Her mother interrupted her reverie. ‘Cassie, would you ever switch on Irene’s blanket for me?’ she asked as the commercial break began. ‘She likes to have it on for a while to heat up her bed.’ Cassie had to smile. The way her mother still babied her youngest daughter, who was all of seventeen years old! And the things she got away with! Irene never had to lift a finger in the house and she was allowed to stay out until all hours – a far cry from when Cassie was growing up. That was always the way, wasn’t it: the youngest always had it much easier. Barbara was forever giving out about Irene. But then Barbara always had a chip on her shoulder about something. Right now she was in a huff because Nora had given John a loan to buy a few acres of land to start off his own business. John told his mother he would prefer to run his own farm rather than take over the management of hers and Nora had agreed that it was better for him in the long run to have his own place. Then there’d be no arguments. Barbara felt John was getting special treatment. She could do with a loan to buy a car but there was no offer of financial assistance forthcoming from her mother.
Barbara could still be so petty, Cassie reflected, as she switched on her sister’s electric blanket. She and that great lump of a detective she was currently dating were a great match. A cute hoor, Laura had called Ian Murray, and Cassie had had to agree with her friend’s assessment of Barbara’s boyfriend. What her sister saw in the Donegal detective, Cassie could not imagine.
Twenty-Four
Barbara sashayed into the bedroom with a couple of cans of beer and a plate of chicken sandwiches and watched with pleasure as her boyfriend’s face lit up. Whether it was the sight of her, in her black see-through negligee, or the sight of the beer and sandwiches that caused his pleasure, she was not sure. Ian was a man of few words. But of course, that was part and parcel of being a detective. They never gave much away; they were trained to keep their own counsel. His mates were all the same, watchful and silent. Barbara loved it. It turned her on. She always enjoyed being with them for an evening, all these strong, manly, silent types. She felt so dainty and feminine when she was in their company. Being a feminist and a journalist could be tough going at the best of times but with the crowd of male chauvinists that Ian hung around with one had to be rapier-sharp. Barbara never let them away with a thing and she knew she impressed the hell out of them. She impressed the hell out of herself, if the truth were known.
She had come a long way from her small-town roots in Port Mahon. Now she was a cosmopolitan career woman on the way up. How she loved that word cosmopolitan. She even bought Cosmopolitan religiously every month and devoured its articles on sex and the single girl and how to please yourself as well as your man. She could really identify with the articles about career women. That was what she was, a career woman, and she intended going as high up the ladder as she could. Cassie and Laura weren’t the only ones who could get ahead in their careers. Barbara was hot on their tails. The set she mixed with was sophisticated and smart. Of course, Noreen, her mentor, would settle for nothing less.
It impressed Barbara no end the way Noreen went to the Horseshoe Bar at the Shelbourne every Friday and drank champagne as she mixed with all the movers and shakers. For the life of her, Barbara could not understand all the fuss about champagne; it tasted like bubbly apple juice to her and gave her heartburn. But that was neither here nor there. It was what Noreen Varling drank and therefore it would be what Barbara drank from now on.
She missed working with Noreen, missed their long gossipy lunch-hours. Noreen knew every bit of gossip going: who was having an affair with whom, politicians, actors, actresses, socialites and ladies who lunch – Noreen knew them all, and all the seedy little secrets that circulated faster than Concorde around the hot spots of the capital. Noreen liked being a big fish in a little pond and had never hankered after a post on one of the dailies but she had encouraged Barbara to take the position of junior reporter in The Irish Mail, when the job came up. ‘You’ll be right in the thick of things and you’ll go far!’ she assured her protégée and proceeded to give Barbara a glowing reference. Lots of champers had been quaffed when Barbara got the job.
There were times, of course, when Barbara got fed up with her job. Like today, for example, when she was instructed by the features editor to do one of those silly vox pop things and interview celebrities on what they thought of the Pope’s forthcoming visit. Most of the responses were pretty boring crap, but Arlene Ford, the flamboyant award-winning actress, had drawled in that unmistakable husky voice that quite frankly she wasn’t the slightest bit impressed by the Pope or his visit but that box-office takings would be down and, as she was on a percentage, would His Holiness care to reimburse her for her lower earnings, seeing as it was his fault in the first place.
