A Wedding at O'Mara's (The Guesthouse on the Green Book 6) Page 13

  Noreen smoothed her ruffled feathers before speaking. ‘Sure, she’s young, isn’t she? The young are apt to be spendthrifts.’ It wasn’t necessarily true. She hadn’t been, she’d been a diligent saver from the moment she’d picked up her first brown envelope from the wages clerk at the fish factory but then she’d had something to save for, a shared dream with Malachy. It was neither here nor there, times were different now and Emer was entitled to enjoy herself. She worked hard and she’d obviously been through a lot with that fickle Phelan fellow in Dublin. Not that she’d ever spoken about it. She’d made it clear when Noreen had tried to broach the subject to find out what had gone wrong, it was a topic she didn’t wish to talk about. Fair enough, Noreen had thought. Some things were too painful to speak of and so she’d left it, figuring Emer was healing her heart in her own way.

  ‘Hmm,’ Rosamunde mumbled, but didn’t look satisfied. ‘She’s more clothes than she knows what to do with these days and it’s not as if she needs them for work. She’s gotten very offhand with me lately too because when I asked her about it, she told me it was none of my business. I told her it was my business while she was under my roof and she said something about not being under it for much longer before slamming her bedroom door. Terry was livid, said she’d have it hanging off the hinges with that sort of behaviour.’

  Noreen frowned unable to picture the scene her sister had painted. ‘That doesn’t sound like Emer. I’ve never heard her say a cross word.’

  Rosamunde heaved her laden basket onto the counter. ‘Oh, you’ve always been blind to her faults, Noreen. You and Malachy both. She’s a side to her at times that one. Nobody’s perfect you know. She’s a long way to fall from the pedestal you have her on,’ Rosamunde said, before shaking her head in a manner which made Noreen feel spiky with irritation and her words niggled Noreen for a long while after she’d left.

  Chapter 21

  ‘Can I interrupt you there, Noreen?’ Father Peter said. ‘I can see it’s distressing you talking about this and sure, everybody knows there’s no trouble so great or grave that cannot be much diminished by a cup of tea.’ He took the cosy off the pot and poured another strong brew for her, leaving her to help herself to the milk and sugar. She didn’t normally take sugar but today she put a teaspoon in. The sugar would help calm the anxiety raking over the past had wrought.

  ‘Another slice of your delicious cake?’ Father Peter held the knife poised over the sponge hopefully.

  ‘No thank you, Father, but sure, help yourself. I made it to be enjoyed.’

  ‘And that it will be, Noreen, that it will be,’ he muttered, slicing into it.

  She sipped her tea allowing the hot, sweet liquid to settle her nerves while he slid a generous wedge onto his plate and began to wolf it down with as much gusto as he had the first piece. This time when he’d finished and wiped his mouth he managed, to Noreen’s relief, to remove the cream from his nose.

  ‘Now then, Noreen, you’re looking much more composed,’ Father Peter said, pushing the plate away from him, his clasped hands resting around a middle clearly straining against his shirt. ‘Are you ready to carry on?’

  ‘I am, thank you, Father.’

  1970

  It was a day of rainbows when Noreen ventured into Cork. There was a sale on in Roches Stores there on Patrick Street and as she made her way toward the building with its grand copper-covered dome, she could see the line of eager shoppers waiting for the doors to open. She and Malachy had left it to Emer to open the shop in order to pootle into the city at an ungodly hour of the morning. Malachy was going to the grocery wholesalers while she fought the crowd in the women’s clothing department here at Roches. They’d arranged to meet outside the store’s main door for midday in order to go and treat themselves to a spot of lunch. The thought of standing around outside the frontage like so many youngsters did on a Friday evening, waiting to meet their date made her smile. At least her stomach wouldn’t be all of a flutter wondering whether he’d show up or she’d find herself stood up and sloping off home on the bus. He’d always been a reliable sort, her Malachy.

  Noreen reached the store and tagged onto the end of the chattering queue. There was a sense of excitement in the air at the thought of the glorious bargains about to be found inside and she crossed her fingers in the pocket of her smart, going into town jacket hoping she’d be able to find what it was she’d come for. It wasn’t herself she was after shopping for today. No, it was Emer. She’d seen the look of yearning in her niece’s eye the day Mrs Darby had breezed unexpectedly into their shop.

