What an almighty mess. It’d make you want to cry. Or drink.
Well, if Grace could go out just days before her exams, she would bloody well go out too. Tomorrow, she’d call Pauline and they would head out together. A last hurrah before things went to rack and ruin. Pauline would be just the tonic with her donkey’s laugh and total understanding of how easy it was to screw up your life even when you were trying really hard to do everything right. Fergal would be mad but too bad for him. He’d just have to deal with it. She didn’t care what he thought.
As she slid into sleep, she knew she was lying to herself but sometimes that was the only way forward.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Sorry I’m late, Pauline. Some young eejit drove his car into the wall, down near the church, you know, just past the roundabout, and the bus couldn’t pass. The Gardaí were there and the young lad was standing on the path, trousers at half-mast, boxers out for the world to see. I nearly got out and walked but sure, I forgot my umbrella. Y’alright there? Ah, and you got me a drink. Fair play to you, love. I’m gagging now.”
Deirdre collapsed into the chair, raised her glass to her friend, and took a deep slug. She was going to enjoy herself tonight. To hell with the consequences, she would max out the fun to make sure the hangover and whatever else came her way were worth it.
“Not a bother,” said Pauline. “I’m only here a few minutes myself. We’re lucky to have the seats, it’s jammers already.”
Her thirst quenched for now, Deirdre took a closer look at her friend. Pauline had done a good job with the contour brushes and the foundation, and her blonde hair had been blow-dried but she still looked tired.
“Everything alright? Only you look a little… well, wrecked, if I’m to be honest.”
Pauline laughed grimly.
“Sure, say what’s on your mind, why don’t ye? I’ve not been sleeping great. It’s that Michael. I tell ye, Deirdre, I’m going to have to throw in the towel with him. And I’m not lucky like you. I’ve no others to fall back on. This is it, my one child and he’s the bane of my life.”
Deirdre’s lips tightened. Pauline’s son Michael had been in and out of trouble for years. He’d been inside for drug possession when he was sixteen and served six months. At the time, Pauline was devastated. A few years later, she’d confessed to Deirdre that she wished they’d kept him in longer and knocked a bit of sense into him while they were at it. She said it quietly and then cried for an hour, spilling her grief onto her friend’s shoulder, and not for the first time.
Pauline and Deirdre met in nursing college and hit it off straightaway with Pauline enthusiastically taking on the role of the country girl’s streetwise guardian angel in the big city. Deirdre caught the bouquet at Pauline’s wedding – everyone said it was a fix because she was head bridesmaid – and then spent hours comforting her friend when her good-for-nothing husband, Peter Clancy, left her when Michael was twelve. When they were kicked out of their house in Finglas, Deirdre came with her car and drove Pauline and Michael and their boxes back to Merrickstown, to a poky flat not far from Deirdre’s own place. Peter never contacted Pauline again, never even sent so much as a birthday card to his son. Everyone was surprised, none more so than Pauline. Peter’d been quite the catch back in the day: good-looking in a stocky sort of way, a handy dancer, and he always had cash. Rumour was he had a friend in the city council who’d give his firm contracts for building work. But it turned out he couldn’t hack the real world when the dancing was over and the confetti had been washed away. At some point, his friend must’ve left the council and the bills started pouring in. There were too many men like that – fair-weather Charlies, Deirdre called them. At least Fergal had stayed. At least she didn’t have to do everything on her own. Up until now, the bargain had worked mostly in her favour. A few slaps, the odd punch, but she wasn’t alone, like Pauline, and Fergal wasn’t always a brute. They had good craic together too. Less so nowadays but they’d had their moments.
“So what’s Michael gone and done now?”
Deirdre didn’t hide her impatience. She didn’t like Michael, never had. The feeling was mutual and Pauline knew it. He’d had a go at Deirdre one night after they came back to Pauline’s from the pub, making snide comments about her ‘skivvying’ in a kitchen.
“Good enough for a culchie, I suppose,” he’d said.
