Light A Penny Candle (42 page)

‘You’re just the same, you’re just the same,’ were the only words that Eileen could hear as she clung to the thin girl who gripped her so tightly. Eventually she pulled away and there were tears pouring down the pale face; she took out a handkerchief with lace on it and blew her nose hard. ‘This is terrible. Here am I trying to make a good impression on you and I nearly suffocate both of us and then I start to weep all over my careful make-up. Can I go out and come in all over again?’

‘Oh Elizabeth … thank God you came back to us … thank God you didn’t change.’ Eileen held her hands almost as if they were about to dance a reel together. They smiled at each other foolishly.

‘Mam, you never make that kind of fuss over me,’ Aisling complained in a mock-hurt tone, but laughing in order to lighten the intensity.

‘Nor me …’ Niamh said in genuine envy, tongue-tied by the apparition in the cream dress and the scarf. She was as open-mouthed with amazement at Mam’s welcome as was Siobhan who stood with the lettuce and cooked ham in her hands gaping at the mistress with astonishment.

‘The uniform looks much better on you than it did on us,’ Elizabeth said hastily, feeling that Niamh needed some attention. ‘Has it changed or something?’

Niamh looked pleased. ‘No, but we’re allowed to wear our own blouses now so long as they’re not
loud
, as Sister Margaret would say. …’

‘She
never
says it still?’

‘She never says anything else.’

Elizabeth sat down on a kitchen chair and stretched her arms. ‘Oh, if only you knew … if you had any idea how marvellous it is to be back. …’

The homecoming was even better than she had expected, even in her best dreams. The bedroom was the same, the two beds with their white candlewick bedspreads, one on each side of the white chest of drawers. The same statue stood on the mantelpiece, a bit more chipped around Our Lady’s cloak, but the same one, certainly. The Sacred Heart Lamp burned still at the little oratory on the landing, the rooms were a bit smaller and the stairs a little narrower but the place hadn’t
shrunk
. Perhaps because it was such a genuinely large house by anyone’s standards, she thought. And shabby. Had the carpet always been so torn, and escaping from the stair rods? Did the wallpaper peel and have big brown damp stains long ago or had all this happened recently? And did any of it matter? The place just welcomed her from every corner, it seemed.

Aunt Eileen and Niamh walked beside Aisling as the house was toured and even Siobhan followed at a distance, dazzled by this girl with the English accent who seemed to be so much part of the house.

And Donal ran up the stairs two at a time to see her. He was tall and thin and so white it was as if someone had rubbed chalk on his face. He had thin and almost blue lips and when he smiled and laughed his face looked like a thin skull. Elizabeth bit back the tears pricking her eyes. She had hoped he would look like his brother Sean but he didn’t resemble him in any way.

‘Do you think I grew up well, Elizabeth White?’ he asked self-mockingly.

‘You’re terrific, Donal, you always were,’ she said.

‘Do I look gaunt, though, and bony?’ His voice was light but she could hear the pain and worry.

She touched his forehead and melodramatically lifted a lock of hair that was falling in his eyes.

‘La, sir, fie, Donal O’Connor you do seek for compliments, but if you must have them then you must. You look like a poet, you look like an artist. You look a bit like that picture of Rupert Brooke or maybe even Byron. Now, will that do you? Or must I flatter you more?’

He smiled a great smile and she knew she had said the right thing before Aunt Eileen squeezed her affectionately.

Uncle Sean came in as they were investigating the new kittens which had been discovered that morning in the bathroom.

‘This is Monica’s daughter, Melanie, and these are her first kittens.’ Niamh was full of pride.

‘Oh, a
Gone With the Wind
period, I imagine,’ Aisling laughed.

‘I wish I’d had a sister,’ Elizabeth said suddenly.

‘Hadn’t you me, wasn’t I better than a sister?’ Aisling demanded.

‘Yes, but you weren’t there all the time.’

‘I was there when you needed me.’

‘Indeed, I’ll never forget it.’ Their eyes met.

‘Where is she, where is she?’ Uncle Sean had got older, much older than Aunt Eileen. He seemed to be full of extra
hair
, sandy hair in his nose and his ears and on the back of his hands; she hadn’t remembered that. Or was it because Father had such smooth, hair-free, almost polished skin?

Uncle Sean was almost embarrassed by the elegance of her until she hugged him hard.

