by Martina Cole
Imelda Dooley and her predicament was not his problem; she knew the score. She was sensible enough to know that he was not about to hire a fucking dirty great big white charger to gallop round her house so he could offer her any kind of security. No, she needed to get shot of her bellyful of arms and legs, put it down to experience, wipe her mouth, and get on with her life like he intended to get on with his.
She was a fucking mug if she thought he was going to stand by her, she was a lovely little shag granted, but not worth any real upset. He knew her kind, she would be taking on all comers within eighteen months.
He had erased Imelda from his life within minutes, as he had erased many a girl before her. She was a distant memory now, as far as he was concerned, and he trusted her to understand that, and accept it like many another before her.
Sighing happily, he put her out of his mind once more, making a mental note to avoid her mate Belinda like the proverbial plague for a few weeks. What was it with birds? They always seemed to have a fat, ugly mate to do their dirty work for them. Though he wouldn’t kick poor old Belinda out of bed, the ugly ones were always very grateful and they were also more likely to let him have a perve-up. The good-lookers knew their worth and expected to be treated accordingly. The Belindas of this world, however, needed a party piece to make them stand out from the crowd and get a bit of attention now and again, and he knew that Belinda was right up for it, even though she acted like a fucking wilting virgin. Jason grinned, he’d have his hands down her drawers before the month was out.
Imelda and her mother had somehow become conspirators. Since her father’s reaction to her pregnancy, they had seen a side to him that neither had known existed. He spoke to no one, he would not sit in the same room as his daughter, and he refused to discuss the situation with his wife. The worst thing of all though, was his insistence that the child be terminated. ‘Flush the bastard away’, was his only opinion on the subject. To his wife this was worse than anything else, that he wanted them to become party to a mortal sin. The boys as always took his part, took their lead from him. Gerald wanted the name of the father; he wanted to know who had taken his daughter’s virginity. Though, in all honesty, Mary wasn’t sure that Imelda losing her virginity was something that had happened that recently.
Her husband wanted the name of the man who had brought his family into disrepute, brought shame on them. Because that was how he felt about it all. Ashamed and disgusted. Mary knew him better than anyone. She knew that how people saw him was everything to him. In his world, he had to be seen to be in control, in control not only in his work, the people he employed, but his family set-up too. He was respected because he and his family had always been beyond reproach. Gerald had always lived by a moral code that was only understood by their peer group. By the people who lived by the same code. The rest of the world had their way of living their lives, and that was fine, but they also had their own way of existing, and that was also fine. Until something like this happened. Imelda’s situation had thrown Gerald’s whole existence into chaos. He saw his family, especially his daughter, as an extension of himself. His children had to be beyond reproach. They had to live within his boundaries and his guidelines. Until Imelda’s latest escapade, Mary had never had to deal with a husband who was suffering a major disappointment. He blamed her for this aggravation, she knew that he did. Even though, deep inside, she knew that was not fair, she also knew that he had always brought the money in and left her to bring up the children as she saw fit. Something she had done very well, until now. Until this.
Now she was left to sort it out, make it all better, and she didn’t know how the fuck she was supposed to do that, because he could not know who had brought his daughter down, not yet, not until he could be a bit more rational about it and that did not seem as if it was ever going to happen. In fact, he seemed to be getting angrier by the hour. Her husband was like a stranger to her, to them all. He had changed overnight from a caring father and husband to a man who was violent and aggressive. He had been her rock, her man, the guiding light for their family. Now, it was as if she didn’t know him any more, didn’t know how to talk to him, how to control him. Because until now, she had controlled them all. Her whole family, and her husband had been quite happy for her to do that. It had worked for him, it had saved him from having to actually take part in the whole family set-up. He could stand back and take the credit for his family, he had been happy. Over the fucking moon, in fact. Now though, he was acting like she had brought up some kind of viper, acting as if she had done that deliberately, had set out to destroy him and his perfect life. It didn’t seem to occur to him that she might be hurting as well. That she might be as bewildered as he was. That she was as frightened as her daughter was of his reaction to the father’s identity was not even an issue with him. He saw Mary as stonewalling him, saw her as a co-conspirator. Felt that she was as disloyal as their youngest child. In short, he saw her as the enemy.
Gerald had always been possessed of a certain paranoia, but that had worked for him, worked for them all over the years. She had never been on the receiving end of it, even though she knew that a lot of people had been. She had never thought she would be the recipient of his anger, of his hate. Until now, though, she had never done anything to bring his wrath down on her, or her children. And, knowing what he was capable of, she was not going to give him the chance now. While he had kept his violence outside of their house she could accept it. Now though, she was seeing the man everyone else saw. The man that everyone else knew so well. She had glimpsed this side of him before they had married, and in her youth had liked it, had seen it as a strength. She had believed, like many a woman before her, that she could control him. Could change him with love, and she had, until now that is. She had never once crossed him, and he had given her complete autonomy over their family and their home. How could she have been such a fool? How could she have allowed herself to believe that she had ever really had any kind of power over her husband or her life?
