Foreign Affairs

by Patricia Scanlan

  Rachel settled back into the seat as Danny drove along the winding country road towards Bray. Her face grew sad. Harry and she had never got back together after the night of his ultimatum. Each had let the other down. Harry, because he’d tried to bully her as her father had. Rachel, because, as Harry saw it, she’d chosen her father over him. Harry had gone grape-picking in France that summer, less than two weeks after their contretemps, and she hadn’t seen him until the following October. They’d bumped into each other one weekend. They’d hugged and said ‘hello.’ But the old intimacy was gone and there had been a sort of strain between them as they stood outside the chipper making polite small talk. It had been a relief to each of them when a sudden shower started and they’d said hasty goodbyes and run for the shelter of their respective houses.

  Harry had a car now and he was working in a big law firm in Dublin. He also had a new girlfriend. A long-legged brunette who looked extremely glamorous. Rachel had seen her in Rathbarry with him, the odd weekend he came home to visit. She’d known that Harry wouldn’t be on his own for long. It didn’t bother her as much as she’d thought it would. Men were just a load of hassle, she told herself. She was better off without them. Being manless wasn’t so bad. It would have been different if she’d never had a boyfriend. She’d experienced the boyfriend bit, done the dating bit, and even the heavy petting bit. These all brought their own problems and the fewer problems she had to deal with the better.

  Once she passed her finals and had a job she’d start to live again, Rachel promised herself. In the meantime, she was looking forward to spending a few days with Pauline in Clonmel. Rachel couldn’t help smiling at the thought of Pauline Hegarty. Pauline was the complete opposite to her. A zany, bubbly flibbertigibbet, Pauline lived life to the full and only studied when she absolutely had to. She would never have passed an exam without Rachel’s help. Rachel envied her friend her sunny optimistic nature. But Pauline also had a kind heart. When Theresa died, Pauline had sat for many hours listening to Rachel talk about her mother. It helped Rachel greatly. Most people didn’t want to talk to her about her mother for fear of upsetting her. Neighbours often crossed to the other side of the street when they saw her coming. Unsure of what to say. William was the last person she could talk to about her mother and Ronan had left home.

  Pauline instinctively knew that Rachel wanted to talk, and with a sensitivity that belied her effervescent personality, she handed out tissues, made tea and let Rachel cry her eyes out as she talked of Theresa. It had been a relief for Rachel to be able to talk about her mother. Pauline had given her no advice. She hadn’t expressed an opinion one way or the other as to whether Rachel should stay at home or go to France with Harry. She just kindly said that Rachel shouldn’t make any hasty decisions. Making decisions when one was recently bereaved was not wise. Her kindness was a balm to Rachel’s troubled soul. If it hadn’t been for Pauline, she would never have got through her exams, or through the misery that followed her row with Harry.

  Pauline had often invited her to visit her home but Rachel always put it off. But she needed some respite after the stresses and strains of the exams. And Rachel had planned the confrontation with her father in the knowledge that she could go and stay with her friend for a few days.

  Pauline was sick of her summer job in a biscuit factory. She’d phoned Rachel and said she was leaving it and going home and invited Rachel to come with her for a few days. Rachel impulsively decided to take her up on her offer. The Misses Healy had been understanding about her need for a few days off so Rachel made her plans to drop her bombshells and be ready to escape the flak.

  As Danny drove into Bray, Rachel felt pleased enough with herself. She hadn’t chickened out. She’d got the better of her father. She had her own money and she damn well deserved a holiday.

  ‘I didn’t think you’d be here,’ Pauline said with a broad grin, as she pulled in opposite Heuston at six-thirty. Punctuality was not one of her virtues so Rachel hadn’t quite got to the panicky stage. She got into her friend’s Volkswagen and they chugged along the Naas Road.

  ‘Jemima’s not in the best of form.’ Pauline grimaced as the car began to vibrate as she accelerated to fifty. ‘I think I’ve to get the wheels balanced or something, she’s going a bit peculiar once I hit fifty.’ Pauline knew nothing about the mechanics of her car nor did she wish to know anything about what went on under the bonnet. She knew it needed petrol to go, which she bought when the needle was well past the empty mark. She occasionally put water in the battery and in the radiator, when she thought of it. She couldn’t figure out the air gauges and rarely, if ever, put air in her tyres. Oil was a rare treat for Jemima. Rachel was fascinated by this. Her father had a specific routine for looking after his car which never varied. Everything was checked on a weekly basis. His car was washed and polished every Saturday. It was immaculate. Pauline never washed her car. It was always littered with empty crisp bags. She cheerfully called it a tip-heap on wheels but nevertheless it was a much-loved car. Her father had given it to her as an early twenty-first birthday present to make life easier for her while she was in St Pat’s.

