The Business

by Martina Cole

  Jordanna looked out at the rolling mountains and deeply breathed in the clean air. She loved this time of day, when the sun was just setting and the sky was stained orange and purple. It made her feel glad to be alive, and she had not thought she would ever feel like that again. Though she wondered if she had ever truly experienced that feeling anyway.

  She caressed the soft leather binding of her Bible. She had found great comfort in her religion since the breakdown. She had needed something to make her feel whole again, make her feel part of something. Her faith had helped her to heal, along with the therapists and the prescription drugs she took daily. But gradually she had begun to feel better inside, and that was very important to her, she knew that now.

  She was drinking cold lemonade and she could feel the warmth of the evening wind as it touched her lightly browned skin. She knew she looked good, and she liked that she knew that. She felt a tiny glimmer of happiness inside herself, and that was more than she had ever hoped for.

  ‘Hello, sis, how are you?’

  She turned to see Kenny smiling the wide smile that made him look so handsome and so gentle. All the nurses loved him, and he flirted with them shamelessly. He liked dark-haired women, and it seemed that they liked him back. He leant down and kissed her on the forehead. He could see how much better she was; he flew out to see her every weekend and every weekend she seemed happier inside herself. Even a little contented.

  Jordanna’s eventual breakdown had been as expected as it was explosive. She had been in a private facility in northern Spain for over a year. The doctors were discreet, and had been known to harbour more than a few criminals who needed to disappear for a few months. It had been a difficult time, and Kenny had been beside her every step of the way.

  She was finally on the mend though, and she looked and sounded like a different person. Her problems had been buried deep, and her acceptance of her eventual violent outburst was imperative to her finally being on the mend.

  She would never have a child, she accepted that now, realised that her need for one had become almost irrational in the end. She had wanted a child so she could wipe out her own childhood, make up for her own unhappiness. That was no reason to bring a baby into the world. People did it every day and a small percentage of them should not have been allowed to keep a pet, let alone a defenceless little human being.

  She knew she would never be like normal people who had been blessed with normal lives. Her mother had seen to it that she would never be able to know the real happiness that other people took for granted. But she was now able to relax and enjoy the little things that pleased her. She took each day as it came, and she knew that was all she could do. Healing took its own time, and she was learning slowly and surely how to accept herself and even how to like herself a little. She finally knew a measure of peace, and for that alone she would be eternally grateful. For Jordanna Dooley that was enough to be going on with. As long as her mother kept out of her life she knew she could cope. Her mother’s addiction had blighted everyone around her and they had all paid a terrible price.

  ‘Granny will be here tomorrow, she is mad to get her hands on you.’

  Jordanna laughed then, and it sounded so natural, and so happy, that Kenny Boy felt the urge to cry.

  ‘I’ll be home next week, then we can get our lives back.’ She grinned then and said quickly, ‘I’ll rephrase that, shall I? We can have some kind of life together at last. Without her in the background.’

  Kenny nodded happily, and they were quiet then as they watched the sun disappear behind the mountains. But Kenny knew that Imelda would be out within two years and she felt she was entitled to some kind of recompense for what she saw as her selfless sacrifice in doing her daughter’s time. Once more she had rewritten history to suit herself, and she would come out expecting everyone to be grateful and welcoming.

  His granny was visiting her, he knew; every few weeks she made the journey out to Cookham Wood and tried to have a conversation with her only daughter. He guessed from the little she said that it was not an easy couple of hours. One thing was sure though, Imelda was off the skag, and that alone was something to be glad about. But suffice until the time thereof, as his old priest used to say, he had no intentions of meeting trouble until he had to. Then he would do whatever was necessary to get it sorted as quickly and cleanly as possible.

  Epilogue

  ‘Why don’t you let me get you a decent gaff, Jorge? Just because you caught religion don’t mean you can’t live in a nice drum.’

  Jordanna shook her head slowly, smiling that half-hearted smile as always. ‘I like it here, Kenny, and now, thanks to her, I’ll have to move again.’

  Kenny sighed in exasperation. ‘No one knows better than me how fucking aggravating she can be, but she is hurting. She done the time for you and, in fairness, mad as she is, and she is fucking madder than a box of frogs, all she wants is for you to acknowledge that. She just wants to make things right.’

  Jordanna hated her brother when he tried to talk her round like this. She had to force herself to calm down, make sure she didn’t say things she knew they would all regret. Kenny Boy was her heart, in many ways he was all she really had left of her old life. He was a Face, and she knew that. Even with her new-found religion, she still understood that he was the best of the best in many ways. He loved her more than anybody else ever would. She respected that, and she would never hear a bad word about him. She knew that he was a little fucker, knew he was dangerous, could be vindictive and, more to the point, that he was devoid of anything even resembling a conscience or guilt. Well, she had accepted that about him, and she had found a way to live with that. What she was not able to countenance was her mother’s influence over him, her mother’s determination to influence her, her life, and her beliefs through her love for her brother.

