Betty
THE MOST UNNERVING THING ABOUT Anna is how unpredictable she is.
Out of nowhere, she has appeared, barefooted, soaked.
Looking as though she has slept outside all night.
Maybe she has. Maybe if I’d had five minutes to prepare for this, I would handle it all a little bit better.
But she likes to spring herself on me, and whatever was keeping me involved with her – sympathy, or patience, or being a good Catholic – has run out.
Just as I start to tell her that I don’t want to talk, she cuts across me.
‘Do you remember I told you that Jack was nearly a father in Kilmarra? Her name was Lillian.’
‘She was amazing. I’d never met anyone like her before. I loved people before, but never as much as I loved her. And she died.’
I am reminded of Ciara, asking if Anna might be attracted to me.
I brushed it all off before. But now I don’t know if I should have.
Is that how she loved Lillian Kealey? Perhaps a moment too late, I put on a look of surprise.
I can’t let Anna know that Peggy has been talking; all that I already know about Lillian.
And although I have been itching to find out what happened to her, suddenly I am petrified to know.
The morning sun is faint. She peers her head down to try to look in my eyes, and then lets out a heavy breath. As though preparing herself.
‘I had blocked it out of my head, but last night it all came back to me. The way that she died.’
Take it back. I don’t want to hear it. It’s none of my business.
Why has she chosen me? Of all the women in Ballycrea, why has Anna targeted me?
She reaches a hand out, and I dodge it. It hurts to treat her like this, when she so clearly needs some empathy. But I can’t give it to her.