Part Three

‘Don't just stroll,' Laura said. ‘That won't help. A brisk walk twice a day. That's what they recommend.'

‘I'll have to get walking shoes,' Nancy replied.

‘The shoes you have are fine. The thing is, you need to start today.'

Nancy insisted that they walk slowly and unobtrusively across the Market Square. And then when they reached the river, she allowed Laura to set the pace.

‘What you're doing is not walking,' Nancy complained, ‘and it's not running. It's too fast. That's what it is.'

‘If you want to lose weight,' Laura replied, ‘that's what you have to do.'

Before Laura returned to Dublin it was agreed that her mother would walk the length of the Prom each morning, turning around at the railway tracks.

‘And keep up the pace!'

‘People will think I've gone mad.'

‘Everyone wants you to look well.'

Nancy began, then, to set the alarm clock for eight, but usually woke in time to turn it off just before it sounded. No matter how determined she was to start the day with a walk, she found herself dozing for a while and then lying in a half-sleep, letting her mind wander over the plans for Miriam's wedding.

By this time, Laura, who came down from Dublin every weekend, knew the guest list by heart while Miriam grew more dreamy and vague.

‘It's just a day,' Miriam said. ‘Everyone will enjoy it and then forget about it.'

‘It's your wedding,' Laura replied. ‘It is the most important day of your life.'

‘All the more reason why I wish it was over.'

The decorators had finished their work and even Laura admired the drawing room, as she mockingly called it.

‘I worried that the colours would be too pale and I still don't like the fireplace but you'd be proud to invite anyone into the room. Not like before.'

When Jim Farrell saw the room, Nancy could tell what was going on in his mind. His own large sitting room had not been touched since his parents lived there.

Although they had not actually discussed where they would live after they were married, Nancy knew that Jim presumed she would move in with him above the pub. She wondered if this might be a good time to show him the plans she had made for the bungalow. But maybe she should tell him first about the site for sale at Lucas Park. And see if he himself might come up with the idea of their building a bungalow there.

—

She frowned when she heard the cathedral bell ring out ten o'clock. She had already changed twice, realising that she needed light clothes for her walk and then worrying that she might be too cold if there was a breeze from the river. Normally, she would never appear on the street in the clothes she was wearing now. She would be lucky to get to the top of Castle Hill without meeting someone whom she knew. The prospect of Miriam's wedding would be a perfect reason for anyone at all to detain her in conversation so she kept her head down as she crossed the Market Square.

Past the handball alley, walking by the river, Nancy saw two women coming towards her, one of whom she immediately recognised as Nora Webster, the other whom she soon saw was Nora's sister Catherine, who lived, Nancy thought, somewhere in Kildare. She remembered that Nora had called in to the house after George's funeral. Nancy recalled a moment when they were alone in the living room together and Nora had come close to her and said, ‘I know what you are going through. Maurice was the same age as George when he died and we were married the same number of years.'

The words should have been comforting but they were not. She did not want anyone to presume that they knew what she was going through. It was too easy. But she had nodded and smiled and hoped that someone would come into the room and break the tense silence that had descended. Since then, she had avoided Nora Webster. Now she was about to come face to face with Nora and her sister. Both were well dressed, she noticed, and Catherine quite elegant. She wished she were wearing better clothes.

‘I hear you have a wedding coming up,' Catherine said. ‘And I hear that all your children are a credit to you.'

Since she had opened the chip shop, people tended to treat her less as a widow; they did not put on a sorrowful look tinged with sympathy when they met her. But these two women still looked at her as if she needed kind words.

‘I'm working to lose weight for the wedding,' she said.

‘Have you bought your outfit yet?' Catherine asked.

‘I went to Wexford and couldn't find anything. I'll have to go to Dublin this week or next.'

Nora watched her silently as Catherine did all the talking. Being confronted with another widow must make Nora sad, Nancy thought. She tried to think of something bright to say, something that might make Nora smile.

She was barely listening to Catherine.

‘Now, I can get all her details to you by this afternoon,' Catherine said.

It emerged that Catherine knew a saleswoman in Switzers in Grafton Street in Dublin.

