Life's What You Make It

by Sian O'Gorman

  Me: I nearly fainted.

  Roberto: My thoughts exactly. Love you for ever.

  Me: Love you for ever.

  Roberto: Can’t wait to see you soon.

  ‘Thanks for coming to the Botox clinic,’ said Bronagh when she collected me after work.

  ‘My pleasure,’ I said. ‘It’s nice just to spend time with you.’

  She looked at me. ‘It’s been really lovely to have you home.’

  I would miss Bronagh and our margaritas in The Island, or meeting up for an evening walk and even organising the festival.

  ‘How’s your mum?’ I asked.

  ‘She’s on the edge, but then she always is. Mark is still at home and is not only not lifting a finger to do anything, but he’s taken over the living room. Dad’s in the TV room, and so Mum has had to set up in the kitchen and is watching TV on her phone at the kitchen table every evening, sitting on those pine chairs. And Mark yells from the living room whenever he wants anything. Last night, I called in with this special moisturiser that she asked me to buy online – something with retinol and snake oil – and Mark shouted, “MUM! ANOTHER BEER!”’ Bronagh’s impression was uncanny. ‘So she brought him his beer and he looked up from the match he was watching and instead of saying thank you, the loudest and longest burp came out of his mouth and straight into Mum’s face.’

  ‘Oh my God.’

  ‘I know. It was almost impressive in its obnoxiousness. And Mark laughed and then tried to be serious and apologise, but Mum looked so appalled… my heart went out to her.’

  ‘Did you say anything?’

  ‘No, because we went back into the kitchen and she went on and on about how she was old and haggard. And then when I told her she wasn’t, she said that I am patronising and that I’d always acted superior to her…’ Bronagh stopped, her voice beginning to wobble.

  ‘You should have agreed,’ I said.

  Bronagh nearly laughed. ‘I know. I walked into it. It was as though she had been waiting all day to have an argument with someone and Mark’s burp was the last straw.’ We stopped at some traffic lights, and Bronagh looked at me. ‘I’ve got to get better at this. I mean, in other areas, I’m not doing too badly.’ Her voice was shaking. ‘My career is going well. I live in a lovely house. I have a beautiful cat. But I am thirty-two years old and Mum can still cut me down to size. Okay, so we’re never going to be close, not like you and your mum. We’re never going to have that going for afternoon tea or a glass of Prosecco, or whatever it is everyone else does with their mums…’

  ‘For the record,’ I said, ‘Mum and I have never had afternoon tea or shared a glass of Prosecco. A mini bottle of mediocre wine, yes. But Prosecco, no.’

  Bronagh sighed. ‘And the irony is, I’m the only one who knows about the Botox.’

  ‘And me,’ I said, ‘although obviously my lips are sealed.’

  ‘And therefore I am the only one who can collect her because she can’t drive because the needles she paid to have stuck in her face could affect her eyesight. But I googled it and apparently, after Botox, you can drive, operate heavy machinery and be a perfect bitch to your only daughter.’

  I laughed.

  ‘She just likes playing the poorly invalid, the highly sensitive woman who needs taking care of.’

  Bronagh flicked the indicator angrily, as we turned a corner into the long, leafy avenue, where houses had their own grounds and cars so huge, they came with their own steps.

  ‘Let’s change the subject, shall we?’ she said. ‘What do you think of Fergal?’

  ‘Fergal? Why?’

  ‘Because he asked me out. As in a date. Restaurant. Somewhere nice.’

  ‘Really? Well, I think he seems lovely. Handsome.’

  ‘He called in earlier with a custard slice from Janet’s.’

  ‘How did he know you liked them?’

  ‘I made a vague reference to one, using Janet’s famous custard slice as a metaphor for the perfect house. Not that I thought anything about it, until he returned with one in a paper bag.’ She smiled at me. ‘I was quite touched.’

  ‘How incredibly sweet,’ I said.

  ‘Him or the cake?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘Do you like him?’

  ‘I am not sure,’ she said. ‘I mean, after being dumped by Postman Paul, I was rather enjoying my single status, my beautiful aloneness and feeling rather empowered. And then someone gives me a custard slice.’

  ‘Who says romance is dead?’

  Bronagh laughed. ‘I mean, I like my Saturday yoga class and going for a gluten-free, chocolate-free chocolate bar in Albatross afterwards. So, I am not sure if I want to go out with someone, even if he does appreciate a fine building.’

