by Helen Cullen
He started coughing, and William struggled to find something to say, before stammering out, ‘I’m very sorry for your loss, sir.’
The gentleman folded and refolded the napkins on the counter while William gathered up his tray.
‘I don’t really talk about it that much, have to put a brave face on it. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It hits you at the strangest of times.’
‘Not at all, it’s the comfort of strangers.’
‘Quite. Let me know if you need anything else.’
The man turned and pushed through the glass doors to the bakery, where William saw him circle his arms around a small, homely lady, her white hair in a net and flour on her bare arm, the sleeves of a yellow cotton blouse rolled up to her elbows. She leaned into him, and they rocked together for a moment, until she stepped away to pull a tray of loaves from the oven.
William sat back at his table for two and forced the eclair into his dry mouth. He couldn’t taste anything and swallowed it in two forced bites that caught in his throat. This man’s daughter couldn’t be Winter. The timing was all wrong. Winter lived in East London, not West. And the letters were still arriving. Unless she wasn’t posting them, or had sent them a long time ago. What if she had found her great love in the guise of some awful man who had taken her to live in Shepherd’s Bush and destroyed everything? Would he ever be able to find out? He finished his tea and carried his tray back to the counter. The man smiled as he took it from him.
‘You can see her on the wall as you leave, our Moll. I give her a wave every day when I lock the shop door. That photo was taken the day she left for London. In my heart, I think of it as the day she died.’
On his way out, William paused in front of a lavender-coloured wooden photo frame that held a black-and-white photo of the man’s daughter. It was hard to tell what colour her hair was – maybe light brown, maybe red – but her skin was powder white, with dark lines smudged around her eyes. Standing to the side of the frame, with a giant rucksack on her back that shaped her like a snail, she wore an army jacket over a black frilly skirt and above tartan tights and army boots. The camera froze the moment in time: she had an enormous grin across her face and a pillow tucked under her arm. William gave her a self-conscious little wave before jingling the bell over the door as he exited into another downpour.
He wrestled his satchel into a better position on his shoulders and began walking towards the city centre. He didn’t care if he was soaked to the skin, if he got lost, or even if he never found his way back to the hostel. With no regard for avoiding puddles or pedestrians, he ploughed onwards, past pubs welcoming damp Dubliners in for warming pints, and parents running with strollers, groceries hanging from the handlebars. Hordes of supporters were pushing through the gates of the rugby grounds, and William enjoyed being tousled along by the groups of lads, the excuse it gave him to push a little and be a bit rougher than he needed to. He stood on a bridge and wondered if the river below was a tributary that flowed into the Liffey. He assumed it must be. The raindrops exploded on the surface as the water raced along, and William wondered how deep it was, if anyone ever swam there in summer. He watched a red scarf being dragged by the current, until it became tangled in some reeds. A swan pecked at it and swam away in disappointment.
He marched onwards, resigned to the squelching discomfort of his soaked socks squeaking inside his shoes, and crossed the intersection to Wexford Street. He recognized it as the road that would take him back to the hostel. Stopping outside the window of Whelan’s, he watched a group of musicians setting up in the corner for a session. The fire was glowing and the people already dotted around the bar looked happy to have escaped another rainy day in Dublin. It was tempting to join them, but he dragged himself away from the honey pot and strode on. There was only one destination left on his itinerary, before he subjected himself to a night of scratchy sheets and the constant fear of an intruder. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Winter and the bakers’ daughter may be one and the same. The thought made him feel a sense of despair that his limited acquaintance with Winter should not produce. His spirits were low, but he wasn’t quite ready to give up on his ghost yet. He had always thought the Long Hall held the best chance he had of finding information that would lead him to Winter. For better or worse, he was pinning his last hopes there.
