Mrs Lynch shoved a thick wad of kitchen roll into Elizabeth’s hand and slowly the howling tears subsided.
THEN
The room was dark and silent. The low bulb in the bedside lamp seemed to throw more shadows than light and the only sound apart from the occasional whistle of the wind around the eaves was the breathing of three bodies. A baby, a woman and a very confused man.
All day she had waited for him to come but it was only after dinner when the whole house seemed to be asleep that there was a soft knock on her door and Edward slipped into the room. He didn’t look at Patricia or the baby but sidled over to the other side of the room.
Patricia spoke in a whisper so as not to wake Elizabeth.
‘You knew about this baby?’ She was standing at the foot of the bed, while Edward sat slumped, eyes on the floor, in the chair by the wardrobe. He remained silent.
‘Did you really think that if you gave me a baby, I wouldn’t want to leave this prison? Are you serious? That’s what you thought?’
Edward twisted his head from left to right.
‘It was Mammy. She said—’
Patricia wanted to scream so badly that she clasped her hands over her mouth. Edward groaned and wrapped his arms around his head.
Patricia moved forward and knelt before him.
‘Edward.’ She tried to sound as reasonable and calm as she could. ‘We have to get this baby back to where it belongs. I don’t know where you got it, but she must go back. This is serious.’ Silence. ‘Are you listening? Do you understand, Edward?’
She placed a hand on his knee and he looked up, catching her eye for the first time. ‘She’s mine,’ he said in the softest of whispers.
Patricia wasn’t sure if she’d heard him correctly. ‘What? Your baby?’
‘I’m her father.’ His voice sounded dry and matter of fact.
It felt as if all the air had been sucked from the room. How was this possible? It wasn’t possible. Edward was lying. He must be. How could they have kept a baby, a crying baby, hidden all this time? Then it came to her, like putting a name to a face or turning a corner to find you weren’t lost after all: she remembered the pink soother. The one she had found in the other bedroom. She had forgotten all about it. Maybe he was telling the truth.
‘Where has she been, Edward? Why didn’t I hear her?’
Edward seemed less distracted now. He knew the answers to these questions.
‘A neighbour. Mrs Lynch had her.’
‘But the mother, Edward. There must be a mother, who is she?’
He simply stared for a moment and Patricia wondered if he had decided to stop speaking but then he ran his tongue over his top lip and said, ‘I was married before.’
Patricia immediately wanted to correct him. He sounded as if he genuinely believed that they were married, but she resisted.
‘All right. But where is she? Who is she?’
He leaned forward and took Patricia’s hand.
‘Mary.’ There was something in his tone that suggested that Patricia was supposed to know this fact already.
‘Mary?’ she repeated.
‘Every bush, every bower, every wild Irish flower, it reminds me of my Mary on the banks of the Lee.’
Patricia dropped his hands and sat back. The song they had shared on the bridge. That moment, which she had found romantic, he thought had been his way of telling her about his wife.
‘Edward …’ She was at a loss for words. The workings of his mind were a mystery to her, she didn’t know where to start, how to explain her feelings so that he might understand.
‘I thought that was just the old song, Edward. I couldn’t have known that Mary was your wife.’ She paused and looked at his impassive face. ‘Do you see?’
‘She died,’ was his simple response.
Patricia thought of the rest of the song. Of course she was dead. For a moment she felt sorry for the crumpled man in front of her but then she remembered the baby. Tiny Elizabeth in her basket. This wife hadn’t passed away years ago.
‘When did Mary die, Edward?’
‘Last year. The end of last year.’
Patricia froze and deliberately tried to slow her breathing down. She could feel panic bubbling in her chest.
‘But Edward … Edward, you wrote to me late last year, so …’
‘It was Mammy’s idea,’ he said quietly.
Patricia turned away. She couldn’t look at him. At last the madness was explained. Edward didn’t want a wife, Elizabeth needed a mother. Edward was still speaking.