Heart and Soul

by Maeve Binchy

  “Not if you want me to talk to Father Brian,” she said.

  “But why, Ania? He's such a good guy, for a druid—well, by any standards really.”

  “A druid?” Ania asked, puzzled.

  “Forget it. It's just a sort of insulting word for a priest.”

  “Right, good. A druid, is that it?”

  “No, that's not important. The bit you are to remember is that he's a good guy.”

  “He's not a good guy, Johnny. I thought he was, but he is not.”

  “Why do you say that? Did somebody say something against him?”

  “No, but I saw his girlfriend in his bed, lying there as bold as bronze.”

  “Brass,” Johnny corrected.

  “What?”

  “You say as bold as brass, not bronze. Did she speak to you?”

  “Of course she did.”

  “And was it Eileen Edwards, the one we call Goldilocks?”

  “You know that it was. You all protect him. You're as bad as he is.”

  “But it's all lies, Ania. Every word of it.”

  “Not what I saw. That wasn't lies. She was lying in his bed, Johnny.”

  “How did she get in?”

  “He gave her the key.”

  “He swears there's only one other key and you have it,” Johnny said.

  “He surely is not saying that I let her in?”

  “No, but could she have taken your key?”

  “No, she could not do that. It's in my handbag.”

  “And she couldn't have got at your handbag. She's very mad, you know.”

  “No, she would not have been alone with my bag …” Ania stopped. “Unless, of course …”

  Johnny leaped at this. “Unless what?”

  “No, it was impossible. She called in one day when I was doing the ironing. Father Brian wasn't in. She asked me to make her a cup of tea …”

  “And you left your bag …”

  “Only for a small moment.”

  “But you did leave it in the same room?”

  “I was not expecting that she would open my bag …”

  “No, none of us were expecting this …and she probably put it back in your bag next day at the center when she had made a copy.”

  “She was very much at home there in Father Brian's house.”

  “In her mind she was, Ania. She is really mad, you know.”

  “I know that she is dangerous,” Ania said.

  “That too,” Johnny agreed. “Please come tonight. Brian needs his friends.”

  “I was going to have an English lesson,” Ania said.

  “Sure, don't you speak better English than any of us. Come to Corrigans, please,” he said.

  And Ania said that she would ring and cancel her English lesson. Carl would understand.

  “I have learned one new word anyway today,” she said cheerfully.

  “What's that?” Johnny asked.

  “Droo-id, a word for a priest,” she said proudly.

  Johnny put his head in his hands.

  That night they all sat openmouthed in Corrigans while Brian told the whole tale, showed the photograph and eventually had a cry with big, heaving shoulders. Johnny ran to get him a brandy. This had gone beyond pints. Ania cried with him at the unfairness of life and out of shame that she had ever doubted him. James O'Connor said the one thing about being a schoolteacher was that you knew the first thing to do with anything was to make a list of what to do now.

  They dried their tears, sipped their drinks and planned what to do. Could they get a private detective to follow Eileen to see where she went and perhaps to find her family? That way they might find out a bit more about her.

  How would they find one? In the classified directories? Maybe the security man who worked with Johnny and Ania at the heart clinic might know someone in that line of business. James wrote down “Ask Tim for contact.” But then it might cost huge money, which none of them had. They couldn't follow her themselves, as she would recognize them.

  “Lidia, the girl I share a flat with—she could do it. She works in a bar and is very confident,” Ania said enviously. She knew Lidia could cope with anything that life threw at her. James wrote down “Discuss matter with Lidia.” There were further options: “Talk to bishop,”

  “Go to someone higher in the police force,”

  “Set up a petition,”

  “Get a journalist to tell Father Brian's side of things,”

  “Tell everyone she's mad and ignore her.” None of their ideas seemed very good. The best hope was Lidia.

  Lidia was bemused when Ania came into her pub with three men in tow. She was even more astounded when she took her break to sit with them and realized what they wanted her to do.

