The Other Side of Wonderful

by Caroline Grace-Cassidy

  “He’s very nice, Cara.” Esther had reefed her neck free from the pink woolly jacket as though it had been choking the life out of her and kicked her kitten heels off her swollen feet. “Nice man, decent too,” she added as Cara looked at her from the seat under the window in their front room.

  “Are you really happy about him or are you just saying that because you know it’s what I want to hear, Mam?”

  Esther put one finger on her lips. Then she removed it cautiously as though she was holding back her words and choosing them very carefully. “I think he is a very nice man, Cara. I don’t know him very well so that’s as good a judgement as I can make right now, okay, love?”

  “Yes, Mam, I understand, but he is great and a real gentleman, what?” Cara got up and headed for the kitchen. She ran the tap at the sink and filled up a pint glass with water.

  “Does he make you laugh?” Esther was beside her now and as Cara turned her head she stared hard into her daughter’s eyes.

  Cara thought for a second. “He’s not like Dad, Mam, he’s much more serious. I like that about him.” She put the glass to her lips.

  “Yer dad was serious too, young lady, when he had to be. There has to be a happy medium – a person can’t be serious all the time or it would drag you down. Your father was serious about the right things but he was funny and loving mostly and that is why I loved him so much and that, my dear, is why you loved him so much too. Qualities and characteristics. Watch out carefully for them both, love. They are what make a man.” Esther turned on her heel and headed for the make-believe world of Central Perk.

  Cara got up from the couch now and went to the kitchen. She didn’t trust herself to speak another word to Esther yet for fear she’d burst into tears. She filled the kettle and flicked it on to boil and stood at the sink for a while as she remembered Esther’s words. Qualities and characteristics. She wasn’t sure what they meant exactly but understood that Esther was supportive and that was all that mattered. She was relieved at her mother’s reaction although she hadn’t expected anything less than total support. It was out in the open now, she was officially moving out. She took the teapot out from the press and threw three tea bags in. Again Esther’s words came back to her. Yes Alex was serious but there was nothing wrong with serious in her opinion. She wanted a serious relationship, then marriage and children. He was very different to Lar in every way but she hadn’t met a Lar, had she? She wasn’t twenty-one anymore and she had to understand that if she wanted all these things then she had to grab them when they came along. She couldn’t sit back and say, no, Alex wasn’t all this or all that. He was a good man and she was over the moon he had come into her life. He could give her the marriage and the children and the life she was supposed to be living at this age. He was her ticket to normalness. She would be like every other thirty-something woman now.

  Esther came into the kitchen and removed the sausage rolls from the fridge as Cara filled the teapot with boiling water.

  “Anyway, Mam,” Cara bounced back to the moment as she stirred the teabags around and then popped them on the draining board, “I hate the thought of you in this house all alone.”

  Esther shook her fist at her. “Now, now, now! Don’t start all that crap! Sure I’m absolutely grand here!” She stabbed the plastic packaging with a fork and removed the sausage rolls.

  “No, hear me out – this is what I’m thinking,” said Cara. “What about if we sold up here and I gave you my share of the house and you bought a nice apartment somewhere close enough to myself and Alex around the Sandymount area? You’d love Sandymount – the sea close and bingo in Ringsend at your doorstop seven nights a week! I know we’re only renting now but it’s an area I think we’d love to buy in when the time is right.” Cara was clutching at straws here, she knew. She got some cups and poured the tea, watching the steam rise.

  “Listen, lady, this is my home and your home. It will always be here for both of us as long as we are alive. We have both worked damn hard to pay off this mortgage and it’s our little sanctuary. I’m delighted for you to go and live with Alex – in fact, I approve of that more than you jumping into marriage with him this fast, so go and see what each other are all about. Want to know me, come and live with me. I will not move from this house. Lar is here, all around me, I will never be alone. Now I’m starving after that lunch. I could barely find that measly piece of chicken, and what about those peas – they were a teaspoon-big! And call that ham? It was more like spam and, as for the rice, tasted more like lice! And certainly not the portions that they used to give years ago. Ah, here, I’m putting on that Sloppy Giuseppe I got from Tesco as well – I hope there’s a bit of coleslaw left in the fridge.”

