In My Sister's Shoes

by Sinéad Moriarty

  ‘Do you ever think about the other man?’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘Do the boys look like him?’

  ‘No, they look like Mark.’

  In a strange way, they did. Maybe they had morphed into him so it was easier for him to love them. I looked at Fiona, mysister, the scarlet woman, and shook my head.

  You think you know someone – and bam! They shock you to the very core.

  I couldn’t sleep that night. I kept thinking about Fiona, the affair and the twins. She couldn’t totally regret being unfaithful because the twins were the result of it and they were her pride and joy. If she hadn’t had the affair, would she and Mark have had children of their own? Maybe, but they’d have been different kids. Not the Jack and Bobby we all love. Maybe they’d still be trying and have no kids. Maybe they’d have separated. It seemed strange that something as wonderful as the boys could come out of something that was morally wrong. But Fiona was such a good person and had sacrificed so much for everyone else in her life – maybe God and Fate had decided to give her a break on this one, a sort of payback for having been so selfless for so long. I tried to imagine a chemistry teacher who looked like George Clooney, but I kept coming up with the image of Albert Einstein. Eventually I fell asleep and dreamt of women in négligées dancing around Bunsen burners.

  The next morning, thankfully, was sunny. When I arrived to take the boys off to the park Mark was reading the paper and finishing his coffee while Fiona was upstairs getting them ready.

  ‘Hey, Mark, what are you reading? Anything interesting?’ I asked, in an over-enthusiastic manner.

  He glanced at me suspiciously. ‘Just the news.’

  I sat down opposite him. ‘How are you? How’s life, work, fatherhood?’

  ‘Kate, is something wrong?’

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘You usually only manage to grunt at me. Why the sudden interest in my state of health and what I’m reading?’

  He really didn’t make it easy to like him, but I was determined to try. This was, after all, a man who had adopted two children and raised them as his own after his floozy of a wife had slept with another man – and a chemistry teacher at that. I wondered if that had bothered him. It might have been easier if she’d slept with the geography teacher – less competition.

  ‘Is it so unusual for a sister-in-law to ask after her brother-in-law?’ I said, smiling at him, in a slightly demented way.

  ‘In this case, yes.’

  The twins came running in and I stared at them, scrutinizing their faces.

  ‘Why are you looking at me funny?’ asked Bobby.

  ‘Yeah, your eyes are all wide and scary,’ giggled Jack.

  ‘I’m not staring.’

  ‘Yes, you are,’ said Bobby.

  ‘Your aunt is behaving very strangely today, boys,’ said Mark. ‘Are you feeling all right, Kate? Do you need to go home?’

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, I’m fine. I was just admiring my two beautiful nephews.’

  Fiona came into the room.

  ‘Kate’s looking at us funny, Mummy,’ said Jack. ‘Like this,’ he added, opening his eyes wide.

  Fiona glared at me. ‘Is she? Why on earth would she do that?’ she barked.

  ‘She’s been gawping at us all since she arrived,’ said Mark.

  ‘I have not,’ I said, defending myself. ‘I’m just excited because it’s Fiona’s last chemo session and the end is nearly in sight.’

  ‘Yeah, Mummy’s nearly finished with the nasty medicine,’ said Jack, cheering and hanging on to Fiona’s leg.

  ‘Dad?’ said Bobby. ‘You won’t get sick, will you?’

  Mark leant over so he was at eye level with his son. ‘I’ll try very hard not to. Now, who invented the first calculating machine?’

  ‘William something,’ said Bobby.

  ‘William Burns,’ said Jack.

  Mark shook his head. ‘No, it was William Seward Burroughs. He was working in a bank and he came up with the idea of a mechanical device that would relieve accountants and bookkeepers of the monotony of their tasks and ensure that a smaller percentage of their time was spent correcting errors…’ On and on he droned as the boys’ eyes glazed over.

  No wonder Fiona had an affair, I thought. Mark might be a nice person underneath but he’d bore you into an early grave. ‘I’ve got a good inventor question,’ I said, trying to lighten the mood.

  Mark looked surprised.

  ‘Which inventor has kept a mouse alive for seventy-three years?’

  The twins brightened up.

  ‘Walt Disney.’ I laughed. ‘Mickey Mouse is seventy-three years old.’

  The twins giggled and even Mark cracked a smile. Maybe there was hope for him.