XXII
The Long Hall had emerged from Victorian Ireland with all the paraphernalia of the era still intact. The deep oak panelling, velvet upholstery, chandeliers and brass fixtures proudly held their place as modern times swept past the heavy red wooden door. The ruby walls and tapestry carpets whispered secrets as clocks from times gone by tick-tocked down the hours to last orders. When William arrived, a gentle hush hung in the air and there were just a few customers propped against the bar, waiting for pints of Guinness to settle. William mooched towards the last stool and hung his drenched coat on the brass hook underneath the bar. As he walked past the gallery of photographs hanging on the wall, he scanned the captions for Winter’s name and the faces for anything he might recognize, but to no avail. The Irish Times was open on the polished bar, with a half-completed crossword facing upwards, a pen resting on top, as if it had been patiently waiting for him. He leaned over to read the unsolved clues as the barman wandered over.
‘Help yourself. I’ve done all the ones I know. What can I get you?’
William felt compelled to order Guinness, although he wondered how it would mix with the Irish coffee, peppermint tea, vegetable soup and eclair he had already consumed that day. He spread the newspaper out before him and scanned the headlines without really absorbing any of the content. He didn’t recognize many of the faces that were famous here. He struggled with the heavy black drink; it was too much for him, and he sipped from just below the creamy head. The barman saw him grimace and folded his arms across the bar in front of him.
‘Will I put a drop of blackcurrant in that for ya? It sweetens it up a little and helps you get it down.’
William slid the glass back across the counter and the barman added a splash of dark purple cordial from a decanter under the bar.
‘You here on business or pleasure?’
‘Well, sort of a mixture of both. I just came to do some research for’ – he sighed – ‘for something I’m working on.’
‘A book, is it? We get plenty of writers in here. Tucked away in corners scribbling in their notebooks, cursing reviews in the paper.’
‘Not exactly, but I can see what attracts them. It’s a great little pub. How long has it been here?’
‘Since before the turn of the century,’ he said, polishing wine glasses with a tea towel adorned with a map of Ireland. ‘Wouldn’t say it’s changed much, either. It’ll be heaving in a few hours but, I have to say, it’s one of the few pubs in Dublin where, even when it’s bursting at the seams, you can still have a conversation. People appreciate that, I think, not to be screaming at each other over blasting music or being blinded by lights. It’s always fairly civilized in here, compared to some of the places I’ve worked.’
William glanced around the room, his eyes lingering once again on the framed photographs.
‘A friend of mine recommended it to me,’ he said. ‘She used to come here a lot before she moved to London.’
‘Aye, we get a lot of regulars all right. Same faces every week.’
‘Do you ever remember meeting a girl called Winter?’
‘Winter?’ He slapped the tea towel over his shoulder. ‘What sort of a name is that? I’ve met a Summer, and a Spring, too, but never anyone called Winter. That’s a bit depressing, isn’t it? There was a girl in my class in school called Nollaig, mind you, which is “Christmas” in Irish, but that’s different. Winter? Her folks might as well have called her Rain or Cloudy.’ He chuckled at the thought.
‘So, it doesn’t ring any bells?’ William asked, without much hope.
‘No, but I’ve only been here since I moved up to start college in September
. You’d want to ask the boss man. He’s been here since he was my age, and that wasn’t today nor yesterday. He’ll be in at some point later on. You’ll know him when you see him. Six foot seven and bald head shiny as a new penny.’
William moved from the bar to one of a nest of round tables at the rear and waited for the landlord to make an appearance. He examined the glass in front of him and doubted a pint had ever lasted so long in this establishment before, but he was content to let the warmth of the bar dry out his clothes and to give his bones a chance to settle.
At the stroke of six, as if the school bell had been struck, the neighbouring businesses released workers into the streets, and it seemed many of them proceeded directly to the sanctuary of the Long Hall. Pints lined up on the grille behind the bar at various stages of completion, and the barmen performed a beautiful choreography as they danced past each other, switching between tasks with the efficiency and grace of men who loved their job and took pride in doing it well. Coats were abandoned on hooks and stands to dry off, ties were loosened or stuffed into pockets. One woman shook down her hair from a tight bun into waves of golden blonde that shimmered in the light from the chandelier. William wondered if she was standing there deliberately because it cast her in such favourable light. He envied the patrons the ease with which they immersed themselves in the atmosphere of a Saturday evening on the town; pined for the nights he, too, had spent with little to care about other than not missing the last Tube home. Who knew, though, what sadness lay in the hearts of these people? What strife awaited them at home, what darkness weighed down their shoulders. From where he sat, however, all he saw was merriment and the easy company of comrades celebrating their survival of another week. He tried to seem relaxed himself and not to start at every swing of the door, like a man waiting on his blind date to appear. Whiskey after whiskey was his short-term solution.
