Maeve Binchy - Evening Class

'Did I do right telling Constanza?' Laddy looked around fearfully at the three of them. He had never spoken of their business outside before. He had been afraid that they did not look welcoming when he had arrived in with her beside him. But now, in as much as he could follow it all, everything seemed to have sorted itself out marvellously. Far better than he could have hoped.

'Yes, Laddy, you did right,' Gus said. It was very quiet but Laddy knew that there was high praise hidden in there somehow.

Everyone seemed to be breathing more easily. Gus and Maggie had been so tense when they were helping him with his Italian words a few hours ago. Now it seemed to have gone away, whatever the problem was.

He must tell them how well he had done in class. 'It all went great tonight. You know I was afraid I wouldn't remember the words but I did, all of them,' he beamed around.

Maggie nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Her eyes were very bright.

Constanza decided to rescue the conversation. 'Did you know Laddy and I were partners tonight? We were very good,' she said.

'The elbow and the ankle and the throat?' Gus said.

'Oh, and much more, the knee and the beard,' said Constanza.

','/ ginocchio e la barba ,' Laddy cried.

'Did you know Laddy has hopes of seeing this family in Rome?' Maggie began.

'Oh, we all know about it, yes. And next summer when we all go to Rome we'll certainly see them. Signora has it all under control.'

Constanza left.

They sat together, the three of them who would always live together, as Rose had known they would.

FIONA

Fiona worked in the coffee shop of a big city hospital. She often said it was as bad as being a nurse without any of the good bits, like making people better. She saw the pale, anxious faces of people waiting for their appointment, the visitors who had come to see someone who was not getting better, the children troublesome and noisy, knowing that something was wrong but not sure what it was.

From time to time nice things happened, like the man who came out crying: 'I don't have cancer, I don't have cancer.' And he kissed Fiona and went round the room shaking people's hands. Which was of course fine for him and everyone smiled for him. But some of those who smiled did have cancer, and that was something he hadn't thought of. And some of those who did have cancer would get better, but when they saw him rejoicing over his sentence being lifted they forgot that they could get better and envied his reprieve.

You had to pay for tea, coffee and biscuits but Fiona knew that you never pressed for payment if someone was upset. In fact you pressed hot sweet tea into the hands of anyone suffering from shock. She wished they didn't have paper cups, but it would have been impossible to have washed cups and saucers for the numbers that passed through every day. A lot of them knew her by name and made conversation just to take their minds off whatever else they were thinking.

Fiona was always bright and cheerful, it was what they needed. She was a small pixie-like girl with enormous glasses that made her eyes look even bigger than ever, and she wore her hair tied back with a big bow. It was warm in the big waiting room so Fiona wore tee-shirts and a short black skirt. She had bought shirts which had the day of the week on them and she found people liked that. 'I don't know what day it is unless I look at Fiona's chest,' they would say. 'Lucky you don't just have January, February, March on them,' others would say. It was always a talking point, Fiona and her days of the week.

Sometimes Fiona had happy fantasies that one of the handsome doctors would stop and look into her huge eyes and say that she was the girl he had been looking for all his life.

But this didn't happen. And Fiona realised that it was never likely to happen. These doctors had friends of their own, other doctors, doctors' daughters, smart people. They wouldn't look into

° the eyes of a girl wearing a tee-shirt and handing out paper cups of coffee. Stop dreaming, she told herself.

Fiona was twenty and rather disillusioned about the whole business of meeting men. She just wasn't good at it. Look at her friends Grania and Brigid Dunne now. They only had to go out the door and they met fellows, fellows they sometimes stayed the night with. Fiona knew this because she was often asked to be the alibi. 'I'm staying with Fiona,' was the great excuse.

Fiona's mother knew nothing of this. She would not have approved. Fiona's mother was very firmly in the Nice Girls Wait Until They Are Married school of thought. Fiona realised that she herself had no very firm views on the matter at all. In theory she felt that if you loved a fellow and he loved you then you should have a proper relationship with him. But since the matter had never come up she had never been able to put the theory to the test.

Sometimes she looked at herself in the mirror. She wasn't bad looking. She was possibly a little too small, and maybe it didn't help to have to wear glasses, but people said they liked her glasses, they said she looked sweet in them. Were they patting her on the head? Did she look idiotic? It was so hard to know.

Grania Dunne told her not to be such a fool, she looked fine. But then Grania only had half a mind on anything these days. She was so infatuated with this man who was as old as her father! Fiona couldn't understand it. Grania had her pick of fellows, why did she go for this old, old man?

And Brigid said that Fiona looked terrific and she had a gorgeous figure, unlike Brigid who put on weight as soon as she ate a sandwich. Why was it, then, that Brigid with the chubby hips was never without a date or a partner at everything? And it wasn't just people she met in the travel agency. Brigid said she never met a chap that you'd fancy in the line of work. There were just crowds of girls coming in booking sunshine holidays, and old women booking pilgrimages, and honeymoon couples that would make you throw up talking about somewhere Very Private. And it wasn't a question of Grania and Brigid sleeping with everyone they met. That wasn't the explanation of their popularity with men. It was a great puzzle to Fiona.

The morning was very busy and she was rushed off her feet. There were so many teabags and biscuit-wrapping papers in her litter bin she needed to move it. She struggled with the large plastic bag to the door. Once she got it out to the bin area she would be fine. A young man stood up and took it from her.

'Let me carry that,' he said. He was dark and quite handsome apart from rather spiky hair. He had a motorcycle helmet under one arm, almost as if afraid to leave it out of his sight.

She held the door open to where the bins were lined up. 'Any of those would be great,' she said, and waited courteously for him to return.

'That was very nice of you,' she said.

'It keeps my mind off other things,' he said.

She hoped there wasn't something bad wrong with him, he looked so fit and young. But then Fiona had seen the fit and the well go through her waiting room to be told bad news.

'Well, it's a great hospital,' she said. She didn't even know if it was. She supposed it was all right as hospitals go, but she always said that to people to cheer them and give them hope.

'Is it?' he sounded eager. 'I just brought her here because it was nearest.'

'Oh, it's got a great reputation.' Fiona didn't want to end the conversation.

He was pointing to her chest. ' Giovedì ,' he said eventually.

'I beg your pardon?'

'It's the Italian for Thursday,' he explained.

'Oh, is it? Do you speak Italian?'

'No, but I go to an evening class in Italian twice a week.' He seemed very proud of this and eager and enthusiastic. She liked him and wanted to go on talking.