What She Wants (23 page)

town was miles away. Matt was gone off to work in the centre. Lucky him, thought Hope grimly, as Toby and Millie began screaming at each other over a pop-up book. She stuck it out for another twenty minutes when, noticing that the rain was easing off, inspiration struck. ‘Let’s go for a walk and visit some kittens,’ she said. ‘Yeah!’ said Millie enthusiastically. Matt had taken the car, so Hope kitted out the children in their winter woollies and anoraks, complete with Wellington boots, hats and gloves. When they looked suitably like arctic explorers, she pulled on her own coat and boots and off they set. It was still drizzling a bit but it was good to be out. At first, Toby was happy to sit in the buggy. Then he decided that he wanted to walk, which meant a complicated hand holding arrangement as Hope had to hold both children’s hands as well as dragging the buggy along. Then, Toby decided that he wanted to be carried. ‘Please Mummy,’ he said tearfully. ‘Me too!’ wailed Millie as Hope struggled along with Toby on one hip. ‘I can’t darling, you’re too big,’ Hope panted. ‘Want to be carried. Put Toby down. Carry me!!!’ Feeling like a Himalayan baggage carrier, Hope hefted her children in strict rotation for ten minutes each before she became exhausted. ‘You’ll have to walk, Millie,’ she said as she put a protesting Toby in his buggy. With both children wailing, she arrived in the village, silently cursing the fact that they only had one car. The Metro was hers too, although Matt had taken it over as if it was his. It wasn’t her fault he’d had to give up the company car. The village was prettier when you walked through it. Whizzing past in the car, Hope hadn’t noticed the small window boxes outside the post office, how quaint the small, pastel coloured houses actually were or how lovely the old stone of the Widow Maguire’s pub was. On first sight, in

the heavy rain, everything had appeared dull but in the soft mist of a faint drizzle, she could see that it wasn’t just Curlew Cottage that had a fairy tale air about it. The children stopped grizzling long enough for her to look at the signs outside the pub door. ‘Entertainment every weekend, fiddlers welcome,’ said one sign. Another was a menu listing a range of gorgeous-sounding bar food with plenty of the sort of things that Finula would approve of: goat’s cheese tart, spinach and ricotta ravioli, crab cakes, Guinness pie. Hope’s mouth watered just looking at it. There wasn’t a pig’s trotter in sight. Maybe she and Matt could come there some evening if they could arrange a babysitter. Toby started to grumble again so they trudged on towards the chemist shop. The children would love the kittens and she could tell Mary-Kate that the chicks were settled in. Taking the children into anywhere as exciting as a chemist’s was dangerous on the grounds that colourful little bottles of nail varnish, small pots of creams and exciting packets of plasters were enticing for little fingers. Toby was remarkably adept at grabbing things from the safety of his buggy and opening them before Hope had even realized he’d taken them. With this in mind, she bypassed the front door. Mary-Kate’s little office door was shut, so Hope knocked. Mary-Kate appeared instantly with not a gleaming brown hair out of place. ‘Are these special visitors for me?’ she inquired, bending down and greeting Toby and Millie as if they were grownups. ‘How do you do,’ she said gravely, shaking Millie’s hand. It was exactly the right thing to do. Millie beamed at her and Toby smiled shyly. ‘What is your name, madam?’ Mary-Kate asked, still grave. ‘Millie,’ Millie said, dimpling up at her. ‘And this gentleman?’ ‘Toby, my little brother. He’s only three,’ Millie said disdainfully.

‘I thought they might like to see your kittens,’ Hope said. ‘I hoped you wouldn’t mind.’

‘What a grand idea. Would you like to come in and play with three lovely little kittens?’

It was an offer they couldn’t refuse.

Miraculously turning into model children, Toby and Millie played happily with the three tabby kittens while Mary-Kate and Hope had coffee.

‘I only dropped in to say thanks for the advice the other day,’ Hope said apologetically.

‘It’s lovely to see you,’ Mary-Kate said kindly. ‘It must get very lonely on your own if you’re not used to it.’

‘Not at all,’ said Hope stoically. ‘I love it.’

‘Well, isn’t that great then,’ Mary-Kate replied.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Virginia spent the first two hours of the train journey from Dublin to Killarney jammed into her seat with a large man beside her, a large man who took up more than his share of space and whose bulk meant she was squashed uncomfortably against the window. The arthritis in her left hip was growling at the position she was forced into and Virginia thought longingly of the anti-inflammatory tablets she had in the bathroom cabinet at home. It wasn’t the express train and the journey seemed to take forever. She’d finished reading the newspaper and as she hadn’t been able to concentrate on novels since Bill’s death, she had brought nothing else to read. Wintry rain lashed the train windows which then steamed up with the passengers’ hot breath, obscuring the view.

