ii

‘It's not right,' Eilis's mother said.

‘What don't you like about it?' Eilis asked.

‘Blue is not your colour.'

‘What is my colour?'

‘I don't know. I'd have to see you wearing it.'

‘I have that other yellow dress.'

‘The whole town will be looking at you. And they will all have an opinion.'

‘And do we care?'

‘I care. I certainly do.'

‘And none of the hats suit me?'

‘Only the pillbox one but it's too black.'

When she appeared in the yellow dress, her mother walked around her.

‘I think you could wear anything and look marvellous. You always do.'

This was, Eilis thought, the first kind thing her mother had said since her return.

‘And I have an idea,' her mother continued. ‘If you put your black jacket over the dress, it will be glamorous. And then the black hat won't stand out so much.'

Once she was ready to set out for the cathedral, her mother stood in the hallway.

‘I wish you were getting a lift. Is it normal in America for a woman to drive on her own to a wedding?'

—

The instant she walked through the gates of the cathedral grounds, Eilis saw people she knew. A woman who had been in school with her shouted out her name in surprise.

‘It must be great to see your mother so well,' one of them said, to be interrupted immediately by another, someone whose name Eilis could not remember.

When Nancy appeared with her daughter, Eilis waited for a while before approaching her.

‘Nancy, it's so lovely to be here,' she said.

Nancy seemed to look at her for a second as if she was not quite sure who she was. She appeared to be thinking about something else. And then she focused on Eilis.

‘How lucky that you were home just now,' she said, but it sounded like an afterthought.

Soon, Eilis was approached by a woman who had known her sister, Rose.

‘Elegant. That's how I always describe her. Elegant. Your mother was elegant too in her day and, of course, you are elegant. But Rose beat the band for elegance. She was elegant out.'

Eilis nodded. It was hard to think what to say.

‘And are you home for long?' the woman asked.

Just as she was about to reply, Eilis saw Jim Farrell and, for a moment, was tempted to move towards him. But she realised how closely they would be watched. Everyone here must know some version of what had happened between them.

When word came that the bride was on her way, they all entered the cathedral. Eilis went up a side aisle, aware that Jim Farrell was somewhere behind her. He too, she presumed, would be cautious. He would not sit in the same row as she did, nor even, she imagined, in the row behind.

He had come into the cathedral grounds alone. She had noticed that he was the only man who was by himself. Perhaps she was also the only woman on her own. She was sure that Nancy could not have planned this and hoped that no one else had taken note of it.

As the bride was accompanied up the aisle by her brother, Eilis, who had never seen them before, was amazed at how much they both looked like their father. The same dark eyes, the same short chin. When she had heard from her mother of George Sheridan's death, she had written to Nancy to say how shocked she was. But now his death seemed starkly present in this image of his son standing in for him and his daughter going up the aisle without her father. Nancy, she imagined, must feel the loss on a day like this, with everyone watching. George was so good- humoured, so solid and decent. Nancy and he were lucky to find each other. And now he was absent. Perhaps most people in the congregation had become used to that, but for Eilis his death felt sudden and immediate, something that she had not taken in before.

The mass began. She found her mind wandering as the first prayers were said. For days now, the image of Jim walking away from her on the lane in Cush had stayed with her. If he had glanced behind, even for one second, he would have seen her standing on the lane, looking after him, wondering why he did not turn.

She went over in her mind what she would have wanted then. She imagined them both sitting in front of Martin's house in the shade, neither of them knowing what to say. And then him asking her quietly what it had been like, being away all the years. No one else had asked her this, not her mother or Nancy or anyone.

Tony's relief that she had come back to him in Brooklyn was so great that he had never enquired if she had met someone else in Ireland. Her being away that summer was simply never mentioned again. And that had made life easy between them.

She had believed that when Rosella and Larry were older they would want to know how she came to America. And she often planned the story she would tell, how she never wanted to go anywhere, how those around her arranged everything for her. How no one ever asked her if she wanted to go to Brooklyn. And how that made her even lonelier in those first months away. And how she was happy when Tony came into her life. No one else had arranged that. It was what she had wanted.

But in recent years, Tony's brothers, as a way of entertaining the table, had invented another version of the story. Tony, they said, had gone to an Irish dance. As soon as he saw Eilis, even before he spoke to her, Enzo said, Tony knew the Irish girl was for him. He asked her to marry him a week later.

‘It was a whirlwind,' Enzo added. ‘Tony was a miserable bachelor one day and the next was a happy married man.'

‘And the rest is history,' Mauro said.

Eilis knew that it would be futile to ask Tony to tell his brothers to give this up.

—

She knelt down and stood up with the rest of the congregation. As the sermon began, she continued thinking about home, going over her efforts to let Rosella know that what Tony's brothers were saying was not true.

She remembered telling Rosella one Sunday as they were walking back from lunch that she was not just picked out on a dance floor and led to marriage by Tony, that it was her choice as much as his, but Rosella did not ask her any questions and she did not say anything more.

She did not go to the altar to receive communion nor, it seemed, did Jim Farrell.

