by Anne Doughty
‘Is it anyways?’ enquired Mary anxiously, as I slowly ate my hot, buttered bread.
‘Mmm,’ I replied, nodding with my mouth full. ‘It’s great, Mary, just great. I was thinking I must get the recipe before I go.’
I was going to tell her about the griddle Uncle Albert had given me once and how I was going to take it out and try some of the things she had cooked for us, but I could see she’d already guessed something was wrong.
‘Mary, I had a letter from George this morning. He’s going to come down for me tomorrow with one of his friends who has a car. I’ll be going back on Thursday.’
‘Ah, shure that’s very soon.’ Her face crumpled and she put her teacup down with a jerk. ‘You’ll hardly have time to say goodbye to your friends. We’ll miss you for shure. And I’m thinking we’ll not be the only ones.’
‘It’s quicker than I wish, Mary, but George wants to save me the journey home and he has no car of his own. I suppose beggars can’t be choosers.’
‘You’ll be going into town today, I suppose?’
She was too shy to mention Patrick’s name, but I knew what she meant.
‘I will if you need anything, Mary, but I thought we could shop tomorrow in Ennistymon. I’m afraid I won’t see Patrick today. I was expecting to, but his uncle has died in Dublin and he can’t come back till after the funeral.’
‘Ah, the poor man.’
I thought she meant Patrick’s uncle, but her look made it clear it was Patrick himself she was concerned for.
‘’Twill be very hard on him to come back and you gone.’
I nodded, for I really couldn’t trust myself to speak. Every time I thought of the note I would leave with his books, I felt tears in my eyes. Mary was looking as miserable as I was feeling.
‘Ah, we’ll not see Ennistymon tomorrow, astore,’ she said sadly.
‘Oh yes we will, Mary,’ I said firmly. ‘It’s a brand new car, so they’ll have to take it slowly. I can’t see them getting here till suppertime. It’s over two hundred miles and there are some really bad bits of road round the border. No, we must go tomorrow. We can’t disappoint Geoffrey, can we?’
She smiled that soft, slow smile which always made her face look so lovely. Geoffrey treated her with a gentleness I found quite touching and Mary had responded with an affection rivalling even her feelings for Professor McDonagh.
I finished my tea and looked at the scatter of leaves in my cup. ‘Come on, Mary,’ I said encouragingly. ‘Look into my future and tell me when I’m coming back. I am coming back, you know. I can tell you that for sure.’
She brightened visibly as she reached for my cup. The moment she picked it up her face changed and she issued her usual disclaimer. ‘Ah, shure I’m no good at all at the cups.’
It was not true. Among the material in the green file was a note on the language of fortune-telling. It listed some of the formulas I had been intrigued by, the way the fortune teller never says ‘next week’ or ‘next month’, but uses expressions like ‘within a three’ or ‘within a seven’. But beside my note on the actual use of language was a record of the predictions Mary had made for me since I’d arrived. Letters, unexpected meetings and surprises. Her predictions had been quite amazing. Try as I might to dismiss most of them as coincidence or luck, there was one I just couldn’t argue away.
Two days before Patrick and I had gone to the Burren she had picked up my cup after lunch and said that ‘she saw me kneeling down with a man who stood in the best of loving hearts to me and we were looking at something below the ground’. Patrick and I studying the habitat of a maidenhair fern and considering the possibilities for survival in a hostile world was hardly the sort of thing Mary could have guessed at.
I watched her as she fell silent turning the cup in her hands. Always when she read my cup she sat very still, absorbed, a frown on her forehead. It was not only the change in her language I’d noticed, her face too took on a quite different aspect. She sat now, intense, remote and silent.
‘Ah astore,’ she began at last. ‘I see tears and a journey, and the tears are beside that journey. And there’s a ring. The ring is beside a dark-haired man a journey away. There’s another man here too, but smaller and fair. He’s holding something up to his face. I don’t know what it is atall. Like a piece of stick, but thin. But you’ll have words over that fairish man for your back is turned against him. And I see a meeting with a man in dark clothes, in a bright place with birds flying. And that meeting is within a three. And I see papers, a whole case full of papers. And that case is blue. Aye, ’tis darkish at the top, but please God, lighter further down.’
