The Lingerie Designer

by Siobhán McKenna

  Helen thought about what Rob was saying, realising she felt the same. Why, since she’d realised she was pregnant, had she stopped drinking coffee, and started taking folic acid, while at the same time saying abortion was their only option? Who was she trying to kid?

  Rob jumped out of bed, naked as the day he was born. He got down on one knee and took her hand in his.

  She giggled. “Get up, you big oaf!”

  “Helen Devine, will you marry me?” He looked into her eyes.

  She could see that he meant it and then, to her surprise, Helen heard herself say, “Yes.”

  Rob didn’t want to wait and decided they should wed in the USA.

  “We’re going to Vegas, Hells! Dad stumped up the cash!” Rob proudly produced two airline tickets.

  “Las Vegas?” Mary Devine, who had returned from her holiday wearing a sombrero and carrying an over-sized straw donkey under her arm, was still reeling from Sangria withdrawal and the news she’d soon be a grandmother. “That’s in America.” Mary’s face reddened. She hoped she’d get the money together in time.

  “Geography is obviously your strong point, Mary!” Rob laughed, putting his arm around her.

  “It’s very far,” Mary said. Thank God for the Credit Union.

  “Another brilliant observation, Mary. That’s why Helen and I are going – on Saturday. It’s far from this place and its red tape. We can get married and have a quick honeymoon, all in one.”

  “This Saturday!” Helen and Mary said in unison.

  “Rob, can I talk to you – alone, please?” Helen said.

  Mary was happy to oblige. It might only be three in the afternoon but she needed a stiff brandy.

  “Rob, this is all happening so fast,” Helen said, as soon as Mary had left the room.

  “You’re not getting cold feet on me, are you, Hells?”

  “No, it’s just, it’s all so much. I need to slow down – it’s a whirlwind. I can’t catch my breath.” Helen patted her chest, willing air to fill her lungs.

  “Helen – I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you – it’s that simple,” he put his hand on her stomach, “and our baby too. As David Soul once said, ‘Don’t give up on us, baby.’” He broke into song but he had tears in his eyes. He was begging the woman he loved.

  “Please, no singing, Mum’s crystal can’t take it,” Helen joked. She cleared her throat, “So, you’re really sure about this, Rob?”

  “Helen Devine, I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

  Helen and Mary spent the next few days in a flurry of excitement. They chose a simple, pale-pink dress for Helen to get married in. As always, Helen spent most of her time trying to choose the perfect underwear. After hours of shopping, the two women sat in Bewleys café, surrounded by shopping bags. On their table sat mugs of steaming hot coffee and warm scones with melted butter, whipped cream and strawberry jam.

  “I shouldn’t be doing this really,” Helen said.

  “Then don’t, love,” Mary jumped in. “It’s so far away, and you won’t have anyone with you. Wait until after the baby is born. If it’s meant to be, you and Rob can still get married then.”

  “I was talking about the coffee, Mum.”

  “Oh.”

  “I know you and Poppy are disappointed you can’t be there, Mum. And, to be honest, I had my doubts too. But Rob’s been so supportive – it will be okay. Besides, when do you think I’ll ever get another freebie from tight-fisted Old Man Lawless?”

  Mary wasn’t convinced, but put on a brave face. “Too true, love, too true,” she said, not looking up, putting extra butter on her scone instead. After a moment or two, she appeared brighter. “History repeats itself, and another Devine woman will wed in the States. So, if you’re sure, Helen, there’s nothing more for me to say except ‘Bon voyage’!”

  Mother and daughter clinked mugs of coffee in salutation.

  Later, as Helen had packed the last of her clothes and sat on her suitcase to try and close it, something didn’t feel right. She hadn’t heard from Rob all day. She had called him a few times but his mobile phone was off. Then she started to ring his parents’ house. His aloof mother said she’d pass on Helen’s numerous messages, when she saw him.

  By the time Helen was going to bed, Rob still hadn’t returned her calls. A knot formed in Helen’s stomach. What if there’s been in an accident? she reasoned, but she knew that wasn’t the source of her fear. She tried to settle down to sleep – they had to leave for the airport early in the morning. She looked around her childhood room – it was hard to believe she would come back to it a married woman.

