The House that Jack Built

by Catherine Barry

  I looked at my watch: it was 4 am. I yawned. I crept into David’s room and crawled in beside him, gently nudging him to move over. He threw his arm over me, hitting me in the face. I smiled. It felt good to understand something of my life.

  The first seeds of understanding had begun to sprout. I had taken a personal experience in my childhood right through into my adult life. I had blamed Mam and Dad for my sense of inadequacy, my sense of failure. I had blamed David for stopping me doing what I had always wanted to do. It was an excuse. An excuse to not change. This was another eye-opener. Another penny had dropped. I was the moulder of my own dreams. I could do it if I wanted to. Perhaps now, armed with all this new knowledge, I could try to take a new direction. I could try to change things, even if it was a little at a time. I did not want to end up like my parents, bitter and twisted. With that thought I fell into a peaceful deep sleep. The first in weeks. I didn’t know it, but I had passed the halfway mark of my journey and was already on the home stretch.

  Chapter 14

  Many things were becoming apparent. The deeper I went into my recollections, the more I discovered. Things had not been good for me. I had weathered a few storms as a child, there was no doubt about it. What struck me the most was the similarity of experiences being shared in the group. The more people opened up, the more courage I found to do the same. It worked a bit like a baggage carousel. My luggage kept going round and round. Every now and then I would take something off it, look at it, and then put it back.

  I was beginning to see that my early experiences had had a profound effect on my way of thinking. That, in turn, had affected my way of relating. My relationships had always been strained and difficult. I had always felt like I didn’t exactly belong. Others seemed to find it extremely easy to be intimate. I had no idea what the word meant. I was constantly obsessed with ‘coping’ and nothing else had a chance to sink in.

  Now I was being haunted nightly, by visions and voices of the past. No matter how hard I tried they just wouldn’t go away. A smell, a song, a word, could trigger off a thousand memories. I began to experience cravings for chocolate and sweet things, which upset me greatly. I brought it up at the next session, and was relieved to hear the same thing being repeated all round.

  Brian was encouraging and put my mind at ease. ‘This is perfectly normal,’ he explained. ‘In fact, it’s a very good sign. I urge you all to continue writing, no matter how bizarre or strange your thoughts. Write everything down. I mean everything. The voices you are hearing are “you”. Do them the honour of listening to them. It is probable they have never had a chance to express themselves before. Now is “their” time. Don’t be afraid. Go with it. They will take their own course. If you don’t, you are running the risk of ignoring yourself — which is why you all came here in the first place. Trust me. You are all being wonderfully brave. It is worth it. You are worth it. Believe it and you will leave this course feeling like a new person.’

  I hung on to every word he had to say. I took notes whenever possible. I was compelled to keep going, to continue. I did not know what it all meant. I had a gut feeling it meant something. That was enough to push me forward. I did exactly what he told me to do. I listened intently to the rest of the group, some of whom were completely lost.

  Diane had remained one step ahead of me all the time. I had asked her for her phone number and I was delighted when she gave it to me. Now I could contact her whenever I wanted. I wanted to and did, daily. Brian had suggested we draw on every bit of support available to us.

  ‘Do you mean our families?’ Bertie jumped up.

  ‘Not exactly.’ Brian hesitated, searching for the correct reply. ‘This may very well be the time to side-step your families, just for the duration of the course. What I mean by that is, if you are experiencing bad feelings towards your family of origin, it would be wise to put some space between you and them. If your family support you in what you are doing, by all means rally them around.’

  Bertie didn’t get it. ‘My family do support me. I’m not sure I should start dumping all this on them. My wife has had a hard enough time already.’

  ‘I’m not telling you to dump on anyone, Bertie. I specifically suggested people who you know are supportive,’ Brian tried again.

  ‘Are you saying she isn’t supportive, or what?’ Now the fella was getting the hump.

  Diane intervened. ‘Bertie, I think Brian is trying to help you choose correctly.’

  ‘I don’t need any help choosing anything,’ he said, obviously irritated at the suggestion.

  ‘Don’t you?’ Connor piped up, with a little sarcasm in his voice.

