Anyone for Me?

by Fiona Cassidy

  “My fiery redhead . . .” Luke murmured as he kissed me on the forehead. “Always quick to jump to the defence of anyone who might be in trouble.”

  “Pity I don’t pick people who are most in need of my fiery help then, isn’t it?” I said miserably. “Tell Mammy I’ll be in. Thank her for the wine and tell her I’ll be eating humble pie as opposed to chicken pie for my dinner.”

  I sat for another few minutes and contemplated the future. Was I always going to wonder what unfortunate traits I had inherited from the person responsible or was I going to do something constructive about it and find out once and for all? I was thirty-four and I knew that time was bound to be running out. I already had some information and would look at it again before I made any fixed decisions but something told me that before too long the answers might just be within my grasp.

  Chapter 5

  I awoke the following morning to the unfamiliar yet hypnotic sound of the sea. I could hear it swishing as it met with the rocks that were situated not far from where I lay, wrapped snugly in a hand-embroidered eiderdown, with Luke snoring gently beside me. I cringed when I thought of my behaviour the evening before. Mammy had been surprisingly forgiving, given the fact that I had embarrassed the life out of her, but she said she had expected me to react in a not altogether rational manner which is why she hadn’t told me in advance. I had acted like a spoilt child who needed to be humoured and felt even worse after speaking to Frankie about it in a hushed late-night phone call the evening before.

  “Maybe we should change your name to Angelica,” she said, referring to her teenage stepdaughter, when I told her what I had done.

  “Don’t say that,” I remonstrated. “Surely I’m not that bad.”

  “No, you’re worse. You’re an adult and you should know better. What do you want – for your mother to turn into a hermit because you don’t like the idea of her having relations with anyone else? Your mother is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, Ruby, and she deserves to be happy.”

  “Okay,” I said contritely.

  Frankie was the only one who could have got away with speaking to me so bluntly but, as our friendship was based on honesty and respect, we had always told each other exactly what we thought. Frankie also had first-hand experience of knowing what it’s like trying to conduct a relationship under the strain of dealing with an unhappy daughter – the not very suitably named Angelica who once upon a time I could have cheerfully strangled for her troublesome behaviour towards Frankie’s relationship with her father. (Pot calling kettle black, anyone?)

  “I feel terrible. What should I do to make it up to her?”

  “Why don’t you suggest taking them out for a meal tonight? Your mammy would enjoy that. She’s always cooking so it’ll be a treat for her to have someone else doing the donkey work for a change.”

  “That’s a good idea actually,” I said thoughtfully. “I hear that the Smugglers’ Inn has a new chef and changed their menu so maybe we’ll go there – they say the hake is out of this world and the monkfish is great too, not that I like fish . . . don’t worry, I’m just talking to myself.”

  “Yet another sign of your madness,” Frankie commented. “It’s understandable that you mightn’t be thrilled, Rubes,” she continued in a softer tone, “but you’ll have to let go of your daddy some day.”

  My eyes had filled with tears. (I don’t cry easily but any mention of my dear departed father had the capacity to turn me into a snotty wreck.)

  “Angelica didn’t fully accept me until she discovered the truth about her mother,” Frankie went on, “and then I didn’t seem so bad. We get on great these days. Still have the occasional row but at least I know it’s just caused by two opinionated hormonally imbalanced women living under the same roof and not because she hates me with a vengeance.”

  I had come off the phone with plenty of food for thought. Perhaps if I did a bit of investigating of my own I wouldn’t be so annoyed about my mother feeling the need to have a companion. Not that anyone could ever come close to Daddy in either her eyes or mine but maybe if I occupied myself with tracing my own background I wouldn’t be so possessive – or rude to her potential suitors.

  I already had all the information I needed hidden away in a box under my bed. Mammy didn’t know it existed; not because I didn’t want to tell her but more because I simply couldn’t tell her. I had gone to the Births, Deaths and Marriages Registry Office in Belfast two days after my eighteenth birthday and had been thrilled to leave with the details I had gone for. They had given me my birth certificate which had named my birth mother and given her address but sadly my joy had been short-lived as less than a week later my daddy had died and I could have died with him from torturing myself with the notion that I had somehow been trying to replace him with someone who hadn’t wanted me in the first place.

