Locked Out of Heaven

by Shirley Benton

  “Oh, you look decent there,” Susie said over my shoulder.

  She was right – the picture of “seven pounds lighter than last week” me was quite nice. I skimmed the accompanying article before picking up the newspaper.

  There I was in the paper’s free glossy magazine. I looked reasonably well, but like a heifer in comparison to the other working mothers. My heart sank. Then I read the interview and it plummeted to a place I thought I’d never retrieve it from:

  Upon meeting Holly, I’m immediately struck by two thoughts: how stunningly pretty she is and how it’s a travesty to have such beauty hidden under the folds of excess. But given the pain Holly has publicly suffered of late, it’s understandable that she’d turn to food for comfort. Holly’s high-profile husband, Terry, earned a fortune in boom times but lost it all, resulting in the repossession of the family home in the city’s most sought-after address.

  Holly and three of her four children now live with her parents in their three-bedroom terraced house in Blackbeg, a place that has become synonymous with poverty, drugs and social problems. Although she won’t be drawn on the details, Holly is currently raising her children without financial support from her estranged husband. Her approach to being a working mother is somewhat novel. First, she decided to take part in Eire TV’s documentary Diary of a Boomeranger and now she’s pimping herself out – her expression, not mine – to work for anyone who’ll have her, as long as they pay her well for her services. Presumably, all that work leaves very little time for healthy eating.

  “It’s a very scary thing to find yourself in a place where you have no income and no means of getting it fast,” Holly told me over a cup of coffee with cream and cheesecake. “I went on Diary of a Boomeranger in the hope that having a public profile would help me to generate financial opportunities.”

  Holly, a trained counsellor, stopped working after her third child was born to focus on motherhood.

  “Did you visualise an idyll of baking cookies with the kids every day instead of going out to the grind?” I ask.

  “I never found my job a grind – I loved it – but children grow up fast and it wasn’t financially worthwhile for me to work full-time when I had the costs of childcare to consider. I’d love to go back to counselling when they’re older, but right now I’m in a precarious position and need financial quick fixes. So I decided to put myself out there to avail of any promotional opportunities that someone might wish to hire me for as a result of me being on Diary of a Boomeranger.”

  She picks up her spoon and considers the cheesecake before touching her stomach and putting it down again. I ask her what inspired this idea.

  “My daughter Hayley suggested it. She said I should do a Kim Kardashian and use my public profile to make money. Hayley’s much more in touch with what’s going on these days than I am and I was in need of a good idea so I thought I’d give it a go. She tells me Kim Kardashian is now an author, a fashion designer and has a perfume out. Now, I can’t see myself launching a perfume any time soon, but the point of what Hayley was saying is that if you put yourself out there, you’re making yourself available for opportunities.”

  And how is the pimping working out for Holly?

  “Well, I’m certainly experiencing a new range of opportunities because of it, but financially . . . there’s definitely room for improvement.”

  I ask Holly just how much money she’s made from pimping. Her face darkens.

  “I’d prefer not to say.

  When I push her for an answer, she shakes her head.

  “Heidi, I wouldn’t ask you your salary.”

  I’m sure she wouldn’t, but doesn’t the public nature of what she’s doing, right down to being interviewed by me about her initiative, mean the public deserve to know how it’s working out? When I say as much, Holly starts to look upset. Her chins wobble as she tries to keep it together.

  “As I said, there’s room for improvement and if anyone would like to hire me for anything, I’m available.”

  Not much, then.

  I ask Holly about her relationship with her parents. She must be very close to them if they’re making a situation like theirs work out.

  “We’re very close,” she says.

  Handy, that, when there’s six of them living in a three-bed terrace.

  “Our current situation means that my parents and my children get to see much more of each other than they would otherwise have done, so their bond is growing and deepening every day.”

  And how does her mother like having another woman around her territory? Does Holly get on well with her?

  “Oh, we get on like a house on fire,” she insists.

  In other words, a sparky relationship.

  I find myself doing this a lot in my conversation with Holly. Interpreting what she really means. Although friendly, she’s measured and guarded. I even wonder if for some reason she’s hiding inside her weight.

  As our conversation draws to a close, I leave her feeling as if I don’t know her any better now than I did an hour ago. I feel we bond for a few seconds when she requests a doggy bag for her remaining cheesecake and I tell her to take mine, too, but then the connection is gone. Her attention has already drifted to the bag the waiter has just handed her.

  Of all the opportunities she’s had so far as a result of Diary of A Boomeranger, I can’t help thinking that the magazine weight loss programme is the most important one for her health. Whether or not she’ll have the strength to see it through or whether she’ll boomerang back to old habits remains to be seen.

  If you have an opportunity you think Holly would be suitable for, please contact her through her website. After all, even the neediest child has to leave home sometime.

  “Oh my God.” I dropped the magazine.

  Susie picked it up and read it. While she was reading, I picked up my phone.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Ringing Heidi to tell her what a miserable little shit she is.”

  “No.” Susie threw the magazine down and grabbed my phone. “Don’t give her the satisfaction.”

  “I can’t let her away with this!”

