Dublin 4 (2 page)

David grunted. He was reading his own letters and he did not want to be distracted by Ethel’s chat.

‘No seriously, listen to this …’ Ethel went back to the start of the letter.

‘In a moment, Ethel …
’

‘No, you’ll just leap up and go off, I want you to hear.’

He looked at her and knew he might as well give in. Ethel got her way in everything, and it made for an easy life to accept this.

‘Carmel has lost her marbles? Go on from there.’

‘Well, she must have. She’s written to us. Written to ask us to dinner … next
month
… can you believe it?’

‘Well, that’s nice of her,’ said David vaguely. ‘I suppose we can get out of it, what’s the fuss, what’s so mad about that? People do ask each other to dinner. They do it all the time.’

He knew he was courting trouble to try and be smartalecky with Ethel. He was right; it had been a mistake.

‘I know people do it all the time, dear,’ she said. ‘But Carmel Murray has never done it before. Poor Carmel that we have to be nice to because Dermot’s a good sort … that’s why it’s unusual. And did you ever hear of anything so strange? A letter when she only lives five minutes away, when she may have heard of the telephone.’

‘Yes, yes. It is odd. I do agree. You must do what you wish, say we’re away, say it’s a pity … some other time. What?’

‘She’ll know we’re not away. That’s what’s so odd, it’s on the day of Ruth O’Donnell’s exhibition, she’ll know that we won’t be out of town for that …’

‘How do you know it’s that day?’

‘Because she says so in the letter … she says that
she’s asked Ruth as well. Now do you see why I think she’s losing her marbles?’

Ethel looked flushed and triumphant, having proved her point. She sat imperiously at the breakfast table wearing her silk breakfast kimono and waited for the apology from her husband. It came.

‘She’s inviting Ruth … Oh my God. Now I see what you mean.’

*   *   *

Sheila hated being disturbed at school. It made the nuns so edgy and uneasy to call someone to the telephone. They hadn’t moved into the modern age in terms of communications, their telephone was still in a cold and draughty little booth in the main entrance hall, inconvenient for everyone. She was alarmed when she heard that her husband wanted her …

‘Martin, what is it, what’s happened?’ she said.

‘Nothing. Nothing, relax.’

‘What do you mean, nothing? What is it?’

‘Stop fussing, Sheila, it’s nothing.’

‘You brought me the whole way down here from third years for nothing? Sister Delia is looking after them as a great favour. What IS it, Martin? Are the children … ?’

‘Look, I thought you ought to know, we’ve had a very odd letter from Carmel.’

‘A what … from Carmel?’

‘A letter. Yes, I know it’s sort of out of character, I thought maybe something might be wrong and you’d need to know …’

‘Yes, well, what did she say, what’s the matter with her?’

‘Nothing, that’s the problem, she’s inviting us to dinner.’

‘To dinner?’

‘Yes, it’s sort of funny, isn’t it? As if she wasn’t well or something. I thought you should know in case she got in touch with you.’

‘Did you really drag me all the way down here, third years are at the top of the house you know, I thought the house had burned down! God, wait till I come home to you. I’ll murder you.’

‘The dinner’s in a month’s time, and she says she’s invited Ruth O Donnell.’

‘Oh, Jesus Christ.’

*   *   *

Henry shouted out to Joe, ‘Hey, that letter’s come from Ireland. She must have fixed the date, poor old bat.’

Joe came in and opened it.

‘Yeah, in a month’s time, she says it’s all going according to plan. She sent the ticket and the money.’

‘She’s all right, isn’t she?’ Henry sounded approving.

‘Oh, she’s really fine, and I owe her, I owe her in a big way. I’ll make it work …’

‘Well, if you can’t, I don’t know who could,’ Henry
said admiringly and Joe smiled back as he fetched the coffee percolator.

*   *   *

‘I think Mother’s coming out of herself a bit more, darling,’ Anna said to James as they negotiated the early evening traffic.

