Michele Forbes - Ghost Moth

Katherine visibly steadies herself and looks Charlie firmly in the eye. “And George is still a civil engineer and still works part-time for the Fire Service,” she says briskly.

“George?”

“George Bedford. Yes, we got married.”

“George Bedford. You married George Bedford after all? That big brute of a man! Oh, for goodness sake.”

“And he took me to Mexico for our honeymoon.”

“He did not?” Charlie Copeland has an astonished look on his face. “Mexico! Well, isn’t he the bee’s knees!”

“And we’ve four children.”

“Four. How wonderful. And are you still singing, Katherine?”

“Oh, no. . no, not anymore.”

“Oh, that is a shame. And you could’ve taken the world by storm!” He looks intently at Elsa and Isabel. “Your mother, girls, your mother had a magnificent voice. The voice of an angel.”

“And you, Charlie, how’s the printing business going?”

“Still good. People still want their calendars I’m glad to say. And, as you see, I’m still doing this amateur stuff for my sins!” Charlie screws his eyes up as he smiles, his red lips spreading. “You know, we should get everyone together again — have a reunion!”

“Yes, we must.”

“Sure it’s great to see you.”

“And you, Charlie.”

“Any of these young girls gettin’ married soon?” Charlie turns to Elsa and Isabel again. Elsa smiles in response. Isabel glares at the ceiling.

“Charlie, we’ll leave you now and let you get organized. Perhaps we’ll catch up soon?”

“I certainly won’t leave it for long now that I know where you live!”

“Please, Charlie, call in if you’re ever passing, number ninety-two. I’d love to see you.”

Katherine gives Charlie Copeland another embrace.

“Good-bye, Charlie.”

“Good-bye, Katherine. See you soon.” Charlie turns to Elsa.

“This little one looks so like you, Katherine. Another Katherine Fallon, imagine that!” He rubs the top of Elsa’s head. Isabel has already moved to the door. Then turning to his makeshift dressing table, he gives Elsa two toffees from a paper bag.

“Thank you,” says Elsa. She looks into Charlie Copeland’s face. It is a child’s drawing.

On their way through town after Hansel and Gretel, Katherine, Elsa, and Isabel pass St. Mary’s Church on Chapel Lane. The two girls chat. Katherine is so preoccupied with the thought of having met Charlie Copeland again after all these years, a concrete reminder of when Tom was still alive, that as she passes the chapel, it happens automatically. She blesses herself — in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost — lifting her hand unconsciously and gracefully to her forehead, her chest, and her shoulders. So deep in thought is she that she is unconscious of how deliberate a display it is. Elsa and Isabel look up at Katherine in disbelief, wondering if she is aware of what she has done. And then it happens. Instantly across her cheek a splat of warmth, a thick, wet stink, shocking in the cold air of the night. Someone’s spit is on her face.

Katherine turns, confused, to look at who would do this, expecting a jeering child, a scut of a boy, an unruly adolescent who will run away as soon as he is spotted, but instead she sees a well-dressed, tallish man in a long haired tweed coat, carrying an umbrella. He has a face like a bird. The man looks directly at her, unflinchingly holds his gaze on her with his black eyes, then silently mouths the word Fenian as though he could be blowing her a kiss. His head remains angled toward her as his body moves forward. She feels the glob of spit move slowly down along her skin. The man walks on casually. She searches for a handkerchief in her handbag. She is shaking. She emits a sound that Elsa has never heard from her before, a high, soft groan. Elsa looks up at her mother, startled. The man turns the corner of the street and is gone. A shadow that’s crossed her soul.

The incident over, Katherine tries to make light of it, but she can see the girls shrink from her, as though they are completely embarrassed by her and want to pretend that it never happened. So instead, Katherine quickly switches to talking to the girls about Hansel and Gretel as they make their way home. After they disembark from the bus they leave Isabel at her door, but Isabel’s father wants to show Katherine and Elsa his lamp stands — wine bottles over which he has painstakingly arranged a layer of seashells — and Katherine says what an interesting use of wine bottles and seashells and how did he ever find the time to make them, but the conversation tires her. When at last they get home, Katherine washes her hands and face and then decides to change out of the tweed skirt she had put on that morning. The elasticated waistband of the skirt feels loose and she has become conscious of how it keeps slipping from her waist down onto her hips. As Katherine changes out of her skirt, her chest feels tight and her back feels sore. She stops to take a breath, spreading one hand in front of her upon the dressing table and leaning her upper body forward in an attempt to loosen her frame to take in air.

She tries to put the “incident” out of her mind. She won’t tell George: he’ll get too upset over nothing. There’s no point, she reassures herself, for by tomorrow it will all be forgotten. It was an isolated incident, just one of those stupid things that could happen anywhere. She gets a flash of the man’s birdlike face and his lewd curling lips. She straightens herself to see if that will help her breathe. Just one clean breath, just one sensation of air going all the way in. But her lungs seem to cheat her, as though they are plugged. So she fixes her thoughts on meeting Charlie Copeland again, of how lovely it was to see him, of how she hopes that he will hold to his word and call to see her sometime, of how, undeniably, her meeting him has only served to intensify her thoughts of Tom.

The shock of Tom’s death had, at the time, served to affirm for Katherine what she had known all along but had chosen to ignore, that her feelings for him, no matter how genuine, had indeed been inappropriate. That teetering down the path of illicit romance had been foolish and irresponsible. It served to show her to herself, her lack of moral fiber, her selfish indulgence, her disrespect for any religious mores her mother may have attempted to instill in her. Her total disregard for George. But there was also a darker shock to weather. The question that had turned over and over in Katherine’s mind — for weeks, for months, for the two years that George had waited for her to set a wedding date, a question that still, after all these years, had not been answered, and in truth never could be — had she been responsible in any way for Tom’s death? Was it her rejection of him that had, in a manner of speaking, pushed him over the edge into the swollen river? Had she caused him such distress that he had lost all common sense that night and, regardless of the storm, had walked the river’s path? Had his distress marred his judgment, caused him to fall to his death? Had he died in any part because of her, died for her?

The weight of this burden took its toll. For months after the accident, Katherine’s behavior was tempered by an extreme caution, as though there was a constant pressure on her, physically and emotionally, as though something was pressing her in, limiting her; her words and actions rationed by need until they were only just enough, her moods shifting uncannily slowly, seeping through the days. For weeks on end, she would often appear preoccupied, distant, almost anesthetized to the world around her. Then for periods after that, she would appear agitated and restless. Only occasionally would she be angry, and usually over the smallest thing, a forgotten appointment, a mislaid belonging, something she had spilled or broken, but even then there was no sense of real release. Her anger would rise up and then would hang around her until she simply tired of it. To her mother, Vera, and Frank, Katherine always seemed to be on the brink of a fever or a flu. Her mother had advised her to see a doctor on several occasions, which Katherine never did, choosing instead to stay in her room. She couldn’t sleep at night and would walk the house while everyone else was in bed. At work, she would be exhausted. She ate little and had no interest in going out. She had retrieved her engagement ring from the jewelers in Smithfield Market, paying back the money owed and not mentioning anything to George about how it had been used as security against the purchase of the statuette — but then she wouldn’t wear it. George would call at the flat, only to be told by Vera or her mother that she was resting or that she was not feeling well enough to see him and that she would telephone him later, which of course she never did. At other times, George would call at the offices of the Ulster Bank, only to be told by her colleagues that she had left early to go home.