by Maeve Binchy
“Would it not be preferable to start the child off living with a ready-made family in er … St. Jarlath’s Crescent?”
“Well, you see …,” Noel began.
“You see, Moira, you are very welcome to come and visit Noel’s home at any time, but you will realize that it’s entirely unsuited for a baby. The places in Chestnut Court are much more child-friendly. The one we are all interested in is on the ground floor. Would you like to see a picture of it here …”
Moira didn’t seem as interested as she might have been. She was looking at Noel and seemed to spot the surprise on his face.
“What do you think of this as a place to move to?” she asked him directly.
Stella and Emily waited anxiously.
“As Emily said, we have talked through so many ideas and this one seems to be the most suitable so far.”
Moira nodded as if in agreement, and if she heard the breath of relief from the two women, she gave no sign.
There were questions then about the rent that would be paid and the babysitting support that would be available, seeing that Noel would be at work all day.
And soon it was over.
Emily made one last statement to show how reliable her cousin Noel was.
“I don’t know whether you realize that Noel is very anxious to marry Stella. He has proposed to her, but Stella would prefer not to. This is the attitude of a committed person, someone who would be reliable and responsible.”
“As I said, Ms. Lynch, there are some formalities that have to be gone through. I will have to talk about it with my team and then the last word will be with the supervisor.”
“But the first and most influential word will be from you, Moira,” Emily said.
Moira gave one of her brisk little nods and was gone.
Stella waited till she was out of the ward before she started to celebrate. With a flick of her wrist she pulled the curtains and produced the cigarettes.
“Well done to the pair of you,” she said, looking from Noel to Emily and back. “We have Madam Moira on the run!”
“We still have a way to go,” Emily said, and they settled down to discuss further strategies.
And they continued to do this for the next few weeks. Every aspect of the effort to turn Noel into a father was discussed.
Josie and Charles were introduced to Stella and, after some awkward shuffling at the start, they found an astonishing amount of common ground. Both Noel’s parents and Stella herself seemed entirely convinced that shortly Stella would be going to a better place. There was no pretense that she might recover.
Josie talked wistfully of Stella going to meet Our Lord fairly soon and Charles said that if Stella were to meet St. Jarlath, she could pass on the news that the statue would indeed be erected but it might take a little longer than they had once believed possible. They had helped by paying a deposit on the flat in Chestnut Court. St. Jarlath’s image might have to wait a little, but it would happen.
“Wouldn’t he be able to see that already?” Stella asked.
“Yes, I imagine he would,” Charles agreed. “But it would be no harm to give him a personal message.”
Noel felt ashamed that his parents took this whole idea of an afterlife so casually. They really and truly saw heaven as some kind of a big park where they would meet everyone.
Stella rolled her eyes a bit at the whole notion, but she didn’t seem put out by it either. She was game to take a message to any old saint just to keep the show on the road.
But they also made plans on a more practical level. Chestnut Court was only a seven-minute walk from St. Jarlath’s Crescent. Noel could wheel the baby around to his parents’ home before work each morning; Josie and Charles would look after Frankie until lunchtime. Then she would go for the afternoon either to Molly Carroll’s house or to this couple called Aidan and Signora, who looked after their grandchild; to Dr. Hat, who had retired recently and found time hanging heavy on his hands; or to Muttie and Lizzie Scarlet, who, quite apart from their own children, had raised twins who were no blood relations to them at all.
The three evenings a week when Noel would be at his evening classes would be covered as well. For a time Emily would go to the new apartment in Chestnut Court and do her paperwork. Noel would return after his lectures and she would cook him a meal. He had started getting lessons from the district nurse on what he would need in the new flat to welcome the baby and had been shown how to prepare a feed and the importance of sterilizing bottles. Declan Carroll’s wife, Fiona, had sent a message to say that she had already received a baby’s layette that would be enough for sextuplets. Stella and Noel must help her out and get the garments worn; their babies would arrive at around the same time. What could be more luck?
Noel was swept along in the whirl of activity of it all.
The thrift shop was up and running; he and his father had painted it to Emily and Josie’s satisfaction and already people had begun to donate items to be sold. Some of these would be useful for Noel’s new flat, but Emily was adamant: a fair price must be paid for them. The money was for St. Jarlath, not to build a comfortable lifestyle for Noel.
He had little time alone with Stella. There were so many practicalities to be sorted out. Did Stella want the child to be brought up as a Catholic?
Stella shrugged. The child could abandon it once she was old enough. Possibly to please Josie and Charles, there should be a baptism and First Holy Communion and all, but nothing too “Holy Joe.”
Were there any relations on Stella’s side whom she might want to involve?
“None whatsoever.” She was clipped and firm.
“Or anyone at all from the various foster homes from the past?”
“No, Noel, don’t go there!”
“Right. It’s just that when you’re gone, I’ll have no one to ask.”
Her face softened. “I know. Sorry for snapping at you. I’ll write her a letter telling her a bit about myself and about you and how good you’ve been.”
“Where will you leave the letter?” Noel asked.
“With you, of course!”
“I mean, if you wanted to leave it in a bank or something …,” Noel offered.
