The Christmas decorations were still up in the waiting room of the station. In the late evening light the green metal bridge that crossed the tracks glistened with raindrops from a recent shower. The rails were wet. Across the track the few cattle and the one horse sheltered under a thick whitethorn hedge at the far end of the field.
As soon as the small train drew in, he saw Jamesie’s head in the window of one of the doors, his great hand grappling inexpertly with the outside handle. Next he saw Mary’s face, smiling over her husband’s shoulder. When the door was opened and they stepped down on the gravel, Jamesie swung his suitcase away when Ruttledge went to take it from his hand.
“No. There’s nothing in it. It’s as light as a feather.”
Mary kissed Ruttledge warmly but Jamesie hardly felt the hand he gave. They both looked exhausted and walked to the car without a word.
“How are they all in Dublin?”
“Great. Couldn’t be better. They were all asking after you and Kate.”
“That was nice. You must have had a great Christmas.”
There was an uncertain silence until Mary said dismissively, with careful nonchalance, “It was all right. What does anything do but go by.”
“It was topping,” Jamesie echoed. “There wasn’t a single thing that could be faulted.”
“There was a big crowd for Christmas Day,” Mary said. “Her father and mother were there as well.”
“The old father was no joke,” Jamesie said. “He was a retired old bank manager but a sharp whippersnapper and you’d be surprised at all he could drink.”
“You don’t have far to look to tell what you were interested in,” Mary said.
The low cheer that greeted the remark was a return to his old self. All his attention was fixed on the houses and fields and turns of the road they passed. He did not call out any of the names. He did not ask to stop at Luke’s or anywhere as they drove through the town. In bits and pieces their Christmas in Dublin came out. Mary had spent all the time in the house except for a shopping expedition she made to the Christmas sales with Lucy and the children. The children had been the best part. Jamesie had met Jim’s boss and people he worked with in the city.
“They were high up like Jim … important … clever … no daws anyway. The clevers are always plain. No big shows or blows. I was able to talk to them all.”
“Jim said he was a big hit. You could take him anywhere,” Mary said with pride. “He was always well able to swing the lies.”
“I had nothing to do but be myself,” he said. “What else was any of us doing?”
“I’m sure there was some shaping and pretending as well.”
“They adored Mary,” Jamesie raised his great hand. “The children adore the ground she walks on.”
“I got on all right. I think I passed. But it was too long,” she said as if in correction of the praise, adding, “No house is big enough for two women. This fella was wild to be away as well. You know what he said when he saw the train was coming into Longford? ‘If the frigging thing breaks down now we’ll be able to walk home from here.’ ”
“It was all right,” Jamesie said in an artificial voice he used when he was too impressed with the subject matter of his own speech. “Jim did his level best to show us as good a time as any old pair can be showed. It doesn’t take long to see everything you want to see in a city. There are too many people. After a while they all start to go by in a blur. If we were ever to go again we’d not go for more than a day or two.”
The light had dimmed to a half-light. The driving was difficult because of the shadows, but when they came in sight of the lake there was light enough to show the brilliance of the two swans riding out beyond the reeds but not the wildfowl. The huge bare trees stood out on the far shore as the headlights travelled weakly over the road. Not a word was spoken, even when the car turned away from the lake and began the climb to the house. As soon as they drove in on the street they saw the nape of the woman’s neck leaning across the lighted square of the window and then her face turned sharply towards the sound of the car.
“Kate is here!”
There were shouts and kisses and handshakes and laughter. “You’re welcome home!” “It’s great to be home. We missed you, Kate.”
Jamesie demanded that they have a whiskey straight away but Ruttledge insisted that he see the animals first. He looked at them intensely for a few moments. They all recognized him and the old cow looed her recognition. Then he snapped the light off.
“They were far too well done. They’d nearly order you around. A touch of hardship would do them a world of good.”
The dogs were with Kate in the house when the car pulled up and Mary had hardly been able to move with the frenzy of their welcome. “The poor fellas. The poor fellas,” she kept saying over and over. “What did you do at all? They’ve missed us too,” she laughed.
Now they were seated in their chairs. Kate had a good fire going. The aluminium kettle was boiling. There was a big plate of sandwiches. They had hot whiskeys with cloves and lemon and sugar. More quietly, they talked of Dublin and the children and the parents and their stay. The presents they received were taken out and displayed: a headscarf of blue silk with the print of a medieval church, and a box of hand-made scented soaps—“Maybe they don’t think I wash enough”—a thick woollen sweater and a bottle of Black Bush for Jamesie. They stood gazing at the presents as if they held all goodwill, all generosity.
“The poor children even saved,” Mary said.
“They’re as good … as good … as good, pure toppers,” Jamesie said, and taking off his jacket he pulled on the sweater. It took persuasion to make Mary wear the silk headscarf.
“They’ll be great talk at Mass when you march up to the front seat with that scarf on your head,” Jamesie said.
By now they were truly home but they were so visibly tiring that the Ruttledges rose to leave, despite their protestations that it was far, far too early in the evening to even think of leaving yet.
A few days after Christmas, Ruttledge witnessed the signing over of the Shah’s business to Frank Dolan in the solicitor’s office.
The offices were in a plain Victorian house in the middle of the town. Brown photos of the main street taken many years before, when horse and bicycle were the means of transport, hung on the walls of the waiting room beside the diplomas. “Changes,” the Shah remarked stonily.
“Nothing but change,” Ruttledge echoed, but Frank Dolan did not speak at all.
There were no other people waiting and in a few minutes a girl led them up narrow stairs and showed them into an office. The solicitor rose from behind a heavy mahogany desk to welcome the Shah warmly and then shook hands with the two other men, motioning them towards the leather armchairs. He wore a well-cut suit and his greying hair was parted in the centre. The agreement was read and assented to. Frank Dolan handed over his cheque and was given a receipt. All the papers were initialled and signed. The only unusual thing, outside the solicitor’s friendliness and charm which seemed to extend beyond the merely professional, was that the two principals never addressed a word to one another throughout. Out in the street together they still didn’t speak. Ruttledge took Frank Dolan’s hand and wished him all the luck in the world.
“Thanks. Thanks for all the trouble. Thanks for everything,” Frank Dolan said in an emotional voice.
“It was no trouble. It was nothing.”
The Shah stood solidly on the pavement, without a word or movement, as inscrutable as a statue of Buddha.