Silver Wedding (30 page)

'They're not coming until three o'clock,' Desmond had said.

'Everything has to be cleared away for them.'

'God Almighty, Deirdre, we're not going to spend eight hours clearing the kitchen worktops. And isn't it all done already anyway?'

She took no notice of him, she poured him out a cup of tea.

For years, since they had moved into separate beds in fact, they had this morning ritual of the electric teamaker on the table between them. It somehow soothed them into the day, took the little edges off the slight sense of morning disappointment that they each seemed to feel.

'Happy anniversary,' he said and reached out for her hand.

'And to you,' she said, smiling. 'Will we give our presents now or later?'

'Whatever you like.'

'Maybe later.' She sipped her tea and ticked off in her mind all the things to be done. She had an appointment at the hairdresser, and a manicure as a special treat. Her new outfit was hanging on the wardrobe under its cellophane wrapping. She hoped it was a good choice, the woman in the shop had been very pushy, kept calling her Madam and speaking to her as if she wasn't there. Madam would look very well in pale colours, Madam doesn't want to grow old before her time. Madam could do with a little detail on the shoulder if Madam really insists that she won't wear shoulder pads.

Deirdre would like to have worn pads, almost everyone did nowadays like the women in Dynasty and Dallas, but she remembered that time years ago when she had bought a very upholstered-looking jacket and Maureen Barry had laughed at it and called it Deirdre's Marshal Bulganin outfit. She daren't risk that again. Or risk even the memory of it.

She knew that whatever Maureen wore today it would be stunning, it would take all the attention away from her, away from Deirdre whose party it was. The woman in the shop said she couldn't believe that Madam was really celebrating a silver wedding, but that was in the shop. The woman was anxious to flatter her and make a sale.

The woman hadn't seen Maureen.

She would take the limelight today as she had taken it twenty-five years ago. When the bride had looked pink and frightened and flustered, and the bridesmaid had looked dark and cool and elegant in a plain pink linen dress and a big pink flower in her hair. And Frank Quigley had never taken his eyes off her. From one end of the day to the other.

Would it be the same today? Would the great Frank Quigley remember his passion for Maureen Barry with regret as the one thing he didn't win in his life? Knowing Frank he would probably have turned it into a success rather than a failure. Look at the bigger and better prize he had won. Married to the entire Palazzo fortune. He wouldn't have had that if Maureen had accepted him all those years ago.

But she wouldn't think destructive thoughts. Not today, today as her day more than her wedding day had ever been. She had worked hard for it, put in long hours, long years. Deirdre Doyle would have today,,

Desmond looked at his face in the bathroom mirror. It looked back at him, younger he thought than it had done a while ago. Or maybe he just imagined that, because he felt better. He didn't have that constant pain in the base of his stomach that he used to have going in to Palazzo. He enjoyed leaving the house now.

Mornings were so much easier.

He had suggested that he and Suresh Patel start a newspaper delivery service in the area. People would like to have a paper to read in their homes if it arrived before seven. And it was a great success. It was run by the owlish boy who kept the accounts meticulously and also delivered the papers before heading off to school. He dropped the Daily Mail into Rosemary Drive for Desmond too, and it meant that he could read it and leave it for Deirdre.

He was annoyed with her that she had not wanted Suresh Patel and his wife to come to the silver wedding.

'It's only for people who were at the ceremony,' she had complained.

John and Jean West weren't there/ he had countered.

'Don't be silly, Desmond, they're our next-door neighbours.'

'Well Suresh is my partner isn't he?'

'Only very recently, and anyway he won't know anyone.'

'Half of them won't know anyone.'

'Be reasonable, can't you, his wife doesn't even speak English. What am I to say to people, this is Mrs Patel, Desmond's partner's wife who can only nod and smile?'

He had left it. But it rankled. He felt sure that if Suresh Patel was having some ceremony in his house, the Doyles would have been invited. But it wasn't worth a major row, if he had won then he would have had to look after the Patels all evening. And there were so many other things to concentrate on. Like his son was coming back ... of his own free will to be there for the celebrations. Perhaps now that he too had been able to escape from a world that had frightened him they might have more in common. Perhaps the old prickliness would have softened if not gone altogether.

