Barely a week had passed before her mother had another of her tempers. It was Ray’s fault this time. He’d been skipping applied maths classes, hiding out at the Murphys. There had been war since dinner time and the twins were collateral. Elaine had been sent to her room for dripping spaghetti hoops on the table, Kate banished to the shed for being stupid enough to follow her brother outside.
It was nearly eight o’clock on a December evening, and the shed was cold and dark. Beyond in the garden, she could hear her mother lambasting Ray.
‘How dare you, Raymond. When I think of what I’d to do to get you into those classes. You big lummox! You don’t know you were born.’
‘You’re nuts,’ Ray said. ‘A loony.’
‘Wait till your father hears this.’
‘Daddy won’t care,’ said Ray. ‘He only cares about Peter and Kate.’
‘Don’t you talk about your father like that—’
‘Like what?’ Ray said. ‘Leave me alone.’
‘Hanging out like a layabout at the Murphy’s. As if I wouldn’t find out.’
‘At least Marise is normal. At least you can have a conversation with her like a normal person.’
Her mother let out a forceful, strangled sound. ‘I wish you were dead! I wish all of you were dead.’
‘You’re mental.’
‘I wish I was dead!’ her mother cried. ‘Free of you all—oh, never have children!—they ruin you.’
‘A mental case. A loony! Look at you.’
‘You won’t lock me up in St Dympna’s,’ her mother said. ‘You won’t put me in the nuthouse!’
‘This house is a nuthouse.’
‘Why don’t you go live with the Murphys so?’ Her mother’s voice floated off somewhere and Kate imagined her lunging at him, swiping the wet tea towel across his face. The pain of it when the seam caught the corner of the eye. It went right through you.
‘You’re mental,’ Ray said. ‘I’d love to live with the Murphys.’
There followed some violent sounds, though it was unclear which of them was winning. Kate wished her father would come home from the mart. It was hours after he was supposed to be back. But, she reassured herself, at least he was home tonight. It wouldn’t be like last time, when he’d gone for three nights to Roscommon, when Elaine had been dragged by her hair up the stairs, and Kate had been made to sleep in the shed for the whole night. Though there had been no sleep. The pitch-dark shed, the sound of every movement a thousand spiders or rats. And the warning her mother had hissed through the door hours after Kate was sure she’d gone away. The memory of it was enough to make her sick.
‘I wish you were all dead!’ her mother said again.
Well, the feeling was mutual. Kate wished her mother would go away and die, and not just continuously threaten to kill herself, and then Daddy might marry a nice, quiet woman who you didn’t have to watch out for 24-7.
But later that night, Kate lay wide awake in bed, wishing she could undo her mean thoughts. After the fight with Ray, her mother had driven off in the Jeep, hysterical, and no one had heard from her since. Kate’s ears strained for the sound of a car. There had only been five since her father had turned out the lights. Elaine was doing a soft, whistling snore across the way, though earlier she’d sat up in bed and shouted, as if she was awake, No—I won’t, into their glowing solar system before lying back down and turning into the wall.
Kate wished the cattle grid would rattle.
It had been hours since Mammy had left in the Jeep, hours spent lying here in the soundless dark regretting her thoughts from earlier. It was silly, so silly, but what if her mother died tonight? What if she was in an accident? What if she drove up on the big roundabout on the outskirts of town and smashed into the ‘Welcome to Carlow’ sign? What if Kate had some unknown power that meant her mother would never come home again? Her Mammy that did everything for her. The tears sprang hot and salty down her face, her nose already raw. She wished the cattle grid would go.
The following afternoon, Kate raced her sister off the bus, winning for once as she legged it up the driveway. Mammy had finally come home at half two the previous night. Kate had snuck onto the landing to make sure it was her, and she’d seen her parents in a long, fierce hug, no smooching, just holding each other.
Now her mother was in a brilliant mood, singing songs from Annie in the kitchen. They both sang ‘You’re Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile’ twice over, and afterwards Kate was allowed to help with dinner. She was not a nuisance and she did not make a mess. She cut the carrots exactly like her mother wanted, into dozens of perfect batons. They were much tastier when they were neat.
Elaine traipsed in with her headphones on.
‘Come and help us, darling,’ her mother said.
‘Sorry?’ Elaine shouted.
Laughing, her mother reached across and yanked the headphones off her ears.
Elaine scowled. ‘Seriously—you expect me to listen to musicals?’
‘What’s wrong with musicals?’ said Kate.
‘Urgh,’ said Elaine. ‘You’re so lame.’ She stomped out of the kitchen in her black Doc Martens before Kate had a chance to reply.
‘Leave her off,’ her mother said, straining the celery. ‘We’re having a wonderful time. Aren’t we? I didn’t mean any of it yesterday. You know that.’
‘I know, Mammy.’
They didn’t look at each other, but there was love, right there in the warm kitchen.
‘I get myself into tempers, and I don’t know how to stop them. I know it’s wrong. It’s just so hard sometimes. No one tells you how much work it is to be a mother. Men have it easy. Your father has it easy.’
