‘What would you do if you ever got pregnant?’
‘Keep as fit as possible,’ she said firmly. ‘Pregnancy isn’t an illness or an excuse for letting yourself go to pot. It’s a totally natural state of being.’
‘Yeah, well, we won’t be having kids for a while so you won’t have to worry about it,’ he said casually.
‘No, we won’t, at least until after the wedding,’ Carol agreed, thinking how mature he was all of a sudden. Maybe he wasn’t quite as laddish as he let on. It warmed her heart. ‘See you later.’ She kissed him again and waved light-heartedly as she left the room, happier than she had been in a long time.
* * *
Bill flipped Brona’s egg, counted for five and scooped it out of the sizzling frying-pan on to her plate. She liked her fried egg just so, and he wanted her to be in a good humour today before he left for Wicklow. He’d already fed Ben, and hung out the washing, and once he gave his partner her breakfast in bed he’d prepare the potatoes and veg for the dinner.
He badly wanted her to be on side. He was feeling more than a little apprehensive about the trip to Arklow. Was Brona right? Should he butt out? She was so vehement about it.
No! he thought stubbornly. A daughter’s wedding was an epoch in both her and her parents’ lives that was generally a unique and singular experience, never to be forgotten. He wanted to share in that experience. It was his right as a father, no matter what Nancy felt or how much she objected. He hoped against hope that his wife would not be the worse for drink. If he could persuade her to let him play his part, he was sure Carol would soften her opposition and agree to let him fulfil his dearest wish. How proud he would be walking her up the aisle! Carol’s wedding day would be the start of a process that would heal their wounded relationships, allowing them all to move forward with equanimity. Brona would have to admit that she was wrong to doubt him. She’d stand in awe at his maturity, resolve and compassion and their relationship would go from strength to strength.
Optimism surged through him at such positive thoughts. Whistling, Bill placed a crispy slice of fried bread – a special treat – on Brona’s plate, and hurried upstairs with it, so that it wouldn’t go cold.
‘Here you are, Brona, love,’ he said cheerfully, as he placed the tray carefully on his partner’s knee and bent down to kiss the top of her head. Bill hardly noticed that she made no move to reciprocate. He was planning the menu for the first intimate dinner party he would give to introduce Carol and Nadine to their gorgeous little brother.
* * *
Nancy ran her tongue over her teeth and licked her dry lips. She felt ganky. Her head throbbed, her bones ached. She needed a drink and a cigarette and the sooner the better. Cautiously she opened one eye, and shut it pretty rapidly as the light that was glinting through a gap in the curtains pierced her eyeball like a laser.
‘Oh my God,’ she muttered, lying quite still, trying to gather herself together. She stretched out to her bedside locker, eyes still closed, and found her cigarettes and lighter. She raised herself gingerly into a sitting position and lit up. She drew the smoke deep into her lungs and coughed like a consumptive, wincing with pain. Eventually her coughing spasm abated and Nancy lay propped against the pillows, easing herself into the day.
Wearily, she wondered if Nadine had come home last night. She vaguely remembered staggering into the bedroom and passing out around one a.m. Her youngest daughter had not arrived home up to then.
And then Nancy remembered why she had gone on such a bender. Carol was coming home today with her boyfriend and they were all having a meeting over at Liz’s to discuss the wedding. Tendrils of fear fluttered deep in her tummy. She didn’t like going to people’s houses. It made her feel tense and anxious. Her hands shook as she lit another cigarette from the butt of the last one. She could say she was sick, she thought in desperation. Why did Carol want to get married? Imagine the hassle of a wedding. Couldn’t she go to Rome and do it, or Mauritius or one of those exotic places? Nancy wasn’t up to a wedding. She was hardly able to get through an ordinary day, she thought dispiritedly. She felt awkward in Gary’s company. He was so posh and superior.
Carol had warned her to have the house tidy. And to make sure Nadine wasn’t lounging around in her pyjamas. At least they weren’t coming to lunch. Her stomach turned at the thought of food. She wouldn’t be having lunch herself either. Nadine could cook herself a pizza out of the freezer or stick something in the microwave.
