Spin the Bottle

by Monica McInerney

  ‘Could she put the two of them in a room together? Play Spin the Bottle, and let that be the decider? Whoever the bottle points to is the person she has to be with?’

  Lainey shook her head. ‘No, they can’t be in the same place.’

  ‘Could she put them on an even footing another way? Turn the fantasy into reality so she really was comparing apples with apples? See if that helped her decide how she felt. Or turn them both into fantasies, even? That would make them easier to control, at least.’

  A pause.

  ‘Lainey? Are you there?’

  ‘I am. Thanks, Evie. I really appreciate your advice. I mean, she’ll really appreciate your advice.’

  ‘But do you think it will be any help to her at all?’

  Lainey had no idea. ‘Can she let you know?’

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  THE NEXT DAY, Lainey returned to the Hill of Tara, this time taking a rug with her. She walked to her favourite spot, right on the perimeter, out of sight of any other visitors but with a wonderful view of the fields all around. The sun was mild, the breeze soft. She could hear the bleating of lambs, a tractor in a far-off field, the occasional squeak of the gate as another visitor arrived. Now and again a murmur of voices floated over from one of the guided tours.

  She thought of her conversation with Eva. She had made it sound so simple. If only it was. If only it was a matter of turning her entire life into a fantasy, letting the whole confusing situation with Adam and Rohan sort itself out that way. She lay back and shut her eyes.

  The Hill of Tara had never looked so beautiful. All the wooden dwellings had been hung with brightly coloured lengths of cloth, vivid against the blue summer sky. The women had been up all night sewing the final banners.

  In her chambers, Elaine, the Queen of Tara, sat at the window. Her servant Eva stood behind her, brushing Elaine’s long dark locks. At her feet, her manservant Mr Fogarty was busying himself, his nimble fingers fastening the hundreds of buttons on her handmade kid leather boots. Her faithful cat Roderick Stewart purred on her lap.

  ‘Are you nervous, your highness?’ Eva asked.

  ‘A little,’ Elaine confessed.

  Outside, musicians marched around, congregating in the vast assembly area in the centre of the Tara settlement. Children in leather tunics played with a chicken, laughing as it squawked and flapped its wings at them. There was a sudden noise of drumming and a clamour from the crowd below. Eva looked from the window.

  ‘Adam of Melbourne has arrived,’ she breathed.

  Elaine’s heart leapt, her hand going to her throat. She went to the window, waiting for her first glimpse of Adam in several months, since she had left him to travel over the seas. He hadn’t changed. He was as tall, noble and handsome as she remembered. He was dressed in glittering golden robes, embroidered with his insignia of a knife and fork. On his head was a remarkable hat, at least two feet tall, made of black and yellow wool. Behind him, his faithful retainer Hugh of Box Hill followed, leading Adam’s mount.

  A second thunder of drumming heralded the arrival of Rohan of Dunshaughlin. His curly hair shone in the sunlight, as he strode across the Hill, stopping here and there to collect oral histories from the older members of the gathering. His own mount also stood ready for him, polished to perfection by his lady-in-waiting Mrs Hartigan of Meath.

  Eva touched Elaine’s shoulder. ‘Your Highness, I think it is time.’

  Elaine took a deep breath, calming her nerves. She stepped regally down the wooden staircase and after a dramatic, well-timed pause emerged into the clearing. A hush went around the crowd at the sight of their Queen. Every member of the crowd was aware of the importance of today’s events. In their hearts they had shared her pain, as she tussled with her feelings for both Adam and Rohan. Today would be a bitter competition, possibly to the death.

  Joseph of London stepped forward, raising his hands, his heavy jewellery evidence of his high standing in the community. ‘Bring your mounts forward,’ he called.

  Hugh of Box Hill and Mrs Hartigan of Meath moved forward, concentrating fiercely on their tasks.

  ‘We want a fair duel, for the prize is surely one worthy of only a clean and noble fight.’ Joseph of London turned and gestured towards Elaine, her long hair a halo around her face. The crowd gazed in wonder.