  Mrs Darby was a mythical creature who lived in the big house halfway between their village and the next town. She spoke with a plum wedged firmly in her lipsticked mouth and was hardly ever seen on the streets of Claredoncally, preferring to do her shopping in town. So, when her sleek grey, automobile pulled up on the main street, Maisie Donovan had burst through the door of Grady’s Convenience Store full of this breaking news. Emer had gone to the window, pressing her nose to it as she peered down the street before declaring excitedly that the glamorous vision wrapped in a royal blue, belted wrap coat and matching hat was heading toward their shop. Noreen had fluffed her hair and straightened her shop coat before standing to attention as though she were about to greet the Queen behind the counter.

  Indeed, the door had jangled a moment later and the lady herself had swept into the store bringing with her a cloud of cloying perfume. Noreen had wanted to hiss at Maisie to close her great big gawping mouth because she looked like the village idiot which was all well and good for her but there was no need to make them all look bumpkins. She was out of earshot though, lurking alongside the packets of digestive biscuits she’d been wondering whether to have with her morning tea and so Noreen had to bite her tongue. Emer had leaped to attention and was fawning all over the elegant apparition asking what she could fetch for her. She wouldn’t be able to complain the service at Grady’s wasn’t up to speed Noreen had thought proudly as she watched her niece scurry toward her in order to fetch the newspaper which Mrs Darby was bemoaning had not arrived at Briar House that morning. It meant Mr Darby’s day had not gotten off to a good start, she informed Emer tightly.

  Noreen handed the correct change to Emer, observing her press it into Mrs Darby’s gloved hand. She’d half thought her niece might curtsey as she received a nod by way of thank you. Then, leaving nothing but her expensive scent in her wake, Mrs Darby was gone. They all stood in reverent silence for a good few minutes until Emer, who’d resumed her position at the window, announced the car had slipped away from the main street. Their shoulders relaxed and business resumed as normal. Maisie decided she deserved a digestive with her tea and she’d push the boat out and buy a packet of the chocolate covered biscuits. It wasn’t every day there was this much excitement in Claredoncally.

  Noreen had been driven demented all afternoon listening to Emer drone on and on about what perfume Mrs Darby had been wearing. Did she think it was Dior or Guerlain? It was definitely French, her niece informed her. ‘Did you see her coat, Aunty Nono?’ It wasn’t as if she could have missed it, Noreen thought, as Emer gushed further. ‘I bet you it was from Paris. I heard she goes to the fashion shows there and buys her clothes direct from the designers. That’s why she looks like a film star.’ Her eyes were alight and her chin was resting on her cupped hands. She was leaning on the counter in a manner that would have Malachy telling her to stand up straight because the staff at Grady’s Convenience Store didn’t slouch, if he were to spot her. Noreen didn’t ask how her niece knew all this about Mrs Darby’s wardrobe but was guessing it was fodder for village gossip. She’d been unable to stop herself from rolling her eyes as Emer pondered aloud as to what the interior of Briar House was like.

  ‘Sure, Emer,’ she’d said. ‘It’s only a house. We’ve all got to live somewhere and the bigger the house the more cleaning there is to be done.’

  Emer was undeterred. ‘I bet it’s very grand with priceless art
and antiques everywhere. Imagine having someone to cook for you and someone to clean for you, Aunty Nono. Imagine if all you had to do was click your fingers and someone would come running.’

  ‘I wouldn’t like it,’ Noreen stated, her niece’s enthusiasm for the Darbys’ ostentatious lifestyle was making her cringe. She paused in her clicking of the price gun, leaving the remaining jars of coffee she’d been unpacking in the box for a moment. ‘No, it wouldn’t be for me to have a stranger living in my home privy to all our private business. And sure, why does anyone need more rooms than they can ever use?’

  But Emer hadn’t wanted to hear about practical things; she wanted to daydream about impractical things such as big houses full of servants, French perfume, and coats the latest fashion in Paris.

