The Lonely Passion of Judith Hearne Read Online Free PDF Page B

Gresham, in Dublin. O, he couldn’t own one of those. And what was his j ob? There were so many jobs in a hotel. Maybe an assistant manager. Surely in the administration somewhere. Otherwise, he would have said a cook, or a waiter, or whatever. O certainly nothing like that.
     
    She read and read because she could feel the little crab of hunger nipping away at her insides. She tried to forget him, the expensive little rascal, but he just nipped harder. Finally, when the clock on the wall said three, she decided that just this once she’d have to give in to him, despite her resolution. So she gave the books back and went to a milk bar at Castle Jtmction and treated herself to a glass of milk and a raspberry tart. Afterwards, she looked at the shop windows for a while. But they hadn’t changed since last week, so this was dull sport.
    As she was looking in the window at Robb’s, a little boy came running out, dragging his school satchel, his grey wool stockings down about his heels.
    Tommy Mullen! She hurried over to him, forcing him to stop. His mother was a friend of the Breens, before the Breens moved to Dublin. Tommy had taken piano lessons last year. She saw the keyboard, his rather dirty hands, his wandering inattention, his fits of sulks and rages. No talent. His mother had stopped the lessons.
    ‘Well, if it isn’t little Tommy Mullen. And how are we getting along?’
    ‘Lo, Miss Hearne,’ he said, turning his cold-cheeked little face away from her kiss.
    ‘Well, and how’s my boy? My, we’re getting big. Too big to kiss, I suppose. I’m sure we’ve forgotten all our piano lessons now.’
    He looked indignant. ‘No. I’ve got a new teacher. A man. Mr Harrington is his name.’
    ‘O, is that so?’ she said bleakly. ‘Well, isn’t that nice. I hope you are practising hard, eh, Tommy?’
    ‘Ycs, Miss Hearne.’ He looked around, inattentive. ‘There’s the bus,’ he yelled. ‘]3ye, bye.’ And ran offin the direction of the Albert Memorial.
    A man. Another teacher. She walked down Cornmarket slowly, feeling the shaking start inside of her. No wonder his mother was so cool, nodding from the other side of the street when I saw her. Well, it wasn’t because I charged too much, goodness knows. Could I have said anything that time I
     
    stayed for tea? No, of course not. I never said he had no talent. O, anyway.
    Still, one less pupil, that’s what it amounts to. Or two less. Because she didn’t want Tommy to keep on but she said she’d get in touch with me about the little girl. She won’t now. Harrington, who’s he? Well, the nerve of some people. After all the time I slaved away with that boy. After all the extra half-hours without any additional charge. I don’t know what’s happened to my lucky star these past months. What’s happened to me, anyway? You’d think I had the plague, or something. That’s four pupils gone in the last six months. Only little Meg Brannon now and goodness knows how long that will last. As much ear for music as a heathen chinee.
    The clock in Cornmarket said four. She walked down Ann Street with its jumble of cheap shops, its old shawled women and its loud crying fruit vendors. I wonder will the Technical School take me on for the embroidery class next term? Mr Heron said he hoped he would be able. But nobody does embroidery any more, that’s the truth of it. They have to have enough to make a class. And you can’t sell it, ruin your eyes at piece rates.
    She came out near the docks and turned hastily back towards the centre of the city. The docks were no place for a woman to be wandering about, in among all those rough pubs and the Salvation Army. At Castle Junction the clock said half-past four. Go home. She walked back towards Camden Street. It began to drizzle but she was thinking about money, so she paid it no heed. Her Aunt D’Arcy had never discussed money. A lady does not discuss her private affairs, she used to say. And the D’Arcys never had to