Breaking a half-smile, I looked back at my mobile, only to feel a shooting pain at the sight of Maddie’s name on my phone. I did miss her. But I wasn’t sure if I missed her enough to forgive and forget. Lisa was right, though. We did have so much in common now, as we both had a child by Michael, and, if his track record was anything like it had been with me, she was probably struggling to support herself without any help from him. Now I was more financially secure than ever before, and I had Rory to support me emotionally. Knowing this, and remembering how I had felt after Michael had left me, I quickly replied to her text. Although Lisa tried to sneak a peek at what I was typing, she was still driving, and the busy traffic wouldn’t allow her to get a proper look.
‘What did you say?’ she asked excitedly. ‘Were you nice to her?’
‘Oh, yeah,’ I replied sarcastically. ‘I asked her did she want me to babysit for her Friday night.’
Frustrated, Lisa barked, ‘Oh, stop being such a tit. What did you say?’
‘I just said, “What do U want?” That’s all.’
‘Ouch.’
‘Too frosty?’
‘A little. But that’s to be expected.’
Just then another text beeped through from Maddie. It read, ‘I don’t want to talk via text. Can we meet? It’s over with Michael. I miss U. I want us to be friends again. Can I make it up 2 U?’ As I coldly read it aloud to Lisa, I immediately felt conflicted. While one part of me wanted to call her straightaway and make plans for cocktails, another large chunk wanted to scream abuse at her, and tell her to go rot in hell! I was about to eradicate the chance of either happening by deleting her number when a strange sense of confidence filled me, and I texted back, ‘I’m staying at Ruth’s in Clontarf. We could go for a walk along the coast 2day if U want?’ And, before I knew what had happened, I had arranged to meet her later that day at the shelter near the shops that was an old haunt for us from years ago. Looking for a second opinion, I asked Lisa, ‘Am I crazy?’
‘Yes.’ She smiled. ‘But without a little bit of crazy none of us would ever leave the house. Just look at me. My craziness helped me survive cancer.’
Avoiding the complication of possible interruptions from the kids, both Maddie and I independently chose to leave them at home.
As arranged, we met at the shelter overlooking the sea. Maddie was already there when I arrived. Very eager, I thought, considering I was at least ten minutes early myself. But then again, without wanting to admit it to myself, I was eager, too. Trying to be nonchalant, I didn’t say anything until I was sitting down beside her, albeit with several feet between us.
‘Hiya. How’s things?’ I chose to open with a typical Irish greeting, which, although it seemed to ask for an answer, was only ever answered in full by a non-native.
‘Hiya,’ came the correct reply. And then we sat in silence, looking out at the water for an uncomfortable ten minutes or so, until she said softly, ‘I love the hair. You look great blonde.’
Of course, there was so much else that we both needed to say, but it took the distraction of two women pushing their buggies past us to spur Maddie to ask, ‘How’s Daisy? She must be getting big?’
Quick to answer, I said, ‘She’s great. Bit of a cough at the moment. But delighted to be staying with her cousins.’ I was just about to ask about Maddie’s kids when I made a quick split-decision to avoid the small talk, and asked, ‘Why are we here, Maddie? I’m too old for any more drama.’
Taking a deep intake of breath, Maddie slid over closer to me and, placing her own hand on mine, softly explained, ‘I’m sorry for all the hurt I’ve caused you, Eva. It eats me up every day—’
‘Since when?’ I asked, turning to face her. ‘Since you stole Michael on Valentine’s Day two years ago? Or just since he abandoned you, too?’
Choosing to ignore my question, she replied, ‘I didn’t realize you knew. He’s taken up with someone else now. She’s younger. Less troublesome.’
‘Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?’
‘No. I feel sorry enough for both of us. I just want … I’m just trying to tell you that he’s a serial offender. Michael is very manipulative. I didn’t go out looking to ruin the marriage of my oldest, longest friend. But I know that’s what happened, and that’s why I asked to meet you.’
‘So you can have forgiveness, or closure, and move on?’
‘Yes and no.’