Barbara was delighted with the quote but the lily-livered features editor wouldn’t run it for fear of controversy. It was enough to make a saint curse – and she was no saint! If she were the features editor there’d be a lot of that sort of thing – and much more. She’d really have the pages of The Irish Mail humming. Still, in time she’d get there. Even Ian was impressed with how ambitious she was.
It was through doing an article on the courts that she had met Detective Ian Murray. He was giving evidence in the case of some criminal gang involved in drug trafficking and Barbara was covering the case for the Mail. They had got talking, rather Barbara had got talking, Ian giving monosyllabic answers to her questions. The following day he rang the Mail and asked her to go out for a drink. Barbara accepted with delight – his silent demeanour had made a big impression on her. He was about five-eleven in height and stocky of build with a black moustache and black hair. His eyes were a cold slate-grey. With Ian it was hard to know what he was thinking. For some reason this excited her. Barbara had always loved a challenge. They arranged to meet in McGrath’s pub in Drumcondra as she was doing a piece on the Archbishop’s Palace just up the road.
Sitting waiting for him, Barbara observed small groups of prison officers, guards and detectives drinking in the smoky bar. With its proximity to Mountjoy Prison, it wasn’t surprising to see so many law enforcers there. You just couldn’t miss them with their short-back-and-sides regulation hair-cuts and their wary way of observing everything that was happening. Obviously this was one of Ian’s haunts as his station on Griffith Avenue wasn’t too far away. She wished he would hurry up. Despite her role as a modern Irish feminist, she didn’t like sitting in a pub on her own for long. He was twenty minutes late, during which time she got up and went to the loo twice, re-touching her make-up and brushing her hair. She looked well, she felt, with her newly-cropped hairstyle.
Barbara had decided she needed a new image and went to Peter Mark and had her long mousy hair chopped. Highlights and a short layered look had made all the difference and she had been delighted. Now she really looked the part. The only thing was that her short hair caused more of her ears to be displayed than she cared for. Barbara was rather sensitive about her ears; they were big, unfortunately. The next time she got her hair done she would ask the hairdresser to layer her hair down over them. Nevertheless, in her black polo with just a silver chain for decoration and her grey pencil-slim skirt, she felt elegant, a real cosmopolitan woman.
After several drinks, beer for him, vodka and orange for her, he took her to Captain America for a meal. Barbara was impressed. She had never been there before. Her salary just about covered the occasional sortie to the Royal Dublin Hotel for lunch in the bar. Barbara did most of the talking as Ian listened and asked her the odd question. Getting information out of him was like drawing blood from a stone, but she found out that he was from Letterkenny in Donegal and came from a family of six. He was thirty, he owned a house in Santry which was let in flats and he lived in a flat in Drumcondra.
They went for a drive to Sandymount strand and he tried it on, his hands roaming over her like an octopus. Barbara told him in no uncertain terms to mind his manners. It wasn’t that she was a prude but she was damned
if he thought he could get away with anything on the first date. In keeping with her woman-of-the-world image, Barbara had lost her virginity several years back to Dentist Burke’s son. It had happened one night after a dance her secretarial college had organized. It had been a rushed messy affair and she had not been impressed, nor had subsequent couplings done much to improve her opinion. But avid readings of the glossy monthly mags had sent her on the trail of the orgasm that had so far eluded her. She was on the pill; she knew what she wanted. Maybe Ian was the man to give it to her, but not on the first date. Never on the first date. Barbara was a woman of principle!
After the third date when she saw him eyeing up a tarty-looking blonde in McGrath’s she went to bed with him, although she was still on the quest of the fabled orgasm. Not that she let on to Ian. She moaned and groaned and puffed and panted and she knew by him that he thought Casanova was only trotting after him! That night she found out that he was a Special Branch detective and entitled to carry a gun, which almost made up for the disappointment in bed. Just wait until she told the girls she was seeing a Special Branch detective! They’d have to be impressed by that.
