The day before he was due to leave for Karachi, Graham went down to Mellwood College to say goodbye to his sons. It was a cold dull day. Pewter-coloured clouds banked low in the sky, the kind of sky that often precedes a fall of snow.
On the way he stopped for a lunch of sandwiches and beer. There was a fire burning in the grate and he relaxed beside it, enjoying the cosy intimacy of the country pub and the leisurely conversation between the barman and the locals. It was an aspect of Irish life he would miss when he was away in Pakistan.
It was mid-afternoon when he turned in the gates of Mellwood and drove up the long drive to park before the ivy-clad walls of the school. When he enquired after his sons he was directed on to the football pitch by one of the masters. Being the rugby season the boys had practice four days a week with a match every Saturday.
It was the second half of the game. Graham stood on the side-lines watching the small darting figures in the striped jerseys and wondered which one was his son. He was reminded of how many times his own father had stood in a similar spot cheering him on when he was Nicky’s age.
Graham had not thought of his father in months and at the memory of his old man who had ruled his small family strictly but fairly and always in their best interests, a lump came suddenly to his throat. It was not difficult to imagine what Douglas Pender would have thought of his only son’s sorry marriage. Graham doubted if his father had ever looked with lust at another woman in the years of his marriage and knew for a fact his mother had doted upon him until the day he died. She had never really recovered from her loss and though not much over fifty, had followed him within the year.
Graham sighed. Why was he thinking such morbid thoughts? He supposed it was because he was going away. He was glad when the game ended and Nicholas came racing up.
‘Dad! Did you see me pass that ball?’ In the crisp air, his face glowed with exercise and pride of achievement.
‘Yeah. Great. Well done, Nicky,’ Graham put aside his gloomy thoughts and thumped his son’s back enthusiastically.
‘I’m on the team for Saturday’s match with the Crescent,’ Nicholas told him eagerly as they walked back to the school.
‘What’s your position?’
‘Winger!’ He couldn’t hide his elation. ‘Well, well, you’re coming on.’
Good choice, Graham thought having witnessed that powerful burst of speed down the field. He looked with pride at the boy’s broadening chest, his well-developed calves. He was going to be a big man, he thought in satisfaction, well over six foot.
They went back and sat into the car for warmth. The only other place was the library and this was more private.
‘Oh no, you’re not going away,’ Nicholas burst out passionately when Graham told him, ‘Oh Dad!’
‘I’ll be back in June,’ Graham put an arm about his shoulders but his son shook it off, refusing to be comforted.
‘That’s not for ages and then we’ll be going to Spain and we’ll never see you. And what about the cycling trip you promised us at Easter?’ he said reproachfully. ‘What about that?’
The disappointed sadness in his son’s eyes reminded Graham uncomfortably of a similar expression in Kay’s, in New York that last time. He swallowed painfully. It seemed as if he had failed here too.
‘I’m sorry, Nicky,’ he tried to win him round. ‘It won’t be so bad, you’ll see. The time will pass quickly enough and I promise we’ll do things together in June when you get your holidays.’
‘No, we won’t,’ the boy contradicted him sullenly. ‘You’ll be flying to America all the time, like last year.’
‘Perhaps you can go and stay with Benny,’ Graham said, wondering if he had the name right. During Christmas Nicky had been full of talk about this boy.
‘Him! He’s a creep,’ Nicholas said witheringly.
Graham sighed and slammed the car door. The speed with which school friendships dissolved at that age bewildered him. ‘Let’s go find Jeremy,’ he said.
There was definitely going to be snow, he thought, glancing at the sky. He hoped it wouldn’t mess up his flights.
He caught up with his son, trying to pick up the conversation again. But Nicholas mooched ahead, moodily kicking stones in his path and pretended not to hear.
Further north in Kilshaughlin the sky overhead was the same pewter sky as in the midlands. Winifred sighed at the thought of snow with all the resultant mess and the children off school. Well thank heavens, she had had the sense to go ahead and build on the new extension. Since moving her mother into the new bedroom with en suite bathroom, the congestion in the house had greatly eased.
For weeks Sam had been sleeping in the girls’ room and Winifred had been appalled at the chaos she saw there. Not really their fault but irritating all the same. There were just too many beds crammed into the tiny space to be able to maintain any kind of order. One more aggravation amongst the many of having her mother to stay.
‘Winnie!’ As if on cue, Molly croaked from behind.
‘Is it time for my pills?’ Winifred mouthed silently. ‘No, mother,’ she answered firmly. Really, she would go mad if she didn’t get a break from the woman soon.
If only the extension had been paid for Winifred would have been happy. But there was still that hurdle to get over. Another cause for concern. Cahal was under the impression that his mother-in-law was going to foot the bill, otherwise he would never have agreed to the extension in the first place.
Winifred frowned. Not that she envisaged any real trouble in that quarter. After all her mother was a well-off woman. Over the years she had often heard her boasting about all the money she had invested in government stock. The cost of the extension was admittedly high to them but surely not a huge sum to Molly. Anyway it was for her they had built it. She glanced away as her mother slopped tea in her saucer and supped it eagerly. In some ways, she thought grimly, the extension to their home would be dearly paid for!
