Together Forever

by Siân O'Gorman

  ‘Not too bad,’ I lied. ‘How’s yours?’

  He shrugged. ‘Didn’t stay long,’ he said. ‘Home by midnight.’ And then he was distracted by two golden tea bracks that Mary had just unwrapped. ‘I’ll buy one of those,’ said Red. ‘Look even better than the ones my mam used to make. Here’s €10 to get us started.’ He passed a note to Mary which she put in the ice cream tub. Put one aside for me? Dad will love it. And I’ll head over to the tea stall. Apparently that’s where I’ve been put. Not to be trusted with the cakes or I might eat them.’

  ‘Knowing you, you will,’ teased Mary. ‘Go on, off with you!’

  She turned to me and laughed. ‘He’s a divil,’ she said, as soon as he’d gone.

  ‘That’s one way of putting it,’ I said moderately, but thinking, a sexy divil at that. However, these adulterous musings were disturbed by a voice.

  ‘I’ll have that chocolate one.’ It was Clodagh wearing dark glasses. ‘I mean, I won’t actually eat it, but I can sniff and study it for a while and imagine I am eating it’

  I laughed, delighted and amazed to see her. ‘Please. Just eat it. I’ll make you eat it. Anyway, what are you doing here? I’m wrecked, you must be destroyed!’

  ‘I think I’m still drunk, actually,’ said Clodagh, in a low voice. ‘But I said I’d come and – ta-dah! - here I am.’ She groaned. ‘God, that was a bit enthusiastic.’

  Mary was bristling beside me, waiting to be introduced.

  ‘Clodagh this is Mary Hooley, school secretary and the brains of the operation. Mary, this is my friend Clodagh Cassidy.’

  ‘Indeed it is!’ said Mary, giving Clodagh a hearty and prolonged handshake. ‘And what a pleasure it is to have a celebrity here! You might help us sell even more cakes!’

  ‘Thank you, Mary,’ said Clodagh, taking off her glasses. ‘Tabitha is always telling me about you, how she couldn’t do a thing without you.’

  Mary blushed. ‘Well, you know, I do my best…’

  ‘Why don’t you put me to work and I will try and sell a few cakes for you?’ Clodagh offered.

  She came behind the table to us and I gave her an apron. ‘How are you?’ I asked out of the corner of my mouth.

  ‘Like a terminally ill amoeba,’ she said quietly, while smiling at everyone radiantly. ‘It’s all your fault for ordering that tequila.’

  ‘You ordered it,’ I reminded her. ‘It’s all your fault that we both feel like this.’

  ‘That’s why I’m here. Solidarity,’ she said. ‘Friends who do shots together, sell cakes together.’

  ‘Thanks Clodes.’

  ‘My pleasure. And sorry for the tequila.’

  ‘Let’s just never do it again. Next time afternoon tea. Anyway, have you heard from Max?’

  She nodded. ‘He called this morning,’ she said. ‘Said he was sorry.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘For being tired. I think it was one of those apologies that aren’t really meant.’

  ‘Like, sorry for breathing.’

  ‘For being alive.’ She gave me a half-smile that almost broke my heart.

  ‘Can we just sell some cakes?’ she said. ‘Before I eat them all. This room is either my greatest nightmare or the best dream ever. Cakes as far as the eye can see.’ She stopped. ‘Don’t worry about me, Tab,’ she said. ‘So he’s a bit of a prick. Maximus Prickus.’ We both giggled immaturely for a moment. ‘But I’ll be all right, okay? Good riddance et cetera.’

  ‘Oh my God, Bridget!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yo! Clodagh!’ And now Bridget was making a beeline towards us, through the crowds of parents and pupils who had begun to arrive. She didn’t look at all hung-over, she was as fresh as a daisy, flaunting her youthful ability to flash detoxify.

  ‘Bridget?’ said Clodagh. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘You told me all about it, said I had to come. Remember?’ She scanned the room, looking for someone.

  ‘Tequila-talk,’ said Clodagh, under her breath. ‘What was I thinking?’

  ‘I only live down the road in Monkstown and I was up with my trainer anyway,’ carried on Bridget. ‘And I want to have another little chat with that gorgeous teacher guy, Redmond. He said he had to be up early to come to a cake sale, so here I am. Anyway, my momager says it’s all about being with the people. Getting down to their level. Being approachable. Just like them. Without having to be like them.’

