and the neighbour’s dog would bark, and Carla would bark back at it. She’d come through and into the bar, stooping a little at the archway, and they’d smile at each other. And it would be all downhill from there. No matter how sincere Peggy’s sisterly love was for Carla, she knew that by Monday morning there would be no sound more pleasing to her than that of her sister’s car pulling away on its early return journey to Wexford.
But then, she also knew that her hard-wired sibling sensibilities would contrive to rebuild an eager anticipation of her sister’s return the following Friday. And then Carla would appear, and the cycle would repeat itself. Peggy had long thought that, were she and Carla mere school friends, they would have parted company years ago. They were simply incompatible. And yet, every week, she fooled herself into thinking that things might be different.
The silence of the bar was suddenly broken by the telephone’s ring. Just as she reached to answer it, Peggy heard a car on the gravel outside. She looked at the clock again. Carla was early.
‘Angler’s Rest? Hello?’
‘Peggy? Is that you? ’Tis Bernie here.’
‘Hello Mrs. O’Shea.’ Peggy instinctively pushed the phone closer to her ear. It was unlike Bernie O’Shea to pay for a phone call when she could send Enda over on foot with a message. ‘Everything all right?’
‘Yes, yes. I will be having Detective Ryan from Dublin staying with me tonight, and I wanted to check that you would be serving food this evening. I can of course prepare something for him here, but it would have to be cold. It’s bridge night at the Corcoran’s. And who knows what time he will come in from the lake, or whatever it is he will be doing.’ Bernie O’Shea’s game of bridge was clearly not going to be disrupted, even for a dead body. ‘Can I direct him to you? Will you look after him?’
‘Of course, Mrs. O’Shea.’ Peggy waved at Carla who had stalked into the room, and dropped her bag against the wall. Carla stuck her tongue out at the phone when she heard the name. Her low opinion of Mrs. O’Shea had been honed during the summer of 1970 when she and Enda O’Shea Junior were secretly courting. At least, until such time as Mrs. O’Shea had caught them fumbling in one of her guest bedrooms.
Peggy glared at her sister. ‘I’ll be sure to feed him, Mrs. O’Shea. Thank you for the referral.’
Carla snorted as she stooped to grab a Coke bottle from the shelf behind her.
Peggy replaced the receiver. ‘What?’ She looked at Carla. They were already on their slippery slope and she wasn’t in the bar thirty seconds.
‘Referral?’ Carla sniggered, and took a swig from the bottle.
‘What about it?’ Peggy lifted a clean glass from a shelf and placed it on the counter.
Carla ignored it. She walked around and sat on one of the high stools like a customer. ‘Who is she referring to anyway?’
‘A guard up from Dublin.’ Peggy picked up a cloth and started polishing pint glasses. ‘A body was found down by the lake last night.’
Carla’s eyes widened. ‘You’re jokin’!’
‘Yeah. Some anglers, pulling in their boat. Apparently they saw it buried at the shore.’
‘Jesus.’ Carla straightened her neck. ‘They saw an actual body?’
‘Well, no. I don’t know exactly. The waterline’s so far back; the lake’s lower than it’s ever been. I think they saw the outline. Of the body. It might have been a coffin.’ Peggy could sense the shock-factor of her news diminishing. ‘I’m not really sure.’
Carla’s shoulders slumped. ‘So it could have been there since the valley was flooded?’
‘Maybe. They don’t know.’
Carla swigged from the bottle. Peggy noticed her fingernails were painted a deep pink. What was a schoolteacher doing painting her nails midweek? It was a nice colour though.
‘Sure it’s probably just one of the graves they moved before the dam went up,’ Carla said. ‘Or rather, one of the graves they should have moved.’
‘But the graveyard was on the other side of the valley. Close to where the new one is.’
‘Hmm.’ Carla considered this. She drained her bottle and handed it to Peggy. ‘Sure we might hear more if your referral appears looking for his dinner.’
Exasperated. That’s a good word to describe how she makes me feel, thought Peggy, as she slid the Coke bottle into an empty crate on the floor next to her. Carla reached for Peggy’s magazine and sat looking at the pages, all the while pushing back her cuticles with a pink talon. Peggy tried to distract herself with thoughts about the Irish stew she had prepared that morning. She would need to get it back into the Aga by four. The phone on the wall rang again.
‘Angler’s Rest? Hello?’ If she had it in by four, it would ready for five. Half past at the latest. ‘Hello?’ she said again to the silence on the line.
‘Eh, hello. Would Miss Cas … eh Carla, be there please?’
Peggy turned to Carla who had lifted her gaze and was questioning her sister with her stare. She shrugged and pointed to the receiver in her hand. ‘Who should I say is calling?’ She waited. Carla was shaking her head violently. Peggy noticed the colour of her cheeks change. ‘Eh, no Tom,’ she said. ‘Carla hasn’t arrived yet, although I am expecting her. I will of course. She has your number?’ By now Carla was making angry hang up gestures at her. ‘I will of course. Thank you, Tom.’ She hung the handset back in its cradle.
‘Jesus, I thought you were going to ask after his family,’ Carla spat. ‘Couldn’t you just have said, “she’s not here”?’
Indignant. There’s another word for how she makes me feel, thought Peggy. ‘What’s your problem?’ she threw back at her. ‘Who is Tom anyway?’
Carla looked at her, and retreated. ‘No one,’ she said.
‘Tom.’ Peggy wasn’t in the humour to give her sister any easy ride. ‘Not Tom Devereux? Your school principal?’ Carla said nothing. ‘Maybe I should have asked after his family.’ Peggy couldn’t help feeling shocked, and Carla’s reddening cheeks were doing little to allay her suspicions. ‘He is married, isn’t he?’
Carla flicked a little too quickly through Peggy’s magazine. ‘And why are you assuming he wasn’t calling about work?’ She didn’t raise her eyes from the pages.
Peggy reached out and rubbed her thumb over one of Carla’s painted nails. ‘I assumed you would take the call if it was just about work,’ she said. Carla pulled her hand away. Peggy drew the cloth from her shoulder and resumed polishing the glasses.
‘I’m not judging,’ she said, after some moments of silence.
‘Good,’ Carla replied, hopping off the stool and picking up her bag from the floor. She stood for a second, fiddling with the strap. ‘Thank you.’ The words were barely audible. She made her way towards a door in the back of the bar, leading to the main house. ‘I’m going inside,’ she said.
‘I’ll need you later,’ Peggy said. ‘Jerome’s
