The Glass Lake (8 page)

He admitted it.

“I only asked because you looked worried.” Lilian was almost mollified.

“I'm wondering did I do the right thing over Kathleen Sullivan, telling her to have the funeral above in the home,” said Peter Kelly, and listened with part of his mind to some of his wife's views on the subject while he tried to work out the implications of Helen McMahon's pregnancy. In the pit of his stomach was the feeling that all was not as it should be.

There was no reason why Martin and Helen should not try for a late baby. Helen must be thirty-seven or thirty-eight, an age when most women around here would think nothing of having children. But Peter Kelly was uneasy. Just scraps of conversation floating around in the air coming back to disturb him: Clio saying that Kit McMahon's parents slept in different rooms, something Martin said one night down in Paddles' place about the old days, some reference to making love as if it were all in the past, something Helen had said when Emmet was a toddler, about there being no younger brothers and sisters for him. It all made a crazy jigsaw in his head. And he realized that it had to be crazy because just suppose, suppose for the sake of argument, that all these jumbled ideas spelled out the truth.

Who on earth could be the father of Helen McMahon's child if it were not her husband?

         

Martin heard footsteps on the stairs. He got up and came to the sitting room door. “Helen?”

“Yes, love.”

“I was looking for you, did you hear about poor Billy Sullivan?”

“Yes, Dan told me. I suppose it's a blessing in a way, he was never going to get better.”

“Should we go in, do you think?” Martin was always a good neighbor.

“No, Kathleen's not there, only the two lads. I called on my way back.”

“You were out late…”

“I was just walking, it's a lovely night. They say their mother went down to Sister Madeleine. That was a good idea, she always knows what to say.”

“Were you in the hotel, then?”

Helen looked surprised. “Lord, no. What would I go in there for?”

“You said Dan told you about Billy Sullivan.”

“Doesn't Dan stand there at the door, telling the dogs in the street bits of information…. No, I told you, I was walking. Down by the lake.”

“Why do you want to walk by yourself—why won't you let me walk with you?”

“You know why. I want to think.”

“But what is there to think about?” He looked blank, bewildered.

“There's so much to think about that my mind is overflowing…”

“And are they good, the things you think about?” He sounded almost fearful of the answer, as if he regretted asking.

“We must talk…we have to talk…” Helen looked to the door as if to see were they out of earshot.

Martin was alarmed. “There's nothing to talk about—I just wanted to know were you happy, that's all.”

Helen sighed. A heavy sigh. “Oh Martin, how many times have I told you. I was neither happy nor unhappy, there was nothing you could have done—it would have been like asking you to change the weather….”

His looked at her, crestfallen. His face showed that he knew he should not have asked.

“But it's all different now, it's all changed. And we have always been honest with each other—that's more than many other couples.” She spoke as if giving him crumbs of comfort.

“More than that, surely?” His voice was full of hope.

“Of course more than that—but because I never lied to you, I would always tell you if there was something important.”

Martin moved away, putting up his hands as if to ward off any explanation that she was about to begin. Her face was agonized. He was unable to bear it.

“No, my love, I was wrong—haven't you every right to walk by yourself. By the lake, or anywhere. What am I doing cross-questioning you? I'm turning into an old Mother Bernard before my time, that's what I'm doing.”

“I want to tell you everything….” Her face was empty.

“Now, hasn't enough happened tonight with that poor man across the road going to meet his maker—”

“
Martin…
” she interrupted.

But he wasn't going to talk. He took her hands and drew her across the room toward him. When she was right beside him he put his arms around her very tight. “I love you, Helen,” he said over and over into her hair.

And she murmured, “I know. I know, Martin, I know.”

Neither of them saw Kit in the shadow pass the door, wait for a moment, and then go on to her own room. She lay in bed without sleeping for a long time that night. She couldn't decide whether what she had seen was very good or very bad.

At least it didn't look as if her mother was wild and fancy free, or whatever Clio was constantly hinting at.

