Chapter 9 #2
She’d resented Lydia before the accident, but this was something far bigger. Now it felt as if she truly hated her. How could she think it was Lydia’s fault? How could she be so monstrous as to throw an accusation like that at her?
Back at the house she rang Marian.
‘Oh, Lydia, I don’t know what to say. In a way I’m really happy for you, but it must be tough.’
‘I’m still trying to take it in, to be honest.’
‘You must be. How are you feeling – I mean physically?’
‘Still a bit iffy, but I think it’s easing.’
‘Hopefully. Have you told Kathleen and Brendan?’
‘I was there earlier. Kathleen—’ She broke off, unable to speak of the horrible scene.
‘She took it hard,’ Marian said.
‘She did.’
‘Lydia, it’s not you. You mustn’t think it’s you. It’s just how she is now,’ but Lydia knew it was her. It had been her from the very start.
‘Will you come to us for dinner tonight? Tom will collect you and drop you back, and you can eat as little or as much as you want.’
Lydia told her about her trip to Dublin. ‘I’d love it next week.’ She needed friendly faces around her.
‘I’ll hold you to that.’
*
‘You’re quiet,’ Greta remarked in the car on the way to the station, and Lydia gave a brief account of Kathleen’s outburst.
‘Not nice,’ Greta said. ‘Not kind.’
‘She’s heartbroken.’
‘Yes, she is. For a mother to lose a child, that is the worst kind of loss. But still, it was not good to be cruel to you.’
‘No . . .’ Lydia watched a silver car overtake them, going too fast. Slow down, she wanted to say. Be careful.
‘So you will return to Dublin.’
‘Yes, when the house is finished.’
‘Another few months.’
‘Yes.’
‘And what will you do to pass the time here until you go?’
‘Well, I’ve been helping Gareth in the garden a bit – I enjoy that. And I told you about the yoga in the school.’
‘You did.’ Greta pulled out to overtake a cyclist. ‘What about teaching yoga to adults in your own studio?’
Lydia looked at her.
Greta kept her eyes on the road. ‘It is not such a crazy idea, I think. The studio is there, and you are staying for the next few months. You have told me it has light and heat now so why not use it?’
Yes, on the face of it, it was a no-brainer. ‘I’m – I don’t think I can face the organisation it would need.’
‘Just some leaflets around the village, I think,’ Greta said.
Lydia sat back wearily and looked at the sky. Greta took the hint and they covered the rest of the journey in silence, until the station approached.
‘Susan has told me,’ Greta remarked, pulling into a parking space, ‘of her aunt who needs a venue for her wedding reception.’
Lydia was only half listening as she watched the first patter of drops on the windscreen. ‘Sorry?’
‘Susan’s aunt, getting married with no hotel.’ She said ‘aunt’ to rhyme with ‘gaunt’.
‘Oh . . . yes, she mentioned it.’
‘The wedding is in two weeks.’ Greta turned off the engine and rested her hands in her lap. ‘What time is your train?’
Lydia checked her watch. ‘Not for twenty minutes.’
‘So wait until the shower passes.’
‘OK.’
Lydia watched a trio of teenage girls emerging from the station. Short skirts, furry jackets, biker boots. Piercings in their faces, dark colours on their lips and around their eyes, long hair whipping about in the breeze that had sprung up. She watched as they pulled jackets over their heads.
Lydia had always loved the sound of rain hammering on a roof or lashing against a window. In a car it sounded different, all around, and so close, and hitting metal. Water ran down the windscreen, blurring the features of the teenagers.
‘Maybe I know of a venue,’ Greta said.
‘Hmm?’ One of the girls took a phone from her pocket. The other two clustered around her.
‘For the wedding. I thought you might consider letting them use Chance House.’
Lydia turned to stare at her. She couldn’t have heard right. ‘Sorry?’
‘I thought,’ Greta said, ‘you might wish to accommodate her, since she is Susan’s aunt.’
‘You thought,’ Lydia repeated faintly, ‘that I might wish to accommodate her?’
Greta gave no response, just went on looking enquiringly at Lydia.
‘Are you seriously suggesting that I let another couple have a wedding reception in Chance House?’
‘Yes, I am thinking it would be—’
‘No,’ Lydia said quickly, and again, more forcefully: ‘No. How can you even suggest such a thing? Have you any idea what you’re asking of me?
It’s where Damien and I . . . It’s not even three months since he died!
I can’t believe—’ She broke off, struggling to stay in control, fighting against tears, her face hot.
‘Lydia, please do not be upset,’ Greta said. ‘I am simply throwing out the possibility. She needs a place, and you have a place, that’s all. You need only give a key, and not get involved.’
‘And you needn’t get involved,’ Lydia shot back, ‘because it’s none of your business – and what I do with my remaining time in Chance House is not your business either, so kindly stop telling me what I should and shouldn’t do!
Chance House is not a wedding venue – but even if it was, I’m appalled that you would be so insensitive at this time! ’
She wrenched at the door handle, but nothing happened. She gave another tug, again to no avail. ‘How do I open this blasted door?’
