City Lives

by Patricia Scanlan

  No! Maggie decided. Enough was enough. Orla had pulled this stunt once too often. She was fed up being used.

  ‘Sorry, Orla,’ she said crisply. ‘I’m afraid I can’t do it today, I’m going out.’

  ‘Oh God, the kids will be in a panic, what will I do?’ Orla fussed. ‘You couldn’t just wait for twenty minutes, Maggie? I’d really appreciate it, pet. I meant to be home, but there was a huge queue in the bank and then I had to change Sean’s trousers in Marks & Spencers and you know the palaver that is. I went to the wrong place and queued for ages and then I had to go upstairs to Customer Services and I had to queue for another twenty minutes. You know the way they go mad at the school if you don’t collect the kids on time.’ Orla was not giving up that easily.

  Maggie wavered. She knew what it was like queuing in banks and shops. Poor Sean and Katie would be waiting with anxious little faces for their mother to come and collect them. She was never on time and they frequently had to wait in the school office under the disapproving stare of the secretary. When Orla eventually came rushing in, it would be with some convoluted rigmarole that was blatantly untrue.

  ‘Orla, twenty minutes max, and I mean it,’ she said firmly, mad with herself for caving in.

  ‘Oh you’re a dote, Maggie. Thanks a million. I’ll see you soon,’ Orla trilled down the phone.

  Maggie hung up, riddled with frustration. Why hadn’t she stuck to her guns? Typical of her. But then she thought of Orla’s two kids who were always being lumped from this one to that, and knew why. She was soft, some would say too soft. But where children were concerned who could be soft enough?

  At least her three always had the reassurance that she’d be there for them after school, not like that flibbertigibbet Noonan who should never have had children in the first place because she hadn’t the slightest interest in looking after them.

  Orla Noonan emerged from the phone box beside the lifts in the ILAC and smiled at her sister. ‘Everything’s grand. Maggie’s picking the kids up. Let’s go and have a cup of tea, I’m parched. And I want to run into Hickeys to have a look at some material to make a flower girl’s dress for Katie. Tara’s asked her to be flower girl at the wedding.’ She knew she’d promised Maggie she’d be home in twenty minutes, but a cup of tea would only take five and a quick browse through Hickeys another five. She’d scorch home then. The traffic wouldn’t be too bad at this hour of the afternoon. Anyway Sean and Katie would be company for Michael and Shona if Maggie wanted to get a few pages written while she was waiting. Orla justified the delay to herself with ease as she and her sister headed for the Kylemore Café.

  Twenty-four

  An hour and a half later Maggie was sizzling with suppressed anger. Orla Noonan was a cow and a half. How dare she? How dare she treat Maggie with such contempt? Sean and Katie were having high jinks out in the back garden with Michael and Shona. She’d taken pity on them after the first half an hour and made up a plateful of chicken and salad sandwiches and, at Michael’s behest, a flask of Bovril.

  ‘We’re at base camp, Mam. We’re climbing Everest,’ he explained. ‘And it’s thirty degrees below freezing.’

  It was a cold day, Maggie acknowledged, although not quite thirty below.

  ‘Would a few chocolate biscuits give you more heat and energy?’ She arched an eyebrow at him.

  ‘Sure would, Mam.’ He grinned. Maggie grinned back at him. He had such a fertile imagination. He was his mother’s son in that respect. She watched the children playing away at the side of the wooden shed in an old tent that had seen better days. In their minds they were at the foot of the Himalayas, not stuck in the back of a large garden in the Dublin suburbs. The sandwiches were given short shrift. She should have made a big hotpot, she thought, as she looked at Shona’s red nose and cheeks under her woollen cap. The day had turned bitterly cold, wintry even, and the pale yellow November sun struggled to cast a faded light on the southern wall of the garden.

  As the time ticked by, Maggie grew more angry by the second. Orla Noonan was a pig-ignorant selfish bitch and always had been, and this time Maggie was going to let her know in no uncertain terms that she had been taken for a ride once too often. No wonder none of the neighbours in their cul-de-sac had a good word to say about her. She’d tried it on all of them.

  If it wasn’t for the neighbours those poor children would never be fed and watered half the time. They were like little orphans sometimes as Orla skittered around the city entertaining herself. Billy, the father, a hulking great lump of a bloke, was never at home either. He worked seven days a week. At least, he told Orla he did, Maggie thought wryly. Their marriage was about as good as hers and Terry’s and that wasn’t saying much, she thought dispiritedly.

