At a Time Like This

by Catherine Dunne

  We were sitting downstairs in our old home, having made sure our mother was settled in bed. My father had been ill for so long that I was sure his death would be a happy release for her. But the depth of my mother’s grief had taken me by surprise. It just goes to show. You never can tell what goes on between two people.

  We were both smoking up a storm. Paul had earlier produced a bottle of whiskey. Now he topped up my glass.

  ‘Can’t have a wake without whiskey’ he said.

  I was glad everyone was gone. The house was now silent, familiar. It was as though it had just let out a long sigh and settled itself more comfortably around us. I’d missed Paul, more than I could have imagined. His abrupt departure to Australia had left a gap in my life, a gap that had not been filled, despite husband, children, friendships.

  ‘I blamed you, you know,’ I told him. ‘For the split with Claire.’ I wouldn’t have dared bring her name up. He did it for me, asking where she was. I told him she had had to go on business to Dijon, although Claire’s face as she’d told me made me doubt it. She was never a very good liar.

  He nodded. ‘Blaming me might be more true than you think.’

  I waited.

  ‘I was hard on her, Maggie. Probably too hard. But I was young and idealistic and I couldn’t handle it.’ He stubbed out his cigarette and then reached for another. I understood the compulsion. ‘I told her it was because I couldn’t trust her, because she had lied to me.’

  I looked at him in surprise. ‘And it wasn’t?’

  ‘Not totally. In fact, hardly at all, if I’m honest. I was filled with the Hippocratic Oath. I felt guilty by association.’ He shook his head. And she was tainted for me. I was a fool, Maggie. I’d no idea then just how complicated life can be.’

  I could see Claire’s face swim before my eyes, watched her pinched reflection in the hotel mirror as she repaired her mascara.

  And now?’ I asked. I had the feeling that I was stepping on to very dangerous territory, that something was about to give way beneath my feet.

  ‘I make the best of it.’

  ‘Marlene? And the kids?’ I knew I was prying, but I couldn’t stop.

  ‘The kids are great,’ he said. He drained his glass. ‘It’s not Marlene’s fault. I was looking to replace Claire.’ He shrugged. ‘Can’t be done.’

  I held out my own glass for more. What the hell.

  ‘You sure?’ Paul asked. ‘Whiskey can give you one mother of a hangover.’

  I just nodded. I didn’t want to speak.

  After a while, he said: ‘It’s all so black and white when you’re young, isn’t it? Anyway, that’s between you and me. I don’t want Claire to know that I’ve told you. Ever.’

  So that the night in the restaurant when Claire confessed to the abortion, when she told me about her feelings of guilt and responsibility, I couldn’t stop her, couldn’t betray Paul’s confidence. Instead, I had to pretend. It wasn’t hard to appear surprised, to be overcome by emotion. After all, there was the incident with Ray to be got over, too. But at least I was able to comfort her on her childlessness. Or rather, I was able to attempt to do so without feeling compromised. All in all, though, it was a tough meeting for both of us, Claire and me. I have never told her of Paul’s confidence. But it saddens me, that two people who could have made each other happy instead drove each other farther and farther away.

  There’s not a lot I can do about that, but I can now draw her closer as a friend. Georgie’s absence has made that easier. I know that Claire’s eyes will light up when she visits me here in Coillte and sees the size of the garden. I know how delighted she’ll be that I want her to design it, and I think that she’ll approve of what I’ve done with the interior of the cottage. I hope so. No fuss, no frills. Just open plan, white walls, solid wood floors. And maybe Nora would like it here, too.

  After breakfast, I go for a walk. Sometimes the mornings are bright and cold and just right for walking, other times they can be a bit rough. It rains a lot here and the grey skies can make things look desolate. But as I am still a weekender, these changes in the weather mean nothing to me. I’m not condemned to ‘a winter of discontent’ – Georgie’s words. Well, not hers specifically, just ones quoted by her. She reminded me that I can up stakes and go back to Dublin and cinemas and theatres and fancy restaurants any time I want. But the point is, I don’t want. Not since the first night I was able to sleep here. Anthony had promised me that the cottage would be habitable, even hospitable by mid-January, and he was as good as his word.