         

Halloween was a Friday, Kit wondered could they have a party.

Mother seemed against it. “We don't know what we'll be doing,” she said in a fussed sort of way.

“But of course we know what we'll be doing.” Kit was stung by the unfairness of this. “It's a Friday, we'll be having scrambled eggs and potatoes like every Friday, and I only asked for a few friends to come in…”

Mother looked quite different when she spoke. She seemed to underline every word as if she were giving a message or reading a notice, rather than having a normal conversation. “Believe me, I do know what I'm saying. We do not know what we will be doing on Halloween. This is not the time to be thinking of Halloween parties. There will be parties again, but not now.”

It was very final. It was also very frightening.

         

“Are there really ghosts about on Halloween?” Clio asked Sister Madeleine.

“You know there aren't ghosts,” Sister Madeleine said.

“Well, spirits.”

“There are spirits around us all the time.” Sister Madeleine was being remarkably cheerful about it, as if she wouldn't indulge Clio Kelly's wish to be dramatic.

“Are you afraid of spirits?” Clio persisted. She wanted to get a bit of terror into the conversation somehow.

“No, child, I'm not. How could you be afraid of someone's spirit? A spirit is a friendly thing. It's the life that was in them once—the memory of it—that stays around a place.”

This was more promising. “Are there spirits round here, round the lake?”

“Of course there are, the people who loved the place and who lived here.”

“And died here?”

“And died here, of course.”

“Would Bridie Daly's spirit be here?”

“Bridie Daly?”

“The woman who said ‘Look in the reeds.' The woman who was going to have a baby without being married.” Clio sounded too eager, too gossipy, for Sister Madeleine.

She looked at them thoughtfully. “And are you girls having a party for Halloween?” she asked.

Kit said nothing.

Clio grumbled, “Kit was going to have one and then it was all canceled.”

“I only said I might.” Kit was mutinous.

“Well, it's stupid to say you might and then give no explanation,” Clio said.

Sister Madeleine looked at Kit sympathetically. The child was distressed about something. The Halloween party was not the right distraction to have made. “Have you ever seen a tame fox?” she asked them with the air of a conspirator.

“You can't have a tame fox, can you?” Clio knew everything.

“Well, you can't have one that you'd trust with the ducklings and the chickens,” Sister Madeleine agreed. “But I have a lovely little fellow I could show you. He's in a box in my bedroom. I can't let him out, but you can come in with me and see.”

Her bedroom! The girls looked at each other in delight. No one knew what was behind the closed door. Forgotten now were bodies in the lake, spirits of the dead, and the intransigence of canceling a Halloween party. In they went and Sister Madeleine closed the door behind them.

There was a simple bed with a small iron headboard, and a smaller bed-end made the same way. It was covered in a snow-white bedspread. On the wall was a cross, not a crucifix, just a plain cross. There was a small chest of drawers which had no mirror, just a comb and a pair of rosary beads.

There was a chair, and a prie-dieu facing the cross. This is where Sister Madeleine must say her prayers.

“You have it very tidy,” Clio said eventually, trying to think of some compliment and finding this the only thing she could say in honesty about a place which had the comfort of a prison cell.

“Here he is,” cried Sister Madeleine, and pulled out a cardboard box with straw in it. Sitting in the middle was a tiny fox cub with his head on one side.

“Isn't he gorgeous!” Clio and Kit spoke in one voice. They reached out awkwardly as if to stroke him.

“Will he bite?” Clio asked.

“He might nip a little, but he's so small his little teeth wouldn't hurt you.” Any other grown-up in the world would have said not to touch him.

“Will he live here forever?” Kit wanted to know.