  “Is this some kind of a joke, Ania?” She spoke in English out of courtesy to the others, but Ania answered in Polish to show how serious it was.

  “This is our only hope to save a good man. You must help us— you must.”

  “But suppose it's not what you think—” Lidia began.

  Brian interrupted. “Please believe me. This is a lot to ask you, but without your help we have no hope at all.”

  “But the government, the Church, the law? They cannot punish you if you are innocent.”

  “If it were only as easy as that, Miss Lidia, then believe me we would not be here wasting your time.” Brian looked very defeated.

  “What do I have to do?” Lidia asked.

  The first thing the little committee asked her to do was to follow Eileen back to the big apartment block where she lived. She had told tales of how wonderful the commissionaire was, a real sweetie, she said, who would do anything for you. Eileen had said she was friendly with a lot of the people and sometimes went to their little drinks parties.

  She had described the beautiful view right across the Dublin Mountains; the place, she said, was very well kept. Cleaners came at four a.m. to do the stairs and landings and they were very quiet. She had told all this to the hardworking girls, many of whom might actually be part of the four a.m. cleaning force. Eileen saw nothing incongruous about describing her privileged lifestyle to those who had such a small income. She said they loved to hear stories about her fairy princess life.

  Lidia couldn't help wondering why Eileen would seek out the company of immigrants, of people considerably less fortunate as she put on her anorak and jeans and pulled a soft, dark hat down low over her face. She would have to look anonymous if she was to follow this woman and not be recognized.

  The very first night Lidia followed Eileen she saw her go up to the porter at the gate of the building, rather than up to the main entrance. She looked so beautiful and very well dressed. Lidia liked clothes, and she knew that Eileen Edwards's outfit had cost a small fortune. What was she doing with her life? And what could she have in common with the rather bullet-headed boy who let cars in and out? To her surprise, Lidia saw Eileen empty her handbag and put the contents in a plastic bag. The porter put the expensive handbag down under his desk. Eileen ran quickly away and hailed a bus on her side of the road.

  Where was she going?

  Lidia threw herself across the road and just barely caught the bus before it left, nearly killing herself in the attempt.

  “Yes?” said the weary-looking driver.

  Lidia didn't know where to say. She had no idea where Eileen would get off the bus. “The end of the line. The terminal station, please,” she said.

  “Are you from Lithuania, by any chance?” the driver asked.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I met a gorgeous Lithuanian girl at a club. I really liked her. I wondered did you know her.”

  “This is a very big city,” Lidia said.

  “Don't I know. I walked this area here as green fields when I was a lad.”

  Lidia sat and looked out the window at the rows of houses that had sprung up where the driver had once known green fields. She watched the reflection of Eileen carefully, ready for any sign that she might
be about to get up and leave. Eventually she did. She looked around her as if afraid that she would be spotted.

  Lidia got out after her and went deliberately in the opposite direction. Then she took off her black hat and wrapped her red scarf around her head so that hopefully she looked totally different and turned to follow Eileen Edwards. She walked for five minutes and saw Eileen stop outside a particularly dilapidated house in Moun-tainview Road, a very shabby street. Again, she looked up and down the street and then she let herself in.

  Lidia took a picture of the house with Johnny's phone, which she had borrowed for the occasion, and then she caught the bus back to the apartment block and photographed the man in the porter's office. Exhausted, she went back to the flat she shared with Ania over the Polish restaurant. Ania was sitting up in bed, studying the English book that Carl had given her.

  “They were very religious here in Ireland, back in the old days,” Ania said.

  “Well, they aren't these days,” Lidia said, taking her shoes off and rubbing her feet.

  “Did you get anything?”

  “Yes. Eileen is such a liar. Not one thing she has said to anyone is true.” Lidia showed the pictures.

  “Let's call Father Brian.” Ania was excited.

  “But it's late, it's surely too late.”