  Elaine studied both noble men in turn. Her mind was no clearer. There was Adam, kind, funny, sexy and goodhearted, a man of skill in the kitchen and the bedroom. And there on the opposite side of the clearing, was Rohan, clever, curly-haired, a mystery man in many ways, but one for whom she felt a strange attraction.

  There was no turning back now. The decision had to be made. ‘Let the dare begin!’ she called, her voice ringing true across the crowd.

  Hugh of Box Hill and Mrs Hartigan of Meath jumped out of the way as Rohan and Adam leapt upon their scooters. Joseph of London set a bottle spinning on a wooden board, signifying the start of the dare. Everyone knew the conditions – both men had to ride the perimeter of the Hill of Tara. The one who finished first would win the love of Elaine, Queen of Tara, as well as a rather smart gold brooch.

  The crowd gasped as the dust cleared. In the distance Adam of Melbourne could easily be seen bypassing the Mound of the Hostages, his scooter like a gazelle, leaping effortlessly from rise to rise across the green fields.

  Back at the starting line, Rohan of Dunshaughlin was still struggling to get his engine started.

  Lainey sat upright, eyes wide open.

  The phone was ringing as she let herself back into the house. It was her brother Hugh, not bothering with pleasantries like introducing himself. ‘Just calling to remind you it’s reward-calendar day, in case you’d forgotten. Four months down, only eight to go.’

  Lainey had forgotten. Her mind had been on many other things than the reward-calendar. ‘Hugh, why are you the only kind person in this family?’

  ‘Because I was made up of leftover genes,’ he chanted in the sing-song voice they all used when they trotted out that old chestnut. ‘No, I’ve been thinking about it recently and I’ve decided it’s because I had more time at home with Ma and Dad, quality parenting time. It’s just made me much more well-rounded as a human being, I suppose, able to respond to my fellow humans’ instincts and longings.’

  ‘You don’t have to lay it on too thick, Hughie.’

  He laughed. ‘I have to go anyway. Don’t want Ma to catch me on the phone again. Enjoy the chocolate.’ He was gone before she had a chance to ask any more.

  To ask if he’d seen Adam again, more to the point.

  She went into the kitchen to open the latest door on the reward-calendar and prise out the little foil-wrapped sweet, glad of the distraction. It surprised her that it had in fact been a chocolate behind each door so far. Hugh had a tendency to get a little carried away with his projects sometimes. She could have found anything wrapped up there. She looked at the drawings of beds and egg cups again and smiled. He really was a sweetheart. Definitely the most softhearted of all of them. Lainey remembered finding him in tears once as a little boy after they’d been to a fun fair for the day. ‘Parents shouldn’t ever give their children balloons,’ he’d managed to explain. ‘Why not, Hughie?’ Lainey had asked, confused. ‘Because the balloons might fly away and the children will be sad.’

  She knew Hugh would be glad if she and Adam got back together again. Adam treated him like a regular little brother, not as a slave or an insect. While the kettle boiled, Lainey stood looking at the photos of her family on the fridge. There was a nice one of Hugh, taken just after he’d begun the mad-hair stage. He did look different to the rest of them, as Nell had noticed. Shorter, stockier. Arty, too, these days, with that hair and the nose ring, in a way that neither she, Brendan nor Declan were. They’d never have thought of something as creative as the videos, or the reward-calendar either. He was definitely the artistic one of the family.

  She looked at the photo again. Hugh. Short, stocky, arty.

  L
ike Leo Ramsay was short, stocky, arty.

  At that moment everything fell into place.

  How could she have been so stupid about this as well? What had happened to her recently? This made complete sense, the timing, the circumstances, even her mother’s voice on the phone the other night, pretending to be casual. ‘Have you seen Leo Ramsay again?’

  Her mother had had an affair with Leo Ramsay, the artist. Hugh was Leo Ramsay’s child. That was why her mother had gone to England that time. But it hadn’t worked out, so she’d come back. Or perhaps her father had begged her to come back. And then the whole family had gone to Australia, to make a fresh start, to get away from Leo Ramsay.