  Cara handed her a cup and Esther took a sip and put the cup back down on the counter. With that Esther bent to put the sausage rolls in the oven and the conversation was over.

  It was official. Cara was moving out. Esther was not.

  Cara took her cup of tea from the draining board and headed to her bedroom.

  “Be back in a few minutes,” she told Esther. She needed a few minutes to herself. Sometimes she felt like she hadn’t had time to digest any of this. She had met Alex, he had swept her off her feet, and because of his job every time they were together was extra special – trying to grab time – the sex was amazing, she was infatuated with him and he was a perfect gentleman . . . but somehow she wasn’t sure she knew him all that well. Something wasn’t perfect.

  “Why, oh why, are you picking this apart?” she asked her reflection in the mirror. “Congratulations, Cara Byrne, you are shacking up with your boyfriend!” she whispered. She smiled broadly at herself and stood there until the smile faded away.

  Then she drained her tea and went back downstairs.

  Chapter 12

  Sandra grabbed a cab easily enough outside the hospital and gave the address. “You got rightly stung in them houses, didn’t you, loveen?” the older driver started.

  She really wasn’t in the mood. She got this in every taxi she got into. She tugged at the ancient seatbelt in the back seat and clasped it shut.

  He reached into the glove compartment now and pulled out a bag of peanuts. He drove with one hand as he threw nuts down his gob with the other.

  “Excuse me one moment, would you?” She pulled her phone from her brown leather Mango bag and discreetly flipped it on to silent, then pretended to answer it. “Hi, Sandra!” She began a pretend conversation with herself that lasted for the short drive.

  As she paid her driver who was now silent she noticed the lights still on in the front room. It was such an unusual sight of late to see the house lit up at all that she welcomed it. Dermot must have popped around like he said he would but she hadn’t expected him to still be there.

  He opened the front door as she rummaged in her bag for her keys.

  “Are you all right, Sandy?” He was in his stocking feet, in his grey jeans and a light blue shirt open to the third button. His blond hair flopped over one eye and he now pushed it back with both hands.

  “Dermot, I didn’t expect you to still be here!” Sandra was mortified as she entered the warm house and saw to her utmost surprise the open fire crackling away in the front room. She hadn’t been in that room in months. She couldn’t light the open fire herself and those easy-light fire logs were just too expensive now. There was a smell of food too as Dermot took her coat and hung it up behind the hall door.

  “Listen, it’s no problem, I wasn’t doing anything. I got your spare key at reception like you said. I was about to leave you a note and head off. I just didn’t want you to arrive back to a cold, empty house. I hope that’s okay?” He looked concerned now as he tiredly rubbed at the light stubble on his chin.

  Dermot, Sandra surprised herself with this thought, was really very sexy. What is wrong with you? she shouted at herself internally. Your husband is lying in a hospital bed!

  “Did you hear me, Sandy?” Dermot placed his hand on her shoulder and she
jumped.

  “No, sorry, Dermot, what was that?”

  “I said I threw a few logs onto the fire to keep it burning for you. This is one cold gaff.” Dermot leaned against the banister and the space in the hallway suddenly seemed small.

  Sandra coughed even though she didn’t need to. “Who are you telling?” she said as she gestured to him to follow her into the kitchen. She immediately opened the shiny red American-style oversized fridge and reached for a chilled bottle of white wine. No matter how tight money was she couldn’t live without her bottle of wine. There she was avoiding the expense of a fire log but buying alcohol. This was where she was in her life right now: that she’d rather sit in the freezing cold kitchen with a bottle of wine than in her front room alone and wineless in front of a cosy fire. She might have a problem, she thought. But, hang on, other women had husbands who loved them, children, gym memberships, hairdressers, facials – all she had was her bottle or two of wine. Right now she wasn’t giving that up for anyone or anything.

