Chapter Three

MARCH

Cathy was early at Quentin's. 'Coming to steal our ideas?' Brenda Brennan asked. Both Cathy and Tom had worked as waiters and in the kitchen here, in what was often described as Dublin's best restaurant.

'Oh, we've stolen all those already,' Cathy admitted cheerfully. 'Those little tomato and basil tarts go down a treat.'

Brenda smiled, she had little to worry about in the way of competition from home caterers. People came to Quentin's for the atmosphere as well as the food.

'Where will J put you, Cathy?' she asked.

'Where does my mother-in-law like to sit?'

'Nowhere very much, hard lady to please.' Brenda Brennan knew the score.

'Don't start me off, I'm trying to be nice today,' Cathy pleaded.

They chose the table least likely to annoy Hannah, and Cathy sat down to wait. She had told nobody about the meeting, not even Neil. They had an armed truce at home now, where normal conversation was carried on and meals were eaten, but the great thing that hung between them was only skirted around. They had agreed to give it a cooling-off period and then they would approach it in a saner way than at two-thirty a.m. in a small town house that was also home to Simon and Maud. Perhaps Hannah knew all about the job. But that was unlikely. She would wait until her mother-in-law showed her hand, and after all, the woman had put 'personal' on the envelope. Possibly Cathy's outburst had hit home, and Hannah really did want to apologise. If so then she should have the dignity to do so without thinking that there was an audience out there waiting to know the details. Perhaps it was about Maud and Simon? Apparently there had been some form of contact made with their father. Perhaps one of Hannah's friends might need a caterer? There had been some talk of Amanda coming back for a visit from Canada. Hannah might need a reconciliation just for apperiances' sake? No point in speculation, Cathy told herself. She would know in just  over an hour when the main-course dishes were cleared away, when they would both refuse dessert and ask for coffee.

In the private booth of Quentin's James Byrne sat with his guest, Martin Maguire. The great thing about this particular table was that you could see out while others found it difficult to peer in.

'Lean forward just a little, Martin, and you'll see her. That's Cathy Scarlet on her own over there.'

The other man looked in the direction he had been shown, and saw the fair-haired girl reading the Irish Times.

'She's very young,' he said in a low voice.

'They all are these days, Martin.'

'No, she's never able to run a business, too much stress and strain.'

'She's about twenty-six, that's not young by today's standards.'

'That's almost the same age as Frankie.'

James Byrne looked at the tablecloth, searching desperately for words. Eventually he just said,  'Frankie's at peace.'

'How do we know?' asked Frankie's father.

'Because God is good,' James Byrne suggested.

The Riordans, who had given the christening party, recognised Cathy also.

'Didn't think they were up to this kind of place,' sniffed Molly Riordan.

'Well they sure as hell know how to charge. Why wouldn't they be able to afford it here?' asked the husband, who was still anxious that Tom Feather might blow the whistle on him.

At that moment Hannah Mitchell came in, hair freshly done, new heather-coloured wool suit, carrying parcels in Haywards bags, fussing about her fur coat, wondering very oversolicitously if the table was all right for Cathy. And eventually sitting down.

'God, that's Jock Mitchell's wife, they do move in high circles,' said the husband, very surprised.

'I've always wanted to meet her. Hannah Mitchell runs these charity bridge dos. They're always photographed in the papers and magazines. I might just drop past the table later,' said the wife.

'Oh, leave it out… They're nobodies, those caterers. We don't need an introduction that badly,' said the husband, who greatly feared ever having to meet Tom Feather ever again.

'Mrs Mitchell, Ms Scarlet,' Brenda greeted them in her calm, measured way.

'You know my daughter-in-law?' Hannah annoyed as always that she had not been able to make the introduction.

'It's always a pleasure to see both of you,' Brenda murmured as she left them the menus. She had not mentioned that Cathy had washed plates in the kitchen, served tables and was far better known in this establishment than the elegant Hannah would ever be. Mrs Mitchell was special only for habitually changing her table, sending food back or querying the bill. Cathy had carved for the entire restaurant the night that Patrick the chef had burned his hand. Cathy had found fifty pounds in the ladies' cloakroom and had managed to give it back to the woman who had left it there without letting her husband see. Cathy had been there the night the drains packed up. It was no contest as to who was the favourite customer.

'It is nice to have time to have a little chat like this,' Hannah Mitchell began.

'It's very kind of you, and a lovely break for me, certainly,' said Cathy, who had told herself twenty-five times already that there was no point in going to this lunch at all unless she remained calm and courteous. The shouting bit was over, the confrontation had taken place. She had not spoken to her mother-in-law for weeks until she had made the phone call to confirm this lunch date with her. She must listen now, listen and not react.

'Possibly you work too hard. You should have a few more breaks,' Hannah said.

'Possibly indeed.'

'So you agree you might be overworked, a little tense, ready to fly off the handle, then?'

Cathy saw now where her mother-in-law was coming from. She, Cathy, was going to be cast in the role of screaming neurotic, up to high doh over her little business, unable to control herself at functions. A-ha… It was good to see the way the land lay.

'Funnily, Neil and I were saying this the other day, at our time of life we all have to work so hard running just to keep up, that by the time we get to your age and Mr Mitchell's, our life will be so much calmer.'

'You were saying that?'

'Yes. We were noting the way Mr Mitchell can spend so much time on the golf course, and you have all these hours to give to charity lunches. Our day, for all that, will come too.' Cathy smiled broadly.

Mrs Mitchell was put out. This was not the way she had intended the conversation to go. 'Yes dear, but don't you think you might be… how shall I put this… directing too much energy into one channel?'

Cathy looked at her, confused. 'One channel?' she asked. 

'Well, this waitressing business.'

Cathy laughed aloud. 'Yes, that's what we call it too, like Simon and Maud. They are funny, aren't they. So solemn, and yet total babies at the same time.'

 I don't know what you mean.' Hannah was genuinely perplexed.

 I'm sorry, it's just that they call our catering company a waitressing business too because they don't understand… I assumed you were quoting them.' Her eyes were hard and her voice harder still.

Hannah made a decision. 'Yes, of course I was,' she said.

 I knew you were, but to go back to your point, Mrs Mitchell, you're probably right. I am devoting a lot of energy to the new company, and so is Tom Feather, but that's natural. Once we get it off the ground we hope to relax a little more, have two or three nights properly off a week.'

'But my dear, that's ludicrous, isn't it? What about your life, your real life… With Neil, for example.'

'Neil's working almost every night too, either at home or at some consultation. It's just the way things are.'

'I think it's just the way you've let things become, dear.'

Cathy remembered that tone. It was the way Mrs Mitchell had spoken to her mother. 'Sorry, Lizzie dear, I don't think we were terribly thorough cleaning the bath, were we?' Cathy had wanted to kill the woman then. The feeling was hardly less strong now. She crumbled some olive bread in her fingers and reduced the substance to a fine powder as she did so.

'Do explain what you mean, Mrs Mitchell.'

'It's just that I'm asking myself, why does Neil go out so much for work, why do you not have a social life, give dinner parties, go to clubs? I mean are you a member of any clubs, tell me? It's just, I worry when a young couple don't have a healthy social life. One begins to wonder why.'

'We both work fairly hard, and I think we can safely say that Neil cares hugely about his clients and about justice being done, so this naturally takes up a lot of his time. I think that must be it, don't you?'

'Well, yes, of course, of course, that goes without saying, it's just that I wondered, perhaps if you were to… Well if you were to try and…' She seemed to lose the words.

'If I were to what, Mrs Mitchell?' Cathy was genuinely interested now. What on earth was the woman going to suggest? That Cathy should learn some new and devastating sexual techniques, or give dinner parties twice a week inviting politicians and the media? She waited with interest.

'Well, that you should smarten yourself up a little.' Mrs Mitchell was diffident. But once she had said it she was sticking to it. 'It's just that possibly you've been so busy with work and everything… that you haven't had time to stop and take a good long look at yourself.'

Cathy did not know whether to feel humiliated or amused. It was so patronising for one woman to tell another that she needed to clean up her act. Yet this advice was being given by a woman aged sixty, with her hair scraped up into a style that was ten years out of date, squeezed into a wool suit one size too small, wearing a nail colour that had not been seen outside pantomime for decades. Hannah Mitchell whose hard, over-made-up face and mink coat made her a caricature, was daring to offer Cathy advice.

'And where do you think I should start?' she asked in a level voice.

'Well, your hair, of course, and to show you how much I really mean it I've got you a token for Haywards.' Mrs Mitchell pulled out an envelope.

'I can't possibly accept this,' Cathy began.

'But you must. I don't think I gave you a proper Christmas present, and let this be it. You did such a delightful job catering for our New Year's Eve party, a lot of people have spoken of it so well since. The very least I can do is start you off on some kind of makeover.'

Cathy stared glumly at the envelope.

'And do get your nails done at the same time, have nail extensions maybe, won't you? There's a good girl. If there's anything a man likes to see on a woman it's long, groomed nails.'

'You know, Mrs Mitchell, I'll certainly think about the hairdo but if you don't mind, I think I'll pass on the nails. You see in our job nail extensions would be a bit dangerous - we could lose them making pastry, for example.' Cathy tried to be light-hearted. It was the only alternative to doing what she really felt like doing, which was standing up and pushing over the dining table into her mother-in-law's lap.

'Well.' Mrs Mitchell sounded sad and disappointed, as someone who had done her best but failed in the end, thanks to Cathy's gross stupidity.

'But truly I am grateful for your kindness, Mrs Mitchell. And for this lunch.'

They had just put the fish in front of them, and Hannah was looking at it suspiciously.  Is it properly filleted?' she asked the waiter.

 I hope so, madam. Very often a tiny bone escapes, but I think you will find great care has been taken.' Cathy winked at the waiter as Hannah peered at her plate. She knew him well from her nights working here. He kept a solemn face. Brenda Brennan ran a tight ship at Quentin's. He didn't want to be spotted mocking the customers.

James Byrne approached the table with an elderly man.

'Ms Scarlet, I wouldn't dream of interrupting you, but I hoped you might just meet Mr Martin Maguire, from whom you brought your premises. He is only in Dublin for a few hours.'

Cathy leaped up.  I'm so pleased to meet you. Would you come round and meet Tom Feather there this afternoon? We'd love to show you how happily we've settled in, and excuse me, may I introduce Mrs Hannah Mitchell, who is taking me to lunch here?'

Hannah stared. She could never accustom herself to the fact that her maid's daughter introduced her with ease to two well-dressed men older than herself. Where had this confidence come from? Mr Maguire promised to come to the premises for coffee at four o'clock, and they were gone. Sensing the older woman's irritation, Cathy changed the subject.

'I must tell you that my sister Marian is getting married. Do you remember her at all from the old days?'

Hannah Mitchell's eyes narrowed as the old days were mentioned. 'No, your mother didn't bring any of the children except you.'

'Oh, Marian's the bossiest of us all.'

'Out in Chicago. That's where I think they went. I remember your mother saying.'

'They love it there. I've been out to visit. Have you been there at all, Mrs Mitchell?'

Before Hannah had time to shudder her disapproval of any city where Poor Lizzie's children had ended up, Cathy saw that they were being approached again, and to her horror she saw that it was the terrible couple who had given the nightmare christening party. Again she made the introductions, but this time Hannah Mitchell offered some information.

'I'm actually Cathy's mother-in-law,' she said. This was a personal first.

'And is er… Tom… your son, then?' Molly Riordan asked, gushing.

'Oh, no, no, not at all. My son is a lawyer, a barrister actually,' Hannah said.

They left eventually, the couple having given their card to Hannah and assured her of substantial sponsorship at the next charity do.

'Sorry about that,' Cathy apologised.

'No, I'm amazed. If your poor mother could see you here with these people…'

'Mrs Mitchell, it's very, very good of you to take me to lunch here and to offer me this expensive hairdo, and I am touched and grateful, but can I ask you as a personal favour not to refer to my mother as my poor mother. She is far from poor, she is happy and content and has children and a husband who love her.'

'Yes, of course… I only meant…'

Cathy waited.

After a long time Hannah Mitchell said,  I only meant she doesn't have your confidence.'

