“Yes,” I reply, less certain of my initial response.
“You were trying to kick my 15-year-old cat?” he asks, again.
“Yes,” I gulp. My throat is suddenly dry and my face is getting redder by the second. I wish they would all stop looking at me.
“Do you want me to put him out?” he asks.
“No, no, it’s fine.”
“I think I might… I don’t really like people kicking him.”
“Ok,” I squeak as I pick up my glass of water and fan myself with my hand.
“Dad, sit down,” says Helen. “Jane was aiming for me.”
“That doesn’t sound much better,” I hiss.
“Trust me, it’s better than him thinking you’re a violent cat-hater,” she replies.
He sits back at the table and waits for further explanation as to what’s going on.
“I was being a brat,” continues Helen. “Jane was calling me out on it and overshot. I’m just finding it difficult being here at the minute. I guess I’m acting out, or something.”
Mark reaches out and pats his daughter’s hand.
“I know this is a lot for you to get your head around and we have a lot of things to work through, but I’m delighted you’re here. I’ll do whatever it takes for you to believe that I won’t let you down again. I’m not going to let you push me away, I’m here to stay.”
Helen turns from him and takes a sip from her glass to hide the tears that are gathering in her eyes.
“So, Stella, you must have daddy issues too if you’re boning my dad?” asks Helen, matter-of-factly.
I start to choke on my mouthful of food and Helen thumps my back until it becomes dislodged.
She doesn’t take her eyes from Stella as she saves my life and awaits her reply.
“I really care about your dad, Helen,” Stella replies, calmly. “This will take some getting used to but I hope we can be friends once you get over the shock.”
Mark decides to put on a record to fill the silence around the table. After a few minutes I hear both Mark and Helen humming to themselves and I start to relax.
I smile at the similarities they have. I could see that Helen resembled her mum, based on the photos of her around her flat, but now, as I watched them both eat their meal I realise that she has the same shape of mouth as Mark and they both had the same laughter lines when they smiled.
I couldn’t help but feel pity for her dad. I know I didn’t know even half of what happened between them in the past, but judging by the here-and-now I thought he was making a big effort.
After dinner he tells us to relax in the living room while he cleared up. I feel uncomfortable not helping to tidy around, but Helen assures me that he prefers to do it himself. Stella stays in the kitchen with him and it gives both couples a chance to regroup and talk about how the evening is going.
All-in-all it’s not the train wreck I had been imagining, but I am glad that we aren’t drinking so we can make an escape in the car, once Helen hits her limit of time here.
“Your dad is some cook,” I say.
“Yeah, that is a talent of his. We used to cook together at the weekends,” she replies, wistfully.
There was a softness to her voice which made me hope that more progress had been made than I realised.
“He’s still the guy that let me bury my mum by myself,” she continues. “No amount of nostalgic roast chicken will erase that.”
“Maybe it doesn’t have to,” I reply, tentatively.
“What do you mean?”
“The bad he did doesn’t have to cancel out all the good. You won’t be betraying your mum’s memory or invalidating the hurt you’ve felt by trying to sort things out. I think he’s the real deal, Helen. He can’t change the past but you guys could make a new future together, if that’s something you want.”
She stares at me and I can’t tell what she’s thinking. She’s always much better at reading me than I am her, so I wait and hope that I haven’t put my foot in it.
When Mark and Stella join us in the living room, he’s holding a tray of tea and biscuits.
I pour out the tea and nearly spill the whole teapot when I see Helen hug her father.
“I’d like it if you came to therapy with me,” she says. “But only if you can swear to me that once it gets tough – and it will – that you won’t run for the hills.”
He hugs her tighter and promises that he won’t.
“I’ll never leave you again,” he says through tears.
It’s such an intimate moment that I wonder if Stella and I should leave but when their hug finishes they both pick up their teacups and talk normally. It’s like this seismic shift in their relationship didn’t just occur and it’s perfectly normal to talk about the weather.
I dunk my chocolate biscuit into my milky tea and join in with the small talk. I resist all urges to scream at them both to get them to keep talking.
Mark joining his daughter in therapy is a huge step and I feel pleased that I had a small part in pushing them together.
I just have to hope that if it all goes cataclysmically wrong, she won’t blame me for taking the leap.
The drive back to Helen’s flat is a much more pleasant one. She sings along to the car radio and I try not to laugh when she hits a bum note. She doesn’t notice when I look out the window to disguise my giggles, or she doesn’t care.
As I look back at her I can tell there’s been a weight lifted from her shoulders. Even though the relationship with Stella is questionable in her eyes, they managed not to descend into chaos.
“Thank you for coming with me,” says Helen. “I don’t think I would have been able to make it through the evening or ask Dad about therapy if you hadn’t said what you did.”
“I love you,” I say, simply. “I will always be here to help you, or kick you when you’re being an ass.”
She smiles and picks up my hand to kiss it as she drives.
“Stella seems nice,” I say cautiously.
