On the Edge of the Loch: A Psychological Novel set in Ireland (20 page)

‘That was a long drive, boy, all the way from Dublin,’ Leo said. ‘Especially at night.’

‘Dublin . . . yeah, was, right. Bumpy kinda, sometimes, was bumpy.’

‘We’re going.’ Lenny spun away from the group just as a waitress arrived.

‘That’s me black coffee,’ Dermot said hoarsely. ‘Me, Miss, for me.’

‘We are leaving, Dermot!’ Lenny said. ‘You can get coffee on the way.’

‘But I’m dying, I am. I’m half . . . I have to finish me coffee. Don’t even know where yous brung me to, and me head, me head’s – ’

‘Guinness flu. Hundred percent incurable.’ Emer grinned.

‘Dermot!’ Lenny snapped. ‘We’re leaving. Now, please.’ She gripped his arm, led him to the side.

Leo got to his feet. ‘Princess, wait, hang on.’ Leo and Peggy each hugged Lenny, but as before received a lukewarm response.

Emer then shook hands with everyone, talked about seeing them all again very soon and how she and Lenny would stay for weeks, even longer, next time.

Charles had remained outside the farewells, all the time watching Lenny. ‘You’re not forgetting to give your father a kiss?’ he said. She responded with a peck, not allowing the closeness his arms offered.

‘We’ll just grab our things out of the apartment and be off,’ Emer said as the trio exited the B.B. Bunting Room to a chorus of goodbyes.

* * *

As they readied their bags, a knock came at the door. ‘Darling, it’s me,’ Peggy called out. Lenny opened the door just a crack. ‘You’re a busy girl, I know you’re hurrying to get off. But I want to see you for a wee minute, darling. Just you and me.’

‘But we’re just ready to go, and – ’ Lenny jolted. Emer hovered behind her, threatening a second poke.

Peggy reached in, took Lenny’s hand, and led her out.

‘The break room’s a good spot. Nobody over there now,’ Peggy said.

At the rear of the hotel they descended the twisting steps, into an echoey chamber of grey stone and racks of pots and pans. There they sat across from each other at a long bare-wood table.

‘Before I say another word, here’s a few pounds for you, in case you run short.’ Peggy pressed a bundle of folded notes into Lenny’s hand and dismissed her protest. ‘From Leo and me, to help you get what you’ll need. So how have you been, darling, doing well?’

‘I’m grand.’

‘Remember when you were in St Agnes’s, in primary school, how you used to be with us every day?’

‘No . . . Maybe I do. Some. I don’t know.’

‘I told you before the story of how we were all so close, you and Leo and me and your poor mother, Róisín; God rest her soul. You’d play games with Leo the whole day if you could, and he with you.’

‘There’s lots I can’t remember,’ Lenny said, staring at the table. ‘Up to the time I went into secondary school. Except for a few things. I know I couldn’t wait to grow up, get away from here.’

‘We’ve long been praying that all the nice memories would come back to you. Remember the day the three of us went to Donegal, to Downing’s Beach, and we lost you?’

Lenny shook her head without looking up.

‘Ah, you must. We were in bits, Leo and me. We found you in the sand dunes, staring up at the sky, not a bother on you; you were counting the birds, you said. We swung you around and around till we all fell down. That was 1970. Ten years ago, hard to believe, scorching hot day; you were eleven. You must remember, darling?’

‘I think I do, Aunt Peg. But I only think. I can’t be sure what’s a memory and what isn’t.’

Peggy laid her hands over Lenny’s. ‘We always loved you dearly, you know that; and we’re so proud of you. Charles too; he’d tell you that himself if you gave him the chance.’

‘Yeah,’ Lenny said dismissively.

‘Darling, now that you’re twenty-one, Leo and I were thinking it’s the proper time to talk to you. About your mother. And other important matters. But before I say any more, be sure not to leave here today without giving Leo a big hug. He’ll be worried sick, with you off in America.’

‘I’ll be okay; I told him. He trusts me.’

‘He does, of course. And you’ll be grand. But keep your wits about you over there just the same.’

‘That’s what upsets my father. I proved I don’t need him; I’m independent now, pay my own way, decide things for myself.’

‘You’ve grown up into a wonderful young woman. You’re the star in our eyes, like you always were.’

‘Why are you talking this way, Aunt Peg; what are you – ’

‘When you were a wee girl it was like you were ours; you lived with us for three wonderful years, just Leo and me and you, in the cottage. I wish to God you could remember more. Then Charles’ work changed and he was able to take you back. We had a terrible time getting used to you not being there. Poor Leo was never the better for it.’