When the tea trolley arrived and the tea man asked her what she wanted, her large neighbour rudely demanded a cup of tea and a chocolate muffin before Virginia had a chance to reply. Immune to passenger battles over the last plastic ham and cheese sandwich, the tea trolley man said nothing and handed over the chocolate muffin before asking Virginia again what she’d like.

‘Just a cup of tea, thank you,’ she said tightly. It had been a terrible day and she could have done without this fresh nuisance. No, that was the wrong word, she thought, her heart fierce with pain and anger. The horrible man beside her wasn’t a nuisance, he was worse: a pig with no manners who deserved to be shouted at or shoved off the train for being so rude. If Bill was there, he’d have done it. She felt

hot tears well up in her eyes. Bill would have looked after her but Bill was gone, forever. He’d left her. Abandoned her and she had to look after herself forever more. It wasn’t fair.

Suddenly, she realized that the brown-haired middle-aged woman sitting opposite had handed her a paper cup of tea, complete with little sachets of sugar and milk.

‘Oh, thank you,’ muttered Virginia, aware that she’d forgotten where she was in her misery. It happened all the time: she became lost in her private grief and time seemed to stand still, while life rushed on around her. She hated that. It made her feel like an idiot, a feeble old woman.

The tea man handed the woman opposite a cup of coffee and some change and Virginia realized that the woman had paid for Virginia’s tea as well as her own drink.

‘Forgive me,’ Virginia said quickly, ‘I’m sorry, let me pay you …’

‘It’s fine,’ the woman said softly. She was quiet and refined looking, maybe in her late forties, with dark hair and a kind, make-up free face. ‘It was only a few pence and after all, you hardly have enough room in that seat to get your money out of your pocket.’ She gave the man beside Virginia a hard, slightly ironic glance and he moved away from Virginia, suddenly giving her lots more room. The woman kept up with her intense gaze and the man moved some more.

In spite of her misery, Virginia smiled.

The woman smiled back and lowered her eyes to her crossword.

A lot of passengers got off at Limerick, including the big man.

Virginia sighed with relief, finally able to spread out and put her packages on the seat beside her.

‘Some people have no manners,’ said the woman opposite.

‘You’re right about that,’ Virginia replied. ‘Thank you. I should have asked him for more room,’ she added, ‘but there are some days when you don’t have the energy to demand things. And this has really been one of those days.’ She didn’t

know why she was saying this. But it had been so awful in the accountant’s office, signing more documents. Sorting out the tax implications of Bill’s insurance policies was mystifying and endless. Every time the accountant lowered his voice and asked Virginia if she was ‘coping …’ she wanted to hit him with her handbag and scream ‘NO! I’m not bloody coping. As if you care!’ ‘I’m Mary-Kate Donlan,’ the woman said, holding out a hand. ‘Virginia Connell.’ They shook hands formally as if they were at a party instead of rattling along on the Killarney train. ‘How about another cup of tea?’ Mary-Kate suggested. ‘The trolley doesn’t come round again but I can get us tea and a biscuit from the buffet car.’ ‘Let me get it,’ Virginia said, getting to her feet. ‘Do you want tea or coffee?’ Mary-Kate shuddered. ‘I never drink tea because I love coffee but that last cup was like drinking boiled socks. It’ll have to be tea, thanks.’ When Virginia had returned from the buffet car, they drank their hot tea and chatted idly, Mary-Kate making Virginia laugh as she recounted her search for a posh dress for a wedding she was going to soon. ‘Not that I’d go to Dublin for a dress, mind,’ Mary-Kate pointed out, ‘but I was there anyway and I thought I’d try it.’ Virginia grinned. Her new friend’s sober and slightly old fashioned navy cardigan and white silky blouse made it obvious that she wasn’t the sort of woman who took many high-fashion shopping trips. Virginia herself had always loved clothes, not that she’d bothered buying anything recently. But she still had some beautiful pieces in her wardrobe. Today she was wearing a burgundy high necked dress in a soft knitted silk with a matching long flowing cardigan made of knobbly burgundy chenille wool. An Irish designer piece, Bill had bought it for her fifty-sixth birthday. He’d

admired her tall, slim figure in it and said he loved the way the rich colour showed up her silvery blonde hair so well.

‘You don’t think it’s too young for me?’ she’d said, scrunching up her patrician nose as she looked at herself in the changing room mirror.

‘You are young,’ Bill had said, swatting her rear lovingly.

Mary-Kate was talking about her shopping experience.

‘I went into this boutique and I ask you, the prices! Three hundred pounds for this filmy scrap of a chiffon thing you’d run up yourself on the sewing machine. And it wasn’t exactly practical either. You’d freeze your bosoms off in it, I can tell you. Well,’ she looked down at her narrow, flat chest, ‘not that I have any to freeze off.’

