Silver Wedding (29 page)

And because Deirdre was so plugged into her countdown, she knew she had exactly 110 days to go when the telephone rang and it was her mother at the other end of the line.

Mother rang only every second weekend, on Sunday evenings. Deirdre had instituted that practice years ago, they rang each other on alternate Sundays. Sometimes she felt that Mother had little to say, but that couldn’t be possible. Mother wasn’t good at writing letters so these conversations were Deirdre’s lifeline. She remembered everything that was said, and even kept a little spiral notebook by the phone to
jot
down names of Mother’s bridge friends, or of the party that Barbara and Jack had been to, or the concert that Gerard had taken Mother to. Sometimes Mrs O’Hagan would exclaim that Deirdre had the most extraordinary memory for little things. But Deirdre thought it was only natural that you should want to recall matters of moment in your family’s life. She was always mildly put out that Mother hardly ever remembered any of her friends, and never inquired about Palazzo or about any of the outings that Deirdre had described.

It was unexpected to hear from Mother in the middle of the week, in the middle of the day.

‘Is anything wrong?’ Deirdre said at once.

‘No, Deirdre, Lord above you sound just like your grandmother.’ Kevin’s mother always began every greeting by asking was anything wrong.

‘I meant it’s not your usual time to ring.’

Mother softened: ‘No, I know, I know. But I’m in London and I thought I’d try and see could I catch you at home.’

‘You’re in
London
!’ Deirdre cried, her hand flying to her throat. She looked around the living room, untidy and covered with Desmond’s papers, plans and projections, notes that he had been discussing with the Patels, the family who ran the shop that he insisted was far more his life’s dream than the great Palazzo company. Deirdre herself was dressed in a faded pinny, the place was a mess. She looked out the
window
fearfully as if her mother were about to come straight in the door.

‘Yes, I just got in from the airport. The Underground is marvellous isn’t it? Just whizzes you in, door to door almost.’

‘What are you doing in London?’ Deirdre’s voice was almost a whisper. Had Mother come three months too early for the silver wedding, was there a crisis?

‘Oh, just passing through … you see the tour leaves from London.’

‘The tour? What tour?’

‘Deirdre, I told you all about it … didn’t I? I must have. I’ve told everyone else.’

‘You mentioned no tour to me.’ Deirdre was mutinous.

‘Oh I must have, maybe I wasn’t talking to you.’

‘We talk every Sunday night of life, I was talking to you four days ago.’

‘Deirdre, is anything wrong dear? You sound so strange. Like as if you’re fighting with me or something.’

‘I didn’t know of any tour, where are you going?’

‘Down to Italy first, and then by ship, we pick up the ship in Ancona and head off from there …’

‘Where do you head off to?’

‘Oh a variety of places … Corfu, Athens, Rhodes, Cyprus, and some place in Turkey …’

‘A cruise Mother, you’re going on a cruise!’

‘I think that’s a very grand name for it.’

‘It sounds a very grand outing.’

‘Yes, well let’s hope it won’t be too hot out in all those places, I think it’s probably not the right time of year to head off …’

‘Then why are you?’

‘Because it came up, anyway enough of this, are we going to meet?’

‘Meet? You’re going to come here? Now?’

Mother laughed. ‘Well thanks a lot, Deirdre, that sounds a great welcome, but actually I hadn’t intended on going out to darkest Pinner … I thought you might come in and join me for a spot of lunch or coffee or whatever.’

Deirdre hated Anna calling it ‘darkest Pinner’, it was such an insult, as if the place was off the beaten track. And here was her own mother, who was from Dublin for heaven’s sake, who didn’t know where anywhere was, and whether it was on or off any track, saying the same thing.

‘Where are you staying?’ she asked, trying not to let the irritation show.

Mother was in a central hotel, very central she said, it had only taken her two minutes to leave the Piccadilly Line and be in her foyer. Simply remarkable. It would be easy for Deirdre to find too.

‘I know how to get there.’ Deirdre was white-faced.

‘So will we say the bar here at one thirty, will that give you time …?’

