Free Lilac Bus by Maeve Binchy Page A

the chipper. That was the little plan. Could you beat it?’ The voice was steady but the eyes were over bright.
    ‘But it’s only a fancy isn’t it, it’s a bit of madness. I mean where would they go, and what would they do? And how could he leave you and the baby and the whole family?’
    ‘He’s in love with her. That’s the word:
In Love
. Isn’t it marvellous? He was never
In
love with me; he loved me, of course, but that was different apparently.’
    Mikey stood up, but he didn’t know what to do so he sat down again. Mary went on with the story.
    ‘I was meant to be going into the town. There’s always a lift in on Fridays and I had a list of things we needed for the take away, not things we get from the suppliers, but stupid things, big ashtrays for example and a couple of tins of bright red paint – we were going to paint the windows to match the geraniums, can you believe? But to go on with what happened: You know old Mrs Casey who’s only just learned to drive, well she was giving me the lift and as soon as we were out on the road beyond the golf club, didn’t the engine splutter and make these desperate sounds.
    ‘Ah well, I said to myself, there’s my day in town gone for its tea. But she’s such a nice woman, Mrs Casey, you couldn’t offend her. I told her it was a blessing in disguise and I could get the things next week and maybe I’d go home and make an apple tart since Mikey’d be coming back on the bus tonight.’
    A big lump came up in Mikey’s throat.
    ‘And I said to her to sit tight, I’d walk back and tell the Brennans in the garage to go out for her.’
    Mary took another sip.
    ‘It was a gorgeous day, and I picked wild flowers from the hedges, and when I came in there was Billy at the table with a whole load of papers all round him. And I was delighted because he was meant to have been gone for the day. So I said wasn’t this grand and we’d have a bit of lunch the two of us – something we hadn’t done in years – and I saw that there was “Dear Mary” on one piece of paper and on another and only two or three lines on each. And I
still
didn’t know anything was wrong so I said, “Are you writing me love letters at my age?” as a kind of joke. You see I thought he was just back unexpectedly and was writing me a note to explain that he’d been in.’
    ‘Oh Mary, isn’t this terrible,’ said Mikey, believing it for the first time since the saga had started.
    ‘And this is the awful bit: he started to cry, he started to cry like a child. Well, I nearly dropped dead – Billy Burns crying. I ran to him to try and put my arms around him and he pushed me away. And he was sobbing like a baby that’s getting teeth, so I said to him to hush it down or his father would hear. I’d left the baby next door but your father would have been having a doze and it would have frightened the daylight out of him like it was doing to me.’ She paused for a moment.
    ‘Then he said about Eileen, and her expecting and all.’
    There was a silence and the clock ticked and the soft snoring sound of the old man could be heard from the back room.
    ‘And he said he couldn’t face me, and he was leaving a letter. And I said that he didn’t have to go now, not at once, that surely he could stay and we could talk about what was to be done. But he said there’d been too much talking and that was it, now he was going.’ Mikey put out his big hand and patted Mary’s arm hopelessly.
    ‘And there was a lot of this and that, but funny no fight, no shouts or me saying he was a bastard or him saying he couldn’t bear me any more, that I was an old nag or anything.’
    ‘Well, no one could think that,’ Mikey cried loyally.
    ‘No, he said I’d been the best wife and mother in the world, and that he couldn’t tell me how sorry he was, he was just heartbroken, he said. All the papers were to show me that the chip shop is in my name, and the thousand pounds in the building society is for