  ‘There’s no point getting ideas of grandeur, Emer. It only makes you hanker for things you can’t have and there’s no happiness to be found in doing so,’ Noreen had said, trying to snap her niece out of it. Her words were wise but still, she’d thought, there was no harm in the girl having a smart new coat and while Roches Stores might not be the Paris catwalk, she was sure she’d find a style similar to Mrs Darby’s collared, wrap coat. Royal blue would look well on Emer, and she and Malachy would be lost without her these days. It would be nice to acknowledge how indispensable they found her with a thank you gift. The bottom line though, Noreen knew, was she wanted to see her face light up when she pulled the coat from the bag and it was for this reason, she was currently listening in on a most interesting tale the woman in front of her was after telling her friend as she waited for Roches to open their doors.

  She was about to find out what had happened to Bridie at the dance last Friday night when she’d felt a tap on her shoulder. She swung around to see a face she recognised but couldn’t quite place. The girl, around Emer’s age, registered her confusion and explained. ‘Hello, Mrs Grady, I’m Angela. We met a while ago when I came home with Emer for a weekend. She brought me by your shop to say hello. Emer and I shared a room in Dublin.’

  Ah yes, the penny dropped, she’d been pleased to meet the girl and have a peek through the window into what Emer’s life in Dublin was like. ‘Angela, yes of course. It’s lovely to see you again. How’re you?’

  ‘I’m grand, thanks.’

  ‘Are you working here in town these days?’ she asked, noting the girl’s smart blouse and skirt. She had a name badge pinned to her chest and her hair was pulled back in a tidy ponytail.

  ‘I am, yes. I’ve a job at the Bank of Ireland. I transferred from Dublin not long after Emer left.’ Her expression closed a little. ‘Things were a little awkward after everything that happened. I’m pleased I ran into you because I’ve wondered how she’s doing?’

  Noreen was puzzled, the girl was being very cryptic. ‘Have you not been in touch with her yourself then?’ Perhaps the pair had had a falling out. It couldn’t have been easy sharing a poky bedroom. You’d be forever stepping on one another’s toes.

  Angela wouldn’t meet her eye. ‘No, I haven’t.’

  Something had definitely gone on, Noreen thought, but it wasn’t any of her business. ‘Well, I for one think leaving Dublin and having a fresh start has been the best thing for her. She’s working for me and Mr Grady at the shop now and living back with her mammy and da for the time being.’

  Angela looked startled by this news.

  Noreen couldn’t help herself. ‘Sure, why don’t you phone her. You two were thick as thieves weren’t you.’

  Angela blanched at Noreen’s terminology and she flapped her hand dismissively, her manner telling Noreen she was keen to be on her way. ‘Ah, no, tell her I was asking after her would you? I’m glad things are working out.’

  ‘They are. She had a lucky escape when that Phelan one broke off their engagement.’ Noreen could never keep the righteousness from her voice when she breathed that man’s name. It raised her ire to think of him casting her beautiful niece aside the way he had and it was a good job he’d never shown his face in Claredoncally.

  Angela’s cheeks burned hot with two red blotches and her words tumbled out before she could stop them. ‘Well, he hardly had any choice not after what Emer did. I’m sorry, Mrs Grady, but I don’t think that’s a fair comment.’

  Noreen was taken aback by the girl’s strong reaction. Her pulse quickened the way it always did when she knew things could go one of two ways. She could leave the conversation there and pretend she’d never met up with Angela. She could carry on happily about her business or, she could push further and find out something instinct was telling her she wouldn’t want to hear. She and Rosamunde had assumed Phelan had gotten cold feet and Emer had never given them reason to think otherwise but here was Angela alluding to Emer being the one at fault. She couldn’t help herself, the plaster had to be ripped off now. ‘And what do you mean by that?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Angela wished she’d kept her mouth shut. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s just, well it’s not fair on Phelan you thinking he’s faithless. I’d best be on my way or I’ll be late.’ She made to walk away.

  Noreen put her hand on Angela’s forearm, stopping her. ‘Please, Angela, will you tell me what Emer did?’

  Angela hesitated. There was a pleading look on Mrs Grady’s face. She didn’t know why she was so surprised Emer hadn’t told her family the truth of what had happened with Phelan. She’d proven she wasn’t to be trusted when she left Dublin in disgrace. Sure, she’d left her in the lurch having to cover her share of the rent, upping and leaving without a word of notice the way she did. Angela was a firm believer in second chances though, and she’d hoped Emer might have changed her ways. She’d hoped this because, despite her sneaky, dishonest streak, she was also brilliant fun and they’d had lots of laughs together in Dublin. She missed her old friend but not enough to pick up where they’d left off, besides which, she had a feeling Emer wouldn’t thank her for visiting her in Claredoncally.

