by Sharon Owens
She wasn't sure she liked the layout of the furniture in this room, though. She might change it on her next day off. Although she was only twenty-five, she'd moved house eighteen times since leaving her parents' two-bed terrace in the Markets district of the city. She could still remember the agony of having to share a room with three younger sisters who kept borrowing her clothes and make-up. However, this new set-up was very different from the shabby room of her childhood. She lay back and studied her new bedroom. The walls and ceiling here were painted a delicate dusty blue and there was a pretty, distressed-effect iron chandelier hanging from a beam in the ceiling. The carpet was a pale lilac shade and felt deliciously soft under her bare feet. The windows were dressed with purple crushed-silk drapes. Lily Beaumont had even made her own tiebacks by threading glass beads onto fine wire. There was a beautiful oil painting of an angel hanging above the fireplace, that Lily said she had painted when she was nineteen years old. It was of great sentimental value, she'd said. She'd painted that picture to celebrate her marriage to Jack.
‘See there,’ Lily had pointed out, when she was showing the room to Bridget earlier that afternoon. ‘The angel has two wedding rings in her hand.’
Yes, the room was very satisfactory indeed. Bridget thought she would definitely enjoy living here. There were plans to demolish the tavern and build a mall on the site but somehow Bridget wasn't worried about that. The final date for the decision was three months away. And three months was a very long time in the life of Bridget O'Malley.
The bed was only a single but she wasn't too worried. A double would have been nicer but it was early days as far as her love life was concerned. And maybe it wasn't the kind of house where she could entertain a young man overnight? Lily and Jack Beaumont might be a little uptight about things like that? Once Bridget was more settled she might find a new lover and ask Lily if he could stay over occasionally. In the meantime, it was all very comfortable. Lily Beaumont ran a spotless house. There was no doubt about that. There wasn't a speck of dust anywhere. Not even on top of the picture rails.
She thought of her own mother and father and sighed softly. Bridget hadn't been telling the truth about her mother working in an upmarket department store. Both her parents were fond of the drink and they hadn't worked in years. They rarely bothered with the housework either. Bridget couldn't remember one time during her childhood when her mother had cleaned the house. Usually one of the neighbours did it as a favour to the children. And the real reason Bridget didn't get on with her parents was because she didn't ever drink alcohol and they felt she was looking down on them.
Bridget's three sisters had left Ireland to work in London a few years ago and didn't intend returning to the Emerald Isle. It was sad to see the family so scattered but then lots of Irish families had to bear the same cross for many different reasons. Bridget thought of her sisters now and missed them so much that she felt a stab of pain in her heart. If only they could be children together again. They would understand how important it was to savour every day they were together and not spend whole weeks fighting over borrowed clothes and broken lipsticks. She decided to send them each a nice Christmas card and sign it ‘Lots of love from your big sister Bridget’.
She took a deep breath and tried to think of happier things. Like the tavern on Maple Street. Lily's home was absolutely gorgeous. Bridget was very impressed by Lily's perfect decor. She'd never have had the good taste to decorate a home of her own like this. Every nook and cranny had something artistic in it. There was a pottery angel halfway up the stairs, an antique candlestick beside the telephone and a tasselled lamp with a heavy bronze base beside the armchair. And there were little fabric sachets of dried lavender hanging on every doorknob. Even the bathroom had five tiny hearts made of twigs in a row on the window sill, and a chunky block of olive-scented soap sitting on a frosted-glass dish. There was a pile of bright white hand towels in a wicker basket, and a modern canvas hamper for the laundry. Bridget had to remind herself not to dump her own washing into it although she would have loved to. And as a final note of luxury, there was a big glass bottle of scent by Chanel sitting on a tiny shelf above the roll-top bath. Bridget sprayed some on her wrists every time she went to the bathroom. It was like living in a five-star hotel. Someday, she hoped, she'd have a lovely home like this. Maybe she'd meet a rich man in the tavern and he'd ask her to marry him and they'd live in a mansion in the best part of town. She'd remember these lovely things and try to recreate the same sense of faded grandeur in her own place.
