A Week in Winter(60)

‘What happened to him? The husband?’

‘He lived on here, a few crocodile tears, a few references to My Poor Wife Deirdre. But then he met another woman, a very different kind of person entirely, and the first day he hit her she was straight into the Guards. He was done for assault. He served six months and left in disgrace. Deirdre’s family put it all down to his great grief over his wife’s death. In a way, I suppose, it was a result.’ He looked grim at the recollection of it all.

‘And do you think about it a lot?’ Nicola asked.

‘I used to, all the time. Every day I pass the graveyard where Deirdre is buried. Every time I saw their house, I remembered her face as she swore to me that she fell from a ladder. But then Annie said it was tearing me apart and I would be no use to anyone else in the place unless I got over it. So I suppose I got over it, in a way.’

Dai watched them nod in such genuine sympathy and understanding that he realised they really did understand; perhaps something similar had happened to them too.

He spoke carefully. ‘Annie said that in a way I was putting myself centre stage, making it all my problem, my involvement, or lack of it. There were other factors to consider: he was always going to be a cruel bastard, handy with his fists; she was always going to be a victim. Did I think I was some kind of avenging angel sent down to sort out the world? And it made sense.’

‘You forgave yourself?’ Henry asked.

‘Something else happened just then. I was in my surgery when one of the young O’Hara children was brought in. His mother said he’d got some stomach bug and he was vomiting. She said he was very sleepy and had a temperature. Something about it didn’t seem right to me, and I gave him a thorough examination. I thought he had meningitis and gave the hospital a call. They said he needed to come in straight away for tests. It would have taken too long to get an ambulance out here, so I just picked him up and ran outside and put him and his mother on the back seat. I drove like a demon to the hospital and they were ready with the tests and the antibiotics, and we saved him. He’s a great big lout of a fellow now, could drink for the county. Nice lad, though. He’s very good with the youngest boy, Shay. Takes care of him a bit. Every time I pass by he says, “That’s the great man who saved my life”, and I ask him to tell me one good reason why I should be pleased about this. But I know I did, and that for once I made a difference.’

‘I’m sure it wasn’t just for once,’ Nicola said.

‘Maybe not, but it was a kind of redemption and badly needed at the time, I tell you.’

Henry and Nicola talked about it all as they sat in their room at Stone House waiting for the dinner gong.

‘Redemption . . . that’s what we have been looking for,’ Nicola said.

‘Maybe the Tooth Fairy might find some for us.’ Henry was not dismissive or cynical; he was actually smiling, and held her hand.

They were the first in for dinner.

Chicky and her niece Orla were preparing a tray of drinks for the guests. They were talking seriously about something.

‘What can they do, Chicky? Chain his leg to the bed?’

‘No, but they can’t let him wander out on his own at night.’

‘Try stopping him. He’s going to go out anyway . . .’

When they saw Nicola and Henry they immediately broke off. Chicky was very professional. Domestic matters were never discussed in front of guests. The place ran smoothly, almost effortlessly, though it was all down to careful preparation. They enquired about what Nicola and Henry had done during the day. They took out the bird books to identify a goose that the couple had seen strutting across the marshy fields near the lake. It had pink legs and a big orange beak.

‘That’s a greylag goose, I’d say.’ Chicky turned the pages of Ireland’s Birds. ‘Is this it, do you think?’

They thought it was.

‘They come from Iceland every year. Imagine!’ Chicky paused in wonder at it all.

‘It would be lovely to know all about birds, like you do.’ Nicola was envious of the way Chicky could lose herself in the thought of a goose flying from Iceland.

‘Oh, I’m only a real amateur. We had hoped to have a real birdwatcher for you here. There’s a local boy, Shay O’Hara. He knows every feather of every bird that flies the skies. But it didn’t work out.’

‘It would have been the making of him,’ Orla shook her head sadly.

Chicky felt this needed some explanation. ‘Shay’s not himself these days. He’s depressed. Nobody can reach him. We’re all hoping it’s just a phase.’

‘Depression in young men is very serious,’ Henry said.

‘Oh, I know it is, and Dr Dai is on the case but Shay won’t take medication or go for counselling or listen to anyone,’ Chicky sighed.

The others had begun to arrive in the kitchen so the matter was dropped.

Nicola sat beside the handsome American who was still calling himself John, and who had found a new friend in a local man called Frank Hanratty. Frank had driven him miles over mountain roads in a pink van to meet an old film director who had retired to this part of the world years back. A very pleasant and contented gentleman who had given them nettle soup.

‘Did he recognise you?’ Nicola asked, unguardedly.

Up to now they had never acknowledged out loud that John was in fact a film actor, a celebrity.