by Sharon Owens
‘I see,’ Trudy replied calmly. His face betrayed not a hint of unease. He was a good liar. Bridget had already told them all about Gerry's fantasy career with BMW.
‘And you? Where do you work?’ He wanted to know where he could find her again. His heart was pumping with adrenaline. He wondered if he might be going bonkers, after all. He was just getting over that miniature firebrand Bridget O'Malley, and the bruises from her attack with the CD stand had barely faded from his arm when he started obsessing about Trudy Valentine, and what she might look like. He wouldn't recognize the girl if he saw her in the street. And yet, because she had shouted so viciously at him down the phone, he had been shocked into giving up the drink. On a trial basis, at least. Five years of AA meetings hadn't been able to convince him he could live without the confidence and courage the drink had always given him. Of course, passing out in the cop shop had been fairly traumatic. Not to mention having his stomach pumped. He'd been beaten up by a New York bodybuilder, punched in the eye by Jack Beaumont, and he'd been suspended from the hospital. But it was Trudy Valentine, of all people, who had managed to reach his soul. When Trudy bawled him out he'd felt human for the first time. He'd felt connected to the real world, not like he was just watching it on TV. Was it merely a coincidence? Or was there some spiritual connection between the two of them?
And as if that wasn't crazy enough, he now had feelings for this lovely girl with her dark brown eyes, and her long black hair. Weird pencilled-on eyebrows, but he supposed the real ones would grow back eventually. Had he developed some rare complex, he asked himself. Some addiction to falling in love with any beautiful female he encountered? Maybe he should see a psychiatrist?
‘I work in a meat factory in Dungannon,’ Trudy said in a steady voice. ‘I make steak and kidney pies all day long, with my little white hat on. It's a dream job.’
He smiled at her, unable to work out if she was joking or not. If she was joking, and he laughed, that would be a good icebreaker. But if she wasn't joking, he might offend her. So he smiled, in what he hoped was an ambiguous way. He fancied her like mad, but then he thought of Trudy Valentine and how she had possibly saved him from ruin. He thought he would go to the tavern and see Trudy for himself, and if that didn't work out, he would go to Dungannon and look for this mysterious girl with her twinkling dark eyes. And her little white hat.
‘I hope you don't mind me asking,’ he said then, ‘but could you give me some advice? From the feminine perspective?’
‘I will, if I can,’ she said. ‘Is it about catering?’ She was beginning to warm to Gerry. But she remembered how unstable he was supposed to be, and tried desperately to keep a polite distance.
‘No, it's not about food. You see, there's this girl I'd like to ask out on a date but there's a problem.’
‘What is it?’
‘Um, I used to date a friend of hers, you see. Bit of a roller-coaster relationship by any standards, but that's another story. God knows what my ex has told this new girl about me. Anyway, I've been phoning the place where my ex lives, on the odd night, rather late, and this girl – the one I like now – got a bit peeved off with me. If you follow?’
‘Maybe a simple apology to both of them would be enough?’ suggested Trudy. Good grief, she thought. How many women is this guy involved with? For he couldn't be talking about her? He couldn't be saying he wanted to go on a date with her? Could he? He didn't even know what she looked like. Well, he did now. But he didn't know that he was presently talking to Trudy Valentine. Oh, brother! What a tangled web…
‘Maybe.’ Gerry sighed. ‘But in my experience, these things are never as straightforward as that.’ He bit his lip and looked at his watch. Surely, a nurse would call one of them in at any moment? He couldn't wait to get this ridiculous session over with so that he could go and get plastered in a quiet pub somewhere. With a start, he realized that he couldn't get wasted any more. If he didn't get his act together immediately, they'd have no choice but to sack him. And if he lost his job, he'd lose his apartment and his car and his lifestyle. In fact, he'd lose his entire identity. He'd have nothing to do all day except drink and feel sorry for himself, and go on drinking to fill the empty hours. And he didn't want to become a chronic alcoholic. Being a functioning alcoholic was bad enough. He wanted to get better again. He was just going to have to cooperate with the nurse, and talk to her about his anxiety symptoms.
