The House that Jack Built

by Catherine Barry

  ‘Look, for what it’s worth, I don’t know what happened with you and Joe and I don’t expect you to tell me either. But I know this much. He loved you.’

  ‘I know he did, but he loved someone else much more. I just couldn’t compete,’ she said sadly.

  ‘Juliet, there was no competition,’ I reassured her.

  She laughed again, a touch bitterly. ‘Of course, you would see it that way, wouldn’t you. After all, you had his heart right from the beginning. You had a head-start of twenty years. How could I have competed with that?’

  ‘Excuse me?’ I was completely at sea.

  ‘Jack — c’mon. Any fool could see that you were the one, even when he couldn’t have you. He obviously hoped he could settle for something else, but it didn’t work out. He was true to himself in the end. His heart was with you, even when he was with me. He just decided it would be better for him to be alone than live a lie.’

  ‘Juliet, this is Jack, not Jill. I think you’ve got your wires crossed,’ I said nervously.

  She sighed heavily. ‘You’re the other woman, Jack. Believe it.’

  ‘No, I can’t be! No, it’s Jill — I’m certain of it.’ I sounded like a complete and utter moron.

  ‘You know, he always said that you were an intelligent being. I’m beginning to wonder. Can’t you see that he has been in love with you all this time?’

  I swallowed hard, not knowing whether to celebrate or start crying. I was speechless. ‘I can’t think right now,’ I told her, my voice trembling. ‘Oh my God. Juliet, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that. Oh my God.’

  ‘Jack, take my advice. Stop looking for Mr Right in the wrong places. It’s like searching for jewels in the mud. Joe was made for you and you for him.’

  Brave words from a woman he had just ditched. I was amazed at her acceptance.

  ‘I think I’ll have to go and lie down,’ I said rather stupidly. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. I really had no idea. Juliet — I’m so, so sorry.’

  ‘I like you, Jack, always did. I wish you both the very best.’

  I put down the phone, went into my bedroom and lay down. I stared at the ceiling all night, and wondered, had God deliberately omitted to dole out ‘cop on’ the day He made me?

  Chapter 21

  Alice and I sat in the front row of the hard-backed seats. We were in the school auditorium awaiting the glorious opening of a nativity play. The participants backstage were all between four and eight years of age. Their excitement could be heard all over the hall. They thumped and banged and shouted loudly. Elbows and knees occasionally burst through the slit in the middle of the curtains, and frightened faces peeped out from the wings. I couldn’t see David, which was just as well. It would only have increased his pre-performance nerves. The parents were just as noisy, exchanging pride-filled comments about their own children.

  ‘My Deirdre’s a cow,’ one whispered in Alice’s ear.

  ‘Go on?’ she said. ‘Must run in the fucking family, love.’ The parent turned away in disgust.

  I was at my son’s first nativity play. I was twenty-one days sober. I was still alive. Amazingly, so was everyone else.

  The curtains jerked back, making an ugly squeaking noise. There stood the cast, all giggly and silly. The parents erupted into a loud cheer. Some could hardly contain themselves and jumped up and down in the seats.

  ‘Jaysus, will you’s shut the fuck up!’ Alice yelled and everybody went silent.

  I could just about catch a glimpse of David. He was tucked away at the back, where I knew he was happy to be. He held tight to his staff with one hand, and scratched his balls irritably with the other. The tablecloth on his head was held on by a piece of string and he tugged at it every couple of seconds. Soon the whole thing was lopsided and he stared out at us like a one-eyed Cyclops.

  Jesus and Mary were very professional, remembering their lines perfectly, but the younger ones were restless and wandered off the stage shouting and waving.

  ‘There’s my mam! Howya, Mam!’

  The audience laughed hysterically when one of them obviously had had enough and lay down in the crib for a kip. Joseph and Mary were disgusted and started to cry. A shepherd boy decided he needed to piss and began to strip without any modesty whatsoever. A teacher appeared and rescued him just in time.

