To look at the cake a second longer will kill me. And yet, I cannot tear my gaze from it. I am drowned by the utter humiliation of knowing I have outstayed my welcome in her world, and unable to stop myself from clawing my way back in.
Hours go on, and eventually I move my eyes off the cake. Don’t worry, I’ll be gone before she wakes up.And in the dying dawn she stirs, as I linger on the bog road. A field and a half between us. That cosmos, between us still.
The shrill sound of her cockerel. Unending lavender morning. I hang around, unable to let go of the hope that she might see me and remember how much she liked me. To meet her on her morning walk. To be seen as a drop of falling blood against her early sky.
There is Tom now, a definite shape on the horizon, heading down to the farm. Where he is a welcomed, wanted presence. I wonder did he notice that I was missing this morning. He looks troubled. But doesn’t he always?
Here she is! My god, it sends a stroke of lightning through me to see her up and about. Moving and living, out of the house to greet Tom.
And suddenly it lands on me. Such lovely manners. If I called down to the house, Betty would be far too polite and kind to ask me to leave. Even as another rain begins, and I realise I am surely going to catch my death, I’ll wait until the men go, so I can have her alone. Mammy’s headscarf is soaked.
Time passes, I couldn’t say how long, and while I wonder about lying down in the hedge to sleep, Tom comes out of the house with Bill. Whatever they talked about for so long seems finished with. Such lovely friends. Bill is such a lovely supporter of my Tom. A bit like you were. And I wonder, are you the barrier that stands between Betty and me?
With the pair of them making their way down to the farm, I slip back down the hill, to the house I spent half the night in. Only this time, I want to be known. I don’t want to be something that Betty could ignore. Not anymore. Look, she sharpens when she sees me. All her muscles jump and tighten. She is ready for me.
‘Look, I know you wanted to keep a distance.’
I begin to close all of the rancid space that she has laid out between us. If she really wanted me to stay away from her, she would at least take a step back from me now, don’t you think? An awful shame that she has let it come to this.
‘I just wanted to talk to you.’
A big, defeated sigh. She steadies herself against the wall of her house and nods to me. I suppose she’s all too aware that the cake I made for her is in a bucket of chicken feed inside. I won’t mention that I’ve already seen it.
She is ready to listen. How best do I tell her that where once I wanted to be a flicker of light, I now want to be a wildfire, avidly burning everything around me to keep her warm? I move closer to her. I only want to be near her. What salvation it would bring me, to feel her breathing, to know she is breathing. To put myself into the air that she is breathing and be within her.
‘I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate your friendship, Betty, and how good you’ve been to me.’
I love you so much I want to be you, is what I wanted to say. But I’m doing very well at making all of this palatable.
‘I think I’ve been a bit much for you. I just want to explain myself.’
She looks down at the ground, pausing on my bare feet. Suddenly I am embarrassed. I want to let her know how deeply I have loved in the past, and how cruelly each of those women has been taken from me. I want her to understand that I love her, and that when she takes herself away from me, it causes my earth to shake.
Betty
THE MOST UNNERVING THING ABOUTAnna is how unpredictable she is. Out of nowhere, she has appeared, barefooted, soaked. Looking as though she has slept outside all night. Maybe she has. Maybe if I’d had five minutes to prepare for this, I would handle it all a little bit better. But she likes to spring herself on me, and whatever was keeping me involved with her – sympathy, or patience, or being a good Catholic – has run out. Just as I start to tell her that I don’t want to talk, she cuts across me.
‘Do you remember I told you that Jack was nearly a father in Kilmarra? Her name was Lillian.’
Jack’s girl. Lillian Kealey. I try to keep the look of intrigue from my face. What else am I going to learn about that poor girl? Why is she telling me this now? My breath comes in ripples. I nod my head, hoping it will be enough. Don’t cry now, Betty, keep it together.
‘She was amazing. I’d never met anyone like her before. I loved people before, but never as much as I loved her. And she died.’
I am reminded of Ciara, asking if Anna might be attracted to me. I brushed it all off before. But now I don’t know if I should have. Is that how she loved Lillian Kealey? Perhaps a moment too late, I put on a look of surprise. I can’t let Anna know that Peggy has been talking; all that I already know about Lillian. And although I have been itching tofind out what happened to her, suddenly I am petrified to know.
The morning sun is faint. She peers her head down to try to look in my eyes, and then lets out a heavy breath. As though preparing herself.
‘I had blocked it out of my head, but last night it all came back to me. The way that she died.’
Take it back. I don’t want to hear it. It’s none of my business.
Why has she chosen me? Of all the women in Ballycrea, why has Anna targeted me?
She reaches a hand out, and I dodge it. It hurts to treat her like this, when she so clearly needs some empathy. But I can’t give it to her.
Anna
MY HAND FALLS AWAY FROMher. It feels as though it will fall forever without anybody to catch it.