“He broke his leg, you see. I was mending it…it's not the kind of thing you can take to the vet. Mr. Kenny wouldn't thank you for bringing up a fox to him.” Sister Madeleine knew that even the warm feelings of Lough Glass she enjoyed would not extend toward her harboring a fox. Foxes killed people's chickens and geese, and little turkeys. If a baby fox was to be cured, then you wouldn't get any branch of the medical profession or establishment to help you. They looked admiringly at the little piece of wood tied to the tiny leg. “He'll soon be able to walk and run, and then we'll send him off to whatever life awaits him.” Sister Madeleine looked at the little pointed face that stared trustingly up at her and stroked his small, soft head.

“How can you let him go?” Kit breathed. “I'd keep him forever.”

“His place is out there. You can't keep anything that wants to go; it's in his nature to be free.”

“But you could make him into a pet…”

“No, that wouldn't work. Anything or anyone who is meant to be free will go.”

Kit shivered. It was as if Sister Madeleine were looking into the future.

         

Helen went slowly down the stairs and into the pharmacy. She gave a wan little smile.

“It's like the shoemaker's children being never shod…I can't find an aspirin up in the bathroom,” she said.

He ran to get a glass of water and put out two little tablets for her. His hand lay over hers for a moment. She smiled the same feeble attempt to respond to him.

“You look washed out, love…did you not sleep?” Martin McMahon spoke very fondly.

“I didn't actually. I kept walking around. I hope I didn't wake the house.”

“You should have come in to me. I'd have fixed you something to make you sleep.”

“Ah, I don't like calling you in the middle of the night. It's bad enough not wanting you in my bedroom, I don't want to be raising your hopes.”

“The hopes are always there, Helen. Maybe someday?” His face looked eager. She was silent. “Or some night?” He smiled.

“I have to talk to you, Martin.”

He looked concerned; immediately he felt her forehead.

“What is it, love? A fever?”

“No, no, it's not that.”

His eyes were wide with distress. “Well, tell me about it, and don't be putting the heart across me…”

“Not here—it's all too long and confused and…I have to get out of here…” She was flushed now, her earlier pallor gone.

“Will we get Peter?”

“No we will not get Peter,” she snapped. “I want to talk to you by yourself. Will you come out for a walk with me?”

“Now? But aren't we going upstairs to have the meal that's on the table for us?” He was utterly bewildered by her.

“I told Rita that you and I would not be having our meal today, I made you a few sandwiches.” She had a neat packet wrapped in grease-proof paper. “I have to talk to you.” Her voice was not menacing, but yet Martin seemed to fear her words.

“Listen, love, I'm a working man, I can't go off wandering where the fancy takes me,” he said.

“It's early closing today.”

“But I have…I have a hundred things to do—will we bring those sandwiches upstairs and have them with Rita? Wouldn't that be grand?”

“I don't want to talk in front of Rita…”

“You know, I don't think you should be talking at all—come on now, and I'll settle you into your bed, and we'll have no more of this nonsense.” His voice was the same as when he was taking a splinter out of a child's finger, or painting iodine onto a cut knee. He was soothing and full of encouragement.

Helen's eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, Martin, what am I going to do with you?” she asked.

He patted her hand. “You're going to smile at me. There is nothing on this earth that is not made better by a good smile.”

She forced a smile and he dusted away the teardrops.

“What did I tell you?” he said triumphantly. He was still holding her hand, and they looked like a happy couple sharing a secret, a life together and maybe a loving moment, when the door opened and Lilian Kelly came in followed by her sister Maura, who had come on a visit as she did every year around this time.

“Well, isn't this the way to live, like a courting couple in the middle of all the potions and the bottles,” Lilian laughed.

“Hallo Helen, and there isn't a pick on you this year as well.” Maura was a plump woman like her sister, bustling and enthusiastic, a great golfer. She worked for a horse trainer and it had been said that she had hopes of him. The hopes had not materialized. Maura must be forty now, but always cheerful and full of activity.

They pulled up the two tall chairs that Martin McMahon kept for customers to use, and an ashtray was produced as both Lilian and Maura smoked the Gold Flakes, waving them around as they gestured or exclaimed at whatever was being said.