by Sharon Owens
‘That's fine. I'll be here all day, said Lily and she hung up and smiled at her reflection in the hall mirror. She was soon sliding another fruitcake into her trusty stove. ‘I hope we survive this Christmas without falling apart,’ she said as she closed the oven door. ‘And that includes this poor stove!’
9. Gerry Has a Breakdown
Life in the tavern was pretty hectic that week with extra deliveries arriving day and night from the brewery, and boxes of cooking ingredients stacked around the flat upstairs. Lily arranged to have fresh meat for the stews delivered each morning from the butcher's because there wasn't enough room in the fridge for it. Marie was a great help to Lily and she said she enjoyed cooking and baking far more than serving drinks. She was really too shy to talk to the men, she admitted, but that was okay because her puff pastry was second to none. Trudy was terrific at pulling pints but she still couldn't face making cocktails. Daisy was great at chatting to the customers; in fact she sometimes had to be reminded to keep working. And, of course, Bridget was sulking over the loss of her privacy, with many heaving sighs and comments on the lack of storage in the bedroom. Lily wondered what Bridget needed so much privacy for but she hadn't the energy to ask.
Gerry Madden was phoning from New York every night and Lily didn't know it but most of the time Bridget was calling him back. But she timed the calls and didn't stay on for more than fifteen minutes. Her ex-boyfriend was much more relaxed now than he used to be, she thought. He didn't always interrupt her to tell her she was wrong about things. Gerry thought the women in New York were far too outspoken and direct, and he longed for home and the more submissive females of the Emerald Isle. There was a very set way of conducting courtship in New York and he didn't like it. There were rules you had to follow and a definite etiquette to be observed. He much preferred his way of meeting women in Ireland: stoically avoiding any emotional conversation for months on end before eventually getting so drunk he lost all his inhibitions and fell into bed with the first pretty girl who would have him.
He told Bridget he would be home on 13 December and that he would be straight round to take her home to his apartment and make love to her all night. He hadn't looked at any other women in the Big Apple, he said.
‘Promise, honey. Not a single one.’
Bridget didn't believe him for a second and she wasn't sure she wanted Gerry's romantic attentions back anyway. She was very comfortable in Beaumont's and she loved her new bed and her purple silk curtains with the beaded tiebacks, and the little fridge in the kitchen that was groaning with Swiss cheese and Florida coleslaw and Italian olives and wafer-thin turkey slices. All she really wanted was to talk to Gerry and imagine that the angel in the painting was carrying two wedding rings to her. And pretend that Gerry was a kind and decent man who would always look after her, the way her tormented parents never had. She thought she might go back to him on the condition they get formally engaged and set the date for their wedding. But if she was honest with herself, the reality of life with Gerry could be quite bleak. He wore her out for days at a time with his declarations of love, and then she would tease him about marriage, and then he would flirt with other women and go on the drink.
Bridget used to think she liked a bit of melodrama as much as the next woman but when she looked at Lily and Jack and saw how calm and deep their love was, she felt extremely confused. Maybe she had some commitment-issues herself, always choosing to fall for the wrong man? Wasn't that what all women who were living with scoundrels were doing? Weren't they making a choice? It was self-destructive behaviour. The magazines said that some women were simply more used to dysfunctional relationships because they had been brought up in one. Was that what had happened to her, Bridget wondered.
It was ten minutes to four on Friday morning and Bridget was wide awake. She looked across the room at Trudy's bed but Trudy was fast asleep. They'd moved their beds to opposite ends of the room and put the sofa in the middle as a kind of divider. Bridget had the telly on her side but Trudy didn't care. Trudy was a bookworm. She was always raving about some book or other. This week it was Angela's Ashes by Frank McCourt. Of course, Trudy had read it lots of times before, but she said she always liked to read that book at Christmas because it made her so grateful to be alive. The thought of the poor children gathering lumps of dropped coal on the Dock Road on Christmas Day made her appreciate her own life a lot more. She told Bridget how the family had waited and waited for God and his angels to deliver them from the slums of Limerick but all God did was give fatal pneumonia to half the children. The tragic memoir made Trudy feel grateful she didn't have to go out looking for dropped coal, even if her own parents rarely had the time to phone from Birmingham and ask how she was getting on with her geography degree.
