Rosie was horrified when Claire told her the saga. She usually went to the Bons in Glasnevin whenever she had to have any little jobs done, although the last time she’d had to go to the Blackrock Clinic, as her consultant only saw patients there. The gulf between the super luxury clinics and the public hospitals was mind-boggling. ‘Mind you, the last time I went, despite the fact that I had an appointment, there were ten others in front of me and we all had to wait in this poky little waiting-room,’ Rosie said disgustedly. ‘You’d think, for the amount you have to shell out you could at least be seen on time! A client of mine was telling me about this consultant she went to who wears a watch with a timer that goes off every five minutes. Imagine how comfortable you’d feel with him.’ Rosie laughed. ‘I’d tell him where to stick his timer. Anyway your woman was having none of his nonsense and she really let him have it. She told him he could stick his private clinic the same place he could stick his timer and marched out the door in disgust to its sound.’
‘I’d loved to have seen his face. Honestly, but you would think some of them were God Almighty with the carry-on of them,’ said Claire, amused by Rosie’s story.
Rosie grinned back. ‘Ashes to ashes and dust to dust, I always say. They have to piss and fart like the rest of us.’
Claire suppressed a smile as she shifted on the wooden bench. Her bum was gone numb from sitting in the same position for so long. Typical of Rosie to come out with something like that. Despite her affluence and success there wasn’t a pretentious bone in her body. It was Rosie who had kept at her and at her to go back to the gynaecologist to see if anything could be done for her. The last year had been a bit of a nightmare. Although she loved her job and had completed her training successfully and was now a qualified stylist, she was finding the going tough. If Sean had given her even the smallest bit of support she might be able to cope a bit better. But even after all this time he was still implacable in his resentment of her working. If Suzy and David had not been so good around the house she would never have managed. Not once had Sean ever been put out by her working. She had been determined that she would never give him any ammunition to throw at her. But there were times lately when she felt like chucking it all up. Only the knowledge that she would once again be dependent on him for money kept her working.
It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy her job, she did. She always got a great sense of satisfaction when she saw the end result of styling someone’s hair. She had lots of clients of her own now and that too was a great source of pride to her. It was just she felt so tired and lethargic these days. She’d give anything to spend a week in bed doing nothing. It was her periods, of course. She had always suffered with them, ever since she was in her late teens. ‘Have a baby and you’ll be fine!’ she’d been told by a gynaecologist when she was seventeen. That’s easy for you to say, she had thought resentfully. What was she to do, go and become an unmarried mother? What if no-one ever asked her to marry them? She could hardly put an ad in the paper saying – man wanted to marry nice girl – so that she could have a baby to cure her painful periods. Well she had gone and had a baby, and then another, and still things had not improved.
After David’s birth she had gone again to try and get something done but after the indignity of the treatment she got, she had sworn that she would never again set foot in a hospital. After she had whispered an account of her symptoms, the consultant of the booming voice had told her that she was probably suffering from an irritable bowel brought on by stress: he’d get his gynaecological colleague to have a look at her and for her to go and make an appointment. Another half-day wasted in the waiting-room and then she had been called in to one of the cubicles and told to undress. She was wrapped in a gown and brought in to the examining-room. Perched in a big high chair with her feet in stirrups she had been examined by the consultant who was accompanied by three students. Her permission had not been asked and as they investigated her vagina, discussing a rugby match that had been played the previous day, she had felt like a piece of meat. It had been excruciatingly painful and when it was over, Claire, who was sore, humiliated and feeling utterly violated, had sworn that she would never, ever, go back there again. The gynaecologist had told her brusquely that she was too young for a hysterectomy and to go and have another baby. At least then she’d be period-free for nine months. Maybe then he might consider removing her womb. I wouldn’t let you remove a splinter, let alone my womb, she wanted to shriek at him but she was well and truly cowed by her experience. But for a long time afterwards she was sorry that she hadn’t let fly at him.