It had been an elaborate sham that she had unwittingly been a party to.
For all Mary’s bravado she knew that he was capable of literally anything when he believed he was within his rights. Overnight, he had become like a stranger to her, to his daughter, who had been the apple of his eye until she had stepped out of line. A line that, until now, had never really been evident to anyone except him.
Gerald was not going to Mass, he was drinking heavily, and he had an air of suppressed rage about him. It was as if her family was dissolving before her eyes. Even the boys were different; the atmosphere in the house was stifling, like a black pall hanging over their very existence.
For the first time in her married life Mary didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to make it better. On top of all this was the knowledge that soon her daughter’s condition would be evident to the world, to all in their world at least, and the shame would be too much to bear.
How many times had she stood outside the church, how many times had she enjoyed someone else’s misery, gossiped about other people’s children and their faults, their mistakes. Like her husband she had believed that nothing like that could ever happen to them. She had convinced herself that her daughter would be too bloody shrewd to let that happen to her in the first place. Now they were up shit creek without any kind of paddle whatsoever, and she had no option but to try and protect her daughter as best she could; she had to hope that Gerry came to terms with this sooner rather than later. Even though she didn’t hold out much hope.
So many girls had babies now without the benefit of a wedding ring and, while it might be acceptable to the rest of the world, it was still seen as a disgrace by the Catholic community. But even that shame was to be borne, rather that than face the shame of an abortion, the taking of an innocent life. As the priest so rightly said, who knew what God’s plan was. One of those poor unfortunate babies might have been the person who discovered a cure for cancer, been a world peace leader. That was a stretch cons
idering where the child was likely to be born, but it was the principle of the thing.
And that whore upstairs wouldn’t even let on to Mary who the father was. At one point it had even occurred to her that maybe the bitch didn’t know. Imelda insisted that until her father calmed down she would not say a word and, in fairness, she had to admit the girl had a point.
As Mary glanced around her pristine Hygena kitchen with its white melamine doors for easy cleaning, and the pale-green work surfaces, she wondered why they were suddenly incapable of cheering her up. Normally the look of the place eased her tired heart. Normally she felt as if she was in her own personal cocoon of comfort, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist outside of her four walls. Now though, it gave her no comfort. Mary’s life was suddenly in free fall and she didn’t know how to make it stop.
Stoic was usually the word she would use to describe herself, she took whatever life handed out to her and she took it on the chin, whether it was the boys in court, or her husband’s questionable career. But she could cope with those things because they were part of her life, and part of the lives of the people around her. Her daughter’s wrecking of her young life was different though.
A child was for ever, they were like a constant headache that occasionally brought a smile to your face, or a feeling of pride that washed over you and made it all worthwhile.
There would be no abortion in this house, no murder of an innocent, no matter what her husband said. Fucking King Herod himself would not have been able to get her to do anything so deplorable, even with the threat of death hanging over her.
Mary slipped her beads from her apron pocket, she would say a few decades of the rosary. Mary, her namesake, was a mother like herself. Maybe she might send her the answer to her problems. At this juncture, anything was worth a try.
Gerald was in the pub, and his oldest friend Jackie Martin was watching him warily.
He was like a different person. He was being deliberately obtuse, rude and sarcastic, was argumentative with anyone who came into his orbit, and that was so unlike his old friend that he was at a loss as how to react to him.
That Jackie was frightened of him was something that had never been said out loud. Gerry Dooley had never been the kind of man who would have exploited that. Gerry had always gone out of his way to make sure that his oldest friend, in many ways his only friend, had never had any reason to feel intimidated by him. Until now.
All Jackie wanted to do was calm him down, get him home. He was worried that Gerry would do something to jeopardise his livelihood, his living. And, in so doing, would nause his up as well. He only earned because this man bankrolled him.
Over the last few weeks Jackie had watched him fuck up everything he had worked for over the last thirty years. Overnight he had become unmanageable, even his sons were giving him the swerve. Not blanking him outright, but keeping their distance when he had a few drinks in him. And who could blame them?
Gerry’s behaviour was causing gossip, not that the men involved would have put it quite like that of course. Their wives gossiped, they talked. But it was gossip whatever way you looked at it. Now people were waiting to see what the outcome of Gerry Dooley’s latest escapade was going to be. He was supposed to be collecting as usual, only he was out and about, on the piss and, to top it all, he was spending money that was not his to spend. Most collectors would do a drop, collect a wedge, and then demand the money a second time. The people they dealt with would have paid it and all, had he demanded it. But Gerry Dooley had never taken a penny from anyone in his life, had never ever taken advantage of his position, and that was something Jackie had resented over the years because it would have augmented his income, it would have made his life a lot easier. Other men in his position were guaranteed the extras, but not him. Gerry was as straight as a fucking die, so Jackie had to be too.