She leaned over to her bedside locker and scrabbled in the drawer. She found the half-litre bottle of vodka, unscrewed the top and placed it to her lips. She took a small sip, just to keep herself going. She had to have her wits about her today. Carol would go bananas if she thought she’d been drinking. Today was one day when she was just going to have to make the effort to stay sober.
* * *
‘The traffic’s crap,’ Gary grumbled as they crawled bumper to bumper towards the Wyatville Road junction. Ahead of them towards Loughlinstown the traffic was hardly moving.
‘Everyone’s off to the beach, I suppose. I did say that, didn’t I?’ Carol pointed out. ‘I suppose it’s not surprising considering we’re having one of the best summers in years.’
‘Look at that bloody lunatic.’ Gary jammed his thumb on the horn at a motorcyclist who had clipped his wing mirror as he zigzagged between two lanes of almost stationary traffic.
‘I don’t envy Jessie having to do this commute day in day out when she moves back to Wicklow,’ Carol remarked, as they inched forward at a snail’s pace.
‘Me neither. I’d hate to live in the sticks.’ Gary drummed his fingers against the steering-wheel.
‘Speaking of which, where are we going to live?’ She turned to look at him. She hadn’t brought up the subject in a while, afraid the pressure would put him off and give him an excuse to postpone.
‘Your flat or mine, I suppose,’ he said casually.
‘Gary! We can’t live in a flat, it’s money down the drain—’
‘Well, we could save the money from one of our rents and put it towards buying our own place,’ Gary pointed out reasonably.
‘Well, I think our two salaries combined would easily pay a mortgage,’ she argued.
‘Aw, Carol, what’s the rush? We’re young, what do we want to tie ourselves up with a mortgage for? Let’s rent for a while, travel a bit, have fun,’ Gary said irritably. He hated having to discuss things like mortgages. It made life seem so serious and intense.
‘Umm,’ Carol said non-committally. Gary was doing his usual head in the sand bit. She’d humour him for the time being, but once they were married he was in for a shock. She wanted a place of their own and the sooner the better.
‘I was thinking,’ she changed the subject, ‘that we should have a wedding list.’
‘A wedding list! What do you want one of them for?’
‘Because it’s a sensible way of getting presents that we need and want, rather than stuff we’re never going to use and that doesn’t suit our tastes,’ Carol explained. ‘Remember Rita and Ken got married last year and they got some hideous stuff. Rita gave a vile nest of tables to a charity shop and she was lucky they took them off her hands. We don’t want sheets and duvet sets that won’t match our colour schemes. We don’t want duplicates of presents. Rita and Ken got three steam irons, for example. A wedding list cuts all that out.’
‘I suppose you’re right. It’s a good idea actually,’ Gary approved. ‘We’ll sit down and make a list of what we want. It will save us a fortune on pots and pans and toasters and stuff like that.’ It always cheered up Gary’s parsimonious little heart when he thought he was getting something for nothing.
Carol was delighted. At last things were beginning to fall into place and happening the way she wanted for a change. For the first time since Gary had put the ring on her finger she felt they were starting to row together as a couple. United . . . Just like Jessie and Mike. It felt comforting. She might even enjoy today’s
meeting after all.
‘Let’s eat in the Old Forge,’ she suggested, relaxing as they drove on to the motorway after the Loughlinstown roundabout.
‘Yeah, good idea. The grub’s good there,’ Gary agreed, pressing his foot on to the accelerator as the traffic ahead of them began to speed up and surge forward.
28
Carol felt her stomach tighten as they drove on to the sliproad off the N11 that led into Arklow. Gary eased down to thirty, and as they drove slowly along the familiar road Carol wished with all her might that she was going anywhere but home. To her right the stained-glass windows of Templerainey church glinted in the early afternoon sun. It was a much more imposing church than the little yellow country church they were getting married in.
She’d had no say in either the church or the hotel where they were celebrating their wedding. She scowled, resentment beginning to envelop her despite her best intentions. A young mother strolled along with a toddler and a baby in a buggy. How boring to spend a Sunday afternoon walking the streets. Couldn’t she even go to the wildlife reserve? Carol thought irritably, remembering monotonous Sunday afternoons when Nancy had drunkenly insisted that Carol look after her sister and take her for a walk. Nadine’s little legs couldn’t walk as far as the reserve and she too had walked this very same street, Nadine in tow, hostile and unhappy.
