Binchy ( 2000 ) Scarlet Feather Page 3

  'One thing they always wanted was apple strudels, and I just wouldn't know where to begin.'

  Cathy brought her mind back. The woman was having some business friends of her husband to coffee and cake next week. Was it possible for Cathy to deliver something to the house and not stay to serve them?

  Cathy looked carefully as her mother-in-law left the room, then she took down Mrs Ryan's phone number.

  'It will be our little secret,' she promised.

  It was their first booking. Not even nine o'clock, and she had got a job already.

  'Do you intend to stop dancing with strangers at all tonight?' Tom asked Marcella.

  'Tom. At last,' she said, excusing herself with a smile from a man in a black leather jacket and sunglasses.

  'But maybe I'm not good enough to dance with,' he said.

  'Don't be such a fool, put your arms around me,' she said.

  'Is that what you say to all the lads?' he asked.

  'Why are you being like this?' She was hurt and upset. 'What have I done?'

  'You've lurched around half naked with half of Dublin,' he said.

  'That's not fair,' Marcella was stung.

  'Well haven't you?'

  'It's a party, people ask other people to dance, that's what it's about.'

  'Oh, good.'

  'What's wrong, Tom?' She kept glancing over his shoulder at the dance floor.

  'I don't know.'

  'Tell me.'

  'I don't know, Marcella. I realise that I'm a spoilsport, but would you come home?'

  'Come home?' she was astounded. 'We've only just got here.'

  'No, of course. Of course.'

  'And we want to meet people, be seen a bit.'

  'Yes, I know,' he said glumly.

  'Do you not feel well?' she asked.

  'No. I drank too much very cheap wine too quickly and ate five strange things that tasted like cement.'

  'Well, will you sit down until it passes over.' Marcella had no intention of leaving. She had dressed up for this; looked forward to it.

  'I might go home a bit before you,' he said.

  'Don't do that; see the new year in here, with all our friends,' she begged.

  'They're not really our friends, they're only strangers,' said Tom Feather sadly.

  'Tom, have another cement sandwich and cheer up,' she said to him, laughing.

  Cathy tried to show Walter how to make the champagne cocktails. He barely watched her.

  'Sure, sure, I know,' he said.

  'And once they have started to drink the red and white with the supper, can you collect all the champagne flutes and get them into the kitchen. They need to be washed because champagne will be served again at midnight.'

  'Who washes them?' he asked.

  'You do, Walter. I'll be serving the supper… I've left trays out here ready for—'

  'I'm paid to help pass things around, not to be a washer-up,' he said.

  'You're being paid to help me for four hours to do whatever I ask you to do.' Cathy heard the tremble in her voice.

  'Five hours,' he said.

  'Four,' she said, looking him in the eye. 'You got here an hour late.'

  'I think you'll find…'

  'When Neil comes, I think you'll find that we'll discuss it with him. Meanwhile, please take this tray out to your uncle's guests.'

  Cathy lifted the trays of food from the oven. This night would end, sometime.

  Shona Burke watched Tom Feather standing moodily in a corner. She knew she wasn't the only woman in the room looking at him. But the place might as well have been empty for all that he saw of them.

  'I think I'll go home,' he said aloud to himself. Then he realised that was exactly what he was going to do.

  'Will you tell Marcella, if she notices, that I've gone home,' he said to Ricky.

  'Not a lovers' quarrel on New Year's Eve, please.' Ricky always put on a slightly camp accent. It was part of the way he went on. Tonight it irritated Tom greatly.

  'No, not at all: I ate five things that disagreed with me,' Tom said.

  'What were they?' Ricky asked.

  'Search me, Ricky, sandwiches or something.'

  Ricky decided not to be offended. 'How will Marcella get home?'

  'I don't know. Shona might give her a lift—that's if the man with his two big shovels of hands which he has all over her doesn't take her.'

  'Tom, come on. It's under an hour to midnight.'

  'I'm in no form for it, Ricky. I'm only bringing other people down. My face would stop a clock.'

