Chestnut Street (48 page)

But still Molly persisted: she didn’t want Finn getting sucked into another life; his father was perfectly welcome to come and visit him in her home at weekends. And she added that any court in the land would say that she had been generous about this.

And poor Dan would come home from these visits glum and upset. Finn apparently would ask him at the end of each visit why did he have to go.

“
This
is your home, Daddy. Don’t go,” he would say and Dan would stumble and bluster and say it used to be but now he had his own place, and Molly would just shrug as if none of it were her doing.

So Dan and I got married, and my family, who loved him from the start, wondered would little Finn be coming to the ceremony. But apparently not.

Molly said that it would make Finn anxious about his future if he were to be part of anything like that.

And then, when he was seven, Finn started at a new school, which by chance was not too far from where we lived. So Dan tried again. Could he collect the boy a couple of days a week and bring him back to our house? He would give him milk and whatever Molly suggested. But all Molly said was that we would wait and see.

And this particular morning I looked at Danny’s sad face across the breakfast table, a nice, round table looking out on the garden, where Finn would probably never play because it was going to be unsettling for his future. And I got a surge of rage against Molly. How dare she deny that child all the love and welcome that was waiting for him in this house? How
dare
she make Finn’s father so wretched and inadequate about his lack of parenting since he was only dying to do it?

But I would not, under any circumstances, heap fuel on the fire by telling Dan that his ex was the most selfish woman to walk the earth. Nothing could be gained from that. I would smile and tell him that since I had a day off I would go shopping today and
make him a steak-and-kidney pie. And his sad face brightened up and he said he was a lucky man.

But I was still a restless and annoyed woman. And as I set out to go to the shops I decided to go past Finn’s school. The children would be in the playground about 10:30. I could just have a sneaky close-up look at this boy whose future was actually wrecking our present and our future as well.

I saw him immediately. He was practicing juggling with another boy. They managed to keep the little clubs in the air with great skill. Soon a small crowd had gathered around them.

Dan loved juggling too. Had he ever been able to teach this to his son or had the boy picked it up by himself? I would probably never know.

A few other people stood watching the children through the big fence. There was no access to the yard—you would have to go in through the school. How times had changed, I thought. Children have to be protected from strangers looking at them through the bars of a playground. Then I realized, of course, that I was the kind of person they would want to keep out. The second wife of the father of one of the pupils. Bound to be trouble there. Thank God nobody saw me here. It would look very suspicious. Then I glanced over at a woman who was looking at me intently.

It was Molly and she had recognized me.

I decided to speak immediately.

“Isn’t your son a wonderful juggler,” I said.

“Yes, that’s just what he is.
My
son. Just so long as you remember this.” She was small, blond and very angry with me.

I could have kicked myself for having come along here and even more so for being spotted. “Yes, of course he is. And you must be very proud of him.”

“I am. Very. And you can be proud of
your
sons when you have them. Rather than coming down here, spying on my son.” Molly’s face looked peevish when she snapped like that, not pretty and doll-like as she looked when she smiled.

I don’t know what made me say it. I never tell anyone.

“I won’t be having any sons, or daughters. I can’t have children,” I said.

I hadn’t even told my mother and my sisters, who all kept annoying me, wondering was there any news?

“I don’t believe that for a moment,” Molly said.

“Well, it’s true. Sad, but very true.” I shrugged.

“And what does Dan think?”

“He’s sad too, but he knew this when we got married, and he already has one son whom he loves very much.” I gestured with my head towards the playground.

“And whose life will not be turned around and whose future will not be destroyed just because you couldn’t have children,” Molly said.

“I know,” I agreed.

“So what are you doing here?” Molly was still suspicious.

“I don’t know,” I said and maybe she saw from my face that I was telling the truth. “I really don’t know, Molly, what I am doing here. It had something to do with Dan’s face this morning.”

“Did he send you? I
told
him he wasn’t to come hanging about—I didn’t think he’d ask
you
to come.”

“No, no, he has no idea I’m here.” Again I think she believed me.

The school bell rang and the children went inside. Molly and I looked on proudly as other boys were clapping Finn on the back over his juggling. He hadn’t seen either of us.

“Well,” I said, “I’d better be on my way. I have a day off.”

“So have I,” Molly volunteered. “What are you going to do now?”

“I’m going to buy some meat and make Dan a steak-and-kidney pie.”

“Well, he lucked out with you then—I couldn’t cook. Still can’t.”

“I’m not very good,” I admitted. “I have to keep reading the
recipe. But he lucked out with you much more—you had a son for him.”

She stood and looked at me for a moment as if weighing up what she was going to say.

Then she said it.

“Why don’t we go shopping together?” she suggested.

I didn’t pause. Not for a second. “That would be great, and you could help me know what to get. The recipe is for four, so I suppose I’ll just have to order half of everything.” I knew I was beginning to burble but it didn’t matter.

She had made a huge step. I had met her halfway.

Could I take another step or would that ruin it?

Oh, what the hell—I’d say it.