  She had cleared out a load of old clothes and junk from her wardrobe to make room in her closet, and life, for her new husband, whom Mary was willing to welcome into her home, for they were to live with her for the first years of their married life.

  It was nearly one in the morning when Helen heard the doorbell chime.

  She jumped out of bed, ran to the top of the stairs, and was relieved to see Rob’s silhouette through the glass of the door.

  “Who is it?” Mary called out.

  “It’s okay, Mum, go back to sleep.” Helen dashed down to open the door, and thanked God for answering her prayers.

  That was until she saw Rob’s face.

  “Rob, what’s wrong?” She pulled her dressing gown tightly around her, feeling a chill.

  “I can’t do it, Helen, I’m sorry!” Rob blurted out.

  “What?”

  “I can’t marry you, Helen. It’s all too much. I want to be a lawyer – it’s all I’ve ever wanted. I can’t do that if I get married now. I need to qualify and have at least a few years working before I consider settling down.”

  Reeling, Helen sat on the bottom step of the stairs.

  “But I thought the same thing – you convinced me I was wrong. What changed all that?”

  “No one,” Rob said, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets.

  “I didn’t ask who.”

  “Look, I’ll still help out with the baby and everything, you don’t have to worry.”

  “It’s your parents, isn’t it?” Helen asked, but it was more of a statement than a question.

  “My folks are just looking out for me, Helen, I can see that now and you will too – when you’ve had time to digest this.”

  “‘Digest this’!” Helen spat.

  She was on her feet, anger ripping through her body. She wanted to smack him across the face. But she didn’t. She had learnt years ago, when faced with condescending neighbours or stuck-up class mates, that hiding her true feelings, such as anger, worked better than showing weakness. It helped her survive. Charles Darwin’s Theory of Evolution – survival of the fittest, Helen Devine style.

  “We’ll talk about this tomorrow, Rob, I’m too tired now,” she managed to say calmly. “We’ve a twelve-hour plane trip ahead of us – we’ll talk then.”

  “Ah, well, here’s the thing – Dad managed to change the name on your ticket. We reckoned, with you being pregnant and us needing some time out . . .” Rob looked at his shoes as he stepped awkwardly from side to side.

  “You’re going to Vegas – without me?”

  “We couldn’t get a refund, but they allowed us a name change. Helen, I’m not discussing this now.” He tried to regain control. “One of the lads from the club was able to come up with the cash for the ticket.” He looked pleased but his smile soon faded.

  “I think you should leave now, Rob.” Mary Devine stood at the top of the stairs.

  “Mum, stay out of it!”

  “No, I’ve stayed out of it long enough.” She started down the stairs.

  Rob saw it as his signal to exit.

  “I’m sorry, Helen, Mary. We’ll talk when I get back. This doesn’t mean we have to break up, just not get married – yet.” He swallowed hard.

  Her earlier control disappeared and Helen lunged at Rob. “You miserable fucking prick!”

  Rob
jumped back – frightened Helen would hit him.

  Mary held her back. “Don’t let yourself down, love, he’s not worth it!” She glared at Rob, before slamming the door shut, but he was already halfway down the drive.

  Helen buried her face into her mother’s chest and sobbed. Mary rocked her, whispering words of comfort while struggling to control her own tears. She kissed the top of her daughter’s head, wishing she could somehow take away Helen’s pain.

  Rob didn’t contact Helen while he was in Vegas, but his mother did, or at least she put something in the Devine household letterbox. Helen saw her car pull away from the house in the early morning hours, the day Helen should have been getting married. She had got up to pee, which she needed to do every few hours now.

