‘We’ll get a tram at the bottom of the road. Come on.’
He was glad now to be wearing the bowler and the serge suit. They fitted the occasion. The day was still mild enough to make it pleasant on top of the tram. When they passed by Nelson’s Pillar, Lily said: ‘This is the first time I’ve been down here in two years.’
He saw his opportunity to question her.
‘I know that. But why?’
He was sorry almost immediately. She stiffened.
‘How did you know?’
‘I enquired about you. I couldn’t help asking after you. No one had seen you.’
For the first time since their meeting he saw the old look of hurt in her eyes.
‘I’ll tell you later,’ she said.
She slipped her arm through his, a gesture that reassured him and filled him with an intense pleasure.
They walked the hill of the Phoenix Park. The trees, exposed on its height, were stripped almost bare; in the valley below, a silver gleam between green slopes, the Liffey flowed towards Islandbridge and the city. They had walked here many times in the past; in the season of hawthorn, when the air was full of white petals and fragrance; in the season of lilac and laburnum; in the dying of the year when the paths, as now, were thick with fallen leaves. Sometimes they had listened to the military band which played on Sundays in The Hollow. Pat remarked that.
‘I wish there was a band.’
She said: ‘No bands today, Pat.’
But the air was better than any band, and the light, streaming down from behind high clouds, picked out isolated green patches on the slopes of the Dublin mountains. They found a seat that was sheltered and sat down. Pat took a paper bag from his pocket and handed it to her.
‘What’s this?’
She opened the bag and looked.
‘God—it’s a long time since anyone bought me sweets. When did you get these?’
‘When I was on my way across to look for your house.’ She took one and offered him the bag, but he refused.
‘You were at a funeral this morning. Had you anything to eat?’
‘I had a sandwich in the Brian Boru.’
She dismissed that.
‘A sandwich for a grown man,’ she said, ‘that’s no way to look after yourself.’
He waited, not quite sure if this was the moment to plunge. He made up his mind.
‘Maybe you’d do the looking after for me.’
She selected another sweet with exaggerated care and fixed her eyes on the glen below. It was damp in its lower reaches; the branches of the tangled hawthorns were black against the light.
‘Meaning what, Uncle Pat?’ Her tone was light. But lines of caution moulded her face.
‘I want you to marry me.’
She threw back her head.
‘God, will you listen to him.’
‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘You used to say you didn’t believe in marriage.’
‘I don’t. But everyone else does. Well . . .’
She continued to be interested in the black branches near the bottom of the glen.
‘Not a chance,’ she said.
He took it without protest and remained silent. She held the bag towards him without looking at him.
‘Have a sweet,’ she invited. She was matter-of-fact, offhand. He made no movement. When she looked around his face was full of suffering. She let down the bag, leaned her hands on his knee and kissed him on the cheek.
‘I’m sorry.’ She had dropped her matter-of-factness. He put his hand on her shoulder, turning her towards him.
‘I love you, Lily.’
‘When did you find that out?’
‘The night you walked away from me.’
‘I’m glad.’
‘Glad?’
‘Glad you love me—not glad I walked off on you.’
He kissed her. He held her against him, letting the hurt and loneliness of two years find what release it could. He knew, for the moment anyway, that she wanted him to hold her.
‘I’ve been thinking about you all the time, Lily.’
‘Dear Pat.’
‘Why did you walk off like that. You weren’t as angry as you let on to be, I know that. Were you just fed up with me and all of us?’
‘Not with you, Pat.’
‘With the others?’
‘With the others and with myself.’
‘Why? What happened? Tell me—please, Lily.’
‘I’ll tell you,’ she promised, ‘just give me a minute or two.’
She released herself and sat thinking. He waited. It seemed to him that everything else, the stripped trees, the green slopes, the damp mist in the hollow, the black branches, the whole world waited with him. He looked at her face and it was unhappy again. It tempted him to tell her not to answer, to say it was all right. He could not. He must know where he stood.
‘Well?’ he asked, after an interval.
‘If you want to know,’ she said at last, ‘I got a dose of something.’
He knew what she meant. There was no need to ask questions. He thought carefully.
‘That wouldn’t make any difference to me.’
‘You’re daft,’ she said.
‘Did you go anywhere? Did you get treatment?’
‘I went to a fellow that Maisie knew. That’s how I came to spend your money.’
‘And you wouldn’t tell me.’
‘I was ashamed.’
Her own admission surprised her. She tried to laugh at it.
‘Imagine Lily being ashamed,’ she said.
‘Did he do any good?’
‘I think he did the trick, all right. Maisie swears by him. But you can never be sure, can you?’
‘I don’t know,’ Pat said. It was a subject he knew very little about. One thing he was quite certain of. It made no difference.
‘I’m still asking you, Lily.’
‘But I couldn’t, Pat. Supposing something happened to you.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Or supposing there were children. Jesus—imagine that! Children brought into the world and that already rotting them.’
She began to cry. He took her to him and held her fiercely. He was angry now, with the green slope, and the black boughs, with everything that dared to remain aloof from Lily’s suffering.
‘Lily. We needn’t have children. We needn’t do anything like that at all. We can marry and be with each other.’
‘You think that would be enough?’
‘I do.’
‘I wouldn’t do that on you,’ she said, gently. She took his hand and pressed it against her cheek.
‘But if I’m the one who wants it that way?’
She shook her head. She was staring again at the hawthorn boughs. He knew it would be no use to go on. For the present, anyway, there was no purpose to it. She was in his arms willingly, gratefully. For the moment that was sufficient happiness.
‘After you left me, did you think of me at all?’
She said: ‘At first I thought about nothing except it. I got work in a place in Glasnevin and never went near town except to see this doctor fellow. I hated everybody. Then, when it seemed to clear up, I knew I’d never go back to the old places. I was a fool to think that sort of life would suit. The funny thing was, when I made up my mind about that, I began to think about you. I thought quite a lot about you.’
‘What did you think?’
‘That I hadn’t been very fair to you. It was the way I felt at the time. I’m sorry, Pat.’
‘It doesn’t matter, now. Do you think you could love me, Lily?’
She did not answer immediately. When she spoke it was to say: ‘It’ll be dark very soon. We should think of getting home.’
‘Lily . . . ?’
She looked up at him for some time, her eyes wide and beautiful.
‘Yes I think I might.’
That was sufficient. The rest could wait. He kissed her again and they got up. Behind the mildness of the air there was a chill, the evening damp rising from earth and grass. Night was moving stealthily among the bushes and the branches, treading warily after the vanished sun, flowing noiselessly over the stripped trees and the heights, spreading unresisted across the plains of Ireland.