  ‘Did you bring your bikini?’ Pauline asked out of the blue.

  ‘Oohh, no,’ Rachel said. ‘I didn’t know I’d need one.’

  ‘Well you will. Look at the weather. It’s glorious! We’ll go to the beach in Waterford. You can get one in Dunnes tomorrow.’

  Rachel wasn’t sure if she wanted a bikini. She’d never worn one, she’d feel far too self-conscious. She’d buy a swimsuit instead.

  They had a most pleasant journey to Clonmel. Rachel enjoyed looking at the countryside and the fine houses as she listened to Pauline’s non-stop chatter. They stopped in Kilkenny for a meal. Rachel thought it was a beautiful city. The huge castle looked very dramatic in the evening sun and Pauline promised that they would spend a day shopping in the town during her few days’ break. Rachel began to feel almost exhilarated. This was just what she needed. She should have done it ages ago. Theresa would be very pleased if she was looking down on her now, Rachel thought sadly.

  They were scorching through Callan, a village built on a narrow street, when disaster struck. A plume of steam erupted from under the bonnet, causing Pauline to curse volubly. ‘Balls on it, I think the radiator’s run dry. For God’s sake don’t tell my father.’ A young lad stood watching as Pauline waited for the steam to cool and then tried to twist off the radiator cap. She couldn’t manage it. Her language was vicious and Rachel listened in admiration to the way her friend expressed her anger. She could imagine her father’s face if he ever heard her cursing the way Pauline was.

  The youth could take no more. He sidled over, took a dirty handkerchief out of his pocket, gave the cap a twist and off it came. ‘Stay there and I’ll get some water,’ he instructed.

  ‘I’m hardly going anywhere,’ Pauline muttered a dry aside to Rachel. ‘Steve McQueen he ain’t.’ The two of them looked at each other and started to giggle. Twenty minutes later they were on the road again with a full radiator and a bottle of water just in case.

  ‘I’m a disgrace to the feminist cause,’ Pauline declared. ‘I must do a course in car maintenance. Imagine breaking down in Callan of all places.’ They drove on, the countryside getting more beautiful by the mile, until Pauline pulled in at a gorgeous spot that overlooked a spectacular valley. ‘This is called the V, I always feel I’m home when I get here. You should see it in the autumn, the colours are breathtaking.’ Rachel could imagine it as she stared out at the stunning views.

  Soon after that they reached the perimeter of the town. Pauline lived in a big detached bungalow on the outskirts. Her parents greeted them warmly and Rachel was shown to a pretty guest room and invited to make herself at home. Pauline was an only child and it was clear that her parents doted upon her.

  Around eleven, she dragged Rachel to her feet and told her they were going to a disco. Mr and Mrs Hegarty never batted an eyelid. Obviously this was par for the c
ourse. Rachel marvelled at it all. If she arrived home and then said she was going to a disco at eleven, William would have a fit.

  ‘I’ll need a holiday after this,’ Rachel declared the following Monday. It was eight-thirty, and Pauline was calling her to get up. She’d been to discos and parties. She’d gone on pub crawls and sung in ballad sessions. She’d played tennis and badminton and gone to a barn-dance on the Sunday night. That was great fun. At first she’d been shy, and couldn’t make head nor tail of the steps, but everyone else was in the same boat and half the fun was turning left when you should be turning right as the MC bellowed the instructions from the stage.

  ‘Today we’re going to flop,’ Pauline announced. ‘The sun is splitting the trees, there’s clear blue skies. Let’s hit the beach.’ Mrs Hegarty made them a sumptuous picnic and they set off for Waterford in trusty old Jemima. Rachel had her new bikini on under her new shorts and T-shirt. Pauline had insisted she go on a little spending spree and advised that you got a much better suntan in a bikini.

