People eat their dinner, just eat their dinner, and all the while
their happiness is taking form, or their lives are falling apart.
Anton Chekhov
CONTENTS
TITLE PAGE
EPIGRAPH
DUBLIN
Halloween 2018
CARLOW
August 1999
CARLOW
September 2006
DUBLIN
May 2018
DUBLIN
Halloween 2018
DUBLIN
Halloween 2019
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
COPYRIGHT
DUBLIN
Halloween 2018
When the gleeson twins were eleven years old, they ran away from home one afternoon. They made it as far as the old mill on the outskirts of town before their mother’s red Jeep pulled up beside them in the rough. The girls got into the back without a word. They didn’t look at each other, just knew somehow to accept defeat, because most things in life were to be accepted. Later that night, Elaine had woken Kate up, her cold fingers prodding Kate’s shoulder across the divide of their single beds. In the soft darkness of the room, Elaine had announced that one day soon they would get off the farm. They would, in fact, get off the island of Ireland entirely and be free to do whatever they wanted in some unknown country with no family ties at all. Kate, who was used to keeping her ideas to herself, especially in the middle of the night when she wanted to go back to sleep, didn’t point out that if the twins were together, they would always have family wherever they went. Instead she’d squinted at Elaine, pulled the duvet over her shoulder and rolled in to face her side of the wall.
Every year on her sister’s anniversary, Kate thought of that night with useless, superstitious longing. If only she could change it. If only she had said yes, for once. What parts of her she would give to have another chance. Her arms, her legs, her rickety bones. But no—enough—this game helped no one. As the bus back to Raheny stalled in the morning traffic, she tried to focus on the day ahead. She shifted closer to the window, away from her seatmate and his sandwich. With a cool swipe of her hand, she cleared the condensation and looked down at the street, the chalky pavement of College Green and all the people rushing by.
Today was the sixteenth anniversary of her sister’s death. An incredible number, but you couldn’t argue with numbers—they had no give. This evening the family, or some of the family, were coming to her apartment for dinner. Kate had the day off work to prepare, the recipes laid out on the counter at home, the final few things she needed in the lime green grocery bag at her feet. It wasn’t even half eleven. Everything was going to be fine.
At the turn for the Northside quays, the bus missed the lights. A woman in front of Kate said to the person next to her, ‘There’s so much traffic we’re going backwards.’ The seatmate agreed and the conversation went relentlessly round, each of them talking over the other, saying the same things, until Kate felt that she might never get off the bus. The windows had fogged again and the vents at her feet piped sour heat up to her face. She popped a button on her coat, elbowing the man beside her by mistake. ‘Sorry,’ she said. He ignored her and leaned forward for another bite of his breakfast bap. The yolk split, smearing the ketchup like pus into blood. Kate moved as far away from him as she could, which was not very far at all. Her right ear started to ring, a kind of static fuzzing inside her head. Across the aisle, a toddler screamed, his sharp little cries sucking the light right out of the sky.
At Fairview they stopped for more passengers. A group of teenage boys stomped up the stairs, all jerky limbs and stale smoke. The tallest one pulled on a Scream mask and lurched at some girls by the stairwell. Kate closed her eyes, drowning out the shrieks. She ran through the evening’s recipes in her head, visualizing the photo of the Baked Alaska, the sheen of the meringue, the torched golden tips.
A loud hiccup broke her concentration. The man had finished his bap. Instantly, the teenagers took up the challenge, their frog chorus bouncing hiccups and burps around the deck. The noise, the way they seemed to liquify and fill the space—graffitied satchels, bum fluff, trainers with scraggly laces. Some unknown floor gave way inside her. Reaching for her shopping, her hand touched the man’s rucksack and she stood up too quickly, her thigh striking the frame of the seat. ‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’ The man made room for her to get out. At the bottom of the stairs, a standing passenger stared at her with dense curiosity. Two women in the disabled bay nudged each other. Kate moved past them, pressed the red button on the side panel and bit into a hangnail while she waited for the Coast Road stop.