Now, years later, she was sitting waiting to go through another ordeal. At least now she knew that she could refuse permission to have students witness her examination. What would she do if he said she should have a hysterectomy? She’d be out of work for ages and Sean, who had no time for women’s complaints, wouldn’t give her much sympathy. Sighing deeply, she could hear the woman next to her telling her neighbour, ‘I’m lucky to be alive, I am, luv. Nearly died on the table I did. He had opened me up when I started to haemorrhage. Lost five pints of blood, luv, as well as me womb.’ Claire swallowed. She really didn’t feel so good. She’d give anything to have this over and done with. Her palms started to sweat and her heart began to beat faster. She felt sick with tension. She’d better go to the loo before she went in to be examined. ‘The last time I was here the nurse had the cheek to expect me to go to his understudy,’ the other old dear took up her own story indignantly, referring to the houseman. ‘I told her I’d wait until Judgement Day to see himself and not to be pawnin’ me off with no understudy.’ Leaving her lucky-to-be-alive neighbour to mind her seat, and the other one determined to see ‘himself’, Claire went off in search of the loo.
All in all it wasn’t too bad, she decided an hour later as she sat in Arnott’s having a reviving cup of coffee. ‘You’re not the world’s slimmest woman,’ the gynaecologist had told her as he examined her, leaving her slack-jawed at his cheek. He was no Twiggy himself with his affluent little pot-belly that spoke of good food and wines. He changed her pill, told her she was stressed, told her to lose weight and to come back in three months and see how things were going. ‘If this doesn’t work I’ll try you on something else,’ he said cheerfully, quite oblivious of the fact that she had hoped against hope that he’d be able to solve her problems there and then. Didn’t he realize that she had a job to hold down and a house to run. It was all very well to say he’d try something else after three months: he didn’t have to suffer her periods.
She bit glumly into a coffee slice. She’d start her diet next Monday. She had got heavy, she thought ruefully. She was at least a stone overweight but it wasn’t that she ate loads of rubbish; she was a good eater really. It was just that she seemed to be so bloated lately. All around, the noisy chatter of people having a snack, the girls clearing the tables, the clatter of crockery and cutlery seemed somehow comforting. She didn’t feel like queueing for a bus and going home to get the dinner, she felt like staying here. She should have arranged for Suzy and David to come into town and meet her after school and she could have bought them a meal. For once, Sean could have looked after himself.
She was really angry with her husband. David had failed maths in his Inter Cert and her husband had been furious. Despite the fact that the rest of David’s grades were good, Sean had ranted and raved like a madman. He had put his son under such pressure that Claire had accused him of being a bully and a tyrant and there had been nothing but rows since the results had come out a few weeks previously. It wasn’t that David didn’t study, he did. He spent many hard hours at it and it had been a long slog for him. He just did not have an aptitude for maths. It didn’t mean that he was any the less intelligent, Claire stormed at Sean, who told her that she was too bloody soft on him and always had been. Poor old David had planned to go to Knockross for the October weekend to bring Audrey to a school dance and he had been looking forward to it for ages, but Sean had put his foot dow
n and forbidden it. He damn well was not going gallivanting down the country with his disgraceful result in maths. He could bloody well stay at home and let his father give him some extra tuition. Otherwise he’d never get to university.
‘I don’t want to go to university. I want to be a carpenter. And I can’t let Audrey down!’ her son protested in dismay.
‘A carpenter! You’ll be no such thing. I’m giving you the opportunity to go to university and make something of yourself. I’m working myself to the bone. And, by God, son, to university you will go. You ungrateful monkey!’
‘But Sean, that’s not fair!’ Claire protested. ‘If David doesn’t wan—’
‘SHUT UP!’ roared her husband, his face red with temper.
Knowing that David would only get the raw end of the stick if she persisted, Claire remained furiously silent. Later, while Sean was out viciously raking the leaves out of his precious garden, she told her son to go and ring Audrey while she kept watch. If Sean thought that David was making long-distance calls to his girlfriend he’d be incensed and there’d be another row. ‘Don’t stay on too long,’ she advised her forlorn son gently. Five minutes later he was back and she could see the glitter of tears in his eyes. ‘What did she say?’