  The pub was quiet when we first entered it. I had taken Frankie’s advice and asked Mammy if I could treat them all to dinner as an apology for my behaviour the evening before. I had even made the ginormous, massive, selfless (really really hard) gesture of going back to the old ramshackle shop and personally asking Donal O’Donnell and his father Robbie (AKA Grumpy Slippers) if they would come too. My offer was accepted readily by Donal but I had to say please thirteen times before Robbie would even consider it. (I could just tell the old goat got a kick out of it.)

  The Smugglers’ Inn was beautiful inside with rustic designs and cosy seats that had been arranged to make the large stone fireplace the centre of the room and not the bar. A friendly barman ushered us close to the fire and brought us menus. It was obvious that the recently revised, allegedly improved menu specialised in seafood from the variety of fish that was available to the newly appointed chef, all freshly caught and prepared that day according to the promotional posters around the walls. I sighed and wrinkled my nose at the pungent aroma. (I hated fish with a passion. Karma at its best. Served me right, I supposed.) My mother on the other hand was thrilled and positively delighted (having obviously fallen off the diet wagon yet again) when the waiter asked her to choose her own delicacy and showed her a tank filled with fresh lobsters and crabs.

  “Please tell me you’re not seriously going to eat one of those,” I said as I attempted to control my increasingly disturbed stomach whilst I watched the creatures as they wriggled around with claws and pincers snapping.

  “She doesn’t get out much, God love her,” Mammy told the barman.

  “I get out plenty,” I snarled. “I just don’t believe in feckin cannibalism.”

  “The young are so uncultured,” Mammy said as she pointed to a large black lobster that was nestling to the front of the tank.

  “And the old,” I retorted, “are totally disgusting.” I turned to the waiter. “I don’t suppose you have a field of cows and an abattoir out the back, do you?”

  “No, but I can tell you that our chef prepares his beef dishes with only the purest and finest Irish beef and that the chicken used in our menu comes from farms where the birds are fed corn and treated –”

  “Like their own feckin children until it comes to electrocuting them and cutting their heads off. I’ll have a vegetarian stir-fry, thanks.”

  Luke put his head in his hands and my mother raised her eyebrows and looked at me whilst Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Twat tried to keep straight faces.

  “Whaaaaat?” I asked in exasperation when they all wouldn’t stop gawping.

  After several minutes of awkward silence the locals began to drop in, shouting their usual orders to the barman. They were a mixed bunch, with a crowd of young people dressed to go clubbing at one end of the bar and a group of elderly men in the corner, in for their evening constitutional, discussing the football results and the rising price of tobacco.

  The barman brought us a tray of drinks and I knew that my eyes lit up when I spied my vodka and lime. “Lovely,” I said, taking a mouthful and sighing in contentment.

  “I do believe that came from your toes, Ruby
,” Mammy said, wryly.

  (No kidding – when I was surrounded by complete eejits that liked nothing better than to indulge their caveman side by eating things that had been alive and happily running around a tank five seconds before they ate them.)

  “Why don’t we sit outside after the meal?” I said, for once trying to diplomatically change the subject. “Look, see the tables and chairs and oh my God . . . look at the sea!” I waved for the others to look out at where the tables were positioned to give the onlookers a perfect view of the ocean and the mountains beyond.

  “It’s breathtaking,” whispered Luke to nobody in particular.

  “It’s one of our best features but I suppose we’re used to it so we take it for granted now,” said Donal.

  “Yes, I suppose we’re all guilty of doing that at one time or another,” I answered quickly.

  Mammy was scrutinising me so I thought I’d better make the effort to get on with her boyfriend (there was something so terribly wrong with referring to your sixty-year-old mother as being with her boyfriend).

