I closed my Facebook window down, wondering if I’d actually just agreed to mind my former best friend’s five children, or if I just needed to get more sleep – five children. By the sounds of it, sleep would be exactly what I’d need by the time that lot were finished with me, if Sammy was actually serious.
***
Sammy’s house was in a newish suburban estate. A lot of the new developments around the city had that concrete jungle feel to them and were full of dwellings that were little more than a stacked pile of bricks. In most cases, a child could have put something more attractive together with Lego, or maybe even play dough on a particularly creative day. Not Sammy’s estate, though. Each detached house in the small development was double-fronted and spacious with long front gardens. They looked cosy and welcoming on the tree-lined road that wound around the enclave.
The sound of trampling elephants greeted me as soon as I rang the doorbell. It didn’t sound like any of the five children were in bed.
The door opened a fraction.
“Ben, move back so I can open the door! And Molly, stop pussing about Maggie hitting you and just thump her back like I taught you!”
The door was yanked backwards then shuddered as it connected with a child’s foot, presumed to be Ben’s.
“Holly, welcome!” Sammy said over the sound of Ben’s whimper. “Come on in before one of this lot escapes or bites you on the ankle.”
I fought my way into the hall, stepping over not only children, but also a ride-on, an upturned baby walker and a gigantic doll with only one arm. I barely noticed them, though, as I took in the many-years-later version of Sammy. She looked tired. Gorgeous, but very definitely tired. Hardly a surprise, though. I, of all people, had known she’d look like that before I set foot inside the door. As for what she thought of me, who knows. She’d barely had a chance to look at me since I came in, but I knew she’d have taken me in fully in those few seconds on the doorstep and would have deduced how well or badly I’d aged from that alone. Sammy didn’t miss much.
I turned my attention to the children, figuring I should at least smile at them or something to warm them up. There were two little girls, one taller than the other, reluctantly following their mother while simultaneously staring me out, but at least they’d stopped fighting. Ben with the sore foot ran along after them, while another boy of the baby variety crawled towards us – his name was Max, I gauged from Maggie encouraging him to come to her before she eventually walked over to him and picked him up. Sammy was carrying another baby boy on her hip. I couldn’t decide which child looked scarier. A desire to run out of the house screaming overtook me. It was different when kids were your own.
“Rory!” Sammy shouted as we walked into the kitchen. “Come out here! There’s no point in hiding in the dining room – I know you’re in there.”
Had I done my maths wrong? She’d said five kids . . . If there was another one, I really was leaving.
A man around the same age as myself emerged in the kitchen and looked at Sammy dubiously. Sammy crossed the room to him and peeled the baby off her hip.
“Here. Put the kids to bed, will you? This is Holly, by the way.” She pointed to where I was standing in the hall. “Holly, this is my husband, Rory.”
“Hello, Holly. Nice to meet you,” Rory said, but his heart wasn’t in it and he’d turned his attention back to Sammy before he’d even finished his sentence. “Sam, I have work to do tonight for that presentation I’m giving tomorrow . . .”
“Well, you’d better put them to bed fast then to give yourself time.” Sammy turned away from him and smiled broadly at me. “The wine is open and waiting for us in the sitting room.” She leap-frogged over her children and back down the hall.
“Oh, thank God!”
“You didn’t actually believe me, did you?”
“No, but I was slightly worried all the same.”
Sammy directed me into a toy-clad sitting room. She poured a glass of red wine and gracelessly shoved it into my hand.
“You can get a taxi,” she said before filling another glass. “About tonight, I knew we’d only end up making arrangements to meet someday that would never come if I didn’t do something straight away. I could have just invited you over, but where would the fun be in that?”
I took a sip from the glass then reconsidered and gulped instead. A taxi it was, then.
“What would you have done if I’d actually brought my kids over?”
“I’d have told Rory to dig out the abacus and count the kids off on it before he put the lot of them down to sleep for the night.”
I laughed. “Sammy, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but why exactly did you invite me here? I’m sure you have enough to do with your kids without going to the bother of entertaining me.”
“Are you joking? You’re here to entertain me.” She put her glass down and threw her arms around me. “I’ve missed you over the years. I wanted you here for my wedding and my kids’ christenings and all that stuff, but . . . well, we know what the but is. But I’ve had enough of it now. I shouldn’t have had to lose a friend over what happened with Damien, or Damo, as you always called him. It’s all behind us now though, and I think fifteen years is long enough for you to get over yourself and allow yourself to be friends with me again. Besides, I bet you missed me.”
I smiled. “Maybe a bit . . .”
If only she knew. While I’d been married to Terry my friends hadn’t been limited so much as non-existent. I’d spent so many years caught up in the juggle of helping him with the pubs and working in my own profession to have time for friends. I’d looked on Terry as my best friend and thought I didn’t need any other ones. If only Sammy had been around . . . she might have seen through what Terry was up to long before I had.
Sammy sat down on the couch and patted the space beside her.
“Grab that bottle. This catch-up is going to take a while.”
