The Women of Primrose Square

by Claudia Carroll

  ‘She didn’t even have the decency to turn up sober . . . Look at the state of her! Falling over drunk. That poor husband of hers, how did he put up with her? No wonder he’s divorcing her. Would you blame him?’

  Emily saw pallbearers gently guiding the heavy oak coffin out through the front doors of the family home, as she tried to shove her way through the other mourners so she could get up close. But for some reason her feet wouldn’t work properly, she kept stumbling, and her vision was blurry, so she couldn’t even see where her mother had got to.

  Next thing, she felt a bony arm grasp hers from behind, then her mum’s voice hissing in her ear. ‘Get out of my sight, Emily Dunne. You’re not welcome here. Haven’t you done enough damage to this family? I want you gone – and I want you gone now.’ Her mother’s raw anger was palpable. Frightening.

  Then Sadie’s husband, Boring Brien, stepped forward, looking weirdly ghoulish in a long, black coat that only emphasised his sunken, hollow face. He looked like the angel of death as he gripped Emily around her shoulders and steered her away, through the crowd and back out onto the street.

  ‘I know you want to be here for your dad,’ he said kindly, ‘but believe me, Em, you’re only making things worse.’

  Emily struggled against him, insisting that she had a right to be at her own father’s funeral. ‘Who the fuck do you think you are, anyway, to tell me where I can and can’t go?’ She wished she hadn’t yelled at him, but she had.

  ‘Tell you what,’ Brien had offered as a compromise. ‘If you stand quietly at the back of the church, you can say your goodbye that way and not upset anyone. But then you have to promise me something,’ he added.

  ‘What more do you want?’ she slurred back at him, her mouth rasping by then.

  ‘You get the help you need,’ he insisted. ‘You check in somewhere and you don’t come out until you’re clean. Until then, you can take it as read that none of us will ever have a single thing to do with you. Sadie is still in shock, but that’ll wear off pretty soon, and believe me, she’ll be so angry with you, you’ll wish you were in the ground along with your father. And you know what your mother is like. She’ll never forget this, and she’ll certainly never forgive. Have you any idea the toll this has taken on her? If she survives this, it’ll be a miracle.

  ‘Get help, Emily. You have got to get help.’

  *

  ‘You’ve only got the one mammy in this life,’ Leon said, pulling Emily’s attention back to the greasy spoon café. ‘And she’s not getting any younger.’

  ‘I know,’ Emily said.

  It was hard for her to say much else. How were you supposed to explain to a relative stranger how it felt when the one person who was supposed to love you and stick by you through thick and thin, didn’t want to know you anymore? And that you’d brought it all on yourself? Emily felt the guilt wash over her yet again, as agonisingly awful as it ever was – except this time without the anaesthetic of vodka to numb the pain.

  ‘It’s not enough,’ Leon said simply.

  ‘What isn’t?’

  ‘To say you’re sorry to her and hope for the best. Not after what you’ve put your mother through. You have to show it too.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Emily sighed, ‘but show her how?’

  ‘Jesus Christ, you’re a grown adult – use your imagination, will you? You were a horrible drunk, and if you’re going to rebuild your life, you need to start being a lot nicer to people. Your mother being a case in point. You lost her house from under the poor woman’s feet. Surely she’s worth a lousy bunch of petunias?’

  Gracie

  ‘I can’t stress how important it is to keep talking to the children about what’s going on,’ Beth was saying, up in the Transformations Clinic one sunny afternoon, when Gracie had a thousand other places to be and far, far better things to do. ‘So how are you both getting on with this at the moment?’

  Well, duh, Gracie thought impatiently. As if talking to the kids honestly had never occurred to her before now. Well worth the trip here, she thought, rapping her biro off the notepad on her knee. Well worth taking a full hour out of an incredibly hectic schedule to sit here and be patronised, like I’m a complete idiot.

  But talking to Ben and Amber was so much harder than she ever thought it would be. She was trying her very best and getting it all wrong, and so was Frank. Both of them seemed to be stuck in a cycle of failing and flailing, and she knew her children were suffering, and she didn’t stop worrying about it, not for one single moment, each and every day. She couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep – all she could do was stress and fret herself to the point of exhaustion.

  She and Frank were sitting side by side in their counselling session. For all the good it’s doing us, Gracie had wanted to bark at Beth. But she didn’t, of course – if nothing else, because Beth seemed like a perfectly nice young woman, who was only doing her best.

