A Keeper(8)

2


Could people tell?

Patricia scanned the other passengers in the train carriage. A bald, rubber-faced businessman engrossed in his newspaper, a young woman playing I spy with her two bored children, an older lady absent-mindedly sucking her teeth as she knitted something small and pink. Not one of them seemed aware of her existence. They appeared to be oblivious to the fact that at the age of thirty-two, she was embarking on the most exciting and scandalous, yes, that was the very word, scandalous adventure of her whole life.

Rosemary had given her a lift to the train station in Kilkenny. They had hugged each other on the platform and then as the train pulled in she had tied a bright red and yellow scarf around Patricia’s neck.

‘To brighten you up a bit.’

Patricia looked crestfallen and cast a glance down at her navy coat and black shoes. ‘Do I not look all right?’ she asked with an edge of panic creeping into her voice.

‘No, no! You look beautiful.’ Rosemary held her arms and looked into her friend’s eyes. ‘You really do.’

The train had come to a standstill. Whistles were being blown. Doors slammed.

‘Good luck! I can’t wait to hear all about it. I’ll be waiting for you here tonight.’

‘Thanks so much, Rosemary. You’re great.’

Patricia stepped onto the train and looked back. ‘Bye!’ Then she let out a loud nervous laugh that was almost a cry for help.

‘You’ll be grand!’

Whatever confidence she might have had slowly evaporated during the long journey, which involved having to change trains twice. By the time they went through a series of long tunnels approaching Cork station Patricia felt very unsure indeed. One of the children had begun to cry because they didn’t want to put their red wool hat on and the businessman was heaving himself into his overcoat. The end of the line.

Patricia stood on the platform for a moment to get her bearings. The large sign showing the way out was down the platform to her right. She retied the belt on her coat and twisted Rosemary’s scarf so that the knot was to one side in what she hoped was a jaunty fashion. She put one foot in front of the other and gripped her handbag tightly in an effort to stop her hands from shaking. Her heart felt as if it was vibrating, it was beating so quickly. In her mind, she repeated her mantra, ‘You’ll be grand. You’ll be grand.’

Outside seemed very bright and loud. Cars were streaming along the road beyond the car park in front of the station. Looking around she quickly saw the kiosk with the large ‘Cork Examiner’ sign above it and there … just behind it, she recognised Edward waiting for her. In truth, the way he had positioned himself it seemed closer to hiding than waiting. She wondered if he had seen her. He was staring studiously in the opposite direction. God, this had all been an awful mistake. She wanted to walk straight back into the station and get on the next train home, the next one anywhere. No. She had come all this way and his letters had been lovely. Edward Foley was going to meet her whether he wanted to or not.

‘Edward?’

No response. The man’s head remained facing the other way. Could she see him quivering?

‘Edward?’ she repeated a little louder. This time the old man selling papers tapped him on the shoulder and he was forced to turn around. The dark eyes that had seemed so kind in the photograph were wide with fear. His mouth hung open. Patricia wasn’t sure what to do next. She offered her hand and said, ‘Hello. I’m Patricia.’

Edward looked at her hand as if he had never seen one before and certainly didn’t know what to do with it. Patricia felt the hot flush of embarrassment. The old paper seller was smirking as he observed their slow, stiff puppet show. She worried that she might cry but then as if someone had flicked a switch, Edward took her hand and shook it. His skin was warm and rough. The simple handshake seemed strangely intimate. Their eyes met for a moment before he quickly turned his gaze to the ground. ‘Hello.’ His voice was deep and hoarse. Even from one word she could hear his thick Cork accent. As if worn out from his efforts to be social Edward let his arm fall to his side and uttered no more. Patricia sighed deeply. This was going to be a very long day.

‘Will we take a walk?’ she suggested. He risked a quick peek at her face and then began to walk away. Patricia took this as a sign of agreement, so she followed him. They walked in silence till they reached a set of traffic lights. Edward indicated to the left and informed Patricia, ‘The river is down there.’

‘The banks of the Lee,’ Patricia said, referring to the old song.

Edward stared at her as if she had just made a statement in ancient Hebrew. ‘Yes. Just down here.’ He began to walk again. Patricia wondered what he would do if she didn’t follow him, but she did.

They walked down to a metal bridge. On the other bank of the river buses were shuddering their way in and out of the station. The people on the pavement brushed past them, all seeming in a great hurry. Lives being lived all around her while she was lumbered with this strange man who didn’t seem to have the slightest interest in her.

Halfway across the bridge Edward stopped and looked over the balustrade down into the murky water. Patricia did the same. There was a strong wind off the river and her hair blew around her face. She knew she must look a right state but she didn’t care. She heard something and looking at Edward realised he was speaking quietly. She leaned in to hear him.