That unfamiliar feeling of reality hit him again. He sat up straight in the chair. He was Gerry Madden. He was an alcoholic. And he'd drifted into a pattern of heavy drinking because he had the personality of a charming rogue, but was trapped in the body of a shy man. Good God! It was so simple, really. The drink gave him the confidence to be the life and soul of every party. Good old Gerry, always game for a laugh. His student days were a haze of hilarious parties and boozy foreign holidays. Embarrassing photos of him on a bus-shelter roof wearing a traffic cone on his head, on a hotel balcony in Paris minus his trousers, locked in a luggage-cage at Heathrow airport. And by the time he got his degree, he was physically addicted. By then, it was easier to go on playing the part of the eternal bachelor than face the hard slog that drying out would have been. That was why he had stayed single all these years: a wife would have been too hard to deceive. Of course, Bridget hadn't minded the way he'd carried on. But that was because her parents were hopeless cases altogether and, compared to them, Gerry was a good catch. It had to stop. Toby told him he would damage his organs if he kept going. Well, Gerry knew that already.
But the way back to sobriety was long and difficult. Every time he was annoyed or upset or anxious, he'd have to deal with life the hard way. Sober. Gerry pictured himself lying on the bench in the next room. Tensing and relaxing his toes, legs, arms, body and face. Taking deep breaths and listening to restful music on a cheap cassette player. And not just today either. He had to attend six times at least to even be considered for reinstatement at the hospital.
Trudy watched him as he stared out of the window. He really was very attractive. The bruises on his face were almost gone now, faded to a delicate lilac. Trudy thought he looked like a cowboy in a Western film, with his deep-set eyes and his tanned skin.
‘How did you get the bruises on your face?’ she asked suddenly. He seemed shocked. A pink blush of embarrassment crept across his neck. He thought that made three hot flushes so far that day. Maybe it was the withdrawal symptoms kicking in early?
‘Well, I made a bit of a show of myself one night, in an Irish bar in New York. I was only paying a young lady a compliment but her boyfriend took it the wrong way. I meant no harm. There was drink taken, needless to say. But I'm off the drink now.’ Why had he told her that? He'd as good as admitted he was a wino. Well, that was the end of any hopes of getting to know this gorgeous woman. But he was amazed when she turned out to be very supportive.
‘Well done,’ she said gently. ‘More power to you. It can't be easy.’
‘That's why I'm here, you know?’ he found himself saying. ‘To learn how to relax without the jar.’
‘Well, good luck. I'm sure you'll succeed.’
‘Maybe. I want to succeed… I'm fed up making daft mistakes.’
‘And I'm fed up worrying about being allergic to things all the time.’ Trudy smiled. There! She had shared something embarrassing with him too. Now he needn't be sorry he had revealed a weakness in his character to her.
‘Are you seeing anyone?’ Gerry asked after a minute, encouraged by her friendliness.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Trudy shifted uncomfortably on the hard plastic seat. Well, Gerry Madden was some boy! Was he actually hitting on her, in the waiting room of the Department of Mental Health? That would be something interesting to tell their grandchildren. Stop it, she cried internally.
‘I mean, have you got a boyfriend?’ he added. ‘Just curious.’
‘Curiosity killed the cat,’ Trudy said quickly. She wasn't going to start dating Gerry, even if he was lovely-looking. She di
dn't want him smashing any more windows at Beaumont's Tavern.
‘Sorry if I spoke out of turn,’ he said. ‘I was only asking.’ He looked genuinely sorry. ‘It's just I was wondering if your partner was supportive of your coming here, or if you felt it was better to go through counselling on your own?’
‘Well, okay. I'm currently single, as it happens. I'm far too busy for a boyfriend.’ Christ, where was that nurse? Trudy was about ten seconds away from doing a runner.
‘A lot of girls say that to me nowadays,’ Gerry mused. ‘I've had no luck with the fairer sex, these last few years.’
‘You could have married Bridget,’ Trudy wanted to say. But then she didn't blame him for not popping the question. Poor old Bridget could be very annoying and selfish sometimes. In spite of herself, Trudy wanted to know more about Gerry. Surely, she couldn't be seriously attracted to him herself?
