All Roads

by Peter Murphy

  “But that can’t be. I just saw her . . .”

  He hadn’t. She’d spent Christmas with her mother and then afterwards got the flu or something, and they hadn’t gotten together. At the time he didn’t mind. He was having a rough Christmas and had been on a bit of a spree. He didn’t want her to see him like that.

  “Well that’s . . . great.” He looked up at his reflection. It was still smirking, but with the hint of a smile. “Siobhan, give us two Black Bush—large ones.”

  “Cheers, me old son,” he toasted when they arrived and looked over as Doug gingerly raised his to his mouth. “Get it down ya.”

  Danny downed his in one, just as he used to. Only it didn’t go down well and almost made his stomach churn. He probably shouldn’t have had it. He rose to let his stomach settle and reached his hand out, trying to stop it from shaking. “Put it there, me old son. And congratulations.” He slapped Doug on the shoulder with his other hand and sat back down as the room teetered a little. “And tell my Grainne that I’m so happy for her.”

  “I will.” Doug sounded relieved, downed his whiskey too, and rose to leave.

  “You’ll have another?”

  “No. I gotta get back. Grainne said I had to come straight back and tell her what you said.”

  “She has you whipped already—that’s my little girl.”

  After Doug had left and Siobhan had let him hug her a little, Danny sat back and stared at his own reflection. He wanted to feel good about the news but he couldn’t help but think that the poor child was coming into hell on earth.

  “You must be thrilled to bits,” Siobhan suggested as she took the empty whiskey glasses away.

  He looked at her and smiled but didn’t answer.

  “I always think that new babies make everybody feel hopeful again,” she added as she turned away. “It’s like what Obama is always going on about—we all need a bit of hope, now and then, especially now.”

  Danny stared at his reflection and decided she was right. They might all be fucked right now but they’d find a way out of it, just as they always did before. The guys on the business channel said it might take years, but they would. Someone had to start sowing a few seeds of hope for future generations. It cost so little and could do no harm. They had to. They’d all become grandparents one day.

  All the doom and gloom they had been listening to for years was getting them all down—that and all the warmongering and hating each other. That was why everyone was going around being hard with each other all the time. There was nowhere else to go from there but to start killing each other.

  He knew what he was talking about—he’d been a bit like that himself once. But getting married—and having kids—had made him look at things differently.

  Only, he argued as he took another swig of his beer, it had made him soft and he’d been beaten down until he just gave up and went along with it all. But he never bought back in, he comforted himself. He knew what happened to the guy in 1984—he’d finally read it. That was when they put the bullet in your brain.

  Some mornings, when he was retching his guts out over the toilet bowl, he might have welcomed it, but now with a few drinks under his belt, the world was a bit more manageable. The trick was to believe in nothing and expect the worst. Anything else was just delusion—or denial.

  He finished his beer, settled his tab and called a cab. When he got home he’d phone his mother with the news. Only he’d wait a few hours so it wouldn’t be too early over there. She was getting on and all the economic shite was hitting Ireland really hard. Not that he didn’t feel a little smug about that. He hadn’t really begrudged them during the good years, only what was the point of emigrating if things were going to get so good at home?

  He’d have a few more drinks while he was waiting. He had to—to wet the baby’s head. Besides, she’d be on at him about going to Rome. But now he had an excuse. He’d have to be around for when the baby was born.

  *

  “But we all feel like that,” Jacinta reassured Dermot as he laid his latest sorry tale of woe before her. She dropped in every afternoon to check up on him and to share whatever bit of gossip was going around. Lately, however, he was preoccupied with all that was wrong with him. His hip still wasn’t right and the other one was starting to go too. It was getting to the point where he could barely look after himself. There was talk of moving him into a nursing home, but he was adamant that he could still manage on his own.

  “C’mon now, Dermot. We both know you can’t make it up or down the stairs.”

  “I’ll buy a flat. They’re getting much cheaper—they’re practically giving them away.”

  “Do you have money for that?”

  “I will when I sell this place. I’ll have enough for a nice small place and still have enough to leave for the girls.”

  “You’ll get nothing for it right now—if you get anything at all. You’d be better off going where there are people to look after you all day. That way you can hold onto the house for a bit. At least until things start picking up again. There’ll be more for the girls that way.”

  She tried to sound reassuring but no one was really sure about anything anymore. All the bravado of the Tiger years had evaporated and was being replaced by a dull, sickening feeling. They’d been enjoying the fat cows for years and now the lean, scrawny reality was coming home to roost. And most of them had been spending like drunken sailors, even those who should’ve known better.

  She hadn’t done too badly though. Her solicitor, Old Davies’ son, knew people that knew people, and based on the whispers and nods that were the language of those in the know, had divested what was left of Bart’s investments from the crumbling banks into something far more solid just before the bubble burst.