In the meantime, things were looking up. Bridget had four fat pillows to lie on and a warm red woollen blanket on top of the duvet. She had a silver-coloured TV set which she'd wheeled over to the end of the bed, and a great slithering pile of Lily's glossy magazines to pass the time. There was a well-stocked fridge in the rustic kitchen and she wouldn't even have to cook her own meals. Bridget had a huge appetite, which she kept satisfied with several snacks a day. And Lily Beaumont had said she wouldn't miss an occasional chicken leg or a nice thick slice of Cheddar. Thinking about the cheese made Bridget peckish now so she listened out for any signs of life and, hearing none, put on her robe and tiptoed to the kitchen. As quietly as she could, she prepared a stack of sandwiches as thick as doorsteps and a pot of tea to go with them. She used up all the remaining bread but she was sure Lily wouldn't mind. There was bound to be an early morning delivery from the bakery.
She had a rummage in the kitchen cupboards and found a Madeira cake so she had a generous slice of that as well. Then she carried her feast back to her room on a small tin tray and tucked herself up under the blankets. What sheer delight it was to munch her way through a small mountain of butter-laden carbohydrates and flick through the stylish magazines, dreaming of the day when she would be rich. When that day came, she'd have red toile wallpaper in the bedroom. She'd have a sunken bath, and chrome radiators in the bathroom. And a massive glass coffee table in the lounge with huge chocolate-scented candles on it that cost twenty pounds each and had three wicks.
She finished the last of the crumbs, slipped the plate under the bed and switched off the bedside lamp. It was just after four and Maple Street was as silent as the grave.
And that's when the phone began to ring in the hall, the shrill tone making Bridget jump and knock Lily's best china teapot off the rickety bedside table. The spout broke clean away as it crashed against the wall and the stewed contents splattered far and wide across the immaculate lilac carpet. Bridget swore and reached for the light switch. She swore again when she saw nearly half a pint of dark brown tea soaking into the soft pile. At first she ignored the ringing and tried to dab off most of the tea stains with one of Lily's best towels. She hoped whoever it was would just hang up but the sound persisted. After a couple of minutes she heard Lily come out of her room on the top floor and yawn.
‘Who on earth can be ringing at this hour of the night? I hope to God nobody's died, Jack. I'm too scared to answer it.’
And then came the sound of Jack saying, ‘It'll be a wrong number, I'll get it. You go back to bed.’ Then Lily, reminding him to wear his robe, now that they had a lodger.
Bridget held her breath as Jack came creaking down the stairs from the attic. She had a tiny hunch it might be Gerry Madden but she hadn't told him where she was living. Bridget dived under the red blanket when there was a gentle knock on her door.
‘Come in,’ she squeaked. But the door remained firmly closed.
‘It's for you, Bridget,’ said Jack. ‘Someone called Dr Gerry Madden, claiming to be your boyfriend.’
‘I'm very sorry, Mr Beaumont. He's my ex-boyfriend. I can't think how he got this number. Please tell him I don't want to talk to him,’ replied Bridget in a shaky voice.
‘I don't really want to get involved, if you don't mind,’ said Jack, his head leaning on the door with tiredness. Lily had said she wanted to attract lots of males to the tavern. Her wish was surely starting to come true tonight.
‘Okay. I'
m on my way,’ said Bridget. ‘Hang on!’ She tugged on her threadbare robe and her old holiday espadrilles and hurried across the room, absolutely fuming with her ex-lover. Bridget gingerly stepped into the hall and caught sight of Jack's muscular calves disappearing back up the stairs towards his own bedroom. The hand-piece of the telephone lay waiting on the half-moon hall table. She picked it up with her heart banging.
‘Do you realize what time it is, Gerry Madden? How did you know I was living here?’ she hissed.
‘They told me at the job centre.’ He sounded very calm. Too calm, actually.