‘I’ve no time for riddles, Maddie. Spit it out or else I’m walking.’
‘OK, I just wanted to say …’ I was hanging on her words when two boisterous young women came screaming with laughter up to the shelter in front of us. Linking arms, they held on to each other tightly as they each in turn play-acted falling down.
‘They looked drunk,’ I mused. ‘Bit early in the day for that.’
‘That used to be us.’ Maddie smiled, now looking at me again. ‘Do you remember the time we went to the cinema to see that Keith Allen movie at the Screen? By the time we’d drunk that naggin of vodka you sneaked in, we thought he was gorgeous!’
‘It was just as well we had no more money for booze, otherwise you would have hopped up to the screen and started licking his face.’
‘Hey, Eva, you were the one who fancied him first. You said his beard would be perfect for tickling your fancy! I think that’s how you put it.’
‘Mmmm, I did always like beards, didn’t I?’
‘You even became one when you fake-married that guy Alistair. Whatever happened to him?’
‘Not sure, haven’t spoken to him in ages. I assume he got to keep his big house up in Dalkey after he gave his old mother the day out that she wanted.’ Realizing that we had begun talking again, I chanced a bit of gloating. ‘I’m actually going out with a guy now who has a beard.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, he’s from London. He’s part-Irish though.’
‘Cool.’
‘Yeah, he is. He’s moving here soon and we’re planning on buying a house together.’
‘I thought I heard you had moved to London?’
‘I had. But I had a bit of trouble there, so I decided it was best to come back.’
‘Sorry to hear that. But things are obviously going well if this guy is gonna move back to Dublin for you. It must be love?’
Having made it clear that I had made great strides forward in my personal life, I quit the pleasantries and asked, ‘Maddie, why did you make contact?’
‘Michael’s illness, Eva. It made me think; suppose I was ill? Suppose I died? The point is, I need to plan for that eventuality. For the kids. And, well, I’ve no one. There is no one apart from you that I would want to take care of them. If I was no longer able to.’
‘What about Michael? He’s father to one of them.’
‘Eva, he’s already washed his hands of us. There’s no money, very few phone calls. I give him one more birthday, and then I reckon he’ll disappear for good.’
‘Jeez, Maddie, I don’t know what to say to you.’
‘You’ll think about it, maybe?’
‘That’s some ask, Maddie. I can’t believe you would want me to take your two kids. We haven’t spoken in years. What gives you the impression that I would even consider it?’
‘I never thought that you would even speak to me again. But now you’re here. And while I wouldn’t be foolish enough to expect our relationship to just snap right back to what it was before, I’ve hope that someday we can work things through.’
‘And that’s it? That’s your best shot at making amends?’
‘I’m not perfect, Eva. I never was. And neither were you, if I remember correctly. I’m just human. And, well, I’ve made mistakes. Big mistakes. But doesn’t a girl deserve to be forgiven?’
16
‘Ruth, I’m not going on a diet just because you’ve decided you want to be young and gorgeous again. That’s not my problem.’
‘I am still young and gorgeous – excuse yourself. I just want to be fit.’
‘Hey, hey, keep your voice down. I don’t need to justify myself to anyone. Anyway, as your sister I’m taking it upon myself to inform you that crisps aren’t a vegetable to be counted as one of your five-a-day. Just because you’ve gotten a man to say he loves you, doesn’t mean you can start letting yourself go.’
‘Ha! The cheek of you. Didn’t you always claim to be a wannabe dieter?’
‘Yes, I have been known to be a member of the Monday Morning Club. As in, it both started and ended on the Monday morning. But today is different.’
‘Why?’
‘Cause you’re going to help your big sister. Otherwise I’ll just have to start up a Friday Morning Club. Now drink up your prune juice and grab yourself a fresh toilet roll. If this stuff doesn’t flush you out, you’re not as full of crap as I thought you were. Now get supping.’
