“Then,” Zoë said, “Let's go up! Up! Farther up the street! To the butcher's on the Diamond! My butcher's! Riddell & Son! You'll get married there! We can pull the shutters down if they happen to make it that far!”
Padraig cheered as a rock clunked against Mrs. Mulholland's head. And ahead of him, the wedding crowd heaved themselves further up Shipquay Street.
CHAPTER 39
“Me name's Dymphna Riddell!” the bride slurred into the faces of everyone she saw or thought she saw. “Me name's Dymphna bloody Riddell! And I just had a flimmin ace fecking wedding!”
Yes, a flimmin ace fecking wedding it had been, if you overlooked the racks of lamb, loins of pork and ribs of beef hanging behind Father Steele's head, and the clanking of the meat hooks as he recited the blessing, the stained aprons of the butcher staff that Zoe demanded act as ushers and ensure everyone found a place inside to fit, the sniggers of Rory's soccer mates over by the pheasants and Cornish hens, the near hypothermia of those guests relegated to watch the ceremony from the walk-in freezer in the back, the air tinged with freshly-spilled blood. But Dymphna's and Rory's self-written vows of love and dedication (Dymphna's purloined from various Beyoncé ballads she was fond of and cobbled together) brought a tear to Zoe's, to Ursula's, to Maureen's eyes, and when they kissed over the special mince and Doherty's sausages, the roars and applause drowned out the bangs from the shutter from the very few of Bridie's brigade who had finally made it that far up Shipquay Street.
Zoe had arranged a fleet of taxis to shuttle everyone across the Craigavon Bridge to the swanky country club events room, and now here they were. Fionnuala had snatched the bouquet as it sailed through the air straight for Maire's fingers. Then the four courses had been wolfed down, Siofra's cake roared with laughter at, given a standing ovation, and gobbled with glee, and it seemed that after the unveiling of that marvel of a cake, the mood of the party, which had started tentative, over-polite, as the two factions, the Riddells' Protestants, the Floods' Catholics struggled to feel comfortable with each other, shifted slightly. Ties were loosened, high heels slipped off under the table as the drink overflowed glasses and mouths. Now it was in danger of teetering out of control.
“Mambo No. 5” was blaring from the speakers for the second time. Arms flailed, legs kicked, jackets were flung off, dresses hiked up, shoulder straps tugged down, hoots, yelps and roars of delight rang out, accountants frugged with shop assistants, the middle class and the working class becoming one; many would find a surprise on the adjacent pillow when they pried their eyes open the next morning. The smoking section had steadily crept indoors, the bartenders tossed away empty after empty, and everyone was glowing with delight and drink. Almost.
At a table piled with dirty plates and bowls in a corner between the kitchen door and the hallway to the loos sat Ursula. Her handbag was on the table before her. Her handbag with the empty coin purse inside. Useless. Jed appeared out of the clouds of smoke and the field of revolving disco lights which were causing Ursula grief, and he made his way to her through the overturned chairs and table cloths scattered on the floor. He had a glass of something in his hand. He sat down. There were plenty of empty chairs around Ursula to choose from. He took her hand and nuzzled it.
“It's great Dymphna's not dead, honey, isn't it? A cause for celebration!”
Ursula thought through the chorus of the song. He wondered for a moment she hadn't heard him, but then she said, “That be's the problem, but. With all them aul women hauled away by the coppers as they was, and wer Dymphna not only alive, but a bride to boot, now we're surrounded by happiness, and it makes me even the more miserable. And the drink isn't helping me.” She looked at her almost empty glass of white zinfandel. She sighed. “So here we sit. Here. And everyone else be's over there.”
She nodded in the direction of the dance floor and watched as a roar went up from the crowd at a new song from the DJ's turntable. She watched their joy for a moment, then turned to Jed.
