Chapter 17
The glass on the fa?ade of the National Library shimmered in the bright sunshine, as Kitty and Hughie walked along the cobbled piazza towards the front door. It was a brand-new building and had been opened the previous autumn to great fanfare. The president of Ireland had turned up, a tiny white-haired man who was also a poet, along with Bono, who wore reflective sunglasses which matched the windows of the library.
‘Look!’ Hughie gestured to a large abstract sculpture, an elongated shape which twisted around itself at the top. ‘It’s Alex, having a conniption over the fact that one person – one! – didn’t like her work.’ He laughed to himself. ‘My God. If only I was so emotionally fragile.’ And then, in a quieter, more urgent voice. ‘I mean, I am,’ he said. ‘I’m far more emotionally fragile than she is. I just hide it better.’
Kitty laughed as they walked into the main atrium, with the shop and café on one side, a swirling staircase sweeping around the reception desk. They went their separate ways: Hughie taking the lift to ‘periodicals’ and Kitty entering the reading room.
The walls were lined with books, and in the middle of the room were rows of large tables where people were working, laptops open in front of them and research books beside them. There were two areas of soft seating, long, low couches, and smaller armchairs, which were filled by people reading newspapers. On one chair, an older man was snoozing, the Irish Independent open on his lap. No one minded or batted an eyelid and, in fact, someone had shut the large, modern shutter behind him, occluding the sunlight, creating a little haven. Toddlers were in another area, playing with toys or being read to, and there was a group of teenage girls in school uniforms, revising for their Leaving Certs at the tables at the edge of the room, their heads bowed low, writing furiously or scrolling through their phones.
Kitty had forgotten what amazing places libraries were, all those words and knowledge floating about, everything you could ever need to know at your fingertips. She paced the shelves for a few minutes, gathering a pile of books that she thought might stimulate her creative juices, and then sat down at a long table. As she scanned through them, she made notes in her trusty Moleskine.
After thirty minutes, she was pleased with herself so picked up a newspaper that was strewn on the table.
Kitty checked her phone for a message from Dave. Nothing. Her life was on hold. What about booking their holiday or his cousin’s wedding they were meant to be going to next month? There were the tiles she was going to buy for the kitchen. She wouldn’t have minded his input, although his stock answer was always: ‘Dunno, you choose.’
There was a cough from someone sitting on the chairs immediately opposite her. Then another cough, and another. Kitty looked up to see that it belonged to Tom Sweetman, who was looking over with a funny expression on his face, one eyebrow up, which made her laugh. He signalled to his cheek and pointed at her. ‘How’s the face?’ Kitty lip-read.
‘Fine,’ she mouthed. ‘I’ll live.’
He gave her a thumbs up. ‘My mother,’ he mouthed back, pointing to a woman sitting on the long sofa beside him. The woman’s grey hair was the colour of a Connemara pony and was cut into a bob just lower than her jaw, and she was wearing loose black trousers and a pale blue linen blazer and sandals. She gave Kitty a smile and a wave.
Tom was near-unrecognisable in a suit, looking older and far more responsible, as though he was a proper adult, not like the pretend adults Kitty and Shazza thought of themselves. The suit also made him look even more handsome. His hair even looked different, neater somehow, and there was a delightful novelty about seeing him out of context. Perhaps he was thinking the same, seeing her in her work clothes, as opposed to her awful football shorts. For some reason, she wished she wasn’t wearing her old silk blouse, with the small, rounded collar, that she always thought made her look as though she was going to Sunday school. But she’d paid far too much for it a few years before and wore it as often as possible just to relieve the retail guilt. Tonight, she thought, it was going straight in the decluttering basket. She didn’t want to look like a good Catholic girl… not in front of Tom, anyway.
She felt herself blushing. What was wrong with her?
She glanced back at Tom and caught his eye again, and even more embarrassed, quickly returned to her books, trying to focus on what she was reading. The old man asleep in the chair stirred and shut his eyes again, the schoolgirls were now whispering loudly. And then Tom and his mother were standing up, and walking towards Kitty.
‘Hello,’ he said, smiling. ‘Fancy meeting you here,’ he went on. ‘This is my mother… Rosamund Waters-Kennedy…’ He flashed a grin at his mother, as though he was teasing her.
