Maeve Binchy - Evening Class

Imagine, her mother then must have only been a little older than she was now. So hard, so set in her ways, so willing to go along with the religious line although she did not feel it in her heart. If her mother had just stood up for her things would have been different. For years Signora could have had a lifeline to home, and she might well have come back and looked after them even in the country, the small farm that they hated leaving.

But now? They were only yards away from her… she could have called out and they would have heard.

She saw Rita's body stiffen still further in irritation and resentment as their mother scolded. 'All right, all right. I'm getting in, no need to rush me. You'll be old one day yourself, you know.' There was no pleasure at seeing each other, no gratitude for the lift to the hospital, no shared solidarity or sympathy about going to see an old man who could no longer live at home.

This must be Rita's day, the next one would be Helen's, and the sisters-in-law did a small amount of the joyless transporting and minding. No wonder they wanted the madwoman back from Italy. The car drove off with the two stern figures upright in it, not talking to each other, animatedly or at all. How had she learned to love so much, Signora wondered, coming as she did from such a loveless family? It had indeed made up her mind for her. Signora walked out of the neatly landscaped gardens, her head held high. It was clear to her now. She would have no regret, no residual guilt.

The afternoon was as dispiriting as the previous one in terms of job hunting, but she refused to let it get her down. When her journeying brought her toward the River Liffey again she sought out the coffee shop where Suzi worked. The girl looked up, pleased.

'You actually went there! My Mam told me they had got a lodger out of a clear blue sky.'

'It's very nice, I wanted to thank you.'

'No, it's not very nice, but it'll tide you over.'

'I can see the mountains from your bedroom.'

'Yeah, and about twenty tons of waste earth waiting for more little boxes to be built on it.'

Tt's just what I need, thank you again.'

'They think you might be a nun, are you?'

'No, no. Far from a nun, I'm afraid.'

'Mam says you say your husband died.'

'In a sort of a way that's true.'

'He sort of died… is that what you mean?'

Signora looked very calm; it was easy to see why people might mistake her for a nun. 'No, I meant that in a sort of a way he was my husband, but I didn't see any need to explain all that to your mother and father.'

'No need at all, much wiser not to,' Suzi said, and poured her a cup of coffee. 'On the house,' she whispered.

Signora smiled to herself, thinking that if she played her cards right she might be able to eat for nothing all around Dublin. 'I had a free lunch in Quentin's; I am doing well,' she confided to Suzi.

'That's where I'd love to work,' Suzi said. I'd dress up in black trousers just like the waiters. I'd be the only woman apart from Ms Brennan.'

'You know of Ms Brennan?'

'She's a legend,' said Suzi. 'I want to work with her for about three years, learn everything there is to know, then open my own place.'

Signora gave a sigh of envy. How great to think this was possible, rather than a further series of refusals as a washer-up. 'Tell me why can't I get a job, just an ordinary job cleaning, tidying up, anything. What's wrong with me? Is it just that I'm too old?'

Suzi bit her lip. 'I think it's that you look a bit too good for the jobs you're looking for. Like, you look a bit too smart for staying in my parents' house, it makes people uneasy. They might think that it's a bit odd. And they're afraid of odd people.'

'So what should I do, do you think?'

'Maybe you should aim for something a bit higher up, like a receptionist or maybe… My Mam says you've an embroidered bedspread that would take the sight out of your eyes. Maybe you could take that to a shop and show them. You know, the right kind of shop.'

'I wouldn't have the confidence.'

'If you lived with a fellow out in Italy at your age, a fellow that wasn't your husband, you've all the confidence that it needs,' said Suzi.

And they made a list of the designers and fashion shops where really top market embroidery might find a home. As she watched Suzi sucking the pencil to think of more places to write down, Signora felt a huge fantasy flood over her. Maybe some day she might bring this lovely girl back with her to Annunziata, say that she was her niece, they had the same red hair. She could show the people there she had a life in Ireland and let the Irish know she was a person of importance in Italy. But it was only a dream, and there was Suzi talking about her hair.

'I have this friend who works in a real posh place cutting hair and they need guinea pigs on training nights. Why don't you'go down there? You'll get a great styling for only two pounds. It costs you twenty - thirty times that if you go for real.'

Could people really pay £60 to have their hair cut? The world had gone mad. Mario had always loved her long hair. Mario was dead. He had sent her a message telling her go back to Ireland, he would expect her to cut her hair if it was necessary to do so. 'Where is this place?' Signora asked, and took down the address.

'Jimmy, she's cut her hair,' whispered Peggy Sullivan.

Jimmy was listening to an in-depth interview with a soccer manager. 'Yeah, great,' he said.

'No honestly, she's not what she pretends, I saw her coming in. You wouldn't know her, she looks twenty years younger.'

'Good, good.' Jimmy raised the volume a bit, but Peggy took the control and turned it down.

'Have some respect. We're taking the woman's money, we don't have to deafen her as well.'

'All right, but hush talking,'

Peggy sat brooding. This Signora as she called herself was very odd altogether. No one could be as simple as she was and survive. No one with that little money could get a haircut that must have cost a fortune. Peggy hated mysteries and this was a very deep mystery indeed.

'You'll have to forgive me if I take my bedspread with me today. I didn't want you to think I was taking away all the furnishings or anything,' Signora explained to them at their breakfast next morning. 'You see, I think people are a bit confused by me. I have to show them that I can do some kind of work. I got my hair cut in a place that needed people to experiment on. Do you think it makes me look more ordinary?'

'It's very nice indeed, Signora,' said Jimmy Sullivan.

'It looks most expensive, certainly.' Peggy approved.

'Is it dyed?' asked Jerry with interest.

'No, it's got henna in it, but they said it was an unusual colour already, like a wild animal,' Signora said, not at all offended by Jerry's question or the verdict of the young hairdressers.

It was pleasing that everyone liked her work so much and admired the intricate stitching and the imaginative mingling of place names with flowers. But there were no jobs. They said they would keep her name on file and were surprised by the address, as if they thought she would live somewhere more elegant. It was a day of refusals like other days but somehow they seemed to be given with more respect and less bewilderment. Dress designers, boutiques and two theatre companies looked at her handiwork with genuine interest. Suzi had been right that she should aim high.

Could she dare try to be a guide or a teacher as she had been so confidently for half her adult life in a Sicilian village?

She got into the habit of talking to Jerry in the evenings.

He would come and knock on her door. 'Are you busy, Mrs. Signora?'

'No, come in, Jerry. It's nice to have company.'

'You could always come downstairs, you know. They wouldn't mind.'