A Grand Old Time Page 27

  Brendan closed his eyes. There was a rushing sound in his ears. He put a hand to his head and felt sweat against his palm. He eased himself to a sitting position and looked around him. The scenery was still the same but something inside him had moved uncomfortably.

  ‘Well, Brendan?’

  He was trying to focus his eyes on something – the rolling hills, the grass, the sky; his mouth was full of glue or sand or wood chips and he could not open it. Maura’s eyes were glued to his face but she made no sound. She waited, examining his expression, and he felt anger surge in his lungs, making him breathe heavily.

  He searched for the hikers: there was a little path, a scar in the mountain face, and they were crawling along it, ant-lines in the distance. He wished he was there with them, away from the picnic rug, away from Maura and away from the news that she was pregnant.

  She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. ‘So you have nothing to say to me about our baby?’

  Baby. The word rattled in his brain, staccato, machine-gun shots. Baby. Rat-a tat-tat. He shook his head. Above the clear blue of the skies, the clouds, swathed mist-like over the mountaintops. He sought out valleys, sweeping green fields, then looked down at the picnic mat: crumbs of bread, a few tomato pips, a liquid ring from a lemonade glass. There was a little blue flower growing by his thigh. His fingers pulled at the leaves, touching the petals. Baby.

  ‘So you’ve nothing to say at all?’

  ‘I’ve made such a mess of things …’ He eased himself to his feet, unsteady, shaking, and glanced all around him, looking for an escape. In the distance there was a tall man holding a small blonde woman by the hand. They were walking towards him. He started to move with urgency, collecting plates, wiping away crumbs, folding the picnic rug. Maura watched him. He scanned her face briefly and looked down at his fingers.

  ‘I’m not sure. Not sure what to say. And here’s Mammy. Shall we talk about it later, Maura? Later?’

  He drove the Panda back to Cave Bonheur in silence, following the red sports car, changing gears deliberately and with studied concentration. Maura looked out of the window. His chest hurt as he thought about his child. He imagined buying cradles and cots and clothes and nappies and then he wondered if he’d become a weekend dad. He imagined Maura meeting someone else, chatting to a new man in the warm, flirtatious, easy way she had talked to Jean-Luc, and the new man being a proper father to his child. He would be out in the cold again, alone. He imagined someone else holding Maura in his arms and Maura looking at the new man as his mother gazed at Jean-Luc. Jealousy and self-loathing became perspiration in his hair, which slid down his forehead, onto his lip. The sun’s heat perforated the windscreen and his head ached; each thought that throbbed behind his eyes was rubble and it was piling up and stifling him, stopping his breath.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  ‘Mammy, did you know about this?’ Brendan stopped outside the front door and turned to Evie.

  ‘Let’s go inside the house and talk.’

  He turned back to her and his face was aflame. ‘No, let’s talk here. How long have you known my wife was pregnant?’

  Maura put her arm on his. He’d called her ‘my wife’.

  Brendan pushed her away without realising. ‘How long have you all known and not told me?’

  Evie spoke softly. ‘I guessed. I found her being sick in the toilet. It wasn’t hard to work it out.’

  ‘And did you know too, Jean-Luc?’

  ‘I took her to the pharmacie.’

  Maura tried again to touch his elbow and he ignored her. He breathed deeply, his chest rising and falling, then he remembered her and turned to face her. ‘So how long have you known, Maura?’

  ‘It was so hard to tell you—’

  ‘How long have you known?’

  She breathed deeply. ‘Two days.’

  ‘Two days. And you couldn’t tell me?’

  ‘Let’s go inside, Brendan.’ Evie opened the door. He slumped against the wall and covered his eyes. Evie and Jean-Luc went in, leaving the door ajar behind them.

  Maura waited for them to go. ‘I am so sorry, Brendan. I tried to tell you but I was worried about what you’d say.’

  He gaped at her. ‘I – don’t know what to say. I mean – is it real? What are we going to do?’

  Maura tried again to put a hand on his arm and hold him steady. This time he did not shake her off. She was struggling to make her voice level. ‘I am going to have a baby. You are going to be a father, Brendan. I have had a couple of days to think about it all and it is that simple. It’s our babby. Yours and mine. If you don’t want to be with me, then I’ll bring it up by myself.’

