Jumping in Puddles

by Claire Allan

  Ciara hugged her mum back. “I know. Thanks, Mum. Now I’m off to bed.”

  She climbed the stairs and looked into the cot where Ella was doing her best starfish impression. Her fists were clenched tightly and her lips pursed together as she was lost in a dream.

  “Bugger them all,” Ciara whispered in the dark. “You’re worth it.”

  * * *

  “Right, m’lady, you’re home,” Liam said as he pulled up outside Niamh’s house.

  “Thanking you kindly,” she smiled, now tired and more than a little drunk.

  “How about I come in and keep you company?” Detta asked gently.

  “I’m fine,” Niamh said, tripping as she climbed out of the car. “Damn kick-arse boots. I’ve only gone and managed to kick my own arse,” she said as she collapsed in giggles.

  Detta looked at Liam, who in turn looked at Ruth, who in turn looked back at Detta again. “Yes, I think you staying over would be a great idea,” Ruth said and Detta nodded, smiling warmly at Liam and rubbing his hand gently.

  “Right, well, thanks for a night to remember,” she said adding, “although I’m not sure it’s done just yet,” with a wink before linking arms with Niamh and walking up through the front gardens.

  Niamh noticed the wink, but said nothing. She was sure there would be more to this night yet. She had made yet another momentous decision on the way home. She couldn’t describe it but seeing Caitlin – how pathetic she was – had helped. That probably made her a bad person – to take some ounce of joy from someone else’s misery – but right now, hobbling up her driveway with her killer boots killing her feet, she didn’t care.

  “You don’t need to stay, you know,” she said again as she fumbled with her key at the door.

  “I know, but I’ve been busting my arse to get a good nosy round this place for ages now so this is the perfect chance,” Detta deadpanned.

  “Really? You could have just called round any time – it’s not that special. Or should I say, it is special but it’s not really my taste.”

  She opened the door and wiped her feet on the rug to reduce the risk of sliding on her rear end along the marble hall.

  “Not the most practical in Ireland, when it’s always raining,” she said to Detta.

  “Yes, but it is a pretty.”

  “All about looking good,” she said, keeping any hint of bitterness from her voice. She had liked it at the time – she realised. She had been just as caught up in Seán’s show-house dream as he had been at the time. That was long before she realised there were more important things in life than Italian marble floors and SMEG fridge freezers.

  “You know what,” she said, walking through the house to the garden where Liam had left his tools, “feck looking good. I’m going to change a lot more about this house and make it the house I want.”

  “Good for you,” Detta said with a smile.

  “Wanna help?” Niamh said, a wicked thought forming in her mind.

  “Sure.”

  “Here,” she said handing her a hammer while she lifted a sledgehammer from the pile of tools. “Feck me, this is heavy.”

  “Niamh . . . are you sure?”

  “As sure as eggs are eggs. You don’t have room for a kitchen island in your house, do you?”

  “I’ve barely room for a kitchen table.”

  “Grand job, follow me.”

  Niamh, still swaying slightly in her boots, walked back to the kitchen and lifted the sledgehammer as high as she could and swung it at the island.

  She hoped it would split in half, in a dramatic gesture. Instead it barely registered a crack – but nonetheless there was one there which she could see if she looked close enough.

  “Tomorrow,” she said, sitting down, “fancy helping me choose the Shaker style kitchen I always wanted?”

  “You’re on,” said Detta, almost too afraid to say no.

  “Grand. Now for the grand tour.”

  * * *

  Ruth’s heart started to quicken as soon as they pulled up outside her house. Her front door was lying open – at two in the morning. Immediately she thought that James must be there – he must have finally flipped – and Liam had barely time to stop the car before she had jumped out and was running up the front path at full pelt.

  “Ruth! Ruth! Calm down,” Liam shouted after her.

  But she didn’t even register what he was saying. She just wanted to get inside and make sure her children were okay – she pleaded with God or whoever was listening to make them okay. The lights were blazing in the hall and in the living room – but there was no sign of the children. She called out – a strangled half-sob – and her heart almost stopped when the kitchen door creaked open.

  Liam caught up with her, and rested his hands on her shoulders to try and soothe her. She shook him off and broke into the ugliest of sobs when Eimear – perfectly okay and utterly confused – looked at her stricken face and asked: “Jesus, Mum, what has happened?”

  “The door . . .” Ruth stuttered, “the door was open. The lights were on. Was he here? Was your daddy here?”

  “No. I had some friends round. That’s all.”

  “Oh God,” Ruth said, sagging with relief – almost swooning into Liam’s arms.

  “Your mother got a terrible fright,” he said.

  “Because the door was open?” Eimear seemed incredulous.

  “Yes,” Ruth said weakly.

  “I’m sorry, Mum,” Eimear said. “I didn’t think.”

  “No, no, you didn’t.”

  “But, Mum, I’m sorry. I’ve had a bad night too, you know,” she said and burst into tears.

  Liam stood, very bravely Ruth thought, looking bemused but keeping his composure. She had to admire his uncanny knack of coping with hysterical women.

