by Sharon Owens
‘What did you eat?’
‘Can’t remember, but there was a lovely mural on the wall.’ Declan had touched her hand as they waited for coffee. She would always remember the place where they had touched for the first time. Beneath a pretty mural in a French restaurant. How romantic! How perfect!
‘Shirley! We can do this the easy way or the hard way. I’ll ask you again. What did you eat? Beef, chicken or fish? I can’t smell any garlic off you.’
‘Okay. He had breast of chicken with tomatoes and cheese on the top. I had a crab. In the shell! I never ate a crab before. It was heavenly. I’ll never forget it although Morrissey would be very disappointed in me. But I won’t tell him if you won’t. And then we had an assortment of sorbet balls in these pretty little spun-sugar baskets, and then really strong espresso coffee and then some fancy cocktails. Honestly, Kate. It was fantastic.’
‘What sort of cocktails?’ Kate’s lip wobbled with pure jealousy. Trust Shirley to end up in a French restaurant on a first date, while she’d had to endure Alex Stone and his red-hot curry breath.
‘I couldn’t remember what the cocktails were called if my life depended on it,’ said Shirley. ‘We’d had wine by then, you see. They were pink. Or was it the glasses that were pink? There were glacé cherries on little plastic swords. I collected the swords and put them in my pocket. Look. Aren’t they pretty? Pretty colours?’ She showed Kate the little swords. They were transparent, under the kitchen light. Shirley burped a crabby burp, and giggled insanely. Kate had a horrible feeling that Shirley was totally smitten with Declan. Usually Shirley was interested only in Morrissey’s latest single or Bette Davis films, or world politics.
‘Who paid the bill?’
‘Declan paid. He wouldn’t let me chip in. I did offer.’
‘Did he let you know how much it was?’
‘No. He didn’t look at the bill in front of me. He took it up to the counter, still folded.’
‘Smooth operator. Where did you go after that?’
‘A bar. I don’t know the name of the place.’
‘Shirley! You’re doing this on purpose.’ She set the cups on the table and sat down herself. Then she jumped up again to fetch the toast and the butter dish.
‘I’m not, honestly. Some dark little wine bar in Stranmillas. There were real candles on the tables. And modern art pictures on the walls. It was very cosy. Let me see if I can remember the name of the place…’
‘Forget it. Did you kiss him?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Did you?’ Kate was almost in tears with frustration.
‘Not in the wine bar. We talked a lot, though. There was a two-piece band; a girl singing. She was good.’
‘Well, did he put his arm round you?’
‘Afterwards, on the way home, he did.’
‘Where?’
‘Near the park. There was a crowd of fellas coming along the street, making lots of noise. Drunk, I suppose.’
‘What else is new? What happened then?’
‘We were standing beside this big rhododendron bush, and we just nipped into the middle of it until they went past. And we had a little kiss while we were waiting.’
‘Let me get this right. You kissed Declan for the first time in the middle of a tree?’
‘Yes. It’s amazing how much room there is, inside a rhododendron. All the branches open outwards. It’s very beautiful.’ Her fantasy, come to life.
‘That would explain why you have a leaf in the back of your hair. What was it like? Was it good?’ Kate didn’t want to hear that Shirley was in love, but she knew what was coming. It was inevitable. And very unfair when Kate had put so much more effort into the search.
‘There was a lovely scent in the air, some kind of flower, I think. But then, we were near the park,’ Shirley smiled. There was a sickening, faraway look in her eyes.
‘Shirley! I meant the kiss. Did the earth move? Did your insides melt? Were you overcome with lust? Did you want him?’
‘It was a really lovely kiss.’ It was actually so good that it was hard to describe. So sensual, they were both speechless afterwards. Shirley felt so relaxed and sleepy that she fell over a tree root and landed on her back on the ground. (Hence the leaf.)
‘Is he a good kisser? You’re not going to wriggle out of this.’
‘Like I said, he’s really nice. I like him.’
‘Well, don’t be shy. Tell me about it. I want to know. Was he passionate? Smooth? A heavy breather? Did he close his eyes? Did your teeth knock together? I hate that.’
