YOU NEVER LOOKED

The room was cold as she found the one-bar electric fire and plugged it in the socket in the wall just above the yellow skirting board. Everything seemed very clear somehow. She could see the pattern on the carpet and the way the fringe of the bedspread hung unevenly, more to one side than the other.

Maybe if Daddy was very wet he might put on his dressing gown. He wouldn't if there were other people there, and Kit had heard Clio's father's voice, and people like Father Baily and Philip's father were outside. No, he would wear a jacket. She walked past the top of the bed towards the big chair where her father's tweed sports coat hung a it always had.

It was then she saw the letter on the pillow. A big white envelope with the word Martin on it. Over Daddy's bed hung the picture of the Pope, the Pope that Kit had always believed was a guest at their wedding. Time seemed to stand still as she looked at it.

The Pope had small round glasses. They looked like a little boy's spectacles that were much too small for him. He had a white fur trim around his garment, a bit like the frill Santa Claus wore when they went up to Clery's in Dublin for a Christmas treat. He had his hands raised as if to give a blessing.

She read the words very slowly: Martin McMahon and Mary Helena Healy humbly prostrate at the feet of your holiness, beg the apostolic blessing on the occasion of their marriage, 20th June 1939. And there was a kind of raised seal beneath.

She looked at it as if she had never seen it before. It was as if by memorising every single detail she could somehow control what was about to happen now. And for some reason she never understood, she bent down and unplugged the electric fire.

It was as if she wanted it to be thought she had never entered the room. Kit stood with the letter in her hand. Her mother had left a message. She had explained why she had done what she did. For no reason, the words of the priest who had come to give their retreat came back to her.

The priest who said that you life wasn't yours to take, it was a gift from God and that those who threw it back in God's face had no place being mourned by the faithful. And had no place in the burial grounds of God's family on earth. She could see his face.

And she acted as an automaton. She slipped the envelope deep in the pocket of her blue tunic and went to the stairs to greet the party that was coming up, and to face her father's terrible smile.

"Now there's no sign of an accident. We're not to worry about a thing. Your mother could walk in that door as right as rain. Any minute now." Nobody spoke.

"Any minute at all." said Kit's father, with hope written all over his face.

Rita built up the fire in the sitting room, and hunted Farouk from his important looking place in front of the grate. People stood about, awkward, embarrassed, not sure what to say next.

Except Clio's father. Dr Kelly always knew what to say. Kit looked at him with gratitude; he was being the host.

"Do you know everyone's frozen solid from standing on the coldest spot in Ireland. Now I heart that Rita has the kettle on. Philip, will you run round to you father's hotel like a good lad, and ask the barman for a bottle of Paddy and we'll have a hot whisky for ourselves, everyone."

"There's going to be no money changing hands at a time like this." Philip's father, Mr O'Brien, had a funeral face on him. Dr Kelly hastened to make things more cheerful.

"Well that's very good of you, Dan. And we have a lemon and some cloves, and that'll put the heat into all of us. I'm prescribing it a a doctor now, mind you, so you all have to take heed."

Sergeant O'Connor kept saying he wouldn't have a drink, but yet he waited as they were poured out.

"Sean, it's for you own good. Drink it." Dr Kelly said.

"I don't want to drink this man's whisky, I have to ask was there a note .. ?"

"What?" Dr Kelly looked at the sergeant in horror.

"You know what I mean. I have to ask it sometime. This is the time."

"This is not the time." Clio's father whispered.

But not quietly enough for Kit. She turned away as if she hadn't been listening. She heard the sergeant speak in a lower tone.

"Jesus God, Peter. If there is a note, isn't it as well we know?"

"Don't you ask him I'll do it."

"It's important. Don't let him .. "

"Don't tell me what's important or not. Don't tell me what I'm to do or not do.. "

"We're all on edge.. don't take offence."

"I'll take as much offence as will suit me. Drink that whisky for God's sake, and try not to open your mouth until you've something to say."

Kit saw Sergeant O'Connor redden, and she felt sorry for him. It was like getting a telling off at school. Then she saw Clio's father move through the people to get to her father. Surreptitiously she moved nearer to them.

"Martin.. Martin, my old friend … "

"What is it, Peter? What is it? You don't know anything you're not saying?"

"I don't know anything I wouldn't say." Peter Kelly looked wretched.

"But listen to me. Would there be a question at all that Helen went off somewhere on her own? Like …. Dublin, to see anyone.. you know… "

"She'd tell me. She's never gone anywhere without telling me. That's the way it is between us."

"Where would she leave a note if you weren't here to tell?"

"A note… a message … " Martin McMahon finally understood what his friend was struggling to say.

"No, no." he said.

"I know. Jesus Christ, don't I know. But that ignorant bosthoon Sean O'Connor says he can't go on looking until he's made sure.. "

"How dare he even suggest … "

"Where, Martin? Let's just rule it out for him.. "

"I suppose in the bedroom.. " Kit saw them walk into her father's bedroom, the cold room with the picture of the Pope over the bed.

She stood with her hand at her throat, and realised that they were both watching her.

"Kit love, will you go back inside out of the cold, and sit by the fire with Emmet."

"Yes." she said.

She watched as they went into her father's bedroom, and then she slipped into the kitchen.

Rita was busy pouring the whisky into glasses that had cloves and lemon juice and sugar.

"It's too like a party for my taste." she grumbled.

"Yes." Kit stood beside the range. "I know."

"Should we put Emmet to bed do you think? Would your mother like that if she came home?"

"I think she would." Neither of them noticed the if.

"Will you get him or will I?"

"Could you go, Rita, then I'll go and sit with him?"

Rita carried the tray of whiskies out of the kitchen, and with a quick move Kit lifted the handle and opened the mouth of the range.

The flames inside licked up at her as she threw in the envelope that said Martin, the letter that would mean her mother could not be buried in consecrated ground.

For a whole week every day was like the day before.

Peter Kelly got a friend to come and work in the pharmacy, with instructions to bother Mr McMahon only when really necessary.

It seemed that Lough Glass put off having problems that only the chemist could cure.

Clio's mother and her aunt were in and out of the McMahon house all the time.

They were very polite to Rita.

They kept saying that they didn't want to interfere, but they happened to have a pound of ham, or an apple tart, or an excuse to take the children up to their house.

And the days seemed to fit into a sort of mad pattern.

They all slept with their doors open.

Only Mother's door was closed.

Every night Kit dreamed that her mother had come back, and said "I was in my room all the time, you never looked."