“Or maybe we could
keep
it as a recipe for four and you and Finn could come and eat it too. Like a sort of act of faith, if you know what I mean.”

She paused. Maybe I had gone too far? I often do. Perhaps this woman was just sorry for me not being able to have children, which was why she had suggested going shopping. Bringing the much-loved child to the enemy’s house was different. Maybe this might make her nervous of Dan and me. Maybe, on the other hand, this might make her feel less nervous. No fear now of Dan having further children, which might make him forget the firstborn. I might never know what thoughts were going through her mind.

Then she said, “Everything we do is some kind of act of faith, isn’t it? We’d be delighted to share the steak-and-kidney pie tonight.”

And I didn’t imagine it—the sun started to shine through the autumn trees and left lovely morning shadows all over the playground.

It’s only one night of the year, but people do go on about it. Where are you seeing it in? Are you going to a New Year’s party? There’s as much pressure on you as if it were some kind of contest. People don’t like you saying that you are doing nothing. It makes them feel guilty, as if they should invite you to whatever they are doing.

That’s what they felt about Cissy in the staff room. Cissy had one hell of a year in 1997. During the summer vacation her husband, Frank, had run away with a trampish girl from fifth year. It had been the school scandal, all over the papers, and it had broken Cissy’s heart. It was widely suspected but never confirmed that he had taken Cissy’s life savings as well.

The other teachers knew that at least she was all right for Christmas. She was going to her sister’s house—there would be children there, which would distract her. But New Year’s Eve? They chewed their lips; maybe someone should ask her. It was the one night of the year you didn’t want to be alone. Cissy saw it coming and told them she was having friends round.

Friends?

Cissy never talked about friends. But they didn’t feel so guilty anymore.

So the night came and Cissy sat alone in her flat on Chestnut Street. It was just an ordinary night, she told herself over and over. But it wasn’t. There had been five New Year’s Eves with Frank.

On the first one he had proposed to her and the other four they had gone to the same noisy restaurant and told everyone it was the anniversary of their engagement. And now he was living in England with this jail-bait girl, Lola, who was considering a career in modeling and Frank was going to be her manager.

By ten o’clock, Cissy could bear it no longer. The remorseless cheer on television. The sounds of revelry coming from outside. It all seemed to mock her. She put on her coat and wooly scarf and went out. She went to Gianni’s.

Martin had planned a New Year’s Eve dinner with Geoff. He was going to cook a pheasant and had ordered it from the butcher. Geoff would be home from Christmas with his family. Geoff’s parents still thought he might marry and give them a spring wedding and several grandchildren. They knew nothing of his happy life with Martin in the big city. They were old and set in their ways, Geoff said; no point in trying to make them understand something they never would.

That was fine for Christmas. Martin always helped out at a Christmas charity, and before he knew it Geoff would be back again, full of stories and plans. But this year Geoff had telephoned. His parents were giving a big New Year’s party and he simply had to stay. At first Martin thought that he was being invited to join the party, and when it became clear that he was not, he fought hard to hide the bitterness and disappointment from his tone. He wished Geoff well at the party and warned him to steer clear of prospective brides.

Martin canceled the pheasant and stayed at home listening to music. And eventually he became so restless that he thought his head was going to burst. And around ten o’clock he went out. He didn’t know where he was going, nor did he care. He couldn’t spend one more moment in the home he had made for Geoff. And he walked for nearly an hour, hardly noticing his surroundings. He passed a chip shop called Gianni’s; it didn’t look very full. He had to eat somewhere, so he went in.

Josie and her sister Rosemary ran an organic vegetable shop. Well, Josie ran it; Rosemary dressed up and stood in the shop giving people recipes and talking about the celebrities who ate nothing but organic food. Rosemary was willowy and lithe and much admired. When anyone did interviews about the little store, which they often did, Rosemary was pictured at the door or beside the big juicing machine. Well, Josie didn’t really look the part. Big, honorable Josie, in her cardigan, not the image you wanted for healthy living. Even if she did go to the market and visit the suppliers and even if she was the one who put in ten-hour days while Rosemary went to lunch and talked to the right people.

They lived in the same house. Rosemary had all of upstairs, two floors, and Josie had the basement, but tonight the whole house was needed because Rosemary was having a party. Her fellow was free because his ghastly wife had gone skiing with the awful children, so he and Rosemary would have a great New Year’s bash. This had been signaled to Josie several times. It had not been said out straight but it had been very heavily implied that Josie should not be there for the party.

They would need the basement for the caterers and Josie didn’t really like crowds of strangers, did she? Josie had never been so hurt in her entire life. She told her sister that she was going out to friends anyway and staying the night. Rosemary didn’t ask what
friends. It didn’t occur to her that Josie, who worked all the hours God sent, might not
have
any friends. Josie booked herself into a bed-and-breakfast place on the other side of Dublin. She paid in advance but could not stay in the cold, forbidding room. Downstairs the landlady and her extended family were getting into the spirit of things. Josie put on her coat and went out. There had to be a better place to spend the last hours of the year. She saw a cheerful-looking fish-and-chip shop. It would do as well as anywhere else.