  “We’ve lived here all our lives but I count my blessings every day I’m alive for the beautiful surroundings I have on my doorstep,” Robbie said quietly.

  I looked at the old man, surprised that he could speak with such passion about anything. He seemed to read my mind, from the look he returned. Then he gruffly asked us to excuse him as he went outside, clutching an old pipe that was held together with a Band-Aid and looked in danger of falling apart.

  “He won’t get a new one,” Donal said as he followed my line of vision. “My mother bought it for him the Christmas before she died and it might as well be made of gold as far as he’s concerned. I know he can be a bit grumpy but that’s more to do with his aching joints than it is anything else.”

  I looked out the window and felt my opinion of the elderly man soften slightly.

  “Hmmm,” Luke said, “some of us are grumpy most of the time lately and our joints are in perfect working order.” His eyes were fixated on me for some reason as I took a large gulp of my drink and grinned back at him whilst letting the alcohol create a warm trail to my stomach and a more relaxed space in my head.

  “Yes, I don’t know where she gets it from,” my mother answered him, jerking me into reality and bringing my thoughts back to what had constantly been in my head for the past few days.

  “Somebody somewhere certainly has a lot to answer for,” Luke said jokingly.

  I smiled at them but knew that it wasn’t reaching my eyes as I felt the familiar flutter of uncertainty penetrate my stomach muscles again. Was I doing the right thing? Should I even be contemplating this course of action at this moment in time or should I leave well enough alone and be content with my lot?

  I looked over at my mother. She seemed very content. She was always happy but this was a different sort of happiness: the kind that is created by the merging of two people who gel together well. She had moved on so perhaps that was my cue to do likewise. I still had the crumpled birth certificate that had been obtained only a short time before my world fell apart and the only difference now was that there was nothing to stop me from pursuing the intentions I’d had all those years ago.

  Chapter 6

  Apparently I had to be undressed and put to bed that night. My mother and Luke discovered (in no uncertain terms) that copious amounts of vodka and a delicate mind were not a good combination. In the space of three hours I had joked, laughed, been loud and raucous then quiet and depressed, before finally bursting into floods of tears and telling anyone who would listen that I wanted my mammy before demanding to know if anyone knew ‘Sheena’.

  “And I was there all the time,” Mammy said as she relayed the details of my (yet again) embarrassing behaviour the next day.

  At this rate it would be a long time before I would be invited back for another trip. In fact the Smugglers’ Inn would probably put up a poster advising people not to approach me as I was dangerous and I would most likely be banned from setting foot in the place in future.

  “Funny the way you want your mammy when you’re upset, isn’t it? It’s just a good job I was on hand to give you all the hugs you needed.”

  I cringed as I listened but didn’t argue. I had a strange suspicion that I had indeed wanted my ‘mammy’ but that it mightn’t have been the one sitting in front of me now.

  “And you kept saying someone’s name. I couldn’t make it out but you went on and on.”

  “Yes, it sounded like Sheena,” Luke said. “Or maybe it was Justina.”

  “Or Helena. Do we know anybody called that?” Mammy asked, her face frowning in concentration. “I don’t think I do. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever met anybody called Helena.”

  At that point I stood up abruptly (too abruptly as it happened) and promptly was sick exactly where I stood.

  “Well, that’s just feckin charming,” Luke said as he surveyed me in horror.

  “That’s the Demon Drink for you,” Mammy said. “Of course there wouldn’t be a problem if people took it in moderation and didn’t behave like animals.”

  By ‘people’ I think my mother was referring to me and the reference to animals was quite fitting as I was currently lying on the floor wailing like a cow in labour and wondering how the hell I was ever going to make the journey home to Swiftstown in time to go to work in the morning.

  “Put her back in bed, Luke. I’ll clean the mess – it’s a good job I’m her mother or I’d find it very difficult.”

