Leaving clare, p.27
Leaving Clare, page 27
It was towards the end of the night – when the musicians were starting to pack away their instruments – that Michael Murphy came to the end of the bar where Rose was mopping up a spilled glass of beer. When she looked up at him, she noticed that he looked slightly hesitant and not quite so sure of himself.
“I’m glad I’ve caught you on your own, Rose,” he told her, “because I wanted to ask you something . . .”
Rose put her cloth down and waited nervously.
“Well, it’s just that I received an invitation,” he started off. “One of the girls in the bank . . .”
Rose felt her face stiffen. Why on earth should he be telling her about another girl inviting him out?
“It’s a wedding,” he went on, his face starting to redden. “I’ve got an invitation to a wedding in Gort – and I’ve been told I can bring a partner . . .”
Rose looked at him, wondering if she was hearing him correctly.
“It’s in three weeks’ time and I wondered if you’d like to come with me?”
It was Michael Murphy’s turn to wait now as Rose stared at him in surprise.
“You want me to go to a wedding with you?” she said in a high, incredulous voice.
Michael nodded. “I’d be delighted if you could come . . .”
Rose felt her throat tighten and she glanced across the room to where her father was sitting chatting to his two brothers. Was there any point in asking him, she wondered. And how could she explain to Michael that her father had banned her from leaving the house apart from church and family visits?
Then, as if he had read her thoughts, he suddenly said, “I hope you don’t mind but I had a word with your father about it. I thought I’d take the chance when we were standing talking earlier.”
Rose caught her breath. She couldn’t believe that he’d had the nerve to approach her father.
“He said it would be no problem,” Michael continued. “He said if you wanted to go, then he had no objections, just as long as I saw you home and made sure that you weren’t drinking or anything.” He paused. “What do you say?”
Rose couldn’t stop a beaming smile from spreading on her face. “I’d love to come!” she said, then immediately knew she had sounded too enthusiastic. But it didn’t matter, because he was smiling back just as warmly.
“Grand,” he said. “I’ll bring the invitation with me to Mass on Sunday and we can make plans for travelling over to Gort on the day.”
“We can cycle over,” Rose suggested.
He shook his head and smiled. “No need. One of the lads in the bank will be coming out this way in his car and he said he’d be happy to give us a lift. It’s more or less organised.”
“That all sounds lovely,” she told him.
They had a few more words together and then Michael went off to join the others, leaving Rose with a warm glow inside her. Then, as she glanced over in her father’s direction again, their eyes locked and he winked over at her.
Rose’s heart soared. He had – after the long, cold weeks – forgiven her. He had also given his blessing about her going to the wedding with Michael Murphy. At long last he was seeing her as a grown woman.
The day she had dreaded – her last day in Slattery’s pub – had suddenly turned into one of the best days she’d ever had. The new owners of the bar had said she would be the first one they would call if there was any extra work. And Joe and Mary Slattery had both intimated that they would find her some kind of work if she changed her mind. They had also given her a present of a beautiful silver brooch in the shape of two leaves with a row of tiny pearls in the middle.
And her father had decided it was time to forget about the mistakes that had been made back in the spring.
But the best thing of all was that Michael Murphy had now openly declared an interest in her by asking her officially to accompany him to a wedding. This was more than Rose had ever hoped for.
Something deep down told her that it was the start of something new in her life.
Chapter 29
Leonora padded barefoot across her bedroom floor. She slid her feet into her slippers and then lifted her dressing-gown from the hook on the back of the door and put it on. Then she went downstairs as quietly as possible so as not to disturb her housekeeper.
It was three o’clock in the morning and Leonora had lain awake for the last half an hour staring into the darkness. Her mind had started to wander and worry. She knew the signs and she knew that there was only one thing that would help.
She went into the kitchen and switched on the kettle. Then she went into the sitting room to the cupboard where the drinks were kept. She lifted a bottle of Bushmill’s Whiskey and held it up to see how much was in it, then she put it on top of the cupboard while she retrieved a bottle of brandy from further back on the shelf. She then measured both bottles up, deciding which one Mrs O’Shea was likely to notice least.
She decided on the brandy and put the whiskey bottle back in its place.
As she carried the bottle through into the kitchen, she wondered why she cared about Lizzie’s opinion on her having a drink whenever she felt like it. It was her own house after all – it was her own business. And it certainly wasn’t her housekeeper’s business to comment on or to keep tabs on her drinking habits. And she knew perfectly well that Lizzie wasn’t the type of person to be critical about anyone having a drink – she enjoyed the odd one herself. And she had never given Lizzie’s opinion a thought when she and Andrew sat up many a night having several drinks.
As she poured a good measure of the brandy into a large mug, it suddenly dawned on Leonora that it wasn’t really Lizzie who was disapproving about the drink – it was herself.
She had already drunk two large whiskeysbefore going to bed – and several glasses of wine earlier in the evening.
Leonora knew that she was drinking too much and she was doing it too often.
