He was really angry with her. She had never seen him so angry in all their married life. She couldn’t believe his attitude. Did he think he was going to be neglected, did he think she wouldn’t be there for the children when they came home from school? That they would be latchkey kids? Hadn’t she explained that she was working from eight-thirty until four with only a half-hour for lunch so that she would be back to have their meal on the table when they came home from school. Both of them were at secondary school and they usually weren’t home until four-thirty. A lot of the time Sean was home before them. Since both children had started secondary school, they now had dinner around five. Claire saw no reason that she couldn’t carry on as before with careful planning, despite Sean’s protests that something would have to give. The last straw was him trying to make her feel guilty about going back to work and taking jobs from school-leavers. Surely she had as much right as any other individual to fulfil her potential to the best of her ability. Under the constitution of the state all citizens were to be treated equally. Well, she was a citizen and she had rights, the same rights as her husband. She angrily told him so.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Claire! That’s a childish argument,’ he sneered.
A flash of temper ignited in her. How dare he try to minimize her achievement! How dare he ridicule her! Her normally serene brown eyes glittered with temper that made them appear almost black. Standing up from the kitchen table where she had been drinking a cup of tea before Suzy and David arrived home, Claire turned on her husband.
‘You know what you can do, Sean Moran? Go sit on a red-hot poker and then you can go fuck yourself.’ Her voice was shaking, she was so angry. She hated confrontations and rarely had them, instead letting Sean get his own way. But this was different. This was very important to her and she had put up with enough for long enough. The worm had turned, and it was about time.
Sean turned pale. ‘May God forgive you,’ he said, utterly shocked by her outburst.
Claire walked out of the room, sick to her stomach. She had never spoken to her husband like that before. She had never spoken to anybody like that except for the time she had cursed her father so many years ago the night he had whipped her with his belt. It wasn’t in her nature to be abusive and she felt quite ill after the scene with Sean.
He didn’t speak to her for two weeks after, until in the end, unable to put up with his air of martyrdom, she apologized.
‘I was extremely hurt by your remarks, Claire, I can’t deny that,’ he told her coolly, his eyes behind his horn-rimmed glasses cold and unfriendly. ‘But I accept your apology and we’ll let bygones be bygones.’
How bloody magnanimous of you! Claire thought resentfully. He couldn’t even be a bit graceful about it. But her first pay-packet had made it all worthwhile. It had been a nerve-wracking week: learning where everything was in the salon, getting to know her workmates, realizing with a sinking heart as she watched one of the girls scrunch-drying a client that techniques had changed so much since her day. Still, she thought briskly, wielding her brush, hair still had to be swept up off the floor, that hadn’t changed, and then there were two customers waiting to be shampooed. It was an extremely busy salon with about ten stylists and on Fridays and Saturdays she didn’t have a minute to call her own. Sean bitterly resented her working on Saturdays. But she managed to ignore his moans and persevered, with Suzy’s and Rosie’s encouragement.
Claire began to get to know the clients and as she settled down in the job, really began to enjoy herself after so many years of stagnating. She had enjoyed rearing her children when they were small but they needed her less and less now and until she went back to work, she didn’t realize how heavy time had hung on her hands, or how deep a rut she had been stuck in.
On her Saturday off she would take David and Suzy into town and they would have a great time going through the shops looking at this and that, buying something nice for her fashion-conscious daughter, and a book on birds and wildlife for her son, who had no interest whatsoever in clothes. Then they would go to McDonald’s, their favourite haunt, where they would enjoy burgers and fries and the delicious ice-cream with caramel on top. She enjoyed these outings with her children so much, delighting in the fact that she could buy little treats for them after so many years of having no money. Once or twice she bought some shrubs and bedding plants home for Sean, but they were always the wrong variety or the wrong shade for his immaculate regimented garden and so after a while she didn’t bother – he was always so ungracious. She knew that it really irked him that she had her own money and he was always making remarks about working women that made her blood boil. When she and Suzy joined an aerobics class in the local school hall he informed his wife that she had lost the run of herself paying out good money for exercises she could do at home for nothing.