  Pauline was an avid sun-worshipper. Rachel watched in amazement as she spread her towel on the beach and laid out an array of creams and lotions beside her. ‘Come on. Strip,’ she instructed, ‘I’m going to teach you how to get a suntan.’ Rachel felt embarrassed as she slipped out of her shorts and T-shirt to expose an expanse of milky-white limbs. ‘Now cover yourself with that.’ Pauline handed her a big yellow bottle of suntan milk, called Delial. Rachel sniffed it. It had a gorgeous smell. She did as she was told.

  ‘Now make your bag into a pillow, put it on your towel, lie down with your book, listen to the sea and the birds and if you don’t feel relaxed after today, I’ll eat my hat,’ Pauline declared. Twenty minutes later she was snoring her head off.

  Rachel lay on the warm sand, feeling the heat of the sun soaking into her skin. It was a lovely sensation. The sound of the sea was like a lullaby. The sky was blue above her. A warm breeze rippled across her stomach like a caress. She felt a wonderful lethargy spread through her. Rachel emptied her mind and lay, thinking of nothing in particular, just listening to the sea and the birdsong and the gentle shushing of the balmy breeze. Her eyelids grew heavy. She slipped into a dreamless snooze.

  There was no need for Pauline to eat her hat. Rachel went home energized and refreshed after her few days away. And she had her first proper tan. As she sat on the coach to Dublin, she decided two things. She would save for a car. And from now on, whenever she had the chance, she would try and do some sunbathing. It was a marvellous way to relax, she’d discovered.

  William was very cool with her when she got home. Curtly, he told her that there was some post for her. Letters from Ronan. He asked her nothing about her little holiday. Rachel didn’t care. She just wanted to have a bath and unpack.

  She was back at work the following day. The Tea Rooms were busy and the day passed quickly. At five o’clock she couldn’t wait to get home. She made up two ham and salad rolls. One for William, one for herself. If her father thought she was going to turn around and cook a dinner on a lovely sunny evening, he could think again. She couldn’t wait to get out to top up her tan. She raced home. She could see her father over in the newsagents, buying his evening paper and chatting to Mrs Morrissey. Perfect, Rachel thought, as she threw his roll on a plate and put a cup beside it. She ran upstairs, got into her bikini and grabbed her towel and book and suntan cream. She peered out the window to see if he was coming yet and was pleased to see he was still chatting. William loved the sound of his own voice. She poured herself a glass of milk from the fridge. Two pork chops reproached her. Thursday was pork chop day. She didn’t care, the sun was shining and the top left-hand corner of the small patio was a sun trap.

  Five minutes later, she was sitting against the wall, face up to the sun, welcoming its delightful bright heat. She heard her father’s footsteps come around the side of the house. She kept her eyes tightly closed. William stopped short. ‘Good grief!’ she heard him say. Rachel ignored him. She heard him open the back door. ‘Where’s the dinner?’ he growled.

  ‘On the table,’ she said airily. There was silence. Then the sound of pots clashing and muttered imprecations. Rachel stayed firmly put. She wasn’t his servant. He’d been at home all day. He was on holidays now. Why hadn’t he cooked the dinner himself? The sun poured its heat down on her and delicious lethargy once again spread through her limbs. A smile crossed her face as she heard the sizzle of meat on the pan. William could cook his own dinner from now on. As far as Rachel was concerned, the worm had turned, and not before its time.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Rachel gently placed her mother’s photograph on her desk and smiled down at it. ‘Well Mam, here I am at last. Living in. I wish you were at home so I could tell you all about it. Dad’s going mad, of course. But he didn’t try to stop me because he knows I have some money of my own saved. You’d be proud of me,’ she said sadly.

  ‘Don’t get into the dumps on your first day here,’ she told herself. ‘Be positive. Start as you mean to go on.’ Rachel stood in the middle of the room that was to be her home for the next eight months. It was a nice room. The walls were painted pink. To her right was a wardrobe and bed and there were bookshelves along the wall. To her left was a sink and mirror, more shelves and a desk and chair and noticeboard. The window was at right angles to the desk and had a view across the campus to the college buildings. It was clean, bright and airy but best of all it was 35 miles from her father’s house. He had no say here. He couldn’t interfere in her life.

  There was a knock on the door. Rachel jumped. Idiot! she thought to herself as she went to see who it was.