  So outwardly, Gracie remained perfectly polite and composed. She diligently took notes. She even turned to acknowledge Frank and tried not to cringe when his voice cracked, as it did repeatedly. All because of whatever cocktail of hormones he was pumping through his body. It reminded her of Ben a few years ago when his voice was breaking, and she almost couldn’t bear it.

  ‘Also,’ Beth was saying, ‘it’s a good idea to remind Ben and Amber that it’s the entire family that transitions, not just you, Frank.’

  Actually, that’s bollocks, Gracie felt like saying. It’s just Frank who’s going to inject himself with God knows what, then have his willy cut off, so he can prance around dressed like a woman for the rest of his life. It’s just Frank who’s dragging our family through hell and who’s done nothing except heap pile after pile of humiliation on us ever since this nonsense started.

  But yet again, she didn’t. Instead she nodded, looked intent and scribbled down a few notes. Gracie had always been the perfect student, even at a time like this.

  ‘To explain it another way,’ Beth went on, ‘the family comes first, and your transition second. This can be hugely traumatic for children, so Ben and Amber need to know that you still love them, no matter what. When it comes to dealing with children, a united front is probably the greatest gift you can give them. When they see you both getting on with things, they will too.’

  But I’m not getting on with things, Gracie thought. I want to kill Frank for putting us through this. The only reason I’m here in the first place is because I want my kids to come out of this unscathed. If it’s possible for anyone to come out of a situation like this unscathed, that is.

  ‘As we discussed, there’s lots of tips and advice I can give you to help when you’re both talking to the kids,’ Beth said. ‘Although obviously, the way you’ll speak to Ben will be very different from the way you talk to Amber, who I know is only eleven years old. But using and explaining the correct terminology is a great start, I find. Normalising terms such as transgender and transwoman, which is what you’re presenting as,’ she said, with a respectful little nod in Frank’s direction. ‘That’s when you were born biologically male, but you identify as female. Kids are much more gender diverse now, they’re more tuned into gender fluidity and that’s a very welcome development. Plus, there are a lot of resources out there that can help.’

  ‘Such as?’ Gracie asked. This’ll be good, she thought. Tips on how to talk to your kids on probably the most mortifying subject imaginable.

  ‘I have a list of very useful books I can give you,’ Beth said, with an encouraging smile. ‘There are some podcasts too, which Ben in particular might find helpful.’

  Books, Gracie thought. Podcasts. Jesus, how much was Frank shelling out for these therapy sessions anyway? Money down the toilet as far as she was concerned.

  ‘I do appreciate that this whole process can seem very long and laborious,’ Beth said, seeming to read Gracie’s mind as the session came to a natural end. ‘But believe me, you will begin to see real progress soon. And in the meantime, I’ll see you both
at the same time next week?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Frank chimed automatically.

  Gracie shot him a hot glare. ‘Absolutely,’ she said out loud, taking care to write an entry in her diary, then underline it in red biro. Counselling session – absolutely do not attend. Phone to cancel that morning.

  They said their goodbyes and Frank escorted her back out onto the street, where her car was parked. He was silent and twitchy and fiddly, which Gracie knew of old, inevitably presaged that there was something he wanted to get off his chest. She let him suffer till she got to her car, unlocked it, then turned to face him.

  ‘Well, that’s it, then,’ she said briskly. ‘Amber will expect you to pick her up at lunchtime on Saturday, and as it’s the day before she goes off to Irish College, I suppose she can stay out till nine p.m. and no later. OK?’

  ‘Yes, yes, thank you,’ Frank stammered, ‘that’s perfect.’

  ‘Goodbye then,’ she said curtly, slipping into the driver’s seat and not even bothering to offer him a lift.

  ‘There’s just one more thing, Gracie, if you have a second,’ Frank said, just as she’d started the engine.

  ‘Can you make it quick?’ she said, sticking her head out of the car window, already indicating to pull out.

  ‘Well . . . I know how tough this must be on you, Gracie,’ Frank said hesitantly. ‘So I just wanted to say thank you. That is to say, I’m grateful to you. Very grateful. You’re a busy woman, I know, and this means a great deal to me. I mean, that you’re making the time to come to therapy sessions with me.’

  He was starting to stammer, and normally when he stammered, Gracie reached a comforting hand out to him and told him to take a nice, deep breath and relax. But not this time.

  A pause, while Frank just looked helplessly at her, like a bespectacled little vole. His words hung there as Gracie locked eyes with him.

