‘Thank you,’ she said, trying to summon up some enthusiasm.
The old lady moved some papers to an already large pile and sat down. Without any sign of self-consciousness, she dipped her hand into her bra and began to rearrange her still impressive breasts. Elizabeth studied a dream catcher in the window that thus far had ensnared only cobwebs and a few dead flies.
‘I was very fond of your mother but we weren’t close. Well, not for many years.’
‘It was my uncle who told me you were friends. I’m afraid I don’t remember you from growing up.’
‘You wouldn’t. We were friends before you came along.’
Elizabeth picked up the mug but glancing at it again thought better of the idea and replaced it on the table.
‘That’s sort of what I want to talk to you about.’
‘Oh, yes.’ The old lady leaned in.
‘I’m here to clear out the house and I found some letters.’
‘Letters?’
‘Yes. They are from an Edward Foley. I think he was my father.’
Rosemary let out a short sharp yelp, which made Maxi and Dick come running to see if their mistress required some assistance.
‘Edward Foley! I haven’t thought about him in years. And you found the letters? That’s gas.’
‘So, you remember him?’
‘Well, not really. I mean, I never met him, but I knew all about the letters.’
‘So, you weren’t at the wedding?’
‘No. Sure, no one was. It was all very odd. She had gone to stay with Edward and the mother and then she just didn’t come back. Not a word. Nothing. Your mother had given me the number for down there but I had no joy. I wanted to call the guards but I remember old Mrs Beamish, she ran the salon I worked in at the time, she told me I’d get in trouble for wasting their time. So, and I don’t know what possessed me, I got in my car – a little Fiat it was – and drove all the way down to Cork and out past Timoleague. It took a bit of asking but eventually I found the Foley farm.’ Elizabeth imagined a much younger version of this woman wedged behind the wheel, setting out to rescue her friend. It pleased her to think someone had ever cared about her mother that much.
‘And?’
Rosemary paused and took a sip of tea.
‘Nothing. I never saw her, or him for that matter. The old mother came out to me and told me that Patricia was too ill to receive visitors. She was nice enough, apologised for my wasted journey, but at the same time I knew there was no way I was getting into that house. There was a steeliness to her.’
‘So, what did you do?’
‘I sat back into the car and came back to Buncarragh. The next thing I hear, about a week or two later, they were married. I can’t remember who told me. There was an announcement in the paper. Of course, it was only later that it all made sense.’
‘What did?’
‘Well, when she appeared with you in her arms. You were hardly a newborn. Anyone could have seen that.’ The old woman paused and examined Elizabeth’s face, trying to gauge how much of the story she already knew or had guessed. Rosemary took a breath and continued. ‘She was obviously pregnant when she left Buncarragh. That’s why I couldn’t see her. That’s why no one was at the wedding.’
‘Really? Are you certain?’ Elizabeth found it hard to imagine that her mother had ever been a sexual being, and certainly not someone who couldn’t control her desires.
‘Put it this way, when is your birthday?’
‘The twenty-first of March,’ Elizabeth replied automatically.
‘When you were a baby, there were no birthdays. It was only when you went to school, I saw balloons tied to your railings. That date was plucked from the air, I’d say.’
Elizabeth remembered all the fuss about her birth certificate when she had been applying for her passport. Her mother claiming to have lost it and getting it re-issued. At the time she had thought it had been delay tactics by her mother because she didn’t want her to travel abroad, but maybe this woman’s theory was correct.
‘She never told me any of this, mind, but it is the only thing that makes sense. It was all very …’ She searched for the right word. ‘Well, sad, I suppose. Your mother was never the same when she came back. We used to share a joke, talk about everything, but the woman who returned to Buncarragh, well, I never saw her laughing. Her whole life was raising you and looking after that house. I suppose that gave her a certain kind of joy. Maybe it was just me that never grew up. You never really know what is going on in someone else’s head, do you?’