‘You’re very nosy, all of a sudden. I thought you were the man-eater in this house. Why should my humble love life be of any interest to an experienced woman of the world like yourself?’
‘Are you going to tell me about this blasted kiss?’
‘No, I’m not. It’s private.’ Shirley looked up at the clock, calculating how many hours it would be until she saw him again. Kate heaved a huge sigh. This was bad. Very bad.
‘Are you seeing him again?’ she asked, after a moment.
‘Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.’
‘When?’
‘We’re going to the cinema tonight.’
‘That’s a bit keen, Shirley. You should have made him wait a few days.’
‘Oh, Kate! I’m not playing games with Declan. I really like him, and he seems to like me for some reason, and if it works out, then that’s great. And if it doesn’t, well, I’ll get over it as best I can. I’ve decided it’s better to love and lose, than never to love at all.’
‘That’s a very modern approach, I must say.’
‘It’s my approach. It feels right.’
‘Now, Shirley, you aren’t going to get serious with him, are you?’
‘What do you mean, Kate?’
‘You’re too young to get serious. You’ll make a fool of yourself.’
‘I’ve told you. I’m going to go with my instincts on this. No games. No rules. No leading him on, no telling him lies. I don’t care if he has rich parents, or good prospects, or a fancy car. Okay? I just like being with him.’
‘Okay, keep your hair on. I just don’t want you getting involved too soon, and ending up with a broken heart. You’re only a kid.’
‘I’ll take my chances. Now, I’m going to lie down before I fall down. Goodnight, Kate.’
‘Goodnight, Shirley.’
Kate watched her sister traipse happily up the stairs, and then she poured herself another cup of tea. She was not pleased about this latest development in Shirley’s life. Shirley getting all precious about a guy? After just one date? Kate had dated countless men in the last fifteen years, and she had never felt the way Shirley seemed to be feeling tonight. She’d kissed rich men who owned high-performance cars, poor boys on the dole, a married man from Bangor, cool guys who were in local rock bands. She’d had flings with men from both sides of the religious divide, with a black student from Queen’s University, with an American tourist who’d worked for a while in their favourite pizza parlour. She’d dated a policeman from Lisburn, and a teenager who had a criminal record for riotous behaviour. And, if she was perfectly honest with herself, she’d never, not even once, felt that she was falling in love. She cared more about her handbags. Kate began to panic. She couldn’t possibly allow Shirley to go falling in love either.
The ticking of the orange plastic clock seemed very loud to Kate. She boiled the kettle again and rinsed the teapot under the tap. There was no point going to bed yet. She would not be able to sleep for hours.
Upstairs, brushing her teeth, Shirley was thanking her lucky stars that it was raining that evening. She was sure her fantasies of sleeping with Declan were about to become a reality. Declan had beautiful, soft lips and was a very good kisser indeed. So good, that had the ground been dry and soft, instead of wet and muddy, she might have lost her virginity inside a large rhododendron bush, at the gates of the Botanic Gardens. And it wasn’t frightening at all. Not one little bit.
Kate was no good at being unemployed. The days were long and empty. Several weeks in, and countless interviews later, and she still had not found work. She was too proud to do menial jobs but not well-enough qualified for a well-paid white-collar position. There was nothing worth watching on television, and it only took her three days to colour-coordinate her wardrobe. Her parents tried to be kind, but it made Kate feel even worse. Every time she ventured into the kitchen for a snack, they started on her. Her mother said not to worry about the silly old job, it was time she had a proper career. One that she would actually enjoy. One that would pay a decent wage, and she could buy a car and give her mother a lift to the supermarket occasionally.
Her father argued that some young women only went out to work and put a brave face on things, because they hadn’t managed to nab themselves a husband. Who, in their right mind, would want some supervisor standing over them, when they could be sitting pretty in their own little place? Kate would be too old to have babies soon. She was a great-looking girl, there was no need for her to go to work at all. She should forget about college and get herself a man. Why not give that nice Kevin McGovern a call? He was asking after her, only the other day, in the newsagent’s. He might still be interested.
