The House that Jack Built

by Catherine Barry

  *

  I held it in my palm, savouring the words. ‘Thanks, Matt. That’s really thoughtful of you. Just one thing. When do I get the wisdom bit?’

  ‘When you die,’ he replied flatly.

  We both had a good laugh. I hugged it close to my chest. It was the nicest thing anyone had given me, apart from ‘Sam’. No one could top that.

  Inside, I was dreading Christmas. I had always secretly detested it. It was the Happy Families syndrome again. It made me sick to my stomach. I tried hard to ignore the silly season gags, the monotonous advertising, the jingle-bell junkies and David’s endless demands for every toy he set eyes on. I wanted to buy him everything, to make up for all the rotten thoughts I had had about him. I wanted everything to be OK. I felt such remorse over my failed mothering skills. Matt warned me about this ‘overspending’. He reminded me that it wasn’t what David really needed, no matter what he said. He needed to know I was there in the full sense of being a human being, not just physically but emotionally.

  Most of all I tried to avoid happy couples strolling hand in hand, as much as I avoided the lethal buzz of a busy pub. I made an extra effort to visit Mam and Dad. To my surprise Rachel and Jason were there too. We sat together on the floor and watched the Christmas tree being erected. Dad hovered unsteadily on the edge of a stepladder, not sure if he wanted to put his full weight on it.

  ‘Ah, for goodness sake, William, will you stand on the thing properly.’ Mam stood beside him holding the trunk and becoming more and more impatient as he dithered around. One step up. One step down.

  ‘Quit whining and give me the damn lights,’ he ordered.

  Mam did as she was told. I could tell by her face that she thought she could do a quicker job. I tried telepathy to persuade her not to nag, but her mouth beat me to it.

  ‘William, you need your glasses — that’s what’s wrong. If you had your glasses on, the job would be well done by now.’ And she marched off in search of them.

  ‘Bollox,’ he said, under his breath.

  ‘No worries, Pops, we’ll have it up before the next millennium,’ Jason joked.

  ‘With a bit of luck, they’ll be out of fashion,’ I added.

  ‘I couldn’t give a monkey’s,’ Dad hissed through clenched teeth, ‘I’ll be dead and buried by then, and so will she, God willing.’

  We all laughed and Mam returned with his glasses in hand.

  ‘No need for them now,’ he said triumphantly. ‘Jason, switch them on there, son.’

  Jason plugged the lights in and they went on. And off. And on.

  ‘Ah, what’s wrong with them now?’ Mam asked crossly.

  ‘They’re supposed to do that, you thick.’ Dad stepped down, breathing a sigh of relief.

  For once Mam’s tongue was silenced.

  They invited me to come for Christmas dinner, insisting that it was not right for David and me to be alone on Christmas Day. I complained bitterly about the falseness of it all. It only made them plead more. In the end I agreed. Dad gave Mam a satisfied nod. They were obviously very pleased. I chatted with Rachel, my younger married sister whom I hardly ever saw. She had wisely made plans to be elsewhere on the big day. No wonder Mam and Dad were delighted to have me aboard. I began to shake with the thought of being alone with them for three full hours. There was no way out of it. Besides, I didn’t want to be alone with David. Especially that day. I wanted to stay sober, no matter what. Mam and Dad’s was probably the safest place to be, all things considered.

  I watched them in the living room, busying themselves with this and that. They suddenly looked older. They appeared to have aged about ten years — I hadn’t noticed it before. Then I realised they were older. It wasn’t my imagination. They were reaching their half-century soon.

  With that thought, I settled my indecision. I was grateful for the invitation and even looked forward to it.

  Mam appeared with a cup of tea, and sat beside me. ‘When is the court case, love?’ she asked.

  I didn’t really want to think about it. ‘Friday. Three days,’ I answered.

  ‘What’s happening then, do you know?’ She seemed concerned.

  ‘No, I don’t, Mam. I won’t until the day arrives. I’m leaving it all in Greta’s capable hands. We’ve discussed it at length.’

  ‘Are you going to agree to access?’ she asked carefully.

  ‘I probably will, Mam. It’s about time David saw his real father. Who am I to deprive him of that?’

