Holding

by Graham Norton

  ‘They were no bother.’

  ‘Sure, Cathal would eat your arm, wouldn’t you?’

  Tea was made, and without being asked, Brid had taken her coat off, hanging it on the back of her chair rather than on one of the hooks in the hall. Baby steps. She looked at Anthony leaning against the kitchen counter holding his mug. He had hardly changed since the first day she’d seen him. He had never put on weight, and if it wasn’t for his dark hair slowly retreating from his forehead and the lines around his eyes, he might have been twenty years younger. He wasn’t a vain man, but there was still something in the way he looked at her that made her think that he felt he deserved better.

  Her hands were on the table, palms down. She felt like she needed to anchor herself to something or she might fly around the room screaming out her pain like a hysterical balloon. Taking a deep breath and arranging her face into a neutral expression of unconcern, she announced, ‘Now, kids I must have a quick talk with your father.’ She tried to ignore their frightened faces. What did they think was going to happen next? Did they really think she would ever leave them? She looked at her mother-in-law. ‘Is it all right if we use the sitting room for a minute?’

  The older woman stood and addressed Brid as if she were a visiting dignitary with a limited command of English: ‘You are very welcome to use any room in this house.’

  When they were alone, there was a moment of silence.

  ‘I fucked up.’ Before Anthony could speak, she continued, ‘I’ve been fucking up. I am sorry.’

  He opened his mouth, but Brid held out her hand. ‘No, Anthony. Let me … I know I’ve said sorry before, but this is different. I haven’t been a good mother. Or a good wife. I know that, but this time I am going to change. I promise you that I will stop with the wine. I know you won’t believe me and trust takes time, but I have never been so serious about anything in my entire life.’

  She reached forward and grabbed his hands, looking directly into his eyes and holding her breath. How was this going down? It sounded convincing enough to her. She knew if she was going to get a truce that she had to take all the blame. There was no point trying to defend herself. No mention would be made of his coldness or long silent moods. She was the awful unworthy wife and he was the long-suffering saint. She was deadly serious about not drinking, but that was for herself and the children, not this sanctimonious cock. She squeezed his hands and … yes, her eyes filled with tears. If that wasn’t enough, she had no idea what else she could try.

  Anthony sighed. ‘It’s not fair. How do you think the kids felt yesterday standing outside the school? People talk. There’s name-calling. Those children want to love you. We all want to love you, but you’re a joke. An old joke that isn’t funny any more.’ He pushed her hands away.

  The tears were real now. They had started when he had said that thing about how they all wanted to love her. Did he want to love her? Had he ever loved her? It was news to her.

  She sat down on the low hard sofa and stared at the floor. ‘I know, Anthony. I’ve been a monster, but this time I swear to you it will be different. What can I do to get you to believe me?’ She looked up, her face a flushed mess of tears and snot. ‘I will not drink again. No more. Not a drop!’

  ‘Jesus, Brid, are you drunk now?’

  ‘No!’ She let out a wail and jumped to her feet. She wanted to implore him to believe her, but she simply had no more words.

  He rubbed the back of his neck and paced the short distance between the door and the china cabinet like a cat in a cage. His breathing became a series of sighs and gasps. Finally he stopped and looked at her. As they stood facing each other with stooped shoulders, they looked like fighters in the ring waiting for the final round.

  ‘It’s the children, Brid.’

  ‘They don’t want to be here.’

  ‘I know that, but they can’t be around you when you’re …’

  ‘I won’t be.’

  ‘Ah Brid. I want to believe you, for the kids, I truly do, but how can I?’

  ‘Give me a week. One week. Can’t you see this is different? If I fuck up this time, I’ll leave. You and the kids won’t have to run away. I’ll just pack my things and go. Please!’

  And in that moment she really felt like she was asking Anthony to come back as well. Maybe she didn’t want a new life. She just wanted her old one to be better, like polishing a familiar pair of shoes.