Home, finally, she dropped the bags on the couch and kneaded her thigh. The apartment was cold, but she left her coat on a chair all the same, glad to be free of it. Incense from the morning’s mass was still on her jumper, woody and cloying. She’d tried to light a candle after the service but the slot snatched her euro without a flicker. Looking over her preparations now, she wondered if it had been a sign. The four settings on the dining table, immaculate last night, seemed cramped and showy in the daylight. The gold-rimmed china her mother had given her for her thirtieth was meant for a grander room. But no, she was being ridiculous—it was just her family coming for dinner. Her two brothers and her sister-in-law, that was it. Peter, the eldest, on his own from Carlow, then Ray and Liz, who could be all over each other or not speaking to each other, depending on the day. They were her family, and she had made them dinner before. They were not hard people to please. And yet. The feeling returned, stronger than before: she could so easily have cancelled. She could have stayed in and drunk a bottle of wine. Three bottles of wine. She could have taken the Luas to Ray’s house in Ranelagh and gone trick-or-treating with Liz and the girls. She could have gone home to Cranavon and sat up with Peter and Mammy until the early hours, like she’d done for other anniversaries. Instead Kate had invited them all for dinner, though if you pressed her, she couldn’t say exactly when this had happened. Things had been strange for a while now. Life was blurry; each morning the sun rose in a muslin veil. The small stuff was more to the centre, somehow, taking up all the space, blunting her capacities.
In the kitchen, she unloaded her shopping and folded the bag into the bag of bags. She lined up her spoils on the island. Truffle oil from the Arno valley, elastic bands, a pre-carved pumpkin, hand cream, cereal, juniper berries for Liz’s G&Ts. She left the pumpkin and cream to one side and put everything else away. On the counter, the recipes in their clear plastic sleeves were shining in the morning sun. Kate looked out the picture window and thought of her sister.
Between the chopping and the mincing and the rolling and the baking, the hours passed quickly. Her last job was to pipe meringue over the ice cream and slot the dessert into the freezer. When she’d finished the spikes, she stood back to admire her creation. She was proud of it, a mad-looking thing like a jester’s hat. All at once, the evening stretched in front of her, full of possibility. She opened the window over the sink as wide as it would go and the fresh, salty wind came across the room. Outside the light was low in the sky, a strip of pale blue between two bands of cloud. ‘Everything is OK,’ she said out loud to no one.
At ten to seven, she rushed into the bedroom and took off the silk dress that had seemed like such a good idea earlier in the week. The olive green did nothing for her complexion, her mother was right. Kate’s eyes were the wrong kind of brown, different to Elaine’s—their amber warmth, the dark limbal rings around the iris. Non-identical twins. Fraternal twins, their mother used to say. If Kate had been able to salvage something of her sister’s, it would have been her eyes. These were the kind of terrible thoughts she’d been having for years. There was no one you could tell. The o
nly person who would get it—who would, in fact, have been thrilled to hear it—was dead.
After ransacking the wardrobe, Kate put on her black wrap dress and reapplied concealer over the crusty patch beside her lip, leaving a haw mark as she leaned closer to the mirror. The doorbell gave a jerky ring. She took one last look at her reflection and told herself to move.
At the hall table, she stopped and lit the tea lights in the pumpkin before opening the door.
‘Hello! Hello! Hi! How are you?’
Everyone spoke at once, then stopped at the same time, and there was a moment, a split second, where Kate thought she might quickly close the door in their faces without them noticing. But no. Her brothers were right there, standing like little-and-large bodyguards on either side of Liz.
‘Kate?’ said Ray, as if he didn’t know her.
Liz looked beyond her into the apartment. She’d had her hair done, the blonde ends feathery.
‘You look gorgeous, Liz,’ Kate said, ushering them into the hall. ‘I love the hur.’
‘Sullivan! I’ll book you in. You won’t know yourself.’ Liz left a moist kiss on Kate’s cheek.
Ray said, ‘Only a thousand euro a go. Extra for the grey bits.’ He patted his own hair, which was mostly black and stiff with gel. They all laughed, a trifle too loudly and for too long. The pumpkin light seemed to grow in thin, lambent fingers up the wall.