'Oh, confidence isn't everything, Mrs Mitchell.'

 It seems to get people quite far, though.' The mouth was narrow.

Cathy saw Geraldine being ushered to a nearby table with Peter Murphy, the managing director of the hotel where she did the public relations. Their eyes met, and Cathy gave a barely obvious shake of her head. Geraldine got the message and didn't acknowledge her. To be greeted by a third customer at Quentin's would put Cathy in an intolerable position. She had already shown her mother-in-law too much of this confidence thing. It was time to listen to the wisdom of having a regular facial and not let the muscles get saggy. Cathy listened, and wondered to herself as she had so often before how this empty, sad, envious woman and her pleasure-loving husband had given birth to Neil. Neil, who was at this moment fighting another no-hoper's case, Neil who would be mildly interested that she had met his mother for lunch but who would never understand in a million years how outrageous it was to be patronised like this. Cathy almost wished they could have gone back to the days of straightforward hostility. It was far easier to cope with.

Peter Murphy and Geraldine O'Connor saw them leave.

'God, isn't that a tiresome poor woman?' he said.

'She's pretty difficult as a mother-in-law, let me tell you,' Geraldine said.

'And how on earth would you know?' he asked.

'That's Cathy Scarlet, my niece, walking out the door with her. She has the bad luck to be in that role.'

'Yes, I did know that. She married the young lawyer, right?'

'And has set up a very good catering company I keep telling you about, which you keep telling me is of no interest to you.'

'No indeed, it is not of any interest only in so far as it's competition. She can't hate her mother-in-law so much if she's having lunch with her.'

'She does, believe me.'

'And why didn't you say hallo to them?'

'Cathy frowned at me not to,' Geraldine explained.

'I'll never understand women,' said Peter Murphy, who had nonetheless made considerable efforts to do so by having affairs with many of them. Including Geraldine, some years back. But that was all over now. Today they were just very good friends.

 I wish I hadn't agreed to go back to the old place,' Martin Maguire said to James Byrne as the two men strolled through Stephen's Green and fed ducks with the bread given to them by Brenda Brennan as they left Quentin's

'No, believe me it's a good idea. You'll remember it like this now, the way they have it all shiny, and different,' James reassured him. They watched in silence as a mother duck rounded up her ducklings for the new source of food.

'Look at that.' Martin Maguire was amazed. 'Look at the way they love their parents and trust them. It's not like that with humans.'

'Don't punish yourself. Please, Martin, there's no point.'

'There's not much point in anything. Are you sure you didn't tell them?'

 I told you I didn't.'

'They must have wondered why I was so eager to sell so quickly. They must have asked.'

'It's your story, your life, Martin. Of course I didn't tell them,' said James. 'Anyway, those two were so anxious to get their business up and running, they never asked. Believe me.'

'I can't go,' Martin Maguire said. 'It's as simple as that. Will you tell them, James?'

'Of course.' James Byrne nodded gravely.

'Imagine, she's their daughter-in-law and she's only got a real ordinary accent.' Molly Riordan was astounded.

 I could have told you that she wasn't married to that tall eejit Tom with the face like some kind of teenage idol,' said Larry, sounding aggrieved.

 I thought he was cute,' she said.

'Well I tell you, he's not going for a lady barrister. No, his line is a bit of stuff, believe me.'

'How on earth do you know?' Molly asked.

 I heard,' he nodded sagely.

Molly shrugged. 'Well, all our friends thought he was a doll. Why did you take such a dislike to him?'

The husband couldn't remember. Just one of those instant things, he thought.

Brenda Brennan was having a cup of coffee in the kitchen when lunch was over at Quentin's.

'Patrick, we should try and put a bit of work in Cathy and Tom's way, it's very hard at the start.'

'What do you suggest?' he asked.

'You know the way people often ask us to do funerals… and we can't get away so end up sending them over a dressed salmon.'

'You're right, next one we'll recommend them. Get them to give us a card.'

'They already have,' said Brenda.

Tom and Cathy had coffee and shortbread ready at four.

'What were you doing at Quentin's anyway?' Tom asked.

'Penance for all the many sins I committed in my life,' she said.

'What did you eat?'

 I can't remember. I was with Hannah.'

'Is there blood all over the place?'

'No, she just wanted to cut my hair,' said Cathy.

Tom found this increasingly puzzling. 'But she didn't?' he said eventually.

'She did.' Cathy tapped her handbag. 'She gave me a voucher for it, so I'll be in Marcella's domain one of these days. Tom, do I need my hair cut?'

 I don't know. Do you want to?'

'No, not particularly.'

'Then don't.' It was simple. Simple for men. Simple for anyone who hadn't taken Hannah Mitchell's money.

At that moment they heard James Byrne and Martin Maguire arriving.

'Remember, we must not sound as if we are too grateful or he'll take it back,' Cathy fussed.

'It's all signed and sealed, Cath, it's only a social call,' Tom whispered, and they opened the door. James Byrne was alone.

'I'm very sorry. He decided not to come after all, so I came along to give you his apologies.'

They were very disappointed. 'Whatever made him change his mind?' Cathy asked, and as soon as she spoke she knew that James Byrne would not tell her.

 I just said I'd tell you that he was sorry.' He looked sad himself.

'Well, maybe it was too soon for him; he might come another time,' Cathy said.

'He might indeed. He'll be glad to know that he didn't cause any fuss.'

James Byrne left.

'We'll never know,' Cathy said.

'Nobody'll ever know our secrets from him either,' Tom said.

'We don't have any secrets,' she laughed. 'Though actually I do. I'm going to give this hairdressing voucher to June.' She waved it gleefully.

'How much is it for?' asked Tom and when she showed him he pretended to reel around the premises. 'Do people really spend that much money on hair?' he asked.

'Apparently.' Cathy laughed.

'Marian was on again about the wedding entertainment,' Cathy said to her mother.

'They get terrible notions over there,' Lizzie said.

'No, it's dead easy. Nothing we can't provide: Ave Maria and Panis Angelicas.' Cathy was casual.

'It's amazing you even know the names of the hymns, it's so long since you darkened a church.'

'Stop it, Ma, I tell everyone how tolerant you are…'

'How tolerant I have to be,' sighed Lizzie.

'They want a pageboy and a flower girl, Mam. That's a bit of a poser.'

'Well they can't have them,' Cathy's mother said. 'Marian's going to have to be told, it's not all posh Chicago notions here, we don't have anyone that age in the family.'

'We have Maud and Simon,' Cathy said thoughtfully.

'Oh, no, that wouldn't do at all,' Cathy's mother said immediately.

'Why not?' Cathy asked.  If they're still here, and it looks as if they will be, then wouldn't it be nice for them? Marian would love them.'

'Cathy, stop filling their heads with such nonsense, you know she wouldn't stand for it, not for a moment.'

'Well she has nothing to do with it, Mam. Let's discuss it with Maud and Simon. They loved Riverdance,' Cathy said.

'Everyone loved Riverdance, but they won't learn something like that and anyway, I told you. She wouldn't hear of it.'

'Mam, she is not important. Let's ask the kids.'

'They're not here,' Lizzie said.

'Of course they're here, Mam, they're always here, listening, spying, stealing food. That's what they do all day, isn't it?'

'That's not fair, Cathy, you sound as if you hate them, they're only children who didn't have a proper home.'

'No, I don't hate them. I've got to like them a bit more recently. But they still steal food. It's because they're not sure they'll get any more. And they listen at doors. Don't you, Maud?'

 I was just passing by,' said poor Maud, and Simon raised his eyes to heaven.

'Tom, it's June. Can I ask you something?'

'Anything, as long as it's not asking to cry off the next job.'

'No… It's just… is Cathy sound in the head? She's given me the most amazing token…'

'Take it, use it, splash out with it.'

'But won't she be sorry?'

'No, it was from Neil's mother. She doesn't like the lady, so go get the hair done, Junie baby.'

 I was thinking of very bright purple streaks, highlights, you know, but they have to be well done otherwise they look a mess.'

'Go for them June,' said Tom, and he hung up.

There was just so much time you could spend talking about hairdos.

 I'm not being a pageboy at anyone's wedding,' said Simon.

'I'd like to have been a flower girl. I don't think anyone else would have let us be part of anything,' Maud said.

'Lots of people at school are learning Irish dancing, of course,' Simon said. 'It would be a way to learn it free.'

'How do you mean, free?' Maud wondered.

'Well, Father and Mother aren't there to pay for anything any more,' Simon said sadly.

'But Muttie hasn't any money to pay for lessons,' Maud protested.

'How do you know that?'

'Well, he has holes in his shoes, he hasn't a car or a chequebook or anything,' Maud said.

'So we won't get dancing lessons then.'

'Would you like them, Simon?'

 I wouldn't mind,' he said.

'We'll just wait and see. Let's wait for them to start talking about it again.'

'It's a pity they knew we took food,' Maud said.

'We don't from Muttie and his wife Lizzie now, only from Neil and Cathy, and that's because we weren't sure,' Simon agreed.

'I know, and Cathy did say she likes us more now.' Maud was always hopeful.

'Only a bit more, that's all she said.' Simon was more watchful.

'And what on earth is this,' Muttie said when they came in and saw a huge lump of pastry in the centre of the kitchen table.

'It's Beef Wellington,' Simon explained.

'Is it now, and where did it come from?' Muttie asked.

'I think Cathy nicked it for us from people who paid her in her waitressing business,' Simon was helpful.

'Stand up, Simon, and leave the room,' Muttie said.

'What did I say, Muttie? You asked, I told you.'

'That's not the truth. My Cathy never nicked anything in her life, in fact the only people that ever nicked anything in this house are you two, nephew and niece of the famous Mrs Mitchell that Lizzie spent her life cleaning up after. Those are the only thieves we ever had here.'

'Please Muttie, it was only four sausages and a couple of packs of cornflakes just in case,' Simon said.

'In case what?'

 In case there would be no more,' said Simon, ashen-faced, as Maud sat with the tears trickling down her cheeks.

'I had lunch with Cathy today,' Hannah said to Jock.

'That was nice, dear.'

'It was actually, much nicer than I thought.'

'Good, good.'

'She knew absolutely everyone at Quentin's. Isn't it amazing, when you think of poor Lizzie.'

'But that was a different age, dear.'

'So it would appear,' she said.

'And what did she say about Neil's plans?'

'Plans? What plans?'

'No, no nothing dear, something else. You know my mind's always miles away.'

'Indeed it is,' Hannah said sadly.

'A quick yes or no: do you want the dancing lessons? Do you want to be part of this deal for Marian's wedding? Answer now,' Cathy said.

'It's a bit complicated,' Simon said.

'No it's not, it's very simple… It costs this number of pounds to get you taught three numbers to dance, it costs about twice that to pay real dancers to do it. But we thought you should make the choice.'

'Why?'

'Because you're family,' Cathy said simply.

'We're not really.'

'How often must I tell you, you live here in the house where Marian was born, you are the nephew and niece of my husband. Just a yes or no, and we'll go ahead and book the real people.'

'Will we be coming to the wedding anyway, you know, as guests,' Maud asked.

'Doubt it,' Cathy said.

'But you said we were family,' Simon wailed.

'Not all that close, come to think of it.'

'Why are you being so horrible, Cathy?' Simon asked.

'Because you are both horrible. You told my dad I nicked that Beef Wellington, which I did not. I made it specially for him to thank him for looking after you, because you make Neil's life a misery and he can't get on with his work and because you have no manners and I wish your mother and father would come and take you straight back to The Beeches. Now is that a good answer?'

Cathy's mother came in at that point. 'We'd all like Mr and Mrs Mitchell of The Beeches to be well in themselves and run their own home again, but until that point Simon and Maud are very welcome here,' she said looking around her, 'and I hope that everyone here knows that.'

'I'm sorry Mam,' Cathy said later.

'Sure you should be, taking it out on innocent children.' 'Lizzie?' Simon knocked at the kitchen door. This was another great improvement; up to now they had stormed in everywhere.

'Lizzie, we'd like to do the dancing please,' he asked. 'It might not be possible, child. She might not like it.' 'She doesn't know us yet,' Simon complained. 'She can't hate us already.'

