The Glass Lake (37 page)

“Don't be an idiot,” she said in a voice disguising her terror. She had seen real annoyance and impatience in his eyes.

         

The new premises were opened in May, and there was the expected publicity. Yet again Dawn was photographed and Lena managed to stay out of the limelight, but this time there was something she could offer in return.

“Mr. Millar, our managing director, and Miss Park, our senior executive, are going to be married later this year,” she told the reporters who attended the opening ceremony for Millar's new-look agency.

Nobody except her own colleagues would notice that she wasn't properly acknowledged. Some of the clients maybe. Louis would know why, so would Ivy.

Grace did ask. “Are you on the run, by any chance?” she asked when the papers were published telling everyone's life story except Lena's, and showing every face except that of the woman who made the agency what it was.

“Sort of,” Lena said. “Not the law, we're all right there, I think.”

“A man, then.”

“Well, yes. I more ran to one than from one.”

“But there was one, and a daughter?”

“Yes, and a handsome boy.”

“I hope he's worth it…your Louis.”

“Grace, you know he isn't. Stop having silly hopes like that.” They collapsed in giggles.

I miss the laughing more than anything else
, Clio wrote.

I don't miss the secrets and the plans. Those are separate, and different anyway. I should never have looked at your letter, and the truth is that I didn't see who it was to. But I shouldn't have looked. I was trying to see if it was Philip and if you were holding out on me. If ever we do get to be friends again I swear I will always regard letters as sacred. Also, I don't want to spend any more time persuading you to come to university with me. I know you won't, and it's your life. I'm not much of a friend I know, a bit bossy, and I'm very ashamed about that letter. But I'm lonely and I miss you, and I can't study properly and I was wondering whether you thought it might be worth patching it up
.

Love Clio
.

Dear Clio
,

Okay. But remember something, We don't have to be friends. There's no law saying that we must walk forever two by two in this town or anywhere. I'm glad you got in touch. I'm sick to death of Lonny Donegan. Have you anything better to play?

Love Kit
.

Emmet delivered the letter to the Kellys' house.

“They're mad, aren't they,” Anna Kelly said to him.

“Stone mad,” Emmet agreed.

“They go to the same school, sit in the same classroom, and they use us as postmen.”

“It must have been a big row,” Emmet said in wonder.

“Don't you know what it was?”

“No, Kit never said.”

“Clio's never talked of anything else. Apparently Kit dropped some letter and Clio picked it up and gave it back to her and accidentally looked to see who she was writing to. And Kit lost her head altogether.”

“And who was she writing to that was so secret?” Emmet asked.

“A fellow called Len,” said Anna, proud to be the bearer of such important news.

         

“Thanks Emmet, you're a pal.”

“No,” said Emmet. “I'm an eejit.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I felt such a fool. I didn't know you have a fellow called Len. Anna Kelly had to tell me.”

“What fellow called Len?” Kit was mystified.

“The one you wrote the letter to, the one that you let fall.”

Kit looked at him levelly. “Was Clio at home when you went there?”

“No, just Anna.”

“I'll give you anything if you go and get it back.”

“No, Kit. This is silly, you're going mad.”

“I may be, but I'll give you sixpence.”

“You haven't got sixpence.”

“I'll give you the sixpence out of the bottom of the Infant of Prague statue and then I'll put it back when I get my pocket money.”

“Why do you want it back?”

“Please, Emmet. Please.”

“You're old. You're not meant to be like this.”

“I know, but it's the way I am. I'll do anything for you. Anytime you want something for the rest of your life…I'll do it.”

“Will you?” He seemed doubtful.

“Remember this day, remember this act you did for me.”

“And you'll do anything at all?” Emmet weighed it up.

“Yes. Hurry.”

“If she's back?”

“Then it doesn't count, so go off as quick as you can.”

         

“Are you a bit of a doormat?” Anna Kelly asked Emmet.

“No, I did a great deal,” Emmet said.

“What was it?”

“She's going to do me any favor I want ever in life.”

“That's soft. She won't.” Anna laughed.

“She will. Kit's as straight as a die,” Emmet said, pocketing the letter and going home.

At school next day Mother Bernard told the Sixth Years that she had now counted exactly twenty-three working days for intensive revision, prayer to the Holy Spirit, and little else. The Leaving Certificate would soon be upon them with all its attendant anxieties. She wanted to hear nothing of silliness or divilment until the examination was over.

At break Clio said, “I hear you sent a letter up and then thought better of it.”

“Your information service is as good as ever,” Kit said.

“Why, Kit? Why did you change your mind?”

“You don't know what I said.”

“Yes I do. Anna read it, she steamed it open and told me. I've brought you
Que Sera Sera
as a peace offering.”

“You're such a liar, Clio. You lie about everything.”

Clio's face reddened. “No I don't. I have it in my schoolbag.”

“You said you didn't see who it was to, but you did.”

“Only the name…”

“You said I dropped it on the floor. You didn't say you snatched it.”

“Bloody Anna.”

And for the first time Kit smiled. “All right, you dishonest old fraud, give me the record and come round this evening and we'll go for a walk.”

“We're meant to be studying!” Clio could hardly believe the long row was over.

“Well, study then. I'm going for a walk.”

“And you'll tell me everything,” Clio said.

“I'll tell you nothing,” Kit promised.

         

Martin had not asked Maura Hayes to marry him. He just couldn't say the words. They were like lines from a play. He knew that every woman deserved to be proposed to, but he was afraid it would come out wrong. He was afraid that the echo of years ago would sound through what he said without his intending it to.

