Jumping in Puddles

by Claire Allan

  But with every incident she remembered her part in it. She couldn’t pretend to be innocent. That night – the first night he had hit her across the face – she had known his temper was flaring. She had seen it from the minute he walked in the door and yet she had pushed him. And she knew, as soon as it was over, that his remorse was genuine. As she had soothed him and he told her he was sorry, he added that she had pushed him over the edge.

  “You need to back off a little, Ruth,” he’d said later when he had calmed down. “You don’t realise how much you can be in my face. You need to give me some space.”

  From then on, it had just got worse – the list of things that Ruth hadn’t realised before James pointed them out to her got longer. She hadn’t realised she nagged him too much, or that she wasn’t that good a cook. She hadn’t realised how she spoke too much in the evenings when he was tired, or how she didn’t look half as good as she had when they first met.

  He loved her, despite these faults, and she loved him despite his. His temper was something she would have to live with. For better or worse.

  She had accepted it and it wasn’t as if they were never happy again. He had been delighted when Thomas was born – a proud father of a son. For a while things had been wonderful. Their little family of four seemed to make James happier than he had ever been and he showered Ruth with affection. He’d tell her he loved her and would even do the occasional night feed for his son.

  The cracks reappeared when Thomas hit his toddler years and grew into the most affectionate child Ruth could have ever hoped for. A real mammy’s boy, he would climb on her knee and smother her in kisses while he shunned James’s offer to go out and play football or go and see the diggers up on one of the farms. No, Thomas was much happier reading with Ruth or doing jigsaw puzzles at the kitchen table.

  It broke Ruth’s heart to see the sadness in her husband’s eyes when Thomas ran to her arms instead of to him, but her sympathy was soon tested when he started to take his frustrations out on her.

  The only saving grace was that he never took it out on the children. Sure, now that she thought about it, there was a stage when he simply stopped trying to involve Thomas in everything, but he never lost his temper with them, or hit them. That was reserved for her and in a strange way she respected him for that.

  But she couldn’t really relax when they were in his company without her. She liked to always be there – to act as a buffer – literally – for his bad moods and much as she was sure that he wouldn’t act up in front of his new woman, she wasn’t sure that if he did Laura would have the same loyalty to her children as she had.

  * * *

  Ruth broke into a rousing chorus of “We’re Off to See the Wizard” as the bus sped out of Rathinch and towards the bright lights of Derry. She was going to enjoy this – if it killed her, and the way she felt right now she thought it might just do that.

  “Are you okay?” Niamh asked as the singing finished and Detta started to tell a ghost story.

  “I’m not sure,” Ruth said with a half smile, “but I’m determined to at least pretend I am.”

  26

  As far as nights out went, this wasn’t the worst, Liam thought as he drove the bus to Derry. Poppy’s eyes had been alight with excitement all evening and it had done him good to see her so happy. He hadn’t seen such sustained happiness in his daughter since Laura had walked out. It was funny, he thought, that he craved his wife back but yet at the same time could be so angry with her for the hurt she was causing, intentionally or otherwise, to their daughter.

  Although he hadn’t dressed up – and had no intention of ever doing so – he didn’t feel like a spare part. If the notion took him, he might even join in the singing in a wee while, although he couldn’t imagine being as tuneful as the ladies.

  By the time they reached Derry, the children were at fever pitch. Even baby Ella – who hadn’t the first notion what was going on – was bouncing up and down like a hyper bumblebee. Poppy had been playing with her most of the way up the road but once they entered Derry and were surrounded by hordes of people walking through the streets in weird and wonderful costumes, they had all become transfixed looking out the window.

  “Oh look, it’s a Ghostbuster!”

  “Look, Daddy, Scooby Doo!”

  “Did you ever see the like of that before?”

  “Mammy, Mammy, it’s Bob the Builder! Do you think it’s the real Bob the Builder? Do you, Mammy?”

  “God, she must be frozen dressed liked that!”

