

Heart and Soul by Maeve Binchy



Clara Casey has more than enough on her plate.
Her daughters Adi and Linda were no problem
during the usually turbulent teens. Now in their
twenties, Adi is always fighting for or against
something: the environment or the whale or
battery farming; while Linda lurches from one
unsatisfactory relationship to the next. As if this
wasn't enough, Clara, a senior cardiac specialist,
has a new job to cope with - and now her ex
husband wants something from her . . .

For Ania, meeting Clara Casey is a miracle. She
never intended to leave Poland - but perhaps a new
job in a new country will mend her broken heart?

Declan is looking forward to joining the clinic
- but what should have been a straightforward
six-month posting brings him far more than he
expected. Then there's Father Brian Flynn, whose
life is turned upside down when his reputation is
threatened; and the beautiful, cheerful nurse,
Fiona, who can't leave her troubled past behind . . .

In Heart and Soul, Maeve Binchy brings us drama,
conflict and relationships in turmoil with all the
'armth, humour and compassion which made

er a worldwide bestseller.
HEART AND SOUL
Also by Maeve Binchy

Light a Penny Candle
Echoes
London Transports
Dublin 4
The Lilac Bus
Firefly Summer
Silver Wedding
Circle of Friends
The Copper Beech
The Glass Lake
Evening Class
Tara Road
Scarlet Feather
Quentins
Nights of Rain and Stars
Whitethorn Woods

This Year It Will Be Different (short stories)
Aches & Pains (non-fiction)
The Maeve Binchy Writers' Club (non-fiction)

www.maevebinchy.com
HEART
AND SOUL

Maeve Binchy

4
First published in Great Britain in 2008
by Orion Books
an imprint of the Orion Publishing Group Ltd
Orion House, 5 Upper St Martin's Lane, London, WC2H 9EA
An Hachette Livre UK Company
13579 10 8642
Copyright © Maeve Binchy 2008
The moral right of Maeve Binchy to be identified as the
author of this work has been asserted in accordance
with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted
in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the
prior permission of both the copyright owner and

the above publisher of this book.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is
available from the British Library.

isbn 978 o 7528 7336 7 hb
978 o 7528 9750 9 tpb

Typeset at The Spartan Press Ltd,
Lymington, Hants

Printed and bound by
Clays Ltd, St Ives pic

The Orion Publishing Group's policy is to use papers that
are natural, renewable and recyclable products and made
from wood grown in sustainable forests. The logging and
manufacturing processes are expected to conform to the
environmental regulations of the country of origin.

www.orionbooks.co.uk
In memory of my dear younger sister Renie.

And with great love and thanks to Gordon who makes

the bad times bearable and the good times magical.
Prologue



Some projects take forever to get off the ground.
One of these was the disused storage depot that was
owned by St Brigid's Hospital. It was an unattractive
cluster of warehouses around a yard. Once it had held supplies
for the hospital but it was in an awkward place; new traffic
regulations meant that it was a long and cumbersome journey
through the Dublin streets to get from one place to the other.
It was a part of Dublin that still had its old workers'
cottages, and factories which had been transformed into apartment
blocks. This part of the city was 'going up' as the
property people described it; soon speculators would look at
the storage depot and make St Brigid's an offer for it, the kind
of offer they could not refuse.
That's what Frank Ennis wanted. He thought of himself as
the financial brains behind St Brigid's, and this was exactly
what they needed. A large lump sum, a huge financial injection
on his watch.
Frank Ennis could see it happening.
Of course every year when the planning committee met
at the AGM there was always some problem and distraction
or other. Something that stopped Frank getting this white
elephant sold and investing the money in the hospital. One
year there was the rheumatology lobby; they wanted a rheumatism
clinic. There was a pulmonary wing too which wanted
to set up a day centre for chest patients. And the increasingly
vocal heart faction which claimed that there was sufficient
evidence to prove that patients could be kept out of hospital,
thus freeing up hospital beds, if they had someone to provide
back-up support. The cardiologists were like a dog with a
bone: they wouldn't let it go.
Frank sighed as they faced in to yet another afternoon in the
close, stuffy boardroom. The members were sitting around the
table. Frank looked at them without great pleasure. There was
the usual collection of people who might have sat on any
hospital board. There was what he would describe as a plainclothes
nun. St Brigid's had once been run entirely by nuns;
now there were only four of the sisters left. No new vocations.
There were senior officials from the health authority; there
were important business people who had proved themselves in
other walks of life. There was that good-tempered American
philanthropist, Chester Kovac, who had set up a private health
centre miles away down in the country.
The plain-clothes nun would always open the window, then
the papers would fly around the table and someone would
close it again. Frank had been through this many times. But
on this occasion he felt that victory was in his corner. He had a
written offer of a huge sum from a property developer for
instant possession of the much discussed and wasted land
around the storage depot. This was money that would make
everyone sit up and take notice.
Then would come the argument about how the money
should be spent: would it go to new state-of-the-art CAT scan
machines? Or to changing radically the front of the hospital?
Like many buildings of its time, which was the early twentieth
century, the hospital had entirely unsuitable stone steps leading
to the entrance hall. A ramp would be appropriate or some
more satisfactory way of getting into the hospital for the lame
and frail.
There was always a need for more beds in women's surgical,
there was always a call for isolation units. A lot of pressure had
come from the HDU section. They wanted to be raised from
high dependency to intensive care and this would need money
being spent.
Well, at least they would be able to reply to the property
developer today, accept his offer and stop wasting time on
the various special interests who all wanted to enlarge their
empires.

Coffee and biscuits were served, the agenda was distributed
and the meeting began. But from the outset, Frank knew that
something was wrong.
The board members had been foolishly influenced by some
statistic recently published that seemed to prove the Irish had
more than their fair share of heart failure. Possibly connected
with lifestyle and diet, with drinking and smoking undoubtedly
playing their part in it all. They were all discussing
methods of giving heart failure patients more confidence.
How great to be at the forefront of a battle against heart
disease. A day clinic that would help patients to manage.
Frank Ennis could have cursed the organisation which had
published these figures just days before his board meeting. For
all he knew it could even have been done deliberately - there
was something very arrogant about those cardiologists in
St Brigid's. They thought they were omnipotent.
He looked for support to Chester Kovac, usually a voice of
sanity in such situations. But he had read it wrong. Chester
said that this was an imaginative idea and he would be happy
if St Brigid's were at the forefront of such a move. After all, the
alternative was only money.
Frank fumed at this. It was easy for Chester to say
something was only money; he had plenty of money himself.
Certainly he was generous, but what did he know? He was a
Polish-American with an Irish grandfather - he was the victim
of the last person he had spoken to.

Frank seethed with rage.

'It's not only money, Chester. It's huge money, going into
St Brigid's to improve it.'

'Last year you wanted to sell that land for it to be a car
park,' Chester said.

'But this is a far better offer.' Frank was red in the face with
the effort of it all.

'Well, we would have been foolish to accept your suggestion
last year, Frank, seeing the way things turned out.' Chester
was mild but firm.

'But I spent weeks raising this guy's offer . . .'

'And last year we all agreed that we didn't want a car park.'

'So this is not a car park. It's superior housing -- of the
highest specifications . . .' Frank said.

'Not what a hospital is necessarily about,' Chester Kovac
said.

'If we're sitting on this piece of land we should use it,' said
one of the captains of industry.

'We are using it, we are going to get a small fortune for it
and invest that in the hospital!' Frank felt that he was talking
to very slow learners.

The plain-clothes nun spoke primly. 'We would like something
within the spirit of the original order who once ran the
hospital.'

'Housing is hardly against the spirit of the order is it?'
Frank asked.

'Expensive housing of the highest specification might not be
what the good sisters wanted.' Chester spoke gently.

'The good sisters are all dead and gone, they died out!'
Frank exploded.
Chester looked at the face of the plain-clothes nun. She was
very hurt by this. He needed to be a peacemaker.
'What Mr Ennis means is that the nuns' work is completed
here, their work is done. But they have left their legacy. This is
a community that needs more health care and fewer expensive
apartments which will each be host to two cars, thus clogging
up the roads still further. What it needs is a good positive
system set up, something that will go on helping people to
make the most of their lives after the initial set-back of cardiac
failure. And to be very frank, when it comes to the vote, that's
what I would most like to see and that's where I will place my
choice.'
There was something dignified about the way he spoke.
Frank Ennis was crestfallen. The place would not be off
their hands as he had so confidently hoped this morning. Now
it was back on the table. The cardiologists had won. There
were going to be months and months of agreeing costs and
building work and furnishing and equipment. They would have to appoint a director and staff. Frank sighed heavily.
Why did these people not have any sense at all? They could
have had so many of the items on their wish list if they had
any understanding of how the world worked. Instead they
were complicating everything.
He sat through the meeting, moving on automatically from
item to item. Then it came to the vote for the change of use of
the premises owned by St Brigid's and known as the former
storage depot. As he expected it was unanimously agreed that a
heart care clinic should be built there.
Frank suggested a feasibility study.
He was voted down immediately. They were not in favour
of this - they would be another six years debating the issue.
If they had agreed to do it then they had agreed. It was
feasible.
It would however need an Extraordinary General Meeting,

5
once costs had been agreed, tenders received from builders,
numbers of staff agreed with cardiology.

They consulted their diaries and fixed the date.

Frank had wanted it in six months' time. Chester Kovac
said that surely a matter of a few weeks would be enough to
get the submissions in. Builders must be so anxious to get
work. The representative heart specialist said that cardiology
in St Brigid's would be so grateful they would set out their
requirements speedily.

'Requirements!' Frank Ennis snorted.

'And of course the post of director will have to be advertised,'
the plain-clothes nun said.

'Oh, yes indeed. I suppose he's out there waiting in the
wings for a nice easy number,' Frank muttered, still bitter in
defeat.

'He or she,' the nun said firmly.

'God - I'd forgotten the women,' Frank said under his
breath. He was a man who had often forgotten women. At the
golf club he was always outraged when there was a Ladies Day
delaying his round. He had even forgotten to get married
along the way. But that had all probably been for the best. 'He
or she, of course,' he said aloud. 'I am stuck in the old days,
Sister.'

'Bad way to be, Mr Ennis,' said the plain-clothes nun as she
opened the windows and let some fresh air into the room once
more.
Chapter One



They had told Clara Casey that there was a small budget
to furnish her new office. A tiresome administrator
with a loud voice, tousled hair and irritating body
language had gestured around the dull, awkward-looking
room with its grey walls and ill-fitting steel filing cabinets.
Not the kind of room that a senior consultant would consider
much of a prize after thirty years studying and practising
medicine. Still, it was never wise to be negative at the outset.
She struggled for the man's name. 'Yes, indeed . . . um . . .
Frank,' she said. 'It certainly has a lot of what might be called
potential.'
This was not the response he had expected. The handsome,
dark-haired woman maybe in her forties, wearing a smart,
lilac-coloured knitted suit, was striding around the small room
like a caged lioness.
He spoke quickly. 'Not unlimited potential, Dr Casey, not
financially speaking, I fear. But a coat of paint here and a piece
of nice furniture there, a feminine touch will do wonders.' He
smiled indulgently.
Clara fought hard to keep her temper.
'Yes, of course, those are just the kind of judgements I
would bring to decorating my own home. This is entirely
different. For one thing I can't have a room hidden miles away
down a corridor. If I am to run this place I have to be in the
centre of it and run it.'
'But everyone will know where you are, your name will be
on the door,' he spluttered.
'I have no intention of being locked away in here,' she said.
'Dr Casey, you have seen the funding, you were aware of
the set-up when you took the position.'
'Nothing was said about where my desk would be. Nothing
at all. It was left to be discussed at a later date. This is the
date.'
He didn't like her tone. It was definitely like the tone of a
schoolmistress.
'And this is the room,' he said.
She was tempted to ask him to call her Clara, but remembered
he would have to recognise her status here if she was to
get anything done. She knew his type.
'I think not, Frank,' she said.
'Can you show me where else you could be placed? The
dietician's room is even smaller, the secretary has just room for
herself and the files. The physio has to have his room laid out
with equipment, the nurses need their station, the waiting
room must be near the door. Can you kindly inspire me as
to where we can find you another room if this perfectly
serviceable place doesn't suit?'
'I'll sit in the hall,' Clara said simply.

'The hall? What hall?'
'The space when you come in the glass doors.'
'But, Dr Casey, that wouldn't do at all.'
'And exactly why not, Frank?'
'You'd be at everyone's beck and call,' he began.
'Yes?'
'There would be no privacy, it wouldn't look ... it
wouldn't be right. There would only be room for a desk.'

8
'All I need is a desk.'
'No, Doctor, with respect, you need much more than a
desk. Much more. Things like a filing cabinet,' he finished
lamely.
'I can have one of those in the secretary's office.'
'A place for your patients' case histories?'
'In the nurses' room.'
'You'll need some privacy sometimes to talk to patients.'
'We can call this room that you like so much the consultation
room, we can all use it when needed. You could
paint it calm, restful colours, get new curtains; I'll choose
them if you like. A few chairs, a round table. Okay?'
He knew it was over, but he gave one final bleat.
'That was never the way before, Dr Casey, it just wasn't the
way.'
'There never was a heart clinic here before, Frank, so there
is no point in trying to compare it with something that didn't
exist. We are setting this place up from scratch and if I am
going to run it then I'm going to run it properly.'

Clara knew that he was still looking at her disapprovingly
from the door as she walked towards her car. She kept her
head high and a false smile nailed to her face.
She zapped to unlock the car and swung herself into the
driving seat.
After work today someone would certainly ask Frank what
she was like. She knew just what he would say. 'Ball-breaker,
big-time.'
If pressed he would say that she was power-hungry and
couldn't wait to get into the job and throw her weight around.
If only he knew. No one must ever know. No one would
know just how much Clara Casey did not want this new job.
But she had agreed to do it for a year. And do it she would.
She pulled out into the afternoon traffic and felt it safe to
let the false smile fall from her face. She was going to go to the
supermarket and buy three kinds of pasta sauce. Whatever she
got one of the girls objected. The cheese was too strong, the
tomato was too dull, the pesto too self-consciously trendy. But
out of three they might find something that would suit. Please
may they be in good humour tonight.
She couldn't bear it if Adi and her boyfriend Gerry had yet
another ideological disagreement about the environment or
the whale or battery farming. Or if Linda had yet another one
night stand with some loser who hadn't bothered to call her.
Clara sighed.
People had told her that girls were terrible in their teens but became fine in their twenties. As usual Clara had it wrong.
They were horrific now at twenty-three and twenty-one.
When they had been teenagers they hadn't been too bad. But
of course that bastard Alan had been around then so things
had been easier. Sort of easier.

Adi Casey let herself into the house where she lived with her
sister and her mother. Menopause Manor, her sister Linda used
to call the place. Very funny, really humorous.
Mum wasn't home yet. That was good, Adi thought, she
would go and have a nice long bath, use the new oils she had
bought at the market on the way home. She had also bought
some organic vegetables; who knew what kind of shop-bought
thing Mum might bring home next, filled with additives and
chemicals.
To her annoyance she heard music from the bathroom.
Linda had beaten her to the bath. Mum had been talking
about a second bathroom. Shower room, anyway. But there
had been no mention of it recently. And what with Mum not
getting the big job she had hoped for, this wasn't the time to
mention it. Adi gave a little at home, but she didn't earn much
as a teacher. Linda gave nothing. She was still a student but it

never crossed her mind to get a part-time job. Mum ran the
show and was entitled to call the shots.
Before Adi got to her room, the phone rang. It was her
father.
'How's my beautiful daughter?' he asked.
'I think she's having a bath, Dad, will I get her?'
'I meant you, Adi.'
'You mean whoever you're talking to, Dad, you always do.'
'Adi, please. I'm only trying to be nice, don't be so cross
over nothing.'
'Right, Dad, sorry. What is it?'
'Can't I just call to say hello to my--'

'You don't do that, you ring when you want something.'
Adi was sharp.
'Will your mother be at home this evening?'
'Yes.'
'What time?'
'This is a family, Dad, not a facility where people check in
and sign books.'
'I want to talk to her.'
'So call her then.'
'She doesn't return my calls.'
'So turn up.'
'She doesn't like that you know. Her space and all that.'
'I'm too old. This game between you has gone on too long.
Sort it, Dad, please.'
'Could you and Linda be out tonight, I want to talk to her
about something.'
'No, we will not be out.'
'I'll treat you to supper somewhere.'

'You'll pay for us to go out of our own home?'
'Try to help me on this.'
'Why should I? You never tried to help anyone anywhere
along the line.'

ii
'Why won't you do this small thing?'
'Because Mum has arranged to cook us a supper to celebrate
taking a new job. Because it's long planned and I am not
cancelling it now. Sorry, Dad.'
'I'm coming over anyway.' He hung up.
Linda came dripping out of the bathroom wrapped in a
damp towel. Adi looked at her without pleasure. Linda, who
ate junk food, who smoked and drank, looked just beautiful,
her long wet hair as good as anyone else's would look coming
from a salon. There was no fairness in life.
'Who was on the phone?' Linda wanted to know.
'Dad. Like a bag of weasels.'
'What did he want?'
'To talk to Mum. He said he would pay us to go out
tonight.'
Linda brightened. 'Really? How much?'
'I said no. No way.'
'That was very high-handed of you.'
'You call him and renegotiate if you want to, I'm not going
out.'
'I suppose it's the big D,' Linda said.
'Why should they bother to get divorced nouP. She didn't
throw him out when she should have. Aren't they fine as they
are? Him with the bimbo and Mam here with us?' Adi saw no
reason to change things.
Linda was shruggy. 'Bet she's pregnant, the bimbo, bet you
that's what he's coming to tell her.'
'God,' said Adi, 'now I wish I had agreed to take his bribe
if that's what it's all going to be about. I think I'll call him back.'
In the end she sent him a text: 'House will be daughter-free
from 7.30 tonight. We have gone to Quentins. Will send you
the bill. Love, Adi.'


I
'Alan? Alan, the phone is a bit fuzzy. Can you hear me? It's
Cinta.'
'I know it is, darling.'

'Have you told her?'
'I'm just on the way to her house, darling.'
'You won't bottle out like last week?'
'That's not exactly what happened . . .'
'Don't let it happen again please, Alan.'
'No, darling, you can rely on me.'
'I'll need to, Alan, this time, I need to.'

Clara let herself in. The house was suspiciously quiet. She
would have expected both girls to be at home. There were wet
towels on the bathroom floor. Linda had been home having a
bath. There were leaflets about recycling plastic on the kitchen
table, so Adi had been back too. But no sign of them now.
Then she saw the note on the fridge.

Dad is coming round at 8 to talk to you; he sort of implied
he wanted this to be a one to one. Without us being there. He
implied rather heavily as it happens. Actually, he offered to
pay for a meal out for us, so we're going to Quentins.
Love from us both,
Adi

What could he want tonight of all nights? At the end of a long,
tiring, disappointing day which had involved seeing the place
without a soul which was going to be the centre of her work
for the next year?
At the end of hours of role-playing and attitude-taking
about territory with a tiresome bureaucratic hospital official.
After hunting through three different delicatessen sections to
get pasta sauces for her picky daughters. And now they were
both going out to a fancy restaurant and Clara had to face


Alan and whatever cracked scheme he had worked out to take
something back from their financial settlement.
Clara put the food away; there would be no sharing of
anything with Alan. Not any longer. Those years were long
over. She took two bottles of fizzy water out of the fridge. She
put the two bottles of Australian Sauvignon Blanc at the very
back of the fridge behind the yoghurts and low-fat spreads. He
would never find them there. And she might well need them
badly after he had gone.

At Quentins restaurant Adi and Linda settled down happily.
'You could run a small country for a week on what they're
paying at that table over there.' Adi was disapproving.
'Yeah, but not with any sense of fun,' Linda said.
'I wonder are we really blood sisters?' Adi asked.
'You've always wondered that.' Linda slowly sipped her
Tequila Sunrise.
'What time do you think he'll go?' Adi wondered.
'Who, the guy at the table?'
'No, Dad, you fool.'
'As soon as he gets what he wants. What makes him
different to any other man?' Linda caught the waiter's eye.
Another Tequila Sunrise and she would be ready to order.

Clara had intended to change into home clothes but the
phone never stopped ringing so there was no time. Her
mother wanted to know what the new office was like.
'Do you have a carpet on the floor?' Her mother was down
to basics.
'It's sort of modern flooring throughout the whole place.'
'You don't then.' She could see her mother's mouth closing
like a trap. The way it had when she had got engaged to Alan,
got married to Alan and got separated from Alan. There had
been many closed-trap moments.

H
Her friend Dervla had called to know what the mood of the
place was like.
'Mushroom and magnolia,' Clara had told her.
'God, what on earth does that mean?'
'That's the colours it's painted in at the moment.'
'But you can change all that.'
'Oh yes. Definitely.'
'So it's not really just the colour scheme that's upsetting
you.'
'Who's upset?'
'I can't imagine. Did you meet any of the people you'll be
working with?'
'Nope, it was tombstone city.'
'It's a question of nothing will please you? Am I right?'
'As always, you are right, Dervla.' Clara sighed.
'Listen, Philip is out at a meeting and he won't be baying
for food. Would it help if I were to bring round a bottle of
wine and a half kilo of sausages? Used to work in the old
days.'
'Not tonight, Dervla. That bastard Alan has paid the girls to
go out to Quentins because he wants to tell me something, ask
me something. What's left to ask at this stage, I ask myself?'
'I was at a meeting yesterday and one of the items on the
agenda said TBA. I actually thought it meant That Bastard
Alan because you never call him anything else.'
Clara laughed. 'What did it mean?'
'I don't know. To Be Agreed, To Be Arranged, something
like that.' Dervla wasn't very certain.
'No one would ever know you had a brain, Dervla, you
always put on this vague fluffy act.'
'For all the good it does me.'
'I wish I had your know-how. I don't know what he wants
but whatever it is I don't want to give it to him.'
'If it doesn't matter to you then give it to him. Make a big

deal out of it of course, but if you don't care then give it and
walk away.'
'But what can it bei He can't have the house. He doesn't
want the girls, they're big enough anyway to go wherever they
want and they hardly go near him.'
'Maybe he has a touch of angina and wants an examination.'
'No,
I never treated him. I always made sure from the start
that he went to Sean Murray.'
'Maybe he wants to marry the young one, and needs a
divorce.'
'No, he's running headlong from marrying her.'
'How do you know?'
'The girls tell me, he even tries to tell me when he thinks I
might listen to him.'
'And will you listen to him?'

'Not much. I know you all think I should have finished this
totally ages ago. Who knows? I might. I might not.'
'Good luck, Clara.'
'I wish we were having those sausages and wine.'
'Another night, Clara.'
Then there was an email from the paint shop saying that
she could pick up a colour chart next morning; a text from her
cousin in Northern Ireland to say that there was going to be a
Ladies Club Outing to Dublin and could Clara suggest somewhere
good value where they could park a bus and lunch,
buy souvenirs and get a bit of country air at a reasonable price;
a neighbour came in to ask for support about banning a pop
concert which would deafen them in three months' time. And
then it was eight o'clock and Alan was on the doorstep.
He looked well. Annoyingly well. Much younger than his
forty-eight years. Under a dark jacket he had an open-necked,
lemon-coloured shirt. Easycare, Clara noted. No careful

ironing of collars and cuffs for the bimbo. He was carrying a
bottle of wine.
'More civilised, I thought,' he said.
'More civilised than what exactly?' Clara asked.
'Than sitting glaring at each other. God, you look well,
that's a lovely colour. Is it heather? Or mauve?'
'I'm not sure.'
'Oh yes, you are, you were always great with colour. Perhaps
it's violet or lilac or . . . ?'
'Perhaps it is, Alan; will you come in.'
'Girls out?'
'Yes, you paid for them to go to Quentins, remember?'
'I said I'd stand them a bite of supper. I didn't know they'd
go upmarket. Still, that's youth today.'
'Yes, well, you'd know all about it, Alan. Come in and sit
down since you're here.'
'Thank you. Shall I get the opener?'
'This is my house. I will get my opener and my glasses when
I am ready.'
'Hey, hey, Clara, I brought you a pipe of peace, well, a wine
bottle of peace. Where's all the aggravation coming from?'
'I can't think. I really can't. Could it have anything to do
with your cheating on me for years, lying to me, promising
things were over when they weren't, leaving me, fighting me
through all the lawyers in the land?'
'You got the house.' To Alan it was simple.
'Yes, I got the house I paid for. I didn't get anything else.'
'We have been through all this, Clara. People change.'
'I didn't.'
'But you did, Clara, we all did. You just didn't face it.'
She suddenly felt very tired. 'What do you want, Alan?
What do you actually want?'
'A divorce,' he said.
'A what?'

'A divorce.'
'But we are divorced, separated for four years, for God's
sake.'
'Not divorced, though.'
'But you said you didn't want to remarry. That you and
Cinta didn't need any bonds like that.'
'Nor do we. But you see, she's gone and got pregnant and
so, well, you see?'
'I don't see.'
'You do see, Clara, you just won't admit it. It's over. It's
been over for a long time. Why don't we just draw a line in the
sand?'
'Get out, Alan.'
'What?'
'Get out, Alan, and take your wine of peace with you. Open
it at home. You really picked the wrong night.'
'But it will happen anyway. Why can't you just be gracious,
decent, I wonder?'
'Yes, Alan, I wonder too,' Clara said, standing up and
sliding his unopened bottle back across the table to him.
She wished she felt a sense of closure about it all. It was
unsatisfactory leaving it up in the air like this, but Clara was
not going to play along, doing things according to his timetable.
Was it possible she thought it wasn't entirely over?
So even if it was unfinished, that's what she wanted just
now. She stood there long enough for him to realise that he
really did have to go; and so he went.

'Cinta? Darling?'
'That you, Alan?'
'How many other men call you Cinta and address you as
darling?' His laugh was tinny.
'What did she say?'
'Nothing.'


I
'She must have said something.'
'No, she didn't.'
'You didn't go.'
'I did go.' He was stung by the injustice of it.
'She can't have said nothing.'
'She said, "Get out." '
'And you did?'
'Love, it doesn't make any difference.'
'It does to me,' Cinta said.

Clara had always been a great believer in putting worries out
of your mind. Years back they had a wonderful professor of
general medicine who had managed to inspire them all. He
was Dr Morrissey, her friend Dervla's father.
'Never underestimate the curative powers of being busy,'
he had advised them. He said that most of their patients
would benefit from having more rather than less to do. He
had achieved a near legendary reputation for curing insomnia
simply by advising people to get up and sort out their tape
collection or iron their table napkins. What would he say
now? Kind Dr Morrissey who had been more of a father to
Clara than her own remote, withdrawn father ever had been.
Dr Morrissey would have said, 'Tackle something that will
absorb you. Something that will put that bastard Alan and his
divorce and his infantile girlfriend way out of mind.' Clara
poured a glass of wine and went upstairs. She would fill every
corner of her mind with this bloody centre which she had
signed on to run.

In Quentins Adi was watching her sister with disapproval.
Linda was twining her long blonde hair around her fingers and
smiling at a man across the room.
'Stop it, Linda,' Adi hissed.
'Stop what?' Linda's eyes were big, blue and innocent.


'Stop attracting his attention.'
'He smiled. I smiled back. Is this now a hanging offence?'
'It could end up being complicated. Will you stop smiling,
Linda!'
'All right, prune-face. Whatever happened to being pleasant?'
Linda sulked.
At that moment a waiter bristling with disapproval came to
their table. 'Mr Young's compliments and would the young
ladies like to choose a digestifwith his compliments.'
'Can you please tell Mr Young no thank you very much,'
Adi said.
'Please tell Mr Young that I'd love an Irish coffee,' Linda
said.
The waiter looked helplessly from one to the other. Mr
Young, from across the room, had seen the situation and
materialised at their table. A tall man in his late forties, in a
well-cut suit and with the appearance of being a person who
could manage most situations.
'I was just thinking about how life is so short and how sad it
is to have to spend it talking business with men in suits,' he
said, a practised smile on his suntanned face.
'Oh, I do agree,' Linda simpered.
'So do I,' Adi said. 'But we are the wrong people to waste
the rest of your life on. Mr Young, my sister here is a twentyone-year-old
student. I am a twenty-three-year-old teacher,
we're probably not much older than your own children. Our
father has paid for us to have a nice dinner here while he tells
our mother that he wants a divorce. So you see it's a fraught
time. And really you would probably find it more fun with the
suits.'
'Such passion and strength in one so young and beautiful.'
Mr Young looked at the elder girl with admiration.
Linda didn't like that at all.
'Adi's right, we do have to go home,' she said and the

waiter's shoulders relaxed. Problems didn't always sort themselves
out so easily.

'And you just actually got out because she said "Get out"?'
Cinta was disbelieving.
'God, Cinta, what did you expect me to do? Take her by
the throat?'
'You said you'd ask her for the divorce.'
'And I did ... I did. We'll get it eventually. It's the law.'
'But not before the baby is born.'
'Does it matter when we get it, we'll both be here for the
baby? Isn't that what counts?'
'So no wedding?'
'Not yet, you can have the biggest, best wedding in the
world later.'
'Okay, later then.'
'What?'
'I said all right, it's hard for you. I'm not going to nag you.
Why don't you get that wine you were going to give her and
we'll open it now.'
'I left it there.'
'You gave her the wine, and left without the divorce? What
kind of clown are you, Alan?'
'I really don't know,' Alan Casey said truthfully.

Clara had met Alan when she was a first-year medical student
and he had been working for his first year in a bank.
Clara's mother said that there were very few people in the
world who did not make money while working for a bank.
Alan Casey, however, was one of these. He placed rather
too much faith in the more speculative and wilder aspects of
investment. They never had much material comfort. Alan was
always being pipped at the post for some house or some really
great property. Clara just saved steadily from her salary. She

closed her ears to the unasked-for advice from her mother and
her friends. This was her life and her decision.
Alan had always been the ambitious one: enough was never
enough and there had to be more. That came to include
women as well. For a time, Clara pretended it wasn't happening.
But then it became too hard and she faced it.
When Clara and Alan had split up officially, Clara made
sure that each of the three bedrooms should be furnished with
shelves and desks. This way they could all work in their own
space without interfering with the others. Downstairs was
meant to be a more general area. Clara's room was cool and
elegant. On one side of the room were her bed, dressing table
and large fitted wardrobe. The other half was a work station
with filing cabinets, but it looked like quality furniture rather
than cheap office supplies. She had a comfortable leather chair
and a good light. She opened a drawer and took out a large
box file called Centre. For three weeks she had been avoiding
looking at it. It brought home the realisation of all she had lost
and the small consolation that had been offered in return. But
this was the night she would attack it. Maybe after she had
watched the nine o'clock news.
When there had been a special offer on television sets in the
huge warehouse, Clara had bought three sets. The girls had
said she was behaving like some mad exhibitionist millionaire,
but Clara had thought it well worth the investment. It meant
that Adi could watch programmes about the planet being in
decline, Linda could see pop shows and she, Clara, could relax
with costume drama.
She reached around for the remote control but she remembered
that Dr Morrissey had always said that we found excuses
to put off doing something that would take our minds off
our worries. It was as if we didn't want to lose the luxury of
worrying. So she opened the large box and looked with some
small degree of pleasure at her neat filing system. There was


the documentation about the whole nature of the heart clinic,
what it was meant to do, how it would be funded, her own
role as its first director. There were her own reports of
educational visits to four heart clinics in Ireland and three in
Britain and one in Germany. Tiring visits all of them, wearying
hours touring facilities which would not be appropriate or
relevant to her own centre. Note-taking, head nodding,
murmuring approval here, asking questions there.
She had seen money scrimped here, money wasted there.
She had observed no planning, excessive planning, making do
with what was already there. Nothing to inspire her. Some
idiotic decisions like placing a heart clinic on a third floor in a
place without proper elevator access. Like the casual attendance
of staff on no regular basis. She had seen duplication of
files and reports. She had seen trust and hope among patients
who felt that they were learning to manage their disease. But
surely you could get that in any good GP's office or an outpatients
department.
Clara had taken notes on what she had liked and hated in
two different coloured pens. It would be easy to summarise
her findings. Then she saw a file called Personnel. The pool on
which she was allowed to draw, for assistance. She would need
the services of a dietician, and a physiotherapist. She would
need at least two trained cardiology nurses, the services of
a phlebotomist for taking bloods. They would have to have a
houseman or woman working there for six-month periods, a
system of referral from doctors and the general hospital. They
would have to get a campaign of public awareness going,
arrange interviews in the national press and on radio.
She had done it all before. When she had been at the
forefront, and that was when she was going somewhere. Or
thought she had been. Still, it had to be done, and she would
do it right. What else was she in this for if it weren't that?
She started to look through the files.

V>
Lavender. What a name for a dietician. But she had a good
CV, she said she wanted to specialise in healthy eating for
the heart. She sounded lively, young, dedicated. Clara put a
tick beside her name and reached for the phone. Might as well
start now. Okay, so it was nine o'clock at night, but this was
the girl's mobile phone. She would no doubt be surgically
attached to it.
'Clara Casey here, Lavender. I hope it's not too late . . .'
'No, of course not, Dr Casey, I'm delighted to hear from
you.'
'Perhaps we could have a chat tomorrow if you could come
to the centre. There's a sort of conference room there. When is
best for you?'
'I'm working from home tomorrow, Doctor, so any time is
fine.'
They fixed a 10 a.m. appointment.
Now she needed a physio but she didn't know how many
hours a week. She went through the applications to see who
was available for part-time. A big bluff face came through the
photographs. Square, reliable, not handsome, looked like an
ex-boxer, but there was something about his story that she
liked. He did a lot of work in inner-city clubs, he had been a
late student; the word 'mature' didn't really apply to him. He
had a lopsided grin. Great, she thought, I'm choosing staff on
their pictures now.
He answered his mobile first ring. 'Johnny,' he said.
Clara Casey explained and, yes, he could make eleven
o'clock, no sweat. It was going well. She lined up two nurses
and got the name of a security man as well. Tim. She rang his
mobile phone. A slightly American accent told her that he
would get back to her. If she was going to start to tear this
place apart tomorrow she would need someone to keep the
building safe.
To her surprise she heard the key in the door and the sound

M

1
of her two discontented daughters returning. They came in to
her room without knocking. That was something else that
annoyed her these days.
'What did he want?' Linda asked.
'Who?'
'Dad.'
'A divorce, he wants to get married again.'
The girls looked at each other. 'And?'
'And I told him to get out.' Clara seemed unconcerned.
'And he went?'
'Well, obviously. And did you have a nice night? No? Well,
he left you some wine downstairs. You could kill that, I
suppose.'
Linda and Adi looked at each other, confused. Their
mother's phone rang.
'Oh, Tim, thank you for getting back to me. No, of course
it's not too late. Could you come in tomorrow to discuss a
small security job? I am going to knock down a lot of walls
and leave a place wide open for a few days, so that will be full
time. After that it will just be on regular routine patrol. Fine.
Fine. See you then.' She smiled vaguely at her daughters.
They were uneasy. It had not been a hugely successful
dinner at Quentins, their father was going to marry a girl of
their own age, and now it appeared that their mother had
gone raving mad.

The next morning flew by. The interviews went remarkably
well. Lavender turned out to be trim and businesslike. She was
realistic about the number of hours needed to give dietary
advice. She suggested a weekly cookery class, and said it had
worked well when she had been in a clinic in London. A lot of
the patients had no idea how to cook vegetables properly or
make a healthy soup and were astounded at the possibilities.
Lavender was a no-nonsense person, a single woman in her

forties. She took two months off in January and February
every year and went to Australia but would arrange a substitute
herself. She would help Clara to set up the kitchen and
could start work in two weeks' time.
Clara found it very reassuring.
Johnny the physio was indeed big and bluff but seemed to
have huge reserves of patience. He said that heart patients had
seen too many movies where people clutched at their chests
and died in seconds on the floor. This made them terrified of
taking any exercise in case they over-exerted themselves and
brought on the heart attack that would kill them. Instead they
allowed their muscles to waste. He enquired whether Clara
would be able to wire the patients up to an ECG so that their
progress could be monitored.
'Doubt if they'll give me the equipment,' Clara said.
'We could make a case for it,' Johnny said and joined the
team.

Tim the security man had lived in New York for two or three
years. He had done a lot of hospital work there, so he knew
just what was needed. He could give it his full time for the
next couple of weeks as he was hoping to go into business on
his own and needed a couple of major satisfied clients. But he
didn't want to tread on any toes.
'Why aren't you using the existing hospital security?' he
asked.
'Because I want to run my own show.' Clara was equally
direct.
'And will they pay for it?'
'Yes, if you give us what those guys in the offices might
consider a fair quote. They love to think they're saving money.
It's all they care about.'
'Same everywhere,' Tim said pragmatically.
'You came back from America?'

'Yeah, everyone I knew out there worked fourteen hours a
day. All the people I knew here were wearing designer suits
and buying property in Spain. Thought I'd come back and
get a bit of that for me. I'm really no better than the men in
suits.'
'Glad to be back?'
'Not totally sure,' he said.
'Early days yet.' Clara was practical. She felt at ease with
this quiet man.

The first nurse she interviewed, Barbara, was exactly the kind
of person she would have hand-picked. Outgoing, direct and
very much on top of the subject. She answered the routine
questions about heart medication, blood pressure and stroke.
The second woman was older but not at all wiser. Her
name was Jacqui and she spelled it twice in case there should
be any misunderstanding. She said that she was applying for
the job so that she would have no evening or shift work. She
said that existing holiday arrangements would have to be
honoured. She said she would need an hour and a half for
lunch to walk her dog who would sleep peacefully in her car
once he knew that an extended 'walkies' was included in the
day. She said that her present job was like working in the
Third World. Most of the time was making yourself understood
to foreigners. Clara knew in moments that this woman
would not be part of the team.
'When shall I hear from you?' Jacqui asked confidently.
'Many, many more people to interview. I'll let you know in
a week.' Clara was clipped.
Jacqui looked around her without much pleasure. 'You'll
have your work cut out for you here,' she sniffed.
'Indeed, but isn't that where the challenge lies?' Clara felt
the smile stiffen on her face.

What Clara really needed, she discovered next morning, was
an extra pair of legs. Someone who could run and find this
form, leave in the other form, get the hospital building team
and the electricians to gather for discussions. But nowhere had
this pair of legs materialised. She would have to find her own.
By chance she found them in the car park. A thin girl with
long, straggly hair, carrying a chamois cloth, offered to clean
her windscreen.
'No thanks.' Clara was pleasant but firm. 'This isn't really a
good place to get business, mainly staff who don't care what
their cars look like or patients who are too worried about
themselves to notice.'
The girl didn't seem to understand her properly. She was
straining to get the meaning of the words.
'Where are you from?'
'Polski,' the girl said.
'Ah, Poland. Do you like it here?'
'I think yes.'
'Do you have a job?'
'No. No job. I do some things.' She indicated her cleaning
cloth.
'What else? What other work?'
'I go to houses to wash the cups and to clean the floors. I
put the leaves from the trees into big bags. I see little boys
clean car windows. I think maybe . . .' Her face was pale and
peaky.
'Do you get enough to eat?' Clara asked.

'Yes, I live up the stairs in a restaurant so I get one meal a
day.'
'Do you have friends here?'
'Some friends. Yes.'
'But you need work?'
'Yes, madam, I need work.'
'What's your name?'

'Ania.'
'Come with me, Ania,' Clara said.

There were lengthy and wearying conversations with builders.
The foreman told Clara that she'd never get all these changes
past administration. They hated change, administration did,
they feared open spaces, loved small individual rooms where
people could talk in private. Clara chose fabrics for the
curtains which would divide the cubicles, as well as blinds for
the windows. She looked through office furniture catalogues
marking desks and cabinets. The time flew by.
She sent the little Polish girl scampering all over the place
as she dealt with officialdom. Clara had typed out a letter
explaining that Ania Prasky was the temporary assistant to Dr
Clara Casey and put in every initial and qualification that she
possessed. They weren't going to get in the way of this battery
of achievement.

It was four o'clock in the afternoon and she hadn't even
thought about lunch. Ania must have had no lunch either.
She came running at Clara's command.
'Lunch, Ania,' she said briskly. Across Ania's face went a
shadow of anxiety.
'No, madam, thank you, but I work,' she said.
'A nice bite of lunch and good strong coffee and we will
work even better.'
The anxiety left Ania's face. Clara was going to pay for
lunch. A day's wages wouldn't be broken into. She looked just
like a happy child.
Clara knew that when Adi and Linda had been travelling
the world when they were eighteen kind people had often put
them up for the night or given them a good hot meal when
they needed one. It was a kind of currency, you were kind to
other people's young, they were kind to yours.

'Come on, Ania, this will put hair on our chests.'
'It will?' Ania was startled.
'No, not real hair. It's a figure of speech. Do you know
what that is?'
'Not really, madam.'
'Well, I'll try to explain it to you over lunch,' Clara said,
reaching for her jacket.

Frank couldn't believe that this woman had taken on so much
and so quickly. His desk was filled with forms, requisitioning
this, that and the other. It was a day's work to get through his
in-basket. Now he had an additional problem. He had heard
that a small Polish girl with large worried eyes had been seen
running around at least half a dozen times carrying more
information. This Clara Casey seemed to be taking her new
premises apart brick by brick. Each request or explanation was
accompanied by a personal note from her on her own headed
notepaper which she must have had printed practically overnight.
She referred back to 'our conversation' or 'our agreement'.
She was effectively making him part of her expansionist
plan. He would have to stop her now before he was dragged
down with her. Or else he could let her go ahead. Not the
kind of woman he liked, a real ball-breaker, but as a hospital
colleague intent on getting things done, she was unbeatable.
Frank decided to give her a day or two before stepping in.
Surely in the next forty-eight hours she would exceed her brief
so spectacularly it would be a case of self-destruct. In the
meantime he would write her a cautious meaningless letter
covering his back saying that all the plans would of course
have to be sanctioned by the board.

Barbara sank her teeth into the big hamburger. She had been
on a diet for six weeks and lost only six pounds. She had
promised herself a treat if she got the new job in the heart

clinic. She had been thinking of new shoes or a big classy
handbag. But it had been a long day and she hadn't the energy
to go to the shops. She was meeting her friend Fiona for a
celebration.
Fiona was envious. It sounded just the kind of job she
would have liked.
'But you didn't apply.' Barbara was furious with Fiona.
'You'd have got the job and we could have worked together
but no, you wouldn't fill out any forms.'
'I didn't know she was going to be nice, that it would be
open plan, that you'd have so much power. I thought it would
be a "Come Here, Do That" sort of job.'
'Well, it's too late now, she's probably hired some awful
battleaxe that I'll have to work with just because you wouldn't
fill in a form.'
'What's she like?' Fiona asked.
'Dark-haired, groomed, sort of good-looking in an oldish
way. A bit like that woman at the table over there. Hey, wait a
minute, that is her.' Barbara's hamburger remained poised in
the air.
'She's eating hereV Fiona was open-mouthed.
'Yes, and that's a girl from the centre, a foreign girl called
Ania, with her. How extraordinary!' Barbara shook her head in
disbelief.
'The woman has to eat somewhere I suppose . . .' but
Fiona was already heading towards Clara.
'Come back,' Barbara hissed, but it was too late. Fiona was
already talking.
'Dr Casey, please forgive me interrupting your meal but I
am Fiona Ryan. I work with Barbara over there who is going
to start working with you next week. I meant to apply for a
job there but I thought it would be a bit routine. Barbara has
been telling me all about it and it sounds brilliant. I was just

wondering was it too late to send you my CV. I could leave it
in tonight if you haven't picked anyone else yet.'
Clara looked and saw a pretty girl in her twenties with a
broad smile. She radiated confidence and encouragement.
Exactly the kind of person she wanted working with her. In
the background she saw Barbara trying desperately to discourage
her friend, but Fiona was having none of it.
'Barbara is embarrassed but I thought if I didn't ask you
now I'd never know.'
She looked bright and alert. It wouldn't hurt to read her
CV.
'Sure,' said Clara. 'Leave it in as soon as you can and a
phone number where we can get you. This is Ania by the way.'
'Hi, Ania. I'll leave you both to your food. Thank you very
much.' And she was gone, back at the table with Barbara who
was babbling abuse at her.
'Nice, isn't she?' Clara seemed to be treating Ania as an
equal.
Very flattered, Ania agreed. 'She has a big smile. Will you
employ her, madam?'
'Definitely,' Clara said. 'Now, Ania, will we have an ice
cream, do you think, or should we get back and get our clinic
up and running?'
'We go back now, madam,' Ania said. Lunch was good but
they must know where to draw the line.
At seven o'clock Clara paid Ania her day's wages. 'See you
tomorrow at eight thirty,' she said.
Ania's face was split in half by her smile. 'I work again
tomorrow?' she said, clasping her hands.
'Sure, if you'd like to. I mean you're trained now. But you
may have to do some cleaning and hauling furniture about. I'll
help you of course.'
'Thank you, madam, with all of my heart,' Ania said, 'and
for my beautiful dinner too. You are a very kind lady doctor.'

'That's not what they say about me at home,' Clara sighed.
'They say I am barking mad.'

Adi had brought her boyfriend Gerry home for supper. They
were eating soup and a salad at the kitchen table when Clara
came in. Adi got up to get some for her mother but Clara
waved it away.
'Just a coffee, love. I had a huge meal in the middle of the
afternoon. Burger and chips.'
Gerry sent out waves of disapproval. 'Meat! Very bad. Very
bad indeed.'
Adi was surprised. 'That's not your normal speed, Mum.'
'No, but things are far from normal these days,' Clara said,
taking her coffee upstairs. She knocked on Linda's door.
'Come in.' Linda was in bed and wearing a face-mask. She
looked like a mime artist or a child dressed up as a ghost for a
fancy dress party.
'Sorry, I didn't think you'd be in bed this early,' Clara said.
'No, this is just getting ready to go out. I'm off clubbing
around eleven, there's a new place opening tonight and I want
to be in the whole of my health for it.'
Linda looked at Clara as if expecting some rebuke or mention
of keeping anti-social hours. Surely her mother would say something about the lack of books and study. But you could
never second-guess Clara.
'When will you actually be earning any money, Linda?' she
asked mildly.
'I knew you'd start to grizzle.' Linda's face under the mask
was moving with annoyance.
'Who's grizzling? It's just a simple question.'
'Well, in a couple of years, I suppose,' Linda said grudgingly.
'Don't
you qualify next year?'

'Mother, what is this? Do you want to let this room or
something?'
'No, I'm quite happy for us all to live here. It's just that
today I met a lot of builders and electricians and plumbers--'
'And you're going off to live in a commune with them,'
Linda interrupted.
Clara ignored her. 'And I was thinking of having a second
bathroom built. But your warm, generous father is unlikely to
want to support this project, and I was wondering how to
finance it. Adi could give a little and I was hoping that next
year you'd be in a position to contribute too.'
'I was thinking of a gap year before settling down to work.'
'A gap between what and what exactly?' Clara asked.
'Don't take it out on me if you've had a bad day.' Linda
looked mutinous.
'I haven't had a bad day; actually, as it happens, I had a very
good day. I employed a girl who was about your age, she
worked from 9 a.m. until 7 p.m. like a little slave. I asked her
to come in and do the same tomorrow and she cried with
gratitude.'
'Bet she wasn't Irish,' Linda said.
'She will be one day, but at the moment she's Polish.'
'Aha!' Linda was triumphant.
'Oh, Linda, shut up, you don't know the first thing about
work of any kind and here you are bleating on about gap
years. You don't know how lucky you are.'
'I don't think I'm lucky at all, not even a little bit. My
parents hate each other. My father is going to marry someone
of my age. Think how that makes me feel. My mother is a
workaholic, bellyaching about the fact that I'm not out there
slaving for a living even though it was agreed I'd be a student. I
was here minding my own business having a sleep and you
come in and unload all this on me. Why not tell me about all

the starving orphans in China or India or Africa as well as the
Polish girls who are your slaves?'
'You are a truly horrible girl, Linda,' Clara said and banged
the door on her daughter's bedroom.

'What's all that shouting upstairs?' Gerry asked Adi.
'It's the real world, Gerry,' she said. 'It's the world of people
not getting on, not making allowances for other people, not
seeing anyone else's point of view.'
'It's all that red meat,' Gerry said. 'No good could come
from eating a dead cow in the afternoon.'

Next morning Clara was gone by the time Adi came down to
breakfast. There was no sign that she had eaten anything, and
no note left about evening plans. All that shouting last night
must have been more serious than it sounded. Adi went to
wake Linda who was not best pleased.
'You only need to close your eyes in this house and someone
barges in roaring and bawling,' she complained as she
struggled to wake up.
'What's wrong with Mum?'
'God, how do I know? She was like a bag of weasels last
night, complaining that I wasn't Polish, that I wasn't financing
a new bathroom, that I was still a student. She nearly took
the door off its hinges. She's coming unstuck I'd say.'
'What was it about, Linda?'
'I have no idea on earth. Maybe she's upset about Dad
wanting to marry Cinta.'
'She doesn't love Dad any more.'
'How do we know who she loves, she's totally deranged.
Now will you go away and let me sleep.'
'What about your lectures?'
'Oh, for God's sake, Adi, go away and poison young minds,
will you.'

Linda was back snuggled down again, deep in her bed. Adi
shrugged and left. There was no further information for her
here.

Little Ania was sitting outside the door of the centre.
'You did mean it, madam?'
'Indeed I did, Ania. I'll get a key cut for you today, so
tomorrow you can be in before me.'
'You will give me a key to this place?' Ania was astounded.
'Sure, then you can have the coffee ready when I get here.'
'We will have a coffee machine?' Ania said, excited.
'Yes, it will arrive today, meanwhile here's some money. Go
get us two huge coffees down in the precinct, and whatever
you think we should have for breakfast, something full of
sugar to give us energy: a croissant, a doughnut. Whatever.
One each.'
'This is a wonderful job,' Ania said and trotted off obediently.

The
day flew by again, the builders were a cheerful crew and
they worked fast. Soon the place was beginning to resemble
Clara's plan. Her own desk was out in the centre keeping an eye on all that happened. The nurses' station was waiting to be
fitted out from General Medical Supplies. The treatment beds
had arrived; small cubicles were erected with curtains made
from the material Clara had chosen. The waiting room was
painted and fitted with racks that would hold information
about heart care. There would be a water filter for patients and
a coffee urn.
Lavender's room had been prepared for the dietician; her
weighing scales would arrive later in the day, together with
one for the nurses' station.
The physio room was suitably bare; the equipment depended
on what Johnny and Clara could winkle out of the

establishment. Clara was pleased with progress so far. She
would show that Frank what she was made of. She was
surprised when Ania delivered her a salad sandwich at lunchtime
and another coffee.
'Let me pay you for this,' she said.
'No, madam, you gave me much money yesterday. Today I gztyou lunch.'
She looked so pleased and proud it wrenched Clara's heart
and made her even more annoyed with her own lazy daughter
who at this moment was probably sleeping off the effects of
last night.
'Have you everyone you need now, madam?'
'No, Ania, I still need an office manager. Someone who will
keep the payments in order. Someone who will cover my
back.'
'Cover your back?' The phrase was new to Ania.
'Yes. Keep me out of hot water, out of trouble.'
'Will this be a secretary?'
'Sort of, but they want me to have a young girl. That's no
use to me. I need someone who can stand up to monsters like
Frank Ennis and his gang. You can't expect a child to be able
to do that.'
'Do you think that you will win, madam?' Ania's eyes
danced with excitement.
'If I find the right person we can get her installed before
they are aware of it. The trouble is finding her.'
'You will do that, madam. I know.'
'You have more faith than I do, Ania.'
'Where would we be in life without faith?' Ania asked as she
went for a brush to sweep up cheerfully after the carpenters
and make them mugs of tea.

When the first week was nearly finished Clara knew that she
must go and meet the local pharmacist. She knew him to be

Peter Barry, a fussy sort of man of about fifty who had a
chemist's shop in the shopping precinct very near the centre.
He would be filling prescriptions for her patients once they
started. She must check that he was up to speed with the
various heart and blood pressure medicines that she would be
prescribing. She need not have worried.
Peter Barry was certainly on top of his work. Fussy or not
he had read all the recent research on new drugs and contraindications.
Clara felt briefly that she was back at medical
school being lectured to all over again.
'I wish you every success in the centre,' he said formally.
'It's badly needed, something that will make people realise
they can control their own heart problems.'
'Oh, yes indeed, it's long overdue,' Clara murmured. It was
the usual polite response she gave when told what a worthwhile
job it was. No one must suspect how much she resented
this backwater where she had ended up. She would do her job
as well as possible and then leave, but her smile was bright.
'You're right. If you could see patients clutching at their
little bottles of pills terrified that they haven't understood
which little magic potion will keep them alive. I try to be
reassuring but often they need to talk, to ask and learn, and
there just isn't the time.'
Clara was impressed. This man had more humanity than
she suspected.
'It's a lot of work, I agree. Do you have an assistant here?'
Peter Barry became prim again. 'There is always a qualified
pharmacist on the premises, Dr Casey, I assure you. But my
assistant is part-time. I had hoped, you see, that my daughter
Amy would join me in the business. But then, daughters!' He
shrugged.
Clara was sympathetic. 'What did Amy do instead?'
'Finding herself apparently. It's a long search.' Years of
disappointment were in his voice.

I



'Mine is talking confidently about a gap year. Another year
of being supported and having to make no decisions.' Clara
knew she sounded bitter. She hoped that her mouth was not
cold and hard like her own mother's was. But then maybe her
mother had every reason to be disappointed with Clara. What
had she achieved in life? Two sulky daughters, a broken
marriage, failure to get the cardiology job that everyone said
was hers. Possibly her mother was as disillusioned with her as
she was with Linda and as this man with his glasses on his
head felt about his daughter.
Peter Barry wasn't letting the topic go. 'What would you do
if you had your time all over again?' he asked.
Clara knew exactly what she would do. She would not
have married Alan. But then those two girls would never
have existed, and that was unthinkable. True, they had their
difficult moments but they were her children - she remembered
so well the day that each of them had been born. They
could be very good and loving; they were funny, too, and
tender. She wouldn't wish their lives away. And yet -- if she
hadn't married Alan, she would have the cardiology post
which was rightfully hers. But Clara had spent many years
hiding her true feelings and disguising her reactions. She
wasn't going to let down her guard and discuss it with this
man now.
'Lord, it's hard to know. What would you have done?' she
asked, putting the ball firmly back in his court.
Peter Barry had no hesitation. 'I would have married again
and made a proper home for Amy,' he said simply. 'Her
mother died when she was four. She has never known a
family.'
'It's hard to find someone to love and marry just like that.'
Clara shook her head. 'It's so much luck, isn't it?'
'I don't know. I really don't know. I think there are a lot of

people in the world who would make perfectly suitable mates,
companions, spouses, if we just put our minds to it.'
Clara murmured her agreement and left. She saw she had a
text message from Alan on her phone but didn't read it. Her
mind was already full with things that needed to be done or
worked out or avoided. She didn't need to think about Alan
as well. But at the end of the day she was ready to read his
message. She had achieved more than she thought possible.
The appalling Frank Ennis had come on an unexpected visit
expecting to find disarray and confusion and found instead
a near completed job. The floor covering had arrived, the
builders were cheerful and enthusiastic, the furniture was on
order and Tim, the security man, proudly showed off the
system he had chosen. The two nurses, Barbara and Fiona,
were busy planning their nurses' station.
Lavender had brought in her posters about healthy food.
Johnny had set up his exercise machines. And, best of all,
Clara had found her assistant.
She was called Hilary Hickey and she had come in to
enquire was there any part-time work. She was a qualified
nurse, phlebotomist and worked in hospital administration.
She was forty-nine, widowed, with one son. Because of home
circumstances she needed to be around the house a bit these
days so could not commit to full-time work. Before they had
finished talking Clara knew she was perfect for the job. But
she must curb her automatic response which was to jump in
with both feet before asking any practical questions.
'Are the home circumstances connected with your son?' she
asked.
'No, my mother. She's elderly and she lives with us. She
needs an eye kept on her. Someone to put a head around the
door and make sure she's all right.'
'Sure, sure. How is her health?'

'Sound as a bell. She'll outlive us all. She gets a bit confused
sometimes, but nothing to worry about.'
Hilary was full of energy and could turn her hand to
anything. She helped Ania, Clara and Johnny carry in a huge
machine that looked like a bacon-slicer but he assured them
was an arm exerciser. Hilary got on easily with everyone who
was there. And she was there when Frank Ennis arrived on his
tour of inspection. Clara could not have wished for a better
ally. She introduced them.
'Miss Hickey.' He nodded and shook her hand.
'Frank, how are you?' Hilary said cheerfully and Clara had
to put up a hand to hide her smile at the look on Frank's face.
He was so accustomed to being Mr Ennis and having huge
respect.
Frank looked with some mystification as Ania refilled his
coffee mug. 'And you are . . . exactly?'
'I am exactly Ania Prasky,' she said.
He glared at her, but it was clear she did not intend to mock
his form of speech. It was obviously unfamiliarity with the
language. 'And are you employed here?'
Clara intervened. 'I pay Ania from petty cash. I would
prefer to have it on a more regular basis,' she said.
'You pay her as what?'
'As a carer.' Clara didn't let her glance flicker.

'But there are carers in the wards to help the nurses, not
here.'
'We find that there will be a great need for a carer here.
Some patients will need wheelchairs, some will need assistance
to and from the bus stop, there is a need for coffee, for general
cleaning, making the place acceptable and attractive to those
who come here. We will need someone to go to and from Mr
Barry's pharmacy for those unable to make the journey. We
constantly need someone to go to and fro to the hospital to

4i
collect X-rays and to do general messages. There is work every
minute of the day, I assure you.'
'Oh, I'm afraid it will be quite impossible to get the hospital
to agree to that,' Frank began.
Clara saw Hilary's eyes narrow slightly. The fight was on.
'You see, Dr Casey, you already have Miss ... er . . .
Hickey here to help you. We can't expect to provide a bottomless
pit of employees--'
Hilary interrupted. 'But, Frank, a persuasive man like
yourself would have the hospital eating out of your palm in
no time and you needn't think that my knees are as young as
Ania here and that I'd get down and clean the floors, nor
would I spend the time when I could be helping to run the
place, so I am sure you'll see to it that Ania stays with us.'
It felt like ten seconds but Clara knew it could only have
been three at the most. Then he spoke. 'How much do you
pay her?' His voice was more like a bark.

'The minimum wage, but now that she has had a week onthe-job
training I would have thought--'

'Minimum wage!' he snapped and left.
Ania hugged them both and brought out the chocolate
biscuits. After all this goodwill Clara was able to face Alan's
text message. He wanted to meet her. He suggested a drink
after work, a meal even. She texted him back. He could come
to her house but he must bring no wine, they would talk for
an hour, there would be no rows, the girls would not be
dragged into it. If he agreed to that then he could come to the
house at seven.
Her mother rang just then to know if Clara would come
around and help her decide between fabrics for curtains. Clara
knew that this would be an unsatisfactory endeavour. Her
mother relished indecision. Nothing would be agreed, nothing
would be chosen.
'I can't, Mother, I have to meet Alan,' she said.


I



'To get rid of him finally, I hope,' her mother said crisply.
'Perhaps and perhaps not. We'll see.' Clara was mild.
'We have seen,' her mother snapped, 'and we haven't liked
what we saw.'
'Sure, Mother.' Clara hung up wearily.
Hilary looked at Clara who worked so hard and hoped that
she had planned a good evening out. But she was surprised
when she enquired.
'My tiresome ex-husband is coming around to the house to
ask, yet again, for a divorce,' Clara said simply.
'I'm sure you'll say yes and get rid of him,' Hilary said, as if
it was the most obvious thing in the world.
'Why should I make things easy for him?' Clara wondered.
'Because hanging on to him only makes things worse for
you. I must rush. Lord knows what my poor mother will have
got up to.' And she was gone.
Clara's friend Dervla phoned as she was driving home.
'He's coming round again this evening,' Clara explained.
Dervla had never liked Alan but she was usually reticent.
Not this time, she spared no feelings when she heard the news.
'I have been hearing that he's coming round or that he
hasn't come around for twenty-five years; Clara, give him the
bloody divorce. Get closure on the thing, for heaven's sake.'
'Thanks, Dervla,' Clara laughed.
'Have you thought he might be tiring of the new broad and
wants to come back to you?'
'No. I'm too old and hatchet-faced.'

'Would you have him if he did want that?'
'That's like talking about white blackbirds,' Clara said. She
wasn't going to go down that road.

At home Clara was relieved to find the house empty. It would
make things easier. She had a shower and washed her hair. She
had just dried it and put on a fresh pink shirt when she heard

him ring at the door. She offered him coffee and poured it out
for him. Black, as he always took it.
'Just a chat, Clara, like old times,' he pleaded.
'Not like old times. Old times were mainly a screaming
match if you remember.'
'Well, the very old times then.' He had a nice smile. She
would have to agree to that. He held his head on one side as if
he were convincing you to see things his way, which of course
she had done for years.
'What did we talk about in the very old days?'
'Work, the children, each other.' He found the answers
easily.
'Well, work is the safest. How's yours?'
'It's all right. It's tiring of course. Banking has changed.
There's just so much more pressure these days. And yours?'
He really did sound as if he wanted to know.
She told him about the Polish girl, Ania, and the new
assistant, Hilary Hickey. About the two cheerful nurses, the
physiotherapist, Lavender the dietician and Tim, the security
man. She even told him about the dreaded administrator Frank and Peter Barry the pharmacist. And yes, he did seem
interested.
Suppose he hadn't met this terrible girl Cinta. Could they
possibly have had a normal sort of life together? She tried to
get the thought out of her head. It wasn't going to happen.
And anyway, there had been others before Cinta and there
would be more after her.
He asked her questions about the people she described.
Questions that showed he was paying attention. She remembered
that about him. It had been easy to discuss her work
with him. Alan was a good listener. She had missed him when
she had to go it alone through the humiliation of being passed
over for the job. She refilled his coffee cup.
'You might meet someone in this new job,' he said softly.

'I must have met a hundred people this week,' she sighed.
'No, I meant meet someone. You know, I meant get
together with someone.' He was smiling enthusiastically.
Wishing her well in the great big frightening world of relationships.
She looked at him in bewilderment. Sometimes he
could be impossibly insensitive and thick.
'I don't think we should spend any time wandering around
that remote possibility. It's nice of you to wish me well but
actually I find it unbearably patronising.'
'Patronising? Me to you? You have to be joking! Clara,
you've always been the brainy one. You know that.'
'Leave it, Alan. Next thing, you'll be saying you married me
for my fine mind!'
'I did in many ways but also because you were and are one
of the loveliest women in the world.' He leaned over and
stroked her cheek. The sheer unexpectedness of it made her
flinch away.
'Alan, please!
'Now don't tell me that you don't feel something for me.
You're just lovely, Clara. Your hair is so fresh and shiny. You
smell like a flower. Come here to me. Let me hold you.'
Because she was so startled, Clara didn't fight him off as
quickly as she might have and there he was holding her face in
his hands and kissing her before she could struggle away.
'Are you mad?' she gasped. 'It's been five years.'
'Since you threw me out, but I never wanted to go. I never
went in my heart.'
'Are you telling me that Cinta has thrown you out too?' She
was looking at him in disbelief.
'Not at all, but she has nothing to do with this. With us.'
'There is no us, Alan, get off me.' She struggled but he held
her all the more firmly.
'This reminds me very much of the old days, Clara,' he said
into her ear.

She finally got away from him and ran across the kitchen,
putting a chair between them.
'What do you mean nothing to do with Cinta, you live with
her. She's having your baby, for God's sake. You're here to ask
me again for a divorce so that you can marry her.' Her eyes
were blazing with rage. 'What are you atV
'I'm trying to get you to relax. You're so tense and strung
up. Why can't you unwind and let me make you happy like I
used to. For old times' sake.'
He smiled at her, handsome Alan who was always used to
getting his own way. He hadn't changed. Alan who was
already as faithless to Cinta as he had been to her. Suddenly
like a focus in binoculars, everything became clear. This was a
man worth spending not one more minute thinking about,
second-guessing or trying to understand.
'Right,' Clara said briskly. 'It worked. You can go home
and tell little Cinta that she has the divorce and the prize of
you as a husband. And that you did it as you usually do by
suggesting that you screw me.'
'That's not the way I'd actually describe it,' he began to
bluster.
'That's the only way it can be described and will be described.'
'You're
not going to say anything to the girls.' He was
frightened.
'Adi and Linda will be only slightly more embarrassed by
the news than they already are by you having a child with a girl
who is the same age as they are.'
'Please, Clara . . .'
'Go, Alan. Go now.'
'You're just locking yourself away. You're still a fine
looking woman . . .'
'Go while you are still able to walk.'
Clara made a gesture with the chair as if she were going to

use it as a weapon. He backed out of the door and was gone.
She didn't feel outraged or insulted. She didn't even feel
patronised any more. She felt empty and foolish and ashamed
that she had spent any small moment hoping this worthless
man would tire of his mistress and come home to her.
Tomorrow she would start the divorce process.
What her mother, her daughters, her good friend Dervla
and her new assistant Hilary had not been able to make her
do, Alan had done himself. By his clumsy attempt to make
love to her, by his casual assumption that she would welcome
it, he had actually achieved what he wanted - a divorce. Or
maybe didn't want. But she would never know or care. She
had more important things to think about. And for the first
time since she had embarked on this new job, Clara felt it was
in fact the most important part of her life.
She would put Alan totally out of her mind and think
instead about what lay ahead tomorrow. She would be meeting
the new doctor and welcoming him to the clinic. He
seemed a very nice young man, good CV, red hair, a calm
manner - everything in fact you need for heart patients. His
name was Declan Carroll and Clara had a feeling he was going
to be very good.

Chapter Two



It was useless trying to tell his mother that it was a run-of
the-mill posting in the heart clinic. Molly Carroll was
telling everyone that her son had a huge new job as a head
cardiologist. Declan gave up trying to change her take on it
all. Anyway, her friends and family wanted to think that he
was a boy genius. It would be downbeat, pedantic and tedious
to explain that as part of his training in becoming a GP he
would need to do a stint in cardiology.
He had already done the six months in an accident and
emergency department, and the same in a children's hospital,
and when this heart clinic was over he would do a further half
year in geriatrics. Only then would he be considered experienced
enough to join a general practice.
He never knew whether his father understood the system.
Paddy Carroll was a quiet man who went to work in the meat
department of a supermarket, who had his pint every evening
and his three pints on a Saturday. He always said that it was a
miracle that young Declan had done so well. 'Your mother
must have slept with a brainbox for us to get you,' he'd say
admiringly.
Declan hated it. He wished his father wouldn't put himself
down so much. It would have made him much happier if only

his father had realised that Declan had got so far simply
because he had worked so hard.
Molly was cooking a breakfast that would kill an ox. 'You
never know when you might get to eat again, Declan,' she
fussed. 'They'll all be consulting you all day and asking your
opinion.'
'Or showing me the ropes and telling me what to do,'
Declan said, looking dismayed at the huge plate of food in
front of him.
Paddy Carroll looked meaningfully at Dimples, the big
sleeping dog. 'You won't forget to walk that dog before you
head off to work, Declan,' he said.
Declan got the message. He wasn't to upset his mother by
refusing the monstrous breakfast, but Dimples would make
short work of the sausages and black pudding. His mother
came round to give him a hug before she rushed off to open
up the launderette.
'I'm so proud of you, I could burst!' she said.
'Aw, Mam, sure it's all down to you and Dad, doing
overtime and saving for me.'
'I wish I could tell everyone who comes in today that my
boy is starting work as a heart specialist,' she said, her face
glowing with happiness.
Declan Carroll knew that she would tell everybody who
came in. She might even show them all a photograph of his
graduation, Declan in full gear, his freckles and ginger hair
making him look like an impostor, he always thought. There
were enlargements of this picture in three rooms of their little
house.
Dimples, who was partly Labrador and partly something
unspecified, was delighted with the unexpected breakfast. It
was fanciful but Declan thought that even the dog was proud
of him this morning. Just as well that none of them knew how
anxious he felt about his first day as a new boy. He must be

there in good time. It would be a very bad beginning to arrive
late. He patted the overfed dog on the head and got on his
bicycle to head off for the heart clinic. As he rode his bike
through the busy early morning traffic he wished there had
been someone just leaving the post, someone who could have
marked his card. But this was a new outfit. He would be their
first houseman, registrar, dogsbody. Or as his mother was
telling everyone already . . . senior cardiologist.

Declan locked his bicycle outside the clinic. He had been
asked to be there at nine thirty but he was half an hour early.
That rather cool, groomed woman, Clara Casey, had shown
him around when he came to discuss the position. It was open
plan. She had stressed no hiding away in offices. He would
have a desk of course and a filing cabinet but the emphasis
would be on getting the patients to manage their own condition
and to have everyone in the team involved.
She was good, Dr Casey; he had heard her spoken of as a
possible successor for the big cardiology job in the hospital
earlier this year but it hadn't happened. Maybe she didn't
want it. One thing she certainly had going for her, she wasn't
afraid of the hospital authorities. That would be a great asset,
Declan thought. He wondered would he himself ever be
courageous like that. Probably not. He was cautious by nature
and his parents were so humble it made him even more afraid
of putting a foot wrong. He remembered when he was back in
A&E and a young motorcyclist had literally died in his arms.
When he got home, still trembling, he was telling his mother
and father about it.
'They can't blame you for that, Declan,' Molly had said
firmly.
'There's no one can point the finger at you, son.' Paddy was
bursting with loyalty.
Neither of them seemed to understand that he didn't

SO
remotely think himself responsible for the death of a drunken
joy-rider. He just wanted some sympathy for holding a
nineteen-year-old as he breathed his last breath. He wanted
them to grip his arm and say, 'You are a fine fellow, Declan,
and you'll make a great doctor one day . . .' But instead they
had worried in case he was somehow at fault. It was hard to
be courageous and gutsy when all you had known at home
was fear that the supermarket might close its butchery department
and Dad would be unemployed or the launderette might
want someone younger and prettier than his mam.
But Declan was a good listener. He would soon get the
measure of this new place.
He hoped that he wasn't too early. It might look too eager,
too anxious. But the girl who opened the door seemed delighted to see him.
'I am Ania. I'm just getting your name label ready. You can
tell me how you like it.' She had a big broad smile and a
foreign accent.
'I suppose just my name,' he said, surprised.
'But I am about to write it, would you like Celtic lettering
or just bold print?'
'Are you the clinic calligrapher?' he asked.
'Please?'
'Sorry, are you a writing expert?'

'No, but Clara liked the badge that I did for myself and she
suggested I do one for everyone. She said they looked nicer
than the boring ones the hospital does which are too small for
older people to read anyway. She got me these special pens for
thick and thin strokes.'
'I'm sure the hospital loved that,' Declan said.
'No, they did not but Clara doesn't mind.' Ania seemed
very proud.
'Right. I'd love Celtic lettering please, Ania.'

5'
'Right. I'll do it now and by the time the others come in you
can have it on your chest. They'll know who you are.'
She seemed to be happy and enjoying her work. He had no
idea if she was a secretary, a nurse or a cleaner. It was a good
sign that she didn't see any need to explain. It meant that she
was part of a team. Declan relaxed and watched her confident
strokes as she drew out his name. DR DECLAN CARROLL.
His mother would just love it; maybe he could put it on the
photocopier and give it to her.
And one by one, the rest of the team came in.
Lavender the dietician, who congratulated Declan on
choosing to be a GP. Too many young men now wanted a
showy career as a consultant. Fine lot of help that was to
ordinary people who, like Kitty Reilly, needed a good doctor.
Barbara, a nice lively nurse, who said that this clinic was a
great place. It had only been up and running for two weeks
and yet you felt at the end of the day that you had done some
good, which was more than a lot of people must feel if you
were to judge by their faces. Barbara said that she started each
week with three resolutions: this week she was going to lose
four pounds' weight, she was going to frighten this barking
patient Kitty Reilly into learning the names of her tablets and
she was going to a charity do at a very smart golf club, because
she and her friend Fiona heard there were going to be some
unmercifully gorgeous men at it.
Hilary Hickey, who said she was Clara's assistant, welcomed
him and said he would be very happy here. There was
a kind of magic about seeing people who thought they were
finished and for the high jump when they had heart attacks
come round to realising they could cope with it after all.
There was a security man called Tim who said he only cameI
in for a short time each day, mainly to see that things were
functioning all right. He wanted to check if Declan would
have any drugs in his filing cabinet because if so there would


have to be extra precautions and lists and locks. Declan said he
thought it was highly unlikely. He might prescribe drugs but
people would go to the pharmacy to collect them.
He met Johnny the physiotherapist who told Declan that
he had high hopes for this place. That woman Clara had more
balls than most men in the business. There was absolutely no
money for machinery and she had gone and ordered it all.
Johnny had been almost afraid to unwrap it, so quickly did he
think that bollocks Frank what's-his-name in administration
would have repossessed it. But no, the cunning Clara had
given a press conference saying that it was all state-of-the-art
equipment and thanked the hospital publicly for its great sense
of commitment. Frank, the bollocks, now had no way out.
Declan noted that they all called the director of the clinic by
her first name. That was certainly different to his last posting
where people had been Mr this and Dr that and a huge
amount of pecking order and distinction was the norm.
'How about the patients?' he asked Hilary. 'Do we call
them by first names too?'
'We ask them how they like to be addressed. Clara says they
all want to be on first name terms but often their children get
sniffy and think we are being too familiar.' It made a lot of
sense to Declan.
At that moment Clara came in, tall, dark and very
groomed. The first thing you'd notice about her was that she
took care of herself. The second was her smile. She made you
feel that you were the one person in the world that she had
been looking forward to seeing.
'Declan Carroll. Welcome. Welcome. I'm so sorry I wasn't
here to greet you. I had a meeting with some Neanderthals up
in the hospital. You have to go to these meetings or they'll
decide something ludicrous behind your back. Anyway, I'm
here now. Have you met everybody?'
'Oh, yes, yes indeed.'

'And you're ready to start?'
'Yes, absolutely.' He wondered would he ever have the
confidence and polish of this shiny woman.
'Good. Off we go.' And she turned to the left where there
were three treatment cubicles. Each one was brightly lit with
cheerful curtains separating each area and giving some privacy.
There were reclining chairs which turned into beds should the
doctor need to make the patient lie down. They stopped at the
first one, where an elderly woman peered at them suspiciously.
'This is Dr Declan Carroll, Kitty. And Declan, this is Mrs
Kitty Reilly. You'll see her chart here. She's in fine shape and
needs to come in to see us every three weeks. Declan will listen
to your heart and breathing, Kitty. I'll leave you in his hands.'
'What happened to the other doctor, the fellow who was
here last time?'
'That was Sulong. He was only filling in until we got
Declan,' Clara explained.
'Was he a qualified doctor, did he train properly out where
he came from?'
'Yes, indeed, he was very highly qualified in Malaysia. But
he was just helping until Declan was able to come to us.'
'How are you, Mrs Reilly, or will I call you Kitty? Tell me
which you prefer.' He felt rather than saw the look of approval
from Clara.
'Well, since you are going to be feeling my vest and everything
I think you should call me Kitty,' she said almost
grudgingly.
'Yes, Kitty, and what medication are you on?'
'Lord, you're as bad as that bossy nurse Barbara, she's
always asking me do I know which tablet this is and which that is. I suppose I'm on whatever this place put me on.'
'It's useful for you to know what you're taking, Kitty.' Declan had a persuasive smile.
'I don't see why.' Kitty Reilly's face showed someone

looking forward to a lengthy argument. 'That's the clinic's
job, isn't it? Mine is just to take them.'
'Ah yes, but suppose you were feeling short of breath and
rang us up, we might say take a diuretic, a water pill, you
know, but it wouldn't be any use if you didn't know which
was which.'
Kitty's scowl had lessened a little. 'Learning the tablets is
actually for me then?'
'It certainly is, Kitty. Here, show me your pill box. I'll go
through them with you, if you like.'
'You won't make me learn them like a child at school?'
Kitty looked defensive and for a moment a little frail and
vulnerable.
'Of course not. Let's put them out on the table.'
'This won't take away from the time listening around my
vest?' She wanted to make sure she was getting value.
'Not at all, there's all the time in the world,' Declan said,
the soul of reassurance.
'One thing though.' Kitty's eyes were bright. 'Where do
you stand on Padre Pio?'
'On what?' Declan asked, bewildered.
'You must have heard of him, he had the stigmata.'
Dimly, Declan remembered his mother talking about this
priest in Italy somewhere who had wounds like Our Lord in
his hands and feet and side.
'He was a truly great gentleman,' he said.

'I'm not sure he was a gentleman.' Kitty would fight with
her shadow.
'But he was gentle. Surely he was a gentle person? Now let's
have a look at all these pills, every colour of the rainbow here.'
Clara left the cubicle. She had a smile on her face. This
Declan Carroll had been a good choice, he had the makings of
an excellent doctor, and she would enjoy teaching him a lot
about cardiology while he was here.

