The Glass Lake

  Martin reached for Maura’s hand. “It’s not fair to you, Maura. I’m not ready, you see.”

  “Did I ask you to be ready…for anything?”

  She leaned over and kissed him, the kind of kisses they had, gentle and lingering. This was not an area where he compared her to Helen. Helen had never reached to kiss him in her whole life. Helen had just accepted his love. He never knew whether it pleased her or not. There had been no sign of great delight, and certainly none of revulsion. But it had been a passive thing. Never had she raised her hand to stroke his cheek even.

  He clung to Maura. “Is it fair to ask you to give me some more time?” he murmured into her neck. She smelled of Elizabeth Arden Blue Grass soap and talcum powder. He felt himself aroused to hold her longer and to know her body more. But this would be the final betrayal. If he were to have Maura Hayes it must be as a wife and a life companion. Not as a quick coupling on their sofa.

  She seemed to know this, and pulled gently away. “Have all the time you want, Martin,” she said. “What else am I doing that you’re keeping me from?”

  Just then they heard a foot on the stair, and Kit knocked at the door. “I just wanted to tell you I can’t sleep. The tea didn’t work.”

  “Would you like to come in and talk?” Maura was courteous, not directive.

  “Well, what I’d really like to do is to walk up to Sister Madeleine’s for a half hour or so.” Kit always said where she was going. The history of going out for a walk and not returning was too heavy in this house for anyone to make unexplained journeys.

  “I don’t know. Isn’t it a bit late?” Martin sounded worried.

  “Sister Madeleine is probably the best place on earth to go,” Maura said. “That woman is able to make everything seem reasonable.”

  Kit flashed her a grateful look and ran down the stairs.

  “I wish I could find the same kind of consolation in Sister Madeleine that everyone else does…” Martin had never been able to confide in the old lined woman whom most of Lough Glass seemed to hold in such respect.

  “That’s probably because Helen used to go there so much…you are afraid that she knows too much and might think you were coming to find out something for yourself.”

  “That’s quite true.” Martin was surprised.

  “Well, I wouldn’t worry about that side of it. Whatever she has been told or not told seems to be totally secret.” Maura gathered her cardigan and handbag. “I’ll be off now, Martin. I don’t want Lilian and Peter thinking I’m up to no good.” She had a brave smile on her face. If Maura Hayes was hurt to the heart that Martin could make no commitment she was not going to show it. She waved to him as he stood at the door, then watched Kathleen Sullivan’s curtains twitch. At least she would be able to report the doctor’s foolish sister-in-law had left the widower’s home at a reasonably respectable time.

  “Tell me now why the exam is so important to you,” Sister Madeleine asked.

  “Oh, Sister Madeleine, you must be the only person in Ireland who doesn’t know that the Leaving is the making or breaking of you. My whole life depends on it.”

  “I’d hardly say that.”

  “Well, it does. If I get it, I get into Cathal Brugha Street training college and do hotel management for two whole years and then I have a career. Otherwise I’m finished, my life is over.”

  “I suppose you could always go back to school for another year.” The suggestion was a mild one.

  “Another year at school with Mother Bernard, with all those horrible girls in Fifth Year laughing and mocking you, with Clio gone off to Dublin to university. I’d die, Sister Madeleine, die…and anyway I want to be something, be someone. Not just for myself.”

  “Who for?”

  “Well, for Daddy, so he wouldn’t look foolish down in Paddles’ bar with Dr. Kelly. And…well, for my mother really.”

  “I know.” Sister Madeleine did know.

  “I told her I’d amount to something. You know…long ago.”

  “And you have and will.”

  “But these are kind of milestones, markers along the way, these exams.”

  “Your mother told you that?”

  “No. Lena her friend, you know…who writes here. She told me.”

  “You pay a lot of heed to this friend?”

  “Yes. You see, she knew Mother very well…it’s almost like…”

  “It must be.”