Her mother was full of doubt about that scenario, and told her to do no such thing. Kate could stay at home for the rest of her life, if she wanted to, she said. Motherhood was a tough role, she told Kate. She didn’t think she was cut out for it. She was too soft and spoilt. There were no crystal chandeliers in the maternity ward, she explained. Oh no. Red roses and moonlight sonatas counted for nothing there. Kate couldn’t expect any sympathy from the busy doctors and nurses. Just pain and suffering and stitches, and very sore bits Down Below.
‘Don’t be putting her off childbirth, woman,’ scolded Mr Winters. ‘It’s all over with, in a day or two.’
‘Huh! Easy for you to say!’ she declared. ‘Kate, do you want to know where this boy was, the day you came into the world?’
‘No.’ Kate was trying to make a sandwich, and trying even harder not to think of her mother’s lower regions spread-eagled on a hospital trolley.
‘Martha, don’t,’ pleaded her husband. ‘Not again.’
‘He was filling his face with beer in the pub when half a dozen medical students were gawping at my modesty!’ she said, pointing at her husband.
‘How many times are you going to bring this up? That wasn’t my fault. You went into labour early,’ he said. ‘Kate, she went into labour early.’
‘It was your fault, Michael. I had to move that wardrobe myself because you had to go and watch a football match with your boozy mates.’ She was shouting now.
‘What the hell were you moving furniture for, at eight months pregnant, woman? I didn’t know you were going to move the bloody wardrobe!’
‘I was dusting the rooms for the baby coming. Somebody had to do it! The visiting nurses are trained to look for dust.’
‘Not behind the wardrobes, they aren’t. They just want to make sure you aren’t breeding dangerous dogs in the baby’s cot. They would never have looked for dust behind a wardrobe.’
‘A girl should be married by the time she’s twenty, never mind thirty,’ Mrs Winters ranted on, pointing at Kate’s head. ‘Before she’s had a chance to get to know anything better. How can she settle down, now, when she’s been gallivanting all this time? Off to Portugal with the girls every summer. She’s had a life of ease and freedom. She can’t even cook, for heaven’s sake!’
‘She can learn to cook, you daft woman!’ shouted Mr Winters. ‘It’s only peeling a few spuds, for God’s sake! Slapping a bit of steak on the pan. How could she go wrong?’ He spread his arms out wide in desperation.
‘Our Kate? Peeling potatoes? That’ll be the day! And by the way, I hope you aren’t trying to say housework is easy, because if you are, you’re WRONG! You’re a typical man.’
‘Excuse me,’ cried Kate. ‘You can stop talking about me like I’m not here. Jesus H! And don’t ever mention your modesty again, Mum. You’re putting me off my food. Talking about stitches.’ Kate pushed her plate away. She was going to have to get a job soon. Just to get away from these two lunatics. Cleaning out the city sewers with a toothpick would be more fun than putting in a full day with her mad parents. Even if she did love them both with all her heart.
‘Look, there’s no stigma attached to being an old maid, these days,’ said Mrs Winters to her eldest daughter. ‘No shame at all, being single and childless at twenty-nine. Shirley will give us the grandchildren, I’m sure of that.’
‘Talk sense, Mum. Have you been at the cooking sherry, the day? Shirley’s too quiet to be messing about with lads.’ Well, up until now, she was too quiet.
‘It’s the quiet ones you have to watch,’ said Mr Winters, wisely. He winked at Kate, and pointed at his wife’s back. Kate giggled.
‘Stop pointing at my back!’ snapped Mrs Winters.
‘I’m not pointing at your old back.’
‘I know rightly, you are. Would you go into the front room and read the paper,’ scolded his wife. ‘You’re making the kitchen look untidy.’
‘I like them feisty,’ he said, before scuttling down the hall in his old cardigan, like a big, woolly beetle.