  31

  A few days later I was sitting at home, eating dinner, while Derek and Gonzo tried out new lyrics at the table beside me.

  “‘Machete” doesn’t rhyme with “ghetto”,’ Derek pointed out.

  ‘Dude, it doesn’t always have to be an exact match. It just has to be a good story like “Stan”,’ said Gonzo.

  ‘Who’s Stan?’ I asked.

  ‘Duh, Eminem’s, like, most famous song,’ said Derek, appalled by myignorance. ‘You do know who he is, right?’

  ‘Don’t diss your sister,’ said Gonzo, leaping eloquently to my defence.

  ‘Yes, Derek, I do know who Eminem is. I just happen to think he’s overrated.’

  ‘You’re too old to appreciate the lyrical genius of the white king of rap,’ said Derek.

  ‘I’m not old, thank you.’

  ‘I think you’re the perfect age,’ said Gonzo, gazing at me.

  ‘They say that chicks get really horny in their thirties. Are you feeling it?’

  I looked down at my jeans, which were covered in muck and sand from my day in the park with the boys. I felt about as sexy as a hippo. ‘To be honest, I think that’s a myth.’

  ‘Obviously you’re not having your buttons pressed properly. That dude is way too old for you.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The journalist guy. Derek said you went out with him.’

  ‘Sam’s thirty-two, Gonzo. It’s not exactly ancient.’

  ‘Doesn’t seem to be lighting your fire, though, does he?’

  ‘He’s in Australia so there’s not much he can do.’

  ‘Yeah, well, he shouldn’t be there. He should be here looking after his woman like a real man.’

  ‘He’s working. It’s a concept you may not be familiar with.’

  ‘Nothing would get between me and you. I’d never leave the crib.’

  ‘Gonzo, you don’t have a house. You still live with your parents. It’s not an ideal set-up for a relationship.’

  ‘I’ll get a crib soon. When Rap-sodie get signed. It’ll be big and bold.’

  ‘Let’s say you don’t get signed,’ I said, then seeing him bristle, I added, ‘because your genius isn’t recognized. What are you planning to do with your life?’

  Gonzo stared at me as if I was mad. ‘My man Derek, a.k.a. the Poet, writes the edgiest lyrics in town. There’s no way we won’t get signed.’

  Derek nodded.

  You had to hand it to them, they had great self-belief. But was it delusional? Before I got the chance to probe any further about their future plans, my phone beeped. It was a text from Tara: Early arrival this afternoon of beautiful baby girl. Kerrie Quinlan 7 pounds 3 ounces. Mother and baby doing well.

  ‘Oh, my God!’ I squealed, jumping up. ‘Tara’s had her baby early. It’s a girl.’

  ‘I can’t believe she has a kid,’ said Derek, who had known Tara since as far back as he could remember. ‘That’s, like, really weird. She doesn’t seem that old.’

  ‘She’s not old. She’s the same age as me.’

  ‘Yeah, but now she’s a mother.’

  ‘And your point is?’

  ‘Mothers look kind of wrecked.’

  ‘Except foxes like Angelina Jolie,’ said Gonzo
.

  ‘Dude, she adopted.’

  ‘Not the kid she had with Brad Pitt,’ said Gonzo.

  ‘Oh, yeah, I forgot about that. How good-looking is that chick going to be?’ said Derek.

  ‘Off the Richter scale,’ said Gonzo, almost salivating.

  ‘Well, I think it’s great news. She’ll be a brilliant mum,’ I said.

  ‘You’re not getting broody, are you?’ asked Derek.

  ‘If you are, I will be more than happy to provide the seed,’ offered Gonzo.

  ‘Thanks, but no, I’m not getting broody and, tempting though your offer is, I’ll pass.’

  ‘We’d make beautiful babies,’ Gonzo said.

  I looked at him and, for the first time ever, envied him. It must be great to have such confidence and self-belief. He should bottle it and sell it.

  Roxanne strolled in wearing one of Derek’s T-shirts and a pair of knickers. She opened the fridge and yawned as she rummaged for something to eat. I peered at my watch. It was eight p.m.

  ‘Anymore of that?’ she asked, eyeing my plate of pasta.

  ‘No,’ I replied. ‘Where are your clothes? It’s eight o’clock in the evening.’