“What's this song called? Tragedy, I suppose, as they keep singing it. 'Tragedy! Tragedy!' Ha!” It was a bitter little laugh. “Tragedy. Now the tragedy's passed, or, more to the point, now we've sussed there wasn't one in the first place, it's odd. When I thought wer Dymphna was gone, when I thought she had taken that drugs overdose and was no longer of this world, I felt a part of me was missing. Now, but, there she is, no, Jed, over there, there, dear, by the punch bowl. Ye see her now ? Laughing and dancing away, not a care in the world, even though her lovely frock be's ripped the whole way up her left thigh and her knickers be's showing on that side and she be's covered with grime and filth and seeds and whatnot from them madwomen. There she is, living and enjoying herself, and with the best part of her life stretching out before her, all the exciting years still to come, though she's saddled already with two wanes nobody's a clue who the father is, and another on the way, and the shame of a Proddy bastard husband to live down. Och, don't look at me like that, Jed. That's not how I feel. Rory's a lovely lad. Right civil, he was to me, at the dinner, and giving me his helping of croquettes and all. That's how many in this town will feel about him, but. For all Dymphna's life with him. And even with all that, she's happy.” As if on cue, the opening bars of “Happy” rang out from the speakers. “Now Dymphna's alive and happy, aye I can see that, and I'm happy for her. But I feel a part of me's still missing.”
Jed didn't know where to look or what to say. Ursula folded and unfolded a napkin. And folded it again.
“All me life, Jed, family was all what mattered. That and singing in the choir, I suppose. And the odd game of bingo. Wer own wanes is gone now, have families of their own, and it was ye and me and them, Paddy and Fionnuala and their wanes, here in Derry after ye retired. Then they chased us away. So now I've you. And Slim and Louella, and Muffins and all, I understand. But really there's only you. Now me's family turned me back on me, ye're all I have. Why, Jed, do ye have to gamble all the time? Is it the excitement? Is life with me so boring? Am I not enough for ye?” It was the white zinfandel, making her maudlin, but these were thoughts rising from deep in her brain, thoughts that had been simmering in her subconscious. “A thousand of those dollars ye frittered away in yer madness on the flight over was from me bingo win of the other day, the special Stamp and Four Corners jackpot, ye mind? And ye mind how happy we was then, dancing on top of em in the scullery with Muffins nipping at wer feet? Doesn't that be enough for ye, Jed? Am I not enough? I don't belong here anymore, and I feel I don't belong with ye anymore. What's left for me?”
“Honey...” Tears welled in Jed's eyes. He took her by the hand. His voice shook as he spoke. “When I'm in front of one of those damn machines, all I see is the numbers. Some of the slots don't even call the money I'm putting in dollars. They call them credits. And that's all I see. Numbers. Credits. I don't think of it as real money.”
“I've something to tell ye Jed. It is real money. Real money we've now not got. Real money we worked hard for, well, that you worked hard for. Aye, a lot of it's yer pension, but think of all them years ye slogged away in the navy. And the rest be's from the store and the beef jerky. How hard ye've worked. And to just toss it all away like that!”
Jed's eyes were shining, she didn't know if it was from tears welling, as he leaned in towards her and said, “Remember the investor told me I had to go to Gamblers' Anonymous? That it was a condition of the deal? I know they're going to investigate that during due diligence. They'll want to see if I've self-excluded myself from all the casinos in Wisconsin. And I think that's what was going through my mind on the plane. It was my last chance. My last chance to ever strike it rich on a slot machine. Once we get that check for $150,000, I was thinking, I can never go back. I can never gamble again, never strike it big. That's what I was thinking. But I lost. Everything. That chance is over. Let's hope Gambler's Anonymous can help me turn a corner. And...about your family...I hate to hear you talking like that Ursula, like you're so alone. I love you. So you're not alone. And
I think a corner has been turned. Paddy seems to be sticking up for you, and Dymphna and Lorcan too. And the kids have always been happy to see you, no matter what was going on between you and their parents. The only one, the only hold out, seems, uh, seems to be...”
As if on cue, they jumped at a ruckus over by the bar.
“C'mon, youse! Sing along with me!” Fionnuala brayed into the air, grabbing whatever arms she could, most of which were trying to race in the opposite direction. “Groove is in the he...ea...ea...ea..ea...eart!” She had hitched her skirt up, and her legs were attempting a bizarre, drunken can can, an affront to the eye and common decency. “Groove is in the heart! C'mon youse wankers! Sing along with me! Dance along with me, won't youse?! Groove is in the he...ea...”