‘Good. It’s no wonder this country’s going to the dogs. Look at the build-up of traffic here and it’s not even four o’clock. I mean half of them must be taking the whole afternoon off. Never mind, we’ll lose them in a few minutes. What were you saying about Grandmama?’

‘She’s talking of having a dinner party, you know, with a proper dining table, and a seating plan. It all sounds good.’

‘I’ve always said that she’s not nearly so sleepy and dozey as you and Bernadette make out. I find plenty of things to talk to her about.’

‘No you don’t, you just talk at her … she sits enthralled because you’re so interesting, but it’s not a real conversation.’

James didn’t agree. ‘You’re wrong, she tells me things. No, I can’t remember anything immediately … that’s silly, looking for examples. But I do get on well with her … she just needs a bit of flattery, a few cheerful things. “You look very dishy, Grandmama” and she blossoms … she doesn’t like people telling her she’s silly.’

Anna thought for a while.

‘I suppose people do tell her she’s silly. Yes, you’re right. I always say “Don’t be silly Mother”, but I don’t mean it. It’s just that she fusses so much, and I think that if I say she’s not to be silly, then it’s sort of reassuring to her. I’ll be very supportive about her poor old dinner party … I’ll give her a tactful hand here and there.’

James patted her knee.

‘You’re marvellous, sweetheart. And talking about parties, tell me what you’ve arranged for Sunday …’

Anna settled back happily in her seat and told him about all the good things that were foil-wrapped, vacuum-packed and air-tight in the huge cardboard box which they had loaded carefully into the boot of the car.

*   *   *

Bernadette said, ‘That’s great, Mummy. Great. I’m sure it will be marvellous.’

‘I just thought you’d like to know …’ Carmel said.

‘Well, of course I’m thrilled, Mummy. Is it tonight, or when?’

‘Oh no dear, it’s a dinner party … it’s not for a month.’

‘A
month
! Mummy, are you all right?’

‘Yes dear, perfectly.’

‘Oh. Well. I mean, is there anything … do you want me to come and help you plan it, or anything?’

‘No, no, it’s all planned.’

‘Or serve it? You know, keep you calm and stop you fussing on the night?’

‘No no, dear, thank you, but I won’t fuss at all.’

‘Well that’s great, Mummy, and is Daddy pleased that you’re sort of getting into entertaining and everything?’

‘It’s not exactly getting into entertaining … it’s just one dinner party.’

‘You know what I mean. Is Daddy thrilled?’

‘I haven’t told him yet.’

‘Mummy, are you sure you’re all right, you’re not getting upset or anything like …’

‘Like what, dear?’

‘Like that time when you
did
get upset.’

‘Oh no, dear, of course I’m not. That was when I had the trouble with my sleep patterns, they got out of kilter … No, that’s all totally cured, thank God, now. You know that, Bernadette dear. I sleep like a log these nights. No no, that’s not come back at all, thank heavens.’

Bernadette sounded troubled.

‘No, well, good. You have to look after yourself, Mummy. You know the way you fuss about silly things, I don’t want you fussing about this party …’

‘You don’t understand, child, I’m looking forward to it.’

‘Good, oh and we’ll come and see you soon, it’s been ages.’

‘Whenever you can, dear. Ring first though, I’ll be out a lot in the next few weeks …’

‘Will you, Mummy? Where?’

‘Here and there, dear. Anyway, it will be great to see you. How’s Frank?’

‘He’s fine, Mummy. Take care of yourself, won’t you?’

‘Yes, Bernadette. Thank you, dear.’

*   *   *

Dermot thought that Carmel was a hundred miles away that morning. Twice he had said that he might be late and not to worry if he dropped into the golf club on the way home. He had to have a few chats and that was the best place to have them. Twice she had nodded amiably and distantly as if she hadn’t really heard or understood.

‘Will you be all right? What are you going to do today?’ he had asked, uncharacteristically.