‘Faith, and I couldn’t keep you in pocket money these days by the look of you. Isn’t she a picture, Eileen, isn’t she like a fashion plate?’

‘Oh no, Uncle Sean, don’t say that, you don’t like fashion plates!’

‘I love them, I just don’t know enough of them. Eileen, give over this notion of having tea here, I think I’ll take Miss White down to Maher’s for a few quick ones and then maybe dinner in the hotel. Wouldn’t that set the town talking? Sure they wouldn’t know who this posh young one is and they’d think I was a great old spark. What do you think of that?’

Elizabeth played along. ‘Nonsense, they’ll remember me well, and they’ll say there’s that Elizabeth White who spent years and years taking from the O’Connors and now she’s doing it again.’

Eileen said seriously, ‘Don’t ever even say that as a joke, Elizabeth child, you were as much a part of this family as any of them. The pity was that we couldn’t have had you longer … but you’d not have turned out as well. I used to miss you as much as I missed my Sean.’

That was new too. When Elizabeth had left Kilgarret Sean’s name was not spoken aloud in the house.

XIII

ELIZABETH SAT BETWEEN
Aunt Eileen and Maureen in the front left-hand seat of the church. Eamonn and Donal were at the church door guiding the guests to their seats. Niamh, as bridesmaid, was at home still with Aisling and Uncle Sean; about now they would be getting into the car which was already waiting in the square. Uncle Sean was pacing the sitting room like an animal in a cage and his hair looked odd since he had had too violent a haircut the day before. Nobody had commented on it, but Aisling had whispered to Elizabeth that he managed to make himself look like a convict, which would undoubtedly add to Mrs Murray’s pleasure when she saw the wedding pictures.

Elizabeth looked across at Tony as he knelt with his head in his hands, more from a hope of escape than from piety. He had what love-story writers would call a florid charm, Elizabeth thought; he had a high complexion and there always seemed to be sweat on his forehead. He was a big stocky man, and looked older than he was. If Elizabeth had been asked to guess she would have said
closer
to forty than to thirty. He had seemed uneasy on the three occasions they had met, but she excused him; so was she uneasy. She was very conscious of saying the right thing, the thing that would make her seem like a friend, an ally, rather than a rival. She found herself talking about the weather, and the journey over from England and the journey down from Dublin.

Then, Tony must be nervous, it was a big day for him too. No wonder he had sweat on his brow, no wonder his mind hadn’t been on their conversations. No wonder he half-sat, half-knelt, with his hands over his face, while his friend, Shay Ferguson, the best man, roamed the church with his eyes and winked twice at Elizabeth when he caught her eye. Shay was even older than Tony Murray and much fatter. He was a confirmed bachelor, and Elizabeth remembered that he had been one as far back as her own time in Kilgarret. Shay and his brothers sold agricultural machinery and they had often been in Uncle Sean’s shop. She had always thought of him as being Uncle Sean’s age; it was a shock to think of him as a friend of Tony’s. Odd and uneasy-making. It was as if Aisling were being handed over to older, coarser men in some way. Elizabeth gave a little shiver and pulled herself together.

She whispered to Aunt Eileen.

‘Can I say something or are you praying?’

‘I’m only pretending to pray. Go on.’

‘Are you happy or are you sad? Your face is hard to work out.’

Aunt Eileen smiled. ‘I’m happy really. It took Aisling so
long
to make up her mind, you know that too. She didn’t rush into it. He’s a good man. I think he’ll be able to look after her. No, I’m not sad. I’m mainly happy. There’s your answer.’

Aunt Eileen smiled during her conspiratorial whisper. She looked very attractive, Elizabeth thought. Much, much nicer than Mrs Murray. Aunt Eileen had a lovely pink and grey coat and dress that matched. It had been bought in Switzer’s in Dublin five weeks ago and tried on a dozen times while shoes and handbag and hat were matched to it. The great thing about Kilgarret was that you could always take home things like shoes and handbags and try them out in comfort and then decide what you wanted to buy. Aunt Eileen had a little rouge on too. Aisling and Elizabeth had tried to get her to wear more, but she said she looked like a Dutch doll. Her hat was a smart grey one and the battle to make her wear a pink rose in it had been lost.

‘I’m a woman in her fifties. I’ll not wear decorations like a Christmas tree,’ she had insisted.