After just a few weeks living with my sister we had reverted to our old teenage ways. Hours were now spent experimenting in the bathroom – either backcombing our hair, rummaging through each other’s make-up bags or just sitting on the edge of the bath customizing outfits (or as Joe would describe it, ‘Butchering perfectly good clothes’) with scissors in the hope that we could update and modernize them. This was our adolescence all over again, without the pressure of our dragon of a mother breathing fire down our necks. It was like a trip down memory lane, where we got to bring the best bits about the past into the present, and pretend we had no responsibilities for a while. Oddly, I was finding it far more blissful than any stay at a five-star hotel.
Each evening, when the kids finally went to bed, Ruth and I would race to their computer and log on to our new obsession, Facebook, to trace old friends and uncover numerous perverts from around the world. For a laugh we had taken to sending each other mini-wall posts about our superstar footballer boyfriends. These were of course purely fictitious fellas, as were our relationships with them, but using our overactive imaginations we would dream up all sorts of scenarios, and leave curious messages about being exhausted after shopping or sex! In each post we would announce our arrival or departure from various undisclosed locations in the South of France, mystery locker rooms, and sometimes Miami, where we had travelled to top up on our Botox.
All of this faking about our glamorous lifestyles was just harmless fun to us, and seemed to be generating nothing more than random followers who kept demanding, ‘Show us photos lol xx.’ It was when a Sunday newspaper repeatedly contacted us and called for our identities to be made public that we started to get a little scared. Eventually we answered the call by posting an Ab Fab-style photo of Ruth and I wearing wigs and Jackie O glasses, pretending to be holidaying in Marbella. But we were soon rumbled when our journalist friend posted, ‘Dat’s not Marbella … Dat’s Clontarf … U FULL OF CRAP! HEY I THINK I RECOGNIZE U …’ We quickly curbed our tall tales after that.
Ruth’s husband, Joe, didn’t seem to mind my temporary intrusion into the house. As he put it himself, ‘I’m happy to be having an affair with the TV remote and Jeremy Clarkson again. I love my wife. But honestly, hang on to her for as long as you like.’
Despite a mostly virtual relationship with Rory, via text, e-mail and Skype, things were progressing nicely between us, which left me plenty of spare hours to catch up with my folks for quality Mam and Dad time, and with my friends for discussing-Rory time!
Although I hadn’t picked up any freelance writing, and the team at YES! couldn’t give me any work due to recessionary cutbacks, Daisy had received the all clear from her test results, and life in my bubble had become drastically more simple. For the time being, I still had the cushion of money coming in from Brady Reel Time Films, which sadly also served as a constant reminder that possible trouble was only a Ryanair flight away. I was playing ostrich very well, though, and mostly succeeded in sticking my head in the sand to ignore any threatening voices that might enter my head. The only thing that threatened my happiness was the fact that Michael hadn’t replied to the text I had sent him about Daisy. Given he was her father, I’d thought that he should be one of the first people to know that her test results had come back negative, but a response never came. I even rang his mobile from a blocked number to check that his number was still live; it was, and I had to deal with the fact that he simply didn’t care any more.
While I continued to battle with my feelings of anger towards Michael, Maddie was also doing a good job of keeping that old painful wound open, with regular texts offering friendship and asking for forgiveness. A bit like the old me, she was used to getting her own way, and she wasn’t showing any signs of giving up until she had mended our friendship. I secretly suspected that I would buckle soon enough, but in the meantime I was putting up a good fight and making her pay for her disloyalty.
I had always felt that loyalty was one of my best traits … well, that had been the case until now, at least, but after reflecting on the events of the last year I came to the conclusion that I, too, had cheated on people, so perhaps I shouldn’t continue to act the victim. After all, Maddie was the needy, lonely one – maybe it was time to show her a little warmth and compassion. Making a pact with myself to give her one last chance to make it up with me, I offered the hand of friendship by asking her to go for just the one drink and see how fate would direct us. Unsurprisingly enough, it led us to Keogh’s Pub, a favourite old haunt of ours, where one pint led to another and another, and then an argument, which developed into some screaming and tears.