  She went downstairs and retrieved the large, brown, manila envelope which had landed on the mat. On it, the block letters read: HELEN DEVINE. Inside there was five-hundred punts in cash, an Aer Lingus airline ticket to Heathrow, and an elegantly written note with the name and address of an abortion clinic. A yellow Post-It was stuck on the note. Scribbled on it was a date and time of an appointment, made in Helen’s name. Abortion being illegal in Ireland, many a young girl found herself “on the boat to England” as it was referred to. More often than not they were alone, afraid and full of shame. It was as though, if people couldn’t see them, hear them or speak about them, they didn’t exist. The Lawless family had money – Helen could travel by aeroplane. Rob’s mother had decided that her grandchild be terminated the next day, at two o’clock.

  A few days after returning from the States, Rob reckoned it was time to face the music, but contacting Helen was proving harder than he’d thought. He tried phoning the house a few times, but Mary had answered so he hung up. He let a few weeks pass before he stopped by her campus – it was an easier option than facing Mary Devine’s wrath. One of Helen’s classmates told him Helen hadn’t been around – rumour was she’d dropped-out. Rob stewed on it for a while, eventually biting the bullet and calling to Poppy Power’s house. Being into all that spiritual crap, she was bound to be more understanding. Boy, had he been wrong!

  “She’s gone,” Poppy had said coolly. “Helen has moved to England to pursue her passion for fashion, or lingerie to be exact. Apparently, the only place offering a lingerie design course is in England.”

  “What, she’s packed up her business degree in Trinity to learn how to make knickers in London?”

  Poppy hadn’t said London, but Rob was hoping to whittle down his search.

  Poppy’s eyes narrowed – she was on to him. “Let her go, Rob, leave her with that much.” She closed the door on him before he had a chance to walk away.

  He stood staring at Poppy’s door for a few minutes, feeling completely at a loss, stunned as he realised that Helen must have got rid of the baby: his baby. Briefly, a wave of guilt swept over him but then he convinced himself there was nothing he could have done – he wasn’t to blame. How could she do such a thing to him? But the truth was he already missed Helen. He had started working in a well-known law firm. The hours were cruel – he had hardly any free time, not even for rugby. So maybe he’d give Helen some time to calm down, come to her senses. She was his woman, he had never doubted that, but he had other things to do in life – surely Helen could see that too?

  They could start afresh, once he found her. Rob straightened up to his full height, and brushed his fingers through his hair. He was feeling better already. It will all work out, he told himself as he walked away from Poppy’s house. Helen will come back, she always does.

  Chapter 27

  Helen decided to get out of the shower before she single-handedly caused a drought in the greater Dublin area. She had bought Mary the Sunday papers on the way back from her run – what better way to take her mind off Rob than spend an hour or two with her mum, in their family home?

  She pulled her car in at her mother’s house and, on seeing the rows of pretty flowers and hanging baskets bursting with autumnal colour, she felt able to breathe again.

  She rang the bell, then opened the door. “This will always be your home, dear – you don’t need to ring the doorbell,” Mary Devine always said but, out of respect, Helen usually rang the bell anyway before she opened the door.

  “Mum, it’s only me!” she called out.

  The house was in darkness, the curtains still drawn. The alarm wasn’t set. Mary always set the alarm when she went to bed. Helen looked at her watch – it was after eleven in the morning.

  That’s strange, maybe she’s gone to Mass, she thought. She pulled back the heavy cream curtains to check if Mary’s little red convertible was in the driveway. She had been too preoccupied to notice. It was.

  “Mum?” Helen called louder this time, her heart pumping hard as memories of finding her mother in a diabetic black-out last winter came flooding back.

  “Oh, God, please let her be okay.” Helen started up the stairs. Then she heard it, a faint groan. She took the stairs two at a time – bursting into her mother’s bedroom expecting to find her mother laid flat on the floor.

  She was flat out all right.

  Helen screamed.

  Mary screamed.

  The old grey man with the crinkly bottom screamed.

  “Helen! What are you doing?” Mary scrambled to pull up the duvet for cover but inadvertently further exposed the mystery visitor. Helen wished her mother hadn’t done that – as now she had seen an old willy too.

