January 26 – Monday
There had been no sign of Richard King, but Tess knew he had not forgotten her. It was just over two weeks since ‘loo-gate’, as she liked to think of it, when the builders arrived in her little flat. They were a nice enough old bunch, even if it took a bit of getting used to, tripping across broad-shouldered, pot-bellied men at every turn.
‘In and out, Mrs Cuffe,’ the contractor told her. ‘We’ll be gone before you know it.’ Willie was from Wexford, a tea addict who talked more than he worked, but the others made up for him, so Tess supplied the tea and an occasional biscuit.
The first day had seen the lion’s share of the work done. They parked a skip on Amanda’s lovely Italian pebble driveway and filled it with a peach bathroom suite, plastic worn-out floor tiles, beauty-board and pipes that might have been of interest to the National Museum. That night, before she left for choir practice, they had put back half of what they took out, only this time round everything was the very best of quality. Tess stood in the little bathroom, which seemed much bigger and brighter when they left. It was gutted and sealed within a working day.
‘You’ll see it taking shape in a day or two,’ Willie said now as he reached for his fourth spoon of sugar.
‘That’ll kill you, you know,’ she said, stroking Matt, who kept tabs on all the comings and goings with a supervisory eye.
‘Sure, something has to kill you,’ he said, then he lowered his voice, ‘this is costing them a pretty penny,’ He smiled, ‘Must be very fond of you.’
‘Oh, yes, the feelings go very deep, all right,’ Tess said, thinking to herself, it was time for her walk; after all, she needed to live a long life to get full value out of her bathroom.
‘I suppose it’ll be the kitchen next?’ Willie said, leaning forward. ‘We could do a lovely little job on that for you.’ He squinted as he looked about her ramshackle collection of cupboards and drawers. It was a pathetic little corner; she could see that now, as she imagined it looked through the eyes of a stranger.
‘Will you go on out of that, you’ll have me robbed in tea and sugar if I get any more work done.’
‘I’d say Mr King wouldn’t even notice the price of getting this place done. He told our gaffer, it was to be only the very best here.’ Willie shook his head thoughtfully. ‘It’s a drop in the ocean compared to what he makes in the year, I suppose.’
‘I suppose,’ Tess said thoughtfully. It would be tempting to go back to Richard King and tell him she wanted to get her kitchen updated too, part of her knew he’d agree, if it meant keeping her quiet. And he deserved it, he really did. But then, there was Robyn, and Tess knew she couldn’t play a game that had the potential to destroy a family. She’d had her thirty pieces of silver, now it was time to do the right thing.
*
‘It’s going to be great,’ Robyn said as she peered into the little bathroom; it was beginning to look much better already. Yes, she had all the modern conveniences she could possibly want. ‘I wonder why my dad didn’t think of doing it sooner? Mum says he should do over the whole flat, since he’s in such a generous mood.’ Robyn sighed and then added quietly, ‘She’s not herself at all these days.’ Tess wondered exactly how much she knew about what had gone on between them all over the years.
‘Well, I’m delighted, it’ll be like living in the Ritz,’ Tess decided to make light of it. ‘And, I’ve joined a choir.’ She had been dying to tell someone, well, she’d been dying to tell Robyn.
‘Really, a choir? I didn’t know you could sing.’ Her eyes drifted towards the old record player, putting the clues together, maybe it made sense now. ‘Of course, you love music, well, opera anyway.’ Robyn made a little face, but Tess suspected she was growing to love some of the lighter more familiar pieces from Madam Butterfly. ‘So how did you end up joining a choir?’ She flopped onto the sofa beside the purring Matt.
‘It’s a long story, but I’m going to be singing mezzo-soprano, so I’ll be doing my voice exercises every day now.’ Tess cleared her throat, ‘Just in case you hear it and think Matt is in danger.’
‘And can we go and see you sing?’
‘Well, I…’ Tess didn’t know what to say. ‘I don’t know. I mean, would you want to?’