And he would be glad to see Father Hurley again, he was a kind man. Even in those bad far-off days when priests were meant to be disapproving of sin and anticipating the sacrament of matrimony and everything. There had been no condemnation when he had gone and asked Father Hurley if he could arrange to marry them as quickly as possible. Even quicker.

'Are you sure?' Father Hurley had asked.

'Oh yes, the tests were positive,' Desmond had said, fighting the panic.

'No, I meant are you both sure this is what you want to do? It's for life.'

It had been an odd question at that time. Desmond had paid little heed to it. The only important thing had been could the priest get them married in three weeks, so that their child would not be impossibly premature. The child that was never born. The child that miscarried on Christmas Eve

He wondered had Father Hurley ever thought about it, whether the priest who had after all baptized Anna realized that she was born a full fourteen months after the shotgun wedding. And that a sister or brother had been lost before that.

Desmond sighed. Father Hurley probably had enough to think about in an Ireland which was rapidly catching up with the rest of the world in terms of godlessness. He would be unlikely to spend time speculating about what had happened in marriages made a quarter of a century ago.

Anna woke around seven in her flat in Shepherds Bush, she went straight to the window to see what kind of day it was. Good, a bright crisp autumn day. London was lovely in autumn. The parks were at their best. She had been walking last night with her friend Judy, and they had seen possibly a dozen different shades of gold and orange on the trees. Judy said that in America up in New England they had special tours and holidays for Leaf Peckers, for - people who came to peek at the leaves changing colour. You could organize that in London too.

Anna was going to work for the morning. She would only be in the way in Rosemary Drive, things would be up to high doh there, the less people there were about the better. She would go there around three, the same time as the caterers, just to keep Mother out of their hair and from driving them up the walls. She had begged Helen not to turn up until five, the official time that the celebrations began. The thought of letting her sister Helen loose on any house where professional caterers were preparing a meal was enough to frighten anyone.

Helen was in very poor form at the moment, there had been some problem yet again in the convent. Apparently the rest of the Community didn't want Helen to take her vows and be a permanent member of the house. This was what Anna was reading between the lines, Helen of course was reading nothing of the sort, seeing only a series of petty irritations, confusions and obstacles.

Anna sighed. If she was in a religious community, which was possibly the last place on earth she would want to end up, then the very very last person on earth she would like with her was Helen, there was something very unsettling about Helen's very presence. On the few occasions she had come to see Anna in the bookshop it had been a matter of trying to hold on to big piles of books in displays - no other customer knocked them over but Helen would. Like she had actually swept the credit-card machine off the cash desk, breaking the glass on a display cabinet. Like her coat always caught somebody's cup of coffee. Not a restful presence anywhere. She hoped that Helen wouldn't say the wrong thing too often this evening.

What could she say that would be terrible? Well, something about Brendan, along the lines of wasn't it great we forced him to come back . . . Which wasn't the case, but Father would think it was. Or about Father having left Palazzo and working with a terribly nice Paki. Helen was the only person Anna knew who actually used words like Paki and Eyetie. Yes, she could refer to Renata Quigley as an Eyetie.

Anna padded off in bare feet to make herself a cup of instant coffee. Another pleasure and advantage of not living any more with Joe Ashe. It had to be real, the coffee, it had to be freshly ground in a machine that would split your head apart. She would not like to live for ever on her own, but she was daily finding more and more positive things about not living with Joe Ashe.

He had left as good-naturedly and easily as he had arrived. He had kissed her on the cheek and said that she was being very heavy over nothing. He had said he'd miss her, and he had taken quite a few of her records, and a very expensive rug she had bought for their bed. She had watched him fold it, and had said nothing.

"You did give me this as a present, I think?' He had smiled lightly.

'Sure, Joe,' she had said. She would not be heavy over a bedspread. Only about another woman in her bed.

Judy had been very good over the breakup.

'I'm always here, ring me if you feel a bit bleak. I'll listen. Don't ring him out of loneliness, only ring him if you could take him back.'

Friends were great, Anna thought, real pure gold. Friends understood when you got infatuated with people, and didn't mind you going mad for a while, they were still there when the infatuation was over. As it nearly was. Very very nearly.