‘I'll sue those hatchet-faced old goats,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘They had no right to give out confidential information to a stranger. You're not even a relative.’
‘I'm a doctor, Bridget. People trust me.’
‘More fool them.’ She'd thought Gerry wouldn't find her for months. He never went to Beaumont's. He said it was far too quiet. It was an old man's pub, according to Gerry.
‘Bridget, stop playing games with me and just come home. You know you won't last a week without me. Or my wallet.’
‘You cheeky brute. Have you forgotten why I left you in the first place? You're the limit, Gerry Madden. You roared at me in the middle of a party. In front of all the other guests.’
‘I did not roar at you, Bridget. You hit me on the arm with a solid-pine CD rack, for pity's sake. I only gave a playful shout in self-defence.’
‘Liar.’
‘Drama queen. My arm is still bruised. It's all purple and green blotches.’
‘I'm hanging up, Gerry. You cheated on me and we're finished. Most men have the decency to wait until after they're married before they start looking at other women.’
‘Bridget, it was nothing. It was an affectionate kiss on the cheek. She was an old flame.’
‘You were both a disgrace.’
‘We were both hammered, Bridget. I was being friendly, that's all. You were the one who went berserk and ruined a perfectly good party. Look, will you come home now? You've made your point.’
‘No way.’ Bridget was far too comfortable in Beaumont's Tavern and who knew what might happen when she met the male customers. She would get to know the most promising ones and then take her pick. That was why Bridget was a barmaid, after all. It was the best way in the world to meet men.
‘We should talk about this jealousy problem of yours, Bridget. Do you want me to come over there and collect you?’ Gerry's voice was slightly slurred. Bridget knew he had been drinking, and also that he thought nothing of driving his very powerful car while under the influence of alcohol. She began to panic that Jack and Lily would label her a troublemaker and throw her out.
‘Don't you dare make a show of me at my place of work. Do you hear me? I'll call the police, so I will. I'll have you arrested for drink-driving and harassment.’
‘I'm on my way, darling. Pack your bags.’ He hung up.
‘Gerry? Gerry, are you there? Answer me. Good grief.’ She craned her neck to see up the narrow stairs. The door to Lily and Jack's room was closed again and there was no sign of a light on. Bridget quickly dialled Gerry's number. After a minute, he picked up.
‘Now, Gerry, listen to me. You're drunk out of your head. I want you to go to bed and sleep it off. We're finished and there's nothing more to be said. I can't trust you and that's the end of it. Can't you be a decent man and leave me alone?’
‘Oh, Bridget. My lovely wee Bridget. With all those mad ringlets in her hair. I love you so much. Don't break my heart. I need you to make sense of this dreary world.’
‘Gerry. Shut up. You're only raving when you get like this.’
‘I'm going to sing you a song, Bridget. It's one of your favourite love songs of all time. How does it start again? Wait. I'm trying to remember the words.’
‘Gerry, there is nothing on earth you could do that would make me come back. I'm moving on and I suggest you do the same.’
‘There's a star in the sky and there's no reason why,’ he sang tunelessly and fell heavily off the sofa onto the laminate floor. ‘Ouch! My sore bloody arm! There's a star in the sky.’
‘Gerry, that's not even a real song. You're making it up as you go along.’
‘I know, and it gets better, I promise.’
Four hours later, Bridget was still on the phone, begging Gerry not to throw himself off a cliff. In fact, she only said goodbye when she heard an alarm clock ringing in Lily and Jack's room. She fled across the hall and closed the door behind her with only seconds to spare before they came down for breakfast.
Lily was dismayed that Tuesday morning, when she discovered that Bridget had used the last of the milk the night before. Lily couldn't think clearly without her morning cuppa. She poured some black tea into a mug and sipped it cautiously. It tasted awfully bitter.
‘It's only a cup of tea, remember that,’ she told herself, and then she opened the bread bin and found it was empty too. ‘Someone's had a midnight feast, Jack,’ she said with a sigh as he joined her in the kitchen. ‘I'm sure there was half a loaf here last night.’