  Kenny had the knack of wiping away the hate and the lunacy that Imelda had wrought on them both. Unlike her, Kenny Boy was capable of deep forgiveness. Whereas she, on the other hand, the born-again Catholic, couldn’t do that. She could not let her mother walk away from the abortion she called a life and act as if nothing had happened. She was strong now, strong enough to refuse her mother’s attempts at reconciliation, even though she knew she should be capable of forgiveness. She now saw her mother’s life for what it really was, saw how damaging her mother’s addiction to drugs, drink and the pursuit of anything dangerous or disgusting had moulded her and her brother into what they now were. Both were incapable of anything even resembling normal behaviour; like Imelda, Kenny Boy believed that money and prestige were more important than anything else. But, unlike Kenny Boy, she had suffered at her mother’s hands. She had suffered the consequences of her mother’s complete disregard for her, and just because she suddenly wanted to be her best friend, felt that her sacrifice entitled her to some kind of reward, meant nothing. She had experienced a breakdown of Olympian standards, had eventually been reduced to her mother’s level, and that was what she could not, and would not ever forgive.

  Kenny might see the violence and the disarray of their mother’s daily life as a joke, as something to laugh about. But, unlike him, she had taken the brunt of it, and she knew she could never let her back into her life. Jordanna knew that if she weakened, her mother would do what she had always done, she would inveigle her way in, and then, when it suited her, she would destroy them all without a backward glance. Imelda Dooley was without even a smidgeon of humility, anything that even remotely resembled real caring or genuine human emotion. She also accepted that Kenny Boy had inherited that same coldness and the same ability to forget anything that was deemed too awful or too shaming to remember. Her mother had the gall to stand on her doorstep and berate her, threaten her, and all because she didn’t want to play happy families. Even Kenny saw Imelda’s imprisonment as something to respect, saw it as something that cancelled out all the other bad things Imelda was responsible for. He had trouble understanding why she couldn’t just let bygones be bygones.
But then, he didn’t know the whole truth about anything, really.

  Kenny watched his sister as she stared into space as usual. He loved her, but he felt that her sojourn in the Spanish nut-house had left her a few paving slabs short of a patio. He wanted his sister back, wanted her to stop being so fucking determined to blame their mother for everything. In short, he wanted to play happy families and, where this family was concerned, that was not exactly a viable option.

  He felt the distance between them, and he worried that it was because of him, worried that she secretly blamed him for her problems. For her breakdown. He knew she resented his defence of Imelda, unlike him, she could not find it in her heart to forgive or forget, and she was supposed to be the fucking big Catholic, the church-goer. And now he just wanted her to live decently, to appreciate his largess.

  ‘Come on, sis, let me move you out of this dump, somewhere you can feel safe.’

  Jordanna shook her head sadly, sorry that Kenny didn’t understand her or her wants.

  ‘I like this little house, Kenny, and I don’t need a good address to make me feel like a valid person. I spent my life trying to prove something to people who had no real interest in me or my life. So, thank you for the offer, but no thanks, Kenny. I can live quite happily as I am, without the big-screen TVs or the top-of-the-range motors. I do not need the clothes or the hairstyles. I don’t need the fucking pretence that you need. I don’t need money, I don’t need anything. All I want is to be left in relative peace. I don’t think that’s a lot to ask for, do you?’

  Kenny knew his sister was being honest and, if he was honest, that was what annoyed him so much. She was his closest blood, but her fucking smugness, her absolute denial of his way of life really aggravated him. He had worked long and hard to make their lives easier, and she took great pleasure in refusing his help, in refusing to become a part of what he saw as his success story. She was like a fucking hermit with her dowdy clothes and her constant praying. He went to Mass, he loved the whole concept of his religion. As Christ Himself said, I was in prison and you visited me. Jesus knew what it was like to be on the threshold of life, to be involved in something that most people didn’t understand. He knew how emotive the Mass could be, how it was something that was shared by many, but was still a very personal experience. Jordanna’s religiousness was not as alien to him as she believed. He also knew how far she had come, knew how difficult her life had been. Even knowing all that though, Kenny still felt an anger at what he saw as her complete dismissal of him and all he tried to do for her.

  Since she had come home from Spain, she was a different person. She was a religious nut-case for a start but, worse than that, she had gradually stepped back from him, and everything he stood for. In some ways he could understand her actions but, in his heart, he felt that her dismissal of him and all he had achieved was like a slap in the face. He felt that her refusal to be a part of his world was the equivalent of her saying that she repudiated it. He was at the top of his game, and everyone around him made a point of letting him know that, except for Jordanna: she never mentioned his accomplishments, it was as if they never existed. He knew it was churlish, knew he shouldn’t care so much, but it really bothered him. It was as if she was looking down her nose at him, and that was something he could not bear. Kenny needed to believe that he had wiped out their childhood, wiped out the stigma they had been born into. As Imelda’s children they had not really had a chance, and he had made sure that they were respected, that they were not ostracised because she had given birth to them. He had made a point of doing that for them, had made their names mean something. He also knew that his sister understood that better than anyone else around them. Her complete indifference to his achievements really bothered him. Her decision to turn her back on all that he could offer her was an insult. But he knew she was still in the thrall of her religious mania.