But as she poured the boiling water from the kettle into the mug, she knew that it had helped her to get through the last few years. It had been her comfort and her sedative.
It had helped her to get through the long and lonely nights.
She carried the mug very carefully up the stairs and tip-toed back into her bedroom. She put the mug down on the bedside table at her side, plumped her pillows up straight to support her back and then climbed into bed. She sat for a while sipping the hot brandy, then she put the mug back down on the table and got back out of bed. She went over to a mahogany tallboy in a corner of the room and opened the bottom drawer. Then she took out two photograph albums.
Back in bed again, she took a good mouthful of her hot drink, put her glasses on and opened the albums. Leonora did this so often she could visualise every photograph before she turned the pages. The photographs that marked every stage of her life.
The photographs that marked all the precious things she had lost.
Leonora sipped her brandy as she turned the pages and by the end of the second album, her tears had obscured her vision. She let the album slip out of her hand to join the other one down on the floor, then she lay back amongst her pillows with her eyes closed.
She lay for a while, and then she suddenly sat bolt upright. She turned to check the time on her alarm clock. It was just after half past three. That meant that it was just after half past ten in New York.
She reached across to the black phone that Lizzie had carefully polished that afternoon, lifted it onto her lap and dialled the operator. A minute or two later, she hear Edward’s number ringing.
It barely rang twice when it was answered. Then, as she went to speak her son’s voice quickly rushed over hers.
“Christopher . . . thank God you rang back . . . I was really worried that you were angry with me for phoning the house but I honestly would have hung up if Theresa had answered. I couldn’t wait any longer to speak to you. I feel I’m going mad . . . it’s ages since we’ve had a whole night together.” There was a pause. “My life is so fucking pointless when I’m not with you . . .”
Leonora felt a cold, heavy weight descend upon her chest, and her free hand came up to cover her mouth. No, no! she thought. Please don’t let it be that . . . not that . . .
Edward went on in a hushed, desperate voice, “It’s weeks since I’ve seen you and I just can’t bear it . . . Since we finished working together, my life is falling apart I’m going into this new office every day and I find myself just staring at the walls thinking of you. I can’t concentrate at work and I can’t sleep at night.”
He paused again for a few terrible moments, allowing Leonora’s brain to reach the only possible conclusion. And then his next words underlined it, so that she was left without the smallest, kindest, sliver of doubt.
“I know you’re worried about Theresa finding out about us.”
Unaware that she had been holding her breath, Leonora suddenly took a loud, deep gulp of air.
“Christopher?” Edward whispered into the phone. “Speak to me . . . please speak to me . . .”
Silently, Leonora hung up the phone.
Due to the cruellest coincidence in timing, she was now left with no doubt as to what had caused the change in Edward. Quite clearly, he and his old school friend, Christopher Hennessey, were having some kind of clandestine affair. She had to face it now – they were obviously having a homosexual affair. And however awful and difficult it was for her to face the fact that her eldest son was not living a normal life, it was made far, far worse by the fact that Christopher Hennessey had a wife and a child. Leonora buried her head in her hands.
The thing she had dreaded most had come true.
* * *
Leonora heard her housekeeper go downstairs just after seven o’clock. She gave her a short while to get the fires going and then she followed her down into the kitchen.
“You’re up very early,” Mrs O’Shea said with some surprise.
“I couldn’t sleep . . . I’ve been awake for hours.” Leonora tightened the belt of her dressing-gown.
“It’s a bit cold for you to be up at this time,” the Scotswoman said. “The fire is barely lit in the sitting-room.”
“I’ll be fine. We hardly need fires at this time of the year. Yesterday was fairly warm.” She went over to the window to look out over the garden. “It looks as though it’s going to be a reasonable day again.”
There was a little silence, then Mrs O’Shea said, “Are you all right? If you don’t mind me passing a remark, I’d say you’re looking a wee bit peaky this morning.”
A wee bit peaky? Leonora thought wryly to herself. I suppose anyone would look at least a wee bit peaky when they’ve just had a bombshell drop into their lives. “I’m just a bit tired with not having slept too well.”
“I could tell by the kettle,” Lizzie said.
Leonora turned back from the window to look at her with some bemusement.
The housekeeper tapped the side of the kettle. “It was still lukewarm when I went to put it on this morning.”
“Oh . . .” Leonora said in a flat voice, “I got up around three o’clock to make myself a hot drink.” She pulled a chair out from under the kitchen table.
Mrs O’Shea looked at her with narrowed eyes. “You need to look after yourself a bit more. I’m forever telling you that. You’ve been doing too much out in that garden. You should leave all that heavy digging to Tommy. It’s no work for a woman of your standing.”
Leonora looked at her and managed the vestige of a small smile. “I enjoy it. It’s a hobby and it gives me great pleasure to watch all the things I’ve planted growing. The garden is a great source of peacefulness and delight to me – I don’t know what I’d have done without it these last few years.”