  Lainey stood still, her heart beating fast. Her Aunt May must have known all along, but she had sided with her mother. ‘Don’t blame Peg. This is all YOUR fault,’ she had written in that letter to her father. Perhaps it had been her father’s fault. He wouldn’t have been the best husband in the world, not always easy to get along with. Her mother must have looked elsewhere, met Leo, had an affair, become pregnant with Hugh.

  She could picture it all as clearly as if she had been there watching.

  Her mother, Hugh in her arms, confessing all to her father. ‘I have to be with Leo. I want Hugh to grow up knowing his own father.’

  Her father letting her go, struggling at home with the three other children, making them write letters to their mother once a week. What must it have been like for him, knowing that the letters were going to the house of the man who had destroyed his marriage, torn the family apart?

  Lainey thought of her mother living in England with Hugh and her lover. When had she realised it wasn’t going to work? she wondered. Was it one of their letters that had sparked it, made her see she was destroying the family, and made her realise she had to come back?

  Lainey could remember the day her mother returned. Her father had been excited for days before, making them clean the house, write welcome-home cards. Then he had gone to Dun Laoghaire to meet the boat and had brought her mother and Hugh home as though they were pieces of fine china.

  How had her father been able to do it, to accept Hugh as though he was his own? Was that what real love was? No wonder they had gone to Australia so suddenly, to the other side of the world, as far from this man as possible.

  One by one the pieces fell into place. She remembered her conversation with her mother at the shopping centre before she left. Her mother had been teasing her, asking if Lainey would ever have an affair. Had she been trying to tell her something, wanting to confess? In case Lainey ran into Leo in Meath, exactly as she had done? She thought of her mother’s wistful tone when Lainey first mentioned running into Leo at the launch party. Was that why Leo Ramsay had really wanted to see her? To find out about his son after all these years?

  She couldn’t condemn her mother. She was in the same boat herself – making a mess of relationships, having sexual fantasies about near strangers. Was there some sort of gene in the Byrne family that self-activated in the early thirties? First their mother, now her. She hated to think what her brothers would get up to in the years ahead.

  But for now, she needed to talk to her mother. As soon as she could.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  THE OPPORTUNITY CAME the following day, a Tuesday, the night she knew her father’s friend Ken usually called over. With her father occupied, it would be the perfect time to call.

  She counted down the hours, waiting for the right time in Melbourne, then dialled the number. Her mother answered.

  ‘Ma, it’s me. I’m sorry to launch straight into it but I need to talk to you about something serious.’

  ‘Oh, Lainey. I have missed these dramatic pronouncements of yours.’

  ‘It really is something serious. Please, can you go into your room, so we won’t be interrupted?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ A moment later her voice again. ‘Right then, I’m ready.’

  ‘I don’t really know where to start or how to put this…’ Lainey slowly found the words, telling her mother she had guessed the real reason the family had emigrated. She found confidence in her mother’s silence, not knowing what to expect. Would her mother be angry with her for guessing or would she burst into tears and beg her not to tell Hugh because it would be better he didn’t know anything?

  ‘Is that the lot, Lainey?’

  Her mother sounded choked up, Lainey thought. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thank God for that,’ Mrs Byrne said. She burst into peals of laughter.

  ‘I don’t really think this is a laughing matter,’ Lainey said, cross.

  ‘Oh yes it is. Let me see if I have this right. We came to Australia because I’d been having an affair, and Hugh isn’t your father’s son?’ She cackled away.

  ‘Ma, it isn’t funny.’

  ‘No, you’re right. Of course it’s not. It’s better than funny – it’s hilarious. And tell me, have you managed to deduce who Hugh’s real father is in these remarkable investigations of yours?’

  ‘I think it was Leo Ramsay.’

  Mrs Byrne’s laugh was now even more high-pitched. ‘Oh yes, of course it was.’

  ‘Stop it, stop laughing. It’s not true?’

  ‘Of course it’s not true. Have you lost your mind over there? I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in my whole life. It’s bad enough to have your father moaning away over here without you losing the plot as well. I can’t mind you both, you know.’

