Even as I said it I knew I was being silly and patronising, but I was trying to cover up because I was suddenly filled with guilt for thinking of Gavin as my little brother. It seemed a disloyal thought, disloyal to Mum, I mean.
I looked at her then, screwing up her eyes to read the total on the checkout machine – she was forty last year, and it’s time she got glasses, I think – and I felt so sorry for her. She’s just got her hair done. It’s naturally thick and wavy, and it’s a lovely honey colour. She wears it in a bouncy style, shaved up close at the back and then springing out from her head, but just as I looked at her peering anxiously to see how much this week, I saw that her face had got old and worried looking, and her lovely haircut looked as if it belonged to somebody else, somebody younger. But then she turned towards me and gave me her sunny smile and she looked OK again, and I felt relieved. I wanted to give her a hug and tell her it was all all right. But she would have been a bit surprised if I did that, so I just smiled back. Then I threw my eyes up and mouthed, Boyscouts! and grimaced. She nodded, but she threw twenty pence into their collection bucket just the same.
Wednesday 21st May
It happened again this evening. Mum was on the phone during my practising time. This time the other person rang her, though, so it’s not her fault. I’m dying to know if it’s the tall dark stranger. I hope so. Wouldn’t it be great if Mum had a – I don’t know how to put this – ‘boyfriend’ sounds too girlish, ‘man’ sounds too racy, ‘partner’ sounds too proprietorial, ‘friend’ sounds too coy. But maybe it was just somebody she got talking to outside the gallery. Maybe she was just telling him where the cloakroom was. Maybe they were just two people exchanging remarks on the street. But in that case, who is ringing her up? I just hope he’s not married, that’s all. Mum wouldn’t dream of it if he is of course. I mean, I hope he’s not married and pretending not to be.
Wednesday 28th May
Well! A great leap forward! Mum’s going out tonight with Richard. Richard is her new gentleman caller. That’s what she called him when she told us about him. It’s a little joke, that, a reference to a play, I think. I don’t know much about plays. Maths and science are really more my line than English.
She told us this morning at breakfast. I don’t think she chose breakfast on purpose because it’s a rushed meal and we have to leave first to catch the bus. I think she must have been working up to it for some time. She started to say something several times. Last week on the way home from the shopping I felt sure she was going to say something, but she doesn’t talk much when she is driving. She has to concentrate on what she is doing.
I was a little bit disappointed that she told us both together, I have to say. I thought she might have spoken to me privately first, and then I would be able to say I knew all along and make a cryptic remark about the art exhibition. I was looking forward to that. It was going to be our little joke, but I could see she was struggling to find the words – which explains why she made the feeble joke about the gentleman caller – so I didn’t say anything to make it more difficult for her. Alva went white and then burst into tears. Tears at breakfast are a bad start to any day.
I wanted to congratulate Mum, but I couldn’t with Alva making a fuss. She wants to keep our mother to herself for ever and ever, to make a sort of shrine to a dead marriage of her. It’s time she faced up to the fact that Dad is not coming back. Just because he remembers our birthdays and pays our school fees doesn’t mean he wants to go back to being a proper father. He got a divorce six months ago. I don’t know how he managed it. You still can’t get a divorce here, even though we’ve had the referendum and everything. The laws haven’t been fixed up yet. But Dad managed it. I think he got it in London. I thought Mum mightn’t like that. She doesn’t really approve of divorce, for religious reasons. But when it came to it, I think she was relieved that the whole thing was over.
Anyway, Mum’s only known this man a few weeks, I’m sure of that. It’s not as though she said she was going to marry him. Alva’s like an over-protective parent who thinks that as soon as their child meets somebody they’re going to get married! Still, it’s hard on her. She desperately wants Dad back, even still, so I tried not to be too gruff with her. It’s probably just as well it was breakfast time after all, and we had a bus to catch.
