Sheila brings the tea to the table. The mugs have old-fashioned prints of bunnies among wildflowers, faded from washing. “ ’Tis almost too hot for tea,” she says.
“Cal makes it iced these days,” Lena says. “Not with milk, now; just made weak, with sugar and lemon, and kept in the fridge. I don’t mind the heat, but I have to admit I appreciate the iced tea.”
“I hate this heat,” Sheila says. “Everything’s dry as a bone, up here; the wind rattles it all night long. I can’t sleep for the noise.”
“Some people are after getting fans. I’d say that’d block out the noise, or some of it anyhow.”
Sheila shrugs. “Maybe.” She sips at her tea, steadily and mechanically, like it’s another job to be got through before the day can be over.
“Johnny’s looking well,” Lena says. “London suited him.”
“Johnny’s the same as he always was,” Sheila says flatly. “ ’Tis nothing to do with London. He’d be the same anywhere he went.”
Lena’s patience, which isn’t at its fullest this week to begin with, has been further whittled down by the walk up the mountain. She gives up on the small talk, which in any case appears to be getting her nowhere.
“Here’s what I wanted to say to you,” she says. “If you need a hand with anything, ask me.”
Sheila raises her eyes to look at her full on. She says, “What would I need a hand with?”
“I dunno,” Lena says. “You might want a place to stay for a bit, maybe.”
The corner of Sheila’s mouth lifts in something that could be amusement. “You. Taking in me and the four kids.”
“I’d find room.”
“You don’t want us.”
Lena isn’t going to lie to her. “I’d have you and welcome,” she says.
“Why would I go? He hasn’t hit me. And he won’t.”
“You might wanta be away from him.”
“This is my house. And he’s my man.”
“He is, yeah. So you might wanta show everyone he’s nothing to do with you.”
Sheila puts down her mug and looks at Lena. Lena looks back. She wasn’t sure, till now, whether Sheila knew what Johnny is at. Presumably Sheila was wondering the same about her, if she was wondering anything at all. Lena welcomes the new clarity of the situation, regardless of its unpredictability. One of the main things that annoys her about the townland has always been the endless rolling game of who-knows-that-I-know-that-she-knows-that-he-knows.
Sheila says, “Why would you have us?”
“I’ve got awful fond of your Trey.”
Sheila nods, accepting that. “At first I thought you meant for old times’ sake,” she says. “I wouldn’ta fell for that. You were never like that.”
“I wasn’t,” Lena agrees. “I mighta gone that way in my old age, but. I haven’t checked.”
Sheila shakes her head. “I’m grand where I am,” she says. “I wanta have my eye on him.”
“Fair enough,” Lena says. “I’ll take the kids if you want.”
“The little ones are all right here. I told Trey to go down to you till he leaves.”
“I’ll have her. No problem.”
“I know that. She wouldn’t go.”
“Tell her again. And I’ll ask her.”
Sheila nods. “ ’Tis great there’s people that see it in her,” she says, “that she’s worth helping. She oughta make the most of that. No one ever thought that about me.”
Lena considers this. “People thought you had what you wanted, maybe,” she says. “I thought that. There’s no point in trying to help someone outa what they want.”
Sheila shakes her head briefly. “They thought I had what I deserved. That’s different.”
“They’re awful fond of thinking that, around here,” Lena agrees. “I’d say there was plenty that thought the same about me when Sean died.”
“I liked Sean,” Sheila says. “You picked right.” Out in the yard, one of the kids yells, but she doesn’t look around. “There’s people that help me now, anyhow,” she says. “The last coupla years. Bringing me a loada turf for the winter. Mending my fence that was falling down.”
Lena says nothing. She knows why the townland started giving Sheila help.
“I oughta spit in their faces,” Sheila says. “Only I can’t afford to.”
Lena says, “Are you wanting to spit in my face?”
Sheila shakes her head again. All her movements have a spare, contained quality, like she’s eking herself out to last the day. “You’re not doing it ’cause you think it’ll clear your debt,” she says. “You owe me nothing. And you’re not doing it for me, anyhow. You’re doing it for Trey.”
“Well then,” Lena says. “If you want to bring the kids down to mine, bring them.”
This time Sheila looks at her differently, with something almost like interest. “Everyone’d be asking you questions,” she says. “You always hated that. People poking their noses in.”
It’s the first time she’s spoken like Lena is someone who used to be her friend. “I’m older now,” Lena says. “They can ask all they like. It’ll do them good. Get the aul’ circulation going.”
“What would you tell them?”
“Whatever we fancy, sure. The English fella’s here hunting for Bobby’s aliens, maybe, and him and Johnny are after bringing one into the house, and you’re sick of cleaning alien shite off your floors.”
Sheila laughs. The laugh, clear and free and youthful, takes both of them by surprise. Sheila snaps her mouth closed and looks down into her mug like she’s done something ill-judged.
“Doireann Cunniffe’d fall for it,” Lena says. “As long as you kept a straight face.”
That pulls a faint smile out of Sheila. “I was awful for that,” she says. “You had the best poker face of any of us. I was always the one that’d start in giggling and give us away.”
“That was half the fun, sure. Talking our way outa trouble afterwards.”
One of the kids shrieks again. This time Sheila gives the window a brief glance. “If I told them what we usedta get up to,” she says, “they wouldn’t believe it, to look at me now. The children. They wouldn’t believe a word.”
The thought seems to chafe at her. “Sure, that’s the way it goes,” Lena says. “I’d say our parents got up to plenty that we wouldn’ta believed, either.”
Sheila shakes her head. “I’d like them to know,” she says. “To warn them, like. One minute you’re a bunch of mad wee messers, and then next thing you know…You tell Trey. She’ll believe you.”
“She’s fifteen,” Lena points out. “We’ll be lucky if she believes a word outa any adult, the next few years.”
“You tell her,” Sheila repeats. She picks at something stuck to her mug, which seems to irritate her. The shrieking outside has stopped. “I left him one time,” she says. “Middle of the night. He was asleep, drunk. I packed the kids into the car—the four of them, just, ’twas before Liam and Alanna—and I went. Mostly I remember how quiet it was: the rain on the windscreen, and not another soul on the roads. The kids went asleep. I drove for hours. In the end I turned around and came back. There was nowhere I could drive to that was far enough to be worth my while.”
Her fingers have stilled on the mug. “I felt like a prize feckin’ eejit,” she says. “He never knew, anyway. I was glad of that. He woulda made fun of me.”
“If you think of something I could do,” Lena says. “Say it to me.”
“Maybe,” Sheila says. “Thanks for the jam.” She gets up and starts clearing away the tea things.
—
Cal is doing the dishes after lunch when Trey and Banjo show up. The sound of the door banging open hits him with a surge of relief so disproportionate it almost knocks him off his feet. “Hey,” he says. “Long time no see.”