  ‘Now, let’s not get off the really important stuff here.’ Brian was quick to resume order.

  Frank had had his hand up for an age.

  ‘Yes, Frank?’ Brian eventually asked him.

  ‘I find… it… it… it helpful to paint too.’ Frank had been coming along fine in the intervening weeks. I had even grown to welcome his comments. He was intuitive and intelligent. It was a shame about his speech impediment.

  ‘That’s an excellent idea,’ Brian said and everybody nodded their heads in accord. ‘As well as paints, you could use markers, crayons, anything that will express your feelings outwardly. Use anything at all. The more creative the better the results.’

  ‘I use David’s paintbox,’ I said shyly, and held up a scrap of paper that I had spent ages doing.

  ‘What is it?’ Bertie asked.

  ‘It’s a butterfly,’ Diane said.

  ‘Nah. It’s an aeroplane.’ Connor held the page at an angle.

  ‘It’s Ja… Ja… Jack, just Jack,’ Frank said quietly. I smiled at him. Everybody laughed; it was a nice moment.

  We finished our fourth session with plenty of food for thought. When I got home, I heard Joe’s familiar voice coming from the kitchen. I knew that meant David would still be up.

  ‘Hi, stranger!’ I was genuinely pleased to see he had made the effort to come all the way into the inner city from Clontarf. The flat was overrun with children and noise. Joe was on all fours, with David on his back. Alice was clearly in her element.

  ‘Howya, love, have a good time?’ she asked.

  I couldn’t exactly answer that. She didn’t really understand the nature of what I was doing. It was hardly fun, even if it was very interesting.

  ‘Yes, thanks,’ I smiled, lifting David from Joe’s back. He protested loudly. ‘Time for bed, mister,’ I said.

  ‘Can Joe read me a story? Please? Please?’ I looked to Joe, who was already choosing a storybook.

  ‘I suppose so,’ I yielded.

  Once he learned that, he had his pyjamas on in seconds. He slipped his tiny hand in Joe’s and off they trotted to the bedroom.

  I set about making some tea. I was flat broke and had nothing to drink. It didn’t matter, tomorrow was pay day. Besides, it was late by the time David fell asleep. The fact that he knew Joe was there made him delay bedtime as much as possible. Every couple of minutes he would peer in the door.

  ‘Can I have a drink?’

  ‘No, you just had one a minute ago. Go back to bed, David.’

  Five minutes later: ‘I need to go wee-wee.’

  Five minutes later: ‘I’m hungry.’

  ‘You can’t possibly be hungry, David. Now stop messing and go back to sleep!’

  He just wanted to be in our company. A man and a woman’s company. A mammy and a daddy, as he saw it. A normal family. If there ever was such a thing. Joe had dialled for a taxi.

  ‘How long will they be?’ I enquired.

  ‘About thirty minutes.’ He picked up some of the pages on the kitchen table.

  ‘Oh Christ, don’t read them!’ I swiped them off him as fast as I could.

  ‘What’s all this?’ He picked up some more. The table was littered with bits of paper. Poster paints were strewn everywhere. Old newspapers were spread out, and water jugs with brushes stic
king out from them. I hadn’t had the time to clean it up.

  ‘David was painting,’ I tried.

  He lifted one up to the light. ‘David didn’t do this, even though it is childish. It’s yours — I can tell.’

  I was silent, watching his face. Joe had been home two weeks and he still hadn’t volunteered any information. He was quiet and distant. We hadn’t had much of a chance to discuss his break-up with Juliet. I was waiting for the right time. The thing was, I wasn’t sure when to mention it. When not to. I didn’t know if he wanted me to start the ball rolling, or if he didn’t want any mention of it at all.

  ‘You know, she was always asking after you,’ he sighed.

  The ice was broken. Now was my chance. I had to take it sooner or later.

  ‘Who?’ I asked.

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Jack. You know quite well who I’m talking about. You don’t have to go around in silence, I can talk about it. You know, it was me who left, after all.’ He put the picture back down, careful not to spill anything.