Sammy pressed Play on the CD player to drown the shrieks of one or other of her children who were putting up resistance against going to bed. The theme tune to “Bob the Builder” filled the room.
“Sorry, sorry. I had a Beatles CD in the CD player earlier . . . never teach your kids how to use the CD player. Mind you, it’s not exactly rocket science, so they’ll work it out anyway.” She took out the offending CD. “You have four, don’t you?”
“CDs or kids? I have no CDs – I left them all in the old house – and four kids. Hayley’s off doing her own thing these days, which is why I said I’m only used to managing three at a time.”
“If you want another one to fill her space, there’s one or two going a-begging around here. One careful owner – well, two, but Rory’s so tired when he gets home from work that he won’t even notice if a few of them are missing.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I smiled as Sammy rooted through a pile of CDs, eventually locating something she seemed to be happy with.
She inserted it and the sound of The Stone Roses filled the air.
“Ah, it’s like a balm to my soul,” she said as she picked up her wine glass and took a long sip. “The music, that is. Although this wine is good, too.”
I smiled. “So where have you been in the last fifteen years?”
“To the local supermarket, mostly. Oh, and mother-and-baby groups, play centres . . .”
“Sounds familiar.”
“They practically do your shopping for you in that posh supermarket near where you live. I’ve no sympathy for you.”
“Oh, stop – I always hated that place. I only shopped there because Terry . . . ah, it’s a long story.”
“Don’t worry, it’ll be a long night.”
We heard another scream from upstairs.
“For Rory as much as for us, but that’s not my problem right now.” She refilled her wine glass. “So, me from 1994 onwards . . . Well, I finished college in 1997 and moved to France. I got a job in a call centre in Paris and worked there for two years, then came home a
nd got a job in a call centre here servicing the French market.
“Then I got headhunted by the multinational company Serviceco, who wanted me to head up a team in a new call centre division they were setting up for – guess what – the French market. They offered a great package and I jumped ship, and I’m still with them. I’ve been rolling from one maternity leave to the other for years. Then there’s my business – ever heard of Hen Parties Online?”
“I’m sure I’ve heard ads for it during the Dermot & Dave show on Today FM . . .”
“Yes, that’s the one. It’s my sideline business in selling hen party packages online, weirdly enough. I set it up years ago and it really took off. It was the first of its kind on the market and I have a website servicing the UK now too, so obviously I have staff both there and here.
“I was on a TV show a few years ago where I pitched the business idea to a panel of investors. They didn’t invest, but that was their mistake, because things exploded shortly after. Thank God I got a credit union loan to expand the business instead of having someone else involved in it.”
I smiled. “Wow! you’re doing great for yourself. You’re probably due back at work soon though now, are you? You said the twins are nine months . . .”
“Yep! I’m on unpaid leave at the moment, but I’ll have to hand in my notice soon and focus on the business at night. If I had to pay someone to mind my five while I’m at work it’d cost everything I earn in my day job. I’ve been dragging out handing in my notice for as long as possible in case I accidentally got pregnant again. It’s happened twice already, for the record. We were only supposed to have two children.”
“Still, you seem happy,” I said.
“I adore my children and wouldn’t swap them for the world, but I’m also frazzled, befuddled, overwhelmed and have totally forgotten who I am in my own right outside the kids and work.” She drained her glass.
“Right.” I looked into my glass, unsure what to say to that. “So, when did you meet Rory?”
“Seven years ago. He also works at Serviceco.” Her eyes lit up a bit. “He’s great. And best of all, he’s a brilliant father. Just as well, when he can’t seem to stop getting me up the duff. He’s getting the snip next week though, at long bloody last.”
She smiled as I tried to remain expressionless, knowing that a mental image of Rory getting snipped would be all I’d see the next time I looked at him.
“You can’t accuse me of having grown evasive over the years,” Sammy said.
“That’s for fecking sure,” I said with a smile.
“So that’s me. And you?”
I shrugged. “I finished college, too, and worked as a counsellor up until five years ago. I had Hayley shortly after Terry and I got married, but I was determined to finish college and start my career. It wasn’t easy juggling motherhood with starting out in the work environment, but I managed it and absolutely adored my work.
“I wasn’t sure if I wanted to have more children after years of struggling to balance everything, then it got to the stage where I thought the gap would be too big between Hayley and another child. But my body had other plans and I got pregnant with Sarah, even though we were using contraception.”
Sammy blessed herself. “Stop it. I wonder if they can bring that snip operation forwards to tomorrow?”
“No, don’t worry. I’d taken antibiotics around that time and it was just down to carelessness on our part. I suppose I got complacent about the possibility of getting pregnant again as the years went on. Then after we had Sarah, we were back in the baby stage anyway, so we decided we’d try for a boy reasonably soon afterwards.
“It took a while for me to get pregnant that time, then I had Debbie, who’s wonderful. I still thought it would be lovely to have a son, though, so we decided to try one more time and Oran came along a few months ago.”
“Oran’s an interesting choice of name.”
“You don’t like it?”
“It’s very . . . middle class, or something . . .”
“Well in that case, I’d better rename him pronto, because there’s nothing middle class about our lifestyle now!”