  'I'll see she gets back to you safely,' Ricky said.

  'Thanks, mate.' And he was gone, out into the wet, windy streets of Dublin where revellers were moving from one pub to another, or looking vainly for taxis; where closed curtains showed chinks of light from the parties behind them. From time to time he halted and wondered was he being silly, but he couldn't go back. Everything about the party annoyed him; all his insecurity that he wasn't good enough for Marcella would keep bubbling back to the surface. No: he must walk and walk and clear his head.

  Eventually Neil got away from his meeting. He and Jonathan drove through the New Year's Eve streets of Dublin and out onto the leafy road where Oaklands stood, all lit up like a Christmas tree, he saw that Cathy had tidied her big white van as far out of sight as possible. He parked the Volvo and ran in the back door. Cathy was surrounded by plates and glasses. How could anyone do this for a living and stay sane…

  'Cathy, I'm sorry things took longer, this is Jonathan. Jonathan, this is Cathy.'

  She shook hands with the tall Nigerian with the tired face and polite smile.

  'I hope I'm not causing you additional problems by coming here,' he said.

  'No, heavens no, Jonathan,' Cathy protested, wondering what her mother-in-law's reaction would be. 'You're most welcome and I hope you have a good evening. I'm glad you both got here, I thought I'd be singing Auld Lang Syne to myself.'

  'Happy New Year, hon.' Neil put his arms around her.

  She felt very tired suddenly. 'Will we survive, Neil, tell me?'

  'Of course we will, we've covered all the options, they're not going to move on New Year's Day, are they Jonathan?'

  'I hope not, you've given up so much time for this,' the young man smiled gratefully.

  Cathy realised Neil thought she had been talking about the extradition. Still, he was here, that was the main thing.

  'Is it going all right in there?' Neil nodded towards the front rooms.

  'Okay, I think, hard to know. Walter was an hour late.'

  'Then he gets paid an hour less.' To Neil it was simple. 'Is he any help to you?'

  'Not really. Neil go on in and take Jonathan to meet people.'

  'I could perhaps help you here,' Jonathan offered.

  'Lord no, if anyone needs a party it's you, after all you've been through,' Cathy said. 'Go on in, Neil, your mother's dying to show you off.'

  'But can't I do anything here for—'

  'Go distract your mother. Keep her out of the kitchen,' she begged.

  She could hear cries of excitement as people welcomed the son and heir of Oaklands, and told him they remembered him when he was a little boy. Neil moved around the room easily, talking, greeting and kissing here and there. He saw Walter having a cigarette by the piano and talking to a woman who was about twenty years younger than the average age.

  'I think you're needed in the kitchen, Walter,' he said briskly.

  'Surely not,' Walter said.

  'Now, please,' Neil said, and took over the conversation with the vacant-looking blonde woman.

  Tom Feather didn't go straight home to Stoneyfield flats. He walked instead up and down little streets that he had never walked before, lanes, mews and even backyards. Somewhere in this city of a million people there was a place which he and Cathy could find to start their catering company. All it really needed was someone with the patience and the time to go and look for it. And he had plenty of time tonight.


  The phone rang in the hall of Oaklands.

  Hannah Mitchell hastened out to answer it; she felt she needed time to collect her thoughts. She was so confused: Neil had brought this African man to the party without letting them know. She had nothing against the man at all, of course. Why should she? But it was annoying that people kept asking who he was, and she didn't really know. One of Neil's clients, she said over and over, adding that Neil was always so dedicated. But she felt she had been getting some odd looks. It was a relief to escape.

  'I'm sure that's Amanda phoning from Canada to wish us a Happy New Year,' she trilled. Her face showed that it was not her daughter who had phoned.

  'Yes, well, that's all very upsetting, but what exactly do you think.. . Yes, I know… Well, of course it is hard to know what to do, but this isn't a good time. Look you'd better talk to your brother. Oh, I see. Well, your uncle then… Jock, come here a moment.'

  Cathy watched the little tableau.