William looked around him and wondered how he’d ended up sitting on his own in a pub in Dublin city with no idea where his wife was or what she was doing.
‘Do you mind if we jump in here? Are these free?’
Two young women stood over him, laden with two umbrellas, a Dunnes Stores plastic bag of groceries and what looked like several coats, hats and scarves.
‘No, that’s fine. I’m by myself,’ he answered. William stood up as they squashed all their belongings into the tiny space under the table.
‘Thanks a million,’ one of the new arrivals answered. ‘This is actually our table, you see; we sit here every week. Normally, we try to get here early to snatch it up, or else we just hover menacingly until whoever is sitting here gets the hint.’ She laughed. ‘So, what’s your name? I’m Winter and this is Ailbhe.’
William spat a mouthful of Jameson on to the table, narrowly missing the sleeve of one of the pair.
‘I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?’
‘Indra. Although it doesn’t normally get quite that reaction. What did you think I said?’
‘Sorry, I just misheard you. It’s been a long day.’
Ailbhe, who was swathed in multiple layers of wool, rolled down the polo-neck of her black-and-white houndstooth dress and pulled her polished black bob out to perch atop. She seemed not to be wearing any make-up, but her complexion was pure peach. Her eyes were a very dark blue, and she looked at William in a knowing way that unnerved him. When she eventually spoke, her voice had a husky Northern Irish lilt that William thought she could surely make a career from.
‘So, what brings an Englishman to a Dublin pub on his lonesome on a Saturday night?’
‘Well, I’ve been in town all day, and I thought it might be nice to stop off for a drink before I head back to the hotel. I wasn’t expecting it to be quite so busy, though.’
Indra looked the exact opposite to her companion. She had platinum-blonde hair cropped close to her head, a slinky black dress barely covering her toned, tanned body and a lot of make-up: dark green around her brown eyes, something pink and sticky on her lips.
William chose his words carefully; he could hear a slight slur creeping in.
‘How do you two know each other? Been friends for long?’
Indra laughed. ‘You could say that. She’s my big sister.’
‘Really?’ William looked back and forth from one to the other. ‘You look so different!’
‘Meaning she’s gorgeous and I’m not,’ Ailbhe sighed, rolling her eyes.
‘No, not at all, that’s not what I meant.’
‘So you don’t think I’m gorgeous?’ Indra shot back.
William scratched at his beard.
‘That’s not what I meant. You don’t even have the same accent.’
‘Well, we didn’t grow up in the same part of the country. You see, our father –’ Indra began, but Ailbhe cut her off.
‘Indie, there’s no need to go into all that, okay? He doesn’t want to hear our life story. And I definitely don’t want to tell it. Again.’
William stood up. ‘I’m sorry, it’s really none of my business,’ he said. ‘Can I buy you both a drink? Then I won’t feel so bad about you keeping me company.’
Indra clapped her hands.
‘That’s a marvellous idea. What’s your name?’
He told her, and she held out her hand to shake his; on each finger twinkled a different silver ring.
‘Fabulous, William. I can tell we are going to be great friends altogether.’
William yelped as a sharp kick found his shinbone. Ailbhe reddened a little.
‘Sorry, my foot slipped.’
‘That was quite the delivery for a slippery foot.’
‘It was meant for Indy. I’m sorry, it’s just we have some things to discuss, and we weren’t really looking for company.’
‘You do realize that you came to join me, and not the other way around?’
‘Well, we thought you might be leaving soon and didn’t expect you to join us, really. Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. No offence.’