  “Look, why don’t you two have a wee chat? I’ll head on and leave you to it and you can get in touch if you need anything.”

  “Thanks, Liam,” Ruth said, embarrassed now that the shock had worn off.

  “Any time,” he offered.

  Ruth followed Eimear into the kitchen and tried not to lose her cool at the sight of the empty alcopop bottles on the table or the fact that it seemed that every single one of her bowls had been taken from the cupboard and filled with crisps – which also seemed to be crushed into the floor.

  “Mum,” Eimear said, her eyes wet with tears, “I know I shouldn’t have, but I had a few friends over tonight and it all went wrong. Ciara was over earlier and she told me about Ben so when he came I got him alone for a few minutes and thought, well, I’d just ask him outright. And then he called me every name under the sun and told everyone I was a liar. But I’m not a liar and I told them as much and then he left, telling me I’d regret it.”

  “Oh sweetheart,” Ruth said, hugging her daughter, “no, you are not a liar and it’s about time that wee fecker was exposed for the shite he is. Better you know now than stick with him for eighteen years and end up like me and your dad.”

  “But I did love him,” Eimear said.

  “I know, sweetheart. Sadly we can’t always choose who we fall in love with but I promise you, with all my heart, you will look back on this one day and breathe a huge sigh of relief.”

  Eimear looked at her mother for a while, a thought obviously forming in her head.

  “Are you glad Dad’s gone?”

  “Absolutely. I only wish he had gone sooner, before you and your brothers got hurt.”

  “I wish he’d gone before you got hurt, Mum.”

  “Well, we could wish all night but it won’t change anything. The important thing is that he is gone now and he won’t be hurting us again.”

  “I’m glad, Mum. He’s my dad and I love him – but I don’t like him. I don’t like him one bit.”

  “I understand, sweetheart,” Ruth said, her heart breaking a little to hear her little girl say she disliked her father so. Then again, he did kind of have it coming to him. She couldn’t feel sorry for him – if she started t
o feel sorry for him then she would be starting to let him back in again and she was fecked if that fecker was getting anywhere near her emotions again.

  She might not have given her daughter the best role model so far – but she bloody well was going to now – with one small exception.

  “Open me one of those alcopops,” she said and Eimear tried not to faint with shock. “And yes, go on and have one yourself.”

  Eimear did as she was told and Ruth lifted her bottle, clinking it against her daughter’s.

  “Onwards and upwards, Eimear! It’s us against the world.”

  * * *

  Liam could not help but smile as he opened the door and walked into his living room. He opened the fridge and took out his first beer of the night. As he sat down he replayed the evening – the whole gorgeous evening – over and over again. Things were finally on the up for him. And he went to bed for the first time in a long time without a gaping feeling of loneliness.

  He woke to the smells and sounds of bacon sizzling. Sometimes he loved his mother and her insistence on a good breakfast more than anything on earth. Getting up, he slipped into jeans and T-shirt and padded down the stairs where he was met by two very inquisitive sets of eyes.

  “Morning, you two,” he said.

  “Morning, yourself,” Agnes replied, smiling and turning back to the frying pan. Poppy turned her attention back to her colouring-in but Liam could sense something was definitely up.

  “Did you have a good night, Daddy?” Poppy asked and he wondered how it had reached the stage where he had to explain himself to his five-year-old daughter.

  “It was fun, yes.” He poured a cup of coffee and sat down.

  “Was Detta there?” Poppy asked and Liam noticed his mother’s shoulders start to shake.

  “What on earth is going on with you two? Giggling like schoolgirls! Yes, Detta was there,” he said, feeling the colour rise in his cheeks. It wasn’t possible that they knew what had happened last night, he reminded himself, trying to keep his cool.

  “She’s a nice lady,” Agnes said, turning to dish up the breakfast.

  “Yes, she is,” Liam replied coolly.

  “And she’s pretty, Daddy, isn’t she?” Poppy smiled.

  “Yes, she is.”

  “And you kind of love her, don’t you, Daddy?”

  “Poppy, eat your breakfast.” But he couldn’t hide his smile nor could he ignore the smiles on Agnes and Poppy’s faces. Could it be he had just done the impossible and found a woman his mother actually approved of?

  50

  “I’ll have some lunch ready for you at about one,” Lorraine said as Ciara put on her coat and headed for the door.

  “Thanks, Mum.”

  “It won’t be anything fancy, mind, just a tin of soup or the like. Miss Ella here can have some too.”

  Ciara smiled and waved at her baby daughter and blew a kiss to her mum.

  She was in great form. In her bag she had her application form for the night classes at the college, ready to go in the post. Niamh had also promised to pop into the shop at some stage in the morning to fill her in on the goings-on at the big confrontation in Derry. There was nothing like a bit of scandal to make the day go in quicker – maybe that is why Mrs Quinn was such a gossipmonger.

  Stepping out into the street, she couldn’t help but wonder what Eimear had done the night before when Ben showed up. Perhaps she should have stayed around but she knew Eimear had to make her own decisions about Ben. She’d done her bit and whatever happened now was beyond her control.