  “I wish she’d come over here…I did suggest it,” Kit said.

  “Maybe she prefers to live in her own world.”

  “I’ll have to wait until I go over to see her, then.”

  “Yes, but that may be a while. In the meantime you can stay friends with her by writing.”

  “It mightn’t be all that much time, Sister Madeleine. After the Leaving I think I’m going to London.”

  “You are?” The nun seemed startled.

  “Yes. Daddy said I could have a holiday…”

  “But London! On your own?”

  “It wouldn’t be on my own, it would be with Clio and others from our class. Mother Bernard’s arranging that we can stay in a convent in London…then none of our parents will get frightened and think we’re going to join the white slave traffic.”

  “My goodness. And what will you do?”

  “Well, I’m going to see Lena.”

  “And will you tell her that you’re coming to visit?”

  “No. I think I’ll turn up and surprise her.”

  Sister Madeleine’s eyes seemed farther away than usual as she looked across the calm lake. Eventually she spoke. “Well, we’ll have to make sure that you get your Leaving Certificate, then. I’ll say special prayers for you tonight.”

  “Will you kneel down and say a Rosary?” Kit was eager to know how much support she could count on.

  “Now, Kit. You’re a grown-up woman of seventeen. You know God just wants to listen to a request and hear the reasons why it should be granted. He doesn’t want a great numerical totting-up of Hail Marys. That’s not how the system works.”

  Kit knew that Sister Madeleine was absolutely right, but she was sure that this was the kind of talk that made Father Baily, Brother Healy, and Mother Bernard suspicious of the hermit. It was the kind of talk that at another time might have her burned at the stake.

  As Kit went off home by the lake Sister Madeleine took out her writing paper.

  Dear Lena Gray,

  I am writing to let you know that Kit McMahon is hoping to go to London when the Leaving Certificate examination is over…she wants to surprise you with a visit. I feel that surprises lose their excitement after a certain age, and thought that perhaps you might like to be prepared for such an eventuality.

  If there is anything I can do for you please let me know. I have tried to suggest a relationship based entirely on letters but I am afraid she is too drawn to you and your memories of her mother, as well as your insights about her own future, to let matters rest there.

  She is a very determined young woman…just like her mother.

  Yours sincerely in Jesus Christ,

  Madeleine.

  “She doesn’t know which flat I live in,” Lena said to Ivy.

  “No, but all she has to do is ask anyone on the stairs,” Ivy said.

  “She’ll ask you. You’ll say we’re away.”

  “Yes, but she’ll come back when she thinks you’ll be back.”

  “I’ll write and say we’re going away for the summer.”

  “You can’t keep running away from her.”

  “I can’t meet her, we know that.”

  “Could you dye your hair, wear sunglasses?” Ivy was serious.

  “I’m her mother, for God’s sake.”

  “I’m trying to help.” Ivy was aggrieved. Things were hard for her. Ernest spent every evening at the hospital where Charlotte was sinking fast. He called at Ivy’s flat for a drink on the way home each night. A drink and a long recounting of the guilt he felt in his life at how poorly
he had treated his wife. It was increasingly hard to bear.

  Lena was full of shame at having spoken so harshly. “I’m terrified, that’s why I’m snapping at you. You’re the only friend I have in the world.”

  “I’m not your only friend…you have dozens of friends. You have Louis, and all those people at work who dote on you and depend on you. You have a daughter who loves you even if she doesn’t know who you are…don’t tell me about having few friends.”

  “Oh, Ivy. Do you know what I’d love to do for you? I’d love to take you to Ireland for a holiday.”

  “So, take me,” Ivy challenged.

  “I can’t, you know that. They’d see me, they’d find out.”

  “Yes. I imagine they have armed guards posted at the airport and the ferries, waiting for you,” Ivy scoffed. “After all, they do that when anyone drowns in a lake is found and buried.” Ivy sounded bitter.

  “We could go someday. I’m too frail these days. Everything’s coming apart,” Lena said.