Winifred had found the past few weeks particularly trying. Not only was there all the extra washing necessitated by Molly’s spells of incontinence but Cahal and the children constantly complaining.
‘For Christ sake! She’s taken my chair again!’
‘Mummy, we want to watch Wagon Train and Gran keeps switching stations.’
Now Molly was worrying about how Kay and Bill were managing without her. ‘I’ll have to go back, Winnie. I’ve stayed away too long as it is.’
‘No, no,’ Winifred said anxiously. ‘We’ve gone into all that before, Mother. Cahal and I want you to regard our house as your home.’
Later she said worriedly to her husband, ‘You know, she’s quite capable of going back.’ ‘And what’s wrong with that?’ Cahal would have given three cheers to see the back of his mother-in-law and have his house to himself again.
‘Everything,’ Winifred said agitatedly. She was convinced that Molly’s improvement since going on the tablets prescribed by her doctor was merely a flash in the pan, a last dying kick of the little white cells before the cessation of all cerebral activity. ‘If she goes back she’ll only have another accident or fall into the clutches of that adventurer Norton.’ she insisted. ‘You know he’s only waiting to get his hands on her money.’ Winifred nearly had a seizure at the thought.
And the extension still not paid for, she almost told her husband, but restrained herself in time.
In New York that same night, Kay sat in the hotel lobby. It was five to six and the drivers due any minute. If they were on time. She was becoming aware that delays on the Atlantic were not uncommon. A lot depended on the punctuality of the incoming crew. If they were late landing everything else got thrown out of line.
Beside her, Captain Brennan began cheerily describing all the bargains he had picked up in the city that day. ‘It’s when we’re going through customs the collywobbles begin,’ he admitted cheerfully.
Kay nodded. Everything over here was such marvellous value, the temptation was hard to resist.
‘Any reason for heart failure yourself?’ he enquired, familiar with hostesses toting huge empty cases over and returning with them full.
‘I bought a sweater in Macy’s,’ Kay admitted with a smile. ‘Hardly enough to cause a quiver in customs’.
‘Now their bargain basement is well worth a visit,’ Captain Brennan advised.
He was nice, Kay thought, remembering him from her Lourdes stopover. She eyed the hotel entrance as another lot of people were disgorged into the lobby, never tiring of the American scene. It was all so completely different to anything she had ever imagined. Not just the twang, she decided after her first trip to New York but the whole personality of the people, their positive (if slightly abrasive) go-getting attitude had at first intimidated her then, as she gained confidence, exhilarated her.
She stole another glance at the entrance and sighed. No matter how much she willed the miracle, it wasn’t going to happen. Graham was thousands of miles away, probably already in
Karachi and no way would he come striding through those revolving doors, like he had a fortnight ago. She might as well face it.
The Navigator joined them. ‘Pick-up’s late tonight.’
‘I’ll go and ring,’ Captain Brennan heaved himself up. ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t mean late arrival of incoming aircraft,’ he laughed wryly. ‘Won’t be the first time.’
‘New to the Atlantic, aren’t you?’ the navigator asked Kay. ‘Since two weeks.’
‘Been up the Empire State?’
‘Not yet,’ she answered shortly, refusing to be caught a second time.
They were only half-full in tourist going home. There would be a lull until Easter stepped up the traffic again.
‘All happy back there,’ asked Captain Brennan when Kay went into the cockpit to ask him to lower the cabin lights. She nodded, concealing a yawn behind her hand.
‘You should be able to put up your feet when the lights are dimmed.’
He gave her a kindly glance before turning back to the controls. Pretty girl but a bit peaky, he thought. There was no denying the hostesses had it tough this trip. On the go the whole time. Still, they seemed to like it. His own daughter was mad to become an air hostess, couldn’t wait till she was twenty to apply.
On her way out of the cockpit the Navigator asked, ‘Any chance of coffee?’ He was finding it hard to keep awake having stayed out too late looking for some kind of hair tint for his wife and missed his nap.
‘Certainly,’ Kay told him. ‘I’ll tell the girls.’ She popped her head into the first-class galley and passed on the message. For her trouble, she received a slice of delicious mille feuilles which she took down with her to the back to enjoy in peace. She supposed there was something to be said for giving royal treatment to a small number of passengers in first class, rather than slaving over a couple of hundred in tourist but, given a choice, she infinitely preferred working in the friendly foursome at the back to queening it in solitary splendour with the senior.
When a little later she relaxed into a seat beside them, the other hostesses were already dead to the world. Tiredly, Kay closed her own eyes knowing she wouldn’t be able to sleep herself. She never could on a flight, even as a passenger. As they flew steadily on, the sky grew pale on the other side of the drawn blinds.
Soon it was time to begin setting up the breakfast trolley. When it was done, Kay took hold of one end and helped by the other hostess, guided it slowly forward. They moved from row to row awaking those still slumbering with a gently pressure on their shoulders, and set orange juice and cornflakes before them.
As they worked their way along the gradually awakening cabin, she and her partner chatted in low tired voices about clothes and make-up and which part of the world they wanted to go next on holidays. Since coming on the Atlantic it was the time Kay liked best with the passengers not yet fully awake and the night almost over, and only this last service to perform before coming in to land at Shannon.