Despite the Angels - By Madeline A Stringer Page 0,138

the first term of Junior Infants, even though it had meant an extra year of Montessori. It was worth the fees, for this self-confidence. Just gone five, with the energy of five children, only now beginning to droop. Fuzz was standing on her hind legs next to Robbie, her front paws on his leg, pawing at him occasionally. Fuzz knew Robbie was a soft touch. He took after his namesake Grandad, he was caring too.

Martin was finishing his food. He was always finished first, shovelled it in in great scoops. Rarely made any comment. “Food is fuel” he’d said once, after Lucy had spent all afternoon making an elaborate meal for Jen and Peter, “I don’t know why you bother.”

“Because I think food is interesting. It’s relaxing to prepare and enjoyable to eat. It’s not just to fill you up.” Martin had said he would prefer a pint.

“I’m going out,” Martin pushed his chair back and stood up. “I’ve a person to see.”

“What about?”

“The business. I talked to a man on the phone yesterday who said he had a contact in Blodwen’s, you know, that chain of shops?”

“Yes, the really cheap and tatty jewellery.”

“That’s them. But anyway, he can get me an introduction there and if I get in with them, I’ll be selling display cabinets all over Ireland. North and South. Told you, it’s only a matter of time.”

“Why can’t you meet him in office hours?”

“Not how it works,” Martin tapped the side of his nose. Lucy wondered what that meant, wondered if Martin knew what it meant either. “It’s who you know. See you.” He swung on his heel and went out.

“Daddy!” Robbie was out of his chair running after his father, “Night night?”

“Oh, yes, sorry, Rob. Night night.” Martin bent down and kissed the top of Robbie’s head. “Night, Ash.” He was gone.

Chapter 49

November 1994

Lucy struggled her full trolley out of the supermarket. She was trying to push it and it was more or less in front of her, but it seemed to have ambitions to be a racehorse and lead with one shoulder. Certainly it wasn’t going forward. She gave an exasperated tug and the wheels locked, dragging her sideways into the line of parked trolleys. She stopped, wrestled her trolley free and then leant on it to catch her breath. She looked up and across the car-park. The late-afternoon light was heavy, it had a solid quality, a translucent grey hung in the air between Lucy and the world. She felt a smile grow on her face as she watched the other shoppers come and go in the gathering gloom. A germ of triumph sprouted, somewhere deep inside her and bubbled its way up to her throat. It’s beautiful, she thought, and maybe I’m the only person here who knows it. Look at them all, scurrying in out of the dusk, out of the horrible dark night. But it’s not horrible and actually, not really dark yet either. You could cut that air up like snow, she thought, and make an igloo out of it. She laughed, a short surprised sound, muffled by the silent air. But her eyes still glowed and she tugged her shopping between the rows of patient cars. Who’d have thought a dark evening could lift my heart? Maybe I’m losing my mind totally. The strain is getting to me. She stopped behind her own car and let the trolley go, so that it turned as though on one wheel and sagged against the boot she was trying to open.

“Oh, for goodness sake! Who invented these stupid things?” Lucy pulled the trolley clear, opened the boot and began to lift the heavy bags in. On my own again, she thought. Always on my own, or with the kids. It’s great they’re safe down the road at Marge’s. It’s easier to shop without them wanting stuff all the time. Them and Martin, the odd time he bothers to come, throwing in treats we can’t afford. She finished loading the boot and slammed the lid with a satisfactory thud, pulling the trolley clear and trotting with it over to the trolley bay. On the way back, contemplating the chances of someone stealing all the groceries in the time it took to park a trolley and wondering if one really ought to lock the car, she stopped again to look around. The air had darkened and the mystical half-light had been swallowed by the night. Like me, thought Lucy, as she sat into the