'She surely can't take against us without meeting us,' Maud protested.

'No, we're not talking about Marian, Mam is talking about your aunt Hannah, aren't you, Mam?'

'Well I was, Cathy but not here, not like this, not in front of, can't you wait until… ?'

'It's all right,' Simon reassured her. 'We know all about Aunt Hannah, we know that Cathy hates her.'

'I don't any more,' Cathy said. 'I quite like her. I had lunch with her today, as it happens.'

'You never did.'

'I did indeed. We went to Quentin's.'

'But why?'

'Search me, Ma, but it had something to do with cutting my hair.'

'I wish you'd be serious for a moment.' Cathy's mother beckoned her out to the scullery to get away from the twins.

'Is there any word on the children?' she whispered.

'She never mentioned them once,' Cathy said cheerfully, well aware that Simon and Maud had crept towards the door to listen.

'But talking about Marian,' Cathy continued, 'I think in a way I'm glad she wants child dancers. She might well go for it, she seems to be having the full works from what I hear. Fireworks, jugglers, lions and tigers.'

The children's faces lit up. 'Tigers at the wedding! Isn't that great,' said Simon. Again Cathy remembered too late her resolution not to be ironic in front of the children.

 I had lunch with your mother today,' Cathy said that evening when she got into Waterview.

'Oh, good.' Neil didn't look up from his papers.

'Aren't you surprised?'

He was still reading a whole sheaf of something, but at her tone he looked up and kept his ringer on the paper so that he wouldn't lose his place. 'What?' he asked.

'It's not a usual occurrence. I thought you'd wonder why.'

'Well, why then?'

'Don't know.' Cathy shrugged.

'Listen Cathy, you told me you had to work out a silver wedding menu and a Spanish buffet tonight, so I took all this stuff home…'

'What stuff? Is this about Africa?'

'No, of course not, I told you that all that about the job was on hold until we had time to talk about it seriously.'

'So?'

'So you said you were working, and I've two things to do here. I told them I'd get this paper together on a writer.'

'Sorry.'

'No, don't be like that.'

 I am sorry, you're quite right, I did say that…'

She meant it, she wasn't even sulking. They did tell each other in advance what their plans for the evening were. He was justified in being put out. Yet this was so huge a fact she had just told him, and he wasn't even mildly interested. His own mother, who had waged war on her for years, had invited her to Quentin's for God's sake. Neil had not even registered it.

'No, I'm sorry I was a bit short with you… It's not just the unfortunate Nigerian writer. There's another bloody complicated thing, and we'll be in court over it tomorrow. I'm for the tenant who broke his back on a faulty stairway, and the landlords will have a top team saying they did all the proper repairs. Problem is, my fellow talks and looks like a gangster, and the landlord is mild and articulate and concerned, so it's all stacked against my client. I have to look up and list all these decisions…'

Cathy held up her hands. She really was contrite. 'I'm going out, anyway. I just came in to leave the shopping. I'll be back in a couple of hours and we'll have supper.'

'You don't have to, honey,' he said.

'I do,' she said, and she was gone.

Cathy hadn't intended to go out, she had planned to have a long bath and then sit down and go through some files and cookery books to think up dishes in a leisurely way. She had even thought about making a paella to rehearse for the Spanish buffet, but she knew the mood was wrong. Neil would just think she was killing time waiting until he was free. Better to pretend to be busy and go out. But where?

She couldn't go to Tom's; he and Marcella were going to the theatre tonight, a possible photo opportunity for Marcella since it was a first night. Cathy drove to Glenstar apartments and dialled Geraldine on the mobile phone from the van. The answering machine was on. Stupid to have come all this way without ringing first, Cathy thought, and then by chance she looked up at her aunt's flat and saw the curtains being drawn. There were two figures in the room. Geraldine was entertaining someone. A man. She was just about to pull out of the parking bay when she saw someone waving. It was Shona Burke from Haywards.

'I saw your van… Well, who could miss it?' Shona laughed. 'Do you want to come in for coffee?'

Cathy looked around as Shona got out the coffee machine. Similar to her aunt's flat, but not nearly as big and totally different furnishings. A lot of brightly coloured rugs and embroidered cushions. There were no family pictures on the wall, two shelves of books on management and business, a small, neat music centre and no television set. Cathy wondered what kind of people Shona entertained here, and how she could afford the rent or the mortgage. These apartments were not cheap. Of course Shona had a very good job at Haywards. Still. Perhaps she came from rich people. Shona Burke would never tell. She was very adroit at taking the conversation away from herself.

'You're very far away,' Shona said coming back to join her.

'I was thinking about Maud and Simon,' Cathy lied.

'Who are they?'

'Neil's nephew and niece. We appear to have adopted them, my mother and I.' She laughed a little grimly and explained the background. To her surprise Shona didn't find any of it funny or endearing. Nor did she shrug at the hopeless inevitability of it all and praise them like other people did. She just listened, with no expression at all on her face.

'So that's it,' Cathy finished. 'Neil and his father got some kind of order, oh, I don't know exactly what, but it's about releasing money from trust funds, and some of that goes to my mam and dad, and I suppose some even comes to us if we need it.'

'And what about their social worker?'

'She's happy enough with the set-up, she knows they're well looked-after. The mother isn't getting any better, and the father isn't showing any signs of coming back home. We're holding the fort.'

'It's terribly unfair on the children,' Shona said.

'Life's unfair, Shona. Of course I'd prefer them to have a nice Mummy and a nice Daddy who knew who they were, and who read them bedtime stories and cared for them, but they don't, so we have to pick up the pieces.'

'And then they go back to hopeless Mummy and Daddy, and what then?' Shona asked.

 I wish I knew, but if I were Tom Feather I would say miracles happen, because he genuinely believes they do,' Cathy said wistfully.

Cathy drove home with a sense of depression that she couldn't quite shake off. She didn't know why it was there. She was not annoyed with Neil for being somewhat brisk with her - he was perfectly right, she had said she would be working. Her mother-in-law's crass criticisms hadn't the power to get beneath her skin any more, it wasn't that. Her own mother's craven humility was something Cathy had lived with for ever, this was nothing new. They had always known that Maud and Simon would have to go into care, that wasn't any great shock. Scarlet Feather was doing well these days, with lots of things booked ahead. Its books would look healthy enough at the end of this month to make James Byrne feel reasonably calm. Whatever it was it wouldn't lift.

At traffic lights on her way back to Waterview, Cathy was startled as two very dishevelled-looking people knocked urgently at her window. A man and a woman in their thirties, with empty eyes. Her first instinctive act was to make sure her door was locked. They looked rough and aggressive. Neil Mitchell would probably have pulled into the side and asked them what had happened. Tom Feather would have given them the price of a meal, and convinced them that good times were around the corner. Cathy felt ashamed that all she wanted was for the traffic lights to change and that she could be away out of there, away from their haunted, disturbed faces. She could hear them calling out. 'You have a good life, you have everything you want, please, please.' The lights were for ever red. She told herself that the social services were good these days, those people did not have to beg in the streets. There were centres, hostels, rescue teams on the streets. These must be winos, drunks or druggies. She must stare straight ahead as if she didn't see them, if she opened the window it could be dangerous. 'Please,' she heard the woman cry, 'you've got everything, a lovely van with a picture on it, a home to go to, just give us something.' It was the van with the picture on it that softened her heart. Cathy indicated and pulled to the side of the street. Out of her bag she took a ten-pound note. She opened the window a fraction and handed it to them. They looked at her in disbelief. It was five times what they might have hoped for. The woman looked younger close up, maybe younger than Cathy, her hair was matted and her face dirty.

'You deserve all your good luck, missus,' she said eventually.

 I don't,' Cathy said, grimly thinking, 'Nobody deserves good luck, it's just handed out. Very unfair, as a matter of fact.' The lights changed and she drove on. It was all such an accident, every bit of it when you stopped to think. Why was that girl standing there in the rain begging from cars at the traffic lights? Why was she, Cathy, driving a van with a picture on it to an expensive town house in Waterview? Why were Simon and Maud going to have to live with strangers? None of it made any sense at all. When she let herself into the house Cathy found a folded note. Her heart sank. He couldn't have been called out again. This was a workman's compensation case, for heaven's sake, not a political prisoner matter. She opened it and read: 'Sorry Cathy - back eleven-ish, don't wait up.' She didn't.

Tom said that the whole trick for the estate agents' reception was setting up the Spanish atmosphere. Cathy said that was all very well certainly, but they must have a whole range of tapas to start. Followed by a knockout paella with all the right flavours. Tom was so busy chasing up Spanish hats, castanets, a guitarist and a flamenco dancer that he never seemed to have time to discuss the menus. Cathy worked out that they should have two paellas, one with shellfish and one less authentic one without. She knew how much the estate agents would love to see Marcella Malone moving among them, but she didn't even think of suggesting it to Tom. Instead, June was given instructions about hiring a Spanish outfit and learning to say 'arriba' at appropriate times. Cathy wanted little labels on the individual plates of tapas showing how typically Spanish they were; Tom begged her to believe that all they wanted was the feel that they were actually in Spain already which the sangria, Rioja and the click of the castanets would give them. They were showing off to potential clients and the press. But she wanted it to be right, there would be some people there, surely, who would know and recognise the real thing.

'Would it be educational for us to go to it, do you think?' Simon wondered the night before.

'No,' said Cathy briefly, and saw their two disappointed faces. 'Thank you for suggesting it, but actually it would be boring and depressing for you. Have I ever told you a lie?'

They paused to consider this question. 'No,' they said at exactly the same time. 'Will there be leftovers, do you think?'

'Not at St Jarlath's tomorrow, Maud. Your aunt Hannah is coming to Waterview tomorrow, tomorrow night, to supper with Neil and myself.'

'Are you going to poison her?' Simon asked.

'Of course not, I'm going to serve her and your uncle Jock some delicious Spanish food and try and make my hair look good.'

'Why would she want to see your hair?' Maud asked.

'Believe me, Maud, I'm not sure, but she does, and often when people want things that are quite easy it's probably best to do them, it saves trouble in the long run.'

'Where did you learn that… Was it at school?' Maud wondered.

'No, my aunt Geraldine told me, years ago. It's a very useful piece of advice.'

The estate agents loved the lunch. None of them mentioned the food; they all talked about the atmosphere.

'Right again, Tom,' Cathy said, genuinely admiring. He got things so right, he had known all along they were selling the mood, not the gourmet dishes of Spain. A lot of these people wouldn't even venture into proper Spanish food when they bought their villas out there.

'They needed good food as a back-up. If it hadn't been as good as it was, we would have heard the complaints,' he reassured her as they packed up the leftovers. Some were going to Fatima, where Tom's father, now home from hospital was well on the mend. There had been a huge basket of fruit delivered there, courtesy of Joe who was still in the Far East. Tom didn't say much about it, but Cathy knew he was very pleased. Cathy was packing two separate boxes, a small one for the twins who would be hoping for something, and another to provide most of the meal tonight when the Mitchells were coming to Waterview. Please may Neil not be late again. Please may Jock not know any of the estate agents here today who might have mentioned they were at a Spanish lunch. And please may Hannah Mitchell not get into a temper because she hadn't used the hair voucher.

The Mitchells were in good time, and of course Neil wasn't home. Cathy had laid out little dishes of black olives.

'Thought we'd be getting these,' Jock Mitchell laughed his bluff, loud laugh.

'Ran into a couple of lads from the golf club and had a drink with them. They said you had done this slap-up Spanish meal, and I said to Hannah on the way over here what's the betting we get the taste of old Espana tonight.'

Cathy's face took on a set look. 'Ah, but I hope you didn't have real money on it because you'd have been wrong, Mr Mitchell,' she said triumphantly. 'Just these lovely fat olives. I thought I'd save a few for you.'

He seemed disappointed. Hannah was busy hanging up her coat and looking around disapprovingly at their house, as she always did. She hadn't seen Cathy properly since she came in.

'Oh, dear, Cathy, no time to get the little job done on the hair yet?' she said, more in sorrow than in anger.

