he said. I met that little shit Walter down at the Four Courts today, and he's as cool as a cucumber about it all. He has to work, he has to see people, he has to go skiing, there's nothing he can do.'
'Well, would you trust them to him for two hours?'
'But it's not just my work alone, it's your work too. I'm just not going to let this happen to us now. We've put too much in to let it be wrecked by children.'
'I suppose that's happening all over the world.'
'People's own children might be different, though I must say this has proved to me once and for all that we are totally right not to want them. Just looking at Maud and Simon makes me realise that very clearly.'
'Our children wouldn't look like Maud and Simon,' she giggled.
'We're not going to find out,' he said grimly. 'And truly, Cathy, I'll get them out of your hair. There has to be some money there, we'll mortgage The Beeches, something to borrow against, we could still keep an eye on them.'
'You know we'd have no say in where they're sent. Leave it for a few days until we know more.'
He reached out for her. And she lay awake with her eyes open for a long time afterwards.
Geraldine still got to her office before eight o'clock. In the mornings, she herself handled only the public relations and publicity for the hotel group, but three others looked after the list of clients that she had built up when she opened a private company of her own. She flicked through the list of projects to see was there anything that might be channelled in Scarlet Feather's direction. Haywards the store were doing a fashion show some months down the line, but they wan
ted to book a hotel, nothing for Cathy there. Quentin's the restaurant were doing a presentation of cookery prizes, but that was obviously in-house. Makers of garden furniture greatly wanted a presentation, possibilities there, but first she would have to examine the location, no point in sending those two into some awful place full of lawnmowers and rakes where nobody would see and appreciate their food.
By the end of the week, a lot of things had changed. The electrical appliances had all been installed, the shelves were painted and Tom and Cathy were waiting for the rest of the equipment. The window frames and door had been painted a vivid red. James Byrne had spoken to them gravely, as if he were interpreting from some aliens on another planet, that the Maguires had professed themselves satisfied with everything. Tom and Cathy's solicitor said it was the nature of the law that things must take their time, but that nothing untoward was showing up in the search on the company title. Marcella was being supportive and begging to be allowed to help. Geraldine was already coming up with names of contacts for future events. Cathy and Neil had decided that there was now no way they could immediately abandon Simon and Maud, but that living permanently in Waterview was proving too much of a strain, and that they did need a bit of space from them. Lizzie and Muttie, on the other hand, seemed perfectly content with them, and found endless jobs for them to do around the house. Next week they would be going back to school. It was a compromise. Neil had told them that an unofficial carer's allowance had been arranged by his father. In fact, it was guilt money put up by Jock and Hannah until the situation sorted itself out. The arrangement was that Muttie and Lizzie would get a fixed amount for minding Simon and Maud in St Jarlath's Crescent after school, and they would sleep alternately in Waterview and St Jarlath's. Two homes instead of one. Maud and Simon said okay, it would suit them.
'Manners, Maudie,' said Cathy's father. There was a way that Muttie could correct the worst excesses of the twins without appearing ever to have taken offence.
'I'll never be able to thank you, Mam,' Cathy said to her mother.
'Don't go on like that, Cathy, doesn't it give Muttie some shape to his days. He's very fond of them.'
'He can't be, they're pig rude at times. Make sure they make their beds and wash up and everything. They left wet towels all over the floor of the bathroom in Waterview. Neil nearly lost his mind.'
'No, no, that's all fine,' her mother reassured her. 'And Neil is giving us so much money, I can give up Mrs Gray.'
'The one who's as bad as Hannah?'
'Oh, poor Mrs Mitchell was a walking saint compared to Mrs Gray,' Lizzie Scarlet said with a laugh.
Neil had been so good about going to St Jarlath's Crescent that Cathy felt she must visit Oaklands in return. Surely there must be other women in the world who had to sit down and think up a reason before calling to visit their mother-in-law? Cathy didn't want to talk about the excitement of the business, the way the premises were leaping ahead because Hannah was so obviously against the whole undertaking. Nor did she want to gc into detail about the fact that Jock Mitchell's nephew and niece were currently residing partly in St Jarlath's Crescent with her ex maid and what she always referred to as the unfortunate maid's ne'er-do-well husband. She couldn't say she had done those apple strudels for Hannah's friend, the nervous, edgy Mrs Ryan because she would be accused of having touted successfully for business at the New Year's party. Mrs Mitchell showed no interest in what she and Neil had done with their house in Waterview, which was probably just as well, since she had done so little recently. Still, she owed it to Neil to keep the channels open.
She forced the white van up the drive of Oaklands at four o'clock one afternoon, knowing that Hannah's sniff of disapproval could be directed equally against her daughter-in-law or the vehicle. But Cathy was ready to ignore it and talk pleasantly for as short a visit as she could manage, without it appearing that she had just dropped by to deliver something. She brought her mother-in-law a sturdy-looking fern, one that couldn't die even in the tropical central heating of Oaklands, and knocked at the door.
'Cathy.' Her mother-in-law couldn't have been more astounded if a troupe of tap dancers stood on the step.
