Fools of Fortune by William Trevor Read Free Book Online

the authority of my father’s insistence that Collins should only be given money. Could it be possible that his apparent indecisiveness, his self-claimed lack of resolution, were no more than superficial traits, contrived to make a talking point? I thought about it for a while, but came to no conclusion.
    ‘No, I didn’t lay eyes on the man,’ Father Kilgarriff replied when I asked him if he’d seen Mr Collins. ‘Wasn’t there hay to be made?’
    ‘You heard his motor-bike, though, Father?’
    ‘I don’t think I did. Now, tell me this. New Zealand has a temperate climate. Why would that be?’

*

    One Saturday evening during that same heatwave our parents and Aunt Fitzeustace and Aunt Pansy went to dine with people called D’arcy who lived in a house not unlike our own on the other side of Lough. I couldn’t sleep because of the heat and went along to my sisters’ room to pass the time. We played cards on Geraldine’s bed and then, to our very great surprise, were aware of the sound of music. Since it appeared to come from the kitchen, we crept down the back stairs in our nightdresses. Unfortunately we ran into Mrs Flynn, who happened to be crossing the kitchen passage just as we entered it. We were noisily reprimanded, but after much pleading on the part of my sisters were eventually led into the kitchen itself. A bizarre sight at once silenced the giggling that had begun to twitch Geraldine and Deirdre’s lips; it stunned me also. Seated at the big oak table and looking no less grumpy than usual, O’Neill was playing an accordion. Johnny Lacy was teaching Josephine a dance step, Tim Paddy and a red-cheeked girl we’d never seen before were smoking Woodbines at the table. Mrs Flynn was flushed; the others were laughing. In a high-backed chair, close to the range, my aunts’ maid, Philomena, was drinking a cup of tea. It was extraordinary beyond belief that old O’Neill should be performing on an accordion, the kind of instrument that beggar-men played on the streets of Fermoy. No one had ever told us that he possessed such a thing, we had never heard a note of it coming from the gate-lodge. And who on earth was the girl with the red cheeks?
    ‘That’s Bridie Sweeney,’ Mrs Flynn whispered. As she spoke Tim Paddy saw us and waved across the kitchen, not in the least woebegone or sorry for himself any more.
    The tune came to an end, and another began. This one had a different rhythm, and the two couples spun about the kitchen, Tim Paddy and the girl still smoking their Woodbines, Johnny Lacy whisking Josephine as if she were a feather. When he danced you’d never guess he had a short leg.
    ‘Well, how’s the three of you?’ he said to us, coming over when the music ceased. ‘Will you take a turn with me, Deirdre?’
    O’Neill, as usual, did not acknowledge our presence: intent on his accordion, I don’t believe he looked up once while we were in the kitchen. Johnny Lacy danced with Deirdre and then with Geraldine, and Josephine tried to show me how to waltz. Tim Paddy introduced Bridie Sweeney to us, saying she was one of the
    Sweeneys from the public house. The way he spoke it seemed as if he had never been in love with Josephine. He stuck his chin out and smiled as proudly as a sultan. All of it puzzled me very much.
    ‘You’ll break chaps’ hearts,’ Johnny Lacy told my sisters, the smell of carnations potent in his hair. He laughed and gave each of us a halfpenny. ‘ What’s the news, what’s the news?’ he suddenly began to sing, and O’Neill picked up the tune of Kelly the Boy from Kilanne.
    ‘Ah, they’re lovely children,’ Bridie Sweeney said. Tim Paddy was holding her hand and she was pressed up close to him, with an arm around his waist. ‘I s’pose it’s lessons for yez the entire time,’ she said. ‘God, I couldn’t abide lessons.’ She asked us a riddle, something about skinning a rabbit, and then Johnny Lacy broke off in his singing and took a mouth-organ from his