“Do I look to you like someone who has a bank account, Noel? Please …”
“I wish you weren’t going to leave, Stella,” he said, covering her thin hand with his.
“Thanks, Noel. I don’t want to go either,” she said. And they sat there like that until Father Flynn came in for a visit. He took in the scene and the hand-holding, but made no comment.
“I was just passing,” he said foolishly.
“Well, I was on my way anyway, Father.” Noel stood up to leave.
“Maybe you could stay a minute, Noel. I wanted Stella to tell me what, if anything, she wanted for her funeral.”
The question didn’t faze Stella at all.
“Listen, Brian, ask Noel’s family what they want. I won’t be here. Let them have whatever is easiest.”
“A hymn or two?” Brian Flynn asked.
“Sure, why not. I’d like a happy clappy one. You know, like a gospel choir, if possible.”
“No problem,” Father Flynn said. “And burial or cremation or body to science?”
“Don’t think my body would tell anyone anything they didn’t know already.” Stella considered it. “I mean, if you smoke four packs a day, you get cancer of the lung. If you drink as much as I did, then you get cirrhosis of the liver. There isn’t a part of me sound enough for a transplant, but what the hell … it could be an awful warning.” Her eyes were very bright.
Brian Flynn swallowed.
“We don’t talk about this sort of thing much, Stella, but do you want a Requiem Mass?”
“That’s the one with all the bells and whistles, isn’t it?”
“It gives a lot of people comfort,” Father Flynn said diplomatically.
“Bring it on then, Brian,” she said good-humoredly.
Chapter Four
Lisa Kelly had been very bright at school; she had been good at everything. Her English teacher encouraged her to do a degree in English literature and aim for a post in the university. Her sports teacher said that with her height—by the age of fourteen she was already nearly six feet tall—she was a natural and she could play tennis or hockey, or both, for Ireland. But when it came to it, Lisa decided to go for art. Specifically for graphic art.
She graduated from that, first in her year, and was instantly offered a position in one of the big design firms in Dublin. It was at that point that she should have left the family home.
Her younger sister, Katie, had gone three years previously, but Katie was very different. No child genius, only barely able to keep up with the class, Katie had taken a holiday job in a hairdresser’s and found her life’s calling. She had married Garry Finglas and together they had set up a smart salon that had gone from strength to strength. She loved to practice on Lisa’s long honey-colored hair, blow-drying it and then styling it into elegant chignons and pleats.
Their mother, Di, had been very scornful about it all. “Touching people’s dirty heads!” she had exclaimed in horror.
Their father, Jack Kelly, barely commented on Katie’s career, any more than he had on Lisa’s work.
Katie had begged Lisa to leave home. “It’s not like that out in the real world, not awful silences like Mum and Dad have. Other people don’t shrug at each other the way they do, they talk.”
But Lisa had waved this away. Katie had always been oversensitive about the atmosphere at home. When Katie went out to friends’ houses, she returned wistfully talking about happy meals at kitchen tables, places where mothers and fathers talked and laughed and argued with their children and their friends. Not like their home, where meals were eaten in silence and accompanied by a series of shrugs. And anyway, Katie had always been easily affected by people’s moods. Lisa was different. If Mum was distant, then let her be distant. If Dad was secretive, then what of it? It was just his way.
Dad worked in a bank, where, apparently, he had been passed over for promotion; he didn’t know the right people. No wonder he was withdrawn and didn’t want to make idle chitchat. Lisa could never interest him in anything she did; if ever she showed him one of her drawings from school, he’d shrug, as if to say, “So what?”
Her mother was discontented, but she had reason to be. She worked in a very upmarket boutique, where rich, middle-aged women went to buy several outfits a year. She herself would have looked well in those kinds of clothes, but she could never have afforded them; so instead she helped to fit plumper women into them and arranged for seams to be let out and for zip fasteners to be lengthened. Even with a very generous staff discount, the clothes were way out of her league. No wonder she looked at Dad with disappointment. When she had married him at the age of eighteen he had looked like a man who was going somewhere. Now he went nowhere except to work every morning.
Lisa went to her office and worked hard all day. She had lunch with colleagues at places that were high in style and low in calories. But it was at a private lunch for a client that Lisa met Anton Moran: it was one of those moments that was frozen forever in her mind.
Lisa saw this man crossing the room, pausing at each table and talking easily with everyone. He was slight and wore his hair quite long. He looked confident and pleasant without being arrogant.
“Who’s he?” she gasped to Miranda, who knew everyone.
“Oh, that’s Anton Moran. He’s the chef. He’s been here for a year, but he’s leaving soon. Going to open his own place, apparently. He’ll do well.”
“He’s gorgeous,” Lisa said.
“Get to the end of the line!” Miranda laughed. “There’s a list as long as my arm waiting for Anton.”
Lisa could see why. Anton had style like she had never seen before. He didn’t hurry, yet he moved on from table to table. Soon he was at theirs.
“The lovely Miranda!” he exclaimed.
“The even lovelier Anton!” Miranda said archly. “This is my friend Lisa Kelly.”
