‘How do you mean?’
‘I’d just steer well clear of that whole situation.’
‘Well, what am I supposed to do if she’s ringing up the house every day pouring her heart out to me? I can hardly hang up on her.’
‘No, but you wouldn’t want to get too involved in another family’s business like that.’
She was silent for a time. ‘And all the things you get involved with that have nothing to do with you.’
‘That’s my job.’
‘And you don’t know the half of it. Shaun won’t let her see the kids.’
‘Sure, I know that. Everyone knows that.’
‘But no one says anything. Did you know that she hasn’t seen Carl in six months? And did you know that he’s cut her off?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What else would I mean? Financially. The woman hasn’t a penny – it’s a disgrace. Why else do you think she’s living up in that cottage – for the good of her health?’
‘I still think that you’re better off staying out of it – leave the pair of them to sort it out between them.’
She laid down her knife and fork. ‘You could help,’ she said.
‘How in the name of God could I help?’
‘You could have a word with Shaun. You could say something like . . . like you think the reason Carl and Niall were fighting was because Carl misses Colette, and wouldn’t it be better for Colette to see a little bit of Carl. It could be very casual – you could make it brief, just next time you bump into him. Do it man to man. He might listen to you.’
James held a forkful of food, suspended in midair, just a few inches from his gaping mouth. ‘Casual?’ he said. ‘Casual? What would be casual about me bumping into Shaun Crowley and telling him how to conduct his marriage? And where exactly do you imagine this meeting would take place – would I casually arrive at his office or would I casually corner him on the main street? Shaun and I aren’t friends. That man doesn’t have friends.’
‘I don’t see anyone queuing up to be friends with you either. Anyway, you know each other professionally, your children are friends.’
‘Casual?’ he repeated, shaking his head. ‘That’s a good one.’
‘Oh well, don’t bother, I’ll ask Father Brian. That’s more his area than yours. Isn’t that what he does for us anyway – marriage counselling?’
‘Sure, isn’t he already trying to rehabilitate her, letting her read at mass? Let him get on with it.’
‘You’re just worried about upsetting Shaun Crowley.’
‘I would be worried about interfering in any man’s business.’
‘Bullshit. If he didn’t own most of the town you wouldn’t be long telling him his business.’
‘Look,’ he said, ‘there’s a lot of gossip going around and I’d like if we didn’t become part of it.’
She gave a loud tut. ‘Oh, some hope of that. It doesn’t matter what you do, people’ll still be talking about you.’
‘Are you that bored? Have you so little to do that you need to go sticking your nose into their marriage?’
‘Oh, would you listen to you – this is coming from the man who couldn’t stomach the idea of me managing that property on the main street, and now you’re worried I have too much time on my hands?’
‘Well, next time you come up with a hobby can you think of one that won’t cost us twenty thousand pounds? I’d stick with the painting and the yoga.’
‘I bet Shaun Crowley doesn’t leave his money lying around in the bank doing nothing.’
James threw down his knife and fork and they clattered against the plate. ‘Is this what you want? Do you want a fight before Christmas? Do you want us to fall out over Shaun and Colette Crowley like we haven’t enough fucking problems of our own?’
She folded her arms and looked at the back of his chair. ‘No wonder they wouldn’t let you be a minister,’ she said, ‘going around in an anorak like that.’
He placed his hands flat on the surface of the table with a loud clap and pushed himself up out of his seat. She followed the blank shape of his back as he walked towards the hallway. He would take himself off to the good sitting room and she wouldn’t see him again for the rest of the evening. She collected the plates and as she turned to the counter she saw, through the open door of the living room, Niall lying flat on his stomach, his feet kicked up in the air, swinging them back and forth. He always lay right in front of the television no matter how many times she told him to sit farther away. And she thought then of the trip to Bundoran, of how they’d stood watching Carl and Colette screaming at the sky, and she’d sworn to herself she’d never place him in that situation again.
She put the plates down and walked to the phone in the hallway. She’d tell Colette that she would be unable to help her tomorrow,
or at any time in the future. She would not make excuses, or be mealy-mouthed; she’d simply put these facts to her and hang
up the phone. She took her little phone book from the drawer and found Colette’s number, and when she looked up, she could
see James through the glass doors of the sitting room, holding the newspaper wide so that the entire upper half of his body
was masked by it. Each time he turned the page he threw out the spine with a great snap, like the entire world was an affront
to him. She placed the phone book back in the drawer.
Chapter 13
Ann Diver picked up the red jumper for the fourth time. She held it out in front of her by the shoulders like she was about to dance with it. Another woman came along and grabbed one of the jumpers and did exactly the same thing, and Ann thought she’d best hang on to this one or there’d be none left. The shop was jammed. She checked there were no loose threads or holes under the arms. If she was going to spend good money on it, she wanted it to be right. She turned over the little cardboard price tag. She’d quickly given up trying to calculate the difference between the punt and the pound. There was nothing in it. You maybe got one extra penny for every punt you spent but anyway, that wasn’t the reason she’d gone to the North to do her Christmas shopping. She wanted to get something special for Ronan and Carl and Barry. There were brands you could get in the North that you couldn’t get at home, and they were that spoiled it would take the extra effort.
‘Do you need any help there?’
She turned around and swung the jumper into the face of a shop assistant. ‘Jesus, I’m sorry.’
The girl smiled at her.
‘Oh, I’m having trouble making up my mind,’ Ann said.
The girl’s neck was streaked with fake tan. She was pretty though, with bright eyes and a gleaming smile of perfectly even teeth. But too much make-up, Ann thought, and her eyes and mouth outlined in dark pencil. ‘BRONAGH’, her name badge said.
