On the Edge of the Loch: A Psychological Novel set in Ireland by Joseph Éamon Cummins

shop. You have – ’
    ‘Not a bit of bother. That lazy lump of a brother of mine is well able on his own when he wants. And anyway I’ve a bit of business up in Westport.’
    ‘No, really, Paddy.’ Her dark eyes lowered, and a moment passed before she swept errant auburn locks off the child’s forehead. ‘But if you wouldn’t mind, you could drop her off at Leo and Peggy’s. Peg’s knitting her an Aran cardigan for Christmas. And you won’t have to wait; one of them’ll walk her back over after she gets measured.’
    ‘Mam, mam, remember you said you’d buy me sweets, remember? I want a Trigger bar, a Trigger bar and lemonade.’
    ‘That’s enough! I told you, not now! Didn’t I? Didn’t I tell you?’
    ‘I’ve a brainwave!’ Paddy’s exuberance defused the moment and captured Róisín’s attention. He took Leonora’s hand. ‘It’s half-three now. Why don’t I buy her her Trigger bar and lemonade in Ridgeways, then run her up to Leo’s, and on me way back from Westport I’ll collect her and bring her back over to you. And sure maybe then meself and yourself could have a bottle of stout, or something stronger, for the holidays, if the humour’s on you. What do you say to that?’
    Róisín’s smile strained, then with a vacancy her eyes floated up to the lights and trumpet-bearing angel rattling overhead.
    ‘I want a Flake; I want to get it in Christina’s. I don’t want a Trigger bar any more, mam; I want a Flake and a bottle of lemonade in Christina’s.’
    ‘Flake and lemonade it is. But we have to ask Mammy first.’ His attention flashed back to Róisín. ‘Are you alright, girl, or what? You’re as pale as a ghost and you need to wipe your eyes. D’you want to nip in to the Beehive or Concannon’s and have a small one, warm you up, get some life back into you?’
    ‘Not at all, Paddy, thanks, the walk’ll warm me. Just drop her off, if you wouldn’t mind. She’s grand at Leo and Peg’s place, and they always make her a bit to eat.’
    ‘If that’s what you want, I will. I could knock on your door anyway, later, put the line up for you. Wouldn’t take me five minutes.’
    ‘Another day, Paddy. You’re always going to trouble for me; you’re too good. Off with you now and do your business; don’t be delaying on account of me.’
    ‘Mammy, mam – ’
    ‘Whatttt?! Stopppp! What did I tell you? Stop!’
    The child’s face flushed. She hid behind Paddy’s baggy trousers.
    ‘I suppose Charles himself is away foreign?’ Paddy asked.
    Róisín shrugged distractedly.
    Paddy reached for the child, still huddling behind him, but she rotated with him, staying out of his view, and was thrilled at his show of bewilderment. ‘You’re being a very good wee girl,’ he said. ‘And you know what? I was told by a fairy princess I met on me way home last night – flying around above John Taylor’s Bar she was – that Santa’s making a grand big present for Leonora Quin of Aranroe, County Mayo, Ireland, Europe, the World. That’s what he wrote on it, and that’s what she told me, and he’ll be here very soon.’
    ‘Couldn’t tell you, Paddy, where the man is,’ Róisín said. ‘As you already know, I haven’t seen trace nor tidings of him this seven months. And don’t want to. It isn’t for all men, marriage. Not for him.’
    ‘They say God never closes one door unless he opens another. If things were meant to be that way ‘twas better it happen in the first year.’ After a silent nod from Róisín, Paddy’s tone changed. ‘And about yourself, girl, what is it you see yourself doing? Eventually, I mean. Edna O’Brien says there’s tons of Irish girls getting divorces in England, and marrying again. Anything of that sort cross your mind?’
    ‘I’m lost, Paddy. Lost. Gospel truth. Knowing what’s best is the hardest thing. Not for me I don’t mean, best for the child, if you understand me. What’s best for the child. Putting things right. All the legal