“Well, I have to admit that it does look lovely,” Mrs O’Shea said grudgingly, “although if I’m honest, the bit of the garden that I’m most interested in is the drying green.” Her eyes lit up. “As long as the grass is kept neat and tidy and Tommy keeps the weeds out of the paths so that I can get in and out with the lovely fresh laundry, then I’m happy.” She glanced out of the window now. “I’ll get the washing out early this morning and then I’m going to tackle the inside and outside of the kitchen windows. I wasn’t too sure about doing them yesterday with it being the first fine day we’ve had in a while, but I’m going to get stuck into them today.”
She rattled on about laundry and cleaning windows as she made tea and boiled two eggs each for them, while Leonora sat at the table nodding and smiling – her mind far away from Glenmore House.
Far away in New York.
At one point as they sat at the table over breakfast, she fleetingly considered confiding in her housekeeper about Edward but dismissed it quickly. She knew that the Scotswoman adored all her children but had a particular soft spot for Edward, being the eldest. Mrs O’Shea had looked after all three children as if they were her own, and would undoubtedly judge Edward’s situation with the same love and understanding that a mother would. But something held Leonora back from telling her.
However hard it was for her to find understanding of her own son’s sexual leanings, it was going to be much harder for Lizzie. She was an older woman with no children of her own – and a Catholic to boot. Not that the Church of Ireland would be any more tolerant of the situation. In any case, Lizzie had enough on her plate at the moment with her brother back in Glasgow. And although she didn’t say too much about it, Leonora knew that it was always there at the back of her mind. It was worrying her enough to visit the local church on a daily basis. If she didn’t make morning Mass, then she went for a walk down to the church in the afternoon or evenings to light a few candles for Willie.
It wouldn’t be fair to add to Lizzie’s heavy burden and she knew the housekeeper would feel that Edward’s serious situation would warrant a mountain of candles.
Whilst the housekeeper wasn’t the right confidante, Leonora knew she would have to discuss the situation with someone. But who? Who could she discuss such a shocking subject with?
If only Andrew was still alive. He would have known exactly the right thing to say and do. He always did. Even when things had gone cold between them, she found she had still been able to discuss their children openly and honestly. But Andrew wasn’t there any more, and there was no point in going down that regretful road.
The other person who would have been a wise and caring confidante about any subject was Daniel Levy – but their once friendly, trusting relationship was no longer available to her. That was the price she now had to pay for allowing him to come too close.
She supposed she would have to tell Diana at some stage – and Jonathan. And then she halted to wonder if she actually had the right to tell them. She could almost hear Andrew’s voice telling her that Edward was a grown man and his sexual persuasion was his own private business.
The fact that fate and coincidence had stepped in to alert his mother about the situation was one thing – the decision to tell his family and friends was another.
By the time she had forced half of the breakfast she didn’t want down and had gone back upstairs and got washed and dressed, Leonora knew that she had to take some kind of action to get Edward away from the horrendous situation in America. She had to get him back home, where she could help and advise him, and try to get him to change the destructive course he was plunging headlong into.
She was going to seek advice from the one person who she knew would not be shocked by her news. She would go and see Terry Cassidy.
* * *
As soon as she saw Leonora’s stricken face, the colourfully dressed artist ushered her into the cottage and poured them both a large port – the only alcoholic drink she had available in the house.
“Start from the beginning,” she said, straightening the bow on a floral scarf she had tied her hair up with, “and take as long as you need.”
When Leonora had finished telling her story, Terry stared at her for a few moments.
“I know you might find this a bit strange and personal – but do you have any kind of an illness at all?” she asked. “I know you mentioned some time ago that you had an appointment with your doctor.”
“Illness?” A flush came over Leonora’s face and neck. “No – thankfully I’m in reasonably good fettle,” she said, her brow furrowed in confusion and her tone a little prickly. “I’ve never had anything serious.” Anything to do with her health made her feel slightly vulnerable and conscious of her age.
“It’s just that if you did have some kind of an illness, it would be useful to play it up now and use it as an excuse to bring Edward home.”
The penny dropped. “Ah . . . I see what you’re getting at . . .” Leonora raised her eyebrows. “Well, actually, I haven’t told anyone this – but the last time I went to the doctor he said that the symptoms could indicate a mild heart condition – angina. He wasn’t too worried but said if it reoccurred he would send me to the hospital for tests.”
“Perfect!” Terry said, clasping her hands together. “It means you don’t have to feel guilty about lying – you’re merely exaggerating. All you have to do is phone Edward and tell him that the doctor says that you shouldn’t be left alone as it’s possible you may need surgery – or something along those lines. Tell him you’re so worried that you can’t sleep at night and would be grateful if he could take some time off work to be with you.”
“What about Mrs O’Shea? He knows I have her for company.”
“Tell him that she’s too old to be responsible for you,” Terry replied.
“Doesn’t it sound a bit weak?” Leonora asked. “He may think I’m beginning to get old and frail.”
“It doesn’t matter what he thinks,” Terry told her. “As long as you get him away from the destructive situation he’s in back in America.”