In the next cubicle, Barbara was taking Mr Walsh's blood
pressure. He was 'Mr' because his wife had said that she found
it offensive and patronising to hear young girls addressing her
husband as 'Bobby'. Mr Walsh was a patient man. He had
always wanted an easy life, he told Barbara, he was happy now
that he was retired. He had a son, Carl, who was a school
teacher and very happy in his work. Bobby did a little painting,
mainly watercolours, he went fishing, he spent long happy
hours in the library. His wife wished they would entertain
more but mercifully the heart specialist who had referred him
to this clinic said that he was to stay quiet. Barbara sighed.
Good, decent gentlemen like this were always married to
dreadful old rips like Mrs Walsh. It seemed to work that way.
Sometimes it did in the opposite direction too. Think of all
the time and tears her friend Fiona had wasted over that loser
Shane, who was now in jail somewhere for drug dealing. Fiona
never gave a backwards glance, mercifully. Still, it had been
fairly horrific at the time.
Barbara had never really been in love. Well, not in the sense
of settling down for life with someone. But that would all
change when they went to this glamorous gathering at the end
of the week. It was a celebrity auction. Really famous people
were going to come to it and you could bid for a well-known
singer to come and do a number at your party, or a chef to
cook you a dinner, or an artist to paint your house or your
garden.
Barbara had heard that the style was going to be something
out of this world. She had got two free tickets from a patient
of hers, a young fellow who worked in a bank. She told some
of this to Mr Walsh who said that these young men would
have to be blind and mad not to see how beautiful Barbara
and Fiona were. Fiona and Barbara were going to knock them
all dead, he said.
Fiona was not at the hospital today: Clara had thought it a

good idea to send her to a pharmaceutical conference. Some
firm was having those involved in cardiology to a lunch at one
of the big hotels. She called just as Barbara was back at her
desk and thinking about her.
'Are you busy?' Fiona asked.
'Not really, just lying down, feet on the desk, sipping a
Tequila Sunrise,' Barbara said.
'Okay, you're between patients. Who have you got?'
'Let me see. Nice Mr Walsh, mad Kitty, a few new people.
That nice woman with the yapping dogs rang, she's coming in
tomorrow.'
'Oh yes, that's Judy, but isn't she better to have the bloody
Jack Russells than to have nothing?'
'I'm not sure,' Barbara said broodily.
'And how about your resolutions?' Fiona said.
'I only had an apple for lunch. But you won't believe this:
remember I was going to teach Kitty Reilly her tablets today
or take her by the throat?'
'Yeah, and did you?'
'No, the new doctor had got there first. She knew which
were beta-blockers, which were heart medicine. She pointed
out the diuretics to me as if I were soft in the head.'
'He must be something, the new doctor.'
'Nice enough fellow. Declan is his name.'
'Well, I'll see him tomorrow. Got to go now. They're
serving lobster with lunch. I don't want to miss out on it.'
'Lobster?' Barbara cried. 'Does it have a big creamy mayonnaise?
Or hot butter? God, I'd love lobster.'
Declan was passing by, and heard her. 'No you wouldn't,
Barbara, you'd hate it, rubbery texture, swimming in grease,
think of your resolution.'
'God, who was that?' Fiona whispered.
'The new fellow, you'll meet him tomorrow.'
'Can't wait,' Fiona said and hung up.

Declan cycled home. His route took him through some of the
fastest-changing areas of the city and he never ceased to be
surprised by some new aspect that he hadn't ever noticed
before. He passed an open market which used to sell cabbages
and potatoes, but now where people from faraway lands sold
Indian silks and exotic spices; then there was a huge block of
luxury apartments that had suddenly sprung up on the site of
-- what? He couldn't remember any more. He felt the usual
triumph at having moved faster than the almost stationary traffic; and then he was home, back in St Jarlath's Crescent. His parents were delighted to see him back and sat at the
table asking questions about his day. To please them he made
his role seem more important than it was. He asked his
mother about Padre Pio. She told him much more than he
needed to know. He asked his father about his day at the meat
counter. Paddy Carroll shrugged his shoulders. It had been
just like any other day, he said, big rush with a crowd wanting
attention one moment, and then a valley period where there
would be nobody. Declan ate his two lamb chops and tinned
peas. He thought about the laughing nurse and her friend
talking about lobster. He wished that he had a more exciting
social life. He looked down a road where he and his parents
would live here forever with only one change. He would
eventually make the meals for the three of them because they
wouldn't be able to do it any more.

Next morning, Declan cycled to the clinic again. This time he
was looking forward to it without anxiety and today everyone
knew his name. The patients were filing in and chatting away
in the bright, cheerful waiting room.
His first patient was a woman called Judy Murphy who
told him that she had no worries whatsoever about herself.
She would be fine, just fine, but they wanted her to go into

hospital for three days' observation. The problem was the
dogs. She had two little Jack Russells and who would look
after them? She couldn't afford an expensive kennel and
anyway the dogs would pine. Her neighbour would open tins
of dog food twice a day but wouldn't take them for a walk.
The dogs needed their walkies. She couldn't go to hospital.
Perhaps she could have stronger medication. She was fine. Her
thin, worried face looked at him as he went through her notes.
Persistent angina attack, wild fluctuations in blood pressure.
Declan Carroll's eye fell on her address. Judy Murphy lived a
few short streets from where he lived himself.
Til walk them,' he said.
'You'll what?'
'I'll take them for a walk every evening. I take our dog,
Dimples, for a walk, we'll go together.' He saw some hope
return to her face.
'Dimples?' she enquired.
'A huge, lovable, neutered near-Labrador. Your fellows will
love him. He's like an enormous pussycat.'
'Doctor, you wouldn't, would you?'
'Declan,' he corrected her. Til start tonight.'
'But I'm not going to hospital tonight, surely?'
'No, Judy, but you should go tomorrow and this way they
get to know me and get to meet Dimples. I'll come round to
your place at eight o'clock. Now you go and check in with
Clara, then Ania will get in touch with admissions and you'll
be as right as rain.'
'You're the very best, Dr Declan,' Judy said.

Clara was delighted with him too. 'I've been bringing that
woman in here three times a week just to keep an eye on her.
Now you've got her to do what the rest of us couldn't. Is there
a St Declan by any chance? If not, you could be the first.'
'There's meant to be a St Declan but I didn't ever find out

much about him. In the dictionary of saints it goes straight
from David to Demetrius so I sort of gave up on him. Anyway,
my mother had me baptised Declan Francis to be sure, to
be sure.'
Clara laughed. 'Well, she's right to cover all options,' she
said. But Declan wasn't listening. He was looking at the girl in
the dark trousers and white jacket which was the clinic's
uniform. A girl in her early twenties kneeling down beside an
elderly man, helping him fill in a form. She had long lashes
and a perfect smile. She was the most gorgeous girl he had ever
seen. For the first time in his life Declan Carroll felt what he
had read about and sung about and dreamed about. He ached
to get to know her properly, this beautiful Fiona. For the first
time since he was fourteen he wished he was tall and dark
and broody-looking, rather than square and red-haired and
freckled. Who in their sane senses could fancy him?
Fiona looked up from filling in Lar Kelly's form and saw
Declan with his brown eyes looking right at her. She would
have had to be blind not to have noticed the admiration in his
look. This must be the new guy, the one who had got Kitty to
learn her tablets, the one who had made Judy agree to go into
hospital. What kind of guru was he?
'Declan,' she said, 'welcome to the asylum.'
'Is this an asylum?' Lar looked up anxiously. He was a
small, round man with a bald, egg-shaped head and a bow tie.
'Sorry, Lar, of course it's not, it's just a disrespectful way of
talking about our workplace. Declan, this is Lar Kelly. He is a
fund of information. He tells me something new every single
visit. I want him to come in every day.'
'What did you tell Fiona today, Lar?' he asked.
'You know who I am?' She had totally forgotten she was
wearing a name badge.
'Indeed, I do. I know what you had for lunch yesterday.
You had lobster,' he said.

'Aren't you great.' She seemed pleased.
'You didn't tell me you had lobster.' Lar was aggrieved.
'No, I hadn't got round to it. There was only very little
actually, a bit cheapskate, I thought.'
Declan wanted to talk forever. 'So what was the new thing
today?'
'Lar taught me the offside rule in soccer,' Fiona said.
'You know the offside rule?' Declan's jaw fell open in
admiration. Hardly anyone could explain that to you.
'Lar said that it's in order to stop players hanging around
the goal of their opponents waiting for a long ball to come to
them. You're offside if when the ball is passed to you, you're
nearer the goal than the ball and the second last defender.'
'You should be a sports commentator,' Declan said, awestruck.
Lar
joined in. 'Her memory isn't all that good. You
wouldn't want to test her on terms like URL or html. I don't
know how she works a computer at all. Our lives in their
hands, it would frighten the wits out of you.'
Fiona wasn't at all put out by this. 'I did remember what a
vole was. I never knew when I came across them in books were
they good or bad. I don't think we have them in Ireland. But
anyway, Lar said that vole was a name for any number of
blunt-nosed, short-eared mouse- or rat-like rodents.'
'Is that good or bad?' Declan asked.
'Very bad, I would think. Come on, Lar, we'll never get this
form finished.'
'I like to read documents carefully,' Lar said.
'Yes, but it's an X-ray form, Lar, and this question, it's
asking are you pregnant?' Fiona's eyes danced at the two
men.
'You can't be too careful,' Lar said.
With a great effort Declan dragged himself away.

Declan realised that Fiona was utterly enchanting and that he
didn't stand a chance with her. He looked at himself in the
mirror of the clinic's cloakroom. A great round face looked
back at him with a topping of awful ginger hair. Maybe if his
hair wasn't so terrible he might have some hope?
Yesterday, cycling home, he had passed a row of smart
shops which had included a very expensive hair salon. Today
he would call in there and discuss his hair. It couldn't do any
harm.
The place was full of black marble and chrome and glass.
'Could I have a consultation?' he asked.
'Sure, you can consult me. I'm Kiki, one of the stylists,' said
the girl with the long black hair, heavy white make-up and dark purple nails.
'Thanks, Kiki, should I sit down or something? What could
I do with my hair?' he asked.
'What do you want to do with your hair?'
'That's why I need to consult. It can't stay like this.'
'Why not?' Kiki yawned a terrible yawn showing the back
of her throat.
'Well, it's desperate,' said Declan.
'Is it falling out or something?' Kiki asked.
'No, it's not falling out, but it's like a pot scrubber or
something. It's desperate.'
'I don't see anything wrong with it,' Kiki said.
'It's ludicrous.'
'Naw, it goes with your face. It's fine.' Kiki said she thought
the consultation was over.
'I thought you were meant to attract business, not turn it
away,' he said.
'Mister, you're fine. What's the point in my suggesting
some kind of treatment or colour or streaks or frosting or
something that would set you back hundreds of euros when you re fine as you are. How often do I have to tell you?'

The manager, not liking the sound of raised voices, edged
over slightly. 'Everything under control here?' he asked.
'Yes. Kiki has been very helpful. I'll come back next week,'
Declan said, moving for the door.
Kiki went and held it open for him. 'Thanks,' she said. 'It's
just I hate them making money out of people like you. People
who haven't a penny to their name.'
Declan unlocked his bicycle. Did she think he was poor
because he was riding a bike? His mother thought he was a
heart consultant. Neither of these things mattered very much.
What mattered was what Fiona thought he was. And the other
thing that mattered was that she wouldn't meet anyone at
the charity gathering on Friday, anyone who would take her
fancy.

Judy Murphy's little Jack Russell terriers were no trouble.
They got on very well with Dimples, who ignored them loftily
and pretended he wasn't with them at all. Declan talked to the
dogs as he brought them to the park. Told them about Fiona
and how beautiful she was. How sharp and funny. She had
travelled too, lived in Greece once, even. She shared a flat with
Barbara but she went to her parents' house a lot as well. She seemed to like him, Declan told the dogs, but you never knew
with women. The problem was if you spoke too soon you
might make an eejit of yourself, if you spoke too late she
might have met someone at this terrible charity do. Declan
told them that it was much easier being a dog if they only
realised it. The Jack Russells agreed with him in supportive
barks. Dimples looked disdainful. Then Declan heard a shout.
'Glory be to God, there you are talking to that pack of
hounds and there's not a word out of you at home.' It was his
father. Paddy Carroll was on his way to the pub for his
evening pint. 'Come on and join me, and bring that troop of
huskies with you, we can sit outside on the footpath.'

'I don't want to be going in on top of you and your friends,
Dad.'
'Sure, aren't I proud of my son, the Dog Walker.' His
father laughed. 'And maybe you could tell me about this girl
you fancy.'
'What girl?'
'Decco, I know that fifty-seven seems very very old to you,
but I haven't forgotten what it was like. I was all over the place
like you are now when I first laid eyes on your mother.'
Declan hoped his father wasn't going to tell him anything
embarrassing or intimate. He couldn't take it just now. But
Paddy Carroll seemed to be taking a pleasant trip down
memory lane. 'It was 1980 and the real hit song was "Your
Eyes are the Eyes of a Woman in Love", and I saw your
mother. She had a red velvet skirt and a white blouse. And
when we had been dancing for the whole night and I knew
this was right, this was the real thing, I said, "Are they?" and
she said, "Are they what?" and I said, "Your eyes, Molly, are
they the eyes of a woman in love?" '
'And what did Mam say?' Declan was engrossed, in spite of
himself.
'She said that they might be, that only time would tell, but
hadn't we plenty of time. Do you know, Declan, I couldn't
sleep for a week, and how I didn't cut off my full set of fingers
at work I don't know.'
'How soon did she know about whether she was in love
or not?' Declan could hardly believe he was having this conversation.
'Eight weeks,' his father said.
'And did you play hard to get or anything?'
'No. I'd be no good at that sort of thing. I have too open a
face. And if you want my advice, for what it's worth, Decco,
neither would you. I think honesty is our long suit. Decency,
you know, reliability in a world of sharks.'


'I'm sure you're right, Dad.' Declan had never sounded so
unconvinced.

'Declan, to celebrate finishing your first week here and surviving
it, will you have a drink with Hilary and me tonight?'

Declan was pleased but he had kept hoping that in some
way he could have wangled himself a ticket to this charity do.
He had even found a dress hire place that stayed open late so
that he could grab a tuxedo if it were called for. He knew it
was foolish but he had the most awful foreboding that Fiona
was going to meet the love of her life at this golf club. And he
had loved her since Tuesday. Yes, it was love like his father
had felt for Mam. Something that had developed in a short
time because you knew it was right.
'That's very kind of you, Clara, can I just call my dad and
ask him if he'll walk the dogs for me tonight?'
'Do you still have Judy Murphy's awful little things every
night?' Clara was admiring.
'They're not too bad when you get to know them. They're
deafening, of course, but that's their way.'
'You're a very tolerant young man,' Clara said approvingly
and they both went back to work.

Barbara and Fiona had been to the hairdresser's during their
lunch hour. When Declan saw them at the staff meeting that
afternoon he longed desperately to curl his fingers around the
little ringlets beside Fiona's ears. He pulled himself together
sharply. He must be going mad. He cleared his throat three
times before he felt confident enough to wish them happy
hunting at the gala tonight.
'We'll hear all about it on Monday,' he said, hoping that
the yearning wasn't obvious in his voice. She must not know
how desperately he wanted her not to go.

'I'll be able to report first hand,' Tim the security man said.
'I'll be working there tonight and I'll have chapter and verse
about what went on.'
Declan wondered for one mad moment if he could beg
Tim to ensure that Fiona came home early, safely and alone.
'So can I report,' Ania laughed. 'I will be taking in the coats
there.' Barbara and Fiona were delighted with this news and
jumped up and down with excitement.
'Maybe you'll meet someone too,' Barbara said.
'Not in the cloakroom, I fear.' Ania was realistic.
Somehow Declan got through the rest of the day. With a
heavy heart he went out to join Clara at her car.
'Hilary had to cancel at the last moment. She's got some
crisis to do with her mother, but let's you and I go anyway,'
Clara said. They folded his bicycle away and she drove off to a

smart wine
bar.





'This is very kind of you,' Declan said, trying to drag his
attention to this amiable woman sitting opposite him.
'No, on the contrary, I am grateful to have a pleasant
person to talk to on a Friday evening rather than going home
to an empty house,' she said.
Clara ordered a fizzy water, followed by one glass of white
wine, then another fizzy water. Declan had three glasses of
claret. Clara told him of her daughters, Adi and Linda, of
Adi's difficult boyfriend and Linda's difficult lifestyle. She told
Declan how she now had rules in the house, for their own
good as well as hers. They must realise that they could not
walk forever over people.
'I don't expect you walk over your parents, Declan,' she said
unexpectedly.
'I have probably taken all their sacrifices for me very much
for granted,' he admitted. 'I think we all do. Did you?'
And there she was again, talking away about her remote

I



father who never seemed at all interested, her difficult disappointed
mother who snapped out a series of criticisms
rather than having a conversation.
'What one word would you use to describe her?' Declan
asked.
'Regretful. That's the word. She always regrets something. Like that nobody has any manners any more, or how expensive
everything has become, or that I married Alan or that I
left Alan, that Adi has a boyfriend and Linda doesn 't have a
boyfriend. Whatever state there is, it's wrong. I didn't realise it
before.' She looked surprised.
'Maybe I should be a psychiatrist,' Declan joked. 'Don't you dare. You're just the kind of GP we used to read
about but never met. Stick at it, Declan.'
'I will. I wish I weren't so dull and plodding though.'
'I don't think of you at all like that. You've helped a lot of
patients very significantly in under a week. You actually like
people and it shows. What's dull and plodding about being
that sort of person?' She sounded sincere.
'Women prefer rats, bounders, merciless people.' He kept it
light.
'Yeah, they do for five minutes, not when they grow up.'
'I hope you're right. I'm not much good in the merciless
stakes.'
'I'm right. Trust me.'
'Let me get you one for the road,' he offered.
'No, Dr Carroll, and you remember this, never encourage a
driver to have a drink.'
'I forgot,' he said, shamefaced.
'Okay, and I think after all that claret I shouldn't leave you
in charge of a bicycle, I'll drive you home.'
On the way back he saw his mother locking up the launderette.
Molly had two late evening shifts and the money was still
going to a fund to buy a place in a practice for her son.

'That's my mam,' he said, 'can we give her a lift home?'
And Declan sat in the car while his mother told Clara Casey,
his boss, what a wonderful cardiologist he was and how he was
destined for great things.

On Monday, while Declan was examining Bobby Walsh he
asked about his painting. Did he prefer watercolours or oil?
Apparently Bobby Walsh liked watercolours.
'Why is that?' Declan asked.
Lar was listening from the next cubicle. 'You should train
your mind to learn something new all the time,' he said
reprovingly. 'Even that young Fiona, and she's only a brainless
little nurse, she manages to get new facts into her head all the
time.'
Declan burned with resentment about Fiona being dismissed
as a brainless little nurse. But he didn't show it. It was
early in the day. Too early to get upset. Soon, only too soon,
he would hear how they had fared at the charity function.
'Wonder how the girls got on at that do,' he said to Bobby
Walsh as he took the man's blood pressure.
'My wife was there. She said the place was swimming in
alcohol,' Bobby Walsh said, glad to be of service.
Declan moved on to Jimmy, a small, foxy man from the
west of Ireland. He had come up to Dublin for a football
match, had a heart attack and been taken into St Brigid's.
They had asked him to have follow-up treatment when he was
discharged. Jimmy was a very shy, private person who preferred
to come the whole way across the country to attend this
clinic rather than let any of his neighbours get to hear that he
had heart problems. Declan could hear Fiona two cubicles
away talking to Kitty Reilly.
'Well, Kitty, you're the sharp one. I'll have to watch out for
my job here. You know more about your medication than I
do. Now I imagine the doctor will want to talk to you about

68

I
that breathlessness, but it went when you took the right tablet,
didn't it?'
'I had a word with Padre Pio as well, it wasn't just the
tablets.'
'No, Kitty, it never is. There are so many other factors out
there.' Fiona was the soul of diplomacy.
Declan tried to learn something from her tone. Had she
spent the weekend in some playboy's penthouse? Had it all
been a washout? Impossible to guess. Kitty was in full flight.
'Still, I'll listen to that nice young doctor with the ginger
head on him. Is he a family man, would you say?'
'Oh, bound to be,' Fiona said, 'the nice doctors always
are. Married to ruthless shrews with spectacles and research
projects.'
Declan's face broke into a huge smile. She thought he was
one of the nice doctors, she thought he was married. Ah, dear
Lord, there might be a hope for him still. At lunchtime he
asked her out. Declan Carroll, who had never asked a girl out
properly on a date because there was never enough money or
time or confidence.
'Would you like to come out and have dinner with me
one night this week?' It sounded quite a normal thing for a
person to say, yet it echoed in his ears as if he were in some
huge cavern. Maybe she would laugh and tell him to have
some sense. Maybe she would say no, that she had a new
relationship but thanks all the same.
'That would be great,' she said and sounded as if she meant
it.
'Where would you like to go?'
'Take me somewhere you like,' Fiona said.
Declan's mind went blank. Where did he like? He didn't know anywhere. He went home to his mother's kitchen table
for supper in the evening. How sad was that. He had seen
an article in one of the papers recently about a place called

Quentins. It was 'tiber elegant' they said. Uber? Over elegant?
Maybe that meant pretentious. Still, it was the only place he
could think of.
'Quentins?' he suggested, amazed that his voice sounded
normal. In his own ears it felt like a screech.
'Gosh,' Fiona said, impressed.
'That okay then?' He must sound casual.
'And there's no Mrs Declan is there?' she asked.
'No. No, there'll be just the two of us,' he stammered.
'I didn't think you'd be inviting her to dinner,' Fiona said.
'No, no, of course not. I mean there isn't one, a Mrs
Declan. Lord, no.'
'Good,' said Fiona and went off to sort out some blood test
results that should have gone to the warfarin clinic but had
turned up here instead.

Declan cycled home that day on a route which took him past
Quentins. It looked very imposing. Declan wondered was he
quite mad to have suggested this place. With any luck they
might be full and he could honestly tell Fiona that he had
tried. But no, when he called them on his mobile from round
the corner it turned out that they could easily find a table for
two. So he booked it, with a very heavy heart. Perhaps he
should go in and examine it, give himself some hint of the
familiarity he had claimed with the place. He pushed the door
open. It was quite busy. There was a good value 'Early Bird'
dinner there for people on their way to the theatre.
A handsome, middle-aged woman, who seemed very much
in charge, approached him; she was about to find him a table,
but Molly Carroll's shepherd's pie would be shortly on the
table at home.
'No, excuse me, I was just coming to have a look. You see, I
have never been here before, but I have invited someone to
dinner . . .' He realised that he sounded like a madman

coming in from the street. This woman would probably ask
him to leave and never allow him to be readmitted. What a fool he had been to come here and see the lie of the land. But
she seemed to accept his behaviour as normal.
'Of course you want to have a look at the place. Let me take
you on a quick tour. I'm Brenda Brennan, by the way, my
husband Patrick is the chef here. We'd be delighted to show
you around.'
'I'm Declan Carroll,' he said, hardly daring to believe that
he had been reprieved.
'Yes, of course, Mr Carroll, you rang a few moments ago;
let me show you the table I had in mind for you.' Dazed, he
followed her from the oyster bar, with all its crushed ice, to the
dessert display, with its fruit cascades tumbling from little
pillars. She pointed out the rest rooms, and took him into the
kitchen to meet Patrick and his brother with the odd name of
Blouse. Stunned by it all, he thanked her and said how much
he was looking forward to Thursday.
'You are very kind, Mrs Brennan, to take me on this tour. I
am afraid that I'm not what you'd call experienced at all this
fine dining.'
'Few of us are, Mr Carroll, but even fewer have the sense to
admit it. Is this a big occasion on Thursday?'
'It is for me. I have asked a most attractive girl out for the
first time, I hope it will be a success.'
'We'll do our best to make sure it is.' Brenda Brennan saw
him off at the door as if he was a regular and honoured client.
She saw him getting on his bicycle and heading off happily
into the traffic.
'Very nice young fellow,' she said to Patrick in the kitchen.
'Is he a doctor by any chance?' Patrick asked.
'Don't think so. He'd have said, they always do. Anyway,
he doesn't have the sort of over-confidence the medics have.
Why do you ask?'

'Oh, remember Judy Murphy said there was a young redheaded
doctor on a bike who was walking the awful hounds
for her. Could be the same guy.'
'I'd say Dublin is full of them,' Brenda said and they got on
with the evening ahead, but she thought she might check with
Judy next time she saw her.

Declan sat down to his supper. Molly watched anxiously as he
attacked the huge mound of food.
'Tell me things that happened today,' she begged.
It wasn't much to ask. Not after a lifetime of denying herself
everything so that he could get this far. But tonight Declan
didn't feel able to fill the room with aimless prattle about his
day as the white-coated Medicine Man. He answered a few
questions and seemed restless.
'Mush, mush, mush,' his father said unexpectedly.
'What do you mean, Dad?'
'I was wondering do you and your team of huskies want to
walk over and meet me at the pub later for a pint? That's what
you say when you're driving a dog sledge.'
'Aw, Paddy, don't be bringing the boy into awful shabby
pubs like that. It's hotel lounges and wine bars for our Declan
from now on at least.'
Declan looked at them helplessly. He could never let either
of them know that he intended to spend what his father
would take nearly a week to earn on one meal in Quentins
on Thursday night and that he had been in there examining
the Native Oysters and the Pacific variety so that he would be
able to make an informed choice when the time came.

If he only knew what had happened last Friday. He didn't like
to ask either Barbara or Fiona in case it made him sound like
an old woman. Maybe Ania, the Polish girl, would tell him.
Or Tim, who had been doing security for the function.


Ania said she didn't have a good time.
'Bobby's wife was there, very bad-temper, and I say hello to
her by name. So stupid. She was very angry, she said, "My
goodness, the Poles are everywhere these days, they're taking
over the country."'
'God, what a terrible woman, Ania, I hope you don't meet
many like that.' Declan was sympathetic but he still ached to
know more. 'Did Fiona and Barbara have a good time?'
'No, I don't think so. No, I know they did not. There was
something that was badly understood by two sides. What do
you call that?'
'A misunderstanding?' Declan suggested.
'Yes, I think that was it. A serious misunderstanding.' But
he heard no more.
When he found Tim, he learned that there was a very
snorty crowd there, lots of drugs. He had gone into the Gents
at one stage and saw a whole stack laid out for people to buy as
if it was an open market.
'What did you do? You were meant to be security.' Declan
thought that other people had very complicated lives.
'I went to the top security guy and he told me to shut my
face and look the other way. So I did, Declan. I'm not a one
man mission to clean up the country.'
'And Fiona and Barbara? Did they ... I mean, were
they . . . ?'
'No, they hadn't anything to do with anything. They left
early. They asked me to get them a taxi in fact.'
'Because of the drugs?'
'No, because the organisers thought they were party girls.
That's what he had expected, wanted, ordered when he gave
them the tickets. Jesus, what a night.'
Declan felt insanely cheered by this. It had all been all right.
He breathed deeply and that night the dogs seemed to sense

that he was more at peace with himself than he had been
before.

On the Thursday morning of the date, Declan woke excited.
Everything about this day was going to go well. He would be
positive and strong from the moment he got up.
He began at breakfast. 'I won't be home for supper tonight,
Mam,' Declan said.
'Who'll walk those animals then?' Molly asked to cover her
disappointment.
'Judy Murphy is out of hospital today, and Dad can take
Dimples to the pub.'
'And what are you doing that means you can't come home
for your tea?' Molly wasn't letting it go.
Declan had thought about this for a while. If he lied and
said there was a meeting, he was only putting off the day when
he had to tell them that he had found a girl. There was
nothing odd or unnatural about it. In fact it had been unnatural
for a man of twenty-six not to have gone out on dates
regularly.
Tm meeting a girl from work. We're going out for a meal.'
'A girl from work,' his mother said grimly.
'Yes, Fiona Ryan, she's a cardiology nurse in the clinic'
'A nurse,' Molly repeated.
'And is she a nice girl, Declan?' Paddy asked.
'Very nice.' He knew he sounded clipped but it had to be
done.
'And where are you going?' Molly was taking no prisoners
on this one.
'Oh, somewhere around, we're not fussy,' he lied, hoping it
didn't sound as unlikely as it sounded to him.
'Well, I hope you have a nice time. I have to go. Some of
us have work to do.' Molly went away, her stiff little body

74

1
showing the intense disappointment and hurt that she was
being relegated to very much second best.

Fiona said that she would meet him at the restaurant. Declan
wondered should he have suggested that he call for her in a
taxi. Was he being cheapskate? But Fiona said that the bus
went straight to the door of Quentins from her flat. 'It's not
often they get a customer coming off the bus,' she had said.
'Well, they got me getting off a bike on Monday,' he said
and could have killed himself.
'You go to Quentins twice in one week!' Fiona's eyes were
round with amazement.
'No, no. I just went in to book.' He was shamefaced.
'I'm just dying for it,' Fiona said with the same enthusiasm
that she had been dying for a coffee break, or lunch, or
something on television, or last week the big function that
had never been mentioned since.
How great to live life at such a high level of excitement,
Declan thought. He hoped that he wouldn't be too dull for
her. Too plodding. But then she didn't have to go out with
him.
Somehow he got through the day. Declan had never known
time to drag before but this day it did. He wondered did
Fiona feel even one little bit of anxiety about the evening
ahead? He was waiting outside the door of Quentins when
Fiona got off the bus. He had never seen her dressed up
before, only in the white and black hospital outfit. She wore
a sparkling sequin-covered jacket over a rose silk dress. She
looked stunning.
Brenda Brennan welcomed them in as warmly as if they had
been captains of industry, ambassadors or international politicians.
She offered them a glass of champagne on the house and
wished them a pleasant evening.

'How did she get to be like that?' Fiona whispered in
wonder.
'Women are better at it,' Declan said admiringly.
'Not all women. I wouldn't be able to do it in a million
years.'
'She wouldn't be able to do what you do every day. You're
terrific with people.' He was full of genuine admiration.
The waiter wondered would they like oysters. Fiona had
seen how much they cost and said that she thought she would
prefer a small salad to start.
'Do have the oysters if you like, Fiona.' He was so eager that
she enjoy herself.
'Honestly, I only tasted them once and I thought it was like
drinking a bit of sea,' she said.
Declan smiled with relief. The oysters were astronomically
expensive. He could breathe again now.
Brenda Brennan had supervised their meal from afar. She
never interrupted their conversation but she was always nearby
to refill the water glasses, the coffee cups, the bread basket.
When Declan paid the bill, Brenda Brennan said, 'Thank
you, Dr Carroll.'
'She knows you're a doctor.' Fiona was impressed.
'I didn't tell her, honestly,' he said.

'I know you didn't,' said Fiona. 'You're far too nice.'

The meal was over before they realised it. Declan said he
would get a taxi to take her home, but Fiona said it would be
pure madness. The bus still went to her door. She said she had
loved it and asked him would he come to supper at her mum
and dad's next week.
'Won't you have to check with them first?' Declan thought
about the sheer impossibility of ever inviting a guest to his
own home in St Jarlath's Crescent.

I



'No, why would I? Please come. Then you'll see me as I am
and if you like me we can go on going out.'
'I like you very much,' he said.
'And I like you too,' said Fiona.
Declan could see Brenda Brennan observing them with a
pleased smile on her face.

They were up at home when he got back. His dad's friend
Muttie Scarlet was with them.
'There's Declan coming in now.' Paddy Carroll was
pleased. Dimples raised his head from his paws in greeting.
'Declan was taking a young lady out, a nurse,' Molly
sniffed, still resentful and disapproving.
'Ah, isn't that grand now!' said Muttie.
'And what did you eat?' his father asked.
'We had a salad and some fillets of sole.'
'You must be starving,' Molly said, looking as if she was
going to get the chip pan out.
'No, no. We had lots of bread.'
'You could have had that at home.' Molly's hurt was plain
to see.
'And maybe one day we will. I'll ask Fiona to one of your
nice suppers, Mam. I'm sure she'd love that.'
'She would indeed,' his father said.
'I'd want plenty of warning before you even considered
bringing her back here.' Molly went red with excitement.
'This kitchen has to be painted for one thing. We have to get
a new surface for the worktops and maybe we should think of
opening up the front room and making it a dining room.'
'No, Mam, we'll eat here, like we always do. It's absolutely
fine.'
'Excuse me, but who will be putting the meal on the table? I
will. And I say the place has to be done up before we bring
strangers in here.'
The three men sighed. This is the way it was going to be.

Next morning, Jimmy arrived on time after a three-hour train
trip from Galway. He was looking very grey when Declan
brought him into the cubicle.
'Any pain at all?' Declan asked.
'Well, the usual, you know.'
Declan looked at his chart: there had been no mention of
pain anywhere in Jimmy's notes.
'Like sharp is it?'
'Like as if someone had a very tight belt around me and was
pulling tighter.' Jimmy was wincing.
'I'll be back in a minute,' said Declan, beckoning Fiona
who was nearby. 'Is Clara here?'
'No, she's having one of her confrontations about funding.
She won't be in until after lunch.'
Declan spoke quickly and quietly. 'I'm getting an ambulance
over here from A&E. Can you close the door of the
waiting room when it arrives so that everyone in there doesn't
see what's happening. And can you go in and talk to Jimmy.
You'd reassure anyone, but try to find out who we should
contact back home over in Galway, will you?' He noted
that she sprang into action. Apart entirely from the fact that
he was mad about her, she had been a very good choice by
Clara.
Jimmy died twenty minutes after they got him a bed in
the hospital. Clara had miraculously appeared. She was full
of praise for Declan and Fiona. They had done everything
perfectly. Fiona had even managed to get details of a nephew
and his severe wife who were after his farm, and the information
that he had made a will and they would be unpleasantly
surprised. She had held his hand and soothed him, travelled
with him in the ambulance and was there for the whole
business.
Clara asked them both to come back to her office with her.

7«
She would have to write a report on why a man who was
attending their heart clinic had suddenly gone into cardiac
arrest on their premises. She knew that everything that should
have been done had been done but these hospital people
would need endless back-up and details.
Ania went out and brought them soup and sandwiches. She
was about to leave them alone to discuss it.
'Please stay, Ania, you are as much a part of this team as
anyone,' Clara said. And Declan saw the little Polish girl's face
pink with the pleasure of belonging.

Jimmy's funeral was on Tuesday in a tiny village on the rugged coast of County Galway. Clara suggested that Declan
and Fiona go and represent the clinic there. They were, after
all, his only friends in Dublin. They took the train to Galway
City and a bus to Jimmy's home. It was an easy journey. They
felt as if they were old friends. Fiona had brought sandwiches
in case there was no refreshment car. They were happy to have
the day off and to watch the countryside changing as they
crossed the River Shannon and approached the west where the
fields were smaller, where the walls were handmade stone and where the sheep looked up with interest as the train snaked by.
They talked about Jimmy and wondered why he had been so
secretive. Yes, of course he qualified for free train travel, but
really, all this distance just to avoid prying eyes.
There was a respectable crowd in the little church. Fiona
and Declan were objects of interest as the only strangers. They
met the nephew and his harsh wife who was exactly the way
Jimmy had described her.
'And how did you know Uncle Jimmy?' the sour-faced wife
asked Fiona.
'Oh, you know the way it is' - Fiona was wonderfully vague
- 'it's an extraordinary world, isn't it, the way you run into
people here and there.' They would get no more from her.

Their train back wasn't until six o'clock.
'Let's go back to the house,' Fiona suggested.
Declan had hoped they could stroll together in the woods
nearby and go and walk the cliffs of Jimmy's neighbourhood.
But Fiona was determined. 'We got the day off to come here.
We must do him proud.'
'But we're not doing him proud, Fiona, we're not telling
people that he was at our clinic'
'No, we can't do that, he was so determined it should be a
secret. Still, I'd like this crowd to think he had some friends
from elsewhere.'
And Declan agreed.

They had ham and tomatoes in the cottage which had once
been Jimmy's home. He had never married and had lived
alone in this little place; there were no pictures, no keepsakes,
no personality. There was a small front parlour which was
obviously rarely used. Fiona and Declan talked to everyone
while giving nothing away about their own connection with
the deceased. They learned that once he had his sights set on
this woman called Bernadette, but nothing came of it because
his holding was too small a place and he was never going to
amount to anything.
Then they announced the reading of the will. Declan and
Fiona made vague efforts not to take part in this. They weren't
family, they said. They would go and catch a bus to Galway,
but by this stage everyone had talked to them and they were
very much part of everything.
Fiona's eyes danced with anticipation as she thought about
the will reading and the shock the cold nephew and his harsh
wife were going to get. It turned out that Jimmy had applied
for planning permission in his little small-holding. It had been
granted so the land was now much more valuable than anyone
had thought. The nephew and niece could barely contain their

I



excitement. Then it was read that he had left his entire estate
to be divided between a heart clinic in Dublin and the lady
Bernadette whom he had admired so much in his youth.
He wanted her and her family to know that he really had amounted to something in the end.
Declan decided they should get out of here fast. Certainly
before anyone knew they were connected with a heart clinic.
They were out on the road before the shock had dawned
properly on the niece and nephew and before the conversation
had reached the level of a roar. They hitched a lift to Galway
and spent magical hours looking at an art exhibition, touring a
bookshop and having a coffee in the open air.
On the way back to Dublin Fiona fell asleep with her head
on Declan's shoulder and as he saw the sun setting he told
himself that he never remembered feeling quite so happy
before.

r
He was hugely nervous of meeting Fiona's parents but she
seemed utterly casual about it. And when they went together
on the bus he hoped that he had done the right thing buying
her mother an orchid in a pot. Fiona said she'd love it
but then Fiona thought everyone would love everything. She
wasn't used to the atmosphere in St Jarlath's Crescent, where
everything was analysed and examined for days on end.
He dreaded the day that Fiona would come to visit his
parents. That was if the day ever arrived.
Fiona's father Sean was a very easy-going man. 'Lord,
you've really raised the bar bringing an orchid to this house,'
he said to Declan. 'There'll be no getting away with a bunch
of flowers from the petrol station for Maureen from now on.'
'I hope it wasn't the wrong thing to do,' said Declan fearfully.
'Not
at all, lad, it was a grand thing to do.'
Fiona was relaxed and at ease. Nobody was fussing or

insisting that people wash their hands or take the best chair
like would happen in his house. Fiona was putting the salad
and bright coloured table napkins on the table. Her mother,
Maureen, called the younger children to the table and served a
big bowl of chilli and rice. They hardly seemed to notice that
he was there. Once more he thought of the interrogation that
Fiona would get whenever she came to his house. He shivered. Why couldn't Paddy and Molly Carroll be like this normal,
relaxed family instead of grovelling with inadequacy like his
father or raking the conversation for a slight or an insult like
his mother?
'Do you think they liked me?' Declan asked anxiously as
they went to the bus stop.
'Sure, they loved you. But they would have anyway, you
know.'
'What do you mean?'
'Well, compared to the last fellow I brought home, you
are like an angel with wings,' she said, as if that explained
everything.

Declan put off the business of inviting Fiona to St Jarlath's
Crescent.
It was all going so well, why ruin it now? He had also put
the whole matter of sex on hold. There had been fond kisses
goodnight and on the evening he had supper with Fiona in her
flat, Barbara had been out. Perhaps that could have been an
opportunity, or indeed an invitation, but he hesitated. He
cared so much about her and wanted it all to be perfect. Was
he a fool in this regard? Fiona was a normal girl.
Declan had had sex before. Not enough of it, of course, but
he knew how much he had enjoyed it. And possibly Fiona
might too. But he must be certain. Maybe they could go on
a little holiday together. By now they were seeing each other
almost every evening after work.

¦


I

The days flew by at the clinic. He learned a great deal from
Clara who taught him without appearing to do so. They would
have case conferences where she would ask as many questions
as she answered. He got to know his colleagues. He was now
a legend among the patients because he had minded Judy
Murphy's dogs while she had gone into hospital for a procedure.
Judy had bought a wonderful bowl with Dimples
painted on it for the big soppy Labrador. Declan's mother said
that Judy was much too old for him and he mustn't get notions
about a woman like that who could be his mother. Paddy raised
his eyes to heaven, begging Declan not to engage on the subject.
'I'll take very good notice of what you say, Mam, as always,'
Declan said.
He had become very friendly with Hilary in the clinic. She
had asked him to cover for her one lunchtime. She simply had
to go home. The neighbours had phoned to say her mother
was out in the garden in her nightdress. Like everyone, Declan
had suggested that Hilary's mother might be ready for residential
care. And, like everyone, he was gently refused. Nobody
could begin to understand what this woman had done
for Hilary. She was not going to be tidied away in the twilight
of her years just in order to give Hilary a less complicated
lifestyle.
'You'll have to give up work soon, Hilary,' Declan said in
his calm voice.
'No, no. My son Nick is a great help. He's there a lot. He's
composing music, you see, and he keeps an eye on his gran.'
Declan thought that it wasn't much of an eye if the old lady
was out in the garden in her nightdress. But agreeable as ever,
he said he would mind the desk during lunchtime and take
any calls.

That evening Fiona was going to a hen party so Declan
had dinner at home with his parents. His mother had to go

I

through a scene of pretending to be surprised to see him
home. He listened patiently while Molly said she was glad the
place was good enough for him tonight. She then produced a
steak and kidney pie with a carefully fluted edge.
'Does your young lady make a pie like this?' Molly asked.
'Don't you know she doesn't, Mam.'
'And are we ever going to meet her, do you think?' Here it
was, his opportunity.
'I'd love to invite her to supper, Mam. Maybe you could
make her a pie like this.'
'I will not make a pie. If there are guests coming to this
house, they'll get a proper roast,' Molly said.
'So can we pick a night?' Declan begged.
'When your father has painted this room,' Molly said.
'That's a coincidence. I thought I'd do it this very weekend,'
Paddy Carroll said. And Declan looked at his father's
face and saw the same look of love that had come there when
he first saw Molly at the dance in her white blouse and her red
velvet skirt.
It took them two days to empty the room and three hours
to choose the colour for the walls. Paddy thought magnolia
white, Molly wondered about lime green, Declan said that he
really loved a peachy colour called Indian Summer.
The date of the dinner party was fixed and then Declan
asked Fiona.
'Sure,' she said, as if it was something normal. 'I'd love that,
Declan. Thank you and your mother too.'
'She will be delighted with you,' he said in a very uncertain
tone.
'Am I better than your ex then?'
'I have no ex. No ex I brought home anyway,' he said,
flustered.
'I'm sure the place is littered with them,' Fiona said cheerfully.
'What will I bring her? My ma just loved the orchid.'

84

I
'Maybe a small tin of biscuits,' he said, thinking hard. Was
there anything that Fiona could buy that would not be
criticised? Very unlikely.

When Declan was doing his rounds, Judy Murphy surprised
him by saying that she worked part-time as a bookkeeper in
Quentins. She did the VAT for them once a week and they
told her that the nice young doctor, who sounded like the
one who had walked her dogs, had been in for a meal with a
beautiful fair-haired girl.
'Was it our friend?' Judy nodded down the room towards
Fiona.
'Yes, it was actually. How did you know?'
'Everyone knows,' she said.
'God!' Declan was alarmed.
'She's a lucky girl,' Judy said, as if she meant it.

Barbara was going to a wedding in Kilkenny. She would be
away all night. She told this to Declan twice in case he hadn't
understood it the first time. He approached Fiona who was
with Lar.
'Have you a moment?' he asked.
'I have indeed.' She seemed eager.
'Thanks,' she said when they left the cubicle. 'I'm meant to
know four of the major cities in Tennessee. I can't remember
any of them. Is there a Tennessee City by any wonderful
chance?'
'I don't think so, but there's Memphis and Chattanooga
and Nashville,' he offered.
'One more please, Declan.'
'Isn't that where Knoxville is too?'
'I love you,' she said and kissed him on the nose.
' Wait!' He caught her by the arm. ' Wait one moment. I was


wondering, Fiona, since Barbara will be away tonight, could I
maybe, you know, stay over, in the flat?'
'I thought you'd never ask,' she said and he heard her
reciting the Tennessee names out to Lar as she took his blood
pressure and reassured him that he would indeed live to see
all these places if he spent less on the horses and more on
building up his travel fund.
Declan went to phone his parents and tell them that he had
to be on duty tonight. That's the way it was . . .

They were nervous of each other at first and making little
jokes almost putting off the moment. Eventually Fiona took
the lead.
'We could always take our glass of wine into the bedroom,'
she suggested. And after that it was all right. As he lay there
afterwards, Fiona asleep with her head on his chest, Declan
knew that the happiness he had felt on the train had only been
a very faint preparation for the happiness he felt now.
They woke late and had to scramble for the bus. They
thought that everyone in the clinic knew what they had done.
Though this could not possibly be so. Declan didn't care if
they did know. He would be proud for them to know. And in
two days' time Fiona was coming home with him to meet his
parents to have supper in St Jarlath's Crescent. What could go
wrong with life now?

Molly had got a new perm for the occasion and she had
warned Paddy a hundred times that he was to wear a jacket
and tie for the meal. She had ironed the table napkins which
had been a wedding present when they married and hardly
ever used since.
Tim the security man had told Declan that he would give
him the loan of his car for a few days.

'Am I insured?' Declan wished that he weren't always so
cautious.
'Sure, you're on my insurance, and have my permission to
drive the car. Anyway, you're not a maniac driver, I'd say!'
Tim laughed.
Declan rehearsed the journey so that he wouldn't be a
complete amateur. On the day of the big meal he saw that
Fiona had fixed her hair and had brought smart clothes into
work. A cream silk dress and jacket. Her best outfit. Possibly
too smart. His mother would find fault with that too. Back
home, Dimples had been washed and brushed and refused
permission to sit on his favourite chair. Dad's friend Muttie
Scarlet had been warned not to call in and ask Paddy out for a
pint. Declan's mother was wearing lipstick at breakfast. She
told them she was breaking it in since she didn't normally
indulge. He wanted to hold her newly permed head to him
and tell her that she was marvellous and he loved her and that
he would never abandon them, but of course he did nothing
except grin foolishly and say it would be a wonderful evening.
The day seemed endless. Bobby Walsh had been having
chest pains and his wife said he was not going into that ward
where everyone from all parts of this country and the Lord
knew what other countries were gathered. Whatever he came
in with he would be much, much worse when he came out.
Declan wished that their son Carl was with them. He would
be able to calm his mother down.
For the second time since he had gone to work there,
Declan found himself watching the clock. Finally it was time
to leave and he opened the door of Tim's car proudly for
Fiona. His girlfriend. They drove cheerily through the traffic,
Fiona chattering happily about the day that had just ended.
What a marvellous man Lar was, his mind so full of information.
How Mrs Walsh, Bobby's awful wife, had sighed and

groaned at Lavender when she was giving her a diet sheet for
Bobby.
'At least you're Irish. I suppose that's one thing that can be
said about you,' was how she finished.
'Right in front of Ania. Really, the woman is a monster!'
After a while she noticed that Declan wasn't responding.
'Am I talking too much? I'll be quieter when we get there,' she
promised.
'No, don't be quiet, please don't. Just be yourself. But you
will realise that they are themselves too.' He looked very sad.
'But they're your mam and dad. I'll love them. They produced
you. What's not to love about them?'
'They're awkward and shy. They're not normal and casual
like your parents.'
'Ah, God, Declan! Would you come on! No one's parents
are normal. It will be fine.'

Back at St Jarlath's Crescent, Molly and Paddy were ready.
The kitchen was glowing with its peach-coloured walls and
gleaming white paintwork. The melon was sliced and each
piece had a glace cherry on top. The beef was cooking away
in the oven, beef chosen carefully by Paddy Carroll, master
butcher, that day. Was there anything else that should be
done?
'That dog will want to have a wee the moment the girl
arrives,' Molly declared.
'Right, I'll take him out now,' said Paddy Carroll who
thought this night would never be over.
'But be back in time!' Molly screamed.
Paddy put the big dog on the lead and marched him out,
but at the gate Dimples saw a cat slinking along the road. He
didn't like it. He growled. Paddy took no notice. He didn't
realise how serious the growl was. Then the cat streaked across
the road and Dimples was after her with his lead dangling

behind him. Paddy watched as it all happened in slow motion.
The car coming down the crescent, trying to swerve to avoid
the dog, and driving straight into the lamppost. He heard the
sound of glass breaking, metal buckling and saw the blood of
his only child all over the windscreen.
He had never felt so powerless or shocked in his whole life.
And as he stood rooted to the ground Dimples came back
penitently and licked his hand.
And from the passenger seat in the car emerged a beautiful
fair-haired girl, her face and dress covered in blood.
'Call an ambulance,' she shouted, 'quickly! Tell them that
there are head injuries.'
Paddy realised that this was her, the nurse, the girl that
Declan had said was really special. And she had been coming
to dinner tonight, except that now Declan was dead.
He looked at the angle of the boy's head. His neck must be
broken.
He moved like a robot into the house, pushing past Molly
who had come out to see what was happening. 'Come back inside, Molly, I beg you,' he said, and picked up the phone.
But she didn't and as he was giving the emergency services
the address, he saw his wife with her hands to her face looking
in disbelief at the car where Fiona was kneeling in the broken
glass and talking in the driver's window. She was assuring
Declan that help was on the way. And she was telling him that
she loved him.
Dimples knew something was wrong but he didn't know
what it was. He sat down sadly beside the range and with a
great degree of interest smelled the beef that was cooking.
Paddy had brought out a rug and people had gathered in
the street. Fiona was completely in charge.
'He can't hear us,' she was saying to Molly. 'Please believe
me, he's unconscious. They'll be here any moment.' And
amazingly they were.

The ambulance men were very relieved to see a nurse in
charge of everything. Fiona held the crowds back, spoke
reassuringly and took complete control. She assured them
that she had only surface wounds in her forehead and she
would see to them once they had Declan on the way to A&E.
She wanted to go with him as they lifted his body from the
front of the car, but she knew that his parents needed her
more.
'Anything?' she asked one of the men.
'A weak pulse,' he said.
'Better than nothing,' she said with a watery smile and then
turned to the police who had turned up in a Guards car and
were beginning to take statements.
'Could we have the discussion inside?' she said. 'These are
Declan's parents and they must want to sit down in their own
home after the shock.' She helped Molly back into her own
house, got a rug for her knees and rubbed her hands for her.
She got a nip of whiskey from a man called Muttie to bring
some colour back to Paddy Carroll's face. And she turned off
the oven where an enormous joint of beef was cooking away.
And then they began the interminable business of the dog who
had seen the cat and had run out on the road, and the son of
the house who had seen the dog and swerved to avoid it and
hit the lamppost.
Several times Fiona left to call a friend in the hospital, a
friend who would be able to tell her more than the enquiries
desk. The news was reasonable. He was on a life support, but
everything seemed to be working well enough. A fractured
skull, a broken arm, but no internal injuries in the rest of his
body. He would not be able to be visited by anyone until the
next day.
At ii p.m., five hours after she had arrived in St Jarlath's
Crescent, Fiona spoke to both her friend and enquiries for the
last time that evening. They were both able to say that Declan

would live. And so they took the beef out of the oven and the
three of them sat and ate it with slices of bread and butter.
And she stayed the night with them in the same house where
Declan had been born and brought up. And she actually
managed to get some sleep as she lay in his bed.
And in his hospital bed Declan Carroll slept a normal sleep
and dreamed about the clinic. He was on the floor trying to
reach up to the desk and Hilary kept telling him to rest where
he was and let nature take its course. Eventually after a few
failed attempts he decided to do that. Hilary was usually right.

9i
Chapter Three



Hilary Hickey caught sight of herself reflected in a
shop window and paused in shock. She was not only
very old-looking but she also looked quite eccentric.
Her hair stood up in spikes and her clothes seemed to have
been thrown on at random. Is this the way people saw her?
Hilary was surprised. She had thought she looked quite different.
If she had been asked to describe herself she might
have said small, neat, trim, fit, with a nice broad smile, the
smile that so many years ago had made Dan Hickey leave his
wealthy fiancee at an art gallery opening and come to her
side.
No one would leave anyone to come to her side nowadays,
Hilary thought ruefully. They might cross the street to avoid
her. She looked into the shop further and realised it was a
hairdressing salon. Perhaps this was a sign, a message saying
that it was time she did something about her unkempt head.
She would go inside and see if they had anyone free to do her
hair now. If they had, then it was definitely a sign. The young
girl at the desk was called Kiki.
'Sure,' she said, 'I can do you now.' She looked dangerously
young and rather over made-up for Hilary's conservative
thinking.

'But what about the . . . um . . . reception desk?' Hilary
asked nervously.
'Oh, that looks after itself,' Kiki said, getting towels and
directing Hilary towards a basin.
Kiki talked incessantly about a new club that was opening
next week.
'My son may well be going to that,' Hilary said cheerfully.
It sounded the kind of thing that Nick would like, noisy and
colourful and opening its doors at midnight. She often met
him returning home when she was heading off to the clinic.
But she had learned not to comment.
In many ways Nick was a perfect son. He was a talented
musician who gave music lessons in the afternoon when he
taught the clarinet and kept an eye on his grandmother. In as
much as he could. But of course if he had to go out to a school
or to visit a pupil at home then there was no cover, no one to
look after Hilary's mother.
Hilary bit her lip and thought about it over and over again.
She didn't care what the so-called experts said. Her mother
Jessica was not going to go into a home for the bewildered. She would not put her mother away.
Hilary had been an only child with parents who had been
absolutely devoted to her. Her father was a very handsome
man who sold cars in a showroom. He loved cars. Hilary
remembered how he had stroked them and almost purred at
them. He would promise that one day he would have saved
enough to buy them a beautiful car and all three of them
would go driving in the countryside on a Sunday.
But before that could happen Hilary's father met a lady
with very blonde hair and a black leather coat. The lady was
buying a car and needed a lot of test drives. During one of the
test drives it turned out that Hilary's father and the lady in the
black leather coat were meant for each other and would go and
live in the south of England, and have their own family.

Hilary had been eleven at the time.
'Will I be going to the south of England to see them and
to spend holidays?' she had asked. Her mother thought not.
Better not to build up any hopes. Better to work hard and get
a good job. That's what Daddy would have liked to see.
So why didn't he stay to see it? Hilary wondered. Her
mother never answered this; and so her life was never quite the
same afterwards. She only saw her father once a year; her
mother went out a lot. She helped people in their gardens and
she made cakes for her friends. She always encouraged Hilary
to invite friends home on a Friday evening and they now had
so much room in the house without Father that they let two
rooms to paying guests. These were two mousey women called
Violet and Noreen who worked in a bank and lived very
quietly. Hilary's life fell into a routine. Home from school,
glass of milk and a homemade biscuit, then homework.
Then Violet taught her bookkeeping, and Noreen taught
her to type on an old machine where the letters had been
covered with sticking plaster. By the time she left school,
Hilary had achieved what they apparently wanted for her, a
good education and some steps down the road towards being a
secretary. She would have loved to have gone to university like
some of her school friends, but by the time she was eighteen
she realised that the money just wasn't there. Her mother
wasn't doing gardens and cake-making out of friendship for
people. She was doing it to earn a living for them both.
Hilary went to a secretarial college and because the two
paying guests had helped her so much, she learned everything
she could in a very short time. She got the Certificate of Merit
from the college and was ready to earn her own living in a
few short months. She started in hospital administration and
this is where she stayed. She had concentrated too much on
her work to consider men and marriage. Until she met Dan
Hickey.

All her friends warned her against him. He was too good
looking, they said. He was unreliable. If he left his fiancee
for her, he could do the same thing again. He didn't have a
real career. He was a gentleman. He needed a rich woman to
support him. Only her mother agreed that Dan was wonderful.
Anxiously, Hilary ran her friends' concerns past Jessica.
'Suppose that he is too good-looking for me, Mother?' she
had worried.
'Nonsense, Hilary, you are a fine-looking young woman, and you have a good career, and you have a house to offer
him.'
'He can't come to live here.' Hilary was aghast.
'Where else would he live? I worked long and hard enough
to keep this house for you. We have no paying guests now.
Make me a small flat beyond the kitchen and we are right as
rain.'
'But it's putting you out of your own house . . .' Hilary
began.
'No, it's not. I'm not really able for those stairs anyway.
This way I have company and independence. What could be
better?'
'But will we be able to afford to build an extension?'
'Certainly we will. I have been saving like a squirrel. I've
been waiting for this day.'
'It hasn't come yet. He hasn't asked me.'
'He will. Just have an open mind,' Jessica had advised.
Dan asked her to marry him the next week.
'I'm not much of a catch,' he apologised.
'You're the only catch I wanted,' Hilary had said and he
seemed delighted. He was also delighted that he didn't have to
think of finding a family home, and after their quiet wedding
he moved in seamlessly.
Dan was always seeing someone about an opening or talking
to someone about a possibility. But in the twelve years of

their married life he never earned one single penny. Instead,
Jessica returned to her garden pruning and cake-making, and
added dog walking as well. Hilary took on private bookkeeping
jobs for clients, small companies or wealthy individuals,
which paid well.

When Nick was eleven, exactly the same age as Hilary had
been when she lost her father, Dan went out of their lives. But
he did not disappear to the south of England with a woman in
a black leather coat. He was drowned in a deep, dark lake
when he had gone to the Irish midlands to meet a chap who
might be able to give him a job. The Guards came to the door
to tell Hilary and her mother and her son. They were very
kind. They came in and made tea for the stricken family
and left knowing as little about the man who had drowned as
they had before, except that he had left three broken people
behind.
There had been a small insurance policy. Jessica insisted
that they have an elegant funeral for Dan Hickey. He would
have wanted it that way. Hilary was too shocked and angry to
care. Why had he gone swimming in an unfamiliar lake? Why had he gone before his son grew up to know him properly?
Looking back on it all afterwards she was deeply touched at
and grateful for her mother's insistence the funeral be done
right. The delicate sandwiches in the posh hotel, his many
friends and acquaintances, none of whom had delivered a job,
a contract or an introduction, but who were all happy to turn
up for the reception. It had indeed been exactly what he would
have wanted. She had not one moment of regret.
And after that Hilary had set about making Nick's childhood
as good and happy as Jessica had made hers. When he
showed an interest in music, she paid for private lessons. She
never fussed. She knew that his friends envied him his crazy
house with two old women in it. To boys of that age, Hilary

knew that she must seem the same generation as her mother.
And the years went by. Hilary never found anyone else
remotely attractive enough even to consider an involvement.
She wasn't short of offers of company, a hardworking young
widow with her own home, a good income, an easy-going,
grown-up son who composed and taught music and a cheerful
mother tidied away downstairs in a granny flat. She had a lot
going for her. Or had, at one time.
But since her mother had become more frail, more forgetful
and less able to cope on her own, Hilary had given little
attention to her appearance. It was just to do with getting
older - it was beyond belief that Jessica would lose her fine
mind, her generous nature, her grasp on everything.
But in her own way, Jessica guessed what was happening.
Realising what the future might hold, she wrote a letter. It was
a short, typed note:

As I am getting older I am becoming more forgetful; and it is
possible that one day I might not know where I am or who I
am and, even more importantly, who you are. So I wanted to
say a nice, clear-headed goodbye and thank you to everyone
while I still do have my wits, or at least some of them, about
me.
I have had a very good life and I hope you won't be
offended if I am confused later on. The real me, inside here,
remembers you well. . .

Then she wrote a few words to each person. To Hilary she
wrote:

You are simply the best daughter in the whole world. Never
forget that. Do what you have to when the time comes. I'll
love you anyway . . .
Mum

Her mother was giving her permission to put her away. How
generous was that? And how sane? There was no way Hilary
could do it.
She looked at her reflection in the mirror without much
pleasure. 'What are you going to do with it?' she asked Kiki.
'I'm going to give it some shape. You want it shorter and
glossy, yeah?'
Short and glossy was what Hilary had thought it was until
she had seen herself in the window.
'Yes, not too short.'
'Trust me,' Kiki said and huge showers of Hilary's hair
seemed to cascade on to the floor.
Hilary wondered why she had trusted this girl with huge,
dark-rimmed eyes and green nail polish. There must have
been a reason.

Clara gasped with admiration when Hilary came back to the
clinic. 'Where did you get your hair done, Hilary? You look
ten years younger. I'm going there at once.'
Hilary showed her the card. 'Ask for Kiki. She's got green
nails.'
'Well, there's nothing wrong with the way she cuts hair.
You look terrific. I think you and I should go out on the pull
one night.'
'I'd hate to think what we might reel in,' Hilary laughed,
but there was a strain around her eyes.
'No use asking how things are at home. It's more of the
same, isn't it?' Clara was sympathetic.
'No, it's slightly worse. She was out in the street last night
asking anyone who passed by what time it was.'

'And what time was it?' Clara asked.
'It was 4 a.m. but she thought it was 4 p.m. and said I
would be home for my tea soon.'
Clara was silent.

'Go on, Clara, say it.'
'No, you say it, Hilary. You know what has to be said as
much as I do.'
'You think she should be put in care,' Hilary said.

'It's not what I think that matters.'
'I'm sure you know the perfect place for her. If I were to ask
you, you'd have the name and phone number . . .' Hilary bit
her lip.
'It's your decision, but if you were actually asking about
somewhere, there's a very good place called Lilac Court. The
woman who runs it is a sort of friend of mine, Claire Cotter.
I've known her for years. She makes a very pleasant life for the
people there.'
'Can't do it. Not yet.'
'Sure, sure.'
'Don't put me down, Clara. You don't know what that
woman did for me. I can't tidy her away.'
'It might be kinder.'
'It might be easier but it would never be kinder. Even if I
have to give up working here and stay at home.'
'You do, more and more.'
'I know, you probably think that I take too much time
off . . .' Hilary began.
'No, it's not that at all. You make up for every hour you
take. Don't I see you working through your lunchtime or
staying on after work if Nick is around. You do your full job
here, believe me.'
'If it were your mother, Clara?'
'I'd have her into the first place that would take her and
walk away.'
'You say that.'
'I mean that. My mother was and is a discontented, trouble
making woman who sees the worst in everyone and every
situation. Your misfortune is that yours has been decent and


kind-hearted throughout and it's blinding you about doing
what's best for her.'
'It wasn't a misfortune,' Hilary said.
'No, indeed it wasn't, it's the greatest thing that could
happen to anyone who didn't have it and I sure don't think
I'm giving it either. My girls are so pissed off with me, they
haven't a good word to say about me, I know.'
They were interrupted by Barbara, collecting for the 'welcome
back' present for Declan. It wasn't a tough job -- Declan
was very popular with staff and patients at the heart clinic.
The two women each took out large euro notes.
'I went in to see him last night,' Clara said. 'He's getting on
fine. He'll be into a convalescent home next week.'
'I'd love to have gone to see him,' Hilary said.
'One day you'll have time for the rest of your life, but not
yet.' Clara was comforting.
'Ooh thanks.' Barbara was pleased with the donations. 'You
know that nice guy Tim has just given me a big note too.
He said that good people like Declan should be made into
national treasures. Imagine!'
'Maybe he keeps a romantic poet's heart in his tool bag,'
Clara suggested.
'Do you think? Well, he certainly keeps a Polish phrase
book and he's been practising some phrases, tak and Dzien
dobry, over and over.'
'What do they mean?' Hilary was interested.
'No idea.'
'Maybe he's interested in Ania,' Clara wondered.
'No, I think it's her flatmate,' said Barbara, who always
made it her business to know what was what.

Ania was having her English lesson from Bobby Walsh's son
Carl in the waiting room. Their heads were close together as

too
Ania struggled with giving somebody directions from this
hospital to the centre of the city.
'You go first along the main road and take the signs to
Trinity College and then you will see the university on your
left. You keep walking on then you see a big bank that
was one time a parliament house. You could turn right here
if you wanted to go into O'Connell Street. If you want to
go shopping you should turn left past the front gates of
the university and then you will find Grafton Street for the
shopping . . .'
'Just "shopping", not "the shopping",' Carl corrected gently.
'Why don't I just say, "I'm Polish, I don't know where
anywhere is!"?' Ania asked, laughing.
'Because it's not true - you do know where everywhere is.
I'm only aiming for perfection!' They laughed out loud when
they realised that Barbara had observed the squabble, and they
both gave a contribution.
'Your father gave already.' Barbara wanted to be fair to
Carl.
'No, no, I'm happy to contribute. Declan's marvellous.'
'I will make a big banner to say "Welcome Back",' Ania
said, and Barbara thought she'd caught Carl looking at the
little Polish girl with affection.

Hilary knew that something was wrong as soon as she turned
the corner into her street. A small crowd of neighbours had
gathered outside her house and there was smoke coming from
the kitchen window. At first she found herself almost paralysed
with shock and certainly unable to move her legs. Then
she was running to the house shouting, 'Mother, Mother!'
Neighbours and friends held her back.

'She's fine, Hilary. She's fine, not a scratch on her. Look
at her over there in a chair.' And Hilary saw her mother

IOI
surrounded by well-wishers drinking a mug of tea while neighbours
went in. The fire was out by now but they had called the
Fire Service just in case. As she approached her mother, Hilary
glanced at the damage. The curtains were gone, just torn
shreds hung down, the kitchen wall through the broken window
looked black. Her mother could have been engulfed in
flames here. She could have burned to death in her own house.
Hilary knew that she must thank God that she had somehow
escaped. Jessica was completely unfazed by it all.
'I can't understand the fuss,' she said, over and over. 'But, Mother, you could have been killed. You could have
died in there!' Hilary was so relieved she was shouting now.
'But I did it for Nick. He said he would love a plate of chips
like the old days. I said I'd make them. He went out somewhere
and then the pan caught fire.' Hilary knew that Nick
would never have allowed his grandmother near a chip pan.
'No, Mother, you can't have understood him properly,' she
began and then she saw the figure of her son running down
the road carrying two portions of chips. He had gone to get
them for his grandmother who said it would bring her back to the old days. Only then did Hilary let herself cry.
Later that night, when the window had been replaced and
most of the burned shelves and scorched utensils thrown out,
Hilary and Nick sat down to talk.
'I suppose we'll have to decide what to do,' Hilary said.
'Well, the carpenters are coming in the morning. I'll take
Gran for a walk while they're here . . .'
'No. I mean long term, Nick.'
'How long term?'
'Well, she's not really able to cope, is she? She thought you
meant her to make chips!' As if.
'You're always the one who says she's perfect, Mam. You go
for anyone's throats if they dare to say otherwise.'

'Yes, well, maybe I've dug my head up from under the
ground.'
'My mother, the ostrich.' Nick was affectionate.
'I know. I wonder why no wise young ostrich didn't tell the
older ones that it just didn't work as a policy.'
'They probably tried but the elder ostriches said, "Nonsense,
nonsense," so they gave up in the end.'
'Have you wanted to say something to me about Gran?'
'No. I don't see a thing wrong with her. You're the one who
is always whining and shuddering when Gran says something
off the wall. I love it. I think it's cool.'
'You didn't know her when she was as sharp as a stick.'
'She still is in lots of ways. Here she is in bed with a mug of
drinking chocolate and you and I are in here fussing ourselves
to death over her. Who's sharp here, I ask?'
'I hate to see her losing it.'
'She's a really old ostrich, Mam. She's entitled to lose bits
here and there.'
'At work they tell me that I should--'
'We can manage, Mam. I'll take more home tuition and go
out less.'
'I can't ask you to put your life on hold.'
'Is it on hold? I have a great life at night.'
'Do you meet any nice girls?'
'I meet lots of girls, certainly, Mam, whether they are nice
or not . . . now that's the question.'
'But is it a good place to meet them, in late-night clubs? I
only ask out of concern for you, not because I'm interfering.'
'You never interfered, Mam, you were always terrific'
'But you still can't spend all your daylight hours looking
after your grandmother,' she said.
'Not all daylight hours, but a few more of them than I have
been. I wouldn't walk away from the house and leave her

on her own again.' He looked ruefully around their burned
kitchen.
'Will we get any insurance, do you think?' Hilary wondered.
'Don't
know. Those insurance companies are monsters
about defending their own. They'll say Gran is a liability. I
don't think we should even think about approaching them, to
be honest, for fear of what we might draw on ourselves.'
'Like your gran being put into care, you mean?'
'Well, that's up to us to decide, not some faceless insurance
company to insist on. And the time hasn't come yet.'
Hilary felt flooded with relief. She had been so afraid that
Nick would turn on her and ask her to be realistic, tell her that
for everyone's sake Gran should be looked after properly. And
now it appeared that he was just as desperate as she was that
Jessica should stay at home.
Hilary looked around the kitchen and smiled. What was it
really but a few cupboards here and a lick of paint there. She
could take on some extra bookkeeping work to pay for it. The
main thing was that Mother had not been hurt or frightened.
She felt like jumping up and giving him a great clinging
hug, but he would have said, 'Get off me, Mam, you're mental
you are.' Instead she kept the conversation light. 'You see your
generation is so lucky. You can more or less do what you like.
We were all buttoned up and peculiar. Everything you ever
read about us all back then was true.'
'It was just different.' Nick was forgiving. 'You were obsessed
by sex because you didn't get any. Now that it is all
round the place, people are much more easy-going about it.'
'And it is all around the place, I imagine?' Hilary asked
mildly.

Hilary bought Ania a bright-coloured scarf as a thank you gift.
'Why do you thank me, Hilary?'

'Because you are doing so much of my work for me and you never complain. You are so bright, you know, you could do
anything.'
Ania was pink with pride as she stroked the scarf as if it
were the finest fabric in the world. 'Tonight I write to my
mother. I will tell her all about this gift,' she said.
'You write every week?'
'Yes, I tell her about the new land where I live and all the
people I meet.'
'And do you tell your mother about your love life?' Hilary
wondered.
'No, but then I don't have any love life. I had too much
love life when I was in Poland, but not now. Now I work so
much I have no time for love.'
Hilary smiled. 'That would be a pity. You know the expression
about love making the world go around.'
'Yes, but it turned my world upside down. I think perhaps I
am wiser without it. Make money now and find love later.'
'But suppose he came along. What would you do? Ask him
to wait ten years?' Hilary asked.
'Not ten, surely. Five, maybe. I want to buy my mother a
little shop with a place to live up the stairs and a place to work
down the stairs. She is a dressmaker you see. If she had a name
over the door and some garments in the window then she
would have respect, then the people in the town would not
pity her.'
'I am sure they don't pity her now, Ania.'

'They do. They pity her because of me. I was so foolish. If
only you knew. I made her such a disgrace in our part of the
world. She could not lift up her head and look people in their
eyes.'
'Lord, what did you do, Ania?'
'I believed a man who told me lies. You see I thought if he
said "I love you" he meant it.'

'There's women all over the world doing that all the time.
Men too,' Hilary said.
'But in your case your husband didlovt you.'
'Yes, yes, but that was different, years and years ago. The world has changed so much now. You know, last night I was
talking to my son about how much sex there is all around the
place. Imagine!'
'I imagine you would be a good person to talk to about such
things. My mother never mentioned sex. Never once to me.
She was much too upset.'
'And your sisters, did they talk to you?'
'No, because when it happened they were all so ashamed of
me. They had married when they were seventeen or eighteen,
both of them. They married the children of neighbouring
people. I had to love a man who came from miles away. A
man who had come to our town to start a business.'
'And did he?'
'For a while, yes. But he needed money, so he married the
daughter of a rich man.'
'Instead of you?'
'A dressmaker's daughter with no father alive? But I
thought he loved me.' The girl's eyes were very sad.
'Possibly he did, in his way. People love in different kinds
of ways.' Hilary was trying to console her.
'No, Marek never loved me. He told me that later. He said
he had been laughing at me and his friends had laughed at
me.'
'My friends thought I was mad to marry Dan. Several of
them told me. Even on the night before the wedding.'
'But you were sure?'
'Yes, I was sure. And what's more, my mother was sure,
which is why I can never let her go into a place with strangers.
You do see that, don't you?'

'Of course you can't. And I will do all I can to help you,'
Ania promised.

As Hilary went home at lunchtime she wondered how she
could take Ania up on her offer. Maybe the girl would come
one evening a week and sit with her mother. Or possibly go
and make her lunch from time to time. Hilary could find the
money that Ania badly needed to buy the little house with her
mother's name on it. The business premises which would give
her respect.
When she got home a carpenter was already installed in the
kitchen, sawing and hammering. Nick and Jessica were in the
front room going through a photograph album.
'That was your mother's wedding day, Nick. Look how well
he looks. It was one of the best days in our lives. In fact it was the best day until you arrived.' There they sat companionably
turning the pages, her mother making sense and Nick content
in her company. Hilary breathed more easily. What was she
worrying about? Her mother was fine. She didn't need Ania or
any carer. She certainly didn't need to think about residential
care.
Four days later her mother packed a bag and phoned a taxi
to take her to the railway station. Nick had left just as Hilary
came in so there was nobody to ask what had brought this on.
There was a lot of confusion when the taxi arrived and had to
be sent away again.
'Where are you going, Mother?'
'To the south of England to get your father to see sense and
come home to us. He has a fine son here, Nick. It's time he
got to know the boy properly.'
'Mother, Dad died. You remember. It was ages ago. He
died and she married her next-door neighbour.'
'He must come back to his son.'
'Nick is his grandson, Mother.'

'No, that's not so. Don't you think I know my own family?'
'Nick is Dan's son. You remember Dan? My lovely Dan
who died in a lake.'
'Stop telling me about all these people who are dead. I never
heard of Dan.'
'You did, Mother, you loved him. You were great to him.
You told Nick that the day I married him was the second best
day in your life.'
'You're very emotional, Hilary, I don't think this job suits
you.'
'Don't leave me, Mother, please.'
'Well, I can't very well, can I? You've dismissed the taxi.'
Her mother looked very put out.
'Hold on a bit, Mother. I have to make a call.' She went
into her bedroom and found Nick on his mobile phone.
'What happened, Nick?'
'What do you mean?'
'Your grandmother. Did anything happen to upset her?'
'No, she was fine when I left. Is anything wrong?'
'She's completely confused, she was going to go to England
in a taxi.'
'That would have cost a bit.'
'Be serious for a moment. She's babbling. She thinks you're
her son, not her grandson.'
'Do you want me to come home?'
'Where are you?'
'I'm in a coffee shop having a cappuccino with a friend of
mine. We were going to catch a movie and then I'm going to
play in a club.'
Hilary suddenly realised there was nothing Nick could do.
He had done enough. She was flooded with guilt that she had
bothered him.
'Listen, Nick, I'm sorry,' she began, 'have a good time.
Everything here is just fine.'

Back in the kitchen, her mother was sitting watching her.
Her eyes were far away.

Hilary didn't sleep a wink that night. At breakfast the next day
she apologised again to her son.
Nick shrugged. There was nothing to apologise for, he said.
He would be at home all day with his gran. Of course Jessica
was now absolutely calm and all was as normal.
At work in the clinic, Hilary knew she looked tired and
indeed Clara mentioned it, in a roundabout way.
'I think everyone's tired these days, it must be the weather
and the thought of all that Christmas fuss ahead,' she said conversationally.
'I
know, Clara, you don't have to play games with me.
There isn't enough under-eye concealer in the world to wipe
out the lines and blotches on my face.'
'Is it your mother?' Clara asked.
'Of course it is. She has periods of complete confusion and
then long days of perfect sanity. It's a nightmare.'
'What about a day centre, Hilary?'
'Nick and I can manage.'
'Just take her to the doctor for an assessment - Hilary, you
know that's what you should do.'
'Offload my problems and decision-making to someone
else? I don't think so.'
'Look, I was telling you about my friend Claire Cotter and
her place, Lilac Court. The residents there are very happy--'
'You mean they don't know where they are?'

'Not so. It has a lovely garden and very good food. The
people who stay there feel safe.'
'Even if they do know where they are.'
'They do indeed. Have a look at it, Hilary, before you dismiss
it completely.'

'I'm only dismissing the idea that I'd put my mother anywhere.'
'This time I'll write down the address,' Clara said.

Two days later, Hilary arrived home from the hospital to find
her mother behaving very oddly and apparently trying to get
Nick out of the room. Nick realised, and left without protest.
'What is he doing here?' Jessica hissed.
'Who? Nick? He was getting your lunch ready while I was
at work.' Hilary's heart felt heavy.
'But who is he? What's he doing in this house?'
'He's your grandson, Mother, he's Nick, my son.'
'Don't be ridiculous, Hilary, you have no son. But what's
that tinker boy doing here?'
'Mother, don't you remember Nick?'
'I'll tell you what I remember, I remember that he slit a hole
in my handbag and took out all my money. There's hundreds
of pounds gone.'
'Mother, we use euros now and in any case, you don't have
hundreds of pounds or euros,' Hilary protested.
'I don't now,' agreed her mother.