  “Holly, people like her don’t care what’s said to them – they wouldn’t write this kind of stuff in the first place if they did. She’ll probably be thrilled to bits to hear that she got to you. It’s a power thing.” Susie stuffed my phone in her back pocket. “I’ll give it back when you calm down.”

  I sat down and tried not to cry, reminding myself that I was thirty-six.

  “Don’t let it get to you, Holly. That’s what happens when you put yourself out there. You just have to let the negative stuff go over your head. Shall I make you a cup of green tea?”

  I nodded slowly.

  “Are you sure that shite won’t depress you further? Go on, have a real tea.”

  “No, thanks. Green is fine,” I said, picturing myself alongside the hotties again.

  Just because I was putting myself out there didn’t mean anyone had the right to make shit of me. Or did it? Did the possibility of being made shit of just come with the territory and you had to suck it up if it happened? I had no idea.

  The final episode of Diary of a Boomeranger was aired the next day. I thought I came across well, but I was seized with fear as soon as the credits rolled. That was it – I was out of the public eye now. So where did that leave pimp my life?

  I probably didn’t need to worry about people making shit of me any more. Everyone would forget about me very, very soon.

  Chapter 39

  31 December 1994 (continued)

  “Can you believe you’re getting married tomorrow?” Susie said to me. She sounded like she was about sixteen.

  “No.” My voice was as flat as a pancake, but she either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

  One thing I’d learned about my mother since getting engaged to Terry was that she heard what she wanted to hear and nothing else. I’d told her that I didn’t want a damn hen party the nigh
t before my wedding, but guess what, Diary? She hadn’t listened to that and so there we were, all dolled up and ready to leave the house as soon as Susie’s pal Hawaii called round to come into town with us.

  Susie hadn’t wanted to know about the fundamentals, such as me trying to tell her that I wasn’t sure getting married so young was a good idea, so she was hardly going to pay any attention to the trivial details like me needing this hen party as much as I needed someone to spill a pint of Guinness all over my wedding dress. You’d swear it was her getting married. At least I’d managed to talk her out of inviting anyone who’d ever met me to the wedding. It was just going to be my parents, Cliff (if he showed up), Hawaii, Susie’s sister, Sheila, Sammy and Terry’s family.

  “Well, believe it, because you’re about to marry the best catch ever to come out of anywhere near this hellhole. But first, we celebrate!”

  She cracked open a new bottle of vodka and poured a huge measure with just a dash of tonic.

  “I don’t want that,” I said.

  “Don’t be stupid. That’s for me.” She took a long, long glug that almost drained the glass, then took another and filled it to the brim with vodka only. “This one is for you.”

  “Jaysus, Susie! Have a bit of sense! Do you want me to end up wearing a white paper gown on a trolley in a hospital aisle instead of the usual bridal carry-on?”

  “I just want you to relax. You’ll only end up worrying yourself sick if you’re left to your own devices – I know what you’re like, remember?”

  Hmm. After the last few months, Diary, I had to wonder if Susie knew the first thing about me.

  Thankfully, the doorbell rang. I poured the vodka down the sink while Susie answered the door then filled my glass with water. Hawaii came in, screeching the house down as usual. And yes, that was her real name. She or her parents had never left Dublin, so what that name was about, I don’t know. What I did know, though, was that she was very proud of it and used it to her advantage as a pulling point whenever she was out. She was about as exotic as a week-old ashtray, but you had to admire anyone with as much confidence as she had.

  “Where is she?”

  I presumed she was talking about me, so I emerged from the kitchen and tried not to choke on the perfume fumes in the hall.

  “Ah! Jaysus, Holly. How did you get old enough to be getting married in the morning?”

  “I don’t think I did,” I said under my breath.

  As usual around here, I was ignored.

  “She was always very mature for her age,” Susie said.

  There was an unwritten rule that it was fine for her to criticise me in a boundary-free fashion, but nobody else could.

  “Sure, you’re pretty mature now yourself,” Hawaii said with glee.

  She was ten years younger than Susie and never failed to remind her.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said before a catfight broke out. Susie and Hawaii were the type of friends who always left you wondering why they bothered with each other. I knocked back my water, although suddenly I wished it was vodka again.

  We met Sammy in a pub in town – naturally, I’d invited her, although I wasn’t sure she’d come. When I told her about the wedding, she said she thought I was far too young to be getting married. She was sitting at the bar, sipping something fluorescent green through a straw and looking pensive as she stared at the flashing lights on a Christmas tree.

  “Thank God you’re here,” I said as I slipped into a seat beside her and tried to lose Susie and Hawaii.

  They were only just in the door and Hawaii was already chatting up a guy who looked about ten years younger than her.

  “There will be a murder before the night is out if I have to spend too much time on my own with my mum and her friend.”

  “Good job we know a certain cop, so,” Sammy said. “You might need someone to help you get a good cell once you’re in the nick.”

  “Mmm.” I looked over at Hawaii in a bid to get off the subject. “Dear God, I think I went to school with that guy my mum’s friend is chatting up.”

