I’m so tired, but tell you the rest tomorrow. Zzzzz.
She never wrote in the diary again. She never saw it again. The guards took it. They took her blankets too. They took her sheets, and her pyjama top, her pillow and her teddies, her hairband, and her book. They took her father too for a while.
Edie stood in the shadows of the balcony overlooking the hall. She was wearing a dark green silk dress with three-quarter-length sleeves that had a small gold button at the cuff. She wore matching dark-green patent heels, and had a dark green bracelet with fine gold edging on her right wrist. Her hair was down, to her shoulders, and tousled, her make-up subtle, eyes with a hint of gold shadow and a smoky edge.
‘Johnny’s voice drifted up from below. ‘I don’t know where Edie is.’
‘Agonizing over the details,’ Clare said.
‘Well, I hope so,’ said Murph. ‘I did my research, and I’m expecting a “soothing five-star experience”.’
Johnny laughed. ‘That was Condé Nast Traveller.’
‘Murph reading Condé Nast Traveller,’ said Clare.
‘What do you think I read?’ said Murph. ‘The Irish Field? Which is an excellent publication, but not the point.’
‘The place is amazing, lads,’ said Laura. ‘It’s like … I don’t know how ye did it.’
‘It’s magnificent,’ said Clare. ‘Helen – you must be used to it at this stage.’
‘No,’ said Helen. ‘Still impresses me every time. But we’re usually over at the house.’
‘Probably a shithole too, is it?’ said Murph.
They all laughed.
‘Speaking of shit,’ said Laura, ‘what was with the reviews on Trip Advisor?’
Edie closed her eyes.
‘Laura!’ said Clare.
‘What? I was disgusted,’ said Laura. ‘About the afternoon tea and the cream being off, and the whole thing being a rip-off? I’m saying it because I know there’s no way that’s true.’
‘It wasn’t,’ said Johnny. ‘But that’s a conversation for another time.’
Edie took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and walked to the top of the stairs. ‘Hello!’ she said, beaming. They all cheered.
‘Here she is now,’ said Murph. ‘Lady of the Manor.’
Edie laughed. ‘You’re all so welcome! I’m sorry I wasn’t here. What an appalling hostess! I had a few things to take care of.’ She looked at Helen. ‘Happy Birthday! You look stunning.’
‘It’s the blow-dry,’ said Helen, waving a hand at it. She had thick, shiny short brown hair that fell across one side of her face. It was an old-fashioned cut but it was perfect on her. She never wore much eye make-up and always wore a pair of glasses to complement whatever outfit she had on. Tonight, they were black. She was wearing a red wrap top and a long black taffeta skirt, and red shoes with a square gold buckle with pearls on the toes.
‘It’s not the blow-dry,’ said Edie. ‘It’s everything.’
‘And she’s got the tits out,’ said Murph. ‘Looking amazing.’
Clare hugged Edie. ‘I’m blown away.’
‘I can’t believe this is your first time here!’ said Edie.
‘Ours too,’ said Laura, pointing at herself and Murph.
‘Yeah, you ignorant bastards,’ said Murph.
‘We didn’t want to lower the tone,’ said Johnny.
‘Says your man,’ said Murph, tilting his head toward him. Then he looked at himself in the long mirror, and ran his hand down the sleeve of his navy jacket. ‘I think I scrub up very well.’
‘You do,’ said Edie, opening her arms wide. Murph gave her a huge hug, and lifted her off the ground. ‘I miss my Murph hugs,’ she said.
‘So, I heard Father Lynch is coming,’ said Murph when he put her down.
‘Please have some new jokes for tonight,’ said Laura.
‘He’ll always be Father Lynch to me,’ said Murph.
‘Yes – he’s coming,’ said Edie. ‘Helen bumped into him in Cork and said “Come on down”.’
Murph looked at Helen. ‘He still looks like a priest. I know he does.’
‘No,’ said Helen. ‘No, he does not.’
‘Is he still in the States?’ said Laura.
‘I thought he was in Dublin,’ said Clare.
‘He is,’ said Edie. ‘I think he was in New York before that.’ She looked at Helen. ‘Isn’t that what you said?’
Helen nodded.
‘Jesus,’ said Johnny. ‘I never thought I’d see such excitement over Patrick Lynch coming to something.’
‘It’s not excitement,’ said Edie. ‘It’s—’
‘Curiosity,’ said Clare. She looked at Johnny. ‘You were too old when Patrick was on the scene – you were off doing your Munster thing. You only remember him from when he was a child.’
‘I hope he’s had a shower,’ said Johnny.
‘Ah, Johnny,’ said Clare.
‘It’s not like I’m going to say it to his face,’ said Johnny.
‘Sure, no wonder he smelled,’ said Laura. ‘The child was a mobile sweatshop. And he couldn’t have been more than six. Polishing the church when he should have been out kicking a ball.’
‘I’m sure I saw him with his arm in a sling at one stage,’ said Clare.
‘Still at it?’ said Murph.
Clare nodded.
‘Imagine my two polishing a church,’ said Laura. ‘They’d be up taking a shit in the font.’
‘Laura!’ said Clare.
‘Don’t pretend you’re shocked,’ said Laura.
The doorbell rang. Murph’s eyes widened, then he mouthed, ‘Is that him? I hope he didn’t hear.’ He mimed a shower over his head.
Everyone
