A Grand Old Time Read online

  She recognised the little white cottage when they reached a bend; it was curled up in a little valley and she increased speed a little before pulling up by the door. She held the key in her hand and the door pushed open easily. Caroline was intrigued, her voice trilled with delight as she led the way from room to room, running upstairs and throwing open windows and offering suggestions about colour schemes and grand designs. Evie was thinking about something else and was glad to be downstairs again, sitting at the table while Caroline went into the tiny kitchen to make a cup of tea.

  ‘So what do you think you’ll do with this place, Evie?’

  Evie gave an exaggerated shrug, the way Jean-Luc used to; she realised Caroline could not see her, so she added, ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘You could let it out, a holiday cottage, maybe? Or you could sell it on? Both ways you could make a tidy amount of money.’

  She shrugged again, making a face that showed that she had no interest. Caroline carried on chattering.

  ‘Or you could rent it out. There must be farmers or people who want to live up here. It’s not too far from a major town by car, but I should imagine it gets pretty isolated in the winter.’

  Evie stared at her hands. She could hear Caroline pouring water from the kettle.

  ‘I’m so glad he left you something, Evie. I mean, for security. Who knows what the future holds? For any of us.’

  She gazed away into the distance. ‘Jean-Luc didn’t have a family. No-one he knew, anyway.’

  Caroline put two cups down and sat at the table. ‘Well, at least something good has come from it all.’ Evie gave her a sharp look; her friend’s expression clouded. ‘I mean, at least, you now – you have a home and …’ Caroline drank her tea and the room became quiet, both women thinking.

  Suddenly Evie sat upright. ‘I went to see Monsieur Joffert, his solicitor. A lovely man. He explained everything in English. There is a bit of money put aside for Benji too. I told him I want to keep the business going. For Jean-Luc. He said he would give me any help or advice I needed. I planned to spend my last days with Jean-Luc and now I plan to spend all my years in his house.’

  Caroline tried again. ‘So you’re a businesswoman now?’

  Evie sipped her tea and then pushed it away. ‘It’s too soon for all this, Caroline. I’m not rushing myself. I’m sure a time will come soon when I can start decorating rooms and renting out properties and organising a wine harvest and remembering Jean-Luc without feeling so wretched but—’

  Caroline interrupted, putting a hand over Evie’s. ‘Seriously, anything you need, Nige and I are just a phone call away.’

  ‘I’ll hold you to that. I know there are so many people who are out there for me. I’m an independent woman now. I have some decisions to make. But there’s no way I’ll ever go back to a care home again. It’s not for me.’

  Evie’s eyes darted around the house, thinking about the last time she had been there. If she concentrated hard enough, she would be able to see him lighting the fire, pouring pacherán into two small glasses, nuzzling her neck; she could hear his voice, his mouth against her hair. ‘Mon amour.’ She swallowed hard. It was no time for sentiment. A moment’s weakness brought tears to her eyes and she did not want to provoke Caroline’s sympathy. She stood up and her jaw was firm.

  ‘Will we stay over tonight, Caroline? There are two beds made upstairs. Do you think Nige would mind? I fancy a drink.’

  Her friend smiled and pulled out her mobile. ‘Is reception OK here? I’ll tell him I’m staying.’

  Evie knew just what to do, as Jean-Luc had. She built a fire and when it was leaping in the hearth, she went to the larder and peered in. There was not much food, but she found potatoes that had started to wrinkle, an onion and a box of eggs. They would eat omelettes. She found a bottle of red wine and the pacherán, and the glasses she and Jean-Luc had put to their lips. She laid the table.

  Two hours later, the fire roared in the grate and whooshed up the chimney as if the wind was tugging at it. Their plates were empty and they had opened a second bottle of wine. Evie poured the pacherán into small glasses. Caroline sipped it slowly. ‘I’ve never had this stuff before. It’s so sweet.’

  ‘Jean-Luc loved it. He loved all the lovely things in life, good food, good wine.’

  Caroline blinked, pushing her auburn hair away from her face. ‘And you, Evie. He loved you.’

  For the tenth time, Evie raised her glass. ‘Jean-Luc.’