Bridget knew all about drunken fathers and empty larders already so she had no time for Angela's Ashes. The drink made men fools and women lonely. She knew that from bitter experience. That was why Bridget's mother eventually gave up moaning by the fire and joined her husband in the pub. She was tired of being alone so she said goodbye to her dreams of domestic bliss and became an alcoholic instead. With a rare flash of insight Bridget saw her own future mapped out before her. She'd marry Gerry when he got tired of running to his therapist. They'd have a couple of children together and furnish a nice house in South Belfast. And then he'd get bored with domesticity and start playing golf and drinking at the golf club, and she'd be left sitting at the fire like her mother before her. Well, she wasn't having that. She'd thought in the past that as long as she married a man with money she'd be secure. Even if she were unhappy a lot of the time she wouldn't be hungry and cold. But these last few days in Beaumont's had given Bridget a glimpse of married life the way it ought to be lived and she wasn't sure she was prepared to wed for money any more. It was time to say goodbye to Gerry and look for another (more emotionally stable) man. And after Christmas she'd look for a new career as well. She was an excellent barmaid but she was tired of being around alcohol all the time. She might even go back to college and pass some exams but whatever happened she knew her days as a barmaid were numbered.
‘I declare to God above, if he's listening, that I will never be Gerry Madden's girlfriend ever again. As long as I live, I won't fall for his smooth talking. And that's final,’ she said. ‘Otherwise I'll be no better than my own poor mother.’ As if on cue, the phone began to ring in the hall. Trudy woke immediately and sat straight up in her bed.
‘Not again,’ she moaned. ‘Will you pull the cord out of the wall, for heaven's sake? That man is pure crazy. Why does he never call you at a normal time?’
‘Because he's not right in the head, like you so rightly pointed out.’ Bridget sighed. ‘And I can't answer the phone because I just made a sacred vow to get over him.’
‘Mr and Mrs Beaumont will be awake in a minute. Oh, Bridget.’
‘You go, Trudy, and tell him I'm out with a new man or something. I know! Tell him I've emigrated but you don't know where to.’
‘Bridget, I don't want to get drawn into this.’
‘Well, then, let the damn thing ring all night. He's never going to propose to me so I don't care. Tell him to play his head-games with some other female.’ And she lay down again and pulled the red throw over her head. Trudy put her fingers in her ears and tried to block out the ringing by humming a rock tune. But it was no use. The sound was making her nerves jangle. She couldn't ignore it for another second. She leapt off her bed and raced to the telephone. She snatched it up and yelled down the line.
‘What do you want?’
‘Hello?’ said Gerry. ‘Bridget? Is that you? What kept you?’
‘This is Trudy Valentine. Bridget's new roommate,’ she spluttered. He didn't seem to have registered the rage in her voice yet.
‘Oh, right. Will you put Bridget on the line, Trudy? I've come home early from the United States. Thanks, love.’
‘Love? Love? You listen to me,’ Trudy cried. ‘Bridget is tired of this carry-on a
nd so are the Beaumonts and so am I. Just who do you think you are? It's the middle of the night! You're supposed to be a professional person, aren't you? Helping your patients and that sort of thing? Not keeping us mere mortals from our beds. Have you any idea what sleep-deprivation can do to people?’ Trudy paused for two seconds to gather her thoughts.
‘Might I suggest you take some deep breaths at this point?’ Gerry soothed. ‘You sound very agitated.’
‘I'd like to agitate you, you selfish moron. We're hardworking people here, you know. We're rushed off our feet, so we are, and you're nothing but a big spoilt baby. And Bridget says your mattress is full of fleas and you're never going to marry her and you're too materialistic and always drooling over stupid cars and she doesn't want to be your girlfriend any more. Have you got that? Why don't you do us all a favour and go teetotal? You're an absolute disgrace to the National Health Service. You're round the twist. And so is your body clock!’ And she slammed down the phone so hard she broke the receiver in two. Trudy picked up the two pieces and fitted them back together uselessly. ‘Oh dear. I didn't mean to do that,’ she told Lily, who had just come down the stairs in her dressing gown.
