‘Thank you,’ she said quietly, not wanting to interrupt Mrs Foley’s flow.
‘Aren’t you a great girl to make that journey all by yourself? Outside Kilkenny you’re from, is it? Teddy told me. I’ve never been there myself. The ICA did a trip there once to see the castle and they had a tour of the brewery but sure, why would I want to see that, so I didn’t go. The girls loved it though. Said it was a very nice city. Narrow streets. Sure, I suppose you go there rarely enough yourself. You were looking after your mother, weren’t you? Teddy mentioned it. Very sorry for your loss. It must be hard for you being all alone. You have a brother, I think Teddy said. Are you two close?’
The room suddenly fell silent and Patricia realised that she was being asked to speak. It was becoming clear to her why Edward was a man of so few words.
‘Not especially, no.’
Edward stepped sheepishly back into the room and was handed a cup of tea and encouraged by a cushion-patting hand to sit next to Patricia on the sofa. All of this occurred while his mother continued her monologue.
‘Of course boys and girls are very different. I would have loved a little girl but it wasn’t to be. I just have Teddy now, and it’s a long time since anyone called him a boy. He works hard, don’t you, Teddy? Dairy isn’t an easy life but it’s the life we know and we get by, don’t we, Teddy?’ Edward didn’t even look up. He evidently understood that the tsunami of chat would just wash over him and it did. Patricia sipped her tea and occasionally nodded or smiled when she felt it was appropriate. Somehow, like a ventriloquist drinking a glass of water, Mrs Foley had managed to consume her tea without pausing for breath. Putting her cup back on the tray she concluded. ‘Look at the time. You should be getting on with the milking. I have the dinner on. Would Mary like to go with you?’
Edward froze and stared at his mother, who at first didn’t seem to have noticed her mistake, but then a ripple of horror crossed her face.
‘Patricia! Patricia! My mind is away!’
‘Don’t worry about it.’ Patricia wasn’t sure what had just happened but she knew it hadn’t offended her. Edward had his back to her and his mother.
‘Where did you put Patricia’s coat?’ Mrs Foley was back in full flow. The two young people were herded into the hall and towards the back of the house. Patricia’s coat was retrieved from a heaving row of pegs and Edward slipped on a pair of waiting wellington boots. He opened the back door and the rush of wind came as a welcome relief from the incessant chatter of the last few minutes.
Head bowed, Edward looked sideways at Patricia.
‘She likes to talk.’
‘She does.’
They exchanged a look and again she felt that they were somehow on the same side.
Edward pointed back towards where the car was parked. ‘That’s the orchard.’ Patricia looked at the couple of dozen stunted trees permanently cowering at right angles against the tireless wind. She followed him as he walked towards the ruins of the castle. Mounting what she assumed had been the steps to the main entrance, she took his arm for balance. Under the rough material of his jacket, he felt solid, manly.
Once inside, the rough stone walls provided some protection from the storm.
‘Is it always this windy here?’
‘Not all the time, but there’s nearly always a bit of a breeze off the sea.’
Through what might have once been a window or a door Patricia could see the waves crashing against the bottom of the cliff. Edward leaned close, closer than was necessary. He smelled of soap, not the sweet perfume of Camay or Imperial Leather, but the fresh tang of that hard butter-yellow block her mother had used for hand-washing her smalls. She liked it. ‘That’s the beach down there but if you follow it around behind this, it turns into the start of the marsh.’ Patricia craned her neck to see where he was pointing. ‘We drove across it,’ he added by way of explanation. ‘They say the Foleys built the castle because they were protected by the marsh behind them and any boats coming from the sea would be frightened of running aground.’ She nodded to show she understood. His voice soothed her. Not as deep as his monosyllabic grunts had led her to believe, the lazy lilt of his West Cork accent made her feel oddly calm. Their eyes met and neither of them looked away. She could feel the heat of his body in the cold damp cave of the ruined walls. She wondered if he might try to kiss her again, but then without warning he simply reached out his right hand and gently squeezed her breast. It was so unexpected, she didn’t flinch. Her eyes looked down at the mottled pink of his hand and then back up to his expressionless face. He removed his hand and said, ‘I’d better get on with the milking.’ Edward turned and walked away leaving Patricia to ponder if it had been her modest bosom that had prompted him to seek out the heaving udders in the milking parlour.