A Keeper(18)

Committees and night classes in painting up at the Tech kept her busy enough. Her nephews and nieces still brought their children in to her to have their hair cut. Most of the time she felt content. Things have a way of working out for the best, she often reminded herself.

The question that bothered her, or if not exactly that, then at least pecked away softly at the back of her brain, was about being alone. Had she really not wanted to meet anyone? She remembered laughing at the girls who spent every waking moment trying to catch a man. The very idea of falling in love had seemed so stupid to her, but now she worried that perhaps she had been too clever for her own good. She had to admit there were some nights when she wished her bed wasn’t quite so wide and cold. The dogs were good company, but lately she wanted to slap the girls from school, now stooped and grey, who presumed to tell her that the dogs must be like her children. There had been a few boyfriends, well, men who called, over the years but none had seemed worth changing her life for. She had attempted to shut down that side of things. Of course, she still had physical urges now and then but when she closed her eyes late at night she never saw her gentlemen visitors from the past, or handsome detectives from the TV. No matter how hard she tried to banish it, the face that loomed into the heated haze of her imagination belonged to her eldest brother’s first girlfriend. Her name had been Anne, Anne Lyons. One night before Rosemary had moved out of the home place, they had shared her bedroom. Anne was a few years older and had a small case full of make-up and creams. Rosemary had just said how nice the body lotion smelled. That was all. She hadn’t said anything else. Then Anne offered her some and before Rosemary had a chance to reply, Anne had started rubbing it into Rosemary’s arms, then her shoulders and then without any hesitation, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, she slid her hands down under her nightie and began to caress her breasts. Rosemary’s whole body had quivered from that touch. Warm lips on her neck and then she turned and their mouths met. Sometimes, as a grown woman, when she pleasured herself, she found that tears were rolling down her cheeks. These episodes left her feeling confused and anxious. Her desires frightened her and besides, what was the point of them? Anne had broken up with her brother soon after their night together and was last heard of living in Galway with a marine biologist.

Now Rosemary read articles and interviews or saw characters on television shows and wondered if that might have been her life. She thought not. She hoped not. That wasn’t a choice she could have ever made, was it? She knew people talked about her and called her strange or eccentric and she had to admit she enjoyed the attention. She had a certain notoriety in the town that gave her pride, but that was very different from having a label. She didn’t want strangers to think they knew her, to assume things about her. No. Her life had happened and it was the one she had lived. No regrets.

‘I was sorry not to be able to get to your mother’s funeral, but my brother’s was the same day over in Durrow.’

‘Oh dear, I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘Ah, he was old. We’re all old. It’ll be me soon.’

‘I’d say you have a fair few years left in you yet.’

‘The funny thing is, that is how I feel, and yet I know it’s not true. My time can’t be far off. Still, no one but Maxi and Dick to give a flying fuck.’

This was a friend of her mother’s? Elizabeth couldn’t imagine the Patricia Keane she knew being close to this vibrant, seemingly fearless creature.

‘Have you no family yourself?’

‘No. That never happened for me. Not that I minded. I like an easy life. My little shop filled my days. A barber shop. I gave up on women’s hair years ago. Men are much simpler. Ten minutes, you’re done. No complaints. No fuss. The rest was friends, books and red wine!’

The two women laughed. ‘Sounds all right to me.’

‘What about yourself? Any family?’

‘A son, nearly all grown up. I was married but that finished a few years ago.’

‘Oh yes! I remember hearing about that. That must have been a bit of a shock?’

Elizabeth hated to think of the people of Buncarragh gossiping about her but at least she didn’t feel like Rosemary was judging her or, even worse, implying it was somehow her fault.

‘It wasn’t the best.’

Sensing her guest’s discomfort, Rosemary broke the silence by placing two steaming mugs on the table. Elizabeth didn’t want to be a germ-phobic American, but her mug was filthy.

‘Thank you,’ she said, trying to summon up some enthusiasm.

The old lady moved some papers to an already large pile and sat down. Without any sign of self-consciousness, she dipped her hand into her bra and began to rearrange her still impressive breasts. Elizabeth studied a dream catcher in the window that thus far had ensnared only cobwebs and a few dead flies.

‘I was very fond of your mother but we weren’t close. Well, not for many years.’

‘It was my uncle who told me you were friends. I’m afraid I don’t remember you from growing up.’

‘You wouldn’t. We were friends before you came along.’

Elizabeth picked up the mug but glancing at it again thought better of the idea and replaced it on the table.

‘That’s sort of what I want to talk to you about.’

‘Oh, yes.’ The old lady leaned in.