  ‘I was out all night partying, so I’m wrecked.’

  ‘Were you there too?’ I asked Derek, who was looking remarkably fresh-faced.

  ‘No.’ He shrugged. ‘It was some friend of Roxie’s from work.’

  ‘A tattoo person?’ I asked.

  ‘No, JJ does piercings,’ said Roxanne, putting on some toast.

  ‘So you went to a party without Derek, then came here to sleep all day?’ I asked, annoyed. It seemed to me that Derek was being taken for a complete ride.

  ‘No, I went to work first, then came here to crash.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you be going to parties together? Wouldn’t that be normal?’

  ‘If you’re mutually exclusive maybe, but we’re not,’ replied the harlot.

  Fiona was like Mother Teresa compared to this girl. ‘This whole open-relationship thing is bullshit,’ I snapped.

  ‘For your generation maybe, but for us it works.’

  Cheeky cow. I was only four years older than her. And Derek didn’t look like a man who felt good about his girlfriend playing away. I decided to push it. Maybe then he’d see what a waste of space she was. ‘Were you with anyone else last night?’ I probed.

  ‘I snogged a couple of girls, no big deal.’

  ‘Well, now, isn’t that lovely?’ said Dad, walking into the room. ‘My son’s girlfriend’s a lesbian.’

  ‘I’m not a lesbian. I prefer men, but women can be cool too,’ said Roxanne, yawning.

  ‘I see. So you like all God’s creatures, then,’ said Dad. ‘Animals too?’

  ‘Dad!’ said Derek.

  ‘There’s no need to be gross,’ said Roxanne. ‘Only really sick fuckers are into bestiality.’

  ‘Well, it’s nice to know there are limits to your extracurricular activities,’ said Dad. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, Roxanne, I’d appreciate it if you got dressed when you’re in my house. I have no desire to see so much flesh at anytime of the day or night.’

  She wandered out of the room as Derek complained, ‘There’s no need to be rude, Dad.’

  ‘Rude?’ exclaimed Dad, sitting down at the table opposite Derek. ‘Look it, son, I don’t know what you think is normal, but let me tell you this. Going out with a girl who’s unfaithful to you with anything in a pair of trousers or a skirt is demeaning. She’s not welcome in this house anymore. She’s making a right eejit of you and I won’t have it. Go out and find yourself a nice girl who likes wearing clothes, understands the meaning of monogamy and doesn’t deface people’s bodies for a living,’ he said, slamming his hand on the table to emphasize the point.

  ‘So I guess I won’t be seeing you,’ Roxanne said, from the open door. ‘Good luck finding a boring new girlfriend who works in a bank. I’m outt a here.’

  Derek got up to follow her.

  ‘Bit harsh, Bill,’ said Gonzo. ‘She’s a cool chick.’

  ‘Well, then, why don’t you go out with her?’ said Dad.

  ‘I’m holding out for Kate,’ he said, leering at me.

  ‘Tara had a baby girl,’ I told Dad, eager to change the subject.

  ‘Well, isn’t that marvellous?’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t want to leave it too late, Kate – you don’t want to be too old to pick your children up.’

  ‘I’m not old and, in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t have a boyfriend.’

  ‘Over here,’ said Gonzo, waving.

  ‘I thought you were back with Sam,’ Dad said.

  ‘We had one date and he disappeared to Australia.’

  ‘You’ve been in touch, though, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes, but he’s still smarting from his wife leaving him, so he’s not in any rush to throw himself into another relationship.’

  ‘Tosser,’ said Gonzo. ‘The guy’s obviously gay.’

  ‘No, he isn’t.’ I sighed.

  ‘Definitely a homo.’

  ‘Gonzo! Sam is not gay. He’s just been badly burnt by his ex-wife.’

  ‘I get burnt every week. When you dig a chick, you take risks.’

  He had a point there. Maybe Sam was dragging his feet because he just wasn’t keen enough.

  ‘All I’m saying is that you’re not getting any younger,’ said Dad, like a dog with a bone.

  ‘Well, me and my ticking clock are going to visit Tara,’ I said, running out the door before I was put in a retirement home or, worse, forced to wed Gonzo in an arranged marriage and spend my days listening to badly rhyming rap.

  Tara was sitting up in bed with baby Kerrie fast asleep on her chest. She looked elated and exhausted.

  ‘How are you?’ I asked.