  “Want one?” She offered a glass to Dermot.

  “I’d rather a beer.” He was draped over the chrome counter now.

  She laughed. “If I only had a beer to offer you.”

  “Go on then, you’ve twisted my taste buds.” He reached out and took the glass as she filled it. “So how is Neil doing now?”

  Sandra took a very long drink and refilled the glass immediately. She had sent Dermot a text when she arrived at the hospital to tell him of Neil’s condition. “Ah, I don’t know really, no change after I texted you. He was asleep pretty much the whole time. His wrist is broken so that’s not good for work, if he was to get any work, and his ribs are bruised. But maybe he can claim something now? His face is fairly battered but he was lucky, I think.” She swallowed the white wine slowly.

  “That’s good, Sandy.”

  There really wasn’t much else to say about the accident. There was a lot to say about why she had called Dermot, she thought, but he didn’t ask.

  “I cleaned everywhere by the way. It’s perfect now if I do say so myself.” He took a mock bow, twirling his hand as it pointed down to her feet.

  “You didn’t?” Sandra pulled out one of the tall stools from under the island in the middle of the kitchen and sat on it. She spotted her scarf on the counter. “Where was that?” she asked him.

  “On the floor there.” He pointed under her stool.

  She looked hard at Dermot. “Thanks, Dermot, you’re so good. I’m sorry I bothered you. I really shouldn’t have – I mean, I have other friends and of course my parents are here. Somewhere.” She rubbed away an imaginary stain from the counter top with a clenched fist.

  “It’s no problem. I’m glad to be here. I want to be here for you.” He looked over at her as silence engulfed the room and the clock ticked loudly.

  His blond hair fell forward again and the moment was broken. “I really do need to cut this mop, don’t I?” He laughed now as he drank the rest of his wine in one go.

  “I like it, it’s different. It’s you,” Sandra said. “By the way, what was cooking? The smell is divine.”

  “Oh shit, yeah, sorry, Sandy, I ordered you a chicken curry and fried rice. I remember you saying you love a chicken curry. It’s in the oven – here, let me pop the oven back on to warm it – you must be starving?”

  “No microwave?” she asked him.

  “No, never put a Chinese takeout in a microwave – it just dries it out.” He put his glass in the sink and busied himself at the oven.

  She was starving. “Do you mind if I get out of my uniform? I’ll be back in it in a few hours.”

  He shook his head. “I threw down those switches on the immersion but turned them off again later – however, the water should be hot enough for a shower.”

  “Oh, that would be amazing. See you in a few minutes so.” She took her wine and headed for the shower.

  She grabbed her towel and shower gel from the main bathroom. She hadn’t dared enter Neil’s bedroom, as she now called it, to use the en suite shower in weeks. The spare room had become her room. As she stepped under the showerhead the water hit her hard – that was probably the only good thing about this horrible house – the power shower. She rubbed the tea tree and lime gel all over her body and scrubbed at her hair. She was washing months of this life away. In one way she was glad to get Neil out of the house, as awful as that sounded. She couldn’t cope with him any more. She hadn’t been coping for ages. It wasn’t just the fact she was suspicious of him, that he’d had an affair before, the failed IVFs, the recession, the lack of money and piled-up unpaid bills. It was something else. It was that they hadn’t been close in so long now, Sandra could barely remember it. Was she a horrible wife? She didn’t really think she’d done her best. Done the wifely stuff. Her duties. Paid heed to her vows. Did she still even love him? She honestly didn’t know the answer to that. If he wasn’t seeing someone else, what then? Would she feel this suspicion for the rest of their lives? Really this came down to the fact that she still wasn’t over the affair with Kelley. Poor Kelley. She had been beyond devastated when she’d found out they were still married. She’d immediately stopped the relationship as she called it, or “fling” as Neil called it, and also left her job and gone back to the US.

  Sandra had dialled her number on Neil’s phone. “This is Neil Darragh’s wife, Sandra Darragh. Who is this?” she had asked with shaking voice and hands.