‘You send her your measurements. You tell her what kind of coat or dress or two-piece you want. You make an appointment and, when you come, she has everything ready for you. Mind you, she doesn't see everybody. But I have a friend who knows her well and that's the only reason I've been able to see her. And if you want, I can phone my friend and we can take it from there. It would save you so much trouble.'

It struck Nancy that Nora must have told her sister that the chip shop was making money.

‘It's a special day,' Nora said. ‘I think you should do what Catherine suggests.'

Nancy would have agreed to anything to get past, and stop them taking her in so carefully.

Later, when she found a note in the hallway, she had forgotten that Catherine had promised to give her the details of the assistant in Switzers and the name of her friend to mention if she were to phone to make an appointment. Since she had time to spare, Nancy decided to phone the number immediately. If it didn't work the first time, she thought, she would not try again.

The call was answered after just one ring. The voice was almost grand.

‘Yes, this is Miss Metcalfe.'

The second Nancy mentioned Marie Barry, the name that Catherine had told her to invoke, Miss Metcalfe became enthusiastic.

‘Any friend of Marie's is a friend of mine. So, what can I do for you?'

When Nancy told her about the wedding, Miss Metcalfe warned her that she would have to move quickly. She asked if Nancy could fetch a measuring tape then and there. Since Nancy was sure she had one in a drawer in the kitchen, Miss Metcalfe said she would hang on, and then when Nancy returned, tape in hand, she slowly took her through the measurements she would need.

‘Now, I'll require about a week to get the best selection for you. I have three categories for customers: money no object, a very tight budget, someone in the middle.'

‘Well, it's my daughter's wedding.'

‘So, which?'

‘The middle.'

‘Can I see you in the late morning, say at twelve noon, on Thursday of next week?'

As soon as she put down the phone, Nancy determined that she would ask Jim Farrell for a lift to Dublin where he went most Thursdays. She waited until one night when, having come to see him, she was about to leave.

‘Switzers?' he asked and smiled. ‘I'll make sure you're there on time. You wouldn't want to be late. If you drive as far as the railway station in Gorey, I'll collect you. We can go on from there to Dublin and no one will be any the wiser.'

On the day before she was due in Switzers, Nancy went to Cloake's in Main Street and got her hair done, letting Mavis Cloake add the usual dye to her hair that gave it a red tinge. She got her normal perm, though she was worried that it was too tight. But at least her hair would be tidy.

At home, she found herself going through her best clothes. She would not want to look dowdy in Switzers but, as she tried some things on and checked herself in the mirror, she realised that it was Jim she was worried about. Even if their trip to Dublin together was furtive, even if he would not be accompanying her down Grafton Street or going for a walk with her in Stephen's Green, she would be travelling with him. He would watch her getting in and out of the car.

As soon as she had parked at the railway station, Nancy worried that she had arrived too early. She would have to sit here and wait half an hour for Jim. Anyone could notice her and even recognise her and come over for a chat just as Jim Farrell's car was arriving.

When Jim's car finally pulled in beside hers, she smiled at him conspiratorially as though they were in imminent danger of being detected. And then she switched as quickly as she could from her car to his. Without looking at her or speaking, he turned around and they set out towards Dublin.

‘I always park in the Montrose Hotel car park,' he said, ‘or I have since the bombs. And I get a bus or a taxi into the city.'

‘We'll be in plenty of time,' Nancy said.

Nancy thought of the two hours and more ahead of them and asked herself what they would talk about. Or maybe Jim would be happier to drive in silence. He hardly wanted her to share what was most on her mind – was the cut of Miriam's wedding dress too low? And what about the extra cost of having flowers on every table at the wedding dinner? And Laura had strong views on the wine, insisting that what the hotel was offering was too cheap.

‘I agree that it is a well-known wine,' Laura said. ‘Well known for being cheap.'

‘Is there one that's less well known?' Miriam asked.

‘But cheap too?'

‘Well, not expensive.'

‘Why don't we select a wine that is good but not too expensive?' Nancy asked.