  ‘Shattered,’ she said, beaming.

  ‘She’s gorgeous,’ I said dutifully, although I could only see the side of her face and it was all red and scrunched and she had coagulated gunk matted into her thin strands of hair.

  ‘Isn’t she? She’s the image of Tom,’ said the proud new mother.

  I was thinking more Winston Churchill myself, but I just nodded. ‘Nice hair,’ I noted.

  ‘Yes and she’ll be getting a bath tomorrow to wash all that afterbirth away,’ said Tara.

  Thank God for that, I thought. I was worried that she was so besotted she hadn’t noticed it. ‘How did it all go?’ I asked.

  ‘Well…’ Tara gave me chapter and verse on the labour. From waters breaking to pushing, shoving, snipping, sewing and placenta expulsion. ‘… and there she was, perfect,’ she finished, as I tried to contain the bile in my throat. Why do new mothers feel it vital to share the gory details with others? It’s way too much information. Maybe if you have kids yourself and you’ve gone through the whole birth saga it’s OK, but for a novice like me, it was very off-putting.

  ‘Lovely,’ I said, smiling at her.

  ‘Would you like to hold her?’ she asked, as if it was a treat akin to inviting me to New York on an all-expenses-paid shopping trip.

  I really didn’t want to hold the baby because I was afraid I’d get the gunk on me. I was used to mess with the twins, but not this kind of stuff. However, I knew that to refuse would be the most grievous of insults.

  ‘Sure,’ I said, trying to position the back of the baby’s head away from my clothes. As I was manoeuvring her, she opened her eyes and stared right at me. The intensity stopped me in my tracks. It was as if she was looking into my soul. Her little blue eyes bored into me, then all of a sudden she yawned – a tiny, perfect, rosebud yawn – and promptly fell asleep in my arms, curled up against me – matted hair and all.

  I felt completely overcome. It was as if the baby knew what I was thinking. The way she had looked at me, I could almost hear her saying, ‘I know my mother’s a bit long-winded but give her a break. It’s a big day for her and you’re her best friend. By the way, I’m pretty great – you should think about this yourself. Her
e, let me show you how nice it feels when a newborn falls asleep in your arms…’ I gazed down at her, so small and perfect and peaceful. What the hell was wrong with me? I’d never felt like this before.

  ‘Kate,’ Tara whispered, as I tried to regain my composure, ‘what you’re feeling is totally normal. It’s instinctive and natural.’

  ‘This is not normal. I’m a mess,’ I said.

  ‘No, you’re not. Looking after the twins has brought out a maternal instinct in you, and it’s lovely to see. You’d be a great mother.’

  ‘I don’t know about that. It’s just that sitting here seeing you with a baby, and you have a husband and a house and a proper, grown-up life, makes me realize that my life is going nowhere. I’m babysitting my sister’s kids, hanging around for an ex-boyfriend who is emotionally scarred by his separation, and I’ve no job. After eight years in London, what have I got to show for it? Nothing.’

  ‘A glittering career in TV,’ said my loyal best friend.

  ‘A very mediocre career in TV on a channel no one watches, and a string of broken relationships. It’s a bit sad.’

  ‘Come on, Kate – ’

  I cut across her. ‘No, Tara, it’s OK. I’m not looking for you to boost my morale. I guess I’m just thinking out loud. I was so desperate to get to London and be successful that I lost myself along the way. The things I thought I wanted so badly didn’t bring me the happiness and fulfilment I expected. Sure I had good times and met interesting people, but I was living a false life. My flat was rented, my friends came and went, as did boyfriends and jobs. Having my own show was an achievement, but it was only a matter of time before a younger, brighter presenter knocked me off my stool. You and Fiona have homes, babies and husbands. If it wasn’t for Dad, I’d have nowhere to live.’

  ‘But you followed your dream. I admire you for that,’ said Tara. ‘I took the safe option and stayed at home, going to the same pub every Friday night, seeing the same friends every weekend. Your life seemed so glamorous and exciting, and mine was so mundane.’

  ‘But it wasn’t, it was real. I loved the travel and doing live broadcasts is a huge adrenaline rush, but I spent too much time on my career and too little on my life. Look, I’m not saying I’d do anything differently, I’m just in limbo at the moment and Fiona finishes her treatment soon, so I need to sort myself out.’