  David made his one and only appearance when he brought forward what was supposed to be frankincense as a gift for the Baby Jesus. He dumped the heavy weight in Mary’s lap. She let out a yelp and didn’t look happy at all. The fright made her forget her lines. There was a long difficult pause where Mary looked from side to side for a prompt. Eventually she was forced to ad lib.

  ‘Jaysus, thanks, mister. It’s massive.’

  She brought the house down. David scampered to the back to take up his manly stance again. Then another shepherd let out a rip-roaring fart. The whole thing was a disaster from start to finish. Teachers ran about frantically trying to save the day. The play concluded after four minutes. The applause was deafening. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. It wasn’t the first time I had laughed that week, either. I had forgotten the simple therapy of laughter and was beginning to feel its benefits.

  Things had improved. They had definitely improved.

  After the phone-call with Juliet, I clung to the belief that Joe still had my best intentions at heart. Even Jill had had my best intentions at heart. The shame made me want to curl up and die. Perhaps they had felt forced to confront me for once and for all. I tried to see it as an act of love and not the rejection I had thought initially. I made myself believe it, because not to believe it would make none of it worthwhile.

  I was working very hard on my recovery, day and night. I had a routine going and stuck to it rigidly. In the mornings when I awoke, I knelt down and said what is probably the best prayer ever thought of. ‘God help me.’

  I was still marvelling at the beauty of waking up. The wonder of having slept peacefully for seven hours. The delight of not feeling sick. No headaches, no sweating, no nightmares. Everything was still in the same place as I had left it the night before. My clothes were neatly folded away, the dishes were washed and still in the cupboard. No open phonebook, to remind me I couldn’t remember who I had rung. No overspilling ashtrays with mountains of half-smoked cigarettes. No cans, or bottles, or empty purses. It was complete bliss, just to start the day with no worries about yesterday.

  After taking David to school, I usually popped into the school oratory. I sat there for about fifteen minutes, watching the candles flicker. Sometimes I lit one for Joe and me. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to pray for a reconciliation: I did anyway. Over the weeks I lit candles for everybody I knew. It cost a small fortune, but the statues were happy. After that I visited the post office. I had recently learned that I could pay my bills by the week. I made a point of dropping in and paying off a small amount on every bill. It was the first time I had ever received a gas bill that was in credit. Yippee!

  I even had some spare money, which I put by in a special savings account for David. It was strange to have extra money. It frightened me still.

  On returning home, I ran a long hot bath, something that I had not indulged in for months. I filled it to the brim and added lots of nice-smelling oils and perfumes. Then I lit candles all around it, turned on a meditation tape and lay there, trying to be peaceful and serene. I was trying. I really was.

  After my bath, I put on my make-up. It didn’t matter if I wasn’t going anywhere, I put it on regardless. I had invested in some good make-up and experimented with different kinds of shades and textures. It was fun. I had cut my hair short. It was manageable and made me look younger. At one o’clock I turned on the lunchtime news. I had made a point of learning something new every day. I had no idea who was running the country and wasn’t really interested. I just knew it would be helpful to tune in to the living world. At 1.25 pm I donned my coat again and walked back up to the
school to collect David. I didn’t have to bow my head, cross the street, or run past everybody. I forced myself to say hello to everyone that I passed. To my surprise some said hello back. It felt great to be free of shame, if only briefly. But there was always something just around the corner to remind me.

  At home after school, David once came running in to me complaining that the television wasn’t working. When I went to investigate, I found that he had accidentally hit the remote. I raised my arm jokingly, feigning that I was about to strike him. It was all in jest. David didn’t think it was funny at all and immediately guarded himself by raising his elbow to his face and turning his back to me. I was shocked and upset, and realised that, no matter how much I thought things had improved, it would take a long time for David to recover from the effects of my drinking and bad temper.