  ‘Could you go out with someone who didn’t own a pair of jeans?’

  ‘Hmm.’ She thought about it. ‘I don’t know if I could. I mean, I would like to think I could, but in reality, no, I couldn’t.’ She looked at me. ‘And you went out with this man.’ She shook her head. ‘Thankfully you saw sense and ended it.’

  ‘I’m an idiot.’

  ‘No!’ Bronagh practically shouted. ‘NO! He’s the idiot. Don’t you see? He was never good enough for you, and not just because he’s a denim-eschewing, clay-pigeon-shooting fool, but because you are you!’ Bronagh was on a roll. ‘You have to change your mindset. Feeling lucky is a state of mind. Everyone has not-so-wonderful things happen to them. I struggle every day with the fact my mother and father aren’t that bothered about me. But it doesn’t stop me from getting on with my life for me. You can’t let anything stop you. You can’t let anything drag you down. And certainly not losers who sleep with ex-girlfriends and don’t wear jeans, for God’s sake!’

  ‘But your mother drags you down…’

  ‘But she’s my mother!’ she said. ‘I can’t choose her! She will be dragging me for the rest of my life. But you get to choose people like Jeremy!’

  ‘You’re right.’ I looked out of the window, feeling pathetic. I hadn’t been outraged enough with Jeremy. ‘Roberto says I’ve got to wear my crown,’ I said.

  ‘Exactly!’ Bronagh agreed. ‘Get out your phone and text that pillock that from now on you will be wearing your crown and he is not fit to even touch the hem of your queenly robe.’

  I laughed.

  ‘Is his number still in your phone?’

  ‘Yes…’

  ‘Delete it after you send the text.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Now. No, wait. Block it then delete it.’

  ‘You sound well-practised.’

  ‘It’s what any self-respecting woman should do,’ she said. ‘Move on. And never look back. Do it.’

  I took out my phone and wrote a message.

  ‘Yo Jezza,’ I read it out loud. ‘You are not fit to touch the hem of my robe. Signed Queen Liv.’

  Bronagh laughed. ‘No, seriously. Say what you feel.’

  I tried again. ‘Hi Jeremy, I think I was too understanding about you sleeping with Cassandra. What I do understand now is that only immature and not very nice people do things like that. Just thought I’d share my feelings. And goodbye forever! Please don’t contact me again.’ I looked at Bronagh. ‘Too much?’

  ‘Perfect!’

  I scrolled and found Jeremy’s number, sent the text and then blocked and deleted his number. And that was it. He no longer existed in my life.

  ‘Expunge and delete!’ said Bronagh.

  ‘I needed that,’ I said. ‘I needed an intervention.’

  ‘Good. Isn’t that what friends are for?’ She indicated and turned sharply into one of those sandstone mansions. ‘Here we are!’ said Bronagh. ‘REVisage, where any signs of a life well-lived are erased with the prick of a needle. Now, come on, queen! Let’s go and release the dragon!’

  Inside, REVisage was a vision of white floors, ceilings, white flowers and white people in white clothes with terrifying white teeth. ‘It’s like a nightmare,’ I whispered.

 
Bronagh nodded and we took a seat in the waiting area. ‘A horror film. I’ve never been so unsettled in all my life.’

  After a few minutes, Audrey emerged in sunglasses, doggy-paddling in the air, as though afraid of falling over, a nurse walking slowly beside her.

  Bronagh looked up. ‘Mum?’ She got to her feet. ‘Are you all right? Are you blind?’

  ‘Bronagh?’ Audrey turned her head around, as though trying to hear where the voice was coming from. ‘Is that you?’ Her voice was weak.

  ‘Yes, Mum,’ said Bronagh. ‘It’s me.’

  Audrey clawed at the air uselessly until she found Bronagh’s body and then clung on. ‘Thank you,’ she said imperiously to the nurse. ‘My daughter will take it from here.’

  The nurse dashed off.

  Bronagh rolled her eyes. ‘Come on, Mum,’ she said. ‘Let’s get you out of here. Olivia is here also,’ she said. ‘She… she needed a lift somewhere. And she’s sworn to secrecy.’

  ‘Hello, Mrs Kelly,’ I said, as Audrey just nodded vaguely in my direction before stepping gingerly forward, clinging to Bronagh for dear life. She shuffled out of the doors and down the steps to the car and waited as Bronagh opened the door and helped her inside.