  Liam smiled as he listened to the banter, but preferred to keep his eyes on the road. With zombies and Teletubbies at every turn he wanted to make sure he didn’t cause a Hallowe’en Night Massacre.

  Pulling into the car park close to the Guildhall, he wrapped his coat around him and persuaded a reluctant Poppy to do the same.

  “But Dorothy doesn’t have a coat, Daddy,” she protested, her bottom lip protruding.

  “Yes, but we’re not in Kansas any more, pet, and it’s freezing here – so unless you want to get sick you need to put a coat on.”

  Reluctantly she agreed and Liam sighed in relief. Another crisis averted. As they entered the Guildhall Square the sound of cheering rang in their ears.

  “Jaysus, what a crowd,” he said to Detta, whose eyes were as animated as Poppy’s.

  “Isn’t it great?” she smiled back, pushing her way through the crowds so that her little band of Loonies could follow. Liam had to admit he was impressed with the effort she’d gone to. Her emerald-green suit, with long flowing skirt and frockcoat, hugged her curves wonderfully. Her blonde curls were piled on her head, odd tendrils falling here and there and her green eyes were shining brightly. She looked alive and vibrant and, he admitted to himself, extremely attractive.

  There was a band on stage leading the crowd in a sing-song and Liam looked at the crowds of families out enjoying themselves – sons on proud daddies’ shoulders, mammies wiping noses and encouraging their daughters to dance like mad things. Liam looked at his friends and saw each of them trying to get into the same spirit, but each was aware, he realised, that something – or someone – was missing from their lives.

  Detta looked at him and, he thought, it was as if she could read his mind.

  “It’s okay to find this a little difficult,” she said. “But just look at Poppy and how much she is enjoying it and try to be grateful for the small stuff, eh?”

  She gave his hand a reassuring rub and in that minute he felt a flutter of contentment. He wanted to hug her – just to feel the warmth of someone else near him – and thank her for understanding. But then, of course, he remembered he was a big hulk of a Donegal man and it would do no good to fall apart and beg for a hug. He settled for the warmth of the handrub and looked at his daughter and pushed all grumpy feelings aside.

  “The fireworks will be starting soon,” Niamh smiled.

  Liam lifted his daughter up on his shoulders and carried her as close to the stage as he could.

  “Are you ready to see some magic?” he asked.

  “Oh yes, I sure am,” she replied as a bright red firework shot through the sky, popping and fizzing and shattering into a thousand tiny stars which rained down over the River Foyle and garnered a chorus of “Ooohs” and “Aaahs” from the assembled crowds.

  It was followed by a shooting star of gold and silver, which burst and cascaded down in the night sky like a gorgeous weeping-willow tree. Liam couldn’t help it. He shouted “Wow!” louder than he intended because it was nothing short of a wow moment.

  When the display was over, and they danced themselves silly, they crowded – tired and grinning – back into the mini-bus where Detta produced flasks of tea and hot chocolate. She delved into her large bag and pulled out a variety of cookies as well and they sat there, staring over the river and having their snack. This woman put Mary Poppins to shame. Liam had never seen anyone as organised at anything before in his life.

  “This has been the best
Hallowe’en ever,” Poppy said with a yawn.

  “Oh, you can’t be getting sleepy yet,” he told her. “Ruth has games planned back at home. Come on, little lady, the party isn’t over yet!”

  “But, Daddy, it’s past my bedtime. Am I really allowed to stay up late?” she asked, wide-eyed.

  “It’s a special occasion and of course you can.”

  “Yes!” she said, punching the air and turning to the twins, who were smeared in cookie all over their dressing-up costumes, and told them proudly she could stay up late as she was a big girl.

  “Can Connor and Rachel come to the party too?” she asked.

  Niamh smiled. “They’ll be tired soon, but we’ll see.”

  “Daddy,” Poppy said, hopping onto her seat, “I like your new friends. They are much more fun than Mummy.”