  ‘I guess you’re right. It won’t be easy, though. Your father will have his nose out of joint,’ she added.

  I sat silently looking out the window.

  ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you, love.’

  I prepared myself.

  ‘Have you seen poor Karen lately?’ She referred to her like she was a homeless refugee.

  ‘No. Why?’ I asked.

  ‘Ah, just wondering how she is — with the break-up and all.’ She blessed herself.

  ‘What break-up?’

  ‘Ah, now surely you know herself and Michael broke up? Sure didn’t I meet her mam in the dry-cleaners, and she’s back home. Poor thing is broken-hearted. Have you not been in touch with her?’ she asked innocently.

  ‘No, I haven’t.’ I sipped my tea, trying to disguise my shock.

  ‘Well, that’s what I heard,’ she sighed. ‘By the way, if you don’t mind me asking, have you seen Joe at all?’

  ‘Mam, I’ve been very busy lately, running here and there, what with the course and everything. I’m sure he will be home for Christmas as usual.’

  I didn’t want to hear his name. And I was secretly fuming. I couldn’t believe Karen hadn’t contacted me. That she was at home, nursing a broken heart and that she didn’t want to discuss it with me. Then I thought about my own sense of self-importance. I reminded myself that I wasn’t as important as I’d like to think I was. It was hard and it hurt.

  I had hoped to tell Mam about my decision to stop drinking, but Matt had advised me to keep it to myself, especially as it was Christmas-time. I couldn’t understand his motives. I thought my parents would delight in my good news and see it as a positive step. He didn’t share my confidence. Now I was glad I hadn’t told them anything.

  I was so angry I wanted to kill. Just when I thought I was the walking epitome of serenity, my rage would surface again.

  I left the house distressed and confused. When the anger abated, I started to cry. I was really hurt. We had been friends since early childhood. I had known Mick and Karen for fifteen years. Now they had split up. Neither of them had contacted me. Jill had not even phoned to let me know. Neither of them needed me. Neither of them wanted me. I was feeling really sorry for myself and was set to indulge in one gigantic pity party.

  I struggled all evening, wallowing in anger and sadness. I had just about had enough of everything. Outside I could hear the Christmas spirit in full swing. The flats were writhing with mini-parties. Everybody was getting drunk, except me.

  I thumped the pillows on my bed and cursed Matt. I wished I had never met him. I wished I could unlearn what I had learned. I wished I could unlearn it all. I didn’t want to be aware. I didn’t want to be an alcoholic. I didn’t want to be dysfunctional. I didn’t want to be different. I just wanted to be like everyone else. Normal! Only I didn’t know what normal was. If only I could take a sleeping tablet, preferably one that lasted until New Year’s Day. I didn’t want to go through this charade. I wanted the whole thing to be over.

  I turned on the television in time to catch the end of It’s a Wonderful Life. Jimmy Stewart was returning to his family, desolate and broke. The house was alive with townsfolk. His children had collected money to make up for his £8,000 loss. There was a Christmas tree erected and a bell was placed on the top. The bell tinkled. His child turned to him and said, ‘Remember, every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings.’

  Jimmy smiled, remembering Clarence the angel
, who had saved him from certain death when he attempted suicide, earlier on in the story. He picked up a book and opened it. Clarence had inscribed something on the inside leaf: No man is a failure, who has friends.

  I cried myself to sleep.

  The following day, I confronted the job situation. I walked from my flat to Brady Insurance’s and arrived unexpectedly at the office. The dreariness of it reminded me that sobriety had also heightened my senses. In the reception area, two girls were sipping coffee and stopped their conversation abruptly when they saw me. I was inwardly terrified but reckoned Christmas week was as good a time as any to approach the manager. Besides, he should have received the doctor’s note by now, and I was relying on his compassion to see me through. Much as I hated the job, I needed to keep it now more than ever. With the court case the following day, I had to have something substantial to give the judge in my defence. I knew that to turn up jobless would go against me. Things were bad enough as they were.