Deirdre left a note to Desmond on the table. These days she never knew whether he was going to come back or not during the day. His arrangements with Palazzo seemed to be fluid. Frank Quigley had said there would be proper arrangements made, for a manager like Desmond, setting up on his own, it wasn’t a question of severance pay, redundancy, compensation, golden handshakes … It was all defined as Proper Arrangements. Deirdre hoped it would be finalized by the time of the silver wedding.

Grimly Deirdre went upstairs and put on her best suit. Her hair was limp and greasy-looking. She had planned to wash it later in the day, now there wasn’t time. Her good handbag was being mended, the catch had worked loose. There was a grubby-looking bandage on her wrist where she had burned herself on the oven. She didn’t like to open it all up and apply a fresh one, they had told her that it should be done at the hospital.

In low spirits and filled with a vague apprehension Deirdre Doyle set out to meet her mother. She felt drab and unattractive. She looked what she was, she decided, catching a reflection of herself in the window of the train that took her into Baker Street. She looked the middle-aged housewife from the suburbs, married to a not very successful man, no job to exercise her mind, not enough money to dress herself properly. Suffering badly from the empty-nest syndrome. Perhaps more than most: one daughter trying
to
be accepted in a convent where they wouldn’t let her take her vows, another daughter who sometimes didn’t come to see her parents more than once in a fortnight, and her son, her beloved son gone, fled to live at the other side of another country.

She was sure that she and Mother would fight. There had been something in the tone of the phone call that she hadn’t liked. Mother had been impatient with her, and patting her down as if
she
were the difficult one.

It was extremely irritating but Deirdre would not lose her temper. Years of being reasonable and refusing to raise her voice had meant that there were few arguments in Rosemary Drive.

Deirdre had always prided herself on that. It was something to show for all those years and all that had happened.

Mother was sitting in a corner of the big-oak panelled bar as if she were a regular. She looked very well, she wore a fawn linen jacket and skirt with a cream-coloured blouse beneath, her hair had been freshly done, in fact she must have spent the hour that her daughter used to struggle in to central London sitting peacefully in a hairdressing salon. She looked relaxed and at her ease. She was reading a newspaper and unless she was putting on an elaborate act she seemed to be reading it without the aid of glasses.

A woman of sixty-seven and she looked somehow younger and fresher than her own daughter.

Eileen O’Hagan’s eyes looked up just at that moment, and she smiled broadly. Deirdre felt her movements somehow stiffen as she walked across to meet her mother. They kissed and Mother, who was already on friendly terms with the waiter, called him over.

‘Just a glass of wine and soda,’ Deirdre said.

‘Nothing stronger to celebrate your old Mother coming to town?’

‘You’re never this lady’s mother, seesters yes …’ the waiter said on cue. But it had a ring that was altogether too truthful for Deirdre.

‘Just wine and soda,’ she snapped.

‘Let me look at you …’ her mother said.

‘Don’t, Mother, I look badly, I wish you’d told me …’

‘But if I had then you’d have gone to an immense amount of fuss and worn yourself out …’ her mother said.

‘Then you admit you didn’t tell me, that it didn’t just slip your mind.’

‘It was out of kindness, Deirdre … you were always one to go to such efforts, that’s why I didn’t tell you.’

Deirdre felt the tears sting in her eyes, she fought to keep the hurt tone out of her voice.

‘Well all I can say is that it’s a pity. Desmond would have loved to have had you to the house, and the girls will be very sorry they’ve missed their Grannie.’

‘Nonsense, Deirdre, Anna’s at work. Helen’s at prayer … Desmond is up to his eyes … Why create a great fuss?’

There it was again, that hated word Fuss. Deirdre clenched her fists and saw her mother glance at her whitened knuckles. This was very bad, she had vowed that there would be no argument. She must keep to that.

‘Right, well here we are anyway,’ Deirdre said in a voice that sounded to her own ears curiously tinny. ‘And Mother, you do look remarkably well.’

Her mother brightened up. ‘This suit has been a godsend, you know I bought it three years ago in Maureen’s shop. Maureen always had great taste, I used to wonder why some of her clothes were so expensive, but her mother always said you paid for the cut and that they never really went out of fashion …’

Mother patted the skirt of her outfit with pleasure.

‘It should be just the thing for a cruise.’ Deirdre tried to sound enthusiastic.

