After lunch Tom would go back to work and Bridie would garden or knit until it was time for Tom to come home for his tea. After tea they would go up to the Phoenix Park for a walk if the weather was fine.
Some would say it was a dull life. But she and Tom had been happy until he’d died suddenly of a massive stroke two years ago. Now all she had was trouble and strife. When Tony was made redundant, Bridie urged Jean to persuade him to come and live with her. It was the ideal solution. She was sure of it. But it hadn’t worked out as she had thought. Having three people under her feet all day was not easy. Her little routines were interrupted. She was in a state of constant tension. She worried about Angela burning herself at the fire. Or pulling the standard lamp down on top of herself.
“Ga, ga!” A small pair of hands grabbed Bridie’s skirt. She looked down at her granddaughter. Angela was struggling to pull herself upright. She was almost walking now.
Bridie felt love flood through her. She leaned down and picked up the little girl. “What is it, my precious?” she crooned. “Who’s a lovely girl? You’re my little darling.” She cuddled the toddler tightly. It would be awful if Jean and Tony moved away to the other suburbs. She’d hardly get to see Angela. They wouldn’t be able to afford the expensive bus fares into the city.
She should have kept her big mouth shut this morning. And all over a drop of spilt milk. She’d have to make amends some way. Bridie sighed deeply. Somehow, this time, she felt it was too late.
CHAPTER THREE
Dave Cummins had the shakes. He needed a fix. Badly. His mouth tasted like sandpaper. He felt sick and shaky. He crawled out of bed. He pulled his blue sweater on and stepped into his jeans. His clothes could do with a wash. He could do with a wash. He was stinking. But he couldn’t care less. He had given up worrying about such things long ago. He used to care about the way he dressed. He’d had a good job in a finance company. But the pressure to bring in more clients was intense.
He’d started taking E at parties. The first time Dave did it, he felt dead guilty. Thinking of his parents and younger brothers in Sligo. Just as well they couldn’t see him. They’d be horrified to think that Dave, the pride of the Cummins family, was taking drugs. Gradually the guilt wore away. He started going home less and less at weekends. He was too busy, he told his family. It was important that he socialise and network and make new connections. His family were very impressed and very proud of him.
A friend of his had introduced him to acid and speed. Then … cocaine. Before long he’d been snorting lines of the fine white powder like there was no tomorrow. It made him feel good, in control. He felt he could do anything. He moved with a fast set, in the fast lane. He was working all hours. And partying until dawn. He needed the coke to keep going. Only after a while Dave needed more and more of the drug to get his highs. His supplier had offered him heroin. High-grade stuff from Colombia. Dave refused vehemently. No way was he getting involved in heroin. That was a mug’s game. You took heroin, you got addicted. You got addicted, you ended up on the streets with nothing. That wasn’t going to happen to Hot Shot Cummins.
He’d resisted the pressure for months. But the coke wasn’t doing it for him any more.
He’d been at a party that New Year’s Eve in some posh penthouse in Killiney. Drugs and booze flowed freely. He snorted a few lines of coke and waited for it to hit. The rush didn’t come the way it used to. He lowered a couple of vodkas and smoked a joint. Stoned, he went into one of the bedrooms and collapsed onto the bed. Only then did he see a pale, thin black-haired girl sitting at the dressing-table. She was injecting herself.
“Hi,” she mumbled. Dave watched as she sat tense and agitated and then the drug hit her. Her body relaxed. A smile of pleasure crossed her face. All the tension left her. Her lovely face became serene.
“It’s the best,” she murmured. “The best.”
She got up from the chair and weaved her way out of the room.
“Whatever turns you on,” Dave muttered and fell asleep.
He often thought of that girl and the expression of ecstasy on her face after she had injected herself. The pressure at work was intense. He felt stressed out trying to make his monthly returns target. He was called in by his boss and told he wasn’t trying hard enough. His sales performance was considered unsatisfactory. He’d have to try harder. He missed a few payments on his car loan and was threatened with repossession. His girlfriend kept hassling him about getting married. Dave just wanted to forget about the whole damn lot.
He went to a party and got pissed out of his skull. Jeff, his supplier, was there. “Do you want to go on the ultimate trip, Dave?” he invited. “Just do it the once. Believe me, nothing else compares.”
What the hell, thought Dave groggily. Once couldn’t do much harm. And boy was he stressed out. The memory of a pale face with its smile of ecstasy came to him.
That night, Dave took his first hit of heroin. It blew his mind. Jeff was right. It was the ultimate trip. He had never felt such peace and contentment. All his worries evaporated. Life was better than it had ever been.
Six months later, he was jobless, carless, had no girlfriend and was living in a grotty bedsitter on the North Circular Road. But none of that was important. All that mattered was heroin.
Shivering, Dave pulled on his anorak. He was always cold these days. Still, he’d be all right once he scored. He’d get the money some way. Dave shuffled downstairs and out into the crisp autumn day.
Sara Collins ate her last spoonful of porridge with relish. She finished the rest of her tea and toast. “That was lovely Eddie,” she said. She smiled at her husband. He smiled back.