  “Oh my God, he’s married still, isn’t he?” came the heavily drawled accented reply after a long pause.

  “He is, to me, yes. Who are you?” Sandra had whispered before the tears came.

  “I’m Kelley. I am so sorry. I had totally no clue. I believed he was separated. I believed that was why we had to be secretive – because he said you were still very upset and he didn’t want to hurt you any more. I’m such a dumbass!”

  “Kelley, he’s lying. We are still very much married.”

  She didn’t have to warn the girl off, or say stay away from my man or else. Kelley had sobbed and apologised over and over and told Sandra she would leave the village as soon as she could put arrangements in place. Sandra didn’t tell her to stay.

  Sandra stepped out of the shower now and, as the smell of the curry wafted into the bedroom, her stomach rumbled.

  “I’m going out the back for a smoke!” Dermot shouted up as he heard her move about.

  “Righto!” she shouted back as she heard the patio doors slide open and bang shut again. She pulled out the hairdryer from under the bed and as she stood back up she looked up at the pictures of her and Neil on the wall of the bedroom. One of their wedding day. The pictures were taken on Knocknoly Bridge after they got back from the Registry office. The sun was shining warmly and was bouncing off the water underneath the bridge and the two of them were smiling so brightly. She had been so happy that day. She walked closer and examined the other pictures. The first year of marriage captured in stillness. A trip to Nerja in Spain with them on a horse and cart, both tanned and laughing. As she made her way along the wall she was struck by the difference in their body language. Early pictures saw them squeezed up tight together, and as it progressed to the last picture when Neil had a bit of a thank-you-and-goodbye party in Hines for three local lads he’d had to let go, they looked very much apart. Neil’s eyes looked clouded over and she looked miles away. She had been miles away that night, she now recalled. It had been during the second round of IVF. She was pretending to drink from her pint glass all night and now and then Neil would swap it for his under duress. Their communication was at an all-time low. She remembered now that a few nights before the going-away party they’d had to have sex to check for blockage, to check that the sperm were swimming freely, and it was torture. They weren’t even speaking. It took forever and she almost cried.

  She moved away from the pictures and blasted the hot hair from the dryer all over her body now before slathering Aloe Vera Vaseline cream on, and then dried off her hair with
her paddle brush.

  She supposed Neil had a point: she had been a very different girl then – or woman, which was it? It had all been so easy. He liked a beer and football and he wasn’t a complicated guy. Then her hormones began to rage when she kept getting her period like clockwork each month. It was out of her control. In all the magazines around the hotel, celebrities were popping them out like pills from a plastic packet. Pop. Pop. Pop. Life wasn’t fair.

  Sandra turned off the dryer and shook her dark hair. She pulled on her white Gap track suit and went barefoot down the stairs just as Dermot was entering from the garden.

  “Give up them old fags, Dermot!” She shook her finger at him.

  “Never, Sandy, I love my fags. They take ten years off your life and as far as I’m concerned they’re doing me a favour. Eighty years is enough for me to live. My entire family live well into their nineties – I don’t fancy that. Now sit there till I dish this up for you.” He washed his hands and dried them with the tea towel as she took a seat.

  “Wow, Dermot, you are a man of many hidden talents!” she said as he scooped a massive portion of chicken curry onto her Paul Costello plate and placed it in front of her. “How can I eat all that at this hour? I meant a nibble!”

  “Eat it!” He gently ripped a piece of kitchen paper off the roll and put it beside her plate. “Listen,” he started as she scooped a mouthful into her mouth, “I’m off now.” He grabbed his Husky jacket and found his shoes under the table. “But don’t you come in until nine in the morning. I’ve Lorna lined up to do the feeds so I’ll mind the reception for you for two hours. Big J will be gone to Dublin for another secretive meeting, whatever the hell he’s at, so he won’t know. He's very unlikely to phone reception and if he does I'll wing it. I doubt very much he’d mind if I told him but I know you won’t let me.” He pulled his tweed cap from his pocket, straightened it out and pulled it down onto his head, his blond hair sticking out from under the peak.