  Georgie came with me that weekend, to celebrate the end of the renovation. God, it was freezing. Sleeting. Snowing. We stopped off in Liffey Valley on the Thursday evening and bought a couple of duvets, bedlinen, towels, crockery – just enough to keep us going in case we didn’t have time to shop once we got to Leitrim. Just as well we did, as things turned out.

  Karen and her daughter had agreed to look after the shop. We all knew there would be very little business done. Georgie and I have never believed in January Sales, so there would be no stampede at our boutique. At the very most, we’d offer 10 per cent discount to select customers. That’s how we’ve always retained our niche on exclusivity. That weekend, we’d told everybody who needed to know that we were taking a few days looking at premises in midland towns. Why not? Dublin and Cork and Belfast weren’t the only places that women spent a fortune on clothes. Prosperity now runs in broad, deep channels from the coast down towards the dead centre of Ireland, irrigating all the places in between. It was natural that Georgie and I would be looking to expand again. Even Karen was convinced that that was what we were up to. So all bases were covered. Besides, mobile phones make it that much easier to lie, these days.

  ‘Good luck,’ Karen had called, as Georgie and I emerged together from the back room. I had gathered up the last of the cheques and the cash and Georgie had filled in the lodgement slip. We always went to the bank together on Thursdays and for a coffee afterwards. That’s something else I’ll miss, just another one of the small routines of our friendship.

  ‘Thanks, Karen,’ I said. ‘Bring yourself and Dee out for a meal on Saturday night. There’s an envelope in the till with your name on it.’

  ‘Try out that new Indian in Blackrock, will you?’ said Georgie. ‘Then you can give us a report when we get back.’

  Karen waved her thanks and called out, ‘Drive safely’ I opened the passenger door of Georgie’s car. She was rubbing her hands together as she sat in the driver’s seat.

  ‘It’ll heat up in a minute,’ she said. A Mercedes A140 – a recent purchase of hers, another new pride and joy. She’d told me in passing, very casually as I see now, that she had just insured Carla and Lillian to drive it. A perfect car for around town, she’d said. I remember being taken aback at that. It seemed a lot of car for two young women. Now I think I know what she was doing. Was a fancy car to be a compensation for her daughters? Georgie has always cared too much about money.

  We sat for a few minutes until the windows cleared. She said, ‘I feel like we used to feel at school when we mitched for an afternoon. Do you remember? That thrill of sneaking away while everyone else was in class?’

  I looked over at her. Was it selective memory or did Georgie really not remember that punishment follows crime as night follows day?

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘I do. I remember getting caught, too, and being grounded at the weekend for a month.’

  She laughed. ‘Well, who’s going to catch us this time?’ She pulled out into the traffic. A swift, confident movement that made other drivers slow down for her. Georgie always drove like her personality. If that was me, I’d hesitate just a fraction too long, afraid to take chances. Then World War Three would erupt with blaring horns, flashing lights, shaking fists, all the component parts of Dublin road-rage.

  It was about six o’clock when we pulled up outside the cottage, wheels crunching on gravel. Anthony was standing at the front door. He was lit up by our approaching headl
ights. Everything else was pitch black.

  ‘Ah, shite, Georgie, the electricity must be off. Just our luck.’

  ‘Is that your builder?’

  ‘Yeah. You keep the lights going and I’ll get out and talk to him.’

  He was beside the passenger door by the time I had my seat-belt unfastened. ‘What’s up, Anthony?’ I tried to keep my tone light but I was finding it hard to hide my disappointment.

  ‘’Evening, Maggie. Electricity went earlier this afternoon. I’ve put in a call, and they’ve promised to send someone.’

  I tried to read his expression. ‘Do you think they will?’

  He grinned at me. ‘Well, I think so. It’s not just you, you know. It’s the other cottages around here as well.’

  ‘Do you think we’ll be able to stay tonight?’

  ‘Why not? Sure, haven’t you enough wood for a fire? And O’Callaghan’s is still open. I can nip down and get you some briquettes and candles, if you like.’