  Anthony ran his finger along the bevelled glass in the door of the china cabinet. He didn’t look up, just whispered, ‘One week. You have a week.’

  She wanted to hug him but sensed that it was the wrong thing to do. This was her victory but she knew she mustn’t give any hint of triumphalism. A simple nod and a demure ‘Thank you, Anthony.’

  Even better than shepherding her own children out of their grandmother’s house had been the look on the old woman’s face when Anthony had announced they were all going home. It was an act of extreme self-sacrifice on Brid’s part not to flash her the wide, smug smile of a winner.

  Music by candlelight was the start of their new life together. This was both of them making an effort. As they climbed the steps, Anthony took Brid’s arm. Any stranger might have thought what a sweet couple they were, whereas most of the population of Duneen just assumed Brid was a bit unsteady on her feet.

  The concert was about to begin when they got into the chapel, so they slipped into a pew at the back of the church.

  Mairead Gallagher stepped in front of the altar in a dress that would have been more appropriate for the Oscars than an amateur musical evening in Duneen. Presumably the desired effect of having so much skin on show was to be sexy, but in the stony chill of St Michael’s chapel, it just made men and women alike wonder how cold she must be.

  With both hands clasped tightly together to prevent shivering, she introduced a harpist and a pianist from the school of music in Cork. The two young men stepped forward to lacklustre applause and took their places by their instruments. The programme began by confirming everyone’s worst fears when Mairead sang two arias by some obscure Polish composer. PJ became painfully self-conscious of every little movement, so tried to ration his number of fidgets. Evelyn sat perfectly still, staring straight ahead, while Abigail examined her fingernails. Florence allowed a range of emotions to play across her face so that the simple people of Duneen could see that she fully appreciated this shrill discord.

  Things improved somewhat when Mairead announced that she was going to perform a medley of songs from Oklahoma!. Everyone relaxed into the familiar tunes, and even the most reluctant husbands began to enjoy themselves. There was some more opera, but it was Mozart and Puccini – crowd-pleasers – then the harpist performed a solo piece, and while nobody could claim to have actually enjoyed it, they could at least marvel at the technical achievement in the playing. Mairead finished the show with such a powerful performance of ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ that it sounded like more of a threat than a promise. The chapel erupted into applause and cries of ‘More!’ The trio had clearly not envisaged any need for an encore, so made do by leading a strange singalong version of John Denver’s ‘Take Me Home, Country Roads’.

  It turned out that everyone, without realising they had ever learnt the song, did in fact know all the words. Evelyn was surprised to hear PJ’s smooth baritone voice: ‘West Virginia, mountain mamma!’

  The sergeant was enjoying himself. He had forgotten how much he liked to sing. His career in the school choir had been cut short when he became too self-conscious to stand in front of an audience and had quit. He strained to hear Evelyn’s voice, since she was singing in almost a whisper. Florence was the musical one and threw her head back as if trying to contact country roads somewhere on the other side of Ballytorne.

  Afterwards people jostled towards the doors, pulling on coats, nodding to neighbours and all agreeing with each other that it had been very good. ‘Wasn’t it good?’ ‘It was. Very good.’

  Brid and Anthony were almost
the first to leave, while PJ and the Ross sisters had become stuck in the crowd surging towards the exit. Evelyn touched PJ’s sleeve. He looked down at her and was struck by her smooth skin and the hint of a smile. ‘It’s still early, Sergeant. Will you come back to the house for a cup of tea or a drink? I made a few sandwiches before we came out.’

  The thought of making small talk with Abigail and Florence while wedged into a low uncomfortable chair didn’t really appeal, but it was such a rare kind invitation that he didn’t feel he could refuse. Besides which, he was actually quite hungry.