‘It's okay. I don't care,’ said Lily. The genuine Art Deco telephone had cost her one hundred and twenty-five pounds in an antique shop on Royal Avenue but at that moment she would have given five years of her life for one unbroken night's sleep. ‘These things happen. I was just about to put the telephone through the window and myself after it. These calls have been driving me and Jack out of our minds.’ She gathered up the cord, wrapped it round the broken telephone and dropped the whole thing into the wastepaper basket. ‘Good riddance. Come on,’ she said to Trudy. ‘Let's go and have some hot milk and toast.’ She put her arm round Trudy's shoulders and they went into the kitchen together.
Bridget lay astonished in her bed. Who'd have thought that poor old Trudy would have so much spirit in her? Trudy Valentine, who was scared stiff of harmless buttons, was like a cornered lioness when she didn't get her eight hours! Ho, ho! Then the smell of hot buttery toast made Bridget's mouth water and she reached for her tatty robe and made her way tentatively to the kitchen. Jack was awake too by this stage and the four of them sat beside the warmth of the stove, passing butter, jam and marmalade around the little table. They made an agreement to disconnect the telephone (a new one) every night from now on, and if some relative were taken ill they would just have to wait until the morning to be told the grim details. Twenty minutes later, as they were setting their cups and plates into the sink, there was an almighty smash at the front of the building. They all froze.
‘That sounded like breaking glass to me,’ whispered Jack. ‘Could it be vandals? Where's the baseball bat, Lily? Is it still in the hall cupboard?’ There was a sudden roar outside. A man's voice was howling in pain. It ripped the silence apart like a chainsaw. They all jumped several inches off their seats. Trudy took her own pulse and Bridget froze with shock.
‘That sounded very close,’ whispered Lily. ‘What the heck is going on?’ There was another smash. ‘I think it's happening right outside. We've never had an attack before, Jack.’
‘My bedroom,’ cried Bridget, and she ran across the hall with her mug of tea clasped to her chest. Lying on her bed were two half-bricks and several large and jagged shards of broken glass. ‘Oh, no! My lovely bed.’ As she was standing there, numb with outrage, another piece of masonry came through the window and what was left of the pane dropped to the sill and shattered. Bridget peered out of the frame, trying to spot the culprit in the alley below. The others hovered by the door.
‘Come away from there, for God's sake, Bridget, before you get brained,’ cried Trudy.
‘Who'd be throwing bricks at this time of the night?’ wondered Lily. ‘Was there a parade today?’
‘Call the police, Lily,’ said Jack. ‘I'm going to sort this out.’
‘You are not!’ his wife hissed. ‘There could be a whole gang of them.’
‘Who would do a thing like this? Unprovoked too. We're a neutral pub.’ Jack was bewildered. ‘We have no flags up. Have you barred anyone recently?’
‘No,’ wept Lily. ‘I have no idea who it could be.’
‘Well, I'm not paying thugs to stay away from here,’ Jack vowed.
‘Wait! I think I know who it is. At least, I'm pretty sure. It must be Gerry Madden,’ Trudy said suddenly. ‘He's come home early from New York. I forgot to tell you.’
‘I might have known,’ wailed Bridget. ‘And you ate the face off him. He's not used to being spoken to like that.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Trudy. ‘I didn't mean for this to happen. I thought I'd scared him off for good. You said you never wanted to see him again. But it seems I've pushed him too far.’ Another stone came flying into the room just as Bridget moved out of harm's way. They could hear a man's voice shouting from outside.
‘Bridget! Bridget, come out! We can't end it like this. I came home from America to be with you. They've suspended me from the hospital and it's all your fault.’
‘Ah, for pity,’ Bridget moaned, rubbing her tired eyes. ‘How is it my fault, you loser?’ she shouted down to the alley.
‘You broke my heart. I was inconsolable. I couldn't concentrate on the medical conference.’
‘Liar! Tell the truth, Gerry. You were hitting on other women. Weren't you?’
‘I tried to chat to a few girls because I was lonely. It was just for the conversation, just for the company.’ He was almost in tears.