  “Oh God, sorry, I thought you were in a coma.” Helen covered her eyes – she’d seen enough negative images to last a lifetime. “I brought the papers, they’re downstairs.” Her hand shielded her face. “Nice to meet you.” She nodded her head although her gaze remained averted. She closed the bedroom door behind her. Nice to meet you! Where did that come from?

  “Helen, wait!” Mary struggled to get out of bed but Helen was already halfway down the stairs. She hadn’t seen her mother’s boobs since she was in kindergarten, and she’d no intention of seeing them again now.

  “Just wait for me in the kitchen, Helen, please – I’ll only be a moment.”

  A few minutes later, Mary Devine came into the sun-filled kitchen. Helen was leaning against the counter with her arms crossed.

  “I’m sorry you had to see that, love,” Mary said, as she smoothed down her bed-head hair.

  “So am I.”

  There was an awkward silence – then they started to talk at the same time.

  “Cyril is a very dear friend – I meant to tell you, love, but you’ve been so preoccupied lately and there’s been so much going on –” Mary stopped short.

  “Look, Mum, you’re free to live your life.” Helen drummed her fingers on the marble-top. “Who the hell is he anyway? How long have you been seeing him and I can’t believe I’m saying this but I hope you are using protection.”

  “Cyril, three months and none of your business, madam.” Mary’s cheeks burned with two dots of pink.

  Helen sighed. Her mother was right. “I’m off, Mum – I’ll call you later.” She managed a weak smile.

  “Okay, love, and despite this little setback, I still want you to use your key in future. This is your home too and always will be, as long as I’m alive.”

  Helen looked at her mother as if she’d announced she was running off to join the circus.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Helen, it’s just sex – it’s the most natural thing in the world.” Mary tried laughing it off.

  “You’re pushing for the bus-pass and he looks like he should be pushing a Zimmer-frame!” Just sex indeed.

  Mary fiddled with her hair again. “Sixty is the new fifty, and I can assure you Cyril’s very able-bodied – he’s seventy-five, you know.”

  “Agh, enough!” Helen covered her ears, but that didn’t erase the picture.

  Crinkly bottom,

  Crinkly bottom,

  Crinkly bottom . . .

  “Most people get a roast dinner when they visit their parents on
a Sunday. Look what I get – I’m scarred for life, Mother!”

  “Stop being melodramatic, Helen, you’re forty years of age – get over it!” Mary retorted.

  “Thirty-nine, and you should have been level with me!”

  The onslaught just kept on coming.

  “Is it safe to come in?” A hand waving a white handkerchief appeared at the kitchen door.

  Great, now I have to deal with Casanova.

  “You must be Helen – you’re even more beautiful than your photos,” Cyril said as he entered the room. He held his hand out, and smiled broadly.

  And Don Juan.

  Cyril didn’t look so creased with his clothes on and he had a twinkle in his old blue eyes that glistened with gentleness. Helen shook his hand.

  “Who fancies a cuppa?” Mary feigned normality as she put the kettle on.

  “Not for me, I was only dropping off the papers. I’ve arranged to meet Poppy for lunch.” Helen smiled and tried not to look at the wall clock. They all knew it was a fib but they went along with it. No one wanted to discuss the big pink hippopotamus in the room.

  Helen got into her car, and waved goodbye to her mum and Cyril who had come to the door to see her off.

  Crinkly bottom,

  Crinkly bottom,

  Crinkly bottom . . .

  She pressed hard on the accelerator in the hopes it would beam her up to a planet far from “Pensioners-on-Viagra-Ville”. She set her sights on safe-haven number two: Poppy’s house.

  “Helen, I wasn’t expecting you, this is a nice surprise,” Poppy said, pulling her dressing gown tightly around her body.

  “It’s nearly lunch-time, are you only getting up now?” Helen’s eyes wandered towards the bird’s nest masquerading as Poppy’s hair. “I thought you got up with the dawn every morning to meditate or something.”

  Poppy stepped back to let Helen into the house. “I try to keep my body aligned with the circadian rhythms, it’s healthier, but lie-ins have their benefits too. It’s all about balance.”

  Here we go, Helen thought, and ignored Poppy’s attempt at education.