‘I know, Mammy,’ Kate said, even though her mother had spoken the last few sentences at the extractor fan. ‘I know.’
And she did know, too. Her mother wasn’t always angry. She had good moods that could last for days, weeks if they were away somewhere, especially if it was on the Continent. (Kate had been to France and Spain, when lots of the girls in her class didn’t even have a passport.) In good humour, Mammy was the best. Singing, or dressing up, or showing Kate smart tricks to win the rummy. Sometimes they would even read books out loud to each other.
‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ Kate said now. ‘Goodbye, feet!’
‘That’s my girl.’ Her mother took the batons and fried them in butter.
Ray came in and went to the fridge without a word.
‘Well, aren’t you going to say hello—Doctor Raymond?’
Kate could feel her brother’s anger spread across the tiles.
‘And will the good doctor be joining us for dinner?’ Her mother winked at Kate.
‘Do you hear me, Raymond?’ her mother said.
Ray muttered something under his breath and then burst out the utility door.
‘Teenage boys and their hormones,’ her mother said, sagely. ‘If you learn one thing from me, Kate, it’s this—let them stew.’
‘OK, Mammy. I will.’
Her mother took out the pounder for the mash and the two of them started up a fine rendition of ‘It’s the Hard Knock Life’.
There followed a time of ease and happiness at Cranavon, which was usually how things went after a meltdown. The pressure was off. It was like the hiss of the hydraulic machines releasing. Kate was learning about them in science, her favourite subject. She’d impressed Daddy and Peter no end by interrupting them at breakfast one morning, and saying, but isn’t that just Pascal’s Law? It was a clever law that turned up in lots of things: any pressure applied to a fluid in a closed system transmits that pressure equally everywhere and in all directions.
With both her parents in good moods, the house itself seemed to grow bigger, more free. It was a place you wanted to be. Ray was staying late for after-school study these days, Peter would go off about the farm with his new mobile phone in the evenings (Kate had heard him whispering tea-care-ah-mooch-o over and over again into the darkness of the back garden
), and Mammy had ramped up her bridge nights in preparation for the big Kilkenny congress in the middle of December. The house felt like it belonged to Kate and Elaine. They did their homework quickly and early, and sometimes very poorly, and spent the rest of the time eating Monster Munch, watching Friends and making prank calls on the upstairs phone. Elaine had a treacherous new scheme where you’d search for a couple listing in the phonebook and then ring poor Mary or Barbara or Cynthia and ask if you could speak to Robert, or John, or William. Who is this? the women would ask in various degrees of friendliness. ‘Oh,’ Elaine would say. ‘Oh, is that Cynthia? Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean. I didn’t think—it doesn’t matter.’ Then she’d hang up and the pair of them would die laughing on their parents’ bed. But, it was awful, truly awful, and Kate had decided they would stop doing it once and for all in January, in the brand-new millennium.
The town was all abuzz about the big countdown and the firework celebrations, though Peter said it didn’t matter what the council put on, it would be nothing compared to the fireball that had passed over Leighlinbridge last Friday, whose explosions had been heard all around the county. Lucy Stevens’ mother had been on the nine o’clock news and Kate was raging that none of her own family had seen it. A blazing hot fireball detonating right on their doorstep, and not one of them had witnessed it.
On the Sunday evening of the bridge congress, they waited up with Daddy and the boys after Glenroe to see how Mammy had done. The television room was warm and sleepy, the earthy outside smell strong off the turf. They knew already that Mammy had come second in the mixed pairs on the Friday night, and third in the Inter As on the Saturday. It was her new Polish Club system. She’d learnt it herself from a book and then taught her partners the rules.
As they were watching the highlights of the football, the cattle grid rattled to the heavens.
It nearly woke Peter in the armchair.
‘She’s won.’ Ray stretched his legs on the couch. His foot touched Elaine’s knee.
‘Go way,’ said Elaine. ‘You lummox.’
It served her right. She hadn’t moved over earlier, and Kate had carpet sores on her elbows from lying on the rug in front of the fire. She shifted onto her side. The last of the briquettes was turning white.
‘I’d say you’re right, son.’ Daddy turned down the volume on The Sunday Game.
The Jeep door banged, the crush of the stones, the rush of footfall on the hall floor. Mammy burst into the room. They looked at her expectantly.
‘Well, Bern?’ said her father.
She flung her good red coat down on a chair. ‘Why are you two still up?’ she snapped at Kate.
‘We wanted to…’
‘Get to bed—now.’ She looked hot and bothered, even her eyes.
‘But Mammy,’ said Elaine, ‘it’s only half nine. We’re fourteen next month.’
It was true. They were practically adults.
‘Get. To. Bed!’
Peter woke up, looked shocked to see them all.
‘What did I miss?’
‘She didn’t win,’ said Ray, getting up. He jumped over Kate and left the room.
‘I did win, actually,’ her mother said. ‘But who cares?’
Who cares, thought Kate.