So Hilary pulled out the address and phone number of Lilac
Court and arranged to go and inspect the place. It looked fresh
and clean, as she was greeted at the front door by Claire
Cotter. She was smartly dressed and full of warm smiles as she
took some details; she put Hilary at ease straight away.
'I want the families to feel every bit as happy and secure as
our residents,' she said. 'Please look around, Mrs Hickey, and
go and see our facilities. We'll show you an empty bedroom,
you'll see what we have to offer and then you can come and
talk to me.'
Hilary passed a big, airy dining room where a number of
elderly people were already having lunch. The tables had vases

no
of flowers; some of the very elderly or infirm had helpers to
assist them with their food and there was a cheerful atmosphere
and a buzz of conversation. She inspected a couple of
bedrooms, each with its own bathroom, then toured the
bright sitting room, large enough to hold concerts but full of
little alcoves where friends and family could sit and chat in
privacy. There was even a small gym where they held exercise
classes . . .
Hilary went to have a cup of tea with Claire Cotter. Again,
she was put at her ease, though she noted that while Lilac
Court was comfortable for the residents, Ms Cotter's own
office was very simple. No smart furniture, no luxury carpet,
just a practical place with filing cabinets and bookshelves.
Claire Cotter saw that Hilary was taking it all in. 'We prefer
to spend what we have making our residents comfortable and
reassuring their families,' she observed.
Hilary allowed her first real smile of the day to escape.
'And we do know that it's never easy, Mrs Hickey, there's
never what seems a right time.'
'How do other people know?' Hilary was honest.
'When they know it's better for the other person,' Claire
Cotter said gently. 'No one else can tell you, and no one else
should put any pressure on you.'
'You see, most of the time, she's perfectly fine.'
'And what does her doctor say?'
'I haven't really discussed it with him yet. It's only come on
significantly over the last few months, you see,' admitted
Hilary.
'I see. Why don't you let him talk to her? It might make us
clearer about where we are.'
'Thank you, I will,' Hilary agreed.
This woman had calmed her down. It was possible to deal
with this terrible business. She wasn't alone in the world.

in
The next day, her mother was calm and doing a jigsaw when
the doctor arrived. He'd see no symptoms and would probably
think she was as sound as a bell.
Jessica thought that Dr Green had come to see Hilary.
'She fusses too much, Doctor,' Jessica confided. 'Worries
about work and about me and about things that will never
happen. She was always the same.'
Hilary looked up sharply. Something in her mother's voice
had changed and she was slipping out of her normal, rational
self. She knew the signs now.
She was right.
Hilary sat and listened as her mother told the doctor how
sad it was that Hilary had never married. Too choosy, she had
been, and too serious.
'And what about young Nick?' Dr Green asked mildly.
'Nick? Nick? You mean that young traveller, the tinker? Let
me tell you what he stole from me -- I don't know why Hilary
gives him the run of the house . . .'

Dr Green's report was clear. Hilary's mother had severe
dementia and was going to need round-the-clock care.
The following weekend, Hilary took her mother to visit
Lilac Court. Claire Cotter was there, as reassuring as ever. She
read the doctor's report, then the three of them toured the
premises.
Jessica, in a voice as clear as it had ever been, said that she
was grateful for the tea and the tour, but could she go home
now, please, because she'd seen enough of this place and its
strange old people. She wanted to go home now.
From that day onwards, Jessica was never in the house
alone.
Between them, Hilary and Nick and Ania were on duty at
all times. And Gary and Lisa, the nice couple who lived in the

house next door, also kept an eye out for her. Nothing could
happen to her now.
Hilary began to breathe easily again. She didn't have to do
what so many other people did, put a much-loved mother into
an institution because there was no place for her any longer at
home.

Two weeks later, Hilary woke to hear a door banging. She
got up to investigate: her mother's door was closed and the
bathroom door was closed also.
It was the hall door, wide open and hitting off the heavy
marble door-stop. Her throat narrowed. Mother couldn't have
opened the door, surely? They always locked it at night and
the key was always kept in a vase on the hall table. With a
shaking hand she picked up the vase. The key was gone.
She opened her mother's bedroom and bathroom.

Empty.
'Nick, Nick! Your gran has got out!' she called. But Nick
wasn't home, it was only 3 a.m. He had a gig and a club and it
would be in full swing now. Hilary flung on a pair of warm
trousers and her coat. Please God may her mother not have got
too far.
She was nowhere in the street, so Hilary ran through the
freezing night air towards the main road. Who were all these
people driving around at this time in the morning? As if it
were a normal time to be out. She stood still and watched the
traffic. Which way might her mother have gone? Impossible to
know: she looked up and down the street, bewildered.
Then she saw it in the distance, the flashing lights and the
Guards out on the road waving traffic past. There had been an
accident.
She felt dizzy and leaned on a parked car for support. It didn't have to be Mother. There were accidents all over the
place.

She began to walk with leaden feet towards the scene.
A crowd had gathered and the ambulance was expected.
A middle-aged couple were sitting in chairs that had been
brought out of someone's house. The man was shaking all
over.
'She came from nowhere, just stepped out in front of me in
her nightdress. I saw her eyes, they weren't focused. She didn't
know where she was. My God -- can someone tell me if she's
still breathing?'
The faces of the people around were offering no consolation.
Hilary moved silently forward.
There was a rug over her mother's body but she could see
the familiar slippers peeking out the end. She held a Guard's
arm to steady herself.
'It's my mother,' she said. 'I know it is. Those are her
slippers.' Then she felt herself slipping down to the ground.

When Hilary came to, the crowd were still there. The ambu-I
lance had arrived and she saw her mother's body being lifted
inside. Then a variety of hands helped Hilary in as well. She
was to be treated for shock, they said.
Before they drove away Hilary said, 'Could someone please
tell that poor man it wasn't his fault, my mother has been1
suffering from dementia, he has nothing to blame himself
for . . .' Then she took a seat in the ambulance beside the
lifeless body of her mother.
They had driven along this road two weeks ago to visit Lilac
Court. Why had she not listened to everyone and put her
mother in there? Jessica would have been alive and safe and
none of this nightmare would be happening. It was all Hilary's
fault.
She knew that she would by haunted by the thought for the
rest of her days.

Declan's father organised a welcome home party in St Jarlath's
Crescent on the day that his son was eventually allowed home.
They had painted the outside of the house in his honour,
although Fiona knew that Declan would hardly notice all the
hard work that had gone into it. She would be sure to brief
him properly; he must admire the window-boxes that Muttie
Scarlet had planted, the smart new curtains that his mother
had been sewing every night for three weeks.
'You're very good to go round there so often.' He held her
hand as they walked the hospital corridor together. He was off
his crutches now and only needed a stick.
'But don't I love it, Declan? Your ma and I are the best of
friends. I mean it -- we are.'
'She fusses so much, I was afraid she'd drive you crazy.'
'No, how could she drive me mad? Haven't we one thing in
common -- we're both mad about you!' laughed Fiona.
'She means so well, but I go crazy when she tells people how
important I am.' Declan was struggling to be fair.
'Oh, I put her wise on that ages ago, I told her you were a
great useless waste of space at the centre.'
'You didn't?'
'Of course I didn't, you eejit. I told her the truth, which is
that you are a great doctor and they are all aching for you to
get back.'
'My successor hasn't stolen your hearts away then?' Declan
asked, knowing well that this was not the case. The locum
had been a smart aleck of a fellow whom none of them liked
much.
'Stop fishing and walk straighter, you'll have to make an
entrance tomorrow. Oh, and don't forget to notice that your
mother has a new outfit in honour of the occasion.'
'She actually spent something on herself'?' Declan was
astounded.

'Well, I got it for her, actually, in a thrift shop, she gave me
the money.'
'You didn't go to a thrift shop?'
'I did too!' But Fiona wasn't a good liar. 'Oh, all right, I
went to a shop but there was a sale on. It looks terrific on her.
She wouldn't take it unless I said it was from the Vincent de
Paul.'
'Who else is coming?'
'People from the clinic, some of your mates, your father's
friend Muttie, his wife and those children or grandchildren
who speak like aliens.'
Declan laughed. 'They were always great kids. They must
be about sixteen now.'
'They're seventeen. They are saving up to go abroad during
the spring break; they offered to be waiters and Muttie nearly
beat the heads off them asking your ma and da for money. So
they're going to help for free now.'
'We can't have them doing that. I'll slip them something.
They're a great pair those two, they're no relation of Mutti's
and Lizzie's at all, you know.'
'I didn't know. What are they doing there then?'
'God knows - lost in the mists of time, somebody couldn't
keep them and they were cousins of Cathy's first husband . . .
I think.'
'Cathy?'
'Now she is Muttie and Lizzie's daughter, I know that
much. Is she coming to the party?'
'No, she's doing a big catering job for some boy band
somewhere. Let no one say that St Jarlath's Crescent isn't the
heart of the universe!'
'I'm exhausted already and I'm not even home yet,' Declan
said.
'Then let's get you back to bed,' Fiona said.
'I wish . . .'

'Not at all - you're as frail as a day-old chick. You'd be no
use to me,' she said. But she said it affectionately and as if she
thought the days of total recovery were not far away.

Ania had made a great banner with Welcome Home Declan on
it and it was strung between the two bedroom windows. The
neighbours were all at their gates looking on and Paddy waved
them in.
'The lad would love to see you,' he begged.
Declan's mother was resplendent in a dark purple dress
with a lace collar. Her hair looked different and for once
she didn't seem to be fussing. Declan could hardly take it in.
There was no racing around asking people to sit here or there,
she was relaxing with a glass of wine. He shook his head in
disbelief.
Maud and Simon were like a courteous committee, almost
as if they were representatives of another civilisation. Fiona
was spot-on to say they spoke like aliens: that was exactly
what they did, with one starting and the other finishing every
sentence.
'Everyone in St Jarlath's Crescent wants you to feel very
welcome . . .' Maud beamed.
'Back to your home after your great ordeal,' Simon continued.
'And
to say how much the accident was regretted . . .'
Maud added.
'Particularly by the family that owned the cat . . .' Simon
looked very solemn.
As people often did talking to the twins, Declan felt increasingly
disconcerted.
'The cat?'
'The cat that attracted Dimple's attention and made him
run away from your father.' Maud spoke as if Declan might be
now deranged as well as limping.

'I'd forgotten the cat,' Declan said truthfully.
'Oh well, she will be pleased to know that,' Simon said.
'She was afraid to come in to welcome you back . . .'
'The lady who owns the cat, that is. The cat herself has no
memory of it at all,' Maud explained.
'Listen, I gather you're giving a bit of a hand with the party.
I wanted to thank you.' Declan rustled for some euros in his
pocket.
'Oh no, Declan, thank you but the matter of finance was
raised . . .' Simon said.
'And turned out to be very inappropriate,' Maud finished.
'No, no, we can't have you working for nothing, everyone
gets paid for their work,' Declan protested.
'It's a neighbourly gesture, not a job,' Maud said firmly.
And that was that.

Declan looked around the small house in St Jarlath's Crescent
in bewilderment. His mother seemed quite at ease entertaining
the people from the clinic. She seemed to have had a
personality change in the time that he had been in hospital.
He listened as his mother told Clara Casey all about how hard
Declan studied when he was young, but there was no fantasy
about his being senior cardiologist any more. Molly was nodding
her head eagerly with Lavender the dietician about the
amount of protein there was in good lean meat, and she was
offering Ania some hours in the launderette if she needed
them.
Everything had changed since Mother and Fiona had got
to know each other. What he had been trying to do for years,
Fiona seemed to have achieved in a matter of a few short
weeks. He looked at her proudly across the room, laughing
and at ease, her curly hair tied up with a green ribbon that
matched her eyes. Her friend, Barbara, helping her with

everything including keeping Paddy Carroll's pint glass well
topped up.
He wished he could spend some time alone with her, but
Fiona had put her finger on his lips and said there was plenty
of time for all that.

Later, when most of the guests had left and Maud and Simon
were busy clearing up, Declan and Fiona asked them about
their plans. They explained that they were going to Greece
for the spring holiday; they hoped to get jobs in bars or
restaurants.
'Do you know any Greek?' Fiona wondered.
'Not yet but we were sort of thinking . . .' Maud began.
'That we could pick it up as we went along,' Simon finished.
'I
have a booklet I could give you, it's a help to know a few
basics in advance,' Fiona offered.
'What did you work at when you were there?' Simon asked.
'Well, I didn't really work there . . .'
'It was a holiday?' Maud said.
'Sort of . . .' For once the confident Fiona looked less than
comfortable. 'Here, you don't want to go through all the silly
things I did. What you do want is a bit of advice and even a
couple of introductions.'
'We'd love some advice,' said Maud.
'Could you sort of mark our card?' Simon asked.
'I think you should go to a small place, somewhere that
hasn't become a big international tourist area. Then you get to
know the people, and the place.'
'And would we just turn up . . . ?'
'With our words in basic Greek?'
'I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll write to a friend of mine in this
lovely place on one of the islands and tell her that you might
need a job.'

'Would you?'
'Is it a restaurant?'
'Well no, she runs a craft shop, but she has a great friend
Andreas and he runs a taverna.'
'Taverna,' the twins repeated solemnly.
'The island is called Aghia Anna - look, find me a map and
I'll show you . . .'
Declan's heart nearly burst with pride as the twins ran back
home for their map of Greece. Knowing Fiona she would
indeed be able to set them up.
He looked across at her as she traced her finger across the
map. This was the road from Athens to Piraeus, which was the
harbour town. Then they were to walk along the line of ferries
heading out for the Greek islands. They must write down the
name Aghia Anna in Greek letters so that they would recognise
the words when they saw them. She was as enthusiastic as
if she were going with them. He felt a catch in his breath. She
wasn't just a girlfriend, not just a pretty nurse and part of a
hospital romance. This was something totally different. As he
watched her push the curls out of her eyes and behind her ears
he realised that he couldn't live without this girl.
It was part of his life that she should be there, reacting and
smiling and pealing with laughter. He needed her approval
and her courage. He had to know what she thought about
everything. She looked up suddenly to know were they boring
him and caught him staring at her.
'What is it, Declan? Am I droning on too much?'
'You couldn't drone on. It just isn't in your vocabulary.'
His voice sounded thick suddenly, as if he had a cold.
'Hey -- I'm meant to be looking after you,' she said anxiously.
'Are you developing a wheeze?'
'No - it's something else entirely.'

'Like what exactly?'

'Like emotion, if you push me. You know, the way they say
in books "His voice was husky with emotion" . . .'
'Oh, Declan - aren't you a scream!'
'I mean it,' he said simply. 'I was just looking at you and
realising how precious you are to me.'
Maud and Simon pretended to study the map with huge
intensity.
Fiona came over and kissed Declan lightly.
'And you to me,' she said. 'But I'll have to borrow your
laptop. There have to be cheaper flights than the twins have
found.'
He still held her hand a little and didn't take his eyes off her
face. It was as if he was looking at her for the very first time.
Nothing mattered as long as he could be with Fiona, at St
Jarlath's Crescent, her parents' house, the flat she shared with
Barbara, by the seaside. Anywhere. Suddenly it was clear to
him. She was quite literally the centre of his life. And soon he
would be back in the clinic working with her all day and he
would see her every night.

When Declan came back to work in the heart clinic everyone
was very supportive and he caught up on all the news surprisingly
quickly. He had been away when Hilary's mother
had died, but he knew the whole story from Fiona and he took
the first opportunity to tell Hilary how sorry he was.
'She's at peace now,' he said to Hilary.
'Thank you, Declan. Another way of putting it is that I
wouldn't be told, I wouldn't listen and she was killed by a car
as a result.' Her voice was very flat.
'Don't think like that, it wouldn't bring her back.'
'No, but if I had listened to other people she wouldn't be
dead. I can't forget that. I am allowed to feel ashamed and sad
about it.'
'You loved your mother, what's bad about that?'

'You are very soothing, Declan, but we must not be bland.'
'No, I agree, I have a tendency to go down the bland route,
but can I tell you something. If I hadn't had the accident,
Fiona wouldn't have got to know my family so well, and they
love her now. If it had just been a dinner, a roast that night,
we would still be playing games and dancing round each
other. Am I mad to think we were meant to be together? Is
that too bland or is it just being grateful for how it turned
out?'
'It hasn't turned out well for me.'
'Yet,' Declan said. 'A day will come when you are glad that
she didn't spend years lost in a fog. Not yet, but believe me it
will come.'
'She's a lucky girl, Fiona,' Hilary said.
And she watched Declan move towards his patients with
their notes in his hand and a smile of reassurance on his face.
'Well, Joe, you're looking fit and well, I hope you feel as
well inside. No palpitations?'
And it was as if he had never been away.
Hilary and Ania watched him, delighted to see him back.
'He is so important to this clinic,' Ania said in a solemn
little voice.
'As are you Ania. This place couldn't function without
you,' Hilary said with such sincerity in her voice that Ania's
eyes filled with tears.

I



Chapter Four



It had been like a personal intervention of the Mother of
God when Ania met Dr Clara Casey and got a job in the
heart clinic.
Ania was the youngest of her family. She could not remember
her father because she had been only three when he was
killed in an accident. It had been a terrible day when poor
Pawel had reversed his new lorry, which had been his pride
and joy, into a deep quarry. He had only made the first payment
on this truck which was going to change their finances.
Papa would work all the hours that God sent and the family
would be wealthy in their happy home. His daughters would
marry men of substance in the area, his son Jozef would join
him in the business. Their name would be known all over the
countryside as people who could be relied on.
Ania heard all this later. Because the story was so often told
in her family she sometimes believed that she remembered
that day, the day they brought the news home Papa was dead
and the lorry had not been paid for. Two pieces of almost
equally bad news, the way it was told.
So there was no wonderful family home, there was her poor
mother, her Mamusia, who worked all the hours in the day to

put food on the table. Her brother Jozef joined no family
company; instead he went north looking for work in Gdansk.
At first he wrote and said he was in the shipyards and doing
well and he sent Mama a little money. But then he met a
woman from Gdynia and with the expense of setting up a
home for himself and his new bride, soon the money stopped
coming.
Her two sisters worked in a factory where they met men and
married them. There was nothing for them at home now,
better to start lives of their own. They would come by from
time to time, complaining about their in-laws and how hard
they worked.
'Stay single as long as you can, little Ania,' they warned.
Not that this was hard for Ania to do: she was still very young
and when she came home from school each day there was little
enough time even to do any studying. Not that she was such a
good student; but she had to help her mother while she lived
at home. It was her job to get the irons ready to press the
clothes that her mother mended. And it wasn't a matter of
lovely, easy electric irons like now, with steam irons like today.
Ania had learned to iron with great heavy things that warmed
on the stove, and always with a damp cloth to protect the
material. Woe betide anyone who left a scorch mark.
Mamusia always said that if you returned the clothes
steamed and pressed to people when the alterations were
done, they really appreciated the garment looking much
smarter than it had before. It would encourage them to bring
their skirts to be let out for a matronly figure or a school
uniform adapted for a younger child.
Some other girls in her street went to the carnival when it
came to town, and the circus, and they would meet for coffee
and fizzy drinks in the cafe beside the bridge. But not Ania.¦
There was always too much to do.

Mamusia was always cheerful and full of hope.
'We have our good name, little Ania, we have our standing
here among these people. Your father was a respected man.
We have managed to pay off what was owing on his lorry. We
are people of honour. Nothing can bring us down.'
But Mamusia didn't know what was in store that would
change everything.

When Ania was fifteen, Mamusia made her a birthday present
of a little jacket trimmed with dark green velvet. A customer
had bought too much and Mamusia had carefully put aside
some of the small pieces that she snipped off.
Ania was delighted with her finery. Her dark hair looked
very shiny and she thought that in fact she might not be that
ugly after all. She had always seemed so scrawny and awkward
compared to other girls, she hadn't known that she would
look so well when dressed up.
She saved her little amount of money to go to the cafe with
her best friend Lidia, to show off her new style. The other girls
were very admiring and all the time she was aware that a dark
haired man was looking at her with some interest.
Eventually he introduced himself.
'I'm Marek,' he said. 'And you are very beautiful.' Nobody
had ever said anything remotely like this before to Ania. She
felt a lovely thrill of excitement. This man really thought she
was beautiful -- little Ania, Mamusia's little kitchen help.
'Thank you,' she said softly.
'What a pity they don't have a juke box here, we could
dance,' he said.
'I'm not a good dancer.' Ania looked at the ground.
'I could teach you,' Marek said. 'I love to dance.'
'I might see you again . . .' Ania looked at him innocently.
'Yes, you might, but not in a dull, dead place like this. In

the next town there is a good cafe called Motlawa. I go there
most afternoons.'
And little Ania, who had never told her mother an untruth
in her life, wove a long story about a friend at school whose
mother had died and the funeral was in the next town. Her
mother gave her the money for the bus fare and Ania set out
alone for the Cafe Motlawa. She had washed her hair and put
the juice of half a lemon in the rinsing water as Lidia had told
her this made it shiny.
As she left the house her mother pressed a coin into her
hand, to light a candle in the church for the poor soul who
had died. Ania had never felt so guilty in her whole life. She
spent the extra money on a lipstick and hoped against hope
that this would be an afternoon that Marek was dropping in to
the cafe.
She saw him immediately and there was music playing. He
came straight over and stretched out both his arms. Soon they
were dancing. It seemed as natural as anything to lean against
him and feel his arms around her. They didn't talk much.
They didn't need to. And then when she said she had to go to
catch her bus, he walked her to the bus station.
'You look so beautiful in your green jacket,' he said. 'Like
something from a forest, a nymph maybe.'
'It's my only good coat,' she admitted. 'You may get tired of
looking at it.' Then she realised how forward she had been. 'I
mean, that is if we were to see each other again . . .' She was
full of confusion now.
He lifted her chin and gave her a gentle kiss. She could feel
it on her lips all the way back on the bus, while she tried to
make up some story about the funeral she was meant to have
attended and to think up an excuse to go to the Cafe Motlawa
again.

Love always finds a way.
Ania had read that and it was true. The local school teacher
was having several outfits made but she needed smart buttons,
much better than the local shop provided. Ania said that she
remembered she had passed a shop that day when she had
gone to her friend's mother's funeral. Perhaps she could go
and spend a day in that town and see what she could find.
Again, she felt overcome with guilt at her mother's gratitude.
'What a good daughter you are, Ania. I was truly blessed
with you,' her mother said. 'When my Pawel was killed, when
my Jozef went away to Gdansk, I knew I could rely on you.
Thank you, my daughter, thank you again.'
Ania found a shop in minutes which sold the right buttons.
The old man told her to help herself from the box. He was
short-sighted and couldn't see properly.
Ania had pocketed half a dozen tiny pearl buttons before
she realised what she was doing. It would mean that she now
had spending money. She was wearing her old navy blue
jacket, which was very shabby but could easily be dressed up.
So when she left the old man with the buttons in her pocket,
she spent the extra money on a pink and white enamel brooch to pin on her jacket.
Marek said that she looked beautiful, and they danced
together all afternoon. She saw people looking at her admiringly.
None of them knew that she would spend the evening
ironing the alterations her mother had been doing all day and
then sewing on little pearl buttons that she had stolen.
'What do you do for a living, Ania?' he whispered in her
ear.
So he didn't know she was a schoolgirl. 'I help in my
mother's dress designing and tailoring business,' she said.
'And do you make much money doing that, little Ania?'
'No, very little.'
'You'd like money to buy beautiful things?'

'Oh yes - but wouldn't we all?'
'I love good clothes too, so I work to make money to buy
them.' He was so handsome with his white teeth, his snowy
white shirt, his black leather jacket and his dark grey, fine wool
trousers. Just to look at him you would think he was a very
wealthy man. And yet if he was why was he able to hang
around cafes and dance for the afternoon instead of going to work?
It was a mystery.
So she asked him.
'I am waiting until I can afford a place of my own, Ania, a
really good place. I don't like working for other people. It will
happen one day. Meanwhile, I look and learn . . .'
Ania managed to find excuse after excuse to bring her to
town and three months had gone by when he suggested that
Ania miss the bus back to her village.
'I couldn't do that!' Ania said, shocked.
'You could stay with me for the whole night, we both want
it . . .'
'But Mamusia?'
'Your Mamusia will be told you have missed the bus, you
are staying with that friend whose mother died - remember?
You will go back on the bus tomorrow morning . . .'
'No, Marek, I cannot.'
'Right.' He shrugged and already she could see that he was
emotionally saying goodbye to her.
'I could do it next week,' she said hastily.
And he smiled his slow wonderful smile.
One of the reasons she had said no was because she was
wearing such shabby underwear, an old grey slip, washed so
many times it was shapeless and almost threadbare, a tired bra
that had belonged to both of her sisters. If this were to happen,
then she would be prepared.
For a week she sewed in her own room, adding lace here,

little rosebuds there. She also worked hard for her mother to
lessen her guilt when the time came. It was an endless week,
she missed a lot of classes at school and brought her sewing to
the school bicycle shed to make sure that she finished the
garments for her mother.
On Saturday, dressed from the skin out in her best, Ania
got on the bus trembling. She was going to have sex for the
very first time tonight. She was going to spend the whole night
in Marek's arms. Her heart was beating so fast it made her
dizzy.

'Be careful, little Ania,' her mother called.
For one moment, Ania wanted to run back and weep on her
mother's shoulder, tell her everything. But the moment passed
and she was on the bus.
By now, she knew some of the people in the Cafe Motlawa.
They nodded at her and welcomed her as a regular.
Marek was waiting, leaning on the counter.
'Dzien dobry, Ania,' he greeted her formally.
'Dzien dobry, Marek,' she responded, shyly.
Then she was in his arms dancing to the music. Like always.
Except that this time she was not going home to her mother.
Please, please, may it all be all right . . .

She had never stayed late like this before, so she saw them
putting candles in bottles and watched the great romantic
shadows flickering on the walls. Then she went to the telephone
and called Mrs Zak who ran the corner shop back
home.
Mrs Zak was horrified that Ania had missed the bus.
'Where will I tell your mother that you will stay, Ania?'
'With my school friend, Lidia, Mrs Zak, I will be home
tomorrow.' Eventually, after what seemed an age, Mrs Zak
hung up.

As Ania turned around she saw Marek was looking at her.
'You are beautiful Ania, and I love you,' he said.
'I have never done this before. I might not be very good at
it,' she began.
'You will be wonderful and we will be very happy,' he said,
putting his arms around her. They went to a room upstairs
where there was a mattress and a rug on the floor. There was a
jug with flowers in it, placed there by Marek. It wasn't wonderful
but she felt very happy as she fell asleep in his arms.
Next morning he went and got her a breakfast of coffee and
rolls.
Nothing had ever seemed so magical.
Then, smiling at the whole world around her, she got the
bus home.

Her mother suspected nothing when Ania got back. Her two
sisters called that day and there was talk that one of them
might be pregnant and a lot of excitement about the news.
Ania was miles away in her mind, back in the Cafe Motlawa.
There had to be a way that she could go back to Marek's town
again, but it had been such a performance missing the bus
once, she could never try that again.
She sewed and mended and ironed, her heart heavy at
all that was nearly within her grasp but could so easily be
snatched away.

The following day, when she went to Mrs Zak's shop to buy
bread and vegetables she heard that the cafe on the bridge was
for sale. The long thin miserable man who owned it had
decided there was no future in selling coffee and cakes that
were too expensive for the older people while the younger ones
travelled on the bus to the next town for cafes that had music.
So he was selling it as soon as he could.


'Let's hope nobody buys it who is going to make it a noisy
place,' Mrs Zak said.
'Oh heavens,' Ania said.
'Because whoever does buy it may well want to have it as a
bar.'
'That is true. Mrs Zak, can I also buy a stamp?' Ania asked.

Dear darling Marek,
You know the cafe on the bridge in our town? Well, it is
now for sale. I remember you said you wanted your own
place, so perhaps you could buy it and then I could see you
every day. I would like this so very much.
Your loving Ania

The very next day he arrived. He brought his brother and
another friend and they talked for hours to the man with the
long, sepulchral face who ran the cafe. They explained they
wanted a quiet family business, and that he would not find it
easy to get buyers in such an out-of-the-way spot. There was a
day of talking and small cups of coffee; and by late afternoon,
a deal had been agreed. Marek, his brother and their friend
would buy and refurbish the Bridge Cafe.
Marek and his partners had acted quickly and got a good
price. By the time any other buyers had heard of the sale and
shown some interest, it was over and done with. The next step
was to apply for the liquor licence.
He knew better than to go to Ania's house when the
business was concluded; her Mamusia sounded a force to be
reckoned with. So instead he waited. He knew she would find
him and she did.
Her eyes lit up as she saw him sitting on the bridge.
'Marek! You got my letter!' she cried.
'What letter?' he asked.
'I wrote to tell you about this cafe, it's for sale.'

'Not any longer, we bought it. Three hours ago!'
'Oh, Marek, how wonderful! This is what I prayed and
prayed would happen . . .'
'And your prayers were answered, little Ania.'
'But how did you hear about it?'
'I heard,' he said.
She was disappointed for a moment, she had wanted to be
the one who had steered him in the right direction. But she
was so happy that he would be here it didn't matter.
'Imagine - we both had the same idea.'
'You had the same idea?'
'Yes, yes, I thought it would be wonderful, I wanted you to
hear before anyone else. My letter will arrive tomorrow, and
now it's already decided!' She clasped her hands with excitement
about it all.
'You had the same idea? That you should come and work
for us at our new cafe?' He sounded disbelieving.
Ania bit her lip. She hadn't thought of this - but why not?
It would mean she could see Marek every day. But there was
another hurdle to be overcome. Mamusia wouldn't hear of
it. She would say Ania was too young to leave school. She
wouldn't like her being associated with a cafe that sold alcohol
to young people.
But she would think about all that later.
'I didn't put that bit about working for you, in my letter,'
she began.
'But you will? You will, Ania?'
'Yes, of course I will.'

He could never have known how hard it was for her but Ania
knew that Marek thought life was simple. You wanted to do
something, you did it. He didn't have people like Mamusia,
Mrs Zak, her sisters, her teachers. But better not to list the
problems now. She would wait until the time was right.


The time became right sooner than she might have thought.
Marek had endeared himself to the formidable Mrs Zak,
throwing himself on her mercy and saying he wanted a nice
young girl from a good, honourable family who lived with her
parents but who could work in the new cafe and attract a nice
wholesome type of clientele.
Mrs Zak immediately told Ania's Mamusia.
'What a pity you are still at school,' Mamusia said. 'It
would have been a wonderful job for you so near to home.'
'About school,' Ania began slowly. This was the most
important moment of her life; she must not handle it badly.
'About school, Mamusia, the teacher was telling me only last
week that she didn't see much purpose in my studying any
more . . .'
'She said this!' Mamusia was stricken.
'Yes and at first I was upset because I could not see a way
that I could earn a living and still help you, Mamusia. But
now, possibly . . . who knows?'
'Do you think he might give you a job?' Mamusia's eyes
were full of hope.
'We can only see,' Ania said and ran down the road to the
cafe.
For the first few days Ania wore a blue and white check
blouse and a dark blue skirt. She served coffee and cakes to
people like Mrs Zak, her own Mamusia, two of the priests in
the parish, the local doctor and some of the older neighbours.
It was a deliberate attempt to win support and fight back any
criticism. Ania's sisters said she was lucky to have found work
so near home. Her sixteenth birthday came and went and she
made no fuss of it, mainly because she didn't want Marek to
know that she was still so young.
There was a small apartment above the cafe and Marek and
his brother Roman and their partner Lev each had their own
rooms. Ania secretly made curtains, cushions and a quilt for

Marek's room. She bought a picture of flowers in a field for
him at a local auction, she found an old chest of drawers out
in the back and sanded it and polished it for him. Soon she
had Marek's room looking like a little palace.
She longed to come and live with him there. How happy
she would be all day, going to get the bread and milk in
the mornings, dealing with the deliveries, maybe visiting her
mother once a day for an hour or two to help with the sewing
and to chat.
But this was impossible.
Ania spent the first hours of the day sewing; then she went
to the Bridge Cafe, helped to tidy up after the night before,
aired the place and made herself useful while Marek, Roman
and Lev drank coffee and talked about how to bring in more
customers. One day they planned their big buy of a juke box.
It would be expensive but soon it would pay for itself.
Not, of course, if Mrs Zak and Ania's Mamusia and their
like were their only customers. Soon they would make a push
to get in the younger generation.
The machine arrived and they stood around it in wonder,
and when it sprang into life and into music all four of them
danced around in celebration. Ania had never felt so happy
and part of something marvellous.
Then they had to attract the young people. For one thing
Ania must dress differently: right now she looked like a prim
little schoolgirl. People would come to the Bridge Cafe to forget
school and work, hoping to be transported to somewhere
more exciting, and magical. Ania should wear a frilly black
skirt and a low red top.
'Where would I get those kind of clothes?' Anna gasped.
'You are a dressmaker, you could make them,' Marek said
and he sounded impatient. So she made them. Then Marek
said that she should dance to give the others the idea of
dancing too.

'You mean I get paid to dance with one of the bosses. This
is okay!' she laughed happily.
'Yes, with me and, of course, with anyone else who asks
you,' he said.
'But, Marek, I don't want to dance with strangers, I want to
dance with you,' she protested.
'And I want to dance with you, Ania, but work is work,
business is business. When they have all gone home we can
dance together.'
'But I can't stay late, I have to go home after work,' Ania
said with a trembling lip.
'Ania, are you beginning to nag and complain?' he asked.
She dreaded hearing him talk like this. There was an edge of impatience in his voice. It would be followed by a lack of
interest.
The? Nag? Complain? Never!' she laughed.
Marek rewarded her by putting his arms around her waist.
'That's my girl,' he said.

It was torture having to dance with clumsy men who groped
her, watched by those who waited for the number to end so
that they could do the same.
'We don't have enough girls coming here,' Marek complained.
'Can you go up to that school where you used to be,
Ania, and tell the girls what a great place it is.'
So Ania went to the school and outside the playground
gates she told the girls about the fun in the Bridge Cafe. Her
best friend, Lidia, was wary at first, but promised to bring
some of their old classmates along. Slowly they came to try it
out. Nervously they came in, unsure, not knowing what to
expect. Marek, Roman and Lev welcomed them warmly and
danced with them. It was even worse torture to see Marek
dancing with other girls, particularly that bossy girl Oliwia,

'She has plenty of money, Ania, she treats her friends to
coming here. Is it not wise to encourage her?'
Ania thought Marek was being far too encouraging. She
saw Oliwia's flushed face when she left the dance floor and
there was no time for Ania to have those beautiful, soft, slow
dances where she folded into Marek's arms so naturally. And
she couldn't stay the night with him. They were able to steal a
few hours in the early afternoon when business was slack and
they could sneak up to Marek's room but it wasn't very
satisfactory. They were always listening for one of the others
to call upstairs to them.
Still Mamusia suspected nothing. One of Ania's sisters told
her that the place was beginning to have a bit of a reputation.
The word was out: young people were there drinking too
much.
Ania said that simply couldn't be. Mrs Zak went there every
day for her morning coffee. She would have been the first to
complain if there were anything wrong, but she went in
regularly. Ania didn't say that she had to be sure to have the
place shining for her, with no sign of the previous night's bad
behaviour. They had boxes by the back yard where they
stacked the bottles. Then once a week they drove them in
Roman's van to a recycling place. Nobody must be allowed to
see just how many had gathered there.

One afternoon when they had a secret hour to spend together,
Ania found a woman's hairpins in Marek's bed. The shock hit
her like a physical blow as she held them up in horror.
'I don't wear any hairpins, Marek, where could these have
come from?' she cried.
'Oh, I often curl my hair,' he laughed.

'How do I know? Maybe one of the others brought a girl
here. We are not policemen, we don't examine each other's
movements . . .'
'The others have rooms of their own. This is our room.'
'Yes, well, whatever . . .' Marek said dismissively.
Ania sat shivering.
'Come on, Ania, we haven't much time,' he encouraged
her.
But Ania got up and dressed quietly. She went downstairs
and stood behind the bar.
'My, that was quick,' Roman said.
'Can you please pack your van with bottles? There are far
too many of them cluttering up the yard.'
'Right, okay, peace,' he said.
'Have you ever slept in Marek's and my room, Roman?'
'I have my own room.' He looked indignant.
'I thought that was the case,' she said.
Roman realised he might have said the wrong thing.
'Maybe, perhaps I made a mistake - like, some night, you
know, late. It's possible. I could have . . .'he said lamely.

Ania prepared the little uszka and golabki they served at
lunchtime; she worked away steadily at the dumplings and
the cabbage parcels and when Marek appeared disgruntled and
complaining she took no notice. She talked instead to the customers.
'Ania,
come here and listen to me,' he begged.
'It's business. You told me to make the customers happy.
This is what I am trying to do.'

'She has plenty of money, Ania, she treats her friends to
coming here. Is it not wise to encourage her?'
Ania thought Marek was being far too encouraging. She
saw Oliwia's flushed face when she left the dance floor and
there was no time for Ania to have those beautiful, soft, slow
dances where she folded into Marek's arms so naturally. And
she couldn't stay the night with him. They were able to steal a
few hours in the early afternoon when business was slack and
they could sneak up to Marek's room but it wasn't very
satisfactory. They were always listening for one of the others
to call upstairs to them.
Still Mamusia suspected nothing. One of Ania's sisters told
her that the place was beginning to have a bit of a reputation.
The word was out: young people were there drinking too
much.
Ania said that simply couldn't be. Mrs Zak went there every
day for her morning coffee. She would have been the first to
complain if there were anything wrong, but she went in
regularly. Ania didn't say that she had to be sure to have the
place shining for her, with no sign of the previous night's bad
behaviour. They had boxes by the back yard where they
stacked the bottles. Then once a week they drove them in
Roman's van to a recycling place. Nobody must be allowed to
see just how many had gathered there.

One afternoon when they had a secret hour to spend together,
Ania found a woman's hairpins in Marek's bed. The shock hit
her like a physical blow as she held them up in horror.
'I don't wear any hairpins, Marek, where could these have
come from?' she cried.
'Oh, I often curl my hair,' he laughed.

'How do I know? Maybe one of the others brought a girl
here. We are not policemen, we don't examine each other's
movements . . .'
'The others have rooms of their own. This is our room.'
'Yes, well, whatever . . .' Marek said dismissively.
Ania sat shivering.
'Come on, Ania, we haven't much time,' he encouraged
her.
But Ania got up and dressed quietly. She went downstairs
and stood behind the bar.
'My, that was quick,' Roman said.
'Can you please pack your van with bottles? There are far
too many of them cluttering up the yard.'
'Right, okay, peace,' he said.
'Have you ever slept in Marek's and my room, Roman?'
'I have my own room.' He looked indignant.
'I thought that was the case,' she said.
Roman realised he might have said the wrong thing.
'Maybe, perhaps I made a mistake - like, some night, you
know, late. It's possible. I could have . . .'he said lamely.

Ania prepared the little uszka and golabki they served at
lunchtime; she worked away steadily at the dumplings and
the cabbage parcels and when Marek appeared disgruntled and
complaining she took no notice. She talked instead to the customers.
'Ania,
come here and listen to me,' he begged. 'Roman could have managed this - there are only four
people here.'
'There will be more later.'
'Where is Roman?'
'Filling his van with empty bottles. I asked him to.'
'You're making a silly fuss over nothing, Ania.'
'I have worked for five hours. My arrangement here was for
eight hours a day. When would you like the other three?'
There was something like respect in his face. 'Believe me,
it's only you I love,' he said.
'There are ways of showing love and taking another girl to
bed with you, a girl with hairpins, is not one of them.'
'I love no girl with hairpins. I love you.' His eyes were so
big and true. He hadn't said he loved her for a long time now.
She softened a little but not totally.
'So, which three hours, Marek?'
'It's not like you to look at the clock and count hours.'
'No, it's not. Which hours?'
'Come back at seven and we can dance together,' he said,
giving in at last.
So Ania went home and helped her mother.
'You are very quiet today, Ania, normally you chatter and
chatter.'
'I am a bit tired, Mamusia, that's all.'
So her mother nattered instead about the new baby who
would be here soon and they must make clothes to welcome it,
what would be best and how they could thread in blue or pink
ribbons when they knew whether it was a boy or a girl.
After dinner, Ania walked back slowly to the Bridge Cafe.
'Come and sit with me,' Marek said.
'It's my working time,' Ania countered.

'No, it is not. Just come with me and we will look at the
river together.' He held her hand and told her that he had


never loved anyone but her. He stroked her gently, and whispered
in her ear.
'I came to live in your town, I let you go home to your
Mamusia every evening when I want you here with me. I dance with other girls to get business for the cafe, you dance
with men for the same reason. What does it mean to you?
Nothing at all except that it is building up the business. What
does it mean to me? Nothing except that the day you and I can
be together all the time comes a little nearer.'
She said nothing for a long time, and still he spoke and still
he stroked.
'You know I love you?' he asked.
'Yes,' she said simply.
'So why the sad face?'
She managed a watery little smile. He still hadn't explained
the hairpins in the bed. Or denied that there had been anyone
there. With a dull ache in her heart she wondered who it
was. Perhaps that Oliwia. The pushy girl whose father was
a wealthy man. Lidia had mentioned something, but Ania
hadn't paid any attention.
'Where is Oliwia tonight?' she asked, catching him by
surprise.
'Oh, she doesn't come in every night,' Marek said.
'No, no, of course . . .' Ania stood up and went to the
coffee machine. She put on a bright smile for the customers
and out of the corner of her eye she saw Marek raise his thumb
in the air as if to say 'good girl'.
Roman and Lev exchanged glances of relief. The crisis was
over.

Oliwia was staying on at school until she was eighteen, and
then she would go to university -- or so she had told the crowd
at the Bridge Cafe. But her plans changed. A few months after
the Bridge Cafe had opened, Oliwia stopped talking about

university. She said university was overrated and after all there
was everything anyone could want nearer home.
Ania meant to discuss it with Marek but he was away a lot
on business, trying to get some more investment in the cafe.
The juke box hadn't paid for itself, the coffee machine hadn't
paid for itself and even the wages they paid from the till every
Friday were smaller.
She hoped he would find an investor soon. Roman and Lev
seemed very unwilling to talk about it; possibly they were
more worried than they let on about the debt. Still, she would
know soon enough.

Mamusia had been in bed with a very bad cough and so Ania
tried to fit her working hours around looking after her
mother. She had come home to make fresh bread and prepare
soup; Mamusia was looking a little stronger now and Ania
decided to sit with her for a couple of hours.
'You are so much better now, Mamusia, you will be well in
no time,' Ania said cheeringly.
'All I ask God and his mother is that I should live to see you
settled with a good man and a home of your own. Then I will
be happy to say goodbye to this world.'
Sometimes Ania wished she could tell Mamusia just how
well settled she was, and that she had a home already waiting
for her in the Bridge Cafe but she and Marek had decided not
to tell anyone until they could be together openly. She walked
back to the cafe. She could see immediately that there were
plenty of people there, which was a relief. Marek would be
pleased when he came back this evening.
Oliwia was there, the centre of attention; she was showing
off her engagement ring, a small diamond which flashed
around the cafe. Part of Ania was pleased with this development.
It would mean that Oliwia would no longer come in
and lounge around the place hoping that Marek would dance

with her. But then, would he miss the business she brought to
the place? Would Oliwia and her new husband still come to
this cafe or would she be too busy furnishing some huge house
bought by her father?
She was about to join the group admiring the ring when
Marek came in the door.
'There he is!' cried Oliwia, and as if it were all in slow
motion, Ania saw Oliwia run to his side and put her arm
around his waist. And, impossible as it was to take in, Marek
was smiling and accepting the congratulations and applause.
She felt faint. There had to be a mistake. Maybe they were
doing this as a joke? Then everyone would laugh at her innocence
and the fact that she had believed it. But it didn't
look like a joke.
The room started to go around a little bit and she heard
Marek's voice. He was speaking to his brother.
'Roman, take her outside now.'
She felt strong arms urging her out of the cafe into the yard
and around the corner out of sight. She sat on an iron chair
and looked at the little garden she had tried to plant here. The
flowers she had watered and little stone rockery she had built.
One day they would open a garden cafe here, they had agreed.
For families and children. There would be swings and a seesaw.
Well,
Ania had agreed this, Marek had just gone along with
it. And now it wasn't going to happen. She saw that Lev had
brought her a small glass of sliwowica. The smell of the strong
plum brandy made her retch slightly, but the hot, burning
taste seemed to bring her to her senses. This couldn't be happening.
Marek could not do this to her.
She tried to stand up to go back into the cafe, but strong,
gentle hands were pushing her back. She could hear Roman
saying, 'Stay here, it is best. He will be coming out to you in a
minute . . .'

She heard another cheer from inside the cafe.
'Why, Roman?' she asked him. 'Why did he do this?'
'Shush, shush . . .' Roman wiped away her tears with his
grubby handkerchief. He put the glass of spirits to her mouth
again but she pushed it away. Then she felt the hands loosen
their grip on her.
Marek had arrived.
She looked up at him, her face tear-stained, as Roman and
Lev went back into the cafe.
'Little Ania.' Marek knelt beside her and held her hand.
She said nothing, just stared past him at the flower bed
which had once been a gutter until she had dug it and planted
it and fed it, and got rid of the slugs and insects which had
gathered to celebrate her little garden.
'Ania -- this changes nothing,' Marek was saying over and
over.
She looked at him eventually. 'How exactly does it change
nothing?'
'We will still meet. You are the one I love. You know that.'
1 m sorry?
'But you know that what you and I have is special. Nothing
can replace that.'
'You are going to marry Oliwia,' she said dully.
'Yes - but that makes no difference to us. We will still work
together, have our room to go to for loving.' He was looking
at her as if nothing had happened.
'Why are you going to marry Oliwia?' she asked.
'You know why,' he said.
'No. I don't. Why?'
'Because she's pregnant of course,' he said, as if it were the
most normal thing in the world.
'I don't believe you.'
'Well, that's what happens.' He shrugged.

I



'And it's your baby?' Her eyes were huge.
'It's not a baby yet . . . and nobody's saying anything about
that. But you did ask.'
'Of course I asked, Marek. I may be silly but I'm not a total
fool. Of course I ask why the man who says he loves me and is
going to marry me has made another woman pregnant and is
going to marry her. Why should I not ask? And what do you mean nothing will change?'
'Nothing needs to change, Ania -- it's up to you.'
'But if you're married to her . . .'
'She will be at home, her father is building her a big house.
We can go on as before.'
'You are mad, Marek. You are cruel and mad.'
'I am a man who just got engaged to the daughter of a rich
man in order to keep our cafe afloat. It has all to do with business
and nothing to do with love. If you don't believe that
then I am lost.'
'And so am I. Lost. Totally lost.'
'What will you do?'
'I don't know yet. Maybe I will die, maybe the river will
close over my head.' She spoke very calmly.
'No, no - you can't think like that.'
'Nothing to live for now.'
'You will see, Ania, everything will be the same as before,'
he said.
'I will go home now.'
'You'll come to work tomorrow?'
'I will see.'
From inside the cafe she heard them call, 'Mar-ek, Mar-ekl'
'I had better go back,' he said.
'It was her hairpins in our bed.'
'It was business. It had nothing to do with love.'
'In our bed.'

'It will never happen again,' he said.
'No, of course, she will have her own marriage bed from
now on,' Ania said bleakly.

Ania couldn't remember the weeks that followed. Only little
incidents that happened here and there.
Her mother got well and strong again. Her sister's baby boy
was born so Ania went to the trimmings shop in the next town
and bought blue ribbons. The old man with the poor sight
was there.
'You don't come here so often now,' he remarked.
'No, my reason for visiting here changed,' she said.
'And are you happier now?' he asked unexpectedly.
'No. I'm not happy. I don't see any reason for going on.'
'I felt like that once when my eyesight started to go. I
wanted to go up to the north and swim far out to sea in the
cold water and not come back. But then I thought perhaps I
will have happiness even without good sight.'
She remembered the little pearl buttons she had stolen from
him on her first visit.
'Oh, I realise I took extra buttons by mistake the first time
I came to see you, I always forgot to tell you about them. I
must pay for them. I can do so now. It was six little pearl
buttons . . .'
He smiled a relaxed smile. 'I knew that one day you would
remember.'
'You knew?' Her face burned with shame.
'And now you have.' He was pleased and vindicated in the
goodness of people.
'Have you been happy since . . . since everything?' she
asked.
'Yes, little one, very happy. What a waste it would have
been to swim out into the North Sea.'

'I'll remember that,' she said. But she didn't remember
much else.
She didn't remember whether she worked all the time in the
Bridge Cafe and if Oliwia came in, and if Ania and Marek
went up to the room that she had prepared so lovingly for
them and their life together. She didn't remember the builders
coming to put on the big extension, the long-planned dining
room over the river. But they must have come. And people
must have delivered furniture. Marek, Roman and Lev must
have hired a chef and more waitresses.
And Oliwia must have gone into labour and had a baby
daughter, because Ania did remember a big christening party
at the Bridge Cafe and the little girl who was baptised
Katarina. Ania must have met Oliwia's father but had no
memory of him whatsoever. And she didn't remember why
Lev had an argument and left, saying it was a family concern
now and he was better out of it.
All she remembered was feeling numb; and occasionally
Marek's lips on hers while he told her over and over that she
must believe that she was dearly and deeply loved by him.
If she had heard this story about someone else Ania would
have said that the woman must have been completely mad.
And perhaps that's what she was: mad.
That was what her family thought. Her sisters each took
her aside and said there had been serious gossip. People were
saying that Ania was having an affair with Marek, a married
man.
When Jozef heard about it he decided that it was time to
bring his wife down from the north to pay a visit. He spoke to
Ania the first night they arrived. All they had left was their
good name, he told her. Fortunately, no one had told their
mother about what was going on. It must cease immediately.

Ania didn't remember much of JozePs visit. His wife Zofia
went to visit the cafe.

'I can easily see why you fancy him,' she said, having
inspected Marek. 'He's a handsome man, but he's only playing
with you.'
Ania found herself asking her why she said that.
'He's a married man,' Zofia answered baldly.
'But he doesn't love her,' Ania explained.
'I know, I know, I'm sure that's true, you know. But he
doesn't love you either. If you understood that you would be
free.'
'I don't want to be free. I want to be near him all my days,'
Ania said, visibly distraught.
'One day you will love someone else. You will be glad we
spoke like this.'
'I am not upset that we spoke but I will never love anyone
else and nobody else will love me . . .'
'I do wish you well,' said Zofia softly. 'If ever you want a
holiday, come and see Jozef and me. He is very silly, the way
he puts things, but he is so fond of you. He's always telling me
stories of you as a little girl.'
Ania supposed she cooked their meals for them, it was hard
to recall. They were always thanking her for this meal or that.
Her Mamusia was smiling and was of course overjoyed to see
her son and she got on so well with his bride, Zofia.
'It's lonely without them,' Mamusia said sadly when they
left.
'But they say they'll come back every year,' said Ania.
Mrs Zak told Ania that people were so shocked at her
behaviour that they were going to take their work away from
her mother.
'Will you leave my mother as well, over what they call my
behaviour?' Ania asked.
'No, because I am your mother's lifelong friend. She has
been a good, hardworking woman since your poor father died

so tragically. It's not her fault that you can't respect other
people's marriage vows.'
'Maybe other people will think as you do, Mrs Zak.'
'I wish I could agree. I am a business woman, a practical
person. A lot of the other ladies here have no work outside the
house. Too much time to gossip and make judgements. Mark
my words - she will lose work over this . . .'
'Unless?'
'Unless you give up your foolish ways, Ania.'
'Thank you, Mrs Zak.'
She must have spoken to the shopkeeper again on many
occasions; but there were months and months of a fog and she
couldn't recall.
Then one day she saw her friend Lidia. Lidia was going to
work in Ireland. There were huge opportunities there if you
were prepared to work. Possibly Ania would come too? They
could find adventures, a new life and earn money. Irish people
were Catholics like here in Poland, so it wouldn't be so much
of a change. Lidia had heard they were friendly there and
made strangers welcome.
'Oh, but that's all right for you, Lidia, you studied English,
you will be able to speak to them. I would be lost.'
'I'd help you in the beginning,' offered Lidia.
'No -- I would hold you back.'
'You just don't want to leave him -- isn't that it?'
'No, it's not that.'
'Of course that's what it is, Ania.'
'I'm not ready to leave yet.'
'So I'll give you my address there, and when you are ready
you come to me.'
'You seem very sure I will come.'
'You will one day,' said Lidia confidently.
'It might not sound like love to you, Lidia, but it is,' said
Ania sadly.

'Suppose he had somebody else?'
'But, Lidia, he does have somebody else, he has a wife and a
daughter.'
'No - I mean as well as that.'
'Don't be ridiculous!'
'He does, Ania, believe me,' urged Lidia.
'Why should I?'
'She's a friend of my sister's, she says it's love. Just like you
do.'
'It's not true.'
'Why would I tell you if it were a lie?'
'To make me come and work abroad with you, for company.
I can't go. I can't leave Mamusia, or this place, or my
sisters . . .'
'Or Marek,' Lidia ended for her. 'But you will one day, so
I'll give you my address when I get there.'
'What's her name?'
'Who?'
'Your sister's friend?'
'It's Julita.'
'Right,' Ania said.


After that things became a bit clearer. It was as if a camera had
come into focus. Ania remembered the weeks after she had
heard about Julita. She had done nothing with the information,
of course, except file it at the back of her mind in an area that
was rarely disturbed. But Mamusia had started to complain that
some of her old clients were finding what seemed like excuses
for not coming to her any more. Her two sisters said that she
was by now the talk of the town. The nice young priest asked
her if anything was troubling her because he always had a good
listening ear even if he might not be much help.
Ania met Lev, who worked in an ice cream factory now that
he had left the Bridge Cafe. Ania had gone there to see if she

I



could get a contract for her mother to make their overalls and
uniforms.
'How is the cafe going?' he asked.
'It's going well I think. You know Marek, he doesn't tell us
much.'
'He should have told you more, I always said that.' Lev
shook his head. 'After all it was you who found the place for
us.'
'No -- I wrote to him but he already knew.'
'He didn't know, Ania, he just didn't want you to think
that you had found it for him.'
'I'm sure it was some mix up . . .' she said.
And eventually she received a letter from her sister-in-law in
Gdansk.

Dear Ania,
I don't know why I am writing this letter, but I liked you
straight away when Jozef and I came to visit.
A couple of weeks ago, we went to a trade fair, where
people buy fittings for restaurants. We saw Marek there. He
was looking at very expensive pancake-making equipment,
what they call a creperie. We spoke to him but he didn 't
remember us at all so we didn't explain exactly who we were.
He was with a very young girl called Julita.
Whatever you do in life I wish you luck and happiness.
Jozef thinks we should leave well alone and say nothing,
but I felt you should at last have this information to help you
make your choice.
Love,
Zofia

'Where was Marek last week?' Ania asked Roman casually.
'Oh, he went to this trade fair, saw all kinds of great stuff
there. I expect he ordered all kinds of stuff as well.'

'Can he afford it all?' They had long stopped calling it 'our'
cafe, it was Marek's now and everyone knew it.
'Well, he has a fair amount of support from his father-in
law,' Roman said.
'Yes, as long as he keeps his nose clean,' Ania said.
'What do you mean?' Roman looked anxious.
'I don't know,' Ania said truthfully.

Marek came in that evening. She heard Roman warning him
that she was in an odd mood, so he was very charming when
he approached her.
'Lovely Ania, how well you look. Will you dance with the
men tonight, make them thirsty, make them spend their
money?'
'So that the creperie machine will soon pay for itself?' she
asked.
'How do you know about that machine?' he asked suspiciously.
'Oh,
me? I can see into people's souls. I see you have been
interested in having a pancake machine.'
'Oh, and do you see that you are going to lower your frilly
blouse and get those men dancing?'
'No, I don't see that. Oddly . . .'
He left her and went back to Roman. 'You're right, she is in
a funny mood,' she heard him say.
Ania wandered out into the yard and picked some flowers.
She arranged them in a glass and was about to bring them
upstairs.
'Where are you going?' Marek barred her way.
'I've arranged some flowers for you. I was just taking
them--'
'No, don't go up, the place is very untidy.'
'So what makes it any different from usual then?'
'Are you all right, Ania?'

'Yes, I'm fine.'
'Good. So I'll take them upstairs later.'
'Shall I stay tonight?'
'Well . . . perhaps not tonight.'
'T'
1 see.
'Do you?' He was troubled.
'Yes, possibly Oliwia is becoming suspicious, and you will
need her father to be your friend to pay for all the things you
ordered at the trade fair.'
'How do you know I was at a trade fair?'
'You told me you were going to it, don't you remember?'
'No, I don't.'
'Oh, but you did, and Roman told me that you were there
too. Why?'
'Nothing.'
'Am I right about Oliwia's father?'
'Sort of.'
'Weren't you lucky to hear about this place, Marek?' she
asked him.
'Yes, yes, I was.'
'And who exactly did you hear it from?'
'I can't remember - it was all long ago now.' He was
very uneasy now. It was so strange to see him like this. Always
it had been Ania who had been apprehensive but not tonight.
She
worked late, no dancing but a lot of serving and waiting
on tables. Then she put on her jacket and began to walk home.
Marek ran after her.
'Is something wrong, Ania? You have been very strange
tonight,' he asked.
'No.' She carried on walking.
'I mean you know the situation. We are into Oliwia's father
for so much money, you and I can't make any move at this
stage. And of course little Katarina is getting older and sees

things so she can't be around the cafe so much, which means I
have to be up at the house more. But you know all that.'
'Yes.' Ania didn't break her stride.
'And you do realise that I love you and only you?'
'Sure.'
'So what's all the attitude about?'
'Go back, Marek, back to the cafe. Julita will wonder what
has happened to you.'
'Julita?' He stopped as if shot. 'You mean Oliwia.'
'No. I mean Julita; she will be in a good mood because she
has a lovely vase of flowers but she will wonder why you are
not coming upstairs to see her.'
'I don't know what you're talking about,' he blustered.
'Goodbye, Marek.'
'What does this mean?' He was starting to look defeated.
'What it says. Goodbye.'
'You are leaving the cafe.'
'I have left.'
'But you can't do that, what about your wages . . . and . . .
everything . . .'
'I have taken my wages from the till. I left a note.'
'What are you going to do?'
'I don't know.'
'You'll get over this - it's a silly fit. It's nothing.'
'No, I won't.'
'You got over my marrying Oliwia. You came back to my
bed after that.'
'I know. Wasn't it extraordinary?' Ania said.
They were nearly at her house now and he realised he
wasn't going to get any further tonight. 'Tomorrow, when all
is calm, we will talk. There is a phrase, "Morning is wiser than
night". Perhaps it's right.'
'Yes, perhaps.'
'See you tomorrow, Ania.'

'Goodbye, Marek.'
She did not close her eyes that night, which was just as well
since there was a lot to be done. She finished a great mound of
her mother's sewing work and left the garments neatly ironed,
folded with labels on each one. Then she sat down and wrote a
long letter to her mother. Once she got the first few lines, it
was easy to write.

Dearest Mamusia,
I have been a poor daughter to you and I mean to make it
up. I have been so very, very foolish, Mamusia, seeing love
where there was no love, believing words which were not true
and making myself into such a fool.
I have to go away. I will make it up to you, Mamusia,
believe me, I will. I will go to Ireland with Lidia. But first I
will tell you the whole story. No more lies, Mamusia. fust the
whole sad stupid story . . .

Then it was simple. In fact Ania wondered why she had never
told her before. She packed a suitcase to take with her and
placed the rest of her clothes in a cardboard box in case they
would be of any use to her sisters. She left the green jacket on
top, the one her mother had trimmed with velvet. The outfit
she had worn to attract Marek.
She left the pink and white enamel pin that she had bought
to hold his attention, in a little box for her mother. Just before
dawn she brought her mother breakfast in bed. Warm bread
and honey and milky coffee.
Mamusia sat up in bed, delighted.
'It's not my birthday, Ania. Why did you do this?'
'I have to catch the early bus, Mamusia. Take your time
getting up. Everything's done downstairs.'
'You are the best daughter in the world.'

'Go back to sleep, Mamusia.'
'See you this evening, little Ania.'
'Goodbye, Mamusia,' she said.

She had tidied and emptied her bedroom, and left the envelope
of her savings on the kitchen table for Mamusia to find.
She looked around the house for the last time and pulled the
door after her.

From the next town she took a train to the city and a plane to
Dublin; she had hardly any money left when she arrived. She
owed it all to Mamusia who would now have to face life
without her. She, Ania, would start saving all over again.
This was a rich, rich country with jobs everywhere. Lidia
had been pleased when Ania telephoned that morning and had
given her an address to go to. Her apartment was upstairs over
a Polish restaurant and Ania would arrive late in the evening.
If Lidia wasn't there, Ania could wait downstairs and have a
coffee. Lidia would tell them she was coming.
Sitting in the bus leaving Dublin airport, she looked openmouthed
at all the huge motorways, all the new buildings,
the tall craggy cranes reaching up into the sky. As they drew
nearer the city centre, she saw big houses, apartment blocks
and buildings all lit up in the night sky. There were hundreds
of young people moving around the wide streets and elegant
squares. Had she arrived on a festival or during a carnival?
She showed the handwritten address to people and they
waved her in the right direction. Soon she was in the Polish
restaurant having a bowl of soup and talking to the friendly
people who worked there.
Lidia would be back soon, they said. She worked in several
bars and restaurants; they did not know which one it was
tonight. And then Lidia came in and there were hugs and tears

and the people who owned the restaurant offered them some
plum brandy.
'Where are you going to work, Ania?' one of the waiters
asked her.
'I don't know yet -- I still feel I am in Poland,' she smiled.
'Maybe you could wash and iron our clothes here!'
'Oh, I would be very happy--'
'She would be very happy to see you well-dressed and
smart,' Lidia interrupted.
'But why won't you come to work for us? Both of you?' the
man said with a huge smile.
'Because if we had wanted to work for Polish no-hopers
who drink a bucket of beer each a night then we wouldn't
have come all this way. Plenty of those back home,' said Lidia
cheerfully and she propelled Ania upstairs.
The apartment was small and poky. They had a tiny bedroom
each.
'You didn't get a flatmate?' Ania asked in admiration.
'No . . .'
'You knew I'd come eventually?'
'When you were ready,' Lidia said.

It wasn't hard to get work in Dublin if you were prepared to
clean floors, wash dishes, look after old people or stack shelves.
But Ania's English was not good.
'Don't go where there are a lot of other Polish, you'll never
learn English if you do that,' Lidia warned.
'Maybe I could go to an agency?'
'No, then you meet other immigrants all day, and the
agency takes most of the money in any case. All we will do is
ask around. They won't take you in a pub - not until you can
work out what's a half one, a half and half, a black and tan -- you could write a whole dictionary on the names of drinks,'
Lidia said.

'And thank you for not asking questions, Lidia.'
'I'll hear eventually,' Lidia said.

Every week Ania wrote to her mother. She asked for news
about Mamusia's health and about the baby nephew. She
asked how Mrs Zak was and if the uniforms for Lev's ice
cream factory were going well. She never mentioned the
Bridge Cafe and its occupants. She told stories about Dublin,
the wealth all around, the beautiful clothes; the handbags in
stores costing a fortune, the young people who had cars that
they parked at school and university. It was like the movies, it
was just like Hollywood, she said over and over.
She got letters back that made her homesick even though
her mother never mentioned Marek, and the occasional postcard
from her sisters. She often longed to be in a small place
where she would know everybody who passed by.
She got a short letter from her sister-in-law Zofia.

Well done, Ania. You are a young woman of great courage.
I am glad you made this decision and I hope it works out well
for you. I am sure that it will.
And now I will tell you a secret. Before I met your brother I
was involved with a man like Marek. He took and took and
gave nothing. Only when I have found a good man do I see
how bad the first one was. It will be the same with you. Good
fortune in a strange land . . .
Zofia

And for the first few weeks, it was indeed a strange land.
Ania cleaned offices early in the morning: it meant getting
up at 4 a.m. She also worked at a hairdresser's, washing the
towels and sweeping up the floor. But these were just filling-in
jobs when someone was on holiday or off sick. She had yet
to get a job of her very own. She longed to approach a

dressmaker or even a dry cleaner's and offer to do mending
and alterations, but her English was still very poor. Who
would want to pay someone who could only say Please? Sorry?
What did you say?
She studied hard with a phrase book and went to English
classes in a church centre. There she met Father Brian and
made curtains for his club, and eventually did his ironing for
him. She never missed Sunday mass.
Naturally she agreed to do the ironing for the people who
ran the restaurant downstairs.
Lidia shook her head. 'They will just use you, they have no
money themselves; they won't pay you . . .'
But they paid her in meals, so she was never hungry and she
kept the euros she earned in a box under her bed. But now she
had this really wonderful job in the heart clinic. Once there
she had come on amazingly. She was a person of authority
now, a member of the team. She had new friends who all
helped her to speak English. She begged them to correct her if
she got a word wrong, for how else would she learn? And
Clara had taken her out to a restaurant to lunch the very first
day and many times since then. She had become a friend of
the nurses Fiona and Barbara and went to the cinema with
them from time to time. Dr Declan's mother had got Ania
some hours working in her launderette. Poor Hilary, who had
lost her mother so tragically, was also a friend. Ania had
helped her carry bag after bag of her late mother's clothes to
charity shops. Hilary had a warm, friendly son called Nick,
who was a great support to her; week by week she seemed to
grow a little stronger.
She told Ania that she was a peaceable person to have
around the house.
'Peaceable!' Ania repeated the word a few times.
'Don't mind me -- I will only teach you mad English.'

'I like this word "peaceable",' Ania said. 'It's what I would
like to be.'

And soon the letters Ania wrote to her mother were more
about people than about the great wealth and glitter of a
capital city. She was no more on the outside looking in; she
was part of it all now. She wrote how she had helped Judy
Murphy to wash her funny Jack Russell dogs, how she had
met a great Polish priest called Father Tomasz who had
invited them all to have a picnic at a shrine to St Ann in
Rossmore. She wrote about Dr Declan and his terrible
accident and how he was now back at work again.
She mentioned a very nice man called Carl, who was the
son of one of the patients at the clinic. He was giving her
English lessons and teaching her about Ireland at the same
time. Carl was a real teacher in a real school and he had taken
her to see a nativity play up there. Wasn't it amazing that all
over the world children told the story of Baby Jesus in the
same way?
'You might be even a little proud of me, Mamusia, if you
saw me,' she wrote. 'I have learned to hold my head up high
and greet people and I am never without work. I am saving
and in about a year I will come back to Poland and give you all
I have saved.'
Mamusia wrote back saying that she was always proud of
Ania and it had nothing to do with saving money. Ania should
spend money on herself. Go to a theatre maybe, buy a nice
outfit and a piece of jewellery - that's what Mamusia would
really like for her daughter.
And as Ireland became more and more real to Ania, Poland
began to fade away. Apart from Mamusia's letters, the chat in
the cafe downstairs and the girls she met at the church centre,
she did not think or talk in Polish any more. In fact she told
Lidia proudly that she even dreamed in English now. Which

I5«
made it such a huge shock the night she came back home late
and discovered Marek in the cafe.
Waiting for her.
She was tired. It had been a long evening and there hadn't
been as many customers where she was working which
resulted in even fewer tips. She had been thinking of taking a
sandwich and a big milky coffee up to bed.
This was absolutely not what she wanted, her first confrontation
with Marek after all this time.
'What a surprise!' she said in English.
He replied in Polish. 'How good it is to see you again. Oh,
Ania, I've longed for this moment.'
'Yes,' she said, still in English, 'yes I'm sure you must have
longed for it.'
He gave in and spoke in English too. 'And tell me - do you
feel the same?'
'I feel tired, Marek. That's all.'
'Are you not pleased to see me?' He couldn't bring himself
to believe the coolness of her response.
'Oh, everyone is always pleased to see you, Marek. Oliwia,
yes, and Julita?'
'Julita is not around any more.'
'I am sure she has been replaced,' Ania said bitterly.
'You know there was never anyone but you.'
Ania smiled a tired smile. 'Oh, I know that,' she agreed.
'Where did Julita go?'
'I was sure that busybody Lidia told you all about the whole
business, what happened at the cafe.'
'No, Lidia and I never talk about the cafe,' she said simply.
'As if I believed that . . .' he said.
'Go home to your wife, Marek.'
'No, Oliwia is not around either. There was a lot of trouble,
her father got to hear about things, he was very angry.'
'That is sad, but it has nothing to do with me,' Ania said.

'It has, I want to start again. All over, from the beginning.'
He had a yearning look in his face.
'Are you mad?' she asked.
'Well, you did come back to my bed after I married
Oliwia,' he said, aggrieved at her reaction.
'Yes, I did, and I have no idea why. It's a mystery to me. It's
I who was mad at that time.'
'You were there because you loved me,' he explained, as if
to a small child.
'Is this a holiday in Ireland?' she asked, changing the subject
suddenly.
'No, I hear there's plenty of work here and with two friends
I am going to open a club.'
'You are leaving the Bridge Cafe?'
'It's no longer mine to leave.'
'And your little daughter, Katarina?'
'She will not want to be bothered with me, she has her
mother and her rich grandfather.'
'And why do you come to me?'
'When we have this club, I want you to come and work
with me, it will be like before.'
'They don't have cafes like that in Ireland,' she said.
'It's going to be a lap-dancing club; they have those everywhere.
And you, Ania, you dance so well . . .'
'But I don't dance naked around a pole or at people's tables
in front of their faces.' She was appalled.
'You would be so good. You still look lovely, you haven't
got fat and puffy like Oliwia has.'
'Goodnight, Marek.' She made a move to go upstairs, but
he put his hand on her arm.
'Let me come with you.'
'Go home, Marek, go back, clear up the mess you made.'
This time he held her arm more firmly, stopping her from

leaving. Behind him, she could see the waiters come closer.
Protectively.
'It's all right, he's going,' she said to them.
'You owe me - we owe it to each other to finish the dream.'
'That's what it was - a dream. On my part. On your part -- I don't know. You never loved me. Never. Do you know what
a relief it is for me to know that? For such a long time I
thought you had loved me and I had somehow done something
to lose your love. This way it's much better. I have no
fear of you any more. No fear of displeasing you . . .' She was
aware that Lidia had come in, and was standing silently, supportively,
at her side.
'Well, go on, bitch, why didn't you tell her?' Marek spat at
Lidia.
'I didn't tell her because I didn't want her to find some
excuse for you, to feel pity. I was afraid she still loved you and
might find something to say in your defence.'
Marek reached towards Ania, but she pushed him away.
She could hear the restaurant owner asking, 'What do we do
now?'
Lidia was wordless. It was Ania's call.
It took her ten seconds. Then she said, 'He will go away.'
She stood tall, as she had told her mother she did. She met
people's eyes. She had nothing to apologise for.
It was a moment when they all recognised this, particularly
Marek. He shrugged off the hands that been about to restrain
him.
'It's all right, I'm going,' he said angrily. Then he turned
back to Ania and said roughly, 'I did love you for a bit.
Truly . . .'
'Goodbye, Marek,' she said, as she had said all those
months ago, the night before she left Poland. But this time
she really meant it.
She felt that she had been given a fresh chance, a new start.

It was as if she had been cleansed, the way she had felt when
she went to Confession a while back. Her English was nearly
good enough to go to Confession now in this country. Perhaps
she could see that nice Father Flynn. She would do it this
week.

Chapter Five




Brian Flynn hadn't known what to expect when the new
Polish priest arrived in Rossmore. He certainly didn't
expect that he would have a new best friend.
Tomasz was a cheerful, optimistic young man eager to do
anything to help in the parish. He was the kind of priest that
Brian thought he himself used to be twenty years back. Someone
who believed that anything could be done if there was
enough goodwill. Brian didn't really believe that any more.
People didn't seem to need the Church these days, so what was
he doing trying to be a bridge between God and the faithful?
Apart from a few elderly folk there was hardly anybody at
his daily 10 a.m. mass. Once it had been the start of the day for
women who went about their shopping afterwards and shop
workers who used to slip in to his church for a quarter of an
hour during their break. Schoolgirls praying for a good career
or a handsome boyfriend came in to light a candle. The
parents of sick children came in to seek help, the anxious and
disturbed came looking for peace.
Where are they now? Either up at that Holy Well talking to
St Ann or just getting on with life according to their own
resources. Father Brian Flynn knew that if this was true and that
people were managing on their own, then he should be

pleased for them, and God would be pleased too. Why keep
an empty ritual going if nobody needed it?
But then this way heresy lay. The next step would be to
think that the Church had no role to play in salvation. And
this was a road that Father Flynn did not want to travel. So
he watched enviously as young Father Tomasz laboured on,
organising processions which hardly anyone supported, and
festivals that were largely ignored.
The days went on. Every morning he visited his mother
who stayed in Neddy Nolan's house, a happy home where
Neddy and Clare with their baby girl managed to combine
looking after not only his mother but also the aged canon, and
two confused brothers who used to work in a garden centre
before the bypass came and changed the town. They had now
totally transformed Neddy and Clare's garden and made it the
envy of all Rossmore. Meanwhile, Clare was still teaching at
the local convent school.
These were the kind of people who had replaced the
Church, Brian Flynn would sometimes say to Tomasz when
they played a game of chess at night. Tomasz said people like
the Nolans hadn't replaced the Church, they had just added to
it and wasn't it something to be celebrated rather than sighed
over?
Tomasz learned three new words every evening. He particularly
liked the word 'eejit
'What does it signify exactly, Brian?' he asked.
As so often these days Brian Flynn felt at a loss. 'That
fellow's an old eejit. It means he hasn't a great brain.'
'Is he mentally ill? Does eejit mean mentally ill?'
'No, no, it doesn't, it means that he behaves kind of foolishly.'
'Like
he is going through a breakdown?'
'No, it's in his nature to do something sort of eejity. No,
that's not much help. He's a bit of a gobdaw.'


'Gobdawl' Tomasz cried, delighted. 'What a wonderful
word! What is a gobdawV
It was a relief to turn to talk about the conference in
Dublin, the day of lectures and seminars about the Church
and the New Irish, the reaching out to immigrants, policies
which were now becoming relevant to parishes all over the
country.
Brian and Tomasz took the train to Dublin for the meeting.
During the day the bishop approached Brian and explained
that there was a great need for hardworking, energetic priests
in Dublin's inner city.
'Oh, Your Grace, please don't take Tomasz from me now.
He's such a livewire, such a force in Rossmore,' Brian begged.
'Who said anything about Father Tomasz? I was talking
about you,' the bishop explained. And it was as simple as that.
The process had begun. In a matter of three months Father
Brian Flynn was transferred to a Dublin parish.

Nobody seemed to mind where he lived. The days were gone
when the priest's house was a matter of concern and importance,
but it was expected that he find somewhere to live
fairly speedily. He had asked around and Johnny, a big, bluff
guy with the looks of an all-in wrestler, said there was a flat
going in the house where he lived. Not elegant, mind, but
convenient, good pub round the corner, late-night shop up
the street. The landlord didn't live on the premises which was
always an advantage but of course come to think of it Brian
wouldn't be throwing many wild parties. Anyway, the negotiation
was done swiftly and Father Tomasz hired a van to
bring Brian Flynn's few possessions up to Dublin.
'Take that nice warm rug, Brian, it might be cold here in
the winter,' he begged.
'No, no, that rug belongs to the priest's house.' Brian
struggled to be fair.

'Jaysus, you're like a pair of auld ones dividing up the assets
after years of marriage,' Johnny said. Johnny had strong views
about matrimony, all negative. 'I don't know what all this fuss
is about clerical celibacy,' he would say, shaking his head in
amazement. 'You're well out of it, I say, steer far away.'
'You only say that because you haven't met the right girl,'
Brian would counter.
'There is no right girl, they're all the same. When I see fellows,
normal fellows, wiping sick off their shoulders, changing
nappies, being tormented by things going wa-wa for hours on
end, I wonder has the world as we know it gone mad?'
'Well, if we were to follow your line of thinking, Johnny,
the world as we know it would die out completely because no
one would procreate at all.'
'No harm either,' Johnny would mutter.
Johnny's flat on the first floor was full of exercise equipment.
The only books were fitness manuals. His fridge had
health drinks and there was always a bowl of fresh fruit on his
window sill. He was an easy-going, good-natured lad and very
generous with his time and skills. He gave several exercise
classes a week at the social centre and encouraged people to
run with him in the parks, Brian included.
'We'll have to get that clerical stomach off of you, Father,'
he would mock. 'If you're going to survive in the city you
must be a much leaner lad.'