‘Of course I’d want to. That’s what people do, isn’t it? They go out and support their… friends.’ She said the last word a little more softly, smiling shyly when she caught Tess’s eye.
‘Well, I suppose it is. There is a concert, but I’m not sure that I’ll be ready for that. I mean, it is years since I did anything like this.’ Tess pulled herself back from the past sharply, there was no point thinking of those days now. ‘Anyway, who would you bring, it’s not exactly the kind of thing your friends would be clambering to get to, I’m sure.’
‘Mum would come. She’d love it and it’d be good for her…’ Robyn’s voice trailed off.
‘Would she?’ Tess found herself asking, not just to be polite – she had long lost that particular habit when it came to Amanda King. ‘Are you still worried about her?’ Tess passed Amanda every day on the square. They still walked in opposite directions, passing comments that were not so vicious anymore. It struck Tess, just this week, that maybe Amanda’s comments never were spiteful. That had caught her up, so she’d stopped herself from being unpleasant to just being peaceable, if not quite friendly.
‘Oh, Tess, I don’t know how anything is now. It’s as if she’s changed. I suppose at least she’s not crying anymore. In some ways, things are better; it feels as though she’s really there, at least when my father is not around. But she’s not the same, it’s as if someone came along and emptied out her muchness and she’s constantly searching for it, walking about the Square. She even went for a run one evening, didn’t come back until all hours.’
‘But surely all that is good. I mean, she looks much better than she did a year ago. The walking and her new hairstyle, she looks a hundred times better,’ Tess said, patting down her own hair. ‘For someone, like your mother, looking well has to be important; it has to make her feel better in herself.’
‘Honestly,’ Robyn looked about the flat, then pulled up the little rucksack she carried everywhere and began to root in its depths. ‘Honestly, I don’t think she’s walking for her figure. Not so long ago, she’d have loved to look so well. Maybe that’s a bit shallow, but now, it’s as if she’s seeing past her looks, she’s walking to find something that’s deeper than just her waistline.’ She pulled out an old-fashioned hairbrush, held it up before her for a minute. ‘Tess, can I brush your hair?’ Robyn whispered.
‘I…’ Tess couldn’t remember when she’d last had her hair brushed for her. For years, her hairdressing appointments were at the bathroom sink, she’d just tidied up bits as they began to annoy her.
‘Please,’ Robyn pleaded.
‘Well, I suppose, it can’t do any harm,’ Tess said.
‘No. What harm could it do?’ Robyn murmured as she set about gently stroking Tess’s long-neglected locks.
She brushed it silently, slowly and carefully. Not once, did she so much as pull or snag at Tess’s scalp. And then, the oddest thing happened. Tess closed her eyes and it felt as though she was being transported, in the hush of their lovely cocooned contentment, to a place far away. She felt tension that she hadn’t realised was in her body drain away as though it flooded out of her. Just one tear at first, a welling up of emotion that wasn’t sad, nor was it happy, but perhaps it was a release of the emotions that for so long she’d buried. It was joy, she realised as one tear followed another, a steady stream that came from somewhere in her chest. She thought of Aunt Beatrice and Kilker, of her voice climbing to the rafters in that choir. She thought of Robyn and Matt and all she truly had to be grateful for right now.
‘I’m sorry,’ Robyn said when she noticed the tears.
‘Don’t be,’ Tess said and she placed her hand over Robyn’s hand as she guided the brush softly along her hair, ‘I can’t remember when I last felt this happy.’
*
Tess made her way home slowly the next day. Moving fast was hard while she carried the weight of the city about her shoulders. Guilt is a shockingly heavy burden, she realised. Her hair sat neatly, she looked almost like the woman she’d been destined to become all those years ago, except that woman wasn’t meant to end up here.
