‘Did ye get down to the strand for a walk yet?’
‘And what age are you now, Peggy?’
They are charismatic, the sorts of people who know the right things to say and to ask. And they have a way of nodding along with our inane answers that makes us seem interesting. Bill, talking with the confidence of a politician. Betty’s laugh sparkling up out of her throat like Christmas lights. Happily, Tom takes their lead in the conversation. It was never made clear what he wants them to know about us. He gives them a little about Miltown, a little about our parents, and how much we adore being in Ballycrea. All lies.
‘Actually, Tom, you might be just the man I need. I’ve a fence below that I need a hand with. There’s cows need to go in there in the morning but ’tis knocked down.’
Jack straightens in his seat. Presumably offended that Tom was asked instead of him. He chews his food for a long time without swallowing, as though he is afraid of it. Jack is afraid of everything.
Tom looks so pleased with himself. There’s probably plenty of menin the town who could help Bill out. He’s only trying to get the measure of Tom, that’s all. To see what sort he is. That must be why they’re here tonight. To see what sorts we all are.
‘Oh, absolutely, Bill. No bother at all. Sure we can head up after we’ve eaten.’
I give him a warning look, but he ignores me.
‘You wouldn’t let the Nevans have their evening?’
I try to sound unbothered.
‘Sure you heard him, there’s cows need to go in the field in the morning.’
Tom wants to sound relaxed, but his voice is grating; he is annoyed. Betty shifts in her chair. We are making her uncomfortable. He grunts, dismissing me. Can you believe that? Grunting, in front of these special guests of his.
‘What do you like to do, Betty?’
I ask, surprised at myself. What a good question to move things along. She is pushing the food around her plate.
‘Oh, all sorts, really. Book club, the bingo, sewing circle, I go walking with Ciara Moore most evenings. And then, of course, there’s the soaps! Did ye watchThe Riordans?’
I think she might talk all night if we let her. She doesn’t seem to have noticed that we don’t have a television. I don’t want to be the one to point it out. The chicken comes out from under the dresser. What year are we living in that we have a chicken in the house but no television? I chase it outside, mortified.
‘So you’ll give me a hand with the fence?’
‘I will, of course.’
‘We’ll be an hour at most.’
Bill says to me, as though they need my permission to go. I want to clarify to them that I am nobody’s mother. How controlling, how uptightI must appear. Tom smirks. It takes all I have not to throw my food at him. Betty looks around, trying to think of something to say to clear the air. I wish I could tell her I love whatever programme she was on about.
I nod at Bill and Tom. Let them put up their stupid fence if they have to. I put a piece of fish in my mouth. To my horror, it’s centre cold.
‘Oh, Mammy, look at the state of this.’
I say to her under my breath, sighing. Mortified. I can’t help it. It’s a natural response. I cough to try to cover it up, and hope that Betty and Bill are as polite as they seem. Nobody acknowledges it. They’ve warned me about this before. It makes them uneasy. Tom clears his throat, pretending he didn’t hear me. I can’t be bothered with this anymore. I want to ask the Nevans to go home now.
‘Ciara Moore is your friend, so? I met her there last night. Lovely woman.’
Jack offers. It turns me cold. Why should Jack have noticed the loveliness of that woman? What has he seen in her? And why would he mention it to her friends?
‘She is, yes. She’s great for dancing, you know.’
Betty smiles, teeth gleaming.
‘Is that right?’
Jack is yet to swallow a bite of food.
‘And John, did ye meet John? He’s a pure gentleman.’