‘Ailbhe, stop it! Please don’t mind her. She’s a stroppy cow when she wants to be. We’d love to have a drink with you. One vodka and white, and one white-wine spritzer, please. With lemonade, not soda.’
‘Tell you what, I’ll get you the drinks and then find somewhere to wedge myself at the bar out of your way. Best of both worlds, eh?’
He edged away from the table and started squeezing his way to the service area, ignoring Indra’s protests and Ailbhe’s sulky silence. In the mirror of the bar, he saw Ailbhe watching him from under her fringe while Indra berated her, gesticulating madly with her hands. What an odd girl. He didn’t particularly want to spend the evening being prodded and poked by these two. It definitely wouldn’t help him accomplish his mission. He caught the eye of his new best friend, the barman, and ordered their drinks, with another shot of whiskey for himself. He squeezed on to a bar stool in the corner that had become a coat depository and beckoned to Indra to come and collect their drinks so he wouldn’t lose his spot. She teetered over in pink wedge sandals.
‘Why don’t you come back over and join us, eh? Ailbhe doesn’t mind, not really. She was just worried she wouldn’t get a chance to give me a lecture about college if we had company.’
‘No, that’s okay, I’m not really in the mood for conversation much myself. You two have a good night.’
As he pushed his stool back away from the bar so he could pass her the drinks, Indra put her hand on his forearm.
‘You’ve very sad eyes, do you know that? They are ruining your whole look. I bet that you’re quite handsome when you’re happy. Maybe we can cheer you up.’
He jerked away, spilling some of the white-wine spritzer in his haste. ‘I don’t think so,’ he answered, as he tried to steady himself. ‘But thank you. Maybe see you later.’
Indra shrugged her shoulders and went back to Ailbhe, who was staring intently at the floor. There was a time, long before Clare, when William would have found it irresistible to try to solve the puzzle of girls like t
hat, but not these days. He swirled the whiskey around in his tumbler and tried to zone out of the conversations swirling around him. His ear couldn’t resist tuning into the odd phrase here or there, though. Little exchanges caught his attention, as if he were spinning through different frequencies on the radio dial: ‘He clearly fancies you. Just admit it.’
‘But darling, he’s my fitness instructor. He has to be friendly to me, that’s his job, to be friendly. I’m sure he’s the same with everyone.’
‘He’s never put his arm around me – not once – and I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen him do it to anyone else, either, for that matter …’
‘I just feel like she’s deliberately excluding me. I mean, it was my idea to include the snow globe, and then she didn’t even invite me when they went to pick it out. Now, she’ll get all the credit again, but I suppose that’s what she wants, really, isn’t it …’
‘He keeps spouting Latin at everyone, and it could be entirely made up, for all anyone else knows, but it’s not like you can challenge him on it. The only Latin I know was our school motto, Fortiter et suaviter or something, but I’m not sure how you pronounce it, even if there was an opportunity for me to roll out “Strength and gentleness” in conversation …’
‘I heard the funniest joke ever today: what do you call a cat with no tail?’
‘A Manx cat.’
William was growing more and more inebriated. He hadn’t eaten any dinner to line his stomach and fortify him for the quick succession of drinks he was consuming. With no sign yet of the landlord, he questioned what he was still hoping for. That a group of people would just start talking about Winter within earshot and he could casually join the conversation? He lost his balance when he tried to stand up from his stool, and the room swirled as he stumbled on the way to the bathroom. The fluorescent light in the small, wood-panelled room dazzled him at first, but he pressed his forehead against the cold tiles around the mirror and found a little relief. He gripped the sink, closed his eyes and breathed deeply, despite the heady mix of disinfectant, men’s cologne and something damp and moist that permeated from the walls. He sat on the steel-blue pipes that bordered the perimeter of the room, holding his throbbing head in his hands. Every so often, someone stepped over him to go to the cubicle, but he managed to mumble that he was fine convincingly enough not to raise alarm. The din from the lounge sounded far away, and he wasn’t quite sure how long he had been resting there when a tall, imposing figure who looked alarmingly like a professional wrestler nudged him with a steel-toe-capped boot.