other. There were herbs everywhere, tied by string and hanging from the
rafters of the shed to dry. Honesty, sorrel, herb Robert, speedwell, and others I
didn’t recognize.
I sat on the chair, suddenly aware that
I’d no biscuits or cake with me.
‘Are you ill?’ he said.
He looked so concerned, and so kind, that I
wanted to fall into his arms.
‘No, no, I’m not ill at all,
thank you.’
‘Well, why are you here?’ He
looked puzzled.
I didn’t know how to answer. For a
terrible second I thought he didn’t remember me.
‘Would you like a quick cup of
tea?’ he asked.
‘I’d love one.’
He gave me the nicest smile then, the
herbalist, and I knew I had been right to come. We’d a lovely drop of tea till I
had to go: someone else was coming. He told me he was making special tonics now, for
people who wanted them. That was why Miss Dolan had called.
‘I concoct remedies especially
tailored for the individual.’
‘Bespoke,’ I said.
‘Oh, I’m impressed.’
I thought the tea would go to my head.
10
Dan couldn’t pass the hall mirror
without admiring himself. He never seemed to age, not like her. It drove Carmel
bananas.
‘That looking glass,’ she said,
‘is for lipstick only.’
‘Anyone can look in a mirror.
It’s not the preserve of the ugly.’
‘You swine.’
He laughed, held her wrists above her head
and gave her neck a quick kiss. She pretended horror but didn’t really mind. She
went upstairs to change out of her smock. A song wafted up from the kitchen. Dan was
listening to the gramophone. Vera Lynn sang ‘My Cinderella’. Eliza and Vera,
the twin loves of Dan’s life. Those records were expensive but how could she
begrudge him? He was being so good to her, not saying anything about the state of the
house; she hadn’t had the energy to lift a finger, fell into bed as soon as Emily
arrived. It was great to get the break, but it wasn’t enough. Carmel had got weak
this morning: she had been trying to wash the damn clothes. The hot water, the steam,
standing for that length of time, she just wasn’t able. The washing was still
soaking. She needed a live-in: she would write to Finbar and tell him to send that girl,
for a couple of weeks at least. That was all Carmel needed to recover – a few weeks –
she could let her go then, make up some excuse. Emily was a quick learner, but she
wanted her gone. The Maddens were unstable. Look at Brian, claiming shell shock, when it
turned out that the bombs had been way off in the distance.
Carmel lay on the bed and began another
letter to Finbar; she must post this one. It was a hard thing to write down, that her
baby was gone. She started off easily, asking him to send the woman, thanking him for
the books – she had rented a few already. She thought of Mr Purcell skittering by
earlier with his head down. Itmade her long for a Sweet Afton. She
left the real news till last – it took one sentence. She wept then.
She woke to roars. Dan was singing and
rattling the grate. She checked her face: it was creased from the pillow. Ink from the
words she had written stained the corner of her mouth.
‘Carmel, the food’s
ready!’
She rubbed her mouth. Put her housecoat on.
Went down cross.
‘Did you fall asleep?’
He wrapped his hand in a tea towel and
lifted the lid off the bastible. The stew smelt delicious.
‘How could I, with all the noise
you’re making?’
She set the table while Dan looked out at
Eliza. You’d swear he cared more for that hog than he did for his wife, the way he
talked to her, calling her a fine girl. They ate in silence, both famished. When the
dishes were washed, she joined Dan in the living room, sat by the fire and tried to
read. The evenings could be very long. It would have been so different if they’d
had children.
Carmel was tired, yet restless. She was
meant to stay in bed as much as she could. Doctor B said she had probably lost a lot of
blood; then he asked her if she’d visited
rafters of the shed to dry. Honesty, sorrel, herb Robert, speedwell, and others I
didn’t recognize.
I sat on the chair, suddenly aware that
I’d no biscuits or cake with me.
‘Are you ill?’ he said.
He looked so concerned, and so kind, that I
wanted to fall into his arms.
‘No, no, I’m not ill at all,
thank you.’
‘Well, why are you here?’ He
looked puzzled.
I didn’t know how to answer. For a
terrible second I thought he didn’t remember me.
‘Would you like a quick cup of
tea?’ he asked.
‘I’d love one.’
He gave me the nicest smile then, the
herbalist, and I knew I had been right to come. We’d a lovely drop of tea till I
had to go: someone else was coming. He told me he was making special tonics now, for
people who wanted them. That was why Miss Dolan had called.
‘I concoct remedies especially
tailored for the individual.’
‘Bespoke,’ I said.
‘Oh, I’m impressed.’
I thought the tea would go to my head.
10
Dan couldn’t pass the hall mirror
without admiring himself. He never seemed to age, not like her. It drove Carmel
bananas.
‘That looking glass,’ she said,
‘is for lipstick only.’
‘Anyone can look in a mirror.
It’s not the preserve of the ugly.’
‘You swine.’
He laughed, held her wrists above her head
and gave her neck a quick kiss. She pretended horror but didn’t really mind. She
went upstairs to change out of her smock. A song wafted up from the kitchen. Dan was
listening to the gramophone. Vera Lynn sang ‘My Cinderella’. Eliza and Vera,
the twin loves of Dan’s life. Those records were expensive but how could she
begrudge him? He was being so good to her, not saying anything about the state of the
house; she hadn’t had the energy to lift a finger, fell into bed as soon as Emily
arrived. It was great to get the break, but it wasn’t enough. Carmel had got weak
this morning: she had been trying to wash the damn clothes. The hot water, the steam,
standing for that length of time, she just wasn’t able. The washing was still
soaking. She needed a live-in: she would write to Finbar and tell him to send that girl,
for a couple of weeks at least. That was all Carmel needed to recover – a few weeks –
she could let her go then, make up some excuse. Emily was a quick learner, but she
wanted her gone. The Maddens were unstable. Look at Brian, claiming shell shock, when it
turned out that the bombs had been way off in the distance.
Carmel lay on the bed and began another
letter to Finbar; she must post this one. It was a hard thing to write down, that her
baby was gone. She started off easily, asking him to send the woman, thanking him for
the books – she had rented a few already. She thought of Mr Purcell skittering by
earlier with his head down. Itmade her long for a Sweet Afton. She
left the real news till last – it took one sentence. She wept then.
She woke to roars. Dan was singing and
rattling the grate. She checked her face: it was creased from the pillow. Ink from the
words she had written stained the corner of her mouth.
‘Carmel, the food’s
ready!’
She rubbed her mouth. Put her housecoat on.
Went down cross.
‘Did you fall asleep?’
He wrapped his hand in a tea towel and
lifted the lid off the bastible. The stew smelt delicious.
‘How could I, with all the noise
you’re making?’
She set the table while Dan looked out at
Eliza. You’d swear he cared more for that hog than he did for his wife, the way he
talked to her, calling her a fine girl. They ate in silence, both famished. When the
dishes were washed, she joined Dan in the living room, sat by the fire and tried to
read. The evenings could be very long. It would have been so different if they’d
had children.
Carmel was tired, yet restless. She was
meant to stay in bed as much as she could. Doctor B said she had probably lost a lot of
blood; then he asked her if she’d visited
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