  ‘Stop talking about Dad like that.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘About him moaning. You’re supposed to be his wife, be nice to him.’

  ‘Lainey, it’s because I am his wife, and his loving wife, that I can tell the truth about him. He has done nothing but moan for the past year and frankly I have had it up to here. He knows that now and he also knows I’m not going to put up with it forever.’

  Lainey needed to take back control of this conversation. ‘Is he Hugh’s father?’

  ‘No, Lainey, he’s not,’ Mrs Byrne said solemnly. ‘Hugh’s father is in fact a well-known Irish bishop.’

  ‘Ma…’

  ‘Of course he’s Hugh’s father. Lainey, calm down. Would you mind telling me in as clear and sane a manner as you can where on earth you got this load of nonsense from? Have you had a blow to the head recently or something?’

  ‘No. I put two and two together.’

  ‘And came up with five million. Go on.’

  ‘I found one of May’s letters to Dad, one she’d written when we first moved to Australia. It had been sent back, return to sender, no longer at this address.’

  ‘You should know it’s bad to read other people’s mail. Nothing good ever comes of it. Never mind, go on.’

  ‘She said in a letter that Dad couldn’t blame you, it was his fault. And then I met Leo Ramsay and he was weird about you, as if something had happened between you both. And he reminded me of Hugh.’

  ‘What, short and mad?’

  ‘Ma, stop it.’

  ‘He’s my son, I can say what I like about him. Lainey, much as I’d like to spend all day listening to your extraordinary detective work, I think it might be better if I stopped you there.’

  ‘But I have more.’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid you might have and I am afraid you are going to be even further off the mark than you already are. Are you sitting down yourself?’

  Lainey sat down. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then let me tell you the truth.’ She paused for a long moment. ‘What happened twenty years ago, when Hugh was born, was this. I got worn out. I had a breakdown, pure and simple. Nowadays it would be called post-natal depression. Back then it was called a nervous breakdown. You try looking after four kids. It would wear anyone out. I went to England to get better, to have a break. There was no man involved. I took Hugh with me because he was a baby and he needed minding, not because I wanted him to meet his real father.’ She started laughing again. ‘I’m not laughing at you, Lainey, I promise. Just at the idea of it. I
could hardly brush my own hair at that time, let alone set up a love nest.’

  ‘So this Leo Ramsay? Who was he? Why was he all funny about you?’ And why did you sound all wistful when I spoke to you about him? She didn’t say that bit aloud.

  There was a pause. ‘He flattered me, Lainey. Back then, I needed all the flattery I could get. Your father had been a great man for throwing woo around when he was courting, but things had got stale. I didn’t feel like me any more. I felt like Mrs Boring Byrne, mother of four, housewife, cleaner, librarian. Then Leo came to teach art at the college.’

  Lainey kept quiet, realising her mother was feeling her way carefully through these memories.

  ‘He asked me to pose for him. He showered me with compliments, told me I was beautiful, that I was something special, that my body was a temple to womanhood.’ She gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘See, all these years later I still haven’t forgotten what he said. It was everything I needed to hear. It made me feel good in the middle of the night when I was trying to get Hugh to sleep or in the middle of the day when I just felt like weeping, with all the mess around me. So I said, yes, I’d be happy to pose for him. And I did.’

  ‘Naked, you mean?’

  ‘No, Lainey, in a suit of armour. Yes, naked. That’s what he painted, nudes. Oh, no one knew. It would have been far too shocking. And no one would ever have recognised me from the painting, if he had ever shown it in Ireland, which he had no intention of doing. He favoured the abstract approach, whatever that was. All I knew was it felt good, peaceful in a funny way, to lie in a warm studio, be showered with compliments, to not have to worry about housework or crying children for two hours a week. To just be me, have myself back.’

  ‘Did Dad know about all of this?’

  ‘No, he didn’t and there was no need for him to know it, either. There still isn’t. He thought I was having painting lessons, and I suppose I was in a way.’

  There was another question Lainey had to ask. ‘Were you lovers? You and Leo?’

  A long pause down the phone line. ‘No.’