She had smiled. ‘Funny you should ask that. I was just thinking that I hadn’t anything to do all day so I was going to stroll down town and look at the shops. I was thinking that it was almost a sinful thing to do … just idling away the day …’

Dermot had smiled back. ‘You’re entitled to be that sinful, enjoy yourself. And as I said, if I’m late I won’t want anything to eat. We might go and have a steak … you know. Don’t fuss, don’t go to any trouble.’

‘No, that’s fine,’ she had said.

As he sat in the traffic on Morehampton Road listening to the fool on RTE telling him exactly what he knew, that Morehampton Road was blocked solid, Dermot had a vague sense of unease about Carmel. But he shook himself and decided to put it out of his mind.

‘I’m becoming quite neurotic,’ he told himself. ‘If she does hound me about my movements and tell me detail by detail the trivia of her day I become annoyed. Now I’m uneasy because she doesn’t. Impossible to please me.’ He decided that everyone was being too bright on Radio Eireann and turned to the BBC where they were more solemn and in keeping with a man’s thoughts in the morning as he drove in to his office.

*   *   *

Ruth O’Donnell hadn’t got her invitation because she was away. She had gone to a farmhouse in Wales for a complete rest. She could have gone to an Irish farmhouse, but she wanted to be sure that she didn’t meet anyone she knew. It wouldn’t be a complete rest if she met people. She wanted to be absolutely on her own.

*   *   *

Carmel waited until the end of the Gay Byrne show. During the
Living Word
she put on her coat and took out her shopping basket on wheels. She never
liked to miss Gay; once she had been able to give him a small cooker for a one-parent family. She hadn’t spoken to him himself but the girl on the show had been very nice, and they had sent a nice girl to collect it, or else she was from the organisation which had asked for it. It had never been made quite clear. Carmel had sent in one or two entries for the mystery voice competition too, but she had never been called on to guess it. She didn’t like to leave the house before the
Living Word
. It seemed rude to God, to walk out just when the few short minutes of religion were on.

She knew she should really listen to programmes like
Day by Day
which followed it, they would make her informed, but somehow she always felt her mind wandering and she never quite understood why people got so hot under the collar about things. Once she had said to Sheila that it would be nice to have someone sitting beside you to tell you what was going on in life, and Sheila told her to shut up, otherwise everyone would say they had learned nothing after all those years with the Loreto nuns … She thought that Sheila had been upset that day but she couldn’t be sure.

It was bright and sunny out, a nice autumn day. She pushed her tartan shopping bag on wheels in front of her, remembering when it had been a pram that she pushed. She used to know many more people in those days. She was always stopping and talking to
people, wasn’t she? Or was that memory playing tricks, like thinking that the summers were always hot when she was young and that they had spent their whole time on Killiney beach? That wasn’t true, her younger brother Charlie said that they only went twice or three times a summer; perhaps the other memory wasn’t true either. Perhaps she didn’t stop at the bottom of Eglinton Road when she pointed out to the girls where the buses went to sleep in the bus home, perhaps there had been nobody much around then either.

She looked at the prices of wine in the off-licence and wrote down the names of some of them so that she could make her list and selection later on. She then spent a happy hour looking at books in the big book shop. She copied down recipe after recipe in her little jotter. From time to time she got a look from one of the assistants, but she looked respectable and was causing no trouble so nobody said anything. Seared in her mind was a remark that Ethel had once made about a house where she had dined. ‘The woman has no imagination. I can’t understand why you ask people round for prawn cocktail and roast beef … I mean, why not tell them to eat at home and come round later for drinks?’ Carmel loved prawn cocktail, and had little glass dishes which it would look very well in. They used to have trifle in them when she was young. She had kept them after things had been divided up between herself and Charlie but
she had never used them. They stood gathering dust, eight of them, at the back of the cupboard in the scullery. She would make another kind of starter, not prawn cocktail, and she would use those selfsame glasses for it, whatever it was. She rejected grapefruit segments and worked it out methodically. You couldn’t have pâté, that would have to be on a plate, or soup, that couldn’t be in a glass, or any kind of fish of course … no, it had to be something cold you ate with a spoon.