‘Tamales,’ said Kate.
‘A hiding!’ Ray guffawed. They all laughed. Their father never got physical.
‘Just you wait, Eight Hundred Points. One day, when you least expect it.’
It started to rain and her father told Peter they were best to leave the hay until morning. After she’d cleaned up, the four of them sat around the table, eating Kimberleys. Peter and Ray drank espressos made by a tiny silver kettle put directly on the stove. It filled the kitchen with a sharp, nutty smell. Her father had his tea as usual—no milk and two sugars. Ray disappeared into the good room to take a phone call and when he came back he had a face on him, and one of the yellow bridge boards in his hand.
‘Mammy will kill you if you’ve messed up the order,’ said Kate.
Ray ignored her. ‘Gin rummy,’ he said to Peter. ‘Four is a good number.’
‘I’m game,’ Peter said.
‘Go on, so,’ her father drained his tea, ‘but only if Katie promises to take it easy on us.’
She smiled at him, excited now. ‘I’ll go easy, Daddy.’ She put one leg under her and sat forward in the chair.
The rain hit the windows hard and hungry. She felt safe inside. Ray dealt the cards in a clockwise direction, giving them two each to finish.
‘We’ll have strange cards now,’ said Peter.
Kate’s seven were all mismatched, only the flimsiest sequence to get going.
‘What happened to your date, by the way?’ Peter said to Ray.
She flashed Peter a look—could he not see that Ray was back in his old Nirvana T-shirt, that the date was clearly off? Dee Mahony was a known cow around the school.
‘You’re up,’ Ray said to Kate. He burnt the top card and turned over a four. Kate felt a ping of excitement and tried not to show it, but her face must have given her away because her father said, ‘We’re in trouble already, boys.’
He looked younger when he smiled, like Ray in fact, the same crinkles around their eyes.
‘I’ve nothing,’ she said.
‘Liar,’ said Ray.
They went round another few times, Peter ruining the rhythm each go, staring at his cards as if he could change them with his eyes. Ray was the opposite, firing the cards on the table, and flicking the ones in his hand with his fingernail until her father told him to stop.
‘It’s distracting the rest of us,’ he said. ‘I know your game.’
Her father frowned and put down a six, a beautiful, much needed six that Peter spent an agonizing amount of time staring at before plucking it from the pack. Copernicus gave a growl from his mat and Kate knew exactly how he felt. But then Ray, lovely, lovely Ray, put down another six, and that was all it took for her sequence. She waited in steely-eyed concentration for it to go round one more time, praying that Peter hadn’t managed it first, but no, it was back to her before she knew it and she laid them proudly down on the table, three-four-five-six and three glorious eights.
‘Gin rummy!’
Copernicus was the first to react, a loud bark by the door.
‘Good girl,’ her father said. ‘She’s rung rings around us, fellas.’
‘Early doors,’ said Ray, but he gave her a nod.
‘I’m out of practice,’ Peter said. ‘I didn’t play a game all summer.’
‘Don’t they have cards in San Diego?’ Ray dealt again, for her this time. It annoyed her when he did that but she let him away with it this time, still basking in her win. She watched Peter tally the leftover points and write a fine fat zero under her own initial.
They spent the next hour playing cards and telling stories and jokes. In the end, Kate won the gin, though only by the tightest of margins, her father two points behind her. He was magnanimous in defeat, not like other people in the household, and said she had beaten him fair and square. Then he announced that for her grand prize she could—make him another cup of tea. They were all laughing so hard at her reaction that Kate didn’t hear the rattle of the cattle grid or the Jeep roll up the driveway. None of them noticed anything at all until her mother burst into the kitchen, dropped her handbag on the counter and managed to open multiple presses, put on the kettle and run the tap all at the same time. ‘And then Nora Jenkins came after me and she kept me an age,’ her mother said to the sink. ‘I couldn’t get away from her. I was running, we were running, weren’t we, darling, practically tearing across the car park and she was chasing after us, ranting about her poor, sick father. Nora Jenkins and her sick old father. Well, he’s been sick now for decades, dying sick, apparently—and isn’t he still miraculously alive? I’m parched. Just parched.’ She threw back a glass of water and turned to face the table. Her mad morning hair had been combed and clipped back in her tortoiseshell hairgrip. Her face was free from make-up, gaunt and girlish.
‘What’s going on here?’ Her mother loosened the silk scarf at her neck. ‘Is the farm on strike, or what?’
Peter moved to the far chair to give her room but she stayed standing.
‘Have you been playing cards all day?’