Virginia went off into peals of laughter and Mary-Kate joined her.

‘You can tell I’m not the Vogue type,’ Mary-Kate laughed. ‘They kept trying to put me in these mother of the bride rig outs, all pastel blues and pinks with matronly skirts and discreet camisoles.’

”Are you the mother of the bride?’ Virginia asked.

‘Lord no. I’ve no children and was never married. I’m just your average maiden aunt.’ She looked at Virginia mischievously. ‘Can’t you tell? I’d say I have it written all over me.’

Virginia thought that if Mary-Kate had one thing written all over her it was that she was both shrewd and funny. Her grey eyes glittered with fun and if her dress, undyed bobbed hair and general demeanour were those of a quiet, maiden aunt, two minutes in her company would soon put paid to that idea.

‘So did you buy anything in the end?’

‘No.’ Her companion looked glum. ‘I have to have something new for this wedding because if I turn up in my usual grey suit, the real mother of the bride will be raging with me for not making an effort. I suppose I’ll have to take my life in my hands and venture into my local shop, Lucille’s. They don’t stock anything normal in there. I’ll either come

out in lycra tiger skin or see-through black with a skirt up round the cheeks of my backside. She’s a very persuasive woman, Lucille. You know it looks terrible on you but she somehow manages to convince you that it’s you.’

‘You’re from Redlion!’ Virginia exclaimed. ‘Me too. I pass Lucille’s every day and I love her window. It’s…’

‘I know,’ Mary-Kate interrupted. ‘Fake fur leopard at the moment. I have thought of buying the matching little Russian hat but it might frighten people out of the chemist.’

‘You run the chemist?’ Virginia said. ‘That’s amazing. I walk past your premises every day. I live out on the Blackglen Road in Kilnagoshell House and I go into town every day. I’ve only been in your shop a couple of times, though.’

‘Have you lived in Kilnagoshell House long?’ asked Mary Kate, who knew perfectly well how long Virginia had lived there but who didn’t want to say so. It was obvious that Virginia knew nobody in the town and therefore had made a conscious decision not to do so. She’d probably hate to feel that Mary-Kate had known who she was all along, even though in a village like Redlion, it was impossible to remain anonymous.

‘Over seven months. I’ve been a bit reclusive, I’m afraid. My husband died last year you see and I moved to Kerry afterwards. I wasn’t up to socializing.’

She could feel tears surging up and swallowed hard to get rid of the lump in her throat.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Mary-Kate said with warmth. ‘It’s hard to ease yourself back in the real world after something like that.’

‘Today, I had to see his accountant and it was awful,’ Virginia said bleakly. ‘Every time he mentioned Bill, I felt like crying. It was like having a long nail hammered into my head again and again. Each time I think the pain’s getting better, someone else hammers away and it’s just as bad as it was in the beginning. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this,’ she added apologetically. ‘I don’t even know you.’

‘Sympathy of strangers can be the best kind,’ Mary-Kate

remarked. ‘Strangers have no agenda, no desire to meddle and no way of telling what’s true and what’s not true.’ Virginia looked at her curiously. It seemed as if she knew what she was talking about. ‘Strangers never tell you to get a grip and get on with your life,’ Mary-Kate continued. ‘Strangers don’t tell you to buck up because Bill wouldn’t have wanted you to waste away,’ Virginia added with some rancour. Mary-Kate grinned. ‘It’s amazing,’ Virginia went on, ‘people who were really only acquaintances and who wouldn’t have had a clue what Bill was really like are the first ones to tell you what he would and wouldn’t want now that he’s dead. On the day before the funeral, Bill’s second cousin phoned to tell me which reading we should have at the ceremony, “because Bill always liked if. What rubbish. They never saw each other.’ She’d been furious at the intrusion. ‘People like that couldn’t have bought him so much as a jumper when he was alive and now that he’s dead, they can figure out exactly what he’d be thinking. God,’ she added, ‘you’re sure you’re not a psychiatrist? You’re doing a great job of letting me get it all out and you’re only nodding your head and saying “mmm” at the right moments.’ ‘Did I mention the forty pounds an hour charge?’ Mary Kate deadpanned. Virginia told her new friend about her three sons, her darling little granddaughter and dear sweet Sally, who was the kindest daughter-in-law you could meet. Mary-Kate explained that she’d grown up in Redlion where her father was the chemist but had longed to escape the small town. She’d qualified as a pharmacist herself in Dublin and worked there for fifteen years until her father died. She’d taken over the family business ten years ago. ‘There are times when I love Redlion; there’s great truth in the adage that the place of your birth has a certain hold over you,’ she said. ‘But there are other days when I long