Tomasz had taught Brian some helpful phrases in Polish. He
was far better at explaining the words of his language than
Brian was about English and as the weeks went on Brian
found that his work was much more in the nature of a social
worker than the tradition and ritual of the priesthood.
This was no bad thing. If, at the end of the day, you had
helped with housing or child support, or intervened to ensure
that the minimum wage was being paid, it was often a better

feeling than having offered prayers to God for something that
would surely never happen. If he had the joyful attitude of
Father Tomasz he would have seen virtue and value in both
approaches.
He took a train to Rossmore every week to see his mother
but as time went on she recognised him not at all. Neddy said
he must have no worries, he would call Dr Dermot instantly if
anything were to happen and in the meantime Mrs Flynn was
content living in her early girlhood and hoping that the nice
young man she had met on a day trip to the Isle of Man would
get in touch.
'Was that your father, Brian?' Neddy asked kindly, always
looking for a happy ending.
Brian knew his father had never been to the Isle of Man but
kindness was a higher law. 'It was indeed,' he said and he saw
Neddy's smile broaden.
Brian heard regularly from Neddy on matters such as his
mother having developed a liking for St Ann's Well; and from
his sister Judy, who had married Skunk Slattery; and sometimes
parishioners wrote to him to thank him for what he
had done in the past and to update him on miracle cures for
drinking husbands, reconciliations in loveless marriages, successes
of once wild children who had returned to their studies.
But more usually credit for this was given to St Ann and her
mad well.
Brian learned more about Dublin in his runs with Johnny
than he had ever found out anywhere else. As he paused for
breath he would find little known statues, memorials, that had
escaped him. He discovered too that even in this big, wealthy,
shiny city which was full of lights and bustle, there was intense
loneliness. His heart went out to the young Eastern Europeans
who clung to each other for company in this strange land. He
learned to eat all kinds of strange, spiced foods; he had made
discoveries about cabbage and meatballs that flabbergasted

him. Brian Flynn, who used to be a two slices of meat, two
boiled potatoes and carrots man, was now much more
adventurous. And it was not hard to make friends.
Johnny had introduced him to Ania, a Polish girl who
worked in the heart clinic where Johnny did physical exercises
with the patients. Ania made curtains for Father Brian's flat
and said she didn't want money because it was an honour to
do a small service for a good father. Brian reminded her that
Our Lord had said the labourer is worthy of his hire, and Ania
had told him that God was indeed good. She had met a lady
doctor in a car park who had given her a job with huge money
and great importance and now she felt she could do anything,
be anybody that she wanted. Sometimes she came to the
evenings that Brian organised where he invited various Irish
personalities to talk about the country to the newly arrived
residents.
Ania explained that people loved these evenings on different
levels. Some were really interested in the country where they
had come to live, others were hoping to meet people who
would give them jobs. A lot of them were cold and lonely and
relished the thought of a warm room and company. Brian
built on this last reason for attendance and arranged that there
should always be something to eat and an urn of tea at the
ready. He even introduced a log fire, which they loved, and
decorated the hall with pictures of Irish treasures or castles or
beauty spots. He worried that they all worked too hard to earn
money and didn't get to know the country where they had
come to live.
It was on New Year's Eve that Brian met Eileen Edwards.
Eileen had heard about the social centre and wanted to be part
of it. Gently, Brian told her it was really a drop-in and
welcoming place for recently arrived immigrants, but Eileen
insisted.
'I've heard you mention it at mass, Father. I am one of your


parishioners and I would like to be involved, if you see what I
mean.'
Brian didn't really see what she meant. She was in her mid
twenties, a good-looking blonde with long curly hair, well
dressed in leather jackets. She lived in one of the very upmarket
apartment blocks nearby. She told Brian that she was a
freelance writer, but her real problem was that she had an
allowance from her father so she wasn't hungry enough to
write, if he knew what she meant. Again, he didn't really know
what she meant. To him it was simple, you were a writer or
you weren't a writer. But then what did he know? Here she
was, a kind parishioner wanting to help. He must find her
something to do.
Gradually, Eileen Edwards became part of life around
Father Flynn's social centre. She helped to teach English conversation
classes. She was often there, pouring out the great tea
urn. Always dressed as if she was going out somewhere very
smart. Sometimes she let the girls in the centre try on her
jackets. She told them about her apartment where she had a
special closet just for shoes.
'She's slumming it, Brian, that's what she's at. She's only
here looking for a bit of rough!'
'Ah, Johnny, always the hard word,' Brian said, shaking his
head.
'But what else could it be, Brian? Hanging round here
looking everyone up and down.'
'And has she hit on you yet?' Brian asked with interest. 'I
mean she couldn't get a better example of rough than yourself.
Broken nose and all.'
Johnny took no offence, he thought about it seriously. 'No,
she hasn't come on to me at all. She'd get short shrift if she
did. No, I think it's you she fancies.'
The?' Brian Flynn was astounded. 'A fat, middle-aged
priest!'

'Of course you'd give up the whole priest business and be
normal like the rest of us,' Johnny suggested.
'Normal? You? You're insane, Johnny, that's what you are.'
'I think I might be, all right,' Johnny agreed. 'The only cure
for insanity is a pint.'
'I don't know why you drag me on these punishing walks
then fill me up with beer again,' Brian grumbled.
'Someone's got to look after your social life before we let
that lulu drag you down,' Johnny said.
Brian laughed at him. Johnny was a man who saw drama
everywhere and predatory women round every corner.
But he wasn't the only one who took against Eileen
Edwards. Judy Slattery, Father Flynn's sister, had taken against
her, too.
Judy was married to a man back in Rossmore whom
everyone else called Skunk, but she always addressed as
Sebastian. She had found her husband through St Ann's Well
and would hear nothing against the saint or the so-called
superstition surrounding her shrine. She was obsessed with
trying to get her husband's name -- which was and had always
been Skunk -- changed to Sebastian. Skunk had turned out
to be not only the name of an offensive and smelly animal,
but also some horrible drug. Sebastian must not have such
connections.
Sometimes her conversations with Brian could become
quite sharp. Skunk Slattery was a great peacemaker.
'Will you leave the poor man alone, Judy, isn't he only a
confused cleric who doesn't know whether he's coming or
going. Let him have his little rants and raves about St Ann. It
makes him feel adventurous.'
There was no Skunk around to keep the peace when Judy
dropped in to see her brother in Dublin.
'What do you have that troublesome girl hanging round
here for?' she asked.

'She helps. She's a volunteer.' Brian was vague.
'I'd say there isn't much she wouldn't volunteer for.' Judy
was disapproving.
'Why don't you like her, Judy? She's harmless and possibly
a bit lonely.'
'Hmm. I don't like the way she refers to you . . . Oh, I'm
teaching Brian to text message; oh, I think Brian must learn
the email; oh, Brian's doing such a good job with these
people.'
'Mimicking someone is always very cruel.' Brian was cross
now. 'She can't help it if she speaks in a posh accent.'
'I'm not talking about her accent, I'm talking about what
she says.' Judy was spoiling for a fight.
'Well, that's all true. She is teaching me how to use email.
She has taught me to text. All of this is very useful.' You could
hear Judy's snort at the other side of the Liffey.

A few days later Eileen turned up at Father Flynn's ground
floor flat.
'Hello?' he said, surprised.
'Well, I thought you sounded lonely in your email.'
'My email?' Brian was bewildered.
'Yes, the one you sent a couple of hours ago,' Eileen said.
'No, I didn't send any email, Eileen.'
'But you did, Brian. Look . . .' She produced a sheet of
typed paper from her handbag.
'I need my glasses,' he said.
'Then invite me in rather than leaving me to stand at the
doorway.' Unwillingly he asked her into his simple place.
When Eileen saw it she screamed in horror.
'Brian, you can't live with that carpet, it's ancient!'

'I didn't notice,' he said.
'And there's not a matching chair in the place, it's like a

first-year student's flat. And that lumpy, bumpy sofa. Really,
Brian, you deserve better than this.' She shook her head.

'I'm fine here, thank you, Eileen,' he said and she seemed to
notice the hint of resentment in his voice.
'No, I didn't mean to criticise, I just wanted you to know
how valuable you are to everyone here. You should look after
yourself more, give yourself a little comfort. I bet you haven't
even got a proper kitchen . . .' Without being invited, she
went into his kitchen and looked around it sadly, tutting and
clucking to herself. 'Look at all those uneven surfaces, look at
that cold floor, that torn lino . . .' And before he could stop
her, she had gone into his bedroom, seen his tousled bed, the
clothes rail on wheels which served him as a wardrobe. The
walls were covered with soccer posters hastily stuck up to cover
damp or stained portions of wallpaper.
Quite.
As he loosened his collar with his finger, Brian felt very
uneasy. Could there possibly be anything in what Johnny had
suggested? Then he pulled himself sharply together. Eileen
Edwards was a beautiful twenty-five-year-old girl, he was a
fat middle-aged priest. Was he going mad thinking she might
fancy him!
Eileen had got out a notebook and was beginning to make
a list. Brian knew that this must be cut short immediately.
'It's very kind of you, Eileen, and I know you mean well but
actually you're not helping me at all. I am blind to my
surroundings really and this carpet and this place are just fine
with me. So I'll have to ask you to let me go my way.'
'But, Brian, your shirts aren't even ironed. I mean, really.'
'They're drip dry,' he said plaintively.
'No, they're not. They're all wrinkled and crushed. You
need a nice, kind girl to do your ironing for you every week.'
'Please, Eileen.'

'No, be serious, when you were a priest in Rossmore did
someone iron for you there?'
'Anna, who was married to Jozef. They did ironing, I
suppose.'
'You suppose! Imagine, you don't even know!' She professed
to be amazed.
'Well, it didn't seem very important.'
'It is important if you meet people, people of substance,
who might help you and the centre. What will they think if
you turn up looking like a hooligan? Who would advance you
money or support then?'
He was anxious that she should be gone. 'I won't keep you
any more, Eileen, and as I say I thank you for your interest. I will think about it all, I promise, but I couldn't have you
doing my ironing for me . . .'
Eileen gave a scream.
The? You thought I was offering to do your ironing? Oh
Lord, what an idea!'
He felt his face and neck redden. 'I'm sorry, I thought you
said I needed a kind girl to do it.'
'I didn't mean that / would do it. The centre is full of girls
who go out to clean houses, they'd do it quick as look at you.'
'Yes, of course. Sorry,' he mumbled.
'And I wouldn't have come round at all only that your
email seemed to suggest that you needed company.'
'I didn't send any email, Eileen, I told you I didn't.'
'What's this then?' And Brian Flynn found himself reading
a sheet of typed paper which indeed did purport to come from him. It said that the evenings were long and lonesome and that
a bit of pleasant company would never go amiss.
'What was I to think?' Eileen opened up her china-blue eyes
in puzzlement.
'I'm sorry, Eileen, I didn't write it,' he said.

'Well, it's got your name, your email address.' And, true, it
did say it was from Father Brian which was his email name.
'Okay, Brian, so the moment has passed,' she said, forgiving,
understanding, all-knowing.
'There was no moment to pass,' he said despairingly.
She just looked down at the sheet of paper again. It was as if
she rested her case.

Brian Flynn didn't sleep well that night. He examined all the
possible explanations. None of them seemed reasonable or
good. He said mass next morning and shook the hands of
those who had come to pray.
'It would be wonderful if you had a Polish priest to give us a
sermon some time,' little Ania said. She and Lidia were there
as usual and Ania always spoke to Brian as she left the church.
Suddenly the thought came to Brian that he would invite his
friend Tomasz to preach once a month. Tomasz would love it,
the people here would love him. His tired face lit up with
pleasure thinking of how he would arrange it.
'Oh and Father, Eileen was telling me you needed someone
to do your ironing. It would be an honour for me--'
'No, Ania, Eileen got it wrong.'
'But she said she was in your flat last night having supper
and you said your clothes looked crumpled and not like the
clothes of a man who dined with gentlemen and she wondered
would I--'
'No, Ania, many thanks but no. And Eileen did not have
supper in my flat last night or any night. She called with some
cracked email that I was meant to have written to her.'
'She says you are very good at the email now, that you write
her many letters.' Ania wanted to give praise where it was due.
'I have written her no letters. But, Ania, why am I shouting
at you?. This is all a misunderstanding that's all.'
'I know, Father Brian.' The girl's grey eyes were kind and

sympathetic. They were not the cold, china-blue, slightly mad
eyes of Eileen.
Brian Flynn got on with his day, a heavy feeling of dread
around his heart.
Tomasz was very excited by the chance of speaking to his
fellow Poles. He wondered where he could stay in Dublin,
everywhere seemed too expensive to him. 'You could stay in
my place for free,' Brian offered. 'There's a lumpy sofa but
with a few cushions it should be all right.' Tomasz thought
that was a great idea and they fixed a date.
Tomasz emailed him a few lines in Polish saying what he
was going to talk about. Brian picked it up at the internet cafe.
Out of interest he asked the proprietor was it possible to send
an email pretending to come from someone else.
'Only if you knew their password,' the man said. So that was that. Brian knew that nobody knew his password.
So what could have happened? Had he in fact in a
moment of madness really written that letter to Eileen? Was
he losing touch with reality?
Father Tomasz loved the old cobbled streets and tiny
restaurants in Brian Flynn's part of Dublin. He had a half
pint with Johnny and a mate of his, Tim, the security man at
the heart clinic. He did a tour of the centre, discussed the next
day's mass, and came back via a cheap Indian restaurant to
Brian's place.
'It's lovely, Brian, haven't you everything you need here,' he
admired. Brian got a lump in his throat. This was what he had
wanted to hear, not that he was a pitiable loser. The men sat
and talked happily about Rossmore, the canon, Neddy Nolan,
Skunk and Judy's new bookshop and the goings-on up at the
Ferns and Heathers.
At midnight Brian Flynn got a text message. 'No, Brian, it's
too late tonight, it wouldn't be wise to come and see you.
We'll meet tomorrow. Stay cheerful, try to sleep and don't

contact me again like a good lamb.' It was signed, 'love,
Eileen'.
Brian showed the text message to Tomasz. 'The only thing
is that I didn 't contact her,' he said with a sad face like a bloodhound.
They
talked late into the night. Tomasz was full of theories.
Maybe Brian's kind manner had given Eileen some sort of
false encouragement? But that couldn't explain these emails
and text messages that she claimed to have got from him.
Possibly she was a reformer, someone who had to change
other people. That might be why she felt free to walk through
his house commenting and criticising.
Yes. But it still didn't explain the messages.
'Perhaps she is a mad person,' Tomasz said eventually.
'Yes, I think that must be it,' Brian agreed sadly.
They had another mug of tea and sighed over it all.
'Maybe you could get in touch with her family?' Tomasz
suggested.
'I don't think she is close to them. She talks about her father
giving her an allowance. She never says anything about them.
Any of them.'
'And does she live alone?'
'Yes, I think so.'
'You don't know much about her, Brian?'
'You're right, Tomasz, I hardly know anything about her at
all.'

Johnny was in the heart clinic doing cardiac exercises with a
group of patients. The group included Kitty Reilly, who kept
insisting that any good health or improvement was due to the
direct intervention of some saint or other and blamed the
world in general for ignoring this saint whenever she was not
feeling great. There was the kindly Judy Murphy who was
now so fit that she was like an assistant to Johnny, helping the

wild, flailing limbs of people like Lar to stay some way contained.
Bobby Walsh with his anxious, sad face, said that he
would do anything to get more strength in his arms, so Johnny
had put him for a sustained period on the arm machine.
Everyone was getting along fine at their various stations when
Clara came in.
'An urgent phone call for you, Johnny,' she said.
Johnny was surprised. Who could be ringing him at the
heart clinic? His mobile phone was on answer. He could have
got the message later.
'I'm sorry, Clara, I don't know what it's about.'
'It's a priest, a Father Flynn, he sounds very distressed. Go
and deal with it, Johnny, I'll supervise the class here.'
'Oh good, we can relax a bit now that the sergeant major
has gone,' said Lar with some relief.
'Oho, you haven't seen me in action. I'm a devil for the
treadmill,' Clara Casey said. 'You'll be praying for Johnny to
come back, believe me.'

'Hello, Brian, how's tricks?'
'Not good, Johnny: that Eileen came up to me after the
Polish mass today and said I'd asked her out tonight and that
she was buying a slinky black number.'
'What?'
'A dress, I think she meant.'
'I know that's what she meant. But you didn't ask her out,
did you?'
'Of course I didn't. So what am I to do, Johnny?'
'I think it's a sign you should give up being a druid once
and for all. That's what it's saying to me.'
'I'm serious, Johnny.'
'So am I. If you can pull good-looking birds while you're
inside the system think what you could do when you shake
yourself free.'

There was a silence.
'I'm sorry, Brian, she's a nutter, that's all.'
'Probably, yes.'
'So treat her as one, ignore her.'
'That's hardly the way to deal with disturbed people.'
'No? Then get yourself a slinky black number too and hit
the town.'
'Sorry for having interrupted your work.' Brian's voice was
clipped.
'Jesus, Brian, I'll buy you a pint at lunchtime, try to put old loony tunes out of your mind.'
'Sure. Fine,' said Father Brian Flynn and hung up.
Ania watched Johnny as he too put the phone down.
'Does poor Father Brian have problems?' she asked.
'Yeah, he does a bit.' Johnny didn't want to tell any secrets
and start gossip.
'He is such a kind man and he lives so simply. I iron a few
shirts for him. I see how little he has in his flat.'
'Would you iron my shirts, Ania?'
'Yes, but you would have to pay me. To do work for a holy
priest is an honour, a privilege, not for a gymnastic person like
you.'
'Your English is getting better every day, Ania,' Johnny
said.
'Well, if you lived in a place where they only spoke Polish
you too would learn the language,' Ania said to him.
'Oh no, I couldn't learn your language. It's all Was and Zs.'

'Sorry for that.' Johnny came back to the exercise room.
Bobby hadn't fallen over anything and some of them were
moving at a brisker pace.
'Your friend, the priest, is he all right? He sounded very
stressed,' Clara enquired.
'He's stressed all right, he has a stalker, a mad one


178
I
altogether. Keeps claiming that he's asking her out. Poor Brian
wouldn't do that in a million years. He must be the only one
in the Church who has always kept the rules.'
'There are a few, certainly,' Clara agreed.
'He wants to know what to do,' Johnny said.
'Only one thing he can do.' To Clara it was simple. 'He has
to go to the Guards.'

'Are you out of your mind? Go to the Guards?' Brian said to
him in the pub as they had a pint and a sandwich.
'They'd stop her antics. What's she doing now?'
'She's showing everyone these text messages and emails that
I am meant to have sent her.'
'But they weren't sent on your phone?' Johnny was bewildered.
'Apparently
they were. She showed me. It was my mobile
number on the top. I don't know how it works. Could she
have transferred it or something?'
'I don't think so. Could she have found your phone and
borrowed it, so to speak?'
'I don't see how. I nearly always have it on me.'
'And about the email?'
'It came from the internet cafe down the road where I do send emails from.'
'And would she have known your password?'
'No. She made a great play out of telling me to keep it to
myself when she was teaching me. She said she would look
away when I was putting it in.'
'Maybe she didn't look away at all. Brian, she's unhinged.
We do need to tell the Guards.'
'I can't land in on her like that. I'd have to tell her first. It's
only fair.'
'She hasn't played fair with you.'

'No, but that's different.' As usual Brian found excuses for
people.
'Because she isn't playing with the full deck?'
'Something like that. I will have to warn her, then maybe it
will stop.'
'And maybe we'll see little pink pigs flying over the Dublin
Mountains,' said Johnny, who was not of a naturally optimistic
frame of mind.

It wasn't hard to find Eileen Edwards. She was having a coffee
at the social centre, talking animatedly to the girls, telling
them about a new handbag she had bought. There were only
thirty-six of them in Ireland. She had stood in line and queued
for it in Grafton Street. The girls listened, fascinated. Eileen
came from another world. A world they were dying to join.
'Can I have a word, there has been a mix-up about arrangements?'
Brian said and sat down at a table in full view of all
the others. Eileen was not going to claim that they had a secret
meeting or anything.
'Oh well, if it's private,' she simpered at him.
'No, it's not private. It's just that you made a mistake.
There was no arrangement to meet you this evening.'
'I have your text message.' She flashed her phone at him
triumphantly.
'Well, that's what I mean. Somebody must be playing
games because I didn't write that message you showed me this
morning.'
'It came from your phone, Brian,' she said, her eyes dancing.
'That's
what we are going to have to investigate. The
Guards will help us find the solution.'
'The Guards?' Her eyes widened.
'Yes, they have people who can trace these calls and emails.
We have to find out what's happening.'

'And you are willing to let the Guards know all about
our . . . relationship.'
'We don't have a relationship, Eileen.'
'No? They might be surprised how I know all about your
bedroom and the posters for Real Madrid and Sunderland
on the walls, the bathroom with the big, old-fashioned water
heater, the lumpy sofa in the sitting room. How could I know
all these things if you haven't invited me in to your flat?'
'Eileen!' His big, honest face was aghast at her cunning.
'No use saying my name like that, Brian. You told me that I
was special, that you would get released from your vows to
marry me. You introduced me to your friend James O'Connor
who was an ex-priest . . .'
'I introduced you because you came and stood by us for so
long in Corrigans I had to do something. Listen to me, Eileen,
stop this thing, whatever it is, before it gets started. You're a
beautiful young woman. You can have a life of your own, should have a life of your own.'
'You always tell me I am beautiful,' she said dreamily, 'but
that's not what I want to hear. I want to hear when we can be
open about what we have.'
'What we have? We have nothing, Eileen. Come to your
senses, for heaven's sake.'
'You've committed yourself to me, there's no way you are
wriggling out of it now.'
'You know this is nonsense--' he began.
'Well, tell the Guards then, see if I care.' She looked very
young and vacant as she spoke.
'I will tell them, Eileen, for your sake as well as mine. You
need help.'
'Not from the Guards I don't. Anyway, they won't believe
you. Just another priest with a panic attack. That's what they'll
think.'

'Suppose they do believe me and give you a caution,' he
said.
'Then I'll go to the newspapers. The way I was treated here
is shameful. Building up my hopes, promising me the sun,
moon and stars and when you had your way with me, just
backing out.'
'Eileen, I beg you, you're not well . . .'
'No, of course I am not well if you throw everything back in
my face, and take away my future.'
'But your parents, Eileen. Your family, what would they
say? Can't they help you? If I could meet them and explain.'
'Nothing you would say would make any difference to
them. They would see you as a priest who abused your position.
So, what time are we meeting tonight and where are you
taking me?'
'We are not meeting. I am taking you nowhere.'
'Oh well, have it your way, but if they find my body in the
Liffey, you can be quite sure they'll find the whole explanation
in my apartment. Details. Pictures. Everything.'
Brian sighed, 'Eileen, the Guards wouldn't give that kind of
thing to the tabloid papers. It's just the ravings of someone
who is a bit upset. Disturbed even.'
'Oh well then, I had better go straight to the papers,' she
said cheerfully.
'There's nothing between us, Eileen,' he began.
'You're right. There's not now. Only a lot of hurt and
disappointment,' she said.
'There never was anything. Anything at all.'
'Yes, I can see. It's all tidied away for you and you expect
the same from me.'
He spoke gently now. 'There was nothing to tidy away. I
beg you, think back, think clearly.'
'I'm very clear, thank you. Crystal clear. You've moved on,
found someone else. But I owe it to her and the many others

I



to go public on this.' And she picked up her new handbag and
flounced out of the coffee area.

Brian went back to his flat. He was deadly tired. He needed to
lie down and rest. Maybe an idea would come to him. He sat
at his table and thought for a long time. Wasn't it sad to have
lived this long and have no one to turn to? His own mother
didn't recognise him. His sister would only say, 'I warned
you!'
He couldn't ask the bishop as His Grace would undoubtedly
think that Brian had been somehow inappropriate.
He thought suddenly of James O'Connor who had been
ordained with him all those years ago. James was always so
definite and certain. He had wanted to be a priest, missionary
even, then he met this woman and he wanted to be a married
man. Once he knew that was what he wanted, he set about it
without a backward glance. He even managed to convince his
parents that what he was doing was right. James was the man
to consult.
And Johnny, who was always such a great, solid mass of
common sense. Johnny had no time for nonsense. He once
told Brian that he had never dreamed, he actually didn't know
what people were talking about when they said they dreamed
of this or that. He might well know what to do. Maybe they
would be able to find a way out. As he was considering calling
him, Brian got a phone call from Neddy Nolan.
'The most extraordinary thing, Brian. You know the way
your mother often has a problem remembering who people
are.'
'Yeah, I do. Mainly Judy and myself.'
'Well, she's convinced that you have left the priesthood and
got married. She said she got a phone call telling her that your
wedding is in Dublin next month and she wants to go to the
wedding.'

i«3
'God Almighty.'
'Well, I'm only telling you this, Brian, because she told
Father Tomasz and he hit the roof. I tried to explain to Father
that poor Mrs Flynn had trouble sorting out fact from a kind
of dream world but I didn't do a good job. Father Tomasz
has been here all morning asking me who could possibly
have telephoned your mother. Then he kept saying "bad bad
woman" and assured me he did not mean your mother, so I
didn't know what to do, you see . . .'
Brian Flynn could see poor Neddy confused and trying to
do what was best.
'So I asked Clare and she said I should call you myself. If
you were getting married then you wouldn't mind us knowing
and if you weren't then you'd know what to do.'
'The answer is no to everything, Neddy. No, I'm not getting
married and no, I don't have any idea what to do.'

'Tomasz?'
'Is that you, Brian? You heard?'
'Did she really ring and ask to speak to my mother?'
'Yes, she must have. The carer answered the phone and
brought it in to Mrs Flynn. This can't go on.'
'I know it can't.'
'Are you ready to talk to the police yet?'
'I'm ready,' Brian said. But he wasn't ready to go alone. He
needed an ally. And yet he himself was meant to be a priest of
God, a man with strength and confidence. Where was it when
he needed it most? And to think he had once thought it was
hard and complicated living in Rossmore.
He took the train to visit his mother. He held her hand in
his and said that once a priest always a priest. The lady on the
phone was just confused. It was a lady, wasn't it?
'Yes, a lady called Eileen. She said she was going to marry

you, that you had got your papers from Rome and didn't want
to tell me in case I would be upset.'
'And what did you say, Mother?'
'I said I was happy to see you well out of the priesthood.
But I pointed out that you were engaged to me, had given me
a ring and that she was to get any ideas of her marrying you
out of her head.'
Brian Flynn realised with a sense of defeat that within one
paragraph his mother had slipped from knowing who he was
to believing he was his father. There would be no further
details about the phone call from Eileen. All was resentment
now. Eileen was the enemy. The threat who might take his
long dead father away from the marital home.
Wearily he came home, back to Dublin and let himself into
the flat. There was a light on in the bedroom. He opened the
door of the room and there on the bed was a bunch of red roses.
And a note. The note enclosed a picture of Eileen lying there
among those cushions with the football posters on the wall
in what was undeniably his bedroom. Her letter said simply:

Thank you for letting me be part of your life, your heart
and your bed. I had always looked forward with hope and
happiness to our future together. Perhaps it will still come to
pass.
Love always,
Eileen

There was no longer any time to wait for allies. Brian Flynn
left his flat and walked purposefully to the Guards Station. It
wasn't going to be easy but it had to be done. He was right in
that it wasn't going to be easy. The desk sergeant was a small,
foxy-looking man who had seen it all in his time. Priests
wandering from the straight and narrow was part of the

territory nowadays, he said. Often it was no more or no less
than a vocation having ended, a new phase of life having
begun.
With a very short fuse Brian listened to this man spouting
nonsense.
'But where do you stand, Sergeant, when there isn't one
word of truth in these allegations? This woman has told my
friends, she has told everyone at the social centre where I
work and now even my mother, who is suffering from partial
dementia down in Rossmore, that she and I are a number, an
affair, even an impending marriage. Not one word of this is
true.'
The sergeant glanced at the photograph of Eileen Edwards
in the priest's bed. The email he was alleged to have sent to
this woman, the list of names and addresses: Father Tomasz,
James O'Connor and Johnny Pearse.
The glance said everything and hinted that despite the filing
of a report, nothing was going to be done. The glance said this
was a priest who had had a fling and had now changed his
mind. For no reason Brian Flynn felt as if he were going to cry.
He hadn't cried for a long time. But now everything seemed to
be beyond him like a swimmer heading for shore. Shore was
too far away. He might not make it. Perhaps he had encouraged
this woman. A tear fell down on the sergeant's desk.
The sergeant was not entirely unfeeling.
'Maybe you should just go home now. Think about it and
if it's still preying on your mind, then you should get a lawyer
and write to the young lady in question . . .'
Brian scooped up all his belongings and stored them in the
canvas bag he used for his shopping. It had a logo on it: 'Take
Care of the Earth'. Brian thought to himself that he was doing
his best but it wasn't working out very well.

'Ania, will you come for a pint in Corrigans tonight?' Johnny
asked when Ania came into his cardiac fitness room with the
forms the patients were meant to fill out every session.
'Not if you want me to talk to Father Brian,' she said.
'But why, Ania? He's such a good guy, for a druid, well, by
any standards really.'
'A druid?' Ania asked, puzzled.
'Forget it. It's just a sort of insulting word for a priest.'
'Right, good. A druid, is that it?'
'No, that's not important, the bit you are to remember is
that he's a good guy.'
'He's not a good guy, Johnny. I thought he was, but he is
not.'
'Why do you say that? Did somebody say something against
him?'
'No, but I saw his girlfriend in his bed, lying there as bold
as bronze.'
'Brass,' Johnny corrected.
'What?'
'You say as bold as brass, not bronze. Did she speak to you?'
'Of course she did.'
'And was it Eileen Edwards, the one we call Goldilocks?'
'You know that it was. You all protect him. You're as bad as
he is.'
'But it's all lies, Ania, every word of it.'
'Not what I saw. That wasn't lies. She was lying in his bed,
Johnny.'
'How did she get in?'
'He gave her the key.'
'He swears there's only one other key and you have it,'
Johnny said.
'He surely is not saying that I let her in?'
'No, but could she have taken your key?'

'No, she could not do that. It's in my handbag.'

'And she couldn't have got at your handbag? She's very
mad, you know.'
'No, she would not have been alone with my bag . . .' Ania
stopped. 'Unless of course . . .'
Johnny leaped at this. 'Unless what?'
'No, it was impossible. She called in one day when I was
doing the ironing. Father Brian wasn't in. She asked me to
make her a cup of tea . . .'
'And you left your bag . . .'
'Only for a small moment.'
'But you did leave it in the same room?'
'I was not expecting that she would open my bag . . .'
'No, none of us were expecting this . . . and she probably
put it back in your bag next day at the centre when she had
made a copy.'
'She was very much at home there in Father Brian's house.'
'In her mind she was, Ania. She is really mad, you know.'
'I know that she is dangerous,' Ania said.
'That too,' Johnny agreed. 'Please come tonight. Brian
needs his friends.'
'I was going to have an English lesson,' Ania said.
'Sure, don't you speak better English than any of us. Come
to Corrigans, please,' he said.
And Ania said that she would ring and cancel her English
lesson. Carl would understand.
'I have learned one new word anyway today,' she said
cheerfully.
'What's that?' Johnny asked.
'Droo-id, a word for priest,' she said proudly.
Johnny put his head in his hands.

That night they all sat open-mouthed in Corrigans while
Brian told the whole tale, showed the photograph and eventually
had a cry with big, heaving shoulders. Johnny ran to get

him a brandy. This had gone beyond pints. Ania cried with
him at the unfairness of life and out of shame that she had ever
doubted him. James O'Connor said the one thing about being
a school teacher was that you knew the first thing to do with
anything was to make a list of what to do now.
They dried their tears, sipped their drinks and planned
what to do. Could they get a private detective to follow Eileen
to see where she went and perhaps to find her family? That
way they might find out a bit more about her.
How would they find one? In the classified directories?
Maybe the security man who worked with Johnny and Ania
at the heart clinic might know someone in that line of business.
James wrote down 'Ask Tim for contact'. But then it
might cost huge money which none of them had. They
couldn't follow her themselves as she would recognise them.
'The girl I share a flat with, she could do it,' Ania offered.
Her name was Lidia. She worked in a bar, was very confident,
Ania said enviously. Lidia could cope with anything that life
threw at her. James wrote down 'Discuss matter with Lidia'.
There were further options: 'Talk to bishop', 'Go to someone
higher in the police force', 'Set up a petition', 'Get a journalist
to tell Father Brian's side of things', 'Tell everyone she's mad
and ignore her'. None of their ideas seemed very good. The
best hope was Lidia.
Lidia was bemused when little Ania came in to her pub with
three men in tow. She was even more astounded when she
took her break to sit with them and realised what they wanted
her to do.
'Is this some kind of a joke, Ania?' She spoke in English out
of courtesy to the others, but Ania answered in Polish to show
how serious it was.
'This is our only hope to save a good man, you must help
us, you must.'
'But suppose it's not what you think--' Lidia began.

Brian interrupted, 'Please believe me, Miss Lidia, this is a
lot to ask you but without your help we have no hope at all.'
'But the government, the Church, the law? They cannot
punish you if you are innocent.'
'If it were only as easy as that, Miss Lidia, then believe me
we would not be here wasting your time.' Brian looked very
defeated.
'What do I have to do?' Lidia asked.
The first thing the little committee asked her to do was to
follow Eileen back to the big apartment block where she lived.
She had told tales of how wonderful the commissionaire was, a
real sweetie, she said, who would do anything for you. Eileen
had said she was friendly with a lot of the people and sometimes
went to their little drinks parties.
She had described the beautiful view right across the
Dublin Mountains; the place, she said, was very well kept.
Cleaners came at 4 a.m. to do the stairs and landings and they
were very quiet. She had told all this to the hardworking girls,
many of whom might actually be part of the 4 a.m. cleaning
force. Eileen saw nothing incongruous about describing her
privileged lifestyle to those who had such a small income. She
said they loved to hear stories about her fairy princess lifestyle.
Lidia couldn't help wondering why Eileen would seek out
the company of immigrants, of people considerably less fortunate,
as she put on her jacket and jeans and pulled a soft,
dark hat over her face. She would have to look anonymous if
she were to follow this woman and not be recognised.

The very first night Lidia followed Eileen home, she saw her
go up to the porter at the gate, rather than go up to the main
entrance of the building. She looked so beautiful and very well dressed. Lidia liked clothes and she knew that Eileen
Edwards's outfit cost a small fortune. What was she doing
with her life? And what could she have in common with the
rather bullet-headed-looking boy who let cars in and out? To

her surprise, Lidia saw Eileen empty her handbag and put the
contents in a plastic bag. The porter put the expensive handbag
down under his desk. Eileen ran quickly away and hailed a
bus on her side of the road.
Where was she going?
Lidia threw herself across the road and just caught the bus
before it left, nearly killing herself in the attempt.
'Yes?' said the weary-looking driver.
Lidia didn't know where to say. She had no idea where
Eileen would get off the bus. 'The end of the line. The terminal
station, please,' she said.
'Are you from Lithuania, by any chance?' the driver asked. 'Why do you ask?'
'I met a gorgeous Lithuanian girl at a club. I really liked her.
I wondered did you know her.'
'This is a very big city,' Lidia said.
'Don't I know. I walked this area here as green fields when I
was a lad.'
Lidia sat and looked out the window at the rows of houses
that had sprung up where the driver had once known green
fields. She watched the reflection of Eileen, carefully ready for
any sign that she might be about to get up and leave. Eventually
she did. She looked around her as if anxious that she
would not be spotted.
Lidia got out after her and went deliberately in the opposite
direction. Then she took off her black hat and wrapped her
red scarf around her head so that hopefully she looked totally
different and turned to follow Eileen Edwards. She walked for
five minutes and saw Eileen stop in Mountainview Road, a
very shabby street outside a particularly dilapidated house.
Again, she looked up and down the street and let herself in.
Lidia took a picture of the house with Johnny's phone
which she had borrowed for the occasion, then she caught the
bus back to the apartment block and photographed the man

in the porter's office outside the apartment block. And, exhausted,
she went back to the flat she shared with Ania over
the Polish restaurant. Ania was sitting up in bed, studying the
English book that Carl had given her.
'They were very religious here in Ireland, back in the old
days,' Ania said.
'Well, they aren't these days,' Lidia said, taking her shoes
off and rubbing her feet.
'Did you get anything?'
'Yes. Eileen is such a liar. Not one thing she has said to
anyone is true.' Lidia showed the pictures.
'Let's call Father Brian.' Ania was excited.
'But it's late, it's surely too late.'
'He won't be asleep, poor man, and he will be so happy to
discover we have some proof.'
'Hang on, what do we have proof of, Ania? That she went
to a house in a poor area? That is not a crime.'
'It's proof that she tells lies,' Ania said happily as she
telephoned Brian's number.
His response was muted.
'Are you not more pleased, Father Brian? Now we know that she is a liar.'
'You see, I always knew that,' he said sadly.

The Friends of Brian Committee arranged for different people
to follow Eileen in order to find out more. Johnny had asked
Tim the security man to help. Tim said that he would enquire
about the porter at the gate, find out if anyone knew anything
about him. He would also follow Eileen on one of her shopping
trips. Tim was a quiet man, a bit of a loner, but used to long hours and hard work; he said he was happy to do this for
the priest.
He talked to a few colleagues who had jobs as store detectives
in other security firms. He barely needed to show the

photograph. They all knew Goldilocks. She was banned from
city centre shops and shopping malls. Goldilocks, a known
shoplifter, who had got away with it several times in court by
claiming that she was only taking the garment or item outside
to see it in daylight. She had put up such a good performance
that magistrates, district justices and even tough solicitors had
been fooled.
No, their job was just to prevent her getting in to the stores.
Goldilocks had smiled at them forgivingly as if they were just
doing some crazy job. They told Tim she was a minx from a
tough family. Her father was known to be violent. Tim kept
the last piece of information to himself.
Brian Flynn was a decent kind of fellow who was sorry for
people. He might even stop the whole thing if he heard about
a violent father. In Tim's opinion Goldilocks should be locked
up. Now.
James O'Connor was next on the list to do his bit. He was
going to run into Eileen accidentally, remind her that they
met in Corrigans and invite her for a drink. He would find out
more about her and deliver the news to the committee the
following night. The more information they could give to the
Guards when applying for a restraining order the better. James
managed it very well and Eileen remembered him clearly.
'You were with dear Brian that night in the pub,' she said.
'Yes, poor Brian's going through a bad patch at the moment.'
'Isn't
he just!' Eileen was sympathetic.
'Did you and he really have a thing?' James asked.
'You know we did and do, James. He's just not able to face

it'
'He does deny it, certainly.'
'Well, think how it makes me feel? It was difficult enough
in the first place to believe him that his religious vows weren't

important. That our vows to love each other forever were what
mattered.'
'He said that?' James was wondering and admiring.
'Oh yes, you know what a hopeless romantic he is. And
now, for some reason, he wants to cut me out of his life.
Utterly unbearable.'
James looked at her round face, her innocent blue eyes.
How terrible if this girl had taken a fancy to him and told his
wife and children that they were deeply involved. Who would
have doubted her? He shivered slightly at the prospect.
'I wonder, should you move on, Eileen? Forget him, just get
on with your life.'
'Well, of course I would, James. That's what I would advise
anyone to do, but it's not as simple as that. You see I'm
pregnant. It's not only myself I have to think about. Yes, Brian
and the child as well.'

James told Brian when the two of them were alone.
'I didn't think you'd want me coming out with that lot in
front of everybody. You didn't, did you?'
'James, my friend, you think it might be true and that's why
you told me privately.'
'No, I did not think that.' James was indignant.
'So why the secrecy then? Why can't the others be told
how absurd this woman is? You are all so helpful to me, why
shouldn't the others know the extent of her madness and
delusion?'
'Of course, Brian, I'm sorry, I didn't think.'
'You did think, but you thought the wrong thing. If that
girl is pregnant, it has nothing to do with me. Nothing.'
'Look, it even might be to our advantage,' James said,
anxious to make amends. 'You know, blood test, DNA, that
sort of thing.'
'Thanks, James, really, I mean it, thanks.' But Brian's face

was grim. He was disturbed that James would doubt him like
that. Even for a minute.

At the heart clinic, it was Hilary's day off, but she had trained
Ania very well in the routine. Ania went about her work
confidently, noting and filing and confirming appointments.
She checked that there were suitable chairs ready in the
waiting room.
Rosemary Walsh was there with her husband Bobby; she
was sighing as usual. Bobby, on the other hand, was smiling as
always and both cheerful and polite. It was striking how like
his father Carl was and how very unlike his snobby mother.
Ania sighed. This was no time to think of Carl. Maybe she
shouldn't be thinking of him at all. She was such a poor judge
of men -- look at the fool she'd made of herself over Marek.
She must not do that again.
There was a ring at the clinic door. It must be a new
patient: everyone else knew to walk straight in. Ania went to
answer it.
She saw an elderly woman in her seventies, clutching a
thin coat around her. She had straight, matted hair and big,
frightened eyes. Then the woman gave her name: Kathleen
Edwards, 34 Mountainview Road.
She filled in carefully the name of Mrs Edwards's family
doctor and of her cardiologist, and took a photocopy of the
discharge sheet from the hospital.
'I have to put in your next of kin, Mrs Edwards. It's just a
formality, you know hospitals! It's in case you didn't feel well
one day and we needed to get in touch with someone. Shall I
put your husband's name?'
'No, pet, he'd be no good to God, man or the devil,' Mrs
Edwards said sadly. 'He'd be bound to be drunk or in a
temper about something. Put my daughter's name.'
'And that is . . . ?'

195
'Eileen Edwards. I'll give you her mobile phone number.
That's the best way to find her.' Ania wrote it down carefully
on the form.
'Where does she work, your daughter?' She hoped the
woman couldn't hear her heart thumping as she asked the
question. Mrs Edwards looked at least twenty years older than
the age in her file.
'She works for a big advertising company in an old
Georgian house. They give her beautiful clothes to wear. She
has to look smart, you see, to meet the public'
Ania realised that none of the clothes that Eileen had stolen,
none of the money she had made by selling on stolen handbags,
had come to this woman. She felt a lump in her throat.
Maybe that's what mothers did, believed fairytales about their
own daughters. Like her own mother back in Poland telling
everyone how well young Ania was doing in Ireland and how
she visited big stores and tried on coats that cost twenty weeks'
wages!

Ania was miles away in her head when she realised that
Rosemary Walsh was talking to her. She seemed to be offering
her a cleaning job of some sort.
'Because Bobby is literally able to do nothing around the
house I will need someone for a couple of hours each evening,
washing, ironing, cleaning. I won't ask you to do the silver.
You wouldn't be used to good silver, you might ruin it, but
basic stuff
'When, Mrs Walsh?'
'As soon as you can. Tonight if you like.'
Ania wondered should she take it. It would mean that she
would see more of Carl, be in Carl's home, maybe even have
her English lessons there. But wait a moment. Mrs Rosemary
Walsh would not consider her son and heir cavorting with the
cleaning staff, the Polish cleaning staff. Worse still! She must

say no immediately. Why had she ever said in front of this
woman that she was anxious to make money?
'Sadly, Mrs Walsh, I already have too many jobs. I could
not give you good attention. I can suggest a friend of mine,
Danuta? Or another called Agnieszka. What do you say? Shall
I ask them to call to your house?'
'That is, of course, if they have the time. If they haven't
swept up all the other jobs in Dublin.'
'We work very hard, Mrs Walsh, and we are glad to be here.
It is good to know we are so welcome in this land,' she said,
trying to hide the tears of rage and humiliation.
To her astonishment, Mrs Edwards reached out her hand
and clutched her arm. 'Good girl,' she said, 'good strong girl.
Where did you get the courage?'
'I don't know,' Ania said, truthfully.
'You would never let a man beat you like I did.'
And Ania, for the first time in her life, confessed as she had
never confessed to anyone before, 'I did once, Mrs Edwards,
but not any more.'

When the committee met at Corrigans bar that night they
were staggered by the news about Eileen's mother.
'A smart ad agency where they give her the clothes. Huh!'
said Johnny. The man in the porter's hut outside the upmarket
apartment had, according to Tim, turned out to be a
known fence, dealing in only top-of-the-market goods. James
said that maybe Eileen kept all her things in Mountainview
Road if they could only get in there. Ania said she knew she
was being irritating, but she felt very uncomfortable using this
poor woman who was, after all, a patient in the clinic where
she worked, as a trap to catch Eileen.
'It would break her old sad heart into little pieces,' she said.
They were all silent. Only Brian Flynn seemed to understand
and sympathise.

Nothing happened for a week. Father Tomasz came up from
Rossmore and was brought up to speed on what was happening.
He said it was like a story but nobody knew the end.
Eileen came in and out of the social centre as usual, but more
fleetingly. She said no more about Father Flynn, just a few
mysterious remarks that everyone would know in time. In a
short while they would see for themselves.
And then, on her second visit to the heart clinic, Kathleen
Edwards walked out of the clinic without looking where she
was going and tripped over a loose paving stone. Fortunately,
it wasn't too serious. The A&E department treated her for
shock and a graze on her forehead, but what was to happen
now? They asked the clinic for details of her next of kin.
Johnny was there when the request arrived.
'Why don't I take her home? I have something to do up
that way, near Mountainview Road,' he said.
'How do you know where she lives?' Clara had Kathleen
Edwards's file in her hand.
'Oh, I think Ania mentioned it. Look, it's Ania's lunchtime,
why don't we both take her home?'
Normally Clara was loath to make anything easier for Frank
Ennis and the mandarins, as she called them, in the hospital,
but this did seem sensible. 'And you'll contact the daughter,
okay?' she checked.
'Absolutely, we'll ring the advertising agency,' Johnny said.

In 34 Mountainview Road they found a very shabby, ill-kept
house. Two windows had been broken and were filled in not
with glass but with plywood.
Ania went off to make a cup of tea and Johnny looked
around. 'You'll need a rest. You've had a shock,' he said.

'Yes, well I'll lie down on the sofa,' Kathleen Edwards
suggested.

'No, let's get you into a bed.'
'He might come home. He wouldn't like to find me in
bed.'
'Well, is there another bedroom?' Johnny asked.
'Only Eileen's, we never go in there. It's locked, you see.'
She looked to a door across the corridor from the kitchen/
living room. Johnny ran at it with his shoulder. The door
splintered.
'It's not locked now,' he said.
They looked in. Two clothes rails stood there with jackets,
coats and dresses on them. Some in plastic bags. Handbags
and shoes were lined in the alcove beside the window and
down one wall were shelves holding a series of sweaters,
blouses and jeans. Kathleen Edwards stood, her hand holding
her throat.
'You broke down her door,' she gasped.
'It was an emergency,' Johnny said, 'she won't mind. Let's
call her on the phone and tell her about everything.'
Eileen answered immediately.
'Your mother had an accident. She's fine and we've got her
home but she will need someone here to keep an eye on her.'
'If she's fine and you're with her, then she doesn't need
anyone else.'
'Come back here, bitch. Come back this minute,' Johnny said
slowly.
'Who is this? What on earth is this about?'
'It's about you, Eileen, I'm standing in your bedroom.
Come home at once.'
'You can't be!' Her voice was a gasp.
'Want me to read out the merchandise to you? From left to
right?'
'Are you the Guards?' Her voice was shaky now.
'I'm one step, one phone call from the Guards. Let's say ten
minutes from the Guards.'

'I can't be home in that time, the buses are--'
'Take a taxi.'
'Whoever you are, I can't afford taxis.'
'Yes, you can. Use some of the money you got from the
porter up at the apartments when you sold him your handbag.'
' Who are you?' It was like a whisper now.
'Come home and find out,' Johnny said.

Together Ania and Johnny calmed Mrs Edwards down. They
reassured her that her heart was fine, her blood pressure almost
normal and all she was feeling was shock. They wanted her out
of the bedroom and all it contained, so she sat at the kitchen
table and told them how frightened she was that her husband
would come home drunk. He was two men, her husband, one
in drink and one sober. Trouble was you never knew which
one was going to come in that door.
'Don't worry, I'll be here.'
'He'll be very upset about that door,' she warned.
'I'm great with upset people,' Johnny promised.
Ania looked up with huge anxious eyes. 'You won't do
anything . . . you know.'
'I won't,' Johnny promised. 'And now it's time for you to
get back to the clinic'
'Oh, I must stay here and look after Mrs Edwards.'
'You're not a nurse, Ania, get back to Clara.'
'But how will I know?'
'We'll meet later on in Corrigans.'

'If my poor mother knew that I go to a public house every
single night!' Ania grumbled, but Johnny was right. She had to
go back to her job.

The taxi drew up outside 34 Mountainview Road and Eileen
got out. Johnny noticed that she wore a smart, lilac-coloured

jacket, and a black skirt and lilac-coloured boots. She must do
her shoplifting with a colour-coordinated plan. Around her
neck was one of those very expensive silk scarves that ladies
often wore at the races. That's where Eileen Edwards would
be more in place than letting herself into this broken-down
house where the presence of a violent father and a nervous
mother sat side by side with a locked room full of stolen
goods. Johnny hardened his heart. No sympathy, no pity. This
woman was totally prepared to destroy Brian Flynn, one of her
few decent friends left in the western world.
Kathleen Edwards looked up fearfully when she heard the
key turn in the lock. She seemed relieved that it was only
Eileen.
'You didn't have to come home. I'm fine,' she began.
'I did have to, apparently. Where is he?'
'In your room. He says he'll repair the door.'
'He'd better. Who is he?'
'I don't know. He was there just after the accident.'
From the next room as he listened Johnny realised that the
girl had not offered one word of sympathy to her mother.
Eileen came into her bedroom and saw Johnny sitting casually
on the bed. She recognised him at once, as a regular at
Corrigans, a man who had occasionally come to help at the
centre. He had a flat in the house where Brian lived.
'I might have known that it was his doing,' she said as she
looked at the splintered door.
'He has no idea we are here.'
'We?'
'Ania and I. We brought your mother here after the accident.
She's going to be fine, actually, if it's of any interest to
you.'
'What will be of interest to you, Johnny, is what my father
will do to you when he comes back and finds you've broken

io
into his house.' Her voice was level. She had shown no fear, no
panic at the situation.
'Of course, he will also find a house full of Guards, his
daughter arrested for theft and himself brought down to the
Guards Station for domestic violence.'
'She'd never say a word against him.' Eileen looked scornfully
towards the kitchen and the weak mother who had never
stood up to violence before and would not do it now.
'She already has,' he said casually, almost lazily, as if he
didn't really care.
'I don't believe you.'
'She's made a statement to Ania and myself. She'll talk to
the Guards this time.'
'In your dreams.'
'Who else has she in this house that will listen to her?'
Johnny asked. There was silence.
'What do you want, Johnny?' she said eventually.

Michael Edwards was on his way back from the pub where
he had spent lunchtime. A very odd thing had happened. A
message had come to the pub that he had to pick up some
wood and bolts and a heavy-duty lock at Finn Fitzgerald's
Builders Providers shop. They had been paid for because there
were some urgent repairs to be done at home. It was very
puzzling. Michael didn't remember any fracas at home last
night. And when he went into the shop, Finn Fitzgerald had
the stuff ready and had indeed been paid for it. 'What's the
story here, Finn?' he had asked.
'I'd get home as soon as you can, Mick. I didn't like the
look of that fellow who was in here earlier with your daughter.
Some kind of weightlifter.'
'And he paid?'
'No, your daughter paid. Real money. It's all kosher, Mick.
Get back there soonish.'

He came into 34 Mountainview Road with his usual bluster
and flung the wood and locks in the hall.
'What is this about?' he began.
'Your wife had a bit of a fall, Mr Edwards. Fortunately her
injuries are minor, but she is of course in a state of shock.
She's in the kitchen if you want to check things out.'
'Who are you to be telling me to check things out in my
house?' Michael Edwards had a red, angry face.
'Who am I? I
am a friend of your daughter's and I also
happen to work in the clinic where Mrs Edwards was attending.
That's who I am.'
'And why are you still here? She's home. She's all right.
What's your business here?'
'To help you repair a door that unfortunately got broken in
the course of things.'
'What?'
'Yes, I thought if we started now we could get it done
together.'
'Well, you thought wrong. I'm having a pint, minding my
own business and I get a message shouting the odds at me.'
'We could start by pulling the broken wood out,' Johnny
said.
'How did the wood get broken?' he asked.
For the first time, Eileen spoke. 'Do what he says, Dad. I
mean it. It will be better for all of us in the end.'
'I won't be talked to like that in my own house--'
'It's Mam's house, Dad, she got it from her father. Remember?'
'Same
difference,' he said.
'Not now. Things have changed.' Eileen was crisp.
'For you they may have if you want to put up with the
manners of your fellow here.'
'He's not my fellow.' The sentence came out like bullets.

I

'Well, it's got nothing to do with me.' Mike Edwards
looked as if he was heading back to the pub.
'Dad, have sense. She's telling the Guards. Finally.'
'She hasn't an ounce of proof.'
'She has. This nosey parker, she has Ania the Polish girl,
and she has me.'
'But you're not going to open your trap.'
'This time I am.'
'Why on earth?'
'It's my get-out-of-jail card.'
'And what about mine?'
'Mend the door, Dad, and then Johnny wants to talk to
you.'
'And what will you be doing, I ask?'
'Making Mam some soup and toast.'
'But you never do that.'
'I'm going to be doing it from now on, it seems.' She
looked balefully at Johnny.
Mike Edwards took off his jacket. Whatever this was about
it was serious. He looked into his daughter's bedroom. Rugs
covered rails of clothes. He couldn't see what the clothes were
even if he was interested. 'This isn't going to look great, a door
sort of nailed together,' he grumbled.
'The windows don't look all that great either. Eileen is
going to a glazier next week to get those restored, aren't you,
Eileen?'
'I am,' Eileen said glumly.

It took an hour to get the makeshift door mended and put on
the lock. There were two keys. Eileen got one and Johnny kept
the other.
'I'll be back in a week so we will see how the decluttering is
getting on,' he said. 'New windows might even be in?'

Mike went back to the pub having cleared up the hall under
Johnny's supervision.
'I hate a mystery,' he said over his shoulder to Johnny, 'and
you're one real mystery man, so you are.'

Kathleen Edwards was very unaccustomed to being fussed
over and looked after. 'Don't you need to get back to work,
Eileen?' she asked anxiously.
'No, Mam, I have the rest of the day off.'
'And most of this week,' Johnny added helpfully in case she
had forgotten. Eventually Kathleen Edwards went up to her
bed. And left Johnny and Eileen in the kitchen. He poured
himself another mug of tea with the ease of a regular visitor,
an old friend.
'You're not going to get away with this,' she said.
'I have,' he said simply. 'I made you an offer, you accepted
it. That's all.'
'You didn't make me an offer, you blackmailed me.'
'I asked three things. You move all this stuff in your bedroom
on to charity shops, that your mother is made safe and
comfortable in her own home and that you tell Brian the
charade is over.'
'And you tell him all this?' Her lip trembled.
'Not if you do your bit.'
'And if I don't you get the Guards.'
'I have a great friend, a desk sergeant, he'd be down on you
like a ton of bricks.'
'It's not going to be easy getting that stuff, as you call it,
into charity shops.'
'You'll manage. You got it out of posh shops.'
'If my father gets drunk again I can't be held responsible.'
'I've given your next-door neighbour my phone number,
told him I was a welfare worker.'
'He won't believe you.'

zos
'I gave one meaningful look at that pit bull terrier with a
muzzle that he has in the house. He believes me.'
'And Brian?'
'Tonight in Corrigans at seven o'clock. The snug at the
back.'
'I'm not sure I'll be able for it.'
'I think you will. It's Corrigans or it's my mate the desk
sergeant at the Guards Station.'
'But if I can't say it?'
'We've been over it twice. Let's do it a third time to make
sure you're word-perfect.'

They filed into the back booth in Corrigans: James O'Connor,
Father Brian Flynn, Johnny, Tim, Ania and Lidia, and Father
Tomasz who had taken the bus up from Rossmore for the
occasion.
Brian thought it was just an ordinary meeting. He was
surprised that James didn't have a clipboard and paper to take
notes. James bought a drink for everyone. He cleared his
throat.
'Eileen is joining us, she has something to say,' he began.
Brian struggled from his seat. 'James, what are you doing There's no point in asking her anything. I thought you knew
that.'
'No one is going to ask her anything. She wants to say
something. Here she is now.' Eileen came in.
Eileen was less of the Goldilocks now as she looked into
six pairs of hostile eyes and the troubled face of Father Brian
Flynn.
'Brian, I have to say something and it's not easy. I've had
a troubled life and I am inclined to live in a fantasy world
to make things better. So I pretend that I have a beautiful
apartment instead of living in my parents' falling-down place
in Mountainview Road. I pretend I have a lot of upmarket

friends, but in fact I have a violent, drunken father who beats
my mother. I have no trust fund or allowance or whatever I
said. I steal clothes and fashion items. I am barred from most
of the stores in Grafton Street and Henry Street so I have to go
out to the suburbs now. I sell some of these things on . . .' She
paused and looked only at the face of the priest.
'And then, because I didn't have anyone to love me, I made
up someone to love me. I pretended that I was in a relationship
with Brian. I see now what a dangerous, stupid,
wrong thing it was to do. But I was so lonely. I tried to think
of how comforting it would be. I made up all these stories. I
watched him as he typed his password and then sent myself
emails from the internet cafe. I borrowed his mobile phone
from the centre and used it to send myself a message. I
borrowed his key from Ania's handbag to get access to his flat.'
The silence was heavy. Their faces were stricken at the
terrible things she had done.
'I'm very, very sorry, Brian. Can you forgive me?'
Brian was wordless. Literally without a word to say. Eventually
he stuttered out, 'Why now? Now, after all this time?'
Johnny's voice was smooth and soft. 'Eileen had a great
shock this morning when her mother had a fall. She realises
that some things in life are more important than others. She now has got her priorities right. Is that it, Eileen?'
'Yes, that's it. I see now what matters and what doesn't.'
The big, generous face of Brian Flynn was about to welcome
her back as a friend, but Johnny had plans for that.
'Since it's obviously too embarrassing for Eileen to be
around people who know this part of her life, she is not
going to be in the centre any more. She wants to say goodbye
to Brian tonight and assure him in front of all us witnesses
that if Brian forgives her and does not take her to court, she
will not cross his path again.'
'Yes, that's what would be best,' Eileen said.

'But of course I forgive you,' Brian said. 'You are very
courageous to have come here of your own accord--'
'She had to come,' Johnny interrupted Brian's speech. 'She
is an ordinary, decent person who couldn't live long with such
a deception and she knows that she will keep to this. It's the
only thing she can do.'
And as Goldilocks walked out of Corrigans, and out of
their lives, Ania noticed that she was not wearing smart boots
as usual, nor her high-heeled, smart leather shoes, and the
scarf was not one that would have been worn at the races. Ania
also noticed that Tim was paying a lot of attention to Lidia
and asking her what kind of music she liked.
Brian was wiping his eyes where tears of relief and happiness
had begun.
'You are a very good druid, Father Brian.'
'A good what? he asked her.
'Now I have to teach you English. It's an affectionate word
for a priest.'
'No, it's not, Ania.'
'It is in Ania's world, but maybe you've had such a close call
you might be prepared to get out of it and join the real world.'
'Ah, Johnny, Johnny, when all is said and done, what do
you know about anything?' Brian asked, punching his friend
cheerfully in the arm.

Chapter Six



Mountainview, despite its pleasant name, was one of
the tougher areas of Dublin. Some of the big estates
were home to drug dealers and it wasn't a place to
walk alone at night. The school had its ups and downs but it
was lucky enough to have a headmaster, Tony O'Brien, who
could deal with toughness head-on.
Some of the older teachers found the change hard to take.
Things used to be different, the place had been shabby but they
had respect. The children came from homes where money was
short but they were all keen to get exams. Today they only
cared about money, and if someone's big brother was driving a
smart car and wearing an expensive leather jacket, it was hard
to get interested in having a job in a bank or an office where
you might never make enough to have your own house or car,
and a leather jacket was just a dream. No wonder so many of
them joined gangs. And as for respect?
Aidan Dunne told his wife Nora all about it.
Big fellows would push past you in the corridor and sort of
nudge the books out of your hand. Then they would laugh
and say that sir must be losing his grip. Aidan remembered
when they would rush to pick up the books. Not now. And

they would call him Baldy, or ask him did he remember the
First World War.
It was the same with the women teachers. If they weren't
married some of the really rough fellows would ask them were
they frigid or lesbian. If they were married they would ask
them how many times a night did they do it.
'And what do you say?' Nora wondered.
'I try to ignore them, I tell myself that they're only insecure
kids like always - it's just they have a different way of expressing
it. Still, it doesn't make the day's work any easier.'
'And how do the women cope?'
'The younger ones are able for them, they say things like,
"Oh, you'd never be able to satisfy me like my old man does,"
or else that, sure, they are gay because the only alternative is
horrible spotty boys with filthy fingernails.' Aidan shook his
head. 'By the time I get to the classroom I'm worn out,' he
said sadly.
'Why don't you give it up?' Nora said suddenly. She taught
Italian at an evening class and organised a yearly outing to
Italy for the group. She had several other small jobs, but she
had no interest in money or pensions or the future. She sat in
one of the basket chairs she had bought at a garage sale and
tried to persuade Aidan to join her in this carefree lifestyle.
But he was a worrier. It would be idiotic to leave his school
now several years before retirement date. It would mean no
proper pension; if he were to amount to anything he had to
provide for Nora and his first family.
'Oh, you've well provided for them,' Nora said cheerfully.
'You've given Nell most of the money you got for the house,
Grania is married to the headmaster of Mountainview School,
Brigid has been made a partner in the travel agency. They
should be providing for you, if you come to think of it.'
'But you, Nora, what about you? I want to look after you,
give you some comfort and pleasures.'

'You give me great comforts and pleasures,' she said.
'But some security, Nora,' he pleaded.
'I never had security before, I don't want it now.'
'I have to finish out my time there.'
'Not if you don't like it. What about this lovely life we
promised each other and we have mainly had?'
'It depends on my having a good safe job, Nora,' he said.
'No -- it doesn't. Not if it's making you worry, and panic
about these louts. We don't need it, Aidan. Not if it's affecting
your health.'
'It's not affecting my health,' Aidan said firmly.


A week later Aidan and Nora were in one of their favourite
second-hand bookshops; they were each browsing separately
when she looked over at him suddenly. His hand was at
his throat and he seemed to be having difficulty catching his
breath.
'Aidan?' she called.
'Sorry, is it very stuffy in here?'
'No indeed - there's a lazy wind coming in from the canal.'
'A lazy wind?' he asked distractedly.
'You know -- a wind that doesn't bother to make the time to
go round you so it goes through you . . .' Nora smiled.
He didn't smile back.
She was alarmed now. 'Is there something wrong?'
'I don't seem to be able to breathe in,' he said. 'Oh, Nora,
dear Nora, I hope that I'm not going to faint or anything.'
'No, of course you're not, just sit down there.' She was brisk
and practical. First, she spoke to the shop owner.
'Where's the nearest hospital?' she asked.

'St Brigid's. Is there a problem?'
'I think my husband is having some kind of seizure. Taxi
rank?'
'Don't bother. I'll drive you,' he said.

Nora didn't question it, there would be time to thank him
later.
'Right, Aidan, Dara is giving us a lift,' she said.
'Where to?' he gasped.
'To somewhere that will help you breathe properly, my
darling,' she said.
And he closed his eyes in relief.

At the A&E in St Brigid's the nurses moved him wordlessly
into a cubicle. They had given him oxygen and the house
doctor had been called.
'Take off his trousers,' the doctor said.
'What?' Nora was taken aback.
'Please, madam.' The Chinese doctor was very courteous.
'His lungs are flooded, we need to drain the liquid from him,
we have to put him on a catheter . . .'
Nora explained this to Aidan.
'That's extraordinary - I don't feel as if I need to go to the
loo at all,' he said.
The oxygen was helping. He was much calmer. Nora
looked at a huge container and saw it filling up with what
looked like gallons of fluid.
'How could that happen?' she asked.
'The heart is failing to pump,' the Chinese doctor explained.
'He is in heart failure at the moment.'
Nora felt all the strength leave her body. The good, kind
man that she adored and who loved her too had a heart that
had failed him. Life as they knew it was over.

In about an hour Aidan felt so much better he was ready to
come home. He was surprised when he heard that they were
getting a bed for him in St Brigid's.
'But I'm perfectly fine now,' he protested.
Nora went home for his pyjamas, dressing gown and a

sponge bag. She remained calm and reassuring on the outside,
but inside she felt that she had lost the will to live.
The next few days passed in a blur: visits from teams of
senior doctors, their younger assistants with clipboards, nurses,
carers, cleaners, trolleys of food. Visitors coming in with anxious faces. And among them was Nora Dunne, tall, wild
eyed, with her long red hair with its grey streaks tied back with
a black ribbon.
She sat beside Aidan's bed and they played chess happily
together. If people had been watching them closely they would
have noticed that they never talked about household things,
bills, repairs, shopping. They didn't talk about neighbours or
family or friends. They just lived for each other. And if people
had been watching very carefully they would have realised that
Nora was behaving like a robot. She was keeping the show on
the road for Aidan.
Before he was discharged after a week they talked to him
seriously about levels of stress in his life. When he told them
about life up at the school, the cardiologist advised him seriously
to give up the job.
Aidan wouldn't even consider discussing it. He would take
his medication, he would take long rests each day. But he
would not give up his job. It was the only thing he had to offer
his wife, some stability. He had not been a good provider.
There had been other calls on his finances. A previous family.
No, in all honour he had to stay on until his pension was
assured.
The medical team spoke to Nora too and found her hard to
fathom. Over and over she said she wasn't remotely interested
in possessions or pensions. They lived in a small and simple
rented flat. She could easily go out to work and make the rent,
their needs were not great.
'So will you encourage him to retire?' the cardiologist suggested.

'No, not if he doesn't want to, Doctor. Why should I stand
between him and what he wants to do? Aidan always loved
teaching, he would feel such a failure if we took him out of
that school.'
'Could he not teach at home? Give private tuition, maybe?'
'No. Aidan doesn't approve of people having to pay for
extra education. We couldn't ask him to go against his principles.'
'But
you are such a strong personality, Mrs Dunne. I am
sure that you could persuade him.'
'I'm sure I could if I tried -- but it would not be honest to
make him give up what he truly wants to do.'
'Even if it's killing him?'
'But he's going to die anyway, isn't he?'
'We all are, but with care he has plenty of life left.'
Nora's face was still empty. 'A life of fear and anxiety and
thinking that choking will return.'
'We can help him make sure that it doesn't. As sure as can
be.'
'Which isn't totally sure, is it?' Her voice was hard.
'No, any more than we can be sure that you won't both be
hit by a bus on your way home. But we have a very good
record in keeping people alive and well and in normal life after
a heart attack. Your husband will be in that number. We have
referred him to a heart failure clinic which he will have to
attend regularly. It's a heart clinic attached to this hospital.
Patients go there regularly to be monitored, to have blood
tests, check their medication.'
'And why do you call it heart failure?'
'Because that's what their hearts are doing: failing to work
at the optimum levels.'
'And Aidan has to come here every week, is that it?'
'To start with, yes, then as he progresses, less often. He will
find it a great reassurance.'

Nora was silent.
'Truly he will, Mrs Dunne. All our research has shown that
it makes people much more confident and positive, which is
exactly what they need at this time.'
'And is it funded by a drugs company? Do they do experiments
on the patients?'
'Absolutely not. It is operated under the aegis of this
hospital and we are very proud of it.' He bristled with resentment
at her suspicions.
'I'm sorry, Doctor. To you Aidan is a patient you are
looking after, to me he is my whole life. I'm not thinking
straight.'
'He will need you to think straight now more than ever before,'
the doctor said. Clearly, this woman had to be brought
on side. 'Go to the heart clinic with him, get to know the
people there; you may both get a lot from it.'
For the first time, the tight, pained look left Nora Dunne's
face. She was a handsome woman, the doctor realised.
'We'll give it a chance,' she said with a hint of a smile.

Barbara had visited Aidan in hospital to explain the system to
him. Aidan listened to this attractive bouncy girl and nodded
his understanding. It seemed to have everything you'd need:
exercise class, blood pressure, weigh-ins.
There was an emergency phone number for them to call at
night.
'Why would we not come straight in to Emergency?' Aidan
had asked.
'Well, of course you could, but there might be a short cut.
It could be a question of taking another diuretic. And then we
would call you back in half an hour to see had the breathlessness
disappeared. That's often all it needs, and it would
save you all the business of coming in here again.' Barbara was

2T5
cheerful and practical. 'You'll love the people there, Aidan,
they're a great crowd,' she said.

It was an easy bus journey from Nora and Aidan's flat to the
heart clinic. People were well wrapped up against the February
chill and there was a mist coming in over the canal. Nora had
tied a smart tartan woolly scarf around Aidan's neck before
they set out. He felt perfectly fine again; it was only the
shadow of all this happening again that hung over him.
The bus stopped outside the clinic's gate. Nora and Aidan
both knew the story of how it had once been a storage depot,
and had nearly become a car park until rescued by St Brigid's
for this purpose. There was a big brass plaque outside saying Heart Clinic. Inside it was full of light and remarkably cheerful.
Nora
and Aidan were shown around and introduced by a
pleasant young Polish girl called Ania. Here was the exercise
room: Johnny had a powerful handshake and a great belief
that muscles could do anything. He showed them the various
exercise machines and said he would look forward to building
Aidan up on them.
Then Ania took them to meet Lavender in the dietician's
room, and they got a food sheet and a list of the times that
Lavender gave cookery demonstrations at which all were
welcome.
Aidan recognised Barbara, the cheerful nurse, who in turn
introduced Fiona, a beautiful girl. 'That's just in case you're
unlucky enough to hit a day when I'm not here, Aidan, Fiona
will do her best with you.'
'Don't take a blind bit of notice of her, Aidan,' Fiona said.
'You'll be ringing up secretly to know when Barbara is off, just
like everyone else.'
And here was a young doctor called Declan, then an office
manager whose name was Hilary who had all his details and

files from the hospital; and finally the beautiful Dr Casey who
ran the whole outfit.
'I'm Clara,' she said simply. She had notes in her hand from
the hospital and when Aidan was borne away by Barbara to
one of the treatment cubicles, Clara asked Nora to sit down.
She glanced down at the hospital notes, which included a
short scribble in the margin. 'Work on the wife,' it said cryptically.
She
was striking-looking, thought Clara. It was odd to see a
woman in her fifties with long hair in what looked almost like
alternate stripes of grey and red and realise that it had not been
done in a hairdresser's, it was really due to nature.
Nora had a gift of being very still. She must be a restful
person to live with. Clara wondered what she was meant to
work on this woman about.
Soon it became clear.
Nora Dunne did not believe her husband was going to
make any kind of recovery and now that was becoming a big
part of the problem.
Clara gave her usual optimistic spiel about the clinic and its
powers to keep people out of hospital. But she felt it was falling
on stony ground. So she moved to a different tactic.
'We have found that those who come from a positive
background, from a home where people really believe they
will get better, do get better,' she said.
'Mind over matter, do you mean?' Nora did not sound
convinced.
'Not really. Just affirmation, something to live for.'
Nora still looked sceptical. 'And I suppose you think religious
people recover even quicker?'
'I have no idea. Possibly a firm conviction of faith might
help, certainly. It's not something we can measure.'
'But you can measure a sunny, cheerful home atmosphere
and what good it does?' Nora sounded very cynical.

'You have seen some of the facilities we can offer here at this clinic, Nora. You have talked to people who think that carefully
and regularly checked medication, blood tests, monitoring,
exercise and nutrition will all help to save and prolong
lives. Why do you not feel part of this?'
'Because the quality of the life you are preserving and
prolonging isn't going to be any good,' Nora said desolately.
'How amazing to be so certain!' Clara looked very angry. 'I
have been practising medicine for years and I don't have your
confidence in that judgement.'
'I am the least confident person you ever met,' Nora said
sadly. 'I would do anything on earth to help Aidan get better.
But you're asking me to believe in a fairytale. I find that hard
to take on.'
'Do you believe in compromise?' Clara asked suddenly.
'Once I didn't, but in fact I do nowadays. Why do you ask?'
'I was going to ask you to give me six weeks where you
pretend to think it's all working and doing him some good, and if after that you think it's only feel-good rubbish then
go back to your principles.' Clara opened her diary. 'Why
don't we choose a date in April when we decide what you
feel. You're only investing six weeks. A month and a half? For
Aidan?'
'How can I refuse?' Nora had a wonderful smile. Her
cooperation was indeed going to be essential to her husband's
recovery.

So for six weeks Nora Dunne kept her part of the bargain and
spoke enthusiastically about the heart clinic which Aidan was
attending.
She told her two sisters, Helen and Rita, who never showed
much interest in anything. She met them once a week at the
old people's home where her mother now lived. Rita and
Helen made no secret of the fact that they thought their sister

Nora was eccentric and not to be trusted on any matter. After
all, she had run away to Italy for years after a married man.
When she had finally come home, run out of the place
probably, she had dressed most oddly. Then taken a room in
a very rough area and taught Italian in a tough school. She had
'married' a man who was a teacher in the school but of course
it wasn't a real marriage since he was already married and
divorced and it was one of these Register Office jobs. They
sniffed as if to imply that a heart attack was the very least
punishment Aidan Dunne might have expected for having
committed adultery.

Nora and Aidan went to one of Lavender's cookery demonstrations
and heard about how to reduce salt in everything and
how to make little fish parcels. In front of everyone, Lavender
took out squares of foil and on each one placed a small piece
of cod; then she added sliced leeks, green beans and some
cherry tomatoes. Then she sprayed everything with a low-fat
spray and folded up the foil as an envelope. It took about
twenty minutes to cook. While it was cooking she gave them
helpful advice about shopping and asking for lean cuts of
meat.
Lavender didn't assume that the audience had unlimited
wealth: she was practical and helpful. Everyone tasted the cod
when it was cooked and said it was excellent. Next week she
was going to do low-fat desserts, she said.
Aidan was watching Nora's face to know what she thought
of it. Nora said that it was all brilliant and imagine anyone
wanting to buy all that fat greasy take-away when you could
get this! Aidan seemed very relieved that she was enthusiastic
and they went off happily to find a fishmonger.

Lavender had advised them to buy several pieces at a time
and freeze the extra ones.

But Nora and Aidan didn't have a proper freezer so that
wouldn't work for them.
'Never mind, it's good for us to walk to the shops each
time,' Nora said as they left the heart clinic.
Clara overheard her and smiled to herself. This Nora was
certainly keeping her part of the bargain.

Nora's great friend Brenda Brennan of Quentins restaurant
visited that evening to know how Aidan was.
'What's happening to your gorgeous eating place tonight
without you there to supervise?' Nora asked. Nobody could
imagine Quentins without Brenda there, calm and in control.
'I'm learning to delegate, Nora,' she said. 'I have a leggy
blonde from Latvia, impeccable English, great style. She's in
there now and may well have taken the place over when I get
back.'
'That's what I'm afraid of up at the school,' Aidan said.
'They have this bright young fellow in teaching Latin. Why
would they want me back?' He looked worried.
'Because you know more Latin than that boy will learn in a
lifetime.' Nora was loyal.
'I should be getting back there though. I'm feeling so
well . . .'
'The headmaster said you were to take your time,' Nora
reminded him.
'Yes, but the headmaster is my son-in-law,' Aidan said ruefully.
'Oh,
Aidan, that has nothing to do with it,' Brenda
Brennan broke in. 'I am certain of this much: I've known
Tony O'Brien well over the years, if he says it he means it.'
'It's just that I feel such a waster.' Aidan was still worried
about it all.
'You, Aidan? A waster? The very notion of it is ludicrous;

enjoy your couple of weeks, you'll be wishing you got more
value out of your time off when you're back in harness.'
'But if I'm well enough to enjoy myself then aren't I well
enough to go to work?'
'Aidan - take Nora out on the train to the seaside. It's
lovely in Dunlaoghaire with the waves all crashing round.
Winter is by far the best time to go. Or go on to Sandycove or
Dalkey, go to one of those nice pubs that serve food . . .'
Brenda could think of a hundred things to do. She provided
the get-up-and-go that Nora lacked. Soon she had them
making a list of twenty things they must do while Aidan still
had his freedom.
'He's looking very well -- the colour has come back to his
cheeks,' Brenda said as Nora went with her to the door.
'The grey won't be long coming back to his face once he
gets back to that school,' Nora said.
'Well then . . . ?'
'What do you think? He has this ludicrous macho feeling he
must do it. Earn a living, get a pension. I can't stand in his
way.'
'I would,' Brenda Brennan said. 'I'd throw myself in front
of him and beg him not to go back there. That's what I would
do if it were Patrick.'
'We are different, Brenda. You met when you were young.
We were middle-aged, we respect each other so much, we
neither of us wants to change the other.'
'I hope you know what you're doing.' Brenda didn't sound
as if it were at all likely.

'Signora?'
Nora Dunne looked up, surprised. They all called her
Signora, of course: it was a term of affection now. This time
it was the school headmaster come to visit her after her Italian
class.

2ZI
'Oh, Tony, I didn't see you there. We had a grand turn-out
even for a cold February night.'
'Aidan getting on all right?'
'He's fine really, Tony. His girls have been very good.
Brigid is with him tonight and you know your Grania is
coming tomorrow when I have to go and see my mother so
he's not left alone. He's in very good form.'
'I'd go to see him only . . .' Tony O'Brien paused.
'I know, I know exactly, he'd think he had to hurry up and
get back to work.'
'I don't want him to come back to all that rough and
tumble, Signora. I'll try and sort out some kind of pension,
allowance, whatever . . .'
'Ah, Tony, you know Aidan,' she sighed.
'Which is why I was hoping you might help,' he began.
'He's not a child in nappies, he's a grown man; everyone
wants me to treat him as if his mind has gone rather than
someone who has enlarged ventricles in his heart. His brain is
still functioning and he is determined to go back to work.'
'And you're going to let him?'
'I'm not going to add even more to his stress by having
dissension at home,' Nora said crossly.
'I could work things out,' Tony tried again.
'You know Aidan, he would smell pity and sense charity
even when it didn't exist.' To Nora Dunne it was simple. Her
husband had to go back to his job.

When Tony O'Brien went home that night, Grania seemed
very excited about something.
He wondered had she seen some exotic Easter holiday that
they could book. He hoped not. There was a lot to do in
Mountainview over the Easter vacation.
She had the table set and a bunch of flowers. God -- it

wasn't an anniversary or anything? No, no, of course not. He
was good about that sort of thing. He looked at her blankly.
'Sit down, Tony,' she said.
He sat obediently.
'I have very good news,' she continued. 'We're pregnant.
It's official, Tony, we're having a baby!'
And to his total surprise, Tony O'Brien began to cry. Huge
sobs and heaving shoulders. The works.
'Aren't you happy about it?' Grania was anxious and
wrapped her arms around him.
'Happy? I'm unhingedwith happiness,' he sobbed.

