by Maeve Binchy
“I brought some brandy. In case,” Val said.
“Not now,” Mary Catherine said. “We have to dress the bride.”
Clare looked pale so they rouged her up. She also looked extremely smart. The outfit was a work of genius and Clare blessed the anonymous donors. She felt it was taking the Something Borrowed superstition a little too seriously, and they were all laughing at that, when Clare’s father arrived beating on the door nervously and saying they had only twenty minutes—should they be on their way?
Clare didn’t know there would be music. She was surprised to hear the burbling sounds of a church organ. Her father’s arm stiffened in fright.
The altar did seem a mile away, but soon she was near enough to see them turning round. She saw the admiration in Angela’s face first, and it was warming. She saw Angela clutch Emer, and they were both nodding with delight at her. Her unnaturally clean brothers seemed surprised too at how well she looked and this made her hold her head high. She saw Caroline’s eyebrows go up, and that was pleasing too, as was the big smile from Dr. Power. But best of all was the way Mrs. Power’s face changed just a fraction. The superior look which seemed to be built into it as she was whispering to Mrs. Nolan left it for a moment. And because Clare felt so exhilarated, her smile was sparkling.
By the time David turned round she was glowing with confidence and happiness; transformed, almost, from when she had started to walk up the aisle. He had never known she could look so beautiful. He looked at James standing beside him and smiled. James smiled back encouragingly. The coldness, the tactless words James had spoken, were forgotten. David was stepping out of the pew to take his beautiful, beautiful bride to the altar.
The Powers were not taking any photographs. If the Nolans had brought a camera it was not produced. Kevin Quinn had a camera though; and when Father Flynn saw the scarcity of picture taking he gave Jim O’Brien some money and sent him off to a nearby chemist to get three more films.
“Keep snapping,” Father Flynn hissed to Kevin. “You’re the official photographer.”
They walked cheerfully enough across to the hotel. Mrs. Power looked at it as though it were some kind of museum piece. She was annoyed to hear the Nolans saying they hadn’t known it was there, and what nice antiques in the hall. Mr. Ryan had taken the decision to serve the drinks out in the conservatory, which opened on to a garden. There were flowers and plants and rays of sun coming through colored glass.
“It’s not bad at all,” hissed Valerie through clenched teeth. “The way Clare was going on, I thought we were in for a place smelling of cabbage, with sauce bottles on the table.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the place,” Mary Catherine said. “But isn’t the mother-in-law a bitch?”
“She’ll soon see she’s outnumbered,” Angela said. They jumped. They had not intended anyone else to hear. “I agree, she’s behaving like a bitch, but she’s got no confidence, herself. When she sees the rest of us thinking it’s marvelous, she’ll come round.”
“I’ll go and talk at her for a while,” Val said. “Blind her with tales of my background.”
Mr. Ryan called them in to lunch. There was cream in everyone’s tomato soup, and a little chopped parsley on top.
Mrs. O’Brien wondered whether it was just a decoration; Father Flynn solved that by spooning his own down noisily the moment grace had been said. Agnes saw what to do, and her family followed her. The rolls were slightly warm; and there were little clusters of bottles on the table: red wine, white wine, orange squash, and stout bottles artistically arranged at intervals.
The seating plan was a miracle of diplomacy. No O’Brien was left without a friendly neighbor. Clare and David felt the breath they had been holding all day begin to slip out naturally. It was too big a number for general conversation, but there was a nice buzz; and by the time Mr. Ryan and his two waitresses had cleared the chicken à la crème away and dusted the table for the bringing on of the ice cream and cake, it was far more friendly than anyone could have believed possible.
Molly Power was flanked by Kevin Quinn on one side and Father Flynn on the other. Without being deliberately rude, there was nothing she could do but respond.
Agnes O’Brien was on the other side of Father Flynn, and then there was Valerie. They had dispensed with the traditional order of seating since that would have been a certain recipe for disaster.
Father Flynn had instructed James in some of his duties: he asked him to call upon Miss O’Hara to speak, and to ask David’s father to say a few words too.
“It’s not traditional, Father,” James complained.
“Whose side are you on, boy?” Father Flynn had replied sharply.
It worked. Tom O’Brien’s bumbling words, the studying of his piece of paper, went almost unnoticed. If it had just been Tom, and the fluent young barrister James Nolan, the difference would have been very marked.
Dr. Power was warm and cheerful. Doctors were often apt to say at weddings that they brought the bride or the groom into the world, as if that gave them special standing in the community. In this case he had brought both of them into the world, and had considerable responsibility for the existence of the groom. He wished them long, happy years in Castlebay—which as everyone knew was the center of the universe, and would those people who had not yet been to Castlebay please hurry up and go there.
Angela, more hesitant than she ever had been at school, spoke about how sentimental teachers always became once the pupils were out of their hands.
James was flowery. It was very nearly over. David stood up to speak last.
Clare had to fix her eyes firmly on the heap of telegrams so that she would not cry at his words. He was speaking simply and directly about his happiness and his hopes for both of them. He was thanking everyone there by name for all they had done. Nobody could be more happy than he was at this moment.