Cathy felt that she wanted to put on a raincoat and start running in any direction, miles and miles from these people.

'Alas no, Mrs Mitchell, but I have given it a lot of thought,' she said.

Neil came in at that moment. 'Hey, that smells good,' he began. Cathy put her finger over her lips and then spoke in a high, unnatural voice.

'Neil, great you're back. I have to do just five minutes' work and send something by taxi somewhere. Your parents are here, can you entertain them for just a minute?'

'Sure,' he said agreeably.

But before he went in she whispered in his ear, 'We are not eating Spanish food, not, repeat not.'

'Of course not.' He shrugged, puzzled.

She called her local taxi firm and wrote a note to Brenda Brennan at Quentin's.

'This is Last Chance Saloon. Can you send me with this taxi driver four portions of anything at all on God's earth that I can give my bloody mother-in-law. Only thing, nothing Spanish. I will pay whatever you want, whenever you like or work it off for you in the kitchen. Love from a distraught Cathy.'

Then she went back and talked nonsense and rubbish to them all for forty-five minutes until the taxi returned with a wondrous steak and kidney pie, a bowl of salad, mashed potatoes and garlic bread. She managed to get it all on the table without any of them seeing, and called them in blithely to their dinner.

'This is lovely,' Hannah said, and Cathy smiled serenely.  I knew it wouldn't be reheated Spanish food,' Hannah continued. 'Jock can be way off-beam sometimes.'

'Sorry,' said Jock. 'Should have realised I was dealing with a professional.'

And Cathy knew she shouldn't be so pleased about it all, but there was no way of hiding it. Afterwards when they were washing up she admitted it to Neil.

 It was touch and go but it worked,' she said, delighted with the little victory.

'Sure,' he said.

She knew that he was patting her down. 'But seriously Neil, wasn't it brilliant?'

It wasn't necessary, hon.'

It was essential,' Cathy said with total conviction.

'What are you trying to prove?'

'That she hasn't won.'

'But you proved that, Cathy, long ago.'

'No I haven't.'

I married you, didn't I? What other battleground has she got to fight on?'

Tom was a great audience next morning when Cathy told the tale of the taxi takeaway from Quentin's. They sat companionably drinking mugs of coffee and trying out his new date and walnut bread.

'Tell me how did they not see it coming in.' He sat like a huge child on his high stool, wrapped in his scarlet apron.

 I put a big screen near the door.' She was gleeful about it all.

'And the containers, all the foil, didn't they notice?'

'No, Quentin's sent proper dishes, all I had to do was put them straight on the table.'

'And what did you do with the Spanish food?'

 I asked the same taxi driver to take it straight round to St Jarlath's. I don't care what it all cost, it was worth it, Tom, it was so worth it.'

A pinger sounded on the kitchen wall, so Cathy reached into the oven to take out more bread and screamed with pain. Tom leaped up to take the tray from her.

'I've told you a hundred times to put on those long gloves,' he fussed.

 I know, it's just that I was trying to be quick.'

'That's what you always say, and is it any quicker? Here, let me see.'

He held her two arms under the cold-water tap and let the water flow over the red patches.

'It's nothing, Tom, stop clucking like a hen.'

'Someone has to cluck or you'll be as much use as the Venus de Milo.'

'What?'

'The one with no arms. It was a joke.'

 I know, you eejit, it's just that Hannah and Jock were only talking about it last night.'

'What cultured conversations you have with your in-laws.' He had patted her arms dry and was rubbing the cream in gently.

 I wish. It was an argument between Neil and his father. Jock had bought some sculpture for his office, Neil said it was showy and a waste of money. Jock said that if Neil got a present of the Venus de Milo tomorrow he'd only stick a pair of arms on it and sell it to raise funds for tinkers and foreigners. That kind of cultured conversation.'

Tom laughed as he stuck the gauze on loosely, leaving room for air to get into the burn, and put things away in their first-aid cabinet. 'And what did you and Hannah talk about?'

'My hair,' Cathy said simply.

To her rage, she felt tears in her eyes. Cathy didn't want to be as obsessed with her body as Marcella was, but she wanted to look well.

'Oh, Cathy,' he said.

'Tell me, Tom, is it stupid or something? I don't know.'

'Is this serious?' he asked, astounded.

'Of course it is. If that awful woman gave me a king's ransom to get it changed, then it must be frightening the dogs in the street.'

'But if Neil tells you it's lovely… ?'

'He'd say anything for an easy life.'

'No he wouldn't, and it's gorgeous.'

'What's it like? Go on, close your eyes, tell me.'

Tom closed his eyes. 'Let me see, it's fair, sort of honey fair, very thick and it's tied behind your back, and little bits curl over your ears and it smells of shampoo and it's just fine.'

Peter Murphy called Geraldine in the office. 'Awkward thing to ask you,' he began. 'My speciality, awkward things,' she said. It was easy for her to sound so suave and cool. She knew already the awkward thing he was going to ask. Peter Murphy's estranged wife had died that morning, Geraldine had already been told this. It would be either asking her to attend the funeral or not to. It was a matter of indifference to her, whichever Peter wanted she would do. They were old history now as a couple; there had been many ladies in his life since she had been there. They were truly just good friends now. She listened and made what she hoped were the appropriate and non-committal sounds of regret, coming as they did from an ex-mistress. It turned out that Quentin's wouldn't do the catering for the funeral, they were passing such work over to Scarlet Feather. Would this be embarrassing for Geraldine?

'Absolutely not, I'm just delighted they can help you, and I'm sure they'll do it very well,' she said, still in her concerned, sympathetic voice.

'It will be on Saturday morning… um… at what is… was… well, her house… The children… Her friends would expect…' Geraldine had never known Peter Murphy at a loss for words before. For years he had been able to live exactly the life he wanted to. Only by dying had the sad, rich, plain wife whom he had always managed to ignore satisfactorily even slightly inconvenienced him.

'Yes, Peter, and what would be best… ?' She waited. He was unwilling to decide, she would second-guess him. 'Perhaps I shouldn't come to the house. I didn't really know her personally, after all.' She could hear his sigh of relief, echoed by her own. Geraldine had no wish to be seen as a false sympathiser. Yet she would like to know who turned up. This way she could work behind the scenes, peer out and see everything without being seen herself.

'I've got a question for you Simon,' Lizzie said.

Simon's face lit up. 'Is it about Muttie's Yankee today? Did it work, then?' He was very excited.

'Yankee?' Lizzie said.

'It's a bit complicated, it's a way of increasing your stake,' Simon explained helpfully.

'I know only too well what it is, thank you Simon, it's just that there was an agreement that such a thing as a Yankee was never, ever going to happen with household money.' Lizzie's face was thunderous.

 I'm sure it wasn't with household money,' Simon said swiftly.

'No, I'm sure it wasn't. It must have been from his own personal income, his stocks and shares and dividends,' she said vaguely.

'Oh, good, that's all right then,' Simon said, relieved.

Lizzie looked at him in despair. 'That wasn't the question,' she said. 'It's that you and Maud have to say yes or no to Marian's wedding today. If you say yes, then you get dancing lessons and outfits. If you say no then that's fine. It's got to be your decision, the pair of you.'

'Then I say no,' Simon said.

'Right.' Lizzie was leaving it at that.

'What do you mean, right?' Simon could be very imperious.

'Just that you got a choice, you said no. Maud will be disappointed, she said yes, she wanted to dress up.'

'Well I don't,' he said.

'Fine. Cathy will be relieved.' This was part of a plan.

'Why?' He didn't like playing into Cathy's hands.

'She says you'd have been no good. Muttie and I didn't agree, and it would have been a great day out but there, it's your choice.'

'I suppose I could do it, I mean, if Maud wants it so much.'

'Yes or no today.'

'Oh, all right then, yes.'

'And you do have to learn the dances and wear a kilt?' Lizzie was making sure there were no grey areas.

'Well, I suppose. There's not going to be anyone from school there, after all.' He was talking himself into it.

And then came the clincher. 'And of course the tigers? Will there still be tigers?' He had remembered Cathy's chance throwaway remark, just as he would remember Lizzie saying sourly that Muttie had stocks and shares.

'I don't think so, I think there was some kind of a problem getting the tigers into Dublin.'

'But why, Lizzie. Why?'

Lizzie finally spoke. 'I beg you, Simon, don't ask me the answers to any more questions. I don't have any answers. Why does Muttie throw away everything he gets? Why does Geraldine live like a millionaire? Why isn't Cathy grateful to Mrs Mitchell for everything that woman gives her? Why does Marian want some of the Mass to be in the Irish language at her wedding? Why do women I clean houses for leave such terrible rotting things in their fridges? I'll tell you, I really and truly don't know.'

'Do you know when the wedding is, Lizzie?' Simon asked in a level voice.

'Yes, it's in the summer,' she said glumly.

 I suppose we could learn to dance in four months,' said Simon, who had discovered that life threw something new at you all the time.

'Listen, can I help you out Saturday at the Murphy funeral? What I want to do is be in the kitchen out of sight, buttering bread and washing dishes.'

'Why?'

'Because you're a businesswoman. Where will you get a better offer, a pair of hands free for four hours?'

'No, you're doing this for some horrible reason.'

'Only pure curiosity. I used to have a fling with the grieving widower, as you well know. I'd like to see at first hand how many people turn up and who they are.'

'I'm not in favour of it,' Cathy said.

'I could approach your partner, Mr Feather.'

'How will we get you in?'

'I'll come in with you when they're all at the church.'

'The kitchen might not be big enough to hide you.'

It is,' said Geraldine, who had after all been there when it was a joint family home, but when the deceased lady was not in residence.

This was their first funeral, and they must do it right. Brenda Brennan at Quentin's, who had given them the job, said there was a lot of work in that area. You just had to be terribly nice and considerate to the family concerned, and keep everyone else fed and supplied with drink. The problem, of course, was that nobody could tell them how many people to expect. Certainly not Mr Murphy, who seemed highly embarrassed about it all.

They would cook two hams, Tom decided, baked and dressed, just produce one and carve it in the dining room, keeping the other in reserve. This way it wouldn't point it up if there was a very small attendance, much less than had been anticipated. They would have salads ready to make on the premises, a selection of Tom's breads ready to warm up in the oven, Cathy's home-made chutneys and pickles served in the big white pots with their Scarlet Feather logo. There would be warm asparagus quiches and big plates of Irish cheese served with apples and grapes. Desserts might make it somehow too festive and party-like. Inappropriate was the word they kept using to each other. And yet it was very odd and inappropriate to be looking for approval and new business and success just because some wealthy, unloved woman had died and her guilty, remorseful relatives were trying to give her a good send-off.

'Very big house, isn't it,' said Cathy as they climbed the steps with the first load of boxes.

Geraldine sniffed as if she could tell a lot of stories about this house but would not be drawn. June said that she might meet a rich fellow here today. Walter, who was being the barman once again, said it was ridiculous for one woman to have lived in a huge place like this on her own. Tom said it was great that there was lots of space, because he was so big he took up the whole kitchen in some houses. Cathy said nothing but just scurried back to the van for the next lot of trays. A lot of things were puzzling her. Why was Geraldine coming here, anyway? The place must have nothing but bad memories for her. Why was June talking about meeting a fellow? She had met a fellow years ago, for heaven's sake, and had two children with him. Why was Walter so bitter? He had everything going for him. All right, so two very dysfunctional and at present disappeared parents. But he had never been involved even when they were around. How could he resent anyone who had anything? Including a dead woman whom he had never even known. And lastly, how could anyone else on earth be so unfailingly optimistic as Tom Feather? They had three loose cannons on board with them today. They didn't know whether there would be thirty or two hundred people turning up today. And still he was able to see something good about it all, like he would have a big kitchen. She smiled to herself as she ran up the steps again.

'Don't get into a good humour on me, Cathy Scarlet… That's when you usually burn yourself or cut yourself,' he warned.

'Right,' she said. 'Grim-faced from now on.'

The family of the late Mrs Murphy were back at the house first. Cathy took their coats and hung them on her mobile coat rack which was set up in the back of the wide hall. Then Walter offered them a drink, and they moved into the big and seldom-used drawing room.

