Though leaves are many, the root is one;
Through all the lying days of my youth
I swayed my leaves and flowers in the sun;
Now I may wither into the truth.
—W. B. YEATS
It was the middle of October and Keenan Doyle was turning fifty in a few days. Siobhan painstakingly planned a party at Sean Cahill’s restaurant in Clifden. The Leeside would be closed for the evening, which wouldn’t be a problem since most of the locals were attending the party. Sean and Bettina, his wife, had wanted it to be a surprise party, but Siobhan saw the futility in that and told Kee about the planned festivities. He feigned annoyance to mask his pleasure, which didn’t fool her for a moment, and promised to act suitably surprised when, instead of a quiet dinner with Siobhan, he would be confronted by a roomful of his friends and neighbors.
“And can you tell me who’ll be there?” he asked Siobhan.
She replied, “I don’t think it’s too much to ask that at least the guest list be a surprise, though I doubt if most of the faces will cause a shock.”
He hesitated, then inquired casually, “Have you asked Katie to come, then?”
Siobhan looked at her uncle gravely. Katie had been noticeably absent from their lives lately. “Of course I have, and no, I don’t know if she’s coming.”
Kee nodded and left the room. He had no idea why Katie had been avoiding him the last few weeks. It wasn’t a contrived absence from the pub, some stupid stunt to make him miss her or get him thinking about her. He’d have smelled that. For some reason she didn’t want to be around him. It was the suspicion that he might have hurt her—could she be hurt?—that was bothering him, and bothering him a lot if the truth be told. And he was surprised at how much he missed her, how much he longed for her.
Impulsively he decided right then to go out to her farm. He drove almost recklessly, at one point overtaking a truck stacked with building supplies, and his van bounced into the yard near Katie’s large stone barn. Kee was rewarded with the sight of her standing next to a youngster and his mother, and holding a pony by its halter. As he was about to call out, he saw her quickly climb onto the convenient animal and whisk it away down one of the riding trails. Kee froze as he was about to climb out of the van. Had she seen him? He thought she had, but he couldn’t be sure. He caught the interested gaze of the young mother as she herded her son toward their vehicle. Quickly he shut his door. Fine, he thought. It was only a neighborly visit, after all. It’s not like he needed to see her. Kee started the van’s engine and didn’t notice that his drive home took twice as long.
The next morning Siobhan wanted to scrub down the pub’s stone floor, so she and Kee carried the tables, chairs, and stools out into the yard. It was a mild, sunny day and Siobhan kept the front door propped open as she moved methodically with her bucket and brush across the flagstones. Each was just a little different in size, shape, and color, and she knew them all. She knew the spots that were worn smooth as polished marble, the textured patterns full of hidden color within the gray, and the tiny pitted pockets where the water pooled. It was a job that was very calming; Siobhan’s mind was tired from her endless ruminations about Tim, Uncle Kee and Katie, Seamus’s death, and a hundred other thoughts.
Outside Kee repaired some of the furniture that was more the worse for wear than the rest. Niall Curry was fond of rocking back and forth on the barstools, which wreaked havoc on the leg joints, a habit for which Kee never tired of rebuking him.
After a while Siobhan heard her uncle call out, “Uh-oh, here’s someone coming. We might have to be serving them out here.”
They would definitely have to get served out there, Siobhan thought. She was finishing this floor if the visitor was Queen Maeve herself.
There was a short silence and then he exclaimed, “My God, it’s Gwen and Turf.”
Instantly Siobhan’s stomach tightened. Something was wrong. She stood up and walked outside. Turf helped Gwen out of the passenger seat of a very battered old station wagon. Dan, Turf’s eldest child, was standing by the car, looking around with bright eyes.
Gwen’s sick, Siobhan thought with alarm. Her friend’s face was drawn and pinched, the resignation settled into it making it almost a stranger’s face.
“This is a surprise,” Kee said to Gwen. “Is everything all right? You’re not looking quite the thing, Gwen, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
Gwen didn’t answer; the effort of getting out of the car had captured her breath.