  Sammy didn’t even look over at Hawaii. Time to change tact.

  “So, what’s that you’re drinking, Sammy?”

  “Some new alcopop mixed with vodka and lime. I forget what it’s called, which must mean it’s strong. He said to say congratulations, by the way.”

  “The alcopop can talk?”

  “Damien. He said to pass on his good wishes.”

  God, she was worse than Cliff over a Sunday lunch.

  “Oh, great, yeah. Tell him I said thanks.”

  “God be with the days when you two used to talk directly to each other. What happened there, Holly? I asked him and he won’t tell me.”

  “Nothing happened!”

  “So you just drifted apart gradually, except you did it immediately. But nothing happened. Yeah, that makes sense. Stop bullshitting me, Holly.”

  “Oh, come on, Sammy. Why are you giving me a hard time? It’s my bloody hen night!”

  “Exactly! You’re going off marrying some bloke you've been with for just a few months—”

  “He’s not just some bloke! He’s Terry – you know him, remember?”

  “Do I? I’m not sure if you even know him. How can anyone know anyone well enough to marry them after only a few months, much less someone who’s only eighteen? But my point is that if you’re so in love with Terry, then you shouldn’t mind telling me what happened with Damien. It’s all in the past now, whatever it was, and will be of no consequence after tomorrow.”

  “So why do you want to know, then?”

  “Aha! So you’re admitting that there is something to know.”

  “Oh, Sammy, stop it. This is ridiculous.”

  “No. Cliff agrees with me. In fact, he’s the one who brought it up with me in the first place.”

  I should have known Cliff wouldn’t have been far from this conversation – he and Sammy were inseparable now. He was lucky he was far away from me right at that moment, though.

  “You don’t talk about Damien. Damien won’t talk about you. You got on great until all of a sudden, you didn’t. One of two things happened: you either got together on the QT and something went badly wrong, or one or the other of you made a move and it wasn’t reciprocated.”

  Behind me, a loud squeal from Hawaii alerted me to my aunt Sheila’s arrival. She and Hawaii hated each other, so it was probably a shriek of horror. I prayed Sheila would come over to say hello, but now that I wanted that lot near me again they couldn’t be seen for dust.

  “We didn’t get together, either openly or on the QT. People don’t have to jump each other just because they get on okay.”

  “People who have as much chemistry between them as you and Damien have usually do. But instead, you’re marrying a guy who could be your brother for all the passion you seem to have for him.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard. You two are like a pair of pensioners most of the time. Oh, he’s mad about you all right, but you can tell he’s afraid to go near you half the time in case he scares you away.”

  “That’s rubbish!”

  “Is it? Have you ever wondered why he’s so keen to marry you? I’ll tell you why. He’s afraid he’s going to lose you and this is his way of keeping you.”

  I stood up. “I’ve heard enough from you, Sammy. You’re way out of line here.”

  “Look, Holly, I wouldn’t be much of a friend if I didn’t say something to you tonight, but the truth is I think you’re making a big, big mistake. I only wish I’d said this a lot sooner, but it’s not too late to pull out.”

  “And what in the world makes you think I want to?”

  “I saw you getting more excited about the contents of my make-up bag the first night I met you than I ever have about Terry. That’s what.”

  Jesus. Under other circumstances, I’d have considered that a good comeback. I hadn’t seen that coming, Diary.

  “You know, Holly, I’ve a good
mind to leave this sham of a night and join Damien in Kennedy’s pub for the night.”

  “What’s he doing there?”

  “Drowning his sorrows.”

  “What sorrows?”

  She shrugged. “I mentioned I was going to your hen night.”

  “Ah, Christ.” I sat back down again.

  As I did so, Terry’s mother and aunts walked in. They made a beeline for Susie and embraced her one by one.

  “Please stay, Sammy. We’ll talk properly about this in the morning, I promise, but just help me to get through the rest of this night.”

  “Only if you promise you’re going to get out of this in the morning if you don’t think it’s right for you.”

  “I will,” I said, then braced myself for the onslaught of hen-night-enforced joy as Terry’s family came towards me with flashing L-plates.

  We were in our fourth pub and it was almost closing time. Just as the lights flashed for last orders, a barman approached me with a phone receiver outstretched.

  “Holly?”

  “Yes?”

  “I have your fiancé on the line looking to speak to his hen.”

  “Oooh!” Hawaii was standing at the bar waving a note for last orders and squealed at the barman’s words. “Somebody lurrrves you, Holleee! There’s someone for everyone really, isn’t there?”

  I grabbed the phone.

  “Terry?”

  “Hi, gorgeous—”

  “What’s this about?”

  “I just wanted to speak to you the night before our wedding.”

  “How did you know I’d be here?”

  “Well, Susie went through all the pubs with me when she was planning the night. She knows I know all the best ones, so I suggested you leave this one until last. What do you think? Lovely spot, isn’t it?”

  “Oh my God. You even decided what pubs I’d be going to on my hen night?”

  “No, I just wanted to help and make sure you didn’t end up in some shithole, that’s all! Like that place you went to for your Sammy’s birthday. That was some dive.”