'Should we help with the food?' one of the daughters offered grudgingly.

'No, no, it's all under control, and you'll see we have set up a buffet here in the back room.'

They looked around. In all the years that she had lived here their mother would never have entertained like this. And the big rooms looked so well today; these caterers had added small touches, and certainly managed to show the place at its best. How sad that the first time their mother's house, their own family home, should be seen in its glory was at her funeral.

It must be very poignant for you all,' Cathy said. 'So many memories all coming together.' They looked at each other, surprised. 'I'm sure she would have been very pleased that you opened up her lovely house to everyone… It will be a lovely way to greet her friends,' Cathy went on. She saw them relaxing, and yet again she blessed Brenda Brennan at Quentin's saying that you can never be too sympathetic. Tom kept looking out of the window and giving a running commentary.

'They're coming very slowly, but I think there's just enough to take the bare look off the place. No, wait, there's three more cars pulling up outside, we might have a decent house after all.

'Oh, dear, there are people already checking their watches, they mightn't stay long. June, go in and take up your stand behind the buffet. Is Walter there, or has he gone off to have one of his fifteen-minute reads in the gents?'

'He's still in the hall. I've got my eye on him,' Cathy said.

'Geraldine, do we sympathise with Mr Murphy or not?'

Geraldine paused in her work, which was spreading pate on small round biscuits, and garnishing each of them with a speck of tomato, parsley and creme fraiche. 'I think the words "Upsetting day for you" should cover it perfectly,' she said briskly, and peered again through the little service hatch. 'That's interesting, hardly anyone here from Peter's hotel, I don't suppose they know what the protocol is.'

The lunch party didn't last long, and soon people were saying goodbye to the daughters of the house. Peter Murphy had left, kissing each of his girls on the cheek. He didn't need to come into the kitchen; he never knew that Geraldine was there. The invoice would be presented to his hotel and the cheque in payment for it written immediately. Cathy wondered whether Geraldine was pleased or disappointed by the small turnout at the funeral of the woman whom she must have hated at one time. Geraldine had been involved with Peter Murphy for several years. But it was impossible to know: Geraldine gave little away, she just commented that the daughters had several of their friends there, but that there were hardly any of Mrs Murphy's own cronies out in that room…

'Possibly she didn't have many friends,' Cathy suggested as she counted the plates. They could only charge for forty-two people.

'Everyone has friends, specially if they live in a big house like this,' said June, as she packed the cutlery into the mesh baskets.

'Not necessarily,' Tom said, as he carefully wrapped up the unused ham.  I think people get isolated in big places like this. Not that I know, or will ever know,' he grinned.

'It's got nothing to do with the house,' Geraldine said. 'She was in an impossible position. No man, so no escort, and people are afraid of women who lose their men, they think it's catching. And then no job either, nothing to talk about, so she must have been as dull as ditchwater.'

'That sounds very hard, Geraldine,' Tom said, wagging his head at her mock disapprovingly.

'Life is very hard, Tom, you had better believe me.' And it was as if a hard mask had come over her face for just a few seconds.

'Will we freeze the ham, or wheel it out again out for Mrs Hayes, do you think?'

Tom and Cathy had dropped Walter off at the top of Grafton Street, where he was going to spend his pittance, as he called his three hours' wages. They were driving June back with them to the premises. Her pittance was for five hours, since she was to stack the dishwashers and help tidy up.

'Mrs Who?'

'The lady that had chocolate all over her face has given us a very nice job, as it happens, for her silver wedding, just because I rescued her.'

'Oh, yes, of course, you're great with the charm. No, let's freeze this fellow, I say. They want gooey things, lots of creamy sauces. A nice lean ham would be much too healthy for them.'

Cathy looked at him questioningly and he nodded. They were, as so often, in agreement; Tom had the label written and dated and the ham placed on the right shelf of the freezer. They turned on the answering machine: three requests for brochures, one girl asking if they had any vacancies, since she would like to pursue a career in catering.

'Pursue!' Cathy laughed. 'Why do kids talk like that?'

'Because they think it makes them sound as if they weren't kids,' Tom suggested.

Then there was a booking, a ladies' lunch for eight, just to deliver and leave for the Riordans.

'No address, no phone number. Great. Really, people are so thick,' Tom fumed.

'Come on, Tom, we know them. We've been there.'

'We have?' he looked at Cathy in puzzlement. They hadn't been to all that many houses. Not so many that he could afford to forget the names of clients.

'You know, we did the christening there, you kept referring to him afterwards as Mr Bloody Family Man.'

'Oh, him yes indeed. I've blanked his name deliberately from my mind,' Tom said.

'Well mercifully we haven't blanked them out of the computer,' Cathy said. 'What will we give them?'

'A lecture on the subject that there ain't no good in men,' Tom offered.

'No, silly. To eat. And anyway, that's not true. There's plenty of good in men. My father's buying a puppy for the twins to keep in St Jarlath's Crescent, though he'll have to do all the work training it and cleaning up after it. My husband has got us two great tickets for the opera tonight, even though he doesn't really like it. James Byrne's going to give up his Sunday morning to do the books for us just because we couldn't meet him today. My business partner, also a man, is going to stay here and lock up on his own for me, so I haven't one thing against men at the moment,' she laughed at him.

'Why am I going to stay and lock up, remind me?' Tom asked.

'Because the love of your life is going to be at the gym all evening while the love of my life is busy thinking up reasons why we might not go to Lucia di Lammermoor, and I'd better be home to head him off at the pass.'

There was a note on the table. 'Now I know you'll think I'm trying to wriggle out of culture, but when you hear what's happened you'll agree…' A perfectly legal advice bureau was being threatened, and the solicitors said that the presence of a barrister would definitely make the authorities think again. There might even be a press conference… He was sorry… very sorry. He would make it up to her. The tickets were on the table. Could she find someone else? Cathy was furious. Could she find someone else to dress up and go to the opera with her at five o'clock in the evening? What world did he live in? She could feel the start of tears of annoyance and disappointment, but she fought them back. This wasn't a major-league thing. Not like all the real battlefields she had been on before… Not like the times that Hannah had sneered at her and said that she would only marry Neil over the dead bodies of herself, her husband, anyone who knew them. This wasn't as big as Hannah laughing loudly behind her back in a voice intended to carry, patronising her, saying she was the poor cleaner's daughter. This wasn't like wanting to take a job and live overseas. It was only about a night out.

However, who else could she ask at this late notice? June? At the Opera? Forget it. Geraldine? Geraldine with her active social life was sure to have a date on a Saturday night. Cathy pulled the phone towards her. She'd call Geraldine.

'Geraldine?'

'You have another job for me, is that it?'

'Would you like to stand in for Neil at the opera tonight? I have a spare ticket.'

I'd love it. Is it sad?'

'Pretty hopeless set-up, yes. Heroine marries a guy she doesn't love, she kills him. The guy she does loves kills himself. That sort of thing, low in communication skills, fairly typical of opera.'

'Fairly typical of life, I'd say,' Geraldine said crisply.

'I'll take you to Quentin's for supper afterwards.'

'It's a deal.'

They laughed with Brenda Brennan about the whole steak and kidney adventure. They saw Shona Burke having dinner with two of the senior Haywards people.

'I wish that girl would smile more,' Geraldine said.

'She's got quite a bit to smile about. Apartments at Glenstar don't come cheap; good job, good looks. Tom said he saw her up at the hospital visiting someone when his father had that heart attack. I did ask her about it, but she sort of clammed up on me.'

'She's good at her job but no warmth there,' Geraldine said. 'You did a fantastic job, today. I was very proud of you.'

'No, don't try to slip out of it. Were you pleased not to see a big crowd there, before?'

'No, I was indifferent really, just objectively interested, that's all.'

'But if you loved him once, you can't have been totally indifferent. You must have… felt something.'

'I never loved Peter Murphy,' Geraldine said simply.

'But weren't you…' Cathy's voice trailed away.

'Certainly I was… for over five years, but that doesn't mean I loved him.'

'At the time it must have seemed like love,' Cathy said.

'No, not for me.'

'Then what… Why…' Cathy stopped again. I'm sorry Geraldine, it's none of my business.'

'No, I don't mind… I was having a nice time with a pleasant companion who also introduced me to a lot of people and helped me build my business up. And why? I suppose I'd just say why not? And he got me the apartment in Glenstar.'

Cathy looked at her. 'He got it for you?'

'You're a big girl now, Cathy, you have your own business, stop being the round-eyed innocent with me.'

Cathy spoke with spirit. I'm not playing the innocent. I'm just surprised that you'd take a present, well, like a luxury flat from a man. That's all.'

If people want to give me presents, I should throw them back?'

'Of course not, but a flat, Geraldine.'

It was the same builder who was putting up Glenstar at the time as he was doing his hotel extension, and it didn't cost him as much as it would have cost other people. It was very generous, though, and as you know, we have always remained good friends.'

'But he doesn't think he can come round and...'

'No, of course he doesn't, Cathy. Please.'

'But wasn't it an odd thing for him to do? I mean, most men don't do things like that, do they?'

I find that most men do,' Geraldine said, giving the matter some thought. 'People do give me things. I got the car as a present, and that CD player you admire so much.'

'You got all those things from different men at different times? I just don't believe you! You're having me on.'

'Not at all. Why would I make a joke about something like this? It's a fact. Do you think less of me?' Geraldine asked.

'No, no, of course not,' Cathy said emphatically. But she did.

Greatly less. The aunt that she had so much admired, the gritty woman who had made it all on her own from a working-class background to a position of power and elegance turned out to be no more than what in the past was called a courtesan. She was getting presents for sex. It was one small step away from being paid for it.

'Good, I'd hate you to get all pious on me.'

'Me? Pious? Never,' said Cathy with a weak grin.

Geraldine had paid for a secondary education which Muttie and Lizzie thought to this day was a scholarship. Geraldine had bought the school uniform and listened sympathetically when Cathy said she wanted to learn the catering trade from the bottom up, and then provided the fees for the catering course when the time came. Geraldine had been her ally when she had come home from Greece with the amazing news that she was in love with Neil Mitchell, son of the hated Hannah, and had helped her calm Lizzie down… It was Geraldine who had been guarantor for the Scarlet Feather loan without hesitation. There was no way that Cathy was going to go all pious on her aunt. She sought to change the subject, and looked down at Geraldine's wrist.

'Hey, is that a new watch? It's gorgeous.'

It is nice, isn't it.' Geraldine twisted it to make it catch the light. 'It's a lovely little setting, tiny seed pearls and a nice gold bracelet. That nice estate agent, Freddie Flynn gave it to me last week. It was very sweet of him.'

'Was it good… all the screeching?' Tom asked early on Monday morning.

'What? Oh, great, just great.'

'And did Neil catch any sleep at all while he was there?'

'No, he wouldn't dare,' Cathy said. Why had she lied and pretended Neil had been there? It wasn't a lie exactly. It was more a matter of loyalty. It would have been very complicated to explain to Tom just how hard Neil worked, and how much he had regretted having to pull out of the opera. Easier to let it be. It was an unimportant white lie which would never come to light.

They had all the food they could freeze for the silver wedding ready.

I might even buy you a beer just to get us out of here…' Tom began, as someone knocked on the door. He went out to answer it. It was Neil.

I was in the area, so I thought if I offered my wife lunch she might forgive me for standing her up at the opera,' he called out.

Cathy came out to the front room.

'So will you forgive me?'

'There was nothing to forgive, I told you that. There wasn't even a row, Neil, none of this is necessary.' She was so mortified she could hardly speak.

It is necessary. I promised something I didn't deliver. Can I deliver a lunch instead?'

'Go, Cathy. Go to one of the posher places and steal ideas,' Tom urged. 'See are there any exciting breads out there, ask to see the whole breadbasket and take one of everything, anything new, bring it back. Okay?'

She took off her Scarlet Feather overall, put on her jacket and got into the van.

'Won't we take the car, maybe?' he suggested.

'It's pure advertising, Neil, we can park it somewhere down near the quays where everyone will see it. See you, Tom.'