  ‘Mum, seriously,’ said Bronagh, as we started our journey home, me sitting behind them. ‘Open your eyes. You have not had your eyeballs removed. You have only had Botox!’

  ‘SHHHHHH!’ Bronagh’s mother whipped off her sunglasses and glared at Bronagh. ‘SHHHH! How dare you say that! No one must know! Both of you must promise me!’

  ‘I promise not to tell anyone,’ I said, more than a little scared. ‘Not a soul.’

  ‘You cannot,’ said Bronagh’s mother. ‘This is a secret we all must take to our graves.’

  I nodded. ‘Of course.’

  ‘But, Mum,’ said Bronagh, ‘it’s only Botox. Lots of people have it every day, sometimes people pop out at lunchtime and instead of buying a prawn sandwich they get injected with botulism…’

  ‘Don’t get smart with me, Bronagh Kelly,’ said her mother. ‘Don’t give me all that kind of cheek. It’s a very painful process… well, it is for me who has a phobia of needles. I was shaking in there, you have no idea. I had to be talked down from walking out. But if I don’t do this, then I wake up one morning and my whole face has collapsed and I look like…’

  ‘You look like your age,’ said Bronagh, ‘that’s what you look like.’

  Bronagh’s mother stared at her. ‘What has got into you today? What’s given you this kind of cheek? Are you performing for Olivia here, trying to make her laugh…?’

  ‘No, Mum,’ said Bronagh, sucking in air, her eyes resolutely staring ahead. ‘I suppose… I suppose I am just trying to draw attention to the fact that you are making a huge fuss over a procedure which is entirely unnecessary. You chose to do it, it is a non-invasive, very simple process that just does not warrant this level of hysteria.’

  ‘Hysteria?’ Audrey’s mouth dropped open. And then, ‘I am so glad I only had one daughter,’ she said. ‘One is more than enough. My boys would never speak to me like that.’

  ‘That’s because your boys don’t give enough of a shit to bother speaking to you at all!’ said Bronagh.

  Audrey looked as though she was about to cry.

  ‘Look,’ said Bronagh, softening. ‘I am sorry if I was rude and I know I should have not said a word and been a good girl and all that, but I’m probably pre-menstrual…’

  Bronagh’s mother gasped. ‘Keep your voice down!’

  ‘It’s only the three of us in the car!’ said Bronagh. ‘But, Mum, I’m tired of being the one person you can treat badly and yet you treat the boys as though they are little princes. Mark burped in your face last night! And I am tired of you not thinking I am worth being nice to. But I am worth being nice to, and worthy of respect and kind words and… love. And until you realise this, I won’t be at your beck and call any longer!’

  But Audrey had her hands over her ears and every time Bronagh said something, she looked out of the window, as though she hadn’t spoken. I was feeling more than a little awkward sitting in the back of the car, a silent witness to this mother-daughter aggro, but nevertheless very proud of Bronagh, as well as glad my own mother wasn’t anything like Audrey.

  We arrived at the mock-Georgian monstrosity. ‘Okay, Mum,’ said Bronagh. ‘Here we are. Say hi to Mark and Dad for me.’

  ‘Thank you, Bronagh,’ said Audrey stiffly, who seemed suddenly cured and was able to get out of the car unaided. ‘I am sorry that you think I treat you badly,’ she said, through the window. ‘And you’re right about Mark and that… wind. It wasn’t pleasant. And nor is living with him. I am going to ask him to move in with his brother. I have had enough of running after him. And besides, I need the living room back.’

  ‘Well, that’s a start,’ said Bronagh.

  ‘And I do appreciate you,’ went on Audrey. ‘Very much. But I’m not very good at showing it.’

  ‘Well, get better at it!’ shouted Bronagh.

  ‘I will try,’ said Audrey in a quiet voice. ‘And thank you for collecting me. And I would very much like to come to the award ceremony.’

  ‘So you were listening!’

  ‘If you would like me to accompany you, then I would like that too.’

  ‘I’m going as well,’ I piped up.

  ‘Well, we can all go, can’t we?’ said Audrey.

  ‘Yes, Mum, we can.’

  ‘Good evening, girls,’ said Audrey, and walked into the house, as I scrambled into the front seat.

  Bronagh turned to me. ‘I’m so sorry you had to observe family dysfunction at its best.’