‘I don't believe this.’ Bridget made a face at Lily and Jack to show them she was sorry for Gerry's behaviour. Trudy was shaking her head with disapproval, which made Bridget even angrier than the broken window made her. ‘You were drunk, I suppose?’ she called to the street below.
‘A few harmless drinks, I had. Some gorilla got the wrong end of the stick and beat me up. Said I was eyeing up his girl.’ Gerry was speaking normally now.
‘Serves you right.’
‘He was built like a Panzer tank, for God's sake. He was like a barn on legs. Jesus, I don't know what the Americans feed their children on when they're growing up. He nearly killed me, Bridget. He stood on my neck. But the hospital suspended me because of it. I was the one with the black eyes.’
‘Go away, Gerry. I'm not interested any more. You need serious help. Why don't you get yourself some goddamn help?’
‘I have nothing now, Bridget. Nothing but you.’ Yet another stone came sailing through the empty frame and struck the television screen but that was already broken so nobody bothered saying anything.
‘Leave me alone,’ Bridget said. ‘I'm doing fine on my own.’
‘You weren't saying that, all those times you rang me,’ he shouted back. ‘You've rung me nearly every night since you left me.’
‘I thought you said Gerry called you?’ Lily accused. ‘Do you mean to say Jack and myself are helping to fund this insanity? Bridget, answer me,’ but Bridget only dropped her gaze to the lilac carpet and her lips closed in so tight they disappeared.
‘Right,’ said Jack. ‘This nonsense has gone on for long enough.’ He rolled up the sleeves of his dressing gown, threw on two odd shoes and went down the stairs like a whirlwind.
‘Jack, don't hit him,’ gasped Lily as she followed him through the bar. ‘Not unless you're a lot bigger than he is.’
‘Give him the thumping of his life,’ said Bridget, tiptoeing across the broken glass to assess the damage to her clothes. The two girls went to the edge of the window to look out on Maple Street but all they could see were shadows and shapes in the darkness. After a minute they could hear scuffles and a bin falling over.
‘I hope Jack flattens him,’ said Bridget. ‘This coat is ruined. Look at the size of that hole. I hate Gerry Madden. Take that!’ She threw her mug of tea out of the window and there was a cry of pain below.
‘You're loving this,’ accused Trudy. ‘Mr Beaumont could get arrested for assault. You're nothing but a t
roublemaker, Bridget O'Malley.’
‘I am not. You don't know what you're talking about. I never asked Gerry to come here and cause a scene. Sure, I left him weeks ago.’
‘That was just an attention stunt. You're never off the phone to him. You're a tease.’
‘Leave me alone. Look at the state of my lovely bed.’ Bridget began to sob. ‘He does love me, in his own way. He's just very emotionally damaged.’
‘Oh, please. He's a selfish toad and you're letting him get away with it.’
‘You ought to be on my side. Not his.’
‘Bridget, this isn't about taking sides. A relationship should be about two people who care about each other and respect each other no matter what anyone else thinks. It's not about convincing others that your love is real or not real. Why do you have to drag us into your fiasco of a love life?’
‘Well, what about you? Miss Trudy-string-of-allergies Valentine? Collapsing every five minutes with a lot of made-up phobias. There's nothing at all wrong with you. You're the one who's craving the attention. And you have the nerve to accuse me of the same thing.’
‘You take that back. It's bad enough being a phobic without being condemned for it by the likes of you. Every day is a struggle for me. It's exhausting.’
‘I will not take it back. Nothing happened over the lemon juice. You're faking the whole scene. No wonder you were available for work, that day. What kind of a barmaid can't touch lemons? Good grief! Why don't you get over yourself?’
‘Me? What about you! At least I wasn't sacked from my last job for making personal calls to psychics. And then blaming someone else into the bargain.’
‘I was not sacked.’
‘Oh, yes, you were. Don't deny it. I'm not an idiot, Bridget. You have no respect for other people or their belongings. Sure you have this place nearly destroyed.’
At that moment Lily came back inside.
‘Break it up, girls. I'm going to the police station,’ she said. ‘Jack's been arrested for hitting Gerry. The two of them have been taken away already.’