  “He won't be asleep, poor man, and he will be so happy to discover we have some proof.”

  “Hang on—what do we have proof of, Ania? That she went to a house in a poor area? That is not a crime.”

  “It's proof that she tells lies,” Ania said happily as she telephoned Brian's number.

  His response was muted.

  “Are you not more pleased, Father Brian? Now we know that she is a liar.”

  “You see, I always knew that,” he said sadly.

  The Friends of Brian Committee arranged for different people to follow Eileen in order to find out more. Johnny had asked Tim to help. Tim said that he would inquire about the porter at the gate, find out if anyone knew anything about him. He would also follow Eileen on one of her shopping trips. Tim was a quiet man, a bit of a loner, but used to long hours and hard work. He said he was happy to do this for the priest.

  He talked to a few colleagues who had jobs as store detectives in other security firms. He barely needed to show the photograph. They all knew Goldilocks. She was banned from city center shops and shopping malls. A known shoplifter, she had got away with it several times in court by claiming that she was only taking the garment or item outside to see it in daylight. She had put up such a good performance that magistrates, district justices and even tough solicitors had been fooled.

  No, their job was just to prevent her getting into the stores. Goldilocks had smiled at them forgivingly, as if they were just doing some crazy job. They told Tim she was a minx from a tough family. Her father was known to be violent. Tim kept the last piece of information to himself.

  Brian Flynn was a decent kind of fellow who was sorry for people. He might even stop the whole thing if he heard about a violent father. In Tim's opinion Goldilocks should be locked up. Now.

  James O'Connor was next on the list to do his bit. He was going to run into Eileen accidentally, remind her that they had met in Corrigans and invite her for a drink. He would find out more about her and deliver the news to the committee the following night. The more information they could give to the Guards when applying for a restraining order, the better. James managed it very well and Eileen remembered him clearly.

  “You were with dear Brian that night in the pub,” she said.

  “Yes, poor Brian's going through a bad patch at the moment.”

  “Isn't he just!” Eileen was sympathetic.

  “Did you and he really have a thing?” James asked.

  “You know we did—and do, James. He's just not able to face it.”

  “He does deny it, certainly.”

  “Well, think how it makes me feel. It was difficult enough in the first place to believe him that his religious vows weren't important. That our vows to love each other forever were what mattered.”

  “He said that?” James was wondering and admiring.

  “Oh, yes. You know what a hopeless romantic he is. And now, for some reason, he wants to cut me out of his life. Utterly unbearable.”

  James looked at her round face, her innocent blue eyes. How terrible if this girl had taken a fancy to him and told his wife and children that they were deeply involved. Who would have doubted her? He shivered slightly at the prospect.

  “I wonder, should you move on, Eileen? Forget him, just get on with your life.”

  “Well, of course I would, James. That's what I would advise anyone to do, but it's not as simple as that. You see, I'm pregnant. It's not only myself I have to think about. Yes, Brian and the child as well.”

  James told Brian when the two of them were alone.

  “I didn't think you'd want me coming out with that lot in front of everybody. You didn't, did you?”

  “James, my friend, you think it might be true and that's why you told me privately.”

  “No, I do not think that.” James was indignant.

  “So why the secrecy, then? Why can't the others be told how absurd this woman is? You are all so helpful to me, why shouldn't the others know the extent of her madness and delusion?”

  “Of course, Brian. I'm sorry, I didn't think.”

  “You did think, but you thought the wrong thing. If that girl is pregnant, it has nothing to do with me. Nothing.”

  “Look, it even might be to our advantage,” James said, anxious to make amends. “You know, blood test, DNA, that sort of thing.”

  “Thanks, James, really, I mean it, thanks.” But Brian's face was grim. He was disturbed that James would doubt him like that. Even for a minute.

  At the heart clinic, it was Hilary's day off, but she had trained Ania very well in the routine. Ania went about her work confidently, noting and filing and confirming appointments. She checked that there were suitable chairs ready in the waiting room.

