Dublin 4 Page 3

  ‘I’ll sit on the loo here and when you feel like telling me, do.’

  He pulled the shower curtains around him when he got into the bath. This was a modesty that had grown somewhere around the same time as his paunch. When they had been younger they had often bathed together, and had always bathed in front of each other.

  ‘No, it’s really strange,’ came the voice from inside the curtain. ‘I said, “Thanks very much for that invitation,” and he said, “What invitation?” and I got such a shock I started to play the fool. You know. I said, “Come on now. You can’t welch on us now, an invite’s an invite.”’

  ‘What did he say then?’

  ‘He said, “You have me on the wrong foot, David. I don’t actually know what you mean.” He said it so straight, I felt a bit foolish. I just got out of it. I said that I had probably made a mistake, or that you hadn’t looked at the letter properly.’

  ‘Thank you very much again,’ said Ethel.

  ‘I had to say something. Anyway he said, “Letter, what letter?” I was right into it then. I said, “Oh, it’s some mistake. I thought we’d got a letter from you and Carmel inviting us to dinner. I must have got it wrong.” He said it wasn’t very likely that she’d have invited people without telling him. Maybe it was a surprise party.’

  ‘Boy, some surprise if it is!’ said Ethel.

  ‘That’s what I thought, so I said the date. I said it’s on the eighth. He said, “Well I never. Maybe it’s all a birthday treat and I’m not meant to know.” But he looked worried. He said, “The eighth”, again, as if it was familiar. Then he said, “Not the eighth?” And I said, nervously you know, “I’m sure I got it wrong” …’

  ‘He doesn’t know. She’s doing it without telling him. She’s asking us all round there for some kind of terrible drama. That’s what it’s all about.’ Ethel’s face looked stricken rather than excited. It should be an exciting thing … a public row, a scandal. But not with Carmel Murray. Poor Carmel, she was too vulnerable.

  David got out of the bath and dried himself vigorously in one of the big yellow towels.

  ‘He really doesn’t know she’s giving the party, the poor devil. Isn’t that a dreadful thing? Thank God I said something, even though I felt I had walked into it. At least it will give him a bit of time to know what action to take.’

  ‘But she can’t know about Ruth, she can’t possibly know.’ Ethel was thoughtful.

  ‘Somebody may have sent her a poison pen letter – you know, “I think you ought to know” …’ David was still towelling himself dry.

  ‘You’ll rub the skin off your back. Come on, get dressed. She can’t know. If she knew would she in a million years ask her to dinner?’

  * * *

  Joe and Henry were cooking for a party. They often did home catering; it was very easy money. They made the canapés while they watched television, and put everything in the freezer. They got lots of free perks like clingfilm and foil from the hotel where Henry worked, and the use of a car from the tourist guide service where Joe worked.

  ‘Why won’t the old bat let you do the cooking for her if she’s so nervous? You could run up a dinner in two hours.’

  ‘No, that’s part of it. She has to be able to do it all herself.’

  ‘What does she look like? All sad and mopey, is she?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Joe. ‘I haven’t seen her for twenty years. She may have changed a lot since then.’

  * * *

  ‘Hallo, Carmel, is that you?’

  ‘Of course it is, love, who else would it be?’

  ‘Carmel, I’m at the club, I told you, I’ve had to have a few chats, I told you.’

  ‘I know you told me.’

  ‘So I won’t be home, or I wasn’t coming home. Have you had your supper?’

  ‘Supper?’

  ‘Carmel, it’s eight o’clock. I’m ringing you from the club to ask you a simple question: have you or have you not had your supper?’

  ‘I had some soup, Dermot, but there’s steak here, and cauliflower … I can cook whatever you like.’

  ‘Did you write to David?’

  ‘WHAT? It’s very hard to hear you. There’s a lot of noise behind you.’

  ‘Forget it. I’ll come home.’

  ‘Oh good. Would you like me to …?’

  He had hung up.

