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

stuff.’
    ‘Sean’s the man for that. He’ll see you right. And tell me this: the young one in the post office, she said you were down with a bad flu.’
    ‘Not flu, Paddy. But what’s the use complaining. The child’s healthy, there’s that to be thankful for. And there’s good people here, like Leo and Peg, and Dr Lappin and Fr Foley. But I never like bothering anyone.’
    ‘Good souls every one.’
    ‘And yourself as much as any, Paddy McCann. One of the best. And you should hear that.’
    ‘Ah stop, will you. No better than any other.’
    ‘I mean what I said. Or I wouldn’t say it. This day of any.’
    His eyes lifted to the strings of glowing lights. Then he regarded her directly. ‘Look, maybe a wiser man than me wouldn’t say this, but I’m saying it. I never could take to calling you Róisín Quin, so I won’t. If you weren’t a married woman, Róisín Doyle, I’d be asking you – ’
    ‘Married, Paddy? For eight months. Now only in name.’
    ‘I’d be asking you long ago, to go out with me, I would. And I know you know it.’
    ‘Life, Paddy. Desperate hard station.’ Her hand squeezed his. ‘The right somebody’ll come along for you. I know that. A lovely alive girl. Not half-taken like me. Won’t she be the lucky one. Fall for your good looks and kind nature.’ Her pause brought his regard back to her, whereupon her dark fluid eyes met his. The confluence ended at the blare of a car horn. Beside them Leonora cavorted in the driver’s seat, droning out engine sounds and pulling at the steering wheel.
    ‘Put the heart crossways in me,’ Paddy said, slapping his chest. ‘Time I was off, I suppose.’ He nudged the child over and fell into the driver’s seat.
    ‘Second thoughts, Paddy.’ Róisín hunkered down at the open window, ‘Ask Leo and Peg to keep her up there, not to walk her home. I’ll fly down and see Mr Breathnach; I could be delayed, could be late, you never know.’
    ‘I’ll do that. Any interest in the Christmas Pageant? It’s at eight tonight. I could collect you in the Morris. Car’s grand in the cold. I bet Leo and Peg won’t mind keeping an eye on the lassie.’
    Her unfocused stare hung in the divide as she reached in and stroked the child’s head.
    ‘You’re shaking, look at you,’ Paddy said. ‘That’s it, I’m dropping you up home this minute!’ He pushed out the passenger door. ‘Get in, girl, we’ll get a hot Jameson inside you, warm you up, do you a power of good.’
    ‘No!’ she said, a sternness in her white wintry face. Paddy offered no retort. ‘Go, Paddy McCann, go on. I need to get walking, that’s all. You’ll be sure it’s Leo you say it to, about keeping her? Wild she is, you know.’ Her attention turned to the child. ‘Only now and then, pet, not all the time.’
    ‘I will. Y’have to start looking after yourself; that’s the last I’ll say about it.’
    She found Paddy’s hand already half-way to her.
    ‘Happy Christmas, Róisín. Róisín Doyle.’
    ‘Thanks, Paddy. For everything. You’re a star; you really are.’
    His big face flushed.
    ‘Be good, pet,’ she said as the Morris pulled off into the ebbing day.
    Two hours later the black clouds that had menaced since morning deluged Aranroe and all the western lands.
    * * *
    ‘She in here with you?’ Peggy peeked around the scullery door.
    ‘She’s in the small bedroom,’ Leo said. ‘Playing with the crib figures.’
    ‘She’s not! I’ve just now been in the two bedrooms.’
    Leo shouted the child’s name above the battering of the weather. ‘She’s hiding under a bed, or in the loft; you know the way she is.’
    ‘I’m telling you she’s not, man! And she couldn’t get into the loft, the ladder’s down.’
    ‘She’s not far. Has to be somewhere.’ Leo’s demeanour changed. ‘Leonora! Leonora, time to put the lights in the window.’
    Together they searched the loft, then in each of the cottage’s four rooms, inside the big brown