Pauline had cuffed him around the head for that – “this is still my house and you’ll keep a civil tongue in yer head when my friends are round” – but Deirdre never forgot the sullen, dark look in his eyes. He might be dumb as a box of nails but she had a notion he could be dangerous. A fool to carry out fool’s work for wiser men.
Pauline took a long glug from her rum and coke, as though she was steeling herself.
“It’s just he’s become so stroppy. I told ye he bought a motorbike after Christmas. It’s like he thinks he’s a big man now. He can say what he wants, do what he wants. No respect, Deirdre.”
“Why don’t you kick him out? He’s clearly got money.”
“Yeah, he’s got money alright but where’s he getting it from? That’s what I’m worried about. He never tells me anything. Last time I got anything even close to a straight answer, he said he’d got a job driving for delivery companies. But that was months ago now and ye can’t buy a BMW bike on that, can ye?”
Deirdre held her tongue. Pauline knew as well as anyone what Michael was up to. She was no stranger to the drugs trade or Dublin’s wider interlocking criminal circles. Her cousin, Barry Gerrity, was one of the biggest dealers in north Dublin. Everyone knew that Michael was somehow involved in the same trade, even if Pauline’s own ties to Barry were decades-old, consisting mainly of patchy memories: playing football together during family visits or eating ice-cream once on a chilly beach when they were kids. She had no contact with him now. Pauline’s own father and his two brothers were also well known back in the day for flogging stolen goods and occasionally doing the stealing themselves. But if Pauline wanted to fool herself, that was her own business. Let her have her drink in peace. No need to state the obvious and anyway, the problem would still be there when the drinks were finished.
“No, you can’t,” she said. “But d’you know what, Pauline? He’s a big boy now and if he’s making mistakes, that’s his business. There’s not much you can do about it.”
“I’d throw him out in a heartbeat only I’m that scared he’ll go off the rails completely if he doesn’t have to come home the odd time. He only stays a couple of nights during the week now and never on the weekend. I’ve no clue where he is the rest of the time but if I didn’t see him at all… that’d be another one gone, Deirdre. Another person I thought I had in my life, walking out on me.”
God, she must’ve hit the drink before she came out, Deirdre thought, as Pauline’s voice trembled and her eyes filled with tears, threatening to undo all the hard work she’d done with the mascara brush and the eyeliner. Her friend’s strong, wide face looked like it was about to collapse in on itself. This was no good.
“I’m getting another round and then we’re going to pick something on the jukebox and do a bit of singing and dancing. Right, Pauline?” she said firmly.
Her friend sniffed, pulling a wad of tissues and a mirror from the pocket of her sequined jacket.
“Jaysus, look at the state of me. Sorry, Deirdre. Yeah, get ’em in. I’ll be alright in a sec. It’s just everything this week. There’s been fights in the nursing home, staff off sick, Mrs Quinn went missing again, in the middle of the night mind, and I haven’t seen Michael for two days. Then, someone said Barry was back in town and you know how nervous that makes me. When that man rides into town, trouble’s not far away.”
Deirdre shook her head sympathetically and put her hand for a second on Pauline’s shoulder as she headed to the bar. She had to push her way through the crowds. When did I become so invisible? Not one of the young lads gave her a second glance as they grudgingly inched sideways to let her t
hrough. Mind you, she was wearing her skinny jeans and a shimmering gold top, sleeveless too. Her arms were still firm, and so was her arse by the grace of God and good genes but she’d clearly lost that something. Potential possibly. Maybe it was her face that said, ‘here is a woman who decided to give her best years to a worthless man, with fast fists and a temper to match’. She furtively slid her hand across her forehead, just in case there was something written there, some mark of a fallen woman. It took her an age to get served.
But Pauline cheered up after that. They took control of the jukebox, laughing like hyenas at the faces of the teenagers who’d been playing endless Rihanna and Kesha songs and who Pauline easily elbowed aside, with a jaunty: “Step back girls, let the real women have a turn.”
“Oy, do you mind?” said one girl, flicking her glossy black hair, squaring her tanned shoulders and jerking her head towards Pauline.
“Not at all, love. Now, why don’t you be a good girl and go and sit down with yer friends?” Pauline threw this over her shoulder as she rummaged in her purse for coins.
