The rain fell for most of July. It didn’t stop the time-honoured practice of enthusiastic marching and drum-banging, with the occasional riot thrown in, for several days on either side of the Twelfth – the date which commemorates the Battle of the Boyne, when William of Orange defeated King James II. As this event took place in 1690 you would think that all parties would have had enough time to get over it, but apparently not.
Archie shut up shop for the week, to avoid having his windows broken by over-excited members of the populace and to devote himself to getting to know his kittens, whom he had named Jasmine and Rose. Sticky Wicket had called his Fred, in honour of my sister. Meanwhile, Albert and I took ourselves off to remote corners where we were least likely to run into marching bands.
It was on one of these excursions that we finally conquered Slieve Croob. I had studied the map with care, and by taking the Dromara Road from Ballynahinch, through Massford to Finnis, we found the way at last to the car park on the slopes of the peak.
It was a wild and windswept place, but an easy enough walk, and by following the track right round the front of the communications towers that crown the summit, we found ourselves looking out at a breathtaking panorama of the Mournes. We stood there, arm in arm, watching the light play on their velvet slopes and on the distant sea.
‘According to M. Heaney, Slieve Croob used to be a Lughnasa assembly site, where people came to celebrate a sort of harvest festival dedicated to the sun god, Lugh,’ I informed Albert, as we retraced our steps to the car park.
‘An invaluable source of information, Mr Heaney,’ said Albert. ‘I’m looking forward to his next book.’
I had told Albert about my unexpected meeting with the author on the day of my visit to Agnes and the Giant’s Ring, and I was looking forward to the Guide to Ancient County Antrim as well – not least because we had by now pretty much exhausted ancient County Down and I was planning to extend our travels into other counties, not to mention other countries.
It was with this in mind that I broached the subject of my birthday some days later.
We had driven down to Seapark, where we left the car, one sunny Monday morning, and were about halfway along the coastal path from Holywood to Bangor. This is a favourite walk of mine, and there is a particular bench, hidden from the path by a bank of shrubbery, which has a lovely view of the bay and is a good place to stop. It is also an excellent spot for undisturbed conversation. Or so I thought.
At any rate, it began well: Albert’s arm was around me, my head on his shoulder, the air full of birdsong and the gentle lap of water in the cove below us. I sighed with pleasure, and marshalled my thoughts. Uppermost in my mind was the sale of Albert’s house: in my more optimistic moments I imagined it going through in time for us to have moved into our own home by Christmas, but with everything on hold over July, I had reluctantly decided that it was a little soon to expect any major developments. Besides, I had more immediate matters to raise.
‘Albert,’ I said, ‘we need to decide on a date for our trip to Paris.’
‘Oh there’s still plenty of time,’ he replied.
‘But hotels and flights get booked up so quickly at this time of year. I don’t mind going online to see what’s available’ – Albert, despite being perfectly able to use his computer, still tended to regard it as an instrument of the devil – ‘but I do need to have some idea of when it suits us both to go.’ I took a deep breath. ‘And I also need to book my flight home to South Africa.’
‘Well, why don’t we think about going to Paris at the end of September?’ Albert suggested. ‘Or we might even wait until October: autumn in Paris is a beautiful time.’
I straightened up and spoke firmly. ‘No, Albert, October will not do. I have set my heart on September. Of course, if you’ve changed your mind …’
‘Johanna, my darling, of course I haven’t!’ Albert took both my hands and raised them to his lips. ‘South Africa might have to wait a little longer, but there is nothing I want more than to take you to Paris. It’s just that there are a few domestic matters that might tie me up for the first half of the month.’
‘What sort of domestic matters?’
‘There’s a lot of urgent work that has to be done on the house,’ Albert said. ‘Painting and plastering, and the loft needs to be insulated. It will take a couple of weeks at least, and the man who usually helps me out rang yesterday to say he’s not free until September …’
I softened temporarily: after all, he probably hoped that all these improvements would help to secure a better price. Besides, it always touched me that Albert took so much pride in diy – and was surprisingly good at it. It had formed another unexpected bond between him and Sticky Wicket. But even as I looked at him fondly, I had a sudden and distinct memory of an earlier conversation between them on the very subject of loft insulation – a subject Albert had been well up on. And the reason for his being so well informed, I now recalled, was that he had only recently insulated his own loft. I withdrew my hands and fixed him with a steely eye.
‘It is your house that we’re talking about?’
Albert looked at his shoes.