Turf looked at his mother, and answered for her. “Mum’s been sick, coughing and that. We’ve been in Clifden for a time, letting her rest.”
Kee took Gwen’s other arm as he said, “I’m sorry to hear that. Come inside, now. Siobhan, put some chairs back—”
Gwen shook her head impatiently. “I’ll sit outside.”
Turf looked at her sideways, a little nervously. “Mum, it’s a bit cool out here. Remember the nurses were saying that you—”
“Outside.”
The two men exchanged glances and settled her in a chair at a table.
Kee asked, “Are you wanting a pint?”
“Tea, if it’s not too much trouble.” Gwen lifted her gaze to Siobhan, who hadn’t spoken yet. She nodded slowly, reading the older woman’s look.
“Right. It’s no trouble.”
Quickly she got tea ready for them all, finding some chocolate biscuits for Dan. The one thing she wanted was to get Gwen to herself. Gwen wanted to talk to her.
Siobhan carried the large tray outside.
“Good news,” her uncle said. “It’s just a touch of pneumonia. With rest and medicine she’ll be great. Right, Gwen?”
“Aye. Thanks for this, Siobhan.” Gwen raised the large blue cup to her lips and closed her eyes as she took the first sip.
Turf said, “Mum was just wanting a day out, so I borrowed a friend’s car and, well…we just came.” He seemed a trifle doubtful.
“That’s grand,” Kee said stoutly. “We’re always glad to see you, Turf, you know that.”
Young Dan had taken two biscuits from the package Siobhan offered him and now began prancing around.
“Can I, Da? Can I go up the hill to find Blasket?”
“Aye, go on with you,” Turf answered his son with affection.
“Why don’t you all three go?” Siobhan suggested boldly. “I’ll sit here with Gwen.” She looked at Gwen, who nodded and added her agreement.
“That’s right, you go on. We women want to have a wee chat.”
Siobhan said brightly, “You can take your tea with you.”
Kee looked surprised but Turf immediately agreed. “Let’s be off, then.” He picked up his mug of tea and strode away quickly.
“Come away, Mr. Doyle,” Dan urged with excitement. “We’ll pretend we’re stalking fairies!” He ran past his father toward the hill.
Kee laughed and shrugged. “Right. Stalking fairies it is, then.”
The two women watched as the men slowly began the trek up the hill path, following the joyful boy. Gwen said with rare gentleness, “Dan’ll not be forgetting this day.”
“I’m glad you brought him,” Siobhan said, and watched Gwen take another sip of tea as if it were some restorative elixir. Siobhan’s heart beat a little faster as she asked, “How are you really, now?” She already knew the answer.
Gwen fixed her gaze on the hill. “It’s TB I’ve got, child. I’m dying.”
It hurt to have the words spoken out loud. Siobhan heard them with a harshness that wasn’t present in the speaking of them. Sympathy seemed out of place here, so she said nothing.
There was silence for a few moments, and then Gwen said matter-of-factly, “I’ve known for some time. No one’s knowing except you, and the folks at the clinic. Not even Turf.” She looked at Siobhan then. “You’re not minding me telling you?”
Siobhan could only shake her head. She didn’t need to state the obvious to Gwen, that she was touched and humbled to be her choice of confidante.
Gwen continued thoughtfully: “I needed to come here. I needed to be seeing the Leeside one more time. It’s a special sort of place, I’m thinking. Being sure of a real welcome is a grand thing, and we were always finding that here. Maybe the only place we did. There’s a freedom in that.”
“I’m glad,” Siobhan murmured.
“There are other reasons. I needed to be telling someone about this, to have one other body know. You came to mind. I needed to say the words out loud, to get used to them.”
In spite of herself, Siobhan needed to ask, “Why me?”
“Because your granny told me when she was dying. Right here, at the Leeside. She told only me about the cancer—she trusted me with it. Never would I have been thinking that would be the last time we saw each other. But that trust meant the world to me. So, here I am, doing the same with you.” Gwen smiled wryly then and leaned forward. “And you’re the only woman I’m knowing who isn’t silly. You keep yourself to yourself and I respect that. You’re not full of jabber. And I knew you’d care,” Gwen added, almost as an afterthought.
