Edward hadn’t really expected her to say yes, but one Sunday, not too long after the meeting in the chemist’s, she was sitting at the kitchen table dunking the Marietta biscuits she had brought into her tea. Conversation had been general. The farm, her grandmother’s passing, the new job, but soon the talk had turned to James.
Edward and his mother never spoke of the missing brother and son, but the presence of Mary in the house gave them permission. They feasted on memories of the young man they had all adored, but there had been no tears. They laughed about the time he hadn’t put the hand brake on and the car had ended up blocking the entrance to the Garda barracks in Clonteer, the way he had named all the cows after the neighbours, how Dora the collie had continued to sleep on one of his old jumpers till death had claimed her too.
They arranged to meet again. A film in Clonteer. A walk along the headland on a Sunday. These weren’t referred to as dates, but they knew they didn’t want to lose each other. When Edward had kissed her it was as if a spark of James had been reignited. In truth, their brief little romance wasn’t with each other, it was a celebration of a love they shared. Asking her to marry him seemed like the right thing to do, for his mother, for Castle House, for James.
Sometimes it was hard to recall, but there had been happy times. Mary stepping her way carefully across the fields, her belly growing, a picnic lunch for them to be shared sheltering against a high hedge. The three of them sitting around after dinner talking about the future. Old Mrs Foley had picked the site for her bungalow and she had found a design she liked from the book of plans. The sound of Mary’s breathing when he woke in the night. The smell of her hair fanned out on the pillow next to his. Castle House had been transformed. It had all seemed too good to be true.
Her death had been unbearable. Cruel beyond endurance. It was like having to say goodbye to James all over again. Mary had been the keeper of the past. Losing her meant letting go of any hope of happiness. He still remembered shivering on the rocks on the far side of the paddock while the ambulance took her body away. He slipped back into a state of guilt and sadness like someone returning wearily to an unmade bed. The future, any future, had seemed impossible to imagine as he stared into the starless night.
His mother had changed overnight. This time, however, it wasn’t like when they had lost James. Back then she had disappeared into a dark place barely able to get out of bed. Edward had dropped out of school to look after the farm but there was no one to look after him. He had lived on sandwiches for months, until Mrs Lynch from the Co-op had advised him to call out the doctor. The pills had helped. His mother had left her room, and cleaned and cooked. True, she seemed distracted, almost sleepwalking through her days, but for Edward it was an improvement. When Mary had come on the scene for that couple of years, it was as if he had got his mother back; the woman who made decisions, the woman who took on tasks and completed them, the woman who knew exactly what to do. When Mary had died the change that came over Mrs Foley was different; it was a far more subtle shift. She didn’t retreat into the darkness of her room, but became strangely driven. She couldn’t allow this fresh tragedy to destroy them. She had seen Edward happy and she refused to accept that it was over. Mary could be replaced. A new woman would be found. A wife and mother. Castle House would be a home again. She could make that happen. It was as if she was willing a future for Edward into being.
Her plan had not been presented as a suggestion. It was simply what they were going to do. Giving the new baby away had been the hardest thing, but Edward knew he was in no state to take care of his daughter by himself, and so if that was what his mother said they should do, he didn’t really have a choice.
Mrs Foley had read out the ads from the Journal and between them they had chosen three to reply to. Patricia was the only one that wrote back. She couldn’t have known it as she sat at the kitchen table in Buncarragh, chewing the top of her pen, but she had sealed her own fate. Mrs Foley seemed to relish reading the letters to Teddy, and would often write and rip up two or three replies before she was satisfied and read them aloud for her son’s approval. His mother’s confidence in the plan meant that there was no turning back. He didn’t dare tell her just how excruciating the dates were, but his mother must have guessed. She knew her son and his many limitations, but she also believed that he was a good man and any woman would be lucky to call themselves his wife. The end justified the means.
Elizabeth had begun to cry and the pungent smell that filled the room suggested the reason why. Patricia rolled the changing mat out on the floor, and placed the squirming little girl in the centre of it. Edward knelt on the floor beside her and handed her a clean nappy from the pile that his mother had provided earlier.