‘Hold on,’ Greta said calmly, getting out. She walked around and opened the door, and Lydia scrambled out, pulling her bag after her.
‘Lydia, please don’t be angry. It was just an idea that came to me, but I can see I upset you, and I am sorry. That was not my intention.’
‘How could I not be upset?’ she snapped, hardly aware of people rushing past, of the rain still falling, of one of the teenage girls looking up from the phone to stare at her.
‘I was trying to help,’ Greta said. ‘That is all. I’m sorry,’ she repeated. ‘What time are you coming back tomorrow?’
Ignoring the question, Lydia stalked into the station, and nobody followed her. On the platform she tried to shake off her anger, to breathe herself calm again, but she was still fuming when her train arrived.
How could Greta be so heartless? How could she think that Lydia would be OK with letting another wedding reception take place in Chance House? Couldn’t she see how it would churn everything up again? Lydia had been wrong about her: only a cold, unfeeling person would suggest such a thing.
And what a busybody, telling Lydia that she should use the studio. Of course she should use the studio, all ready and lying idle – but it wasn’t up to Greta to point that out.
She found a seat and turned her face to the window.
She dropped her bag onto the adjoining seat, hoping nobody would ask her to move it.
She was tired, so tired of trying to push against despair, to cope with her loss.
Kathleen had seriously upset her, and Greta had only made things worse.
She wished she could see even a glimmer of light ahead.
The train started up and began gathering speed.
Lydia tried to shake away Greta’s thoughtless suggestion, but it persisted.
She did feel sorry, in a detached way, that Susan’s aunt and her fiancé had been left high and dry – but they would just have to find another venue.
There might be heat in the dining room now, and maybe light too – she wasn’t asking Brendan for updates on the work, and he wasn’t offering them – but the kitchen was still bare and useless.
Having a wedding reception there hadn’t been a problem for her and Damien, but that was because it was their place, and because they’d been able to get around the lack of proper cooking facilities, with Damien’s connections.
She supposed any caterer would be able to supply food but really, would another couple want to go to all that bother, no matter how desperate they were?
Their wedding was in less than two weeks. They were probably pretty desperate.
The train stopped at Tullamore station. She watched people disembarking, others climbing on.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to help them – of course she’d like to help, and yes, maybe they could get around all the limitations – but the bottom line was that she couldn’t bear the thought of another wedding celebration in the house.
Maybe if she was miles away she might be able to countenance it, but she wasn’t. Greta had said she wouldn’t need to be involved, but she’d have to have some involvement. At the very least, as the owner, she’d have to meet the couple in advance and show them around, or they’d think her very odd.
But she could bow out after that, couldn’t she? She could absent herself from the house on the day, have nothing at all to do with the event. She could get the bus to town and pass the day there, or make an arrangement to go somewhere with Marian.
She could do it, if she had to.
She thought of the beautiful dress Susan had lent her for her wedding, and the yellow bicycle that could easily have been sold.
She thought of the tables and chairs that had been provided for their reception, and the infant yoga classes Susan had more than likely conjured up, just to give Lydia something to do, something to get her out of the house.
And Andrew, nephew of the bride, was so helpful too. It could be Lydia’s thank you to them, to help their family now.
She should offer Chance House. Could she do it?
She could. She would. She would do it.
Before she could change her mind she rang Susan. ‘Has your aunt found a wedding venue yet?’
‘No, she’s still looking. Why?’
‘Well . . .’ Lydia watched a pair of birds circling in the sky.
Wheeling and swooping, coming together and parting.
Playing, it looked like. ‘I was wondering if they’d like to use Chance House.
I’m not sure what stage the room is at – I don’t go in there.
And you know there’s no overnight accommodation, and no working kitchen, but if they were really stuck, I thought . . .’
‘Oh wow,’ Susan said softly. ‘Lydia, that’s an incredibly kind offer – but are you sure you’d be OK doing that?’
Was she? She honestly didn’t know. ‘I’d like to help them. But they’d have to come and see it – they may not want a place that’s so . . . inadequate.’
‘I think they’d be thrilled, to be honest. They’re not looking for luxury, not in the least, just somewhere that could accommodate them. I’ll call her right now, and get back to you. Whatever they say, I’m bowled over, Lydia. This is so generous of you.’
Within ten minutes she was back. ‘They’d love to come and see it – when would suit you?’
They settled on the next day at six, when Lydia would be back from Dublin and the workmen gone home, and when it would still be bright enough to see it properly. So Lydia was committed, at least to giving them the option of the space.
She turned her thoughts back to the studio.
This would be her only chance to make use of it, before she left for good.
Would she regret it if she didn’t at least put the offer of classes out there?
Would she think of it when she was back in Dublin, and kick herself that all she’d used it for were her own solitary sessions?
Maybe setting up a few classes wouldn’t need much organisation. Maybe it would just be a case of putting a leaflet out there, like Greta had said, and taking names when they phoned. She’d seen how fast word travelled in the village. She’d think about it. She’d talk it over with Marian and Tom.
Tomorrow she would ring Greta and apologise for her outburst. Maybe she needed a Greta right now to prod her onwards. She spent the rest of the journey gazing through the window as the world flashed by outside.