  In the afternoons, I re-rented all the videos I thought I had seen. It was interesting to watch them again sober. There were whole scenes I could not remember. In between the videos I had accumulated a whole new bunch of friends. AA members dominated the phone day and night. I was never alone. I had an army of people to turn to at any time. I could no longer use loneliness as an excuse for drinking.

  My weekly visits to the alcoholic counsellor continued. I told her about the telephone conversation with Juliet. She showed no excessive emotion and I felt deflated. If I had to eat any more humble pie I would vomit, I thought rebelliously. She instructed me to send myself a Christmas card. I felt a right twit, sitting at the kitchen table writing this ridiculous verse to myself. In the end I wrote Happy Christmas Jack, from me. Then I sealed the envelope and posted it quickly while no one was looking.

  She also encouraged me to write down my feelings about Joe in letter form. She was quick to add that they were not meant for sending, simply for therapy. I wrote volumes furiously. Some were horrible character assassinations filled with bitterness and hate and resentment; others gushed with loving words and romantic soliloquies. I kept them all at the top of my wardrobe. Within a few hours I would wonder how I had written such drivel. Then I would remember the wise advice, and appreciate the fact that I hadn’t sent any of them.

  My Christmas card arrived safely the next day. I opened it, read it, and then threw it in the bin. A mountain of other cards arrived from well-meaning AA members. Some I had not brushed shoulders with, yet they had found the time to send me a card. It warmed me. I felt like I had a second family. Every day, I would quickly check to see if there was anything from Joe, despite knowing in my heart I was only fooling myself.

  I arrived promptly for the last session of the course. The gang were there, dressed up to the nines. Matt had put on a bit of a spread for afterwards. Spirits were high and voices equally so.

  I hugged everybody and was delighted with all the comments about my weight loss. I had managed to maintain it, by counteracting my chocolate binges with good brisk walks. I felt good and looked good and I knew it.

  Brian stood in the centre of the floor and began to speak. ‘Well, I’m glad you all turned up for the final session. I have to say I have enjoyed working with all of you immensely. You were a particularly interesting group and participated and contributed greatly.’

  He cleared his throat. ‘I would like to thank each and every one of you with a small presentation. These are completion certificates. As you can see, I have your name and date inscribed on them and I hope you like them.’

  He called us one by one and we accepted our little gift. It was a nice touch and something I would treasure for ever. When that was completed we arranged a chair and desk in the middle of the floor.

  ‘I hope you all remembered to bring in your defining object?’ Brian asked. Everybody nodded. ‘OK, then let’s get the ball rolling. Who wants to go first?’ Bertie had his hand up. ‘Right — Bertie.’

  Brian sat down on the edge of the seat and Bertie stood erect and proud. Then he reached into his little briefcase and pulled out a hammer. Everybody started to laugh, including Bertie.

  ‘As well you may laugh. This will need very little explaining indeed. I happened to be reading a lovely little quotation book the other day and I read this: “If the only tool you have in life is a hammer, then you tend to see every problem as a nail.” No extra marks for figuring out what that means in my life. Hence the hammer. It represents my way of relating to people. I fix things. That’s what I’ve always done. I thought that was what I was supposed to do. The course has helped me to see that I can actually hinder things by trying to do that all the time. It’s time for me to change my set of tools, I guess.’ He stepped down and we gave him a round of applause.

  Next up was Connor. He blew heavily into his handkerchief before starting, then he reached in his breast pocket and pulled out a birth certificate.

  ‘This is my birth certificate,’ he announced. ‘Damn well took me five weeks to find it. It was carefully tucked away in the attic, out of sight — just like me.’ He paused for a moment, thinking about what he had just said, then put on his reading glasses and opened the document.

  ‘According to this here document, I am Connor Joseph Costigan. I forgot who I was. I lost my identity. I don’t want to forget who I am again. The course has helped me reclaim me. I am very happy to say who I am today.’

  We clapped loudly for Connor. His genuine sense of achievement was shared by all of us.