‘Well yes, I didn’t think there was any point in getting all those floral silks … leisurewear, cruisewear they actually call them nowadays. Better to bring something suitable, something familiar, and I have a few cotton dresses for sightseeing.’ She looked animated and excited.

‘And what possessed you to take off on something like this?’ Even as she spoke Deirdre knew that hers
sounded
like the voice of an older woman remonstrating with a difficult daughter rather than the enthusiasm that there should have been for a self-sufficient parent capable of enjoying herself on her own.

‘As I told you, it came up, and I have a friend who was also free at this time, so it seemed only sensible …’

‘Oh good, someone’s going with you.’ Deirdre was pleased. Two old ladies on board ship would at least have each other to talk to at the time, and be able to share the memory afterwards. She tried to remember which one of her mother’s bridge cronies would have been likely to be accompanying her.

‘Yes, and I thought I’d seize the chance of letting you meet each other, not for lunch, we’ll have that on our own, but Tony said he’d pop down and say hallo … Ah, there he is … what timing!’

And as Deirdre felt the base of her stomach fill with lead she realized that her mother was waving at a florid-looking man with a blazer and a red face who was coming across the room rubbing his hands delightedly. Mother was going on a cruise with a man.

‘This is nice,’ Tony said, crushing Deirdre’s hot hand in his own, and telling the waiter that he’d like a large G and T, Cork and Schweppes, ice and slice.

The waiter was puzzled. Mother said affectionately that Irish gin-drinkers were fanatically partisan and
only
drank the home brew as far as gin was concerned.

‘But we’re very democratic, we drink the English tonic,’ Tony said, beaming around him. ‘Well Deirdre, what do you think of all this caper?’

‘I’ve only just heard about it this moment,’ she said, hardly able to find the words.

‘It should be a great old jaunt altogether,’ he said. ‘No decisions about whether to go and see places, they come to see you instead. Perfect for the lazy man. And lazy woman.’ He actually patted Mother’s hand.

‘Were you afraid to tell me this too in case I’d fuss?’ Deirdre asked, and could have bitten off her tongue.

Tony weighed in before Mother could answer.

‘Oh, there you are, Eileen, she’s as jealous as the others. Barbara nearly went mad when she heard that her mother was taking me instead of her, and Gerard said that in all decency your mother should take her son instead of a toy boy like myself.’ He threw back his head and laughed heartily, and Mother laughed with him.

Deirdre thought, he knows Barbara and Gerard. Why had neither of them said anything about this to her? How dare they keep quiet about something as big as this? And was he serious about Mother taking him, Mother could not possibly be paying for this loud vulgar man. Or was this a joke too?

Mother seemed to read her face. ‘Don’t worry about a thing, Deirdre my love, it’s only his way of going on. Tony’s not after the deeds of the house.’

‘Fat chance I’d have if I
were
after them,’ he boomed. ‘Your mother will live for ever, I’ll go for the chop one of these days. Hopefully not on the cruise, though a burial at sea would be something to remember, wouldn’t it?’

Deirdre felt a genuine sense of nausea. This man who must be almost the same age as her mother, was a serious part of her life. And until this minute nobody had been able to tell her.

She forced the smile back on to her face, and saw her mother’s approving glance. She found her mouth dry and bitter as she searched for some suitable words.

But Tony was not a man who would allow silences. He had had her glass refilled, he had commandeered a dish of olives and a bowl of crisps on the ground that one had to have all the trappings. He had assured her that he would take great care of her mother on the cruise, squeezed her hand hard again, and said he would leave the key at reception. The key. The man wasn’t even pretending that they had separate rooms. Deirdre felt a sense of unreality wash over her, and she hardly noticed that he had kissed her mother goodbye on the cheek.

Mother had booked a nearby restaurant. It was small and French and expensive. The napkins were thick,
the
silver was heavy, and the flowers on the table were real and plentiful.

In her twenty-five years living in London Deirdre had never eaten in a place like this and here was her mother, her mother from a small country, a small city compared to this one, ordering as if she were used to it.

She was glad that Mother was making decisions, not only could she not understand the menu but she would not have been able to order, so confused and upset did she feel.