They sat opposite each other in a very trendy place. They only got in because it was a Monday, and gradually she got over her annoyance. It wasn't his fault. He really did feel badly about letting her down. She insisted that she had enjoyed her dinner with Geraldine.

'And now I get to have lunch with you as well, so I won out as it happens,' she said cheerfully.

'What did Geraldine have to say?' Neil asked.

'Not a lot, we just rambled on about everything.'

Cathy wondered why she hadn't told him about Geraldine's extraordinary lifestyle. Normally she told Neil everything. She decided yet again that it had something to do with loyalty. She wondered did this mean she would be lying constantly from now on.

'They've heard from the missing Uncle Kenneth.'

I don't believe it, where is he?'

'On the high seas coming home, apparently.'

'And what about Aunt Kay in the funny farm?'

'Getting stronger by the minute, I hear.'

There was a lump of lead in Cathy's chest. It doesn't mean they'll be in any shape to take Maud and Simon back?' she asked fearfully.

'Well, not this very moment I'd say, but of course they will have to go back sometime Cathy.'

Cathy was aware of her very mixed feelings. It would be wonderful not to have to worry about Simon and Maud any more. Yet these people were not going to look after their children properly. She had taught them some manners, some fear of upsetting others, her Mam and Dad had taught them love and friendship. It seemed a terrible waste to see it all washed away when Kenneth and Kay came back for whatever time suited them. The return of the prodigal parents had always been something for which she had devoutly hoped. Now that it was beginning to be a reality, Cathy was not so sure.

'They're okay, the parents, do you think?' she asked Neil.

'As good as can be expected,' he said. 'Anyway.' He was changing the subject. She looked at him. 'Anyway, none of that is really important. You and I have to talk about the job,' Neil said.

'Tom, it's Walter. Can I come in and have a word?'

Tom swallowed the sandwich he was eating and pressed the buzzer to let him in. The boy was basically harmless, Tom thought. No hard worker, a little over-swift to find his jacket at the end of a job rather than help carry the plates and glasses out to the van. A little snobby towards June and her pronunciation of words. Still, it suited them at the moment to employ him as a barman. He was reasonably personable, charming to the younger women and if he could only concentrate more, remembering who was drinking what, then he would have been fine. They had decided not to ask him to do the Hayes silver wedding. Instead they were going to try out a barman they had met, a red-headed boy called Con with a friendly smile, who managed to give the impression that he loved what he was doing.

'Cathy not here?' Walter looked around him, hand in pocket. Slightly quizzical, almost as if he had been let down. Tom remembered that he and Cathy had agreed in a whisper that Walter had this slightly annoying body language, as if he were conferring some kind of favour and wished the whole thing could be dealt with as quickly as possible.

'No, but she'll be back soon.'

'That's Neil's car in the yard?'

'Yes, he'll be back soon too. Can I do anything for you in the meantime?'

'This gig, this do… whatever… What time's it at?'

'I'm not with you,' Tom said.

'The big function on Wednesday. I want to know, is it dinner jacket for me to wear, and what time should I turn up?'

'I don't think we made any arrangement…' Tom began.

'It's just that I was hoping you could give me something in advance now… Towards getting geared up and all.'

Cathy would not have booked her husband's cousin without telling him. In fact, she had been more vehement against Walter than he had been. She had been quite outraged that he had called his wages a pittance. There had to have been a misunderstanding here. It was tempting to say that they should wait until Cathy came back to sort it out. But Tom knew he couldn't do that.

'We didn't book you for Wednesday,' he said, much more confidently than he felt.

'What?'

'Just that. We didn't book you, Walter, so there's no question of any advance, I'm afraid. I'm sorry if you got the wrong end of the stick.'

'Don't talk to me about wrong ends of sticks, you told me all about it, you spoke about it in front of me - what was I meant to think?'

'What are we meant to think, Walter? You describe the wages we give you as a pittance, you don't enjoy the work. How were we meant to be inspired with the idea that you want to work at the Hayes silver wedding?'

'Oh, this is what it's all about. It was a joke, it's what people do, they make jokes. They don't expect people to take a light-hearted remark seriously. But now I see it's a matter of bowing down to the ground and thanking you from the bottom of my heart for the privilege of being allowed to work with you.'

Tom thought that Cathy had been gone for an age, how long could one lunch take? Was she ever coming back?

In the restaurant, Cathy looked at Neil across the table.

'The job? The one they were going to offer you abroad?'

'Yes, and still are. You and I sort of got started on it the wrong way. I wanted to tell you what it's all about.'

'Do,' she said.

'No, not if you're going to put on that clipped tone with me.'

'Neil, I said tell me about it.'

'Please don't let's begin by being so hostile about it.'

'I have no idea how to ask you to tell me about this job without apparently insulting you or offending you, so why don't you just please tell me all about it?'

Just then, of course, they had to order. Neil was uncaring about what he ate, but Cathy wanted to taste different things, so she spent time making the choices.

'It doesn't matter,' he said when the waitress asked if they would like a cocktail.

'I'd love one of those silvery things over there with the frosting on the glass,' Cathy said.

'Why do you want that?' Neil was amazed.

'We're doing this silver wedding. You know, I told you all about it. This drink might be just the thing,' she said.

And she waited while he told her about the chance to change the whole thrust of immigration law. It was new and exciting, and it would be so great to be in on the ground floor when it was happening, and it mattered so much. And when all came to all there was only so much individuals could do on the ground in their own countries. What was needed was a proper policy up and running in the international institutions, not something that was controlled by politicians whose own interests could change, but by lawyers and social workers who cared. Cathy listened. Too often countries with perfectly good records on civil liberties looked the other way when there was oil involved, or if they were selling arms to the area, or if they were conscious of votes at home depending on the number of foreigners you let into your country. This agency would be above all that, it would be international, it would change the thinking of the world.

'Where from?' Cathy asked.

'Initially The Hague,' he said.

'You want us to live in Holland?'

'There will be travel, of course, and you can come with me, that's all agreed. You'll see places, Cathy, places that you never dreamed of.'

'What will you do every day, Neil? Try to give me a picture of how the day would break down.' Her voice felt disembodied; she needed to buy time to think about this. He really and truly did want to go, and expected that she would drop everything and go with him. She didn't listen as he struggled to paint a picture of how he saw their days shaping out. She wondered instead if anyone truly knew anyone else. This man opposite her who had defied his parents with icy indifference to their arguments when they had objected to his marrying her, now wanted to uproot her from the business she had slaved to form and take her away to be some kind of diplomat's wife. She heard words somewhere around her in the air as she tasted the bread which was ordinary and the tomato butter which was over the top. The silvery cocktail was a disaster -they would not even suggest it for the Hayes celebration.

'You're very quiet,' Neil said eventually.

I'm thinking about it, letting it all sink in.'

'I knew you would, if we had time. Back in Waterview you had boxing gloves up in the air in confrontation, your-job-my-job sort of thing. It's not about that, it's about our life.'

'Yes, yes.' She spoke almost dreamily.

'What do you mean, Cathy?'

'Well, you're right, it is about life. Would you go without me, on your own, to live your life out there, just suppose I couldn't go?'

'But that's not what we're talking about. You can go if you want to,' he was bewildered.

I'm trying to work out how you see your life. Would you go alone?'

'No, I wouldn't do that. You know that, don't you?'

I'm just asking. So you'd stay here and go on with the way things are?' she insisted.

'Yes, but, well… Yes, I suppose.'

'I see.'

'But it's not like that, Cathy. You can go, and believe me, I know you'll love it. They want you to come out with me for a week. Very soon, just to see first-hand where we'd be living and the kind of work that's involved. Cathy, you love a challenge, it's written all over you…'

'We need a lot more discussion about this. A lot more,' she said, her voice still sounding unreal in her own ears.

'Of course we do.' He patted her hand.

Neil seemed to think the conversation had gone well. He called for the bill and they left. Cathy had parked the van precariously on a corner. She saw a traffic warden looking in its direction, and raced her to the vehicle.

'I won,' she laughed, clambering into the driving seat.

'What's Scarlet Feather… is it a mattress?' the traffic warden asked.

'It's the best catering company in Ireland,' Cathy said, and got the van into gear and away from there at speed.

To their surprise, Walter was installed at the premises and Cathy noticed that Tom was looking hassled.

'Hey, are you better?' Neil asked Walter.

'Yeah, I'm okay,' Walter said, shrugging.

'What was wrong?' Cathy asked.

'He had a fall and hurt his back,' Neil explained. 'Dad was telling me this morning. He's been out of the office a week.'

Tom and Cathy looked at each other. They knew there had been no fall, but they said nothing. At that moment the phone rang. It was Mrs Hayes. They had decided they wanted two waiters for Wednesday. One to stay entirely behind the bar, the other to go round and refresh drinks. Would that be any problem?

'No problem at all, Mrs Hayes, it will be done straight away.' Tom hung up. He turned round to look at Walter. 'Usual pittance Wednesday, Walter, turn up here at six-thirty to help stack the van, no money up front, no need to hire a dinner jacket, you already have one. Okay?'

'Okay,' Walter said smiling. 'I knew you really meant me to work.'

'No we didn't, the situation just changed. We have Con, who is our waiter for Wednesday, you're just the back-up. That's if your own back will be all right by then?'

'Are you going back to the Four Courts?' Walter asked his cousin Neil. 'If you are, I'd love a lift.'

'Are you back at work then?' Neil was confused.

'No, but I have to see someone down that area.'

Tom was relieved that Walter was going to go. 'Did you two have a good lunch?' he asked.

'No. Breads we tried, and boy did we try them… Weren't anything compared to yours, Tom,' Cathy said cheerfully. And Neil muttered agreement.

'Great news.' Tom was pleased. 'The show can stay on the road for another few weeks, then.'

When they were gone Cathy sat down and looked at him. 'Sorry, Tom.'

'About what? We know Walter's a little shit, but they want two…'

'Not about that, about lying to you, about saying Neil was at the opera when he wasn't.'

'Oh, that…' Tom appeared to have forgotten it totally.

But she went on. It was stupid, but you knew how much I was looking forward to it and I suppose I just… didn't want you to think he'd let me down.'

Tom seemed to think she was making heavy weather of it all. 'Poor Neil couldn't face all the screeching when it came to it, was it? Can't say I blame him.'

Muttie had planned the surprise for weeks. And he wanted as many people to witness it as possible. So he asked Cathy and Neil if they could drop in about six o'clock on Tuesday, and Geraldine. It didn't really suit anyone, but they all made an effort. The little black Labrador puppy was going to be in the house already hidden on newspapers up in the bedroom. And then the conversation would be brought around gradually to dogs. Maud and Simon would say yet again how much they'd love a puppy, and Muttie would say excuse me, I think we do have one for you. Lizzie would say that it's nonsense, there couldn't possibly be a dog in the house without her knowing, and then Muttie would produce the little fellow…

It didn't suit Cathy because she and Tom had to collect their dishes from the Riordan ladies' lunch in order to use them again for the Hayes silver wedding. Sometime they would have enough china and ovenproof dishes not to have to call everything in, but not yet. It didn't suit Geraldine because Freddie Flynn said he might be able to call round to the Glenstar apartment for an hour or two after work. But there was something magical about the thought of Muttie and this pedigree dog which had cost him over a hundred pounds. So they all tried to fit it in. Lizzie would hurry back from her last cleaning job of the day. Geraldine told Freddie that she'd be a little delayed but would be back at the apartment by 6.45. Neil said he'd try to be there, but he'd have to be out of St Jarlath's Crescent by 6.30, just so long as everyone knew. Cathy said that she and Tom could call there for a while before they went to pick up the dishes at Mrs Riordan's.

Is something happening?' Simon asked when they all sat down at the kitchen table.

'Why do you say that?' Lizzie asked.

'Well, everyone here's sort of waiting,' said Simon.

'No, Simon, we're sitting round a table having tea.'

Cathy continued her attempt to improve the twins' manners. 'And making general conversation rather than centring everything on ourselves. That's what people do, you see.'

'Is everybody all right for sugar and milk?' Maud said obediently.

