The function room was a long single-storey extension at the back of the hotel, bedecked with bunting and fairy lights. Vince arrived as the musicians were setting up – a keyboard, a squeeze box and a couple of fiddles. His leg was mithering him again, sending shooting sensations down his calf. Cramp was his diagnosis. He wasn’t going to see the quack over something so trivial, but he needed to sit rather than stand. There were no high stools at the bar – this was not an occasion to turn your back on the room – so he eased himself into a chair against the wall, not far from the band, beating tempo on his knee. The family were still at their celebration meal, in the dining suite, but Pat’s friends were piling in, jostling good-naturedly to fill their glasses.
He spotted the English doctor and her daughter as they entered, with that diffident air of guests uncertain as to why they were asked and why they had come. The mother, trim but tense, was smart in trousers and a tailored shirt. She was the type of woman (erect posture; compact, agile limbs) who would do well on a horse. He couldn’t picture the daughter on horseback. Her movements were unguarded. She collided with old Brian Malone and sent his Guinness sloshing over the side of his glass. Draped about in exotic colours, she hovered at her mother’s side, iridescent and fragile as a dragonfly.
Vince bent to massage his calf and noted with surprise that he was wearing odd socks. He couldn’t think how this had happened. Teresa paired his socks into neat rolls and stacked them side by side in his top drawer. Surely his Teresa wasn’t losing her touch? Had she been distracted by her detective work? Raking up the past. He couldn’t understand why she didn’t let things lie, why she felt compelled to take it upon herself to broker a reunion. She hadn’t even allowed the business with the little black girl – and hadn’t she caused a fine buzz of gossip? – to deflect her.
Teresa was presently at the far side of the bar, rearranging the buffet. She had strong opinions on the capabilities of the staff (teenagers taken on for the night with no proper training). Apparently they should have established a regular sequence with the platters of sausages and drumsticks, spring rolls and sandwiches and salad trimmings – but there was no point trying to explain to people who wouldn’t listen. It was easier to do things yourself.
Vince watched his wife with a mixture of admiration and contentment. She meddled, it was true, but she made life flow more easily too. The socks were an aberration – or possibly his own fault entirely. She caught his gaze as she dusted her hands together and gave an eloquent toss of her head. (She’d been earlier to the salon and a copious blast of spray ensured that not a hair faltered.) He knew this was a reproach because he wasn’t circulating, so he pretended to shout across to Frankie on his accordion. Frankie had his eyes shut to the strains of the ‘Black Velvet Band’ and wouldn’t have been able to hear anything anyway.
When Vince looked for Teresa again she had swooped down on the lady doctor. He had the distinct impression she was talking about himself and this was borne out when the daughter drifted over. She stood above him in her glowing colours like a figure stepping from a stained-glass window.
He jumped to his feet, quelling the tremor in his leg, because he wouldn’t want to be thought ill-mannered.
‘I’m Bel,’ she said with a pretty English accent and a smile that lit up her face. ‘And you’re Teresa’s husband. We’ve been very well looked after.’
‘She’s a capable woman,’ he said, taking Bel’s hand and pumping it. ‘How are ye finding the place?’
‘Oh the cottage is just lovely. And everyone is so friendly… I mean, you know, like inviting us tonight. You don’t expect to be included in parties or whatever when you’re here for such a short holiday. Although Mum was a bit apprehensive to be honest…’ She paused and started to twist the ropes of beads hanging around her neck: a curious mixture of beads and feathers, in fact, that made him think of witchcraft. ‘She hasn’t been able to relax all day. We’ve been driving around the Ring of Kerry because we had to keep moving. All the way to Waterville, but we couldn’t stop for more than a few minutes anywhere. We’d hop out of the car, take in the view and half a dozen photographs, hop back in again and Mum would go on driving. We came back on a deserted road through the mountains, it was so in the middle of nowhere, like you were totally enclosed in this vast secret valley and the whole magical place was yours. Absolutely amazing. I think the range was Macgillycuddy’s Reeks. I had to learn that so I could get it right. It’s such a wonderful name: Macgillycuddy.’
