In case a leopard didn’t change its spots, Noreen finished silently for her. She couldn’t muster up any words to say to Angela and as the girl shifted from foot to foot waiting for, well, Noreen wasn’t sure what exactly she was waiting for because what could she say by way of response? After a painfully eked out silence she took her cue and with an apologetic goodbye, strode off down the street. Noreen watched her, unsure if the bile that had risen in her throat was at the thought of her niece being no better than a common criminal, or whether it was because of her own stupidity in not having pressed her further. She should have kept at her until she told the truth of what had happened between her and Phelan. She should have known something wasn’t right. A numbness began to creep through her limbs and she forced herself to move before it rendered her frozen to the spot.
The doors to the store had opened and the line was finally snaking inside the building but Noreen left her place in the queue and headed for the AIB Bank where she and Malachy held their account, the bewilderment Rosamunde had expressed over the money Emer seemed to be splashing about foremost in her mind. The throwaway comment, her sister had made as to Noreen and Malachy holding Emer up to be something she was not played over in her mind. They’d trusted Emer week after week with their takings. When had either of them last thought to check a bank statement? She’d do so now, she thought, pushing open the doors and joining the handful of people waiting to attend to their business. She stared at the man in front of her. He was wearing a brown suit and she didn’t notice the fluffy lint stuck to it as she normally would, tutting to herself she’d never let Malachy leave the house like that. She didn’t disapprove over the creased trousers either as she prayed silently she wouldn’t find what the sick feeling now settled in her stomach was telling her she’d find when she looked into things.
‘SHE’D BEEN HELPING herself the whole time. Malachy and I were taken for gullible fools, Father.’ Noreen wrung her hands as she finished her tale, her throat feeling heavy with the effort to keep the tears at bay. Even now, so many years later, the abuse of trust wounded her to her core.
‘No, Noreen.’ Father Peter shook his head. ‘Big hearted and trusting was what you and Malachy were.’
Noreen looked at Father Peter’s kindly face, drawing strength from it. ‘You know it wasn’t the stealing that hurt the most. It wasn’t even the awful words Emer hurled at us before she left.’ She shivered recalling how, when confronted, Emer had at first denied any wrongdoing. It was only when Noreen waved the statement and the book, the indisputable proof of glaring and unexplainable discrepancies, she’d begun to apologise. She’d wanted a few nice things, to treat herself, was that so bad? She was sorry, she’d pleaded. Malachy had stood by Noreen’s side, his expression set in stone, and when Emer saw her apology wasn’t going to be accepted with the understanding she felt was her due, she’d lashed out.
Noreen had flinched as though physically slapped when Emer threw at them she’d only taken what was her due, what she was worth, and then a nastiness had seeped in. ‘You suffocated me with your neediness, did you know that?’ Her eyes were as mean as her words. Malachy had spoken then, his voice hard as steel as he told her to leave the shop and not to come back. There was a look of disbelief on Emer’s face and her gaze swung to Noreen, who even then wanted to take her niece in her arms and tell her all was forgiven. She stood firm by Malachy’s side though, as was her duty, and Emer slammed out of the shop leaving her and Malachy to stand in hollow silence. Noreen would never forget the look on her husband’s face when he at last turned to her and said, ‘Well, that’s that.’ He never spoke of Emer again.
‘What cut the deepest, Father,’ Noreen said, blinking away the images from the past, ‘was the way the light went out in Malachy’s eyes that day.’
Chapter 22
Noreen couldn’t believe a week had passed since she’d been at Alma’s Tea Shop. Her days didn’t normally race by, they were more inclined to meander past like a lazy stream but she’d been lost in her memories and hours had disappeared at a time. Yes indeed, time had gotten away from her as she’d lingered in the past because here she was, back at the tea shop once more. She greeted Kathleen, Margaret and Agnes, who were already there knitting like the clappers. On a plate in front of each of them was a currant bun sliced in two with a miserly spread of butter, with a pot of tea in the centre of the table. Alma was clattering away behind the counter arranging the food cabinet for what she no doubt hoped would be the lunchtime rush. Noreen pulled a chair out and sat herself down next to Margaret.
‘Currant bun, Noreen?’ Alma called over.
‘No, thank you, but a cup and saucer would be grand.’ She was cutting back on extras such as currant buns between now and her trip to Dublin. It wasn’t exactly a hardship when it came to Alma’s offerings. The slice of cream cake visiting Father Peter the other day was eaten out of necessity to be polite but there was no risk of offending her three old friends if she didn’t partake of a currant bun. Right now though, there was an acrid odour in the air hinting at a disaster in the kitchen. ‘What’s that awful stink, Alma?’ Her nose wrinkled.
‘I was after burning the scones on account