‘Who cares?’ said Elaine.
‘Well done, Bern,’ said her father. ‘Great news.’
The fire hissed and crackled, a bright red ember shooting out near the rug. Kate squashed it with her book.
‘Put up the fireguard,’ said Peter.
‘Oh, aren’t you very sensible, Peter?’ said her mother.
‘What?’ Peter frowned.
Even he hadn’t been able to miss that level of sarcasm. Elaine sat forward on the couch, zipped up her black velvet hoodie.
‘Tell your father, Peter. Confess. Tell everyone here your dirty little secret.’
Peter opened and closed his mouth.
‘Go on,’ her mother said. ‘Tell them. I heard. I found out. I’m no fool, Peter Gleeson.’
Her father stayed silent.
‘Mammy,’ said Peter.
‘Tell them,’ she said.
‘I,’ Peter said. ‘I-I-I.’
‘Oh, aye, aye, aye.’ Her mother turned to Daddy. ‘Do you know what your son is up to?’
‘Take it easy, Bern. Sit down there.’
‘Your son.’
‘Mammy,’ said Peter. ‘I’m sorry, Mammy.’
‘Your son, Francis, is moving to San Diego—forever, apparently. He’s all ready to go. The sneaky snake applied for the Green Card without telling anyone.’
‘Daddy knows,’ Peter said.
Her father gave him a dangerous look.
‘He—what?’
‘I had to tell him with the farm, Mammy.’
‘And me,’ her mother screeched. ‘Like the village idiot? Finding out from Marise Murphy of all people!’
Elaine shot off the couch and ran from the room.
‘You too, Katie,’ her father said.
Kate pretended to look for an imaginary bookmark.
‘Quickly, Kate.’ Her father nodded at the door.
‘He can’t go,’ said her mother. ‘You can’t go, Peter.’
‘It’s his life, Bern.’
‘But the farm!’
‘I’ve plenty of men.’
‘But Hilary Clerkin will be devastated.’
‘Mammy,’ said Peter. ‘I told you a hundred times, we’re not getting back together.’
‘But the… millennium, Francis. He’ll miss the millennium! He can’t miss the new millennium.’
Peter went to speak again but her father tapped loudly on the wooden armrest. ‘Don’t test my patience, Kate,’ he said.
She got up quickly, closed the door behind her and ran after her sister. As she flew up the stairs, she heard her mother shout, over my dead body.
The next few weeks were like living in a place that was 6 per cent ground, 94 per cent landmine. Elaine retreated to her bunker, where there was, once again, no room for Kate. She didn’t understand it. Growing up, they’d gone about Cranavon as one. Look at them, their mother would say, they don’t even know I’m here. It was kind of true. They were a unit. Colouring books shared, dolls beheaded with mutual consent, jigsaws completed in double-quick time. They’d gotten so good at doing them, they used to turn the pieces over and do them backwards.
But since secondary school, the whole world seemed to want in on the action. Their mother, for one, was far more involved in their lives, and in the private bond between them that, really, had nothing to do with her. In particular she hated the way they could pass messages to each other with their eyes. She’d asked Principal Clerkin to put them in different home classes on purpose, claiming it was for their own good, to mould unique identities, but Kate felt there was another reason, some unspeakable thing to do with belonging. I know what you two are plotting, their mother would often say, when they’d only be deciding what to watch on TV.
The never-ending suspicions would be worth it, at least, if herself and her sister still had their bond, but Elaine had moved away from her, from them, and Kate resented it. Why should she get to decide on her own? There’d been no big fight, no silences—that wasn’t possible when you shared a room—just what felt like a thousand nicks that could rupture at any time. The goddamn, event-traipsing horse riding was a problem, yes, but the distance was there even when they were together. They could both be sitting beside each other on the old plaid couch in the television room and still not have their connection. This connection that had started at fourteen weeks, before they were even born, when they’d reached out to each other in their mother’s womb. Hi! Hello! It’s me, it’s you. They were the one person in two separate bodies and every time Elaine hid herself away, she killed a bit of both of them.
Peter left in the middle of January. The night before he was due to go, he knocked on their bedroom and asked to speak to Kate alone. In her dressing gown and wet-hair turban, Elai
ne refused to leave so Kate went to Peter’s room. He’d sat her on his bed—so strange his room, the bare green walls and suitcase bulky in the corner—and told her to look out for Mammy when he was gone. When she got up to leave, he’d hugged her tight and slipped a packet of Jelly Bellies into her hoodie pocket. ‘Sssh,’ he’d said. ‘Tell no one.’
Now he was gone in the Jeep with Daddy to Dublin Airport, Elaine and Ray with them, but Kate had stayed behind in case Mammy needed anything. Her mother had taken to the bed after the new millennium and you’d only catch glimpses of her about the house these days. She’d even missed their birthday, which was most unlike her. Aunt Helen had brought them both to Captain America’s in Dublin city. It had been an OK day. The humongous burgers, the coldness of the milkshakes sliding down, the empty fourth seat.
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