  She glanced at the clock. Half three. Twenty minutes, my ass! Maggie scowled. Orla would arrive in her own good time with some outlandish excuse, as usual.

  It was after four before Orla zoomed up the drive in her red Honda Civic and bounced breezily up to the front door.

  ‘Terribly sorry, Maggie, pet,’ she apologized profusely. ‘But you’ll never believe what happened. I was—’

  ‘You’re right, Orla. I don’t believe you,’ Maggie cut her off sharply. ‘You’ve taken advantage of me once too often, but you won’t do it again, believe me. Go back out to your car and I’ll send the children out to you. And never, ever ask me to mind them again because the answer will be no.’

  ‘Oh now, hold on a minute, Maggie,’ Orla blustered, red-faced. ‘You’re being very unfair here. I do indeed have a genuine and legitimate reason for being late. You see the car in front of me in the ILAC broke down and blocked—’

  ‘Out, Orla! You used that excuse three months ago to Judy next door. Just go. You’re nothing but a user. You should be ashamed of yourself.’ Maggie practically bundled the other woman out the door, she was so annoyed.

  ‘There’s really no need for this—’

  ‘There is need. I’ve had it up to here with you,’ Maggie snapped viciously. ‘Into the car, Orla. I’ll send the kids out.’ She closed the door firmly in her neighbour’s face. Orla was gobsmacked. Maggie didn’t care. Years and years of being used had just come to a head. Too many people were taking advantage of her good nature. Now they could all go to hell. She’d had enough. She wouldn’t take it out on the kids, of course. If they’d been in the house she certainly wouldn’t have let them see the altercation. She’d have taken Orla aside into another room. She was glad they were outside. It had been childishly satisfying to shut the door in Orla Noonan’s face.

  ‘Katie, Sean, get your school bags, your mammy is waiting for you in the car,’ she called out the back door.

  ‘Aw Mam, can they not stay for another while? We’re having a great game,’ Michael protested.

  Four eager faces turned towards her hopefully.

  ‘No, Michael. I’m sorry, we’re going out.’ Maggie’s tone was firm and he knew better than to argue.

  ‘Where are we going, Mam?’ Shona asked excitedly. ‘I didn’t know that we are going out. Can Katie and Sean come with us?’

  For God’s sake. I’ll murder them! Maggie glared at her two.

  ‘No, I’m afraid not today. Now you and Michael go inside and wash your hands and brush your hair, quickly. Sean, Katie, hurry up and don’t keep Mammy waiting.’

  Sean and Katie trooped disappointedly into the kitchen, followed by an equally disappointed Shona and Michael. Maggie sighed in irritation. Kids were never satisfied.

  She opened the front door for them, relieved to see that Orla was sitting in the car. The other woman studiously ignored her as Katie and Sean opened the front passenger door and climbed into the back seat. Maggie waved at the children as Orla revved the engine and drove out of the drive with considerable haste. Her house was at the entrance to their small cul-de-sac and no-one could go in or out without Orla seeing them. Maggie would have to go out now. She’d said she was going out, not only to Orla but to the kids as well. There was no point in
making a liar out of herself. She’d be as bad as Orla. She had no dinner preparations done either. She was damned if after being out for the next hour she was going to come home to get dinner.

  She picked up the phone and dialled Terry’s office.

  ‘Hi, it’s me. Will you get a chippie or a Chinese for yourself on the way home, I’m taking the kids over to Blanchardstown to get shoes and I’m going to take them to MacDonald’s. I won’t be cooking dinner.’

  ‘A fat lot of good chips or Chinese are to me when I’m trying to lose a bit of weight, Maggie,’ Terry grumbled.

  ‘Well get a Weight Watchers ready-made in the supermarket then,’ Maggie snapped and slammed the phone down. The last thing she needed this day was Terry whinging. It was such a big deal because he was on a diet. The whole world had to muck in and help!

  She felt the tension in the back of her neck, and in her jaw. There was a dull throb at the side of her temple. The starting of that horrible hormoney headache that no painkiller would shift. Her waistband felt too tight for her. She glanced at the calendar. Four days before her period. A good old dose of PMT to top off a disaster of a day. What more could she want?

  The phone rang. She assumed it was Terry ready to give her a piece of his mind.