“She was my favourite babysitter,” she replies, bluntly. “But I just hope she isn’t expecting to see any long-term commitment from my dad. He’s done marriage, had a kid and I can’t see him wanting to do nappy changes through his retirement.”
“Maybe it will keep him young,” I laugh.
“The only thing I think me and my dad have in common is our aversion to marriage. He said it ‘didn’t suit him’ which, when I was a kid, was such a dick thing to say. Now, I kinda understand where he’s coming from.”
Her casual dismissal of marriage makes my heart skip a beat.
I really didn’t want to return to this subject so soon but she is the one to bring it up. It made sense to have my say now, rather than manufacture a segue into it.
“Listen,” I begin. “If you were serious about being open to the conversation of marriage in the future then I don’t think it’s fair to say things like that. It doesn’t really tell me you have an open-mind.”
“Sorry, sorry,” she replies. “I shouldn’t have said that. I was serious about having an open-mind. I just want you to know you’ve got an uphill battle with me on this.”
She pulls into her the apartment complex and parks.
“Ready for bed?” she asks. “I don’t know about you, but I’m completely exhausted.”
I look down at my hands and realise I’m shaking. I can feel the words forming in my mind but I don’t want to say them out loud.
Helen realises there’s something amiss and asks if I’m feeling ok.
“No,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t think I am.”
“What is it? Was it the food? I feel ok.”
“No, I just had a realisation that you and I are never going to agree on this whole marriage thing. I’m certain I won’t change my mind and so are you. What are we doing here, Helen? Are we both just going to ignore this for the next few years in the hope that one of us will crack first?
“I can’t do that. I want to be wi
th you, forever, and I want to be married to you. What do you want?”
“I want to be with you too, I just don’t want to repeat the same mistakes my parents made. They got married because they thought it was the right thing to do and look how that worked out. Why can’t we work towards living together and building an excellent life, why does there have to be a big white dress in the future. Why isn’t what I’m offering enough?”
“You can’t base your belief of marriage on how your parents worked out.”
“Isn’t that what you’re doing? You see your mum and dad and think: ‘I want that’ and now you’re trying to fit me into that picture because you think it’s what our future is meant to look like? We can have any future we want; it doesn’t have to be what they did.”
“Any future but the one I want, you mean? You can’t say I’m trying to fit you into a picture when you’re doing the exact same to me.”
Helen hits the steering wheel in frustration then rests her head up against it.
“I don’t want to get married,” she whispers. “Not ever.”
“I can’t see my future without it.”
As the silence drags on I try to think of ways to resolve this stalemate. I try to convince myself that if we just continue the way things are I’ll be happy but I can’t. This isn’t about a white dress and a party; it’s about solidifying our love for each other. It’s about standing up in front of the world and telling them we are bound to each other for the rest of our lives. Perhaps it’s naive, perhaps it’s not progressive for this day and age, but it’s how I feel.
“Jane?” she asks.
My heart feels hopeful that she might finally understand how important this is to me.
“Yes?” I reply as I take her hand in mine.
“I think you should go home, tonight.”
“What are you talking about? I’m not going anywhere; we need to talk about this.”
“I’m done talking about this,” she replies, firmer than I’ve ever heard her. “I want some space. I feel like I need to step back and have a think about what I want.”
The air from my lungs all but vanishes and I think I’m going to pass out.
“You’re breaking up with me?” I ask.
“No,” she replies, but not even she sounds convinced. “This is obviously something we both feel really strongly about and I don’t want to make a promise I can’t keep. I told you I would be open to a conversation about this in the future, but if I’m being honest I was just saying that to keep the peace.
“I want the way we are, to be enough but you want more. I don’t want either of us to have to compromise on something we feel so strongly about and we end up resenting each other.”
“I won’t resent you, I could never resent you,” I say, “I wish this conversation had never even been started.”
“Jane, don’t dare shrink your hopes for your future to suit anyone else – not even me. Especially not me. This isn’t a break-up, I swear. I want to get my head around this whole marriage thing and I need to do that without you here. We have to break this stalemate somehow and you’re right, it’s better that we do it now instead of years down the line.”
I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave here knowing that there’s a possibility I’ll never see her again. I wish I didn’t feel the way I did about marriage but now it’s out of the box I can’t seem to put it back in.
I kiss her and don’t want it to end because as soon as it does I have to walk away and not look back. I have my own thinking to do. I have to have faith that by the end of this time-out we can come together again and be on the same page on where and what we want for our relationship.
I get out of the car and go towards mine. I realise that my keys are in her flat but I don’t have the strength to go upstairs and leave again. I know if I go inside I’ll agree to whatever she wants and that would be much worse in the long run.
Helen agrees to get my things and bring them down to me.
I hold in the tears that are trying to burst through as I watch Helen come towards me with my bags.
Her eyes are puffy and red but she doesn’t cry in front of me.
“We are going to sort this out,” she says. “Maybe by the end of all this we’ll even switch our opinions.”
She looks hopeful but I can’t bring myself to feel the same.