‘No, Mammy,’ Kate said. ‘Just an hour. A half hour.’
‘I see,’ she said. ‘Isn’t that grand?’
Kate knew she was thinking about last weekend, when no one had wanted to play her Old Maid. She had asked just as The Simpsons was coming on.
‘Well, I can see you’re all happy in your card den. I won’t disturb you.’ She pretended to walk away, but stopped before she got to the door. She glanced back at them. ‘Will I bring you some refreshments?’
‘We’re fine,’ said Ray.
As if it had been an actual question! It was all her mother needed. She spun on her heel and lunged at the table.
‘Do I look like a skivvy, Raymond? Do I?’
Ray flinched. ‘No.’
‘That’s all I am in this house, isn’t it?’
‘Come on, Bern,’ her father said. ‘Tell us about the gymkhana. Did she win?’
Her mother folded her arms. ‘You only have fun when I’m not here.’
‘It was half an hour, Mammy,’ Kate said. ‘And it wasn’t even that good.’ She couldn’t look at the others now. She felt like Judas Iscariot.
Her mother put a hand to the tanned patch of skin at her collar and looked out the big kitchen window. ‘Nothing gets done in this house when I’m away,’ she said. ‘Nothing.’ And she still hadn’t noticed her bridge board.
‘Rain,’ her father said. ‘There was rain, Bernadette.’
‘Rain?’ Her mother tapped the back of a chair and looked at them all individually. There were biscuit crumbs on the table and Kate reached over and gathered them in her hand. It was a relief to have something to clean.
‘Marise Murphy was there today,’ her mother said to Peter.
‘How is she?’ he said. ‘I saw Phillip last weekend.’
‘Oh, she was telling me. What didn’t she tell me? She knew more about San Diego than your own mother. The best place in the world, she said.’
‘You’d love it, Mammy,’ said Peter, who didn’t really understand sarcasm. ‘The beaches, the vibe.’
Her mother humphed, stood back from the table and surveyed the cards. After a painful few seconds, she reached in and picked one up. Kate inhaled. There was a white dot on the tip of her mother’s nose, a bit of old skin. The table waited. She turned first towards Kate, to Peter and finally to Ray. Somehow, she always knew. She made him wait a few seconds, and then she pounced, skimming the card at him. It narrowly missed his face. Kate jumped off her chair and picked it up from the floor.
‘Are those my bridge boards, Raymond?’
‘One deck,’ said Ray. ‘That’s all.’
‘That’s all?’
‘Jesus—I’ll put it back,’ he said.
‘Raymond Donald Gleeson!’
‘Bernadette, please.’ Her father reached for the Kimberleys and looked hurt to find them empty.
‘That’s it. You’re not going to Caesar’s Palace tonight,’ her mothe
r said to Ray.
‘It’s called the Meadowlands?’ he said. ‘For about twenty years now.’
‘And I’ll take that car off you too, if you’re not careful. Then we’ll see what it’s called, won’t we?’
‘Ah, come on!’
‘Can’t I have anything to myself in this house?’ said her mother. ‘All I ask, one little thing, is that you don’t touch the bridge boards.’
‘We’ll put them back now—’ Her father gestured to Ray, ‘Go on.’
‘For crying out loud, Francis.’ Her mother sighed. ‘Is nothing sacred?’
‘Don’t be fiery.’
Her mother went on about how much trouble it was to align the cards correctly for her classes, but her heart wasn’t in it, not really, and Kate knew instinctively that the gymkhana had gone well, that a new rosette would soon be presented at Cranavon. Eventually her mother stopped talking, went to her special press and took out a brand-new box of Kimberleys—chocolate Kimberleys. She left them on the table without a word.
‘Lovely,’ her father said, taking two. ‘Now, are you going to keep us in suspense about today?’
Her mother gave a tight smile, dropped her arms by her side. She had no jewellery on, not even her rings. ‘I’ll let Elaine tell you herself. Elaine!’ She went to the door and shouted Elaine’s name three more times.
Ray covered his ears. Peter cleared the cards, dividing them into quarters for the bridge pouch. Her mother opened the fridge and started to list the contents. Kate hoped Peter had bought his own ingredients for the tamales.
‘Kidney beans, cheddar, that bloody pineapple—where’s the packet of ham?’
It was not a question, not really.
‘Pickled onions, beetroot, brie. Who’s been at the brie?’
Elaine came into the kitchen, already changed out of her horse gear. It would be in a heap on the ground between the beds.