‘Tell me about this girl you were planning to ask out. The one you annoyed by calling late in the evening? What's so special about her?’ she asked.
‘She's honest,’ he replied at once.
‘Lots of people are honest.’
‘She's brutally honest. I admire that in a woman.’
Oh dear, thought Trudy. That's me blown out.
‘I see,’ she said lamely.
‘Yes. And she's gorgeous.’ Well, he hadn't a clue, but what the heck?
‘What does she look like?’ Trudy asked after a brief pause.
Gerry took a deep breath. But before he had a chance to reply, a door opened at the other end of the room and a nurse came out. Amen! Saved from having to tell yet another lie!
‘Trudy Valentine?’ the nurse said with a big smile. ‘I'm ready for you now.’
‘Oh, great,’ croaked Trudy, and she stood up so fast a loop of her scarf got caught on the arm of the chair, and she pulled it out from the wall. Gerry looked at Trudy as if he'd been slapped across the face, but she only smiled apologetically at him and turned away. She followed the nurse into the first counselling suite, and Gerry was ushered into the second one by a new nurse he hadn't seen before. That was a relief anyway.
‘So,’ the nurse said, when the door had closed behind them, ‘I'm Ann. Tell me a little bit about yourself, Gerry.’
Gerry began a sanitized version of his adult life, while trying to recall what he had said to Trudy in the waiting room. How many lies had he told her? And why had she told him she was called Marie Smith and that she worked in a meat factory? Or was she not the same Trudy Valentine he had spoken to on the phone? Maybe she was the same Trudy Valentine but she had given him the wrong name today because she was just embarrassed to be here? And did she really work in Dungannon? Or was that a lie too? He was in such a confused state he had to go through the relaxation tape three times before he could manage to unfurl his toes or relax his facial muscles at all.
When he came out of the suite an hour later, Trudy had already left. He looked for her in the hospital canteen and in the gift shop and at the taxi stand, but there was no sign of her. He drove straight to Beaumont's Tavern and parked at the end of the alley on double-yellow lines. He debated with himself for twenty minutes whether he should go in or not. He might be tempted to buy a drink if he did go in. And Bridget might shout at him. And there was the small matter of his fight with Jack Beaumont. But, then, he was dying to see Trudy Valentine again. At least, he should check if the girl he'd met in the hospital was the one who worked here. What would be the worst thing that could happen, he wondered. Jack might hit him? He could handle that. Bridget might hit him. He could handle that too. Unless she hit him with something really hard, like maybe a barstool. On the positive side, Trudy Valentine (hopefully, the one he'd met today) might agree to a date. She had been very sympathetic. Then again, Bridget might make life hard for Trudy, if they began seeing each other. Bridget was not likely to forget Gerry's reluctance to marry her. He rang Toby for advice.
‘Toby, mate. I'm outside a pub and this girl I like works there, I think. Maybe she's behind the bar at this very moment. Should I go in? What do you reckon?’
‘Are you not over Bridget O'Malley? You told me you were over her.’
‘Yes, I'm over Bridget. I was with her only because she was comfortable around alcoholism. I like a girl called Trudy Valentine now. But I'm worried she won't give me a chance because I lied to her about my job. Mind you, she lied to me about her job. At least, I think she did. It's complicated.’
‘Where did you meet this Trudy?’
‘Today, at the counselling. But I liked her before that. Ever since the night I smashed the window where they both work and got their boss arrested for assault. I broke the window because I thought I still loved Bridget, but then after I had my stomach pumped I realized it was Trudy I liked.’
‘Oh, my God.’ Toby moaned. He didn't know where to start.
‘I talked to Trudy on the phone that night, Toby, but I just met her today. It's too weird to explain it all now. We really connected, you know? She's beautiful, mate.’
‘Gerry, your life is unravelling. That tavern is bad news for you.’
‘It's okay. I dropped the charges against their boss, and I know Bridget is over me even if she doesn't, and I think Trudy likes me a little bit. Positive body language in the waiting room, I think.’
‘What about ethics?’
‘We're both patients. So I'm not breaking any code of conduct.’
‘Gerry! Are you not more concerned about being suspended?’
‘Hang on, I'm getting a parking ticket.’