Further along a group of teenagers joshed and chatted, the girls resplendent in the skimpiest of belly tops. Some toned and slender, others with bulges of puppy fat overflowing the hipsters that revealed swathes of pasty white flesh.
‘Look at the state of that one, look at the size of her arse in those jeans. Does she never look in the mirror?’ Gary pointed out a particularly plump little teenager who was the loudest of them all. Carol felt a stab of sympathy for her. She too had been on the plump and overweight side in her early teens. She’d comfort-eaten in those first horrible, scary years after their father had left them until once, in an argument with one of her schoolmates, the other girl had said, ‘Shut up, fatso,’ and walked away with her friends, laughing.
Those words were seared on to Carol’s heart, and from that day she had cut down radically on her food consumption, saying the word ‘fatso’ over and over in her head when she was tempted.
‘That other one’s a nice little nubile,’ Gary remarked, eyeing a supple blonde bombshell who was flicking her hair over her shoulder. ‘Give her ten years and she’ll be a hot babe!’
‘Oh, grow up, Gary. Listen to yourself,’ Carol snapped.
‘Hey, there’s no need to bite my nose off,’ he retorted heatedly. ‘Don’t take it out on me because you don’t want to be here.’
‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘Look, could you stop at the shop with the ice-cream cone outside, down towards the bridge? I suppose I’d better bring a box of chocolates or something.’
‘Isn’t there a garage down near you with a shop in it?’ Gary growled.
‘I don’t want to meet any of the neighbours. They’d keep you yakkin’ for hours,’ she said crankily.
‘OK, OK.’ He indicated right with bad grace.
‘Won’t be a minute,’ she said as he drew to a halt outside the shop.
‘Don’t be in any hurry,’ he drawled sarcastically. ‘I’m in as much of a rush as you to get to this little soirée.’
Carol could have kicked herself. Now she’d riled Gary, just when she needed him in her corner. They’d had a nice companionable lunch in the Old Forge, although her fiancé had moaned that if she drove he could have a few pints. One of the reasons she wasn’t keen to let on that she had taken driving lessons and done her test was that she knew that if Gary knew that he’d insist on putting her on his insurance, so that he could drink as much as he liked and leave the driving to her. One of these days she’d have to get behind the wheel, she supposed.
She wondered what state Nancy was in. Her hand curled around her mobile phone. She’d finally got a new one. Should she ring, or just walk in home and face the music? There were a few people in the shop, so she dawdled by the magazine displays and keyed in Nancy’s number.
It rang for ages and then Nadine answered.
‘Hello,’ her sister said crossly.
‘Hi, it’s me. We’re in the shop. How’s Ma?’
‘How is she ever?’ Nadine grumbled. ‘She’s been nagging me all morning to get up and get dressed and tidy up just because the great Carol and her posh git fiancé are coming to visit. Why should it interfere with me? That’s what I want to know. I’ve a fuckin’ hangover that would put Ma’s to shame, all I wanted to do was stay in bed.’
‘Is Ma pissed?’ Carol asked anxiously.
‘Naw, keep your knickers on. But she’s got the shakes and she says she feels sick and she’s not going to your silly meeting over at Liz’s and she’s got a hangover too. I don’t see why I have to be involved, I didn’t ask you to get married. I’m not a bridesmaid or anything,’ Nadine whinged.
‘Ah, get over it,’ Carol snapped.
‘Ah, fuck off.’ Nadine swore and hung off.
Oh God Almighty, Carol groaned inwardly, staring at her mobile. She put down the larger box of Roses she’d selected and picked up the smaller box. Why should she spend a fortune on chocolates when that little cow would eat them all anyway? Gary had a very sweet tooth; perhaps if she bought him a bar of chocolate he might be appeased. She paid for the chocolates and a bar of Fruit and Nut and hurried out to the car.
‘How are you, Carol? I hear congratulations are in order. It’s fresh and well you’re looking.’ A friendly voice accosted her. Carol gritted her teeth and plastered a smile on her face. Nessie Sutton was the nosiest old gossip going. Just her luck to bump into her.