‘She was mad. She hung up,’ he said miserably. ‘I don’t want any dinner, Mum. I’m just going upstairs to my room.’ Claire watched him walk dejectedly from the room and her heart bled for him. She felt like crying herself. She cursed Sean.
That night she put on her sexiest nightgown, dabbed some Eau de Cologne that he had given her for her birthday behind her ears and waited for her husband to come to bed. It had been ages since they had had sex. She was too tired these days and he had lost his old drive since she had started working and undermined his manliness. He didn’t even notice, so busy was he giving out about the fact that the principal expected him to perform miracles in the school library despite the fact that the budget had been slashed yet again and that the School Library section of the Corporation that they so depended on had been decimated by savage cut-backs. ‘Forget about it for tonight,’ she murmured, putting her arms around his bony body as he got into bed. She slid her hand under his brown pyjama jacket and gently caressed his chest. Sean gave a sigh of satisfaction and turned to her with pleasure. ‘This is a nice surprise,’ he smiled. ‘Usually you’re asleep.’ Claire fought to suppress a yawn. She was really exhausted. Leaning over, her husband kissed her and slid the nightgown from her shoulders, kissing her creamy soft breasts as he did so. Claire observed that the bald patch on the top of his head was getting bigger, no matter how hard he tried to disguise it by covering it with strands of hair. He was lying on top of her now, his breathing harsh and ragged. She closed her eyes. There was this gorgeous man who came to the salon every month to have his hair cut by her and she really fancied him. He had a great sense of humour, beautiful blue eyes and a body hard and lean that would tempt any woman, married or single. As Sean unbuttoned his pyjamas and slid her nightdress above her waist, Claire thought of that body.
Later as they lay together, Claire murmured, ‘Sean, I was thinking. We could all do with a bit of a break. We haven’t been anywhere together for ages.’
‘That’s because you’re working,’ he said sanctimoniously.
‘Yes I know,’ she said soothingly, hiding her irritation. ‘Why don’t we all go down to Mum’s for the long weekend? I’ll take a few days off.’ It would cost her a fortune but it would be worth it to remove the misery from her son’s face. ‘You could give David his tuition down there, and I’d get to see Mum.’
Sean grunted, half asleep now. ‘I’m afraid I told Peggy and James I’d call and see them on Saturday afternoon. It wouldn’t be worth it to go down on Sunday and you know I don’t like driving in the dark.’ Peggy and James were his sister and brother-in-law.
‘Sure, can’t you go and see them another time?’ Claire said in desperation.
‘I can’t break the arrangement, Claire,’ Sean said smugly. ‘If I’d known you wanted to go away for the weekend I’d have been delighted to go but you told me you were working on the Saturday so I’m afraid I made other arrangements.’
‘Please let David go to Knockross this weekend,’ she pleaded.
‘Absolutely not. It’s out of the question. It’s for his own good that he should stay here,’ her husband replied firmly. ‘Goodnight, Claire.’
Hours later, Claire lay wide-eyed listening to her husband snoring, thinking about her son and wishing she had never married Sean Moran.
‘Can I clear here?’ A young girl smiled down at her. Claire smiled back. She had been lost in thought; now she’d better get a move on. Putting on her coat and gathering her few purchases, she left the cafeteria and walked out into the cold October day. She was waiting ages for a bus. Still, Suzy would be late. She was taking extra French classes and doing really well. She had a flair for languages and had spent a month in France last year on a student exchange trip and really enjoyed it. She confided in Claire that when she was finished her Leaving Cert she was going to go to France au pairing for a year and get a job there. Claire said nothing to Sean because he would forbid such a course of action. But Suzy would do as she wished anyway. She had never knuckled down under her father’s thumb and couldn’t wait to be independent. Although Claire would worry about her and miss her she would certainly not stand in her daughter’s way and she’d give her every encouragement despite her husband’s displeasure. Sean would be late because he had a staff meeting so only David would be in before her.
