Several respectable ladies had looked round in horror, and Setanta’s voice had risen several decibels. ‘You’re not the boss of me, GobnitFartyFartFaceKelly! You’re a pig!’
Despite increasingly overt hints from Hanna, Darina often used the library as a crèche, so this was a scene that regulars had become used to. Ordinarily Pat, an inveterate people-watcher, would have been dying to hear how it had played out, but tonight she said she needed an early night. ‘I’d say it’s just the jetlag but I’m feeling a bit tired.’
‘Have you eaten?’
‘I have. I’m grand, love, don’t mind me. There’s dinner there on the range – you can help yourself.’
But the casserole was very nearly untouched. There were five bulging bin bags on the landing and, checking them out, Cassie found them full of Ger’s clothes. She assumed that Frankie and Pat must have worked half the day to sort them, so no wonder Pat had been tired and a bit down. As she ate dinner, Cassie remembered her conversation with Hanna. Family needed to pull together after a bereavement, and Pat was going to need time and space. So perhaps, she thought, she and Uncle Frankie should talk about the process. Practical stuff like clearing the rest of Ger’s things, and how to raise Pat’s spirits on bad days. And how to share the task of keeping her going. Maybe they could plan some family outings to cheer her up.
Fired by the thought, she crept upstairs and found Pat sleeping. So she left the flat quietly and went to get the car. She’d never had Frankie’s number so she couldn’t call to let him know she was coming, but it was still early evening so he wasn’t likely to mind.
The Fitzgerald farm was on the southern side of the peninsula, where the cliffs were low and the land was most fertile. Ger had bought up neighbouring holdings, extending his property to the motorway in one direction and to the Atlantic in the other. Driving between miles of green fields, Cassie was charmed by her surroundings. There was rain on the wind and sheep and lambs were sheltering against the hedges. As the watery sun began to set, the evening became chilly and, in dips in the road, Cassie’s headlights pierced a drifting mist. Now and then they picked out a clump of tiny green ferns uncurling, like watch springs, against grey stones patched with white lichen. All this land now belonged to Pat. Eventually, Cassie supposed, it would come to her dad and uncles but, until then, she assumed, the farm would still be run by the manager. She couldn’t see Dad or Uncle Jim developing an interest in farming.
Turning the car down the side road that led to Frankie’s driveway, she wondered if her dad had ever worked in these fields when he was a boy. It didn’t seem likely. The yard in Toronto was cared for by a gardener, who came each week with a mower and tools in a van; except for golfing, Dad never spent much time in the open air. Neither did Uncle Jim: he was always striving for weight loss but did all his bending and stretching with a personal trainer at the gym.
The gate was open so she drove between the fancy gateposts and pulled up on the gravelled sweep before the door. Frankie’s wife, Fran, appeared on the steps. She was a statuesque brunette with brown eyes, long, curling lashes, and the placid, benevolent air of a well-fed cow. Cassie slammed the car door and ran up the steps to greet her. Looking vaguely surprised, Fran offered her cheek for a kiss. Cassie pecked it obediently. ‘Hi. Look, I’m sorry to turn up unannounced, and I hope it’s not inconvenient.’
‘Not at all.’ Fran gestured towards the open door behind her. ‘Would you like to come in?’
‘Well, if you don’t mind. I just thought maybe Frankie and I could talk.’
‘We could sit in the conservatory, if you like.’
‘Thank you. If you’re sure you don’t mind.’
They progressed down the hall to a vast white conservatory. On the way, as if she’d only just noticed, Fran remarked that Frankie wasn’t home. Cassie felt flustered. ‘Look, maybe I should come back another time.’
‘No, sit down. I’ll get you a vodka.’
She indicated a sofa upholstered in large chintz roses and Cassie sat down. ‘Well, okay. Thanks. But I won’t have a drink.’
‘No?’ Fran’s big eyes widened. ‘I always have a vodka at this time of day.’ Fetching her drink from a miniature bar, she sat opposite Cassie in a vast rattan armchair. Cassie, who was wearing jeans and biker boots with a fleecy hooded sweatshirt, felt uncomfortably hot and underdressed. The conservatory was stifling, and Fran wore a flowered maxi dress with gold sandals, and a casually draped pashmina displaying her spray-tanned arms.
‘So, will Frankie be home soon?’
Fran’s vagueness became more pronounced. ‘I never know, really. I’d say he might.’ She leaned back and smiled. ‘It’s nice to have a visitor. Why did you say you’d come?’
‘I didn’t. I mean, I just said I thought we might talk. He and I. Well, you too, of course. About Pat.’
‘She’s very sweet, isn’t she?’
‘Well, yes. She is. And the thing is . . . I wondered if you and Frankie and me could talk about the future.’
Fran sipped her drink carefully, as if it required concentration. Her face wore a puzzled frown. ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’
‘Well, just, you know, I thought we might talk about sharing things out.’
About to explain further, Cassie heard a step in the hall. Then Frankie came into the room and Fran’s face rearranged itself in a smile. ‘There you are! Look, Cassie’s here.’
He was standing inside the arched entrance to the conservatory and, although the room faced the watery sunset, it seemed as if he’d blocked out all the light. Cassie wondered if she ought to stand up and kiss him. He didn’t seem to expect it, because he crossed the room and stood by Fran’s chair with his hand on her shoulder. Fran smiled up at him, saying Cassie had come round for a talk.
‘Has she?’ With his eyes on Cassie, he spoke to Fran. ‘And you never offered the poor girl a drink?’
Fran looked hurt. ‘I offered her a vodka, Frank. She said no.’
Before Cassie could say a word, Frankie went to the bar and came back with a vodka and tonic and a whiskey and soda, served in heavy cut-glass. Cassie found herself taking the vodka and tonic. It was far too strong and she put it down after the first sip.
Frankie had seated himself on the arm of Fran’s chair. Again he looked at Cassie and spoke to his wife. ‘And to what do we owe the honour of this unexpected visit?’
‘She says she wanted to talk about sharing things out.’
For a second Frankie’s eyes narrowed, but Cassie, who had plunged in to explain, didn’t notice. ‘What I thought was, we could talk about how we could tackle this together. I didn’t want you to think I was taking over.’ She stopped speaking, feeling that Frankie was looking at her strangely. Then, eager to make herself understood, she went on, ‘I just wondered if maybe we ought to, well, coordinate. That’s all.’
Fran smiled up at Frankie. ‘That’s kind, isn’t it? We could do that.’
Relieved by her response, Cassie beamed at her. ‘Pat loved it when we went shopping in Resolve.’
Fran looked at Frankie. ‘Well, I like shopping.’