  She had actually done very well out of the whole thing. She didn’t feel too guilty about that, as she’d never really thought of it as hers. Danny had signed it all over to her years ago, and she would use what she needed and leave whatever was left to Deirdre. If she left it to Danny, he’d probably drink it all and kill himself into the bargain. Deirdre would see that the right thing was done. Only she couldn’t say a word of that to Dermot. Between his hip and his house and all the news about the Church, the poor man looked like all the wind had been let out of him.

  “Besides . . .” She tried to cheer him up and poured more tea. “Don’t you still have your pension?”

  “They’ll try and take that away too.”

  Jacinta sipped her tea and thought about her answer. There was talk about scaling back pensions, but on the other hand Dermot probably wouldn’t live that much longer. There was really no way she knew of saying any of that, so she decided to offer him a little bit of nagging instead. “Don’t be fretting over things like that. It’s not good for your health.”

  As if to defy her attempt at optimism, Dermot coughed a deep, phlegmy cough. He still smoked more than a pack a day and it was all starting to catch up with him. “Health be damned. Why would any decent, honest, hard-working man want to live through times like these? They’ve all betrayed us. Our own people too.”

  She wasn’t sure if he was talking about the clerics or the bankers so she let it pass without comment. The whole country was acting like they were shocked, but she felt they’d known all along. The people had always been in denial. First with the Church, despite rumors that had been going around for decades; and then with the bankers—and their cronies in the government. And now the people were getting angry—like they were surprised. She wasn’t. She’d known the jig was up when Gina and Donal sold up everything they had and moved to Spain.

  “How will we ever survive it all?” Dermot pleaded with her as if she’d have an answer, the same way Mrs. Flanagan used to.

  “Well now, Dermot. We’ve been putting up with worse for centuries. We’ll get through this too.”

  “You might, but I�
�m getting far too old for all of this.”

  “Ah there’s a bit of life left in you yet.”

  There wasn’t really but she had to say it. Dermot hadn’t been the same since Anne died. And he had to be a least five years older than Jacinta and she was turning seventy this year.

  She wanted to do something nice to celebrate it and was hoping to make it back over to Rome while she still could. She was still after Danny to come with her, but with Grainne having the baby and all, nothing had been decided. She could have gotten Deirdre to organize it for him but that didn’t seem fair. She had enough on her hands right now.

  “Well, Dermot, I better be getting on with my day and let you get back to reading your paper. Is there anything you need down at the shops?”

  He wanted the usual, a pack of cigarettes, the evening newspaper—in case anything had happened since the morning—and if she could manage it, some more whiskey. He just liked to have it around—to add to his tea he’d explain every time he asked for some.

  She didn’t mind. He had little left in life and it wouldn’t do him much harm at this stage.

  *

  Grainne and Doug had a very quiet wedding in late December when everyone was still occupied with Christmas. Grainne didn’t want to make a big deal of it. City Hall, dinner with both families, his father getting a bit tipsy and telling her that Doug would have married her anyway, and her mother putting on her bravest face throughout. Grainne knew she was disappointed. She had wanted her to finish her degree and go on to do something great and fulfilling with her life.

  Grainne assured her that once the baby was old enough she would go back and finish, and her mother seemed to accept that. Almost. But she just couldn’t hide her disappointment from Grainne—they knew each other far too well for that. They’d discussed her options, obliquely, and Grainne wasn’t sure if her final decision was what her mother would have wanted. She said it was Grainne’s decision to make, but she was always saying stuff like that. She did go along with the outcome with seemingly good grace and just a hint of reservation that only Grainne could detect.

  Martin had been much more accepting once Doug had told him that he was totally committed to raising the child together. He even arranged for Doug to get an interview where he worked. It was an entry-level position, but after spending so much of his life on hockey, Doug wasn’t really qualified to do much else. Martin had even taken to mentoring him privately and was sure that Doug would be promoted within months. They’d need that. Having a baby was far more expensive than either of them had realized. They were living with Deirdre until they had time to sort everything out, but still.

  At first, Grainne had assumed that she could keep up with her studies while the baby slept. Her mother had told her that it mightn’t be possible and to give herself the time to get used to all the changes babies brought. After a year or so, she could think about the rest of her life.

  Her mother was right. Douglas Jr. was more than a handful and was only really content when he was latched onto her breast. The rest of the time he fussed and squirmed until her mother took him and calmed him. She said Grainne had been the same, but Grainne didn’t believe her. Douglas was almost impossible.

  And Doug was of little help. He worked late, and when he was home he always had homework. He said he had so much to learn, so she didn’t complain. She knew he was doing it for them, and because Martin had gone out on a limb for him. But it was starting to get to her.

  She didn’t even bother getting dressed anymore and went from morning to night in one of Doug’s old hockey sweaters and her tartan pajamas under her old, tattered robe. She kept her hair tied back because she hadn’t had time to wash it, and she avoided her reflection in the mirror. Douglas Jr. had really taken a toll on her and she didn’t want to be reminded. She couldn’t seem to shed the thirty pounds of padding. She was about to cry about it again when she heard her mother’s key in the lock.

  “Oh, Mom, you’re home earlier.” She hadn’t even got around to tidying up the kitchen and had hoped to have dinner started.

