Читать книгу The Lake - Sheena Lambert - Страница 8

Peggy stood still for a moment, eyes straight ahead, waiting for the dizziness to abate. Then, with the spent light bulb held, tentatively, in a vice-like grip between her teeth, she lowered her hands, slowly, onto the leather seat of the high stool, bending her knees as she went, mindful of the unevenness of the century old flagstone floor. Crouched in this position, like a sprinter waiting for a gunshot, she paused again, before dismounting. She waited until she was sure she was stable, and then lifted the stool and plonked it back down at the bar with a clatter.

‘You should have joined the circus when you had the chance,’ a voice from the front door said. Peggy turned and grinned at Maura with the bulb still tight between her teeth.

‘You shouldn’t be climbing barstools, or changing light bulbs, anyway. Where is that brother of yours when things of that nature need doing?’ Maura flicked her duster in the direction of the errant light fitting before closing the door, and taking her apparent displeasure out on the plaques and framed photos of men with fish that adorned the walls of the little porch; her disapproving head rocking all the while in perfect time with her behind.

Peggy flicked an ancient-looking switch on the wall next to her and the new bulb turned white, although it made no obvious contribution to the small square room that was already bright with midday sunlight. She didn’t need her brother around to change light bulbs. Or bring in the coal. Or change a keg. Or pull a pint. Or all the other things Maura thought she needed a man for. She cast her eyes around the room, before going behind the bar and stooping to lift Coke bottles from a crate on the floor. She regarded every bottle an amazing feat of engineering and design; positioning each one with reverence on the old wooden shelves. Some were more worn than others, their glass opaque and almost sandy to touch. The odd time you might come across a brand new one. A new little bottle on its first journey. Crumm today; who knew where next? Peggy would hold each new bottle and imagine its next trip to be to a Jurys Hotel, or maybe even the Shelbourne, in Dublin. Peggy liked stocking the mineral shelves. She liked the order to it, the neatness. Although she would never admit it to her siblings. They would laugh at her. Or worse.

‘So the village is full of talk of the find.’ Maura’s voice floated over the bar to where Peggy knelt on the cold floor by the Coke crate. She could tell from Maura’s breathlessness that she had started on the windows. ‘Do you hear me? Peg?’

‘I do.’ Peggy clinked two bottles in a sort of wordless signal.

‘Mrs. McGowan says that they’re sending someone up from Dublin.’

‘Yes?’

‘A detective, I suppose.’ Maura spoke with some reverence. ‘Sure they’d have to send someone.’

‘They would?’

‘Well they could hardly let young Michael deal with it by himself.’

Peggy shook her head at the shelf of bottles. Poor Garda O’Dowd. They’d never give him a chance. He had been a guard for four years now, and they still saw him in short pants. ‘I’m sure Garda O’Dowd would be well able to manage,’ she offered.

‘Huh.’ Maura looked over the bar; her grey, lacquered curls defying gravity as she did so. ‘He’s all right for directing traffic at a funeral, or ordering the stragglers out of this place,’ she said, flicking her duster at nothing in particular, ‘but a body?’ She leant on the bar with the self-assured enlightenment of any of the old men that might take her place in a couple of hours’ time. ‘I don’t think he’s cut out for that sort of thing.’

She took herself back to the windows and Peggy resumed emptying the crates and filling the shelves. She could see the wooden uprights beginning to rot where they met the floor close to her knees. The corner of one wobbled in her hand like a child’s tooth. She cast her eyes to the ceiling. The plaster had dried out well over the summer, but it was bound to start raining again soon. They should really get the roof tarred while they had the chance. A rare flush of irritation deepened the colour of her naturally rosy cheeks. That was something Jerome could have taken care of. If he were ever here. But no sooner had the thought barged into her head, than she showed it the way out. She would rather climb stools, and pay one of the local lads to tar the roof, than have Jerome here with her seven days a week.

The shrill ring of the phone interrupted her thoughts, and she stood to answer it, her knees aching as she lifted them one by one from the hard floor.

‘Hello?’ She tried to massage the life back into them with her free hand.

‘You all right? You sound like you’re in pain.’

‘I’m fine.’ Peggy flexed one leg, then the other in an effort to get the blood back to her feet. ‘I was kneeling on the floor.’

‘Saying your prayers again?’ Jerome’s voice was mocking. ‘I thought we talked about that.’

‘No, smart-arse, I was stacking shelves. You know … working. You might have come across the concept.’

‘Ah now, baby sister. Only kidding. And amn’t I working here too? I am this very moment on my way out to meet a fellah about the television.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yes. And a friend of mine happens to know one of the guys this man works with, so we might get a good price on a colour one.’

‘Really?’ Peggy found she couldn’t contain her enthusiasm for this bit of information. She’d been arguing for the installation of a television in the bar for months, but she’d only hoped to get a black and white one, second-hand. This was news.

‘Really.’

‘Right, so.’ They were silent for a moment. ‘So why are you phoning?’

‘Just checking in.’

The phone went quiet again, but Peggy could hear Jerome’s thoughts working up to some sort of request. Her brother wouldn’t phone her for nothing.

‘Actually, I was wondering if maybe you’d manage okay there tonight? If I were back, say, lunchtime tomorrow? Would that be okay?’

Peggy didn’t really mind if Jerome was there to help her that evening. It was unlikely that they’d be busy enough to need a second behind the bar. And anyway, Carla would be back later, so she could help out. But Peggy wanted to make Jerome sweat. Just a little. She saw Maura glance over at her from her perch on one of the benches, her hands hidden under the skirt of a lampshade protruding from the wall. Peggy turned her back on her.

‘Peg?’

‘You know Friday nights can be busy, Jerome,’ she hissed down the phone. ‘Last Friday was busy enough. What if a group of fishermen comes in? Or I have to change a keg?’

‘Now, when have we last had a big group of anglers?’ he asked. ‘Sure the water’s too low; there are hardly any of them around. Wasn’t the competition cancelled? And won’t Carla be back? Couldn’t she help you?’

Peggy could feel Maura’s indignation burning into her back. She didn’t want to drag this out any longer than was necessary.

‘Go on. You’re a useless big brother.’

‘And you are a darling little sister. I’ll make it up to you.’

‘You will,’ Peggy said. ‘I might decide I fancy a night up in Dublin myself one of these weekends.’

Jerome was quiet for a second. ‘Sure thing,’ he said at last. ‘Look, I’d better go. I’m on a friend’s phone.’

‘Right so.’ Peggy didn’t ask any more. She didn’t want to know.

‘See you tomorrow, Peg.’

Peggy put the receiver down, keeping her back to Maura who had started polishing the tables.

‘Weren’t you going to mention the news?’ Maura asked Peggy, incredulous. ‘The body?’

Peggy laughed. ‘I never even thought of it,’ she said, surprised at herself. ‘Ah sure he’ll hear about it soon enough. He’ll be up in the morning.’

‘Huh.’ Maura scoured one of the little wooden tables, searching for a shine that had been long since lost. ‘You’d think they found bodies every day of the week around here.’