She put the cup down and looked across at me as if she had suddenly become aware I was there. The distant look had gone, her tone of voice had come back to normal.
‘’Twill all work out with the help o’ God. Save us, what was that?’
There was only one thing could make the sudden noise which had startled Mary. I laughed as I stood up.
‘It’s all right, Mary. I think it’s Geoffrey. Shall I fetch another cup?’
Chapter 13
On Wednesday morning the rain had cleared completely, the air was fresh and still, the islands so pin sharp they looked as if they’d been moved nearer in the night. By the time Geoffrey arrived the sky was a perfect blue and I’d had to change my trousers for a blouse and skirt.
Geoffrey had been hard at work. Not only had he cleaned the car itself, he had unloaded all his gear and swept out every scrap of sand, mud, gravel, turf dust and breadcrumb he had accumulated in his summer’s travels. He had donned a jacket and flannels and looked relaxed and cheerful.
We set off in good spirits and the day unwound just as it had begun. The car behaved perfectly, the rates were paid, lunch was enjoyed, and afterwards, while Geoffrey and Paddy compared the quality of the Guinness in a sample of the many bars, Mary and I did the shopping and visited a tiny, overcrowded store where we chose a minute, embroidered dress for a newly arrived grandchild in Boston.
Back on the coast road and heading for home, we were all feeling pleased with ourselves. Geoffrey’s shyness had disappeared so completely that he actually began to tease me. That made Mary laugh. Then he began to tell stories which made us all laugh and finally on the last stretch past the Cliffs of Moher he broke into song.
‘Anyone would think we were drunk,’ I said, laughing.
‘Not at all,’ broke in Paddy. ‘Shure we only had the one to wash down our lunch. Isn’t that right, Geoffrey?’
‘Shure you never could count atall, old man,’ added Mary good-naturedly.
‘I can count well enough, so I can,’ retorted Paddy, pretending to be huffed.
We laughed again, Geoffrey started another verse, Paddy and I joined in, but we didn’t finish it. As we rounded the final corner into Lisara, we saw a shiny, red sports car parked below the hydrangea. Nearby, sitting on the wall, dangling their legs, sat George and Dicky Sinclair.
We drove past, turned off the road and stopped in front of the stable door. The one glance I had of the pair of them was not encouraging. As George looked up and smiled I saw he was unshaven. Dicky was staring out to sea, a glazed expression on his face, so absorbed he failed to notice our arrival altogether. He was dressed completely in black and it looked as if he too hadn’t shaved for several days.
I helped Mary out of the back and wondered how long they had been waiting. ‘Hallo, George, hallo Dicky,’ I said brightly as they came round into the stable yard. ‘Mary, this is George Johnston and Dicky Sinclair.’
Dicky clutched Mary’s hand. ‘I’m so pleased to meet you, this is an enchanting place, absolutely enchanting. I’ve just been sitting here absorbing the quiet and the beauty. Elizabeth darling, however did you find such a paradis?’
My heart sank. Before I left Belfast, Adrienne had said something about Dicky going through an aesthetic phase, but I hadn’t paid much attention. Dicky was always going through something. But this was worse than anyt
hing I had imagined.
‘Yer welcome, George. Yer welcome, Dicky,’ said Paddy firmly as he and Geoffrey came round the car to shake hands.
I watched Dicky run a calculating eye up and down Geoffrey. That’s routine with Dicky. If his victim is male he is costing the outfit, if female, judging how easy it would be to get her to remove it.
‘’Tis a lovely day,’ offered Paddy. ‘A good day for yer journey.’
George agreed that it was, and Dicky launched into another eulogy about the beauties of the Irish countryside. Mary was now looking anxious and uneasy. She whispered that she’d away in and get the tea ready, and scurried off, a worn, bent figure in her best black coat and hat, hardly recognisable as the woman who’d laughed so happily at Geoffrey’s stories only half an hour ago.