As this conversation went through her mind, Nancy was certain that Jim did not want to hear about it.

‘Do people ever order wine?' she asked.

‘In the pub?'

‘Yes.'

‘Hardly ever. I'm sure we have a few bottles. Shane would know.'

Going through Arklow, Nancy wished she had thought of a more interesting question. She tried to come up with something that might set him talking, but every question that came into her mind sounded banal and every comment seemed as though it would only be uttered to break the silence.

With George, it had never been like this. It was natural for them both to talk. She tried to remember what it was they had spoken about. George loved stories about court cases and accounts of hurling matches and rugby games. Each week he went to the greyhound track and came home with news he had picked up there.

In the car on the way to Dublin with George there would never be silence. She wondered what Jim was thinking about.

For a moment, it occurred to her that she might tell him that she had invited Eilis to the wedding, although maybe this was not the time. But she would have to do it in the next week or so and make it sound casual, mention it when she was telling him about other guests and hope that he would not be offended.

‘Do you know who I saw passing last night? I hadn't seen her for years.'

She had spoken without thinking. When Jim turned for a second, his gaze was that of a Guard on duty.

‘Who?'

‘Sarah Kirby.'

‘She's been home on and off since Christmas,' Jim said. ‘She's run out of money.'

‘I don't think I know who she married.'

‘You might have known him to see. He was a big Beatles fan or a mod and rocker or whatever they call it. I think he tried to start a showband. And he took to drink and then they went to England.'

‘I heard Sarah was very popular.'

‘She had fellows going mad for her.'

Jim knew everything about the town, long-forgotten stories, the names of people who had left for Dublin or Liverpool years before. She had heard him talk like this at night sometimes when she came to see him. But he had been more hesitant than he was now even if he still gave the impression that he knew much more than he would ever say.

Because he seemed more relaxed, she felt free to talk about the wedding. He was listening with close attention. He turned regularly to glance at her, and showed no sign that he found the conversation tedious.

‘I don't think anyone will complain about the wine or the flowers,' he said. ‘But if you don't do it right, you'll worry. And Miriam might want everything perfect but not want to make demands. So, I'd spend the money. It's a big day.'

‘My sister Moya,' Nancy said, ‘wants to bring her four daughters and two of their boyfriends. They will take up half a table. Laura suggested I ask the boyfriends just to come later for the dancing.'

‘I can see her point,' Jim said.

As they stopped in front of the Montrose Hotel, he told her that he would ask at reception for a taxi to take her to Grafton Street and he would see her back at the Montrose at four o'clock.

‘I always park in the same spot,' he said as she got ready to leave the car. ‘The man keeps it for me if I let him know I'm coming. I'll drop you at the door and I'll see you in a minute.'

In the lobby of the hotel, Jim sat with her as they waited for the taxi.

‘What would we say,' she asked, ‘if someone from home appeared?'

‘I'd think of something,' he said, ‘or even better, I'd leave it to you. But I always get a bus into the city, so you won't have any worries in the taxi. It will be just you.'

What stayed in her mind as she travelled into the city was the fondness in Jim's gaze when he had turned to look at her during the journey to Dublin. Mainly, he was serious. Unlike George, he was not a man to be found laughing and joking at the front door of his own premises. George was always watching in case one of his friends from the rugby club passed by. And then he would go to the door and shout out the man's name and some old joke would be retold, or something fresh and funny would be imparted about one of their old associates. And George would be found doubled up with laughter in the Market Square.

In the years after he died, she missed that sound, and his easy good humour. Even thinking about it now made her feel low. He should not have died so young. Of all his group, there was no reason why he should have been singled out. She thought about what it would be like to meet him for tea in some Dublin hotel this afternoon when she had done the fittings in Switzers. She knew how proud he would be to take Miriam up the aisle in the cathedral and how much he would enjoy the company of Gerard now that he was older. They would go for a drink together at the end of the day's business. She sighed at the thought of their both being served by Jim Farrell.

As the taxi made its way past Donnybrook, she saw that, no matter what, she would be disloyal to one of them. In feeling so tenderly towards George, in dreaming how happy she would be with him at the wedding, she was imagining a life without Jim. But if, instead, she thought only of Jim, how lucky she was to be with him, it felt as if she were leaving George behind.