Tony did not even know that Jim existed. And Jim knew nothing about how she lived in America. No one really knew anything about her. In this pew in the cathedral, and the ones behind and in front, sat people who had lived in the town all of their lives. They did not have to explain themselves. Everyone knew who they had married, the names of their children. They did not have different accents which they used when they met different people. They did not live in a place where their children often tried to speak before they did at a ticket office or in a shop so that their mother's accent might not become a subject of enquiry.

On the strand in Cush, Jim had shown himself as someone who might listen. What she had liked most about him was that he could leave silence. In the time they had walked along together, he had said almost nothing. But she wished he had not asked her if she ever thought about him. What did he want her to say?

Now they would have to spend this whole wedding avoiding each other. She would have to pretend that she was not thinking about him.

When the time came for the marriage vows, suddenly Eilis imagined Tony, like a ghost, walking up the side aisle searching for her, then seeing her. Tony would know no one. Even if she introduced him to people, he would be an outsider, a stranger. And he might get a sense of how she had felt in all her years away from home.

She had learned not to dwell on these feelings that seemed more intense now as the bride and groom kissed and then walked down the aisle. She had made her own life, she thought. She should not feel sorry for herself on a day like this. The rooms in the house in Lindenhurst belonged to her as much as to Tony and Rosella and Larry, and the leafy streets around, the salt air coming in from the ocean, the light shivering with expectancy on the days when the weather on Long Island was about to change, all this had become her life.

As she followed the wedding party down the aisle, Eilis caught Jim's eye for a moment, but he bowed his head.

—

Before the meal, Eilis was, a number of times, on the point of approaching Nancy to chat with her, but when Nancy saw her she seemed to move away.

Eilis was glad that she was at a table with her back to Jim, with Nancy's brother-in-law on one side and an aunt of Matt Wadding's on the other. The Wadding aunt thought that she had a cousin somewhere in America.

‘She used to send dollars in envelopes, but my mother didn't know what to do with them until someone told her that she could change them in the bank, but by that time she couldn't remember where she'd put them.'

Once her neighbours had begun animated conversations with people on the other side of them, Eilis concentrated on passing dishes around and trying to hear what the woman opposite her was saying.

She'd noticed, when they were having drinks before the meal, that Jim seemed very alone. Surely if Jim did have a girlfriend in Dublin this would be a good moment to produce her. Eilis wondered how he had lived in the years since she had seen him. She would love to ask him, even if she might have to hear how badly he had felt after her departure.

Once Rosella and Larry came from Long Island the following week it would be even harder, she realised, to find a time and a place where she and Jim could meet again. It wouldn't be possible to talk here at the wedding when everyone would notice.

She wished she could have had one more conversation with Nancy when she might have been able to raise the subject of Jim again and get more information on how things stood with him.

Rosella and Larry would bring with them from Lindenhurst whatever news there was. She had not heard from Tony. It would be difficult, in any case, for him to know what to say. Years ago, when she came here after Rose's death, she had received regular letters from him. She remembered with a sigh that she had not been in a rush to open them. She had other things on her mind then. But when she finally did read them, she noted that they were well written and loving, and she was ashamed that she had not replied to them.

It took her a while, having returned to Brooklyn, to discover that the letters had, in fact, been penned by Frank because Tony's own handwriting was not good, nor his spelling, nor his ability to produce a clear sentence. It was something that no one in his family mentioned and no one made a joke about. Over the years, Tony had asked her for help if he needed to write something and she would do it for him.

Now, she thought, Tony could hardly ask Frank to write to his wife for him, knowing that she would not be misled by the good handwriting and clear sentences as she had been before.

—

She had been watching the dancing, having assured two of Matt's brothers that she would dance later, but not now. She worried that she had been brooding too much and should move among the guests, talk to people she remembered and enjoy the day.

When the three women sang ‘The Old Bog Road', Eilis could see Jim clearly from where she stood. Since most people were focusing on the stage, she felt free to glance over at him as much as she wanted. Maybe her interest in him was too open, she thought. She looked at the floor; she studied the singers. And when she looked back, she saw that Jim's eyes were on her. He smiled, but she did not return the smile. She was tempted to move away but then it came to her that she did actually want to see him.

One of the groom's sisters, to much whooping and laughter and catcalls, began a raucous song. Eilis did not glance over again to see what Jim was doing. Instead, she edged towards him until she was standing close by.

Before the song ended, she noticed Nancy and another woman leaving their table and making their way out of the room.

Jim was near enough to lean over and squeeze her hand. He then indicated that she should follow him. She allowed him to move a good distance ahead, not letting him out of her sight, and was sure that no one had observed her as she joined him at the doorway to the side. Everyone was too involved with the stage and the song.

The stairs they descended belonged to the old part of the hotel. On one of the landings there were boxes piled up, and the next flight of stairs looked as though it had not been used for some time. It was dimly lit and opened onto a coffee shop, now closed. Jim sat down at one of the tables near the door.

‘It's nice to find somewhere quiet,' he said.

She sat opposite him.

‘I think my dancing days are over,' he added. ‘How about you?'