  “No earlier than usual,” her mother answered without looking directly at her. Grainne knew why. She must look a total mess.

  “How was your day?” her mother continued, as if there was no issue. “Did you get out for a walk?”

  Grainne hadn’t. She had promised she would, but when the time came she couldn’t; and it wasn’t just the way she looked. She was exhausted all the time.

  “Well, why don’t you run upstairs and take a shower and I’ll take DJ out into the garden?”

  “No, Mom. I couldn’t ask you to do that. You just got in from work.”

  “You weren’t asking, sweetie, I was. Now get up stairs before Rachael gets here. You don’t want her to see you like that. It might put her off having children and you know your brother. He and Doug are probably planning on rearing their own hockey team.”

  She smiled that smile she used when she was being the good cop, and that made Grainne feel even worse. Her mother had managed two children—practically on her own.

  “Sweetie? Go now.” Her mother nodded as Grainne blinked back her tears. And when she still didn’t move, her mother turned her and, with one hand around her arm, just above the elbow, steered her upstairs. Grainne couldn’t help it and began to sob a little.

  “Have a long shower, sweetie, and we’ll have a chance to talk later. Rachael will sit with DJ while you and I go out for a coffee or something.”

  “Look at me, Mom. I think we should go to McDonald’s instead.”

  “Don’t be silly, sweetie. You’re nowhere near as big as I was after having you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I looked like a beached blimp and back then there was no consideration for the plus-sized woman. I had to cut a hole in a sheet and wore a pillow case over my head.”

  “Did you ever get . . . you know . . . a bit resentful?”

  “All the time, sweetie, but you were worth it. Now get in the shower. Please?”

  “How long did it take?” Grainne asked as she slipped behind the shower curtain before disrobing.

  “Physically, not long. Emotionally . . .? Well, kids do permanent brain damage.”

  “You don’t really mean that, do you, Mom?”

  “It’s true.” Her mother took her discarded clothes and put them in the laundry hamper. “But don’t worry, grandchildren are the cure.” Her voice trailed away as she went and picked up the baby, who had woken and was beginning to fuss.

  Grainne just stood and let the water run over her while her mother and her baby laughed as though they were happy to see each other. Her mother made all the little things they did together seem like fun. Everything. “We can’t have your mother coming home and changing diapers,” Doug had protested indignantly when he first found out. Only he was never available to do it. He was always working.

  By the time Grainne had showered, and washed and conditioned her hair, her mother had changed the baby and taken him outside. Grainne could see them from the bathroom window. Douglas gurgling and mewling in his swing chair while Deirdre rocked him slowly with her outstretched leg as she sipped a glass of wine. She’d told Grainne, many times, that it was the happiest part of her day.

  After she rummaged through her clothes a few times and tried on things that would never fit again, Grainne settled on her maternity pants and her extra-large, bright jazzy top. They were too big for her but she hoped they would make her look smaller. She put some shadow around her eyes to cover the dark circles and a little lipstick. Her hair was clean but still lank, and her bra was far too tight.

  “You look wonderful,” Rachael assured her as she came down the stairs.

  “Considering?”

  “Considering nothing. You’re getting your own face back again.”

  Rachael probably meant well—Martin said she just got a little flustered
and had been since Grainne was pregnant—but Grainne couldn’t help feel there was more going on. Rachael probably found the whole thing repulsive. The bloating, the lactating, the dirty diapers and all the stuff that people didn’t discuss.

  “It’s the makeup.” Grainne blushed a little.

  “Well, I hope I look as good as you when I get pregnant.”

  “Trust me.” Grainne smiled at her tall, slim, perfect sister-in-law. “You’ll look perfect, even while . . .” She stopped when Rachael’s eyes grew too big.

  “Well.” Her mother stepped between them and handed the baby over to Rachael. “We will go and have a coffee and be back before his next feeding.”

  “You have my number?” Grainne checked with Rachael as Deirdre steered her toward the door.

  “Yes, silly. You know I do.”

  “And you’ll call, no matter what?”

  *

  Deirdre couldn’t help feeling that she was kidnapping her own daughter, but something had to be done. She and Martin had been talking about it for a while: Grainne needed help and they couldn’t put it off any longer. So they arranged for Rachael to come over while he took Doug for something to eat after work so they could have a little chat in private. And so that Deirdre could get Grainne out of the house for a while.

  Martin had tried to sound nonchalant about it all but Deirdre knew he was concerned. Deirdre had told him not to be, that it wasn’t that unusual; but she knew he would never accept that. He could be such a man-of-the-house sometimes.

  Still, there was no denying it; Grainne was a mess. She hadn’t shed any of her pregnancy weight yet and that was only an issue because it was clearly bothering her. And when she complained about it, Deirdre had gently suggested a little more exercise and a little less gorging, but she didn’t make an issue of it. She knew what it was like and remembered how grateful she was when Jacinta and her mother kept their opinions to themselves and just helped out. Still, she agreed with Martin. It was time.

  “Please stop checking your phone and enjoy a moment for yourself. You deserve it.”