Rushing up the garden path she rooted in her handbag for her keys. Through the glass panel on the front door a movement caught her eye. David was home. Good! She’d bought him a little treat, a lovely illustrated bird encyclopaedia she had chanced upon in Eason’s bargain bookshop.
What was that shadow? Opening the door she felt as though she had been hit by a sledgehammer. Her heart began to pound as though it was going to burst. She tried to move forward but couldn’t move. ‘David! David!’ She thought she screamed but no sound came out as she stared in terrified, disbelieving horror at the sight that met her eyes.
LAINEY
Friday 1 August 1980
What a terrible tragedy! And to think she had so nearly been on that train. Lainey shuddered as she watched the news in her comfortable hotel bedroom. They were showing horrific scenes at the site of the crash of the Dublin to Cork express in which seventeen people had been killed and many others injured. She could very well be dead but for the fact that she had decided to take the car after all, even though it was still giving her some trouble. Life was so strange sometimes. Sighing, she switched off the news, unpacked her hold-all, hung up her smart ice-pink linen suit that she was wearing the following day and decided to have a shower before going down to eat in the hotel dining-room.
She was tired. She had driven down from Dublin very early and had made some calls en route. Not that she hadn’t enjoyed it, she had. Lainey had got to know the bookshop owners and managers well over the previous two years and she loved the challenge of bringing in the new covers of books that were to be published and getting orders for them. She was very charming, very positive and she usually ended up persuading them to order twice the amount they had intended to originally. Her publishing firm, Verdon, was doing extremely well, thanks in no small measure to her own contribution as Sales and Marketing Manager, the job she had been promoted to in the past year.
Lainey loved her job. It was so different from working for the Corporation. There, she had been a cog in a machine, an anonymous pay number. She got no thanks or recognition for initiative or hard work. She hadn’t been a bit sorry to leave her permanent and pensionable job. The only regret she had was leaving the people she had worked with. A nicer, more dedicated group couldn’t be found – for all the thanks they got!
Lainey had thrown herself into her new career. At night, if her thoughts were inclined to linger on Steve she would banish him from her mind
with grim determination, and concentrate instead on her marketing strategy. It soon began to reap dividends. Publicity was the thing! The hype! The glitz and glamour! If Verdon wanted to compete with international publishing houses then they would have to take the bull by the horns and spend much more money on their marketing.
At an invigorating thought-provoking meeting attended by the managing director, the accountant, the editorial director and herself, Lainey had given her assessment of the company’s requirements for the Eighties. She had spent hours working on her brief and in a confident and articulate manner had convinced the other heads of department to increase her budget by fifty per cent. In return, she told them, she would increase sales and turnover substantially. By hiring a PR firm to work on behalf of authors and the company, she would help make Verdon a force to be reckoned with in the Irish publishing world. It was no empty promise! Lainey had studied her English and American counterparts, seen their highly-aggressive marketing strategies and taken a leaf out of their book. Patrick Nolan, the owner and managing director of the publishing company, and a man of great enthusiasm and get-up-and-go, was delighted with Lainey’s contribution and where the accountant was inclined to be conservative, Patrick supported her arguments.
Lainey loved the excitement and challenge of her new job. It invigorated her, stimulated her and exhausted her and was just the remedy for a broken heart. She was so busy she didn’t have time to visit Moncas Bay as much. At least that was what she told herself. She would go down maybe one weekend in six, usually in the company of Tony doing what he termed his ‘duty visit’. She had such mixed feelings about going home. Lainey was trying her best to put the past behind her, to get on with her life, a life without Steve. It pained her deeply to see him with Helena, married and apparently very happy. Several times she had bumped into Helena in the village supermarket and the other girl had given her such a smug cat-got-the-cream look that Lainey had had to curl her fingers into her palms, so tempted was she to slap Miss Wishy Washy’s pasty little face. Her pride always carried her through. Not for anything would she ever let Helena know how much Steve meant to her.
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