‘You covered a lot of ground,’ said Vince.
‘Yes I know. Because she wouldn’t stop. Because she’s so wound-up. But I think everything will be fine. Did you know that I met Tom already? On the boat? It was through Clemmie actually. She’s here somewhere, isn’t she?’
It seemed to Vince that the daughter with her twirling pendants and tumbling words was more excitable than the mother, who was listening to Teresa and calmly sipping her wine. The band finished their tune and as they started up another the double doors to the dining room opened and the family began to come through. (As usual on these occasions, the timing of the meal had over-run.) The two little boys raced ahead, dipping and weaving at knee-height like puppies, while Anna chased after them with difficulty on account of the sandals, seemingly attached to her feet by a single slender thread. Pat and Ronnie, both, were being mobbed by their friends who earnestly wanted the couple to know how delighted they were and what a grand spread it was, Pat would have loads more birthdays like this one, and weren’t they all having great craic and who was next in line for a drink?
The last time Vince had seen Ronnie she’d been fatigued and dishevelled like a creature at the end of its tether. Now she was magnificent in a deep crimson dress with a splendid cleavage. She was stout to be sure – you wouldn’t lose her in a bed – but she was an imposing woman. People were saying it was her sheer determination that had kept Pat going, pulled him through such gruelling treatment. She was mightily attached to her menfolk. If she had a weakness – and didn’t everybody? – it was the way she treated that son of hers. But that’s how it was with parents. They didn’t have the objective view.
*
The floor of the function room was polished parquet, good for dancing and for children to skid about in their socks. Bel was glad she was wearing flat pumps. She wouldn’t want to risk another fall; tonight in itself would be enough of a balancing act. She was still aggrieved at her brother for not being more supportive. Bloody Matt, she’d cursed. Overcautious as ever. It had been the same when they were growing up. There was no point in consulting him: she had to get into a scrape first, then she knew he would cover for her. This afternoon she’d have welcomed some advice in handling the situation, but wimping out and telling her not to come was plain pathetic.
She was struggling to decipher Vince Hogan’s country accent (which was why she’d been rabbiting on about their excursion) when Kieran approached. Vince hailed him with great enthusiasm, embracing him heartily and running through an exchange of what might have been pleasantries or insults but which defeated Bel. Kieran turned to her.
‘It’s good to see you here,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t sure we’d persuaded you to come.’
‘Oh no, I was keen. Honestly. We’re crap in England at these multi-generational dos.’
‘True enough.’ He nodded towards the keyboard player. ‘But do you not think the music’s shite?’
When she laughed in agreement, he put his hand at her elbow and steered her towards a quieter part of the room. Vince, sinking back into his seat, was soon joined by another elderly man with a thatch of white hair and a tweedy jacket that could have been woven from bracken and peat.
Kieran leaned on the sill of the window; the panes of glass were fogged with condensation. ‘Tom’s been overdoing the drink,’ he said. ‘I wanted to warn you.’
‘Is it nerves, d’you think?’
‘I doubt he’d admit to it.’
‘That’s stupid. It would be perfectly understandable. I was totally freaked myself when I heard.’ She clinked the ice in her Magners. ‘But I’m going back to Coke after this.’
‘Tom doesn’t need much of an excuse to hit the bottle.’
She searched the crowd, but couldn’t see him. ‘Is it very noticeable?’ she asked. ‘I mean, if you were someone who’d never met him before, would you think: what a complete tosser?’
‘Isn’t that what you thought yourself?’
‘On the boat?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, in a way. But…’ But she was an idiot, wasn’t she? She’d been beguiled by Tom’s louche demeanour, by his sudden spurts of sensitivity, his undeniable good looks. ‘I guess he spiked my interest too. And he’s lovely with Clemmie – she adores him, doesn’t she?’