  ‘Hello,’ she barked.

  ‘Oh . . . Um . . . hello. Could I speak to Maggie Ryan please?’ a young female voice asked politely.

  ‘Speaking,’ she said in a more civil tone.

  ‘Um . . . hello, Maggie. My name is Miranda Quigley. I’m your new editor. I’m just phoning all my authors to introduce myself. Perhaps you could come over to the office some day next week and we could have a chat.’

  ‘Oh . . . hello, er . . . Miranda. I’d like to meet you very much. I’d value your input, to be honest. I’m a bit blocked at the moment,’ Maggie confessed.

  ‘I haven’t had a chance yet to read the chunk of Betrayal you sent in. I’ve quite a few to catch up on,’ Miranda said brightly.

  Maggie’s heart sank. This was the last thing she needed to hear. ‘Have you read any of my books?’ she asked hesitantly.

  ‘Um . . . actually no. But I will. Soon. Just keep writing, Maggie. We can cut anything that isn’t working,’ Miranda said airily.

  ‘What type of books have you edited before this?’ Maggie asked curiously. Miranda sounded so young to be an editor.

  ‘Er . . . well actually I was in sales and marketing before this, with Lakelands Press. Unfortunately they’ve gone to the wall. However I’ve read and commented on plenty of manuscripts during my time there. This is my first time in editorial. I’m looking forward to it immensely.’

  ‘I see,’ Maggie said despondently. This was an absolute nightmare. She was being given a novice editor, untried, who’d never read any of her novels and who’d worked for a publisher who’d folded. Maggie vaguely knew of Lakelands Press, a small outfit who hadn’t made any significant impact on the book trade although they plugged away and promised their authors the moon.

  ‘Don’t worry about a thing, Maggie. We’ll get along fine.’ Miranda spoke with all the confidence of youth.

  ‘I’m sure we will,’ Maggie responded with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

  ‘Great. Why don’t you call my secretary early next week to schedule a meeting. It was nice talking to you. I’m looking forward to seeing you. I must rush. I have an acquisitions meeting to attend. It’s my first,’ Miranda bubbled.

  ‘Enjoy it,’ Maggie murmured. ‘Bye.’

  She stared at the phone as Miranda clicked off. There was only one thing for it. A Big Mac Meal . . . Large. And ice-cream in caramel sauce. Either that or get thoroughly pissed. And how could she do that with three children?

  ‘Come on,’ she yelled up the stairs. ‘We’re going to buy shoes for Shona and have a MacDonald’s in Blanchardstown.’

  ‘I don’t want to go, Mam,’ Mimi yelled back. ‘Rachel and I are doing a project. She’s coming over in a few minutes.’

  ‘You can do it when we get back. We’ll only be gone an hour or so. We’ll call in and tell her on the way.’

  ‘We’ll be gone more than an hour, Mam. We’ll be gone ages. It’s not fair, I don’t want to go,’ Mimi whined.

  ‘Mimi, get your ass down here now and let’s get out of here, pronto,’ Maggie roared. ‘Rachel can come another day.’

  ‘There’s no need to use swear-words. You’re always giving out to us for using swear-words. You should practise what you preach,’ Mimi said snootily from the landing.

  ‘Just don’t push me today, Mimi Ryan. I’m warning you,’ Maggie snapped, at the end of her tether.

  ‘There’s no need to go ballistic! Chill out, Mam,’ her daughter said pertly as she sauntered down the stairs.

  ‘I’ll slap your face good and hard if you speak to me like that again, you cheeky little brat. Do you hear me? You impudent little wagon,’ Maggie exploded, her hands itching to thump her elder daughter.

  Mimi burst into tears at the unexpected vehemence of the retort and the fury in her mother’s eyes.

  Maggie burst into tears as she realized how out of control she was and just how close she’d been to venting her frustration on Mimi and slapping her hard.

  Shona burst into tears because her mother and sister were crying and she hated raised voices and rows.

  Michael stood by looking helplessly at the trio, his eyes wide with panic.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mimi, I shouldn’t have said that.’ Maggie tried to compose herself.

  ‘I’m sorry too, Mammy, I didn’t mean it. Really I didn’t. I love you, Mammy.’ Mimi flung herself into Maggie’s arms and hugged her tightly, her thin childish arms like two vices around her waist.