They all clapped. Molly’s gloved hands; Agnes’s thin bony hands; Jim’s and Ben’s scrubbed clean hands—examined before they were allowed out; Father Flynn’s plump little white hands and Angela’s long artistic hands.
Clare went up to change, to remove the pink suit—on which not a crumb or drop had been spilled—to place the hat and the handbag back in tissue paper. She wore Valerie’s good gray dress and a set of cheap wine-colored glass beads, which matched her gloves. She grabbed up her own shabby bag. She was ready for Going Away. James had said he would give them a proper present later when they were settled into their new home. In the meantime perhaps the car might be useful. David thanked him again warmly as he took the car keys in his hand.
“It’s good of you, James. And thanks for all the marvelous support. At the meal. You know.”
They stood awkwardly waiting for Clare to come downstairs. “It was all great,” James said.
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
“And it will all turn out marvelously well.”
“Yes,” David said.
They were both thinking of the days when they could say anything to each other. A long time ago.
For the three-day honeymoon they had said they were going to a quiet hotel in Wicklow and everyone had nodded sagely. They were in fact going back to their new flat, which was in total chaos. They wanted nobody else. They wanted no gaiety or candlelit dinners, they just wanted each other and the knowledge that the day they had dreaded was over.
James Nolan had left champagne cooling, and when they got back to the Nolan house, Breeda was ready with a tray of glasses.
“This is more like it,” Caroline said.
“It was very nicely done, very nice,” her father said.
Dr. Power took his glass of champagne and walked out into the well-kept garden. A man was mowing the lawn. For other people it was an ordinary working day.
Molly saw him standing by himself and went out to him. She stood beside him wordlessly.
“You were very good, Moll,” he said.
“Good?”
“You didn’t want it, b
ut you didn’t let that spoil their day. Even though your heart wasn’t in it.”
“Clare . . .” She paused.
He said nothing.
“She looked very well, I thought. The outfit was smart.”
Inside, the champagne was flowing. Caroline wanted to know why Clare hadn’t carried that super handbag away with her when she was leaving. “There was a fearful coldness between James and David, did you hear? James was nearly not going to be the best man?” She was giggly and conspiratorial.
“I didn’t know,” Valerie said, giving her the cue to go on.
“Apparently, when David told James about the marriage, and the hurry and the dramas and all, James said, very reasonably I think, but anyway he said bad luck or something, and David said what do you mean, and James said that really David didn’t have to marry a scrubber, and David poured his glass over James—it was in a hotel bar all this—and walked out, and James had to run after him. Gosh, it was awful.”
“Wasn’t it?” Valerie said fervently. “Wasn’t it about as awful a thing to say as anyone could think of?”
“No, what I mean is . . .” Caroline saw she had put her foot in it.
“Isn’t it quite extraordinary how James ever managed to make it to being an attorney with a mind like that?” Mary Catherine said in amazement.
June had always been a stifling month, waiting for the end of term.
Angela had written to Sean and Shuya in reply to their excited letter. Yes, indeed, she would be here, she would be in the cottage as always, and once they had decided what they were going to do, they could come and tell her, she would be happy to see them all, as she was always happy to see them.
Sean had said no. He hadn’t written to anyone in Castlebay about his changed life, who would he write to? But Angela had been very firm on that one: it was Sean’s story to tell, not hers. He must be the one to decide who to talk to and what to say.
No letter with any change of plans came. There was no reprieve.
They would be here on Saturday.
On Saturday morning, panic came over her as she was buying meat in Dwyers’. Chrissie, back at work, wanted to know if Miss O’Hara was going to have a party.
“No. Why?” Angela said, alarmed.
“Well, you’re just after buying enough meat to feed an army.”
Angela looked in horror at the huge lumps of meat. Without thinking she had bought dinner for Sean and his family. She felt dizzy and leaned against the wall.
“Are you all right?” Chrissie asked, frightened. “Jimmy! Give Miss O’Hara a hand.”
She had steadied herself again.
“I’m very sorry. I’ve got a bit of summer flu, I think.” She paid for the meat, put it in her bicycle basket, and wheeled it home. She didn’t dare to get on the bike for fear she might faint. Though in a way it wouldn’t be a bad time, if she had to die, to die now. She sat at home glumly all day. Why had she not had the courage to tell people after her mother died? Why had she lied to them, and gone along with their messages of sympathy, their requests for prayers? She had never taken a penny of their money: she had said that it should all be sent to the missionary headquarters. But they wouldn’t remember that.
She thought of the nice, honest people who always asked after him, the people she had fooled, rather than the awful people who would crow with horror. She didn’t care all that much about the Sergeant McCormacks and the Mother Immaculatas. She thought about Dick Dillon, and her heart went down to her feet.
It was a beautiful day, the kind that they would sigh over, the trippers in for the day, the visitors down for the month, the shopkeepers who had been hoping for weather like this all year.
Shuya and Sean would sigh with pleasure too, and Denis and Laki would be as delighted with the long golden beach and the bright blue sea. She never remembered feeling so sad.
