Himself(23)

She raises her voice. ‘The roles we are casting are up on the board there. Take a copy of the play script from Shauna and be sure to study the marked parts as you wait in line to read for me.’

Shauna waves from her spot at the front of the hall; she holds up the scripts to show that she has them ready.

A note of steel slants into Mrs Cauley’s voice. ‘This year we will be performing an interpretation of The Playboy of the Western World.’ Her eyes scour the room for any sign of mutiny but there’s a cheerful outbreak of clapping and a few amiable whistles. Father Quinn is showing more teeth than is reasonable, given the circumstances.

‘You need a playboy, do you, Mrs Cauley?’ roars Tadhg. ‘Then I’m your man.’

Mrs Cauley smiles. ‘I’m delighted to inform you that Mahony here has agreed to grace our stage as our very own Dublin playboy.’ She nudges Mahony in the ribs and he laughs and stands up a little straighter.

Father Quinn closes his eyes as a peal of wolf whistles sound. Mahony laughs and looks down at his boots. At the buffet table Tadhg shakes his head and wonders what Ireland is coming to when a playboy is shy of soap, scissors and razor and without a decent pair of trousers to his name.

The young ones flick back their hair and send Mahony smouldering glances. Mahony, not at all daunted by his lack of decent trousers, grins back at them.

Mrs Cauley bangs her stick on the ground for order. ‘Not only was Synge one of Ireland’s foremost dramatists he was a close personal friend of mine. I’m sure that many of you are familiar with the cultural heritage of this play.’

Mahony notices a resurgence of interest in the buffet table.

‘Is there a bit of romance in this play?’ roars Tadhg.

Everyone laughs and jeers.

Tadhg looks around himself in delight. ‘Wha’? I’m only saying.’

Mrs Cauley rolls her eyes. ‘Today we’ll be casting the lead for the ladies. Our playboy’s love interest: Pegeen Mike.’

Howls are sent up again, as the women of the village, young and old, bite their lips simultaneously and wonder how they can land the part so as to get their hands on Mahony.

‘I also have jobs for those who’d prefer to work behind the scenes,’ says Mrs Cauley with a confused smile, as if this is something she cannot conceive of. ‘I need costume makers, set builders and musicians. Pat, will the band be free?’

‘They will of course, Mrs Cauley.’

‘Good man yourself.’

‘I’ll build the set, Merle,’ says Jack Brophy, standing left of stage as tall and trustworthy as a locked parochial wine press.

‘I was hoping you’d say that, Jack.’

‘Is it a bar they’re building? Isn’t the play set in a bar?’

‘It is, Tadhg.’

‘Well then, I’ll furnish it.’

Clapping and a few more whistles.

Mrs Cauley holds up her hand. ‘Now, before we begin, I have something very regretful to tell you.’

The room falls silent.

‘This will be my last production.’

Father Quinn amends his face and attempts to join in with the chorus of disappointment.

Mrs Cauley smiles sadly. ‘I am of a great age and it’s time for me to dedicate myself to quieter pursuits. So let’s make my last show one to remember.’

‘Hear hear,’ calls Tadhg, grabbing hold of a tray of cold tongue as Mrs Moran heads towards the buffet table with her elbows out.

Shauna has made the room to the back of the village hall as comfortable as she can, dragging in a high-backed chair for Mrs Cauley, who settles into it with the air of a slightly tarnished queen. ‘Shauna, you stand outside the door and send them in one by one.’

‘And Mahony?’

‘We’re a double act. He’ll sit here beside me.’

Shauna looks at Mahony and shakes her head. ‘I’ll leave you both to it then.’

Mrs Cauley turns to Mahony. ‘Isn’t this just the opportunity to begin our investigations?’

Mahony sits down, laughing. ‘This isn’t an audition at all, is it?’

‘No, I’ve already cast the play.’ She ferrets in her opera purse and hands Mahony a list of names. ‘Two lists: on the one side, cast, on the other, suspects.’

Mahony picks it up. On one side the page is blank. ‘Not many suspects.’

Mrs Cauley takes back the list and shuts it in her purse. ‘Isn’t that why we need an interrogation? Now, will we start with the eejit-looking ones? They always know who the culprit is. They always know all along, it’s just that no one bothers to ask them.’ She adjusts the feather in her headdress. ‘We should have this sewn up by teatime. The location of the body, the perpetrator, you name it.’

Mahony laughs. ‘You’re sure?’

‘I’m Miss Marple remember? With balls.’ Mrs Cauley pushes a package of blank cards towards him. ‘Write the name of the witness next to the key facts of the interview. Then we’ll get a sample of their handwriting on the back to compare to your photograph, find out who brought you back. Get them to write that.’

She hands him a card with the line The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog scrawled on it.

Mahony takes the cards.

‘Bridget Doosey,’ announces Shauna.