  At that moment, Georgie spoke. ‘Come on, Maggie,’ she said, ‘where’s your frontierswoman spirit?’

  I gestured towards the driver’s seat. Anthony, meet my friend, Georgie. Georgie, Anthony’

  Anthony walked around the car and they shook hands through the window.

  ‘We’ll go,’ I said. ‘Maybe it’d be better if you stayed here? In case the repair man arrives?’

  He nodded. ‘Sure thing. A torch might be a good idea, too.’

  ‘Okay, then, we’ll see you later. Do you need anything?’

  He patted his pockets. ‘Matches wouldn’t go astray. I’ve just used up the last of them.’

  I got back into the car. ‘Okay, Georgie, let’s go. Back down the way we came from.’

  Georgie reversed and then pointed the car back in the direction of the main road. All neat, economical movements. She said nothing for a few minutes. Then, her voice quiet, mocking, she said: ‘How come you’ve kept him such a secret?’

  I looked at her, surprised. ‘Who, Anthony?’

  ‘Yes, “Who, Anthony”. He’s a very attractive man, or hadn’t you noticed?’

  I sighed. Always the same, even when we were students. No, especially when we were students. And I’m sure at times in between then and now, although Georgie would never have told me if she’d had adventures. She’s always been discreet, knowing as she does the way I feel about Ray playing away from home. ‘He’s a very nice man—’

  But she wouldn’t let me finish. Ah-ah,’ she said, voicing her disapproval. Her tone was stern. ‘We banned “nice” more than twenty-five years ago, don’t you remember?’

  I did indeed. ‘Okay, he’s kind and obliging and at least fifteen years older than I am. He’s been very good to me but I am not interested. I’m also still married and I’m not interested. Right?’

  ‘Right.’ A pause. And is he married?’

  I gave up. ‘No, his wife died five years ago. The building and renovation firm is his son’s business.’ I listed things like a litany, ticking them off on my fingers. ‘He doesn’t work because he has to, he works because he wants to. He’s got one son and two daughters. He lives about twenty miles away. Enough? And I’m still not interested, right?’

  Georgie gave me a sidelong glance. I could see her turn, even though I kept looking straight ahead.

  ‘Okay, then,’ she said. We drove in silence for a few minutes more. ‘Seeing as how you’re not going to give me directions, I presume that this is the O’Callaghan’s Anthony mentioned?’ She pulled up outside the door.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Thanks. I’ll be out in a minute.’ I closed the door, harder than I intended. I was surprised at myself, letting Georgie rattle me like that. I just want to be left alone, I told myself as I walked up and down the shop’s tiny aisles. Just left alone.

  By the time we got back to the cottage, the repair truck was outside. My spirits lifted. ‘Great!’ I said to Georgie. ‘Look!’

  Anthony came towards us. ‘Should take another hour or so. The fault is at the bottom of the road. It was flooded a couple of days ago.’ He opened the door for me. ‘Can I help you ladies in with anything? I found a torch in the van.’

  I could feel Georgie’s smile broadening. I was about to decline, to insist that she and I would go off for a drink and come back later, once everything was fixed, but she got there before me.

  ‘That would be great, Anthony, thanks. If you and Maggie unload, I’ll take care of lighting the candles. I can’t wait to see inside. Maggie’s told me what a lovely job you’ve done.’

  I said nothing. I was just glad of the power cut. It meant no one could see my face.

  As it happened, it took until nine o’clock to fix the fault. By then, the three of us were sitting around a turf fire, sharing a companionable bottle of wine. We’d emptied the car and Anthony offered to bring in the wood and briquettes from the shed and light the fire. I said yes. Georgie found her way around the kitchen, exclaiming at all the lovely things her candles illuminated. That helped to restore my good humour. That, and the dishes she had filled with nuts and pretzels. I was starving. I couldn’t help thinking of the steaks in the freezer and fretted about them spoiling if the electricity stayed off too long.

  Anthony and I had just finished telling Georgie about the setbacks in the renovation project, the delays, the problems caused by the discovery of an old well, when the lights came back on. The three of us sat, blinking at each other in the glare. It was as though a photographer’s flash bulb had gone off. I was left with a vivid impression of Anthony’s handsome face, his shock of dark hair threaded with grey, his large hands. Then the moment passed and we all stood up together, as though the lights had thrown a switch inside us as well, forcing us upwards and forwards.