And she wasn't going to embark on anything again for a long while. Ken Green understood that, he had said that he wanted the smell of Joe Ashe's rather sickly aftershave well gone from the place before he came round in earnest. Ken was very droll. He got on very well with her father too, which was odd, and persuaded Dad and Mr Patel to take a small selection of his paperbacks to display with the magazines, just in case there was a market, he had said . . . and of course there had been. Father and Mr Patel were going to expand. There was an opening for a bookshop in the area. Ken had even suggested that Anna might think of opening one herself, in conjunction with them.

'Too near home,' she had said.

'Maybe you're right.' Ken was agreeable but not in the way Joe Ashe agreed with people. Joe agreed for an easy life, Ken because he had thought it out. She half wished she had asked him to the silver wedding do, but it was far too public a commitment, Mother's friends would whisper, and Grandmother O'Hagan would be bound to want to know everything even though there was nothing to know. Brendan had arrived in London early, off the boat train in Euston. It coincided with the morning rush hour. He stood watching for a quarter of an hour while the commuter population of that part of London buzzed and scuttled and darted up ramps and down stairs, down to taxi queues, in to grab a quick breakfast standing at a counter, leaping on to escalators. They looked so self-important, he thought, as if whatever petty job they were racing to was important, as if they were people of substance. And this is what his father and mother would like him to be doing, racing down from Rosemary Drive to catch a train to Baker Street, and another tube to somewhere like here. It was-a preposterous way to live, and all to be able to say to someone that this was success.

Brendan knew he must not spoil his gesture in coming to the celebration by voicing these thoughts.

And he also remembered that Vincent had warned him to buy some proper clothes to wear for the occasion.

'You'll always be able to use a good suit, lad,' his uncle had said.

'Aw no, Vincent, not a suit, I'd never wear a suit for God's sake.'

'Well that's what we wore in my day. But then a jacket and trousers.'

'An anorak maybe?' Brendan had brightened.

'Not an anorak, you gobdaw, not for a big party in their house, a smart dark jacket, navy maybe and light blue trousers. Sure you'll have them hanging out of you at the next dance you go to here.'

His uncle had given him folding money. It was a sacred trust to buy something smart to wear. He had written to Anna, telling her how much he had to spend. He had hoped she wouldn't make fun of him, but he had wronged her even to suspect she might do such a thing.

Her letter was enthusiastic and grateful, she told him that Marks or C and A or any High Street store would have a bewildering selection, and that she was touched and pleased that he was going to so much trouble. She wrote that she herself was going to wear a dress and jacket in navy and white with awful bits of lace trimming on both, because she thought it would please Mother, it looked what Mother called dressy and Anna called yucky but it was Mother's day. Anna wrote how she had told Helen that since Vatican Two nobody expected nuns to arrive in places dressed in sackcloth and ashes, but of course Helen would suit herself, as always.

Maureen Barry came out of Selfridge's and thought she saw Desmond's and Deirdre's son Brendan walking down Oxford Street with a huge Marks and Spencer's bag as if he had bought half the shop.

But she decided that this was ridiculous. There were twelve million people in London, why should she see a member of the family she was thinking about?

And for all she knew the boy might still be in the West of Ireland, there had been some kind of coldness. Her mother had told her that not long before she died. She said that Eileen O'Hagan had said that there had been some great cover-up but the facts were that the son of Deirdre and Desmond had run, away, and run of all places back to the very townland his father managed to escape from. The same place that Frank had run from. Maureen told herself to be reasonable. Even if the boy was in London, he would surely be out in Pinner helping to set up tables for the function. She must stop being fanciful and thinning she had this town down to size as she did Dublin. Only that morning at the hotel she had thought she saw Deirdre's mother, in the distance across the dining room, in fact it had been so like her she was nearly going across to say hallo but the woman had been joined by a flashy-looking man wearing a blazer with a big crest of some sort. Perhaps it was the sign that she needed glasses. She smiled, remembering how they had all told each other years ago when coming to work in London that they should get false teeth and spectacles on the National Health, it had seemed a scream to need either.