Brigid had met a man, she told her father. Well, it was too
soon to talk about seriously. But for the first time she had met
someone that she wouldn't mind spending the rest of her life
with.
Aidan was delighted.
She had met him at a press reception some months back
and they got talking. They had both been working, she had
been doing a presentation of their winter sports holidays and
Kato had been in charge of the buffet supper. When everyone
else had gone they stayed in the empty room and talked and
talked. He was setting up a shop selling African objects. She
had been out with him every week since then. They liked the
same kind of movies and theatre and everything. It was nearly
time to bring him home to meet her dad and Nora.
'And what does your mother think of him?' Aidan knew
that the girls saw Nell from time to time.
'Oh, Mother hasn't met him,' Brigid said very firmly.
'Really? Why is that?'
'Kato's Moroccan, Dad,' Brigid said, as if it should have
been obvious to everyone from the word go. 'Imagine introducing
Mum to anyone from Africa.'

When Nora came in from her Italian class she was told the
story.
'Where in Morocco is he from?' Nora asked with interest.
'Marrakech,' Brigid said, surprised.
Nora clasped her hands with pleasure. 'How wonderful.
We'll go to see you there!'
'But Kato's going to live here. He has a shop, I told you.'
'I know, but you'll have to go and buy things there, and
maybe your dad and I could go and you could show us round
the Djemaa el Fna - it's this huge square in the middle of
Marrakech where they have all kinds of things, a great market,
snake charmers, musicians ... It would be lovely to go with
someone who knew it.'
Brigid was all smiles at the thought of this journey.
'And do you have a picture of Kato?' Nora asked.
'Of course I do.' She took out a packet of pictures where she
stood with the arm of a tall handsome Moroccan around her
shoulders.
'Isn't he handsome,' Nora said. Not a word about him
being foreign and how there would be many differences to get
used to. Just that he was handsome and that it would be great
to go and see his country.
Aidan looked at Nora with affection. He was so lucky to
have her. He must face those big bullies up in Mountainview
School and get a proper life and pension for her. It was the
very least that she deserved.

It was the exercise demonstration in Johnny's room. Nora and
Aidan were sitting with the exercise sheet following, while
Johnny went through the various movements. A man in a
wheelchair joined in cheerfully for all the arm and neck
exercises. He looked on enviously as Aidan did four minutes
on the treadmill.
'I'd love to be able to do that,' he said. 'But I get out of


breath after a few seconds so it isn't worth it.' His name was
Bobby Walsh, he said; he had owned a big business once but
after his heart attack he retired.
'Did you hate retiring?'
'I did at the beginning, but there are so many things I never
had time to do before. It's hard on my wife, I think, having
me under her feet all the time.'
'Is she with you today?'
'No, Rosemary has a hundred things to do, people to
meet . . .'
Aidan felt lucky and loved because Nora had come with
him. She was questioning Johnny about what kind of weights
Aidan should lift. Johnny said everyone should have a couple
of large tins of peas around the place.
'Did you have a son to take over the business?' Aidan
wondered.
'No - Carl was never interested in it. Never at all. He's a
teacher up at Mountainview - a tough place, but he's able for
it; he says that a few of the older brigade find it hard going.'
'That's me for one,' Aidan said. 'I teach Latin there, that's
when I can get into the classroom.'
'Oh, you're Aidan Dunne!' Bobby smiled with recognition.
'Carl often mentioned you, he said you make the kids love
Latin -- which is no mean achievement.'
'What's your son's name?'
'Carl Walsh.'
'Of course I know him, very nice young lad, teaches English,
doesn't he?'
'That's right.'
'Well, I'll see him when I get back there, in a few weeks'
time.'
'You're going back?' Bobby seemed surprised.
'Have to,' said Aidan Dunne.

Clara was pleased with the way Nora Dunne had given her
support. So it might only be for six weeks but it was certainly
whole-hearted. Nora Dunne was interested in everything. It
was a great way to be, Clara decided.
She would take out her portable atlas and look at a map of
Poland to find where Ania lived. She would take it out again
so that Fiona could show her the little island in Greece where
she had spent a summer. Nora would talk to the other patients
and debate the merits of Jack Russells who barked their heads
off with Judy Murphy. She would find Something New Every
Day for Lar. She would discuss diets seriously with Barbara:
Nora Dunne who was built like a lithe greyhound would
puzzle over why celery soup was meant to be so good for you
while a potato with a nice lump of butter on it was the devil
incarnate. She would never be without entertainment and
stimulus in her life and it was a gift far greater than money.

'Do you mind not telling your dad about the baby?' Tony
O'Brien asked Grania.
'What?'
'I mean just at the moment.'
'But why? I was going to go over and tell them this
evening.'
'I thought we could wait until Sunday lunch, they're coming
here.'
'But Brigid is bringing Kato, she won't want us stealing all
her thunder.'
'I'd say she and Kato won't mind a bit of the spotlight
going off them at all.'
'I was looking forward to telling them!'
'This way is better, we might tie it in with asking them to
baby-sit and maybe it would provide a way out of teaching for
your father.'

1



'I wouldn't hold my breath,' Grania said. 'He's like you lives
for that bloody school.'

Nora and Aidan took a bus to the lunch party. They were
looking forward to it; wasn't it great that Brigid had finally
found a young man she liked. They had often thought she was
lonely in her tiny city apartment. Grania would serve food
without added salt and would make sure it was low fat. She
would provide fresh fruit as an alternative to her great apple
pie. It would be a happy afternoon.

Before they got there, Brigid was already starting to fuss.
'You mustn't mind if they say the wrong thing,' she said to
Kato.
'The only wrong thing would be to say that I cannot see
you,' he said.
'No, they won't say that,' Brigid said.
'Then we have no problems,' he said.

Kato stood in the hallway, a tall, handsome boy with a great
warm smile.
'Mr and Mrs Dunne!' he said. 'How good to meet you at
last.'
'And you too, Kato!' Nora kissed him on the cheek and
Aidan shook his hand. Brigid stood beaming in the background.
The introductions were over. The lunch could begin.

During the meal everyone except Aidan and Kato had a glass
of wine. Kato poured more fizzy water for Aidan and said that
they would be the only two with clear heads next day. Tony
tinkled his fork against a glass and said that Grania had
something she wanted to tell them. Brigid hoped it wouldn't
be some further promotion at the bank for Grania; she didn't
want to overpower Kato with all their successes at this first


ll

family meeting. Aidan hoped that Tony and Grania were
going to move to another school in another town. Nora
thought it might be a plan for a trip abroad to celebrate
Aidan's birthday. She hoped not. He was still a little too
shaky.
Then Grania told them the news. There was such an
outburst of excitement and delight in the little town house
that it was amazing the roof did not fly off. They were crying
and hugging each other.
The best words were said by Kato as he wiped his eyes.
'Now I really know I am a member of this marvellous family,
now that you let me be here for the sharing of this news.'

And Grania smiled at Tony. He had been right about that
as about everything. It was the bit about Dad giving up
teaching where he was going to run into some grief. Grania
wished that it was over. They were going to lose anyway, best
get it over with quick.
She didn't have to wait long. In the midst of all the excitement,
all the wondering when they first knew and when it was
confirmed and what date the baby would be born and would
they want to know the sex in advance, Nora asked, 'Will you
be giving up your job in the bank, Grania, to look after the
baby?'
'Only for maternity leave. Then I'm going back,' Grania
said cheerfully.
'So what will you do?' Brigid asked.
'Oh, I'm going to leave the baby every morning at your
travel agency, you can file it under B!' Grania laughed.
'Yeah sure, we'd love that. But what are you going to do?'
'Well, we were thinking of asking someone to come in here,
you know, an artist or a writer - they could have quiet,
peaceful surroundings all day, just give a bottle and change a
nappy. Shouldn't be hard to find . . .'

'But wouldn't they be a bit unreliable, bohemian?' Aidan
said, looking concerned.
'Doesn't have to be a poet or a painter. It could be a
teacher, say, someone who had a few private lessons to give.'
Aidan listened carefully.
'No, Tony,' he said.
'Hear me out. You'd be doing us a double favour, getting us
out of two holes in fact. We could go off to work with a clear
heart if we thought you and Signora were to be here.' Tony
spoke right from the heart.
'I wouldn't have to tidy up especially for you,' Grania
chipped in.
'There are lads in that school who need one-to-one tuition,'
Tony said.
'I'll do it in the school, I'll stay as late as you like.'
'It won't work, Aidan, they're quiet kids, they're nervous of
these gangs. They can't stay late, they go with the crowd for
safety. It would really suit me to have a safe place to send
them.'
'Good try, Tony, but no.'
'Dad, who would I feel safer with than you and Nora, it's a
win-win set-up. You get the money you get to teach children
who need it, our baby gets terrific people.'
'As I said, thanks, but no,' Aidan said.
'Signora, what do you think?' Tony asked.
'It's Aidan's call,' she said simply.

Tony looked at a loss. 'I don't want to upset a family do by
pressing something further. But, Kato, do you have any wisdom
to give to this?'
Kato looked from one face to another. 'Well, of course, the
father of a family must do what he thinks is right, and from
respect, none of us would want to change his opinion,' he
said.

Aidan gave him a look which said he could marry his
daughter Brigid tomorrow morning if he wanted to.

'I suppose you wanted me to say yes to Tony,' Aidan said
when he and Nora got home.
'I want you to do what you want to do,' Nora said calmly.
'But you think it's a good idea?'
'I think we owe those young people something. They would
be happy if we helped them out. They have been good to us over
the years. Tony gave me the job as an Italian teacher, he put
you in charge of evening classes. Grania always welcomed me,
she and Brigid have been great; many other girls would have
resented me stepping in there. I'd love to be able to help them.'
'No, Nora, don't make me feel guilty about it. It's just a
ploy. It's just a scheme to find alternative work for me.'
'Oh yes,' Nora said. 'They knew in advance you were going
to get a heart attack so they arranged to be pregnant at an
appropriate time!'
'No, I don't mean that. They used the circumstances, that's
all.'
'Oh, Aidan, stop thinking the world is a big conspiracy.
You're not paranoid. Anyway I said I'm with you. Whatever
you want to do, we do.'
'You'd like the two of us to look after that baby?'
'Well, we could be together there, we could get to know the
baby, he or she would get to know us. Yes, there are ways in
which I'd like it a lot.'
'Help me, Nora. I want to do the best.'
'Do the best for you, Aidan, not for me.' Nora went out
into their little kitchen. 'We won't want much to eat this
evening after all that marvellous spread, will we? How about
an egg on toast later?'
'Help me, Nora,' he said again.
'Every step of the way -- but you have your mind made up


to go back there. Why should I add to your stress?' She was
calm and peaceful.
'But you would prefer if I gave it up?'
'One of the reasons I love you so much is that you never
tried to change me. You never asked me to dye my hair, or
wear more conventional clothes, or anything. I'm not going to
do that to you either.'
'I'm looking for guidance . . .'
'No, my love, you are not. You are looking for my total
support and you have it,' she said.

'I see Aidan Dunne in the waiting room,' Fiona said. 'He
hasn't an appointment today.'
'No, but they might have come in for one of the demonstrations.
Johnny and Lavender are doing their stuff this
morning,' Barbara said.
'Right. Isn't Aidan's wife something else? She's a real character,'
Fiona said.
'When we're old, will we be like that?' Barbara wondered.
'Well, if we had fellows who were as mad about us as Aidan
Dunne is about her we'd be all right,' Fiona said.
'You do have someone like that . . .' Barbara was glum.
'The rest of us forgot to get thin so we don't.'
'Fiona, do you think I could have an examination today, I
know it's not my regular day,' Aidan asked diffidently.
'Isn't that what we're here for?' Fiona was cheerful. She
brought Aidan into the cubicle and sat him up on the bed.
'I'll take your blood pressure first,' she said.
'Is it okay?' he asked anxiously.

'It's a bit up on last week. Jump up on the scales here for
me,' Fiona continued, relaxed and soothing. 'No, your weight
hasn't changed, no sign of fluids here. Any stress or anything
in the last day or two?'

'No - I learned I was going to be a grandfather, but that's
all good.'
'You bet it is. Congratulations. Nothing to raise the blood
pressure there.' Fiona was delighted for him.
'So I wonder why I don't feel so great,' he said anxiously.
'Is your wife here with you, Aidan?'
'You know Nora - she's always here with me; she's gone to
talk to Lavender while I'm with you.'
'Suppose I ask Declan to have a quick look at you?' Fiona
suggested.
'Great,' said Aidan.

Declan was calm also. 'BP is certainly a lot raised,' he said.
'Let's work out why that is.'
'Am I going to have another heart attack?' Aidan asked.
'I doubt it very much. It could be medication -- or is anything
else worrying you?'
'I am worried about something, but it's not enough to raise
my blood pressure,' Aidan said.
'Could you tell me what it is and we'll decide whether that's
right or not.'
Declan was frank and honest with him. But Aidan could
not talk to this boy who was the same age as his children. He
needed someone nearer his own age.
'Could I talk to Clara about it, Declan, it's a sort of middle
aged thing?'
'Of course -- but you know Clara, that's not exactly the way
to put it to her.'
'I'll be more tactful,' Aidan promised.
'Do you want Nora there?' Declan asked.
'Not really, if it's possible.'
'Leave it to me,' Declan said.

Clara took the consulting room and sat down with Aidan.
Declan had meanwhile spirited Nora Dunne to talk to Hilary.
They needed good pictures on the walls to lend some extra
vision to the place. Could Nora help them about getting
prints or posters?
'But Aidan?' she said.
'Is having his check-up,' Declan said very firmly.
'What is it about, Aidan?' Clara asked.
'How old are you, Dr Casey?'
'Aidan, I have asked you to call me Clara and you usually
do and I am in my very early fifties, so I presume this is going
somewhere?'
'I didn't feel at ease talking to Declan, he's too . . . well,
young.'
'He's very good, Aidan.'
'Yes, of course. But he wouldn't understand about whether
I should give up work or not . . .'
'Tell me about it,' Clara said.
She was a good listener; she nodded and encouraged and in
the end the whole anxiety had been laid out. He was afraid of
some of those thugs who had changed the face of the school
where he had been so happy. He did get anxious and lose his
self-confidence when they mocked him publicly. Yet he could
not give up his career because of a heart problem.
He could not leave Nora without anything to live on.
He couldn't let a bunch of under-privileged sixteen-year
olds cut off his whole life. He would not accept charity and
have his son-in-law wheeling and dealing, taking money from
one pocket and putting it in another.
Clara listened with a sympathetic face but offered no solution.
This was something that Aidan Dunne would have to
sort out for himself. He needed something to happen that
would help him make up his mind.
Rescue comes in the most unexpected way.

Frank Ennis had chosen this very moment to make an
unexpected tour of the heart clinic to show to fellow board
member Chester Kovac. Clara gritted her teeth in annoyance.
How typical of him to barge in at the wrong moment. Not for
him the courtesy of a phone call or the making of an appointment.
Oh, no indeed. Frank regarded the heart clinic as a
minor and unimportant part of his great empire. What could
he want, bringing this philanthropist round to inspect the
premises now, of all times?
Mr Kovac was a very charming man. He was full of praise
for everything. He shook Aidan Dunne's hand and apologised
for interrupting a consultation. Frank Ennis wouldn't have
noticed that he was interrupting anything. Chester Kovac also
spoke to Ania in Polish; his father was from the old country,
he said. He said he had just met a most interesting lady called
Nora and discussed pictures with her. He was going to take some of her ideas back to his own health centre in Rossmore.
'That's my wife,' Aidan said proudly.

'Really? And have you been long married? Do you have
children?'
'No, we met late in life, we are not very long married, but
very happily married,' Aidan said simply.
'Then we share something, Mr Dunne. We are both lucky
men. I too married late in life and have a wonderful wife called
Hannah. And has this clinic helped you, Mr Dunne?'
'I can't begin to tell you how much. Everyone here has been
terrific, it's such a reassurance.'
'I see that in the reports. In fact I'm thinking of having
something very similar in my own place in the country. It's
not just city folk who have strain and stress you know . . .'
'No, but it can be tougher in the city, with the traffic, the
gangs and the hooligans.'
'Don't I know? Why do you think I left New York? I only
come to Dublin once a month for these board meetings in

St Brigid's. Sometimes Hannah comes too and we go to a
theatre and stay overnight, but it's nice and peaceful to be
home again.'
'Have you sort of retired, Mr Kovac?' Aidan Dunne asked.
'Yes, I think I have but I'm busier than ever. We had a great
bit of good luck, two years back. My wife's niece Orla had a
baby sort of unexpectedly, and there was a problem about
raising her. So we gave her a room in the house and during the
day Hannah and I look after the child while Orla goes to
her classes in Rossmore. Then she comes home and takes her
away.'
Clara looked very carefully at the floor. Across the room she
could see the stocky figure of Father Brian Flynn who had
come to collect his friend Johnny. She felt a great urge to go
over to him and tell him that she was coming straight back to
the Church this minute. There was a personal God and that
personal God had intervened just at the right time.
Chester Kovac was talking about how he and Hannah and
their dog Zloty would go for walks in the Whitethorn Woods
wheeling the pram, and now that the little girl was old enough
to toddle along with them it was better still.
'When you have so much happiness yourself it seems mean
spirited not to share it,' he said. Then something in Aidan's
face made him stop. 'Here I am prattling on about things that
aren't relevant to your life at all. Forgive me,' he began.
'No, please. It could be relevant. It could be very relevant.
My daughter is going to have a baby, you see. She and her
husband want us to look after it but I didn't think ..." His
voice trailed away.
'I know - I was the same way before little Emer was born. I
thought it would be all little red puckered faces and screaming
and nappies. But it's not -- it's fascinating!'
'I was afraid we'd be too old . . .'
'So were we,' Chester said. 'But it makes us feel young.'

'I thought it was charity, finding us a job, channelling
money at us.' Aidan had told Chester everything now.
'Believe me, it's you who will be doing the charitable thing,
a member of the family giving love and care to a new baby.'
Aidan saw Hilary and Nora coming towards them. When
she saw Aidan's face Nora knew at once that a decision had
been reached. And that he was happy with it.

There were a lot of goodbyes, exchanging addresses and shaking
hands with Chester, and heavy promising to go to
Rossmore one day so that they could see for themselves. Nora
had no idea what they were going to see, but she managed to
sound enthusiastic.
Declan came out just as Nora and Aidan were leaving. 'Hey, someone should take Aidan's blood pressure,' he said.
'No need, Declan,' Clara said. 'I'd say it's perfectly fine
now.'
'So we're into just guessing these days?' He laughed.
'Listen - if you'd witnessed what I just did you'd be down
on your knees thanking the Almighty for keeping an eye on
us,' Clara said.
'I knew this place was too good to be true,' Declan said. 'It's
been a religious cult all along and no one ever told me.'

In the shopping precinct Aidan and Nora sat at the sandwich
bar. They held hands and their coffee got cold as they talked
excitedly about the years ahead. The child that would know
them from the word go. The days free to teach children who
really did want to learn Latin. A suitable place for Signora to
give little conversation classes in Italian for executives. Grania
and Tony could go out to work with a guilt-free heart every
day.
Life couldn't get much better.
For the first time in their careful, frugal lives, Nora and

Aidan left unfinished coffee behind them. They were anxious
to get the bus and go and share their great news with the
baby's parents. They were impatient for the child to be born.
How could they all wait until September?

Chapter Seven



Peter Barry had always been cautious and careful. It was
essential as a pharmacist that you should not be slapdash
or reckless and he was proud that he kept all
aspects of his life under meticulous control.
His daughter Amy had inherited none of these qualities.
She was much more like her late mother: feckless, casual
and unconcerned. Laura had been so hopeless about keeping
records and having control of money that Peter had taken the
whole thing over himself. He had immaculate accounts books.
The bookkeeper and the accountant said that he didn't need
anyone to oversee his figures, he had the whole thing under
control.
Laura had been the arty one. She had known how to spread
a piece of Indian cotton on the back of a sofa and make it look
regal. She had always done the windows in the pharmacy for
him. Laura had made beautiful clothes for Amy when she was
a toddler. No other four-year-old had such dresses.
He looked back on the old pictures. Amy was like a little
princess. But of course in recent years she looked like a terrorist
or a member of the Addams family, with her matted hair
and white make-up and black straggly clothes.
It was impossible to know what would have happened if

Laura had lived. Would they have been great friends and
conspirators, the two of them ganging up on silly old Daddy?
Or were his customers right when they said that teenage
daughters hated their mothers even more than they hated
their fathers? He would never know.
Amy was in her last year at school. But she had warned him
not to expect any kind of good results. She hadn't been able to
study because all they were offering in that school was 'pure
crap'. If only her father could be in her classroom he would
realise that it was rubbish, meaningless, nothing.
He had felt utterly inadequate and completely at sea when
he went to the parents--teachers meeting. Her teachers, one
after the other, told him that Amy was no trouble in class but
paid no attention in any subject -- she just stared out the
window.
He suggested that she attend one of those sixth form
colleges or cram colleges.
'For what?' Amy had asked. 'To learn more crap except at
high speed?'
Everything was an effort. It was an effort to get up and go to
school. An effort to wash her clothes in the washing machine.
They lived in a small apartment over the pharmacy. It had
been part of the new mall's policy to mix housing with commercial
zoning in an effort to make the place more human and
avoid the empty-precinct syndrome. Amy grumbled because
they didn't have a garden.
'Who would keep the garden if we had one?' Peter asked,
not unreasonably.
Amy shrugged. She had a good line in shrugs. Expressive
and defeated and then moving swiftly on to the next issue,
which in this case was going to a seaside resort in Cyprus to
celebrate the Leaving Certificate.
'But you tell me you have nothing to celebrate, Amy.'

2}9
'All the more reason to go and cheer myself up,' she said.
But nothing ever cheered her up.
It was 8 a.m. and she was showing him a brochure about
a holiday that cost some astronomical sum of money. Peter
was adamant. He was not going to finance two weeks of
Amy staying in a hotel, entering wet T-shirt competitions
and partying all night.
'What are you doing it all for, Dad?' she asked him, her
black-rimmed eyes looking at him as if she had never seen him
before.
'Doing all what?' he asked.
'Oh -- standing in a white coat looking at prescriptions and
tutting over things and spending hours talking to reps from
drugs companies.'
'Well, it's my work.' Peter was bewildered.
'Yes, but what's it for, Dad, if it isn't for me?'
'It is for you -- but not for you to go to Cyprus.'
'Okay, that's your final word, is it?'
'Yes, it is, Amy. And I'm going to work now.'
'To make more money to give me when I'm too old to
enjoy it.'
'People are never too old to enjoy it,' Peter said.
'Oh, they are, Dad,' Amy said. She didn't say any more but
she obviously thought that her father was the perfect example
of the point she was making.
She didn't really speak to him after that. She was polite but
distant. She thanked him when he cooked a meal but announced
that she was going out with a school friend. The next
morning she read a magazine during breakfast, washed up her
own cereal bowl and left at the same time as Peter did.
'This is silly, Amy. Where are you going?' He was worried.
A silence had never gone on for twenty-four hours before.
'To get a job!' Amy called over her shoulder.
He saw her walking through the shopping precinct, her bag

over her shoulder. It seemed such a short time since he had
held her by the hand at her mother's funeral and promised
that he would look after her. He hadn't delivered on that
promise. He had tried, but his own daughter looked at him
with the eyes of a stranger.

It had been so simple when he was that age. His father had just
assumed that his two boys would study pharmacy, and they
did. Then, as now, it was very fiercely competitive to get a
place on the course. Though chemists often told each other
that they were just glorified shop assistants, they did have a pride in it all. They were people of authority.
Of course it had been so different in his father's time. A
small town, one chemist shop, Mr Barry Senior was able to do
so much more than Peter was nowadays. It wasn't said aloud
but everyone knew that Mr Barry was as good as any doctor.
He could give a child with a bad chest a course of antibiotics
without needing to wait for a doctor's prescription; he could
take a piece of broken glass out of a finger, or tell you if a weak
ankle was a sprain or a break. He made his own elixirs which
people came from far and near to get because they had such
faith in them. And he had a cough medicine which worked
pure magic.
His father knew there wouldn't be enough work for both
boys in the shop. He was in an agony of indecision about
which of them to take in, but as it happened Peter wanted to
move to Dublin, and his brother Michael had gone to live in
Cork.
Problem solved.
But not forgotten.
In Cork, Michael often bewailed the fact that he hadn't
made a bid for the family business. In Dublin, when he came
upstairs in his shopping precinct premises after long hours in
the shop, Peter felt the same thing.

When his wife died, their father eventually sold the business
to a young thrusting assistant who had turned it into a goldmine.
Then Mr Barry Senior went to live in a bungalow in the
west of Ireland where there was good fishing. He had taken up
with 'a lady companion'.
Peter drove over to see him once a year.
The place was warm and comfortable. Ruby, his father's
friend, had cooked a lovely meal, and had talked of their going
on a cruise.
A cruise!
Peter and Amy had spent the night and as they drove home
next day, there was some discontent niggling away inside him.
A feeling that somehow his father had done altogether too well
out of this deal. He even bragged about the old shop and
spoke proudly about how many square feet had been added to
the original premises.
Amy had looked out of the car window as they passed
through towns and over rivers and past ruined castles on the
way home.
'What are you thinking?' he asked her.
'I was wondering do those two old people still have sex?' she
said.
And Peter found the image so unsettling he resolved never
to ask Amy or anyone else what they were thinking. It was
never good to know . . .
As he watched Amy go off to get a job he had no idea what
was in her mind. Was she full of regret that she hadn't studied
properly? Or resentment that she had no mother, only a
crusty, mean-spirited father who didn't understand her need
to go and get drunk for fifteen days in Cyprus? He wondered
who would employ Amy, and as what?
He wished that he had a batty old friend like Ruby, someone
he could speak openly with about Amy. But there was
nobody.

Just at that moment, Clara Casey from the heart clinic came
in.
'Peter, I've come with my begging bowl,' she began straight
away.
'Right, what good cause is it this time?' He put on a mock
martyred look.
'Now, I never asked you for any money for any cause
before, did I? No, it's your time, not your money.' She explained
that they were going to have a series of lectures at
the clinic for patients and their families as well as the general
public. It was all part of trying to get a wider understanding of
how the heart functioned. She would love it if he, as the local
pharmacist, were to come in and talk about the different kinds
of medication: beta blockers, ACEI medicines. If he could do
it in lay-person's terms it would be much more satisfactory
than doctors blinding them with science and long names.
People trusted their chemists, they had faith in their pharmacists,
Clara said flatteringly. It would come better from the
man they saw in his white coat every time they went into the
shop.
Peter was pleased that she thought so well of him. 'You've
never heard me speak in public. I'm not one of the world's
great orators,' he confessed.
'You're the person they'll be meeting, Peter; in fact you may
even get more customers if you make yourself sound appealing
and attractive and easy to approach.'
'Oh, well, if it's a matter of drumming up business then I
have to go,' he said with a smile.
They fixed the date and the time and Peter said that he'd
love to know more about the whole project. Possibly Clara
might have dinner with him one evening? She paused for a
moment and then said that would be lovely. But it was her
hobby horse and she could talk for Ireland on the subject -- so


if he promised to insist on other topics as well then she'd be
delighted.
'Where would you like us to go?' she asked.
He was going to say the cafe in the precinct, but that was
more a snack-and-burgers place, not dinner as such.
'Quentins?' he heard himself say.
She smiled a big broad smile. 'Now that would be a lovely
treat,' she said. So they fixed a date for that too and Clara went
off to work.
Peter smiled to himself. The day had started well after all.

'Did you get a job?' he asked Amy that night.
'Yup, thanks,' Amy said.
'Could I
ask what it is?' He knew he sounded lofty and
superior and not like he should if he was trying to win her
confidence.
'A bit like yours, I'm working in a shop.'
'I own my shop, Amy,' he said.
'Yup, and I may own a shop some day too.'

'And you'll be selling what, exactly?'
'Fishnet tights and stiletto heels.'
'And there are enough women out there to buy these
things?'
'Who said anything about women, Dad? It's a drag shop,
it's for TVs and fancy dress and the like.'
'Of course,' Peter Barry said, feeling slightly faint.

Clara was surprised that Peter suggested they should meet at
Quentins around six thirty. It seemed very early. She would
prefer to have come home to shower and dress before going
out. It had been a long time since she had had a real dinner
date. But he seemed to think that this was the right time, so
she agreed. Probably he had to be home early, as he had a

244
I
young daughter; anyway, she would take a change of outfit to
the clinic and be ready to go when work was over.
During the day she wondered why she had said yes. Her
usual response was to say that she had such an exhausting job
she went to bed early, or to imply that there was a shadowy
figure somewhere in her background that prevented her from
accepting dates. But Peter had been easy-going, natural. And
what the hell, a nice dinner at Quentins was just what she
needed on a cool spring evening.

Brenda Brennan showed them to their table. There were a few
tables occupied, and it was gracious and elegant: Clara looked
around at her surroundings. She had been here twice before.
Once with Alan shortly before she had found out about Cinta.
He had left the table four times to make urgent phone calls.
Clara had seen nothing unusual about it at the time.
Then she had come here with her friend Dervla on the
night after Dervla's father, the wise Professor of Medicine, had died. Dervla had said that there would never be anything
spontaneous and unexpected in her life again and Clara had
suggested a posh dinner out. It had been very healing and well
worth the cost.
Peter Barry had not been to Quentins before. He was still
stunned at the thought that he had suggested such a top-of
the-range restaurant. There was something elegant and cool
about Clara, something that called out for a place like this.
He noticed immediately that she had dressed up in a smart
brocade jacket and a black silk dress. She was enthusiastic
about the menu, and settled for fresh sardines followed by
lamb.
Their conversation was easy from the start.
He told her about growing up in a chemist's shop in a small
town. About his father's late life romance, about how everything
had changed. Not always for the better. His father had

four chairs in the chemist's shop. Older people always liked to
sit down. Today in his pharmacy he had one chair and that
was just in case someone felt unwell.
He told her that his mother had been kind and self-effacing;
she would be amazed if she had lived to see how many women
pharmacists there were now. In her day it would have been
highly unusual for a woman to qualify as a chemist. 'Lord, how nice it would have been, to have a self-effacing
mother,' Clara said wistfully. 'Mine knew she was right about
everything and still knows it.'
'And was she?' Peter asked.
'Not remotely,' Clara laughed. 'But then I think I'm right
with my daughters too, and they don't take the slightest notice
of me.' They talked easily about daughters and their difficulties.
Peter
told how Amy had gone to work in a drag shop selling
amazing red satin corsets and pointy shoes. Clara said that she
wished her Linda would be as adventurous, or at any rate get a
job: she seemed to think the world owed her a living. They
talked about the heart clinic and how it had to be supported
by a proper health education programme. About how pharmacies
nowadays often depended on cosmetics for their profits.
Peter said he hadn't studied long hours so that he could advise
some mother about red velvet hair bands for her twelve-year
old's party.
Clara agreed and said it had been a long journey to where
she was, and now that she had got there she spent an inordinate
amount of time talking to Frank-the-Crank in
hospital administration, who spent his working day trying to
thwart them at every turn.
'He is so penny-pinching, so desperately the-letter-of-the
law rather than the spirit of it that we spend our time trying to
think up equally petty ways to deal with him,' she laughed.
'Ania and Hilary and I have a ten-minute session every

morning to fight him over who pays for the toilet paper or the
tea bags. I don't care - it's so juvenile - I just want to get on
with it.'
He looked at her admiringly: she was full of passion and
enthusiasm. Just then he noticed that most of the people were
leaving and the waitress approached their table.
'Would you like to have your coffees in the bar?' she asked
politely.
'No, we're fine here,' Clara said before Peter had time to
answer. 'Aren't we?' She looked at Peter for confirmation. But
it wasn't there.
'The bar would be nice, I think,' he said.
'Whatever you say.' She seemed surprised.
'You see, I booked an Early Bird dinner, so they will need
our table for the next sitting.'
'Oh, of course,' she said hastily.
'I mean, it makes sense, it's almost half the normal menu
price,' he said defensively and somehow, some of the light
went out of the evening.

'Dervla, is it too late?'
'Of course not, Clara, it's only nine thirty. I thought you
were going out on a date.'
'I was and I did but I'm back home again.'
'That sounds like speed dating,' Dervla said.
'Yes, it does.'
'So - did you enjoy it?'
'I did actually - until the end when I realised he had taken
the Early Bird option in Quentins just because it was cheaper.'
'Oh, Clara -- that's not like you, judging people by what
they spend. And anyway he'd have had to spend a fair whack
in Quentins no matter which menu it was.'
'I don't know ... I just felt it was a bit ... I just don't
know . . .'

'You didn't like him. Did he grope your knee?'
'No, I did like him, and there was no groping. I had been
thinking of inviting him to Sunday lunch; the girls are rarely
around at the weekends.'
'And did you ask him?' Dervla wanted to know every detail.
'No, I didn't. I thought I'd let it wait a while.'
'Just because he bought you a bargain meal?'
'I know it sounds idiotic, that's why I rang you.'
'Oh, invite him. Tomorrow. First thing.'
'Why exactly?'
'Because we always regret what we don't do, rarely what we
do do.'
'Who said that?'
'I can't remember. Was it Mark Twain?'
'Shouldn't I get out now, quit when I'm winning?'
'But you're not winning, Clara, that's the point.'
'Oh Lord, Dervla, what would I do without you?'
'You might work yourself to death,' Dervla said and hung
up.

'Was it a good evening?' Ania asked next day.
'It was very nice, Ania, very nice, beautiful food and very
elegant . . .'
'But?' Ania said.
'That's just it, he was very charming, very polite. I'm just
being silly.'
'It was that handsome Mr Barry from the pharmacy, you
said?'
'Yes, do you think he's handsome? Really?'
'Yes -- he is like a film actor, I think.'
'Yes . . . maybe.'
'And will you see Mr Barry again, do you think?'
'I think so -- I am going to ask him to lunch on Sunday.'

'Oh good . . .'

'Why do you think it's good?'
'Because romance is always good,' Ania said simply. She
thought about Carl and smiled to herself.
Clara reached for the phone before she could change her
mind. 'Peter, thank you so much for last night.'
'Oh, good, Clara, I enjoyed it too, greatly.'
'Would you like to come to lunch with me in my house on
Sunday? I could cook for you . . .'
'That's very nice of you - and will your daughters be there?'
'With any luck they won't. I'll email you my address. Is one
o'clock okay?'
'Thank you so much, Clara,' he said and his voice was
warm.
Dervla had of course been right. Now she was pleased to be
seeing him again, instead of just sitting here grumbling about
a date which had turned out to be slightly less than perfect.

'Dad?'
'Yes, Amy?' He was pleased that she had telephoned.
'You know the way you always complain when I don't tell
you things?' She would ring, of course, when he had three
people waiting for prescriptions.
'Yes, well what are we talking about here?'
'I'm going away for the weekend.'
'We could talk about this later.'

'There is no later, Dad. I'm going today. Back late on
Sunday night.'
'Where exactly?'
'To London, they want me to see some of the shows that
shops like ours do so that I could organise evenings like that in
Dublin.'
'And who are you going with?' he asked weakly.
'That's right, Dad. So now you know. See you Sunday
night.' And she hung up with the air of one who had solved

everything and was now free to head off to England and
explore the world of bizarre sex and fetishes.

Adi and her boyfriend Gerry were going on a protest march at
the weekend, something about preserving trees, so that was
one thing. All she had to do was to find out Linda's plans.
Linda said she wasn't sure of her plans. Nothing was firmed
up.
'Well, can you firm them up now, please?' Clara asked.
'Why?' Linda sensed that she was being got rid of. She
might settle for a posh lunch out if Clara were to finance it. 'I
thought I might just stay here,' she said, testing the ground.
'Well then, whatever you buy for yourself perhaps you could have it in your bedroom,' Clara suggested.
'Buy for myself V Linda was horrified.
'Well, yes, Linda, you haven't paid anything towards this
household for two weeks despite our arrangement. I know you
will get a part-time job and contribute very soon, but in the
meantime you won't expect me to cook for you.'
'No, but if I don't have a job how can I buy food?' To
Linda it was a mystery.
'Ah, yes, that's the trouble. It will sort of concentrate your
mind,' Clara agreed.
'What are you doing on Sunday?' Linda said mulishly.
'I'm having a friend to lunch here.'
'As if I'd want to hear you and some other fuss-fuss old woman talking about the heart clinic'
'Good - we'll take it that your plans have firmed up then,
Linda.'
'All right, Mam, and by the way, there's no need to strip the
fridge bare in case I drink your milk or eat your bacon . . .'
'I always think it's better to avoid any grey areas,' Clara said
cheerfully.


250
I
Peter arrived with a bottle of wine.
'That's nice of you. Will you open it for us?' Clara handed
him the corkscrew.
'I'm afraid it's a screw-top. They're on sale at the off
licence, but I gather they're very drinkable,' he said.
'Sure, personally I think all wine should be screw-top,'
Clara said as she laid out some smoked salmon on brown
bread.
'I think there's a lot of nonsense in the wine business,' Peter
said. 'People buy just according to price; if it's dear it must be
good. That's like the Emperor's New Clothes really. Some
wines like this are very good and they're half the price of some
of the so-called "good" wines.'
She wished he would stop talking about money. They were
middle-aged, middle-class people. She was a doctor, he was a
pharmacist, they owned their houses -- they could afford a
bottle of wine, for God's sake. But she knew she must beat
down this small irritation.
Again the conversation was easy. He admired her home: it
was bright and airy, and the garden was secluded and full of
colour. She told him that the trick in gardens was to have big,
colourful bushes that did all the work for you and needed no
care. They took their glasses of wine and strolled around the
small garden as she pointed out this plant and that.
'Do you grow them from seed?' he asked.
'No, I haven't got a greenhouse or cloche frames or anything
you'd need to be in the whole of your health to get into
that kind of thing.'
'But isn't it a fraction of the price?' he asked.
'Not if you had to buy a greenhouse and spend all day and
all night pricking out seeds,' Clara said with spirit.
'No.' Peter was thoughtful. Friends of his had told him that
having a garden was a great drain on your money, and he had

consoled himself with this as he went upstairs to his apartment.
'If
you come here again during the summer we could sit out
and have our lunch in this corner,' she said.
'I hope we'll still be friends in the summer,' he said simply.
They had steak and kidney pie for lunch and cheese afterwards.
Clara opened a bottle of red wine. When he asked her
where she had got it and how much it had cost, she lied and
said she didn't know, it had been a gift. She couldn't bear to
tell him that she had gone into a wine shop and asked for
something full-bodied and classy, a Burgundy perhaps, and
had paid accordingly. Peter Barry would have found that a
great sin, not a generous, hospitable gesture.
He talked about the reps from the drugs companies who
came to sell their wares.
Clara told him that it was very encouraging to see people
living so well with heart failure. Patients who had come in a
few short months ago in a panic seeing the clinic as some kind
of anteroom to the next world were now confident and able to
manage on their own. He told her that they had had a drug
addict in his pharmacy during the week. A boy totally out of
his mind, demanding to be given access to morphine and antidepressants.
He carried the leg of a chair as a weapon; he was
thin and covered with scabs. Peter had brought him into the
back and shown him the safe and the locked drawers. He had
told the boy that they needed three keys to open them and one
of the staff was on lunch break.
'What did he do?'
'He believed me. He began to cry and shake. I knew the
others had called the Guards so all I had to do was keep him
there. I gave him a couple of tranquillisers and talked to him.
He thought we were waiting for someone to come back from
lunch -- then the Guards came. It was very upsetting.'
'He's somebody's son, you mean?' Clara asked.

'Yes, someone had great hopes for him, gave him the full
cream milk at the top of the bottle. And look at him now . . .'
He seemed genuinely concerned.
'I know, but we can't play God. I had a man in the other
day, dizzy spells and irregular heartbeat, so Declan and I
decided he needed to wear a Holter Monitor for twenty-four
hours, to check on his heart rhythms. So we strapped him up
and told him to come back the next day. When we printed out
the report, we could see it had been turned off just before
midnight. "Well, why did you turn it off?" I asked him. "I got
lucky, Doctor, I picked up a fine dame and went home with
her. You couldn't expect me to wear that bloody thing, she'd
think I was a weirdo . .
'Can't have been all that much wrong with his heart if he
could score and bring someone back to his bed by eleven
thirty!' Peter said.
'Yes, well, we don't know whether it did him any good or
not. He took offence that we were so cross with him and he
hasn't been back!'
'What will you do?'
'Declan is the diplomat, he'll find a ruse one way or
another, believe me.'
They talked about their daughters. Amy off learning about
bondage garments in London, Adi hugging trees and Linda
sulking and mutinous. It wasn't what either of them had
expected when they had first become parents.
'Will you come to the theatre with me during the week?
There's a new play at the Abbey,' Peter asked suddenly.
'That would be great, I was just reading about it this morning,'
she said.

Dervla rang her that night. 'Has he gone?' she whispered.
'Oh, hours ago,' Clara said.
'I forgot he was Mr Early-to-bed,' Dervla said.

'Well, it was lunch I invited him to.'
'Right, right -- now the third date, has it been mentioned?'
'The Abbey Theatre, Wednesday,' Clara said.
Dervla gave a yelp of pleasure. 'So it's more than a whirl
then?'
'I don't know.' Clara was cautious.
'And a fling? It's not really a fling.' Dervla was searching for
a definition.
'I'm a bit old for a fling,' Clara said.
'Right - will we call it a thing? Clara is having a thing with
Peter . . .'
'Really, Dervla, you are an idiot!' Clara said, but she
laughed.
'It's a thing,' Dervla cried. 'It has now been officially designated
a thing . . .'

Amy came in from the airport exhausted.
'Were they interesting, the clothes you saw?' he asked. He
and Clara had decided they must assume some kind of
enthusiasm for their daughters' lives or they would lose them
altogether.
'Oh, Dad, please.' Amy seemed to think he was pathetic.
But he ploughed on. 'You're my daughter, Amy, you've
taken up a new career, is it so bad that I be interested?'
Amy was still suspicious. 'You're only going to say what a
waste, how I threw away my opportunities and all that.'
'Well, no, I wasn't going to say that, I was just wondering
did you see things you might import? But if it annoys you,
let's just leave it.' His voice was different somehow.
Amy spoke slowly. 'It was interesting, yes, but I think it
might be risky spending big money on some of the things they
have -- a lot of leather, restraints, dominatrix gear, if you know
what I mean.'
'I know.' Peter nodded gravely.

'It's not that there isn't a call for it, there is, but most of our
customers almost prefer to go to London to be anonymous.
That's what I think anyway, I may be wrong.'
'That's intelligent, to notice that; so it wasn't a wasted trip?'
'No, not at all. And I met a lovely guy on the plane coming
back tonight. We're going out tomorrow.'
'Is he in the same line of business?'
'Ben? Oh no, Ben is an embalmer.'
1 m sorry?
'An embalmer, Dad. Even you must have heard of
them. You know, when someone dies, formaldehyde and all
that . . .'
'Oh yes, of course, that kind of an embalmer.'
'As if there were any other kinds.' Amy got herself a glass of
milk and a biscuit. The hostility seemed to be over.

Clara was sitting reading when Linda came in.
'Your friend gone then?' she asked.
'Oh yes, long ago, we had a nice lunch. There's some steak
and kidney pie left if you'd like to heat it up.'
'I thought I wasn't to be fed, some kind of new law.' Linda
was obviously bruised by the injustice.
'Oh, I meant that you weren't automatically to expect you
would be fed. I can always offer you something, can't I?' Clara
didn't have to offer twice. Linda had the dish in the microwave
already.
'Who was she, anyway?' Linda asked.
'Who?'
'The woman who came to lunch.'
'It was a man, Peter Barry, he's a pharmacist.'
'Oh, really. And what did Mrs Barry have to say about
that?'
'Very little. She's been dead for twelve years.'
'A widower? Huh.'

That's it.'
'A date, no less.'
'Not really.'
'Are you seeing him again, Mam?'
'Yes, on Wednesday, we're going to the theatre.'
'Don't you think you should let Adi and I meet him first?' Linda was wagging her finger and doing an imitation of the
way Clara spoke.
'Finish that pie and wash the dish before the vegans come
home and get upset.'

When Clara came in to the clinic the following morning, she
saw Hilary already there, busy getting through the paperwork.
She remembered their one-time jokey agreement that they
were going to contrive a meeting between Clara's Linda and
Hilary's Nick. The perfect marriage would result from it -- but
they had to do it on their own.
No point in talking to Hilary about anything like that now.
She would look totally uncomprehending. Since her mother's
death she had been like a stone, offering no conversation and
responding as briefly as possible. Hilary still blamed herself
entirely for her mother's death and the injury of an innocent
driver. No amount of decisions and verdicts at the inquest
satisfied her. She worked longer hours even than Clara did,
but her soul wasn't in it. It was as if she was working to stop
herself having to think about the enormity of what had happened.
Still,
maybe she might remember the name of that hairdresser
she had been to way back. The woman had taken years
off her.
Clara would like to look young on Wednesday night.

Kiki looked at Clara's hair with interest. 'It's very thick and
shiny for your age,' she said eventually.

'Thank you,' Clara said coldly.
'I mean, you were the one who wanted a younger style, I'm
only saying that it's young enough.' She was obviously speaking
the truth.
Clara smiled. 'Yes, but it's Office Hair, I want Evening Out
Hair.'
'Are you going to a do?' Kiki brightened up.
'I'm going to the theatre,' Clara said.
'Are you going to be on the stage?'
'No, I'm going to be in the audience but I would like to
look younger. Is that possible?' Clara knew there was an edge
to her voice.
'You've got good ears,' Kiki said, 'have you nice earrings?'
'Yes, I do, as it happens.'
'Right, we'll make it short over the ears, change the shape a
bit, that's all you're looking for, isn't it? A change?'
'I suppose that's right. Okay, go ahead, change me.'
Kiki shrugged. Older people were really quite mad these
days. There was a time when they had a perm twice a year and
that did them. Nowadays they wanted new images, makeovers,
the lot. And as her boss always said, just as well for
business that they did.
Til have you shampooed, madam,' Kiki said.
Later she brought a mirror so that Clara could examine the
new style from every angle. It looked very good.
'Thank you, Kiki. And what exactly do you mean I have got
good ears?'
'They're neat and small and stick to your head,' Kiki explained.
'But
aren't most people's stuck to their head?' Clara lowered
her voice nervously.
'Oh no, madam, you're so wrong, some of them who come
in here have ears that look as if they're revving up for flight. Be
proud of your ears, madam, show them off!'

'Thank you, Kiki.' Clara wondered why nobody had ever
told her about her ears before. People were so unobservant.

Peter said she looked wonderful. 'Something different?' he
asked.
'I got my hair cut.' Clara made it seem simple.
'What beautiful ears you have,' he said admiringly.
She had been about to make a joke, but she saw the genuine
admiration in his face.
'Thank you, Peter,' she said simply and they went into their
seats.

And so it went on for the next few weeks. Peter would ask her
out twice a week and Clara would ask him out once a week.
She took him to the zoo one day, and he took her to a circus.
Since the lunch at her place, they avoided asking each other
home. Too many inquisitive young people around. It would
destroy the restful nature of their meetings. Nothing was
promised, committed or even planned. It was just a relationship
that suited them both very well.
The matter of sex would soon have to be sorted out.
The goodnight kisses were longer and more clinging. They
were too old for this nonsense. They were both free agents.
But neither wanted to be the first to suggest it lest everything
change. And then Amy announced that she and Ben were
going to a conference.
'An embalmers' conference?' Peter said.
'No, of course not.'
'A fetish conference?'
'We do have another life outside work, Dad; we're going to
a creative writing weekend, if you must know.'
'That's great. And you'll be gone for the whole weekend?'
He hoped she didn't hear the delight in his voice. This could
be it. The weekend he invited Clara to stay.

'I won't be home on Saturday night,' Clara told her daughters.
'Ooh -- is it the widower?' Adi asked.
'Is this the night?' Linda wanted to know.
'Don't be ridiculous,' Clara snapped. 'I am doing you the
courtesy of telling you my plans. Next time I won't bother.'
'I've got good news, too, Mam,' Linda said. 'I've got a job
so you get rent from next week.'
'That's great, Linda. Well done.'
'It's selling CDs and DVDs. It's not full-time work or
anything.'
'No, of course not. Will you like that?'
'Well, it mightn't be too bad,' Linda said grudgingly.
'It's not actually using your qualifications,' Adi said primly.
'Yeah, a BA degree is meant to be a qualification. You wouldn't have a job if you hadn't added a teaching diploma to your qualifications.'
'At least I went out to work and contributed to this household,'
Adi snapped.
'And I am now, so shut up.'

Clara thought it would be a great relief to get out of this place
and be with quiet, undemanding Peter. She hoped that it
would all work out all right. It had been so long since she had
made love to anyone. They said you never forgot how to do it,
and it all came back to you like riding a bicycle. But, hell, she
had never made love with anyone except That Bastard Alan.
She wished that she had accepted some of the offers that had
been suggested over the past few years. It could have been a
kind of rehearsal ...
She packed a very expensive black lace slip instead of a
nightdress. It was ridiculous to be so nervous at her age. But
that's the way it was.

Peter had gone to great trouble with the flat. He had polished
all the surfaces, and there were two vases of flowers on small
tables. For dinner he had prepared smoked salmon, and a
chicken tarragon. He had tried the chicken dish three times
until he thought he had it right. He would serve wild rice and
a salad. Fresh fruit and cheese to follow.
He looked around, pleased with what he saw.
When Clara arrived she left her overnight bag in the hall
and came in full of compliments.
'What an ideal place to live, in the centre of everything,' she
said.
He poured her a sherry, ice cold from the fridge. Clara
could see how much trouble he had gone to. It was touching.
'Oh, I'm glad you like the sherry - it was half price at the
supermarket but it tastes really good,' he said.
Why did he have to tell her that it was half price? It was the
same with the chicken, the recipe said fresh tarragon but it was
so expensive and most of it went to waste and the dried stuff
was perfect and kept for ever. And, again, the same about the
cheese. You could pay a king's ransom for a runny French
brie, yet there was perfectly good Irish brie and all you had to
do was let it ripen.
She wished with all her heart that he wouldn't pass these
money-saving tips on to her. But maybe that was his way. She
would offer him one as well. She had actually paid a lot for her
leather handbag but she pretended it had been a bargain.
'I saw it in one of those "Today's Reductions" baskets,' she
said to him.
His face lit up, he was genuinely pleased for her. He stroked
the bag. 'It's perfect,' he said. 'Wasn't that wonderful of you to
spot it. Well worth looking around for.'
Clara felt that she had earned brownie points for something
so trivial and unimportant. Yes, she told herself, that's exactly

what it was: trivial and unimportant. She would not let it ruin
their evening.

And the evening ended very well and naturally as if they had
been lovers for a long time. He told her she was beautiful, she
told him he was exciting. He admired her beautiful black lace
slip, she lay with her arm around his neck until they both fell
asleep. In the morning she was surprised to find herself in the
small bedroom in a bed that was neither a single nor a double
but somewhere between the two. He brought her orange juice
and coffee in bed and then they made love again.
They went to an open-air concert and bought a picnic.
They walked around the railings of St Stephen's Green where
the Sunday painters were exhibiting their work. Then they
went back to Peter's apartment for yet another visit to the
bedroom.
'I love you, Clara,' he said, as she left to go home on Sunday
evening.
'And I love you too,' she said.
Did she mean it? she wondered as she drove back home in
the sunny evening.
Probably, yes.
She had grown so used to not loving anyone after Alan that
the term seemed unfamiliar. Peter was a good, warm man, he
fancied her and admired her. He seemed to be happy to spend
every moment, night and day with her. What was not to like
about that?
She had better meet his daughter and he had better meet
hers. And her friends. That's the way things happened. Yet
there was a way that Clara felt it would be nice if they could
keep it to themselves a little longer. A sort of escape, a restful
place where the rest of the world didn't intrude at all.
When she got home, her two girls and the ever-present
Gerry were sitting at the kitchen table.

'Did you have a nice time?' Adi asked.
'All loved up?' Linda wanted it confirmed.
'Yes, very nice time, thank you, and everyone here?'
'Dead interested in what you two got up to, Mam,' Linda
said with a smile.
'Well, one sure thing I did not get up to, and that's pirating
CDs like you seem to be doing.' Clara looked at the computer
where Linda had been busy copying discs for herself.
'I wasn't exactly . . .'
'Not only is it illegal, but it's sure to get you sacked,' Clara
said crisply and took a small jug of milk from the fridge to her
room. There she made a mug of tea and called Dervla.
'I can't wait to hear,' Dervla said. 'Philip is furious with me.
All day I've been miles away wondering how you were getting
on.'
'Very well, in fact . . .'
'And did you . . . ?' Dervla paused.
'Did I what?' Clara was going to make her say it.
'Did you and he ... do the bold thing?'
'Oh God, Dervla and we criticise our children for being
juvenile!'
'Did you, Clara Casey? Yes or no?'
'Yes, we did, three times. Happy now?'
'Very relieved, I tell you. I thought you were going to become
a nun.'
'I can't believe we are having this conversation,' Clara said.
'Neither can I. When are we going to meet him?'

Clara met Amy first. Peter asked her to come in for a drink.
Amy was surprised that her father had invited a woman in
for a glass of wine. She wondered what the woman would be
like. Serious, probably, grey-haired with glasses. She would
talk about the importance of higher education. She would
be shocked by Amy's job, horrified by Ben's work as an

embalmer. Still, her dad had been good about Ben coming to
the house even though he was nervous of him. Amy had better
be polite to this woman.
She was astounded when she saw her. Elegant, groomed,
well dressed. No grey hair and glasses, instead shiny, well-cut
hair, and very good make-up. This woman was going out with
her father? Amy was totally confused.
She had prepared some cheese canapes, but wished she had
done something a little more fancy. They looked what they
were, a processed cheese slapped on a water-biscuit. But Clara
seemed delighted and ate several of them.
Clara was very interested in the shop where Amy worked.
She said that she had a friend whose feet were very big, maybe
she could get elegant shoes there; Dervla always complained
that you could only get big shoes in the shape of a surgical
boot.
Amy took it all seriously. 'Yeah, we'd certainly have something
to fit her, but warn her that they'll have these endless
stiletto heels. You see that your cross-dressing folk don't want
to look like a vicar's wife, they need huge glamour.'
Clara nodded, and said it was wise to forewarn Dervla who
was already very tall, and might well not be able to teeter
round on stilettos.
Clara also spoke pleasantly to Ben as if she had spent most
of her time talking to embalmers. They talked about the
necessity of removing pacemakers if it was going to be a
cremation. Sometimes people forgot to tell you that the
deceased had a pacemaker, but Ben said he was used to looking
for the incision where it had gone in. He explained that
the general public always thought your hair and nails went on
growing after you were dead, but that wasn't so, it was just
that the skin retracted and the nails looked longer.
Peter was taken aback. He had never had a conversation this
long and this amicable with Ben. Now it turned out that the


boy was well trained in his strange craft and treated the
deceased with respect and dignity.
Then Clara stood up to leave.
'I have to go now, I'm taking a colleague to the cinema,' she
said.
'Can I come?' Peter asked, slightly sheepishly.
'No way -- my friend Hilary has been very upset recently
about her mother's death, we are going to a very girly, sugary
movie. You'd hate it, Peter, really you would. I'll see you some
time during the week.' And she left them all gaping as she ran
down the stairs and out into the precinct.

'I'm inviting my friend Peter to supper on Saturday,' Clara
announced. 'I'll be cooking a salmon, I'd love you all to
come.'
'Will there be an announcement?' Linda asked.
'I don't think so -- unless you have something to tell us,
Linda?'
'Very droll,' Linda said. 'Just wondered, that's all.'
'Is Gerry invited?' Adi asked.
'Of course. Gerry is part of the family.'
'There will be things he can eat, we can eat?'
'Yes, there will, and the rest of us can have salmon.'
'What will we call him, Mam?' Adi asked.
'Peter, that's his name.'
'Not "Daddy" then?' Linda wouldn't let it go.
'No, Linda, not "Daddy"; you manage to remember
Cinta's name when you go to see your dad. It would be nice
if you remembered Peter's.'
'Will he be overnighting, Mam?' Adi asked.
'No, Adi.'
'Do we have to dress up?' Linda wondered.

'No, Linda, just be there around seven and make him
welcome . . .'

Their jaws dropped when they saw Peter. He was so much
better-looking than they had thought. A pharmacist? A
chemist? He should have been old and stooped. Instead he
was tall and handsome. A very cheerful smile.
He asked Adi about teaching, he talked to Gerry about
organic vegetables, and he even got Linda to promise to show
him how to use an iPod. They questioned him closely and he
answered openly. He had been a widower for a long time, he
had one daughter who thought he was an old fogey, he didn't
travel very much but this year he was hoping to go on a short
break to Italy, rent a car, drive on the wrong side of the road
and have a great time.
'Will you be involved in this, Mam?' Linda asked.
'Oh yes, indeed,' Clara said, as if it were the most natural
thing in the world.
When he came to leave, he kissed Clara on her cheek and
said that he had had a delightful evening and would see her
tomorrow as arranged.
They waited until they heard the garden gate closing then
they all went mad. He was terrific, he was like a film star, he
was great fun. How had Mother managed to trap him?
And Clara went to bed well pleased.
The worst was over. They had met each other's children,
everything else was going to be plain sailing.

Clara's mother was the first to hear.
She had called around unexpectedly to the house on Sunday
and the girls told her that Mam was out with a real looker, a
guy in a velvet corduroy jacket. Apparently it was a fully
fledged Affair.
'You didn't tell me any of this?' Her mother's sharp disapproving
tones came down the line.
Clara had a busy day but she knew better than to cut her
mother short.

'No, I was waiting until we could have a nice lunch with
plenty of time to talk about it rather than rushing it all on the
phone,' she began, pulling her diary towards her. She would have to meet her mother now.
'Where had you in mind?' her mother snapped.
'I thought Quentins would be nice.' Clara looked to see
which afternoon wasn't too bad - Friday maybe? 'Friday,
Mother, and I'll tell you all,' and she hung up with a heavy
heart.
'Are you all right, Clara?' Hilary asked.
'Not really, I have to have lunch with my mother while she
interrogates me about my sex life.'
'Will she?'
'Not directly of course, you know what mothers are
like . . .' Clara could have bitten her tongue off. 'Oh, Hilary,
I'm such a fool. Forgive me, I wasn't thinking.'
'Don't think of it, Clara. It's not important.'
'But it is, I know what you'd give to be able to have lunch
with your mother again.'
'Maybe not. This could have been one of her bad days, she
might think I was her aunt or the postman or someone about
the drains.' Hilary laughed ruefully.
Clara thought that she seemed to be getting a little better
about it all. Not much but a little. 'Thank you, Hilary. I don't
deserve you.'
Hilary noted she had written Quentins on the diary page
for Friday. 'My, you're sure pushing the boat out for your
mother! Quentins no less!'
Td better not tell Peter then, he'd go mad at the expense.'
'Careful, is he?' Hilary asked.
'Sensible is what he would call it,' Clara laughed.
'You look happy,' Hilary said admiringly.
'I'm almost afraid to say it but I think I am,' Clara agreed.

Alan called about thirty minutes later. 'Did I hear congratulations
are in order?' he asked.
'That's such a cliche, Alan, what are you trying to say?'
Tm trying to say that the girls told me about your young
man and I'm glad for you, that's all.' Alan sounded injured.
'Thanks, Alan. Is this it or is there more?'
'Well, I thought you'd tell me something about him, when
did it happen, where is it leading?'
'And why in the name of God do you think I should discuss
these things with you?'
'We're friends, Clara--' he began.
'We are not friends, we are contesting almost everything.'
'That is because you are being so unreasonable.'
'Goodbye, Alan.'
He called back immediately. 'Don't you hang up me, this is
intolerable.'
'That's right, it is intolerable - I am trying to do a day's
work, I will not tolerate your whingeing and whining about
this and that just because you have nothing to do.'
'No, please, listen to me.'
'I have a line of people waiting to talk to me, Alan. You
will have to excuse me.' She felt nothing as she replaced the
receiver.
Peter had certainly done that for her, he had chased the big,
overpowering shadow of Alan Casey away.

Clara met Peter's brother and sister-in-law and some of his
colleagues. They were invariably pleasant and welcoming towards
her. In turn she introduced Peter to her friend Dervla,
and to Hilary and Ania and Declan from the clinic. Everyone
got used to Peter calling to collect Clara after her work or even
to bring her a packed lunch to share. People knew that they
were going to Italy together and there was a general air of
approval about it all.

Her mother was characteristically downbeat.
'Too long on his own, too set in his ways, I'd say,' was her
verdict, as her mouth opened and snapped closed over oysters
in Quentins.
'Only time will tell, Mother,' Clara said wearily.
'Oh no, common sense would tell, but I am afraid you're
not well stocked in that department.'
'Isn't this a lovely restaurant?' Clara said.
'And it ought to be at these prices.'
'Would you like to meet Peter or not?' Clara asked.
'Common courtesy would suggest that you might introduce
us but then ..."
'But then I wasn't well stocked in that department either
... is that what you were about to say?'
'Clara, dear, do stop frowning, if this young man is so
charming he won't want to see such a crosspatch.'
'Right, Mother, big smile coming up . . .'
Unfortunately she nailed the smile to her face just as Frank
the Crank, the hospital manager, spotted her across the room
and thought she was smiling at him. He came straight over.
'The lovely Dr Casey,' he said, holding out his hand.
She couldn't have been more annoyed. Her mother looked
up.
'Are you Peter?' she asked.
'No, madam, I'm Frank.'
'Lord -- another one!' Mother said, astounded.
Clara clenched her teeth. 'This is my mother. Mother -- Frank Ennis. Frank runs the hospital single-handed with a fist
of steel.'
'Not exactly,' Frank smiled, letting it be assumed that that
was precisely what he did.
'Lovely treat to give your daughter,' he said to Mother.
Could Mother leave well alone? No, of course she couldn't.

268

I
'Oh, dear me, Frank, it's Clara's treat, she's rolling in
money - I'm a poor widow lady.'
Frank looked at Clara, pleased. Now he had something on
her. Clara had fought him euro by euro, cent by cent for her
salary, her staff and her expenses and here she was being
described as rolling with money. Clara felt an unreasonable
desire to give her mother so hard a slap that it would knock
her off her chair. But life was about keeping up appearances,
so it was a temptation that she managed to resist.

Clara and Peter were serious about going away for a few days
and they were looking through the travel brochures and the
map of Italy when Amy came in. She talked cheerfully for a
while and seemed interested in their plans.
'I'll be away at the time myself. Ben and I are going to
Cyprus,' she volunteered.
'That's terrific,' Clara said, and they got the map to see
where Ayia Napa was.
'Do you know what, Clara?' Amy looked out from under
her great fringe of long fuzzy hair.
'No, what?'
'If you would like to spend nights here in this flat with my
father, that's fine with me.'
Peter turned a dull brick red. Clara knew she had to rescue
the situation.
'That's most generous and welcoming of you, Amy. I do
appreciate it, and if it's too late to go home some time, I'd be
very grateful, but at the moment it's not a big issue.'
'Okay, not at the moment, but when you come back from
Italy you might feel different, what with being used to sharing
a room. I just wanted you to know that it's cool with me.'

The holiday was a huge success. They spent a couple of days in
Florence, a couple of days in Venice and then a lazy weekend

beside a big lake. On the last day there, Peter asked her to
marry him.
She hadn't expected this.
'Do you mind if I wait a little while before saying yes?' she
asked gently.
He did mind, she could see that, he had hoped she would
say yes at once. She could hardly bear to see his face. It had
crumpled. It was hard for this man to change the habits of a
lifetime, a man set in his ways as her mother had guessed. But
she was not going to say yes under an Italian pergola of flowers
by a blue lake. She had to come home and think about the life
they would live together. That night she saw him getting up
and go to sit at the window, his face sad and his shoulders
stooped. They didn't mention it on the homeward journey.
And once back in Dublin, Clara said that she would need to
go back to her own place to get her clothes into order for
work.
'That's not important, you're running away from me.'
'Oh no, I am not running away from you. You have asked
me a wonderful question and now that we are back in the real
world I promise you that I am going to think about it very
carefully.'
'When will you have thought?' he asked.
'Soon, Peter, truly.'
'But can't we even talk about what's holding you back? Is it
where we live, is it our work? Is it the children?'
'No, it's none of these things. I just have to get used to it as
an idea.'
'You must have known how I felt.'
'I didn't think it would involve marriage.' She spoke truthfully
and he could see that.
'I know that you were a bit bruised the first time
round . . .'
'No, that's not it, that's long over and done with.'

'So what is it, I beg you, Clara?'
'Soon,' she said.

'Will we take Dimples on an outing?' Fiona suggested to
Declan.
'Where were you thinking of? Across Europe on the Orient
Express?' Declan asked, smiling at her affectionately.
'Maybe one day, but we should break him in gradually.
Suppose we said a walk along Killiney Beach for starters?'
'How would we get out there?'
'On the train. Come on, let's go - Saturday?'
'I was going to catch up on paperwork.'
'I'd make us a gorgeous chicken sandwich - and one for
Dimples, too. Please?'
'Well, that's it then, I can't stand between a dog and a
chicken sandwich.'
'You're very agreeable, Declan Carroll -- will you be a very
nice old man?'
'Any day now,' Declan promised.

They looked a happy little family, the red-haired doctor, the
beautiful girl and the big floppy Labrador dog, as they looked
out the window of the little train. Dimples loved Dalkey,
which was where they got out. It was full of interesting smells
and people with small dogs. They strolled along together
looking at the houses and gardens.
'Imagine Bobby Walsh and Rosemary living out this way
for all those years,' Declan said. 'You'd think it might have
made her nicer just being here, but no . . .'.
'That woman hasn't a nice bone in her body,' Fiona agreed.
Then they saw the sea and Dimples barked enthusiastically.
They climbed down the rocky path to the beach at White
Rock and walked along Killiney Beach. The mountains ringed
the bay beautifully and other dog walkers throwing sticks had

chosen to make the same outing. They greeted each other
cheerily. Then they found a rock and ate the sandwiches.
Dimples saw a bird and followed it to the shoreline.
'God, that was a near thing. He could almost have caught
it.' Fiona had her hand to her mouth in dismay.
'No, not Dimples; anyway birds are very fast and very
clever. They always escape.'
They watched Dimples barking over-excitedly at the edge
of the water. The bird swooped by again, maybe to have a
laugh at the sight of the fat Labrador. So Dimples ploughed
determinedly out to sea in pursuit. Then suddenly, he was in
trouble: the waves wouldn't let him in, he was floundering and
beginning to panic.
Fiona had her shoes off and was into the water immediately.
She shouted at Declan not to consider coming into the
sea, that it was all under control. It didn't look under control.
She was nearly up to her waist in sea water by the time she
caught Dimples' collar and dragged the dog in to safety.
Dimples showered everyone around with his almighty
shakes. And then he sneezed eight sneezes in rapid succession.
Declan hadn't even got his feet wet.
'I did nothing,' he confessed. 'I can't swim.'
She had struggled to help Dimples, she was indifferent to
the fact that she was soaked to the skin, she was protecting
him. Declan had never loved her more, and never felt more
useless.
'You saved Dimples,' he said.
'Well, I thought up this cracked idea - I couldn't let ¦
Dimples perish, could I?' She was shivering and then totally
unselfconsciously she peeled off her jeans, her socks, her pink I
frilly pants and wrapped herself up in the rug they had
intended to sit on. She tied it around her waist with the belt
of her jeans, sat down on the pebble beach and drained the

half bottle of wine that had been part of the picnic. 'I think I
can say I deserved that,' she said cheerfully.
'Fiona?'
'Yes?'
'Fiona ... It seems an odd kind of thing to say just now . . . but . . .'
'But I shouldn't strip off like that on the beach. I won't
again, I just wanted to get out of the wet clothes.'
'No. That's not what I was going to say. Not at all.'
'So what was it?' She looked at him, her eyes squinting in
the weak sunshine, already warm and dry from the rug that
wrapped her up.
'I was going to ask you would you marry me?' he said in a
rush.
'Marry you, Declan?' She was utterly astonished.
'Well . . . yes. There's nothing in the world that I want
more.' He was almost afraid to meet her eye in case he saw
pity or ridicule or a wish for a kind way to let him down
gently.
She said nothing.
'I'd be very good to you and look after you. I love you,
Fiona, with all my heart.'
'Married?' she said. 'You mean married, married like grownups?'
'Please
say yes. Please.' Declan was looking at Dimples' tail
thumping on the beach. He was still afraid to look Fiona in
the eye.
'Declan,' she said in a low voice.
He looked up. She was smiling.
'I thought you'd never ask me. I'd love to marry you. I'd
love it with all my heart.'
And he leaped up and dragged her to her feet, and kissed
her for so long that Dimples was concerned and began to
circle them with anxious barks. And if anyone had been

watching the little tableau they would have seen the rug
around the girl slip down and the two young people grab it
as if their lives depended on it.

Back in the clinic, they told Clara she looked wonderful.
Tanned and rested.
'And like a demon for work,' she threatened. 'Come on
now, tell me what's happened.'
They told her stories.
There was of course only one real item of news: Declan and
Fiona were going to get married.
They had tried to say nothing but everyone knew that
something was afoot. Eventually Barbara had more or less
beaten it out of them. Had they made plans or had they not?
When they shuffled and said sort of, the place had gone mad.
In vain did Declan and Fiona try to protest that no ring had
been bought, no date had been fixed. It was the first homegrown
romance and everyone was milking it for all they could.
Ania had rushed out and bought sparkling wine, Lar had a few
choice facts about weddings for people to note down and
remember. There was a card, too, which Clara must sign: they
had been waiting for her to come back. Hilary had been
wistful, she remembered being young and in love. Bobby
Walsh had said it was enchanting news and that Rosemary
would be delighted, which nobody really believed. Johnny
managed not to say that no good would come from it all;
and Lavender offered to make the wedding cake and said they
should tell her in good time when they set a date.
Then Bobby Walsh had taken a turn and been back in
intensive care, and everyone there said that he was brilliant
because he knew all his medications. Blinded them with
information. He was on the mend again and coming in every
week.
'That's thanks to Declan,' Clara said.

Kitty Reilly had discovered a new saint called St Joseph of
Cupertino who apparently was the last word on curing people.
She had leaflets about him which she distributed to everyone
in the waiting room. Fiona had said as a joke that poor Padre
Pio must be up in heaven feeling very left out now that Mrs
Reilly had moved on, so Kitty had got a whole new stock of
Padre Pio medals for fear of causing offence.
Lar had taken to asking the people in the waiting room to
learn one new fact per visit, which was irritating them. One of
Judy Murphy's Jack Russell terriers had broken his paw when
a gate slammed on it and poor Judy was on her way carrying
him to the vet when she met Declan who put it in a splint for
him. And the vet said afterwards that he never saw a better job,
and that if Declan tired of dull, boring, bad-tempered human
people, there was always a job for him with dumb animals and
man's best friends.
Lavender had got a famous celebrity chef to come and give
a cooking demonstration on one of their Evenings of Getting
to Know the Heart. Johnny had got a once-weekly slot on
television doing cardiovascular exercises. Tim the security man
had fallen in love with Lidia who was Ania's flatmate and she
was bringing him back to Poland to meet her family.
'And what about you, little Ania?'
'Nothing new with me, I still work hard and I still say thank
you to Our Lord every night for making me meet you and
change my life so much.'
'And are you still saving for your mother's house?'

'You wouldn't believe how much I have saved, Clara. I
work in Declan's mother's launderette, and I do some cleaning
in that nursing home where Hilary was thinking of taking
her mother. They are so nice there . . . Mrs Cotter is a little
like you, I think.'
'That's good,' Clara said. 'And does Carl Walsh still give
you English lessons?'

Ania looked down at the ground. 'Yes, yes,' she said. 'But
there is no hope in it. No hope, I fear.'
'Hey, but your English is great? Clara said.
'Oh yes, I am learning the English. That's fine, that part of
it,' Ania said.
And then Clara realised she meant there was no hope for
her with the handsome Carl Walsh. Clara would not like
to have taken on the formidable Mrs Walsh herself. Bobby
would have been a pussy cat but Mrs Walsh -- why, you'd need
nerves of steel for her.
'On a level playing-field you might have had plenty of hope.'
'Please?'
'It's an expression, it means . . .'
'I know what it means -- it means if all things were equal,'
Ania said.
'That's exactly what it means. But because of his mother
they are probably not.'
'It's pleasing, anyway, that you think there might have been
hope,' Ania said.

Clara had never been one to talk out her problems with girl
friends, analysing them to the bone. She did like a good gossip
with Dervla O'Malley, but apart from that she kept her difficulties
to herself. She had discussed with no one the fact that
she was going to marry Alan Casey. Perhaps she should have.
And why was she speaking of Alan and Peter in the same
breath? Even to herself? They were so utterly different . . .
Dervla was a good confidante and very astute.
'Did he ask you to marry him?' she asked. They were having
a lunchtime coffee in Dervla's golf club. It was one of the few
places they would be sure of not being disturbed.
'Yes, on the last night,' Clara admitted.
'Am I going to have to beat it out of you? Are you going to
tell me what you said?'

'What do you think of him, Dervla?'
'He hasn't asked me to marry him and somehow I don't
think Philip would like it if he did.'
'Seriously, though, what do you think?'
'I think he's so suitable it's as if we invented him.'
'I don't have this breathless feeling.'
'Well, God, Clara, look at the age of you! If you were going
round with teenage palpitations then it really would be something
to worry about.'
'So you think I should?'
'Are you mad? Advise you? Advise you, Clara? But, all right,
I think if you settle for Peter, you will have a pleasant, happy,
good-tempered companion who loves you. What's wrong
with that?'
'The words "settle for", I think that's the flaw,' Clara said.
'Lord, the devil wouldn't please you, Clara Casey.'
'Did you settle for Philip?'
'You know I did. I couldn't have the hopeless guy I fancied,
he needed to marry money and so he did. And later I met
Philip and I bless every day since then.'
'But no zing zing? Clara probed.
'I don't know what zing zing is!' Dervla laughed.
'You do know what it is,' Clara insisted.
'Well, I know what it was, certainly, but I think it runs out
after the age of twenty-five.'
'So after that we just settle for people?'
'It's very comfortable, and a lot less lonely and it's less likely
to end in tears,' Dervla said.
'You may well be right,' said Clara and they didn't talk
about it again.

That afternoon she found herself talking to Nora Dunne, the
tall, competent wife of Aidan Dunne who had done so much
to help her husband regain his health and strength.

'Dr Casey, I have come here to thank you for being so
helpful,' she said now. 'I should have trusted you from the
beginning. Aidan and I have a whole new life. I also want
to apologise for wasting your time with my worries and
complaints.'
'No, no, please, you were in shock.' Clara was soothing.
'It's just that he is the love of my life. I think of him from
the dawn every day until I go to sleep that night. I wonder
what he thinks of this and of that, I store things up to tell
him. I think I went a little mad when I heard the words "heart
disease".'
'It's very controllable nowadays. We don't pretend that it
has gone away, vanished completely, but with regular monitoring,
great things can be done.'
'I know that now, Dr Casey, but I'm afraid the possibility
of a life without Aidan blew everything out of my mind. You
see I met him so late in my life, the only thing that made sense
was if I were to have him for a good many years now.'
'I know, I know.'
'I believe you do know, these people here at the clinic told
me that you too had a new love recently in your life and that
you had gone to Italy with him. Don't be cross -- you see I was
so anxious to apologise to you personally. I had them driven
mad. They told me you were on vacation . . .'
'There's no need for any apology, Mrs Dunne. I am surprised
though that they told you I was holidaying with a man
friend. It's quite true, as it happens, but they usually never say
anything. About my private life.'
'Oh, that's my fault entirely, please don't blame them. I
kept pestering them. I think I wore them down.'
Clara looked at her. Nora Dunne was like a woman in the
grip of some great passion. Eventually Nora spoke again.
'I was so glad when I realised that you too had a great love
in your life, then you would know the terror of loss, the need

I

to be with someone that makes you almost insane. If anything
happened to Aidan, I would not want to live. I think my own
heart would stop beating in sympathy. I couldn't bear a day or
a night without him now and without seeing his dear face.
And if you, Doctor, were in La Bella Italia with a man you
love, then you would find it in your heart to forgive me.'
Clara looked at her -- but she didn't see the woman in front
of her. Instead she looked through her. She saw a life of settling
for Peter, a life of bargains and special offers and cut-price
goods, a life with companionship and no loneliness and no
risks and no free spirit any more.
'You have done me a great favour by coming here today. I
had something to do which I was putting off, but now it's
clear, and it will be done this evening,' she said.
Nora Dunne looked after her, confused, as she left the
building and got into her car.

Peter answered the buzzer when she rang the doorbell of his
flat. He sounded delighted to see her.
She went up the stairs with a heavy heart.
'Will I open some wine to celebrate?'
'No - unless you want to celebrate being free of me,' she
said gently.
For a moment he was too shocked to respond. Then he
sprang to his feet. 'But why, Clara, why! We get on so well Amy
loves you, I love your girls.'
'Peter -- do you know what I mean by zing zingV she asked.
'No. No, I don't know, what is it?'
'It doesn't matter.'
'I could learn,' he said hopefully. He was so nice. She was
completely mad. Like she had been mad to marry Alan.
But it did exist - mad, passionate love. She had seen it in
her clinic not an hour ago. It was there somewhere. There
would be no settling for anything. There would also be no

rethink. Peter said they should wait before making a decision,
but Clara's mind was made up.
'Can we be friends and occasional lovers?' he asked.
'No, that won't work,' Clara said. 'Sit here and think of
all the good things there are about this, Peter, there are
many. And I'm glad we went into it rather than just fencing
around; we always regret what we don't do, rather than what
we do . . .'
'Maybe you'll regret not marrying me then?' he said.
'You will marry someone, Peter, and you'll be a great husband.'
'And
you?'
'I think not. I'm too fond of being a free spirit.' She hugged
him as you might a brother as she left the cheerless apartment.