Ursula shuddered. She threw down the napkin. “I thought I could put me anger at ye on hold until we got to the end of the funeral at least, until we made them calls to the States and got us a loan of the money from someone to put some on wer cards. But then the funeral became a wedding. And the more the laughter rings out around me, the more I'm raging at ye Jed. And me anger gets stronger and stronger. I wanny shout abuse at ye, I wanny throttle ye, I wanny, I wanny...” Jed sat before her with his head bowed in shame, ready to take anything she said to him. “How could ye do it?” Ursula wailed in incomprehension. “How?! Now we're stranded here in Derry. Stranded! Like two aul alkies or two aul druggies. Like Randaleen and her man. I scrubbed me skin raw in that shower this morning, and still I feel the filth clinging to me flesh. Where are we gonny rest wer heads tonight? Not that shelter again! How can we get the money together for to pay for the bus to the airport? Hitchhike? At wer age? That flimmin bus, sure, costs 20 quid for each of us. Strange how it seemed like nothing on the way here. Now it seems a fortune.”
“But...I asked Paddy! He said we could sleep at their place. Didn't I tell you?”
Ursula looked at Jed for a long time. Again. Her lips were tight.
“With Fionnuala laughing down at me sleeping body stretched out on her settee?”
“But...it's better than the homeless shelter!”
“I don't know about that.” She moaned as she placed her hand on her forehead. “Och, me head be's banging! I'm that full of the stress of it all, I've been shoveling the painkillers down me throat like Smarties.” She grabbed her handbag, it seemed much lighter now, but that really couldn't be true, and rummaged through it. “And now I'm all outta Tylenol. The Tylenol I bought back when we had the funds to buy things. The Tylenol I kyanny afford no more. Because money was just numbers to ye on the screen of a slot machine.”
“I'll ask Paddy for a loan.”
“No, ye will not. I'll never live down the mortification. Fionnuala will never let me live it down until me dying day. Wer only hope be's calling wer wanes or yer brother or Louella. Och, I feel me head's gonny split open! I need to find some painkillers! And quick!”
“There's a 24-hour drug store, or whatever you call them here, a chemist's, across the street. I saw it when we were coming in.”
He shrank back from Ursula's look.
“And just how am I meant to buy them? Or do ye want me to waltz in and shoplift em? Though, to tell ye the truth, a night banged up in the cop shop might be preferable to the shelter or Fionnuala's settee.”
Jed looked on the chair behind his wife.
“There's someone's purse,” he said. And now his eyes glinted with a bit of mischief. “I'm sure the paracetamol will only cost a pound, one of those little packs of two. We don't we just...slip our hand in there and take out a pound coin?”
Ursula was scandalized.
“Jed!” she gasped. “So this is how quickly them what doesn't have money turns to a life of crime! Is that what ye're telling me we ought to do now? Now we're Bonnie and Clyde, are we?”
Jed was smiling. “Remember that movie? Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway? They were sexy!”
Ursula struggled to hide the smile growing on her own face. She turned to face the handbag, then turned back to Jed, and now her eyes were dancing, though she still had a look of affront on her face, and a bit of shock.
“It's Fionnuala's bag,” she said.
Jed raised his eyebrows.
“She certainly owes you. Us.”
Ursula giggled.
“Och, Jed, I kyanny! Sure, it be's one of the ten commandments! Thou Shalt Not Steal! And me singing every Sunday in the choir, like.”
“Yeah, but the Lord helps those...”
Their heads came closer as they shared a laugh. Ursula pressed her hand on Jed's arm.
“It does only be the one pound, for the love of God,” she considered.
“I'll do it,” Jed said, decided up.
“Naw!” Ursula said. She pushed him down. “I'll do it. I can always mail her one pound anonymously when we get that money put on wer cards. Stick a wee envelope through the letter box.” She smiled at the thought. “She'll wonder about it for years! The one pound coin addressed to her! With a wee note, Ta For Relieving Me Headache.”
Jed laughed. Ursula looked around furtively. The partying masses were paying them no mind. She and Jed had been forgotten on the edge of the dance floor.
“Go on, Bonnie,” Jed said.
Ursula laughed. “Right ye are, Clyde.”
She leaned over, the cross dangling from her neck, and reached the straps of the purse. She dragged it across the seat and sat it in her lap. She pulled across the zipper. Jed watched her. She slipped her hand inside. She rummaged around.
“Och, the light here be's terrible, so it is! I kyanny see a thing! I've to find her coin purse...”