  ‘Are you okay?’

  Bronagh held up her hand for me to see. ‘I’m shaking,’ she said. ‘I’ve never spoken to her like that before.’

  ‘I’m glad you did.’

  ‘I’ve wanted to say it for years.’ We started driving. ‘I’ve tried to be a good person all my life and the one person I wanted to love me, to like me, to think I was wonderful, was the one person who refused. And I used to try and tell myself that deep down she loves me, or deep down she cares, she just can’t show it.’

  ‘She does love you, though,’ I said. ‘And I do. I think you are wonderful.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You were amazing, so empowered! You wore your crown.’

  ‘Yes, I did.’ She grinned at me. ‘I had to, didn’t I, after all my lecturing! But the thing is, Liv, I don’t think I would have done it if you hadn’t been here.’ She smiled at me. ‘Mum and I are going to have a find a way to be better at being mother and daughter. She needs to get out more and do her own thing, away from Dad and the boys,’ said Bronagh. ‘Who knows, maybe she will. But I can’t force her. All we can control is us and we’ve both got to wear our crowns, okay? Crowns are for every day, not just parties and coronations.’

  And so are friends, I thought. God, I would miss her when I went back to London.

  26

  At Will’s house, we stared at the large brown envelope on the kitchen table. Mum gave me a hopeful, worried smile and grabbed my hand. It was nothing, I was telling myself: the kind of thing that people hold on to needlessly such as tickets for a show or a restaurant menu or a clipping from a newspaper that meant something to someone once, long ago.

  ‘It’s my father’s name,’ said Mum, hopefully. ‘Thomas O’Neill.’

  ‘But what would it be?’ I said, thinking that if this man – my grandfather – had sent her away, pregnant, refusing to acknowledge her, or me, ever again, then we didn’t want anything from him.

  ‘Wait,’ said Will. ‘There’s a stamp on the back.’ He peered at it. An old, inky stamp, skew-whiff, as though someone was trying it out before stamping something else properly. ‘Sandycove PO,’ he read. ‘Church Street, Sandycove.’

  ‘PO?’ I said. ‘Post Office?’

  Mum nodded. ‘Has to be…’ But she was frowning now, as though something wasn’t q
uite right. She picked up the envelope and drew out a package of letters, held together with elastic bands, the rubber dry and cracked and ready to snap. She turned them over and read the address on the top one, the colour drained from her face. ‘Joseph Delaney…’ She looked at me and cleared her throat. ‘Joseph Delaney. 225 Salem Street, Beacon Hill. It’s my writing. It’s my letter to him.’ She moved to the next letter, and the next, and the next. ‘All my letters to Joe.’

  It was like someone had pressed pause on the world and, for a moment, the two of us didn’t move, both looking at each other. Beside us, Will was totally still, watching us, and even little Pablo, who had been asleep on the faded green velvet armchair, lifted his head to watch us.

  ‘But how…’ I began. Had he sent them back? Is that what happened, they were sent back to Mum and her father had got his hands on them and hid them, so she wouldn’t be upset?

  Mum put her hand into the large brown envelope again and drew out another pile of envelopes, also wrapped in elastic bands. ‘Nell O’Neill, 25 Sandycove Avenue,’ she said, moving to the next one. ‘Nell O’Neill…’

  ‘Are these all your letters to Joseph… and his to you?’

  ‘Who is…?’ asked Will, gently, obviously desperate to know.

  ‘Joseph Delaney is my father,’ I said. ‘He went to Boston and didn’t know Mum was pregnant. He never answered her letters…’

  He nodded, taking it in.

  ‘I don’t remember how many I wrote,’ said Mum. ‘But this looks like it could be all of them… what are there? Twenty? I never received a single one from him.’ She picked up one. The top had been neatly slit open. ‘It’s been read,’ she said. ‘Someone read my letter.’

  ‘He did, Mum,’ I said. ‘He sent them back.’

  She shook her head. ‘No, they weren’t sent. Look, they weren’t stamped. They didn’t leave the post office.’ She gently pulled out the paper inside another envelope. ‘My darling Nell… I haven’t heard anything from you so I will just tell you my news anyway…’ she read. ‘It’s him.’ She looked like she had seen a ghost. Or was hearing a ghost. ‘It’s your father.’ Tears were in her eyes, her voice was shaking.