A Week in Winter(43)

‘Do they know you’re here?’ Lillian asked.

‘Nobody knows we’re here. That’s the problem,’ Winnie sighed.

‘No, I mean in the West of Ireland. Do they know about Teddy?’

‘No. They hardly know any of my friends.’

‘Maybe you should take him to meet them. He said he hadn’t met your folks yet.’

‘Well, you know . . .’ Winnie shrugged as if to make little of it all.

‘He took you to meet me.’

‘Yes, didn’t he?’ The memory of that meeting was still bitter, and Winnie cursed her foolishness trying to take on this mother-in-law from hell, locking horns with her and pretending friendship to win the son. Look where it had ended up. In this cave, waiting for at the worst a slow death by drowning or at the very best rheumatic fever.

‘I wasn’t entirely overjoyed at first,’ Lillian admitted after a pause. ‘Neither were you, but it was you who suggested coming on this holiday.’

‘I did not suggest you come on the holiday. I told you about Stone House and that I wanted to come here with Teddy, that was all. You invited yourself.’

‘He invited me. You went along with it.’

‘It doesn’t matter now,’ Winnie said. There was defeat in her tone.

‘Don’t get all down about it, please. I’m frightened. I liked it better when you were strong. Can you think of any other songs?’

‘No.’ Winnie was mulish.

‘You must know some more songs.’

‘What about “By The Rivers Of Babylon”?’ Winnie offered.

It turned out that Lillian had been at a wedding in St Augustine’s church in Rossmore where the bride and groom had chosen this as one of their wedding hymns, and the Polish priest had thought it must be an old Irish tradition and sang along with it.

Winnie said that one year, when she was working the Christmas shift in a hospital, they had all made a conga line and danced through the wards singing this song to cheer the patients up, and even the sour ward sister had agreed that it worked.

Then Lillian said there was nothing to beat ‘Heartbreak Hotel’, so they sang that. Winnie said she actually preferred Elvis doing ‘Suspicious Minds’, but they only knew one line of that, which was something about being caught in a trap. Still, they sang it over and over until it began to sound hollow.

During an attempt at Otis Redding’s ‘Sitting On The Dock Of The Bay’, they both noticed that the level of the water had gone down. They hardly dared to say it in case yet another huge wave would crash in. But when it was clear that the tide had turned, and their throats were raw from singing and the salt spray, they reached out their hands to each other. Cold, wet and trembling, they just held on for a few seconds. Words would have destroyed the fragile hope and shaky peace they had managed to reach.

Now it was a matter of waiting.

Mrs Starr called Rigger when it was obvious that two of her guests had gone missing. He rounded up a search party, including Chicky’s brothers-in-law.

‘I warned them against the south cliffs, so you can be sure that’s where they went,’ she said in a clipped voice. Rigger asked her if there were any specific places she had told them about and when Chicky thought about it, it was clear what had happened. She had seen the challenge in Lillian Hennessy’s face as she had dismissed the weather warnings the previous night. And she had noticed how Lillian left without any hint of her direction that morning.

The men said they would go towards Majella’s Cave and phone her as soon as they had any news.

Before she heard from them, however, there was a call from Teddy Hennessy, who said he was Lillian’s son and phoning from England. He apologised for interrupting her but said he couldn’t reach his mother or Winnie by mobile phone. They must have switched them off.

Chicky Starr was professional and guarded. No point in alerting him to any possible danger until she had proof that there was a real need to be worried. She took his number carefully.

‘They’ve gone walking over the cliff paths and should be back soon, Mr Hennessy.’

‘And they’re having a good time?’ He sounded anxious to hear it was all going well.

‘Yes; I’m sorry they’re not here to tell you themselves. They’ll be upset to have missed you.’

‘I got a text from Winnie last night. She said the place was wonderful.’

‘I’m pleased they are satisfied with it all.’ Mrs Starr felt a lump in her throat. ‘It’s good to see old friends enjoy themselves . . .’ Please God may she not have to talk to this man in an entirely different way in a few hours’ time.

‘Lillian’s my mother, as I said. This holiday was their way to get to know each other properly, you see. It’s great to know it’s working so well.’

He sounded hopeful and enthusiastic. How could she tell him that his hard, brittle mother had not been getting on at all well with Winnie, who turned out to be his girlfriend? The relationship had not even been acknowledged. How would history have to be rewritten if the worst had happened?

She stood with her hand at her throat until Orla tugged at her sleeve asking whether the meal should be served now or not. She pulled herself together and got the guests seated. They were all anxious to hear news of the missing women and an unsettled air hung over the table.