  Clodagh rolled her eyes, but Mary, was delighted. ‘Another celebrity!’ she said. ‘It’ll be the best cake sale ever! We won’t need to sell the Copse now, eh Tabitha?’

  ‘So, where is he?’

  ‘Tea urn,’ I said, defeated by Bridget. This was how Clodagh must feel, I thought.

  He felt the weight of our gaze and he looked up to find the four of us all staring at him. He managed a nod and carried on wrestling with a giant teapot.

  ‘Well, if it isn’t… yourself off the weather.’ Brian Crowley was looking delighted at the sight of Bridget as he made his way over to us. ‘Brian Crowley, board of governors…’ He dug out his phone. ‘May I?’ He was panting slightly like a dog on heat.

  ‘For fifty euro,’ said Bridget, looking unruffled.

  Brian hesitated. ‘That’s a bit steep,’ he said.

  ‘Go on then,’ he said. ‘They’ll love this, the lads at the golf club. The Connemara Cracker, they call you. Brings a little spice to our day, you know what I mean?’ He lunged at her face, phone aloft, going in for a killer kiss as Mary and I stood there, appalled. But Bridget moved her face the tiniest amount so his lips planted right on her cheek and she pulled away, smiling, hand out.

  ‘Fifty euro please.’

  He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a large note. ‘And just a word of advice.’ She leaned into his ear, speaking quietly and slowly. ‘If you ever put your hand on my arse again, you will be very sorry you ever thought you could get a cheap thrill from me.’ Brian paled. ‘Make it another fifty euro and I won’t make a formal complaint to the Gardaí.’

  With his porky hands, he pulled another large note out from his wallet and handed it over. Mary and I made eye contact, impressed. She was good. ‘Thank you,’ she said sweetly, and handed them straight to Mary. ‘For the general coffers. I’ll just pop over and say hello to Redmond,’ she said, slipping away and strutting to the tea table. We watched with fascinated horror.

  Clodagh rolled her eyes at me. ‘Surely Red wouldn’t go for someone like Bridget,’ she said. ‘Surely he’s got more sense?’

  I shrugged. ‘Who knows?’ I hoped not but what red blooded male wouldn’t.

  ‘I’m sure he’ll be happy about it,’ insisted Mary. ‘Lovely girl like Bridget O’Flaherty showing an interest. He’ll be very flattered.’

  The three of us watched as Bridget chatted to him and then, next minute, she was behind the table and was standing very closely behind him as he showed her how to use the tea urn. She reached around him to grip the spout.

  ‘It’s like the scene from Ghost,’ said Clodagh, with a shudder.

  ‘Well, we should stop staring,’ said Mary. ‘And sell a few more cakes.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, we should.’ But I kept one eye on Bridget and Red, watching how she was pouring out tea for people, taking the money, flirting with everyone. Red glanced over at me and I looked away.

  *

  Finally, when everything was over, Mary was collecting all the various ice cream tubs full of coppers and change and we were sweeping and clearing up, Clodagh and Bridget were talking on the other side of the room, and Red joined me.

  ‘That seems to have been a success,’ he said. ‘In my limited experience of cake sales.’

  ‘They didn’t have then in California, then?’ I said.

  ‘No, they are peculiarly Irish,’ he replied. ‘They were into sponsored sports, basketball tournaments, baseball games.’ He smiled at me. ‘Not that I want to give Mary any more money-spinning ideas.’

  ‘What’s that
?’ she said. ‘Did someone say money-spinning?’ She had five ice cream tubs balanced between her hands and her chin. ‘Have you come up with another way of raising money, Red?’

  ‘Not really,’ he said. ‘I think you are doing brilliantly well without me.’

  ‘Maybe,’ she said, teasing him, ‘you could try your hand at some singing? A bit of Johnny Logan? Or do you have other Eurovision people you can take off?’

  ‘That’s it!’ said Red laughing. ‘Finally, someone has recognised my talent, finally you’ve seen me for who I really am. A man with the face and body of an ordinary person but with the heart of Johnny Logan.’ He turned to Mary. ‘Will you manage me Mary? Together we can be rich! Together, I can realise my full potential…’

  ‘Deal,’ said Mary. ‘Now, what about What’s Another Year? Give us a bit of that one…’

  ‘But I don’t have my white suit on,’ he said. ‘I won’t be able to give it the full Johnny.’