  If any of the other passengers on the bus heard that comment they chose to ignore it and for that Liam was grateful.

  “Yes, we’re having fun, aren’t we, darling?”

  “We are having the best fun I ever had in my whole life. This has been my bestest Hallowe’en ever!” Poppy rested her head against his back and kissed him before returning to her seat and letting him continue with the drive back to Rathinch.

  Of course, by now, it had gone nine and he would never usually let Poppy stay up this late but he could see from the glint in her eye that she was much too excited to even think about going to sleep.

  He didn’t really fancy going home to a quiet house anyway and was looking forward to the rest of the evening. When the children were finally worn out, Ruth had promised to open a bottle of wine and share some adult time. She had even warned Detta that no notebooks were to be brought out and that this was purely to be a bit of fun. Detta had put her hands up in surrender and said she was looking forward to the wine as much as the next person. Liam smiled at the memory. Damn him, he had smiled at least four times tonight. It was strange feeling even a little happy – but he liked the happiness too. It had been a long time since he felt this contented. In fact, he realised with a start, he hadn’t felt like this since before Laura left. Long before Laura left.

  27

  It didn’t take long for the tiredness to hit the children. Ella was first to fall asleep. In fairness she had been asleep from about five minutes after the bus had pulled out of Derry. Liam had marvelled at her downy hair, sweaty against her wee face in her bumblebee costume, as he helped Ciara lift her from the bus. She reminded him so of Poppy when she had been that age and he had a momentary surge of love for his daughter and wished that he and Laura had had another child. Then again, two children would have made this whole sorry situation even messier.

  Next to fall asleep was Rachel, curled on her mammy’s knee while Connor was running around hyped up on the many Curlie Wurlies he had eaten. He even outdid Poppy who told her daddy she was sleepy shortly after ten thirty.

  “You can sleep up in Eimear’s room with Ella and Ciara if you like,” Ruth said.

  Poppy’s face lit up again with excitement. “Can I, Daddy?”

  Liam looked at Ruth for reassurance that it was fine and she nodded.

  “I hate being alone here,” she said, “and Ciara and Ella are staying over anyway so we might as well make the most of it.” She then turned to Niamh and said she was welcome to take the boys’ room for her and the twins. “I fumigated it just in case,” she laughed.

  Niamh nodded gratefully. She would really be able to let her hair down if she didn’t have to think about traipsing the twins back out to the big house.

  “There’s a double bunk there. The twins could sleep on the bottom level and you could have the top bunk – that is, if you aren’t afraid of heights.”

  “After a couple of glasses of wine, that might not be a great idea,” Niamh had answered, “but I don’t mind cuddling in with the twins. That’s how we all end up most nights anyway.”

  “Grand, that’s sorted then. The kids can all get some sleep now. Liam, you’re welcome to the sofa, but if you want to go on home later I’ll bring Poppy round in the morning.”

  Liam smiled, but realised that Detta was left out of the equation. “What about our esteemed leader?” he asked.

  Ruth blushed. “I have a blow-up mattress if you want to stay, Detta,” she said.

  “I’ll be grand to walk home,” Detta replied, “as long as Liam doesn’t mind escorting me up the road. It’s on his way anyway.”

  “So it is,” Liam said, and he smiled. If he wasn’t sure that Detta couldn’t possibly be flirting with him, he would have thought there was a little spark there.

  He tucked Poppy into bed, still in her Dorothy costume which she refused to take off, and stopped by the bathroom. Looking in the mirror he saw his stomach – a little less paunchy than it had been the week before. His diet must be working. His hair was greying around the temples. He still had a thick thatch of hair though – he was grateful for that. He had shaved earlier, but there was a trace of stubble across his chin and his eyes looked tired. He was sure he had more wrinkles there than he had a month ago – not that he took any notice of wrinkles of course. He was a man. A man’s man. But if he did take notice, he thought wryly, he would think he was looking quite good these days. The grey hair and wrinkles actually suited him – in a Rock Hudson/George Clooney kind of way.