‘I’ve been saddled with that mouthful since I was born,’ she explained to Kitty. ‘Roz is quite sufficient. When I had my boys, I was determined that none of them would have anything complicated.’ She gazed up at Tom lovingly. ‘Paddy, Tom and Rory. All very nice, simple names.’ She turned back to Kitty. ‘And you’re Kitty…?’
Kitty nodded, shaking her hand. ‘Kitty O’Sullivan.’
‘Kitty has just joined the five-a-side team,’ Tom explained. He turned to her and all she could remember was the feel of his fingers as he gently touched her face as she was spreadeagled on the ground. Instinctively, her fingers touched her face, which made Roz peer closer at her.
‘Has your bruise anything to do with your new career as a footballer?’ she asked.
Kitty nodded, reddening. ‘I was hoping that it was going down a bit, but, yes, I had an altercation with the ball. Proves how terrible I am at football. I’m only doing it to fill in time…’
Roz was shaking her head, smiling, searchingly. ‘Fill in time? Why would you want to do that?’
‘Oh, because… well, I’m waiting for…’
Tom and Roz were both listening far too intently. So Roz was like Tom, then, actually interested in people’s answers. Unlike Maureen, who was only interested in the words coming from her own mouth. ‘I’m waiting for… someone…’ she began.
‘Don’t tell me you’re waiting for a man?’ Roz’s eyes widened. ‘Oh my dear… they are the very last things you should wait for. They should be waiting for you, isn’t that right, Tom?’
Kitty didn’t look at Tom to see what his response was but blundered on, desperately. ‘I’m not,’ she began and then, suddenly, felt the need to unburden herself. Lying made life far too complicated. ‘Well, I might be… just a little.’
Roz’s face was one of kind concern, her grey eyes soft, as she listened to Kitty.
‘He’s gone, just for a break or to put the brakes on…’ said Kitty. ‘But it feels as though I’m on hold…’ Oh God, why had she said that? Now Tom knew that she was pathetic and useless and had no feminist principles. They had gone too, along with her pride. ‘And so, Shazza suggested I keep myself busy… she’s my best friend…’
‘She’s also on the team,’ explained Tom to his mother.
‘Just until he comes back,’ Kitty added. ‘He said he needed to go and find himself…’
‘Did he, now?’ Roz looked distinctly unimpressed.
‘We’ve been together for so long,’ said Kitty, trying to make it sound as though everything was normal. ‘He’s just a bit down, I think. His dad died a few years ago and he’s an IT specialist and he’s just reached a crossroads in his life… a stumbling block… he’s lost himself…’
She glanced at Tom to see what he was making of it all. He too was listening, a slight frown on his face.
‘My sister…’ began Roz.
‘Edith,’ said Tom to Kitty, ‘who you know…’
‘Well,’ went on Roz, ‘my sister Edith always says to never live someone else’s life, live your own. We’ve only ever got one life, don’t waste it living the wrong one.’
Kitty nodded, trying to smile and prove how normal she was. She carried on speaking in a light, breezy tone. ‘This is just temporary, anyway… we’ve got a wedding to go to soon… and tiles to choose…’
‘Of course.’ Roz looked again at Tom. ‘Right, I’ve returned my books. Are you heading back to Trinity now or do you have afternoon surgery in Sandycove?’
‘Trinity. I am giving some tutorials this afternoon.’
‘My son, the professor,’ said Roz, giving Tom a playful elbow in the arm. ‘People are so impressed with titles, aren’t they? Have you noticed?’
‘It’s meaningless,’ agreed Tom. ‘It just means I lecture a little bit, that’s all.’ He looked at Kitty. ‘What about you?’
‘Back to the office…’
Kitty followed Tom and his mother into the main foyer, falling into step with them as they walked out into the sunshine, where people gathered on the benches, eating their lunches, soaking up an hour of daylight.
‘Oh, isn’t it lovely,’ said Roz, her face turned up to the sun and the flowers. ‘So warm after such a long winter…’ For a moment, Kitty sensed something between her and Tom, as their eyes locked, as though thinking the same thing, and then he smiled at Roz, before turning back to Kitty.
‘I need to head this way,’ said Tom. ‘Which way are you going, Kitty?’
‘Merrion Square,’ she answered.