“That will keep you warm. There’s a nip in the air today,” he said. “Are you sure you don’t want me to bring you into town?”
“Certain,” Sara said firmly. Today she was going to have a good browse. She didn’t want to be put under pressure by her husband. He got impatient if he had to spend longer than two hours in town. She liked to pick things up and look at them and put them down and come back to them again. This drove Eddie mad.
He was a list man. He felt that she should write out a list of what she needed and stick to it. Just like he did. It was good to be organised, he told her. It made life easier. It might make life easier but it wasn’t half as much fun, was Sara’s view. Besides, today she had a particular reason for going into town on her own. She wanted to buy Eddie’s birthday present. She had seen just the thing. A gorgeous miniature grandfather clock. It was so tiny and delicate, hardly much longer than her middle finger. It was perfect for Eddie.
Her husband loved clocks. He’d have them all over the house if she let him. He had a cuckoo clock. A grandfather clock. A Westminster chimes on the mantle that could be heard in Timbuktu. Carriage clocks of various shapes and sizes. Dusting all these clocks got on her nerves. But Sara loved her husband and she put up with his clocks. It could have been worse. It could have been china frogs or elves and gnomes.
He had plenty of room for his clocks, Sara thought as she went upstairs to get ready for her trip into town. The three boys were married with children of their own. The nice four-bedroom house that was the family home was too big for herself and Eddie now. They really should sell up and get a smaller place. But Sara loved her home. It held so many memories.
All her children had been born at home. All the joys and sorrows of their growing up were part of the fabric of the house she and Eddie had lived in since their marriage over fifty years ago. Move! No. They were too old and too settled to face the upheaval of moving house. Moving was for young people. Not the likes of her and Eddie in their mid-seventies.
Sara dabbed some powder on her nose. Then she applied her lipstick. Her hand shook a little. She sighed. Old age was a dreadful thing. Dimming eyesight. Hearing not great. And hands that weren’t as steady as they used to be. At heart she felt as young as when she was in her thirties. Ready for anything. Still, she wouldn’t dream of going out without her makeup on. Sara
had always kept herself smart. Old age wasn’t going to change that.
She checked her bag. She needed to get money from the banklink. It was handier than writing a cheque. It was showery but she had her headscarf.
She was looking forward immensely to her day in town. Later, she would treat herself to tea and cakes in Clerys’ tea-rooms.
She poked her head around the kitchen door.
“See you later, Eddie,” she said cheerfully. “There’s cold chicken and tomatoes in the fridge for your lunch. I’ll get the dinner when I come home.”
Her husband waved a sudsy hand. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I’m going to put a bit of compost on the vegetable garden. And I might do a bit of pruning and deadheading.”
“Don’t overdo it,” Sara warned. Eddie was inclined to forget his limitations.
“And don’t you spend all our savings,” Eddie retorted.
Sara laughed. Eddie was always teasing her about being a spendthrift.
She set off with a jaunty step. The shower was over. The sun shone on the sparkling raindrops trapped in the leaves of the pyracantha. A lovely sight, Sara thought approvingly as she headed towards town.
CHAPTER FOUR
Tony walked briskly. It had stopped raining. He was heading north. He decided to walk to Finglas. He was registered at the Fás centre there. Maybe he might have some luck on the job front today.
The sun came out. It glittered on the waters of the canal as he walked along Cross Guns Bridge. There were nice new apartments built in what had been an old mill. Once he’d believed that he and Jean would have a place of their own. They’d had a deposit saved. Now it was gone.
Tony felt bitter and angry. He’d been a good worker. A person should be able to work if he wanted to. He frowned. Feeling sorry for himself was not going to help. Maybe there’d be something in Fás for him today. At least he was feeling fit by walking, he thought wryly. He was much fitter now than he’d been when he was working.
Fás was on the first floor of the shopping centre. Tony eagerly scanned the boards to see if there was anything new since the last time he’d been in. Surely someone needed an experienced printer. That was what he wanted to do. But he wouldn’t turn his nose up at any other type of work. He saw that a porter was required for a city centre hotel. There was no harm in applying, he supposed. The money wasn’t as good as he’d been earning, but with tips it wouldn’t be too bad.
He went to the girl at the desk. She took down all the relevant details and promised to get in touch with him. There was a lot of interest in the job, she told him. Some of the applicants had hotel work experience already. Tony knew that she told him all this so he wouldn’t get his hopes up too high. He’d been through this many times before.
“I’ll take my chances,” he said.
As he walked out the door of the Fás centre he noticed several people waiting outside in the hallway. They were waiting for the library to open. It was a long time since he’d been in a library, he reflected. When he was a child he used to go to his local library once a week. He’d been a good reader. As he got older and developed interests in sport – and girls – he’d neglected his reading. Jean liked reading. She always had her head stuck in a book.
The porter opened the door. The people waiting surged in. Tony found himself following them. It would pass an hour or two. Then he’d have a coffee and a bun and then, he thought dolefully, he’d go home.