  I passed the line of covered Olympic typewriters; nobody was working. For the first time, I heard laughter coming from the canteen. A scrawny two-foot Christmas tree with three red baubles had been erected and stood at the side of the manager’s door. There were lights on the tree but I noticed they weren’t working. I changed the company’s name from ‘Brady Urinals’ to ‘Scrooge & Sons’.

  Inside his office, an unusually relaxed-looking Gerard Shannon was having a tipple with the assistant manager. They almost choked on their drinks when I rapped lightly on the open door. The assistant manager smiled weakly at me and exited like a bullet.

  ‘Jacqueline! What a surprise. Come on in.’ Gerald smiled at me, revealing his hideously discoloured teeth. I smiled back with a Colgate sparkle.

  ‘Please — sit down. I wasn’t expecting you, or was I?’ he said slowly. I detected a slight slur in the words and my eyes went to the open bottle of whiskey on the table. His eyes wandered in the same direction. We both stared at it. Then he whipped it off the table and put it down on the floor beside him. What did he think I was going to do? Grab it and run down the road swigging out of it like a madwoman?

  ‘I received the letter from your doctor, Jacqueline,’ he said pompously, and my heart sank. Then: ‘I want you to know that we will support you and help you in any way possible. I am sorry for your… em… trouble,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you,’ I replied, genuinely surprised.

  ‘If you need any financial assistance for treatment et cetera, we will oblige, of course. In the meantime, we would just like to see you get well. Don’t worry yourself about the job — come back when you’re ready. Perhaps part-time to start with. Would that be a good idea?’

  I was stuck for words. ‘That would be great. I appreciate all your help, Mr Shannon.’

  ‘Not at all, Jacqueline, not at all. Anything to help.’

  I left the office quite stunned. Honesty had paid off as Matt had promised it would. I prayed tomorrow would show the same results.

  Chapter 22

  I had never been inside a courtroom before. Standing in the foyer, I felt as if I was waiting to be sentenced to life imprisonment. My solicitor, Greta Leahy, was struggling with files and folders and briefcases. She dropped the files on the floor and they landed with a heavy thud. Judging by their weight, anyone would think I had a long criminal history. It didn’t look good. I was extremely nervous and unsure of how to behave. Did you genuflect in front of the judge? Did you salute them? I looked around me and was horrified by the total lack of privacy.

  The foyer was like an open barn. Groups huddled in corners discussing private affairs, whispering back and forth. I couldn’t understand it. After all, this was the family courts. People were here because of domestic difficulties. It seemed unfair to expect them to gather in this great big hall and stand beside the very person they were prosecuting. There were even children running up and down, taking advantage of the polished floor and turning it into a skating rink. It all seemed terribly wrong.

  One woman stood crying, as she spoke to her barrister. Her private life echoed around the hall. It was obvious she was applying for a barring order. Her husband leaned against the wall not two feet from where she stood and mockingly tried to interrogate her. No wonder women gave up. From now on, I would appreciate the guts and courage it took to get this far.

  Just then I spotted Andrew Fenton, splendid in suit and tie. I nodded at him. He nodded back. He was still devastatingly attractive. I could see some similarity between him and David, although ultimately David looked like me. Watching him now, it was obvious he was his father. They shared the same expressions; even when he smiled the likeness was uncanny.

  I had taken particular care with my make-up today. I had worn my good suit too. I was thrilled to bits when the zip went up nice and easy. I had even recovered my waistline and proudly surveyed my reflection in the mirror. I looked smart. I needed to. Solicitors walked briskly to and fro, consulting with their clients. Greta was doing the same. I saw her talking with Andrew’s. They were laughing together. I wasn’t sure whether I should take that as a good sign or a bad sign. She returned, still smiling, took me by the arm and backed me into a corner.

  ‘OK, here’s the deal,’ she started.

  ‘Hold on a minute,’ I interrupted. ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘Yes, actually I do. He’s good — very good. A real clever clogs, but he can be a right bully too,’ she said.

  ‘Well, you looked like you were old buddies to me,’ I commented.

  ‘Oh that! That’s all part of the act, dear. In the courts, they’re all the same. Wall-to-wall bastards. Don’t be fooled.’ She tapped the side of her nose.

