I relaxed my muscles, watching him pull out his little silver case and matchbook.
“Sorry if I startled you,” he said.
“It’s all right.”
“I suppose I should have warned you.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
He was quiet for a moment, busy with the lighting of a cigarette. When he finished, he stuffed the supplies into a pocket of his slacks, rather than returning them to the overcoat.
“I can’t help but wonder,” he said finally, “what sends you roaming about these streets at this time of night. It’s not very safe, I’m sure you’re aware.”
“I am.”
“Why, then?” He looked over at me, studying my face in the weak light. “I believe that you must have been lying to me about that fellow back at your house. You’ve that look all about you – I’d recognise it anywhere. You’ve had a fight with your chap. Only it’s a little odd, I think, that I came upon you in the streets, and not him.”
“Well,” I said, mulling my words carefully, “it’s more complicated than you seem to think.”
“Tell me about it, then.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Really, now,” he said. “I’m a good listener. You’ll feel better afterwards, I just know it.”
I looked at him. His eyes were honest, and there was an air of well-meaning in his expression. But I could not find the words.
“Go on,” he said, drawing on his cigarette.
“Not my chap,” I said simply.
“Your mother? Your father?”
“No. It’s my –” I sighed. “I don’t even know if there’s a word for her.”
His eyes were alight with interest, now. “You’ve no chap!” he exclaimed. “You’ve a girl!”
I turned my face away.
“Oh, my,” he said, rubbing his face. “This is very interesting.”
“I suppose you would be inclined to think so,” I muttered. “I, however, am not amused.”
He made an effort to make his face serious again. “Of course,” he said. “Tell me about it.”
“Must I?”
“It will make you feel better.”
“So you’ve said.”
“That’s because it’s true. Come on, now, spit it out.”
I took a deep breath. “Well, she was gone for most of the day today. She came back a little after supper.”
“Was that the problem, then? She was meeting some other girl, was she? Some secret sort of rendezvous? You’ve every right to be upset!”
“I thought you said you were a good listener?”
He looked down at his feet. “Sorry.”
“You see,” I went on, “that house I’m staying in – well, it’s not mine. It’s not hers, either. We’re staying with the family of an old man she’s caring for.” I sighed. “I’m not sure how to put this, without making it sound incredibly stupid. When she got home tonight – well, they saw us together, out in the yard. Someone peeked out the window.”
“Oh, no,” said Tyler, throwing his cigarette aside. “What happened after that?”
“Not much of anything I expected. We went inside. But none of them seemed very bothered about it – except for one. He has some sort of a fancy for Thea. He stormed out of the house after his fit, at his mother’s asking. But that was all.”
Tyler set about with a new cigarette. “Then what’s the problem? Did I miss something?”
“No. The problem is what happened after everyone went to bed. There was really no reason for it – and I’m fairly certain that I started it – but Thea and I had a horrible fight. The worst we’ve ever had, it’s safe to say.”
Had you asked me then, I could have given you no reason whatever as to why I was baring my soul to a complete and utter stranger. It may be true, what they say; and that a person can tell, when they’ve met a person who is to become a great friend.
Tyler puffed a cloud of thick smoke into the darkness, stroking his chin. “All right,” he said. “Let’s go over this. You’ve been staying with a family, unaware until tonight, that you and your Thea are – close. They all found out about it, but none of them are very bothered – except for the wistful young man you mentioned.” He looked at me. “Anyway, everyone went to bed, all seemingly well in the world. But when you and your Thea were alone, the two of you had a row. You can’t remember how it started, or what was said, merely that it was – how did you say? – horrible. Now, you’re wandering around some of the most grievous streets in Ireland, risking life and limb to try and make sense of something which you’ll most likely never understand.” He peered over at me again. “Would you like me to tell you why you never will?”
“I suppose,” I said moodily.
“You see, my dear, what happened tonight is something I would like to term, merely for the occasion, a ‘lovers’ quarrel.’ You were both upset – residual effects of the events of the evening – and you took it out on one another. The truth is, no one meant anything they said. Whatever you were angry about had nothing to do with each other – not really! Right now, your Thea is probably sick with worry, running herself over with whatever she said that made you do a bunk out into the cold.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I think that, of the two of us, I said all the worst things.”
“I still think that you should go home this instant.”
“I don’t think so,” I repeated. “I can’t.”
“Nonsense. It’s only your pride that’s standing in your way.”
“It’s not that. I really don’t think that she wants to see me.”
“Why ever not?”
“It was just something she said.”
“What could she have said that was as bad as that?”
What mess is that? This conversation, or our life?
“Just trust me on this, would you?”
Tyler shrugged. “I won’t argue with you about it.”
“That’s surprising.”
He feigned offence. “What do you mean?” he asked. “I can be agreeable.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Really! It’s in some sort of record somewhere – a court transcript, no doubt – that I have been totally and unwaveringly complacent at least twice over the past twenty-six years.” He gave me a wink. “Not including tonight.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Twice, did you say? Really that often?”
