It started that some nights he just got out of the bed and left the house and came back an hour later. Sometimes he showered and sometimes he didn’t, but either way he was letting her know that he was going to behave however he wanted and he dared her to do something about it. And she knew that even if he led her by the hand up to the cottage and made her stand by the bed while he fucked Colette Crowley, just like every time before he’d tell her it was all in her head – that she was always like this when she was pregnant, that she was nothing but a harpy. Go and cry to your mother and father, he’d say to her. And while she knew Donal down to his bones, she did not know what kind of woman could let a married man into her bed for an hour at a time and send him back to his wife, and then look that woman in the eye the next day and ask her for a spare key, or a cup of sugar, or a word with her husband about the electrics. But of course, Donal’s disregard for her meant that Colette knew that Dolores knew. And she must think that Dolores was the stupidest, weakest, most useless woman that ever there was.
Dolores looked down at her hands and saw that her daughter’s head was dusted with flakes of skin, the windowsill powdered in it.
‘Man gone, Mammy,’ Jessica said.
But the man had not gone, he had just turned his back on them and was peering in the window of the cottage, his two hands blinkering his eyes so he could get a good look. Then he withdrew an envelope from the pocket of his coat and put it through the letterbox. He tied his scarf, tossed the ends over his shoulders, and walked off in the direction of the beach. He might have been heading for a walk with Colette, she thought. Colette was always walking. She walked the beach every day, at least once. And she could often be seen walking in and out of the town, even though it was three miles there and back and she had a car. You wouldn’t know where you’d see Colette, and sometimes when Dolores spotted her walking with such purpose in some unlikely place, at some hairpin bend in the road, she’d ask herself where the fuck she was going.
Dolores pulled Eric up on her hip and walked down the hall to the kitchen. Donal was sitting at the table eating a fry, mopping up egg yolk with a slice of white bread. He was staring at a football match on the television.
‘Here, Dolores,’ he said, without taking his eyes off the screen, ‘we need to start letting her go to that disco or we’ll never hear the end of it.’
‘It’s turning into a knocking shop up there,’ she said.
‘Ah, for God’s sake – there’s only a load of kids at it.’
‘I’m not on about the disco, I’m on about the cottage.’
‘What’s the problem, now?’
He sat back from the table. He held his hands in the air and looked around him. She picked up a dishcloth from the sideboard and threw it to him.
‘Her! Every time you look up there, there’s a different fella hanging around.’
He wiped his hands on the cloth. He stared at her, turning the food over in his mouth. ‘Who?’ he asked. The way he shot the word at her was like she’d accused him of something.
‘Who do you think? Colette.’
‘No. Who’s up there?’
‘How the fuck should I know? I just looked now and there was some tall fellow in a long coat, moping about, dropping off a letter for her.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘I told you – tall, grey hair, glasses, long coat, kind of posh-looking—’
Donal shot up from his chair and marched out of the kitchen.
‘Will you calm down,’ Dolores said, following him along the hallway. ‘He’s not there anymore.’
She watched him standing at the window, staring up at the cottage. ‘And who else have you seen going up there?’
‘Apparently she had Michael Breslin in one night.’
He offered her a pitying smile. ‘Are you out of your fucking mind?’
‘Anyway, that’s not the point. I want her gone out of that house. Have you seen the sign she’s nailed to the front of it? A little sign that says “Inn-is-free”. What the fuck’s that about? That’s structural damage to my property. I want her gone.’
‘It says “In-nish-free”, you fucking imbecile. It’s from a poem.’
‘Oh, and when did you get so fond of poetry, Donal – ha? Get rid of her.’
‘We need that money.’
‘I know what you need,’ she said.
And for just a moment her husband looked like a little boy, as fear and confusion and panic passed across his face like shadows, and disappeared. She’d meant that what he needed was some woman to lie beneath him every night. But what he’d understood was that he needed a good beating from her father. Like the time early on in their marriage when Donal had pushed her and she fell and caught the corner of her eye on the mantelpiece. And when her father had seen the V-shaped cut near her temple she hadn’t even needed to explain anything. He’d simply waited with her in silence until Donal got home from work and as soon as he’d stepped out of his van her father had escorted him into the living room and shut the door. She’d heard Donal roar. He’d needed three days off work after that until his ribs healed. And he’d never touched her again.
He’d found other ways to punish her. He’d tell her she was too fat, then too thin, and when her sisters showed up at the house, he’d make a point of mentioning how well they were looking since they’d lost weight, or gained weight, or whatever shape they happened to be in at that time. On the rare occasion when they went to a pub or restaurant, he liked to pick out some fair stranger and whisper her virtues into Dolores’s ear. He’d say the house was filthy, disgusting, mangy with dirt, and as soon as she’d got down on her hands and knees and scrubbed the floor, he’d cross it in his dirty work boots. He let her know that she was stupid, that she knew nothing, about life or the world. And all the while she held tight to the threat of her father but was unable to do anything with it because Donal was so careful in his behaviours. And so far she’d kept quiet about his affairs. But if she told her father that Donal was keeping a woman in the cottage, he’d kill him this time.
‘Just wait until the summer,’ Donal said. His look was softer, his tone measured. ‘We’ll be able to charge more for it then. And if she won’t pay, we’ll get her out and get holidaymakers in. We can’t be losing out on money with another child on the way.’
‘I’m going to go up to that house tomorrow and give her a month’s notice.’
Donal stepped closer to Dolores and took his son in his arms. He lifted Eric to his face and kissed him on the ear. And then as though he were about to bestow the same blessing on Dolores, he leaned towards her. ‘You’ll go nowhere fucking near her. If I hear you’ve been up there messing with her head there’ll be trouble. OK?’ He pressed the child back into her arms and Eric let out a little squeal of discomfort. ‘And do something about your hands,’ he said. ‘They’re fucking rotten.’
She watched him striding down the hall, following the cheers and chants coming from the television in the kitchen. She dropped down on the sofa and held her son closer to her. ‘Shush, shush, shush,’ she said, rocking Eric back and forth. The child lay entirely still and silent in her arms. ‘Madeleine,’ she shouted.
‘Yeah,’ came the thin call from upstairs.
‘Where’s Jessica?’ she said.
‘She’s with me.’
She felt the baby turn inside her and placed her hand on her stomach. ‘Shush, shush, shush,’ she said.
Chapter 21
The house was in complete darkness when James pulled up outside. She would be at one of her classes, he thought, yoga or tai chi or painting. This is what she did when they fought – she absented herself. Sometimes she brought Niall with her and he sat in the corner reading or drawing. But he couldn’t think what class she would have on a Friday night. And her absence was only a surprise to him because she’d been so present in his mind during his trip to Dublin, and he’d spent the entire four-hour drive home imagining what he would say to her.