  'It's Kenneth's children, apparently they're in the house on their own tonight. You talk to them, I told them Walter was here but they didn't think he'd be any help.'

  'Too damn right,' grumbled Jock Mitchell.

  Well, well, well, tell me the problem,' he said wearily down the phone.

  Cathy moved among the guests, passing little plates of a rich chocolate cake and a spoonful of fruit pavlova on the side, giving them no time to dither and make a choice when everyone knew they wanted both.

  She saw Jonathan standing alone and awkward at the window while Neil went around the room greeting his parents' friends. She spoke to him as often as she could without making it look as if she was trying to mind him.

  'I could work in the kitchen, I'm good at it,' he said pleadingly.

  'I'm sure you are, and it would probably be more fun, but honestly, it's not on—for my sake. I won't let Neil's mother say I wasn't able to do it by myself. I have to prove it—do you understand?'

  'I understand having to prove yourself, yes,' he answered.

  Cathy moved on and found herself within earshot of Jock on the phone.

  'That's fine then, children, I'll put Walter on to you and I'll come round tomorrow. Good children, now.'

  Neil had just managed to galvanise Walter into doing some work when Jock removed him from the scene again. Cathy listened as the boy talked to his brother and sister, who were over ten years younger than he was.

  'Now listen to me, I will be home, I'm not sure what time, I have to go somewhere when I leave here but I will be there sometime, so not one more word out of you. Just go to bed, for heaven's sake. Father hasn't been there for ages and Mother never comes out of her room, so what's so different about tonight?'

  He turned round and saw Cathy watching him.

  'Well as you will have gathered there's a crisis at home, so I'm afraid I'm off duty.'

  'Yes, so I hear.'

  'So suppose I just take what's owing to me…'

  'I'll ask Neil to give it to you,' she said.

  'I thought you prided yourself on this being your own business?' He was insolent.

  'It is, but Neil is your cousin, he'd know how much you're owed. Let's go and ask him.'

  'Four hours will do,' he said grudgingly.

  'You haven't even been here for three hours,' she said.

  'It's not my fault that I have to—'

  'You're not going straight home, you're going to a party somewhere. But let's not fight, let's ask Neil.'

  'Three hours then, cheapskate.'

  'No, that's what I am most certainly not. Come, let's not do it in front of the guests, come into the kitchen.'

  Her heart sank when she saw the washing-up, including the champagne glasses that would be needed at midnight.

  'Goodnight, Walter.'

  'Goodnight, Scrooge,' he said, and ran out of the house.

  Tom stood by the canal and watched two swans gliding by.

  'They mate for life, swans, did you know that?' he said to a passing girl.

  'Do they now? Lucky old them,' she said. She was small and thin, he noticed; a druggy prostitute with an anxious face.

  'Don't suppose you'd like any casual mating yourself,' she said hopefully.

  'No, no, sorry,' Tom said. It seemed rather dismissive. 'Not tonight,' he added, as if to say that normally he would be utterly delighted. She smiled a tired smile.

  'Happy New Year anyway,' she said.

  'And to you,' he said, feeling hopeless.

  The doorbell rang at Oaklands.

  Hannah teetered out on her high heels, wondering who else it could be, arriving so late. Cathy leant against a table at the back of the hall to support her tired legs and to see what new confusion was arriving now. A late guest wanting a main course?

  It appeared to be two children in a taxi which they didn't have the money to pay for. Cathy sighed. She almost felt sorry for Hannah. A Nigerian student, and now two waifs—what else would the night throw at her?

  'Please get Mr Mitchell immediately, Cathy,' Hannah ordered.

  'Is that the maid?' the little boy asked. He was pale and aged about eight or nine. Like his sister, he had dead straight fair hair and everything looked the same colour—his sweater, his hair, his face and the small canvas bag he carried.

  'Don't say "maid",' the girl corrected him in a hiss. Her face was frightened and there were dark rings under her eyes.