‘It’s my money. Thank God I can do what I like with it,’ she retorted, utterly fed up with his attitude.
She had hoped things would improve after a while when he got used to the idea of her working and he saw that her housework and his meals weren’t being affected by her job. But the longer she worked and the better she appeared to enjoy it, and the more he saw evidence of her new sense of independence, the further he drew away from her. He had never got any further in his own teaching career and he had become more bitter about it over the years. He had turned into a rigid, morose man who seemed to get no joy out of life except from his precious garden where he spent most of his free time. Every plant was placed with military precision, unlike the riotous abundance next door which grew in a profusion of colour with no shape or plan but which looked beautiful and untamed. Sean had no time for such extravagance of nature. His garden was precise and neat, every flower in its place and a place for every flower. His bedding plants were neatly arranged in serried rows and each blade of grass was of uniform height. No weed ever dared make an appearance in Sean Moran’s garden and autumn was the bane of his life.
‘Such an untidy season,’ was his response one day when she commented with delight upon the colour of the leaves on the trees at the bottom of their garden. The children had never been allowed to play on the lawns when he was there, although Claire ignored the rule when she was alone with them. And he wouldn’t hear of putting a swing up for them. ‘’Tis far from swings they were reared, let them go over to the park beyond,’ was his response to her request.
That first Christmas she had been working, she had had her mother up to stay with her. Molly, looking ten years younger, all the lines of stress and strain erased from her face, was very smart in the new wool coat that Claire had sent her down a few months previously. Stepping out of the train, her face was wreathed in smiles as David and Suzy launched themselves upon her with hugs and kisses and Claire couldn’t contain the guilty thought that it was such a relief her father was no longer alive. Molly had thoroughly enjoyed her few days with them. Claire had pampered and spoilt her, bringing her breakfast and the paper in bed and not letting her do any housework, and Molly had sat by the fire contentedly knitting a mohair jumper for Suzy. She rarely bought daily papers, she confided in her daughter, they were just too expensive, and it was such a treat to stay in bed to read Claire’s. Claire had felt terribly sad. Imagine not being able to buy a miserable old paper after a lifetime of hard work. Claire knew her mother was not unique. Many of the elderly ladies who came to the salon were living a life with no frills or luxuries. They just existed, watching every penny, and things like the papers or a magazine or dessert after dinner were rarities. She wished heartily that she could win a million pounds so that she could give her mother the lifestyle she deserved after all her years of hardship with Billy.
She saved up enough money to take the children down to Waterford on the train with Molly as a special treat. Although they were in their teens, David and Suzy had never been on a train and they had thoroughly enjoyed the journey and the weekend they spent with their grandmother. Molly loved having them around her and for the first time in her life Claire could s
ay that her mother was happy. They went for long brisk walks around the country lanes and David was in his element pointing out different species of birds and commenting on the various aspects of nature that he was familiar with. Sean had stayed at home, nursing a cold. To tell the truth Claire was guiltily relieved. Free from pressure, she had enjoyed herself in her mother’s house, and Suzy and David had been thrilled with themselves when Claire suggested that they go to the Saturday-night dance in the village if they wanted to. They could stay out until one, she told them. Suzy was ecstatic. At Claire’s old dressing-table, she carefully made up her face from her little cache of make-up, taking at least two hours to get ready, before she was finally satisfied with her appearance. David was more diffident about going. It wasn’t really his scene, he told his mother. But Claire whispered to him, telling a little white lie, that she would like him to go so that Suzy would not be alone. Amenable as always, he agreed to go to look after his sister.
David and Suzy had had a ball, they told her over breakfast after mass the next morning. This too was a rare treat, as Sean did not believe in fry-ups for breakfast. Tucking into a slice of crisply-fried bread at Molly’s urging – although he had eaten three slices already – David grinned at his mother. ‘I met a real nice girl, Mum. Is it OK if I meet her after breakfast? She’s going to show me a beaver’s den.’