He smiled.
We walked along, turning from street to street – some whose torches were lit, and others as black as the Pit – sometimes talking and sometimes not.
“Aren’t I keeping you from something?” I asked finally.
“Not at all,” he said. “I’ve left a few friends behind at what they claimed was an inn – but which looked, and smelled really, more to me like an extension of a sewer pipe – but I daresay they’ll do all right without me for a while.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course. But I still can’t help insisting that you go back before too long.”
“I just can’t bring myself to face her,” I said quietly.
“I do understand, really I do. But you’re going to have to do it sometime. Surely one argument can’t force two people apart for the rest of their lives! Words are just words, and nothing more.”
“All of your encouragement doesn’t make it any less painful, you know.”
“I know,” he said. It seemed as though he meant it. “But let me ask you – how long have you known one another?”
“A year or so.”
“That’s quite a long time, considering the abruptness of life. I’ll bet that she knows you better than anyone else in the world!”
I looked at him and smiled. “After all of this, you come in at a close second.”
He put a hand over his heart. “All of that for a man who doesn’t even know your name?”
“Kate,” I told him. “Kate O’Brien.”
“Goodness!” he said. “That certainly took lo
ng enough. I’ll be sure to warn the next gent.” He was quiet for a minute, while he fiddled with his silver case; but then he said, “You know, no matter how much we’re enjoying each other’s company, you must go home this very instant.”
“I realise that.” I paused. “Did you just say that you’re enjoying my company?”
His smile became, for the first time, rather shy. “Did I?”
“You did.”
“Then I suppose it must be true. I seldom say what I don’t mean, Kate O’Brien.”
“And I suppose that I should tell you, Tyler Ashley – that I’ve quite liked talking to you, despite the circumstances.”
“Then we’ll have to do this again sometime, perhaps in daylight.”
“Surely.”
“Does that mean you’re ready to go back now?”
“As ready as I will be.”
“Which is just about as ready as any of us ever are for anything.”
***
Half an hour later, I went quietly into the flat on Marcker Street, trying to make my way inside without rousing anyone. I looked into the parlour to see Donny fast asleep on the sofa (it seemed that Joseph had lost that fight), and then went down the hall to the room I shared with Thea. I stood outside the door for what seemed an eternity, feeling like a ghost – hovering about near a person who did not really want to see me. I was struck almost breathless, by the thought that I could simply creep back into the street, and vanish entirely – and nothing would be any the worse for it. I had no place on Marcker Street; no business but Thea’s. And if I had no business with her – well, then, it would be very easy just to disappear from sight and hearing, swallowed by the darkness like a dying star.
I opened the door noiselessly (John kept them all well-oiled) and went into the room. I stood beside the bed for a while, not wanting to lie down, for fear of being noticed. Eventually, though, it was my weariness that made me take up my space on the bed. I kept as close as I could to the edge, careful not to touch Thea – which was quite a task, considering the size of the mattress.
I was almost asleep, my mind void of everything but the need for a few hours’ unconsciousness, when Thea spoke. Her whisper came as a scream to me, I was so frightened by it. It took me a moment to gain control enough to breathe again, my heart was thumping about in such a fashion.
“Where did you go?” she asked.
I kept my position facing the wall. “Nowhere.”
“It took you quite a while to get there.”
I said nothing.
“Kate?”
“What?”
“Can’t we talk about this?”
“I don’t think so.”
I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, my body completely rigid. I tried to ignore the sound of her voice, begging me several times to talk to her, to look at her, please. That desperation was a thing I scarcely witnessed in her; and some part of me, bent on reciprocation for things that she had done only in my imagination, was delighting in it.
“So you tell me,” she said finally. “What am I to do? You’re the one who said such evil things.”
“I‘m not feeling particularly talkative right now.”
“What if I can’t wait?”
“Do your very best to try.”
I felt her move up beside me. “Won’t you talk to me?”
“No.”
“Why can’t you forgive me? I’ve already forgiven you.”
Was it really that easy? Could we just say that it was all right – and go on as we had before? It couldn’t possibly be that easy.
“Is there something that I have to forgive you for?”
She sighed miserably. “Only for whatever I did that made you leave. Other than that . . . Well, other than that, I just don’t know. Do you really think that I would do the things you accused me of?”
I tried to stifle the sound of my tears.
“Please don’t cry. There’s nothing to cry about – just look at me, won’t you just look at me? I would never do anything like that. I love you, not anyone else. Don’t you understand?”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“That’s all right.”
She said nothing more, but slid up next to me rather hesitantly, as if afraid that I would push her away. I did no such thing; but determinedly refrained from mentioning, that I was glad of her nearness.
I woke several times in the night, chilled to the bone and damp with sweat.
