everything. I’ll just wash my hands and my face and I’ll be with you in no time.”
Nora had forgotten how high the ceilings were in the rooms upstairs. The room was filled with a heavy watery grey light that hit against the grey carpet, the walls painted white, the rich blue lampshades, the blue cushions on the sofa, the blue curtains, the patterned rug and the long full bookcase and gave the room a sort of opulence that no one coming up the lane or looking at the house from the outside or walking through the dead orchard could expect.
As she stood at the window and looked out at the day, it occurred to her for the first time how much her two sons would have disturbed the life of these rooms, which had been prepared with such care. Even the very untidiness was part of Josie’s life, a life that seemed designed not to be disturbed. It had been, she thought then, a reasonable idea then to leave them with her aunt rather than her sisters. She did not take them to stay with Catherine in Kilkenny, although Catherine had offered, as Catherine had her own children to mind. And Una, her younger sister, moved into the house and looked after Aine, and Fiona if she came for the weekend. Una could not have taken care of the two boys as well, nor could Maurice’s sister Margaret, even though she doted on them. Nor could Nora have left themto be looked after by neighbours or cousins. Josie, on the other hand, had space and time and she lived close enough to the town; the boys knew her and John and John’s wife; the farmhouse and even Josie’s extension were familiar. It had seemed reasonable then. But, as Nora watched from the window and then turned and took in the space that Josie had created for her retirement, the idea that she had left the boys here for so long somehow did not seem reasonable now.
Josie had combed her hair and put on a cashmere sweater. She pushed in a small trolley with a teapot and two cups and saucers and a bowl of sugar and a jug of milk.
“We’ll let the tea settle,” she said and then went to the window.
“It’s nice here on a fine day and the heating system works so it’s warm now in the winter as well. I was worried about the heating. I thought it would dry the air, but it works—”
“Josie, I was going to ask you about the boys,” Nora interrupted her.
“Are they well?” Josie asked, moving towards the trolley.
“I never asked you what it was like having them here.”
“What it was like for me?” she asked.
Nora did not reply.
“I offered to do it, Nora, and I meant the offer.”
“What was it like for them?” Nora asked quietly.
“Nora, are you blaming me for something?” Josie asked.
“No, I’m asking, that’s all.”
“Well, sit down then and stop looking at me like that.”
Nora sat on the sofa and Josie on the armchair beside her.
“Donal came home with this terrible stammer.”
“Yes, he got that here, Nora. It began here.”
“And Conor. I don’t know what it is about him. And Donal had a nightmare on Saturday night. It was the worst thing.”
Josie began to pour the tea, having moved the trolley closer to her.
“Put the milk and sugar in yourself. I can never judge it.”
“What happened to them here?” Nora asked.
Josie put a lump of sugar in her tea and then some milk. She took a sip and put the cup down on the trolley.
“I suppose they noticed the silence,” Josie said.
“The silence? Is that all?”
“Yes. They’re from the town. And maybe I should have arranged for them to play with some of the local boys, but they didn’t want that. So they stayed here. And it was silent. And they thought you might come and you never did. Sometimes even if a car began to make its way up the lane, or pulled in on the road, the two of them would stop what they were doing and sit up. And then time went by. I don’t know what you were thinking of leaving them here all that time and never once coming to see them.”
“Maurice was
Nora had forgotten how high the ceilings were in the rooms upstairs. The room was filled with a heavy watery grey light that hit against the grey carpet, the walls painted white, the rich blue lampshades, the blue cushions on the sofa, the blue curtains, the patterned rug and the long full bookcase and gave the room a sort of opulence that no one coming up the lane or looking at the house from the outside or walking through the dead orchard could expect.
As she stood at the window and looked out at the day, it occurred to her for the first time how much her two sons would have disturbed the life of these rooms, which had been prepared with such care. Even the very untidiness was part of Josie’s life, a life that seemed designed not to be disturbed. It had been, she thought then, a reasonable idea then to leave them with her aunt rather than her sisters. She did not take them to stay with Catherine in Kilkenny, although Catherine had offered, as Catherine had her own children to mind. And Una, her younger sister, moved into the house and looked after Aine, and Fiona if she came for the weekend. Una could not have taken care of the two boys as well, nor could Maurice’s sister Margaret, even though she doted on them. Nor could Nora have left themto be looked after by neighbours or cousins. Josie, on the other hand, had space and time and she lived close enough to the town; the boys knew her and John and John’s wife; the farmhouse and even Josie’s extension were familiar. It had seemed reasonable then. But, as Nora watched from the window and then turned and took in the space that Josie had created for her retirement, the idea that she had left the boys here for so long somehow did not seem reasonable now.
Josie had combed her hair and put on a cashmere sweater. She pushed in a small trolley with a teapot and two cups and saucers and a bowl of sugar and a jug of milk.
“We’ll let the tea settle,” she said and then went to the window.
“It’s nice here on a fine day and the heating system works so it’s warm now in the winter as well. I was worried about the heating. I thought it would dry the air, but it works—”
“Josie, I was going to ask you about the boys,” Nora interrupted her.
“Are they well?” Josie asked, moving towards the trolley.
“I never asked you what it was like having them here.”
“What it was like for me?” she asked.
Nora did not reply.
“I offered to do it, Nora, and I meant the offer.”
“What was it like for them?” Nora asked quietly.
“Nora, are you blaming me for something?” Josie asked.
“No, I’m asking, that’s all.”
“Well, sit down then and stop looking at me like that.”
Nora sat on the sofa and Josie on the armchair beside her.
“Donal came home with this terrible stammer.”
“Yes, he got that here, Nora. It began here.”
“And Conor. I don’t know what it is about him. And Donal had a nightmare on Saturday night. It was the worst thing.”
Josie began to pour the tea, having moved the trolley closer to her.
“Put the milk and sugar in yourself. I can never judge it.”
“What happened to them here?” Nora asked.
Josie put a lump of sugar in her tea and then some milk. She took a sip and put the cup down on the trolley.
“I suppose they noticed the silence,” Josie said.
“The silence? Is that all?”
“Yes. They’re from the town. And maybe I should have arranged for them to play with some of the local boys, but they didn’t want that. So they stayed here. And it was silent. And they thought you might come and you never did. Sometimes even if a car began to make its way up the lane, or pulled in on the road, the two of them would stop what they were doing and sit up. And then time went by. I don’t know what you were thinking of leaving them here all that time and never once coming to see them.”
“Maurice was
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