They weren’t, and Barbara was furious. The first time she brought him back to the flat and introduced him to Aileen, Cassie and Judy, Ian plonked himself in front of the TV after the introductions and switched over to the Leeds–Everton match.
‘Yeh don’t mind, do yeh?’ he mumbled. ‘Any chance of a cup of tea?’
Aileen had been watching Coronation Street and her eyebrows nearly shot off her forehead as she caught Cassie’s wide-eyed gaze. Judy babbled something about making tea and went scuttling off to the kitchen. It had been a strained visit.
‘Listen, Barbara, the next time Sherlock Holmes comes visiting I won’t be so polite about letting him watch his football match, OK?’ Aileen informed her coolly over breakfast the next morning. Thank God she was going to England after her exams were over. Barbara couldn’t stand Aileen and the feeling was mutual. They were always rowing. A few weeks before, when Barbara had left the grill dirty and Aileen had come home from work to cook her dinner there had been a screaming match as Aileen had called Barbara a slovenly bitch and Barbara had countered by calling Aileen a pathetic old maid. At least Laura was living with someone and Cassie was engaged to Robbie. If Aileen, who was manless, were feeling frustrated, she was not to be taking it out on her flatmates.
Aileen was so furious that she had issued Cassie with an ultimatum. ‘Either she goes or I go.’
Tor God’s sake, I’ve had enough, Barbara!’ Cassie yelled. ‘If you can’t make an effort, go and get your own place!’
‘Typical!’ screeched Barbara. ‘You take her side against me every time.’ Slamming the door behind her she got the train to Port Mahon and went home to pour out her woes to Nora. Her mother lifted the phone and gave Cassie a piece of her mind.
Cassie was sizzling with anger and told Barbara in no uncertain terms that she should cop on to herself and grow up, instead of running home to her mother with every little upset. The coolness in the flat lasted for ages. Even Judy was annoyed with her and that really bugged Barbara. She had been so looking forward to coming to live in Dublin and to sharing the flat; Cassie, Aileen and Laura had a ball living together. When Laura went to live with Doug Donnelly, conveniently leaving the way open for Judy and then Barbara to take up residence, the two younger girls had been delighted. After all, it was a flat for four and with Aileen going to the UK, there was no reason why Judy, Cassie and she should have any less fun and good times.
When Aileen sarcastically called Ian Sherlock Holmes, Barbara had to bite her tongue. She didn’t want there to be another row, because she’d really have to go and get a place of her own if she upset them all again and moving was such a load of hassle.
Mostly they went back to Ian’s flat at night from then on. If Aileen thought Barbara was slovenly, she should see Ian’s pad! Dirty shirts strewn all over the place, a mountain of dishes in the sink, the bed unmade. Barbara was a bit disgusted. Some men, if they hadn’t a woman to look after them, just hadn’t got a clue. When she knew there was going to be nobody in the Ranelagh flat, Ian stayed the night and she really enjoyed those evenings, sitting in front of the fire with him, and then going up to her and Judy’s shared bedroom, where at least the sheets on the bed were clean.
When Aileen left and went to England Barbara was delighted. No more nagging from that quarter. Cassie was lucky, she had a room to herself and Robbie could stay over if he wished. Barbara was almost sure that Cassie and her fiancé were sleeping together. If Nora knew she would be horrified. It was a pity Barbara hadn’t got her own room; then she wouldn’t have to wait for the times she had the flat to herself to bring Ian over for the night. Since Aileen left, she’d had the flat to herself only three times in the space of six months.
To have a Saturday night in the flat on her own was a precious treat, Barbara reflected, sitting on the bed beside Ian as he tucked into the chicken sandwiches. It wasn’t her chicken either, it was Judy’s. She’d have to get a cooked chicken somewhere tomorrow before her flatmate came back. That chicken was supposed to be Judy’s dinner. It really was a stroke of luck that Robbie had gone to Belfast and Cassie had decided to go home. Judy was in London visiting Aileen and wasn’t due back until tomorrow afternoon so Barbara and Ian could relax and have a lie-in and linger over breakfast. Sighing contentedly, she nestled close against her boyfriend. Ian belched as he finished his second can of beer. ‘That was nice grub. Any more chicken left?’ he asked.