  ‘You did?’ I hadn’t thought it was that kind of break-up.

  I knew Juliet had been madly in love with Joe right from the start. She must have done something truly awful to make him leave.

  ‘Look, can we talk about it?’ I started, handing him some tea. ‘If you don’t want to, it’s OK. I just can’t understand what could have happened. Everything seemed to be going so well.’

  Joe plonked himself down on the couch. Picking up one of David’s toys, he fiddled with it for a while. Then he asked, ‘Was there ever anything you always wanted, Jack? Something you had wanted since you were a kid?’

  I thought about it and smiled. ‘Yes, actually, there is. A doll’s house. God knows I sent enough letters to Santa. I never got one, though. I can never resist looking at them at Christmas-time, in the toy shops. I’m drawn to them,’ I remembered sadly.

  ‘Well, I always wanted a train engine, just like this one.’ Joe held up the bright blue Thomas the Tank Engine. ‘This isn’t a toy, it’s the real thing. Look at the detail on it.’ Joe was studying the undercarriage.

  ‘Juliet is a very good woman, isn’t she? You couldn’t have asked for more, Joe. She has a great personality, she’s intelligent, gentle, a lovely mother to her kids. Despite all that, you weren’t happy,’ I chanced. It didn’t make sense. I decided to go for the jugular. ‘What went wrong? Something awful must have happened to make you leave.’

  He smiled at me and patted the couch, indicating for me to sit beside him.

  I got up and snuggled into his big strong chest.

  ‘The woman I want is already spoken for,’ he whispered into my ear.

  ‘What?! You sneaky bastard! I never knew! Have you been seeing someone else? That’s it, isn’t it? You met someone else, didn’t you, crafty fucker. I never thought you’d be the unfaithful type. C’mon spill it — I want to know everything.’ I was secretly delighted. Sometimes, Joe had appeared to me to be too much of a Goody Two Shoes. Now I had found a chink in his armour and I was preparing to prise it open with my questions.

  He was laughing openly at me. ‘There’s nothing to tell, I swear! No, I wasn’t unfaithful. Well, not exactly. There was another woman. There I was, living with Juliet and constantly wanting someone else. I felt I was being unfaithful to her; just thinking about it was enough. My heart wasn’t with her any more. It wasn’t fair on her. Eventually, I knew I had to go. She didn’t want me to.’ His voice got lower. ‘She begged me to stay. But it would only have been out of pity. Christ, it would have been the easiest thing in the world to stay. Any other guy would have,’ he finished, sighing deeply.

  ‘Not you,’ I found myself saying. I knew him. It just wasn’t Joe’s style. ‘I think I know how you feel,’ I ventured. ‘I mean, about wanting someone you can’t have.’ I looked downwards.

  There was a slight pause.

  ‘What’s this course all about?’ He changed the subject.

  You’re not getting off the hook that easily. ‘Oh that! Its title is “Discovering Your Family History” and do you know, I can’t wait to get there every week. I look forward to it so much. I couldn’t begin to tell you what I’m learning. But why have you changed the subject? Who’s the other woman?’ I asked cheekily.

  ‘I didn’t change the subject — you did. Look, trust me. You don’t want to know,’ he said.

  ‘I thought we were friends, Joe,’ I said, a sick feeling rising up from the pit of my stomach. There was only one other woman I knew of in England, and that was Jill. My blood ran cold.

  ‘Is Matt on the course?’ He changed the subject again.

  Oh God. ‘Of course Matt’s on the course. If it wasn’t for him, I would never have had the guts to do it. I wish you could see how much it’s helping me, Joe.’ I was trying to avoid the subject of Matt; it always led to a stalemate, somehow.

  ‘Be careful, Jack.’ he warned.

  There was an uncomfortable silence. Suddenly we both had secrets. It felt unnatural. Like there was a barrier between us.

  ‘I really hope you’ll stay in touch with Juliet. God, she was so fond of you, and David. You shouldn’t cut her off either,’ he added.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Juliet, I mean.’

  ‘Of course,’ I stared at him. Who else were you thinking of? It’s Jill isn’t it? Fucking Jill. I should have known.

