fails?’ he kept saying nervously.
‘It won’t fail because by the time I’ve finished doing my investigations I’ll know whether or not it’s a runner, and if it isn’t, then we won’t do it.’
‘Lots of restaurants fold,’ Kevin murmured.
‘Yes, of course they do, and do you know why? Because they’re run by people who know a lot about food, but don’t realize that they’re running a business. But I know how to run a business. See if I don’t!’
It was no empty boast. Kevin had watched anxiously as she carefully worked out all the financial aspects of the project before making a final decision. It brought out, or rather, it exposed to him, a side of Nuala that he hadn’t been aware of up until then. He wasn’t always sure that he liked it. Later, when staff they hired turned out to be unsatisfactory, Nuala fired them without a qualm. She’d insisted that it be an Irish restaurant: they had argued a bit about that, but of course he had given in at last, and of course she had been right. She left the hiring of a chef and the choice of décor to Kevin. She’d been right in everything. The restaurant quickly established a good reputation, and was now a popular and long-established feature of the Dublin social scene.
Nominally it was a partnership, but it was due to Nuala’s confidence and ability that it existed at all. Kevinhad learnt so much from her that he was now able to manage the place well in her absence, but he would never forget that it was all due to Nuala. He could never have done it on his own, and he loved it, loved the atmosphere of the place, the social status and the comfortable lifestyle it gave them. Nuala’s attitude was strange, though, and that troubled him. She wasn’t even very interested in food, she was cynical about the enterprise, he often thought, and would get cross when he complained about this. But she’d been like that right from the start, he didn’t understand what was troubling her so much now. Because he was never in the habit of reasoning out situations, particularly situations of emotional complexity, he didn’t know what to make of the present circumstances. He couldn’t bear to think that something had happened to Nuala. The thought of life without her frightened him. He started to look out anxiously for a phone box.
Resentment and relief struggled to get the upper hand when Claire told him that Nuala had turned up safe and well. He decided to press on and go to Donegal: he had to talk to Nuala about all this immediately. To turn round and go straight back to Dublin would be cowardly. As he drove on, he considered that he would also see Claire. That would be a mixed pleasure. It would be odd to see Nuala and Claire together, he considered them as each belonging to such separate phases of his life that it didn’t seem possible that they could both be there simultaneously. He wondered, not for the first time, if it had really been such a good idea for Nuala to stay in Claire’s house. How much was he to blame in this? Maybe he had handled it in the worst possible way in sending heraway. Had he just panicked, and thought about what would happen to the business if news of Nuala’s stealing things got about? But there had to be more to it than that. What had made her steal in the first place?
Was it the baby? Had he, perhaps without even being aware of it, pressurized her into having a baby she didn’t want? No, he was sure that it was not so (although he had to admit that he viewed the child with the same sense of inevitability that he saw in his marriage). No, Nuala had wanted the child, she’d seemed contented with the idea perhaps more before the baby was born than after its birth. But that wasn’t too surprising: Nuala always enjoyed looking forward to things more than the thing itself. ‘How come nothing is ever as good as you think it’s going to be?’ she said, peevishly, on more occasions than he cared to remember. But he always thought it
‘It won’t fail because by the time I’ve finished doing my investigations I’ll know whether or not it’s a runner, and if it isn’t, then we won’t do it.’
‘Lots of restaurants fold,’ Kevin murmured.
‘Yes, of course they do, and do you know why? Because they’re run by people who know a lot about food, but don’t realize that they’re running a business. But I know how to run a business. See if I don’t!’
It was no empty boast. Kevin had watched anxiously as she carefully worked out all the financial aspects of the project before making a final decision. It brought out, or rather, it exposed to him, a side of Nuala that he hadn’t been aware of up until then. He wasn’t always sure that he liked it. Later, when staff they hired turned out to be unsatisfactory, Nuala fired them without a qualm. She’d insisted that it be an Irish restaurant: they had argued a bit about that, but of course he had given in at last, and of course she had been right. She left the hiring of a chef and the choice of décor to Kevin. She’d been right in everything. The restaurant quickly established a good reputation, and was now a popular and long-established feature of the Dublin social scene.
Nominally it was a partnership, but it was due to Nuala’s confidence and ability that it existed at all. Kevinhad learnt so much from her that he was now able to manage the place well in her absence, but he would never forget that it was all due to Nuala. He could never have done it on his own, and he loved it, loved the atmosphere of the place, the social status and the comfortable lifestyle it gave them. Nuala’s attitude was strange, though, and that troubled him. She wasn’t even very interested in food, she was cynical about the enterprise, he often thought, and would get cross when he complained about this. But she’d been like that right from the start, he didn’t understand what was troubling her so much now. Because he was never in the habit of reasoning out situations, particularly situations of emotional complexity, he didn’t know what to make of the present circumstances. He couldn’t bear to think that something had happened to Nuala. The thought of life without her frightened him. He started to look out anxiously for a phone box.
Resentment and relief struggled to get the upper hand when Claire told him that Nuala had turned up safe and well. He decided to press on and go to Donegal: he had to talk to Nuala about all this immediately. To turn round and go straight back to Dublin would be cowardly. As he drove on, he considered that he would also see Claire. That would be a mixed pleasure. It would be odd to see Nuala and Claire together, he considered them as each belonging to such separate phases of his life that it didn’t seem possible that they could both be there simultaneously. He wondered, not for the first time, if it had really been such a good idea for Nuala to stay in Claire’s house. How much was he to blame in this? Maybe he had handled it in the worst possible way in sending heraway. Had he just panicked, and thought about what would happen to the business if news of Nuala’s stealing things got about? But there had to be more to it than that. What had made her steal in the first place?
Was it the baby? Had he, perhaps without even being aware of it, pressurized her into having a baby she didn’t want? No, he was sure that it was not so (although he had to admit that he viewed the child with the same sense of inevitability that he saw in his marriage). No, Nuala had wanted the child, she’d seemed contented with the idea perhaps more before the baby was born than after its birth. But that wasn’t too surprising: Nuala always enjoyed looking forward to things more than the thing itself. ‘How come nothing is ever as good as you think it’s going to be?’ she said, peevishly, on more occasions than he cared to remember. But he always thought it
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