  ‘Jean-Luc.’ Caroline drank the small glass in one gulp.

  Evie whispered, ‘Mon amour,’ and poured them both another.

  Caroline sipped at the second glass and said, ‘You didn’t know he had a heart condition?’

  Evie sighed. ‘I do now.’ She smiled at her friend. ‘You know, I’m glad he didn’t tell me though. I’d have worried. He looked so well. So big and strong.’

  Caroline frowned. ‘Didn’t he have tablets from the doctor?’

  ‘Loads of them, on the bedside table.’ Evie shrugged. ‘He told me they were vitamins and I believed him.’

  ‘I wish you’d had longer together, Evie. You made the perfect couple.’

  She laughed, a dry little laugh. ‘There wasn’t enough time for a cross word between us.’ There were tears in her eyes and she wiped them away. The alcohol was beginning to take hold. ‘Do you know, Caroline, I truly loved that man. I loved him more in a few weeks than I loved Jim in all our married days.’ Caroline swayed a little, bit her lip and finished her pacherán. Evie poured more. ‘He was wonderful, my Jean-Luc. Such a man. He was kind, thoughtful, intelligent, affectionate. He was perfect.’

  Caroline nodded and Evie gave a small snort. ‘Do you know what I’ll remember most about him though?’

  Caroline’s eyes were round and shining. She held up her glass. ‘I don’t know, Evie. His sports car? His good taste?’

  Evie shook her head. ‘Ah, well, no. He had a lovely bum on him.’

  Caroline gaped, hesitated, and then both women began to laugh. Evie poured more pacherán and they drank and laughed and tears rolled down their cheeks.

  ‘Caroline?’ Evie suddenly sat up straight. ‘Can we go outside and look at the sky?’ Her friend tried to stand, easing herself upright, then she fell backwards into her chair. ‘It’s just … when Jean-Luc and I were here, we did that together. Looked up at the stars and he said a poem for me. Do you think we could go outside?’

  They staggered together, arm in arm, one tall, one small, and closed the door on the warm cottage behind them. Outside, they shivered. The sky was studded with diamond stars, as it had been before, and both women gazed upwards. Caroline’s voice was a whisper. ‘Do you believe he’s up there, Evie? Jean-Luc? In heaven?’

  Evie turned her head sharply. ‘He didn’t believe in any of that nonsense, my Jean-Luc. He was a pantheist. As for me, I’m a Catholic, so I always believe there might be a chance. Who knows? He made me feel sure that it’s now that matters.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Ah, Caroline. I had so many good things from him in such a short time.’

  They were quiet for a while then Evie said, ‘It would be easy to think of him as my last chance of happiness. But that’s not true. It’s a gift he gave me, happiness. Bonheur. I’ll always remember it. It’s called the present for that reason. Being happy and living for the now.’

  Caroline squeezed her arm and they shambled back into the house together.

  The next day, the table was still laden with greasy plates and empty glasses, their bases rimmed with dark red liquid. The two women busied themselves with clearing up. They both felt without speaking it that the house was a kind of shrine, and it should be left tidily for next time.

  Evie reached for her coat. ‘We’d best be off soon, Caroline. We’ve all that mist to go through and a few sheep to knock over. Now you’ve seen the house and you know all about it. I’m glad you came with me … Next time we’re here, we can bring some paint brushes—’

  When she returned to Cave
Bonheur, Maura was in front of the fire with her feet on a stool. She was still wearing pyjamas, a dressing gown and thick slippers. It was almost six o’clock. Evie sat opposite, and gave a dry little laugh.

  ‘You’re resting well, Maura. That’s good.’

  Maura stretched out her legs, raised her arms in the air and yawned. ‘I’m just enjoying the peace and quiet. It’s nice to have time to be by myself and think.’

  ‘When did you get up?’

  ‘A couple of hours ago. I thought I might ring my sister and tell her I’m pregnant. She won’t have a clue. I haven’t told anyone. No-one back in Dublin knows.’

  ‘You’ll have to start telling people soon. Where is it she lives, your sister?’

  ‘She’s over in Roscommon. I don’t get to see her much: her nursing work takes up most of her time and her three kids and all. She will be so surprised I’m pregnant.’