She was down the stairs and out in the busy precinct before
he could say any more. In the jeweller's on the corner they had
a lot of rings discounted. She knew without having to ask that
he must have been in there already and maybe even chosen
one. But she put her shoulders back and walked on with more
purpose than she had for a long time.

Chapter Eight



When Vonni went to collect her mail, she saw that
there was a letter from Fiona. It was odd, she had
only heard from her last week. She had been full of
news about this boy Declan Carroll who was a doctor in the
heart clinic and who had a car crash but was recovering very
well. Perhaps this one was saying that they were engaged.
Vonni hoped so.
Her little craft shop was empty. She sat down and poured
herself a cup of thick sweet Greek coffee and opened the letter.
It was not about an engagement, even though it said the romance
continued as wonderfully as ever. Fiona wanted to tell
her that these really eccentric seventeen-year-old twins would
love a job of any kind for the spring break.
She said that no amount of genealogists and historians could explain who they were. They possibly had real parents
somewhere and they were originally from some toffee-nosed
family but for years Muttie and his wife Lizzie had given them
a home in St Jarlath's Crescent.
They were bright and funny. The boy was hoping to go into
law and the girl was going to be a teacher. They were agreeable
kids and they would be well able to carry boxes of things or go with Vonni to market. They could do washing-up for Andreas

as well. They didn't want to make real money, just to pay for a
holiday and get some work experience.
She ended up, 7 hope you 'II be able to find something for
them, Vonni. Despite all my mad dramas and disasters there I
just love the place, and I always think of it and you all with huge
affection. Love always, Fiona.'
Vonni thought about it for only a moment, then she took
out her writing paper and began a letter.

Dearest Fiona,
Send me the twins, I'd love to meet them. The hens died of
old age and I hadn 't the energy to replace them so the henhouse
as you used to call it is empty. We'll have it cleaned upI and put two beds in it and they can stay here. Tell them to¦ come on a night ferry -- Aghia Anna looks glorious in the
dawn -- give them directions to my place and I'll look after
them . . .

She would go now and put it in the post box. But the bell on
the door jangled and she looked out to see who it was. It was
Takis, her lawyer.

He walked into the shop and looked around. 'Are we on our
own, Vonni?'
'You sound as if you had secrets of state to tell.'
'No, but it is private business.'
'Fire away, Takis.'
'Your son is in jail on remand in England.'
'My God - what for?'
'Some VAT fraud or other.'
'And what's going to happen now?'

'He can't get bail. It's quite high you see, they're afraid he'll
skip.'
'And how do you know all this, Takis?'


'Well, since you made your will a while back leaving everything
to him, I had to keep an eye on where he was. In case
you died and I had to get in touch with him. No matter how I
feel about this it is your wish . . .'
'And Stavros asked you to get in touch with me?' Her face
was full of hope.
'No, Vonni, he doesn't even know that I am aware of his
circumstances.'
'He didn't ask for me?'
'No.'
'But I will organise his bail, of course I will.'
'I was afraid that's what you might want.'
'Afraid?'
'My contact says that he will skip.'
'Well, if he does, he does. He must get that chance. I owe
him that.'
'You owe him nothing.'
'So you say, but I know different. I was drunk and out of
my mind all through his childhood. I owe him more than can
ever be repaid.'
'It's a lot to take on, Vonni. You may have to go to England,
they won't accept anonymous funds from abroad.'
'I'll go, of course I'll go,' she said.
Takis bowed to her and left. He would have given the boy a
boot up the arse. But mothers were different.


Fiona went to see the twins with the letter from Vonni.

'It's an unusual name,' Maud said.
'For an Irish person,' Simon filled in.
'I think it was Veronica originally,' Fiona explained. 'She's
from the west of Ireland.'
'You must have said we were great if she's taking us on and
giving us a place to stay.' Maud was a bit overwhelmed by it
all.

'It's only a hen-house, but you're right, I did say you were
very reliable.'
'How do you know we'll be reliable?' Simon wanted to
know.
'Because the chief of police out there, Yorghis, is a great
mate of mine and he'd lock you up quick as look at you if you
weren't reliable.'
'Oh, well then,' Simon said.
'Then we have to be very reliable,' Maud agreed.
'And when you get out of jail, that's if you ever do, I will
come round to your house and beat you both with a stick until
you bleed for letting me down.'
'Lord!' said Simon.
'Heavens!' said Maud.
'Is Declan very frightened of you?' Simon asked.
'Oh, I do hope so,' Fiona said with a smile. 'How are you
getting there?'
'We got a cheap flight to Athens . . .'
'And you say the ferries go two or three times a day . . .'
'So we take the bus to Piraeus . . .'
'And the boat to Aghia Anna . . .'
'And walk up the 26th of March Street . . .'
'And Vonni's shop is on the right as you go up the hill . . .'
Fiona looked at them in bewilderment. She wondered what
the people of Aghia Anna would make of them.

Vonni and Andreas were having coffee by the harbour.
'I may have to go away for a short while soon,' she said.
He knew better than to ask her why. She would tell him, or
she would not tell him. He talked on easily about his son
Adoni who had come back from Chicago to help his father in
the taverna. Now of course he wanted to buy up half the town.
Andreas shook his head. Nothing was enough for young

people nowadays. They always had to have more, more and
still more.
'I know, Andreas, I know only too well.' She was very silent
then.
He wondered if her trip had anything to do with that son of
hers.
'So you want me to keep an eye on the Irish children for
you?'
'If I have to go when they are here I would really appreciate
it. Just a fatherly eye on them to make sure they're not bringing
riff raff into my hen-house, which by the way is lovely.
Please thank Adoni again for lending me his men to clean it
up.'
'I was glad to see him do that rather than open a fifty
bedroom hotel. Really and truly.' Andreas was appalled at
such daring and risk-taking.
'I spoke to Fiona, she phoned me last night, and said they
were looking forward to seeing us. Imagine -- to be their age
and seeing this beautiful place for the first time . . .' She
smiled around at the view of the harbour and the purple
mountains. 'Fiona says her young man has asked her to marry
him. She's very happy. He sounds like a good man.'
'When you go away, Vonni, don't stay away too long,'
Andreas said.

It had been good advice to tell them to arrive at dawn. Maud
and Simon stood leaning over the rail of the ferry boat as they
came in to the harbour next morning. They pointed out the
various landmarks that Fiona had told them about. That big
long low white building must be the Anna Beach Hotel; the huge building high on a cliff must be the hospital.
Muttie had said they should bring Vonni a bottle of Irish
whiskey. Fiona had said absolutely not, it would be the last

thing she would like to see. So instead they had brought a
porter cake in a tin.
They were slightly fearful of meeting Vonni. Fiona was
quite frightening enough but this woman was much, much
older, and probably mad and had painted a hen-house for
them to live in.
Fiona said that they must do whatever she told them to do;
it might be choosing wool for blind people, or carrying plates from a hillside market. Maybe Vonni might want them to
give leaflets about her shop to day-trippers. Fiona had warned
them again that she would know every heartbeat of it all because
she would be in regular contact with the chief of police,
Yorghis.
They hardly dared to say his name so fearful did they feel
about him.

It was fantastic in the harbour as the old ladies in black clothes carried their cages of hens and baskets of shopping off the
ferry. There were families meeting and greeting each other.
There was music coming from a cafe.
'Do you know, it's straight out of . . .' Maud began.
'Central Casting!' Simon finished happily for her.

And together with their back packs they walked up the 26th
of March Street and found Vonni's house. They knocked at
the door wondering what kind of person would appear.
She was very small and wiry, with long hair twisted in a
braid behind her head; she had heavy lines on her face but a
bright smile.
'You look as if you need a good breakfast. What would you
like?' she asked.
'Avga if that's all right . . .' Simon said.
'Or indeed anything at all,' said Maud politely.
'Avga indeed, you've been learning your Greek.'

'So far, I just learned ten words, food things, things we
might be able to afford,' Simon admitted.
'Ah, if only you had been here when my magnificent hens
were laying, you would have had beautiful avga,' Vonni said.
'But we'll do the best we can with shop eggs instead.'
'Can we help you at all?' Maud wanted to establish how
helpful they would be.
'Not at all, haven't you been up all night on that boat. Go
out and put your things in what I must stop calling the henhouse.'
'It
might be a hen-house again when we've gone,' Maud
said reassuringly.
'No, I don't think so, my friends tell me that I should use
your room to let next year. I'm getting slower and there are
other craft shops. Bigger and better than mine.'
'We'll help you as much as we can . . .' offered Maud.
'And restore you to your rightful position,' Simon said.
Fiona had been right. They were like some marvellous, mad
double act.

Muttie called on the Carrolls' house in St Jarlath's Crescent.
Declan was just leaving for work.
'And will you tell that nice fiancee of yours that she did a
great job settling our Maud and Simon in. They rang to say
they got there safely and this Vonni is great altogether.'
'I'm so glad to hear that.' Declan was pleased to be able to
report such good news.
'They said the place was like paradise - maybe you and
Fiona will go there on your honeymoon?' Muttie suggested.
'She hasn't agreed to set the date yet, she keeps saying
there's plenty of time.'
'She's a very sensible girl,' Molly Carroll said approvingly.
'You were blessed the day you laid eyes on her I tell you.' She
spoke with a sense of satisfaction, as if she had personally

gone out into the highways and byways and found Fiona
herself.
'And what took Fiona out there in the first place?' Muttie
was interested.
'It was a few years back - she went with a group of friends,'
Declan said. He knew from Fiona that there had been a
boyfriend and that it had all ended badly but she seemed
edgy and ill at ease when they talked about it, so he had let the subject fade into the background. He felt that wherever they
went on honeymoon it would not be Aghia Anna, scene of
many good friendships and solidarity, but also a scene of too
much drama and pain.

Fiona was very pleased that the whole Greek adventure was
going so well. It brought her mind back to the island and all
the friends she had made there. She sent two postcards. One to
David in England, David the gentle Jewish boy who had been
so wonderful that summer and whose father had died so he
had eventually persuaded his mother to sell the business that
he had never wanted to run.

Dear David,
I have two seventeen-year-old friends who are 'working'
with Vonni and having the time of their lives. They say the
hen-house has been refurbished and there are five cafes by the
harbour now. All our other friends are there. Wasn 't it
magical?
I have fallen in love, properly this time and it's the real
thing. He's asked me to marry him and I've said yes. Have
you done anything like that?
Love,
Fiona


Dear Tom and Elsa,
I can't stop thinking about Aghia Anna because I have two
teenage friends out helping Vonni for a couple of weeks and I
remember those great days and nights we had out there. I am
sure California is just as wonderful.
I have met a marvellous man, a doctor in the heart clinic
where I work and we're going to get married. I suppose it's
like knowing the real thing when you 'we only known phonies
before. Anyway, when we set a date for the Big Day you 'II be
invited. . .
Love,
Fiona

'I don't know what I did before those twins came here,' Vonni
said to Andreas and Yorghis. 'They are so quaint and old
fashioned and yet they're willing to do anything at all. I took
them up to Kalatriada and we saw all these boxes of things
going from a place that was closing down. Much too many to
carry on the bus, so Simon took the bus back here, found
Maria and brought the car up, and we had the whole lot home
by nightfall. Much too bright a lad to be a lawyer.'
'Don't let Takis hear you say that,' Andreas laughed.
As it happened, Takis was passing by taking his little evening
stroll around the village.
'Don't let me hear what?' he asked.
'She was speaking ill of your profession,' Andreas and his
brother Yorghis laughed.
'Ah, Vonni, you're just the person I was hoping to meet.
Remember those papers I was talking to you about. Shall I
bring them round to your house tonight?'
'No, Takis, I have two Irish children there, can I come up
to you instead?'
'Certainly,' he said and continued his walk.

Andreas and Yorghis exchanged glances. This had something
to do with Vonni taking a trip away. But she wasn't
going to tell them and they weren't going to ask.

'So what happens now?' Vonni asked Takis that night.
'I have let them know that the money is available for bail.'
'You didn't say who it was?' She looked anxious.
'No, but this is the point, they can't just accept a lump of
cash from somebody without knowing where it came from. It
could be laundered money or drugs money. So we have to say
who you are.'
'What a fuss about nothing, it's his money -- I made it over
to him,' Vonni said.
'They have to do things by the book. And Stavros didn't
know that he had that money, you see, so they are bound to be
suspicious when it appears out of the blue.'
'Yes. I suppose. So what do I do?'
'There are a few formalities.'
'Do I get to see him?'
'Um ... no ... not while he's still on remand, but of
course when you bail him out you can see him then. I mean,
he'll want to thank you.' Takis spoke doubtfully.
'I don't need to be thanked,' Vonni said. 'It's what any
mother would do.'

Vonni told the twins that she had business in England.
Simon went down to a computer in the Anna Beach and
booked her a cheap ticket from Athens. 'Will you want to go
to Ireland since you are over that way?' he asked.
'No, thank you, Simon, just England will do,' Vonni said.
'Better wait until we are in Ireland to make you welcome,'
Maud said reprovingly. 'And you'll come for Fiona and
Declan's wedding, won't you?'
'Yes, but Vonni might have friends and relations of her own
there.'

I







'Not to speak of.' Vonni was crisp.
'Will I help you pack?' Maud suggested. 'I could do some
ironing or whatever you liked.'
'No, I'll just take a couple of things. Hand luggage. What
you could do, which would be a great help, is to go and buy
my ticket on the ferry for me, and go up to the hospital and
say I'll be away for a bit but that you will give them a hand.'
'And will we say how long you'll be away?' Simon wanted
to be prepared.
'Just a couple of days. I'm not exactly sure . . .' Vonni
began.
'So we'll just say . . .' Simon said.
'That you'll stay for as long as it takes . . .' Maud finished
and Vonni smiled at them gratefully. It was much easier to go
away now that the twins were there looking after her business
and her home.

They went down to the ferry to wave Vonni off. Andreas was
there too, in his big leather boots. He had brought a little
parcel of cheese and olives in case Vonni forgot to have lunch.
'Go well, Vonni, be home soon,' he had said.
Maud and Simon watched with interest.
'Do you and Vonni have a special friendship?' Maud asked.
'Yes, that's what it is, a very special friendship.'

'Did you ever think of getting married to her?' Simon
wondered.
'Yes, I did, but it was the wrong time. I should have
thought about it and asked her earlier. It was too late when
I had the thought.' The old man's face was far away for a
moment, but then he cheered up.
'I have a good idea - my brother Yorghis is coming to
dinner tonight, when he closes the police station, maybe you
could come too and meet him?'
'Yorghis?'

'The head of police?'
'Your brother?' The twins sounded like international criminals
on the run.
Andreas looked from one to the other. 'Yes, like me he is on
his own, we often eat a meal together and look down on the
lights of the town.'
'Oh, please, Andreas, we haven't done anything wrong!'
'The time we knocked the orange stall over, we spent hours gathering up all the oranges and dusting them for him. He was
very happy and . . .'
'. . . and when we went swimming in the harbour we didn't
know it wasn't the right place because of the boats and we
said sorry over and over and the harbour master said To Pota which means it doesn't matter . . .' Simon was anxious to
explain.
'So please don't call Yorghis,' Maud begged.
'We don't want him to hear about us,' Simon added.
'And Fiona would kill us; she said she would beat us with
a stick until we bled all over the place!' Maud's eyes were
enormous.
'Fiona said this? Fiona?' He seemed taken aback.
'Yes, do you know her?'
'I do - she was here one summer -- but she didn't seem the
kind of person who would beat someone to death. Rather the
reverse . . .'
'Really?' Maud was very surprised. 'She always seemed fairly
frightening to me.'
'And Declan who is the son of Muttie's friend seems fairly
anxious to please her.'
Andreas had long lost control of the cast of thousands who
figured in the twins' conversation. 'So -- Yorghis will be here
about eight,' he said, going back to something he did understand.
'If
you don't mind . . .'

I



'We'd really prefer . . .'
'We'll be more careful in future . . .'
'About orange stalls and harbours.'
'I have no idea what you're talking about,' Andreas said
eventually. 'Just be at the taverna at eight o clock.'

Dear Fiona,
This is just to explain that we met your friend Yorghis, the
chief of police, socially last night. We want to stress it was a
social meeting. He turns out to be the brother of Andreas who
owns the taverna. We had dinner there last night and Yorghis
was very pleasant and not at all interested in the orange stall
incident. The harbour master had said nothing about our
swimming in the wrong place so I'd say that there are no
problems there.
We are having a wonderful time here and cannot thank
you enough for telling us about this lovely place. It's hard to
believe that the hen-house was ever a hen-house: it has a
window in the roof and paintings and plates on the wall.
They must have been very comfortable hens.
People say that you were very quiet when you were here.
But then maybe we all change. They are all pleased to hear
about your engagement.
You have nothing to worry about. Our meeting with
Yorghis was just social and he sang songs for us after dinner
which he wouldn 't have if anything was wrong.
Vonni has gone to England on business so we are looking
after the shop. Maria, who is a young widow, comes in to
work every day to speak real Greek to people, but mainly we
are in charge.
Thank you again.
Love,
Simon and Maud

Fiona had completely forgotten having threatened the twins
with serious beatings and the wrath of the police chief out in
Aghia Anna, so she was mystified as she read their letter. And
like almost everyone who came in contact with Simon and
Maud she felt the world tilting slightly. One thing only
puzzled her. Vonni gone to England on business? Vonni
didn't have any business in England. What business would
take Vonni to England?

They were very welcoming in the bed and breakfast where
Vonni stayed. She told them she had never been in England
before.
'Imagine! When you think how near it is to Ireland! But
early in life I married a Greek and went off to the Mediterranean.
And England didn't figure very much.'
The couple who ran the place were interested. 'What an
adventurous life!' they said in awe.
'It can be too adventurous,' Vonni said sadly.
'Well, we can point you in the direction of some nice scenic
attractions,' the wife said, sensing a sadness here.
'No - the only scenic attraction I need to be pointed at is
the prison,' Vonni said.
And so they told her there was a bus which went right past
their door and they asked her no more. They just refilled her
mug of tea.
Restful people. She had been lucky to find this place.

Next morning, she stood at the bus stop and watched ordinary
people doing ordinary things. Girls were going to work in
shops, women were taking children to school, men with
worried faces were looking at their watches.
These were people with families, men, women and children
who lived normal lives. They weren't going with a briefcase
full of certified cheques to see a son now estranged for decades

294_
with the intention of bailing him out of prison. Their hearts
were not heavy with anxiety as hers was. They knew what the
day was going to bring while she had no idea what was going
to happen.

The heart clinic was going from strength to strength. Frank
Ennis called by to tell them that there had been a wonderful
article in a US newspaper about the place. Apparently they
had treated the wife of an American journalist who was spending
three months in Dublin and had gone into heart failure
and been exceptionally well cared for. Frank Ennis kept stabbing
at the paper and saying that you couldn't buy this
publicity for any money.
Clara had been pleased but unimpressed. This was what
they tried to do for everybody. It was of no more value because
it had been done for a columnist's wife.
'At least he said the place was clean, airy and well equipped,
Frank!' Clara said. 'If you had it your way it would have been
a poky dungeon . . .'
Hilary was watching Frank's face: it seemed to fall a little.
Hilary was beginning to think that Frank's interest in Clara was more than professional. She had told this to Clara who
pealed with laughter at the very idea.
'Frank!' she would cry in horror. 'I would rather be a nun
for the rest of my life.'
Hilary stuck to her belief. 'He rings up to know are you
going to be there, and he doesn't bother coming if you're
not.'
'You'll need more skills than that if you are going to set up
as a private detective or a psychologist!' Clara laughed.
Kitty Reilly was passing by, full of religious fervour. 'I think
there's too much laughing in this clinic,' she said disapprovingly.
'We
never laugh about our work, Kitty,' Clara apologised.

'But in your free time, you could have said ten prayers while
you and Hilary were laughing there -- and think what good
that would have done.'
'I know, Kitty, you're probably right, but afier prayers a
good laugh is all right, don't you think?' Fiona had her hand
to her mouth to control herself.
She was regaling Barbara with the story in the treatment
rooms.
'This place is better than working in a circus sometimes,'
Barbara agreed. 'What are you frowning about now?'
'I can't think what Vonni is doing in England. She doesn't
know anyone in England except David. I wish I knew what
she's doing there.'

Stavros shared a cell with Jacky McDonald from Scotland.
Jacky was there over a misunderstanding as well. They had
little in common apart from the unfairness of their imprisonment
and the lack of anyone to post bail for them. So it came
as a shock to them both when Stavros heard that there was a
serious possibility that the funds were coming for his release.
'Who could it be? Your da?' Jacky asked enviously.
'It must be -- but where he got the money I don't know.
Maybe my grandfather died, he owned some barber shops.
There could have been money there, I suppose.'
'You don't know if he's dead or not?' Jacky was incredulous.
'No
- how would I?'
'What about your mother?'
'God, no, she's a hopeless drunk, probably dead from drink
now. Anyway, if she did get her senses back she wouldn't help
me.'
'Why not?'
'Well, I got this awful drooling letter from her, way back,
apologising and saying she loved me. Jesus!'

'And what did you say?'
'What anyone would say. I said, "You live your life and,
please, let me live mine." No, it couldn't be her.'

Through all the formalities, they were very polite to Vonni.
She even saw signs of sympathy in fairly impassive faces. They
were making it easier for her and she was grateful.
'And will I get to see him?' she asked.
'We had instructions not to tell him who it was from. The
lawyer in Greece was very adamant about that,' a fatherly man
told her gently. He was the kind of man who would never
have understood the years of history between Vonni and her
son.
'Yes, that's right,' she said.
'So now that we have checked the legitimacy of the funds, as we had to, we are just saying they arrived from Greece.'
'Yes, yes, of course,' Vonni said.
'So once he's bailed he'll probably get in touch with you.'
'Not necessarily. It's just that I live in Greece, and now that
I'm actually in the place where he is, I thought I might see
him.'
'If you want to talk to him first and tell him you are putting
up the bail . . . ?'
'No - that would be blackmail. That would be saying that
he must be grateful to me, he must see me.'
'And would he not want to see you anyway? His mother?'
'I was a bad mother,' Vonni said simply.
'We're all bad parents. There's no training for it, you see,
like there is for a job.'
'I'm sure you did all right.'
'Not really. My son wanted to be a musician. I forced him
to go and get a proper qualification. I thought I was doing the
right thing. He met a girl, she got pregnant and they married.
He's still in a job he hates and it's all my fault.'

Vonni looked at him open-mouthed. The English were
meant to be reticent, and yet this man was telling her his
whole life story. This man knew Stavros -- maybe he was saying
something to prepare her for disappointment.
Vonni was touched.
'I will leave the address and phone number of the B&B
where I am staying, with you. When he asks, perhaps you
could give them to him.'
'If he asks,' the official said.
'You think he might not ask?'
'You never know.'
'Well, when it's all gone through, give him my address
anyway . . .'
'Certainly,' the man said, and put the piece of paper in a
letter rack on his desk.

'You mean it's all signed and delivered?' Jacky looked at
Stavros in disbelief.
'I know, isn't it fantastic? I'm sorry it didn't come through
for you too,' Stavros said.
'And who was it?'
'I didn't ask -- you know what they say about not looking a
gift horse in the mouth.'
'Yes, but it's a hell of a lot of money.'
'All the more reason to keep shtum about it. I'm just going
to disappear.'
Jacky looked at him in confusion. 'That's what you're going
to do?'
'Well, of course it is. Why, what would you do?'
'But you said it was a misunderstanding?'
'Sure it was, but am I going to reform the courts of justice
all on my own? Good luck, Jacky . . .' And he was gone.
At the desk he was given the address.
'Who left this for me?' he asked.


298
I
'A lady.'
Stavros looked at the name and the phone number.
'Boy, if you had known her back then you wouldn't have
called her a lady . . .'
'She looks fine now.' The older man's mouth was a thin line
of disapproval.
'Whatever . . .' Stavros tore the paper in half and threw it
into the wastepaper basket.

Back at her B&B, Vonni waited.
And waited.
After two days a man rang and asked to speak to her. She
knew that it wasn't Stavros, it was an older man. A kindly
voice that she had heard recently.
'It's not my job or my business, but I thought you should
know that your son didn't take your address.'
'But why did you not give it to him?'
'I did try but there was a sort of a mix-up.'
Vonni knew that she shouldn't ask but she had to know.
'What sort of a mix-up? Did he leave it behind when he
left?'
'Sort of, yes.'
'How?'
'He just didn't take it with him, madam. I didn't want you
to be sitting there waiting. After all you did for him .
'And did he say anything? Anything at all? You can tell
me . . .'
'No, madam. Nothing.'
'Thank you. That's a relief anyway.'

And Vonni packed her little bag and went out to the
airport. Simon had told her how you travelled standby on a
plane, it was much cheaper. And now, of course, that she
had no money at all she would have to take such things into
consideration.

'If Vonni can go to England, maybe she could come to Ireland
to our wedding?' Declan suggested.
'Sure she could.' Fiona was casual. 'And when we get round
to organising one we'll certainly invite her.'
'Which might be sooner rather than later?' Declan suggested.
'Or
which might be thought out carefully rather than
rushed into,' teased Fiona.
Sometimes Declan found it worrying that she didn't want
to set the date right away. He wanted to marry her tomorrow,
but he wouldn't put her under pressure. He would wait until she was ready. They had their whole lives ahead of them.
His father's friend Muttie had an address for Maud and
Simon so Declan sent them a fifty-euro note.

If you see something nice and maybe typical of the area
that's not too heavy to carry, I'd love you to bring it home as a
present for Fiona. It will be a surprise for her so don't tell her.
She tells me that you are practically running the place over
there. Well done!
Stfarlath s Crescent is much the same: we are having a
good spring, but of course it's nothing to what you have out
there. I'm back into the swing again and I only use the stick a
little, so I'm as good as new, which was never all that great to
begin with. Good luck, and give our best to Vonni. Why did
she go to England do you know? Fiona said she never went
anywhere these days.
All the best,
Declan

Maud and Simon read this letter carefully.
'A necklace,' Maud suggested. 'They have nice filigree ones
up in Kalatriada.'

I
I

I



'Yes, but they're not really of this area. Maybe it should be
some Aghia Anna pottery?' Simon was struggling to obey the
message in the letter.
'We'd break it, it's such a long journey home, Simon.'
Maud was practical.
'If Vonni comes home, we could ask her of course,' Simon
said.
'I forgot to tell you - I met Yorghis, and he says she's
coming tomorrow.'
'Did he say . . . ?'
'No and I didn't ask . . .' Maud finished.
'Sure it's her business,' Simon agreed.
They planned how to welcome her.

'I keep thinking we should get some wine or champagne
even,' Simon said.
'Yes, but she's like Mother, it doesn't agree with her.' There
wasn't an ounce of disapproval in Maud's voice. 'We'll just get
in eggs and mushrooms, bread and honey. I imagine she's
coming on the morning boat. So Yorghis says.'
'We'll be there to meet her,' Simon said.

There were five men and two women waiting for Vonni.
Andreas, his brother Yorghis, Dr Leros and the lawyer Takis,
and Simon. Maria was there and Maud.
When Vonni came into harbour she saw them from the
deck of the ferry boat and waved, delighted. They decided to
have breakfast at Mesanihta. They all searched her face for
some hint of how things had gone for her in the few days she
had been away.
But since they didn't ask any direct question they could not
complain that they didn't get any answer.
Andreas wondered were the English people friendly? Very,
very welcoming, apparently. Yorghis wondered were they
loud? Some of them had ended up in his cooling-off rooms

1OI
when they had been obstreperous over the years. No, Vonni
hadn't found anyone loud. Rather the reverse.
Dr Leros came nearest to saying what was in his mind when
he wondered had she been worried about her health -- gone to
see a specialist? Vonni was taken aback by this. No, no - her
health was perfect.
Maria asked what kind of clothes the women wore in
England and Vonni said she didn't really know, she hadn't
really looked. Takis the lawyer asked had her business turned
out as she had hoped. Vonni looked at him vaguely and said it
had all been done as had been planned. He got nothing more.
Maud and Simon asked no questions at all. They told her
that everything had gone very well. There had been very good
sales of the little blue mugs. They had put them in the window
and people came in especially to look at them. They had been
up to the hospital and chosen the wool for blind people. They
had done some baby-sitting at the Anna Beach Hotel and had
been paid. They had put the money aside for Vonni to cover
their board and lodging. They were learning ten words of
Greek a day and they had learned a little Greek dance. Their
blond hair was shining in the morning sun and their skin was
golden. They looked a lot healthier and less eccentric than
when they first arrived.
Vonni smiled at them with pleasure. Not everything
worked out well. But some things did.
This was what she had to hold on to.

Simon and Maud carried Vonni's little bag home for her after
all the warm bread and honey at the Mesanihta.
'Is it good to be back?' Maud asked.

'To your real home?' Simon defined.
'Yes, very good.' Vonni looked around her, happily greeting
people here and there.

I



'We got lots of shop avgas in case you'd like an omelette,'
Simon said.
'I could murder an omelette,' Vonni said with a tired smile.
She went in to change her clothes while the twins got the food
ready.
They were so kind and attentive and totally undemanding.
'Well now, you two,' she said to them later. 'I can't have
you working for your entire stay here. I want you to enjoy
yourselves, take a few days off. Take the money you earned
and go and see more of the island.'
'But we thought we could repay you a little,' Simon said.
'No need, aren't we all doing fine the way we are? I'd love
you to see all the beautiful places, the gorge and the caves and
the beautiful empty beaches up in the north of the island.
When you are busy professional people, a lawyer, a teacher you
will always look back and remember it. That would give
me huge pleasure . . .'
'If you really mean it ... ?'
'If you're totally sure . . . ?'
Vonni looked at them thoughtfully. The few euros they had
earned minding children at night in the Anna Beach would go
a long way to seeing them around the island. 'Please believe
me. And another thing?'
'Yes, Vonni?'
'Why do you think I was in England? I notice you never
tried to find out. What do you think it was about?'
They paused for a moment and looked at each other.
'Go on, say it - I wouldn't ask otherwise.'

'I think someone died,' Maud said.
'Yes, I think you went to a funeral,' Simon agreed.
'Why do you think that?'
'Because your eyes are very empty. Different somehow.'
'And even if you're smiling you seem sad.'

The time flew by, the holiday was over and it was time for
a bronzed Maud and Simon to go back to Ireland. Vonni
had helped them to choose Declan's gift for Fiona, a beautiful
hand-painted scarf.
'Will you come over for Fiona's wedding?' Simon asked the
night before they left.
'No, Simon, I'm too old to travel now,' she said.
'But you went to England?' Simon was always remorselessly
logical.
'That's because it was an errand of mercy,' Maud reminded
him.
'An errand of mercy,' Vonni repeated wonderingly.
'Was that the wrong thing to say?' Maud was distressed.
'No, it was a lovely thing to say. Do you think you twoI
learned anything here, anything that will stay with you for¦
life?'
'Well, we learned a little Greek. Not enough, I know, but
some,' Simon said.
'And we learned that you don't have to have lots of money
to make you happy,' Maud added.
'That's for sure. Where did you learn that?'

'Well, everywhere, I suppose. Up in the mountains where
they have hardly anything. And here with you. You don't have
a lot but you don't ever seem to want a big income or anything.
You just get on with life, fine the way you are. No
matter what happens.'
Vonni was surprised. 'But you two don't think money buys
happiness, do you?'
'No, but we meet a lot of people who do.'
'Do you know, I think you two are pretty good at getting
on with life no matter what happens,' Vonni said. 'You're
managing just great.'
'Please come to Ireland, we'd love to show you things,'
Simon suggested.

'We'll take care of you like you took care of us,' Maud
offered.
'Let's wait until Declan and Fiona fix a day, we'll see then,'
Vonni said.
'People always say "we'll see" when they mean "no",'
Simon grumbled.
'You're very observant, Simon, you'll be a good lawyer,'
Vonni said. She felt a great closeness to these young people. It
had been a while since she had let herself get close to people in
this way.

Later that night, Takis called.
'Where are the Irish kids?'
'Down catching some buziuki in the harbour front. Andreas
and Yorghis and I will join them later - do you want to come?'
'No. I want to talk to you.'
'Oh dear.'
'Oh dear, indeed. Well, he's gone, left Britain, though he's
not meant to. He didn't turn up to check in as he was supposed
to, probably went on a day trip to France and didn't
come back. You've said goodbye to your money.'
'It was his money, Takis, you know that. His to do what he
liked with.'
'He never met you, did he, never thanked you.'
'How do you know that?'
'The authorities there were in touch with me. I spoke to
that man -- he remembers you going to visit.'
'It's not important.'
Takis sighed heavily. 'There was never any use talking to
you.'
'There's more, isn't there?'
'Oh, Vonni, you can read faces like a book. Why could you
not read the face of your own son?'

'I told you, it didn't matter, it was his money to spend
when and as he liked. What more have you to tell me?'
'He shared a cell with a Scottish fellow called Jacky, and
Jacky asked the people to forward a letter to you. They sent it
to me and I'm afraid I opened it.'
'Really?'
'I was afraid it might be a begging letter.'
'And was it, Takis?'

'In a way, yes. But I thought you should see it.'
'Very generous of you, considering it was addressed to me.'
'Just read it, Vonni.'
She did.

Dear Mother ofStavros,
I shared a cell for many weeks with your son. He was so
happy to be released thanks to your generosity. I suppose I was
just hoping that you might be a wealthy woman and that you
might be able to put up my bail too. It's much less than for
Stavros. I would work forever to get it back to you, I would be
so grateful I would do anything on earth you wanted.
Stavros is not a bad lad, but he is very confused. He sees
things as black and white, he doesn 't know the world is grey.
He said you and he had a lot of problems when he was a
child. It only seemed to be drink when he got down to it,
which we all had in our homes, but he is very unforgiving.
Stavros telephoned me once since he was released. He
wanted an address of someone. I asked him had he seen you
and he said no. I asked him why he was not grateful and he
said you must be as guilty as sin about your past otherwise you
would never have raised that money for his bail. He said that
he had been beginning to wonder had he been too harsh on
you, but this proved that you knew you had ruined his life
and caused him to be the way he is.
I only tell you this because I would be so different. Please,

306

I
Mother ofStavros, believe me, I would be so grateful and I
would look after you when you get old.
Yours,
Jack McDonald

When she looked up, Takis was looking out the window, over
the rooftops which led down to the harbour. He did not want
to meet her eye. He tried to arrange his body so that it did not
scream the words 'I told you so' at her. Everything she had
been left was gone as she had been warned.
'Well, thank you, Takis. Now we all know where we are.'
'Yes, that's true,' he said.
'And I think we are on our way to the harbour, don't you?'
'You can go to a party after that? You are a remarkable
woman, Vonni.'
She smiled at him as she smiled at her friends all around
this island: the smile of someone who felt lucky and free and
who tonight had been proved to have paid all her debts. She
didn't want sympathy, she wanted solidarity.
'Pame, Vonni. Let's go,' he said.
'Pame, Takis, let's go to the taverna,' she said.

Chapter Nine



Iinda Casey wished she had lived at another time. A time
when her talents would have been appreciated. She
-' could have been a royal mistress, or a kept woman in a
luxury apartment or even a wife to some gentleman landowner
who encouraged her to have a small town house in Dublin.
But no, she was of the here and now, in a world where
everyone, men and women, had to go out and work for a
living. Were they meant to thank the Women's Lib people for
this? A world where relationships were full of compromise,
where marriages didn't last. And a world that said you should
be grateful day and night because you had a place to live, an
education and were young and reasonably good-looking.
Linda didn't think that was nearly enough.
But try telling that to anyone and see how far you got. Not
very far with her mother. Mam seemed to have transformed
herself into some kind of advertising campaign for how a well
groomed, middle-aged woman should live. She had seen her
mother sponging jackets with lemon juice, putting shoe trees
in her shoes to keep their shape, polishing her handbag, and
creaming her neck with some heavy unguent. And for what! Mam was still a sad, driven person. So what if she looked
good? Inside, she was like everybody else, a mess.

Linda couldn't really remember when Mam and Dad had
got on well. Her sister Adi, who was two years older, said she
could, but then Adi was so sentimental: trees had feelings and
we shouldn't sit on leather sofas because an animal had died to
make a covering for us to sit on. And as for Adi's boyfriend
Gerry . . . He was a total nutter! Adi had made herself into a
complete doormat for him.
Linda would never put on an act like that for any man, no
matter how wonderful he was. But she hadn't met many
wonderful men. Or any wonderful man, to be honest. Wherever
they were, they weren't in Dublin.
She had been out three times with this fellow called Simon,
which by Linda's standards was almost a life commitment.
Simon was attractive. He had a rich daddy, a doting mummy
and a job in his uncle's estate agency where he had very little
to do. But Simon was accustomed to going out with women
who paid their way. They didn't actually halve the price of
meals or anything, but sometimes these girls would host a
couple of hours' drinks in a hotel or take half a dozen people
to lunch in an Italian place. Linda hadn't a hope of being able
to keep up with that pace.
'You're basically a daddy's girl, Linda. You're looking for
someone to look after you,' he had said, before heading off to
new conquests.
He was so wrong. She was not a daddy's girl. She called her
father 'Alan' for heaven's sake. That showed you how little she
thought of herself as his baby daughter.
He had been selfish and childish always.
Her mother had been mad to stay with him for as long as
she had. Linda would have thrown him out much earlier. Dad
was so immature. He wasn't going to stay the distance with
Cinta, the one they called the 'bimbo', especially now that
there was a new baby imminent. It was so gross to have a baby
step-sister or step-brother. And Dad would expect lots of

ootchy-kootchy gurgling once the baby was born. He would
eventually lose interest in it as he did in everything.
Linda's mother had once said bitterly that Alan's philosophy
was 'yours till death do us part or something marginally
more interesting comes along'. Mam could be quite funny
sometimes. Most of the time, of course, she was like a sergeant
major running the household as she did her clinic.
She had recently gone on an economy drive. There was
hardly anything to eat in the fridge. And also there was this
emphasis on Linda getting a job. That had never been important
before. She had intended to take a year off and travel the
world before looking for a job. But her mother had been very
forceful about it. Either Linda went off and saw the world,
leaving her room ready for her mother to let to someone else,
or else she stayed and contributed to the household.
There was no decision. Linda didn't have any money to
travel the world and neither parent was going to donate
anything to the trip to Thailand, Cambodia and Australia
that she had been hoping for. She didn't want to get a job in
the civil service or a bank or an insurance office. She wasn't
like her mother, with a passion for medicine in general and
cardiology in particular. She didn't want to teach like her
sister Adi. She was so different from her sister that Linda often
wondered if she might be adopted. Adi was so easily pleased
with everything and she loved all those screeching children in
the school. She gave a portion of her salary to Mam every
month and then put some towards Saving the Whale or what-

I


ever.
Adi and Gerry were saving to go to some desperate place to
protest about clubbing seals or frightening deer or something.
Imagine! They were saving to do that! Linda wouldn't have
gone if someone had paid her to go. And if she had any money
at all she was out to buy shoes or to go through a thrift shop.
She had found the sweetest little fox tail thing, which of course

she had to keep well hidden in case the two 'Friends of the
Earth' saw it and brought a pack of baying protesters around
her. She had hidden it from her mother also. It wasn't Clara's
kind of thing and anyway she would undoubtedly wonder
aloud how it was that Linda had money to buy this kind of
nonsense but not enough to contribute to her keep.
But now she had a part-time job in the record store, so
at least her mother couldn't grizzle as much as she used to.
Sometimes there was even cooked ham or a casserole in the
fridge, which Linda was allowed to share.
And of course Mother had been very good-tempered because
of this sort of dalliance she had with Peter, the handsome
chemist man. A dalliance was a good way to describe it.
They went to the theatre, on picnics and entertained each
other to meals. They even went on holiday together, to Italy. Adi and Linda had thought he was perfectly fine but then it
had all ended suddenly. Probably because Mother was pushing
for an engagement ring. But even if she had been dumped,
Linda's mother was in remarkably good form. She was very
hyper about some ghastly fundraising thing at the clinic.
Linda had referred to it as a cake sale and her mother had
been apoplectic.
'It is not a cake sale! It's a serious attempt to raise money
that the hospital should have given us in the first place. We
want to publicise the lecture course and so we're inviting the
media and all the movers and shakers in the medical world
and business people. Everyone in the clinic is giving their all to it and I will not have you dismiss it as a cake sale!'
Linda had been startled. 'Sorry, I wasn't listening. I got it
wrong.'
'You never listen. You care about nothing and nobody,
except yourself
'Hey, Mam, that's a bit strong.'

3"
'Don't "Hey, Mam" at me. You're an adult, Linda. Stop
putting on that baby voice.'
'Right, I'll stop calling you "Mam" altogether. I'll call you
"Clara".'
'I don't care what you call me. Just have something intelligent
to say!' Clara banged out of the house and revved up her
car:
Linda watched from the window. She had really annoyed
her mother for some reason. She shrugged. No point in trying
to work out why. The old were impossible to understand.

Clara came into the clinic with a brisk step.
'You're in a bad mood,' Hilary said.
'Oh boy, are you right,' Clara said.
Ania had seen it, too, and hastened in with the coffee.
'Have we anything terrible this morning?' Clara asked.
'Frank is coming in for what he calls a chat at eleven,'
Hilary said.
'As if that man ever had a chat with anyone,' Clara sighed.
'Well, it's about the money that poor Jimmy from Galway
left us in his will,' Hilary explained. 'He sees a problem.'
'Of course he does,' Clara agreed, 'every time he looks in
the mirror, he sees the main problem around here.'
Ania giggled.
Clara sighed. 'Right, hit me with what else there is,' she said
in a resigned voice.
'Isn't today one of Lavender's cookery demos?' Hilary
asked.
'Yes, it starts at eleven thirty. We must all put in an appearance
to support Lavender.' Clara was adamant. 'So let's
try and get the dreaded Frank off the premises before she
starts. Let's try to bring his little chat to an amicable end. He's
going to go mad if he gets a whiff of Lavender grilling
mackerel.'

'Is that what she's doing?' Hilary was interested.
Clara nodded enthusiastically. 'Yes. She runs all the recipes
past me. It sounds nice. Maybe we should have an early lunch
and eat it all.'
'You know I never cooked mackerel in my whole life,'
Hilary said.
'Makrela? That's what it's called in Polish too. Is it a good
fish?' Ania asked.
'It's a forgotten fish,' Clara said. 'My grandmother used to
eat it four or five times a week. Then people went off it. I
suppose when they could afford meat and chicken.'
'I learn so many things from you, Clara.' Ania went off
about her work, pleased to have new information.
'Lord, isn't she a nice child! Why couldn't I have had a
daughter like that, rather than an obstinate, bad-tempered
mule like Linda, who refers to our big reception here as a
"cake sale".'
Clara was so indignant that Hilary had to laugh. 'Sorry,
Clara, but if you could see your face! Maybe we should refer to
it as the cake sale from now on, it might calm us down. What
else has Linda done?'
'You don't want to know, believe me. She shrugs so much I
think she has dislocated her shoulders. She has no get-up-and
go, no plans, no life plan.'
'You're being very harsh about this girl who is going to be
my daughter-in-law one day,' Hilary said.
Clara had totally forgotten that she and Hilary had plotted
to get Nick and Linda together in a way that did not include
any possible involvement on the part of their mothers. It was
good to see Hilary so recovered that she could think of discussing
it again.
'We'll have a planning lunch about that,' Clara said. 'But tell me first, apart from the mackerel demo, good, and Frank
chat, bad, what else does the day offer us?'

'Bobby Walsh's grisly wife says that one of the drugs we've
given Bobby has been withdrawn in the United States.'
'Did she say which one?'

'She did. I looked it up. No mention of it. I even asked
Peter at the pharmacy. He said he would have heard and
there's nothing.'
'Oh, God, is she coming in?'
'At 10 a.m. ... on the grounds--' Hilary began.
'On the grounds we get the lousy ones over with early,'
Clara finished for her.

Mrs Walsh came in with a clipping from a magazine that said
that a medication, which was in the ACE inhibitor range, was
being examined by the authorities in America.
Patiently, Clara explained what the drug needed to do,
which was to reduce increased heart muscle thickness. She
pointed out that there were dozens of these medications on the
market and that they were checking one particular brand for
side effects. It wasn't the brand that Bobby Walsh was taking.
'If I could explain exactly what ACE inhibitors are,' Clara
began. 'It's Angiotensin Converting Enzyme inhibitors . . .
and--'
'Kindly don't patronise me, Dr Casey.' Mrs Walsh had a
voice like an electric saw.
Clara longed to tell her to get out of the clinic and to stay
out, but this wasn't appropriate. It was Bobby Walsh's heart
she was looking after. That's where her duty lay. She mustn't
get sidetracked by this monstrous woman.
'I have no intention of patronising you, Mrs Walsh. I'm
just telling you and Bobby that there's no cause to be alarmed.
The main side effects of such drugs could be dizziness or a dry
cough. Bobby has neither. So now, can you please tell me
what additional help I can be?'

3H
'I don't like your smart-aleck attitude, Dr Casey, and
believe me, this will go further.'
'You are concerned with your husband's health, so, please,
go as far as you like to reassure him and you.'
'Oh, Bobby isn't worried. He thinks you're all great here.'
Mrs Walsh's voice was withering in her scorn.
Clara stood up to show the meeting was finished. 'That's
good to know, Mrs Walsh. And if there's anything else?'
' You will be the one to hear if there's anything else. I have a
personal introduction to Frank Ennis who is on the hospital
board. I'm sure he'll want to have a chat with you about all
this.'
Clara was bright and positive. 'Well, he's coming here in
about forty-five minutes anyway for a meeting, so if you'd like
to stay I can introduce you to him myself and then you
can have your little chat.' Clara relished the thought of setting
this terrible woman, with her grating voice, on poor old Frank
Ennis.
'No, that won't be necessary.'
'But do, Mrs Walsh. We can make the consultation room
available to you and I won't be in the area. I'll be going to
Lavender's healthy heart cookery demonstration.'
Mrs Walsh practically ran out the door of the clinic. Clara
and Hilary did a high five in the air.
'Get the lousy ones over first,' they said happily.

Frank was adamant. The late James O'Brien had left his
money to the hospital. The hospital was named in the man's
will. The money would go to the charitable and fundraising
department of the main hospital. It would be spent wisely.
Clara fought him strenuously.
Jimmy had come regularly to this clinic. He knew nobody
in the main hospital, except the people he had met in A&E on
his first visit.

3i
'Well then . . .' Frank began, triumphantly.
'And because he was a man who took privacy to the point of
madness, he refused to give them the name of his family
doctor in the west. He went to a bed and breakfast when he
was discharged and because A&E had to pass his care on to someone, he was referred here. He loved the clinic. He said so
in his will. He thanked them for making his heart disease seem
under control. That money is being used here, Frank, if I have
to take you to the High Court or further.'
'There isn't any further,' Frank said in a sulky tone.
'Yes, there is. This could go to the Court of Human Rights!'
Clara said, her eyes blazing.
'We could see that a proportion of it comes this way . . .'
Frank began, and Clara knew she had him on the ropes.
'This is where he wanted his money to go. It comes here,' she said.
'The art of the deal is knowing when to compromise,'
Frank said.
'That's balls,' Clara said pleasantly. 'Something is either
right or it's wrong. I don't look at a patient and say his arteries
are all clogged up and he needs angioplasty, but then, on the
other hand, I don't feel able to do all the paperwork so we'll
compromise and I'll ask him to come back in three months
and we'll get it started then. That's not the way things work in
the real world, Frank.'
'I'm sorry, that is the way.' He went on to raise his offer
from one-third of Jimmy's estate to half. He met nothing but
a shake of Clara's glossy head.
'It's not a fair comparison,' he blustered. 'You took an oath
to help people. It's different for you.'
'I did take an oath and I'm keeping to it.'
'I didn't take any such oath,' he said.
Clara laughed aloud. 'Oh, yes you did. You vowed you
would make life as difficult, as penny-pinching, nitpicking

and bureaucratic as it could possibly be. You promised yourself
that the spirit of a hospital should never be considered
when the real thing, the letter of the law, can be brought into
play. But you picked the wrong one in me, Frank, I'm not
going to lie down and roll over.'
'I didn't pick you at all. I was landed with you!' Frank had
some spirit at least. 'And I would remind you that this clinic
didn't exist before and may well not exist after your time. You
refer to it as if it were an important entity in its own right
instead of very small potatoes, which is what this place is.'
'It's what this place was and would have still been if you'd
been allowed your way. But it's not now and it's going further
and Jimmy's money will bring it to the next stage.' She was
very angry now.
'The place is funded by the hospital--' he began.
'If you think, Frank Ennis, that I am going to waste one
more minute of time arguing with you about whether we rent
chairs for a lecture or buy them and store them, if you think
that I will ever again go through the humiliating experience of
pleading with you to pay what are very low fees to visiting
experts for this series of lectures ... If you think that I am
going to spend hours talking to you and your bonehead
colleagues about the feasibility -- God, I hate that word,
feasibility - of having a youth programme so that school kids
could come in and learn about their bloody hearts and how to
keep them beating properly--'
'You never mentioned having children come in here!' Frank
could see a thousand problems already.
'I didn't because I am weary to the soles of my feet dealing
with you on any subject and so Jimmy's money will buy us
time and freedom to set this up on our own.' She actually
sounded weary.
'But you can't--'
'I can and I will, Frank. And now I'm going to a cookery

3'"
demonstration. We have over fifty people waiting in Lavender's
room, the dietician's space which you said need only be a
desk and a chair.'
'She's not cooking with a live flame, is she?' Frank said,
horrified.
'I very much hope so, Frank. She has a two-ring gas grill
and a big mirror behind her set at an angle.'
'And who paid for the mirror, if I might ask?'
'You might ask, even though it's actually none of your
business. Hilary and I bought it at an auction. Johnny and
Tim put it up on the wall for us. It cost you and the money
boys and girls precisely nothing!'
Clara was moving purposefully towards the cookery demonstration.
Frank could see other people in the clinic heading in
the same direction. That sandy-haired doctor who had been in
the bad car crash but had made a miraculous recovery. The two
pretty nurses Fiona and Barbara, the muscle man Johnny, who
looked as if he should be a bouncer outside a nightclub rather
than working in a medical setting. Also that rather silent
security man Tim, who had been appointed here in a very
high-handed way by Clara instead of taking part in the
hospital's general security system. This whole place had become
dangerously like a family or even a province that was
about to declare independence and call itself a nation. He had
better go and see what horrific liberties she was taking with
health and safety at this demonstration. He was disconcerted
by the buzz of conversation. These people had formed a little
community. It would have to be watched carefully.

Lavender was a born performer. She could have had her
own television programme. Clara's mind raced ahead. Maybe
Lavender could have a slot on someone's talk show, 'Five
Minutes for your Heart'.
There was a small lecture on salt and the Irish obsession

with spreading a salt shaker over all food. Lavender suggested
having no salt on the table. If you thought up enough other
harmless seasonings there was no need. She took fillets of
mackerel, showed them to the audience. You could buy packets
of fillets or else ask a fishmonger to fillet them for you. In a
glass you mixed the juice of an orange, a lime and a lemon and
a spoonful of vegetable oil, and you brushed the mackerel with
this and then grilled them.
They smelled terrific and as she passed the plate around for
people to taste, Lavender was busy grilling more. Everyone
would want a taste and some people were taking far too much.
There was an easy salad that went with it and Lavender said
that their hearts would thank them warmly for such food.
In spite of himself, Frank was impressed. The bright cheery
room, the no-nonsense Lavender, the general air of hope and
of being in control of their own lives. When this clinic had
been first considered that was the mandate, the mission statement;
and for all her annoying ways, Clara was getting it done.
When the demonstration was over, Clara got a message to
call her daughter Adi.
'Sorry, Mam, I was talking to Linda about something else
and she said we're both to call you "Clara" from now on. Is
that right or is it just Linda being cracked?'
'It's Linda being cracked. She's calling me Clara. I said that
was fine with me if she had something worthwhile to say. Do
you know she said that the grand reception we're organising
here was a cake saleV Clara's face got red with anger again.
'Yeah, she knows that was a mistake. She doesn't listen,
Mam, that's all.'
'She'll need to learn to listen some day,' Clara said.
'She's sorry. She's cooking a dinner tonight to try and make
it up, buying the things herself. It's so rare, Mam, I think we
should sort of be there.'

'I don't want to sit and watch Linda mess up my kitchen
and then say I'm organising a cake sale.'
'She'll never say that again, Mam.'
'I don't want to go. Honestly, I don't/?<?/like it. And look
at all the times Lady Linda has done or hasn't done things
because of how she feels!'
'Oh, Mam, I'm having a bad day too, and I had to persuade
Gerry to come.'
'Well, exactly.' Clara felt a surge of affection for the silent
Gerry.
'No, that's not it, Mam. How will there ever be peace of
any kind unless four people can sit down to a one-off meal
made by Linda?'
'She'll have things that you and Gerry won't eat,' Clara
countered.
'No, she won't. She checked with me. It sounds lovely:
chickpeas and tomatoes and garlic and things.'
'Terrific,' Clara said.
'And she's getting you a fillet steak. And Gerry and I aren't
to start wrinkling up our noses at it and talking about dead
animals and we've all agreed to that.'
'I don't want steak. I'll eat her bloody chickpeas!' Clara
roared as she slammed down the phone.
To her annoyance she saw that Frank Ennis was watching
her from the door with a smile on his face. 'Sorry, Frank, a bit
of a domestic,' she said, trying to make light of it.
'No, no, please. I'm just glad to see that you lose your
temper with other people as well as with me,' he said and left.
'Take no notice,' Hilary said. 'He's just trying to get at you.'
'I know,' Clara said.
'Ania's gone out to get us a nice healthy lunch.'
'I don't want a nice healthy lunch. I want a plate of French
fries followed by an ice cream and washed down with a huge
gin and tonic'

'Kindly remember where you are, Clara. You'll get a salad
sandwich on wholemeal with a piece of fruit.'
'It still won't bring down my blood pressure,' Clara said.
'The drug that could combat Linda Casey hasn't been invented
yet.'

Clara brought a bottle of wine to the feast.
Linda looked very pleased and said there was no need, but
she opened it immediately, so it was obviously better than
what she had bought herself.
She had to admit that Linda had made an effort. There was
a bowl of crudites on the table with a series of dips. Linda had
chopped all those vegetables up herself. She had warmed up
some healthy, stone-ground bread. She bent, flushed and
worried, over her casserole. The main course was surprisingly
good and she had made coffee to serve with the fruit platter
afterwards. Nobody, not a cardiologist nor two vegetarians,
could have anything but praise and support.
Clara was about to tell a story about Hilary at the clinic and
then she remembered that if their plot was to work Linda and
Nick must never know that the two women were friends. So
instead she asked about the record shop and was surprised to
hear that Linda had been promoted and asked to expand a
section on jazz.
She had been about to say, 'I never knew that you knew
anything about any kind of music' Instead she said, 'That's
good. Nice to see your interests being rewarded.' And she saw her elder daughter smile at her approvingly. Peace had been
created, for a time anyway, in their kitchen.
After dinner there was an unexpected call from Alan. Clara
had been expecting some calls about the reception so she
answered the phone.
'Oh, hello, love. Are you on your own?' he said.
'No, Alan, we're having a family dinner.'

'Family?' he asked, startled.
'Yes, Alan. Our two daughters, Adi and Linda, and Adi's
boyfriend Gerry. You do remember them, I hope?' She could
hear the others giggling behind her.
'Don't be such a bitch, Clara!'
'Sorry?'
'So smart-arsed,' he said.
'No, I mean sorry, Alan, did you want something?'
'I did, but no, not with you in that mood.'
'Right, another time then.' She was about to hang up.
'Clara, please. Please!'
'What, Alan?'
'Can you come and meet me somewhere?'_
'Not tonight, as I said. Another time.'I
'I need to talk tonight.'
'I can't tonight. The evening isn't over yet, and anyway, I've¦
had some wine so I can't drive. Give me a ring at work one
morning.'
'She's thrown me out,' he said.
'Cinta? Never!'
'Yes, I'm afraid.'
'But the baby, it must be nearly due now?'
'In two weeks. But she's giving it away to her sister who
can't have children.'
'But, Alan, that's your baby too.'

'Do you think that's making a blind bit of difference? She
says that I didn't get divorced in time to be married for the
child's birth and so I have no say.'
'But that's not fair. You started the divorce proceedings
once you knew she was pregnant.'
'Yes, around then. More or less.'
'So are you going to let her give your child away?'
'What choice have I, Clara? She holds all the cards.'
'And has she found somebody else?'

'No. No way. She's going to study, she says, and needs her
freedom.'
'And did this all come out of a clear blue sky?'
'To me it did,' Alan said sadly. .
'Well, to whom did it not?'
'To my friends, our friends, anyone who knows her. There
was a bit of a misunderstanding about something a couple of
weeks back, but I thought it was all done and dusted. Apparently
she was brooding about it. How was I to know?'
'Poor Alan.' She was actually sorry for him.
'So I was wondering . . .'
'No, Alan.'
'We are still man and wife. It's still my home.'
'Nonsense, Alan, there was a separation agreement. The
divorce will be through shortly. You have no more right to
come here than you have to go and stay with the President of
Ireland up at Phoenix Park.'
There was a silence at his end.
'I wish you luck,' she said.
'I have nowhere to go, Clara.'
'Goodnight, Alan.'
The girls were looking at her with curiosity. Gerry had tactfully
started doing the washing-up.
The questions hung in the air. Clara knew she must answer
them somehow. He was their father: she mustn't be too flip
and dismissive.
'It's complicated,' she began. 'Your father doesn't change.'

'So he was caught?' Linda suggested.
'Apparently,' Clara said.
'Will you take him back, Mam?' Adi asked.

'No, Adi. No, I won't.'
'And his baby?' Linda asked.
'Is being given away to the bimbo's sister.'

'And Dad isn't . . .' Adi could hardly believe any of this.

'No, darling, he isn't. It was different with you two. He
really loves you both. Yes, in his funny, mad, complicated way
he does love you.'
'And does he love you, Mam?' Adi asked.
'He loves the memory of me. He loves what I was twenty
something years ago. It's a kind of love.'
Linda spoke. 'Clara's right. Alan is who he is. The sooner
we all accept that then the sooner we can all move on.'
Clara stood up. 'Talking of moving on, I suggest we have a
liqueur as my treat. I think we've all earned it.' And she closed
the curtains in case Alan drove by and looked in the window.
He was a fool but she didn't want to make his life a misery
seeing what really had turned out to be a happy family dinner
taking place in the household he had walked out of, causing so
much pain and upset all those years ago.

'More cheerful?' Hilary asked the next day.
'Much, thank you. I'm sorry for being like a bear yesterday.'
'No,
you were like a cabaret. Was the meal bearable?' 'It was great. Alan rang up in the middle of it to say his
bimbo has thrown him out and is giving away their baby.
And, as it happens, Linda made a huge effort to be normal and
almost succeeded. I enjoyed it.'
'Well now!' Hilary was surprised.
'So much so that I think all that's wrong with her is she
hasn't met the right man yet.'
'Clara!'You and I are the old guard: we've spent years saying
that we mustn't be measured by the man that we happen
to have caught. What's happening to the sisterhood if you
weaken?' Hilary was outraged.
'I'm not weakening for the sisterhood, only for Linda. Let's
have dinner in the Italian place tonight and we'll plot the
whole thing.'

'Tonight?'
'Go on, it's not as if either of us has anything else to do,'
Clara said.
'You really have a way of making a girl feel special,' said
Hilary, then they got down to work.

Alan rang during the day and Ania took the call.
'Hold on, Mr Casey, and I'll see if she's free. She was in a
consultation.' Clara shook her head. 'No, I'm sorry it's going
to go on for some time. Shall I tell her that you called?'
'Don't bother. She doesn't care. If she had cared about anything
she would have called me. Goodbye,' he said.
Ania repeated it slowly to Clara.
'Sorry, Ania, to involve you in such childish behaviour from
people who should be well past that.'
'Oh, Clara, if you knew how important I feel here. To be
able to be a part of everyone's lives. It gives me great . . .
wait . . . wait ... I know the words . . . self-esteem.'
'Your English has come on so well. They wouldn't know
you back home!'
'Yes. I met somebody from home. He could not believe it.
He knew nothing. It was very satisfying.'
'Was he a boyfriend?' Clara asked.
'One time, yes, I think, or maybe he never was a boyfriend.
Maybe it was all in my own mind. But now it's over. You
know when something is really over, don't you?' She looked
enquiringly at Clara.
'Yes indeed, you do. The trick is not to feel sorry for the
person.'
'No. In my case this would never happen,' Ania said very
seriously.
Clara hoped she was equally certain. She had been feeling
something dangerously like sympathy for Alan since last night.

She wondered where he had slept. And what he had done that
Cinta had discovered.

'So, let's approach this like a problem in the clinic. Something
that has to be solved before Frank gets wind of it.' Clara
opened the discussion at the Italian restaurant.
'Nick is a bit of a dreamer; very easy-going, too easy-going.
You'd need to light a fire under him.' Hilary put her cards on
the table. 'He has no get-up-and-go. He plays in this club. He
wouldn't go to university, said it was too expensive for me,
and so he taught kids the piano and the guitar and then has
played forever in this dead-end club.'
'Is it dead-end or is it just somewhere you and I wouldn't
go to in a million years?' Clara asked.
'I think it's dead-end. They're always worried that they
won't be able to keep up the lease. There are no crowds. No
breakthroughs, or whatever people have in the movies, yet he
turns up there night after night. He's very vague when I ask
him how many people are there. He says there were plenty and
they liked the music. He gets what they call a percentage of the
door, which means, I think, a fifth of what they take when
people pay five euros to come in. But it's never very much. He
makes up the rest by teaching.'
'And now to be truthful about Linda. Even though she was
terrific last night, she is a very self-centred little madam. She
thinks a pair of shoes that costs a week's wage would be good
value. Good value! Where is she coming from? She thinks the
world owes her something. Maybe we shouldn't unload her on
your boy!'
'He's been well able to let other girls disappear from his life.
We needn't worry about him being overwhelmed.'
'But how could they meet?' Clara puzzled.
'If we introduce them, it's over before it begins,' Hilary
agreed.

'So how can they get together?' Clara wondered. 'Suppose
Linda were to get free tickets for Nick's club?'
'No, she wouldn't go. She'd smell a rat. Or if she did go,
she wouldn't necessarily meet him,' Hilary objected.
Clara was not going to give up. 'What can we do then?'
I'Could we get Nick a voucher for the record store where
Linda works?' Hilary asked.
'Wouldn't work. He could go to the wrong assistant or it
might be a day she wasn't on. You'd actually need a degree in
some kind of higher mathematics to work out her shifts,'
Clara said, still mystified by her daughter.
'There has to be a casual way? Could we ask them to come
to the clinic, do you think?' Hilary said.
'And then they'd see the two of us old crones cackling with
laughter and they would both leave in disgust,' Clara said.
'But suppose they didn 't see us? Suppose they came and we
weren't here and they had to talk to each other,' Hilary persisted.
'Ah,
come on, Hilary, how could we get them to the clinic
and not be there? Think of a way and if you can then I'll buy
it.'
'What if we were to invite them to the reception . . .'
Hilary began.
'No. They'd regard it as a chore.' Clara was definite.
'But suppose they were the only kindred spirits there. They
might fall on each other.'
'We can't introduce them,' Clara said.
'I know, of course, it can't be you and me, but suppose Ania did it?'
'She wouldn't carry it off,' Clara said.
'If there was only something that could get us out of the
scene there,' Hilary said.
'I know. We'll get drunk,' Clara said, eyes shining.
'Now?' Hilary was alarmed.

n?
'No, you clown, at the reception.'
'Excuse me, did you say that you and I should get drunk at
this reception, which has been breaking our hearts for weeks? Drunk? Is that what you said?'
'Not really drunk. Not drunk drunk. Just pretending.'
Hilary emptied her glass of wine. 'That's a good idea, you
think, to pretend to be drunk at this, our big showpiece night?
Drunk in front of people like Frank Ennis, like the whole hospital
board. In front of whoever the Minister of Health sends.
In front of the cardiologists. In front of the media. Clara, are
you insane?'
'No one will see,' Clara said cheerfully. 'Everyone else will
think we are sober. Only Nick and Linda will think we're
drunk.'
Hilary attracted the waiter's attention.
'Can we have another bottle of Pinot Grigio? Things have
taken a turn for the worse here.'

Linda was pleased with the way the dinner party had gone.
Clara had been very pleasant. She had produced a bottle of
Cointreau and four little glasses. She had coped well with Alan
on the phone. She had told them funny stories.
If only she could be like that all the time, it might be bearable
to live at home. Odd that she had been so interested in
the record store and how they had asked Linda to be in charge
of the jazz section. She had been really surprised by that and
wanted to know more. And the dreaded Gerry had been
helpful and did the washing-up, which was useful when
Mam, well, Clara as she now was, wanted to tell them their
dad loved them. Maybe he did in his own mad dad-like way.

'Nick, you know this big reception we're going to be having at
the clinic?' Hilary asked.
'Of course I do, Ma. Have you talked of anything else?'

'It's important. Sorry to go on about it.'
'No, that's fine. I just wonder why this Clara person doesn't
take more interest in it. It's meant to be her show, isn't it?'
'Oh, she does work at it, in her own way,' Hilary said.
'Do you like her? As a person?'
'I don't know her very well. She's very efficient, certainly,'
Hilary said, stifling her sense of disloyalty.
'Yeah, like Attila the Hun.' Nick grinned.
'I suppose.'
'So what were you going to tell me about the reception?'
Nick asked.
'Oh, it was nothing really.'
'Ma! What was it?'
'I just wanted to tell you the date and I wanted a small
favour.'
'Say it.' He was such a good-tempered boy. She hated all
this subterfuge.
'Well, on the night I'll have to socialise with people and
have a glass of wine with this one and that one. I shouldn't
take the car and, Nick, I was wondering if you could come and
pick me up at about nine o'clock?'
'Sure I will,' he said agreeably.
'It's just that would make me feel much better,' Hilary said.
'I'll be there, but where's the problem? Couldn't you just
have called a taxi or something?'
'I could have but it makes me look a bit lonely and sad. I'd
love my nice son to come and pick me up.'
'I'll be there, Ma.'
'I'm not interfering? Upsetting a date or anything?'
'You know me, Ma. It'll have to be a very speedy girl to
catch me,' he laughed.
'I mean it. We all hope to meet someone we like. I don't
want to stand in your way.'

uq
'You don't, Ma. You never did. Maybe I'm not the kind of
guy anyone would fancy long-term.'
'Oh well, we'll see,' Hilary said.

'Adi, should we do something about Clara's reception?' Linda
asked.
'What can we do?' Adi wondered.
'Well, we could show a bit of solidarity. It's hugely important
to her, as I know to my cost.'
'She's forgiven you about the cake sale.'
'I know. I want to do something. Could you and I offer to
be waitresses or something? Save her money?'
'We could ask her, I suppose,' Adi said.
They offered but Clara said no. She thanked them but said
she would be too edgy and nervous that night. They wouldn't
see her at her best.
'But we never see you at your best,' Linda said, a little too
honestly. 'I mean, we see you ranting and raging about nothing
here and we survive it.' Something about her mother's face
made her make a hasty addition. 'I mean of course you see us in bad situations too. Like Adi being soppy and soft in the
head and me being . . . well, I suppose a bit confused.'
It didn't calm the troubled waters quite as Linda had
hoped. But Clara hadn't taken offence about it, which was a
relief. In fact she seemed touched and surprised at Linda's self
knowledge.
'You're both very good to offer to help and if there is anything nearer the time I'll certainly call on you,' she said.
'But I have lots of people lined up to help.' She had to remember
not to say that without Hilary the whole project
would have died long ago. It was hugely important that Linda
never knew how much of a friend Hilary would always be.

1
1



On the day of the reception they were all at high doh in the
clinic. They had set up tables for wine and soft drinks and
coffee at one end of Lavender's room and another where food
would be displayed at the other end. They lined the wall with
chairs for those who needed to sit down. The doors were
opened into the other parts of the clinic, with Johnny's
equipment pushed well back, but his exercise charts prominently
displayed on the walls. The treatment cubicles had been
changed into a highly acceptable cloakroom with rails for
people's coats, and two girls from a nearby school would hang
up each person's coat and give them a coloured ticket.
There had been huge competition to do this job as it was
rumoured that two pop stars, a well-known actor and several
television personalities were going to be among the guests.
The patients had been invited too, and all the members of
the board.
'What do we have to do?' Mrs Reilly asked suspiciously.
Everyone knew what Mrs Reilly would do. She would tell
them that her improved heart condition was entirely due to
the personal intervention of some saint and hand out leaflets
about the curative powers of the said saint. The clinic would
not feature in her praise. But they couldn't leave her out.
Mercifully, she decided that she had other fish to fry that
night.
'Our Holy Mother must have explained to Our Lord that
Mrs Reilly would be better not at the clinic,' Ania said cheerfully.
Clara and Hilary looked at each other. They had often
said that the marvellous, pious, Polish people who had come
to Ireland had done the great service of making Irish Catholicism
look modern and liberal by contrast. But they said
nothing, apart from nodding gravely in agreement.
Other patients might be more supportive, like Judy Murphy
who would tell anyone that the clinic was essential to those

W
who wanted to live independent lives. Or that great woman
Nora Dunne, with her piebald hair and her burning eyes,
whose husband Aidan had regained his will to live. She was
such an advertisement for them, particularly since she was a
convert, with all the zeal that a convert brings. She had been so
sure that the life with her gentle husband was over when he had
his heart attack and now they seemed to feel immortal as a
couple.
Even Lar, with his obsessive wish to make everyone learn
something new every day, would be a good ambassador for
what they were doing. Lar was remorselessly cheerful. If anyone
asked him how he was, he always said that he was fighting
fit and that a lot of rubbish was talked about heart failure. All
you had to do was control it. If they had hired a PR firm to
send out the message, they could never have come up with
anything as good as Lar.
Ania had made them all name badges in big clear writing:¦
green ones for patients, red ones for the staff and yellow forI
the guest lecturers.
'You haven't done a label for yourself,' Clara said, surprised.
'Oh, I wouldn't be worth a label,' Ania said. 'What would I
know if somebody asked me about the clinic?'
'More than most people. Do the label, Ania, this minute, or
else I'll do one for you!'
'That's very kind of you, Clara.'
'And Johnny has a friend who is a photographer who's
going to do a staff picture before it all begins, all of us with our
names on us. There'll be a copy for everyone and if we like it
we'll put it up on the wall here.' Clara was full of enthusiasm.
'I can send a copy to Mamusia, to my mother. She will be
so proud to see me as part of a team over here.'
Clara swallowed hard. There was something about this girl
that made people feel protective about her and ashamed at the
same time. Ashamed that they weren't more grateful for all

they had compared to Ania. Clara had bought a new jacket for
the night. A cream-coloured brocade, piped with red. It fitted
her perfectly. She had been back to Kiki the hairdresser and
looked as good as she had ever looked. She did a fashion
parade in the kitchen before she left.
'You don't look as if you should be parking your own car.
You should be drifting out of a limousine.' Adi was full of
admiration.
'You know, you could be in your fifties,' Gerry said admiringly.
'I am in my fifties, Gerry.'
'Early fifties,' he said, 'forties even . . .' His voice tailed
away.
'Are you on the pull, Clara?' Linda asked with interest.
'Sorry?'
'I mean are you after some man there tonight?'
'No. I'm after many men, and many women, too. What I'm
after is getting recognition and support for work which I think
is important.'
'But you're all dressed up like a dog's dinner,' Linda said.
'I have to try and sell the whole concept of this to people
who are successful and they wouldn't listen to me if I went in a
cardigan, with my hair in rat's tails and wearing some kind of
a pillow case!'
She looked so totally different from this image that they
burst out laughing.
'Oh, and do you know what I'd really like, Linda? If I get
over-excited and have a glass of wine too many, could you
come and collect me?'
'Sure,' Linda said. 'Don't get too bladdered now and spoil
the whole effect.'
'No, I'll try not to get ... er ... bladdered,' Clara said and
left for the clinic.
'I shouldn't have said she looked in her fifties,' Gerry said.

'No, honey, it's fine. She knew what you meant,' Adi
consoled him.
Linda rolled her eyes to heaven and said nothing. It was
absolutely terrifying what people did for love. Adi used to
have a sort of a mind of her own. Once.

They had the group picture taken.
Johnny's friend Mouth Mangan was a kindly man who
understood that this was the picture of the night for the people
involved. He had arranged it in such a way that the smaller
members would be standing on a step and the others not.
They would look very equal, which was the purpose of it all.
Mouth said they were all to look over his left shoulder as if
they had seen something amazing there and say the words
'beer mat'. This made them all laugh and he took the picture
at once. Then they were to say the word 'sympathy' and they
all looked more serious. That was it. Over and done. Mouth
had taken away his tripod and was setting up his other camera
to take pictures of the celebrities.
'Do you do weddings?' Declan whispered to Mouth.
'I'm great at weddings,' Mouth Mangan confided, 'I can do
all the officials in eight minutes flat!'
'Officials?' Declan was bewildered.
'You know: Bride, Bride and Groom, Bride and Groom and
attendants, Bride's parents, His parents, all parents. Makes it
easier and quicker if there are no divorces, remarriages and
second families?' He looked at Declan questioningly.
'No, nothing like that.'
'Then I mix and merge among the guests and give you a
contact sheet and you order what you want and put what you
want on a website. When is it? The wedding?'
'We haven't set a date yet,' Declan said a little wistfully.
'Well, she'd better get a move on.' Mouth was practical. 'I

don't have too many Saturdays free in the next year and a
half.'

The place was filling up. The staff with their red badges introduced
themselves to everyone. Frank Ennis watched, surprised,
as they swung into action.
'Do I get a red badge too?' he asked Barbara.
'Wouldn't say so, Mr Ennis, you're only the hospital, aren't
you? It's not as if you were a member of the clinic here,'
Barbara said.
'Or even a friend to it,' Clara said sweetly.
'You look very lovely tonight, Dr Casey,' he said.
'And you scrubbed up well too, Frank. Nice tie. Did your
wife choose that for you?'
'Sadly, Dr Casey, I am not blessed with a wife,' he said.
'You mean you're available?' she said in mock excitement.
'Lord, I wonder do the many unattached ladies coming here
tonight know that?'
'I didn't say I was available,' he said loudly.
And Hilary covered her mouth to stop laughing aloud.

Bobby Walsh arrived with his wife and son. Carl was pushing
his father in the wheelchair. Mrs Walsh's hard eyes ranged the
open-plan clinic with some surprise. They showed even more
surprise when she saw some well-known faces there. Surely
that was . . . ? And that woman was definitely a television
celebrity. What was she doing here? A well-known businessman
was talking to an actor. How had that shrewish woman
who ran this place brought them all together? The bad
tempered Clara Casey was looking extraordinarily well tonight.
Probably had a face lift. Rosemary Walsh wished she
had dressed more carefully herself. She hadn't known it was
going to be so smart.

She saw Ania, the clinic's Polish maid, nearby so she took
off her coat and handed it to her.
'Make sure it's put on a hanger,' she said.
Clara had seen. 'How good to see you, Mrs Walsh. Looking
for the cloakroom, are you? Just down there at the end.'
'I thought . . . ?' Rosemary Walsh began.
'Yes, I thought everyone could read the sign easily, but
apparently not. Next time we must make it bigger. Come with
me, Ania, I want you to introduce me to Father Flynn.' And
they moved off, leaving Rosemary Walsh more fuming than
she had ever been in her life.
The speeches were short and to the point. Frank Ennis, who
had of course insisted on speaking, was actually quite good.
He was even rather gracious about the clinic and its elegant
director, Dr Casey.¦
Then the formalities were over and when everything seemedI
to be going well, Clara rang Linda.
'Sorry, love, it's Clara here.'
'And you're pissed!' Linda said, proud to have identified the
situation.
'I wouldn't say that, but then us hopeless drinkers always
say that, but I think I'm beyond driving.'
'Okay, will I come down now?'
'Yes. Come in and have a glass of wine.'
'How's it all going?' Linda remembered to ask.
'Amazingly well, and you should see the style,' she added.
'You don't sound too pissed,' Linda said grudgingly.
'You know what it's all about. Holding it all together.'
'I'll get a bus there now,' Linda promised.
'Take a taxi. You don't want to be parading your finery in
the bus. Take a taxi. I'll pay.'
'Oh, I'm to get dressed up too?'
'Well, I know you won't come in your jeans,' Clara said.
She dared not say any more or Linda would be suspicious. But
she knew her daughter well enough to realise that she had sent
enough messages about smart attire.
Clara introduced Bobby to a man who had once played
rugby for Ireland; he was animated in the conversation. She
noted too that Ania was deep in conversation with Bobby's
son Carl. Rosemary Walsh stood on her own, her mouth set
in a fury. She reminded Clara of someone. Then she remembered.
Rosemary Walsh's face was like Clara's own mother's
face. Ready and willing to disapprove of whatever presented
itself.
Clara's mother had not come. She'd been invited but said
she had a bridge game and that she couldn't be expected to
support every lame duck cause that her daughter came up
with. It was a relief that her mother wasn't there.
It would also be a relief if Rosemary Walsh would collect
her coat from the cloakroom and leave now. But life didn't
work like that.
Clara fixed the smile back on her face and introduced
Rosemary to a bank manager.
'You're never a heart patient?' he said gallantly. It was exactly
the right thing to say to Rosemary, so Clara joined in to
reinforce it.
'Mrs Walsh's husband, who is much older than she is, is
one of the people who has done very well here at the clinic.
Hasn't spent a day in hospital since he came to see us first.
He's a great supporter, and he's here tonight, over there with
his son.'
The bank manager was impressed, and Rosemary looked
less beached than she had.
Clara had also introduced the good-tempered priest Father
Flynn to a millionaire with the instructions that he wasn't to
divert the millionaire's money entirely to his own centre.
It was going better than she had dared to hope.
Nick arrived first. Clara saw him talking to his mother and

had to steel herself not to go over and greet him. She watched
as Hilary got him a glass of wine and introduced him to a
couple of colleagues. He was tall and relaxed, as at home there
as he would be anywhere. Would he be right for her troubled
Linda?
Linda came in then. Clara saw her looking around the
roaringly successful party in wonder. Clara felt a wave of pride
at being able to show this to her over-critical daughter. Cake
sale indeed!