Deirdre grinned. Pauline was back on form.
The younger woman stood for a minute with her mouth hanging open. She shared a look of disgust with her already retreating friends but decided in the end that she was no match for Pauline’s girth and the pure steel of her couldn’t-care-less back. She stomped off, her heels hammering an outraged clickety-clack.
Smarter than she looks, thought Deirdre.
“Right, let’s have this then. Alright, Dee?”
“That’s the one, let it rip, Pauline.”
For the next hour, Pauline and Deirdre hogged the jukebox, dancing on the spot, shaking their shoulders and gyrating their hips, sometimes deliberately towards the teenagers who had gathered in a perfumed cloud of fury in a corner. Of course, their interest didn’t last long. They’d better things to talk about than the two middle-aged women making eejits of themselves by the jukebox. They only looked over now and then to jeer, especially when Pauline, who always said she’d curves and bumps to bate the Wicklow mountains, started strutting to Betty Boo. But Pauline in her black leggings, wedge heels and sparkling jacket, didn’t stop. She sashayed right up to them, turned on her heel like Michael Jackson, and shook her ample arse at them. They tutted but a few young lads at the bar cheered and whooped. They were seeing them now, alright. Deirdre had tears running down her face and she was laughing so hard her ribs hurt. Deep in the rum-bubble, she was still young, still happy, still with Pauline. No one knew them here and no one ever would. They always made sure to travel afield when they wanted to let their hair down. Too many spies in their locals, people who might know their kids or, in Deirdre’s case, Fergal. He’d say she was making a show of herself. She was.
Later, they bought curried chips and sat spent on a bench by the canal. The rain had cleared and the sky was a deep navy, stars spangling the gaps between the inky clouds. There must be a moon somewhere, thought Deirdre. You just couldn’t see it from here. There were stars dancing in the still water too. Heaven and earth coming together, just for a moment. The trees grooved gently back and forth overhead, the water was swaying, and with the rum-fizz still buzzing in her head, Deirdre felt like the whole world was rocking her, like a baby in a cradle. Her legs were wobbly from all the dancing and she suddenly felt dog-tired. She kicked off her shoes and flexed her toes.
“Fergal’s lost his job,” she said.
“Shit,” Pauline managed through a mouthful of chips. “When’d that happen?”
“He told me Friday, came in langered from the pub, of course.”
“Did he have a go?” Pauline asked sharply. “Ye know, if he goes for ye, you’ve to leave. I’m not saying forever, but ye have got to walk yourself outta that house. Look what happened to me mam. She didn’t have the gumption to get out and he broke her nose. Twice.”
“Nah, Fergal was too shagged last night to do anything. Anyway, I can’t walk out, Pauline. The kids are there. What if…?”
“You don’t think he’ll go after the kids? Surely Conor’s big enough now to keep him off and protect Kevin. Grace can also probably handle herself. She’s got the look of a tough vixen about her. Just like you used to have, before ye went soft in yer old age.”
She paused, ate a chip thoughtfully.
“You’re right though. I was being unfair to me mam. I’m sure that’s why she stayed too, at least some of it.” She shook her head.
“The tears, blood and bruises that go into a marriage here. Doesn’t happen anywhere else, but here, oh yeah, one false move and it’s the fists.”
Deirdre had started giggling.
“Pauline, you’re gas. It’s not everyone here, you know. Your Peter never hit you.”
“No,” said Pauline, clearly outraged at the very idea. She didn’t really understand, Deirdre knew, but then it was like swimming in the sea. How could you know what it was until you were in it? “But he left without a backwards look and not so much as a tenner in support,” Pauline continued. “Honestly, I’d rather take my chances with a beater. Although I don’t think they’d be around long if they raised their hands to me.” She chuckled darkly.
“Yeah, pity the man who’d take you on, Pauline. Maybe I should call you instead of the guards if he comes after me again?”
“Do. Call me.” The laughs were gone from Pauline’s voice now. “Or call someone but don’t just take it. You’re better than that Deirdre and well you know it.”