  Cathy had never seen them before. Jock Mitchell and his brother Kenneth were not close; the nearest they had ever come to solidarity was in the apprenticeship of Walter in his uncle's office, something that hadn't proved to be entirely successful, Cathy gathered.

  Jock had come out anyway to see who was at the door. He was not enthusiastic at the sight of them.

  'Well?' he began. 'What have we here?'

  'We had nowhere to go,' the boy explained,

  'So we came here,' said the girl.

  Jock looked bewildered.

  'Cathy,' he said eventually, 'these are Walter's brother and sister, can you give them something to eat in the kitchen?'

  'Certainly, Mr Mitchell, go back to your guests, I'll look after them.'

  'Are you the maid?' the boy asked again. He seemed anxious to put everyone in a category.

  'No, actually I'm Cathy, married to Neil, your cousin. How do you do?' They looked at her solemnly. 'And perhaps you might give me your names?' Maud and Simon, it turned out. 'Come into the kitchen,' she said wearily. 'Do you like herbed chicken?'

  'No,' said Maud.

  'We never had it,' said Simon.

  Cathy noticed them lifting some chocolate biscuits and putting them in their pockets.

  'Put those back,' she said sharply.

  'Put what back?' Simon's eyes were innocent.

  'There'll be no stealing,' she said.

  'It's not stealing, you were told to give us something to eat,' Maud countered with spirit.

  'And give you something I will—so just put them back this minute.'

  Grudgingly, they put the already crushed and crumbly biscuits back on the silver tray. Swiftly Cathy made them sandwiches from the cold chicken and poured them a glass of milk each. They ate hungrily.

  'In your lives so far did anyone mention the words "thank you" at all?' she asked.

  'Thank you,' they said ungraciously.

  'You're most welcome,' she said with exaggerated politeness.

  'What will we do now?' Simon asked.

  'Well, I think you might sit here—unless you wanted to help me wash up?'

  'Not really, to be honest,' Maud said.

  'Should we be inside at the party, do you think?' Simon wondered.

  'Not really, to be honest,' Cathy echoed.

  'So will we sit here all night until we go to bed?' Maud asked.

  'Are you staying here?'

  'Where else would we go?' Maud asked innocently.

  Hannah came into the kitchen, with her tottering, tiny steps which always set Cathy's teeth on edge.

 
'Oh, you're sitting here, Cathy, I think people's glasses need—'

  'Of course, Mrs Mitchell, I'll go and see to it. Walter, who was meant to be seeing to glasses seems to have disappeared, and I was, as you asked, giving supper to Walter's brother and sister…'

  'Yes, well, of course,' said Hannah.

  'So I'll leave you to make all the arrangements with Maud and Simon, then,' said Cathy on her way to the door.

  'Arrangements?' Hannah looked alarmed.

  Cathy paused just long enough to hear Maud asking in her bell-clear voice, 'What rooms will we have, Aunt Hannah, we've brought our pyjamas and everything…' Then she circulated the party refilling glasses.

  'Are you finding it all insane?' she asked Jonathan.

  He smiled his weary smile. 'At school I was taught by Irish priests. They told me all about Ireland, but I didn't expect New Year's Eve to be quite like this.'

  'It's not meant to be, believe me,' Cathy grinned at him.

  She moved on, topping up glasses here and avoiding people's eyes there. That nice Mrs Ryan had had quite enough already. To her surprise, she saw that Maud and Simon had joined the party easily as if it were their natural place.

  Cathy worked and worked. She removed plates, picked up scrunched-up napkins, emptied ashtrays, kept things moving. Soon it would be midnight and things might begin to wind down. Most people here were in their late fifties and sixties; they wouldn't have the stamina to party on until dawn. She looked towards the window where she had left Jonathan to fend for himself. He was talking animatedly to someone. Cathy looked again. The twins were in deep conversation with him.

  'Jock, what are we going to do with them?'

  'Calm, Hannah, calm.'

  'They can't stay here.'

  'Well, not for ever, no, certainly not.'

  'But for how long?'

  'Until we get them settled.'

  'And how long will that be?'

  'Soon, soon.'