She saw Hilary move Nick into Johnny's physiotherapy room
and so Clara headed that way too with Linda.
'You need to look at these amazing exercise plans he has on
the wall,' she said. 'I'll try not to be too long.'
'You're great at hiding the signs of drink,' Linda said
grudgingly. 'I thought you'd be on all fours.'
I
Clara waved her wine glass around airily. It was her first
drink tonight but Linda must never know this. 'Oh, I fear I'm
well over the limit,' she said. 'I'm glad I sound all right. I have
two or three more people to talk to.'
'Take your time, Clara.' Linda was cheerful about it all. At
least she wasn't going to have to carry her mother to the car.
She was glad she had put on her black and white silk dress. It
looked good on her and she had extremely uncomfortable
shoes which went with it. She had dropped her sneakers into
the boot of the car as she passed by. She would never be able
to drive in these shoes. Linda looked around at the people
there. She recognised one or two faces from the television. SheI
saw politicians whose faces were familiar. Ah, God, why hadI
she called this a cake sale? She wondered where this awful man
her mother hated called Frank was and she'd love to met this
boringly angelic Polish girl who seemed to be everything a
mother wanted wrapped up in one small hardworking parcel.
She noticed a pleasant-looking man across the room


studying the exercise charts. He wasn't wearing a badge. He
must be a visitor like herself. She thought he had looked at her
admiringly when she came in. But then she must stop thinking
things like that. Usually people weren't fancying her at all,
just looking with a passing interest at someone with long legs.
It had been her downfall thinking that people were admiring
her when more often than not there was no admiration at all.
It was Fiona who introduced them in the end. Clara told
her to do it.
'Just say this is Nick Hickey. This is Linda Casey. Please,
Fiona, now.'
'Why don't you or Hilary do it?'
'I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you, so it's better you
just go and do it,' Clara urged her.
'Ooh, is it a touch of matchmaking? Are we going to be
talking about two weddings soon?' Fiona joked.
'If you mention anything like that, even remotely, I will
take you to one of those treatment beds and skilfully remove
your entire heart and transplant it into someone else,' she said,
with such intensity that Fiona backed down.
'Yeah, sure, I get the message.'
'This conversation is over and did not take place,' Clara
said.
'What conversation? You'll have to excuse me, Clara, I have
a couple of things to do.' Fiona escaped to Johnny's room and
did the job.
She was very beautiful, Clara's daughter. She didn't need
any mother trying to find her a fellow. And as far as Nick was
concerned, he was so easy-going he didn't look like Last
Chance Saloon either. Still, this was her mission.
'I came to pick up my mother because she's drunk,' Linda
said.
'So did I, in a way. Snap!' he laughed.
'Who is your drunken mother?' Linda asked.

'Hilary Hickey,' he said, 'she's the office manager.'
'My mother is Clara Casey,' she said grumpily.
'Oh, the head honcho,' he said. 'I see.'
'She looks quite sober though.' Linda felt defensive now.
She didn't want to let this office manager hear that Clara was a
dipso or anything.
'Better to be sure though these days,' he said approvingly.
'Are you involved in the clinic here?'
'Not enough,' Nick said ruefully. 'I didn't realise exactly
how much they had all done here. I must say I'm impressed.'
The too,' Linda said. He hadn't said what he did for a
living. Well, that was okay. She hated those people who immediately
pinned you down and classified you by your job.
Her ex-boyfriend Simon said that you should always ask
someone what they did for a living the moment you met
them so that you wouldn't waste any time with nobodies and
losers. But that was very Simon. Not necessarily anything
you'd want to live by.
This Nick was nice. And he revealed his job himself. He
said he didn't get much exercise as he taught music, which was
a sitting-down job, and he played in a club which involved
sitting around and then standing up to play in an intense
atmosphere.
Linda said she worked in a record shop and told him where
it was.
'They're terrific,' Nick said, 'they're starting a whole new
jazz section.'
'And I'm in charge of it,' Linda said proudly.
'Never!' He was very impressed.
'Yes, I have a rack of Count Basie, Duke Ellington and
Miles Davis already, and they've given me funds to get more.'
'Will you have Artie Shaw,' he asked, 'and Benny Goodman?'

'Sure I will. I was going to get going with jazz women. You
know, Billie Holiday, Ella . . . ?'
'And Lena!' he cried. 'You'll have lots of Lena Home.'
'Oh yes, yes. My favourite, Lena is. "More Than You
Know".'
'Mine is "At Long Last Love",' Nick said.
The guests were all leaving. Clara and Hilary, the two
ostensibly drunken mothers, were peeping around the door.
Linda and Nick were oblivious to it all.
All the scheming ladies had done was to speed it up a little
for them. And now they must stand back and hold their
breath and never ever, as long as they lived, admit this little
plan to either of the young jazz fans who stood in their own
world in the middle of Johnny's exercise room.

Fiona was invited to come to supper in St Jarlath's
Crescent. The twins were going to cook a Greek meal
and they had asked Molly if she'd mind.
'And did she?' asked Fiona, knowing how proud Molly
Carroll was of her cooking skills, her roasts and her casseroles.
'Apparently she's delighted. She's talking meatballs and
kebabs with them as if she grew up on a Greek island.'
'She's one dote, your mother,' Fiona said affectionately.
'You made her what she is now. When I went to the hospital
she was so difficult. I dreaded you ever having to meet
her. Now you're the best of pals.'
'Well, why wouldn't we be? Aren't we both mad about
you?'
'So, when do you think we should give my mam a day out?'
'She has plenty of days out,' Fiona said. 'Weren't we up at
the zoo, the pair of us, last week? She told me it had been years
since she was there and I loved it too.'
'You know full well what I mean,' Declan said.
'Oh, a wedding day!' Fiona said, with a laugh.
'Yes, sweetheart, a wedding day . . .'
'Haven't we all the time in the world to arrange that?' Fiona
said. 'Would Wednesday be okay?'

I







'To get married?' He looked up gleefully.
'To go to supper with the twins at your house, you eejit.'

Bobby Walsh told Declan that he and his wife were having a
ruby wedding party. That was forty years married. He sighed
with pleasure about it, though Declan couldn't see why. That
sharp-tongued, restless, impatient Rosemary! Imagine being
married to her for four decades. But maybe she hadn't seemed
like that when they started out.
'So, we're having about seventy people to the house and I
was wondering, would you and Fiona like to join us?'
Declan was taken aback. 'Well, that's very nice of you,
Bobby, but you don't want to be bringing dreary old doctors
and nurses in on top of all your friends.'
'On the contrary. I owe you everything. I wouldn't be here
planning to celebrate if it hadn't been for you all. And there was a bit of a misunderstanding between Rosemary and Clara.'
'Ah yes!' Declan looked calm and understanding. He had
heard all about the 'misunderstanding' from Clara. It had, in
fact, been a shouted attack from Rosemary -- but better let
sleeping dogs lie there, he thought to himself.
'So, it's on the twenty-first, but I'll send you a proper
invitation. That's really great, now. I'm so happy you'll be
there.' .
And indeed he sounded happy, Declan thought.
'Rosemary with you today?' he asked, as they completed the
blood tests and the chart filling.
'No. She's out talking to caterers. Carl brought me. He has
a day off from the school.'
'He's a great son, you must be delighted with him!' Declan
said.
'Yes, he is, he's a great boy and he loves that teaching job.
Of course Rosemary thinks it's not nearly good enough for
him, tells everyone he's doing an MA, but there'll be white

blackbirds before that lad goes back to university. He'll go on
at that school until he's drawing his pension.'
'Great to have found something which makes you happy,'
Declan said, as he helped Bobby on with his coat.
'If he finds as good a woman as I did, then he'll be a lucky
man,' Bobby said.
Privately, Declan hoped that young Carl would find a
much better woman than Rosemary, but his face showed
nothing of this.
'We'd been waiting for him for over ten years. We'd almost
given up hope. And then he arrived.' Bobby was so goodnatured
and cheerful about everything, including his bad
tempered wife. It was fortunate that the boy they had waited
so long for had inherited most of his father's characteristics
rather than his mother's.
'Fiona will be thrilled,' Declan said, as he shook Bobby's
hand.
'And when are you two . . . ?' Bobby began.
'Don't ask,' Declan whispered. 'It's like not mentioning the
war, everything functions fine if you don't start looking for a
date for the Big Day or whatever. If you do, all hell breaks
loose.'
'You're a wise man, Declan,' Bobby said. 'It will all turn out
absolutely fine. Believe me.'
Declan found it hard to believe anything from a man who
was pleased to be married to Rosemary for forty years, but he
smiled his thanks, as he did so often. It was easier than gut
wrenching confrontation. Sometimes, he wondered, might he
be a bit dull?

Ania knew that Clara and Hilary had a secret, but she didn't
know what it was. Sometimes they giggled like schoolgirls.
Other times they sat, heads together, making lists. But they
never told her. She didn't mind. She hadn't told them all

about Marek coming over and how she had got over him in
just one minute, standing there in that restaurant when he
was assuming she would dance naked for men to make him
money.
Maybe it was about Hilary's son and Clara's daughter, who
had got together at the big reception. That had been a lovely
night, Ania remembered wistfully. Carl had admired how well
she looked. He had said her English was coming on by leaps
and bounds and he had laughed at her fondly when she paused
to write down leaps and bounds. It was a lovely phrase,
reminded you of a hare in the grass, leaping and bounding
ahead.
He had even kissed her on the nose as he left.
'You are so sweet, Ania, and so clever. I wish I had students
like you in my class.'
'I am not clever, Carl. Truly I am not.'
'Excuse me. From where I stand you are very clever. And
look, you can turn your hand to anything.'
'That's only because I need to work hard to make money. I
just have to try many things.'
'This is what I mean. One moment you're running a
laundry, the next you're running this clinic . . .'
'I would not say that! Working here, yes.'
'I have listened to you all evening. You're such a good ambassador
for the work that is done here. Then you work in a
jeweller's--'
'I just clean there!'
And in that international centre. And you mind children. And you go round to people's houses and clear up after their
dinner parties.'
'That was a good idea. I thought of that myself.' Ania's eyes
were shining. 'It is nice for the hostess that she can go to bed
and come down to a nice clean kitchen.'

'Yes, but when do you sleep, Ania? How many hours are
there in the day for you?'
'Not enough,' she had said seriously. 'I would need forty
hours in the day if I were to earn enough to give my mother
the life she deserves.'
'Maybe she just wants you to be happy,' he had said. He
wouldn't say all that unless he liked her a little. Would he?

Father Brian Flynn was having what he thought was an exhausting
run with his friend Johnny, who thought it was a
casual walk. They had taken the little DART train that went
south from Dublin, out to Killiney on the coast, and then
they climbed what Father Brian thought was a mountain
and Johnny said was a slight incline and looked down over
Dunlaoghaire harbour, where the boats came in from England
and the rich yachtsmen moored their craft; then they descended
from the mountain, or incline, to Dalkey, drank two
pints in a friendly pub, after which they'd take the DART
back to Dublin.
Brian was always knocked out by it. Johnny, who must have
had different muscles and sinews, felt no pain at all.
They sat in Dalkey and discussed the world. Brian was
having the odd problem about financing the centre. He had
been told to make it self-funding. How could he do that? He'd
already roped all his friends in to paint the place. He'd asked
Ania to make curtains and tablecloths for him. He couldn't
increase the prices they charged -- these young people sent so
much money home already they had barely anything left to
live on.
If only there was a way of making money out of the
premises. It was a big hall with a few little rooms off it where
people held meetings. They served tea, coffee and soup and
sandwiches in the hall. Attached to it was a small chapel.
After mass on a Saturday night or Sunday morning, Brian

welcomed the various young Europeans, still a little lost in
the big city, and glad to have a place for coffee and a chat.
He couldn't charge them high prices to make the place self
funding.
'Can you do a dance or a nightclub or something?' Johnny
suggested.
'Aw, come on, Johnny, it hardly goes with the wholesome
image, does it?'
'I didn't mean a strip club.' Johnny was offended.
'No, I know you didn't, but judging by what nearly knocks my eyes out going along that street, we wouldn't be out of
place.'
'There must be something,' Johnny said, refusing to be
beaten.
'Lord, it was nearly easier back in Rossmore, where people
would say that we should all go up to the Holy Well and ask
St Ann what to do.'
'But I thought you left to get away from all that?' Johnny
was puzzled.
'I did, but like everyone, I'm beginning to wonder was there
something in it? They all came back from that mad well
delighted with themselves.'
'She told them what to do?'
'She planted the seeds in their heads, apparently. Don't get
me started.'
'And what does Father Tomasz think?'
'Ah, Father Tomasz. Nicest man that ever wore shoe
leather. Mad about the bloody well. It's going stronger than
ever. People want to get married there and all!' Brian stopped
talking. 'God Almighty!' he said suddenly.
'What is it?' Johnny thought something was wrong.
'God - that's the solution. We can have weddings at the
centre. I'll marry them first in the chapel, or Tomasz can come

up and do the Polish ones, and then we give them a wedding
breakfast in the hall. What a fantastic bloody idea!'

Clara was holding her breath about Linda. She had been to
Nick's club twice. He had been to her record shop almost
every day. He had said she was a genius and what's more he
had told the boss that he was mad not to take her on full-time.
Linda had thought about it for six minutes and said that
was fine with her. A proper salary and a budget for promotion.
'What will you promote?' the boss had asked her, not unreasonably.
'Your
store and its fine support for Irish or visiting jazz
artists. You could even have a happy hour on Thursdays at late
opening, get somebody to play, bring in the punters.'
The boss listened with interest. He had thought she was a
silly, brainless blonde with long legs who would stay for three
weeks. Now she was planning on running an empire.

Hilary was also holding her breath. Nick had got a haircut. He
had smartened himself up considerably. He had asked Hilary
did she know of any hall he could rent; a place to give a music
class. Lovely as home was, it wasn't the place to hold a big
class with twenty people. He had been talking to somebody
who had said it made more sense to teach twenty kids four
chords all at the same time for a series of six Saturdays at an
agreed fee. Somebody had also told him that he was nearly
thirty and it was time he made people aware of how good he
was. Since Hilary had been telling him the same thing for
twenty years, she gasped in disbelief to think that somebody -- who happened to be Clara's daughter - had been able to make
him listen.
Linda had stopped wearing those ludicrously short skirts
and high boots. Nick had bought a sweater that wasn't full of
holes with threads running loose. Linda didn't talk much

about Nick at home. Nick didn't speak of her to his mother.
But at the heart clinic two middle-aged women talked about
them all the time and were once even seen doing a little dance
around Clara's desk.

On the Wednesday of the Greek feast, the twins came round
early to Molly Carroll's.
'A lot of it is in the presentation . . .' Maud began.
'The way you lay the dishes out,' Simon added.
'We brought these little pottery plates . . .'
'So we can display the meze . . .'
'And we are giving the plates to Fiona . . .'
'And you and Declan too . . .'
Molly felt dizzy listening to them. You had to turn your
head left and right as if you were watching a tennis match. But
they were completely delightful and chattered on as if she was
their oldest friend.
Their conversation was filled with people she had never
heard of: this Vonni, and Andreas, and Andreas's brother
Yorghis and the local doctor, Dr Leros, who had taken bits of
broken plate out of Simon's feet when he had danced too
enthusiastically in a restaurant. And all the time they talked
they were decorating the table with bowls of olives, flat pitta
bread, plates of hummus and taramasalata and things like
squid that Molly wondered if she would ever be able to eat.
They had made what looked like an ordinary shepherd's pie
but called it moussaka and filled it with evil-looking purple
vegetables; a Greek salad of tomatoes, cucumber and feta
cheese stood on the sideboard and a dessert which looked like
sheets of brown paper with almonds and honey.
Molly sighed. She could have done such a good joint - nice
normal food -- not all these silly little bowls. Paddy would
have given her the best loin of lamb or rib of beef from the
butchery department where he worked. But these children's

uncle or grandfather or whatever he was, Muttie, was important
in Paddy's life and they had become obsessed by this
celebration.
Molly was getting better about sitting back and letting
other people get on with things. It hadn't been easy. For
years she had been running this house herself as well as working
in the launderette. Every morning she had ironed one shirt
for Paddy, one for Declan. She had been home to welcome
them with their supper. But everything had changed.
Declan spent most of his free time with Fiona now. And she
was such a good girl, too. Totally mad about Declan of course,
and good for him too. He had much more confidence these
days. And Fiona made everyone laugh. She went off with
Paddy and Muttie and drank pints in their pub; she had taken
Molly herself off to the zoo for a great day and Fiona had
talked to everyone and they spent hours looking at the exotic
birds and went nowhere near the lions.
So, if Fiona liked all this greasy food served in tiny dishes,
then why not? Molly would join in. She was wearing her smart
new tartan dress and tried desperately to understand the
ramifications of the people the twins were talking about.
'Of course Adoni says our tomatoes are wrong for the horiatiki salad but . . .'
'But Vonni said that Irish tomatoes are fine if you brush a
little honey over them . . .'
'It's a kind of creative thing to do, making a meal . . .'
Simon seemed surprised by the thought.
'Molly knows this. She's been making Paddy and Declan
meals for years.' Maud was more tactful.
Molly let it all wash over her until she heard the key turn in
the lock. Declan and Fiona were home. They had picked
Paddy up at the pub. The feast could now begin.
The twins carefully explained every dish as if they had
invented it. The Carrolls listened, entranced, as the twins

told of the midnight cafe, the market in the square, of the
crowds that came up every night to Andreas, how Simon and
Maud had worked there at night as well as in Vonni's shop
during the day. Adoni had even organised a truck that left the
square every hour to ferry people up and back.
'Oh, they're not nearly as tough now as they were in my
day. We had to haul ourselves up there all by ourselves!' Fiona
said.
'Was your day a long time ago?' Simon asked.
Fiona waited politely for Maud to finish the sentence, but
Maud was uncharacteristically looking down at the tablecloth.
'Oh, yes, sorry, we weren't to talk about your day,' Simon
said, remembering.
'It's just that Vonni said it wasn't the best of times for you,'
Maud said.
'No, it wasn't, but the place was terrific and even though I
was being very foolish over a fellow at the time, I met a lot of
good friends, and I'm thrilled that you met some of them too.'
So it hadn't been a disaster after all. Simon let his breath
out slowly. 'Oh, they were wonderful people and we'll never
be able to thank you enough for introducing us,' he said.
'I heard you were great workers and great company. She
misses your chats,' Fiona said.
'We showed her how to text but I don't think it's going to
be her thing.'
'No, I can't see her doing it,' Fiona agreed.
'But she is thinking of coming to your wedding,' Maud
said.
'We haven't actually set the date yet,' Declan pointed out.
'We said it wasn't definite . . .' Simon said.
'. . . but it would probably be before the end of the summer
. . .' Maud explained.
'. . . while the good weather is still here . . .'
'. . . and the days are longer.'

'Great,' Fiona said, laughing. 'You seem to have covered all
the main points, and do you think she'll come?'
'She wasn't going to and we told her that you considered
her a great friend . . .'
'. . . and that friendship should never be one-sided . . .'
'. . . and she saw the sense of that.'
'She does know how to get cheap flights online . . .'
'We went down to the Aghia Anna Beach Hotel and
showed her how to get online. The manager says he'll boot
her up.'
'So there shouldn't be any problem.'
'And of course, it sorted out our career,' Simon said.
'We know now what we want to do,' Maud said.
'And what's that exactly?' Declan asked.
'We are going to be in the catering industry,' Simon said
proudly as if he was about to open his restaurant that night.

Fiona told Ania all about the Greek feast the next day as they
were getting the treatment rooms ready.
'They sound wonderful,' Ania said.
'It's better than being at a play, watching them. They've
decided to go into catering and they're going to do some kind
of night lectures and then learn all that can be taught while
actually on the job. Their cousin-in-law runs this company,
Scarlet Feather, and they're going to get some practice there.'
'Scarlet Feather! It is the catering company that is doing the
food for Carl's parents' ruby wedding!' Ania was pleased to be
part of things.
'Well, you might even meet them there or maybe it's too
important a do for them to let Maud and Simon loose on it.'
'Oh, I haven't been invited,' Ania said.
'But you will be. You're Carl's girlfriend.'
'I am Carl's friend, yes, and I am a girl, yes, but I am not a

girlfriend,' Ania said. 'I do not want to raise my hopes too
high.'
'But he comes in to teach you English once a week. He
always talks to you when he's here with his father. You and he
have been to art galleries and museums and the theatre.' Fiona
was confused.
'That's only to make me less stupid. Less thick,' Ania said.
Fiona suddenly wished that Declan hadn't said that they
would go to this bloody party. If Ania wasn't there it would be
like an act of betrayal. Then on her way out to lunch, Fiona
saw Carl Walsh coming in. She debated asking him whether
or not Ania was being invited to the ruby wedding. But suppose
the answer was no? Anyway, she mustn't try to play God.
It wasn't her business.

'What will people give to your parents as gifts on their ruby
wedding day?' Ania asked Carl.
'Red glass, apparently. Some of them are getting together in
groups. There's going to be a Bohemian glass decanter and six
wine glasses - that's from one group. Red coffee cups from
another. And another are getting two huge salad bowls. It's all
nonsense really - they have enough dishes and glass to last
them the rest of their lives.'
'Perhaps their friends want to celebrate,' Ania suggested.
'You live in a happier, more honest world,' Carl said to her.
'This is all to show off the house, the caterers, the view, everything.'
'But
people will have a good time? Yes?'
'Er . . . well . . . you will have a good time, I hope . . .'
'I am to be invited?' Ania's eyes were bright with excitement.
'Of
course. You're my great friend, aren't you?'
'I will receive an invitation, like the other guests?'

'Yes, if you want one, Ania, but I always assumed you were
going to come. I can't do it without you.'
'Thank you so much, Carl, I was afraid, well, you
know ... I didn't really think . . .'
'Just think how miserable I would be there if I didn't have
you to talk to.'
'But you will need to be talking with your parents' friends,
passing the drinks, making the conversation.'
'Just making conversation, not the conversation . . .' He always corrected her gently and she tried hard to remember
each time.
'It will be wonderful,' she said happily. 'I will make good
conversation to people and I will dress well to do you credit.'
'You couldn't not do me credit,' he said and he looked at
her for a long time over their tomato sandwich until eventually
he broke the moment and got out the English grammar
book to carry on where they had left off last time.

The days passed quickly then. Ania got yet one more job. She
needed extra money to pay for her dress. Not one cent of her
savings would be taken from the fund she was building up for
her Mamusia.
While clearing tables and collecting glasses, she came across
a Chinese man who was offering a boy the chance to work
four hours a week helping to weed and replant window-boxes
in a big apartment block. The boy said the hours didn't suit,
so Ania offered to do it. She was astounded at the luxury of
these sea-view apartments as she went in and out of the lavish
places. It wasn't far from where the Walshes lived. In fact she
passed their house every time she went out that way to the
tree-lined roads of the coast.
She wore cheap cotton gloves and covered her hands in
Vaseline. Yes, it was a job, and a good one, but she didn't want
to go to this great party with rough hands full of earth and

soil. The Chinese man, whose name was Mr Chen, was silent
and helpful. She learned quickly, turning the soil, feeding the
plants and replacing those that had been allowed to die of
neglect. She also had a tin of white paint to touch up the
window-boxes where they were showing wear and tear.
Ania looked in wonder at the stylish furnishings in the
apartments: the elegant chairs and the padded window seats,
where the owners could sit and look out at the sea. It was a
different world from her own. When she woke up in her flat
she saw rooftops from the small window. There were no
window-boxes, no wide marble stairs with great fern planters
on the landings. But Ania hadn't any sense of envy. All these
people, or at least their parents, must have worked hard to get
such great wealth. It was open to anyone who might work.
And then Barbara and Fiona took her to their favourite
thrift shops to find something to wear for the party. They
moved confidently through the rails of clothes, offering a
garment here and there. But Ania shook her head. They were
too short, too tight, too revealing. Too much like the clothes
that Marek had wanted her to wear in the Bridge Cafe to
attract the clients to come and dance. She just shook her head.
'God, if I looked like you, I'd wear that,' Barbara said,
looking admiringly at a black leather dress with metal decorations.
'Why
don't you wear it?' Ania asked.
'Because I couldn't squeeze my huge bosoms into it.'
'I would so love to have huge bosoms,' Ania said.
'It's a known fact that no woman is satisfied with the size of
her breasts,' Fiona said sagely.
'But you, Fiona? You don't want different bosoms surely?'
Ania was startled.
'Indeed I do, and so does everyone in this shop. But the
main thing is not to spend any time worrying about it. What
about this red dress? It would look terrific on you.'

m

'It has no sleeves and I have arms like the little matchsticks.'
'Do you know what would be lovely?' Barbara was thoughtful.
'If we could just find someone who can sew, they could
put lovely lacy sleeves on to that red dress and it would be
perfect.'
'Sew? I can sew,' Ania said.
And soon they had found an old lace blouse which Ania
said would be child's play to unpick to make sleeves for the
dress.
'We'll knock that awful Mrs Walsh's eyes right into the
back of her head,' Fiona said, triumphantly.
'No, no. Don't say that. She has been kind. She invited me.'
Ania would not be brought down. This had been a wonderful
visit. The cost had been tiny. Ania still had money for a hairdo.
Things were really looking up.

Dearest Mamusia,
It is i a. m. and I am sewing lace sleeves on to a red dress. I
wish I were with you and you could show me how to make the
best use of the material I have.
You know this nice young man called Carl who help me to
learn English, I have often written to you about him, his
father is a patient here at the clinic; well, his parents are forty
years married which is a ruby wedding and they have invited
me to their house, which is a big white mansion near the sea
coast. And I have been asked to the celebration. It's very
exciting and I will tell you all about it. Say a prayer for me so
that I don't do anything foolish and silly.
Father Flynn is doing up the hall where I made the
curtains and tablecloths. He thinks we might have weddings
there. A Polish priest will come to do the marriage service and
we will provide the food and entertainment. Perhaps if one
day I marry an Irish man, the wedding will be there and you

and Mrs Zak and everyone can come from Poland to dance at
the wedding feast. But I do not think it will happen soon.
I love you always and think of you every day.
Your fond daughter,
Ania

Cathy and Tom looked around the house. It was as airy and
elegant as they would have expected from the outside. But
they were more interested in working out the technicalities:
where to park the catering vans so that they were not too
obvious; where they would set up the bar; would the guests
have their drinks out on the big balcony; which room to set
up the coat rails. They checked the power points and the
cloakrooms.
Mrs Walsh was a sharp-faced woman with a slight whine in
her voice. 'How many staff will you have?' Her husband was
in a chair with a stick beside him; he was so full of smiles and
enthusiasm, it almost made up for the wife.
'We will both be here with a barperson and a waiter and
also you will be glad to know we have two trainees, excellent
young people, so they will be here as back-up.' Cathy managed
to be both calming and efficient, but Rosemary Walsh
was determined to find fault.
'We thought we were paying for a professional service.' The
whine in her voice had become more pronounced.
'And indeed we will offer you a highly professional service,
Mrs Walsh. The Mitchell twins will be here to observe: they
will stay in the background, take coats, help with parking.
Very often a hostess likes extra hands to pass around canapes
at the start of an evening to break the ice. We thought you
would be delighted to have two extra people at no extra cost.'
Rosemary Walsh felt she was being corrected, very politely,
but it annoyed her.

'Yes, well, it's just this is the last big party we will have,' she
began.
'Oh, never say that, Mrs Walsh. There's the golden wedding,
and then you might have a wedding in the family, a
christening. There's always a reason for a party.'
'I doubt if we'll see our fiftieth, Ms Feather, and we only
have a son, so any wedding will be his bride's department -- if he ever finds a bride. So let's concentrate heavily on the party
in hand.'
'Indeed, and it will be a pleasure to help at such a happy
occasion,' said Cathy Feather, soothingly. She wondered over
and over how it was that women like this often ended up with
kind men and huge houses and enough money to host a party
for seventy people. In several years of catering, it was a thought
that had crossed her mind more than once.

Simon and Maud tried on their uniform: the shirts with
Scarlet Feather on them; smart black trousers. They were told
they must have very clean nails and Maud's hair must be
tied well back. They stood and watched in the kitchen as the
canapes were assembled. Over and over they repeated what
each one contained.
'This is a shortcrust pastry boat with asparagus and a
hollandaise sauce,' Maud pronounced.
'These are choux pastry with a slice of rare beef and served
with a horseradish and cream sauce,' Simon said.
'Suppose someone asks you what's in a Kir Royale?' Cathy
asked. They looked at each other blankly.
'I'd say we'd ask the barperson,' Maud said.
'I'd say it was a mystery ingredient,' Simon said firmly.
'Wiser to know what it is,' Cathy suggested. 'Here, look at
these bottles: this is Creme de Cassis, and this is an inferior
champagne.'
'But we don't tell them it's inferior, do we?' Maud asked.

'No, indeed, you do not. I think you two will be great. Tom
and I will have to watch out for our own business when you
get started . . .' And the twins grinned at the compliment.

On the day of the ruby wedding, the weather was perfect. A
warm day with a little breeze coming in from the sea.
'Didn't we make a wise choice all those years ago, Rosemary?'
Bobby Walsh said as he gave her a ruby necklace.
'Yes, we did, Bobby.' And for once her voice was soft.
Carl was coming to take them both out for a light lunch in
a smart place. These catering people seemed to know what
they were doing, even though that woman had a bit too much
attitude. Rosemary's hairdresser was coming to the house at
three o'clock. It was all going according to plan.

Other people were getting ready for the party too. Fiona and
Declan were doing a fashion parade for Molly. Declan was
wearing his very smart jacket, dark green and well cut. Fiona
looked very chic in her own outfit. It was a very bright orange
and red silk dress worn with a demure black jacket. Ania had
been able to make her a matching silk flower to pin on the
jacket. It looked like a designer outfit.
'The shoes will crucify me but it'll be worth it,' she said.
'Why not wear ones you're more comfortable in?' Declan
suggested, but his mother and girlfriend didn't even dignify
this with an answer.
Then their taxi arrived and they set off to pick up Ania. She
said she would be standing on the corner of her street.
When the taxi drove around the corner they saw a little
crowd. Johnny was there; a priest, whom they had met briefly,
was part of the group; Ania's friend Lidia and Tim the security
man. She was getting a great send-off.
She looked stunning with her shiny black hair, her dancing
eyes and the red dress which fitted her like a glove. The long

lacy sleeves looked as if they were part of a high-fashion
statement. This girl shouldn't be scrubbing floors, Fiona
thought, she was so talented. Please let it be a good night for
her. Let the awful Rosemary not say anything unforgivable.

Nick and Linda were going to be on a radio talk show on
the night of the Walshes' party. Clara had invited Hilary to
supper. Since the young lovers would be safely in the radio
studio, the women could afford to have an evening together
without arousing any suspicion.
They tuned the radio to the right station and Clara grilled
them some salmon and served it with green beans.
'Lord, wouldn't Lavender be proud of us,' Hilary said.
'Yes, she would, until she saw the rum babas in the fridge
for dessert,' Clara agreed. They were on the coffee stage when
their children came on air in a discussion about great jazz
classics. They talked easily and unaffectedly, sharing their enthusiasms
and firing people up to go to jazz clubs and visit
record stores.
Linda spoke easily about the live performances on Thursday
nights, and mentioned that Nick would be playing some
evergreens at the store next week.
'That's cosy,' the interviewer said, 'is that how you two
met?'
'We would always have met,' Nick said with certainty.¦
Clara and Hilary looked at each other in shock. They would_
have met anyway? Like hell they would.
But again the two women vowed that they would never
reveal their secret.

That night, as Brian Flynn, Johnny, Tim and Lidia waved
Ania off in her finery to the party, they knew that one of them
would suggest a pint. It turned out to be the priest.
'I have something which needs to be sorted,' he said.

They followed him willingly into Corrigans.
'What's the problem?' Tim asked.
'I am. I am always the problem.' Brian Flynn was gloomy.
'Go on out of that, Brian, you're usually the solution rather
than the cause.' Johnny was strong in defence of his friend.
'Not this time. I was so thrilled with the notion of having
weddings to pay for the centre, I went at it like a bull but there
are all sorts of problems. You need a licence for this and a
permit for that and Health and Safety. The whole thing is
a nightmare. There's people leaping out of the woodwork
shouting "no way" before you even get to first base.'
He looked like an injured bloodhound as he gripped his
glass, lines of disappointment etched into his face.
'Can't you rent it out privately? Wouldn't that get round
it?' Tim was trying to help.
'No, there's a book full of rules about that, and a heavy
shadow of insurance looming over it all. We couldn't ask
people in to have their wedding if we weren't insured.'
'Remember your friend James, the calm person?' Lidia
asked. 'When we had that other problem he was terrific. He
brought out a pad of paper and put down all the possibilities.'
'We could do that I suppose,' Johnny suggested.
'We're not good at it, we get distracted,' Tim said.
Brian took out his mobile phone.
'James, I know life would be easier for you if I quit the
Church entirely, but we'd love you to come and have a pint
and help us see things clearly.'
'Another stalker?' James asked.
'No, nothing like that, but we need the cool approach.'
'Usual pub?'
'Yeah, at the back.'
'I'll be there in thirty minutes,' said James.
'Let's raise a toast to Ania,' Lidia said.
'She'll be fine,' said Johnny, who couldn't understand why

Ania was getting dressed up and braving the horrific Rosemary
Walsh in her lair.

The first people they saw when they went into the party were
Simon and Maud, immaculate in their Scarlet Feather uniform
and holding trays of canapes.
Maud stepped forward as if she had never met Declan and
Fiona in her life. 'Might I offer you a quail's egg? There's a
little celery salt for dipping.'
'Or perhaps some artichoke heart with a cheese sauce?'
Simon added.
Fiona wanted to laugh out loud, but she knew they all had
to play roles.
'Thank you so much, it all looks quite superb,' Fiona said,
but she managed a wink and a thumbs-up sign as well.
'Isn't this an enormous house,' Ania whispered to her.
'Far too big for the three of them,' Fiona said.
'But it's their family home.' Ania was defending Carl's family.
She was clutching the beautifully wrapped gift of a little
red glass jam dish. A perfect gift for the occasion.
Fiona hoped that Rosemary would be gracious and thank
her properly, but hadn't much hope. She had tried to persuade
Ania to leave her gift in the front room with the other parcels,
but no, she was determined to hand it over herself. 'This place
is so unsuitable. It's full of stairs and steps. Bobby needs somewhere
flat for heaven's sake,' she couldn't help observing.
'Maybe one day,' Ania said.
'Lady Rosemary leave this palace? Never. Come on, Ania,
let's explore.'
'I don't like to push myself forward.'
'Have one of those quail's eggs, Ania, it will be a long time
before any of us sees those again. Then we'll go out on to the
balcony and look at the view.'
Declan was talking about rugby to a man in a corner and

seemed well settled in. Carl was on the other side of the room.
He waved to them but implied that he was stuck where he was
for a while. Fiona gently guided Ania out on to the broad balcony
where patio heaters dealt with the evening breeze coming
up from the huge bay below them.
Groups of middle-aged, well-dressed, highly vocal people
were pointing in wonder at the various landmarks they could
see. That was the church, that was the town centre. The harbour
was around the corner where there was a luxury liner
moored in the bay. What a place to live. Rosemary Walsh's
heart must have been gladdened by all the admiration and
envy.
Rosemary was moving towards them.
Suddenly Fiona wanted to be miles from here. She couldn't
bear to see this woman talking down to Ania, dismissing her
beautiful dress, barely thanking her for the little red glass jam
dish.
'Look at those apartments over there. I do their window
boxes,' Ania said. 'I go there with Mr Chen and last week we
put in lots of bedding plants. I can almost see them from here.
I must tell him.'
Everyone else was wondering how much the Walsh house
was worth and whether they would get planning permission to
build a block of apartments in their grounds, but Ania was
pointing proudly to her work, tending window-boxes.
Fiona slipped across the room. Ania was happy to look out
at the view. Imagine, Carl had grown up here and known this
all his life.
Rosemary hadn't recognised the girl in the striking designer
dress standing in the sunset on the balcony. She must be somebody's
daughter. She approached and realised it was Ania. She
looked at her, dumbfounded. This was the Polish maid from
the clinic.

'Ah, Mrs Walsh, may you and Bobby have many returns of
this day. I have brought you a little ruby wedding present.'
Rosemary steadied herself from the shock by holding on to
a small table.
'I hope it will be useful to you.' Ania's face did not reveal
that she had spent a week's earnings on this gift.
'How good of you to come, Ania,' she said in a slightly
choked voice.
Ania saw, with disappointment, that she had taken the gift
then put it down on the table and showed no sign of opening
it. Possibly Fiona had been right: she should have left it with
the other presents in the front room.
'What a beautiful house you have, Mrs Walsh.'
'Thank you, yes. Well, it was very good of you to come.
You're a very helpful girl, they all tell me.'
'That's nice to hear!' Ania felt her face go pink with pleasure.
'So
I suggest you give them a hand in the kitchen,'
Rosemary Walsh said.
'The kitchen?' Ania was startled.
'Yes, out that way, towards the back.' Mrs Walsh was shepherding
her out.
Ania didn't want to leave the little glass dish on the table.
'Your present, Mrs Walsh?' she said, trying to reach for it.
'Go on, dear, don't keep them waiting. They're dying for
some help.'
'Help?' Ania was bewildered.
'Washing up, dear. Hurry now.'
This couldn't be right. She had a printed invitation. Nobody
could have thought she was coming to do the washing
up. Is this what Carl had meant when he said that naturally
she would be at his parents' party? That he couldn't do it
without her? He had meant she would be working in the
kitchen?

She felt she had no choice but to do as she was told.
There was nobody in the kitchen. The waiters were all out
serving the buffet. Some glasses had been brought back and
the coloured plates and trays which had held the canapes were
on the table.
Sadly, Ania filled a sink with soapy water and began to wash
the glasses. She was polishing them by the time a tall young
woman came in.
'Hi, I'm Cathy,' she said. 'Who are you?'
Tm Ania,' she said in a low voice.
'And what are you doing washing the dishes?'
'I am helping you.'
'No, no. We stack all these in racks and put them into our
van, they get washed back at base.'
'But Mrs Walsh said--'
'Mrs Walsh is a horse's ass!' Cathy said.
'A what?'
'It doesn't matter.'
Just then a tall, handsome man came into the kitchen.
Cathy spoke to him. She sounded very angry.
'Tom, this is Ania. That cow sent her in here to do the
washing-up.'
Ania was upset to have caused all this trouble. 'You see I
thought I was a guest but actually I was the help,' she said.
Tom and Cathy exchanged looks.
'We'll get you back into that room at once!' Cathy said.
'No, please, please don't upset Mrs Walsh any more. I have
already annoyed her by coming here. Her son invited me and I
must have misunderstood.'
'Where's the son? I'll find him.' Tom was all action.
'I beg you not to,' Ania said. 'Really, I am begging you on
my knees. It would make everything so much worse. Just let
me stay here. I can put the plates into the racks if you show
me.' She was holding Cathy's arm as she spoke.

'But her son? Your friend?' Cathy said.
'. . . would think I am even more stupid than I am. I am
happy to help here and then I will go away.'
Her beautiful lace sleeves were all wet and soapy from
washing up.
'This is all wrong,' Tom said.
'Sometimes that's the way things are. All wrong,' Ania said.

Fiona looked around for Ania and couldn't see her. She must
have gone to the Ladies room or maybe she had found Carl.
But no, Carl was there chatting away to a group. He came to
greet Fiona.
'Where's Ania?' he asked.
'I left her out on the balcony,' Fiona said and they went
back out together to look. But there was no sign of her.
'She's looking terrific. She could be a model,' Fiona said.
'She's very beautiful, yes.' Carl was straining to see where
she could be. Suddenly Fiona saw the small, unopened gift on
a side table.
'This is where she must have been standing after I left her.
I'll take the parcel in case she wasn't able to deliver it properly.
Let's find Declan and go and see if we can find her.' But Ania
was nowhere to be found.
Eventually Carl and Fiona went into the kitchen. Tom and
Cathy were supervising the lobster and salmon buffet and
preparing to wheel it into the main room. The twins were
carrying the trays round. The bar waiter was opening two
kinds of wine and the waitress was laying out the plates and
cutlery.
The party was in full swing.
There would be no speeches and no cake. Rosemary had
read that such things were vulgar and nouveau riche. Bobby
had wanted to tell everyone how happy they had been but she

had won that battle. Much more sophisticated to let people see their happiness rather than braying about it.
'Can I help you?' Cathy had quite liked the young man at
first, but now she felt only scorn for him.
'I was just looking for a friend,' he said.
'Ania?'
'Yes, yes,' he answered quickly. 'Is she all right?'
'I think so. Yes.'
'But where is she? I've been looking for her all over.'
'She's gone home,' Tom said.
'But was she sick? Is she okay?'
Cathy shrugged. 'Not particularly now. She ruined her
dress doing the washing-up.'
'What the hell was she doing the washing-up for?' His face
was very angry.
'Your mother asked her to help us. It wasn't necessary but
then a taxi came with more ice and we sent her home in that.'
No, no. She can't have gone home. My mother surely never
asked her . . .'
'Oh, she did, Mr Walsh,' Cathy said. 'And Ania didn't
want us to call you,' she added.

'I am going to go into that room and punch Rosemary's lights
out!' Fiona said. 'Okay, Carl, so she is your mother, but this
really is going too far.'
His face was like stone. 'No need. I'll do it myself,' he said.
'Carl?' Fiona was nervous now.
'Not physically. Relax.'
'There are still people there. Maybe you should sort of wait.'
'Go home now, Fiona. Take Declan with you. Make a big
fuss about how late it is. That's what would help.'
'Don't forget that your father--'
'I won't forget that. Please, Fiona, go.'
She and Declan stood in the hall shouting goodbye to

people until finally the remaining guests realised that the party
was over.
The Scarlet Feather vans had been stacked and were revving
up to leave. Maud and Simon waved excitedly from the front
seat. Declan's taxi was waiting.
'Was it a good night?' the taxi driver asked.
'No, it was shitty, actually,' Fiona said.
'Oh well, you can't win them all,' the driver said, shrugging-
This
smartly dressed young couple, going to a party at
a house that was worth at least three million and they still couldn't enjoy themselves. That was life in modern Ireland for
you.

Ania was so grateful to the kind catering people who had got
her out the back door so quickly and without fuss. Apparently
there had been some misunderstanding, where they thought
the Walshes were arranging the ice, and the Walshes thought
that Scarlet Feather was doing it. Cathy had cut through any
problems by ordering a taxi to deliver four bags of it.
It hadn't been the only misunderstanding that night.
How could she have been so foolish, Ania wondered, as she
sat in the back of the taxi. Carl was just being nice giving her
an invitation. They had always meant for her to come and
help. Her face burned with the shame of it all.
The taxi pulled up in her street and she got out. 'Are you
sure I don't have to pay you?' she asked fearfully.
'No, they pay by the month. You're all right.'
Please may there be no one around, Ania prayed. Everyone
in the cafe knew she was going to this party. She had shown
them her outfit only a few hours ago. She managed to slip
through the door and up the stairs without catching anyone's
eye. The flat was dark and quiet. Ania lay down on her bed
and let the tears come. She sobbed until her ribs ached. Then


she stood up and took off her new dress. She put it on a
hanger, the sleeves, of course, totally ruined. When she felt
strong enough she would take them out, but now she had
other things to do.
She dressed in her jeans, sweater and anorak then took out a
big plastic wallet of money from under her mattress. She
looked through the bundles of euros with unseeing eyes.

The last guest had gone. Carl helped his father get up from his
armchair. Carl looked at the long, curving staircase. It would
be a challenge.
'Would you like to sleep downstairs, Dad, rather than
facing that journey up?'
'You know, I would, son.' Bobby Walsh had a sofa-bed in
his small study den, near the kitchen. It seemed very tempting.
'I'll run up for your pyjamas and dressing gown.'
Rosemary Walsh was touring the house, peering behind
objects in case glasses or cutlery had been overlooked. She examined
the kitchen carefully. They had been true to their
word these caterers -- everything was left in pristine condition.
The unused food had been wrapped, labelled and installed
in either fridge or freezer. She jumped when Carl spoke right
beside her.
'Mother, can you come into the front room, please, I want
to talk to you.'
'Can't we talk here?'
'No, Dad is sleeping in the study and I don't want to
disturb him.'
'You shouldn't encourage him to take the easy option. He'll
never get better if he doesn't make an effort.'
'The other room, Mother.'
Rosemary shrugged.
Carl sat on a tall chair.
'That's not very comfortable.'

'I don't feel very comfortable,' he said.
'What is it, Carl? We're all tired. Can't it wait until tomorrow?
The party went well, didn't it?'
He said nothing.
'I mean, they were expensive, those Scarlet Feather people,
but they did deliver. And I"suppose they were polite to the
guests, even if a little lacking in charm to those who actually
pay them.'
'They brought enough staff then?'
'Yes, they had two odd young people who were apparently
trainees. We didn't have to pay for them, and do you
know, they turned out to be relations of the Mitchells, the law
family.'
'So there were plenty of hands on deck?'
'Yes. I think it worked fine. Don't you think so?'
'So there was no need for anyone else to help?'
Rosemary hadn't got the drift. 'No. Why?'
'I was just wondering why you asked Ania to go into the
kitchen and help with the washing-up?'
'Oh dear, is she bleating about that? I just asked her to give
them a little hand.'
'Why did you ask her to do that?'
'Because she would have felt more at ease in the kitchen,
darling. Carl, I know you're very much for all people everywhere
being equal, but she's a little Polish maid. She's here for
a couple of years to make a few euros then go back. That's
what she is, she knows that's what she is. She was perfectly
happy to lend a hand with the washing-up.'
'But you didn't ask any of your other guests to help in the
kitchen?'
'Carl, please, be sensible.'
'I am being sensible. She was a guest. My guest. I never got
to see her because you had her out there working for you

when you admit that you had plenty of people working there
already.'
'Listen, she was out of place.'
'She was not out of place. She had a beautiful dress. She had
a new hairstyle. She had spent over a week's wages getting you
a present . . .'
'Oh, God, she did give me a package. Where is it? I don't
know where it ended up.'
'And your thanks for all this was to send her out to the
kitchen because she would feel more at home there.'
'Come on, Carl, I was being kind to her.'
'No, Mother, you were never kind to anyone. You were
never kind to Dad or to me, and particularly never kind to
anyone that you thought you might conceivably be able to
boss around.'
'I know you have kindly feelings towards her, Carl, but this
cannot be. She's from a different world. They work very hard,
I know, but they're not like us.'
'Please stop, right now!'
'I mean it. You have so many friends, you could have so
many more. This girl is nothing to you.'
'I am very fond of her. In fact, I believe I love her.'
'You believe!' his mother scoffed.
'Yes, I believe, because I'm not sure. I'm not at all sure
about love. Father loves you deeply. I don't know why. So I've learned nothing about love from him. You only love possessions.
You don't love people, so what could I have learned
from you?'
Rosemary looked alarmed. 'You can't love this girl, Carl.
You're sorry for her. You must know that. She would hold you
back totally.'
'From what?'
'From a normal social life like tonight. She wouldn't be able
to cope, learn our ways.'

'And your way to help her cope with what you call "our
ways" was to order her out of your party, to which she had
been invited. Would you just listen to yourself for once?'
'I just didn't want anyone being embarrassed. That's all.'
Rosemary was mutinous.
'I am very embarrassed, Mother, more so than I have ever
been in my life.'
'Carl, this is all nonsense. Let's go to bed.'
'I am never sleeping another night in this house,' he said.
'Look, it's just the drink talking.'
'I didn't have any drink. I was too busy being polite to your
friends. People who are old enough to remember going to
England when there were signs in the windows saying "No
Blacks, No Irish". I was talking to a man whose mother was a
maid in Boston and she was sent away from the family where
she worked because she wasn't humble enough. She married a
bank official and helped him climb to run a bank of his own.'
'That's a totally different--'
'It's exactly the same, except it's worse for us. We have
plenty. We have so bloody much in this country and we
should be delighted to see all these new people coming in to
join us. But no, it's a pecking order, isn't it? Even for us, who
were at the bottom of the pecking order until not so long ago.'
Rosemary blazed with anger. 'It's easy for you to have such
high ideals living in a house like this. You've had everything!'
'Not any more, I won't.'
'Oh, stop being so petulant, Carl. If you go now you'll just
be back here tomorrow. Let's not go through the whole silly
process.'
'I will not be back, Mother.'
'Come on, where will you live? You earn practically nothing
at that school. How will you make a living, for God's sake?'
'I earn a teacher's wage. I pay a quarter of it into a bank

account for you and Dad. I have done since I began work. I
won't do it any more when I don't live here. I'll survive.'
Rosemary looked at him. He seemed to mean it.
'What do you think your father and I are doing all this for?'
She waved her hands around the elegant house. 'It's all for you, Carl. Don't throw it back at us! What more do you want?'
'I could have asked you not to throw my friends out of this
home, had I ever known that it would even cross your mind to
do so,' he said.
'Carl, please . . .'
'I'm sorry for you, Mother, I really am.'
He moved to leave the room.
'That's right. Go to bed. We'll all go to bed. It will feel
different in the morning.'
'I don't know how it will feel for you in the morning and I
couldn't care less,' Carl said. He took his car keys from the
drawer in the hall table and ran down the steps.
As Rosemary looked out into the dark she saw him get into
the car he had insisted on buying for himself. She shook her
head. He could be very tiresome, but by this time tomorrow it
would all be over and forgotten.

It was a noisy part of Dublin where Ania lived and even
though it was late at night, there were still cafes and clubs
open. People spoke in many different languages.
Carl didn't even plan what he would say when he found
Ania. There was no need to rehearse how he would apologise
for his appalling mother and explain that he had left home.
Maybe she might even let him stay with her. The important
thing was to find her and to hold her and to stroke her lovely
face and hair.
He knew the address. He hadn't been to her flat but he had
eaten a couple of meals in the restaurant. She had told him
about the different kinds of sausage and they insisted he have a

selection on his plate so that he could choose which he liked
best.
He went into the restaurant and asked, 'Is Ania at home, do
you think?'
'No, she has gone to such a fancy party. She was dressed like
a film star,' said one of the brothers who ran the place.
'She left. I was wondering if perhaps . . .'
'There's Lidia. She will know.'
Lidia was on her mobile phone. She seemed very agitated.
'But of course I'm worried, Tim, she just left a note saying
not to fuss. She would be in touch. But the bad thing is that
she has taken her passport.'

Molly Carroll had a phone call at 8 a.m. to say that
there were three customers standing outside the
launderette and nobody had opened up.
'But Ania's there at seven to open the place up.' Molly was
full of concern.
'She's not there today, Molly.'
So, clucking with disapproval, Molly Carroll left breakfast
set out and bustled off to open the launderette. They depended
on early morning people, knowing they could put in a bag
of clothes in the morning and collect them later the same day.
It was so unlike Ania.

Hilary was listening to the overnight messages on the clinic's
answering machine. They all had to do with being sorry. A
woman had chest pains in the night and had called the
emergency number, but it turned out to be a thing of nothing.
She was sorry for upsetting everyone. A man, who had got the
wrong number, kept explaining that he was sorry to have
missed the appointment but would make it up in spades on
another occasion. And one from Ania saying that there was a
bit of a crisis. She was very sorry indeed and would explain
everything in a few days. She had left the keys to the clinic in

an envelope in the restaurant under her flat. Johnny could
pick them up.
A crisis that was going to last a few days? Ania? Hilary was
very startled.

Lidia and Tim hadn't slept a wink. Where could Ania have
gone? She gave no indication at all.
'I know all her friends,' Lidia said. 'I've tried them all and
no luck.'
'What about Father Flynn?'
'Not a word. He's asking everyone at his centre, but no
word yet.'
'She can't have gone to the airport. It was too late,' Tim
said, mainly to reassure Carl Walsh who was almost mad with
worry and claiming that it was all his fault because he hadn't
been there to meet her and welcome her in. Lidia hadn't
understood the full details of what had gone on at the party
and tried to calm him down.
'It can't have been your fault. She was so pleased to be invited.
And did your mother like her gift?'
'Don't talk to me about the gift!' Carl cried, his face
distraught. 'There must be someone we haven't thought of!'

Fiona came by to tell Declan the news that Ania had disappeared
and together they sat and ate the grapefruit Molly
had left out. It was better than the two fried eggs, sausages and
fried bread she would have insisted on if she'd been there.
They had been talking on the phone to Lidia, Carl, Hilary
and Father Flynn. There was the slight possibility that she
might turn up at the heart clinic but they didn't think it was
likely. They were alarmed when Hilary told them about the
message on the answering machine.
'So should we get the Guards?' Fiona asked.

'She specifically asked Lidia not to make any fuss,' Declan
said.
'But she must have been so upset.'
'I know, Fiona, but what's the point of asking your friends
not to make a fuss if you can't trust them to do what you
ask?'
Fiona looked at him, surprised. 'What kind of a doctor are
you going to be, Declan Carroll?'
'One who takes my patients' wishes seriously.'
'How far would you go down that road?'
'Only time will tell. Time and the knowledge that I will
have a good, wise wife beside me to mark my card. What are
you doing on Saturday? I thought then we might go and look
at rings. I was wondering, would you like an opal?'
'You're not to spend too much on it, Declan. Please - anything
would do me. Honestly. I don't need an expensive ring
-- just to know you love me is enough.'
'It's your birthstone. I thought that was important. Now
let's go and look after sick people. That's what we do.'
He looked so devoted, she felt almost weak. What had she
done to deserve all this love?

Father Brian Flynn discovered a girl who had seen Ania waiting
for an airport bus.
'But there are no planes to Poland at night,' he said.
'I think she was going to London first.'
'But there wouldn't have been planes there until the morning.'
Brian Flynn couldn't believe that the level-headed Ania
had disappeared into thin air.
'I do not know, Father.'
'Of course you don't. I'm just worried, that's all.'
'You would have been more worried if you saw her last
night. She was like a person who had seen something terrible.'

Bobby Walsh came into the kitchen for his breakfast.
'Didn't they leave the place immaculate?' he asked his wife
as he helped himself to tea and toast.
'Yes.' She spoke sharply.
'Where's Carl?'
'He went out last night and he didn't come back.'
'So, he went straight into the school then?'
'I think not. They called here looking for him.' Rosemary
finished her coffee.
'So where is he?' Bobby was alarmed.
'Being deeply silly,' Rosemary said and left the house.
He heard her car starting up and leaving. The car sounded
as angry as she had looked.
Bobby Walsh suddenly felt very lonely in the big house by
the sea.

Clara looked up when Hilary brought in the mug of coffee.
'Where's Ania?'
'Nobody knows,' Hilary said. 'She left an odd message.'
They puzzled over it. Anyone in the clinic could have called
in sick. But not Ania. She would have crawled in, if she had
breath in her body.
'Is it love, do you think?' Clara asked.
'Well, yesterday she was all sunshine. She was going to a
ruby wedding at Bobby Walsh's. She's very fond of Bobby's
son Carl.'
'I wish her luck dealing with that Rosemary.'
'No. She was mad about Rosemary. Rosemary had sent her
an invitation, apparently, and Ania had bought a lovely little
red glass dish for her.'
'Maybe the Walshes know where she is.'
'I don't fancy making the call, Clara.'
'All right, cowardy-custard. I'll do it.'

'Hello, Bobby. Clara Casey from the heart clinic here. No, no,
nothing to do with your tests, you're doing fine. No, oddly it
was something else entirely. I was wondering if you had seen
our Ania? You see, she was going to your house last night to
an anniversary party. No? Oh, I think she was there. No, of
course, with so many people. I wonder, would Mrs Walsh
recall? Oh, she's gone out? Right . . . Sorry for bothering you,
Bobby. See you next week, as usual. Yes, right, of course we'll
let you know.'
Hilary looked at her questioningly.
'That man Bobby Walsh should be canonised in his own
lifetime. He says he's very sorry, he didn't see Ania last night.
He'd love to have talked to her. No one told him she was there. We're to let him know when she surfaces.'
'If she surfaces,' Hilary said.

Fiona was passing the desk when the phone rang. She picked it
up absently, her mind still on buying an opal ring and what on
earth could have come over Ania. It was Rosemary Walsh.
'Is that Clara?'
'No, Mrs Walsh, it's Fiona.'
'It was actually Ania, the Polish girl, I was looking for.' She
gave a tinkling laugh to underline the unexpected nature of
her call.
'We are all looking for her, Mrs Walsh.'
'What do you mean?' Mrs Walsh sounded alarmed.
'She hasn't been seen since she was sent into your kitchen
last night.'
'Er . . . yes. She's a most helpful girl -- she offered to help
with the washing-up.'
'No. I think you asked her to do the washing-up. She
thought she was a guest.'
'Oh, that's all been cleared up by now.'
'No, it hasn't. She hasn't turned up for work. She's left her

flat. Father Flynn has been looking for her. Carl has been on
the phone every few minutes. I don't think it's been cleared up
at all!'
'Kindly don't take that tone with me, Fiona.'
'I'm not taking any tone, Mrs Walsh, I'm just telling you
that the Guards are being called and they will be here shortly.'
Fiona had the great pleasure of hearing Rosemary Walsh gasp.
It wasn't true about the Guards. But oh, it was worth it just to
hear that intake of breath.

When Ania's bus pulled into her village she got out and went
into Mrs Zak's shop.
'This is a surprise, Ania, does your mother know?'
'No, Mrs Zak - may I make one quick call to Ireland,
please?'
'I was sure you would have a mobile phone like all these
young girls are getting.'
'They are too expensive, Mrs Zak. I will pay you for the
telephone call.'
Mrs Zak watched astounded as Ania seemed to speak in
perfect English into the telephone. She couldn't understand
what the girl was saying but it sounded very fluent. Little Ania,
who had been afraid to lift her eyes to anyone until she met
that troublesome boy Marek. Now look at her! She was
speaking a foreign language as if she were a professor.

Ania spoke to Clara. 'I am so sorry to do something so unexpected
as to run away. You see I made a big mistake. Perhaps
Fiona told you?'
'She did, Ania, and you're not the only one who makes
mistakes with Rosemary Walsh. Her life is one long history of
mistakes.'
'But I embarrassed everyone. Carl must think I am a fool.'
'He is so worried about you, Ania. Every few minutes he

rings to ask have we any news. Perhaps you could telephone
him. He'll be so relieved to know you are all right.'
'No, I can't do that. Please, Clara, perhaps you could ask
Fiona to do it?'
'And when will I say that you're coming back?'
'I have only just got here, Clara, I haven't been to see my
Mamusia yet. I do not know.'
'All right, Ania. Don't sound so worried. Everyone will be
so happy that you are safe. You have many friends here, all
very concerned about you.'
'Thank you, Clara. I am sorry I was such a poor choice of a
worker.'
'You're the best worker we have here. You've been here for
months. You'll always have a place here when you need it.'
Two big tears came down Ania's face. Mrs Zak looked
at her over her glasses. The girl was probably pregnant. Why
had she come back to upset her mother with further bad
news?

The word spread quickly that Ania was back in Poland having
a rest. Clara phoned Carl first and then Frank Ennis in
hospital administration. They would need a temporary replacement.
'Did
she give you adequate notice of her trip to Poland?'
'It was an emergency.' Clara was crisp.
'Well, I'm not expected to find temps in trees,' he said.
'Right, will we appoint our own then?'
'No.' Frank wanted nothing more to escape his grasp.
'Good. We'll see a temporary replacement for Ania tomorrow.'
'For
how long?' Frank asked.
'You will be informed,' Clara said.
'We don't really need a replacement for Ania. We'll all pitch
in,' Hilary said.

'Where is your solidarity and sense of self-worth?' Clara was
shocked. 'If Frank thinks we can manage without Ania then
we'll be managing without her forever. This is just to save her
job.'

'Bobby?'
'Are you home, Rosemary?'
'Yes, of course I am. Is everything all right?'
'I've had nothing but phone calls all day, Rosemary. That
little Ania from the clinic has disappeared. The last anyone
saw of her was here, apparently.'
'I'm sure that's not right.'
'Why didn't you tell me she was here, Rosemary? I'm very
fond of her.'
'You're not the only one,' his wife said.
'What do you mean?'
'Your son has been sniffing after her too.'
'I'm not sniffing after her, Rosemary.'
'No, no, of course you're not. Sorry ... I would have paid
her, Bobby.'
'Sorry? Paid her for what?'
'For working in the kitchen.'
'I thought she was a guest. That's what Clara said. What
Carl said. What Fiona said.'
'When did all these people say these things?' Rosemary
looked drawn and frightened.
'On the phone. Today.'
'She wouldn't have done anything silly, Bobby? Anything
really silly? Would she?' Rosemary looked very worried.
'Why would she have done anything silly?'
Rosemary breathed more easily. He hadn't been told the
whole story.
'Europeans,' she said. 'Very unstable.'

Declan went to a library and looked up opals. There was some
bad luck attached to them, but then there was bad luck attached
to all stones. He found a story about the Spanish King
Alfonso who gave someone an opal and she died, and everyone
who got that opal died. Declan, who was practical, thought
they would have died anyway. People had such a short life
expectancy in those days. He wasn't going to attract Fiona's
attention to it.
He went to the jeweller's and told him the upper limits of
his spending power. The jeweller said he would make up a tray
and see him on Saturday.

The temp they sent was Amy Barry, daughter of Peter, the
pharmacist. Clara looked at her with interest. Amy looked up
from under her dark fringe.
'Oh, it's you,' she said to Clara, without much enthusiasm.
'Very nice to see you again,' Clara said.
'Don't suppose I'll get the job now, I mean, knowing I
worked in a bondage shop. Not much chance for me here.'
'Why not?' Clara seemed to think working in a fetish shop
was fine preparation for a clerical job in a heart clinic.
'Why didn't you marry my dad?' Amy asked with interest.
'He was mad about you.'
'We were too old and set in our ways. It would have been
too much adjustment. Your own romance going well?'
'Fine thanks. You know I always liked you,' Amy said,
refusing to be deflected.
'And I liked you too,' Clara smiled easily.
'But not enough to give me a job?' Amy's fists were ready
for the fight.
'Of course you can have the job, just tell me why you left
the corsets and bondage, and that you do know that when
Ania comes back we have to let you go.'
'The corsets and bondage are bankrupt, and I do understand
about this being just a temp job,' Amy grinned.

'Right. You can start straight away.'
'That's great. Have you any hints for me?'
'Yes - we are united in our hatred of Frank Ennis,' Clara
said. 'You should regard him as the natural enemy of this
clinic and you won't go far wrong.'

Carl Walsh was staying with Aidan and Nora Dunne. They
were very easy company and asked him no interrogating
questions. If they wondered why a man whose parents owned
a seaside mansion wanted to stay on the sofa of a poky little
flat like theirs, they never made any reference to it. There was
such affection in these small rooms compared to the icy-cold
life his mother ran in her mansion. Carl could hardly believe it
was all in the same city.
Aidan and Nora were planning a Sunday lunch party for
Aidan's birthday. Again, Carl was stunned to see how little
money they had and how things had to be considered carefully
before they were bought. A revulsion for the showy anniversary
party came over him. His mother hadn't one ounce of
decency in her. He realised that now. Up to this, he had
blinded himself to her ways, thinking that his father just
needed an easy life. But now Carl realised that he must have
been in denial. Someone should have stood up to Rosemary
Walsh a long time ago.
'Will you join us for the lunch, Carl?' Nora was ever welcoming.
'No
thank you, Nora, I'm not much company these days,
and I will have to go home and collect my things some time.
I'd better do it this weekend.'
'You might even make peace with your parents.' It was the
first time that Nora had mentioned any friction.
'I have always had peace with my father,' Carl said.
'Yes, but women are complicated. We twist things. Get
things wrong . . .'

'You don't.' He spoke simply.
'No, but I see it's upsetting you and I don't like to see you
so down, Carl.' Nora's voice was full of sympathy.
'I am down because I was so stupid. I met a marvellous girl
and I let her get away.'
'Did she like you?'
'I thought so, but I'm such a fool. I'd do anything to have
that night all over again.'
'And where is she now, this marvellous girl?' Nora wanted
to know.
'In a village in the south of Poland. She doesn't want to talk
to me.'
'And when will she be back?'
'They don't think she is coming back.'
'I'm sure she will, Carl. You're a good lad. They're not easy
to find.'
'I'm not a good lad, Nora, I'm a clown.'
'We're all clowns from time to time, believe me. I'm only
sorry you're spoken for. I had such high hopes of you and
Aidan's daughter from his first marriage. Ah well!'

Ania walked up the hill with a heavy heart.

She didn't really believe Clara that lots of people missed
her. But she was back home now, with a bag full of money for
her mother. Hardly an hour had passed when Ania had not
been working. It would all be worth it when she saw her
Mamusia's face take in the amount of the gift.
She hoped that Mamusia would not cry. Ania felt that if she
herself started crying again she might never stop.

Fiona and Declan bent over the rings and tried them on her
finger.
This one had a lovely setting. That one had huge colours in
it whichever way you turned it. Eventually, they picked one
which had three little opals in a line.
'That was the very first one you went for, always a good
sign,' said the young man who sold stones all day and was very
good with the patter.
'And when will the great day be?' he asked, as he polished
the opals one more time.
'Not for ages and ages,' Declan said hastily.
'The end of this summer,' Fiona said.
'That's right, girl. You nail him down,' said the young
jeweller, enchanted with it all.

They went to lunch at Quentins and showed the ring to
Brenda who said all the right things and brought them a glass
of champagne.
Then they rang Fiona's parents and told them that the ring
had been bought. There was huge excitement and they invited
the Carrolls to come for a Chinese take-away that evening.
Fiona wrote emails to Tom and Elsa in California, to David in
England and to Vonni in Greece.
She said she was very happy and that she wanted them all to
meet Declan.
'Why did you change your mind about the timing?' he
asked.
'I think because I saw the mess poor Carl and Ania made of
it all and I didn't want us to get into a scene like that.'
'Where's Carl staying?' Declan asked.
'Don't know. Amazing it took him so long to see through
his mother.'
'He was keeping the peace for his father's sake,' Declan
said.
'You always have the kind word,' Fiona said adoringly,
twisting her finger to admire the ring again.

Dear Fiona,
How great that you are getting married-- congratulations,
and of course I'd love to come. It will be a great chance for a
holiday.
When I sold my father's business my mother was upset, but
now she thinks it's all for the best. I am going to open a
business of my own importing pottery. Maybe I will find some
marvellous Irish things when I am there. You must point me
in the right direction.
It will be magic to see you again and share in your
wedding day. Let's hope Vonni, Tom and Elsa can come too.
Love,
David

Fiona,
Only for you would I take my old bones back to Ireland. I
swore never to go there again, but what you tell me about this
man Declan sounds too good to miss. I did ask Andreas to
come with me, but he says no. He will see all the pictures.
Those great twins have invited me to stay in their house
with people called Muttie and his wife Lizzie. Is this for real?
They also tell me they're in catering and they hope they might
even do your wedding. You don't know this now -- I thought
I'd forewarn you.
Now that I have decided to go I am quite excited.
Thank you for keeping in touch --you are a good friend.
Love,
Vonni

Dear Fiona,
We can't come for the most amazing reason. We are
pregnant!
Elsa is having our baby and it's due just that week: I
thought for years I would never have children, but we went

for AI treatment and we're expecting a daughter the very day
you will be married. I wish we could be there. But we will
come and see you as soon as our little princess is old enough to
travel.
Bill is delighted. Even Shirley is enthusiastic, so life
couldn 't be better.
Didn 't we all have an amazing time that summer. I can't
bear to think we will miss Andreas and Vonni and David.
Please take lots of pictures and we will want to hear every
detail.
Love from us both,
Tom

Simon and Maud were learning that catering was utterly exhausting.
'I
think we may well be burned out by the time we're
twenty-five,' Simon said.
'Cathy and Tom survived it,' Maud said, not ready to give
up yet.
'Yes, but they were mad about each other,' Simon grumbled.
'Well, we get on all right.'
'But we're not in love like they were.' Simon worried at it
like a dog with a bone.
'God, Simon, suppose we were to get partners that we were in love with? Would that make it all right?'
'It would get us over the worst bits, I suppose.'
'I think we should try to attract business. That's what we
should be doing.' Maud was very firm.
'Like what?'
'Like Fiona and Declan's wedding. We could present them
with a buffet choice and give them a price.'
'But where would we do it, Maud? We don't have any
venues, as Tom and Cathy call them.'

'We could look for them. Tired tennis clubs? Old schools?
There must be something, Simon.'
'And if we did find a venue?' Simon was anxious.
'We just come up with a menu.' Maud was confident.

'Brian?'
James?
'You've been running this hall already as a cafe, haven't
you?'
'Yes, you know I have.'
'So, what's the problem?'
'What do you mean?'
'If Health and Safety say it's okay as a cafe, it should be
okay for a wedding.'
'But the alcohol?' Brian asked.
'You're not selling alcohol, Brian. You don't have a liquor
licence.'
'That's what I mean.'
'And couldn't these people bring their own?'
'I don't think it works like that,' Father Brian said.
'It works the way you want it to work. How are you to be
blamed if a whole lot of Poles turn up with their own firewater?'
'James,
it won't work.'
lMy advice, on very good authority, is to try it and to plead
total ignorance, ifthe matter ever comes up.'

Molly Carroll said she really liked Fiona's parents. Maureen
and Sean Ryan and Fiona's two sisters had made Molly and
Paddy very welcome: they were level-headed people with no
airs and graces.
She had thought it odd that they didn't have a roast to
entertain their future in-laws, but then it turned out they had

only heard about the engagement very late in the day. And
that Chinese food had been very tasty.
They had all agreed to stay out of it and let the young
people make their own arrangements. Lord knew what kind of
ceremony or wedding breakfast they had in mind.

Simon and Maud had met Father Brian Flynn when they
heard he was looking for someone to prepare a christening
party for some Slovaks.
'It's just eastern Mediterranean food,' Simon said.
'No problem. Heavy emphasis on aubergines, stuffed peppers,
courgettes, olive oil,' Maud agreed.
'There's a problem about alcohol,' Father Flynn said.
'Oh, we know all about that, Father,' Simon said reassuringly.
'Our
mother was the very same way.' Maud patted him on
the hand.
'Not me,' Brian Flynn said crossly, 'it's the law, you see.
Rules about selling drink.'
'Oh, I see,' Simon said. 'I thought you had a problem yourself.
So they just have to bring their own, is that it?'
'Yes, I gather that's within the boundaries.'
'Fine. We could provide pitchers of fruit juice and whatever
they have on or under the table isn't down to us.'
'Yes. That would work, wouldn't it?'
'From what we hear around the place, that should cover
everything,' Maud said. Wise beyond her years.
On the way home from the centre, Simon said suddenly, 'That's where we could have Fiona and Declan's wedding.
We've found our venue.'

'You know that you and Fiona are going to be married this
year?' Simon asked Declan anxiously.
'Yes, Simon, I had remembered that.'

I







'It's just I wondered, could you tell me is it going to be a
religious or a civil ceremony?'
'Oh, well, a bit of a church wedding first, to please the old
folk.'
'Yes, but what kind of a church?' Simon seemed very
anxious. Declan wondered if he were some kind of zealot.
'Um, well, an ordinary church, I imagine. You know, a
Catholic church somewhere.'
'So you haven't anywhere actually planned?'
'No, not yet. Simon, could I ask you, exactly what is this all
about?'
'We thought of a terrific place for you to get married.'
'Did you?'
'We did.'
'Why am I nervous about this?' Declan asked.
'There's no need. It's a real church, a real priest and everything.'
'And
what's the snag?'
'There isn't one.'
'There always is. Come on, tell me.'
'You have to bring the drink into the place ... in paper
bags.'
'It's a speakeasy,' Declan said.
'It's nothing of the sort!' Simon was indignant.
'So, what is it?'
'It's a lovely hall, down near the Liffey. It's beside a church.
It's where new Irish people come. Polish people; Latvians;
Lithuanians. I thought you'd love it.'
'And we might well love it,' Declan said. 'You haven't
booked it or anything, have you?'
'Sort of,' Simon admitted.

Ania's mother had been wonderful. It was so good to have
Ania home, she said, over and over. Such a lovely surprise
when she had walked through the door.
But there were no pleas to stay. Her mother had more
courage than Ania remembered. Nothing much had changed
her, while Ania's whole life had altered.
Mamusia asked questions about Ireland. The nice man,
Carl, who had taught her English? He was well? Yes, he was
well. And his parents' fortieth wedding anniversary, that had
been good? Yes, fairly good. Not great, but good.
Ania sat with her mother and took out the money she had
worked so hard for. This would pay for all the changes in the
little house. The changes that would make it into a real
business and not a cottage industry. One of Ania's brothersin-law
would do the building work. It could begin any day
now.
The light faded and it started to get dark. Mamusia pulled
the curtains and turned on the lamps; Ania sat there wondering
why she had ever left. Was this whole busy life in Dublin
some kind of dream? She was very tired. She hadn't slept since
she had fled from Carl's home. She'd been up all night waiting
for the first flight to London and then the flight to Poland.
Her mother saw her nodding off and pulled a rug over her
knees. She slept on and dreamed that Carl had sent her a big
bunch of flowers with a card saying: 'I love you, Ania. Come
back to me.'
When she woke at four o'clock in the morning, she was very
sad it was just a dream. And she went to her bed with tears in
her eyes.

'How sure were you when you married Dad?' Linda asked her
mother.
'Too sure as it turned out,' Clara said.

'No, I mean what did it feel like when you decided you'd
hitch your star to his?'
'We didn't put it that way then, Linda.'
'I'm just asking for honest information.'
'Okay. This is the truth. I fancied him. I fancied him
rotten. When he said "Marry me", I thought of getting away
from my mother who, as you might recall, is pretty difficult. I
didn't think people said "I love you" and didn't mean it. I was
there like a shot from a gun. Now, is that all right?'
'Not really. Nick and I are wondering if we should get a flat
together. But we're nervous. I mean, we both have perfectly
reasonable mothers. I wished you liked Hilary more, by the
way.'
'I do like her,' Clara said.
'Yes, but only in that sort of head-patting way. And we
wonder whether we should get a place of our own in case it
sort of exposes all the weaknesses in our relationship.'
'How wise of you both,' Clara said.
'You sound pissed off over something, Clara.'
'No, I don't. I had another lovely day at work. Ania has run
away back to Poland because her boyfriend's mother thought
she had come to her party as a maid. Frank Ennis has made
my life hell on wheels again. Peter Barry's lunatic daughter
turned up looking for a job, and I gave her one. Fiona and
Declan have decided they are going to get married in an
immigrant centre on the Liffey. I wrongly thought I was
coming home to a nice bowl of soup, and I find you booted
and spurred and wanting to discuss the meaning of life. Not
even vaguely pissed off!'
'You're not the worst, Clara,' her daughter Linda said.
High praise indeed.

Fiona and Barbara went to have a look at the hall in Father
Flynn's centre.

'It's a bit basic,' Barbara said.
'But we can do something with it -- and we can afford it.
We can't run to the wedding palace where Declan and I rise
up in a swirl of dry ice ... And anyway, you know that's not
what I want. I just wonder is it worth everyone's time coming
up here, you know, cousins from the country, David from
England, Vonni from Greece?'
'They only want to see you happy and have a rake of food
and drink. And this Vonni, and this David, would they think
less of you because it's not all chrome and glitter?' Barbara
persisted.
'Of course they wouldn't.'
'So, last thing, is it grand enough for Declan?'
'Barbara, you know Declan.'
'Right, so all we have to do is make sure those twins don'tI
poison us all. Let's go and make Father Flynn's day with a¦
booking.'»

Rosemary heard voices in the kitchen when she got back
home. Bobby was talking to someone. Her heart lifted for a
moment, thinking it might be Carl. The silly boy couldn't
keep this up forever. She would be gracious and courteous to
him. Show him that she could rise above his petty behaviour.
But it wasn't her son. It was that imperious Clara from the
heart clinic.
'Imagine, they entertain you in the kitchen, Dr Casey!'
Rosemary sounded shocked. Her look at Bobby was intended
to say that he would suffer for this later.
'I called because Bobby didn't come for his appointment
this morning and I was in the area anyway.'
'Oh, and what exactly has you in this area?'
'Concern, Mrs Walsh. Concern that Bobby didn't turn up
to his appointment. There was no reply when I telephoned.'