  Stop it, he thought. This was ridiculous. Just two hours before he had been moping that his wife was off living the happy family life with another man and his children and now he was thinking of Detta and how her smile lit up her whole face.

  “Rebound,” he whispered to his reflection. “Don’t mess this up. You have few enough friends as it is.”

  He left, his head a muddle of confused thoughts and walked back to the living room where he was handed a cold beer.

  “I need this,” he said with a grimace and put it to his lips and sat down.

  * * *

  Ruth offered Ciara a drink and she nodded – not quite sure if she should be accepting or not. After all, she was well aware she was still only seventeen. Much as things had thawed between her and Lorraine in recent days, she knew her mother would go off on one if she so much as thought Ciara was having a Bacardi Breezer or two.

  Ruth busied herself opening a bottle and said: “I didn’t know whether I should offer you or not, you know, but I didn’t want you to think we were treating you like a child or anything.”

  “I don’t drink much,” Ciara admitted, “and I appreciate the offer.”

  Even still she felt weird sipping from her drink, as if her mother would storm in the door any second and do her wounded-swan routine.

  “Cheers!” Ruth said, clinking her vodka and Coke against Ciara’s bottle and taking a hearty sip. “I don’t drink much myself – well, not that much, honest. I just feel a little unsettled with the children being away. Or is that I feel free as a bird?” She took another long drink.

  Ciara might only have been seventeen but she was pretty sure from looking at Ruth that she was erring more on the unsettled side.

  Niamh walked into the kitchen and helped herself to a glass of wine. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” she said, sighing contentedly after her first taste. “Cheers, my dears,” she said to Ciara, clinking her glass again.

  Ciara smiled. “This is nice, isn’t it? Although I do feel like a bit of rebel here. Mum wouldn’t be impressed.”

  “Don’t be daft,” Niamh said, “You’ve been running around after your wee woman all day. You’ve given birth – you deserve a drink! If you can handle gas and air, you can handle a Bacardi Breezer.”

  “God, gas and air. I love that stuff. I wish Mrs Quinn sold it in the shop. I’d be a total addict.”

  “It’s amazing stuff altogether,” Ruth said. “I don’t think I’d have got through any of my deliveries without it. It was like being drunk without the hangover the next day.”

  “I’d take a hangover over stitches in my fandango any day,” Ciara laughed.

 
“Fair point, but we all deserve a drink every day for the rest of our lives if need be – for having survived childbirth. Maybe we should regale Liam with stories of our experiences and put him off us women forever!”

  Ciara laughed, and blushed at the same time. She couldn’t imagine anything worse than regaling Liam with her undignified birth experience. She cringed – every part of her cringed, even her fandango – when she recalled her ten hours in the labour ward. It was not pretty – no miracle of birth anyway.

  Seeing her horrified face, Niamh laughed. “Don’t worry, we’re only joking.”

  Relieved, Ciara took a long drink and smiled. “Thank Crunchie for that. But seriously I’m glad we’re all friends now. My nights out with you all are a godsend.”

  “Even though we are old fogies with dodgy clothes and wrinkles?” Ruth asked.

  “Oi, speak for yourself!” Niamh chimed in. “I’m only thirty-three. I’ve barely a wrinkle to my name and I don’t intend on getting any either. I’ll hit the botox when the time comes. No doubt about it.”

  “Can men get botox?” Liam asked, walking into the kitchen, a half smile on his face. “Because I’m thinking maybe a new younger-looking me could help me win Laura back.”

  “Ooooh, you could go on that How To Look Good Naked programme,” Detta said with a wink.

  Liam blushed a deep red and Ciara thought it was quite sweet really. Liam seemed very shy and she couldn’t imagine him stripping off for the TV cameras. Although, if he wasn’t old enough to be her father, she could have admitted to herself he was quite attractive in a Harrison Ford kind of a way.