  He rolled against the door-jamb, raising clenched knuckles to his face. ‘If it had been ten years ago, Maura. Even two years ago. But a baby … now …’

  ‘We didn’t plan it, but it’s happened. I’m pleased, in my own way. I always wanted a baby – well, to be honest, we both thought it would never happen but I’ve no choice now. It’s here and I’m going to have it and I’m going to love it as much as I can.’

  He stared at her.

  ‘And you’re its daddy, Brendan. If you don’t want to live with us, then that’s all right. I mean, I don’t want to force you to do something you don’t want to do. We’ve not been getting on too well, and that’s not good for a baby. It needs parents who will love it, whether we’re together or not.’

  He was breathing deeply. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

  She swallowed tears, fighting to be in control. ‘I want to be with you and the babby but only – only if you want us. If you don’t then we’re better …’ Her voice trailed off. Brendan put out his hand; he thought he might touch her, but he couldn’t. He lowered it, pulling it in by his side.

  She tried again. ‘We’re going back in a couple of days, Brendan. You have some time to think. The last thing I want is to force you so … shall we see what happens? Will we wait until we’re back in Dublin? Will we decide then?’

  He nodded and she went into the house. He sank down on the step and bit into his bottom lip. He felt weak, useless, and he brought angry fists to his temples. He hit himself once and the tears started to come. He wiped his eyes angrily, wondering what sort of man he was. He thought again about himself and Maura. A baby.

  Tears threatened and again he wiped his face roughly, salt water and snot on his hand. He hung his head and waited for his anger to subside, but it had him by the throat and he could not breathe. He still loved Maura but they had no future if they couldn’t talk about their feelings and agree on anything; he hated the situation, he hated himself, but he could not hate the baby. A space opened in his chest, a space for a child, and he gasped with the realisation that his life would change: nothing would ever be the same again.

  A hand rested on his shoulder and he thought it was his mother’s light touch. He looked up and Jean-Luc came to sit beside him, passing him a glass of brandy. Brendan said nothing and the big man waited quietly. Brendan stared into the glass, swirling the dark oily liquid. He could smell the strong spirits and he inhaled. A sigh shuddered through his body and he took a gulp and said, ‘Thanks.’ He swallowed a second mouthful and closed his eyes for a moment.

  When he opened them, Jean-Luc’s soft gaze met his. Brendan sighed. ‘I wish I could go back and change everything. Make everything better.’

  Jean-Luc said nothing for a moment, then he patted Brendan’s arm with a large bear paw. ‘It is fine to have these feelings, Brendan. Anger, jealousy, love – they are all part of passion, and passion is what keeps our hearts beating. She loves you, your Maura.’

  Brendan frowned: he was not used to a conversation like this. His father had talked to him about sport and what was in the newspapers, but never love. He said simply, ‘The baby?’ The big hand came to rest on Brendan’s wrist, the one he broke in the fall. Brendan looked at Jean-Luc and raised his eyebrows. ‘What should I do?’

  Jean-Luc’s voice was quiet. ‘What we all
must do. Give love with all of our heart. Put your wife first. The rest will follow after.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll be all right?’ Evie was sitting up in bed wearing his Beatles T-shirt. She watched him swallow a couple of vitamins and slide under the duvet. She flicked off the little lamp and snuggled down in the crook of his arm.

  ‘Time will tell.’ Jean-Luc’s voice sounded sleepy. ‘But a baby makes a big difference for them.’

  She rolled over to him and put her arms around his neck, and nibbled his earlobe playfully. ‘We’re going to be grandparents.’

  He kissed her cheek and she breathed out. ‘Jean-Luc?’ She paused for a while to gather her thoughts. ‘You know, I think a lot of this is my fault.’ He made a low sound, a contented hum, and she closed her eyes. ‘I’ve been too clingy to Brendan. I’ve made him a bit of a mammy’s boy. And he was my only young one, so I wanted to keep him to myself. Does that make sense?’ He murmured again, his breath against her cheek. ‘And I haven’t really given Maura a chance, you know, I never got to know her properly. I just made my mind up about her, and that was that. I used to think she was a bit – you know – false, and conniving, but that was me, seeing her as an enemy, coming between me and my son. I was wrong. I need to embrace them both, don’t I? Especially now there’s a babby on the way.’