He was hoping that somehow it could all be agreed to and organized without having to ask. She was so understanding and undemanding. She cheered him up and made him laugh. She loved to go walking with him, but she didn't choose the routes that Helen had walked so ceaselessly by the lake. Instead she found new places to go, a sheltered glen where you saw the mountains in the far distance, and just a shimmering line of the lake on one side. Sometimes she packed a flask of coffee and a slice of Fullers cake that she had brought down from Dublin. It was companionable and close, something Martin had never known in a marriage.

He had spoken to both his children separately, told them that his friendship with Maura Hayes was special. Both had said they were enthusiastic.

Kit in particular. “Dad, you don't have to explain to us that she's not Mother, we know that. And she's very nice, I always liked her much more than Clio's mother.”

Peter Kelly drank a pint each night with Martin in Paddles' bar. The solidarity was huge, but the subject was never broached. Both men knew that when there was something to be said, then it would be said.

And yet something in his heart, some unfinished business, prevented Martin McMahon from doing what he knew was the honorable and right thing to do. It depressed him that he seemed to be a weak man, unsure and dithering. There were so many areas of his life where he was sure and confident: in the pharmacy where he gave advice and consolation as well as compound medicines; as a father for the past years his children had been able to trust him and talk to him. Even possibly as a friend.

But not as a suitor to this good woman who deserved more from him. “I wonder are you wasting your time with me, Maura,” he said to her.

“I wouldn't say any time spent with you was wasted.” She was calm, unflustered.

“I am not what you hoped.”

“You are what you are.”

He looked at her fondly. It was the night before the Leaving Certificate started. She had been so helpful to Kit, explained to her that examinations were all about showing what you did know rather than fearing you would be caught out in what you didn't know.

Kit had found it not only useful but a revelation. “I never knew that,” she said truthfully.

“Well, that's the system,” Maura had said, going over an old examination paper. “Look here when it says as an essay title
The place I love most in Ireland
or here it says
My earliest memory…
now you were telling me that you know all about Glendalough and you were hoping to get a subject like
A place of historic interest
. You could always turn either of those titles to your advantage.”

Maura suggested that Kit have tea and a chocolate biscuit to take with her to bed.

Martin and Maura sat in the large sofa, side by side. He had never sat there with Helen. She had perched on the window seat, or gone to read in a narrow high-backed chair that had been gradually moved to a position of less importance over the years. Helen's bedroom had now become a storeroom. The signs of her presence had lessened but her spirit was still there.

Martin reached for Maura's hand. “It's not fair to you, Maura. I'm not ready, you see.”

“Did I ask you to be ready…for anything?”

She leaned over and kissed him, the kind of kisses they had, gentle and lingering. This was not an area where he compared her to Helen. Helen had never reached to kiss him in her whole life. Helen had just accepted his love. He never knew whether it pleased her or not. There had been no sign of great delight, and certainly none of revulsion. But it had been a passive thing. Never had she raised her hand to stroke his cheek even.

He clung to Maura. “Is it fair to ask you to give me some more time?” he murmured into her neck. She smelled of Elizabeth Arden Blue Grass soap and talcum powder. He felt himself aroused to hold her longer and to know her body more. But this would be the final betrayal. If he were to have Maura Hayes it must be as a wife and a life companion. Not as a quick coupling on their sofa.

She seemed to know this, and pulled gently away. “Have all the time you want, Martin,” she said. “What else am I doing that you're keeping me from?”

Just then they heard a foot on the stair, and Kit knocked at the door. “I just wanted to tell you I can't sleep. The tea didn't work.”

“Would you like to come in and talk?” Maura was courteous, not directive.

“Well, what I'd really like to do is to walk up to Sister Madeleine's for a half hour or so.” Kit always said where she was going. The history of going out for a walk and not returning was too heavy in this house for anyone to make unexplained journeys.

“I don't know. Isn't it a bit late?” Martin sounded worried.

“Sister Madeleine is probably the best place on earth to go,” Maura said. “That woman is able to make everything seem reasonable.”

Kit flashed her a grateful look and ran down the stairs.

“I wish I could find the same kind of consolation in Sister Madeleine that everyone else does…” Martin had never been able to confide in the old lined woman whom most of Lough Glass seemed to hold in such respect.

“That's probably because Helen used to go there so much…you are afraid that she knows too much and might think you were coming to find out something for yourself.”

“That's quite true.” Martin was surprised.

“Well, I wouldn't worry about that side of it. Whatever she has been told or not told seems to be totally secret.” Maura gathered her cardigan and handbag. “I'll be off now, Martin. I don't want Lilian and Peter thinking I'm up to no good.” She had a brave smile on her face. If Maura Hayes was hurt to the heart that Martin could make no commitment she was not going to show it. She waved to him as he stood at the door, then watched Kathleen Sullivan's curtains twitch. At least she would be able to report the doctor's foolish sister-in-law had left the widower's home at a reasonably respectable time.

         

“Tell me now why the exam is so important to you,” Sister Madeleine asked.

“Oh, Sister Madeleine, you must be the only person in Ireland who doesn't know that the Leaving is the making or breaking of you. My whole life depends on it.”

“I'd hardly say that.”

“Well, it does. If I get it, I get into Cathal Brugha Street training college and do hotel management for two whole years and then I have a career. Otherwise I'm finished, my life is over.”

“I suppose you could always go back to school for another year.” The suggestion was a mild one.

“Another year at school with Mother Bernard, with all those horrible girls in Fifth Year laughing and mocking you, with Clio gone off to Dublin to university. I'd die, Sister Madeleine, die…and anyway I want to be something, be someone. Not just for myself.”

“Who for?”

“Well, for Daddy, so he wouldn't look foolish down in Paddles' bar with Dr. Kelly. And…well, for my mother really.”

“I know.” Sister Madeleine did know.

“I told her I'd amount to something. You know…long ago.”