Friday 30th May
We finally got a chance to have a private chat, me and Mum. Alva went to Sarah’s after school today again, and I came home on my own. Mum was home already when I got in. I love coming home on Fridays. I turned the key in the lock with a satisfying click and I swung my schoolbag through the front door. It landed with a thud at the foot of the stairs. Mum called out from the kitchen: Pick it up. Don’t leave it there for someone to fall over.
Pick it up, I replied, imitating her voice loudly, pretending to be funny, though really I was a bit irritated. Don’t leave it there for someone to fall over.
I could hear Mum’s laugh as I picked up the offending schoolbag and slung it under the stairs where it lives. That made me feel better, hearing her laughing, I mean.
Alva is not careful with things. The whole house is strewn with her stuff. Mum and I are worn out picking up after her.
I bet you thought that was Alva, I said, as I came into the kitchen and plonked a kiss on Mum’s face. I’m taller than her now and I have to bend down to kiss her. I don’t like that. Parents are supposed to be bigger than their children. It makes me feel I have to be the grown-up around here.
Of course I didn’t. I’d know your step anywhere, she said, handing me a cup of tea. I’d know even the way you turn the key in the lock.
Tell me more about Richard, I asked, fishing a tea-leaf out of my tea. Mum always makes tea with loose tea at the weekends. She says it’s nicer, but we use teabags during the week, because they are more convenient. I love that first cup of real tea on a Friday afternoon. Not that I can really tell the difference in the taste, but it’s like a little celebration of Friday.
I mean, I added slyly, I already know that he’s tall and dark and thin.
Mum looked startled. I said nothing for a few minutes, just gave a knowing grin. Then I explained about seeing them going into the art gallery that Saturday. Mum plonked down on the chair opposite me and said: You can’t do a thing in this city, not a single thing. It’s nothing but an overgrown village.
In spite of what she was saying, you could hear in her voice that she was absolutely delighted. She was dying to know what I thought. I said I’d only caught a glimpse of him really. But she kept pressing me: didn’t I think he dressed well, didn’t he look distinguished? She was like a girl. I could have been talking to one of my friends from school: isn’t he gorgeous, isn’t he cool, don’t you like the gear he wears? It was a bit of a shock, but I suppose love makes people like that. I probably used to say that sort of thing about Bob when I first started to go out with him. I suppose it is natural to want the people close to you to approve of the person you have chosen, or are considering choosing, as a partner. I wanted to join in with her and say yes, yes, enthusiastically, he’s lovely, it’s great.
And I do think it’s great, it’s exactly what I have been wanting for her all along, but somehow, when she turned shining eyes on me I just couldn’t be as enthusiastic as she wanted me to be. I don’t know why. And I suddenly couldn’t understand why I had been so keen up to now for her to find a man. Why on earth should I have thought that that was what she needed in her life? It’s all very confusing.
What’s his family situation? I asked, lightly, looking out of the window. I felt like an old-fashioned father asking his daughter if her suitor’s intentions were honourable. It was a peculiar situation to be in, everything the wrong way round. Maybe that’s what made it so confusing.
Widower, she said.
Are you sure? I asked, watching intently, as next-door’s cat stalked along the garden wall, and feeling even more like a protective parent.
Of course! she said. I was at his wife�
��s funeral.
What? You could have knocked me over with the proverbial feather. This wasn’t exactly the sort of proof of his marital status I’d had in mind. Surely they couldn’t…
Not as a friend of his, Mum said hurriedly. I didn’t even know him then. His daughter is a pupil. Several of the staff went. I didn’t know her then either, except to see. But I thought the guidance counsellor should go.
Oh! I said, relieved. Still, I was a bit shaken. For a horrible moment I thought that Mum and this man had been, well, seeing each other while his wife was still alive. I didn’t ask any more. So much for the jokey little chat we were going to have.