‘Have you been here long?’
‘Oh ages, darling, simply ages.’
‘About an hour,’ added George, more reasonably. ‘We left early this morning. About six.’
‘Yes indeed. Quite the most beautiful time of the day, don’t you think?’
Dicky was staring at Geoffrey as he spoke. When Geoffrey hesitated and muttered something unintelligible, he transferred his gaze to Paddy.
‘’Tis as good a time as any,’ he replied, agreeably enough, but I saw his eyes narrow and his chin jut out a fraction more than usual.
I could see George was trying to signal to me, but I felt I daren’t take my eyes off Dicky for as Paddy walked away, I’d seen his eyes narrow as he focused his attention on Geoffrey once more.
‘And do you find the Morris a pleasant car to drive?’
‘No. . . actually,’ Geoffrey replied, with only a slight hesitation. ‘She’s rather uncomfortable . . . and. . . temperamental. But she suits my purposes.’
‘Which are?’
Dicky cocked his head to one side as if to underline his intense interest in Geoffrey’s activities.
‘Geoffrey is doing post-graduate work.’
The minute I’d spoken I wished I hadn’t, but all I could think of was the way his nasty little mind worked. I remembered the time he had been introduced to a girl I knew from school and he’d promptly asked her if she and her boyfriend were friends or if they just slept together.
‘We had rather a job finding you,’ said George easily.
Geoffrey took his chance, collected the rest of Mary’s shopping from the boot and followed Paddy into the cottage.
‘Oh my, yes.’
Dicky turned his gaze full upon me. ‘Really, Elizabeth darling, your directions were somewhat vague. The place you gave us was miles away.’
‘What directions?’
‘Dicky means the address you sent. Doolin is miles away, as he says.’
‘Yes, miles and miles. We thought we’d never find you.’
I ignored Dicky, turned at last to look at George and was completely taken aback by what I saw. George is rather keen on clothes. He always wears socks to match his sweaters and often talks colour co-ordination and how badly some women manage it. His mother encourages him and is always buying him things in his colours. So why was he wearing an ancient black polo neck so worn there were grey pills round the neck and under the arms? Not only was it grubby but the jeans he had chosen to go with it had shrunk so much they revealed inches of white, hairy leg pushed into battered old sandals I’d never laid eyes on before.
‘But I didn’t give you any directions, George. I didn’t know you were coming till yesterday, so how could I?’
I stared at him as if his answer to my question might explain why he looked such a mess.
‘Oh, never mind. We’re here now and that’s all that matters,’ he said soothingly. ‘Presumably we can go off when we’ve had tea. Dicky knows a nice little place near Limerick we can spend the night.’
Just then, Mary appeared at the door and looked anxiously towards us.
‘Just coming, Mary.’
I waved with a cheerfulness I certainly did not feel and led the way across the stable yard.
‘George, I can’t leave just like that. We can go for a walk after tea and I’ll explain. I’ll be ready first thing in the morning.’
He looked most put out, glanced at Dicky to see how he was reacting, and said nothing.
When I saw how Mary had laid the table, I knew just how uneasy she was about Dicky. Not only was there a starched linen cloth and cut-glass butter dishes, but there were only five places laid. Mary had not taken her meal by the fire since my first week at the cottage.
Dicky excelled himself over tea. ‘But how unique,’ he exclaimed, as he looked up at the darkened rafters under the thatch. ‘How quaint,’ as he took in the dresser with its well-worn plates and cups. ‘What a marvellous flavour,’ as he spread Mary’s wheaten bread with a large quantity of the week’s churning.
He waxed lyrical over the truly simple things of life like bread and butter, went on to speak of natural ingredients and the delights of homebaking, and made sure he acquired the largest piece of cake. Geoffrey’s eyes caught mine and a ghost of a smile passed between us. We knew the cake came from the grocer’s in Ennistymon.