It was too easy to console herself with the thought that George would be glad that she had found someone. That was a soothing idea but it was no use. If anyone had told George that, on a day in the future, his own wife would be driven to Dublin by Jim Farrell in whose bed Nancy often lay at night, George would have known it as a bad dream. It would hardly comfort him to hear that Nancy was happy. But she was; and she would be even happier, she resolved, if she could put these thoughts out of her mind and live for a while in the present.

As she was early, she drifted down Grafton Street, looking into shop windows, until she came to Brown Thomas. At some stage, she thought, she should buy a proper set of table glasses and cutlery that she could use on Sundays in the new house. Searching for the household goods department, she stopped at various cosmetic stands, trying out a new lipstick that was there for casual customers to sample. As she was looking in the small face mirror, she caught a glimpse of a full-length mirror behind her. She turned and stared into it.

It was not just that she appeared older than she had imagined, but she could not think why she was carrying a white raincoat over her arm. It was a fine day, with no sign of rain. No other woman had a coat over her arm.

She believed she had chosen her best clothes for the day. In her bedroom, they might have been acceptable, but now in the sleek atmosphere that prevailed in Brown Thomas, she was like a woman who did not normally come here. In panic, for one second, she lifted her arm to her nose and smelled her cardigan in case there was even the faintest whiff of fried food or cooking oil there. She detected nothing but maybe someone unaccustomed to the odours that lived in her chip shop might notice. She would have to be brave, she thought, forget the image of herself that had just confronted her and cross Grafton Street to Switzers and ask for Miss Metcalfe.

—

‘The lift will take all day,' Miss Metcalfe said. ‘But we will wait for it if you want.'

‘I'm happy to walk.'

Miss Metcalfe was younger and much less stylish than Nancy had expected. Nothing that she wore was special in any way. Her hair was going grey.

On the top floor, Miss Metcalfe led her to a small staircase.

‘We will have privacy up here and there's a skylight which means we can actually see the garments. Something that looks great under bright electric light is awful in daylight.'

They went into a long, low room with several full-length mirrors and a rack of clothes on hangers and a dressing table covered in hats and handbags with rows of shoes on the floor.

‘You know, it's funny how much you can tell from someone's voice,' Miss Metcalfe said. ‘But I could still be wrong. I thought of a plain dress, not linen because it would wrinkle too much, and then a beautiful rich jacket, maybe with embroidery. Something very brave.'

She was inspecting Nancy from head to toe.

‘I like understatement,' she went on. ‘That's why I get on so well with Marie Barry. She wants clothes that you don't notice. She is the only woman in Ireland who can wear grey.'

Nancy didn't want to admit that she did not actually know Marie Barry.

‘I was hoping to lose weight before the wedding,' she said.

‘That,' Miss Metcalfe said, ‘is the worst idea I have ever heard. First of all, I think you look lovely in your figure as it is. Skinny, you know, is out. Secondly, you don't have enough time, and also you have plenty to worry about already. Diet after a celebration, I always say. Enjoy life before.'

Miss Metcalfe began to look through the clothes hanging from the rack.

‘I have been generous with the sizes. I don't want anything too tight. Will there be dancing?'

‘I am not sure I'll be out on the floor.'

‘But your husband . . .'

‘No, my husband is dead.'

‘Oh, then you have all the responsibility. How long ago?'

‘It's five years now. He died in the summer.'

‘Well, I'm very sorry to hear that. You are still a young woman and you look great, but you will need to look dignified. Not like a widow, mind you. But the dignified mother of the bride. Can you try on this short-sleeved dress? I know that lime is no one's favourite colour. I'm going to leave you on your own with it. And try on all the shoes. And don't let me convince you of anything. I'm sure you know what your best look is.'

The dress was wrong. It was too loose and shapeless, intended for a much larger woman, and the colour made her seem too pallid when she faced the mirror. She flicked through the garments hanging on the rack and, having picked a few out, was considering trying them on when Miss Metcalfe came back. She had more dresses over her arm.