She had shown herself she was a person of no courage. She hadn’t the courage to beg them not to come, nor the courage to go to the station and welcome them with open arms. What a useless, spineless friend and sister she had turned out to be.
They would have been here three hours at least now. They had taken the overnight boat from England, the morning train to the town, and since there was no one to meet them to take them to Castlebay, they would wait for the bus. They would have been in their caravan for an hour.
Had they taken the children for a swim? Had they gone to O’Brien’s shop to buy provisions? Had Sean leaned eagerly across the counter and shaken Tom O’Brien’s hand?
“Don’t you remember me, Mr. O’Brien? I’m Dinny O’Hara’s son Sean. And this is my wife, and these are my children. Say hallo to Mr. O’Brien, Denis . . .”
Were they on their way up the street now? Had they reached the corner? Were they turning down the golf-course road?
She had said she would be in her cottage. She wanted to run away.
She never remembered the clock ticking so loudly or her heart moving so oddly in her chest.
She sat and waited.
And waited.
By the time the children should be well in bed, there was a knock on the door. She steeled herself and went to it slowly. There was no sound of voices on the step. Perhaps they were upset that she hadn’t come to meet them.
She opened the door.
It was Dick Dillon.
“Hallo,” she said faintly. She stood leaning against the door. She made no move to ask him in.
“I was wondering if I might come in at all? Or would that be out of the question? I do come to call here occasionally, you know.”
“Dick, I’m sorry. Come in.”
“I know you said you didn’t want to come up this week, and that you’d explain it all later.”
“Well it didn’t do much good my telling you that, did it?”
“I knew it was all right to come.”
“That was very arrogant of you.” Her voice was weary.
“No. It wasn’t arrogant. I knew I could come. I knew they weren’t here.”
“What?”
“I knew I wouldn’t be blundering in on top of them. They’re sitting down on the seat at the end of the town looking at the sea.”
He had discovered them by complete accident. He had seen them getting off the bus, he had looked because of the foreign woman, and the children being half foreign-looking.
“He didn’t recognize me. I was in my drinking mode when he was here last. I’d only have been a blur to him or indeed he to me.”
“So how did you know?”
“The boy said when were they going to see Aunt Angela, and the woman said they were going to their caravan first, and Aunt Angela would be waiting up in her cottage for them later when they got settled in, today or tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry, Dick. I’m very, very sorry.” Angela wept. “I’m such a coward. I’m so bloody weak. I couldn’t tell you.” She put her head on his shoulder and sobbed like a child. His arms went around her, and he patted her comfortingly.
“It’s going to be all right,” he said, as if to a very small, very upset toddler. “Dick is here. He’ll look after things.”
They sat in the sunset and watched the red ball disappear down behind a big navy line of horizon. Behind them, the music of the amusements and the cries of laughter, and around them the chitter-chatter of holidaymakers.
Denis and Laki were both fast asleep, exhausted. Already he had pointed out the Brothers School where he had gone every day, he had shown them the big rock pools where he used to play, and he had taken them into the Echo Cave to shout their questions.
Sean had remembered O’Brien’s shop. But it had been much smaller then; he didn’t know the boy serving there—it must be one of the young sons. He saw Mrs. O’Brien in the background; but he was shy suddenly. It wasn’t the place to catch her eye and begin the great comeback. He had bought a coloring book and pencils in Miss O’Flaherty’s shop, but she was busy serving someone else and he didn’t know the young woman who served them.
On the street, a child of about eight looked at Laki with interest. “What land do you come from?” she asked.
“I was born in Japan. I am half Irish, half Japanese,” Laki said proudly.
“I had a Japanese doll when I was young. It didn’t look a bit like you,” the girl said curiously.
They had eaten their meal and made plans for the next day; there would be swimming and a picnic lunch on the beach. But first they would call on Aunt Angela. The children had thought this perfectly satisfactory.
“This is a good place to have as another home,” Laki said. Sean had been talking about Castlebay as their “other home” for as long as the children could remember. But this time he said nothing.
“I’ll show you the town,” he had suggested to Shuya. But when they came to the bottom of the street, he hung back; he didn’t want to go to the dance, he was too old to take her to the amusements. A middle-aged couple on the bumpers? It would be idiotic. Then, in the hotel, sitting drinking, and seeing other groups: would he go up to them? If so, would he give his name? He remembered the Dillons vaguely, but he hadn’t known any of them well.
He had hesitated as they approached Church Street. It was Shuya who pointed out the nice bench.
“That wasn’t here, years ago,” Sean said. “Probably afraid that people might sit here and cuddle or do something outrageous like that.”
She put her arm around him. She sensed his unease, the flatness about everything.
“It’s changed a lot, of course. Everything,” he said.
“It must have. Was that big amusement center always there?”
“Much smaller, much shabbier. And I don’t think the dance hall was like that. Of course, in those days I wasn’t likely to be going into it, so I hardly noticed it.”
“It’s funny,” Shuya said. “Most people, when they go back, find that things have grown smaller. Here you find they have all grown much bigger.”