The Fabulists | Page 5

that she wasn't going to be his skivvy any more,
that he could make his own slop in future, but, biting her lip, she
remembered Arthur.

Drained, she leaned against the living-room door. Arthur knelt before
the television, absorbed in a loud cartoon. Tess watched him for several
minutes, but he didn't move, except when his shoulders shook in mute
laughter. The cartoon ended and she knelt beside him.
'I've got to go now, pet.'
He looked at her and leaned in towards her and she held him close,
rocking him, moved as ever by his spontaneity.
'I love you very much,' she whispered. There was no reply, but she
could feel how he bathed in her words, and gave himself completely to
her, and she knew she would die for this, if she had to.
She looked around and saw that Brian was watching them. He looked
empty and lonely and beaten, and for a moment she felt sorry for him
and yearned that all three of them could be together in a warm embrace.
But it was a wild fantasy, and, breaking the spell, he turned and went
into the kitchen to put the kettle on for tea.
'I'll see you tomorrow, okay?'
Arthur looked up, nodded and rolled away onto his knees to watch a
new cartoon. She went to the door, then looked around.
'Bye '
'Bye,' he answered, without taking his eyes off the screen. She walked
back to her flat, her cheeks streaked with tears in the cold evening.

-Two-

A few days later, it dawned a fine morning. Mungo got the children out
to school and, whistling softly, he walked up Stoneybatter to cash his
disability cheque. Nothing put him in good humour like a fine morning.
He had even brought Connie breakfast in bed and, although she had

tried to conceal it, she was surprised and pleased. Maybe he should do
it more often. He was bursting with life since giving up drink, and felt
smug as he passed Moran's pub. With his exercises and then his long
walk in the mornings, he was fit for anything, and his mind was coming
alive again. Sometimes his walks took him well into the Phoenix Park,
or as far as Stephen's Green. In the park, which he preferred, he could
find a quiet stretch and burst into a jog when he was sure no one was
watching, and he made trebly sure, because the idea of anyone seeing
him jog in his boots, jeans and heavy overcoat was excruciating. Not to
mention his arm, whose limpness, he knew, made him look odd,
especially when running. His arm was all that bothered him. It ached
badly. At first he had excluded it from his exercises, but then it became
more difficult to do so, and now it felt like fresh, rearing blood was
trying to push through veins grown accustomed to a sluggish flow. His
left hand tingled, and he flexed it. That was another thing about
walking: he could gently, unobtrusively, exercise his hand - flex, open,
shut, flex, open, shut. He still couldn't raise the arm very well, but that
would come soon, he felt sure.
In a few weeks time it would be two years since the fire. That would be
a bad time for Connie. Aidan seemed to have forgotten about it and got
on with his life as children do, especially as the burns had healed so
well, thanks to the people in James's. Sure, the poor guy still had the
dreams, but they were less frequent. Mungo was trying to be as kind as
he could to all three of them. Connie still hadn't forgiven him, he knew,
so he couldn't just hand her a bunch of roses, for instance. She wouldn't
wear it, so he'd have to sneak in and put them in the kitchen, maybe in
that white delft vase she liked.
Six red roses. Romance on the welfare she'd say, if she said anything.
She hadn't spoken to him, not a word, for nearly a year after the fire,
but nobody could keep that up all the time, so now she only spoke to
him when necessary. Maybe she was softening. The response when he
brought her breakfast in bed this morning had given him hope. He had
been trying to work up the courage to do it for weeks. Perhaps there
was no going back, but he just wanted to be part of the human race
again.

He cashed his cheque in the hushed bank, and back home, he left the
money on the table for Connie, keeping only the loose change. He sat
and looked at it, that which only barely carried them through the week,
though he didn't smoke or drink any more. Connie