Muttie cleared his throat. 'There's nothing better than a family sitting down round a table,' he began. 'All over Dublin there's people sitting down to their tea now, watched by their cats and their budgies and their dogs.' He looked around him proudly, as if this was a perfectly normal remark to make out of the blue… He waited, but the children said nothing. They looked at him solemnly.

Tom felt he had to fill in the gap in the conversation. 'You've got a point there,Muttie, a family could be watched by all kinds of things, a hamster, a rabbit, well, from its hutch if the angle was right, and a dog, of course.'

Still not a word from Maud and Simon.

Muttie was desperate now. 'But there was never a dog in this house, of course, not having been in the past a family of dog lovers.'

'No, that's right,' Lizzie shouted as if reading lines from a play. Then the twins leaped up.

It is,' cried Simon.

I knew it,' shouted Maud, and they were out of the room in a flash and up the stairs towards the main bedroom. There were sounds of barks and screams and snuffles, and then they arrived carrying the puppy. It looked like a toy, all black fur and wagging tail and panting breath.

'It's beautiful,' said Maud.

'It's a he, I looked.' Simon was holding the puppy and looking again in case there should be any misunderstanding.

Is it for us?' Simon asked, hardly daring to hope.

'It's for the pair of you,'Muttie said gruffly.

'To keep for ever?' Maud said, unbelieving.

'Sure, of course.'

'We've never had an animal, a real animal,' Simon said.

'There was a tortoise at The Beeches but he went away,' Maud said. 'And you know we were hoping you might get a dog. And only today…'

'We heard it whimpering inside the door,' Simon took up the story.

'And I said maybe it was a puppy.' Maud wanted to show how bright she had been in identifying the dog.

'And I said yes,Muttie could have got himself a puppy, but also it could be just some old person groaning and grunting on the floor of Muttie's bedroom and we'd better not go in.' Simon also needed praise for the great control that he had shown.

'But we never knew it was for us,' Maud said.

For ever,' Simon said.

Cathy realised that this was the moment when the twins actually changed their personality. And everyone else seemed to think the same. The way they stroked it and laughed aloud at its antics would melt the hardest heart. They had the little animal on the table now, flopping about on its fat little paws. Tom put a newspaper under him, just in time, and people hastily took their cups of tea and biscuits away.

'He just beautiful,' said Maud again.

'And he's very intelligent, too. Did you find him on the street or somewhere?' Simon asked innocently.

'Aw, well, I sort of went out and chose him, you see, he's yours now, he's for the two of you,'Muttie said, beaming all over his face.

'Dad went out to a kennels and bought him for you,' Cathy said proudly.

'And Lizzie went out to work so that she could pay for the vet's fees for injections and everything…' said Geraldine.

'And we'll show you now how to train him,' said Lizzie.

'You just keep pulling the newspapers nearer the door every day, well, that's what they used to do at Oaklands.'

'And what are you going to call him?' Tom wanted to know.

The puppy looked up as if interested to know as well. 'Hooves,' said Simon, and Maud nodded eagerly. There was a silence.

'Hooves Mitchell,' Maud elaborated, in case they hadn't understood.

'Yes Maud, but normally dogs don't get called by their surname, so he'll just be Hooves for most of the time, okay,' Cathy said.

'Okay,' said Maud.

'And… umm… why exactly did you think of this… um… interesting name?' Tom voiced everyone's thoughIs.

The children were surprised that they didn't understand something so obvious. 'It's what Muttie always says is the best thing in the world… the thundering hooves that match your heartbeat,' said Simon.

Muttie blew his nose very loudly.

'And when they're off…' said Maud, 'then the sound of those hooves touches your soul.'

Neil called Cathy on the mobile just as they were leaving.

'I'm so sorry.'

'It doesn't matter, Neil, nobody expected you to be there, and it was great, they just love the puppy…'

'That's what I was calling about, Cathy. They can't go on living in this fool's paradise. Uncle Kenneth is back cleaning up The Beeches, Kay is getting out of hospital at the weekend… This can't last here, all this make-believe.'

'It's not make-believe, it's a home. What kind of a home is that uncle of yours making for children?'

'According to Dad and Walter, who've been dragged in to help, not too bad a fist of it. Walter even suggested that they get some food from you for the freezer.'

'I'll tell them what to do with food for the freezer,' Cathy said.

'Cathy please, we'll talk later.'

'Sure.'

Geraldine was leaving then too.

'Sorry I can't stay longer, Cathy, Freddie's coming round for a drink. I was going to cook an elegant dinner for him tomorrow night - he usually drops by on a Wednesday, but he has to go to some do, poor love.'

'No, I'm leaving too. Listen, do you want some posh canapes? I have a box in the van.'

'You're an angel, just the thing.'

Geraldine was gone in minutes, her smart red car taking the corner of St Jarlath's Crescent sharpish.

Tom came out then, and they got into the van. 'Wasn't it fabulous to see their faces,' he said.

'Yeah.'

'What is it?'

She told him.

'The courts, the social workers?' Tom began.

'Love the biological parenIs, apparently.'

'Even if they're fruitcakes?'

'So it seems.'

'You'll miss them,' he said simply.

'I'll miss them, certainly - but can you see Muttie walking that floppy hound called Hooves round for the rest of his life? He'll be devastated.'

'Won't they take it with them? The dog?'

'No - those two would freak if they had to cope with a dog as well as children.'

'But surely they'll go on visiting St Jarlath's Crescent a lot?'

'Kenneth Mitchell's son, going to a working-class area? Never! They'd be afraid they'd learn a common accent and get fleas!'

'It's just not fair,' Tom said. They were driving up to the Riordans' house as he said this. There were definite sounds of a party.

'There's another thing that's not fair,' Cathy said. 'They swore they'd be finished by five o'clock, now what will we do?'

'Leave it to me,' Tom said.

'Oh, I'll leave it to you willingly, but you're not going to go in and take Mr Riordan by the neck and shout at him about being Mr Family Man, are you?'

'No, this is a different task altogether. Stay in the van, have a sleep. It might take half an hour.'

She heard Tom rummaging in the back of the van for something and then saw him running up the steps with a package. Cathy closed her eyes. It had been a long, upsetting day and she was nervous about tomorrow's silver wedding. Still, this was her choice, she must never forget that.

Mrs Riordan came to the door. She looked at him guiltily. 'Oh, God, is that the time?' she said.

'Must have been a wonderful party.' Tom nailed his happiest, most enthusiastic smile to his face.

'What? Yes, they're all in good form.'

'Can I go in and say hallo to the ladies, I brought them a gift,' he beamed at her.

'What? Yes, of course, come in.'

'Good evening, ladies,' he said pleasantly to a group of eleven women who had drunk too much wine but who had also, he was pleased to see, eaten almost all the food provided. I thought you'd like…' he began.

'A stripper!' screamed one of the women happily.

'Sadly no,' he said hastily. I've hurt my back. I wouldn't be able to give you a proper performance at all, but I did come with a gift of petits fours and chocolates to thank Mrs Riordan for using our food… So here's a box to divide among you.'

They thought this was wonderful, and even though they said he was terrible to be giving them things that contained four hundred calories a bite, they ate them all the same.

'And while I'm here, why don't I give you more room to enjoy things?' Adroitly he started to clear the table. The women rushed to help him, and they scraped the plates. In the kitchen, they saw him begin to stack them in the crate.

'We must wash them first,' Mrs Riordan said.

'No, no, we do that back at base, all part of the service,' he said.

But they insisted. A sinkful of hot, soapy water, another for rinsing, two ladies drying. The party was in the kitchen now.

'Your back doesn't look all that bad to me,' said the woman who had hoped Tom was a stripper.

'Wait till I'm on real form,' he said to her roguishly, and she blushed with excitement.

They helped him carry the boxes down to the van, where Cathy leaped out in disbelief and began to stow them away. At that moment Mr Riordan's car came into the drive.

'Thank God the place isn't looking like a bomb-site, you're a pair of angels,' said Mrs Riordan, pushing two twenty-pound notes at them. 'Go on, go out and have a drink on me.'

Mr Riordan nodded at them. 'Looks as if it was all a good lunch,' he said grudgingly.

'Oh, the food was all right but I think they rather liked me as a stripper for most of the afternoon.'

'You're making this up,' the man spluttered.

'Well, you're never going to know, are you, Mr Riordan? After all, they're obviously going to say it didn't happen, aren't they?' Cathy and Tom laughed all the way to the city.

'Will we drop in on the reception after Neil's lecture? There'll be warm white wine and cold sausages provided by one of the faculty wives,' Cathy said.

'Sure, will I call Marcella? She should be home by now, we could pick her up on the way, she might like an outing too.'

'Great idea.'

They spent the forty pounds in a Chinese restaurant. Cathy noticed that Marcella had three prawns, no rice, no stir fry, no sweet and sour pork. Tom noticed that Neil was concerned because the Chinese waiters were probably not in trade unions. They told the story of Hooves.

'Isn't The Beeches a big house with a garden?' Marcella asked. 'They might be able to have it with them there.'

'Not until it's trained, it would run straight out on the road and be killed,' Cathy said.

'But maybe they won't be going back there for ages.'

Neil said that it would be much sooner than anyone thought; the law actually did move quickly in restoring children to their homes.

It seems a pity if they're happy where they are,' said Tom, who had been touched by the family scene in St Jarlath's.

'That's not the point.' Neil was very strong on that. 'Years ago, children were always being taken from their homes and given to people who would so-called improve them… At least nowadays the importance of the birth parenIs is actually recognised.'

Cathy thought that this was being over-recognised in this particular case. But she said nothing. There were so many other things to be discussed with Neil, and a rare meal out for the four of them was not going to become a battleground over Simon and Maud.

The Hayes household was up to high doh when they arrived at six-thirty. Two discontented sons who lived at home were hanging around, unsure of what to do. An equally discontented daughter attached to what looked like a young man mightily disapproved of by her parents was saying that it was inconceivable and intolerable that there was no way she could use the ironing board in the kitchen, where it had always been used. Mrs Hayes said they were to call her Molly, and her husband was Shay. He was a plump, somewhat anxious man, who was obviously a hard taskmaster at the business he ran, and felt the need to bark out orders on this occasion as well.

'Shay, can I make us all a quick cup of coffee and briefly run through the agenda with you?' asked Tom.

Meanwhile, Cathy had switched on the kettle, asked June to help get the ironing board and iron up to the spare room, got the boys to put the two Persian cats into a place with a litter tray and a bowl of food, a place from which they could not emerge and eat the trifle or shed hairs on the salmon. By the time the kettle had boiled Cathy had persuaded Molly that the main thing was for her to go upstairs and rest with her feet slightly raised. Cathy had even brought her a cold mask for her eyes, it worked wonders, she said.

'But setting everything up… ?' Molly begged.

'Is exactly what you are paying us well to do, and believe me we will do it,' Cathy said firmly.

She heard Tom telling Shay that they had a chain of command, a checklist, a routine to follow and it was wise if they were left to themselves to do it. He had always thought it good for the family to come down at seven-thirty, half an hour before the first guesIs arrived, so that they could examine everything and check it was all in order. Shay nodded, it made sense. And soon the Hayes family, fuelled with coffee, had all gone to their rooms. Tom and Cathy got into action, the food was unpacked, the conveyor belt for canapes was under way with June and her friend Helen. The buffet tables were set up. The ashtrays were placed in the conservatory where smoking was allowed, the cake was unwrapped and placed on a silver stand. The creamy dessert which needed to have the number 25 written on it with toasted almonds was produced, the salads were filling up the great glass bowls that had been rescued last night from the Riordans. It was all going according to plan. At exactly seven o'clock the two barmen arrived. Con, the cheerful redhead they had spotted in a pub, and Walter, sulkier and moodier than ever.

'They'll be having champagne cocktails to start,' Cathy explained.

'How naff,' Walter said.

Cathy's face was hard. 'I'm never sure exactly what that word means. You know how to do them, and fill them up very shortly before the guests arrive with champagne.'

'Or what passes for champagne,' said Walter, lifting up a bottle and letting it slip back again into the case.