Is it OK if I go bowling with Bob tonight? I asked, partly because I needed to check, but partly because I wanted to change the subject, and partly also because I wanted to re-establish the roles. After all, she is the one in authority. It’s up to her to approve of my boyfriend. Not the other way around.
Of course, Mum said, completely uninterested. I suppose I should be pleased that Bob is accepted as if he were part of the family. But somehow it made me feel hard done by, the way she just said, Of course, like that, without giving it another thought.
I don’t know what to do about Alva, Mum said then, steering the conversation back. I said Alva would be all right. It was just her age. I remember fourteen. It’s hard. But I didn’t want to talk about Alva. I didn’t want to talk at all any more. It’s funny, I had imagined this conversation, looked forward to it, but now that it had happened, I felt sort of disappointed, empty.
Sunday 1st June
I can hardly believe I did this. It’s not the sort of thing I do, normally. I never act on impulse. I don’t even know why I did it, really. I was in such a funny mood last night. But now that it’s happened, and I’ve slept on it and thought it over, I don’t think I want to undo it.
I hadn’t thought about it before, but suddenly it became clear to me last night that I never really liked bowling. It’s the sort of thing people do when they are going out together. They go bowling, so we did it too. But there I was in the bowling alley, with those bright, bright lights, and all that echoey noise, people shouting and laughing in a hollow space and the incessant, irregular sound of bowling balls trundling along and banging in their channels and those gate things crashing down, and that smell of feet you get because people change their shoes, and I thought, This is a really horrible place, what am I doing here? Why am I not at home listening to Montserrat Caballé or watching a documentary about the economy of Rwanda or making popcorn with Alva or doing anything, really, rather than being here?
I suggested to Bob we should leave, and he said: But we’ve just got here. We’ve paid.
That struck home. You couldn’t just walk out of something you’d paid for, so I stuck it out.
I won every game. The people we were with, mostly sixth-years, friends of Bob’s, began to get a bit miffed that I was doing so well. They set out to try and beat me, but I just played better and better, I sent those pins flying left, right and centre.
Hey, you’re really on top form tonight, Ashling, Bob said proudly, hanging his arm around my neck.
I could smell the mixture of fresh sweat and deodorant from his armpit, as he tightened his elbow, drawing my head in towards his body, and suddenly I started to gasp for air and pulled sharply away from him.
Now can we go? I asked. I think we’ve got our money’s worth.
Poor Bob. He really looked put out. He’d paid for me as well as himself, not because he thinks the boy should pay, but because he knows money is much more of an issue in our family than it is in his. His father is director of some company or other. His mother too. They make burglar alarms, I think. Dreadful, anti-social things. It’s not his fault. He’s a nice person, he’s kind and fair and thoughtful.
We walked home from the bowling alley. That was my idea. I still had this feeling that I needed air, and I didn’t want to pile into a bus, so we walked, even though it’s a good two or three miles. We talked, all the way. We didn’t argue. We just talked amicably, about the people who’d been at the alley with us. It was fun. I enjoyed it much more than the bowling, and I thought I had got over the feeling of claustrophobia I had got there. We laughed about how annoyed some of the others had got because I’d been winning.
But when we got to our house, I just didn’t want to ask Bob in. Mum’s usually up when I get in, and we sometimes make tea or cocoa before he goes home. But I didn’t ask him in, and just as he leaned over to kiss me good night, I ducked under his arm and said: Bob, I don’t really want to see you any more, at least not for the moment.
I don’t know where I got the words from. If I had planned to say that, I’d never have worked up the courage. But they just came out by themselves. I was nearly as shocked as he was, listening to myself saying those words. But once they were out, I found myself liking the sound of them.
I’m sorry, I went on, and I genuinely was sorry. I like Bob. He’s a good guy. I don’t really understand why I felt like that, not wanting to see him. I didn’t wait for him to answer. I just kissed him swiftly on the mouth and patted his arm consolingly. Then I flew in the gate, unlocked the door and shut it quickly behind me.
