Then came Aoife Murray, who came into my life around the same time that you met Jack. I thought that we were going to be a little four. But then you and Jack started courting, and Aoife got engaged. Suddenly I didn’t fit anywhere. I was so embarrassed over it.
I remember so well the day that she got married. Outside the church, when I couldn’t face watching the ceremony, you put your arms around me. Whatever you said to console me, I don’t remember now. But I remember the feeling of being in your arms, and of being important to you. It was peace. Broad and complete peace, the likes of which I hadn’t known until then, and which I haven’t known since. And when the bell of the church rang for Aoife and her husband, I felt happy. Something new had come. Something more than what I had before.
All night through the party, you stayed with me. Even when Jack asked you to dance and told you that I was only looking for attention. Nothing that he tried could charm you away from me that night. The corners of your mouth stained purple by the port wine, widening your already wide smile. And all night I had you laughing. I loved feeling that important, that close to you. I know I was never your favourite, but I think, that night, I got close.
For a long time after, I tried to recreate that closeness. I’m not sure why it never came back. As good as I was to you, it was never the same as that night. Now I wish I could have just enjoyed the memory of us, rather than always trying to reanimate it. Overdoing it, you know.
I’m trying not to do that with Betty.
Betty, Betty, Betty.
A thousand times, Betty.
Everything, Betty.
Tom
’DON’T I ALWAYS TELL YOU.’tis on the stage you should be, Tom. I’m always telling him that!’
Bill laughs, and Betty laughs along with him. ’Twas only something small I said that wouldn’t have even earned a sideways glance at home. But they love me in this house. He throws his hand of cards down on the table, revealing a few eights, a jack and a king. They said it was a simple enough game, but I can’t tell what his hand says. Bill could have any cards at all in his hand, he would be winning. He rolls his eyes and tuts.
‘’Tis hearts I’m playing for.’
And he laughs, and takes his drink.
‘Tom wrote poems for me when we were younger. He wrote a few for some girls in the town, I’m sure.’
It’s one thing for Bill to think I might have a creative streak, another thing altogether for Anna to confirm that I have made several attempts to be creative. Suddenly I feel I could be sick. If I only had the bottle to tell them I can’t follow the rules of this game. That poetry I once wrote was my own soul bared, and it still wasn’t very good. Imagine. If I could just tell them to cut the compliments, because I haven’t the nerve to take or reject them.
The dark of the night has come, heavier than before, as though a storm is on the way. A box of Fry’s chocolates on the table, a bottle ofsherry for the women, a bottle of whiskey for the men. A moth dances around the lamp. Nobody is offended enough to waft it away. It’s like being underwater, we are so relaxed.
I lean back in my chair. Bill pours another drop out for himself and myself. With every glass, my problems get smaller. It’s so easy to forget about Jack and Peggy, at home, asleep. Betty starts talking. It’s a nice music that I tune in and out of. Goodness, isn’t this goodness? Four little friends, deep into a Saturday night, with no reasons to hurry home.
Betty has been trying to rile us up into a debate all evening. Every now and again, dropping in her opinions about preserving tradition while achieving economic expansion. What debate she’s after, I don’t know, because it sounds as if she has it all sorted.
‘They could do with you above in the Dáil.’
Bill laughs, and Betty starts on about Lemass. She enjoys being a political woman. I must say, right now I enjoy her being a political woman, even when it makes me feel uneducated. Something about being inferior to her feels natural. Betty could tell me that she is joining the British army and I would probably keep gently nodding along, just to preserve this moment. I would go on like this forever, in this rich, dreamy night. Fuelled by drink and the assurance that I am wanted. Dark, and warm, and loved.
A knock on the door, disturbing our melted mood. Bill grunts, rising to answer it. Unbothered by whoever is calling, Betty passes a card to me and goes on talking. I nod along, humming in agreement, trying to keep our gentle night unbroken by this caller.
‘Ah, Cathal!’
Bill’s voice is perhaps louder than he expected it to be. He is trying to get the young boy to come into the house, although by his face he seems to already know why Cathal is here. Stepping past Bill, hetakes off his hat and nods at Betty and Anna. He can’t be more than fourteen.
‘’Tis time, Bill.’
And like that, Bill is reaching for his own cap. Glad to help, ready to go. There is nothing I want more than for him to stay in the kitchen with us, chatting and laughing. To pour a drink for Cathal or to push him out the door.
‘Right! Come on so.’
He says in a cheery voice.
‘Tom, you might as well come down and give us a hand.’
Bill says, putting on his coat. And I, like a child, unsure of what I am to give a hand in, dutifully rise to pull my own coat on.
And I am led out into the half dark. Leaving the safety of Anna inside. Out with the men. Even with these lengthening evenings, the dark gets so dark. I could get lost in it. How eerily quiet it is. Behind us, the sky is nothing but navy, stretching all the way back beyond the horizon, back to the beginning of time. And before us, a smattering of stars comes through red and orange clouds. Like we are walking towards a great fire. Right into the wrath of God. I stare into it as we move, knowing that if I look away for even a second, the colour will fade and go, and the night will take over. Isn’t it always so quick, the movement from sunset to dark?