Cathy now addressed herself entirely to Con and not to Walter. 'I'd like you to get forty glasses ready in this way, and can you see that Walter opens twelve bottles of white and twelve bottles of red, the white goes into the big ice box outside the kitchen door, and after they're down to four then open the bottles in fours from then on, and…'

'Excuse me, Cathy, do you have a problem talking to me? Perhaps you don't want me here. Should I leave?' He looked so supercilious she wanted to hit him. He knew that she couldn't let him go now. Not just before the guesIs arrived. He could be as rude as he liked. Or could he? Neil was at home tonight - in a real emergency he would certainly come and help. She moved slightly away so that Con, the new boy, would not hear every word of the family row.

'Either change your attitude or get your coat,' she said crisply.

'I don't think you are in a position—'

'I'm in even position, I'm hiring you.'

'And where will you get a replacement at this hour?'

'Your cousin,' she said simply, and took out her mobile phone.

'Neil? You wouldn't.'

She began dialling.

'Okay, sorry, I was out of order.'

'No, I'm sorry, Walter, I can't rely on you. This is a big job for us.'

Suddenly he realised that she meant it. She really was going to ask Neil Mitchell the barrister to put on a dinner jacket and serve booze to these people. His uncle, who was also his boss, would kill him. His recent returned father, who was also his only other means of support, would kill him.

'I beg you, Cathy, you have my word,' he said.

'It had better be a very good word,' she said, and went and left him.

'Walter's actually doing some work for once,' Tom said admiringly, watching the vine bottles moving swiftly as requested.

'I put the frighteners on him,' Cathy said, with some satisfaction. 'The other boy's good, isn't he, we'll have him again. This is the last of Walter.'

'Will that not cause family strain?' Tom asked.

'No, probably prevent it, in that it will stop me killing Walter with my bare hands and messing up the kitchen,' Cathy said.

'Cooking is meant to have great elemenIs of patience and calm about it,' Tom marvelled. 'You haven't a calm, patient cell in your body.'

'Cooking is also meant to have a certain fire about it, and I'm full of that,' said Cathy.

Just then the Hayes family all appeared downstairs. The fussing was going to start again.

'We have a little tradition, which is to take a family photograph before everyone comes, while the whole place is peaceful, and coincidentally when the food looks at its best,' said Tom, and he posed them next to the cake by the buffet table, accepting their first champagne cocktail of the night.

They saw the hosts beginning to relax, and by the time the first visitor arrived they had agreed that the house looked beautiful, and the food, and that it would be a good evening. Only an hour in they knew it was going to be a roaring success. Even Walter was moving swiftly from group to group, topping up drinks and talking pleasantly. 'Fantastic, these things,' said Shay to everyone about the trays of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. It was in fact little choux pastries each filled with horseradish sauce and cream and a small slice of cold rare beef. People couldn't stop eating them.

'Did you invent these, Cathy?' a man asked her.

It was Freddie Flynn, her aunt's friend. Mrs Flynn was there, small and jewelled. Cathy looked at the woman's wrist; her watch was plain compared to Geraldine's. She smiled at them both.

'Mr Flynn, Mrs Flynn, thank you so much, no, alas I didn't invent them, but I did see them somewhere and remembered them! Is that as good?'

'Certainly,' he said. He had a nice smile. 'Darling, this is Cathy Feather, she's a sort of cousin of Geraldine, you know, who does our PR. Be nice to Cathy and she might just do more work for us, and Cathy, this is my wife Pauline.'

'You might do our silver wedding when the time comes,' the woman said.

'Oh indeed, we'd be honoured. It was wonderful to meet you, now excuse me, I must see that everyone…'

She moved away, seething. He was darlinging his wife at every opportunity. They were going to have a silver wedding party. And according to Geraldine, this was meant to be a dead marriage. So poor Freddie was perfectly entitled to have his fun elsewhere, since there was nothing for them at home. God, it would make you sick.

The party went better than anyone could have hoped. Molly had said wistfully that she thought they would all feel too old to dance, but Tom had brought the Best of Abba, for them just in case. First he put on Leo Sayer 'When I Need You' and then, 'Don't Cry For Me Argentina' and 'Mull Of Kintyre'. Nice and low but insistent in the background, and when he heard people humming and joining in the choruses and when the desserIs had been cleared away, he let rip with 'Mamma Mia' and they were all on their feet.

Tom and Cathy paused to have a coffee in the kitchen. Around them the dishes had been collected and stacked. The two barmen had skilfully retrieved the Scarlet Feather glasses and replaced them with those that belonged to the house. Soon it would be midnight, time to pay them their five hours. Shay Hayes had also left an envelope for the staff, so there would be good pickings tonight. Cathy had brought a silver polish cloth with her to shine up the four solid-silver ladles that Molly Hayes had insisted on using. They had been a wedding present, she said, they must be shown off.

The van had been filled, the ashtrays had been emptied, open bottles left on the tables, the kitchen was immaculate and only a hard core of ten people remained to celebrate still further. Tom could pick up the CDs when he came round tomorrow to finalise things and present his account. Con asked if he could speak to Tom for a moment. The boy drew him away a little.

'Very awkward, this,' he began.

'What?' Tom hoped that Con wasn't going to ask for more money; he had been such a good waiter all night. They need never have that young pup Walter again.

'It's just that… This is a hard thing to say… but I think you should have a look at that sports bag over there if you know what I mean. God, I hate saying this… but I have to.' The boy looked really distressed. Without pausing to ask more, Tom unzipped the bag. There on top of Walter's sweater and jeans were four silver ladles, two silver cruets and an ornate photo frame. His throat constricted with fear.

'Thanks,' he said. 'You go off now, quick as you can. I found this bag myself, do you understand, and thank you again, we'll be in touch.'

I'm sorry, Mr Feather.'

'So am I,' said Tom.

Cathy came back into the kitchen and took off her Scarlet Feather apron. 'Tom, you're a genius, how did you know that was the kind of music they wanted. It's working like a dream, look at them all leaping about to "Dancing Queen". God, I hope we'll be able to do that at their age.'

'Cathy, Walter stole the silver. His sports bag there, filled with their stuff, look for yourself.'

The colour left her face. He hated to do this to her, but there was no other way. He couldn't act until he knew what she would do. Walter was part of Cathy's family set-up, not his.

'Where is he?'

'Still in the dining room, chatting up Molly and Shay's daughter, being glowered at by the girl's boyfriend.'

Cathy took out her mobile.

'What are you doing?' he asked.

'Getting a taxi for June and Helen, there's a taxi rank a couple of minutes away, I took its number.'

'And then?'

'We sort this out here, get the guards if necessary, if he denies it.'

'What would Neil say?'

'I don't know, but I'll let Walter ring him, he's going to need a lawyer over this.'

'You're not going the distance on this?' Tom was amazed at her courage.

'If I can I will.'

'Walter, can I interrupt you for a moment? I need you in the kitchen.' Tom spoke in a low voice.

'Hey, my hours of servitude are over, I'm here on my own time now.'

'Straight away, please.'

When he saw the open bag, Walter began to bluster. 'How dare you root in my private things…' he began.

'An explanation, Walter.'

'I didn't put them there, you did. You both hate me.'

'We haven't touched them. The guards will be here shortly and will tell us whose fingerprinIs are on them.'

'You're never going to call the guards?' His face was white, but he still thought they were bluffing.

'It's what you have to do in a case of theft.' Cathy lifted her mobile phone again.

'You're going to call them now?'

'No, I'm going to wait for you to call your cousin first because you're going to need someone to speak for you, Walter. It might as well be Neil, that's if he takes you on.'

He looked at her, unbelieving.

'Go on, make the call.'

'I don't know the number.'

'It's pre-set. You just dial one.'

They sat and watched him as he waited until Neil answered. The kitchen door was closed; they could hear both ends of the conversation.

'Neil, sorry… sorry for ringing you, it's Walter.'

'What is it? Is Cathy all right, what has happened? Was there an accident?'

'No, actually I'm in a bit of trouble.'

'Where's Cathy?'

'She's here beside me… Do you want to talk to her?' Cathy shook her head. 'No, sorry Neil, I have to talk, apparently.'

'Talk then,' the voice said crisply.

'Well there was a bit of a misunderstanding… We're still at this house, you see, and Tom went rummaging in my private bag and he found or he says he found some silver there… belonging to the house, as it were…' Walter paused but there was no response so he had to go on again. 'And now, Neil, they're talking about calling the guards, Tom and Cathy are. Uncle Jock will kill me, you have to help me…' Still silence at the other end. 'What will I do?'

'Take off your jacket.'

'What?'

'Take off your jacket and hand it to Tom.'

'I don't think that's going to be any help. What's the point… ?'

'Do it, Walter.'

He did it. There was a rattle as he struggled out of his dinner jacket and passed it over to Tom. Tom shook it again. There were silver teaspoons in the pocket, a watch and a paper knife.

'Is it done?' Neil asked.

'Yes, there seem to be…'

'I was sure there might have been,' Neil said.

'What happens now?'

'Not up to me, I'm afraid.'

'Who is it up to?' Walter asked fearfully.

'Cathy and Tom and the people whose silver you stole. Do they know yet, by the way?'

'No, and I didn't really steal it, you know.'

'Of course not. Good luck, then.'

'What do you mean, good luck, aren't you going to help me?'

'No, I most certainly am not.'

'Neil you have to. I'm family.'

'No, listen to me… Cathy's your employer, you stole from her. You could have had her prosecuted, you stupid little shit.'

'Cathy's here, Neil, let me pass you over to her… Please, Neil, beg her, beg her.' There were tears running down his face.

'Cathy and Tom run their business, Walter. They had the bad luck to employ a thief. Anything they do is fine with me.' And he hung up.

Tom and Cathy looked at each other. 'Your trouser pockeIs,' Tom said.

There was a cigarette lighter and some more spoons. He wept and begged, but they spoke as if he weren't there.

'You call it, Tom.' She was very calm.

'No, I won't. I'm not taking on that emotional stuff. Truly I'm not. You wouldn't want to do it if he were Marcella's cousin.'

'That's fair.' There was a silence.'I want him done for this, every bit of me wants that. There are just two things against it.'

'I'm family,' Walter begged tearfully.

'Shut your face about family,' Cathy said. 'It's that I don't want to spoil Molly and Shay's evening, and I don't want to look those children in the eye and tell them I was the one who put their brother in jail and added to all the problems the unfortunates already have.'

'So you'll not call the guards?' He grabbed at the lifeline he saw.

'Tom?'

I'm with you,' Tom said.

'Give me back your wages,' she said.

Walter hurried to find them for her.

'No,' Tom said. 'Keep them, you did five hours' work, so you're being paid for it.'

'Thank you Tom,' he looked at the ground.

'Go now,' he said.

I'm sorry, Cathy.'

'You're just sorry you were caught, Walter.'

'No, funnily enough I was beginning to enjoy it tonight for the first time, seeing the whole operation get under way.'

He spoke with an odd sincerity. 'Why did you do it, Walter? Jock pays you plenty.'

I'm in debt,' he said.

'Well, look on the bright side… At least you're not in the Garda station,' she said.

'I'll never forget this, Cathy.'

'Sure.'

He left. Cathy sat there, very still.

'You were great,' Tom said. 'And Neil was great too.'

'I knew he wouldn't defend Walter,' Cathy said.

'I didn't.' Tom was thoughtful. 'I thought he'd see him as the underdog.'

'No, we were the underdogs, Neil could see that straight away. Our entire business could have gone under because of his little cousin.'

'He has an extraordinary sense of justice,' Tom said admiringly.

'So do you,' Cathy said. I'd never have given him tonight's wages, not in a million years. And yet you're right, he did earn them before he started nicking things.'

'Come on, let's go home,' he said, and began to drive the van back to the little town house in Waterview where Neil would be waiting up to talk over the night's events with Cathy. And then he would drive himself back to the flat in Stoneyfield where Marcella would also be waiting to know how this, their biggest booking ever, had gone.

'Do you get the feeling this night went on for days and days?' Cathy asked wearily.

'I do, weeks and weeks actually.'

They drove on in silence, then Tom said, 'But compared to a lot of the all-time losers we met tonight, I think you and I are fairly lucky. Or is that me being too over-cheerful?' he asked.