Claire was delighted. This was the first time ever that her son had taken an interest in a girl, being as shy as she herself had been in her youth. ‘Of course,’ she assured him, ‘and if you’re not back in time, I’ll put your dinner in the oven.’
‘Thanks Mum, you’re brill!’ her son responded, giving her a hug as he left the kitchen, mouth still full of crispy fried bread. Ten minutes later he was out the door on his way to meet his new friend and Claire and Suzy were left grinning at each other.
‘It was great, Mum. I knew he was feeling a bit awkward. You know David!’ said his sibling, who wouldn’t know what it was like to feel awkward, so outgoing was she. ‘Well, anyway, I saw this girl of about fourteen standing by herself and she didn’t look as though she was having a great time and I said to David – why don’t you ask her to dance. He wouldn’t at first, he was really nervous, but I kept at him and he did, and she got all red and said yes, and they danced around without talking for a while and then they started to yak and they were yakking all night. She’s into nature too and she paints. She’s going to show her paintings to David. It’s great, isn’t it? She’s real pretty too,’ Suzy enthused, delighted for her brother. She was always very protective.
‘Did you meet anyone nice?’ Claire queried, smiling broadly.
‘Hmm!’ Suzy grinned back. ‘I met this real dish called Nick. He’s studying in the regional technical college but I told him I was committed. So it won’t develop into anything,’ Suzy continued airily.
Claire hid a smile. Suzy had a boyfriend in Dublin, although her father didn’t realize it. He always walked her home from school and was part of the gang she went around with. Sean was very strict. Suzy always had to be in by eleven on the one night a week that she was allowed out. And Colin, the boyfriend, was very good about making sure she got home. This impressed Claire, who had met him in her daughter’s company several times, although Suzy had never brought him home, knowing that her father would put a stop to her going out. It was enough for Suzy to know that she had her mother’s tacit approval. Claire, knowing from her own youth the importance of having a boyfriend, was glad that her daughter was much more sure of herself and outgoing than she had ever been, despite Sean’s sternness. Suzy had got six Valentine cards the previous Valentine’s Day, six more than her mother ever had, Claire reflected ruefully. Sean didn’t go in for such nonsense.
Next Valentine’s Day, David got one from Audrey, the girl in Knockross. They had kept in touch by post. He was so chuffed with himself that you’d think he’d won a fortune. Claire knew that that Valentine card was his most treasured possession. Each week without fail, a fat white envelope would come through the letterbox and David would retire to his room to read his correspondence in private before setting off to school with a jaunty walk. Having a girlfriend, even if their only contact was through the post, had given such a boost to his confidence, Claire reflected, as she poured Sean’s porridge into a dish and buttered his toast. She could hear her husband moving around upstairs, calling the children as he passed their rooms. He had to travel across the city to his school so he left much earlier than they did. As soon as he had eaten breakfast and left she would turn on all the rings on the cooker and heat the place up, so that the three of them could have a bit of comfort as they had breakfast together. She shivered again. The kitchen was really cold because it was north-facing. And it was still only October. It would be like a fridge in December. She’d just have to insist on putting the heating on for an hour in the morning. Of course that would cause another row. Life was a succession of rows lately, it seemed. Still today was pay-day, and she had made quite a bit in tips this week. She had a surprise for David. She was going to send him off to Knockross to Molly next weekend. Molly would be delighted as they were very close, and he’d get a chance to be with Audrey, his girlfriend. Sean of course would be most disapproving but she’d say that Molly needed sticks chopped and her yards cleaned for the winter. That might shut him up. Sean was very strong on the young helping the elderly. Well he could just let David practise what his father was always preaching and Molly, Audrey and David would be very happy. Yes, that was a great idea, a brainwave. She’d buy his train-ticket today. Sighing, she began to peel potatoes for the dinner. She’d want to get a move on. She had to run around with the Hoover before she went to work as the next day was her Saturday to work and she didn’t want Sean moaning about the state of the place.