  ‘What does he want?’ I asked.

  ‘Not much. One Saturday every month. He’ll fly over. He’s also consented to financially maintain David — £80 per week. If I were you, I’d concur,’ she finished.

  ‘If I don’t?’ I asked.

  ‘He’ll fight you with whatever he’s got. Trust me, Jack, you don’t want to see what he’s got. He’s sure to bring up your drinking.’ She paused.

  ‘I see,’ I said. I thought about it. I certainly needed the money for David. His expenses had been rising ever since he started school, and I knew they would continue increasing in the coming years. One Saturday a month didn’t sound too bad. Besides, I could do with the day off. Most importantly, I knew I couldn’t hold on to David for my own selfish reasons. He needed a father now more than ever.

  ‘OK,’ I finally agreed. ‘Let’s go for it.’

  ‘We’ll still have to go before the judge,’ she said.

  ‘Why?’ I asked.

  ‘The access order still has to be signed and witnessed, it won’t take long. We’ll be in and out in a jiffy. Don’t worry.’ She patted my arm with her hand.

  It was another hour before our case was called. As I walked into Court Number 47 behind Greta, I suddenly felt very nervous. Greta motioned to me to zip my mouth. I didn’t know whether to sit or stand. The District Court clerk hollered, ‘All stand, please.’

  We all stood, and the judge entered. It was a woman. Yes! She was very young, which surprised me. For some reason I had expected her to be in her late eighties, I don’t know why. I thought judges had to be old to be wise, I suppose. Greta motioned me to sit down. I did. As I pulled the chair closer to the table, it made a horrible screeching noise. The judge looked up over her glasses and down at me. I was terrified, so I played with my lucky charm — the keyring Matt had given me. I pressed it against my palms and repeated the Serenity Prayer.

  Greta approached the bench. ‘Your Honour, our respective clients have agreed on terms of access by mutual consent.’

  The judge was taking her time reading the details. ‘Ms Joyce, you are happy to consent to access? One Saturday, every month?’

  ‘Stand up!’ Greta hissed at me. I stood up.

  ‘Yes, Your Honour. I am happy to do that.’ Was I suppose to sit down again?

>   ‘Excellent. Excellent. Take note, Clerk. One Saturday every month by consent.’

  I was still standing.

  ‘You may sit down, Ms Joyce.’ She peered down her nose at me.

  ‘Thank you, Your Honour.’

  I heard the door open behind me. Greta looked round; I was afraid to. The court clerk was busy scribbling out the access order. I noticed the judge was humming. Unless I was going completely insane, it sounded very much like ‘Santa Claus Is Coming to Town’. I looked at Greta. She was smirking and trying to wipe it off her face. I nearly burst out laughing myself.

  The clerk handed the piece of paper to the judge. She handed it to Greta. Greta handed it to me. I handed it to Andrew who handed it to his solicitor. Then the clerk wrote out a second access form and repeated the whole thing again. Even Andrew was trying to stop laughing. I thought I would never get out of there. Then the clerk shouted again, ‘All rise.’

  We all stood up.

  ‘Merry Christmas to you all,’ the judge said and exited the room.

  I heaved a sigh of relief. The two solicitors were chuckling together. It was probably the easiest few bob they had ever earned. I didn’t care. It was over, and I hadn’t been found guilty. We turned to walk out of the courtroom. Sitting in the back were Mam and Dad, Alice and Karen. They had all turned up, all except Joe. No matter. Karen was there. I threw myself at her when we got outside.

  ‘You came, you came!’ I shouted, squeezing the life out of her.

  She laughed out loud and tried to get me off her. A very strait-laced barrister was eyeing me up and down like I was the scum of the earth.

  ‘We won!’ I shouted in his face. ‘We no longer have to live in hiding, do we, darling?’ I kissed Karen right on the lips. The barrister rattled his newspaper and marched off in the other direction. Mam blessed herself. Greta broke down laughing.

  Alice slapped Dad across the back. ‘Some fucking fruit and nut, your daughter.’

  ‘Fruit and nut?’

  ‘Nutcase, fruit and nut? Someone fill him in.’ Alice looked around.