“Terry’s choice, was it?”
“Well, yes.”
“Thought so. Does he have a decent middle name he could use later in life?”
I shook my head. “Behave, Sammy.”
I couldn’t admit it, but I didn’t like my gorgeous son’s name, either. I wished I hadn’t let Terry talk me into choosing it. Oran looked like a Charlie to me.
“Anyway, then I split with Terry, realised he’d lost us everything we owned and went on Diary of a Boomeranger to try to make some money as quickly as possible.”
“What about counselling? Would you go back to that?”
“There’s nothing I’d love more, but getting back into the job market after five years off could take a while. I need a quick fix injection of cash if we’re to keep our heads above water.”
“What exactly happened between you and Terry to split you up, then?”
I wasn’t sure I was ready to go there just yet. It wasn’t Sammy. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to tell her, I just didn’t want to tell anyone. It disgusted me every time I thought about the type of person I’d been sharing my life with for the past fifteen years.
“It’s in the past now. Let’s leave it there.” My voice was colder than I’d intended.
Sammy took the hint. “Okay. But does that apply to everything that’s in the past when it comes to you?”
When I said nothing, Sammy rolled her eyes.
“Don’t worry, it’s not the nineties all over again. I’m not planning on setting my big brother up with my best friend. I’m just asking if we can bring up his name in conversation without you going all weird on me.”
I tried to look nonchalant. “Of course you can. How is he?”
“I’m glad you asked me that.” Her face clouded. “Damien is . . . not himself. I’ve been saying it for months to my parents, and they agree, but they don’t know what’s going on, either. Something is up and I can’t put my finger on what it is.”
“And I presume you’ve asked him what’s going on?”
“Of course, and he’s denied that there’s anything wrong other than too much stress at work. He’s a detective now, has been for a good few years. It’s great career progression, but it doesn’t come without its fair share of stress. This seems like something more though, and he’s doing plenty of things that should, in theory, de-stress him. He’s really into the gym and also runs four times a week outside his gym training, but it doesn’t seem to be doing him any good. He’s not himself.”
“And it’s not a relationship issue?”
“He’s not seeing anyone at the moment. He was in a serious relationship with a woman called Karen, but that ended about six months ago. He was living with her in Scotland while on a career break and moved back here when it ended, but he swears he’s not cut up about it. Maybe he’s lying, but I don’t think it’s about Karen. My gut feeling is that there’s some other problem.”
Sammy refilled our glasses again. Christ! Susie would kill me if I reeked of drink in the morning.
“If he knew I was having this conversation with you, he’d murder me,” Sammy continued. “I bet he’d love for you to hear about how well he’s doing at work and all the rest, but I’m so worried about him and frankly, I’m already too drunk to pretend everything is fantastic.
“Rory’s sick of listening to me telling him that something is up, and Mum and Dad don’t have a clue what to do with him. I wish he’d just talk to me, but he’s stonewalling me like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Just keep in touch with him,” I said. “He’ll talk to you when the time is right. In the meantime, just keep the lines of communication open.”
“That’s what I’m doing. I call him every day. I think he’s sick of the calls, to be honest. I usually drop the phone in the course of the conversation to save someone from boiling their
face in the deep fat fryer or losing a finger in a mousetrap . . . Oh, crap, I didn’t mean to tell you we had mice. They stay in the kitchen, honest.
“Anyway, I then ask him what’s going on with him and he’ll tell me stuff that really doesn’t tell me anything. Recently, every conversation has ended with me asking him what’s going on then him getting pissed off with me and saying there’s nothing wrong except for me nagging him. Does that sound like Damien to you?”
“I’m sorry, Sammy, but I can’t say. I don’t know who Damien is any more.”
Sammy drained her glass. “Holly, neither do I.”
Chapter 16
15 April 1994
I admit it. I took things too far when I said you might have to be patient, Diary. I wish I had a crap excuse for you for my lack of entries, but the truth is that I have a good one. In fact, I don’t think you could ever hear a much better excuse for my lack of writing than what I’m about to tell you.
Ricky is dead.
It’s hard to write the words down. I haven’t said them aloud since it happened a week ago, so this is the first time I’ve ever articulated his death in any format.
I don’t even know where to begin. I suppose I should take up where I left off with you, the night I confronted Ricky. It all seems like so long ago now, but I can still remember everything in vivid detail. Everything related to Ricky’s demise is imprinted in my head and you know something, Diary? I don’t think any of it will ever leave me. I think it’s going to haunt me for the rest of my life and follow me around wherever I go, just the way I thought that being from Blackbeg would.
Anyway, when Ricky stormed out of the house after our argument, I sat in the sitting room alone that night waiting for my parents to come home. You should have heard them coming in the door, talking about how great the meeting had gone and how much hope they had that the government would get involved in anti-drugs initiatives. Our Sacred Heart picture really was having a good laugh at us that night. I stuck my finger up at the blasted thing just as my parents came through the door. My mum said afterwards that the minute she saw my face, she knew things would never be the same again after I said whatever it was that I had to say.
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