  Evie compressed her lips. ‘You have no-one else, no family now?’

  ‘Besides Brendan? No – just Bridget and her husband. No-one else.’

  Evie was quiet, imagining her son. He would be back in Dublin, even at work. His last few texts did not mention how the interview at St Cillian’s had gone. She knew Brendan well enough to wait for him to bring it up. He would phone her in a day or two to find out how she was, even if he and Maura had agreed not to communicate. She sighed. What they both really needed was to talk to each other, not avoid the subject of the baby and their future together, if they had one. She might tell Maura that, but not yet.

  She stood up. ‘I’ll make us something to eat, shall I?’

  Maura wrinkled her nose, uninterested. ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘Me neither,’ Evie admitted. ‘But you’re bloody pregnant and you should be looking after yourself and I’m a lonely old woman and I need to make a better job of looking after myself too. I’ve been thinking. We need a healthy eating regime. From now onwards, it’s all about getting stronger and fitter. So – off your arse, Maura, get out the rice and I’ll dice the vegetables. We’re having risotto. And a nice healthy salad.’

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Brendan walked into the PE staff room and slumped in his chair, stretching out tracksuited legs.

  ‘You look shattered, Brendan. It feels like we’ve been back forever, doesn’t it? Never mind, it’ll be Christmas soon.’ Penny Wray picked up a baguette, which was thoroughly wrapped in cling film, and threw it across towards him, a perfect shot. ‘I saved you this one: it’s brie and cranberry.’

  Brendan opened the end of the bread and took a bite, pulling a piece of the plastic film from his mouth and then chewing the sandwich thoughtfully. ‘Thanks, Penny – great.’

  ‘Long morning, Brendan?’ It was Tony Azikiwe, who dropped into the seat opposite him, his shorts riding up to his thighs. He was the new sports teacher for rugby – fit, huge-chested, shaven-headed except for a few little dreadlocks which dangled across his brow. Kevin Fearon had commented on it this morning, as Brendan collected in the Beckett homework. ‘Mr Azikiwe’s cool, Sir. He is cooler than you are.’ Brendan had grinned. ‘He’s cooler than all of us,’ he’d said, and then he’d told the class to open Waiting for Godot at page twenty-two.

  Brendan gazed out of the window. They were well into October already and the weather was becoming chilly. He chewed his baguette and thought how muddy it would be with thirty kids out on the pitch in this rain. Penny sat comfortably beside him and patted him on the shoulder. ‘How’s it all going, Brendan?’

  He nodded and mumbled, ‘OK.’

  ‘All’ meant that she knew he had not seen Maura for almost six weeks now and he had not heard from her directly, although his mother sent regular updates about the pregnancy. She told him over the phone about the vineyard, how they were beginning to harvest the grapes, and the pauses in her speech showed how badly she was missing Jean-Luc. Brendan sighed. He should be there now, with both of them. He looked at his trainers, spattered with mud, at the jog bottoms he had worn for over a week without washing them. He wasn’t taking proper care of himself, and he felt guilt seep into his lungs. He came to school in badly creased shirts, stained sports tops, and his face was often covered with little cuts from careless shaving. There had been no-one home to tell him off when he stuck little pieces of tissue over the nicks. There was just the incessant silence. His reflection in the mirror each morning was tired and a little unkempt. He threw down his half-eaten baguette, still wrapped in cling film, and Tony Azikiwe seized his chance.

  ‘Don’t you want this, Brendan?’

  In twenty minutes the klaxon would sound for the afternoon’s lesson. It was football outside, on the all-weather pitch. Rain hit the window and ran down in wiggly ribbons; outside the sky was battleship-grey.

  Penny put her legs up on the table; they were still brown against her white socks and pink trainers. ‘They have shortlisted the candidates for my job here,’ she announced. ‘There are three women: two newly qualified teachers and a woman in her late twenties. They’ll be in next week to look around. You must meet them.’

  She met Brendan’s eyes and he hoped she was not matchmaking. Tony Azikiwe stared at her directly.

  ‘It’s a shame you’re leaving so soon, Penny. I’ve only just got here.’