  Kenny took a deep breath. He was determined not to let his anger get the better of him. He knew from experience it was pointless where his sister was concerned. Unlike everyone else in his orbit, she had no fear of him, or of what he was capable of.

  ‘Look at how you live, Jorge, all you do is fucking wallow in your own self-pity. I love you dearly, and you know that. But I hate to see you living like this. Hate to see you grateful for a kind word from the fucking same priest who has no qualms about cornering me for a few grand when the fancy takes him, even though he knows where it all comes from. I hate to see you old before your time, dressed like a demented social worker, and talking like one and all. I want you to accept that you had a breakdown: it happens, even in the best of families, get over it.’

  Jordanna went to a drawer in her kitchen and opened it. Taking out a pack of Benson & Hedges cigarettes, she lit one slowly. Drawing the smoke into her lungs she waited until the crashing of her heart subsided, and the trembling in her hands quietened. Then turning back towards her brother she said quietly, ‘Why do you always think this is personal, Kenny? What makes you so convinced that if only I would live my life as you want me to, I will automatically be happy? I like my life, I like living here, I like the fact that I don’t care about other people’s opinions. I like to feel that God is near me, that He can understand my suffering. I love you, Kenny Boy, but I cannot let her back into my life. You know I lost my baby after her last visit. You have to let me get on with my life as I see fit, you have to stop trying to justify her existence. I know you think that because she gave birth to us she can’t be all bad, well, do you know something? You’re wrong, she would sell you down the river for a fucking Happy Meal from McDonald’s if it suited her. Now, I know you don’t want to hear that, but it’s the truth. And I would sooner hang myself from the nearest fucking tree before I let you talk me round, so either let it drop, or walk away from me once and for all.’

  Kenny was distressed at his sister’s obvious bitterness and anger. He knew that she had good reason for her antipathy towards her mother, he also knew that, until she faced her one to one, she would never be completely free. He felt that Jordanna needed to see their mother for the broken and nondescript person she really was. If she saw her properly, as she was now, saw how completely devoid of anything even remotely resembling her old self, he felt Jordanna would finally be able to move on. He had forgiven his mother when she had gone away to save her daughter’s arse. He was a realist: he knew that Imelda had not really had any choice in the matter. But he chose to overlook that. He felt that whatever she was, she was still their mother. And, as such, they were honourbound to accept her. He also knew that Jordanna had always taken the brunt of Imelda’s madness, had been the thorn in her side. He had guessed, early on, that every time she looked at her daughter, she saw herself, saw the person she should have been had she not chosen the needle over everyone and everything else in her life. But she had, and that was tough shit for all concerned.

  ‘Look, Jorge, all I want is for you to make your peace with her. I have and, believe me, it wasn’t easy. But, at the end of the day, she is our mother. And, as such, we have a fucking duty towards her. I forced her to go away for you, we all know that. It ain’t like no one ever worked that one out for themselves, is it? She might still get on the big train; drugs are her lifeline after all, but she just wants you to accept that she done your time for you. That’s all. And I think if you are so fucking religious, then you should see her, let her make her peace. If you did that, she wouldn’t keep hunting you down, and she wouldn’t keep starting fights with you. You know what she’s like, she will cause a big fucking row just to get a reaction. If you really want shot, then talk to her, let her say her piece. She needs to talk to you and I think you need to hear what she has to say.’

  Jordanna looked into Kenny Boy’s handsome face and knew he was the victim of his own success. He saw his acceptance of his mother as him being the big, benevolent Face. If he could accept her, then so should everyone else. They had to, because she was his mother and, as such, she could not be disrespected. He saw that as
a reflection on him, saw that as a personal affront. Even though the people concerned might not see Imelda in quite the same light. He chose to forget a lot and only then because he was more interested in his own fucking personal reputation, his own fucking standing in the community. Jordanna understood that to an extent, she knew better than anybody how hard it was to be related to Imelda Dooley. But Kenny Boy’s sudden fucking desire to defend his mother’s actions and then to try and justify them to her, of all people, really rankled.

  Kenny didn’t remember Imelda, not really. He had been her golden boy, her little man and the only reason she had cared for him was because he had been a big lump, a heavy-boned child who was obviously big for his age, and Imelda had basked in his reflected glory. Everyone had remarked on his size, on his strength, on his good looks. Imelda had seen him as a reflection of herself.

  Imelda had killed his father, and she had conveniently put the blame for that on her little daughter. What he didn’t know, or anyone else for that matter, was that there had been a second shot fired that night, fired from her little hands, and that her so-called mother had shot the gun into the big double mattress Lance had shared with her, while holding the gun in her daughter’s hands. She remembered the pain from the gun’s report. How its powerful kickback had hurt her all over. How it had jarred her shoulders, and made her teeth rattle inside her head. She had remembered her mother threatening her that if she spoke about it to anyone she would be taken away and she would never see anyone she knew again. Her own mother had forced her to look at Lance’s corpse and had assured her that she would be blamed. She had to promise that she would never say a word about it to anyone. It had been easy, really, she had lived with lies and secrets ever since she could remember. Her mother and her granny had seen to that.