I look up to see him smiling at me. Oh, isn’t he good? Something about the dark of tonight puts me in mind of when we were young. When he would walk me home from dances, with my brothers following us. The smell of his jacket, still the same as it was then. He loves me more than anything. And knowing that gives me the courage to say something that I have been avoiding. Something I haven’t wanted to think about, but that comes to me again and again. Which came to me countless times tonight.
‘They’re a bit much, aren’t they? The O’Learys.’
He looks surprised, but he never notices half of the things that I notice. I would have been amazed if he agreed with me. This is whyI’ve avoided the subject. It’s one thing to say that I’m not sure about the O’Learys. It’s another thing altogether to begin to explain why. Tom’s neediness, Anna’s ever-changing moods, and uncertainty of Lillian.
‘How do you mean?’
He asks, and I feel already I’ve started something that I don’t want to finish. Still, I swallow back my reservation.
‘Just the way that Tom is sort of like a child sometimes, and Anna is such an intense girl.’
Let’s leave Lillian out of it for now. There’s no point ringing alarm bells for no reason.
‘She does nothing by halves.’
He laughs.
‘Ah Bill, no, listen, I’d be afraid of her if she wasn’t so innocent.’
This is as much as I can say about what passed between us, because I really don’t have the words for it.
‘Now, Betty, if you’re afraid of her it’s another story. Why are you afraid of her?’
‘I’m not afraid of her, I said I’m not afraid. Sure I’ve nothing to be afraid of.’
And in convincing Bill, I begin to convince myself. I still haven’t told him about the scarf, or about Lillian. It seems the longer I keep it a secret, the harder it is to tell him. I just want to keep it small for now. I feel the smaller it is, the better I’ll be able to control it. And perhaps even solve it.
Although I thought that Liam Hennessey was going to solve it. Maybe it’s going to take more than I imagined. All the walk home, and all night in bed, I hear her taunting me. Pecking at me, addicted to attention. I wonder what would satiate her, or if anything could at all.
Jack
WHAT A FINE THING ITwas, to drink and laugh, and to touch people. To spin around the hall with the locals as though I was one of them. I was so bright in the hall, so full of life. Teresa was full of life. A fine thing indeed. But now, walking home, I feel the sweat on the back of my neck growing cold. Anna is gone quiet. I feel I want to go quiet, too, and preserve what happiness I have left within me.
‘You were very cosy with Teresa Doyle, weren’t you? I was half jealous of you.’
Tom has been careful all night not to seem drunk, but I can tell that he has taken more drink than what suits him. He isn’t the type to admit to the jealousy that he always feels. He is the type to admit to false feelings to please people. Tom pretends to hold back tears at funerals, and breaks into pieces over a deceased person he never really cared for. Recently, he has pretended to be thrilled for Peggy’s small achievements in school when I know he struggles to determine her age. I have to wonder how much of the pity and patience he has shown me was put on. It’s hard to know if he has any sincere feelings at all.
It’s silly, because I’m sure he only said it to upset me, but this is just another reason to feel guilty over the whole thing with Teresa. Tom has never had a woman. He’s desperate to have somebody in his life like that. Somebody he doesn’t need to share, somebody who willalways let him come first, you know? And here I have a woman that I might not even want, throwing herself at me. Oh, but she was pretty tonight. Like she is pretty most nights.
‘Era you can have her. I was only passing away the time.’
Isn’t that cruel? I am often shocked by how casually callous I can be. Teresa isn’t mine to be offering. Remind me, what was it that you loved about me?
‘Her mother is dead five years, you know. She might be good company.’
Tom says, as though a dead mother is enough to have in common with somebody. And although it makes my heart twinge for Teresa, I don’t let it stay in my head long.
Anna is far enough away in her thoughts that we will probably get away with this conversation. I’m not really sure what Tom wants me to say. Why did he mention Teresa Doyle at all? Does he want me to supply him with some sordid details of what we did? I could be disgracefully honest with him, and still all he would learn is that I am too afraid to move on from you, and even more afraid of my unrelenting urge to try.
He offers the details of his own evening sparingly. Partly, I suppose, because there are so few details to offer. I saw him talking to Linda McManus for a little while, but all the while there was a yard between them. Of course, he hadn’t the neck to ask Linda to dance, and so she probably felt her time was wasted. That’s only conjecture, now.
I become more free with my account of the evening. Sure I’ve nothing to hide. I didn’t do anything of any real consequence. And still, my stomach sinks when I tell him which women I danced with, and the way he slaps my back in praise.
‘So you were dancing with five or six different girls, were you? I’d say you had them all charmed.’
His tone is so false, as if he doesn’t believe me. I don’t need him tobelieve me. This sort of chat is so childish, I almost wish that Anna would start listening and give out to us both.
‘Sure you have to be charming, Tom, the girls love it. You must know that.’