“Well, hello, Lisa,” he said, as if he had been waiting all his life to meet her.
“How do you do?” Lisa said and felt awkward. Normally she knew what to say, but not this time.
“I’ll be opening my own place shortly,” Anton said. “Tonight is my last night here. I’m going round giving my cell phone number to everyone and I’ll expect you all to be there. No excuses now.” He handed a card to Miranda and then gave one to Lisa.
“Give me a couple of weeks and I’ll give you the details. They’ll all know I must be doing something right if you two gorgeous girls turn up there,” he said, looking from one to the other. It was an easy patter. He might be going to say something similar at the next table.
But Lisa knew that he had meant it. He wanted to see her again.
“I work in a graphic design studio,” Lisa said suddenly, “in case you ever need a logo or any designs?”
“I’m sure I will,” Anton said. “I’m certain I will, actually.” And then he was gone.
Lisa remembered nothing about the rest of the meal. She yearned to go to Miranda’s flat and talk about him all night, check that he wasn’t married, that he didn’t have a partner. But Lisa had survived life so far by remaining a little aloof. She didn’t go to stay with friends, as she didn’t want to invite them home to her house. She didn’t want to wear her heart on her sleeve and confide to someone gossipy like Miranda about Anton. She would get to know him herself in her own time. She would design him a logo that would be the talk of the town.
The important thing was not to rush it, not to make any sudden moves.
She thought about him way into the night. He wasn’t conventionally handsome but he had a face that you wouldn’t forget. Intense dark eyes and a marvelous smile. He had a grace like you’d expect in an athlete or a dancer.
He must be spoken for. A man like that wouldn’t be available. Surely?
She was taken aback when he telephoned her the next day.
“Good. I found you,” he said, sounding pleased to hear her voice.
“How many places did you try?”
“This is the third. Will you have lunch with me?”
“Today?”
“Well, yes, if you’re free.…” And he named Quentins, one of the most highly regarded restaurants in Dublin.
Lisa had been going to have lunch with Katie. “I’m free,” she said simply. Katie would understand. Eventually.
Lisa went to her boss, Kevin.
“I’m going to have lunch with a very good contact. A man who is about to open his own business and I was wondering …”
“… if you can take him to an expensive restaurant—is that it?” Kevin had seen it all, heard it all.
“No. Certainly not. He’s paying. I thought I might offer him a glass of champagne and that I might go an hour early so that I can get my hair done and present a good image of the agency.”
“Nothing wrong with your hair,” Kevin grumbled.
“No, but better to make a good impression than a sort of halfhearted one.”
“All right—do we have to pay for the hairdo as well?”
“No way, Kevin. I’m not greedy!” Lisa said and ran off before he could think about this.
She raced out to buy a large potted plant for Katie and turned up at the salon.
“So this is a consolation prize. You’re canceling lunch!”
“Katie, please understand.”
“Is it a man?” Katie asked.
“A man? No, of course not. Well, he is a man, but it’s a business lunch and I can’t get out of it. Kevin is on his knees to me. He even let me have time off so that I could have my hair done.”
“What do you want done? Apart from bypassing the line of people who actually made bookings?”
“I beg you, Katie …”
Katie called to an assistant. “Could you take Madam to a basin and use our special shampoo? I’ll
be with you in a moment.”
“You’re too good …,” Lisa began.
“I know I am. It’s always been my little weakness, being too good for this world. I wish it were for a man, you know, Lisa. I’d have done something special.”
“Let’s pretend it is for a man,” Lisa begged.
“If it was a man who would get you out of that house, I’d do it for nothing!” Katie said, and Lisa smiled to herself. She yearned to tell her sister, but a lifetime of keeping her own counsel intervened.
“You look very elegant,” Anton said as he stood up to greet Lisa at Quentins.
“Thank you, Anton. You don’t look as if you made too late a night of it yourself.”
“No, indeed. I just gave my phone number to everyone in the restaurant and then went home to my cup of cocoa and my narrow little bed.” He smiled his infectious smile, which would always manage to get a return smile. Lisa didn’t know what she was smiling at—cocoa, a narrow little bed, an early night … But it must mean that he was giving her signals that he was available.
Should she send back a similar signal or was it too early? Too early, definitely.
“I told my boss I was coming here for lunch with a man who was going into business on his own and he said that I should offer you a glass of champagne on the company.”
“What a civilized boss,” Anton said admiringly as Brenda Brennan, the proprietor, came over. She knew Anton Moran already. He had worked in her restaurant a while ago. He introduced Lisa to Brenda. “Lisa’s company is buying us a glass of champagne each, Brenda, so could we have your delightful house sparkling to start us off, with a receipt for that to Lisa, and the rest of the meal is on me.”
Brenda smiled. Her look said she had seen Anton here with several ladies before.
Lisa felt a stab of hurt, which surprised her. In twenty-five years she had never known such a feeling. It was envy, jealousy and resentment all rolled into one. This was completely ludicrous.
It wasn’t as if she were a starry-eyed teenager. Lisa had had many boyfriends, and some of them had been lovers. She had never felt a really strong attraction to any of these men. But Anton was different.