Maureen looked tense and unhappy. In the daylight and in the church she thought her shot taffeta dress looked cheap and flashy. Certainly her mother-in-law had managed to plant the idea in her mind this morning. Mrs Daly had looked at the changing colours that had pleased Maureen so much and sniffed. Wouldn’t a nice two-piece have been more suitable? She would have thought that a wedding needed something a little formal. And those little shoes, they looked like slippers. Was Maureen really going
to
wear them? Oh well. Maureen looked with envy at Elizabeth’s outfit. A lemon-coloured skirt and jacket with a coffee lace blouse underneath. It looked so right for a wedding. And on her hat she had coffee and lemon ribbons. Now why hadn’t Maureen thought of something like that? Maureen pulled at the wide taffeta skirt and got no more pleasure from watching the colours change when the light changed. She had thought this was its best feature when she had tried it on and had spent ages admiring it secretly in the bedroom. Now she hated it. Even her hair was wrong. It looked flat and drab though she had washed it and pinned it up last night. Why hadn’t she insisted to Brendan that she wanted to join the party back at home when Mrs Collins and the little shampooing girl had come up to do Mam’s hair and Aisling’s and Niamh’s and even Elizabeth’s? Brendan had said it was mad to waste money and time; why hadn’t she been firm?

Mrs Murray smiled over a few times. She looked harsh and sharp, Elizabeth thought; but perhaps that was only because she had heard so many tales about her during the week she half expected the woman to look like the devil incarnate. Her navy outfit seemed to be all points and edges. Sharp revers on the jacket, sharp edges on the handbag, pointed toes on the shoes, peaky brim on the hat. Beside her stood Joannie, who had only come home the night before. Joannie hadn’t changed much in nine years, Elizabeth thought. Still stocky, and legs planted wide apart when she stood. She had freckles and a handsome sort of face, like Tony but better-looking. She
wore
a white dress and coat … which Elizabeth had always heard was bad taste. Somewhere in her store of knowledge she had the information that you never wore white to a wedding, in case you might upstage the bride.

But of course, Joannie Murray wouldn’t have a dog’s chance of upstaging this bride, even if it had been in her mind. Aisling was going to knock them sideways when she came in.

Elizabeth had actually gasped when she saw Aisling in the dress. It did everything that a wedding dress could do, and you got the feeling that Aisling never wore any other kind of clothes. Elizabeth knew that Aunt Eileen said that the wedding dress could cost whatever Aisling wanted to pay for it. When Aunt Eileen got married it had been a drab and poor affair, in a dress borrowed from a cousin. Aunt Eileen’s own family, with notions of being genteel, had no money and they were disappointed that she was marrying Uncle Sean, who not only had no money but hadn’t even notions of being genteel. The wedding ceremony had not been colourful. Then, although nobody admitted it aloud, the wedding of Maureen and Brendan had been so masterminded by the Dalys and what they would like and what they wouldn’t, that the O’Connors seemed to do nothing but pay for it. This time Aunt Eileen dug her heels in, and she knew she had an ally. Aisling was not afraid of the Murrays, Aisling would do it right.

Together they had gone to Dublin on the bus, they had spent a morning looking at materials and an afternoon looking at patterns. Then, armed with ideas they went in
to
the dress designer in Grafton Street who made dresses for the best. She knew she was not dealing with country hicks here … they were informed, this mother and daughter. They were also happy to pay a deposit in advance. The dress designer became enthusiastic about the tall, auburn-haired girl with the bright face. It had been a labour of love. Nobody but Elizabeth knew how much it had cost. Maureen had been told one sum, Uncle Sean had been told another. Mrs Murray had not been told anything, despite her discreet probing about where it was made and what it was like. Only when Elizabeth saw it on Aisling did she realise that it was worth every penny just for the sheer impression that Aisling would make on all their minds. The dress was satin. Heavy white satin, and not sateen which was all they had seen in Kilgarret for many a wedding. It had a full skirt which seemed to billow out and make her waist tiny. The long tight sleeves came down in little points, vees below her wrists and onto her hands making her arms more slender than they could possibly have ever been. The neckline, another vee, had little seed pearls to pick it out.

The satin looked so rich and cold it could have been marble. On any other girl the dress might have been deadening, it would have made another face seem wishy-washy, Elizabeth thought, a thinner paler girl would have looked like a doll in the dress. Aisling looked like a star.