  This made Maggie cry even harder and she held her daughter close, trying to swallow her sobs. She knew she was frightening her children. It was the worst thing in the world to see your parents crying.

  ‘Mammy, are you all right?’ Shona asked anxiously between sobs.

  ‘Now look what you did, Miss Mimi,’ Michael accused gruffly. ‘It’s all your fault for being cheeky. You made Mammy cry.’

  ‘You leave me alone, Michael Ryan.’ Mimi howled even louder.

  ‘Shush, shush, stop now. Come here, Shone, stop crying, pet.’ She drew Shona into her embrace. Get a grip, Maggie, she pleaded silently and, with an immense effort of will, she composed herself. ‘Come on now. I’m sorry I lost my temper. We’ll go over to Blanchdardstown and have a nice time out for ourselves. We’ll buy new shoes for Shona, new jeans for Michael, and a sweatshirt in Paco for Mimi. And then we’ll have a MacDonald’s. OK?’ She gave a weak smile.

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right, Mammy?’ Shona asked anxiously, raising a tear-stained face to hers.

  ‘Yes, pet. I’m OK. Don’t be worrying. Quick now, run up and get ready so that we’re not heading into the rush-hour traffic,’ she urged.

  Subdued, they hurried upstairs. Maggie followed tiredly. She went into the en suite in her bedroom and closed the door. Leaning against the plane of the door, she felt it cool against her forehead. Tears brimmed up again and she thrust her face in her hands and cried as quietly as she could.

  How could her life be in such a mess? How could she come so close to losing control that she had almost walloped her daughter? She knew kids could push you to the limit. But this had been too close for comfort.

  To hell with the novel, if she didn’t get it done in time, she didn’t get it done. She’d have to ease off. It wasn’t worth it when the children started to suffer.

  But it wasn’t just that. It was Orla’s casual abuse of her, and Terry’s me, me, me attitude. It wasn’t as if he had to eat a takeaway that often, she thought resentfully.

  ‘I’m sick, sick, sick of him,’ she muttered, wiping the tears from her cheeks. He took her so much for granted. It was as if the separation had never happened. He knew she wouldn’t put the children through that trauma a second time. As far as he was concerned, he was as safe as houses. Mag
gie could look after him. Cook for him, feed him, wash and iron, and look after his house and his children and he could just sit back and take it all for granted. She could have a humdinger of a row about it with him and point out all her grievances. But what was the use? They’d been through it before, many times. It was water off a duck’s back, at this stage and not worth her energy.

  She started to cry again. God, she was really losing it, she thought in desperation. She needed this like a hole in the head. She ran cold water into the basin, soaked her face-cloth in it and patted it along her face and neck. Her heart was racing. If she wasn’t careful she’d be having palpitations. Stress and panic attacks. Perfect! What more could she wish for? The woman who had everything.

  One thing was for damn sure, she was going to enjoy every minute of Powerscourt Springs with the girls. She was going to have every treatment she could possibly have. To hell with the cost. She’d worked hard to make her money from her novels – she was going to spend some of it on herself for once. The royalty cheque had arrived just in time.

  At least that weekend was coming up soon. She needed it badly, because once that was over, she was going to have to make her Christmas cake and puddings, not to mention starting her Christmas shopping, so as to have time to entertain the Al Shariffs. She must tell Josie, her cleaner, to give the guest room and en suite a thorough going-over. She could start the Christmas cleaning a few weeks early too, Maggie decided, as she made up her face to cover the ravages of her weeping fit.

  But now she was going to spend time with her children. Maybe Orla had done her a favour after all. Orla could go to hell. The novel could go on the back burner for a while. It was time to get her priorities straight.

  Twenty-five

  Maggie was tired when they got home from Blanchardstown, but she was happier. She’d taken the children to the pictures, much to their delight. As they sank back into the plush chairs of the big cinema with their popcorn, M&Ms and Coke, the anticipation on their faces and their pleasure at the unexpected treat went a long way towards restoring her equilibrium. Afterwards they’d gone to Clark’s to buy shoes, and to Paco for Mimi’s much desired sweatshirt, then finally to Dunnes for Michael’s jeans. After that, as another little treat, she’d taken them to HMV to buy a CD each. They’d spent ages flicking through the racks, although Shona knew straight away that she wanted the Spice Girls. Mimi dithered between Robbie Williams and Celine Dion.