‘Ta-da!’ Elaine did a star shape, her goth band T-shirt riding up above her leggings. ‘Here I am, what’s the panic?’
‘Are you into Slayer now?’ said Ray. ‘You’re so cool.’
Elaine went behind Daddy’s chair and gave Ray the finger. Kate didn’t know who Slayer was, but she hoped there wasn’t a new poster in their room.
Her mother was still in the fridge, at war with a gone-off melon.
‘So,’ said Ray. ‘Where’s the trophy?’
Elaine smacked him on the back of the shoulders as she went by. She cocked her head at Kate and pointed to the garden. Kate knew what that meant, though she didn’t have them on her. You couldn’t hide them in leggings.
‘Let’s go for a walk, Kate,’ she said.
‘OK.’ Kate looked at the fridge but didn’t get up.
‘Come on.’ Her sister flicked her hair over her shoulder. It was out of the braid and had lovely waves.
‘No trophy, then?’ her father said. ‘Shame.’
Peter echoed the sentiment.
‘Tell your father how you got on, Elaine,’ said her mother. ‘Tell him what happened.’ She closed the fridge door.
‘Second place,’ Elaine said.
‘Second?’ said her father. ‘Hard luck.’
‘First loser,’ said Ray.
Kate scowled at him.
‘I nearly had it, Daddy,’ said Elaine, ‘but I knocked the top off the redbrick and—’
‘It was too high.’ Her mother rushed over to the table, ‘They put it too high for the final round and they didn’t say anything but I saw them lower it after Elaine’s go, I swear to God. And Lucy Stevens got it easier than the rest of them.’
‘Mammy,’ Elaine said. ‘Princess just stumbled in the run-up. I felt her hesitate.’
‘No, no—no.’ Her mother buzzed around the kitchen. ‘You had to see it, Francis. It was so unfair. Lucy Stevens who looks like a horse. Who has a face exactly like a horse.’ She was at the head of the table now, doing an impression of the girl. Everyone was laughing—Peter had tears running down his face. Mammy had brought their boring little kitchen to life. ‘That little horse face took home the trophy. But my girl here should have won it. You were wonderful, darling.’ She looked in earnest at Elaine, such a look of pride and admiration in her pearly grey eyes.
‘Let’s go,’ said Elaine, pulling the back of Kate’s ponytail.
Kate yanked it away from her. ‘Guess what?’
‘What?’
‘We had tamales for lunch.’
‘Amazing,’ she said. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Where’s your rosette, Elaine?’ her father asked.
‘Bedroom,’ Elaine said. ‘Come on, come on. Let’s go.’
‘Where to exactly?’ said her mother. ‘Dinner will be ready at eight sharp.’
Elaine rolled her eyes at Kate. They both knew that when it came to food, time did not work properly. If dinner was at eight, her mother would start shouting for people to come to the table at ten to, but no food would appear until half past. Peter said she was bad at timings. Ray said she liked to hold the family hostage.
‘Oh, sugar!’ her mother said now. ‘The meats. That damn butcher. The piss—’
‘Bernadette,’ her father said. He gestured to Peter for the paper.
Her mother rushed to the freezer, started to rifle through the bottom drawer, the ice scraping away and little shards spilling onto the floor. Her father took up the paper. Kate could no longer see his face.
‘What’s wrong, Mammy?’ said Peter. ‘Is everything OK?’
‘Let’s go,’ Elaine hissed.
‘Where are you off to?’ her mother said. ‘Didn’t you hear me? Where are you going after our big day out?’ There was a panic or petulance to her voice now, it was hard to say which. She banged her head on the fridge handle as she stood. ‘That damn fridge,’ she shouted. ‘My head.’
Ray left the kitchen.
‘Poor Mammy,’ said Elaine. ‘Poor head.’ She gave her a hug and went over and kicked Copernicus awake. ‘We’re just going outside to play with him. Come on, dog, up.’ Copernicus stretched his front paws and pushed himself to standing.
Elaine pulled Kate from the chair. As the back door latched, Kate could hear their mother asking Peter for ice. ‘Is there a bruise?’ she said. ‘Please don’t let there be a bruise.’
Why her father had chosen November, of all months, to bring up the sport of tennis, it was impossible to say. Kate was sitting on the carpet in the good room, her back against the bureau, waiting for the right time to escape upstairs. Her parents had been shouting at each other for an hour, back and forth like a tennis ball themselves, ever since her father had brought up the waste: the cost of the rackets and of the snow-white outfit that was still snow-white in the built-in wardrobes above, and that would remain snow-white forever. Kate kept having flashes of the fairy-tale princess dead in her glass coffin. Ray was in town, at least, and Elaine had legged it out into the cold the moment her mother had said, how dare you. Kate wished now she’d gone with her, jacket or no jacket.
