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what Julia will tell her regulars.
    She wonders what Julia and Tony are saying about her now.
    Then she wonders how on earth she’s going to tell Mammy and Daddy.

Chapter Three
     

     
     
    Mammy nearly dies.
    Lizzie sits them both down the next morning and tells them she’s going away for a while. They look at her blankly; then Mammy says, ‘A little holiday, is it? Not before Christmas,
surely? You’ll wait till the New Year.’
    Lizzie takes a deep breath. ‘Not just a holiday, Mammy. A . . . I don’t know; a change of scene, I suppose. I’ve never lived anywhere else only here; I’d like to see a
bit of the country, settle somewhere new for a while, see how it goes.’
    Mammy looks bewildered. ‘But what about Tony? What about your job? You can’t just head off like that; you have responsibilities.’
    ‘Actually’ – Lizzie crosses her fingers under the table – ‘the engagement is off. And I’ve resigned from work.’
Here it comes
.
    Mammy’s hands fly to her face. ‘Oh my God, Lizzie, what are you telling us?’ Lizzie doesn’t know whether she’s more shocked about the engagement or the job. Daddy
just sits there; he’s used to letting Mammy do the talking. He doesn’t look too surprised, though. Lizzie wishes she knew what he was thinking.
    She takes another deep breath. ‘Look, this is something I have to do. I was feeling – I don’t know – smothered; I wasn’t happy . . .’ She breaks off; how on
earth can she make them understand? She tries again, reaching for Mammy’s hands across the table. ‘I have to go away for a while, think things out – be on my own for a bit . . .
’
    Mammy pulls her hands away, takes them off the table altogether. ‘So this is how you repay us – by making us the laughing-stock of Kilmorris. And I can’t imagine how poor Julia
must be feeling – deserting her just before Christmas.’
    Lizzie feels her temper rising. ‘For your information, I offered to serve out my notice, work over Christmas, and poor Julia refused.’ She makes her voice soften. ‘Look, Mammy,
this is not about you or Julia; it’s about me, and my happiness. Don’t I matter more than what the neighbours will say?’
    It’s no use. She might as well talk to the wall.
    Mammy goes round to see Julia that afternoon, and comes back looking grim. ‘That poor woman is broken; I hope you’re happy with yourself, Madam.’ And Lizzie – who
can’t imagine the carefully groomed Julia O’Gorman even slightly cracked, let alone broken – doesn’t bother trying to reason with her any more. What’s the point?
    On Christmas Day, after a glass of Harvey’s Bristol Cream, Mammy tries a new tack. ‘Why don’t you take a little break, Lizzie? Go walking in the Burren for a few days –
or what about somewhere nice and sunny, Lanzarote maybe? The Curtins went there last spring and loved it. You could stay in a little hotel for yourself, somewhere central – you don’t
want to take any chances in those places. You’d have the beach for your swim, and you could go to a few museums if they have any there. Treat yourself to a good dinner at night; Patsy Curtin
said it was very cheap to eat out.’
    Mammy pauses, pours another inch of sherry into their glasses. ‘And I’m sure Julia would be delighted to take you back after, and forget all about this little –
upset.’
    And Lizzie explains gently that she isn’t going to book into a B&B in Connemara, or head off to Lanzarote where the Curtins were. This is something she has to do, and it’s going
to last longer than two weeks, and she’s leaving on Monday week, and there’s nothing more to say, except that she hopes she’ll go with Mammy’s blessing.
    Mammy stands up and goes over to the cooker to check on the turkey. She turns around after closing the oven door, and Lizzie’s heart nearly cracks at the hurt look in Mammy’s eyes,
and she almost changes her mind. But then she thinks of the old American woman,