Kate complimented Liz’s blouse only to discover that it was a dress, an all-in-one designed to look like separates.
‘Well, now,’ said Peter. ‘Imagine that.’ He was taking an age to undo his wax jacket and Kate wished he would hurry up.
Liz gave a twirl, a flash of silver in the hallway.
‘All looks the same to me,’ said Ray.
‘You’re such a gentleman, Raymond.’ Liz backhanded his chest. ‘I married him for his manners.’
Kate felt like she was holding them to account in the hallway. ‘Come in, won’t you, come in.’
‘I’ll take that for you, Liz.’ Peter hung up their coats. ‘And you, Ray.’
‘No!’
They all looked at Ray. His heavy-lidded eyes held some secret or joke, impossible to say which.
‘What are you like?’ said Liz.
‘Sorry.’ He pulled the navy sports jacket so that it strained against his shoulders. ‘Sorry, I’m a bit cold.’
As they moved down the hall, a saxophone solo came from the living room.
‘Is that jazz I hear?’ Peter sucked his cheeks in—the sharp bone structure of the Gleeson men, a face that suited the extra flesh of ageing.
‘I think so,’ Kate said. ‘Random playlist.’
‘Might you know who it is, Peter?’ Ray winked, but then Liz cut across Peter’s jazz musing and said she was desperate for gin. She gave Kate a bottle of wine wrapped in purple crêpe paper and headed for the kitchen, Ray in tow.
Kate was left alone with Peter who surprised her with a bear hug, squashing the bottle into her ribs.
‘Well,’ she smiled as he let go. ‘Thanks for coming this evening. I know it was—’
He held up a hand and she said no more. She loved his gestures, which were always so considered and morose.
He stopped at the entrance to the kitchen, sniffing the air. ‘Beef,’ he said. ‘I’ve a nose for meat. It smells delicious, Kate. Muy bien.’ He massaged the jowly bit under his chin and all she could see was their father. Peter and Daddy, walking the fields of her childhood. They would come back in the evenings, stinking of dung and feed, full of the lightness of the outside world.
‘Go on,’ she said. ‘Get yourself a beer. Dinner will be ready in no time.’
When Kate went into the kitchen, Liz was lifting the foil off the parsnips. ‘Look at all this,’ she said. ‘You’ve put me to shame. My pauper’s stroganoff.’
On the counter, a bowl-shaped glass was full of gin, junipers bobbing.
Kate said, ‘Your stroganoff is to die for.’
‘You think?’
‘Totally.’
‘Well, your mother loves it anyway,’ Liz smiled. ‘We had her with us on Sunday again. She gets the bus now, you know. Flies up the motorway.’
‘Mammy—on the bus?’
‘What’s the point in Raymond driving the whole way down just to bring her back? She was fine about it.’
‘How are the girls?’ said Kate. ‘The messers.’
‘They’d a party at the crèche this afternoon.’ Liz jiggled the ice in her glass. ‘One princess, one skeleton pirate. You can guess who.’
‘Lainy the pirate,’ said Kate. ‘Definitely.’
‘And Lia beside her like royalty,’ Liz laughed. ‘Can you picture it?’
‘Aw,’ said Kate. ‘Show us a photo.’
While Liz found her phone, Kate looked into the living room where her brothers were squashed on her two-seater, staring at a blank television. Fair-haired Peter and dark-haired Ray, the difference decreasing with age. She couldn’t hear what Peter was saying but it was probably about his new drainage system. He’d called last night and spent nearly half an hour telling her about the trap and the suction and the way gravity wasn’t as simple a concept as everyone thought.
‘Here, what are you like?’ Liz swiped the wine bottle. ‘That’s not a drink.’ She filled Kate’s glass, then walked over to the picture window and looked out at the dark. ‘So, any word from your man?’
Kate felt her heart quicken. She would kill her brother and his big mouth. ‘What man?’ she said. Two months on, she could still see Liam’s face on their last night together. Tanned, gorgeous, full of shame. It’s over Kate, it’s run its course. All the its had killed her.