  ‘What would Johnny do?’ I said.

  ‘He’d just get on with it,’ said Mary. ‘So…’

  ‘Get on with it.’ The three of us were laughing as Red took a broom and began cradling it like a microphone and began crooning into the handle. ‘I’ve been waiting for such a long time… Come on, sing it with me Mary…’ He put his arm around her shoulders and they sung together.

  I’d never actually felt the need to cry at a Johnny Logan song before but I actually felt a lump in my throat, my eyes misty. God, maybe it was a sign of age when you began being moved by Johnny Logan and Eurovision.

  ‘I’ve been waiting such a long time, reaching out for you. But you’re not near.’

  They paused, locking eyes, swaying together.

  ‘What’s another year?’

  ‘What?’ I said when they had finished. ‘Only two verses?’

  ‘I think that’s enough,’ said Red. ‘We might need to work on it.’ He was smiling but I could see that he had noticed me welling up. ‘What do you think Mary?’ he said, ‘do you think we have it?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘We don’t have it at all. But we can keep trying. Now, I meant to say about our film night tonight…’

  But we’d been joined by Bridget, who tapped Red on the shoulder.

  ‘What was that?’ she said.

  ‘What was what?’

  ‘The singing?’

  ‘Johnny Logan,’ he said. ‘Did you know recognise it. I know we don’t actually do the great man any favours, do we Mary?’

  She was laughing. ‘No one could, Red,’ she said. ‘Only Johnny is Johnny.’

  ‘Who’s Johnny Logan?’ said Bridget making the three of us jerk our heads to face her.

  ‘Who’s Johnny Logan?’ Mary couldn’t believe what she’d just heard.

  ‘Yes,’ said Bridget. ‘Who’s Johnny Logan?’

  ‘Only Ireland’s greatest Eurovisioner…’ said Red and then turned to us. ‘Eurovisionist?’

  We nodded. That sounded right.

  ‘Won it two times,’ explained Red. ‘The man can’t lose Eurovision. He’s our best hope to reclaim our crown.’

  Bridget was looking at us as though we were mad. ‘I don’t get it,’ she said. ‘I can’t tell if you are joking or not.’

  ‘Joking about Johnny?’ said Red.

  ‘The very idea!’ said Mary.

  ‘Whatever,’ dismissed Bridget. ‘Listen Red,’ she said, all business-like. ‘Can I have a word?’ He nodded and she pulled him to one side, while Mary and I continued sweeping.

  ‘I was wondering,’ Bridget said, ‘if you were doing anything interesting this evening?’

  ‘I am actually.’ He sounded surprised at her question. ‘I’m going to the cinema with Mary,’ he said. ‘So…’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘So… no. Sorry Bridget.’ He called over to Mary. ‘We’re going to see an old French film. Aren’t we, Mary? Mary is educating me in the art of the French film. I’m a philistine, in her eyes.’

  What was this? I wanted to go to see a French film with the two of them. It sounded lovely.

  ‘That’s right, Red,’ Mary called and walked over to them. ‘I mentioned that I was a fan of Jean de Florette and he’s never seen it – can you imagine! – so, it’s on and we’re going. Unless…’ She had noticed the daggers that Bridget was glaring at her. ‘But, Red, if you have other ideas, we can go another time… it’s not a problem.’

  ‘We’re going,’ he said firmly. ‘I need to do something about my general philistinism. Man cannot live by Johnny Logan alone.’

  ‘But he can try,’ said Mary. She scurried over to me and busied herself sorting out a huge pile of empty Tupperware, ready to be returned to their owners. Bridget moved so she and Red were hidden from our prying eyes.

  Clodagh came up with Mary’s tea brack, now wrapped in foil, for Red. As she was a few yards away from them, she realised that some kind of intimate discussion was going on and she did an abrupt about-turn and sidled to me, giving me a look. I nodded in return. She began picking up fluff and bits from the floor with her fingers, the two of us working in silence.

  ‘But…’ Bridget obviously was unused to men not falling at her feet. ‘Would you like to do something else? Something with me, perhaps? Something that doesn’t involve strange foreign films. I’m thinking cocktails, something to eat. Hang out in town.’

  ‘God, I’m so sorry, Bridget,’ he said quietly. ‘But I am way too old for all that.’ I kept sweeping the floor, pretending I wasn’t listening to every word, thrilled he wasn’t falling for Bridget’s obvious charms.