Gerry Dooley was not only his mate, his employer, he was also the reason he had never had a serious touch in his life. Who would do something so stupid on Gerry’s watch? Other number twos had a private income, had their own little earner, but not him. Gerry prided himself on his honesty, on his integrity. Gerry had given him a good wage, Jackie knew and appreciated that. But he had never had the opportunity to spread his wings, get his own little firm up. That he would have had nothing without his friend’s largesse was irrelevant, most people in his position were only there because of who they knew, not because they had any kind of qualifications. He was where he was because Gerry trusted him, and in their world that was more than enough. But it didn’t stop him resenting the fact that his hands had been tied for years because of this man, that he had not even been allowed to deal a bit of puff, or a bit of coke because Gerry Dooley didn’t agree with it. Even though the people who paid his wages were dealing all sorts to anyone with the poke to purchase it.
And, despite that, here he was, lumbered with a Gerry Dooley who was on a path of destruction and he could do nothing about it. Because everyone knew that when Gerry whistled, Jackie came running. What choice did he have?
It didn’t make it any easier though, and when Gerry was on the ball it had been to his advantage. Now though, he wasn’t so sure. If Gerry got the bum’s rush, where the fuck did that leave him?
Now he was being looked upon to sort Gerry out before he caused any kind of aggravation; it was assumed that he had enough clout with his old friend to be able to talk some kind of sense into him. Walk him out of this pub, and deliver him back home to his wife with the minimum of fuss. No one seemed to allow for the fact that his own sons were within talking range but were giving him a massive swerve, that his own flesh and blood didn’t see the need to remove him from the premises so why should he be the one to provoke him even further? Because that is what would happen if he dared to try and make him see sense, make him go home to his wife. In fact, it was home that seemed to be the bugbear, he was avoiding it like the plague.
There was a story there all right, only he knew that, given Gerry Dooley’s natural reticence, he would not be getting it any time in the near future.
As Gerry downed another large Scotch and immediately motioned for another, Jackie wished that he had the nerve to remove him from the premises, but he knew he wasn’t capable of doing anything like that. Not to Gerry Dooley or to anyone, come to that. He didn’t have the bottle to assert himself without a Gerry Dooley beside him, orchestrating the proceedings, and he knew that a lot of their contemporaries were now well aware of that fact. It was one humiliation after another lately, and he didn’t know how much more he could take.
The landlord of the pub made eye contact with him then, and he couldn’t pretend he hadn’t noticed it. Shrugging, Jackie opened his arms in a gesture of supplication, rolling his eyes as if he had no choice in the matter. He could feel the animosity coming off everyone around him, knew that they thought he was a complete ponce for allowing this to carry on as long as it had.
As far as they were concerned, he should be keeping his boss on the straight and narrow, protecting him, ironing out any differences for him until such time as he got his head back to normal, had got over whatever lunacy had overtaken him. This was the first time in living memory that Gerry Dooley had ever stepped out of line, and that just made this all the more conspicuous.
Sighing heavily, Jackie looked meaningfully at Gerald Junior and his brother Brendan and, in fairness to them, he knew that they were pretty much in the same boat as he was. Unable to spread their wings without their father’s say-so, and wary of confronting him because they didn’t know what would be the outcome. Gerald Dooley, for all his so-called decency and loyalty, was no better, really, than the bullies he despised. Because everyone in his world was only welcome provided they did as he expected, as he saw fit. That fact was becoming more and more obvious as the days wore on.
As Gerry walked out of the pub with his sons in tow, Jackie looked around him, at the people who mattered and, blowing out his lips noisily, he said with a deliberate and theatrical prete
nce at loyalty, ‘What? Can’t a man have a few drinks?’
Then, picking up his own drink, he looked around him as if disgusted with the reaction he had encountered, aware that he was not fooling anyone.
He was determined, though, to find out what the big secret was, because he knew that if Gerald Dooley had wanted him to know what was going on, he would have heard about it by now.
Imelda was lying in bed. She could hear her father ranting and raving and, even though she understood how disappointed he was in her, she still couldn’t equate that cold-hearted, vicious person with her father. With the man who had brought her up with hardly a raised voice or a cross word. Until now, he had indulged her, not as much as her mother had admittedly, but enough to make her think she was safe, that she was different to the boys. He had let her have more freedom than them because he had believed that his name, his reputation, should have been enough to protect her. That was also the reason why she would not say who the father was to her mother or brothers: until her father calmed down, he was best kept in the dark.
She pulled the sheets over her head, trying in vain to blot out the sound of her father’s angry swearing and her mother’s pathetic attempts at placating him. Anyone would think she was the only girl in the world to get in the club.
Imelda slipped out of the bed and, standing by her bedroom window, she saw that most of the neighbours were in their back gardens, listening to the furore that was now a common occurrence in the Dooley household.