  Diane got up next, looking distinctly different from the woman who had first attended. She wore a pair of trendy jeans and a loose-fitting jacket. Her hair was free, glossy and decidedly untidy. She looked natural. She reached into her bag and laughingly drew out a Barbie Doll.

  We all fell about the place roaring. It took a few minutes for the mirth to die down. Diane herself was finding it hard to stop sniggering. It was lovely to see her laughing at herself.

  ‘Well, you don’t have to be a genius to figure out why I brought this baby. It’s actually a Sleeping Beauty Barbie. An exact replica of me. Always waiting for the prince in shining armour to come along and kiss me and then I could start living. I’m not waiting any more. I’m starting my life now. There’s so much I haven’t done! I don’t want to be a doll any more. I’d much rather just be me.’

  We clapped long and hard as Diane sat down. That only left poor old Frank. He remained sitting and Brian got up instead.

  ‘Frank has asked me to read you something for him. His defining object is a poem that he wrote, and it’s entitled “Life”:

  You can’t hide shame with a Band Aid,

  You cannot treat guilt with a pill,

  You cannot mend a heart with Sellotape,

  You cannot fill a hole with a drill.

  You can’t travel light with an elephant,

  You cannot feel joy without pain,

  You can’t make a fool intelligent,

  You cannot make a cripple lame.

  You cannot end wars without bleeding,

  You cannot use Braille without words,

  You can’t forgive without healing,

  You cannot ignore what hurts.

  You can’t really love without hating,

  You cannot feel love with your head.

  You can’t become whole without breaking,

  You cannot kill what’s dead.

  You can’t have a soul without spirit,

  You cannot change what is,

  You can’t fail without merit,

  Because you cannot kill what lives.

  *

  There was an eerie silence for a moment. Then Connor started to clap slowly and we all joined in. I had always known Frank was talented. His poem had drawn us all into our individual journeys, and brought tears to our eyes.

  Frank stood up, bowed and sat down again. He rocked backwards and forwards, blushing profusely. That only left little old me. I stood up.

  ‘I have in my hand what’s called a “death pass”. It’s a piece of paper that granted twenty-four hour visiting access to parents of dyin
g children. Mam and Dad were holders, because my brother was very weak and frail when he was born. Unfortunately he didn’t make it. He died within thirty-six hours of his birth. I brought it here today because it represents the dysfunction in our home when I was a child. Although Desmond died, Mam and Dad never dealt with it. It was the family curse, the family secret. Desmond was the Scapegoat, if you like. Because of his death, I suffered, we all suffered. I don’t want to carry his death any more. I just want to be me. I realise I drank to cope with Mam and Dad. They argued to cope with Desmond. As for Desmond himself, he had a lucky escape. I’m putting him where he belongs. In the past.’

  I folded the yellowed and torn document and put it in my pocket. Nobody clapped. It would have been inappropriate. I understood.

  After that, we gathered around the big old table and ate sandwiches and cakes and drank tea. We exchanged phone numbers and vowed to stay in touch. It was sad saying goodbye. I felt I had known everyone there a lifetime and yet it had only been ten weeks.

  I promised Diane to stay in contact and thanked Brian for all his help. Then Matt and I went to have a cup of coffee. It was strange, but now I had begun to notice his gay side, I couldn’t understand how I had never noticed it before. He was so tidy and particular, folding his sugar bag neatly and sipping the tea daintily. His hair was perfectly in place and his clothes were immaculate. Matt had a feminine side that made women fall head over heels in love with him. He was easy to talk to, easy to approach, and easy to trust. No wonder I was so attracted to him. He was the perfect partner!

  He pushed a small parcel across the table.

  ‘What’s this?’ I asked him.

  ‘Open it and see,’ he grinned.

  I opened the miniature packet and inside was a keyring. On the back of it was engraved the Serenity Prayer.

  God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

  Courage to change the things I can,

  And the wisdom to know the difference.