“Oh.” Siobhan poured out more tea, her throat thickening.
“There’s a fearsome strength in most women,” Gwen went on. “You’ve got that strength, too, missy, never doubt that you do.” She gave a disgusted click of her tongue. “Turf had to go and marry one of the silliest creatures on God’s green earth. We’ve never seen eye to eye on much of anything.”
“When…when will you be telling Turf?”
Gwen set her jaw. “I’ll not be telling him. He’ll find out soon enough from the doctor. It’s better for him to be hearing it from someone else—and better for me.”
Siobhan swallowed hard. She felt compelled to offer, “Do you…would you like me to—”
“No, missy.” Gwen looked at her with surprised gratitude. “I thank you, but no. The truth will keep.” She paused and then said, “But ’tis good of you. Seems to me that women are like rivers that never run dry. And we must be a wellspring for each other.”
After that the two women sat quietly together, united in understanding and a sense of kinship. Siobhan thought about what Gwen had said about needing to confide in another woman. It made her feel like an adult of equal standing and Siobhan treasured that feeling, and the confidence it gave her. There truly was an affinity between them because of their sex, she reflected; some mystical bond between women that compelled them to share burdens and joys, and the bearing of life itself. Siobhan had never felt part of that before; she knew instinctively that she should cultivate it, crave it, and that if she did her life would be immeasurably enriched.
They sat there for a long time. At one point, after Gwen had had a coughing spell, Siobhan asked Gwen if she was cold.
“No.”
Eventually the men returned, striding through the tall hill grasses in single file.
Gwen asked, “Why do men seem to walk the hills like they need to conquer them? They’re always proving something,” she added obscurely.
Even young Dan’s energy had flagged and the goodbyes were not prolonged. Gwen didn’t even reach out to touch Siobhan but Siobhan didn’t expect it. Too soon did the ramshackle car disappear over the rise. It was almost as if she had imagined the visit, Siobhan thought. She wondered if she would ever see Gwen again.
Siobhan jumped at the sound of her uncle’s voice.
“Did you and Gwen have a good chat, then?”
“Oh, yes.”
“She’s really not looking well. Let’s hope she gets better before the winter sets in.”
Siobhan nodded as she gathered the dirty dishes onto the tray.
Kee mused, “It felt strange to be seeing them, didn’t it, not at their time? Almost turns the calendar on its ear—they’ve always been so regular over the years.”
“I know.” Siobhan started inside.
“Siobhan? Is everything really okay?”
She answered him over her shoulder. “Everything’s grand.”
Strange that lying for someone else was so much easier.
In that night’s e-mail, Siobhan told Tim about Gwen’s visit, without telling him about the TB. But her tone was sober, and she made it clear that her old friend wasn’t doing very well. After reading it over, she wanted to lighten things up a bit before she sent it.
One bright spot in the past month. Because of Maura’s article on the scholars’ duel, Uncle Kee is more of a local celebrity than ever. It hasn’t hurt business at the pub either! Most amazing of all, the London wire services picked up the story and he got a phone call from a professor of Irish studies at King’s College asking if he’d like to come and give a talk on ancient Irish literature! Wasn’t it brilliant?? Uncle Kee declined, but I can tell he felt a great sense of triumph at being asked.
Ever since the day she’d met Patrick Kelly at Katie’s farm, Siobhan had felt sorely tempted to ask Tim about his failed marriage. She longed to know why he had fallen in love with his wife. Did he miss anything about her? Did he miss being married? But tonight she clicked Send without taking that leap into more delicate waters.
They still communicated daily, a vital correspondence to each. She tried hard to give her e-mails a friendly tone, nothing more. But it wasn’t easy. A hundred personal questions and reflections slipped through her fingers into the keyboard, about things she couldn’t resist wanting to hear his thoughts on. Added to that was her guilt about the book deception, which was expanding exponentially. Whenever Tim mentioned the book and his excitement about its potential, she felt trapped. She was running out of things to say about it. In the past few days she had been forced by her own desperation to e-mail Tim another poem.