‘Ray said something about a break-up. I never even knew! You should have brought him over for the stroganoff.’
‘It wasn’t anything serious,’ Kate smiled. ‘Anyway, it’s finished.’
But Liz was tapping away on her phone now, mercifully uninterested. ‘The bloody babysitter is useless. She was watching something called Demonic when we left.’
‘Well,’ said Kate. ‘It is Halloween.’
Liz laughed, sweeping the hair off her graceful neck. She turned on her heel and walked into the living room.
Kate took the scallops out of the fridge, the silver bloom on the flesh disappearing when she removed the cling film. The pan hissed on the hob and she quickly dressed the plates with rocket. As she waited for the scallops to caramelize, she tipped half her wine into the sink. Inside she could hear Peter and Liz arguing about childcare, and she waited for Liz’s spiel about the twins and her sacrifices and the cost of the crèche. No, she stopped herself, that wasn’t fair. She didn’t know why she was being so harsh tonight—poor Liz who’d done nothing but compliment her efforts since she’d arrived. Kate placed three fat scallops on each plate and then took one off her own and put it on Peter’s.
‘This is real china, Raymond.’ Liz was examining a side plate as Kate approached the table. ‘Did you nick these from herself? I swear I won’t tell.’
‘Don’t touch the good china!’ Ray caught Kate’s eye and they both laughed.
Liz poked a scallop with her fork. ‘What are we eating anyway?’
‘Bivalves,’ Peter announced. ‘You know they make their own shells? The internal organs do the business. They secrete this substance.’
‘Fascinating,’ Liz said.
‘Just scallops,’ said Kate, sitting down.
Liz reached for the bread rolls. ‘Very fancy.’
‘They’re delish, Katie.’ Ray beamed at her. ‘I’m loving the purée.’
‘Is that what that is?’ Liz peered into it, searching for pond life. ‘There’s a woody taste.’
‘Truffle oil.’ Peter shook his head at the ignorance.
‘If it isn’t Carlow’s finest foodie,’ Liz said.
They all laughed, even Peter, but Kate felt bad as he reddened and pulled at the collar of his check shirt.
‘How are your Spanish classes going,
Peter?’ she said.
‘Oh, muy bien,’ he said. ‘Muy bien.’
She wondered if that was his repertoire. Well, it had only been a few weeks.
Ray said, ‘These are the nicest scallops I’ve ever had.’
Kate cut through the jellied centre of one. She placed a sliver on her tongue but couldn’t taste the delicate flesh through the butter. She looked back at the couch and thought she could smell it on the cushions. ‘I used too much butter,’ she said.
‘Nonsense,’ Peter said. ‘Good Irish butter. Nothing better for you.’ Ray gave him a look over the bread basket. Kate cut another slice, and another, nudging the end of it under the rocket as Liz reached across her for the wine. Her perfume smelled like lilies on the way out and just as Kate had the thought, she noticed that Liz’s earrings were flowers too, big silver daisies that covered her lobes, and then, even funnier still, there was another kind of flower, a little pink rose, a logo really, on the breast pocket of her dress. Kate had to get away from the table to stop herself from laughing. She went to the speakers on the mantelpiece, feeling dizzy the closer she got to the music, the track shifting suddenly into a faster chorus. Turned the volume down and up again, wishing she’d left it alone. When she went back to the table, the light felt lower than before—a softer texture to everything, the swish of Liz’s hair, the folds in the napkins.
First to finish, Peter left his cutlery in the centre of the plate, shaking his head at the offer of another bread roll. There was a sheen on his forehead and Kate wondered if the room was too hot. Ray still had his jacket on, open now over a crisp white shirt.
‘Fair dues, Kate,’ said Peter. ‘It’s a lovely idea to ask us here tonight.’
Liz nodded. ‘Away from those bloody trick-or-treaters. I swear, they bus them into the neighbourhood every year.’
‘I meant for Elaine.’ Peter raised his glass. ‘To remember our sister Elaine.’
He gave the toast much louder than necessary and it rang out solemnly.
Dinner Party Page 1