‘Then my father gets rid of me. Packs me off to boarding schools and private houses. At seven years of age. What a moron.’

‘You were eight, darling. And you were away for under two years all told.’

‘Because I kept getting myself expelled, that’s why.’

‘You always knew what you wanted, and you went after it. Not a bad quality in a woman. But there’s another matter altogether that we said we’d not tell you till you reached twenty-one. Hard to know when’s the best time to tell – ’

‘Tell me what? More family secrets? I don’t need to know those things. I have no family. Who have I got? No one.’

‘You’ve got good people, more than a few, you can count on that, who all love you, who’ve always loved – ’

‘Really? Like sisters and brothers I’ve never met? Whoppee! Can’t wait to meet them, be normal.’

Peggy squeezed tighter on Lenny’s hand, allowed moments to pass, in which each woman avoided what was in the other’s face.

‘I sat beside Róisín in St Agnes’s, all the way up to sixth class. That’s what I want to tell you about. When your mother was seventeen she fell in love.’

‘I don’t need to know this.’

‘You do. It’s right you should know. She fell in love with Leo. My Leo, before I knew him, except to see. He adored the ground she walked on. They had you when your mother was eighteen.’

‘What? . . . What?!’

‘I know, darling. I know it’s a – ’

‘What are you saying?!’

‘I’m saying my Leo and your mother, they loved each other. And they had you.’

A torn stillness descended on Lenny; then slowly her features changed as though answers were falling into place.

‘When Róisín found out she was expecting, she told Leo. But then she turned him down, didn’t want marriage, even though she loved him. But she wasn’t without good reason. She’d have been making a quick widower out of him, as it turned out. And only she knew it, poor soul.’

‘This is all crazy! It’s crazy. I don’t believe you. It’s not true. It’s not. I don’t believe you.’

Peggy lost Lenny’s hand. ‘Listen to me, darling. For eight years, from when she was sixteen, your mother knew her time on earth was to be short; she told no one, not even Leo; only her immediate family knew, and that’s God’s truth. He begged her to marry him, even before they knew about you. But, no, she wouldn’t. She had definite ways about her. When you were four she married Charles, and you took his name, became a Quin. She said she wanted you to have the best of everything, grow up without needing to scratch and scrape, travel, get an education, be somebody.’

‘Then she was stupid! A stupid fool! Stupid!’ Lenny’s head fell into her hands as she burst into tears. ‘She was dead, dead wrong,’ she cried.

‘Yes, Princess, she was wrong.’ Leo’s voice reverberated from the doorway. ‘But she believed what she was doing was for the best.’ He moved across the stone floor until he was standing beside her, and he placed a hand on her shoulder.

‘Wasn’t best; not for me,’ Lenny said through sobs.

‘That was my feeling too,’ Leo said. ‘But Róisín was certain. She wouldn’t see me or talk to me. Not because she didn’t care; she did care, for you most of all. And for me.’

He sat into the bench, looking as though he was inhabiting an old time. ‘Way things worked out, I got to see you nearly every day; the old cottage you lived in was beside us, just across the field. Those early years, things were at their happiest. You and I planted spuds together and all manner of greens up in the fields, wet days and dry days; we chopped wood and cut turf in the bog. You loved the soil. Never mattered what the work was, you’d be there with me. Your mother was always glad about that. You were four when she and Charles married. That was June ‘63. A few months before that I’d started getting to know Peggy and we were married that August.’

‘The Lord didn’t bless us with children of our own,’ Peggy said, ‘When Róisín left us we saw you as ours. And you loved being with us.’

‘You could’ve adopted me; could have easily.’

‘We looked to do that; we tried,’ Leo said. ‘Charles was your legal father, they told us, and that was that. From the start your mother had filled in all the registration forms her own way, even found a way to get them notarised. And she got a solicitor to make certain that her share of what Charles owned would be yours.’

‘How stupid. He gave me not one thing I ever needed. I often wondered.’

‘To be fair to the man, he didn’t know our Irish ways; he wasn’t from here. It’s a fact too that you weren’t the easiest child to rear; all that was hard for him. And none of it was your fault; you’d suffered most in the, the whole – ’

‘Suffered what? What are you saying?’