I saw the woman again and asked about you seeing the book. I explained who you were. She is reluctant and said she’d think about it. She let me copy one more poem, which I’ve sent in an attachment. I hope you like it.
Uncle Kee’s fiftieth birthday party is tomorrow. Sean Cahill is having the party at his restaurant. And Sean is having that article of Maura’s laminated and framed as a present. Isn’t that brilliant?
Tim thought this last poem she’d sent him was quite the most wonderful of the three. It was a passionate ballad about a woman’s virginity being the only possession that is truly hers alone. It was full of traditional virginal imagery of blooming roses and rushes by a stream, full of verse that shimmered with emotion. It was achingly beautiful. Tim longed to show it to someone but, of course, he could not. He longed to return to the Leeside to see Siobhan and hear her voice talking about this wonderful poetry.
He couldn’t understand why Siobhan had said she hoped he liked it. Of course he liked it—he loved it. Her attitude toward the poems was oddly tentative. It was true that there were confusing elements in the poems. But his approach was less scholarly and more emotional. Because it was Siobhan that had revealed them.
Their correspondence was growing progressively more personal, more confiding, more intimate. Was it likely that his heart would beat faster and his face grow warm as he read her e-mails if his interest in her was purely scholarly? Some of her questions and messages were so provocative and endearing that he longed to have her sitting right here, in this kitchen, so he could listen to the music of her voice and look into those incredible eyes. But the more Siobhan opened herself up, the more he realized just how naïve and disassociated she was from the modern world. He struggled, therefore, to keep his e-mails more reserved than he wanted to. But it wasn’t easy and more and more often he failed. He resisted phoning her because he was afraid that the sound of her voice would defeat his resolve. He e-mailed Siobhan back.
Tell Kee Happy Birthday from me. I’m sure it will be a great party—wish I could be there! It seems to be a year of fiftieths. My parents are having their fiftieth wedding anniversary on New Year’s Day. I’m helping some relatives plan the party. Otherwise I might have come during the holidays to see you. I miss you and would love to discuss this last poem face-to-face. It has such beautiful imagery and the verse flows so gloriously. Please let me know your thoughts on it. I still think often of that night we walked by the lough and had such a wonderful talk.
He hesitated in his typing. Was he getting too…romantic? Then he remembered what Maura had said about men and Siobhan. It isn’t that they don’t get any encouragement. There’s just no recognition on her part that anything is happening. She has had little experience with men. No, it was okay; Siobhan would only think he was being friendly, nothing more. And that’s all I am being, he told himself firmly, as he clicked the Send button.
The food at Sean’s restaurant was the best Siobhan had ever tasted. Every time she went there the food was the highlight for her. Sean and Bettina were very kind to her, although she didn’t feel she knew them very well or they her. She realized now, as she sat looking at them, that the fault was hers. After all, Sean had known her since she had first come to live with Uncle Kee. Siobhan remembered going to Sean and Bettina’s wedding when she was about seven or eight. Bettina was comfortable, plump, and serene. She took in her stride the huge demands of running a busy restaurant and was indulgent when more than half the work fell on her shoulders. Her husband was the more gregarious of the two and the customers liked Sean to visit with them; he was part of the draw of the place. Bettina preferred her kitchen duties to socializing. But her heart had gone out to Siobhan when she had met the wee girl and most of Siobhan’s cooking skills were learned at Bettina’s hands. But cooking was the only plane on which they met. The inert pale girl had not melted in the warmth of Bettina’s friendship. Siobhan, more self-aware of how others perceived her, regretted that now. She wanted to stop being shy of people. But how did one go about doing that?
