"That I spend some nights in Mother's place," Nora sounded mutinous. "It's not much to ask. I mean . .."
"How many nights?" Brenda's voice was like steel.
"Well, until they get full-time help ..."
"Which they won't ..."
"Oh, they will eventually, Carissima ..."
"Don't Carissima me, Nora. They've asked you to go in every night, haven't they?"
"For a very short time . .."
"And Aidan?"
"He'll understand. I'd want him to do it if it were one of his parents."
"Listen. That man had one class-A bitch of a wife already. Don't let him have a second wife who turns out to be as mad as a fruitcake."
"We owe it, we have so much happiness, and isn't it like a bank? You have to give something out if your account is overflowing."
"No, Nora, that's not the way it works."
"It is for me and for Aidan too. I know it will be."
There was a silence.
Nora spoke again. "It's not that I don't have the guts to refuse them. I do, plenty of guts. I know my mother disapproves of me, and my brothers and sisters do, but that's not the point."
Brenda knew with terrible clarity that this was indeed the point. This family wanted to destroy Nora's happiness.
Nora had spent too many years in the hot sun of Southern Italy. It had affected her judgement, softened her mind. It was going to lose her the love of that good man Aidan Dunne.
"Will you promise me one thing ..." Brenda began.
"I can't make any promises."
"Just do nothing for a week. Say nothing to anyone for one week. It's not long."
"What's the point if I'm going to do it anyway?" "Please. Just to humour me."
"Bene Carissima ... just to humour you, then." Brenda Brennan called a friend who was a matron in a hospital. "Kitty, can I ask you a very small favour? There's a nice bribe of dinner for two in the restaurant."
"Who do I have to assassinate?" Kitty Doyle asked eagerly. "Do you like having me around your flat, Mother?" Nora asked.
"What kind of question is that?"
"I just wondered. You don't smile. You don't laugh -with me."
"What's there to smile and laugh about?"
I tell you little jokes sometimes."
"Ah, don't start going soft in the head, Nora. Really now, on top of everything else."
"On top of what else?"
"You know."
"Can I bring Aidan to meet you, Mother? I've met all his family."
"You haven't met his lawful wedded wife, I'd say."
I have, actually. I met her up at Mountainview School and I met her up at her house. You know, where Aidan used to live. I painted the Italian room so that she could make it into a dining room when she sold the house."
Her mother showed not the slightest interest.
"Would you like me to paint the kitchen here for you, Mother?"
"What for?" her mother asked.
"No, let's leave it," Nora said.
"Your mind is a million miles away, Nora," Aidan said that night. "Is something worrying you?"
"Not really."
"Tell me."
Til tell you in a week," she said.
"There's nothing wrong, Nora? I can't wait a week. Tell me, tell me."
"No, it's no illness or anything. It's just a problem. I promised I'd wait a week. You sometimes wait before you tell me things. Believe me, it's nothing sad," she said, her hand on his arm.
"I love you so much, my beautiful Nora," he said, tears in his eyes. "And I too will have news for you in a week."
"I'm not beautiful. I'm old and mad," Nora said seriously.
"No, you foolish love, you are beautiful," said Aidan, and he meant it. Back in her mother's flat, Nora assessed how much she needed to bring with her. Sheets, a couple of rugs that could be easily stored when they were not in use on the sofa.
She would have to have a sponge bag, a change of shoes and some underwear that she could store in the bathroom cupboard. She must get a stronger electric light bulb. Maybe she could do some embroidery at night when Mother was asleep.
It would be so lonely without Aidan, and he would be lonely too. But there was no point in trying to get him under her mother's roof. The protest was too strong.
Brenda had been to see Nora's mother yesterday.
As always, Mrs. O'Donoghue sighed and said it was such a pity that Nora hadn't turned out like her friend. Properly married, earning a decent living.
"Very selfish, of course, she and her husband not having a family just so that they could get on in their careers."
"Perhaps they tried and the Lord didn't send them any children," said Nora, who knew just how hard they had tried.
Her mother sniffed.
"And I hear Helen was here."
"She hasn't been here for days," Nora's mother said.
Hard to know which of them to believe.
Helen had said she was leaving a letter for Nora on the dresser. Nora read it. The usual stuff about how Mother was failing every day, some accommodation must be reached, the rest of them had proper homes and families ...
There was also another couple of letters. They were about Mother's health. Nora took them down to read. One was a typed letter from a Ms K. Doyle, matron of a large hospital, responding to a request to know about the availability of in-home carers.
Nora's heart soared. She always knew that her sisters must have planned for her mother's care. But it was good to see it proved.
Ms Doyle had offered them several options but suggested first that their mother's health should be properly assessed so that her needs could be established. Then, oddly, there was a photocopy of the letter that Helen must have sent back.
Nora stood there reading. Thank you for your concern. I am at a loss to know exactly who it was that contacted you, possibly my sister Nora who has been abroad a lot and is very unbalanced. She doesn't realise that our mother is a very strong, fit, seventy-five-year old, well able to look after herself. Like all elderly people left on their own, she sometimes suffers from the need for company. But now that Nora has, we think, returned to Ireland permanently, she might well spend overnights with my mother which would get her out of another unsuitable situation and kill many birds with one stone. So there is no question of us needing any help now or in the foreseeable future.
I am sorry that you have been bothered in this regard by my sister, who undoubtedly meant well but who, as you can see, has little grasp of the situation. I am surprised that she asked you to reply to me, but glad that I was able to set you right on this.
Nora has always been a great problem to this family. We don't suggest that she live full-time with our mother as Nora has no social skills and is unable to be a companion for anyone. Still, the night-time company should surely benefit both of them.
Thank you again for your courteous and helpful letter. Nora sat for a long time with the letter in her hand. Surely her sister had not intended her to read it. It must have been sent in error. It must have been. Helen would surely not want her to see what she had written. That Nora was unfit, without social skills, that Mother was fit and strong, needing no caring, that the family was trying to rescue Nora from an unsuitable situation.
But if Helen had not left her this letter on the high shelf of the dresser, then who had?
For a long moment Nora thought about her friend Brenda, dear, dear, Brenda Carissima, who had been so loyal over the decades, and who had asked her to wait a week. Just one week. But even Brenda couldn't have set this up.
This was a real person ... Ms K. Doyle, her name was on the hospital's letterhead. This was Helen's handwriting. Not even wily, cool Brenda could have accomplished this.
Nora went back home to Aidan.
"My week is up, so I'm telling you that I'm going to spend every single night with you until I die," she said.