Maeve Binchy - Evening Class

'What else could I do? She never has a moment, always in a rush… to go somewhere else, to meet other people.'

'But you can't do this. You can't lock people in and expect them to talk.'

'I know it mightn't have been the right thing to do. Listen, I was wondering could you come and talk to her… She doesn't seem very reasonable.'

'Me, talk to her? MeY

'Well, you did say you wanted to meet her, Bill. You asked several times.'

He looked into the beautiful troubled face of the woman he loved. Of course he had wanted to meet his future mother-in-law. But not when she was locked into a bedsitter. Not when she had been kidnapped for over thirty hours and was about to call the Guards. This was going to be a meeting which called for diplomacy like Bill Burke had never known to exist.

He wondered how his heroes in fiction would have handled it and knew with a great certainty that nobody would ever have put them in a position where they might have to.

They walked up the stairs to Lizzie's flat. No noise came from inside.

'Could she have got out?' Bill whispered.

'No. There's a sort of bar under the window. She couldn't have opened it.'

'Would she have broken the glass?'

'No, you don't know my mother.'

True, Bill thought, but he was about to get to know her under very strange circumstances indeed. 'Will she be violent, rush at me or anything?'

'No, of course not.' Lizzie was scornful of his fears.

'Well, speak to her or something, tell her who it is.'

'No, she's cross with me, she'd be better with someone new.' Lizzie's eyes were huge with fear.

Bill squared his shoulders. 'Um, Mrs. Duffy, my name is Bill Burke, I work in the bank,' he said. It produced no response. 'Mrs

Duffy, are you all right? Can I have your assurance that you are calm and in good health?'

'Why should I be either calm or in good health? My certifiably insane daughter has imprisoned me in here and this is something she will regret every day, every hour, from now until the end of her life.' The voice sounded very angry, but strong.

'Well, Mrs. Duffy, if you just stand back from the door I will come in and explain this to you.'

'Are you a friend of Elizabeth's?'

'Yes, a very good friend. In fact I am very fond of her.'

'Then you must be insane too,' said the voice.

Lizzie raised her eyes. 'See what I mean,' she whispered.

'Mrs. Duffy, I think we can discuss this much better face to face. I am coming in now, so please stand well away.'

'You are not coming in. I have put a chair under the door handle in case she was going to bring back some other drug addicts or criminals like you. I am staying here until somebody conies to rescue me.'

'I have come to rescue you,' Bill said desperately.

'You can turn the key all you like, you won't get in.'

It was true, Bill found. She had indeed barricaded herself in.

'The window?' he asked Lizzie .

'It's a bit of a climb but I'll show you.'

Bill looked alarmed. 'I meant you to go in the window.'

'I can't, Bill, you've heard her. She's like a raging bull. She'd kill me.'

'Well, what will she do to me, suppose I did get in? She thinks I'm a drug addict.'

Lizzie's lip trembled. 'You said you'd help me,' she said in a small voice.

'Show me the window,' said Bill. It was a bit of a climb and when he got there he saw the pole that Lizzie had wedged under the top part of the window. He eased it out, opened the window, and pulled the curtain back. A blonde woman in her forties, with a mascara-stained face, saw him just as he got in and ran at him with a chair.

'Stay away from me, get off, you useless little thug,' she cried.

'Mummy, Mummy,' Lizzie shouted from outside the door.

'Mrs. Duffy, please, please.' Bill took up the lid of the bread bin to defend himself. 'Mrs. Duffy, I've come to let you out. Look here's the key. Please, please put the chair down.'

He did indeed seem to be offering her a key; her eyes appeared to relax slightly. She put down the chair, and watched him warily.

'Just let me open the door, and Lizzie can come in and we can all discuss this calmly,' he said, moving towards the door.

But Lizzie's mother had picked up the kitchen chair again. 'Get away from that door. Who knows what kind of a gang there is? I've told Lizzie I have no money, I have no credit cards… it's useless kidnapping me . No one will pay a ransom. You've really picked the wrong woman.' Her lip was trembling; she looked so like her daughter that Bill felt the familiar protective attitude sweeping over him.

'It's only Lizzie outside, there's no gang. It's all a misunderstanding.' His voice was calming.

'You can say that again. Locked in here with that lunatic girl since last night and then she goes off and leaves me here, all on my own, wondering what's next in the door, and you come in the window with a bread bin coming at me.'

'No, no, I just picked that up when you picked up the chair. Look, I'll put it down now.' His voice was having a great effect. She seemed ready to talk reason. She put the red kitchen chair down and sat on it, exhausted, frightened and unsure what to do next.

Bill began to breathe normally. He decided to let the moment last rather than introducing any new elements into it like opening the door. They looked at each other warily.

Then there was a cry from outside. 'Mummy? Bill? What's happening? Why aren't you talking, shouting?'

'We're resting,' Bill called. As an explanation he wondered was it adequate.

But Lizzie seemed to think so. 'Okay,' she said from outside.

'Is she on some kind of drugs?' her mother asked.

'No. Heavens no, not at all.'

'Well, what was it all about? All this locking me in, saying she wanted to talk and then not talking any sense.'

'I think she misses you,' Bill said slowly.

'She'll be missing me a lot more from now on in,' said Mrs. Duffy.

Bill looked at her, trying to take her in. She was young and slim, she looked a different generation to his own mother. She wore a

'

floaty kind of caftan dress, with some glass beads around the neckline. It was the kind of thing you saw in pictures of New Age people, but she didn't have open sandals or long flowing hair. Her curls were like Lizzie's, but with little streaks of grey. Apart from her tearstained face she could have been going to a party. Which was of course what she had been doing when she was waylaid.

'I think she was sorry that you had grown a bit apart,' Bill said. There was a snort from the figure in the caftan. 'Well, you know, you live so far away and everything,'

'Not far enough, I tell you. All I did was ask the girl to come out and meet me for a quick drink and she insists on coming to the station in a taxi, and bringing me here. I said, well only for a little while because we had to go to Chester's opening… Where Chester thinks I am now is beyond worrying about.'

'Who is Chester?'

'He's a friend, for God's sake, a friend, one of the people who lives near where I live, he's an artist. We all came up, no one will know what happened to me.'

'Won't they think of looking for you here - in your daughter's house?'

'No, of course not, why would they?'

'They know you have a daughter in Dublin?'

'Yes, well maybe. They know I have three children but I don't bleat on and on about them, they wouldn't know where Elizabeth lived or anything.'

'But your other friends, your real friends?'

'These are my real friends,' she snapped.

'Are you all right in there?' Lizzie called.

'Leave it for a bit, Lizzie,' Bill said.

'By God, you're going to pay for this, Elizabeth,' her mother called.