Katie was here tonight. Siobhan was glad for Uncle Kee’s sake; she knew how much he had wanted her to come. In fact, Katie was sitting next to him. Siobhan noticed her uncle maneuver that arrangement with a subtlety she hadn’t known he possessed. She watched them for a few moments, almost in wonder, as her uncle’s big rugged face lit up when Katie smiled at him. They seemed less flirtatious tonight, more…genuine than she had ever seen them. Suddenly Siobhan looked away, not wanting to see any more. She wondered forlornly if that small ache in the back of her heart was a yearning for Tim. Was it the emptiness Gwen had spoken of? Or was it the sting of unease about Katie getting closer to Uncle Kee? She toyed with her food, the fresh dilled salmon having lost its appeal for her.
Across the table Katie felt light-headed and not totally in control, a rare experience for her. She had decided to come to Kee’s birthday party simply because she’d known her absence would cause comment. Never had she dreamed that Kee would be so glad to see her, so…attentive. It threw her off-balance, which didn’t happen very often. Could it be happening at last? Was Kee beginning to look at her as more than just a close friend—who was also good for a shag once in a while? It was impossible to keep her soaring hopes under control when he was sitting six inches away and looking at her with those deep-set gray eyes. If he was really ready to take the relationship “to the next level,” well, she always thought she’d be prepared, know how to handle it. Good God, she’d dreamed of it often enough. But she felt only a schoolgirl giddiness, most unlike her usual calculating composure. Ever since she had first seen him behind the bar so many years ago she had longed for him, and she was the least romantic of women. The truth was that if this huge beautiful man whom she had wanted for so long actually started to return her feelings, she knew his love would change her fundamentally. For how could she go from being an essentially unhappy person in her very core to being joyfully fulfilled and not be utterly transformed?
“Katie…are you listening to me?”
She looked into Kee’s eyes, which reflected his uncertainty at her apparent inattention. Katie laid her hand over his, a warm, firm gesture of connection, not coquetry.
“I always hear everything you say.”
His face softened and his own fingers closed over hers. Their absorption in each other made them oblivious of the intense interest they were causing among the other guests.
Bettina was sitting across from Siobhan and noticed the girl picking at her food. Siobhan was, as usual, quiet tonight but the loss of appetite was new. Bettina correctly guessed the cause was Kee and Katie’s behavior. As it always had in the past, Bettina’s heart was stirred by Siobhan. The major sorrow in her own life was that she and Sean had been unable to have children. A bad bout of the mumps when he was a teenager had rendered Sean sterile. Bettina had recognized within herself strong maternal feelings that she had learned to rein in over the years. She was successful in doing this most of the time, although the young restaurant staff benefited from her mothering instincts. But there was something elemental in Siobhan’s unspoken needs that never failed to bring out a maternal rush of feelings. That the girl had never responded to her had been a source of frustration when Siobhan was younger; now it was just a lingering regret.
Anticipating that her overture would be gently rebuffed, as had happened so often before, Bettina leaned forward.
“How have things been for you lately, Siobhan? Everything all right at the pub these days?”
Siobhan raised her eyes and Bettina was moved to see real distress in them. Then their expression changed to one of questioning uncertainty. Bettina held her breath. Was it possible she wouldn’t get the standard “things are grand” response?
Siobhan, for her part, heard Bettina’s question and looked up to meet her gaze. There was genuine concern in those warm hazel eyes, genuine caring, genuine interest.
Siobhan felt as if she were seeing Bettina, really seeing her, for the first time. This nice, comfortable woman might understand…might listen. Should she respond? Instantly she was transported back to sitting with Gwen that day outside the pub, reflecting on the affinity of women. Bettina knew Siobhan was troubled; Siobhan could feel her concern, like an invisible touch of the hand. Even if there wasn’t agreement or understanding, the desire and will to listen was the real gift women gave each other. And few could make it easier than Bettina, who had cared about her since childhood.
Siobhan took a deep breath and said, “Things are…a wee bit complicated just now, I’d have to say.”
Bettina regarded her with bright eyes and nodded. She merely said, “I was thinking they might be.”
Siobhan struggled on. “I’m…I’m not very used to thinking about things, you see. Serious things.”