‘Mr Moneybags,’ her mother shouted. ‘Mr Miser Moneybags.’
‘Don’t you—’
It was harder to hear Daddy, his low, angry growl.
Kate snuck her head around the door and looked into the hallway, hoping for Copernicus. At such moments, he would often know to find her, climb on her lap, his warm weight like an anchor to the world. Sometimes she would cry so much his fur would get wet.
‘I’ll play when I want to,’ her mother said. ‘You won’t tell me what to do. You don’t control me!’
‘Just listen to yourself Bernadette. Just look at yourself.’
‘Look at me?’
Her mother shouted a litany of curse words, with the ease and rhythm of a poet. Piss and fuck and shit and bollocks and—prick, prick, prick.
‘Listen to yourself, woman,’ her father said again.
‘Listen to me?’ she shouted now. ‘Says the mute old man who no one would go near if it wasn’t for me.’
Oh, that was a low
blow. Kate could feel her father’s sorrow through the walls. For it was true, that Mammy was the best, the shiniest of all of them in public. She was the one you wanted to be near. She loved to watch her parents when the family was out together. Her mother, so able for anything. Her father, so bashful and proud.
‘Muto,’ her mother shouted. ‘Big old muto!’
Kate put her hands over her ears and squeezed into the corner beside the bureau. She was too big for it now, the sharp turn cutting her back. Why didn’t she leave? Why didn’t she go upstairs? They would not hear her.
‘I play! I beat Marise Murphy last summer.’ Something loud clattered to the kitchen tiles. ‘I’m a good player.’
But this was the real problem, her mother only liked to do things she was good at, and she gave up immediately when they got hard, or when she got injured, or when an injury was done to her by some other injurious party. There were many examples: Nanny Gleeson’s recipe for coq au vin, the Toastmaster county final, the horse riding or, worst of all, her singing, which she’d been so good at, but was no longer to be spoken of in the house after Marise Murphy (again!) was given the solo soprano in the church choir last Christmas. Mammy had dropped out in a spectacular Christmas Eve showdown right in front of the life-sized crib. Elaine was in full agreement—pathetic to settle for the chorus.
When Kate tuned back into her surroundings, she heard her father’s voice. All we have is ourselves. All we have is family. Then there was a curious silence. Her ears pricked. A muffling, no, a murmuring, a whimpering even. Her mother was crying, but no, she was laughing now, a shriek of laughter that blasted through the house like light. Kate knew what was going on. Daddy was lifting her up in his big arms, spinning her round the red and white tiles. Smooching, Peter called it. She used to hear it as a child, down the landing at night. She used to listen for it. Sometimes she’d had to wake Elaine to distract herself. The slap of skin on skin. Another blast of laughter came from the kitchen. Kate pulled herself free of the corner and got off the ground. It was safe for her to go.
She went through the good room, avoiding the kitchen, and ducked down the little hallway to the piano room. She pushed against the closed door and jumped when she saw that Peter was inside. He was much too big for the space. ‘Sssh,’ he said. The lid of her piano was down. Peter was sitting on her stool, hunched, writing something. It looked like a comprehension test, lots of lines and spaces. ‘Kate,’ he said, covering it. ‘Close the door.’ She kicked a leg behind her, refusing to take her eyes off him. ‘What are you doing?’ she said. ‘None of your business,’ said Peter. ‘Ah, come on. I won’t tell. I promise.’ He straightened up and grinned. ‘Swear on your life.’ Kate swore on her own life and on Elaine’s life too. Peter rose from the stool and let her sit. He stuck his head out the door, then gently closed it. He had the look of a boy about him, which was funny because he’d never looked like one, not even when he was younger. ‘Can you keep a secret?’ She nodded solemnly. There was an air of mystery in the room, of polished wood and vinegar. ‘I’m going back to America, Katie,’ he said. ‘I got the Green Card! Can you believe it? It was only my second time applying. I won the lotto.’ He was beaming. ‘How much?’ she said, incredulous. And why was he only telling her? She’d be shouting it from the roof. ‘Not that Lotto,’ he said. ‘But the odds are almost the same. It’s a dream come true. A green card. It means,’ he said. ‘It means so much. It means that I’m—an American.’ She stared at him in wonder. It was true, he looked exactly like one.
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