  Her laughter was the tinkle of a little bell. ‘Sure, we can keep in touch, Tony. My new school is only on the other side of the city. We’ll all keep in touch, will we?’

  Tony gave a hopeful grin and finished the last piece of brie sandwich. Brendan picked up his briefcase and rooted around inside for his lesson notes. He found his copy of Yeats’ poetry and some marking he had to finish this evening. He wondered why he was looking forward to going home. The house would be empty.

  It was almost dark when he arrived. It was after six o’clock and his briefcase was heavy. Inside the house it was cold: he had forgotten to reprogramme the heating again and he wondered if it was worth putting it on now. He would have an early night. He felt a dull ache in his stomach and a growling of digestive juices: he hadn’t eaten much during the day. He went into the kitchen and opened the cupboards one after the other, finding a tin of baked beans, another of tuna, some salt and a packet of soup. He stood still for a moment and decided he would go to the supermarket, maybe call in for chippers on the way back.

  An hour passed during which he traipsed around the supermarket aimlessly, buying biscuits, tins of sardines and cocoa and other things he didn’t really like. Shopping for one made Brendan’s head hurt. The rain was heavy when he stopped the Panda in the driveway. The lights were on inside the house and he blinked momentarily and rubbed his forehead. He heaved the three bags of shopping into one hand and the chippers and cod in their hot wrapper in the other, and he struggled towards the front door. It was open. He had definitely locked the door before he left. It was all getting to him and he closed his eyes for a moment and felt weary. The handles of the bags were taut and digging into his fingers, leaving deep red marks.

  Inside, the room felt a little warmer; he could not remember turning the heating on. He was losing his mind a little; perhaps it was the loneliness, and now he performed one task after another, like an automaton, giving it no thought. He locked the door, hung up his car keys, took off his coat, put the bags in the kitchen, on the worktop, and picked up the battered fish in paper, taking a bite.

  He could smell perfume, a soft, woody smell, not unpleasant, and when he turned round, Maura was standing in the doorway. She wore a loose flowery tunic top that hung away from her body, although she did not look any bigger. Her face was calm and there was a soft glow in her eyes. Brendan felt a familiar lurch in his chest. He pulled his hands into his sides and smiled shyly. She looked at him with the same smile he remembered from their first date. He went over to her and wanted to kiss her cheek but instead he stood and stared at her.

  ‘I didn’t know you were coming.’

  ‘I got a taxi from the airport.’

  ‘I’d have come and picked you
up.’

  ‘I didn’t want to bother you.’

  They were silent for a moment, and then she said, ‘Your chippers are getting cold.’

  He fumbled for a plate, two plates. ‘Do you want to share them?’

  ‘I’m eating for two, Brendan. I’m trying to eat healthily now. Anyway, I had a meal on the plane.’

  They sat on the sofa together, a space between them, and Brendan swallowed cold powdery potato. For a while there was no other sound other than his soft chewing. He put the plate down, the chips half-eaten, and sat back in the seat.

  ‘Well, Maura, how are you?’ The question felt silly as soon as he’d said it.

  ‘I’m fine. The babby’s fine. I have an appointment with the midwife tomorrow and I’m back at work next week, two afternoons a week.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘And I have a scan booked for Friday.’

  Brendan wondered if he could ask if he could go along to the scan, after all he was the father. He thought about what to say to her, and he said, ‘That’s good.’

  ‘So, how about you? Can I ask about the interview?’

  ‘St Cillian’s?’

  ‘Yes. How did it go? Did you get the job?’

  He examined her face. There was no judgement there in her expression, no hopefulness: she was just interested.

  ‘It was a nice school. Lovely children. The other teachers there were very friendly and the job would have been really interesting, pastoral work and that …’

  Maura raised her eyebrows. He waited for her to say, ‘So you didn’t get the job?’ He expected her to interrupt, to ask him what went wrong, but she was looking at him. Her eyes were bright and clear, glowing with a steadiness that made Brendan catch his breath.

  ‘I withdrew. I told them the position wasn’t for me.’

  She was surprised. ‘I thought you wanted to work at St Cillian’s? I thought you didn’t like it much where you are now.’