Again Bettina nodded. “I know. It can feel like your mind’s going around in circles, so it can.”
“Aye, that’s it,” Siobhan said eagerly. There was understanding here. “It’s so confusing, so hard to sort things out.”
“I know. That’s why it can help to talk with someone.”
Siobhan did want to talk. She felt an almost overwhelming urge to do so. She glanced down the table at Katie and her uncle, then looked back at Bettina.
Pushing back her chair, Bettina raised her voice slightly. “If you’re wanting to see the new deep fryer, love, come away into the kitchen.”
Siobhan immediately stood up and followed her hostess through the kitchen doorway. Each of them leaned against a counter and when Siobhan didn’t speak right away, Bettina reached out and covered Siobhan’s hand with her own.
She asked gently, “Is it Kee and Katie that’s bothering you?”
“It is,” Siobhan admitted. “That and other things. But why? Why should I mind so? If being with her makes him happy, that’s what should matter. I can see that but shouldn’t I be able to feel it as well?”
“Maybe. But as my mother used to say, ‘It’s not a should world.’ We don’t always do or say or feel what we should. We’d all be wearing wings if that were true. And be much more boring into the bargain.”
“But why do you think I’m minding so much?” Siobhan persisted. She wanted some answers.
“Well, you don’t like Katie, for starters. I’m not crazy about her either, although she’s showing a side of herself tonight that’s surprising to me. Katie’s a man’s woman—and that has lots of meanings but basically what I mean by it is that she’s more comfortable with men, that they fulfill her emotional needs better than other women do.”
“Isn’t that lonely?” Siobhan was again thinking of her time with Gwen.
Bettina regarded her with interest. “Yes, I should imagine it is—at least, sometimes. But we’re talking about you. Am I wrong to assume you just don’t like Katie?”
“No, you’re not wrong, but it’s a shameful thing to admit.”
“Is it? We can’t like everyone, Siobhan, although I’ll say in this case, since she’s someone who’s important to Kee, it’s a problem.”
“How can I change the way I feel about her?” Siobhan asked bluntly.
Bettina laughed. “Well, that’s a tough one, darlin’. I might be asking the same, since Kee is one of our closest friends.” Bettina paused and shrugged. “Maybe it’s just a habit we’ve fallen into, not liking her. It never hurts to try to see someone with new eyes, to let go of old baggage. And since it means a lot to Kee, well, it’s worth a go.”
Siobhan nodded. It meant a lot to Uncle Kee. She would try.
Bettina continued, more slowly this time. “But even if Katie was your favorite female in the whole world…well, it would still be understandable that you’d be upset about Kee showing a…a serious interest in someone else.”
“A serious interest,” Siobhan repeated. The words had a strange foreboding sound.
“The two of you have been all in all to each other, love. I’m not saying it was inevitable, mind, but the possibility was always there that he’d fall in love some day.”
Siobhan raised sober eyes to Bettina’s face. “Do you think they’re in love, then?”
Bettina nodded. “I do.”
Siobhan didn’t feel surprise or dismay or even jealousy. She only knew that the concept of Uncle Kee truly in love was a vast reality she needed time to get her mind around.
Bettina was regarding her with compassion. She smiled. “It goes both ways, you know. You’re a young and lovely woman, Siobhan. There’s a special man out there looking for you and when he finds you, it’ll be Kee coming to terms with that.”
Siobhan blushed, and Bettina raised her eyebrows.
“Goodness, child—is there someone?”
But Siobhan felt drained; she wasn’t up to beginning a new conversation about her feelings for Tim. She was grateful to Bettina for her insight about Katie and Uncle Kee, and said so.
“You’re more than welcome, Siobhan. Thank you for talking to me. It wasn’t so bad, was it? Let’s try it again sometime.”
Siobhan gave her the shy smile her friends treasured. Just then the kitchen door opened and Sean came in with an armload of dirty dishes.
“We’re starting to clear in there, my lovelies. Lend a hand, eh?”
“Right,” Bettina said briskly and she and Siobhan headed into the dining room.