  “Don’t crack up on me, Lena. Charlotte has only another week at the most.”

  “CAN I come to London?” Anna Kelly asked.

  “Daddy, don’t even let her think of talking like that,” Clio protested.

  “Shush, Clio. Anna, when you get your Leaving Certificate of course you can go to London.”

  “But Daddy…wouldn’t this be a heaven-sent opportunity? My big sister could look after me and my mind would get broader by travel, and I’d be in no danger.”

  “Don’t waste your breath, Anna,” Clio warned.

  “None of the others would mind. I asked Kit McMahon and Jane Wall and Eileen Hickey who are going and they said they didn’t care.”

  “Of course they don’t care. You aren’t their rotten sister.” Clio was incensed.

  Aunt Maura spoke unexpectedly. “I hope you won’t go, Anna,” she said.

  “Why is that?” Anna was suspicious.

  “Well, you see, I’ll be coming down for the golf tournament and we need to have caddies, but everyone in the club is taken up and Martin McMahon and I were wondering whether you and Emmet might do it for us.”

  “No, I don’t think…”

  “It’s awfully well paid,” said Aunt Maura. “And much more fun in a way than trailing around London in the heat with a lot of people who aren’t your real friends. I know I’m only trying to persuade you because Martin and I would like our own families to be there to support us, but there’ll be lots of parties…and a dance with a lot of young people.”

  “I was never allowed to a dance when I was her age,” Clio was stung.

  “The world is changing since you were young, Clio,” Anna said.

  For a fraction of a second Clio’s eyes met those of her aunt Maura. There was a hint of a smile. Clio knew that her aunt had succeeded where no one else could have in putting an end to Anna’s bleating. Anna Kelly was showing alarming tendencies of getting her own way in everything she suggested.

  “Do you think they’re ever going to do anything about it or are they going to go on mooning about forever?” Lilian asked her husband.

  “I don’t know,” Peter Kelly said mildly.

  “Well, you must know. He’s your friend.”

  “She’s your sister,” he countered.

  “There are things you can’t say to sisters if they are old and still spinsters,” Lilian explained.

  “Yes, and there are things you can’t say to friends if they are old and have been through a lot,” Dr. Peter Kelly said.

  “It’s nice to see you down here so regularly, Maura,” Sister Madeleine said.

  “Well, Sister, I’ll come for as long as I think he likes me to be here.”

  “He likes you to be here.”

  “But would you know? I’m not being rude to you, but would you?”

  “I think I would, Maura. From what people say.”

  Maura realized that people did say a lot and Sister Madeleine listened a lot. She probably did know.

  “You’re such a kind person I wish there was something I could do for you.”

  Sister Madeleine looked at her thoughtfully. “There is something I would like done, but it’s very, very complicated, and I could never tell you why.”

  “I wouldn’t need to know why.”

  “No, God bless you, I don’t think you would. Well, I’ll ask you and it may not be possible, but if you could…”

  “Please ask, Sister. It would be a great pleasure to do anything for you, anything at all.”

  “You know there’s talk of Clio and Kit and a few of the girls in Sixth Year going to London after the Leaving Cert…”

  “Don’t I know it. They talk of so little else.”

  “Yes well, what I was wondering was could you persuade Kit and Clio not to go?”

  “But why on earth? I’m sorry, I forgot…” Maura paused. After a while she said, “I think it would be very, very difficult.”

  “I was afraid of that.”

  “And is there a good reason?”

  “A very good reason.”

  “I can’t think what I could do. I can’t tell them London is full of typhoid fever. I can’t offer to take them to France or anything, I’ve just managed to prevent Anna from trying to go with them by offering her a job as my caddy in the golf tournament.” There was a silence. “Is there no one else?” Maura asked.

  “No one I could ask,” the hermit said.

  Maura felt a surge of pride that she was among the very few who could be approached. “I believe Mother Bernard up in the convent is organizing it, maybe if she told…”

  “No. Sadly she’d need every detail and these are impossible to give.” There was another silence.