Kate sulked in her bedroom for the rest of the day, only coming out to make a mug of hot chocolate, or to get a read of the evening paper. There were no jobs in it that she liked the sound of. Her father told her he could pull some strings for her in Casualty. There was a cleaning job going, if she thought she could handle the sight of blood. There were always a few broken bones at the weekend. Maybe a shooting or two. Kate refused to even dignify his suggestion with a reply. When her birthday arrived in October, she refused to open her birthday cards, so Shirley opened them for her. And the chocolate cake her mother presented to her after dinner, with thirty pink candles blazing on the top of it, made Kate’s neck stiffen up with fear. Kate’s friends were planning a birthday bash for her in Hogan’s, and they said if she didn’t turn up they would land round to the house and carry her there themselves. Kate tried to get out of it by telling them she was not speaking to Alex. There was no sign of Standing Stone, they told her, so that was all right. Sunny Jim told them he was working in a rough place near the docks for a while, until his court case was over. He would be off the scene for three months, at least. Louise Lowry, however, was still on the warpath, but they would make sure that Kate was not left alone in the ballroom. She would have plenty of support if Louise came over looking for a punch-up. Shirley and Kate avoided the newsagent’s, and its one-eyed shop assistant with her brick-like hands, just in case. The birthday bash went ahead and it was a washout. (Kate didn’t get a man.) Shirley spent all night dancing with Declan. Even when the slow songs came on, and DJ Toni did his sleaze-merchant heavy-breathing routine, they just laughed and went on dancing cheek to cheek. Kate was left sitting at the table, drinking vodka until her head swam.
Kevin McGovern was there, in a white suit and black shirt this time, but he didn’t come over to ask her to dance. Kate smiled at him. He was wearing a metallic silver tie. A dance with Kevin was better than nothing, she reasoned. But Kevin thought that Kate was just being polite. After all, the first time he had tried to chat Kate up, she’d left him dancing with Shirley and then ran out of Hogan’s in tears. He thought he would play it cool for a while. Play hard to get. He walked around the ballroom, nodding his head to the music, trying to look like an easygoing sex symbol. Let Kate Winters get a good look at the merchandise, he thought.
When December eventually arrived, Kate had been jobless for twelve weeks, and the bills were piling up on her bedside table. Shirley lent her fifty pounds but that was just a drop in the bucket. And Kate couldn’t tell her family the truth about her debts because she had lied to them for years about the true cost of her purchases.
‘This top?’ she would say. ‘A fiver in Pri
mark.’ When really it was forty pounds from a designer store. ‘This perfume? Three pounds in the market.’ Not true. Thirty pounds from Chanel. And so on. The chickens had come home to roost – was that the saying?
She was thirty years old, and felt every day of it. She felt ancient, over the hill. Was it legal to wear short skirts when you were thirty, she wondered. Or would people call you ‘mutton dressed as lamb’? Did people still go to discos when they were thirty? To make matters worse, Shirley was wittering on about her precious boyfriend all the time. ‘What should I buy him for Christmas?’ she asked Kate, ten times a day. Kate suggested a white stick and a guide dog, and her mother slapped her on the arm.
‘Make yourself useful,’ she said. ‘Go and get a nice tree for the front room, and get some new decorations while you’re at it. Shirley is bringing her young man home to meet us at seven o’clock.’
‘Why can’t she do it? If it’s for her boyfriend? And it’s only the second of December. It’s too soon for a fresh tree.’
‘You have nothing else to do, you big idle lump! Go on. Get an artificial tree.’ Mrs Winters snapped off the television and jabbed her thumb towards the front door. ‘And get some mince pies and turkey slices. And a pot of cranberry sauce for the sandwiches. And fancy Christmas napkins as well. And check the fairy lights are working. We might need a new set. And –’ But the front door had already banged shut. Kate was furious that she was reduced to running errands for Shirley’s benefit. She would pick the worst tree in Belfast, and the tackiest decorations of all time. She would hang everything on one side of the tree, and pull the wings off the angel. And she would buy ham slices and strawberry jam instead of turkey and cranberry sauce. And plain pink napkins.
When the tree was finally switched on that afternoon, it was a total mess. Kate ran up to her bedroom in fits of hysterical laughter. In fact, she laughed so hard, she fell halfway up and accidentally tore off a small piece of the wallpaper. She threw herself down on her bed, on top of a pile of unpaid bills and laughed until her sides were sore. Now Declan Greenwood would know what kind of family he was getting involved with. A bunch of working-class idiots who couldn’t even hang a few balls on a Christmas tree properly.