Sean followed them out and asked Siobhan, “So what do you think of our new deep fryer? Cost me an arm and a leg, that did.”
For a moment Siobhan looked at him blankly, and then she caught Bettina’s amused look.
“Oh, it’s grand,” she answered quickly. “It’s grand altogether.” Bettina winked at her.
Sean made his way to where Katie and Kee were seated, and started to clear away more dishes. Katie was speaking to Brendan on her other side, so Sean took the opportunity to lean down and whisper jokingly into Kee’s ear, “What in God’s name is happening tonight between you and Katie? Are you going to be putting up the banns?”
To his astonishment his friend turned to him with a face alight with happiness and said, “Damned if I know, Sean. But she’s bloody great, isn’t she?”
Sean looked at Kee in wonder. “She is that, my friend, she is that.” He walked off toward the kitchen, bemused at the idea of Kee Doyle in love at last.
Two hours later everyone was getting ready to leave. Kee and Katie offered to stay behind to help clean up. Siobhan started to protest, saying that she should do it, it was her and Sean’s party for Uncle Kee and he shouldn’t be cleaning up after…
She stopped as Maura quietly came up to her and murmured, “Don’t you see they want to do it? They want to stay behind together.” Siobhan looked at Maura and saw the truth in what she was saying. Maura raised her voice and announced, “If you two are willing to take on the job we’ll not stop you. It’ll keep Kee from getting a swelled head after all the lovely bullshit we’ve heaped on it tonight. We’ll take Siobhan home.”
Siobhan went up to Bettina. “I loved the leek casserole you served tonight. Can you share the recipe?”
Bettina smiled happily. “I can. The cheese sauce can be a wee bit temperamental. Would you like me to come by the Leeside later this week and we can make it together?”
“That would be grand.”
Siobhan, Maura, and Brendan drove home on the dark roads, Brendan driving quickly and with ease, for he traveled this route every day of his working life. Siobhan sat silently in the back. Maura was trying to decide if she should broach the subject of Kee and Katie, who were obviously in the throes of advancing their relationship. Kee’s attentiveness to Katie tonight had surprised Maura, but it had also pleased her. Their preoccupation with each other was a new development and to Maura it had seemed sincere. But how was Siobhan feeling about it? Maura was certain Siobhan would not welcome a deeper relationship between Katie and her uncle but decided to wait on bringing it up now. She’d wait until she was alone with Siobhan and after her introspective friend had had time to get used to the idea.
“There’s a car parked in the yard,” Brendan remarked as the Leeside came into view. The light was on over the pub door and they could see a lone figure leaning against a sedan.
“Well, the sign says the pub’s closed,” Maura said. “He can’t come in tonight for a drink and that’s flat. He’ll have to go into Ballynaross.”
“He doesn’t look like someone wanting a drink. He would’ve driven away when he found the pub locked. He looks more like he’s waiting for someone.”
“Maybe he’s a salesman,” Siobhan suggested, “wanting to talk to Uncle Kee.”
“At close to midnight?” Maura was skeptical. “Maybe he had car trouble, or is lost.” For some reason she felt a trifle uneasy about the slightly built, well-dressed man who approached Brendan’s car as it came to a stop. Brendan opened his door.
“Mr. Doyle?” The man looked questioningly at Brendan through fashionable designer-frame glasses.
“No, I’m not Doyle,” Brendan responded as he opened his door. “But this is his niece, Miss Doyle.”
Siobhan climbed out of the backseat and the man stood looking at her with what Maura thought was a very odd expression. She stepped out, and asked sharply, “Do you have business with Mr. Doyle? Because it’s very late. The pub’s closed tonight, as you can see by the sign on the door.”
“Yes, I saw that,” the man replied. He was English. “I’ve only been waiting here about half an hour. I…I wanted to speak to Mr. Doyle…and to Miss Doyle.”
“What about?” Brendan asked easily. He could see that Maura didn’t trust the man but he seemed harmless enough.
The man hesitated, then said, “I read an article in the London paper about this place.”