They watched the water stars fracture as a moorhen swam by. Of course, she was better than that but Deirdre had long ago dropped the idea that you got what you deserved.
“How’s Grace now? She all ready for the exams?”
“Not at all,” Deirdre said, grateful for the change of subject, even if talking about Grace would be no picnic either. “All she does is hang around with her new boyfriend. I told her to go down the Liffey Valley centre and see if any of the shops were hiring summer staff so she could earn a bit after the exams, but oh no! ‘No time for that, Mam. Going to see Neville, Mam’.”
Pauline pulled a packet of Rothmans out of her pocket and lit up.
“Neville?” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Sounds posh. Not from our neck of the woods, then?”
“Nah, I think he grew up round Clontarf. She doesn’t tell me much about him but she said his parents are doctors.”
“Oh, well done Grace,” said Pauline. “If ye can’t get a teacher or shag a priest, and Lord knows they don’t seem to be into women these days, then a doctor’s the next best thing. And a doctor’s son is the best thing after that.”
Deirdre laughed.
“He’s a good-looking lad, I’ll give him that, but Pauline, he’s twenty-two and Grace’s only eighteen. That’s a big difference at that age. He’s very charming, well-spoken, Dublin’s answer to Hugh Grant in fact, but there’s something dangerous about him. Not like the lads round here, not like guns and knives but… I know he smokes dope, could smell it off him, but it’s not even that exactly. Even when he was talking to me, I felt like he was somewhere else, not off with the fairies exactly, but not totally with it. Sorry, I know I’m talking shite but I just can’t put my finger on why he gives me the creeps.”
“Sure none of them will ever be good enough for your Grace, will they now, Deirdre? Is that not maybe a big part of it?”
Deirdre had to laugh. And maybe Pauline had a point.
“I’m freezing my tits off here, girl. Shall we head?” Pauline said.
By the time Deirdre got home, it was well after midnight. They’d walked some of the way back and the air had done her good but she was still a bit unsteady and her feet were killing her. Once inside the door, she bent down to take off her high heels. She was fiddling with the slender clasp, cursing her drunk-dumb fingers, when she was pitched forward. She slammed her head into the door she had tried so hard to close quietly behind her. She slumped to the ground and he kicked her right in the stomach. The air rushed out of her. I�
�m going to die, she thought, struggling to breathe. He’s going to kill me this time. But she was so dazed, so in pain, she couldn’t do anything about it, and this helplessness terrified her.
“Get up, ye slut! Get on yer feet. Stumbling in at all hours like the hussy you are.”
Fergal was towering over her but she couldn’t see his face. He was silhouetted against the faint light on the upstairs landing. His voice was low and for that she was thankful. She couldn’t let the children see this.
“Where were ye? Out hooring ’til all hours. You’re a disgrace.”
He grabbed her hair and pulled her into the sitting room, flinging her onto the sofa like an empty packet of fags. Then, he turned and shut the door.
Still struggling to catch her breath and clutching her stomach, Deirdre forced herself to sit upright.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Fergal?” It came out like a whimper. Where was the rage she was feeling? Why was her voice letting her down as well?
“Teaching ye a lesson.” He came towards the sofa.
She fumbled in her pocket but her phone must’ve fallen out in the hall. The house phone was there too.
Deirdre felt a cold fear spreading through her body. Her heart was racing. He was going to properly hurt her this time and there was nothing she could do. She couldn’t even bloody scream. She stared at his contorted face, all throbbing veins and hate. She did not recognise this man. He slapped her hard so that her head twisted, her neck muscles screeching. Then, he was on top of her, pinning her to the sofa, his face in hers. With a start, she realised his breath was clear. He was stone-cold sober and he was straddling her and whispering the most dreadful, vicious things. But she barely heard his insults, just the blood rushing in her ears and her own anguished voice, ringing inside her head, saying again and again: he’s sober.
Then, suddenly, it was over. He delivered one final cuff to the side of her head and marched out, switching off the light so that the dark hid her humiliation. She heard him go upstairs and slam the bedroom door. That’s when she started crying and that’s how Grace found her when she came home an hour later.
Rain Falls on Everyone Page 7