‘It was hard on you, that’s all, you and Charles both,’ Leo said. ‘Claire Abbey was your home only for four or five months. That’s when your mother decided to leave the marriage. You weren’t yet five; she took you and herself into the old Tracy cottage across from our own. I got a pair of lads to fix the roof, and I put in a few windows and a good door back and front, and got in the electric. She never went back. That’s when Peg and I started seeing you more and more; we were newly-marrieds. Wasn’t long before you’d be charging over the back field to us. Braver than any tomboy.’

‘There’s more you’re keeping from me. Isn’t there? I know; I can tell. Something else. What is it? I want to know.’

‘Nothing else to tell,’ Peggy said. ‘You can be sure that Róisín Doyle loved you dearly every day of her life. Everyone loved you. Paddy McCann too; Paddy was another fond admirer of your mother’s. Poor man was beside himself for ages after she passed away, even gave up the Church. Fr Foley all but did the same; took it very bad.’

‘Leo, you tell me,’ Lenny said. ‘Tell me what really happened. I have a right to know.’

Leo remained quiet, a pause that brought the room into silence. ‘Not every man loves the same way,’ he said. ‘Charles loved you. But his village was the world. He was a businessman.’

‘He sent me away to boarding school for his own convenience, and for spite. To get rid of me. Three times!’

‘You were a handful of a wee one; y’have to count that too, and he’d be away a lot,’ Leo said, then his tone brightened, as though to lift the mood. ‘You were the cleverest pupil in St Agnes’s; I’ll tell you that. One time, on account of yourself, I nearly threw a dig at a school inspector fella. You were about twelve. You told him I was your da. I was working in the patch and over comes this big lad, calling me Mr Quin. Remember?’

‘Sometimes I think I only imagine I remember. My brain doesn’t work for things that long ago. I don’t know why.’ Lenny’s eyes, without anger, lifted up and went again to Leo. ‘Even nice things. I know them only because you told me, some of them. I used to write them down, secretly, in my journal, so I wouldn’t lose them. Other memories come to me now and then, and I don’t know if they really happened. They used to frighten me. Like films that go on for seconds then stop, except they always come back, at really odd times. Then I started looking forward to them.’

‘There were loads of lovely times,’ Peggy said, trying hard to smile. ‘Leo and I do have a great laugh even now, about you telling all sorts of people that we were your mam and dad and that our little cottage was your home. Could be that you knew something even then, about you and Leo. Strange the way some can know things never told. And you’d no time for playmates, ever. Except for that Emer girl; now there’s the nice kind of friend every girl needs; I’m glad you’re such good pals.’

‘Grand wee lassie, and a grand sense of humour,’ Leo said. ‘I’d feel happier if she was going with you to America, Princess. No good being on your own.’

Peggy rose from the table. ‘I better check the lunch set-up. I’ll leave you two to yourselves for a wee while.’

Leo and Lenny sat within their thoughts, shoulder to shoulder. One wordless minute became two. Then Leo’s hand drew from his pocket a small brass box which he placed on the table, his fingers caressing it as though it were about to part from him. He pushed it over the wooden boards.

‘Belonged to your mother. It should be yours.’

‘I don’t want it. I don’t. I never knew her.’

‘From the minute you arrived, all her time was for you. It was you that gave her the extra years they said she’d not live to see.’

‘Don’t.’ She pressed her palms to her ears. ‘Please, I don’t want to know.’

‘All right, Princess, I understand. When you feel ready I have a few of her personal things for you.’ He returned the box to his jacket, then from his breast pocket he took a small matted photograph and laid it down. ‘Your mother, when she was younger than you are now. I thought you’d want to carry it with you when you – ’

‘I told you,’ she sobbed. ‘I told you. I don’t know – ’

His arms burst apart, accepted Lenny’s clutching embrace, and so they remained until their shared disquiet calmed.

‘She’ll always be mine and yours,’ he said. ‘When she passed on we had each other, you and me, from when you were five until you were eight. Not a day forgotten.’

She placed a teary kiss on his cheek. His eyes fell to the photograph; a youthful, red-haired woman beaming a mischievous smile. ‘When I look at you I see her. Even your voice is hers.’

Lenny sprang to her feet, squealing the bench against the stone floor. She rushed across the room and out into the cavernous hallway, Leo in pursuit.

‘Princess,’ he called, extending the photograph. She stopped, wiped her sweater sleeve across her cheeks, then turned, sad and glowing. Their matched blue eyes re-engaged, as though sharing the inexpressible, and she tumbled back into his grasp.