‘All right,’ he said, pacifying her, ‘it doesn’t matter. I didn’t know you’d spend it—not all of it.’ He paused and added, ‘You never did that before.’ He meant it as an explanation, but Lily chose to take it as a reproach. She turned quickly on him.
‘I needed it. I’ve told you already.’
‘And I said that’s all right. But you shouldn’t have avoided me.’
‘Who avoided you?’ Lily demanded, raising her voice.
The curate, coming for the order, said soothingly, ‘Now, now, lady, keep the voice down—no commotion.’
‘You shut up,’ Lily snapped at him.
He grinned at her and went off to get the drinks. Pat, the hurt of it goading him, persisted.
‘All those weeks you were avoiding me. And you had Maisie and her likes laughing at me.’
‘What the hell do you think they were doing at me?’
Pat touched her hand again, but she drew it quickly away from him. Her hostility was harder to bear than anything else. He had not realised before how much he cared for her; not her body only, that she had denied to him when they had last met, but Lily herself, Lily who was quick to gibe but quick also to comfort and generous also in giving. Lily who could touch him with a slender hand and evoke a memory of childhood. Painfully he asked:
‘Are you in trouble, Lily?’
His warmth and concern undermined her anger.
‘Was I ever in anything else?’ she said, her lip trembling and her eyes filling with tears, ‘since the day I came into the world.’
‘And you won’t tell me what it is?’
‘Please don’t ask me, Pat,’ she pleaded. ‘I needed your few pounds and I spent it. And for all the good it done I might as well have flung it into the Liffey.’ She turned to face him, a desperate honesty in her voice. ‘I played square with you always, didn’t I? You trusted me with many a thing and I never once let you down. This time it couldn’t be helped.’
‘You don’t have to explain anything, Lily.’
‘That’s what I used to think. But you kept looking for me.’
‘Is there any harm in that? Am I not to look for you?’
‘You were asking everybody. I knew it was the money you wanted.’
‘The others had me upset. I said I could get two pounds and when I told them how one of them jeered at me for a fool.’
He saw her stiffen and wondered what he had done now.
‘What others?’ she asked, in a tight, agonised voice.
‘Joe—Fitz. I told them I could get two pounds.’ The curate came and put their drinks on the table. Lily ignored him.
‘So you’ve been talking to them about me . . .’
‘I haven’t been talking to anybody.’
‘You blazoned it to the world and its wife that Lily Maxwell spent four pounds that didn’t belong to her.’
‘You have it all wrong, Lily.’
He had half risen in his effort to explain away her misunderstanding, but she brushed past the curate and stopped at the door.
‘After that you can keep your drink. I don’t want you crying it around the city that I drank your money on top of spending a bloody fortune on you.’
Pat stood up. Everything he tried to say had come out wrong. He struggled for more words, the right words. They didn’t come and he felt he was going to burst.
‘Lily . . .’ he shouted. He loved her. He wanted to shout that too. But the curate was standing by, grinning, taking it all in. She pushed open the door and went out. It banged hard behind her, sending a cloud of sawdust inwards along the floor. The curate, large, red-faced, amiable, said to Pat:
‘That’s women for you—never know when you have them.’
He was greatly amused.
‘Will I take back the second drink?’
‘Leave it where it is,’ Pat told him.
He tried to match the curate’s mood—to sound offhand and undisturbed. It was painfully difficult, with his world in bits about him.
She was gone. He lingered over the drink Lily had left behind her until the loneliness became unbearable. He was back in the street and wondering what direction to take, when the idea of approaching Mr. Donegan again suggested itself. He had nothing to pledge that was worth anything and anyway Mr. Donegan was bound to have put up the shutters for the night, but he made up his mind to try what was a forlorn hope.
It was quite dark now. Along Donegan’s street, the gas-lamps, spaced widely apart, threw a circle of soft light about themselves. The shutters of Mr. Donegan’s shop caught and reflected the ghost of their glow, the three brass balls shone dimly. A light escaped from the chink in the blind which covered the window above the gold lettered name. Pat began to knock at the door, producing a sound that startled the deserted street. It took Mr. Donegan some time to descend the stairs and when he opened the door he was not in the best of humour.
‘What’s all this?’ he demanded, peering out.
‘It’s me,’ Pat said.
‘Either that or your twin brother,’ Mr. Donegan agreed.
‘I want to see you about a little matter.’
‘I open in the morning,’ Mr. Donegan pointed out.
‘For the love of your mother, Mr. Donegan, as an old and loyal customer.’
Mr. Donegan sighed.
‘Come in.’
He led the way down a narrow passage until they came to a side door which let them into the shop. It was in darkness. Mr. Donegan found the portable ladder, struck a match and grunted elaborately as he stretched up to light the gas.
‘Now look what I’ve done,’ he said. He had touched the mantle with the head of the match. A blue flame, escaping through the puncture, tried like a tongue to lick the side of the glass.
‘It’s a favour,’ Pat began, when Mr. Donegan had climbed down.
‘So I feared.’ He looked again at the mantle, as though it was at fault.
‘I want two pounds.’
‘Tonight?’
‘At once, if I can have it.’
‘Are you in trouble?’
‘Of a kind.’
‘If it’s to bribe a policeman don’t be a fool. He’ll either list it in the charges or he’ll take it and tip off one of his pals to pick you up tomorrow.’
‘It’s not that sort of trouble.’
‘What have you to pledge?’
‘Nothing,’ Pat said.
It took Mr. Donegan some moments to find words.
‘Nothing,’ he repeated.
‘If you give me two pounds now, I’ll have it back with you before three o’clock tomorrow.’
‘Where will you get it?’ Mr. Donegan asked, putting his elbows on the counter and leaning forward, confident that there was no satisfactory answer.
‘From a moneylender who knows me well.’
‘And what guarantee have I that I’ll ever see you again?’
‘My good name.’
‘You’ve a good name,’ Mr. Donegan agreed, ‘but that’s not a good business basis. We must be reasonable.’
Pat bent down. Mr. Donegan, leaning forward still further, saw with growing surprise that he was unlacing his boots. He took them off with difficulty and placed them on the counter under Mr. Donegan’s nose.
‘These,’ he said.
Mr. Donegan lifted one of the boots, and, looking hard at the sole, spoke his mind.
‘Is it these . . .?’
‘Them.’
‘You’d buy five pairs of these for two pounds.’
‘I could. But I wouldn’t,’ Pat said.
‘You wouldn’t,’ Mr. Donegan agreed. ‘I know you well enough to believe that.’
‘Then take the boots. A man can’t do without his boots very long and they’ll be your warrant that I’ll be back with the money.’
Mr. Donegan thought hard. Then he went to the back of the shop. He reappeared with two sovereigns, which he gave to Pat.
‘Are you satisfied,’ Pat asked, before he accepted them.