  His big arms were around her and for a moment she could hardly breathe. He mumbled, ‘Bonne nuit, chérie.’

  She began to chuckle. ‘Ah, it will all be grand, Jean-Luc. I know I can sort it all out. I’ll make a friend of both of them. It’ll be fun, even. I’ve got to know Maura so much better. She’s a nice girl. And Brendan – well, he has a lot more to him than I’ve let him know. He’ll be fine, they both will. Ah, Jean-Luc, isn’t it wonderful? We have so much to look forward to.’

  She sighed and settled down with her head on his shoulder, staring into the darkness and thinking about a small baby who would come and visit them at Christmas with his parents, who would play outside with toys, who would have a bicycle, who could go with her to the market and meet her friends. Images danced inside her head.

  ‘Jean-Luc,’ she whispered into the darkness. She thought about buying the baby a little guitar and she wondered if he would teach the child to play when he or she came to visit, and what was the best age to start. She heard the low rumble of his breathing as it became steady and slow, and she went back to her own thoughts.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Jean-Luc was eating sausages when Brendan and Maura came down. Evie threw an arm around his shoulder, almost knocking his fork from his hand. ‘I’m giving him a proper Irish breakfast. He has a lot of hard work on today up in the field.’ She poured coffee into cups and added, ‘I can fry you some sausages too if you want them?’

  Maura pulled a face and her pallor explained why she was nibbling at dry toast. Brendan reached for the coffee.

  Jean-Luc finished chewing. ‘Perhaps this afternoon we can all go somewhere? Or maybe tonight? Evie, you remember the restaurant I took you to the first time?’

  ‘Where the wine was overpriced vinegar?’

  He laughed. ‘The food there is good. We can all go together?’

  Brendan looked grateful. ‘I’d really like that.’

  ‘Yes, so would I.’ Maura poked at the toast for a moment and left it on her plate.

  Brendan gave a little cough. ‘Mammy, Jean-Luc. I want to say – I am sorry I have been so difficult these last few days.’ Evie held her hands up, but he continued. ‘It’s been a bit of a shock but Maura and I will work it out in time. We don’t want to rush into anything but we’ll be going home tomorrow and then we can decide what is best to do for all of us – all three of us.’

  Maura pushed her plate away. ‘Thanks for your help, Evie, Jean-Luc. I am sorry we have been so much trouble. You’ve both been very kind.’

  Evie beamed at them. ‘Not at all. It’s been lovely to have you both here. And it’s settled. We’ll all go out tonight and have a lovely family evening together. I’m sure you’ll work it out when you get back to Dublin. You know we’re both here for you.’

  Jean-Luc scraped his chair back and began to put on his jacket. Evie went over to him, brushed a thread from the material, stood on her toes and kissed him. ‘Don’t forget you promised me a lesson in French later.’ She hugged him, ruffling his hair, and she smiled into his face.

  He kissed her again. ‘I must go now, chérie; Benji will have started work already.’

  ‘Tell him I hope his mammy is better soon. Oh, and I’m making her a cake this morning. See you later for lunch.’

  Jean-Luc went out, leaving the door slightly ajar. Sunlight lay across the flagstones, a bright oblong against shadows. Evie began to clear away the plates. ‘What’ll you two be doing this morning?’

  ‘We’ll just read; maybe help you out a bit?’ Maura picked up her cup and Brendan’s.

  ‘Perhaps we should go out this morning?’ Brendan suggested. ‘Carcassonne is an hour and a half away. We can be there by half ten. A couple of hours and back here by two. Will you come with us, Mammy?’

  ‘I have plenty to do here; you two should go.’ Evie ignored Maura’s troubled expression. ‘It’s your last day and you can’t miss the historic city. Off with the pair of you; I will have lunch sorted for two o’clock, then we can spend the afternoon together, all four of us, and go out this evening. I think it’s a grand idea.’