  At the bottom of the steps, they stopped while it was decided that PJ would take his own vehicle and follow the sisters up to Ard Carraig. He was just about to turn away when a car inched slowly by trying to avoid the dispersing crowd. He saw Brid’s face in the passenger seat. She noticed him and smiled, but then she must have registered Evelyn standing next to him and her expression changed. PJ glanced over to Evelyn, who had also spotted Brid. Her expression was hard to read, but there was certainly no hint of a smile. PJ had suddenly lost his appetite.

  14

  It wasn’t raining, but it didn’t need to. The air was thick with a wet mist and the horizon was lost in the various shades of grey that blurred the sky and sea into a single mottled canvas. The small red car parked on the cliff looked like a wound in the vast bleakness.

  Brid stared out at the white-tipped waves and the small leafless trees bent against the wind. The driver’s-side window was open and she was taking great gasps of the damp sea air. The drive up here wasn’t exactly what she had intended, but she knew that she couldn’t stay at home when she was feeling like this. A glass of wine was so appealing, she’d had to escape the kitchen with its heavy fridge door. She hoped that pausing for breath on the clifftop might help her sort out what she wanted to do.

  For most of her adult life Brid had never allowed herself to examine or question too closely the life she was living. She simply got through the days and, when she needed it, used wine to chase her feelings into the shadowy recesses of her heart. It had been a shock last night when she had seen PJ standing by the Ross woman. Without hesitation she was able to label what she had felt. It was a deep, irrational jealousy. What she found less easy to identify was whether it was because that man she hardly knew was with someone else, or if it was purely to do with it being Evelyn Ross. It was all so shamefully juvenile.

  Anthony had eventually asked what was wrong, because without realising it she had not said a word for the rest of the journey. Poor Anthony. Yes, he was priggish and annoying, but at the same time, no man deserved this treatment. His life hadn’t been easy and Brid often wondered why he stayed. Was the farm really that important to him? More important than his happiness? More important than being with a woman he actually loved? Maybe the children were enough. They had been for her, after all, hadn’t they?

  Jealous. She had no right to feel anything after their drunken tryst, but even the next day she knew that she had felt something more. Perhaps it was as simple as the physical connection. She still had sex with Anthony occasionally, but nothing like the hungry clawing and biting that had gone on with the guard. In fact she had never in her life felt desired like that, and it was overwhelming. Still, that didn’t make it a relationship, and she knew that if he had been standing with any other woman besides that Ross creature, she would not have felt the same.

  Brid stepped out of the car and, pulling the collar of her coat up, walked to the edge of the cliff. Despite all the dark days, she had never felt like ending her life. Still, today as she stared down at the water boiling around the rocks below, she could imagine just letting go. The wonderful lightness and freedom of flying through the air and then the cold dark of the water washing away every single care and concern. She smiled to herself. Of course she’d never do it. It wasn’t just the children; she still believed that life had more to give her. It had to, because so far it had offered her precious little.

  She wondered if she should say something to PJ. Would an affair help her or make things worse? How strange that she could imagine sharing a bed with him again but couldn’t envision looking into his eyes and asking him what it was he felt.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the growl of a car engine coming along the road, and she saw the distinctive blue and yellow of the Garda car. It was too late to duck or hide, but happily it drove by, disappearing behind a thick hedge. Brid sighed with relief. She wasn’t ready to have any sort of conversation right now. But then she heard the engine at a slightly higher pitch and turned to see the car, with PJ at the wheel, reversing slowly down the slight hill. He stopped about fifty feet away and turned off the engine.

  Brid attempted to compose herself, running her right hand through her hair, knowing that she must look … well, someone kind might call it windswept, but she knew that bedraggled was closer to the truth. PJ walked towards her, leaning into the wind. He was smiling.

  ‘I thought that was you.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What a God-awful day.’

  ‘Yes.’

  He looked out to sea as if what he was about to say was written in the clouds.

  ‘I was just wondering if you sorted everything about the kids.’

  ‘Yes. It’s fine … fine.’

  Another pause, then Brid saw PJ’s lips moving, but the waves and the wind drowned out his words.