Oblivious to the audience that had gathered around us, congregating with pints and packets of Tayto crisps to watch us as if we were an episode of EastEnders, Maddie and I moved from anger to mutual adoration as we shouted and cursed like fishwives. We only noticed the spectators after they began clapping in appreciation when we finally hugged and made up. Although there was a generous offer of free pints from the crowd – to try and make us stay longer – I instead encouraged Maddie to join me for a sobering-up pizza next door, and left our new pals crying for, ‘More, please! More!’ There had been many promises made that night, including a big one – ‘No man will ever come between us again’ – and as I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror the following morning, with a full face of smudged make-up, I made a few more promises to myself. The first was to stop making stupid promises that I knew I couldn’t keep!
Having made peace with Maddie, I hoped my karma would start heading on a more positive track. To continue this cosmic shift, I made it my mission to mend bridges between Michael and myself, with a view to making Michael a part of Daisy’s life – if even just occasionally. Pushing aside my own personal feelings for the man, I decided he should have some sort of visitation rights to her, and though he wasn’t exactly looking for any, it was my duty as Daisy’s mother to convince him to include her in his world. After a little bit of detective work, I soon tracked him down to a bedsit off Leeson Street, where I visualized him with a pot belly from booze and takeout dinners, caring about nothing more than where his next pint was coming from.
Knowing that he couldn’t be strong-armed into spending time with his daughter, nor did I necessarily want him to be responsible for her on his own, I set about a plan to forge a written relationship to start off with – and see how things progressed from there. Although he had been with me in the hospital for her birth, and changed a few early nappies, Michael had abandoned Daisy and me before her three-month birthday, and there were already a huge amount of history-making moments that he had missed out on. So, with that in mind, I started compiling some photographs of her birthdays and Christmases from Ruth’s stash, since nearly all my belongings were in storage, and sat down to write my first letter to Michael, as if I was Daisy, starting with the words, ‘Dear Daddy, let me introduce myself …’
I
kept the letter short, describing what presents Santy had brought her last Christmas, and my heart had almost broken by the time I had signed off with, ‘Love, your daughter, Daisy, aged 2 xx.’ Only a soulless man could resist such a plea, I thought. But if Michael did ignore my letter, I would just write more. Then, next time, I would make a picture using her handprints and footprints. And then I would keep building on the emotional blackmail and start sending tiny locks of her curly hair till he cracked.
With a whole campaign plotted out, I was shocked when Michael did actually reply to my opening move, and somewhat sickened that he posted back several photographs of himself on a lads’ weekend break in Prague, along with a short non-committal note saying how he hoped Daisy was well and enjoying living with her cousins. I should have known the plan would stir old emotions, and I mentally beat myself up for allowing him to get under my skin again. I hadn’t even expected a reply – and I knew better than to hope for something like a cheque for Daisy or the offer of a day trip out – so I felt it impossible to rationalize my venom about his response. But clearly there was still a huge amount of hurt underneath the surface, so after raging for three days I finally found the composure to sit down again and pen another letter – as myself.
This time I used adult words, something not always understood by him. I put the question to him about possibly spending the odd afternoon with Daisy, and although I didn’t want her to call him Dad, I did want her to see him as not just a friend, but a family member. Just like last time, Michael soon replied to my letter. Only this time it was with an early-morning text. And it read, ‘I can’t be who U want me to be. So please don’t ask for what I can’t deliver. Mx.’ Why was I surprised? Yet his words hit me through my heart, like I’d just been shot with a double-barrel shotgun. The pain was immediate and overwhelming, and I felt almost unable to breathe. The failure of Daisy’s dad to engage with her somehow felt like my failure.
Poor Rory left me several worried voice messages before I finally felt strong enough to speak to him. Although I didn’t want to burden him with my feelings of hate for Michael, I couldn’t mask my anger, and ended up screaming down the phone at him for at least ten minutes about what a total shit of a human being Michael was. It was a while before Rory managed to get in, ‘I’m sorry, my love. I only just stepped out of my production meeting to see how you were. I really must go back in …’
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