'Really, Bobby.'
'I know. Sorry, love, I couldn't make the phone, I was very
out of breath.'
'And also I'm looking for a Chinese gardener who services
some of these blocks of apartments nearby. Our Ania, from
the heart clinic, has gone missing. I wondered if he had anything
to say.'
'And had he?' Rosemary asked.
'Not really, except that he wanted to give her some money
he owed her and said there was plenty more work if she
needed it.'
'And where is she?'
'She's in Poland. She got upset about something and took
herself off the day after your party, apparently.'
'Rosemary would have paid her, whatever the going rate
was. I know she would,' Bobby said suddenly.
'Sorry?' Clara hadn't understood what he was saying.
'Shut up, Bobby,' Rosemary said.
'No, it's not fair that they should think any of this was your fault,' Bobby said, his face burning with the will to make
everything right.
'I'm off now,' Clara said. 'Will Carl bring you into the
clinic tomorrow, Bobby?'
'Carl's left home,' Bobby said.
'Yes, well, a taxi then?'
'I can bring him in,' Rosemary said.
'Any time tomorrow morning is fine, Bobby. We'll always
make room for you,' Clara said and swept out. She paused and
looked at the view of the yachts out at sea and the purple Head
of Howth across the bay. This house was the last word in
terms of a desirable property. But it hadn't brought much
happiness to the three people who had rattled around in it.
What a terrible waste.

Fiona was in the bus on her way to her parents' house. She
hoped they would be enthusiastic about this hall. The great
thing was they could have it any time and Father Flynn said he
would be delighted to marry them.
Someone had left an evening paper on the seat so Fiona
looked at it idly. There was the usual celebrity gossip: film
stars visiting Ireland and news of soccer teams in England.
Then she saw a small paragraph. A young man had been
found dead in a city squat, most probably from a drugs overdose.
There was no identification and the Guards authorities were anxious to trace anyone who knew him. He was
about twenty-five to thirty, small build, the only clue lay in a
watch. It was engraved with a date and the words 'Love always,
Fiona'.
Shane?
Dead from an overdose in a Dublin flat?
Fiona thought she was going to be sick. She staggered to the
doors and got off the bus still holding the newspaper. There
was a number to contact. But wait, she didn't want to get involved.
She hadn't thought about Shane for months, years
even. Why bring it all back?
Why meet his mother under these circumstances? But she
couldn't turn away either.
He deserved a burial, a mother, someone to identify him.
She sat on a bench beside the bus stop and considered her
options. She could ring the Guards and give Shane's full name
and address. She could find his mother and warn her of what
was in store. She could do nothing. If she hadn't found that
newspaper she would never have known.
But it was clear to Fiona what she had to do. She called the
number printed in the newspaper. 'I think the dead body is a
man called Shane O'Leary. If you were to ring the police
station in a place called Aghia Anna in Greece they would give
you the phone number of the police station in Athens that

booked him three years ago. They will have his fingerprints
and details. Who am I? I am nobody. Really, I'm not important.
It's just to help you and maybe his mother, if she's still
alive. No, I have no more to say.'
Then she closed her phone and waited for the next bus.
That night, as she was going to bed, Fiona realised that she
had no feelings at all about the dead Shane. She had hardly
any memory of their time together or why she had loved him
so much. It was impossible to remember why someone could
love so madly, so one-sidedly. It must mean that she had been
insane for a whole part of her life.

Father Flynn was showing off his hall proudly. He was explaining
to a young Polish couple that his first wedding would
take place at the end of August, a marriage between a young
doctor and a nurse from the heart clinic and they had given
permission for this couple and another pair to come to the
wedding and see if they liked it all.
'They must be generous people.' The couple were surprised.
'They are good people, yes. And the caterers are marvellous.
You'd love them.'
'They might be very expensive.'
'No, I think not. They did a great buffet for a Slovakian
christening. Unpronounceable char-grilled vegetables -- none
of the people had ever seen them before, but in the end
everyone was delighted with it.'
'And perhaps we can make some decorations for the hall.
You have nice curtains, but not many pictures.'
'We had a lovely Polish girl, Ania, who worked here with us
but sadly she's gone back home.'
'Maybe she is very happy there,' the young couple suggested.
'Maybe
. . .' said Father Flynn, who had heard a fair

amount of the story from Johnny, Declan and Fiona. Wherever
Ania was, he didn't think she was very happy.

Ania was, in fact, in discussion with Lech, one of her brothersin-law.
They were going to remodel the shop for Mamusia.
They would make a big, long window here and put two garments
in it. A friend would write the sign.
'You worked very hard to make all this money, Ania.'
'She deserves it. I disgraced her.'
'That's all in your mind. You weren't the only one that
Marek fooled. He's in jail now. Did you know?'
'No, I didn't know.' She was startled that she didn't feel
anything at all at this news. Neither relieved nor upset. Just indifferent.
Lech
had his metal measuring tape out and was writing
down figures in his notebook. Ania looked out and prayed
that this would work. She hoped so much that ladies who
wanted a spring outfit would come up this hill and consult
with her mother. Everything would have been worth it then.
Yes, even all her mistakes.
There was somebody coming up the hill as she watched. A
man with a bag on his back. He paused now and then to look
around him, to take it all in. She looked again.
It was.
It was Carl.

Amy said that she liked working in the clinic. There was a
good atmosphere. 'I hope that this Ania never comes back. I
hope she meets a rich Pole there who owns a dozen restaurants.
Then I can go on working here until I die,' she said to
Clara.
'I wouldn't bet on it, Amy,' Clara said. 'I hear that her fellow
went out there after her. We could look up any minute
and she might be right there, at that door.'

'The nonsensical things people do for love,' Amy said.
'I know! Isn't it just? Are you still with your fellow, Ben, the
nice embalmer?'
'Yes, I am as it happens. Fancy you remembering.'
'Oh, I remember. I liked him.'
'I suppose you and he being vaguely in the same business,
you had quite a lot in common,' Amy agreed.
If Clara was disturbed to be considered in the same line of
business as an embalmer, she showed nothing.
'Does your dad get on with him?'
'I don't think he knows what to talk to him about. He's
always afraid that Ben will start to talk about dead bodies,
which he rarely does. Anyway, Dad's all caught up with your
woman nowadays.'
'Your woman?'
'You know, Mrs Thing, from Lilac Court.'
'Claire Cotter! Never!'
'Is she awful?' Amy asked eagerly.
'No, she's marvellous. Ideal for him actually.' And Clara
was relieved to find that she actually meant it.
'Okay, if you say so. I'll look at her with warmer eyes.'

Fiona listened as Bobby said Carl had taken a few days off
school unexpectedly and he hoped the boy was all right.
'You know, Bobby, I never met a fellow that was more all
right than Carl. I wish I had had a teacher like him when I was
at school.'
'It's just that he's probably taking time off to think about
his life. You know, he's at the age he should be having his own
home. Like you are, Fiona.' Bobby admired the opal ring.
'Like I am,' Fiona said in an oddly quiet tone.

'Will we go shopping for wedding outfits?' Fiona's mother
suggested on Thursday, the late opening day.

'I'll go and look for something for you, Mam.'
'It is customary for the bride to dress up too,' her mother
said.
'Ania will make my dress. It was all arranged.'
'But isn't she . . .'
'Yes, she is, but she'll be back,' Fiona said.
Fiona received a text message from Ania who had borrowed
a mobile phone: 'Mamusia and I spent a long time thinking
about your wedding dress. I know what will look wonderful
on you. Will you trust us? You will be the most beautiful bride
in Ireland. I am happy in my heart. Love, Ania.'

Barbara was going to lose fourteen pounds for the wedding.
It was realistic, she said, as she ate an egg sandwich filled
with butter and mayonnaise and that two pounds a week was
the recommended weight loss.
Molly Carroll and Maureen Ryan were going to a place
called Big Day that specialised in Mother of the Bride outfits.
They were now firm friends and had urged each other not
to go to town, not to be too fussy, not to be over the top.
Their husbands knew this was only a rallying cry to go
completely mad.
They were discussing getting shoes dyed, coordinating
handbags and having a professional make-up person on the
day.

The twins were sick with excitement. They begged Cathy and
Tom for some help.
'Why should we help you to do a rival gig?' Tom asked
jokingly.
Cathy knew that you never joked with Maud and Simon.
'Sure we'll come along and look at the place,' she said.
'It's not really a rival operation . . .' Simon began.

'They wouldn't be able to afford you two . . .' Maud
agreed.
'The groom spent all the money on an opal ring.' Simon
was censorious.
'So there's not a lot left over for the catering, you see.'
Maud wanted there to be no grey areas.
'Show us the place and we'll tell you what you need.' Cathy
cut across the ever-increasing complications of any conversation
with Maud and Simon. 'Show us the venue, kids,
and bring a notebook,' she said.

Vonni had booked her ticket to Ireland. She showed it to
Andreas.
'Come with me, old friend,' she entreated.
'No. You won't marry me, why should I go halfway across
the world to be your escort at a wedding party?'
'Andreas, we would be mad to get married. I need you,
Andreas. I might go back on the drink unless you're there.'
'No, you won't. You didn't drink in Ireland before. Why
would you start now?'
'I might become unhinged.'
'No. It was my country and my countrymen that unhinged
you. You've recovered now.'
'We never really recover.'
'Well, you're as near to it as anyone I know,' Andreas said,
patting her on the hand.

David Fine's mother was surprised that he was going to
Ireland to a wedding.
'Was that the girl who came here when your father was
diagnosed?' she asked.
'That's right, Mother. Fiona.'
'I thought at the time that you two were sweet on each
other back then.'

'Oh no, not at all. She was in love with a madman back
then but fortunately she got over him,' David explained.
'So she's not marrying the madman then?'
'No, marriage was the last thing he had in mind.'
'Will it be a Catholic wedding, do you think?'
'Almost certainly.'
'You'll need someone to mark your card, David, when to
stand and sit and kneel.'
'Oh, I'll watch the others,' David said airily.
'And will it be a fancy wedding, do you think?'
'I have no idea. She's marrying a doctor. He's got red hair
and is very kind. She sounds highly excited.'
'Of course she's excited,' David's mother said, 'isn't she
marrying a doctor?'

'We should send flowers to the wedding,' Elsa said.
'Imagine. Vonni going back to Ireland for it,' Tom said.
'I wish we could be there. Where will we send the flowers,
do you think?' Elsa asked.
'She mentions a church near the Liffey. I guess the florist
would know,' Tom said.
'Or we have her home address.'
'I'm glad she's happy,' said Tom. 'This fellow sounds a
much better bet.'
'Almost anyone in the world would be a better bet than
Shane,' Elsa said.

Bobby Walsh knew more about what was going on than most
people thought. But he didn't confront Rosemary with this
information. Instead, he arranged to rent a flat for his son. It
was nearer the city and would be handier for Carl going to the
school where he taught. Nearer for Ania too. Little by little he
had pieced it all together from what this one and that one said.
And mainly from what people didn't say.



Johnny, in the exercise room, had told him most. And that
new girl, Amy, who was dressed so oddly and doing Ania's
job, she had revealed that the Polish girl had gone home in a
rage because some old bat had thought she was the hired help
at a party when the son of the house had invited her as his
guest.
Bobby's face burned with shame, but this wasn't the time to
face Rosemary down.
And Bobby knew something that nobody else knew. He
knew that Carl and Ania were coming back on Saturday.
He had already texted Carl about the apartment. It was
furnished. They could walk straight in when they got back. It
was theirs for a year until they had decided where they would
like to go.
Then Bobby would buy them a place. He was going to sell
that big house by the sea. There were far too many steps. The
estate agent was looking for a mews. He hadn't told any of this
to Rosemary yet but he would when the time was right.
The time was right on Friday.
Rosemary came home with some mackerel.
'I thought we'd make that bloody woman's recipe,' she said.
'She's not a bloody woman. She's called Lavender and she's
a helpful, kind person who's showing us how to eat properly!
'Okay, it's only a form of words.'
'Not a very good one,' he said.
'Don't come after me, Bobby. I've had a tough day.'
'So have I.'
'You've had a tough day? What have you done? You don't
even go upstairs any more!'
1 rue.
'So tell me about your tough day.' She looked very angry.
'Well, I looked through what seems like a thousand flats on
a laptop before choosing one to rent for Carl. Then I went

through a tedious amount of description about this house with
the intention of putting it on the market.'
'You are never thinking of selling this house!'
'Yes, that's exactly what I am going to do.'
'Without consulting me?'
'I was waiting for you to come home, Rosemary, before
going ahead finally. Now that I've told you, I can call them.'
'Bobby, have you gone completely mad? You can't get a flat
for Carl. We don't even know where he is.'
'I do, Rosemary, he's in Poland.'
'He's where?' She looked ashen.
'Yes.'
'He went after that little tramp. I don't believe it. It's impossible.
He must see that.'
I
'She's not a tramp. She's his girlfriend.'
'Well, I may have spoken a bit in haste.'
Silence from Bobby.
¦ 'And I am prepared to admit this to Carl when he returns to
his senses.'
More silence.
'So is all this silly protest over?'
'There's no silly protest.' He spoke slowly.
'So why wasn't I consulted about this?' She looked at him,
horrified.
'Because you're not involved in this any more,' BobbyI
Walsh said._
'Why?' Rosemary begged.™
'You must know why by now,' her husband said sadly.¦

A couple of days later Fiona saw in the papers that the body of
the young man had been identified as that of Shane O'Leary.
The deceased had apparently taken a lethal dose of drugs and
was identified by his mother due to a tip-off to the Guards.



His father had died some years ago as a result of an accident in
the construction industry.
Mr O'Leary had been travelling on the continent in
Europe. His family hadn't been aware that he'd returned to
Ireland. He was the eldest of four boys and the premises where
his body was discovered was a vacant flat in a house that was in
need of renovation. It wasn't known how the deceased had
come to be there.
Fiona read the short item over and over.
She hadn't known that Shane had any younger brothers. He
had told her nothing about his father being killed. He said the
old man had gone off to England and abandoned them all.
What had his mother thought when the Guards came to her
door?
His brothers must still be young, at school even. How had
they felt at the death of their absent brother?
She was puzzled that none of these questions meant anything
to her. She didn't care about the answers. It was as if she
was reading about a total stranger. Yet this was the man she
had left home with to tour the world. The man whose child
she was expecting with joy.
Shane had hit her and she had miscarried, but even then she
had believed he would come back to her and that they would
spend their lives together. Had she been insane?
Although Fiona had not one feeling left for Shane O'Leary,
she still had a lot of questions that needed answering.
Questions about herself. Like was she capable of having any
normal relationship with any man whatsoever? She twisted her
ring around and around on her finger. Nothing seemed real
any more.
She hoped that neither her mother nor Barbara would see
the item in the newspaper. She didn't want to talk about it or
even think about it any more.

Father Flynn decided that he couldn't go through with this
shebeen mentality about people smuggling drink into his hall.
Either he was responsible enough to run a function or he
wasn't. A wedding day was too important to let any question
mark hang over it.
He read the terms of the recent Health Acts. All it involved
was that he applied for a licence to the HSE, the Health and
Safety Executive. They would grant it and then there would be
no hole-in-the-wall behaviour. Not everyone agreed with him.
Johnny said it would halve the price of drink if they got
it on sale at a supermarket. James said that you never knew
where you were with those guys. Brian might meet the bureaucratic
official from hell.
Father Brian tried to discuss it with Fiona, but he could
sense she wasn't interested. Her mind seemed to be far away
and she was looking through him without seeing him at all or
listening to what he said.

Molly and Maureen had got very satisfactory outfits in Big
Day. It had been a great outing: very nice staff with tea and
sandwiches on the premises. They could have stayed there all
day. They had more or less stayed all day. And the outfits
weren't silly. They could be worn again and again at whatever
functions turned up. Like a christening, maybe. They giggled
happily.
At Big Day the owner had said they were very relaxed
compared to a lot of brides' mothers and grooms' mothers.
She wished that all her customers were so easy to deal with. So
Maureen and Molly bought more and more and said it was
the best day out they ever had.
But try as they might, they couldn't make Fiona interested
in the garments they had bought.
Her mind seemed to be a million miles away.

Ania came into the clinic on Monday.
She looked for a long time at Amy, who was passing around
mugs of coffee.
'You must be St Ania, the Polish girl,' Amy said eventually.
'And you are Amy, Peter Barry's daughter,' Ania agreed.
'So, you're back. I go. Right?'
'I'm not St Ania. I am just so lucky that they will take me
back.'
'Aw, go on. They're mad about you!'
'Did you like it here?'
'Yes, I did.'
'I came in through the hospital this morning. They're looking
for people to work in A&E, taking records and notes to
leave the nurses free to cope with what they should be doing.'
'Is that part of Frank Ennis's territory?'
'Yes, in that everything in the hospital is a bit.'
'But isn't he our natural enemy?' Amy asked.
Ania laughed. 'I think I got back here just in time. You have
nearly taken over already.'

Ania and Carl couldn't believe the new apartment that Bobby
had arranged for them.
'We can't take this, Dad,' Carl said with tears in his eyes.
'And what did I work hard all my life for, if it wasn't to give
you a place to live?' Bobby beamed with pleasure.
'But it's too much. Specially since you're going to sell the
house and buy somewhere else. You don't want to have to
shell out for this place as well.'
'We can pay the rent, Bobby,' Ania said. 'I will just get a
few more jobs. It's not difficult.'
'No, child, you continue to send your earnings to your
mother. That's what you came here to do.'
'Oh, she's so pleased with everything, Bobby; if you could

see what they're doing to her house! Even my sisters are
pleased with me too. Which usually they are not.'
'Did you meet them all, Carl?'
'I did. They were very welcoming. At least I think they
were. I couldn't understand a word anyone was saying!'
'Oh, they were, Carl, very welcoming indeed.'
Bobby cleared his throat. 'Rosemary is very sorry about the
misunderstanding . . .' he began. He saw Carl's face harden,
but Ania laid her hand on his arm.
'Please tell her that it's all forgotten. In many ways it was all
helpful. It forced us to do what we all wanted to do.'
'I'm not sure that Rosemary wants to move house, but it's
going to happen. And she will get used to it. It's most generous
of you, Ania, to see things so positively.'
'I have a lot to be positive about,' she said.
'Carl, I was wondering?'
'No, Dad, not yet. I don't have a lovely positive soul like
Ania.'
'You could grow one,' Ania said.
'Yes and I might one day.'
'Or maybe soon, Carl, so that your father could enjoy more
peaceful days in these busy stress-filled times.'
'Maybe,' Carl said. But he had no intention of speaking to
his mother.

Ania bought the material for Fiona's wedding dress in a
market. It was a cream and yellow Indian silk. It would be
beautiful.
Fiona stood like a statue raising her arms to be measured
and for Ania to pin a kind of underslip that would act as a
pattern for the real thing. She hardly said anything. She didn't
ask Ania about the trip to Poland, about the new apartment,
about what Carl had said when he arrived at her mother's
house.

Normally Fiona would want to know every detail.
She didn't talk about her own wedding either. All the
conversations that Ania started seemed to run into the ground.
Yes, it was great to be getting married by Father Brian. Yes,
the centre sounded a terrific place for a wedding breakfast. Oh
indeed, many of the friends were coming from abroad. And
certainly, the two mothers were having a good time.
Ania put down her box of pins. 'Fiona, be honest with me.
Do you want someone else to make your wedding dress?'
'No, Ania, how can you even think that?'
'So what is it then?'
Fiona looked at her stricken. 'I can't marry Declan,' she
said suddenly. 'I'm not a person who has any judgement about
men. I can't go through with it.' She began to cry, heavy sobs.
'And what does Declan say?' Ania asked.
'He doesn't know,' Fiona wept.
'Well, you must tell him.'
1 can t.
'You'll have to. I'm right in the middle of making him a
waistcoat trimmed with the material of your dress. He has to
know, Fiona. For heaven's sake.'

Carl had invited his friends Nora and Aidan Dunne to supper
in the new apartment. Ania had cooked some salmon for
dinner. Carl had brought her flowers. Life could not be better.
They were so nice, the Dunnes, and so fond of each other.
You could see it immediately, the way they listened to each
other's stories, touched each other's hands. Aidan was a
patient at the clinic so Ania had already met them there, but
she had had no idea what interesting lives they had led. She sat
and chattered happily as if she had been accustomed to
entertaining like this all her life. At nine o'clock there was a
ring at the door.
Ania went to answer the buzzer. Who could be coming to

call at this time of night? She looked at the little screen. It was
Carl's mother.
'Please excuse my not telephoning, but I know Carl doesn't
want to see me.'
'It's not that, Mrs Walsh, it's just that we have people here
for dinner, you see.'
'It will only take a minute. I have something to say to you. I
need not bother Carl.'
'Perhaps this is not a good time, Mrs Walsh.' She could see
Carl roll his eyes up to heaven.
'Tell her to go away,' he mouthed.
But Ania was too kind. 'Come in, Mrs Walsh, but it can't
be for long. I hope you will excuse us.' She buzzed the entry
phone.
Ania returned to the table. 'We'll offer her a glass of wine.'
'She deserves a boot up the arse!' Carl said.
Ania smiled apologetically at the guests. 'Bit of a long
story,' she said.
'We know a lot of it,' Nora said. 'Should we leave?'
'No, please, no. I will take Carl's mother into another room
and talk to her.'
'You don't have to do this, Ania. She behaved so badly.'
'You were polite to my mother when you could not understand
one word she was saying. I will be polite to yours.'

Ania ushered Rosemary Walsh into the bedroom where
Fiona's wedding dress was hanging on the wall.
'And is this going to be . . . ?'
'For Fiona.'
'I see.' Rosemary didn't attempt to disguise her relief.
'Won't you have a chair?' Ania sat on the bed.
'One bed,' Rosemary Walsh said.
'That's right. I brought you in a glass of wine,' Ania said.
'I don't want any wine, thank you. I wanted to say that my

I



words to you on the night of the party were wrong. I should
not have said what I did. You were Carl's guest. I knew that. I
behaved very badly.'
'You must have had your reasons.'
'No, looking back on it, I can't think what my reasons
were.' Rosemary Walsh was at a loss.
'So that's all right then, Mrs Walsh.'
'No, it's not all right. I want you to tell my husband Bobby
that he cannot sell our house. That you will come and live
there with Carl and help with getting Bobby bathed and upstairs
and everything.'
'I think that is something you should discuss with Bobby
and Carl, not with me.'
'But if you say that you'd be a back-up, a carer, you know,
then they'd agree.'
'I don't think so. Bobby is very set on a new place. He was
showing us brochures, advertisements.'
'That's only because he thinks Carl won't be around for
him.' Rosemary looked almost beseeching.
'I think Carl is happy here and Bobby is happy for us to be
here, Mrs Walsh. So I will not say anything at all to change
things.'
Rosemary looked at her long and hard. 'They're right. You are intelligent. You're sharp. I made a mistake. I apologise for
that as well. At what must have seemed rudeness.'
'It was a misunderstanding, Mrs Walsh. It's over now.'
'You are very clever. I see that. Too late.'
'It is not too late.'
'It is. I'll go now, Ania.'
'Are you sure you would not like some wine?'
'I'm sure. Thank you.'
There was laughter from the next room.
Rosemary looked at the door. 'Carl never brought any
friends home to dinner when he lived at home.'

'Well, maybe he needed a place of his own.'
'Goodbye, Ania.'
'Goodbye, Mrs Walsh.'

Fiona wanted to tell him something. Declan didn't have to be
Einstein to know this. Even Dimples the dog seemed to know.
He lay quietly examining his paws and making no sounds.
Declan's father Paddy was off with Muttie and their associates
in the pub.
His mother Molly was talking finery with Fiona's mother
Maureen.
'Declan?'
'There's something wrong, isn't there?'
'You feel it too?' She seemed relieved.
'I feel that you are upset about something certainly.'
'I can't marry you,' she said.
'You've met another fellow.' He smiled at her indulgently.
'You know that's not true.'
'So it's me then? You've gone off me?'
'As if, Declan Carroll.'
'So, what is it then, pet?'
'It's a long story,' Fiona said.
'We have all the time in the world,' said Declan and folded
his arms to listen to the most complicated rambling tale of
which he understood hardly a word. Except that because
of bad judgement, in fact, worse, no judgement, Fiona wasn't
going to marry anybody.
Ever.


Fiona thought that more marriages must have taken place
because people didn't want to upset the arrangements
than between people who really should have got married.
She understood it only too well. Look at all the people
she was upsetting by this decision. She didn't even dare to
think about her parents and Declan's parents and her sisters
who would not now be bridesmaids. The fallout from that
would last a generation. Then there were all the cousins, aunts
and uncles on both sides who had ordered wedding outfits and
even, in some cases, had already sent wedding presents. They
would be incensed.
And Vonni coming to Ireland for the first time in decades.
David coming over from England for his first ever visit. The
whole staff at the clinic, who had been so excited and
supportive. Father Flynn, whose first wedding it would have
been in this centre by the Liffey, would feel like a fool. The
twins, Maud and Simon, who had told almost everyone in
Dublin that this was the start of their career, would be
crushed. Ania, who was happy and smiling again, and who
had made a beautiful dress, would not now see her creation
walk down the aisle.
It was easy to see why other women had given in over the

years rather than alienate half the planet. But then other
women hadn't known the great insight that had become clear
to Fiona.
The day she had read that newspaper item, which summed
up Shane O'Leary's short life and sordid death, Fiona realised
that she had, at one period of her life, been prepared to marry
this man. She was expecting his child. She had been distraught
when she had miscarried. She had longed to hear him propose
marriage and suggest that they live by the sea in Aghia Anna
and bring up their child there.
How could she be capable of making any decision?
She would go far away from here and all the people she had
let down. She would go abroad and find herself. Do something
worthwhile rather than getting swept along in some insane
project which had now become completely out of control,
with opals and buffet feasts, and decisions on who was to
make what speech.
Had Declan really understood, really understood that it was
over? That the wedding was not going to happen. He had
been too calm. He had said that of course she should just do
what she wished to do. He would be broken-hearted all his life
and he would never marry either. There were ways in which it
would all be a giant waste.
But if that's what she wanted, then that's what would
happen.
No, he wouldn't hear of taking back her ring. She must get
it made into a brooch or a pendant. And he wanted one week
before they told people.
'A week? But people will be busy making their plans,
Declan. We have to tell them now.'
'But it's about me. I haven't got used to making my plans to
live without you. Give me just one week,' he asked.
'This isn't some awful, devious scheme?'

'No,' he said sadly, 'if I had an awful, devious scheme that
might work, I would have one, believe me.'
'All right then.'
'Yes and we tell nobody. Nobody at all.'
'But they'll go on making arrangements.'
'Let them. It's only for a week. Then we tell them. Okay.
Swear.'
'I swear.'
'Not even Barbara?'
'Not even Barbara,' she agreed.
'Good girl,' he said.

Fiona noted that he hadn't tried to argue with her, change her
mind, tell her that she was wrong. All he had asked was a
week's grace, and that she should keep the opals. He must
have known in his heart that it would have been doomed.

Clara was surprised to see Frank Ennis standing at her desk.
'A rare and unexpected pleasure,' she said.
He came straight to the point. 'Can you give that girl Amy
a reference?'
'Yes, she was fine. If we had a job for her, we'd give her
one.'
'That's all right then. She looks a bit weird.'
'But then what a mistake it would be to judge people by
their looks,' Clara smiled.
'Sure. So the wandering Pole has returned?'
'Yes, Ania's crisis is over, I'm glad to say. Everyone was
delighted to see her back.'
'And I gather you have a wedding coming up?' Frank said.
Clara wondered how on earth he could have known that.
'Absolutely. Declan and Fiona. Big day out. And we have
loads more romance going on. Ania is together with the son of
one of our patients. My daughter and Hilary's son have fallen

in love. All I need is to get a young fellow myself and we can
say the objectives have all been achieved.'
He was almost sure she was joking, but not quite.
'I thought you were already spoken for, with the pharmacist
in the precinct?'
'Oh, Frank, that's old news now. Peter is history. He's
actually involved with the lady who runs Lilac Court, the
nursing home.'
'Well really!' Frank Ennis was dumbfounded.
'And how did you know about Declan and Fiona's wedding?'
Clara wondered.
'Well, I'm invited, as it happens.'
'Invited?' Clara was taken aback. Fiona and Declan had
invited the Enemy to their wedding? Never.
'Well, more or less. I'm a plus one,' he said. 'Fiona's cousin,
who's a social worker, was invited and her invitation said plus
one, so that's me.'
'Well, well, well.' Clara was, for once, without words.
Fiona and Declan would scream with laughter over this.
'So you'll have to save me a dance, Clara,' Frank said.
'I wouldn't want to step on the toes of Fiona's cousin,'
Clara murmured diplomatically.
'No, no, you wouldn't be. That's not an affair or anything,
not even an understanding or anything. Just a casual friendship.
I think she just thought it would be a nice day out.'
'And it will be, Frank, it will be,' said Clara.
'And you can tell me all about your plans and where you go
after here,' he said.
'After here?'
'When your year is up,' he said.
Clara had quite put it out of her mind that she had only
been hired for a year, at her own heavy insistence at the time.
'Ah yes, when the year is up,' she said vaguely.

'I'm sure you have your plans. Your career plan.' Frank was
eager to know.
'You wouldn't believe me if I said I had nothing planned,'
she smiled at him.
She had been right. He didn't believe her. Clara Casey
without a game plan.
Please.

Clara sat at her desk when Frank left. What an extraordinary
year it had been.
Alan's bimbo becoming pregnant. Alan asking for a divorce,
then asking if he could come back home. Adi and Gerry
planning to go and save a rainforest. Linda having a change of
personality since she'd met Hilary's son Nick. Then there was
the episode with Peter Barry the pharmacist, who had wanted
to marry her.
But most of all there was the clinic. That's what amazed
her. It was bigger in her mind than all the other life-changing
things that had happened. They were making a difference.
They were managing to keep people out of hospital. They had
restored confidence and given new hope to people with heart
disease and they had made it part of ordinary life.
It had been well worth doing. She was in no way ready to
move on.

Ania was in charge of the collection for Fiona and Declan's
wedding present. She had felt odd about it at first: it was a
difficult situation. But then nothing had happened since
Fiona's outburst. There was no announcement that the wedding
was cancelled. Everything seemed to be going ahead. It
was going to be all right.
It hadn't been difficult to get donations and arrange for
everyone to sign the card. The question was what to get them?
There was no wedding list registered in a store. There were no

helpful hints and no mention of a colour scheme for the new
flat they were hoping to buy. And yet the money was flowing
in. They had enough for Ania to buy a really good present.
Ania brought up the subject casually. Whether crystal-ware was worth the expense or did Declan prefer simpler glasses?
Was silver old-fashioned now or did young people still like it?
Was it possible to buy a work of art for someone else?
Declan brushed Ania's careful detective work aside with a
laugh.
'Ania, we don't want anything and if people are going to
give something, then maybe a CD or a book or a vase. Please, Ania.' Which had been no help at all.
On the other hand, it was a lot better than what Fiona had
said this morning.
Ania had asked if in Fiona's opinion cast-iron casserole
dishes might be a good gift? She had tried to make it appear
as if she was thinking of cast-iron casserole dishes in entirely
general terms as a gift for unspecified people.
Fiona's eyes had filled with tears.
'Do you have a list of who gave you what, Ania?' she asked
unexpectedly.
Ania didn't know what to answer. 'Um . . . well . . .' she
said.
'It's just that you'd need to know what to give back to
people if, for example, the wedding did not take place.'
'Fiona!' Ania cried.
'I have said nothing, nothing at all. You must remember
that. I said nothing except that if you are collecting money for
anything, you should always write down what people give
you.' And Fiona was gone, wiping her eyes.
Ania realised that she had to keep quiet about this. It was
hard when Carl was asking her what kind of a suit he should
wear for the wedding and when Fiona's mother and Declan's
mother were busy trying to discuss the corsages Ania was

going to make for them to wear with their new outfits and
when Maud and Simon were on the phone to her regularly
about table decorations and when Barbara was starving herself
to fit into a kingfisher-blue dress which was a size too small.
Fiona and Declan really might not be getting married.
Should all these people be warned? Ania had a headache that
wouldn't go away.

Brian Flynn called into the heart clinic to pick up Johnny.
They were going to go south on one of their marathons. Or
little strolls, as Johnny called them.
'Will you come with us, Declan?' Johnny suggested. 'The
DART out to Bray and a few runs up and down the esplanade
there, filling your lungs full of good, fresh, sea air.'
'God, it sounds very healthy,' Declan said. 'Wait till I put
on better running shoes.'
'Then filling our gut with pints of good, fresh beer,' Brian
added.
'That does it, all right,' agreed Declan.

'Afterwards, you can brief me about my duties as best man,'
Johnny added. 'I'm not sure--'
'But you're totally sure we can all yomp these miles and
climb these peaks,' Brian grumbled.
'Stop complaining, Brian, you know it's good for you,'
Declan said, glad that the subject had been changed.
'I thought you'd be up to your neck in arrangements,' Brian
said, still hoping to have an ally, any ally who might slow
Johnny down.
'No, I leave all that side of it to the women,' Declan said.
No need to tell Brian and Johnny that Fiona refused to see
him in the evenings.
She said she was keeping her part of the bargain by behaving
as if nothing had changed during the daytime, but it

would be pointless going out in the evening and going over
old ground again and again. She had explained her position
and said she was sorry. What more was there that could be
said?

Fiona said she would like to take Dimples for a good long
walk. Molly and Paddy approved - Dimples was running to
fat.
Fiona and the large Labrador set off together. They walked
into the centre of town and went towards Trinity College.
Fiona remembered a school trip which had taken them by
Sweeney's Pharmacy, the old chemist shop mentioned in
James Joyce's Ulysses, which didn't look as if it had changed
at all in over a hundred years. And she paused at the hotel
where James Joyce had met Nora Barnacle. Now there was a
love affair that shouldn't have worked and yet it did.
Fiona didn't know if they allowed dogs in there, but she
didn't ask. Dimples looked entirely at home anywhere, so no
one was likely to stop them.
She found herself looking up at the old buildings which had
been there since the first Elizabeth was on the throne of
England. She saw the lines waiting to go and see the Book of
Kells. Imagine monks decorating that, nearly seven hundred
pages of it, instead of getting on with things. But maybe they
weren't doing anyone any harm.
Fiona wondered, was she in danger of becoming very bland
and dull?
They came out and walked around Merrion Square. Fiona
showed off the various landmarks to the dog. Where Oscar
Wilde had lived; the statue of the same Oscar with his one-line
witticism engraved on it; the Georgian fan windows over the
colourful doors; the foot-scrapers; the different door knockers.
She had seen them all many times before but somehow this
was different. She realised she was printing it all in her mind.

Next week, when she and Declan told people that the
wedding was off, she would work out her notice, repair as
many broken fences and crushed dreams as she could, then she
would go away. Far away.
What she was doing tonight was saying goodbye to Dublin.
An elderly American couple stopped her to admire the dog.
'That's Dimples,' Fiona said sadly.
'And have you had him long?' they asked, playing with
Dimples' ears.
'He's not mine, he's my fiance's.' Fiona looked at the opal
ring and bit her lip.
'Oh well, same thing.' The lady found some chocolate in
her bag and gave it to Dimples who loved it and held up a
huge paw to thank her.
'Not really,' Fiona heard herself say.
'So, are you going to live in a place where they don't allow
dogs?'
'No. We're not going to get married,' Fiona said, and it all
came out in a gush. How she was a person of no judgement. It
wouldn't be fair. She had to go away, miles away.
The couple looked at each other, mystified.
'And is everyone upset about this?' the man asked
eventually.
'Nobody knows,' wept Fiona, 'nobody knows except us. It
was a ludicrous promise he made me make, to keep it all secret
for a week.'
'How much of the week is left?' The American woman was
very interested.
'Four and a half days, but nothing's changed.'
'No, of course not. Look, it's pretty simple, isn't it? Do you
think he loves you?'
'Yes, yes, he does,' said Fiona through her tears.
'And do you love him? Because if you don't, you mustn't
marry him. But if you do . . .'

Brian Flynn couldn't believe that they were going to do two
more laps before they had their pint. He thought he was going
to die on the spot.
'We'll revive you,' Johnny said unsympathetically.
'It's good for you, Brian,' said Declan, a veritable Judas
Iscariot who turned out to love exercise too.
Finally they got the pint.
'You're curiously calm for a condemned man,' Johnny said
to Declan.
'It's all an act,' Declan said truthfully.
'And how's Fiona?' Brian asked.
'Oh, wouldn't it be great to understand the mind of a
woman.'
'They're usually more focused than we are. Certainly about
weddings.'

'It would be much better if you could look at some of these
properties, Rosemary,' Bobby Walsh pleaded.
'What for? Haven't you said that you're buying one anyway?
What does my approval mean one way or another?'
'I just want somewhere all on one floor. I can't make stairs
any more. We have many good years left.'
'Shuffling around in a crowded apartment? I don't think
so.'
'If we're together isn't that all that matters?'
'We're together here,' she said.
'I live in a bedsitter here, Rosemary. I can't manage the
steps up to the hall door. Let's choose somewhere you like.'
She said nothing, just stood there like a mutinous child.
'Then I'll have to choose for you. There's a very nice place
I've been told about. It's got a little garden. There's a block of
thirty just going on the market. If we offer the estate agents the
chance to sell this place, then they'll give us our pick of the

new apartments. The corner one on the ground floor looks the
nicest. You can see the sea from the window, and they have a
swimming pool in the complex.'
'Where is this place you've set your heart on?'
He named the posh area and saw her eyes widen a little. She
would have no trouble selling the idea of this move to her
snobby friends. If he played this properly it might be plain
sailing from now on.
'It wouldn't hurt to see it,' she said.

Hilary Hickey was coping with two painters. They had come
to touch up some neglected areas of the clinic - at the request
of Frank Ennis. That was surprising enough. Then it was even
more odd to see Rosemary Walsh come alone to the heart
clinic. It wasn't a day when Bobby had an appointment. She
hoped Mrs Walsh wasn't here to make some kind of trouble.
Fortunately Ania had gone for her lunch so there wouldn't
have to be a confrontation there.
'I wonder is there anyone who could give me some advice
about Bobby's heart condition?' Rosemary Walsh began.
'Well, Clara is up at the hospital just now.'
'Not Clara,' Mrs Walsh said.
'Declan's here.'
'Yes, Declan.'
She was imperious still. But she seemed to be readjusting
her face somehow so as to turn on the charm.
'Ah, Dr Declan, and we're getting near the big day.'
'Indeed, Mrs Walsh. Looking forward to seeing you and
Bobby there.'
'And what kind of a gift would you like?' Rosemary managed
to make the word 'gift' seem somehow beneath her.
Declan smiled wanly. 'Just your being there would be
enough, but if you do insist, then we would love a CD, some
nice music that meant something to you and Bobby perhaps?'

She looked at him witheringly. 'What I really came for was
to know about Bobby's heart. Would it increase his life
expectancy if we were to live somewhere on one floor?'
'You know it would, Mrs Walsh, we've been over this many
times. Clara and I showed you both the results of his stress
test. Gentle exercise, a swim if possible, but no stairs.'
'So I suppose I have to do it then,' she sighed heavily.
'Do what?'
'Give up my lovely house by the sea and move to a cramped
flat. Bobby has his eye on one,' and she named the development.
'Hardly
most people's idea of a cramped flat,' Declan said.
'Most of Ireland would love to be able to afford a place there.'
'Compared to what I was used to,' she said coldly. Then
changing the subject abruptly, she said, 'And could Johnny
come round and do exercises with him there: try and build
him up a bit?'
'No, Johnny works here and in the hospital. He could give
you a list of exercises, however, or the details of some other
physiotherapist that you might like to employ personally.'
'You mean he won't come to a sick man's house?'
'Johnny works here for the Health Service. You and Mr
Walsh are lucky enough to be able to afford a private physiotherapist.
And indeed, Johnny can write out the exercises for
you, and you could do them with Bobby.'
'You're asking me to do exercises?'
Something snapped in Declan's head. The strain of the last
few days, of keeping up an act, pretending everything was all
right when he wanted to howl at the moon - all of it crashed
around him in the face of this dreadful woman.
'Listen to me, Mrs Walsh. If I thought I could help Fiona's
life by doing exercises, by cooking her low-salt, low-fat meals,
if I thought I could give her one more day in this world with
me, I would do everything I could. I would stand on my head

if I thought it would help. And so would Nora for Aidan
Dunne, and so would Lar's wife, and so would so many of the
relatives who come here. You may not feel like that. We're all
different.'
'Are you criticising me, Dr Carroll?'
'No, Mrs Walsh. Now can you tell me what exactly you
wanted me to say to you when you came in here?' He turned
away so that she wouldn't see him shaking with rage and
annoyance.
'Please, Dr Carroll--' she began.
'Just tell me, what did you hope for?'
She was so shocked by his voice that she answered him
truthfully. 'I suppose I hoped you would say it didn't really
matter. That Bobby wouldn't improve, no matter where he
was. Then we could stay where we were.'
'That's what you hoped to hear?' Declan was trembling.
'Yes, since you asked me.'
'May you get what you deserve, Rosemary Walsh,' he said
and turned away. He closed his eyes and tried to do measured
breathing. 'May you get what you deserve in life,' he said and
walked away. He was halfway down the corridor when he
heard the crash and the screams.

Hilary was already on the phone for an ambulance when
Declan burst back into the room.
Rosemary had pushed her way past the workmen's ladders
and knocked one of them down. The ladder was supporting a
long plank of wood where two painters stood working away.
They had been thrown to the ground in a welter of paint pots
and falling timber. Right on top of Rosemary Walsh.
Declan knelt beside them. Was this all his fault? Where the
hell was Ania? The one time they really needed someone to
speak Polish.

'Ania!' he called out helplessly. Fiona appeared at the door
and took in the situation at a glance.
'She's got a new mobile phone. I'll call her,' Fiona said. It
was done in seconds. Ania was running back from the sandwich
bar in the precinct.
'Rosemary?' Fiona said.
'Unconscious. She has a pulse. I want to move the guys
first.'
Ania ran and knelt beside them. Declan barked questions
and Ania, holding their hands, translated quickly. Declan saw
confidence coming back to their faces as they were being addressed
in their own language.
'Tell them they're fine,' he said.
'I already have,' Ania said.
Fiona suggested that Ania sit with the Polish men until the
ambulance arrived. She took her place kneeling beside Declan.
'She's breathing,' she said.
'Barely,' Declan said.
They knelt there looking at Rosemary Walsh, her face
cut from splintered wood and her legs at a very odd angle.
She might have a fractured spine. Declan ran his hands up and
down her.
'Broken arm. Broken leg. Her neck feels okay, but I don't
want to risk moving her.'
'What would you do if there was no ambulance coming?'
Fiona asked.
'What I'm going to do now. I'd start to resuscitate.'
'But . . .'
'Her breathing is very shallow. We could be losing her,' he
said. And in front of Hilary, Lavender, Ania, Fiona and the
two groaning Polish boys, Dr Declan Carroll began a mouthto-mouth
resuscitation of Rosemary Walsh, undoubtedly the least likeable person that any of them had ever met.

The ambulance men were full of praise. If it hadn't been for
the young doctor, they said . . . and shook their heads. They
had her in the hospital in no time. She was badly injured
but she would live. Someone would have to tell her next of
kin.
'I'll tell Carl,' Ania said.
Til tell Bobby,' Declan said.

By the time Clara got back, Hilary had spoken to the Guards
who were called to investigate the incident and told them in
her clear voice how Rosemary Walsh had walked directly into
the ladder and caused the accident.
'And why did she not see the ladder?' the young policeman
asked.
'She was in a stressed condition,' Hilary said diplomatically.
'Where's Declan now?' Clara wanted to know.
'Out in the leafy suburbs, breaking the news to Bobby.'
'And why didn't Fiona go with him? I saw her as I came
in.'
'Search me, Clara. I don't think all is well in that area. I
have a feeling that you and I will be wearing our new gear to
our own children's wedding sooner than giving it an outing
for Declan and Fiona's big day.'
'Yes, I think you're right. Pity. They are so suited. And I
imagine it means we'll lose Fiona.'
'But why?' Hilary asked. 'Declan will be going anyway. His
time here is nearly up.'
'Fiona won't want to hang around. Not if it's all over. She'll
move on somewhere.'
'I wonder what it's all about?' Hilary said.
'Something utterly unimportant. These things usually are.
We'll never know,' Clara said with a sigh.

'Bobby, it's just Declan Carroll.'
'Declan, how good to see you. How did you get in?' Bobby
was in his little bedsitting room.
'I let myself in. I'll sit down here beside you.'
Declan had in fact taken Rosemary's keys from her handbag.
'Rosemary
left the door open? That's so unlike her.' Bobby
was distressed.
'No, no.' Declan was soothing.
'Let me get you a cup of tea.' Bobby was always the polite
host.
'Let me make it. I make great tea.' He made them a mug
each with a lot of sugar.
'I don't really take sugar,' Bobby began.
'You do today, Bobby. Rosemary had a bit of an accident.
She's perfectly fine now, but she'll be in hospital for a while.
Ania and Carl want you to go and stay in their flat. I'm to take
you there now.'
Bobby's face was drained of colour. His questions came
tumbling out.
'Believe me, Bobby, she's going to be fine. I'll take you to
see her. Please, Bobby, drink your tea.'
'Oh, poor Rosemary. Where did it happen? Was she in the
car?'
'No, nothing like that. She was walking down a corridor
and she bumped into a ladder and a great plank and tins of
paint and two men who were painting all fell down.'
'And how was she hurt?'
'A lot of grazes and scratches. And she's a broken arm and a
broken leg.'
'No!'
'But it's all under control. She has a great young surgeon
and she'll be going into theatre tomorrow.'

'She's
sedated. She's very calm.'
'And does she know you've come to see me?'
'I told her, but she may not have taken it in,' Declan said.
'Bobby, can you direct me? I'll pack a bag for you and we can
meet Carl and Ania at the hospital.'
'Carl is coming to the hospital? To see her?'
'Yes, indeed.'
'Oh, she will be pleased. They had a silly misunderstanding,
you know.'
'People have forgotten all about that,' Declan said cheerfully.
Just
as well Bobby didn't know what an uphill struggle Ania
was having asking Carl to go and see his mother. He was
resisting it as hard as he could.

Fiona was sitting in a bar looking out over Dublin Bay. It was
so beautiful.
Declan used to say that they were so lucky to live in Dublin:
a big roaring city and then the sea only ten minutes away
and the mountains twenty minutes in the other direction. She
noticed that she was thinking Declan used to say. After next
week it really would be the past. She looked up as a shadow
fell across the table.
'Barbara, what on earth are you doing here?'
'Once upon a time it was "Oh, Barbara, isn't that great. Sit
down and have a drink." '
'We're ten miles from Dublin. You're not here by coincidence.'
'You're
right. I'm not. I followed you.'
'You what?'
'Yes, I followed you. You don't come home to our flat. You
don't talk at work. You're not at your mother and father's

house. You're not up at the Carrolls' house. Am I not entitled
to know where my friend is going and what's wrong?'
'Nothing's wrong.'
'Yeah?'
'No, seriously, Barbara, that's not fair. You're worse than
any of them. Can't you understand that I just want some time
by myself?'
'No, I can't.'
'Well, you should learn. That's what people want from
friends. They want support and understanding. Not a load of
detective work and following people out on trains.'
'Tell me, Fiona.'
'No, I won't. I can't.'
'Why can't you? We used to tell each other everything. I
told you about the first time I ever went to bed with a fellow
and he was so appalled by all the safety pins in my underwear
it nearly turned him off. And you were great. You understood.'
'I
know, but this is different.'
'And you told me about Shane and I understood. Why
can't I understand now?'
'It's about Shane. It's all about bloody Shane.'
'But he's dead, Fiona. You must know he's dead.'
'How did you know?'
'I saw it in the paper.'
'And you said nothing to me?'
'I waited for you to say something to me and you didn't, so
I thought you just didn't want it mentioned.'
'I felt nothing about him when I heard. I was the one who
identified him to the Guards.'
'You actually went to see his body? Oh, my God!' Barbara
was shocked.
'No, I phoned the Guards.'
'And what did you feel?'

'Nothing. Nothing for him. I didn't care if he lived or
died.'
Barbara's kind face was stricken.
'Oh, sit down, Barbara, for God's sake, sit down and have
an Irish coffee.'
'I haven't had an Irish coffee in weeks. Remember the
kingfisher-blue dress, a size too small.'
'Forget the bloody kingfisher-blue dress. There isn't going
to be a wedding.'
'Then I'd like a large brandy,' Barbara said.

'Mother?'
'Is that you, Carl?'
'Yes, Mother. You're going to be fine.'
'I'm sorry, Carl.'
'What for, Mother, it was all an accident.'
'Yes. I'm sorry for not just dying there and then and leaving
you all to get on with your lives normally.'
'Mother, you're going to be fine and we are all delighted
that it wasn't too serious.'
'I'm sorry for what I said.'
'We all say things we don't mean.' He patted her arm.
'I didn't wish to be hurtful,' she said.
'Neither did I, Mother.'
Rosemary closed her eyes. Carl left the room.
Outside the open door his father sat in a wheelchair pushed
by Ania.
'Thank you, son,' Bobby said, with tears in his eyes.
'No, Dad, it's the truth. We all do say things we don't
mean,' Carl said. But his face was cold. They all knew that
Rosemary Walsh had meant exactly what she said.

Declan was cleaning his shoes in the kitchen at St Jarlath's
Crescent.

'Mam, will I do your shoes for you? I'm doing my own.'
'No, Declan, but you could do something for me?'
'What is it, Mam?'
'Could you tell me what's wrong between you and Fiona?'
'What do you mean, what's wrong?'
'She came back here the other night with Dimples. She'd
walked about ten miles around Dublin and back and she had
been crying her eyes out.'
'And did you ask her why?'
'I didn't like to. I thought you and she might have had a
row.'
'No, we didn't,' he said simply.
'If you could have seen her! She just handed Dimples back
to me and walked down the crescent. She was bent over, as if
she were in pain.'
Declan had stopped brushing his shoes.
'It will all be sorted out by Monday,' he said, speaking like
an automaton.
'Oh, Declan, if something needs to be sorted out why for
the Lord's sake wait until Monday?' Molly Carroll asked.
'That was what was agreed.'

In Dunlaoghaire, ordinary people with ordinary lives enjoyed
the summer evening by the coast. They went for long, healthy
walks the length of the pier. Some of them got into yachts and
went out into the bay. Others settled into small restaurants.
Only Barbara and Fiona seemed out of touch with the
gentle summery feel of it all.
'Tell me again,' Barbara said. 'You feel nothing over Shane.
You love Declan, but you can't marry Declan because you
don't trust your judgement? Is that it?'
'Well, that's a way of putting it.'
'I've listened to you for half an hour, Fiona, and I'm on my


second large brandy. I can't understand what you're saying.
I've tried to sum it up. Am I right or am I wrong?'
'Basically right.'
'Then you are quite totally mad,' Barbara said.
'Why? I made one bad call. I might be making another.
What's so hard to understand about that?'
'Well, where do I start?' Barbara said. 'I could start by
saying that Shane was a snivelling loser. A drug addict who hit
you. Who dug deep and found the victim side of you. That's
Shane. Declan is Declan. Mad about you, funny, good, kind,
wise. You have never been so happy and positive since you
met him. You could take on any job. He builds up your
confidence. Look, why am I telling you all this, trying to sell
him to you? I bet he doesn't know any of this.'
'I tried to tell him, but he said the past was over. I don't
think he understood -- he made me promise not to say anything
more until Monday.'
'Because he's normal, that's why. Who could understand
your rantings and ramblings?' Barbara called for the bill.
'You're going to talk to him now!' she said.
'No, he said Monday. That's what was agreed.'
Barbara took Fiona's mobile phone. 'Hi, Declan, Barbara
here. Fiona and I are in a pub in Dunlaoghaire. Can you get
here?'
Fiona looked like a guilty child.
Barbara continued, 'It's important that you know she didn't
tell me. I guessed. She's still bleating on about doing nothing
until Monday. Monday! God, Declan, we'll all be dead by
Monday. Could you come out here quickly? I'll try to hold
her down until you get here.'

Barbara stood and watched as Declan and Fiona joined the
groups of ordinary people walking in the evening sunshine. She
knew that neither of them could see the sea or little boats

bobbing up and down. They weren't aware of the other people:
the man selling balloons; the children eating huge ice-cream
cones. But they walked close together and seemed to be talking
to each other. Barbara sighed.
It was going to be all right. They had just looked at each
other and said nothing when they met. That was a good sign.
Oh well, she would walk some of the way home. She had to
get rid of three hundred-plus extra empty calories she'd drunk.
It looked as if the kingfisher-blue dress might be needed after
all.

'My legs feel a bit wobbly,' Fiona said, 'could we sit down?'
Declan guided them to a stone seat. He sat there and held
her hand.
'You do know what it's all about?' she said after a while.
'No, I don't, to be honest.'
'But I told yon. I explained for hours.'
'I didn't understand it fully.'
'What did you think it was?' she demanded.
'Nerves,' he said simply.
There was a silence.
'I don't have nerves,' Fiona said eventually.
'Good. Because neither do I. I am so sure we'll have a great
marriage.'
'We can't marry.' Her voice was very level and calm.
'Why not exactly?'
'Because I once made a very stupid choice and fell in love
with the idea of getting married and roaming the world. I'm
afraid I'm doing it all over again.'
'But we're not roaming the world. We're going to settle down
here. We're meant to be putting a deposit on a flat this week.'
'No, Declan, too much has happened.'
'And did it all happen since we agreed to get married?'
'In a way, yes. Shane died.'

'Shane?'
'The fellow I went off with to Greece. Remember I tried to
tell you . . .'
'And I said what had happened in our past wasn't important.'
K'But it is, Declan, it's what shapes us.'
'Well then, I was poorly shaped. I hardly had a. past.'
'And I had Shane.'
'This fellow you fancied way back? Were you upset because
he died?'
'I swear I couldn't have cared less.'
Declan's honest face was almost at the end of trying to
understand all this.
'What has this to do with us? We don't have a difficult
relationship. We want the same things or I thought we did.
Where's the similarity?'
'I might be making an equally mad decision. In a few years'
time I might care nothing about you. It's just the way I'm
made. My mad personality.'
'It's up to me to make you keep loving me,' Declan said.
'No, if it were only that simple. I'm a mad, damaged
person, incapable of making decisions. It's better that I don't
make any ever again.'
'You've got to help me here, Fiona. I'm focusing. I'm
concentrating, but I still don't get it.'
'I'll tell you the whole story again then,' she said.
'Will you tell it slowly this time? Please, Fiona?'
She actually smiled. 'I will,' she said, 'and if I go too fast,
slow me down.'
And the telling did take a long time, but the talking took
even longer.

And so everything was back on track. Nobody had been told
anything of what went on out by the sea, what was said, what
was not said and what was patted down.

The wedding dress fittings were cheerful. The waistcoat was
made. The hall was decorated. Brian Flynn was duly licensed
to serve alcohol. The twins brought tasting menus to the
Carrolls' house so that everyone could decide what they liked
and what they didn't. The two mothers brought their shoes
to be stretched. Ania managed to wrestle from Fiona that if
she were at a theoretical wedding, and she were the theoretical bride, she would love some heavy cut-crystal tumblers or a
cut-glass bowl and Ania ran off and bought both as there was
enough cash in the fund.
Declan suggested that Fiona find out where Shane's grave
was.
'It's making too much of him,' she said.
'You loved him for a while. He deserves some kind of
goodbye,' Declan said.
His mother had no idea who she was.
'There were so many girls,' Shane's mother said on the
phone, 'and for what, in the end?' But she told Fiona where
the grave was and she and Declan went to see it. The headstone
was not yet up. Just a simple cross and the number of
the plot. Fiona laid flowers on it.
'I'm sorry you didn't have a better life,' she said.
'May you sleep in peace,' Declan said.
And oddly, she did feel better as they left the big city
graveyard. Somehow peaceful.

Rosemary Walsh was very bruised and battered, but recovering.
Bobby
came to see her every day. Ania had offered to wash
her nightdresses, but Carl had been adamant.
'You're going to be her daughter-in-law, not her carer,' he
said.
'But a good daughter-in-law would be happy to care for a
sick woman.'

'Dad can take the nightdresses home and Emilia can wash
and iron them or they can be sent to a laundry.'
'It would be such a little thing,' Ania said.
'To me, it would be a big thing,' Carl said.
He went to see his mother once a week and helped his
father organise the move.
On one of his hospital visits he brought an inventory of
what they had in the big house looking out over the bay:
furniture, paintings, glassware, ornaments.
'You can take about a fifth of this, Mother,' he said.
Immediately she began to complain.
'Dad says he doesn't mind what he takes but that possessions
are very important to you. You collected them over the
years. So just let me know and I will arrange that they be
transferred.'
'But it's not at all certain that we really want to move. We
might rent something.'
'Dad has bought it, Mother. And you can't go back to the
old house. You couldn't manage the steps either.' He spoke as
if her injuries were of no remote interest to him.
'Will you always hate me, Carl?' she asked.
'No, indeed, Mother, I don't hate you at all,' he said in a
flat voice with no tone of reassurance in it.

Frank Ennis came to discuss the accident with Clara.
'Will we sue Mrs Walsh?' he said.
'I think not, Frank. The woman could have broken every
bone in her body. Her husband has serious heart failure.
Hardly likely to be helpful to him.'
'But she did knock it down.'
'Oh, I know she did, but not deliberately.'
'That's not the point. They will have plenty of insurance.'
'So have we.'

'But we're blameless. There was even a sign warning people.
I checked.'
'Leave it, Frank. We're well covered. I checked that too.'
'You don't know how to save a no claims bonus,' Frank
said, shaking his head.
'No, I'm glad to say I don't,' Clara agreed.
'What are you wearing to the wedding?' he asked suddenly.
'A moss-green dress with a black hat with ribbons of moss
green around the hat.'
'Sounds lovely,' he said.
'It's not bad, certainly. And you, Frank, what will you wear?'
'Well, it does say "Dress Smart Casual". I wish I knew what
that means.'
'I think it means no jeans,' Clara said.
'That wouldn't be an option,' Frank said seriously. 'But I
was wondering about wearing a blazer.'
'A blazer? Like with brass buttons and everything?'
'No. It has ordinary cloth-covered buttons,' he said. He
looked very unsure.
Clara was touched, despite herself, and decided to be kind.
'And light-coloured trousers?' she suggested.
'Exactly. I thought of pale grey and an open-necked shirt
and a cravat.'
'God, Frank, you'll be beating them off you with a stick!'
she said.

Vonni arrived three days before the wedding.
She looked older than Fiona had expected. Or maybe it was
that this was Vonni in unfamiliar territory. If she had been
back in Aghia Anna among all the people she knew, greeting
everyone and busy about her work, it might have been different.
Here, she was in a totally changed Ireland, in a capital city
she hadn't seen for decades. Her only friends were Fiona,

Maud and Simon. She looked bewildered, which was something
Fiona had not seen before.
Fiona had arranged for Vonni to stay with Muttie and his
wife Lizzie, where the twins lived. It had been touching to see
how eager they were to see her again and show her their city.
And proud that she would be at their first professional wedding
engagement.
Maud and Simon had gone to the airport to meet her and
chattered the whole way back to St Jarlath's Crescent where
Vonni met Muttie and Lizzie, and then Declan and his
parents, and finally Fiona. Fiona had arranged to take Vonni
out for a meal to catch up.
They went to the Early Bird meal at Quentins, where
Vonni almost fainted at the prices. It was all so expensive,
this new Ireland, compared to the country she had left. They
talked long and affectionately of Tom and Elsa and the new
baby. Who could ever have foreseen any of this? And of
David, who now got on well with his mother and was finally
doing what he liked to do with his life. They were surprised
that some woman hadn't pinned him down. He would be
ideal husband material.
They talked of Andreas back in Aghia Anna, and his
brother Yorghis, and how Andreas's son Adoni had taken to
the business so well. How he was going to marry Maria, the
widow of Manos, who had been killed in a boat accident.
'The same Maria that David taught to drive!' Fiona cried.
'The very one,' Vonni agreed.
And Fiona touched lightly on the forbidden world of
Vonni's son. A blank look came across Vonni's face. So no
change there then.
'I'm not trying to pry, I just wondered if there was anything
at all?'
'Nothing of significance. No.'

So they left that and Vonni touched gently on the closed
subject of Shane.
'Did he ever come back to Ireland?' she asked.
There was a silence.
'Sorry,' Vonni said, 'I shouldn't have mentioned him.'
'No. No problem. He did come back to Ireland. To die.'
'Merciful God,' said Vonni.
'Yes. He died in a dirty bedroom from a drugs overdose.'
'What a waste of a young life,' Vonni said.
'Yes, I suppose so.'
'You're not upset then?'
'No, in fact I'm shocked at how un-upset I am.'
'That part of your life is over. That's why it hasn't any
power to hurt you any more.'
'I believe that now. Declan convinced me.'
'You told him about Shane?'
'Yes. Declan is remarkable.'
'You're very lucky, Fiona. He is special, just like you wrote
to me when you met him first. You'll be very happy.'
'I don't deserve it.'
'Yes, you do. You had guts when you needed them. You are
kind to people. Don't be so quick to put yourself down. That
was one of my faults too.'
'Are you better now?'
'I think so, yes. I've stopped blaming myself that my sister
doesn't like me. It's not my fault any more.'
'You're not going to see her while you're here?'
'No. I don't think we'd have anything to say to each other.'
'I could go with you on the train tomorrow if you like?'
Fiona offered.
'Two days before your wedding! You have a million things
to do, Fiona.'
'I don't, as it happens. We could have lunch with her and
come back that evening.'


'No, Fiona, honestly. It's a long way to travel to have two
old ladies sit and look at each other with disapproval. No,
we'll give it a miss. I'll just continue with the Christmas and
birthday cards.'
'And does she . . . ?'
'Not any more. She used to send postcards from places, just
showing off that she visited Rome or New York. But she
doesn't even bother now.'
Vonni was resigned and Fiona changed the subject.
I'Right, we'll take you on a tour of Dublin instead. There's a
get-on get-off bus we could try.'
'Correct me if I'm wrong, Fiona, but isn't that what all buses are? You get on them, you get off them?'
'No. This is a tour bus. We can stay on it all day if we want
or get off and explore something and get back on another. It's
a great way of seeing Dublin. I'm going to suggest David does
it too. Maybe we could go together, the three of us, and the
twins, if they're ever going to take any time off again.'
'Fiona, what do people earn in this country to be able to
pay prices like this? Look at what they charge for coffee!'
'Why do you think we're all racing out to Aghia Anna?'
Fiona laughed and patted the old, lined hand on the table.

When David arrived the next day, Fiona met him and took
him to his lodgings in Barbara's flat.
'She won't mind?'
'No, this is my room when I stay here. I've been wandering
around for the last few weeks: Declan's house, my parents'
house and here. She'll be glad of the company.'
David gave her another hug.
'I'm so pleased to see you so happy after . . . after everything.'
'And
you too, David. I'm taking you off on a bus tour of
Dublin right now. We're meeting Vonni at the start point.

And the twins. But I won't even begin to explain who they are
exactly.'
'It's all like a dream, Fiona. And the sun is still shining, like
when we waved goodbye to the others at the Cafe Midnight in
Aghia Anna,' he said, taking out his notebook and pencil for
the journey.
She had forgotten just how much she liked David. Wasn't
he just great to have come over for her wedding?

The two days before the wedding were busy for everyone.
Vonni had been invited with Paddy Carroll and Muttie
Scarlet and their associates to have a drink in their pub. She
explained that she didn't drink herself due to early excesses,
and they all nodded gravely as if that could have been their
own problem had things not been different.
Barbara had taken David to a pottery exhibition where
he met a lot of craftsmen and women who invited him to
different parts of Ireland.
Clara's daughter Adi had left for South America with Gerry
to save some forest. Linda, on the other hand, had got a major
arts programme on television to cover Nick Hickey playing
alto sax at a jazz evening in the record shop. Clara and Hilary
had been in the audience bursting with pride over the two of
them.
Peter Barry and his new lady friend Claire Cotter had sent
a wedding gift of a half-dozen linen table napkins and had
already taken two dancing lessons so that they wouldn't look
foolish on the floor.
Father Brian Flynn had invited his Polish priest friend
Father Tomasz from Rossmore to attend the wedding in the
hope that he might send more weddings their way and that
it might also distract him from St Ann's Well which he had
become altogether too fond of.

The twins had practised so well that they were sure it would
work. Their nerves had calmed down.
Lavender had seen the wedding menu and told her patients
that if they stayed with the smoked salmon and salads they
couldn't go far wrong.
Johnny had said there was no better exercise than dancing
and had shown some of his stiffer patients how to look and
feel more limber. He had to borrow a tie for his role as best
man.
Tim, the security man, who was coming to the wedding
with Lidia, thought privately that the place was a fire hazard
and that those twins would probably burn it down on the day.
So he quietly installed more fire extinguishers and fire blankets
just in case.
Ania had delivered the wedding dress to Fiona's parents,
delivered the waistcoat to Declan and the wall hangings to
Father Flynn.
She had made a moss-green silk flower for Clara, arranged
flowers for the two mothers and done buttonholes for Johnny
and Carl.
'What are you wearing yourself?' Carl asked.
'I haven't thought,' Ania said.
'You know the dress you wore to my parents' party?'
'Ye-es.' She spoke doubtfully.
'I never saw it properly.'
'It isn't much to look at now. The sleeves had to be removed.
It looks a bit sad now.'
'Could you make new sleeves?' he wondered.
'I'd need to get lace,' she said.
'Let's go and buy some lace.'
'You mean new lace in a shop?' She was overwhelmed by
such extravagance.
'That's what I mean,' Carl said affectionately.
Frank Ennis tried on his outfit. He was afraid he looked like

a mad old sailor. Maybe the blazer wasn't a good idea. He
wished he'd said no to the invitation, saying that sadly he
would be elsewhere. He would be hopelessly awkward and out
of place.
Lar and Judy and Mrs Kitty Reilly were all gearing up for it.
Kitty Reilly had now discovered St Ann's Well in Rossmore
and was praying that the place be made the new Lourdes or
Fatima. Her children were very impressed that she had been
invited to the wedding of a young doctor. That was class. They
were less impressed by the venue. An immigrants' church in
the back streets of Dublin. A hall where these people ate their
foreign food.
The Walsh family were going together. Carl was going
to push his mother in her wheelchair and Ania was going to
wheel Bobby. Ania knew the church and the hall. She knew
exactly where they would be settled.
The house move had taken place. Rosemary would be
coming to live in the new apartment in a couple of weeks'
time. She was only on day-release for the wedding.
She was very different now. She was grateful for suggestions,
instead of scorning them.
Ania had said that she might want to wear something smart
for the wedding and that Bobby should ask her to choose from
her outfits. Rosemary said that this was very thoughtful of
Bobby and she would like a long cream skirt and a brown
velvet top. She fussed about what gift they should send until
Carl begged Ania to ask Fiona what they wanted and to tell,
them quickly before everyone went insane.
Fiona said that she and Declan would just love a picnic
basket so that they could go up the Head of Howth or out
to sit in Killiney Strand. Rosemary rang the top stores and
ordered the last word in picnic baskets.
Fiona and Declan had stared at it dumbfounded when it
arrived. They had only meant an insulated bag that would

keep beer cool. This was a huge basket with leather straps and
brass buckles and proper cutlery and plates and glasses and
even napkins. They could hardly wait to take it on its first
outing.

By the wedding morning, Barbara and David had become
great friends. They had been to the theatre together. They had
walked by the Liffey and they had taken the DART out to the
seaside where Barbara pointed out the houses of pop singers
and actors.
He was interested in everything -- including Barbara.
She told him about the dress and the fear the zip might
¦ split.
™'Why don't I sew you into the dress?' David suggested.
'Are you serious?'
'Totally. I can make big loopy stitches, give you room to
breathe. Dance even?'
'Dance? David, if I get down that aisle, I won't move again
for the rest of the day.'
'Wait till you see the stitching job I'll do,' David promised.
'You'll be dancing until dawn.'

The two mothers were congratulating each other on getting
this far.
'I think it was your talking to Declan that did the trick,'
Maureen said.
'No. You knocked some sense into Fiona.' Molly was
anxious to give equal praise.
'I don't think I did that much, Molly. We've always been
terrified of Fiona.'
'She's the sweetest, gentlest girl I ever met,' Molly Carroll
said, and not for the first time Fiona's mother wondered at the
different faces of ourselves that we showed to different people.

Fiona woke on the day to find her sisters standing by the bed.
'We brought you scrambled eggs and toast,' said Ciara.
'And fresh orange juice,' said Sinead.
'Thank you so much. I'm going to miss you,' Fiona said.
'We never did this before,' Ciara said anxiously.
'No, that's not true, but it's still very nice. What time's
Barbara coming?'
'She's downstairs having coffee with Mam. She's looking
terrific'
'Is she dressed?'
'Yeah, she's all glammed up. She says you're to take your
time. Have a shower and she'll come up and help you then.'
'If I eat much more of this, she'll have to sew me into my
dress.'
'That's what your friend did to her apparently. David. He
sewed her into her dress. She was telling Mam.'
Fiona shook her head. Her sisters were both daft. They
never got the right end of any stick in their lives.

There was a crowd outside the church when Fiona and her
father arrived. Father Flynn had encouraged everyone to come
and cheer on the wedding. There were even photographers
and journalists asking where the bride and groom were from.
They were disappointed to find out that they were both Dubliners.
They were hoping this would be more exotic, maybe
even a celebrity wedding.

'Thanks, Dad, for everything,' Fiona said at the church door.
'I can't tell you how happy your mother and I are today.
Like when we think . . .'he stopped.
'Let's not think about things like that, Dad. Not today,'
Fiona said.
'How did you get to be so bloody serene all of a sudden?'
Barbara hissed at her.

'How did you get into that dress?' Fiona hissed back.
'David sewed me into it this morning. He's a peach, David.
Why didn't you ever tell me?'
'I did tell you.' Fiona was stung. 'That's why I got you to
give him a room.'
'Girls!' Fiona's father was very firm. 'Enough of this, the
music is playing. We have to walk the walk.'
And as the sun shone through the windows of what had
once been a biscuit factory, Fiona heard the music begin. If
her life had depended on it, Fiona could not have identified
what they were playing, even though she had chosen it herself.
She saw everyone in the church stand up and they got a nod
from Father Brian on the altar.
They were off.
At the altar, Declan turned around. Walking slowly towards
him was the most beautiful girl in the world. She looked
dazzling in her Indian silk dress, she carried yellow and white
roses in a bouquet. The dress was plain and classic, letting the
fabric speak: it was like some designer creation, yet Declan
knew it had been made by Ania, helped by her mother.
The church was crowded, but Fiona never once looked
around her to take in the surroundings: she walked on towards
him, her face one big radiant smile. She was going to be his
wife in a few moments from now.
Declan closed his eyes for two seconds at the wonder of it
all.
Hilary didn't care who saw her crying; she didn't even
bother to wipe her face.
Clara felt a tear coming out of the corner of her eye; and to
her astonishment Frank Enriis passed her a tissue.
There might have been fifty such scenes in the congregation
-- but Declan and Fiona saw none of them.
Nothing could take their eyes away from each other.

Father Flynn had asked only one favour, that the speeches be
kept brief. He had been told by a very wise person that there
was one rule to remember. You can never be too short or too
flattering. He told this to Fiona's father who might easily have
been long-winded. He also mentioned it to Johnny, who as
best man would certainly have felt it necessary to make some
risque jokes; but he saw something in Father Flynn's face that
made him lose the original script.
The photographer, Mouth Mangan, was as good as his
word and remarkably speedy. There was no endless hanging
about. Father Flynn took his business card in case they should
need his services again.
The hall was a delight. The huge buffet tables were so
welcoming and a legion of Simon's and Maud's friends were
doing what was called work experience: passing drinks around
and helping people to fill their plates.
Everywhere Fiona and Declan looked they saw friends and
well-wishers. Fiona felt bathed in such happiness she could
even be nice to Rosemary Walsh.
'Thank you again for the really wonderful picnic basket,'
she said. 'It was such a generous gift.'
'Good, good. You wrote a very nice letter. One does try.
It's such an odd thing to want. Bobby and I thought the only
thing to do was to try and get you a top-class one.'
'And you did, Mrs Walsh. It's quite splendid. Can I introduce
you to anyone? My mother? Declan's mother?'
'I don't think so, dear. Who is that lady with the lined face
and the coloured skirt? The one who looks like a gypsy.'
'That's Vonni. She came from Greece specially.'
'And is she a gypsy?'
'No, not at all. She runs a craft shop there.'
'And is she Greek?'
'Irish.'
'Heavens! She does look interesting.'

'I'll bring her over to meet you,' Fiona said and made
her way over to Vonni's side. She clutched Vonni's arm and
whispered, 'Only one really poisonous person here and she
said she'd like to meet you. She was the one who behaved so
badly to Ania. Remember, I told you?'
'Lead me to her,' Vonni said, with a gleam in her eye.
'Gently, Vonni,' Fiona warned.
'Like silk,' Vonni promised.

Everyone said the speeches were a delight: short and warm.
What more could you want?
The food was delicious and Fiona had asked for three cheers
for the caterers whose first official function this was. Only the
cake and the dancing remained.
Vonni had love-bombed Rosemary Walsh almost out of
her wheelchair with her praise and delight for the new Irish,
and how they had arrived just when the Celts needed them.
Rosemary had never met such a forceful argument and found
herself stammering agreement.
Linda and Nick told their mothers that they didn't want
to upstage Fiona's day, but they thought they might well get
married in this church and have the reception in this hall. f'You're getting married? Hilary and Clara spoke in unison,
_ their mouths round in shock and pleasure.
™They had hoped and plotted that the two young people
would get together, but actually getting married? It was beyond
their wildest dreams.

Ania kept an eye on the wheelchairs so that she could give any
assistance if it was needed.
'Ania?'
'Yes, Mrs Walsh?'
'I wanted to ask you something.'
'Of course.'

'It's a bit awkward.'
'Do you want to go to the bathroom, Mrs Walsh? I can take
you there easily.' Ania was ready to be helpful as usual.
'No, no, nothing like that. It's about what I said to you and
to Carl. I am so sorry.'
'But that's all a long time ago. It's long ago. Forgotten
now.'
'Carl hasn't forgotten. His face is cold and hard. He is my
only child. If you and he were to marry you would be my only
daughter-in-law and your children my only grandchildren. I
can't bear to think that I have lost all this with my stupid
remarks.'
'No, no, believe me, Mrs Walsh.'
'Could you call me Rosemary?'
'No, that would be difficult. Look - Carl must take his own
time to make his peace. Me? I have made my peace with you. I
will always be your friend. I love your son. I hope to make him
happy, but I don't want to do anything to force his hand. Is
that the expression?'
'That's the expression, Ania. You are very bright. I am just a
blind person.'¦
'You are a person who needs some wedding cake. I will go
and get you some,' said Ania.
I
Rosemary watched her in her elegant dress go across the
room talking to this person and that. She realised that only a
few weeks ago she herself was doing that at her ruby wedding
party.
And look at her now.

Tom and Cathy Feather came in at the cake stage to see how f
their proteges had fared. It all seemed to have been a glorious
success. They had followed all their training too about leftovers.
These had been sealed in plastic bags and put into the
freezer.


The dancing had started. Bride and groom danced to the
music of'True Love'.
Then the parents and their spouses. The best man went
over to ask the maid of honour, but she was already dancing
with David, so Johnny asked Ciara, one of Fiona's sisters,
instead. Then Declan's uncle asked Hilary to dance. Carl and
Ania were out on the dance floor. Linda and Nick danced
close together, planning their own wedding. Tim and Lidia
danced. They had their plans too. They were going to buy and
renovate a house out on the coast. Bobby reached over and
took Rosemary's hand.
'That's what I have for you, Rosemary "love for ever true".
That's the way it feels to me,' he said.
'Thank you, dear Bobby,' she said.
It had been a long time since she had called him 'dear
Bobby'.

Clara looked up as Frank Ennis approached her. He looked
very well, almost roguish, in his outfit.
'You promised me a dance,' he said.
'And I'm delighted you remembered.'
'You're the most stylish woman in the room,' he said as
they danced together.
He was lighter and less blundering than she might have
expected.
'Thank you. You look pretty racy yourself. What about the
lady you're meant to be escorting?'
'She's having an affair with a bottle of wine,' Frank said.
'Right, no guilt then.' Clara smiled at him.
'Are you properly divorced and everything?' he asked as
they negotiated a corner.
'Yes, I will be shortly,' she said.
'Good,' he said.
'What has this got to do with the hospital board?'

'Nothing. It's me. I won't see you at work any more and I
want to see you socially.'
'Why won't you see me at work any more?'
'Your year is up next month,' Frank Ennis said.
'Oh, balls, Frank, I'm not leaving. There's far too much
to do. Far too many battles to be fought and won. You know
that. I know that.'
And he said nothing. Just put his arms around her more
closely as the whole heart clinic and their friends and relations
danced to the music of 'Hey Jude'.