“I just need a bit of time and I think you need some too,” she continues. “I love you.”
I don’t say it back as I take my bags from her and throw them in the boot. I don’t wave or say another word as I get into the car. I know she’s still standing beside it but I refuse to look at her. I have to drive away before I change my mind and run to her. She wants time to think about things and I will give it to her.
I turn onto the motorway, speeding towards Cork and away from the love of my life; possibly for the last time.
Chapter 8
It’s the day of the hen party and it’s been the longest two weeks of my life. Helen and I are no closer to coming to a resolution but we have been talking most days. Sometimes it’s as wonderful as it always was but as soon as we go anywhere near the subject that is stalling everything else in our relationship things get tense.
She was meant to be coming to the hen party but under the circumstances she said she didn’t feel comfortable pretending that everything was good between us.
I understand her reasoning, but I’m still hurt that she won’t be coming. A night away at a fancy hotel could be the break from reality that we need to get us back on track.
I know it’s a foolish hope, but foolish hope is all I have left. Try as I might to swallow my pride and tell her I don’t care about marriage, I can’t. It would be a lie and we’d end up right back here when I can’t hold it in any longer. I know she feels the exact same way about her point of view.
In a way I’m glad of the distraction from everything and Siobhan is so excited that it’s hard not to get swept up in her good mood.
“It’s a pity Helen can’t make it,” she says as she packs the last of her things into a bag. “It must be a really bad flu if she’s not letting you visit for another weekend.”
I mumble something non-committal in the hope that she’ll change the subject back to the party.
“Do you not think you should go down and see her anyway? Not today, I mean. I just feel bad that she’s there on her own, sick, and you’re not going to keep her company.”
My flu cover story was only meant to keep my family from asking more questions for the first week. I honestly expected that we’d sort out this disagreement before now so basically I look like the world’s most heartless girlfriend for not visiting.
“I’ll shoot down during the week,” I reply.
I’ve no idea how I’m going to explain this all away but that’s future Jane’s problem. Here-and-now Jane has much more pressing matters, like spending the next day with Helen’s really loud and excitable friends.
They’re not a bad bunch, just more raucous than me. This is not a hard task, to be honest.
We all pile onto the mini bus and head off towards Cork city to check into the hotel. I’m waiting until we get there before I tell Siobhan our plans for the night. I’m excited that despite things going wrong with Helen, I can at least pat myself on the back for getting this right.
Siobhan is definitely the classy one in the family. She has wonderful taste, a certain air of sophistication and dresses impeccably. If we didn’t have the same shape of nose, I would doubt we are related at all.
Some of the party-goers have brought their own drink aboard and are ignoring the sign which tells us there’s no alcohol allowed.
“What time is the stripper arriving?” asks Danielle. “Or is the driver going to get his kit off when we pull over at the next petrol station?”
They all laugh and some start cheering ‘get your kit off’. I look at Siobhan in the hope that she can calm them down but she is cheering the loudest.
“Alright,
girls, keep it civilised back there or I’ll come back and sort you out,” shouts the driver with a cheeky wink through the rear view mirror.
This makes them cheer even more and I watch, in shock as Siobhan runs up to the front of the bus and plants a kiss on the top of his head.
“I’ve pulled,” she squeals in delight then nearly falls on her behind as the bus moves off.
I did not expect to see this side of my sister. We had never socialised together before, not even as much as trip to the pub.
A few drinks at house parties over the years was the height of it. I start to worry that I’m going to be taking part in a ‘Girls Gone Wild’ documentary.
My mother is going to kill me if I let Siobhan run off with the bus driver, weeks before her wedding day.
This was turning into the longest bus journey of my life and all I can do is watch as Siobhan drinks straight from a bottle of wine. The last thing I want to do is put a dampener on the festivities before we even get to the hotel but I am seriously worried she’s going to chip a tooth as she swigs from the bottle.
I ask for a drink, hoping that the more I drink the less that would be left for her but she turns the bottle upside down to show me it’s empty.
We pull up at the hotel after almost an hour on the bus and I realise that I am the only sober person here. Those who snuck drink on the bus had enough to go around and obviously I was the only one who wanted to keep a clear head. Everyone has given me their money for the overnight stay and I’m sweating as I mentally calculate just how much I should have in my bag. If I get mugged right now, they’ll be bagging a fortune.
I pay the driver and hurry ahead of the rest of them so I can offload the money to the hotel and stop feeling like a target for someone to rob. There’s two servers waiting for us at the door and one hands me a glass of champagne. I thank her but don’t stop in my mission to get rid of this money.
“Welcome to Hotel Caos, how may I help?” asks the friendly man behind the counter.
“Booking for McMahon, it’s a hen party. You can probably hear them from here.”
He smiles and taps on the computer as I look behind to see the carnage unfolding. They’ve all descended on the bewildered servers and taken full advantage of the welcome drink. By the time they make their way past the front doors, the trays are empty.
Weddings and Other Things I Hate Page 8