  ‘Sounds fun, though,’ Red said politely, speaking quietly, ‘I’m sure you know loads of people who would want to go.’

  Bridget was looking utterly bewildered. ‘Really?’ she said.

  He nodded. ‘Really. People not old like me,’ he said gently. ‘I’m ancient…’

  ‘But…’

  He stood there with his massive pile of cartons and boxes like a contestant on an old kids’ show, trying not to drop a thing.

  ‘Right,’ she said slowly. ‘Okay. Let me know if you change your mind.’

  ‘I will…’ He glanced at me and saw me looking, widening his eyes a fraction.

  ‘So, I’ll be going.’ She shook her head, slightly, as though she couldn’t believe it. ‘Red,’ she said, ‘I have to ask you something.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Are you gay?’ She was blinking at him, as though something just didn’t compute. ‘Because I can’t think of another reason. I mean, you disappeared last night, you don’t want to come out with me tonight. I just don’t… I just don’t understand. Normally… usually… this doesn’t happen.’

  Clodagh and I, eyes wide, looked at each other. I was worried that Red would drop everything in a huge cacophony of old containers. But he laughed. ‘I’m not gay, Bridget,’ he said, lowering his voice so low, my ear drums were on the point of bursting with the effort of trying to hear.

  She hesitated for a moment. ‘Let me know if you change your mind, okay?’ And she walked out, without saying goodbye to anyone else. Life lesson, I told myself. Even Bridget has to face rejection at least once.

  He nodded. ‘I will. Thank you.’ Now, he was able to put down everything he was carrying on the table by the door while Clodagh scurried over with the cake. ‘Here’s Mary’s cake, Red’ she said. ‘She says it’s yours.’

  ‘Thank you, Clodagh,’ he said calmly as though he hadn’t just had a really unusual conversation, flattering and awkward and… weird. ‘What are you taking?’

  ‘A chocolate roulade,’ she admitted. ‘I’m going home to eat the whole thing with a cup of tea and an old film on the telly.’

  ‘What an afternoon,’ he laughed.

  ‘Sometimes, Red,’ she said, ‘life demands chocolate roulade and a black and white film. I’m hoping for something with Cary Grant.’

  ‘Anything with Bette Davis does that for me.’ He turned to me. ‘What about you Tab,’ he said. ‘Who does it for
you?’

  ‘Um…’ But I knew exactly what film I could watch over and over again.

  ‘Listen,’ said Clodagh, ‘I’m going to head off. See you all soon.’ She put on her sunglasses and squeezed me goodbye. ‘You’re worth a million Bridgets,’ she said into my ear.

  ‘Thanks for coming.’

  When she was gone, Red was still waiting for an answer. ‘In old films? Um, probably anything with Jack Lemmon. The Apartment?’

  We’d watched together years ago, loving every moment of it. Every time I’d seen it since, I thought of Red. He nodded, slowly. ‘Great film.’

  ‘Great film,’ I echoed.

  ‘I’ll finish sweeping,’ he said, taking the broom. ‘Give me something to do.’ For a moment, he stood there and we looked deeply into each other’s eyes. It was all there, in a flash. I knew what he wanted. He wanted to know why. I would have wanted to know the same. All those years on, if it were me, it would have dug away until I got answer. We were going to have to talk. I was going to have to explain exactly why. ‘We should… I want…’ I began but my phone rang.

  ‘Do you mind if I take this? It’s my Rosie.’

  I could barely make out what she was saying. She couldn’t speak and she was sobbing. She sounded terrified. I could feel the panic rise within me as well.

  ‘I’m coming home, Rosie! I’m coming home, sweetheart.’ Oh God, I needed to get home. My daughter needed me.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Red said. ‘Is she all right?’

  ‘Rosie… she’s having another panic attack… I have to go…’ I suddenly remembered my car was it the garage that day having its annual check-up. ‘My car! I don’t have my car! I walked down…’ Tears were in my eyes as I started to panic, calculating how long it would take me to get home. Half an hour at a quick clip, if I was lucky.

  ‘I’ll drive you. Come on.’

  *

  I raced into the house to find Rosie was tucked into a ball, on the bottom step of the stairs in the hall, arms wrapped across her body, head on her knees. I sat on the step beside her and put my arm around her back. ‘It’s all right, my darling,’ I said, gently, softly, my head close to hers. ‘It’s all right, everything’s all right.’