‘Let’s see the ring,’ Mrs Sutton wittered excitedly. ‘Ohhh, isn’t it gorgeous? Is that your chap? Nice car – he must have a bob or two. How’s your mother? She wasn’t looking the best the last day that I saw her. Bit shaky on her legs, if you know what I mean,’ she said slyly, her beady, malicious little eyes like two wrinkled black raisins in her pudding-bowl face.
Carol felt like giving her a kick in her ample fat arse.
‘Can’t stop to talk, Mrs S, we’re running late—’
‘Heard you’re getting married down here – I thought you’d do it up in the big smoke. Will the Da be walking you up the aisle? It would be nice to see him again after all this time.’ Nessie beamed sweetly.
You two-faced old hag. Carol was fit to be tied. This was exactly why she hadn’t wanted to get married next or nigh where she’d grown up. It was clear the gossips were hard at it and speculation was rampant.
‘Did you ever hear the old saying, Mrs Sutton, curiosity killed the cat, information made him fat?’ She gave her neighbour a honeyed smile. ‘I think you’re carrying more than enough weight without me adding to it. See you,’ she said brightly.
Nessie was affronted. ‘Well . . . I . . . I . . . I never heard anything so rude in my life,’ she stuttered, her podgy cheeks stained crimson.
‘And I never heard anything so nosy,’ Carol reciprocated. Now that she had gone this far she might as well push out the boat and go the whole hog.
Nessie waddled off in high dudgeon, wounded dignity emanating from every podgy pore.
Carol felt like crying. How dare that . . . that old crone stand in judgement over her mother? How dare she ask about their most personal business as if it were public property? It was obvious they were the talk of the town. But what was new about that? she thought bitterly. Some things never changed.
‘Here’s a bar of chocolate for you.’ She handed Gary his chocolate. She didn’t care any more whether he was appeased or not. Events could happen as they would, as far as she was concerned; after her encounter with Nessie Sutton she felt that so far this wedding was a total pain in the ass. Undoubtedly it was going to get much worse.
* * *
‘Who was that?’ Nancy asked apathetically. She was sitting at the kitchen table smoking. Her hands were shaki
ng and her stomach was tied up in knots.
‘Carol. She wanted to know if you were pissed,’ Nadine said cruelly.
‘You’re an unkind little bitch, aren’t you?’ Nancy couldn’t hide her hurt.
‘Well, what do you want me to say? That she rang to see if we were all right and to tell us she’s so looking forward to seeing us. Face facts, Ma, we’re an embarrassment to Carol and her fella. I don’t know why she’s even bothering to invite us to this wedding.’
Nadine clattered her dinner plate into the sink.
‘Wash that up,’ Nancy ordered listlessly. ‘Did you make your bed?’
‘For what? They’re not going to be going up to the bedroom,’ Nadine scoffed.
‘Don’t be so cheeky, Nadine,’ Nancy remonstrated.
‘Why, what will you do? Slap me?’ Nadine jeered.
Nancy swallowed, hard. It was so difficult trying to rear her youngest daughter. She had no respect for her mother. No fear of her. Hard as it was to admit, Nancy had lost control of Nadine and there was nothing she could do about it.
She stood up and went into the sitting-room. It looked presentable enough. After much nagging, Nadine had Hoovered it unenthusiastically. It had grown shabby over the years. The beige carpet had wine and tea stains and the brown velour sofa had grown threadbare in parts. The gold curtains were smoke-stained and badly needed dry-cleaning. The fireplace had traces of cinders, a legacy of the winter. Its old-fashioned red bricks were darkened with smoke and age. She really must do something with the place.
She lit a fresh cigarette and stubbed out the one she’d finished smoking. A silver car drew up outside and she saw Carol get out of the passenger side. Her daughter looked so groomed and affluent, she thought with a dart of pride. It was some comfort that one of them had done well for themselves in spite of all that had happened to them as a family. If only her two daughters were close, Carol might exert some influence on Nadine. But Carol had kept her distance once she’d gone to work in Dublin and was hardly likely to keep in touch much once she was married. She had her father’s genes in her, Nancy thought bitterly.
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