She smiled and left silence for a moment before saying, ‘I felt sorry that you left so quickly the other day.'

He shook his head and laughed.

‘I thought you couldn't wait to get rid of me.'

‘I didn't know what to say. It was a surprise seeing you.'

‘I'd like to see you again.'

‘My children are coming next week. It might be hard to find a moment.'

‘We should try. How could I get in touch with you?'

‘I don't know. My mother watches everything. And my brother.'

‘My phone number is in the book, both the number of the bar and the upstairs one.'

‘You want me to call you? My mother doesn't have a phone.'

‘I want us not to lose touch. Maybe you could use a phone box?'

She considered this, and then, abruptly, stood up.

‘Perhaps we should go back upstairs. Someone will miss us. I'll go first.'

Back in the hall, having found Nancy's sister, Eilis set out to detain her in conversation for as long as she could. She would like to leave, but since no one else was going, then she would wait.

Very quickly, Moya let her know that she planned merely to stop for a moment and exchange pleasantries. She said that her husband was waiting for her at a table across the room.

Since Eilis was driving, she did not want the drink which Gerard offered to bring her. She would just have a glass of water.

What she discerned now, over the music, was a loudness in the room, voices raised in darting conversation and easy laughter. She walked around with the glass of water in her hand, desperate for a group to join. When she was approached again by Matt's brother asking her to dance, she accepted. It would get her through the next ten minutes. Nancy, she saw, was deep in conversation with Matt's mother. Soon, she determined, she would slip away.

—

As she was preparing to depart, she saw Nancy and Laura standing up. Perhaps, now that the bride and groom had gone, they too thought it was time to leave. Eilis had been careful not to look around for Jim but she sensed that he must be alert to where she was.

When he appeared behind her, she was not surprised.

‘I'm over the limit,' he said. ‘I'll have to leave my car where it is. Is anyone else travelling with you?'

‘I can take you home, if that's what you mean.'

‘There's a small car park opposite the Talbot Hotel. Do you know it?'

‘I'm sure I can find it.'

‘Why don't you drive there and I'll meet you there in a while?'

She was about to say that her car was just outside but she realised they should agree quickly on how to proceed.

‘I'll be waiting there,' she said and turned away from him.

There were a few cars in the Talbot Hotel car park, but otherwise it was desolate. As she waited, she shivered and almost wished she could start the engine to go home. However, no matter what, she was going to stay here until Jim arrived. She would work out what to say when she saw him.

He had not seemed drunk to her. His assertion that he was over the limit was probably a ruse. It was a clever way of getting to see her again. When he appeared, she was glad that he had thought of this way of going home together.

As she drove along the quays, he kept his head down.

‘Can you turn right at the bridge?' he asked.

‘That would take us to Curracloe.'

‘We can turn at Castlellis and go to Enniscorthy that way.'

But when they saw the sign for Curracloe, he told her to turn right.

‘Are you in a hurry home?' he asked.

‘My mother will be awake.'

‘Waiting for you?'

‘I imagine so.'

‘You can always say that the wedding went on late.'

In Curracloe village, she indicated right without waiting for him to suggest that she drive to the car park at the sand dunes.

‘You know your way.'

‘Some things I have not forgotten. My father drove us here on Sundays in a car he used to borrow. Sometimes it was Cush, sometimes here. This is where I learned to swim.'

She drove down the hill to the dunes, closing the window against the wind and turning on the wipers as a light drizzle had begun. In the car park when they opened their doors, it was obvious immediately that this was not a night for walking by the sea.

‘It was such a mild day,' he said. ‘I thought it would be calm down here. Sorry for taking you out of your way.'

In the car, she waited for a moment before starting the engine again.

‘Is there something you wanted to say to me?' she asked.

‘I wanted to talk to you. That's all. But I feel like a fool for taking us here.'

‘It could have been perfect.'

She should watch every word she said, she felt, in case she gave him a false impression. But at the same time she did not want to drop him in the town and spend time trying to pluck up the courage to phone him and trying just as hard to keep the idea out of her mind.

‘Could you drive into the town?' he asked. ‘I'll get out on the quays and you can park where you usually do and then walk down to the pub. The door to the house will be on the latch. I'll be waiting for you in the hall.'

She drove slowly on the narrow roads between Curracloe and Enniscorthy. Now they were alone, she thought, they had every chance to talk but neither of them broke a silence that seemed to her relaxed, almost natural. Perhaps it made no sense to begin a conversation as they both faced outwards into the headlights and the night.

If her mother could see her now, or Nancy, or if Tony had any idea, none of them would understand. She did not understand either. It occurred to her that she could drop Jim on the quays in Enniscorthy, letting him know that she had no plans to visit him secretly that night. She could easily tell him that she was going home to bed. All it would need was for him to say the wrong thing or to insist too much.

After Glenbrien, she broke the silence.

‘These roads are very lonely.'

‘We're not far now,' he replied. ‘Your driving is steady.'

When they drove down the steep hill from Drumgoold into the town, she pulled in on the quays at Kehoe's pub. It was past closing time. The quays were empty. No one would see Jim getting out of her car.