Chapter 40
PATRICK
On his way down to breakfast, Kate rushed past Patrick, carrying a dress in a long white cover, her hair in huge rollers. He stopped in the corridor on the landing, turning to face her.
‘Morning Patrick,’ she said icily, looking him up and down, appraising his shorts and T-shirt. ‘Er, we have a wedding. Aren’t you getting ready?’
‘I’m going for a swim. We have a few hours.’
‘Oh, it’s easy for you.’ Kate rolled her eyes. ‘Shower, shave, suit, and you’re done.’ She gave him a look laden with meaning. ‘It’s like you aren’t fully engaging.’
‘Kate? Everything okay with you?’
‘I don’t know, Patrick. Is everything okay with you?’
‘It’s fine…’
‘Last night I came to talk to you, being nice, you know, as bridesmaid-in-chief and you’re best man and we hadn’t managed to go over all the things we need to go over, but you’re there with Grace and Rosie or whatever her name is and then that American woman?
And I don’t know, it just seemed really odd and weird.
And I’m just trying to make sure the wedding goes off smoothly and there’s no oddness. ’ She glared at him.
‘Kate,’ he said, gently, ‘I’m only in Dublin for a few days. I hope I didn’t give you any impression…’
‘Impression of what?’ She laughed, holding up a hand with unfeasibly long nails, useful as a form of medieval torture.
‘Oh, I thought it was the other way round. I wanted to say to you that I hoped you weren’t under the misapprehension that I was interested or even…
available.’ She shook her head, as though amused that he might have been so bold as to imagine he’d be on her romantic radar.
‘To be honest, I am currently in a situationship with a consultant thoracic surgeon and there are signs that it will evolve into something more…’
‘Like what?’ He was intrigued.
‘Well, the next stage is that we become a thing, so a thingship… he’s very successful.
Drive an Audi. Plays squash competitively.
He represented Ireland in the Olympics once.
And he is regularly on the media talking about health.
He’s called the Dishy Doctor by viewers apparently.
’ She smiled. ‘So, he’s kind of a big deal.
And he’s obviously busy so the thingship is all he can offer at the moment but it suits me. ’
‘He does sound like a catch. But so are you.’
She smiled briefly back at him. ‘But look, we have to dance together, bridesmaid-in-chief and best man. And that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I can’t bear sweaty hands. Or bad breath. Or shuffling.’
‘Shuffling?’
‘You know, that inept drunken stagger of the man completely incapable of lifting his feet.’
‘Noted.’
‘Well, enjoy your swim. I’ve got to go and get my make-up done. It’s so easy for men, isn’t it?’ She paused. ‘No wonder you all rule the world. All that free time.’ And she was gone, swishing along the carpeted corridor in her slippers.
Patrick was standing outside his father’s bedroom door and he wondered if he should try to talk to him, just an olive branch, that whatever had happened between them, they were going to try to make the best of it.
After speaking to Sandra, he felt it was something he should do, if only to make sure that Seán didn’t have to.
After knocking on the door, there was silence, and Patrick had a terrible vision of his father lying unconscious on the floor.
But eventually he heard his voice. ‘Who is it?’
‘Patrick. I wondered if you wanted to come for breakfast.’
There was a sound of movement and then the unlocking of the door. Brian was looking worse for wear. ‘I don’t ever have breakfast. You know that.’ There was a sound of the shower running from the bathroom.
‘True. But we could have a coffee?’ He stood, looking at his father’s face, which was lined, the eyes bloodshot, and there was a look on his face, a skulking look. ‘Will you come?’
Brian shook his head. ‘I’m not hungry. I’ll eat at the wedding. Two o’clock, isn’t it?’
Patrick nodded. ‘Do you need a hand with your suit? Is it pressed?’
‘Ah, would you look at you with your smart ways and your smart clothes.’ Brian looked him up and down, suddenly contemptuous. ‘You think I’m just a dairy farmer who hasn’t a clue about dressing well, don’t you?’
‘No, Dad, I don’t.’ He kept his voice calm.
‘You and Seán have always had that attitude… looking down on me. Siding with your mother.’
Patrick kept his voice calm. ‘We didn’t side with her. We loved her. You were awful to her, awful to us.’
Brian glared at him. ‘Well, I’m on me own now, so ye’ve got what you want.’
‘Dad,’ he said, ‘it’s fine. I don’t care.
It was only a question, that’s all. And I don’t want you to be miserable.
I want you to be happy. Because happy people don’t treat people the way you treat them.
Go and apologise to Sandra and let her live her life without you.
’ He turned to go. ‘And, Dad, by the way, in case the fact has escaped you, I’m a dairy farmer too.
And it was the making of me. Pity it wasn’t the making of you. ’
And then there was a voice from inside the room. A woman’s voice.
‘Brian, I’ll need a robe.’ It was Rosie’s aunt Lucinda. ‘Is that room service? I’d love a coffee. Black. No sugar.’
Patrick’s father gazed back at Patrick, coolly challenging him to say something. His father had already moved on from Sandra.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ he said, meeting his father’s eyes.
And he walked down to breakfast feeling, for the second time in his life, sorry for his father. And more than that, he realised that he didn’t care if he came down for breakfast with him or not. His dad could live his life and he would live his. The power was gone. And Patrick was going for a swim.