  * * *

  All the way home he said to himself it was impossible. She couldn’t have decided to hold a dinner party without telling him, and if she had, if by some mind-blowing horror she had decided to invite all their friends around to witness a scene of marital bliss … how could she have chosen the eighth of October?

  It was Ruth’s birthday, her thirtieth birthday. He had persuaded her to hold her exhibition that day, to show everyone that she had arrived. Ruth had said that she wanted no public exhibitions, no showing the world anything, unless he could stand beside her. She didn’t want to go on hiding and pretending. When the reporters were sent to interview her she didn’t want to have to laugh any more and parry questions about why she had never married. She felt foolish telling people that her art was her life. It sounded so hollow, so second best and so phoney. She wanted to tell them that she loved and was loved. It was this that gave her strength to paint.

  She had agreed reluctantly. The gallery had been found with no trouble. People were anxious to hang the work of Ruth O’Donnell. The work was ready. She was drained. She said she wanted time away, far away, from him. She would not spend the days planning how to walk out of his life, she assured him of that, and he believed her. She just wanted to be free, to rest, and not to hide. He believed that too. He promised he wouldn’t telephone her, nor write. That would be the same as being with him, she said. There was no point in a separation if you spent hours writing a letter and waiting for the post.

  She was coming back on the first, a full week before it opened, in time to see everything hung. She had only left yesterday. It wasn’t possible that coincidence should be so cruel as to mar this night for him by having a weeping Carmel on his hands. Because by God if she had arranged a dinner party for the eighth she was going to unarrange it fast. That was why he had left those two auctioneers sitting like eejits in the club. This had to be sorted out immediately.

  * * *

  ‘I think Mummy’s a bit lonely,’ Bernadette said to Frank.

  ‘We’re all lonely. It’s the lot of men and women to go through life alone thinking they are with friends but only brushing off people.’

  ‘I mean it,’ Bernadette said. ‘She’s very good to us, Frank. She pretends she doesn’t mind about us living together but she does, underneath.’

  ‘Nonsense. Just so long as we don’t do anything too public in front of all those friends of hers, she’s as right as rain.’

  ‘All what friends of hers? There’s no friends.’

  ‘There must be. Posh house there in the heart of society … of course she has friends. Didn’t you tell me tonight that she’s organising dinner parties months in advance?’

  ‘That’s what I don’t like.’

  ‘God, there’s no pleasing you! You’re like a gnat; say out what you want and I’ll debate whether we’ll do it or not. Do you want us to kidnap her and keep her in the bathroom here tied by a dressing-gown cord for the rest of her life?’

  ‘No,’ she laughed.

  ‘What do you want, Ber?’

  ‘I wondered if we might drop in tonight, on our way to the party. Please.’

  ‘Aw God,’ he said.

  ‘Just for a little bit,’ she begged.

  ‘We’ll be there all night,’ he said.

  ‘We won’t. We’ll just get off the bus, run in and have a few words and then run off again.’

  ‘That’s worse than not going at all.’

  ‘No, it would ease my mind.’

  ‘Ten minutes then, right?’

  ‘Half an hour, right?’

  ‘Twenty minutes.’

  ‘Done.�
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  * * *

  ‘Don’t say anything to the O’Briens about it, will you?’ Ethel said when they were in the car.

  ‘What would I say? I’m not a one for gossip, I never talk about people. You’re the one who likes to tell and be told.’

  David had his eyes on the road but he knew his wife’s profile was stern. ‘No, I’ll say nothing to anyone. God, do you think we should do something or say something? We can’t sit back and let it all happen.’

  ‘What can we do that would help, heavens above? You sound like Superman or the archangel Gabriel stepping in. What can we do?’

  ‘I suppose we could say to Carmel that it’s not a good idea, that she might like to think again.’

  ‘It’s amazing how you manage to hold down a job, let alone run your own business,’ said Ethel acerbically.

  ‘It’s all due to the loyal little woman behind me. She had faith in me when no one else had,’ he said in a mock country and western accent.

  ‘Well, if ever I meet the woman behind you I can tell you one thing, I’ll not invite her to dinner with all our friends,’ said Ethel, and they drove on to the O’Briens in silence.