'Yes, Mrs Mitchell, I did send you a card saying I hoped to drop by and see you today?'
'Did you? Oh, you may have indeed…'
'But if you're with somebody?'
'No… no, it's amazing to see you, please come in.'
'I brought you this. It might…' Cathy handed over the little fern. The woman must be deranged, imagine saying that it was amazing to see your daughter-in-law, who had sent you an advance note about her visit!
'Thank you so much, dear.' Hannah Mitchell didn't even look at the plant, just left it on the hall table. 'Now that you're here, I suppose we should go into the kitchen, we'd feel more at home there,' she said, preceding Cathy down the hall.
Cathy seethed. And wondered if she could feel a tic in her forehead, or was she just imagining it? Mrs Mitchell rarely welcomed anyone into the kitchen. Guests, family, anyone at all who called would be received in the den. Cathy saw the subtlety and grinned at herself in the mirror. Her reflection startled her; she looked drawn and tired, her hair greasy and stuck behind her ears. When she got the show on the road she would really have to smarten herself up, she thought. She would frighten possible clients if she looked like this.
'You look very badly,' Hannah Mitchell said on cue.
'I think it's just one of those twenty-four-hour flu things,' Cathy said, saying the first words that came into her head. She saw Hannah physically draw away, as if fearing to catch some dreadful germ. 'Not contagious, of course,' Cathy said cheerfully. The conversation was painful. Cathy enquired about Amanda in Canada and heard there had been something wrong with the Ontario phone system, and Amanda worked in a really old-fashioned carriage-trade business that didn't have faxes or e-mail. Cathy allowed no muscle on her face to change as she listened. Either Amanda or her mother was spinning a story. Whichever one of them it was, the whole thing was just very sad. Remember that word 'sad', and she would survive.
Lizzie Scarlet, who had scrubbed this floor and the legs of the table for years was sitting at this moment in St Jarlath's Crescent serving a glass of milk and home-made shortbread to Simon and Maud, before helping them do their homework. Later they would play a game on the video, and tonight the children were going to learn ironing as a great treat. There would be speculation about whether this horse might be held back on Saturday to let his stablemate win, and there might be neighbours dropping in. There would be plenty of activity. Cathy knew that her aunt Geraldine was going to a dinner party at an Embassy tonight, and had bought herself another stunning dress at Haywards. Her two married friends, Katy and June, had asked Cathy to a party they were having but she had said no, she wanted a proper dinner alone with Neil in Waterview, and they might even get a chance to mate more than once a month. Maud's definition of her sex life was looking uncannily prophetic. Shona Burke had a date with a man she met last week, a man that she thought would never call her again. Tom was also taking a night off from Scarlet Feather and was taking Marcella out to one of the clubs where she might get noticed. Ricky the photographer friend said there were a lot of big fashion-mag people in town. Mr and Mrs JT Feather were going to an Irish Tenor concert, and the silent James Byrne had mentioned that he was going to the theatre. And on this cold, wet January night Hannah Mitchell, patting her hair and smoothing her fine wool skirt, had no one to meet and nowhere to go. Cathy reminded herself of this as she forced the polite, interested smile to stay on her face.
Somehow a great many more things than they expected got done. They read all the hygiene regulations, put in an application to become regulated. They got the logo painted on their white van. One big, waving red feather. The name and phone number underneath. They went to a printer's to get the business cards, the brochures and the invitations printed.
'I know that address, it's where Maguire's the printer's used to be,' said the old man
behind the counter when Tom and Cathy had gone to arrange the lettering.
'Yes, indeed, we've just bought the premises. Did you know them? Were they good printers?'
'Ah, the best at one time, but then everything changed, they didn't, and there was all that other business.'
'What other business?'
The man looked from one to the other and decided against it. 'I don't know, I can't really remember.'
'They're in England now,' Tom said helpfully.
'God be good to them wherever they are,' said the old man.
She was very quiet in the van. 'We'll never know, Cathy. Stop trying to puzzle it out,' Tom said.
'We knew there was something odd, and of course you'd never in a million years get it out of James.'
'It doesn't matter,' Tom said.
'Don't you want to know? Men are very incurious sometimes.'
'Practical, maybe. Let's go out tonight and have a coffee and make a list.'
They had taken to doing their Scarlet Feather work away from home. It wasn't fair on Neil to have his whole study commandeered, nor on Marcella to keep her out of her own sitting room or kitchen. It was not that Neil and Marcella had been in any way critical—neither of them had made a murmur of complaint—it was just that they hadn't any time to help. Neil was involved in committees and consultations almost every night of the week; Marcella had signed on for a fourteen-day course of aquarobics to tone up her already perfect body. They said they'd love to help if only there were time.
And indeed, one evening saw Neil up a ladder painting; and another evening Marcella helped hem the curtains. And then there was the evening Neil and Marcella had fallen about laughing over the ventilation regulations. Giggling over phrases like 'steam-emitting appliances' and 'mesh size 16 maximum pore size 1.2 millimetres essential to be fly-proof. Cathy and Tom were familiar with such phrases from catering college, and just shrugged at all the mirth. And their main backers too had been very undemanding.