‘That’s our main newsreader over there, we poached him from RTÉ. He’s good but he’s mad to get out on the road again, says he really misses it. But the boss – that’s her, the tall one with the terrible dress – says she wants him in the studio the whole time. So I think he’s gonna leave. And that’s Sean Daly, well you know him, the showbiz guy, he’s an awful bollix but the viewers love him …’
With no need to contribute any further to the conversation, Yvonne could feel the tiredness descend again. She wanted to enjoy herself, wanted to join in but her mind felt distanced, like she was watching the room from behind a Vaseline-coated screen. A phrase flickered in her head. Bone tired. Even her bones were tired. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept for more than three hours at a time and even then it had been with one ear cocked to hear the baby. Gerry slept in the spare room most of the time these days. That was the deal they had made, the baby was her responsibility while she was on maternity leave. He was working fourteen-hour days, it wasn’t fair on him to have to get up at night as well. That was what she had signed up for. But, Lord, she was exhausted. Making one more attempt to get into the party spirit, she sucked down more champagne and broke into Mary’s flow.
‘So, what’s Teevan himself like, then? Bit of a charmer? Comes across like that on TV anyway.’
‘Yeah. I guess.’
Mary bit her lip and looked away, silenced for the first time. Yvonne laughed.
‘Ah come on. You can tell me! I only get Gerry’s side of the story! Bit of a ladies man, is he?’
God, ladies man. She sounded like an elderly relative trying to be cool at a wedding. But the smaller woman blushed.
‘I suppose …’
But just then the sea of black suits in front of her parted and her husband emerged, beaming, steering Eamonn Teevan in front of him like a child with a prized toy. Mary darted forward and kissed the men on the cheek. Gerry returned the embrace enthusiastically, but Teevan barely looked at her. His eyes roamed and then locked on Yvonne’s.
She took a deep breath. Although Gerry had been working at Ireland 24 for more than six months, Yvonne had never actually met Eamonn Teevan. Gerry had commuted from England when the show was in pre-production, and when they finally found a permanent home in Ireland she had either been too pregnant, too post-natal or too knackered. She’d seen him on television, of course, and could never quite understand why the gossip columnists were so quick to label him handsome. He was as tall as Gerry but stockier, his broad shoulders and misshapen nose the legacy of his previous career as a professional rugby player. His narrow, slightly pointed features made him look less than sympathetic on screen. In the flesh though it was easy to overlook these imperfections. Eamonn Teevan carried with him the absolute serenity of a man comfortable in his own skin. He looked like a happy man. Which made him a very attractive one.
The presenter reached over and grabbed her hand, holding it for just a second too long.
‘I am so glad you could make it! I was thrilled when Gerry said you could come. Thanks, I really appreciate it.’
‘Oh. That’s okay.’
Yvonne paused, totally taken aback by his apparent sincerity. She was an absolute minnow at this event. Gerry Mulhern’s plus-one was the best she could hope for, but Eamonn Teevan was looking at her as if her decision to attend had made his evening. She smiled cautiously and dipped her head in the direction of her husband.
‘Oh, Gerry has been looking forward to this for ages …’
But Teevan didn’t seem interested in her husband. Instead, he smiled and moved closer to her.
‘How is Róisín? She must be what, nearly six months now? It’s such a lovely age.’
‘Yeah. She’s, ehm, twenty-two weeks.’
God, he was good. Yvonne had friends in London who’d be hard pressed to remember her daughter’s name, let alone guess her exact age. She wondered sometimes if Gerry himself could remember it without counting on his fingers. She found herself smiling broadly and continued.
‘Yeah. She’s a sweetheart. Giving us lots of smiles.’
Gerry clapped the presenter on the shoulder.
‘Yeah, she’s a great kid, alright. Hey, Eamonn, I think I just saw the head of the awards committee walk in, we should really go over and say hello …’
But Teevan ignored him and bent towards Yvonne again.
‘I don’t suppose you have a photo on you?’
She laughed. ‘I think how many is the question! Here …’
Taking her phone out of the bag, she noticed it was still open at the Netmammy page. She clicked it closed and tapped at her photo library.
‘This is one I took yesterday …’
Several minutes of cooing followed, all of it led by Teevan. Mary made a valiant effort to join in, but clearly ran out of things to say after the third shot in a row of Róisín enjoying her battery-operated bouncy chair. Yvonne was weighing up whether to play a quick video of the baby attempting to put her feet in her mouth, when her husband intervened again.
‘We have to go, love. I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?’
Yvonne blushed, suddenly aware she had been monopolising the conversation. Teevan smiled.
‘He’s a slave driver, your fella! Sure, I’m only the hired hand. She’s gorgeous, though.’
Leaning over, he kissed Yvonne on the cheek and then turned to her husband.
‘You’re a lucky man, Ger.’
His aftershave clung around her like a hug as her husband steered him away.
Mary drained her glass.
‘Well, I guess that answers your question.’