  ‘I can’t hear you,’ she shouted over the elements.

  PJ came a couple of steps closer.

  ‘I was just asking if we’re all right?’

  ‘All right?’

  ‘Well, you know, after the other night?’

  He looked so serious and concerned she couldn’t help smiling back at him.

  ‘It was a mad thing to happen, but I don’t regret it. I had fun. Are you all right?’

  PJ blushed. ‘Yes. I had a good time too.’

  They grinned at each other and PJ was startled to find himself getting slightly aroused. Almost to remind himself, he blurted out, ‘It was very unprofessional of me. If anyone found out …’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry – your secret is safe with me.’ Then, with a slight smirk, she added, ‘I’d hate for the sergeant to lose his job.’

  ‘The sergeant wouldn’t like that either,’ he replied with a little chuckle. Both of them wondered if this was what flirting felt like.

  ‘What brings you up here anyway, Brid?’

  ‘I just needed to get away for a while.’

  ‘Away?’

  ‘You know. Anthony, the fridge.’

  ‘Anthony’s a fridge?’

  Brid smiled. ‘You could say that, but no, I meant wine. I’m trying not to drink and it’s hard with everything that’s going on. Don’t tell me you’re the only person in Duneen who doesn’t know my reputation!’

  ‘I had heard a whisper or two.’

  He wanted to hold her in that moment. To fall to the ground with her and shelter together against the wind rushing in off the ocean, but he knew that mustn’t happen. He had unfinished business. He cleared his throat.

  ‘Brid. This is awkward, but I do still need to ask you a few questions about Tommy Burke’s disappearance. I’m sorry. I don’t want to upset you.’

  It was still a shock for Brid to hear Tommy’s name again after all these years, and it took her a moment to reply.

  ‘Of course, of course. Do you want to sit in the car?’

  PJ looked at the little Honda.

  ‘I think we might be more comfortable in the squad car, if you’re all right.’

  Brid glanced between the two vehicles and back at PJ. ‘Of course.’

  They took the few paces back to the Garda car and got inside. PJ started the engine and fiddled with the plastic controls by the radio.

  ‘This should thaw us out.’

  ‘Lovely,’ and Brid meant it.

  PJ stretched across to open the glove compartment and took out his notebook and pen.

  ‘Very formal,’ Brid rema
rked

  ‘It’s the head honcho up in Cork. He needs it all done by the book,’ PJ offered apologetically. ‘So. You were engaged to Tommy Burke?’

  ‘I was.’

  ‘And when did you last see him?’

  ‘It was the night before he vanished. He came up for his dinner.’ Brid turned in her seat and put her hand on PJ’s arm. ‘I can’t tell you how strange all of this is.’

  ‘Strange? What do you mean?’

  ‘Well it’s just that … I was such a child. I’ve always thought of Tommy Burke as the love of my life. I’ve blamed everything – you know, my life – on him. Ridiculous. He never loved me. I knew that even then. Jesus, I was more like one of those girls that wins a competition to go on a date with their pop idol than an actual fiancée. I thought I’d lose my mind when I was told they’d found his body, and here I am a few days later laughing at the very idea of being in love with Tommy Burke. Nearly losing the children, Anthony, you, this is reality. This is the life I have to try and figure out.’ She glanced across at PJ. He wasn’t taking notes. ‘Does any of this make sense?’

  ‘Oh God, yes, yes, I understand, but …’ he hesitated, ‘but I’ve still got to interview the woman who was engaged to the man who disappeared. You know Evelyn Ross thinks you killed him?’

  Brid let out a hoot of laughter. ‘Evelyn Ross! Sure I thought she had driven him away, and then when I heard about the body I did wonder if she might have done something crazy. You don’t know that woman. I’ve seen her like a creature possessed. She looks so serene as she wafts through the village, everything just so, but mark my words, she is unhinged. I’d say they all are. I mean, really, three spinster sisters living up there all alone, it’s not right.’