  Angela hadn’t a clue why she’d done what she’d done either, because if she was short of money, she’d only had to ask and Phelan would have helped her. Come to that she would have helped her. But she’d never even hinted at having money problems. She’d simply helped herself to what wasn’t hers and when she got caught, she’d been tearful and apologetic, pleading with Phelan not to break things off. She’d only taken the extra she was due, she’d cried. She worked hard and deserved more than the paltry sum she was paid at the end of each week. Angela had heard all of this from where she was perched on the edge of her bed in their room. She’d stared unseeingly at the wallpaper with its faded flowers and patch of damp in the corner, biting her thumbnail in disbelief as Emer’s and Phelan’s voices carried up the stairs from the hallway where they stood. He’d only raised his voice the once, when Emer refused to give him back the ring he’d proposed to her with. ‘It belonged to my grandmother and you’re not taking that from me too!’ he’d shouted, and Angela had blanched picturing the scene below. The last thing she heard him say before the door banged shut behind him was, ‘You’re not the girl I thought you were.’

  Emer had refused to talk to her about what had transpired but Angela had seen the white band on her finger, left behind by the ring. The story of Emer thieving from her employers, her fiancés parents no less, had filtered through their circle of friends and when she found herself ostracised, she’d packed her bags. Angela had arrived home from work to a note Emer had scrawled to say she couldn’t afford to stay in Dublin and had gone back to Claredoncally to stay with family.

  ‘Are you sure you want to know?’ she asked Mrs Grady. She’d only met Emer’s aunt and uncle the once but she’d seen the way they fussed over their niece and their eagerness to meet her friend. They were good people and if Emer was up to her old tricks then her poor aunt deserved to know what she was capable of, especially as she was working for her in their shop these days. She chewed her bottom lip, still uncertain she wanted to be the one to tell the sorry tale.

  Noreen
bobbed her head, willing the girl to spit it out whatever it was. Sure, she was beginning to wonder from the drama of it all if it was murder Emer was after committing.

  ‘Alright then. I’m sorry, Mrs Grady, but Emer was fiddling the books at the factory. Stealing to put it plainly. She was lucky the family didn’t press charges when she got caught out, but you can see why Phelan had to break their engagement off. Even if he could have found a way to get past what she’d done, his family couldn’t. He was heartbroken.’ Her face flashed with sympathy for Emer’s ex-fiancé. Noreen stood there feeling a little other worldly and something else. It took her a moment to work out what it was. Foolish, that was how she felt. A naïve and foolish woman. She was relieved when Angela announced, ‘I’ve got to get back to work. I thought you should know in case, well, I thought you should know.’

  In case a leopard didn’t change its spots, Noreen finished silently for her. She couldn’t muster up any words to say to Angela and as the girl shifted from foot to foot waiting for, well, Noreen wasn’t sure what exactly she was waiting for because what could she say by way of response? After a painfully eked out silence she took her cue and with an apologetic goodbye, strode off down the street. Noreen watched her, unsure if the bile that had risen in her throat was at the thought of her niece being no better than a common criminal, or whether it was because of her own stupidity in not having pressed her further. She should have kept at her until she told the truth of what had happened between her and Phelan. She should have known something wasn’t right. A numbness began to creep through her limbs and she forced herself to move before it rendered her frozen to the spot.

  The doors to the store had opened and the line was finally snaking inside the building but Noreen left her place in the queue and headed for the AIB Bank where she and Malachy held their account, the bewilderment Rosamunde had expressed over the money Emer seemed to be splashing about foremost in her mind. The throwaway comment, her sister had made as to Noreen and Malachy holding Emer up to be something she was not played over in her mind. They’d trusted Emer week after week with their takings. When had either of them last thought to check a bank statement? She’d do so now, she thought, pushing open the doors and joining the handful of people waiting to attend to their business. She stared at the man in front of her. He was wearing a brown suit and she didn’t notice the fluffy lint stuck to it as she normally would, tutting to herself she’d never let Malachy leave the house like that. She didn’t disapprove over the creased trousers either as she prayed silently she wouldn’t find what the sick feeling now settled in her stomach was telling her she’d find when she looked into things.