Siobhan asked eagerly, “The article by Maura? This is her. You read that in the London papers?”
He smiled at her. “Yes, that’s the one. And…you’re Siobhan, I’ll guess.”
She nodded. “Uncle Kee should be here soon. It’s late but do you want to come in and wait for him?”
Maura looked to heaven for guidance. Was the girl daft? She despaired of her, she really did. Besides, from what Maura saw at the party tonight, she doubted very much that Kee would be home soon. She tried to catch Siobhan’s eye to telegraph to her that asking the man inside when she was alone was not the thing to do.
“It’s pretty late for that, don’t you think, Siobhan?” Maura asked pointedly. She spoke to the visitor. “Where are you staying tonight, Mr….?”
John answered slowly. “Trotter. John Trotter.” He looked at Siobhan as he said his name, almost as if expecting her to recognize it. But she had no reaction. Maura suddenly had butterflies in her stomach; this quiet, well-mannered man was alarming.
John Trotter continued: “I don’t have a place to stay, I’m afraid. I just came over from London today.”
“Are you a journalist?” Brendan asked.
“No.” There was an awkward pause, and Maura’s unease grew. Why was he so secretive?
“Well, Mr. Trotter,” Maura began pointedly, “there’s a pub over in Ballynaross that lets rooms. That’s about twenty minutes from here. It’s called Fitzpatrick’s.”
John took the hint; he could hardly have failed to. “Yes, I think I noticed it as I drove through. You’re right, it is late. Perhaps I could come in and ring them—tell them that I’m coming? My cell phone died on me.”
“Of course,” Siobhan answered. She didn’t know what Maura’s problem was; the Leeside was a public house, wasn’t it? Mr. Trotter had every right to come in. She was getting tired of everyone protecting her all the time.
John asked, “Are you sure that Mr. Doyle will be a while yet?”
“Yes,” Maura answered firmly. “I’m sure we all agree it would be better if you came back in the morning.”
John hesitated. This was a delay he hadn’t foreseen. The man owned a pub; John had naturally assumed the pub would be open when he arrived. All day long on his way here he had been trying to frame the words that would tell his daughter who he was. He had pictured himself walking into the Leeside and taking the uncle aside first, to “soften the blow,” and then speaking to the girl. Now here was the girl without the uncle. John realized, for his twenty-five years in auto sales had made him a student of human nature, that Maureen’s brother might very well be hostile and resentful toward him. He further realized that this young couple, from their protective attitude, were obviously close friends of Siobhan and that they considered her someone in need of that protection. He looked at Siobhan, who stood regarding him with guileless and friendly eyes, very like the eyes of a child. Doubts about what he was doing assailed him once again, as they had innumerable times since he had purchased his plane ticket. Siobhan was speaking to him, she was unlocking the front door.
“Mr. Trotter, please come in and use the phone. I’ll look up Fitzpatrick’s number for you.”
Maura and Brendan, of one mind, started inside as well, but they all stopped as John spoke. “Wait…wait, please. Look…you might not want me to come back in the morning once…once you know who I am.”
He paused and Brendan asked jokingly, “Inland Revenue, are you?”
John smiled slightly and then resolutely turned to face Siobhan. “Siobhan, your mother was Maureen Doyle? Who was killed in an IRA bomb attack in Comagh?” Siobhan nodded, surprised. “That’s what I thought. Well, Siobhan…I knew your mother. In fact, I more than knew her. We were…pretty close for a time.”
Maura suddenly knew exactly what John was going to say. She went swiftly to Siobhan’s side, linking arms. Siobhan didn’t seem to notice as John spoke slowly and carefully, his eyes on her face. “I think it’s quite probable that I’m your…your natural father.”
For a second Siobhan didn’t understand. Then her knees began shaking and she was suddenly very grateful for Maura’s strong arm. Shivery and light-headed, Siobhan stared at Mr. Trotter. She felt dazed and rather sick but not for one moment did she doubt his words. Somehow, in her heart of hearts, she knew the truth of it.