‘Yeah …’
Totally distracted, Yvonne attempted to take a drink from an empty glass and signalled at a waiter to bring her another. She had never felt so totally disarmed. She had been fully expecting to meet an egomaniac, a man totally obsessed with his own image. Instead she appeared to have just spent ten pleasant minutes chatting with a nice guy. Nice. Lord. She must be hormonal. Or maybe it was the champagne.
Straightening her shoulders, Mary gave a quick, bright smile.
‘C’mon, they’re calling us in. I think we’re all at the same table. It’ll be a laugh.’
And it was a laugh. In fact Yvonne couldn’t remember the last time she had had so much fun. A text message from Hannah had arrived along with dinner:
The baby is asleep. All well here, have fun! Hx
Barely pausing to register that, of course, Hannah was the type of person who’d use punctuation in a text message, Yvonne had switched off her phone and finally let go.
Seated beside Eamonn Teevan, who appeared to find her every utterance fascinating, she slipped, for the first time in over a year, into party mode. The food was good, the wine plentiful and when the Teevan Tonight team picked up a total of three awards, she led the wolf-whistling and glass-clinking at the table. Moments later, she found herself on the dance floor, being spun from Mary to Gerry like the ball bearing in a particularly intense game of pinball.
‘Y’okay?’ Gerry yelled into her ear.
‘Yeah! Brilliant.’
He grabbed her by the hand and pulled her aside.
‘Don’t you want to be getting home to the baby, or anything?’
‘Naw. ‘S’all good.’
‘You sure?’
‘NO!’
She threw her head back, felt the curls brush against the bare back of the tight new dress she was starting to enjoy wearing.
‘We need a night off. We need …’
Putting one arm around his waist, she put the other around his neck and pulled him close to her. Closing her eyes, she rested her cheek on his. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been this close to him.
‘I’ll tell you what we need—’
There was a sudden pinch around her waist and the rest of the sentence whistled past Gerry as she was pulled from behind and spun around. Her high heels brought her level with Teevan’s face and he laughed at her look
of surprise.
‘You owe me a dance anyway!’
‘Really?’
She turned her head back towards her husband, missing the moment they had almost shared. Hoping that he’d intervene and grab her back. Hoping the moment had been of value to him too. But Gerry simply gave a pantomime shrug and allowed Teevan to drag her into the middle of the dance floor.
‘I won three prizes tonight. You have to dance with me, it’s in the rules.’
She twisted her head again, but Gerry shook his head ruefully and smiled.
‘Have fun, guys.’
Teevan tightened his grip on her waist. As her pulled her closer, the music changed and grew slower, deeper, darker. He pulled her tight.
‘Now, this is proper music.’
‘I can’t. Waltsch. Waltz.’ She enunciated carefully. ‘Waltz.’
‘That’s okay. I’ll lead.’
For a moment she contemplated pulling away. Then his grip on her waist tightened and she felt herself being guided expertly around the now less crowded dance floor. Couples slid away, and space appeared around them.
‘Ya see? You are brilliant.’
She smiled as the rhythm of the music entered her bones. As she tossed her head back she realised two things, one: that she was very, very drunk and two: that she didn’t care. She bent forward and spoke into his ear.
‘I’m shit, actually, but you can hold me up.’
He grinned up at her.
‘With pleasure! You Lahndon girls. Too busy in the clubs to learn proper dancing. Us Paddys spent our evenings waltzing our mammies around the kitchen. She said it would come in useful one day.’
‘My mammy didn’t waltz.’
They were cheek to cheek now, the conversation a murmur as the dance floor revolved around them.
‘No? Too busy rearing her beautiful daughter.’ ‘Not really, no.’
There was another layer of Vaseline separating her brain from her senses, and Yvonne could feel her voice rumbling against his face.
‘My mother isn’t … wasn’t … the dancing type.’
His hand, which had been resting on the small of her back, began to massage her spine in slow smooth circles. It felt good. Comforting.
‘What did she do at parties, then? Was she more of the singsong type? A few cans and a verse of “Danny Boy”?’
‘You have some very funny ideas about mothers!’
‘I’m a big fan of mothers! What’s yours like, then?’
Attempting a quick revolution, he stumbled and his cheek bumped off hers. It was over in a moment, but Yvonne suddenly realised he was as drunk as she was. The realisation was liberating and she leant back, moulding herself into his hand.
‘She’s a complete bitch, actually.’
She laughed, and he stared into her eyes.
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
The pace of the music changed, ‘Dancing Queen’ encouraging groups of solo dancers back onto the floor. Teevan took Yvonne by the hand and led her into the shadows at the side of the room.
‘You sound like you need another drink.’
Yvonne looked at him, suddenly conscious of where she was, and who she was with. ‘I don’t think either of us needs another drink.’
‘Probably not. But I know I deserve one.’ He tossed his head in the direction of the stage. ‘Television presenter of the night, that’s me. Here …’ He deposited her at a table, kissed her hand ostentatiously and then left, returning moments later with two brimming glasses of red wine.
‘So tell me all about your mother.’
‘You don’t want to hear about her. Or me.’