  * * *

  Frank and Bernadette were just leaving when Dermot’s car drew up.

  ‘Maybe he’d give us a lift,’ said Frank optimistically.

  ‘I think that’s a bit too sunny a view. I wouldn’t ask him,’ said Bernadette. ‘How are you, Dad?’

  ‘I see it’s the annual visit,’ Dermot said.

  ‘Hi, Mr Murray,’ said Frank.

  ‘Hallo, er …’ said Dermot desperately, stumbling over his name.

  Bernadette’s fist clenched in her pocket. ‘We were just in having a chat with Mummy. We’re off to a party.’

  ‘Don’t let me delay you,’ Dermot said.

  ‘Oh Daddy, you can be very rude,’ Bernadette said. ‘Why can’t you be nice and easygoing, and …’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Dermot said. ‘It must be something to do with having to go out and earn a living and take on responsibilities.’

  ‘We work too, Daddy.’

  ‘Huh,’ said Dermot.

  ‘Nice to have talked with you, Mr Murray,’ said Frank in an affected American accent.

  ‘Sorry,’ Dermot said. ‘I’m in a bad mood. You do work, both of you. I’m just worried about something. Come back into the house and I’ll give you a drink.’

  ‘That’s mighty white of you, sir,’ said Frank.

  ‘No Dad, we’ve got to be off. We just looked in to see was Mummy all right.’

  ‘And she is, isn’t she?’ Dermot sounded alarmed.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Bernadette said, a little too quickly. ‘She’s fine.’

  * * *

  ‘I heard your voices. Did you meet them in the drive?’ Carmel asked.

  It had always irritated Dermot that she called the small distance to the gate a ‘drive’: it was eleven steps from the hall door to the gate if you took giant steps, and the most you could make out of it was twenty little ones.

  ‘Yes. What did they want?’

  ‘Oh Dermot, they just called in, it was nice of them.’

  ‘They said they came to see were you all right. Why did they do that?’

  ‘That’s what people do, dear, when they call to see other people.’

  She looked cheerful and calm. There was no resigned martyred air about her. She wasn’t making little jokes which were not funny. She had no hint of tears.

  ‘Will we have a proper meal at the table or would you like a snack by the television?’ she asked. ‘The phone was so crackly and with the sound of people behind I couldn’t hear whether you had a meal or you hadn’t. You kept asking me had I …’

  ‘Sit down, love,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, I will in a minute, but what would you …’

  ‘Sit down now, Carmel. I want to talk to you, not to your back drifting out the door.’

  ‘All right, Dermot, all right. Now will this do?’

  ‘Have you or have you not invited a whole lot of people here on the eighth of October?’

  ‘Certainly not.’

  ‘You haven’t?’ The relief was overwhelming. It spilled all over his face. ‘I’m sorry, love. There was a silly misunderstanding.’

  ‘No. I just asked our friends and decided we’d have a nice evening and cook a nice dinner. You know you often said …’

  ‘What do you mean … ?’

  ‘You’ve often said that we should have people around more, and somehow I usen’t to feel able for it, but I decided you were right, so I just asked a few people … for dinner.’

  ‘When? When?’

  ‘Oh, ages away. The eighth as you said, the eighth of October. Just a simple dinner.’

  ‘Who have you asked?’

  ‘Just friends. Sheila and Martin, and David and Ethel, and …’

  ‘You’ve invited them all here on the eighth?’

  ‘Yes. And I’ve asked that nice Ruth O’Donnell, you know, the artist.’

  ‘Carmel. What are you … ?’

  ‘You remember her, we met her lots of times, and you told me how good she was. We haven’t seen her for ages, but I did say when I wrote to her that there would be lots of people she’d know … I mean, David even knows her professionally. His company gave her a grant once, I read …’

  ‘Yes …’

  ‘And she’ll know Sheila, because I think she came to her school to give a lecture.’

  ‘Why didn’t you ask me – tell me?’

  ‘But, Dermot, you’re always telling me to do things on my own, use my own initiative. I did for once. I sent out all the invitations … and now that doesn’t please you either.’