‘Is my breakfast ready?’ her husband enquired, giving a mournful sniffle. Claire’s heart sank. Not another cold. He’d be sneezing and spluttering and feeling sorry for himself and peeling lemons to make hot drinks; and life would not be a bowl of cherries. If he’d have a bit of heat in the house he might not be so susceptible to colds, she thought. ‘I spilt my tea on the sheets. You’ll have to change them,’ he continued glumly. Frustration surged through her. He spilt the tea – why couldn’t he change the sheets. She’d be late for work at this rate. She restrained herself from snapping. It would only lead to a row and he’d be able to throw her work back in her face. Then they’d end up not speaking and he’d never allow David to go away next weekend.
‘I’ll change them before I go to work,’ she said calmly, swallowing her resentment.
‘It’s on the duvet cover as well,’ Sean said, cracking open his egg with precision.
Oh, shit! thought Claire angrily. It would take her at least ten minutes to get a blasted clean duvet cover on to their quilt.
‘I’m going straight to bed when I come home,’ Sean added, eating a piece of buttered toast. ‘I have a migraine so I hope you won’t be hoovering.’ Claire knew he was waiting for her to explode. He was enjoying putting her under pressure. Ever since she started working he had been exerting a sly and subtle pressure on her. Maybe she could persuade Suzy to do the hoovering and David would help her with the duvet. She’d buy tinned carrots today and that would save her peeling and chopping fresh carrots now, and once they were in the casserole, Sean wouldn’t know the difference.
‘This toast is cold,’ her husband informed her primly. ‘Would you do two more rounds for me, please, Claire?’
Bastard! Claire swore to herself as she silently did her husband’s bidding.
Wednesday 25 October 1989
The heat in the hospital waiting-room was stifling. All around people fidgeted, some staring at the sickly green tiles on the walls, some reading newspapers, others deep in conversation with their neighbours as they tried to out-do each other in horror stories about their operations and complaints. Claire sighed deeply. She had been here for two hours and it seemed as though the queue was getting bigger, not smal
ler. Nurses rushed around calling people’s names from lists, but her consultant had been delayed and Claire resigned herself to being in the grotty crowded waiting-room for at least another two hours, her precious day off wasted.
She was bursting to go to the loo but the thought of using the toilets nearly made her sick. They were filthy. It was disgraceful what public patients had to put up with. If it was anywhere else but a hospital, the place would be closed down by health officials. She really felt sorry for the nurses having to work in such conditions. They were there day in, day out. She only had to put up with it for a few hours. It was positively insanitary. ‘You’d think Sean would have you in the VHI,’ Rosie had said, disgusted, one day, when Claire was telling her about her experiences while going to see a gastroenterologist. Again she had been waiting for two hours before she was finally called into the inner sanctum. She had had the shock of her life.
Two consultants were seeing patients. She found herself sitting on a bench beside five other people. A name was called out and one of the people on the bench went over to the consultant’s table about twelve feet away. There he had to tell his tale of woe. He was trying to keep his voice down but it made no difference. Claire and all the others could hear everything. The consultant had a loud booming voice which reverberated around the room. ‘And have you tried eating bran for this constipation?’ he inquired briskly of the timid little man in front of him. Claire had been mortified for him. It was like listening to someone’s confession. She was tempted to stick her hands in her ears. A horrific thought had struck her then. Everybody else on the bench was going to be able to hear her tell the consultant about the awful bloating that lasted for two weeks of her cycle and the terrible diarrhoea that was getting worse and worse every time she had her period. So much for privacy and confidentiality between doctor and patient! At another table the consultant’s houseman was speaking into a dictaphone. She could hear the patient’s name and address quite clearly, and realized that it was someone who lived in a street not too far from her. The poor woman had a carcinoma in her small intestine and Claire was shocked that the doctor didn’t bother to lower his voice, but dictated imperiously, unperturbed by the fact that this woman’s private business could be heard by complete strangers. So much for the Hippocratic oath, Claire had thought in disgust.
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