‘I see. You want to postpone our trip to Paris, my birthday trip to Paris, because you have undertaken to do some work, not on your house – the one that is supposed to be up for sale so that you and I can move into a new one together – but on your estranged wife’s house. Carmel’s house. Have I got that right?’
I’m not sure what Albert would have said in response because it was at that moment that we became aware of voices on the path above us, and a moment later two people stepped around the bank of shrubbery and halted in their tracks when they saw us sitting on the bench.
‘Good heavens!’ Albert gave a feeble laugh. ‘Norah and Kevin!’
I had only seen Norah on that one occasion at Chestnut Avenue and I hadn’t realised how pretty she was. Either that or her looks had improved: her dark hair shone and her cheeks had that rose-petal blush that is one of the few benefits of living in a sunless climate. She was in better humour too because she greeted me quite cordially before embracing her father and sitting down beside him.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.
‘Walking to Bangor,’ Albert replied. ‘Are you doing the same?’
‘We’re going in the opposite direction,’ said Norah. ‘It was such a nice morning we decided to take a day off and clear our heads.’
‘Had a bit of a party last night,’ confided Kevin. I don’t think I’d heard him speak before – his voice was unexpectedly attractive, with a soft country accent. Then he leaned towards me and hissed, ‘Did you see the ring?’
Norah giggled and held out her left hand in the sunlight. On the fourth finger a diamond sparkled.
‘You’re engaged?’ I felt a rush of happiness for them – I’ve always been a pushover for romance. ‘Congratulations! When did this happen?’
‘Didn’t Daddy tell you? It was just after Rosie’s birthday. We couldn’t let her hog all the limelight!’
‘Well, I’m delighted for you both. And have you set a date for the wedding?’
‘December,’ said Norah.
‘December? This year?’
‘Yes. We’ve got Christmas jobs in a ski resort in Scotland, so we’ll be having a working honeymoon.’
I knew that Norah was a physiotherapist, that Kevin had some sort of job in IT, and that they had been saving hard to buy a house of their own. I also knew they shared a passion for the more vigorous type of outdoor activity – in particular, winter sports – so I was genuinely pleased for them that they had been able to make such a sensible and satisfactory arrangement.
Then Norah laughed and patted her father’s knee. ‘Poor Daddy, though – he’s going to have his house full of relatives again, and most of them will probably stay on for Christmas!’
They left soon after that to continue their walk, while we sat on in a lengthening silence.
‘Johanna?’ After several minutes Albert reached for my hand, but I folded my arms. ‘I should have told you before this. I’m sorry.’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘you should have.’
‘Look, I know it means I can’t put the house on the market just yet, but spring is probably a better time altogether. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you but I was waiting for the right moment. And what can I do, sweetheart? It’s Norah’s wedding, after all.’
‘I suppose that’s why you’re all tied up in September? Getting everything shipshape for the celebrations?’
‘Johanna, don’t be like that! And it’s not just the house, there’s another problem: Carmel has to go into hospital, and I more or less promised I’d be around in case of emergency.’
‘Is it something serious?’ I tried not to sound too hopeful.
‘She’s having her gall bladder removed.’
‘Well, you never know, it might improve her disposition. Major surgery or keyhole?’
‘Keyhole. But she’s very nervous.’
‘She’ll be out in a day,’ I said. ‘I was. And does she not have sisters, friends – never mind daughters – who can hold her hand?’
‘Of course she does, but I feel an obligation, Johanna. After all, we’ve been married for so many years.’
‘Indeed,’ I replied, ‘so many unhappy years – for the last five of which you have been separated. And what about me, Albert? Do you think it’s fair to keep stringing me along? To make all these promises, and then disappoint me?’ I had started to cry now, the tears trickling down my face. ‘I told my friend Rita that you were an honourable man, but I see that I was wrong. You are a dishonourable man, Albert Morrow, and I don’t believe that you were ever going to take me to Paris, or sell your house at all!’
There was more. Trust was mentioned, so was love; I regret to say that I may even have spoken of a broken heart – once started, I found it hard to stop. Albert himself said very little, possibly for lack of opportunity, and in the end I was silenced by my tears. So I gathered such pathetic tatters of my dignity as remained and started back the way we had come.
Of course, I realised almost at once that to have embarked on a passionate argument when on foot and far from home had been singularly ill-advised, especially when the object of my fury had no alternative but to take the same path back – and that both of us were bound to be continually accosted by cheerful fools intent on wishing us a good day. Fortunately, I had a pair of sunglasses with me – at least they hid my eyes – but we must still have made a sorry sight, as I stumbled back along the path with Albert trailing after me like a disconsolate shadow.