‘Yes, it did strike me that the pale would be too pale. But I don't want you in dark colours. What do you think?'

‘I would prefer dark if it was the right cut,' Nancy said. She wasn't sure what she meant by the right cut, but she supposed she meant the right size.

Miss Metcalfe showed her a dark blue outfit in wool with thin white stripes; Nancy put it on and walked up and down in front of the mirror.

‘The cut is very subtle,' Miss Metcalfe said. ‘Elegant and understated.'

Nancy nodded.

‘I wish I'd lost weight, that's all. But you're right. This is the best. I will feel relaxed in this.'

‘Not too much, not too little,' Miss Metcalfe said. ‘Are you sure? We have more time.'

‘I think this is lovely,' Nancy said. ‘So yes, I am sure. I would like to take that.'

When they were looking at accessories, Miss Metcalfe asked her if she had driven up from Enniscorthy herself. Nancy found herself hesitating; she worried that she was blushing.

‘Someone drove you?' Miss Metcalfe asked, smiling.

Nancy nodded.

‘You have someone new in your life! I should have guessed.'

‘God, I hope you couldn't.'

Nancy found herself, then, telling Miss Metcalfe about Jim.

‘That is a really beautiful story,' she said when Nancy had concluded. ‘I mean, it's sad too, but still I'm very happy for you.'

‘We haven't really decided,' Nancy went on, ‘but I thought I would like to get married in Rome.'

‘I knew someone who did that and she said it was glorious. And you'll be married in the spring?'

‘I suppose . . .'

Nancy smiled. She believed she had said too much. No matter how great the temptation, she thought, she should never again share her news with anyone.

‘Can you wait for a moment?' Miss Metcalfe asked.

Nancy nodded.

‘I had something downstairs, but I was sending it back. Let us hope that it's still here. It wasn't right for a mother of the bride. But it was very special. It would look lovely in Rome. I mean, for your own wedding. And I should warn you that the price is very special as well.'

She returned with an ivory-coloured dress covered in cellophane over her arm.

‘It comes with this jacket. Remember, you wear it with some tinted nylon stockings and I'll have to talk to you about your hair.'

The dress and the jacket fitted her. The material felt like silk but it was heavy, or heavier than anything silk she had ever owned.

Nancy moved from one mirror to another.

‘It will take time to find the perfect shoes to go with this,' Miss Metcalfe said, ‘and I would advise a very small and discreet bag.'

She walked around Nancy.

‘Now, the price.'

When Miss Metcalfe had told her how much the dress and jacket would cost, Nancy wished she could consult Jim. Surely, he would tell her that she had been trapped! But she could not be certain. He might equally tell her that if she liked it, then she should buy it.

‘I'll send you a cheque next week for that,' Nancy said coldly.

‘Actually, there are two more things,' Miss Metcalfe said. ‘The first is hair. The only dye that works is blonde and your perm is too tight.'

‘Oh, is it? I had it done just now.'

‘And maybe we can talk about make-up when you come for the final fitting.'

‘Yes, I'll let you know what day.'

When she walked out of Switzers, Nancy turned in to one of the side streets. It was only one o'clock. She did not want to be on her own. She wondered where Jim was. She should have let Laura know that she was going to be in Dublin and arranged to meet her for lunch. But then she realised that it was better like this. She might have been tempted to tell Jim about the wedding dress, and he would think she was mad to choose a dress so long before their wedding. And Laura would want to take her back to Switzers to see what she had chosen to wear at Miriam's wedding. The image of Laura and Miss Metcalfe doing battle over style put her into good humour.

She would find somewhere for lunch, a restaurant where she could take her time. And then she would return to Brown Thomas and look around. She was sure that she would feel different there now, even with her badly dyed hair and a raincoat over her arm. She was sure that when she caught a glimpse in a full-length mirror, she would imagine herself at Miriam's wedding or walking down the grand staircase of a hotel in Rome and people turning to look at her as she adjusted her hat and found Jim waiting for her, with a car to take them to a side chapel of some great old church where they would be married.