Barbara was just about to get out of bed to go to the kitchen when she heard the key in the door.
‘Shit!’ she cursed aloud. Cassie must have come back from Port Mahon. Her lovely peaceful weekend was up the creek!
Judy O’Shaughnessy was in an awful rush as she slipped her key into the lock of the flat. Her heart sank when she drove up in the taxi to see that Detective Murray’s car was parked outside the door. She found him terribly hard going and what Barbara saw in him she could not make out. Anyway, she didn’t have time to be worrying about Barbara and Sherlock Murray, as Aileen had unkindly christened him. Judy grinned as she thought of Aileen. She had thoroughly enjoyed her few days in London, and had come back with her eyebrows and eyelashes tinted, legs waxed and nails manicured. It was handy having a beautician for a sister. Still, she needed to be looking her best this weekend of all weekends.
Tonight, Andrew Lawson was picking her up at ten-thirty to take her to dinner at Capri, the plush restaurant Laura had once worked in. She knew Andrew Lawson in a business capacity. His firm often rented cars for his clients at the airport and she had to deal with them. She had met him several times in Sachs nightclub and had even danced with him but it wasn’t until she had found herself unexpectedly sitting beside him on the plane to London that she had ever got into a conversation with him. He was gorgeous, drop dead gorgeous and she had really enjoyed the flight. When he asked her what she was doing on the following Saturday night she hadn’t let on that she was going to be in London, just in case he asked her out.
‘Nothing planned,’ she murmured lightly, telling a little fib.
‘Would you care to have dinner with me, then?’ he enquired, his eyes smiling into hers in a way that had left her quite bemused. He had the most striking green eyes.
‘I’d love to,’ Judy responded, hoping against hope that she’d be able to get a flight on the Saturday afternoon instead of Sunday afternoon. She gave him her address before they touched down. Watching him stride off the plane, his trenchcoat flapping behind him, she thought, wow!
‘Huh!’ teased Aileen when she heard of this development after they met at Heathrow. ‘So I’m being dropped for a dish in a trenchcoat.’ She had just managed to get a glimpse of Andrew in the arrivals hall.
‘Oh he’s something else,’ bubbled Judy. ‘All the girls on the desk are mad about him. He’s always got women raving over him.’
‘Well, play it cool,’ warn
ed her sister.
‘As a cucumber,’ Judy assured her.
‘What’s the news from home? How are Ma and Cassie and Laura and Barbara?’ Aileen was chuffed to see her sister and they settled down on the taxi-ride to exchange all the gossip. Judy had been looking forward to the few days with Aileen, although her mother had nearly had a fit when she said she was flying over to London.
‘And leaving me here all alone with not a sinner to call on if I’m in trouble? That’s lovely! The pair of you haven’t a thought for your poor old mother. That other one’ – thus did Angela O’Shaughnessy refer to her elder daughter – ‘doesn’t give a rap about me. Taking off to London to put make-up on other people’s faces when she had a perfectly good permanent and pensionable job in the Corporation. I hope you’re not getting any such ideas, my lady!’
‘No, Mother, I’m not,’ Judy said patiently. ‘I just have a few days’ holidays and I thought I’d pop over and see Aileen.’ That remark was a mistake.
‘Oh! And you couldn’t be bothered to spend a few days with your poor mother. This house needs to be papered and painted. I don’t see you helping me the way Cassie Jordan helps her mother. You could have asked me if I’d like to go with you,’ Angela sniffed. ‘I wouldn’t mind a trip to London myself.’
‘Oh that would be impossible, Mother. I’ve booked on an Apex flight and you have to book them weeks in advance!’ Judy fibbed hastily, with visions of her lovely few days being ruined completely.
Finishing Touches Page 25