Richard King thought he had bought her silence with a fancy bathroom and she knew he had no idea what keeping his secret could cost her. There was Robyn to think of now and, grudgingly, maybe even Amanda. After all, Tess could remember how betrayal felt. How could she have believed it would be any different for Amanda King? She meant to stop off for biscuits for the builders on the way. She meant to run through her voice exercises, drink hot water and then relax with the local paper. Instead, she walked in a haze through city streets, teeming with faceless people, moving to a beat at odds with all Tess was feeling.
She sat in the Square garden for over an hour. Today she didn’t notice the smug mothers or their puckish kids. She didn’t catch the traffic rumble along the road outside, even a wren perched on a stripped branch close by couldn’t drag her from her contemplation. Tess wasn’t even sure what she was thinking. Everything she thought she knew was capsizing, turning on its head in a way that equalled and nulled all she had believed was real.
Across the square, she saw Amanda King, bent double, pulling weeds like they might root out the misery within if she caught them quick enough. A year ago, no, maybe as recently as a month ago, Tess wasn’t sure that what she knew now might have even caught her breath. Today it felt as if it might suffocate her.
She watched as Amanda worked like a drowning woman against the tide. She never looked up, her hands and upper body moving like a machine, over and back, ground to weed bucket. It was rhythmic, hypnotic almost, and Tess could just about convince herself that this moment, here in the little Square garden, everything was as it should be.
But of course, it wasn’t. Apart from Robyn, quite aside from the fact that she was really fond of the girl, she owed it to Amanda King to at least support her. Didn’t she? Tess knew, even if she would never admit it, they both knew – Amanda King could have pushed her out years ago. She could have made it impossible for her in ways that only women could do to each other.
Even if her reasons for letting Tess stay were not founded on generosity or kindness, Tess had a feeling that Amanda was not all bad. Even if Amanda had lost her way a little in the gilded world she inhabited, there was compassion, Tess had always known that, even if she wanted to pretend she didn’t see it.
*
Amanda King came towards her. She greeted her with a wave, almost friendly on both sides, and Tess wondered if there was such a thing as miracles. She sat in her seat until she was quite sure that Amanda would have let herself in through her front door. Then she got up and made her way back to her little flat.
She flicked on the kettle and brought the post over to the stove while she sorted through the unsolicited pile of advertising and general junk mail. It was the downside of living on the Square – delivery boys never left her out; although, it must be obvious that she had no need of office equipment, executive swivel chairs, plant maintenance or courier services. Most of it could be set alight, it would help to start a fire and cosy up her flat more quickly on dark evenings.
The small envelope obliterated all thoughts of Amanda from her. She almost tore it in two, assuming it was some kind of clever advertising ploy to grab her attention. Just before she tore, something registered in the handwriting. Her name, spelled out in delicate script across the front, it was familiar, the curve of the S, the high dash across the T. There was no stamp, the sender had made a journey, especially to deliver it. Tess stood for a moment, her breath caught deep in her chest. She wondered if she should just discard it with the other rubbish, but her hand quivered and she looked about her modest kitchen. The stillness knitted her thoughts closer together, as though her nerves were thin needles clicking out the possibilities contained behind her sister’s script. Outside, life bludgeoned behind the glass and Tess thought of the days she’d spent here when no one ever called to check on her.
Tess was afraid to open that envelope, and that was just silly. After all, it was just a card; she could feel the stiffness in her hand. It was probably just a note to wallow in the loss of Douglas – well, Tess knew what that was like. Nancy had always been the quiet one, the one who thought things through; ‘soft as a marshmallow’, her father called her.
Then the old feelings began to surge through Tess again. The pain, the betrayal, the loss, the hurt. Nancy had taken Douglas from her. She’d set her hat at him and come along with her charm and her delicacy and her soft hands and softer laugh and she’d swiped him from under Tess’s nose. She had no idea how Nancy knew she still lived here, but whatever was in that letter meant nothing to Tess. She had long since left Nancy behind in Ballycove. That was where she always thought of her, in Beatrice’s little cottage looking out upon the waves. Just because her sister wrote a note and came here to drop it through her letter box was no reason to open up old wounds.