He looked around and saw that he was in the bright, airy children’s section. Little tables and chairs and boxes filled with illustrated storybooks were in the centre of the area. Larger desks and chairs lined the big floor-to-ceiling window area. Bookshelves crammed with books lined the walls. Posters and paintings were everywhere.
Nice, thought Tony. When Angela was older he’d bring her here and enrol her. He walked along into the next section. The adult library was just as inviting. Easy chairs and small tables were dotted here and there between the bookshelves. There were desks by the windows. A few students were settling down to study. A queue had formed at the lending desk. The staff laughed and chatted with the borrowers. There was a very agreeable friendly atmosphere about the place. Not at all like the intimidating silence of the library of his youth.
He began to browse through the books. He was in the non-fiction section. He picked up a book about painting and decorating and began to flick through it. There were some great ideas in it. He particularly liked one wallpapering tip. It showed a picture of a room with a border strip outlining the door-frame. It looked most effective.
He’d promised Ma Feeny he’d paint and paper her bedroom. Maybe he’d outline the bedroom door with a border. It looked very posh. Ma Feeny would like that. She was into posh. She’d have the neighbours in to show off her new border.
Tony sighed. It wasn’t that he didn’t like his mother-in-law. She wasn’t that bad. He just didn’t like living with her. He put the book down and moved along towards two large racks of cassettes. To think you could borrow tapes as well as books. Tony was most impressed. He saw a Queen tape. Tony loved Freddie Mercury. There was a great selection of tapes. Classical music, pop, spoken arts. There was also a huge selection of Talking Books. It was incredible. Years ago there’d been nothing like that. You went to the library, borrowed your books and that was that.
He noticed a woman returning a large painting. You could borrow paintings as well? This was a right little Aladdin’s Cave. Another rack caught his eye. It was full of magazines. Autocar, Hot Press, In Dublin, Woman’s Way, The RTE Guide, Hello! There was a good selection to cover all tastes. You could spend all day in the library entertaining yourself, Tony thought as he watched a girl sit down at a computer and a young man doing a session in language lab. There were dozens of languages to learn. Maybe he might start to learn French or German. It would give him something to do while he was unemployed. It would probably cost a fortune to join, Tony thought ruefully. Still, there was no harm in asking.
“There’s no charge at all, sir,” the affable man behind the desk said.
“Oh!” exclaimed Tony in delight. “Could I join then?”
“Certainly, sir.” The librarian smiled and handed Tony a form. “Just fill that out please. Would you have any identification on you? I need some proof of address.”
“I have my social welfare card and a letter from the tax inspector. Would that do?”
“That’ll be fine, and I’ll just check your form against the voters’ register.”
Just as well he’d filled out the change of address form and sent it in to City Hall when they’d moved in with Mrs Feeny, Tony thought as he wrote his details on the application form.
“When will I get my tickets?” Tony asked.
“You can take out three items today,” the librarian said. “You’ll get a computerised ticket when you return your books, cassettes or whatever. You can use this ticket in any of the computerised libraries, including the ILAC library.
“That’s marvellous!” Tony was delighted. The ILAC was in town, just off Henry Street. He’d always meant to have a look around the very modern library but had never got around to it. “Could you tell me how I’d go about using the language tapes? I’m interested in French.”
“You just put your name down for a session. The same if you want to use the computer. You can borrow the course of language cassettes. There’s a small waiting list. So I’ll reserve it for you.” The librarian filled out a little white form and asked Tony for his phone number. “We’ll give you a call when part one is available.”
Tony left the library with the Queen tape, the decorating book and a Stephen King horror novel. He had put his name down for a session in the language lab and had reserved a copy of Bravo Two Zero, the bestselling book about the SAS.
He felt a bit more positive. He hadn’t planned to go into the library. But now he was more than glad he’d done it. He had two books to read. God knows he had plenty of time on his hands to get through them. He had his name do
wn to learn French. At least he was doing something positive. He would make the most of this unwanted free time until he got another job, Tony resolved. He would use it to learn.
He went into the coffee shop downstairs. He ordered a cup of coffee and a scone and sat flicking through the decorating book. Jean would find it as interesting as he did. She loved anything to do with decorating. Hopefully by the time he got home her humour would have improved. He’d been a bit hasty himself. He’d apologise. Feeling much more cheerful, Tony finished his coffee and set off for home.
CHAPTER FIVE
Jean’s heart sank. There was a huge queue in the post office. It was always like that on children’s allowance day. Never mind. She’d be richer by forty pounds when she came out. She hadn’t collected her last children’s allowance. When she could, she let it mount up. Which wasn’t very often.
Jean left the post office some twenty-five minutes later with her forty pounds tucked safely down the finger of her glove.
She felt like going on a spree. It was always the same when she got her children’s allowance money. There was always the urge to throw caution to the wind and go mad. It was her money to do what she liked with. Tony was always urging her to treat herself with it but Jean would have felt as guilty as hell if she did that.
Angela needed new shoes and vests. She was growing out of her clothes so fast these days. Tony needed new jeans and he could do with a new jacket for the winter. She’d feel extremely mean spending money on herself.
Second Chance Page 2