Her fingers fiddled through the morass that was Fionnuala's handbag. Lipsticks, loo roll, a call-as-you-go-phone, Top Yer Trolly coupons, rosary beads, a clunky can of something...
Ursula shrieked and jerked her hand back.
“Dear God! What was that?”
Jed was taken aback.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“It felt like...something human. In foil.”
She peered into the dark interior, but couldn't see anything. She tugged out the can of Heavy Duty Yeuch-B-Gone and placed it on the table.
“Over cleaner?” Jed said. “What the heck?! Why would she carry...?”
Just as Ursula's fingers delved back in, as they were dreading what horrid thing they might uncover when they unwrapped the foil, if fingers could dread, “Auntie Ursula! Auntie Ursula! C'mon and dance with me, would ye?” the shadows of Siofra, Maureen and Lorcan darkened the table.
Ursula yelped, her hand frozen inside the bag.
“C'mere,” Maureen said, “doesn't that be Fionnuala's handbag?”
“Aunt Ursula!” Lorcan barked with a drunken laugh. “Don't tell me yer that hard up?”
“N-naw,” Ursula said, though she felt her cheeks burn as she looked up at them. “It's just that...that...”
She tugged out the thing wrapped in foil as Paddy staggered up.
“What's going on here?” he asked. “A reunion of some sort?” He sounded happy as he said it.
The foil crinkled in Ursula's fingers as she unwrapped it. Six heads bent down to inspect it. Ursula heaved a sigh of relief. It was only—
“A spud?” Paddy asked. “Where did ye unearth that from?”
“It's from Mammy's purse!” Siofra said.
“And this oven cleaner,” Jed said, picking up the can. “Why would your wife...?”
“Och, sure, that's what Mammy does with the scran sometimes,” Siofra said. “I was gonny do it to me wedding cake and all. Spray it all over, like. Granny wouldn't let me, but. I had a different tin. I think Mammy thinks it makes the food shiny. That must be why she does it.”
Ursula was inspecting the potato.
“I was that heartscared at what it might be, and now it's only a regular spud. It seems, but, like it's been...treated in some manner.”
All looked on, squeamish, as Ursula brought it up to her nose.
�
��Wile chemically, its smells.”
She looked up at the faces around her as if they might have the answer. It was Maureen who gasped first. And gripped her cane tightly and plopped down on a chair, heaving and clutching at her chest as if the coronary were moments away.
“I knew it!” she said. “Lorcan, sit down, lad. I've something to tell ye! You and all, Paddy. And Siofra, as ye're here, ye may as well be party to it and all.”
“What are ye on about, woman?” Paddy asked. But they all sat as instructed and pulled their chairs around Maureen.
“Ye know them mystery illnesses ye've been beset by, Lorcan?”
“Aye, Granny.”
“Well, I think, naw, now I know them all be's down to yer mammy. Wer Siofra there saw yer mammy spraying something on yer ham hocks that one night of the godawful curry. And that's when all yer pains started.”
“Oven cleaner, but!” Paddy roared. He grabbed the can and threw it on the ground. “Is the woman mental?”
Jed nodded. “Sounds like it to me,” he said. He was the closest thing they had to an objective observer.
The drunkness was quickly seeping from Lorcan's eyes.
“The bitch! She didn't want me to leave!”
“What's going on?” Siofra asked wide-eyed. “I don't understand.”
“Nor should ye,” Ursula said, placing her hands over Siofra's ears. “Somethings is best for wanes not to hear.” She turned to her brother. “Paddy, I think—”
But he was gone, lost in the tangle of arms and legs on the dance floor.
“FIONNUALA?!” they heard him roar over the third playing of Mambo No. 5. “Where are ye, ye lunatic? Ye flimming fecking madwoman!”
Ursula zipped Fionnuala's handbag back up. Jed picked up the can. They placed the evidence on the table next to the pile of dirty plates.
CHAPTER 40
The TV was off for once. They were all jammed into the front room, Paddy, Maureen, Jed, Seamus, Padraig and Siofra. And the victim, Lorcan. Dymphna and Ursula were standing together. Ursula kept clutching her niece, as if she still doubted her flesh and bones were of this world.
Best Served Frozen (The Irish Lottery Series Book 4) Page 40