‘What is it with women!’ exclaimed Kieran. ‘Why are they so easily fooled?’
‘We’re not fooled by the man,’ said Bel. ‘It’s our hopes that are unrealistic. But you could say that of anything, couldn’t you? And if you got too cynical you’d never make any improvements at all. I wouldn’t expect it of you.’
‘What?’
‘Cynicism.’
He laughed. ‘And why not? Can’t I be as jaundiced a sod as the next person?’
‘Well I just thought… I know the Church bangs on about hell and damnation but surely a priest needs to believe in the goodness of people. I mean I know you’re not actually a priest but if you had the training and everything…’
Kieran stared at her. ‘You didn’t believe all that baloney?’
‘Why wouldn’t I?’ She squirmed a little as she spoke, recalling the nonsense stories she’d told to strangers to help enliven a journey. Those people had believed her. And she had half-convinced herself. Where was the harm in trying on a new identity and parading it to someone you would never meet again? But this was different – because they had met again, more than once, and because the brothers had ganged up on her. The dice was unfairly loaded.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have teased you, but it wasn’t a total lie. I did very briefly think of going into the Church, but I was being contrary. You see Tom was considered too good to be a farmer so I was intended to take over the reins. And this was my form of rebellion. A good Catholic, like my mother, wouldn’t argue with God’s calling.’
‘Sounds a bit extreme!’
‘I think I believed it at the time, but it didn’t take me long to find out I was wrong. I’m not much better at taking decisions than my brother, am I? Fled to England and got married far too quickly.’
‘Married?’ Bel was finding the whole conversation topsy-turvy. She was beginning to feel hot and sticky, but she couldn’t take off any layers because she didn’t want to expose the savage bruising on her arm, its appearance worse today than when it happened. People would think she’d been assaulted. ‘But you both told me you weren’t.’
‘Divorced,’ he explained. ‘So you see, that wasn’t a lie either. I won’t slag her off, I’ll just say we were incompatible.’
‘So do you mean…’ said Bel slowly.
‘What?’
‘I just thought, because of the priest stuff…’ Her voice tailed off. What did it matter if Kieran wasn’t gay? It was Tom who had kissed her. Twice. Though, really, what was the significance of a kiss, however passionate, when shagging was as commonplace as shopping?
‘Ah,’ he said, ‘I see one cliché following another.’
‘But Tom said—’
‘You don’t want to pay heed to any remark of Tom’s.’
‘No, I realise that now.’
Kieran’s thumbs were looped into his belt, his fingers tapping a rhythm in time to the music. Bel found herself staring at them for no better reason than that she didn’t want to look at his face. She could feel him watching her intently. ‘So,’ he said after a while. ‘Did you get the flowers?’
‘Yes, but how…?’
‘You were still sleeping and your mother didn’t want to wake you. I’m not much good at these things but I do think tulips have a fine shape and yellow is a colour to cheer you up. I’m not enamoured of those elaborate, fancy contrivances they fix up with staples and raffia and God knows what, but I hope you didn’t think it was sheer meanness because it wasn’t…’
‘You brought the flowers?’
‘Did your mother not tell you?’
‘Well yes, she did, only…’
‘Only what?’ He sighed in a resigned sort of way. ‘Did you think I was overstepping a line? You’ve already a poor opinion of us, no doubt.’
Bel squirmed again. Kieran had behaved with absolute propriety from the moment he had offered her the lift. He’d shown concern for her injury. He’d made more effort than Tom to unite Clemmie with her grandparents. He was totally sound. And, foolishly, she had overlooked all this in favour of the flashy allure of his brother. ‘No!’ she insisted. ‘I have a very high opinion of you! I feel bad because I should have thanked you from the off. My brain must be full of holes. I’m so sorry. Look, can we start again? Thank you, Kieran, for bringing me tulips. I love tulips. And you should have stayed. I wish you had.’