  Rosemary Walsh was there with her husband, Bobby; she was whining, as usual. Bobby, on the other hand, was smiling as always and both cheerful and polite. It was striking how like his father Carl was and how very unlike his snobby mother. Ania sighed. This was no time to think of Carl. Maybe she shouldn't be thinking of him at all. She was such a poor judge of men—look at the fool she'd made of herself over Marek. She must not do that again.

  There was a ring at the clinic door. It must be a new patient: everyone else knew to walk straight in. When Ania went to answer it, she saw an elderly woman in her seventies, clutching a thin coat around her. She had straight, matted hair and big, frightened eyes. Then the woman gave her name: Kathleen Edwards, 34 Mountain-view Road.

  She filled in carefully the name of Mrs. Edwards's family doctor and of her cardiologist, and took a photocopy of the discharge sheet from the hospital.

  “I have to put in your next of kin, Mrs. Edwards. It's just a formality—you know hospitals! It's in case you didn't feel well one day and we needed to get in touch with someone. Shall I put your husband's name?”

  “No, pet, he'd be no good to God, man or the devil,” Mrs. Edwards said sadly. “He'd be bound to be drunk or in a temper about something. Put my daughter's name.”

  “And that is …?”

  “Eileen Edwards. I'll give you her mobile phone number. That's the best way to find her.” Ania wrote it down carefully on the form.

  “Where does she work, your daughter?” She hoped the woman couldn't hear her heart thumping as she asked the question. Mrs. Edwards looked at least twenty years older than the age in her file.

  “She works for a big advertising company in an old Georgian house. They give her beautiful clothes to wear. She has to look smart, you see, to meet the public.”

  Ania knew that none of the clothes that Eileen had stolen, none of the money she had made by selling stolen handbags, had come to this woman. She felt a lump in her throa
t. Maybe that's what mothers did—proud of their own daughters no matter what they said or did. She thought of her own mother back in Poland telling everyone how well young Ania was doing in Ireland and how she visited big stores and tried on coats that cost twenty weeks’ wages!

  Ania was miles away in her head when she realized that Rosemary Walsh had walked in and was talking to her. She seemed to be offering her a cleaning job of some sort.

  “Because Bobby is literally able to do nothing around the house, I will need someone for a couple of hours each evening, washing, ironing, cleaning. I won't ask you to do the silver. You wouldn't be used to good silver, you might ruin it, but basic stuff.”

  “When, Mrs. Walsh?”

  “As soon as you can. Tonight if you like.”

  Ania wondered should she take it. It would mean that she would see more of Carl, be in Carl's home, maybe even have her English lessons there. But wait a moment. Mrs. Rosemary Walsh would not consider her son and heir cavorting with the cleaning staff, the Polish cleaning staff. Worse still! She must say no immediately. Why had she ever said in front of this woman that she was anxious to make money?

  “Sadly, Mrs. Walsh, I already have too many jobs. I could not give you good attention. I can suggest a friend of mine, Danuta? Or another called Agnieszka. What do you say? Shall I ask them to call to your house?”

  “That is, of course, if they have the time. If they haven't swept up all the other jobs in Dublin.”

  “We work very hard, Mrs. Walsh, and we are glad to be here. It is good to know we are so welcome in this land,” she said, trying to hide the tears of rage and humiliation.

  To her astonishment, Mrs. Edwards, who was listening to the conversation, reached out her hand and clutched her arm. “Good girl,” she said. “Good, strong girl. Where did you get the courage?”

  “I don't know,” Ania said truthfully.

  “You would never let a man beat you like I do.”

  And Ania, for the first time in her life, confessed as she had never confessed to anyone before, “I did once, Mrs. Edwards, but not anymore.”

  When the committee met at Corrigans bar that night they were staggered by the news about Eileen's mother.