  I was finding it feckin difficult. What was with the two-hundred-and-forty-four reminders that she was my mother today? Was the woman telepathic? I wouldn’t be surprised actually. I had often thought it was quite funny really but Mammy was always brilliant at knowing when there was something wrong. She always said that even though we weren’t related by blood I was like an open book to her. Daddy had been good at assessing my moods as well and I always felt a million times better after talking things through with him.

  Oh God, now I was bawling like a banshee and making Mammy and Luke regard each other in concern and dismay.

  “I didn’t know whether you’d approve of my having a male friend or not, Ruby, but I never expected you to carry on like this. Honestly, you’d think I was about to frogmarch him up the aisle and demand that you call him ‘Daddy’.”

  I stopped howling for long enough to laugh (my emotions were changing at a rate of knots and I wasn’t sure if it was due to my hangover or the state of my very confused mind) at the thought of calling Donal O’Donnell ‘Daddy’. Dear God, it was more than I could bear to think about!

  “Now she’s laughing.” It was more of a statement than a question and Luke was starting to look very pissed off.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just the thought of calling Donal O’Donnell ‘Daddy’.”

  “What’s the matter with him?” Mammy demanded, hands on hips.

  “Nothing’s the matter with him, Mammy. Look, we got off on the wrong foot but I think he’s quite nice.” I was loath to admit that I actually meant this and wasn’t saying it to placate her. He was growing on me. A bit like fungus.

  Mammy didn’t look convinced and the two of them continued to glare at me.

  “I’m going to need sunglasses soon if you two don’t stop flashing me looks,” I said peevishly. “I just had an off-night. I’ve a lot in my head.”

  Mammy threw her hands up in the air before pinching Luke on the arm. “I should have realised it sooner. It’s the wedding. She’s stressed out because of the wedding.”

  I feckin well was not. I couldn’t give a stuff.

  “I’m her mother. I was a bride. I should have realised sooner. My poor girl is about to take the ultimate step and I haven’t even asked her about it. I’ve been very selfish. Can you ever forgive me, Ruby?”

  “Forgive you for what exactly, Mother? For not bending my ear about wedding-dress designers, whether or not I wear a veil and what colour of flowers may or may not clash with my hair? It’
s okay. Believe me, when I have Frankie within shouting distance every day it’s a welcome relief. Although I do want you to be involved.”

  “Of course I’ll be involved, darling. You’re my only daughter. How often does one get to be Mother of the Bride?”

  Could she possibly mention that she was my mother any more in the space of an hour? And could I behave any more like a neurotic eejit who had totally lost the plot? Laughing and being sick after leaving the bar dry of alcohol was one thing. But I did not do crying and I had been doing an awful lot of that and there really was no excuse for it. The sooner I got as far away from Smugglers’ Bay as possible the better.

  “Luke, let’s go home,” I said urgently. “I need to get out of here.”

  “And have you barfing at every bump in the road? I think not,” he said with resolve. “I think we’ll wait until your stomach is truly calm and then there’ll be less reason for me to be worried that I might need to get the car upholstery refurbished tomorrow.”

  “You won’t. I promise,” I said flatly but I knew when I was beat. He wasn’t going to budge and it would be an eternity before I could get home to my own cosy bed and even longer before I could lay my hands on the papers containing the information which had been the source of such drunken soul-searching the night before.

  Chapter 7

  “Good time?” Frankie asked me the next morning as I took a huge bite of my bacon buttie in the college canteen.

  “Yeah, bloody brilliant,” I muttered, not wanting to be rude but dying not to talk about the whole saga again for the umpteenth time. Luke had already performed several detailed post mortems on the weekend’s events and was still wondering why I’d turned into a psychopathic emotional wreck.

  “Was it that bad? What’s he like then?”

  “Who?”

  “Your mother’s . . . your mother’s male . . . boy . . . her new friend,” Frankie faltered lamely.

  “My mother’s new bit on the side, fancy piece, toy boy or whatever name you wish to give him, is all right as it happens. I’m not over the moon but, as you all keep telling me, it’s not fair that she should be on her own. I reckon he’s not the worst she could have and he seems to like her a lot so who am I to say anything?”