  She would concentrate on things that were in her control – like building on her relationship with her mother or her caring for her daughter or making sure she would do as well as she could at college so that she could eventually work somewhere a little more exotic than the corner shop.

  With a smile on her face she pushed open the door of the shop and came face to face with Mrs Quinn who clearly – very clearly – wasn’t having nearly as good a day as Ciara. Her face was like thunder – even her frown lines had frown lines which gave her the appearance of a Shar Pei chewing a wasp.

  “Morning,” Ciara offered, slipping off her coat.

  “I think you won’t be needed today, Ciara, so just put that coat back on.”

  She didn’t know what to think – either Mrs Quinn was having some sort of mental-illness episode or she had done something to piss her off. In no other circumstances was she ever, ever told she wouldn’t be needed. There was always something to be done. There were price stickers to be peeled off old goods, there were tins of pea and ham soup to dust down so they didn’t look as if they had been there forever and there was the mouldy dairy cabinet to clear out with a bucket of water and some cheap thin bleach.

  “Are you sure?”

  “As sure as I’ve ever been. I don’t want liars working for me.”

  The penny dropped, there and then and Ciara felt tears spring to her eyes. But she was not going to cry in front of this baggage. I can’t control what other people do, only how I react, she reminded herself.

  “I’m not a liar,” she said, as firmly as she could.

  “Then why are you telling everyone that my Ben is your baby’s father?” Mrs Quinn’s nose turned up at the very thought Ciara could ever have come anywhere near to being a member of her family.

  “Because he is. It’s not a lie and if everyone refuses to believe me there is a very easy way to prove that he is. We’ll get a DNA test – I’ll even pay for it – because, Mrs Quinn, I’m no tart and your grandson is no angel. Now if you wish to believe him over me, that’s fine. I understand you have a loyalty to him more than you ever would to me – but I can promise you now that I have never lied to you, or anyone. Now I’ll go home, but you are making a mistake and you will be the one with egg all over your face when this comes out.”

  Mrs Quinn’s mouth flapped open and shut and her eyes darted around the shop, trying to find something that would rescue her or give her a witty response. Ciara felt her heart thump in her chest – she had never stood up to Mrs Quinn, ever, and she was, in all probability, now out of a job but she wasn’t going to sneak out the door as if she was at fault. Slipping her coat back on, she lifted her bag and made for the door.

  “Ciara,” Mrs Quinn said, and Ciara looked around waiting for the final barbed remark. “Take the day off. Come back tomorrow and we’ll talk.”

  Ciara knew she wasn’t going to get an apology. There was more chance of Mrs Quinn running off with a teenage toy boy than ever openly admitting she was wrong about anything. But her gesture – small as it was – was proof enough that somewhere deep down in her heart she knew that there was indeed the possibility that her grandson was about as pure as the muck-ridden slush.

  * * *

  The doors of the community centre swung open and Liam was first to arrive, just as Detta was putting on the kettle and tipping the chocolate biscuits onto the cracked melamine plate with the faded blue rim.

  She looked up at him with a warm smile and he felt something in him light up. He hadn’t seen much of her since Friday night but they had spoken on the phone and she had met him for coffee the day before in the Country Kitchen. They had walked back to the builder’s yard hand in hand and the rumour was, from one of the boys in the office, that Laura had heard all about it and wasn’t a bit impressed.

  The thing was, though, Liam wasn’t a bit bothered what Laura thought about it – or him or anything. She had made her decisions – ones she was happy to stand by even knowing what a monster her chosen paramour was.

  He had admitted to both Agnes and Poppy that Detta was his special new friend after their conversation on Saturday morning. While he wasn’t normally one to lose the run of himself and shout his secret love from the rooftops he knew this was different. He already knew both Agnes and Poppy approved and he knew that Detta wouldn’t try to rush things and they could play this the perfect way so that no one would get hurt. Not that he believed for even one second Detta coul
d hurt him.

  Looking at her warm eyes now, her smile, he knew that she wouldn’t ever hurt him, or Poppy. He doubted Detta O’Neill could ever hurt anyone.

  “Hey, you,” she said.

  He loved the way she uttered the word “you”. The way she said it made it feel more special than any honey, sugar, lamby-poo in the world.

  “Hey, yourself,” he said, smiling from ear to ear and walking towards her – kissing her gently on the mouth before pulling back. “Is it slightly unethical now that I’m coming here for support when you are the one helping me piece my life together outside of this community centre?”

  “We’re friends first, Liam,” she said, lifting his hand and kissing it gently. “We’re all friends and blast this group, we’re always going to be friends – so bugger what anyone but us – and Niamh, Ruth and Ciara – think.”

  “Did someone take my name in vain?” Niamh asked, closing the door behind her and heading for her seat, second from left in their “semi-circle of trust”.

  “Not at all, we were just talking about this – us – our, erm, friendship,” Liam muttered.

  “Couldn’t have happened to two nicer people,” Niamh said warmly.

  “Bless your heart,” Detta said.

  “Nonsense,” Niamh said with a wave of her hand. “Besides I like living my life vicariously through you two at the moment.”

  “Lady, you have your own share of dramas,” Detta said, sitting down at the front of the group.