  ‘But I think you’ve picked the wrong night. I think that’s the night she’s having her opening. I thought I told you …’

  ‘Yes you did, I remember. You said she was only thirty and how well she’d done. I remember the date.’

  ‘God.’

  ‘So I thought it would be nice for her to have somewhere to go after it. I read in the papers that she isn’t married and she doesn’t even have a “situation” like our Bernadette, so I thought what would be nicer than for her to have somewhere to go on the night.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So that’s what I said in my letter to her, that it would be a nice rounding off for the evening.’

  ‘How did you know where she lives?’ His voice was a gasp.

  ‘I looked it up in the telephone directory, silly!’

  ‘You might have sent it to the wrong person …’

  ‘But she told us she lived in the new flats. Remember? I’m not such a featherbrain after all, am I?’

  * * *

  ‘Sheila, can I have a quick word with you before you go into the school?’

  ‘God, you frightened the life out of me, Dermot Murray. I thought you were a guard.’

  ‘Look, have you a minute? Can we get back into your car?’

  ‘Half the Sixth years already think you’re propositioning me! What is it, Dermot? Tell me here.’

  ‘No, it’s nothing to tell. I want to ask you, ask you something.’

  Sheila’s heart was leaden.

  ‘Ask on, but make it quick. That bell rings and I’m like a bolt from the blue in the door.’

  ‘Does Carmel know about Ruth?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘You heard me.’

  ‘I didn’t. I did not hear you. Begin again.’

  ‘Does Carmel know about Ruth and me?’

  ‘Ruth? Ruth O’Donnell?’

  ‘Sheila, stop playing around. I know you know, you know I know you know. All I want to know is does Carmel know?’

  ‘You’re assuming a great many things. What is there to know? What should I have known? Stop standing there like a guessing game.’

  ‘Sheila, please, it’s important.’

  ‘It must be. Why else are you up here in a convent? I haven’t an idea what you’re talking about.
’

  ‘Think, think quickly. I know you’re being a good friend and an old school chum. But think what’s for the best. I don’t just mean the best for me, I mean the best for everyone.’

  ‘What am I to think about?’

  ‘Look, I’ve known you for years, Sheila, I’m not a shit, now am I? I’m a reasonable human being. Would I be up here at this hour of the morning if I was a real bum?’

  Every day that Sheila had paused at her car for one moment to search for an exercise book, to write a shopping list, to listen to the last bars of some song on the radio … the bell had shrilled across her consciousness. Why did it not do it today?

  ‘I can’t help you, Dermot,’ she said. ‘I don’t know anything, I really don’t. I don’t talk about anything, I don’t listen to anything. I’m no help.’

  He believed her. Not that she didn’t know about Ruth. He knew she knew about Ruth. But he believed her when she said she couldn’t help him. She didn’t know whether Carmel knew or not. She was as much in the dark as he was.

  ‘What am I going to do?’ he asked her.

  And then the bell shrilled.

  * * *

  ‘I just telephoned to ask you more about this party you’re giving,’ Ethel said.

  ‘I explained it all in the letter,’ said Carmel. ‘You will be able to come? You see I know how busy you all are so I trapped you by choosing the night of Ruth’s exhibition.’

  ‘Yes, of course we’ll come. You don’t have to trap us. Looking forward to it … I was wondering whether it was a surprise – a birthday surprise for Dermot or anything. David met him in the club, and I hope he didn’t let anything slip.’

  ‘No, it’s not Dermot’s birthday. It may well be Ruth’s, I think hers is in October, but no, it doesn’t matter at all. I did tell Dermot I was thinking of having a party, but you know what men are, they never listen. Their minds are elsewhere. Probably just as well that we don’t know where they are half the time, don’t you think?’

  Ethel had the uneasy feeling that Carmel was laughing at her. Nonsense, of course, but there was that kind of a feel about the way she spoke.

  * * *

  ‘Oh, Dermot, I can’t tell you where she is. She said the whole point was that you and she were having a separation, wasn’t it?’