‘Ah, but I do, Yvonne. Sure, Gerry never shuts up about you! I’ve been dying to hear more.’
She didn’t believe him, but found the lie comforting. And, as the rough red wine entered her blood stream she began to talk. Words spilled from her, a story she hadn’t told in years. The story of home. How it felt to be the only child of elderly parents, who’d given up hope of conceiving years before her unexpected arrival. The story of her father, and how tight a unit they’d been.
The story of the day they lost him, and lost themselves as well.
The sadness. The arguments. The clash of two women sharing a home, two women who loved each other but never really got on. She told him about the fights. The small rows, the petty niggles. And the Big One. The eruption that followed her mother’s realisation that she hadn’t really been spending her evenings in Alison’s house, and that Richard had his own flat in town. Her mother’s insistence that her fury had to do with the lies, and the deception, and the fact that Richard was thirty-three. Yvonne yelling that if Richard had been white, there wouldn’t be a problem. And that it was 2002, not 1952.
She told him about the ultimatum.
‘Not if you want to stay under my roof.’
Yvonne hadn’t believed people actually used that phrase outside of badly written soap operas, and called her bluff. But her mother hadn’t blinked. She moved in with Richard the following day, but the relationship barely outlasted their first pint of milk. So she went, alone, to London. And never spoke to her mother again.
She had seen her face though. Recognised it late on the glorious, frantic, terrifying, euphoric night of Róisín’s birth, when Gerry had gone home and she was finally alone with her daughter in the starched bed at the end of the ward. The bundle in her arms had twitched and yawned and Yvonne had seen her mother in the roundness of the face and the elegance of the action. She’d reached over to the locker then, determined to call her, to tell her the one piece of news that could reach across a decade and cure everything.
But the phone was out of reach. The charger had fallen onto the ground. And Róisín twitched again, startled herself awake and began to cry hungrily.
By the time Yvonne had settled her again the moment had passed and her mother had vanished into the bleach-scented air.
The next morning, everyone told her the baby looked like Gerry, and she agreed.
The story of tears. She was telling him about tears. Or maybe she was crying? He was holding her hand. At some stage, she looked up and Teevan was gone and Mary was there, handing her a tissue and reaching up to rub ineffectually at her shoulder-blades. And then there was a toilet, and bright lights and more sobbing. And Gerry. But that was later. And later still there was nothing at all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
BRAND NEW BOTTLES FOR SALE
FarmersWife
Hi girls, bought six new bottles and LO won’t drink out of them, grr. Ended up using DS’s old ones, poor little man doesn’t have a thing new! Anyway they’re in perfect nick, if anyone wants them PM me. Will sell for half price. I’m in west, in the sticks but will be travelling into Galway a couple of times next week if that helps. Haven’t told DH, he thinks I spend far too much on the munchkins as it is LOL.
SO ASHAMED AND EMBARRASSED
LondonMum
Like the thread says girls. Am so ashamed and embarrassed. Don’t know why I’m posting really. Just so upset. Went out last night for the first time in ages with DH. Didn’t think I had that much to drink but got absolutely slammed. Don’t even remember coming home. MIL was babysitting and she ended up having to keep babs all night. DH just drove me straight home and put me to bed. DD cried all night apparently and she had to give her formula cos I hadn’t left enough EBM Don’t remember anything. Oh girls I’m so ashamed. All DH’s work colleague were there … tears in my eyes typing this. And I’m so so sick … puked twice and still feel lousy. DH is being really nice, saying it’s ages since I had a night out but oh Christ I feel so bad! I seriously didn’t think I had that much but half the evening is a total blank … just want to crawl into bed and make it go away
RedWineMine
Don’t worry hon that’s the hangover talking. We all get the ‘dreads’ the morning after. Look at my username, I’m speaking from experience! You’ll be fine. Was it a good night at least?
LondonMum
Dub6Mam
Ah, hugs to you. I remember my first night out after LO was born. Sure the drink goes straight to your head, you’re not used to it. You’ll be fine. I bet MIL didn’t notice a thing
MammyNo1
Oh, I know the feeling. Hope you’re doing okay.
LimerickLass
Plenty of water and Tayto salt and vinegar. You’ll be grand. My first night out after DD, I was twisted. Sure you would be after 9 months off it!
LondonMum
Thanks but think it will take more than that to fix me
Dub9Mam
You’ll feel better later, I promise.
PRIVATE MESSAGE
MyBabba – LondonMum
You sound in bad form hon, you okay?
London Mum – MyBabba
No … not really but thanks for asking. Night was a disaster. Just feel like I made fool of myself you know! I’ll be okay. Won’t be heading out for a night for a long long time. Hope I never see DH’s work colleagues again.
MyBabba – LondonMum
You sound really miserable. Look … would you have any interest in meeting up for a chat sometime? In the real world? I know you don’t know too many people in Dublin just yet … ah look, it’s just an idea. Think about it though. It’s good to talk, as the fella sez. In the meantime, take care.
Can Anybody Help Me? Page 9