William Trevor - Two Lives

‘Hullo,’ someone said, half behind him so that he had to turn his head. He dropped his arm from Letty’s waist and smiled at Mary Louise. ‘She’s all over the place,’ Letty had said earlier, asking him to be nice to her.

‘Hullo, Mary Louise, how are you?’

‘I’m fine. Are you OK yourself?’

‘Never better. Have you something in that glass?’

‘Oh yes, thanks.’

He heard Letty saying the honeymoon was a secret. When they’d still been undecided she’d mentioned places he’d never heard of before. Tramore he’d thrown in himself, and Tramore they’d agreed on.

‘I hope it’s all right with you, Mary Louise? The wedding?’

She nodded, a very slight movement of her head, her expression solemn. She looked as though she had weighed the matter up, as if she had actually wondered if it was all right or not. Dennehy felt reassured, but even so he wished his future sister-in-law was a little more forthcoming. She had committed an act of madness when she’d married Elmer Quarry, Letty said, and in her company Dennehy couldn’t help agreeing. Protestant girl or not, surely she could have done better than a draper nearly twice her age?

‘You heard I bought a house at Rathtrim?’ he said.

‘Letty told me that.’

‘We’ve had the builders in.’

‘It’ll be like she wants in that case.’

‘Oh, it’s not bad at all.’ He drank some of his pineapple juice. There was a small measure of gin in it, which gave it an edge. ‘They’ve only a few small things left to do. They’ll do them while we’re away.’

‘I’m sure they’ll have it ready for you.’

‘They’ll hear me a mile or two if they haven’t.’

The lounge-bar filled up. Mrs Dallon was joined by her sister Emmeline, who said she didn’t know anyone except the Edderys and Miss Mullover. Letty had invited other people she’d know, Mrs Dallon said, but they hadn’t arrived yet. Apparently they were sharing a car. ‘Would you say Elmer’s sober?’ she whispered, and both women observed him for a moment. He was still talking about livestock prices. They moved closer, still listening.

‘Are your sisters keeping well?’ Mrs Dallon interrupted when he’d gone on a little longer. It was typical of them not to attend Letty’s wedding, she had already observed to her sister. Typical to be snooty.

Elmer said his sisters were fine. Neither of those girls had ever had a day’s sickness in her life, he said. When they were small they’d maybe had the measles, he couldn’t remember was it measles or chicken-pox, but they never caught a cold. They could be in the shop all day with the stove going and germs coming in with the customers, but never a cold between them. The same with indigestion, nothing like it at all. Which was more than he could say for himself.

Mrs Dallon glanced at her sister and then at her husband. She’d never heard Elmer Quarry talking like that before, in the shop or out of it. After his own wedding he’d been propriety itself.

‘Will I get you another?’ he suggested, reaching out for their three glasses. Mrs Dallon put her hand over the top of hers. Winter’s Tale sherry it was, but a glass was enough.

‘Well, it’s good of you, Elmer,’ Mr Dallon said. ‘Will he get you something, Emmeline?’

‘Ah, no, no, I’m all right.’

‘He’s footless,’ Mrs Dallon said when Elmer had gone off.

‘He’s had a few certainly,’ her sister agreed.

Mr Dallon hadn’t noticed anything amiss, but on hearing this he realized that the draper was more easy-going than usual. He’d taken it with a pinch of salt when Letty had said her brother-in-law was drinking.

‘Stotious,’ Mrs Dallon pronounced.

While he was waiting for the drinks to be poured Elmer considered that there was no reason why he shouldn’t refer to the unpleasantness back in the house, since Rose and Matilda were under discussion and the conversation had to be kept going. He’d been asked how they were and there was no reason why the thing couldn’t be hinted at. He could hint at it when he gave out their drinks to them, best to get it out of the way, best not to have it hanging there.

‘Who weren’t invited?’ Mrs Dallon said.

‘Weren’t we talking about my sisters?’

‘Your sisters were invited, Elmer. I wrote the invitation out myself.’

He shook his head. The pair of them were fit to be tied, he said.

‘You didn’t get a written card yourself, Elmer. You and Mary Louise were taken for granted. But all the others on our side I wrote out.’

‘They heard about that all right. Only nothing came to the house for themselves.’

She had given the invitation to Mary Louise. One Sunday in March, having not been at the farmhouse since before Christmas, Mary Louise had arrived, as she used to in the past. Mrs Dallon had actually been writing out the invitations at the time and she’d given her the one for Matilda and Rose. Mary Louise had said they wouldn’t attend a Catholic wedding, but then had picked up the envelope, promising to pass it on to them anyway.

‘I’m sorry, Elmer. Please tell your sisters I’m very sorry. The invitation…’ Mrs Dallon paused and then began her sentence again. ‘The invitation must somehow have gone astray. That’s most upsetting.’

‘I wouldn’t have mentioned it only they took it hard.’

Listening to all this, Mr Dallon remembered Rose suggesting that Mary Louise should return to Culleen, to be looked after in the farmhouse. Suddenly he wished that that could be so, that she could be rescued from Elmer’s sisters. Clearly she’d been unable to bring herself to deliver the invitation to them. God alone knew what kind of a life she was leading.

‘Did you mind me remarking on it?’ Elmer’s bulk swayed a little, the top half of his body seeming to bow repeatedly. ‘Only they have me demented on that subject.’

At the other end of the long lounge-bar Baney Neligan was going through the words of a song, and Dennehy was doing his best to prevent him from singing them. Letty had specifically requested that there shouldn’t be singing. Her parents would hate it, she’d said.

‘Are you married yourself?’ he heard someone ask Mary Louise.

‘Yes, I am actually.’

‘You’re blind, Ger!’ someone else exclaimed. ‘This woman has a ring on her finger.’

Apologies were offered, and then the people moved away. Dennehy kept introducing Mary Louise to the wedding guests, but she didn’t seem much inclined to converse. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that she was on her own again, but to his relief he noticed her brother and the Eddery boys approaching her.

‘The hard man!’ Father Mannion, who had conducted the wedding service, struck him on the shoulder. Baney Neligan began to sing.

‘Is Mr Insarov young?’ ashed Zoya.

‘He’s a hundred and forty-four,’ Shubin snapped.

‘What are you laughing at, Mary Louise?’ James asked her, and she said she was only smiling.

‘How’re you doing, Mary Louise?’ one of the Eddery boys asked.

Her brother and the Eddery boys were smoking. They were drinking from pint glasses, holding them nonchalantly as if they were well used to glasses of that size.

‘I’m OK,’ she said.

‘God, I’ll never forget that.’ One of the Eddery boys recalled how he and his brother had tied the empty creosote tin to the bumper of Kilkelly’s car on Mary Louise’s wedding day.

The three of them laughed. The younger of the Eddery boys asked her if she liked it in the town. He wouldn’t be able to stand a town himself, he’d feel closed in.

‘D’you feel closed in?’ the older brother asked.

‘You get used to it.’

‘Din Lafferty came back from Birmingham.’