  Maura hesitated but Brendan took the coffee cups from her. ‘We’ll go, Maura. It’ll give us some time together; help us to start thinking about what to do. I promise not to sulk or be bad-tempered. The break and the fresh air will do you good.’

  Evie put the plates and cups in the sink and started to search for flour and sugar and a bowl. Brendan reached for his jumper and Maura’s, and she thanked him stiffly as he pushed the door wide open. Evie smiled. They were making progress.

  Baking smells filled the kitchen; the air was sweet and heavy. Two fruitcakes were cooling on a rack and fresh pastry had left soft white smudges on Evie’s T-shirt and on her cheeks. A quiche, tomatoes, olives and two salads were on the table and she laid out four plates, four tumblers and a carafe of water. She looked at the clock: it was twenty past two. Sun streamed in from the window, a blessing of brightness falling on the table, and little grains of flour were still suspended in the light, motionless. Evie cut slices of bread from a baguette and went to the drawer for knives and forks.

  She heard Brendan and Maura before their shadows appeared, surrounded by the light from the open door. Maura was talking softly. Evie raised her eyebrows. At least they were being civil. Brendan came in, full of enthusiasm about the castle and the citadel and the walled town. Maura smiled and handed Evie some flowers, and the scent of lilies filled her nostrils as she found a vase. Maura’s voice chimed, ‘Carcassonne is a lovely town. It would be great to see it at night, all lit up.’

  ‘Maybe another time?’ Evie glanced at the clock without meaning to.

  Brendan saw the quiche on the table. ‘Sorry we’re late, Mammy. It was just such a nice place, Carcassonne. I could have spent all day there. The history is fascinating. We’d have been even later if Maura hadn’t reminded me—’

  ‘Can you start to serve up, Brendan, Maura?’ Evie wiped her hands. ‘I’ll just pop up to the fields and give Jean-Luc a shout. He must have lost track of the time.’

  She turned under the archway and strained her eyes towards where the path ended and the grapes began. She was not yet accustomed to the bright light and she could not make out any shapes beyond the dark shadows in the distance. She could see the vines, tall and green, stretching out in ranks. She looked again, squeezing her eyes closed against the sunlight. Her chest lurched. Someone was lying down, next to the tractor, on the grass between the vines. She broke into a run; her breath came in hard wheezes and she slowed to a little trot and then began to run again.

  Jean-Luc was on his side, slumped on the ground, an arm across his face. Evie fell to her k
nees, rolled him over and Jean-Luc looked straight at her. His eyes were wide open but they did not move: he did not see her. She pushed an open hand against his chest; she rolled up his T-shirt and put a palm against his skin, against his heart and waited. Nothing. She called his name, called it again, and looked at his face. His tanned skin held a strange pallor. He was completely still, and she thought that it would be possible to touch his open eyes: they were dark, sightless marbles now – he would feel nothing. Her fists clung to his T-shirt; she was flinging herself against him, pulling him towards her, hoping the enormous arms would wrap themselves around her at any moment. He did not move. His body was empty, a shell, there was no life there. He was gone and her voice rose loudly until she was howling into the air.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Caroline and Nige stayed for the rest of the day. Brendan’s French was not good enough to deal with all the people who came into the house and then went again, first the doctor, then the funeral directors. Evie sat at the wooden table and watched people move around her home; she listened to them talking and heard nothing, occasionally inclining her head to answer a question, then returning to her thoughts. Brendan put a cup of tea in her hands and took it away cold. Maura pushed food in front of her but Evie did not notice it was there. She did not move from the table until late at night, when Brendan was so tired he needed to go to bed, and Evie moved to the armchair where she dozed. She was still there the following morning; the embers were ash and she was cold, not noticing as a blanket was wrapped around her shoulders or as the fire was relit and crackled to life.

  Outside, the morning was warming, but the house felt gloomy and quiet. Caroline arrived quietly, bringing breakfast. Evie did not move from the armchair and Brendan recalled with sadness the old lady with the translucent eyelids at Sheldon Lodge as she put her hand to her head and gazed around, confused, not remembering. She was staring into the corner and Brendan was momentarily alarmed at her fixed expression until he realised she was looking at Jean-Luc’s guitar. A tear trickled down her cheek.