‘Well then,’ he said, ‘we’re in the same direction.’
The three of them walked to the train station, where Roz stopped. ‘Here’s me,’ she remarked. ‘Back to Sandycove. The best thing about being retired is not having to go back to the office after lunch.’ She held out her hand again to Kitty. ‘Come for Sunday lunch,’ she said. ‘We always have a full house… Edith will be there, and Tom and Rory… and bring the other team members. Shazza, is it?’ She turned to Tom. ‘And Tara, as well?’
He nodded. ‘I’ll call her…’
‘Thank you,’ said Kitty. ‘That sounds lovely.’
Tom kissed his mother goodbye and then he and Kitty began walking along Nassau Street towards Kitty’s office.
‘It’s so nice being in town,’ he said, ‘but I love taking the train back to Sandycove. I’d forgotten how much I liked that feeling of leaving the city behind and watching the sea all the way home. I missed it when I was away. London’s nice, but it’s not home.’
‘When did you come back?’
‘About a year and a half ago,’ he said. ‘I was offered a role in Trinity but also there was a possibility of going into practice again and so I took up both, balancing academia with being a hands-on vet. There’s nothing like it. I mean, I love lecturing, but there is something about taking care of an animal, helping the family, taking a small, defenceless creature who is scared, and making it better.’
Kitty smiled. ‘I have a cat, Romeo… he’s still going, aged twelve and three-quarters. I swear he’s got more than nine lives. He’s going to outlive me.’
They turned right towards Merrion Square. ‘And you’re a…?’ asked Tom.
‘A copywriter for Mulligan O’Leary, the advertising agency.’
He nodded. ‘What are you working on?’
‘Various things – health campaigns, a nut bar… trying to make that sound delicious with just words. And a new campaign for Welcome Ireland…’
‘Oh yes?’ Tom looked impressed.
‘We haven’t got it yet,’ said Kitty. ‘We’re putting a pitch together. I mean, how do you sell an entire country? How can you distil everything about Ireland into one image?’
Tom shook his head. ‘I have no idea…’ he said. ‘Except… isn’t that the secret to happiness? Find the essence and forget everything else?’
‘The essence of what?’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘if you like something or someone, work out what it is you like about it or them and do more of it. So, if you like singing, do more of it. If you like someone because they make you laugh, see more of them.’
‘And football?’
He laughed. ‘It’s not that I like football so much, but I like my brother and I want to spend time with him. And I like being out and about and busy… and… well…’ He smiled again. ‘It’s good for me. And for Rory… and…’
Kitty stopped. ‘Here’s me,’ she said. ‘Go on, what were you saying?’
He smiled down at her. ‘Look, you don’t have to come on Sunday… sorry about my mother. She’s very insistent when she likes someone.’
Maybe he didn’t want her to come, she thought, suddenly disappointed.
‘She’s always taken a shine to some of my friends and she always invited them for Sunday lunch. It was always a tradition. And then when we lost Paddy… he’s my brother who died… well, we stopped for a while, and then, a few months ago, Edith insisted Mum start up again…’
‘I’m sorry about your brother,’ said Kitty. ‘What… what happened?’
‘He just didn’t want to live any more,’ said Tom. ‘He stayed as long as he could… but… ah… well… you know. It was hard for him. Life was hard.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Kitty.
‘Yeah… yeah… thank you.’ He smiled at her but there was a sadness to him. ‘Paddy was an amazing person. The best of us, you know?’ He shrugged. ‘But I promise you the lunches are not maudlin affairs, full of sad songs and people crying into their parsnips… so you will come, won’t you? And Shazza. Edith will be there as well. And Rory. Mum likes a full table.’
Kitty smiled at him, inordinately relieved and surprisingly happy to be included. At least, she thought, that was Sunday taken care of.
‘And anyway,’ he went on, ‘I’ll see you for our first football match this evening? We’re playing the Shankill Killers. They sound terrifying.’
‘We’re going to be crucified,’ said Kitty. ‘But I think I am more scared of Tara than the Shankill Killers.’
Tom laughed, as she walked off, giving him a wave and then smiling across Merrion Square, thinking how nice it was of Roz to take a shine to her. Being taken a shine to was perhaps one of the nicest things to happen to someone.
Shine. There was something in that… something perhaps she could work with.