  ‘Yes, I agree — but it wouldn’t feel right at the moment. Besides, she’d only want to know stuff about you. Maybe, I don’t know. I’ll give her a call sometime,’ I replied.

  ‘Do, Jack. She needs a friend. We all need our friends.’

  ‘Too right,’ I said snappily. Who are mine?

  The taxi beeped outside.

  I was desperate to know who the mystery woman was. I was curious and a bit disappointed too. For a brief moment I had heard my own heart thump in anticipation. Perhaps he had left Juliet for me? How ridiculous! I had gone through this conversation in my head for years. It was our platonic relationship that led me to think up all these crazy fantasies. The reality was, we would always be friends, and nothing more.

  ‘Gotta go,’ he said, pulling the curtain back. ‘My chauffeur is here.’

  ‘It’s a pity you couldn’t stay a little longer.’ I hadn’t really meant that, it just came out.

  As Joe climbed in the minicab he turned and waved. I waved goodbye and closed the door. Thoughts of Jill and Joe together made me seethe with jealousy. I deliberately switched brain sides. I still had Matt lurking about on the other side. I concentrated fully on that instead. Now more than ever I wanted something to happen — and fast.

  Things were definitely heating up between us. I could feel it in my bones, and between my legs. I was delighted he had apologised to me about our teenage philandering. It gave me hope. I was willing to give it a second chance, now that we were adults, experienced and adept at playing the game of love.

  I wanted nothing more than to have one more night; whether he was married or not didn’t matter any more. I wanted it. I wanted it with every passing minute. I wanted to make it right. To start again. To feel all those wonderful things a woman should feel. The climax of an orgasm. I wanted him to make it happen. He owed it to me! I deserved it!

  I lay dreamily on the couch. How much more waiting? I listened to Steven Bishop, wooing me with his gentle songs. ‘Looking for the Right One’. How ironic. I drifted in and out and became bored with my own thoughts.

  Tomorrow was the sixth session of the course. I had worked hard all week, writing sometimes into the early hours of the morning. Some nights, I just had to get up and write. I went into the kitchen. The table was still in a mess from the night before. I gathered up all the pages I had written and carried them into bed, deciding to reread them, in preparation for tomorrow. I had begun to remember things in great detail. I no longer had to fight to get them to come to the surface. They made their own way up effortlessly. My pen danced over the page
s and my hand ached with writer’s cramp.

  Not long after the Courtown incident, I changed. I changed greatly. Looking back now, the change was noticeable at least to me, although not, apparently, to my parents.

  It had started one day on an ordinary shopping trip to the little local supermarket. My mother sent me there daily for cigarettes and some provisions for the house. I took the shortcut, down Belgrove Lane, past the school, on to Seafield Road and out on to Vernon Avenue. Then I took another back lane, ending up in Moran’s supermarket car park. In those days it was a tiny grocery shop, of course, with the barest essentials for sale. It was good enough for what my mother wanted, though — bread, tea, tomatoes and ten of the cheapest cigarettes.

  I took the shopping basket and wandered up and down the small aisles. I got the things I had come for and went to pay for them at the counter. When I got outside, I realised I still had the tomatoes in my pocket. I had forgotten to put them in the basket because I went to weigh them first. I counted the change. Bingo!

  A little devil appeared on my right shoulder. A little angel appeared on my left. I had at least 20p for myself. And I also had a choice — a difficult one. I could go back in and tell them about the mistake I had made, or I could pocket the 20p and spend it on myself. Nobody would ever know.

  The devil won. I went into the sweetshop and spent my ill-gotten gains. Then I skipped up Belgrove Lane and sat on the school railings munching happily on my goodies. The next time I was sent to the shops, the little devil had appeared before I even went in. If I had got away with it once, I would get away with it twice. I plunged a packet of marshmallows into my brown anorak and walked out. Nothing happened.

  Yippee! That was when my habit of throwing parties for one was born. I linked them up with my present bingeing and could see where it had all started. Then I remembered something else that had happened around the same time.