‘Oh dear,’ he said, and then opened a packet of oat and raisin biscuits. ‘Will these do, instead?’ They would simply have to remember to buy more groceries over the coming weeks, they decided. It wasn't Bridget's fault that she'd been hungry in the middle of the night. Still, the girl must have a bigger appetite than an elephant. There was a large block of cheese missing from the fridge and the cake was almost gone too. Lily decided not to ask Bridget about Gerry's late-night phone call even though she was dying to know if they were getting back together.
Gerry rang again on Wednesday morning and on Thursday, Friday and Saturday. By then Lily had to bite her lip to stop herself from screaming. What the hell does he want, she was desperate to know. What on earth do they talk about? Why does he always call at four? Is he a night-shift worker or just plain mad? But there wasn't really enough time to discuss matters of the heart. Daisy, Trudy and Marie were working hard and the tavern was much busier than before. Word was beginning to spread among the drinkers of Belfast that strange things were happening in Beaumont's. They had hired new staff and there was much better food. And it was interesting to read in the local papers about the ongoing arguments between Vincent Halloran and the heritage committee. It was far more interesting than the sectarian politics that had them all nearly deranged with boredom.
Bridget was rather bossy towards the part-timers, Lily noticed. She seemed to think that keeping them on their toes was part of the job description. It was quite amusing to see her squaring up to the towering Daisy behind the bar, and telling Marie her hair was too long, and chasing Trudy round the room with half a lemon until she begged for mercy. Jack was unhappy with the way things were going but he couldn't deny that profits were definitely up in a big way. And so they settled down into a kind of routine. Lily placed some advertisements in the local papers, informing the citizens of Belfast that she was fighting the demolition of Maple Street. Lots of people called in to wish her well and support the cause. They were always glad to hear a David and Goliath story.
‘Would you mind cleaning up a little in the bar?’ Lily asked Bridget, when her bossy Christmas angel came traipsing into the kitchen on Saturday morning. ‘Just a quick mop and polish? Jack and I do it ourselves usually and I wouldn't ask you when you've just started but I'm expecting half a dozen ladies here at ten o'clock for a craft lesson and we're still getting things ready.’
‘Have a heart, Mrs Beaumont. I've been talking to Gerry since four.’
‘What? Were you chatting to him again? Were you really on the phone all night?’
‘Gerry was suicidal this time. He's missing me a lot and I haven't the heart to hang up on him.’ Gerry was suicidal every night but Lily Beaumont didn't have to know that. Of course Bridget didn't like other people to know her business but anything was better than cleaning the pub.
‘Is he okay now?’ Lily couldn't help herself from asking.
‘That's terrible, Bridget. The poor man must be in an awful state. Maybe he should see someone? Can you not persuade him to get help? A psychiatrist, even?’
‘Gerry is a psychiatrist.’
‘Is he really?’ Lily was astounded. You often heard that people in the medical profession didn't look after their own health very well, but she'd never believed it until now. ‘Well, in that case, he probably knows he should have some therapy. Surely someone in his practice must have noticed, if he's in such a bad way?’
‘He's had therapy. Years and years of it and it did no good. It's a commitment thing. He falls in love all the time but he gets terrified of making a commitment. So he sabotages the relationship by having an affair. And then he goes on the drink to avoid having to deal with the fallout. You see, it all began when he was seventeen.’ Bridget took a deep breath to continue, but Lily interrupted her.
‘Look, Bridget, this is fascinating stuff but I really need a hand with the cleaning. Time is getting away from us.’ Any talk of alcoholism always made Lily nervous. Especially nowadays when she was trying to sell more alcohol than ever. She tried to convince herself it was not her responsibility to control the intake of her customers but still it was a worry to her. She didn't want to take money away from the mouths of hungry children. Or from people with mental health problems either. Although she had never met Gerry Madden, Lily found herself feeling very sorry for him. Imagine having the intelligence to qualify as a psychiatrist and then having the bad luck to become an alcoholic.