  ‘Hi, welcome to the Glen.’ Pauline’s cheery greeting made Rachel smile immediately. The Glen was the name of the hall of residence she was now living in.

  ‘Can you believe it! I’m here.’ Rachel laughed.

  ‘And about time too. Now we’re all going over to the Cat & Cage for a jar. Are you coming?’

  ‘I haven’t finished my unpacking,’ Rachel said hastily.

  ‘Get your purse and stop your nonsense. This isn’t Rathbarry!’ Pauline ordered.

  ‘OK,’ Rachel agreed. To hell with the unpacking, she’d a whole eight months to unpack. Now was the time to start living. She spent a most enjoyable evening in the pub, much to her surprise. Her classmates were trying to outdo each other with horror stories about their teaching practice. Rachel found herself telling them how one child in her class was so hyperactive that a strategy had been prepared in advance to deal with his disruptive presence.

  ‘So all the time I was being assessed, Billy Shields was going around from classroom to classroom with a “note for the teacher,” which said Examiner in school hang on to Billy for a while . . . He had a wonderful time, everyone had little jobs for him to do and they kept him occupied until I was finished.’ Rachel grinned.

  ‘That was nice of them,’ Keith Nolan exclaimed. ‘Two little gurriers started a fight in my class and the rest of the little savages yelled, “Give ’im a puck in the snot, Doyler, an’ kick the goolies off ’im.” How I longed for the days of corporal punishment. There’s a lot to be said for it.’

  ‘Huh,’ snorted Lillian Byrne. ‘I had a mother in to complain that her daughter was being picked on by the teacher and she wanted to know where the teacher was. So I tried to explain that I was doing my teaching practice, and the other teacher was up in the staff room. She was furious and said no unqualified teacher was going to practise on her Charlene. She was going to phone the department immediately. According to her, her husband didn’t pay his taxes so their Charlene would be taught by amateurs. I wouldn’t mind but Charlene’s as thick as two short planks and isn’t a bit interested in learning anything.’ There was a chorus of guffaws. Rachel started to relax. This was good fun. She was going to enjoy this last year to the full.

  The following Friday, she was walking through the grounds after lectures, on her way to the Glen, when she spied a familiar grey Corti
na. Anger suffused her. What the hell was he doing here? Making sure that she came home for the weekend no doubt. Would her father ever let her live her own life? she fumed. She remembered that Pauline was going to visit an aunt in St Vincent’s Hospital. Jemima was still parked outside the college so she hadn’t left yet. A reckless gleam came into Rachel’s eyes. She backtracked and took a different route so she didn’t have to pass the car park. She was breathless when she got to her room. Hastily shoving her dirty laundry into her knapsack, she gathered her books together and put her coat on. She locked her door and went downstairs to Pauline’s floor and knocked on her friend’s door. Pauline opened the door. Rachel was pleased to see that she had her duffel coat on, ready to go.

  ‘Hiya,’ she greeted Rachel.

  ‘Hi, listen, you’re going in to St Vincent’s, aren’t you? Could you drop me off as near to town as you’re going? I can get the bus on the quays.’

  ‘Sure,’ Pauline agreed. ‘I’m almost ready to go. I have to write the Get Well card, that’s all.’

  ‘I just want to pop over to the shop to get the paper to read on the bus. If I stand at the traffic lights can you pick me up?’

  ‘Fine,’ Pauline agreed. ‘See you at the lights.’

  Rachel felt a glow of triumph. Ha! she thought scornfully, William would sit watching the main gate for her and she’d be gone through the side gate. Her father could sit stewing for as long as he wanted.

  She hurried downstairs and made her way across the lawns to the side gate of the grounds, looking neither to the left nor right. There was a gap in the traffic and she raced across the road to the newsagents. There was a queue. Rachel sizzled with impatience as she waited to pay for her evening paper. She decided to treat herself to U magazine as well. She’d just paid for her purchases when she saw Jemima’s purple bonnet edge out the main gate. Rachel waved away the offer of a paper bag, grabbed her change and ran. She was waiting at the traffic lights when Pauline pulled up. The traffic was free-flowing but heavy. Another half an hour and it would be the usual Friday evening snarl-up. And William would be well caught in the middle. She was going to enjoy her few hours of peace and quiet at home. She’d have a nice tea without having to listen to William pontificating.