George didn’t say much during tea, but Geoffrey made an effort to include Mary and Paddy in the conversation whenever Dicky paused for breath. Like all bad dreams, it did finally come to an end. Dicky offered around his gold cigarette case, said ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ and took a long, lacquered cigarette holder from his pocket. I had never known George smoke before, but he accepted a cigarette and lit up.
Geoffrey thanked Mary for his tea, said he must be getting back and that he’d call tomorrow on his way south. Only after he stepped outside did it strike me that I’d probably not see him again.
‘Excuse me a moment.’
Geoffrey was already in the car as I ran past the window. I called to him but he couldn’t hear me. I arrived in the stable yard breathless, as he started to manoeuvre.
‘Elizabeth!’
He wound down the window, but did not stop the engine. I knew he daren’t, for she might not start again.
‘Geoffrey,’ I panted, ‘I may not see you in the morning if we leave early. What about your notes? Could I keep them for a little and send them to you? I wouldn’t forget, you know.’
‘Of course you wouldn’t. I won’t need them till I start to write things up. Can I give you my address in Oxford?’
‘Thanks. I’ll send you some of those photos I took today.’
He poked around in his wallet and produced a little sticky label with a printed address.
‘I’d be awfully pleased to hear how your work goes, Elizabeth. We didn’t get back to our conversation. . . perhaps . . . if you were sending the papers, you could . . . let me know,’ he finished with a rush.
‘Oh, yes. I’ll write. I’m a compulsive letter writer, I warn you. But you must write back and tell me how you get on in Dingle and the Blue Stacks.’
‘I will, I most certainly will.’
‘And explain a bit more about structural linguistics?’
He laughed and I had to step back, for the fumes from the engine were so awful I was beginning to choke.
‘Good luck, Geoffrey.’
‘Bon voyage, Elizabeth.’
He drove off in a cloud of exhaust smoke. I stood watching him go with a most enormous sense of loss. I waved as he went down the hill and would have waited for him to reappear on the far ridge but I remembered Dicky and dashed back into the house.
He had fallen silent and sat looking uncomfortable as he blew smoke rings from his long holder. George had stubbed out his cigarette on his tea plate and was now stacking the best teacups in an attempt to be helpful. Mary was eyeing the pile with unease, but saying nothing.
‘Well then, how about a walk?’
I was horrified at the sound of my own voice, Joyce Grenfell playing a games mistress in an Ealing comedy.
To my surprise, Dicky rose to his feet instantly. ‘Marvellous, darling,’ he said, making for the door.
‘Won’t be long, Mary,’ I began, ‘we’ll just have a walk up to the quarry before George and Dicky go back into town.’
‘My God, Elizabeth, I’m bursting for a pee,’ wailed Dicky. ‘Haven’t your friends ever heard of lavatories?’
‘That’s it up there, or you can nip behind the stable wall. Take your pick. The view’s better up there.’
He disappeared at speed, closely followed by George. What in heaven’s name did he expect? And why hadn’t George warned him? I’d told him the story about ‘going to see to the goose’ in my very first letter.
‘Hallo, darling.’
George’s arms slid round my waist as I stood looking out at the islands. He so startled me I jerked away just as he bent his head to kiss me.
‘Where’s Dicky?’
‘In the car,’ he said absently, as he pulled me into his arms and kissed me, his lips hot and tasting of continental cigarettes.
‘No, George. Please, not here,’ I said, pulling away.
‘Why not? What’s wrong?’
‘Someone will see us,’ I said, striding off across the field.
‘So what, you’re leaving anyway. We can leave right now. Look, why don’t we go now,’ he urged as he caught up with me. ‘No one knows us in Limerick, we’d have a room of our own. Come on, Elizabeth, you could be packed up in no time, you’ve only one suitcase.’
‘George, I can’t leave just like that. I’ve told you already. Mary and Paddy have been so good to me, they’ll miss me when I go. It’s been so sudden. The least I can do is spend an evening with them and not just dash off after we’ve had an outing together.’