  ‘Oh, Maggie, this really is a picture!’ Georgie’s enthusiasm was genuine. She was looking around her, taking in details.

  Anthony took that as his cue to leave. ‘I’ll let you ladies finish your grand tour in peace,’ he said. ‘But I might drop by tomorrow morning with more supports for the trellis, if that suited?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘that would be fine. And thanks for everything this evening. It’s much appreciated.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Georgie, approaching us with her hand extended towards Anthony. ‘Very nice to meet you. And congratulations on a lovely job. Bears no resemblance to the photos Maggie showed me six months ago.’

  He smiled, all pleased. ‘Thank you. I like getting stuck into a proper job like this,’ he said. ‘Makes a change from poky kitchen extensions and garden sheds.’

  Georgie smiled at him. Her best, most winning one. ‘We’ll look forward to seeing you tomorrow, then.’

  I came back into the kitchen to find her unpacking groceries. She turned to grin at me as I began opening cupboard doors. ‘Don’t say a word,’ I warned her. ‘Not even one word.’

  And here I am again, after a momentous week. Last Friday at Claire’s was traumatic, to say the least. I felt sorry for Nora, to have her news about Megan taken over by Georgie’s abrupt departure, but she’ll get over it. Watching her with her photographs that evening made me feel sad for her. What sort of parents would force that on their daughter? To give away their grandchild, just in case some snobby neighbours or sniffy clients might be upset? What a waste, I kept thinking. What an awful waste of all those years.

  But Claire was right. She stepped in at just the right moment. I might have been about to get tearful. ‘The important thing now, Nora, is that you have her back. She came looking for you. Have you any idea how lucky you are? That she wanted to know her mother so badly?’

  Then it was my turn. I could hear the waver in Claire’s voice all too clearly. Here was Nora, already with three sons by the man she loved and now she had her daughter back. I thought of all the losses in Claire’s life – some of which she didn’t even know about. I turned to Nora, handed her another tissue.

  ‘She’s right, Nora. Let’s celebrate you and Frank and Megan.’

 
Claire stood up to go in search of more Prosecco. I wanted to keep her out of the room for as long as I could, to see if I could get Nora to put her photographs away, to change the subject, just for a bit. ‘Claire, have you any sparkling water left, by any chance?’

  ‘I’ll have a rummage while I’m out here,’ she called from the kitchen. ‘Just hang on a sec’

  I turned to see Nora’s face suffused with love as she continued to turn her photos over in her hands. I knew then I couldn’t ask her to put them away. I couldn’t ask her to do that, not without making everything worse.

  Claire was brave that night, I have to hand it to her. I felt glad that Georgie had been the means of bringing us back together again after what had happened with Ray. Although at the time, I’d been angry at Georgie, once I’d realized how she had manoeuvred the two of us together when Nora wasn’t around. Angry? I was livid. Looking back, I threw a tantrum that was worthy of Georgie herself.

  ‘What do you think you’re playing at?’ I almost spat the words at her. ‘How dare you lie to me about tonight? How dare you try and put me in the same room as that woman?’

  But Georgie just looked at me very coolly. ‘You’re here, now, both of you. The least you can do is listen to each other. I don’t believe Claire has the remotest interest in your husband.’ She lit my cigarette for me. My own hands were shaking too much for me to do it myself. ‘Yes. Claire let you down badly. Once. Now let’s take your husband. Would you like me to count the ways?’

  That took the wind out of my sails.

  She shrugged and put the lighter back on the kitchen shelf. ‘Now she’s in the living room, waiting. It’s up to you, and she knows that. You say the word – after you’ve listened to her – and she’s history. If you can’t forgive her, neither will I.’ She nodded towards the front door. ‘There’s a taxi waiting. If you say so, she goes. Immediately, once you’ve said your piece. You stay. Simple as that.’

  I looked at her. I trusted what she said. ‘Right,’ I said. ‘I’ll listen to her. And then I’ll let you know.’