‘Gerry! What am I going to do with you?’
‘It's okay. I know the warden. The guy was a patient of mine last year. Persistent wellington-boot fetish; he was quite a character. He's ripping up the ticket. He's gone. Cheers, pal.’
‘Look, Gerry. If I were you, I'd go straight home before anything else happens.’
‘You know me, Toby. I'm hopeless. I've no common sense. What should I do? Should I head in?’
‘I think a recovering alcoholic should stay away from bars. And even further away from barmaids. I think you should complete your counselling programme, de-stress completely, and get your old job back.’
‘It's okay for you, Toby. You've got a lovely wife and five healthy children. You've got an unblemished career. Trudy Valentine could be the love of my life, and she could be standing in there now, waiting for me.’
‘And I've got a seventy-two-year-old man waiting for me behind the screen. And he's naked from the waist down,’ Toby whispered.
‘Ah, Toby. I thought you were happily married?’
‘Very funny, Gerry.’
‘Sorry, mate. I'll call you tomorrow. Let you know what happens.’
‘Sure thing. Watch yourself, now.’
Gerry snapped his phone off, slipped it into his pocket and got out of the car. He stood looking down the alley for half an hour, but he was too nervous, and too sober, to go in. He decided to come back later in the evening when there would be fewer shoppers around to witness him getting another beating. He'd buy a load of relaxation tapes in that new organic café on Botanic Avenue, and he'd practise some meditation and have a hot bath too. If that lot didn't relax him, nothing would. He'd take all his remaining booze and pour it down the sink. And give his apartment a good clean, just in case he got lucky with Trudy Valentine. Full of hope, Gerry hopped back into his car and left.
It was dark when he returned and the shadows on Maple Street were stretched and menacing. Gerry could hear carol-singers singing ‘Silent Night’ beside the big Christmas tree at the City Hall. There was a stall selling hot dogs beside the Ulster Bank, and another one selling tinsel and sports socks, a little further down. Royal Avenue was still full of shoppers, however, bumping into one another with their carrier bags and umbrellas. But nobody paid him any attention.
‘I have nothing to lose and everything to gain,’ he told the metal bins. Gerry took a deep breath, and headed towards the brightly lit amber windows of the litt
le pub he had always considered too quiet and dull for him. Halfway down, he heard his car alarm go off, and he turned round to see another traffic warden giving him a ticket. He resumed his walk of destiny towards the heavy, nail-studded door.
16. Michael, Marie and a Canapé Platter
Wednesday, 22 December
Lily and Jack were still feeling awful despite a near-constant supply of orange juice and chicken soup from Marie and Trudy. But the Christmas parties were going brilliantly and they'd even had a phone call of thanks from the Irish Independent editor to say that they'd all had a fabulous time. And that they were still laughing about the Mirror paper cones.
The kitchen stove was bearing up well even though pie-production had doubled. And Trudy's mushroom strudel was one of the most popular dishes on their menu. They'd got an excellent review for it in one of the dailies.
On the downside, some of the students from last night's party had pocketed a few of the beaded pears and filigree partridges from the main Christmas tree, but Daisy had prevented further theft by securing the rest onto the branches with fine wire. She was seething with rage that anyone could have dared to steal the beautiful decorations they had chosen so carefully. She'd forgotten that she had been known to pinch a few pencils and pens from stationery shops in her time, when money was in short supply.
Liam Bradley called in just before closing time every night, to keep in touch with the little people, as he put it. He was looking haggard and sleep-deprived, but he said his new book was going well. Nearly finished, in fact. He told Lily that his wife, Betsy, was divorcing him, and that he would soon be a free man.
Betsy was getting to keep the house and was no longer speaking to him. He'd agreed to sign away his rights to the marital home to get Betsy to give up a half-share in his future earnings. It gave Liam great satisfaction to reach a deal so quickly. That way Betsy's shark-faced brothers wouldn't get to humiliate him in the courts. They were quite depressed when they discovered they weren't going to get their pound of flesh from Betsy's oddball husband. Letting go of the house was a small price to pay to be rid of her. He had grown weary of traipsing up and down four flights of stairs anyway. Next time, he would buy a bungalow.