  “I’m really trying but I can’t think of any single thing that would distract them, not at this stage.”

  “Thank you for trying anyway. I know you are.”

  “What will you do now?”

  “I suppose I’ll pray that the Lord will sort things out, and that you won’t puzzle too much about what may seem like a very odd request.”

  “I will put it right out of my mind and forget it was ever mentioned.” Maura Hayes smiled.

  And Sister Madeleine reached over and took her hand. This was a truly kind woman who would make an excellent wife and companion for poor Martin McMahon if…if…well, if things were different.

  CHARLOTTE died in hospital on a Thursday morning.

  Ivy wanted to come to the hospital to be with Ernest but he said no. “I’ll just stay in the waiting room away from everyone in case you need me,” Ivy had pleaded.

  “No, love. Honestly. Don’t cause a fuss, don’t let’s make trouble at this stage for everyone. Stay at home. I’ll come to you later in the day.”

  Thursday passed and Ernest never came. Ivy rang the pub around closing time. She spoke to a barman she knew. “He’s with his family in the front snug, Ivy. It’s probably best I don’t tell him you rang.”

  “Absolutely,” Ivy said. She sat in her little room awake all night. She was sure he would come at some stage, when everyone else had gone home.

  At three o’clock she heard a taxi drawing up at the door. She moved the curtain and looked out, but the taxi was not Ernest, it was a woman in a white sweater, with very blond hair, very red lips, and very high heels. She had got out of the taxi to kiss Louis Gray good-bye properly with a great deal of squeaking and lifting one leg at a time as she embraced him. She was oblivious to his shushing sounds as he paid the taxi and urged the driver to take her away as quickly as possible.

  “Will I go to the funeral with you?” Lena asked.

  “What?”

  “You’ll need someone to go with, you can hardly be up there in mourning with the family. I thought you’d need a friend as a sort of disguise.”

  “Lord, Lena, you’re great.”

  “So I’ll go with you, then. When is it?”

  “Love, we’re not going whenever it is. It would not be, as Ernest has put it, appropr
iate. Can you imagine Ernest knowing a big word like ‘appropriate’?”

  “But of course we can go, anyone can go to a funeral.”

  “In Ireland maybe, not here.”

  “They don’t sell tickets, do they? We’ll go.”

  “He doesn’t want us, why push?”

  “All right, all right. Maybe she has relatives, maybe it will be small. Maybe he’s right not to want you there.”

  “He doesn’t want me anywhere. That’s what I’m mourning, not bloody Charlotte,” Ivy said.

  “ARE you definite about doing hotel management?” Philip O’Brien asked.

  “Sure I am, Philip. You know that.”

  “So we’ll be together in Dublin.”

  “At classes, yes, but not exactly together. I’m staying in the hostel in Mountjoy Square. It’s just around the corner, I’d say it’s a bit grim.”

  “I’m staying with my aunt and uncle and I know that will be grim.” Philip was glum these days. He had agreed unwillingly when Kit had said she didn’t want to get into kissing and groping and all that because of exams.

  “It might distract me,” she had lied to him.

  The day the Leaving Certificate finished, Philip came back. “It won’t distract you now,” he had said, eager as the two Jack Russell terriers that terrorized people in the Central Hotel.

  So Kit had to give him a different excuse. “It’s an odd time for a girl being seventeen. Please be understanding. I promise I don’t fancy anyone else, but I really and truly don’t want to get involved at the moment.”

  “But aren’t you fond of me…?” Philip would ask.

  “Very fond of you.”

  “So then?” He was eternally hopeful.

  “So then you’ll understand.”

  “And are you waiting for me and am I waiting for you? Just tell me,” Philip had begged.

  “Let’s say we’re not hunting for anyone else, but if someone else turned up for you it wouldn’t be a betrayal or anything. I’d quite understand,” she had said.