Chapter 19
The days that followed passed slowly, like molasses through a sieve. I found myself growing restless, and thinking of home. Sometimes I took Charlie for a ride through the streets; and we stayed out for hours at a time, trotting all around through areas both respectable and not, oftentimes making it back just in time to face John’s reprimands. He was adamant, at first, about my returning before dark – but after a while my recalcitrance seemed to douse his concern.
Thea had finally found her special little powder (the name of which I’m not surprised to have forgotten), and had been dosing Mr McAlbee with it for about a week. He was improving, apparently – and Joseph could not have been more ecstatic. He ran all about the house, up in arms with the news that the fever had broken; and he began going into Mr McAlbee’s room at least three times a day, convinced that simple conversation would speed along his recuperation.
Since the night of Kevin’s theatrics (and my own which followed), I found that, though they claimed it was of no matter to them, the others often glanced at me with a kind of strange interest. The problem was that their interest was imbued with an utter lack of understanding. It was crude and misplaced, and it nettled me to no end. Kevin had ceased speaking to me entirely (though I could not say that I was particularly broken-up about it). To put it frankly, I wasn’t much pleased to have to carry on a dialogue with any of them. I was growing tired of the clutter, the nonstop rush of movement, the ineluctable brush of a hand or an elbow as you tried to pass by in the kitchen.
But we celebrated Joseph’s birthday on December the sixteenth; and that was a day I enjoyed. The boy seemed the only one in the house whose company I did not somewhat disdain. He was happy; he was kind; he cared more about everyone else, than he cared about himself. I loved that boy dearly.
I asked Thea, one night when I was brushing my teeth, just how much longer we would stay at Marcker Street. She looked up from her book in surprise, obviously not having anticipated my asking.
“I don’t know,” she said simply, lowering her eyes to the page.
“You’ve no idea at all?” I persisted.
She said she had not.
And so I fell into a silence: a silence of both mind and tongue. I began leaving Charlie behind when I went out, much to his displeasure – and at first to the displeasure of my leg muscles, which had grown unaccustomed to such hikes. But they strengthened themselves quickly, developing into sound, controlled entities that could carry me twenty miles in a day.
And one day, when I returned from my walk, I found Tyler Ashley waiting for me. When he saw me, he knelt down in the grass in front of the Warner house.
“What are you doing here?” I asked him.
“Shhh. I’m praying.”
I shoved him in the shoulder, but he stayed down on the ground, eyes shut tight.
“What in the hell are you doing?”
He opened one eye and asked, “Have you no respect for a man’s communion with the Lord?”
I laughed. He stood up.
“Where were you?” he asked.
“I went for a walk.”
“Where were you walking to? Or from, rather.”
“Nowhere. Just around.”
“Around town?”
I narrowed my eyes. “You’re a prying little man.”
He beamed. “Naturally inquisitive, my mother always said.”
I shook my head at him, and sighed.
“Aren’t you going to ask me if I’d like some tea?” he asked. “And a biscuit,
perhaps?”
“This isn’t my house. And we don’t have any biscuits.”
Over past weeks, I had run into Tyler Ashley quite frequently. It seemed that all he did was roam about the streets, looking for nothing and no one. Whenever he saw me, though, he would smile, and cross the street to meet me, and we would walk all around until the sun began to fade away behind the clouds.
“No tea, then?” he asked.
“I didn’t say that. If you like, I can bring you out a cup.”
“We’re going to drink tea in the freezing wind?”
“If you like.”
“Oh, why not.”
I nodded. “You can wait on the porch.”
He followed me up the steps, and took a seat in the rocker by the door, taking off his hat to shake out his mess of curly hair.
“Back in a jiff,” I said, slipping into the house.
The moment I got inside, my knee collided directly with Gabriel’s head. (At least, I think it was Gabriel – but of course it could have been Gavin.) He fell back onto his bottom, rubbing his forehead. I watched in dread, waiting for him to start wailing, loathing the prospect of having to explain to his mother why I had beaten him over the head with my knee. I had almost finished devising my story (which involved a toy train and a small puddle of water), when he got up and toddled away. I let out my breath in relief.
I put on the water in the kitchen, and sat down at the table to scan the newspaper while I waited. I had been reading for hardly two minutes, when Kevin came in. I was not a little surprised at him. Most always, he went out of his way to avoid me entirely. (He did not avoid Thea, though. He talked to her more than ever now, dallying with her impractically. It seemed he derived twice as much pleasure from the activity, when I was within earshot.)
“You drink too much tea,” he said suddenly. “No wonder the canister’s always near-empty.”
“Take some of that, if you want it.”
“I don’t.”
I looked back to the newspaper. “What are you doing here, anyway? Don’t you have tea in your own flat?”
“You’re one to talk. This isn’t even your house.”
“I’m aware.”
“Then keep your comments to yourself.”
I sighed. “Why don’t you just take some of that tea, and then get off to wherever it is you’re getting to?”
An Irish Heart Page 19