The hall light was on, but the rest of the house was in darkness. No Mum sitting up watching late-night movies and nodding off on the sofa. Oh well, I thought, maybe I don’t really want to talk to her anyway. Maybe it’s better that she’s gone to bed. I considered making cocoa just for myself, but the thought of drinking it all by myself in the kitchen, with only the World Service for company, made me feel all lonely and sorry for myself, so I just switched off the hall light and slid up the stairs to bed. I felt sort of vacant, but at the same time my head was buzzing and it took ages to get to sleep. When I did sleep, I kept dreaming about bowling balls rumbling and banging along and the clashing sounds of the bowling alley.
Friday 6th June
I sent Bob a good luck card today. He’s starting his exams on Monday. I didn’t know whether to put Love, Ashling, or Ashling XXX or what. It seemed a bit dishonest to put love and kisses, when I’ve just broken up with him. In the end I just put Ashling and one X, but I scrawled it so you could interpret it as just a squiggle if you wanted to.
I didn’t see him at school this week, because the exam classes were all out, working at home, revising for their exams. The rest of us had the tail end of our summer house exams early in the week, and then the last few days were really just clearing out. We helped to set up the exam halls, moving desks and so on. Teamwork and co-operation are part of our school’s philosophy, so we all mucked in. It was nice to be doing something different. Even fifth year can be a bit intense at times, so it is nice to get a bit of a break from academic work.
We have been advised to do a bit of school work over the summer, maybe re-reading history and reading ahead for English, that sort of thing, but to make sure we get a good break too, so we come back refreshed for the marathon year ahead – we’re doing the Leaving next year. We were all told to go away for a bit, to get a really good break. Most people in our school come from well-off families. Lots of them are going to the Dordogne or Provence for weeks on end, taking a house for the summer. Some of them even have their own holiday houses in these places. We’ll be lucky if we get a week in a caravan at Brittas Bay. I’d love to go somewhere nice. Even a package holiday would be good, but it’s out of our range. The summer is our leanest time financially, because of Mum not working.
Bob and I had a loose arrangement to go camping and youth-hostelling this summer with a gang of friends, just to Glenmalure or somewhere like that. Oh well.
Saturday 7th June
Spent the day walking around the local shops, restaurants and cafés, looking for a summer job. I think I’ve left it too late. Everywhere already has people for the summer.
Sunday 8th June
Mum went to a concert last night with Richard. She says he knows next to nothing about music, so she’s going to teach him.
Alva went to an end-of-term school disco. I thought I was going to be the only one with nowhere to go, but Mrs Merrigan – Joan, I must remember to call her Joan – who lives across the road asked me to babysit, so at least I didn’t have to sit at home and watch Kenny Live by myself. I watched it in Merrigans’ instead. At least, Kenny Live is off for the summer, I discovered, so I watched some game show on UTV, with young Darren Merrigan jumping all over the furniture brandishing an amazingly realistic looking machine gun and making appalling trutt-utt-utt-utt-utt noises and Tanya Merrigan sobbing quietly in a corner in her dressing gown. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that girl not sobbing, except when she is asleep. She’s like a little one-woman tear-factory. I felt a bit like joining her last night, but I thought that wouldn’t really be in the spirit of the contract. They’re never sent to bed before the babysitter comes. Their mother says she likes to present being babysat as a treat, so they don’t make too much fuss about her going out. She doesn’t call me the babysitter, she calls me the visitor, and she gives me two Kinder Surprise eggs when I arrive that I am supposed to give them as a present.
They make a fuss about her going out anyway, which just shows that bribery doesn’t work. She could save herself the price of the Kinder Surprises, but it’s probably guilt money. Not that I think she should feel guilty about going out once in a while, even if she does always seem to go out with creeps. Alva’s theory is that once a creep meets the children, he backs off like mad, and Joan has to wait for another creep to come along.
Sisters ... No Way! Page 13