  ‘I’m not doing this for you,’ she eventually said, her voice steely calm. ‘None of this is for you. Not a bit of it. I’m only here because of the kids. They’re my only concern. As far as I’m concerned, you, Frank Woods, or Francesca, or whatever you’re calling yourself these days, can rot in hell.’

  ‘Oh,’ she distinctly heard him say as she pulled off. ‘Rightio.’

  *

  Ever since the moment Frank had been outed at his birthday party, word had spread like wildfire around Gracie’s office and beyond. Mistakenly, she had thought this would be a nine-day wonder that would blow over, but she’d been quite wrong. Even now, months later, a few well-intentioned friends and work colleagues would still talk about what happened.

  It was beyond humiliating.

  ‘How are things at home, Gracie? I mean, between you and Frank?’

  Gracie’s response was unchanging. She held her head high and replied that they were working through things and even having counselling together. Now piss off with yourself and go and find something else to gossip about, thanks very much, she often wanted to add, but never did. Good manners and professionalism always prevailed.

  ‘It’s, like, seriously banging to identify as non-binary now, you know,’ Jess, one of Gracie’s junior office interns, had said to her in passing, with a swish of her Instagram-glossy locks. ‘You and your husband and kids are going to be the coolest family going, once you’ve got all this sorted. You could even go on YouTube and record all your experiences. I bet it would go viral in no time.’

  Gracie knew the girl only meant well. Still though, worry about the kids had effectively taken over her whole life. She was hugely anxious about Ben, who at eighteen years old, was a man now, a strapping, six-foot-tall school-leaver, who was old enough to vote. Ben was bright and robust and had an active social life and a great summer job, working in a raw food bar, for a respectable wage, plus tips. This should have been a wonderfully carefree time in Ben’s life, with the whole summer ahead of him to enjoy, before hopefully starting college in the autumn.

  But instead, he had all of this drama to deal with at home. Before all of this blew up, Frank and Ben had been close, but now Ben could barely be in the same room as his dad. God, Gracie thought, would this living nightmare ever come to an end?

  Then there was Amber, who’d always been such a happy, normal, outgoing child. Never once in her almost twelve years of life had she ever given Gracie a day’s concern or worry – no matter where Amber was, she just blossomed and thrived. A great kid, everyone said. Good in school, with lovely friends too. A happy, well-adjusted little girl, who should have been enjoying the long summer holidays before starting secondary school in September.

  But all that had changed now, and even other parents had started to comment.

  ‘Is Amber OK? She seems so quiet and withdrawn,’ one mother had said to Gracie when she collected her after a play date.

  ‘She’s fine,’ Gracie had said defensively. ‘I’m sure she’s just a bit tired, that’s all.’

  ‘And of course, your husband transitioning must be a huge stress to you all as well,’ came the overly nosey reply.

  ‘We’re dealing with things as a family,’ Gracie replied, putting up a perfect shop front as usual. ‘But thanks so much for your concern,’ she added briskly. ‘I’m sure Amber had a wonderful time.’

  Then she turned on her heel at the doorstep and went back to her car, where Amber was patiently waiting for her.

  Amber hadn’t had a wonderful time at all though, she seemed to hate being away from the safety of Primrose Square these days, and now worry about her consumed Gracie day and night. Time and again, Gracie gently broached the subject of Frank with her.

  ‘Sweetheart,’ she asked one evening when the time felt right. ‘How would you feel if Dad began to look a little different? That would be OK with you, wouldn’t it? Imagine if Dad began to look and dress a bit more . . . well, a bit more like a lady . . .’

  ‘But why would he do that, Mum?’ Amber asked innocently.

  ‘Because he’s more comfortable like that, pet. Just like you’re more comfortable in your jeans than you are in your school uniform.’

  ‘I don’t mind, Mum,’ Amber sighed. ‘I don’t really care what Dad looks like. All I really want is for him to come home again.’

  But that would mean all is forgiven, Gracie thought. That would signify to Frank that he could just do this to all of them, rip their marriage apart, shit all over their lives, then bounce back home as if nothing had happened. That would mean that they were a couple again, and that was clearly out of the question. She loved Amber more than life itself, but knew in her heart that she couldn’t live her life with Frank again. How could she?

  Gracie was still processing the fact that her relationship had ground to a shuddering halt, and in that much at least, she knew herself to be entirely blameless. She’d once thought her marriage was as solid and secure as they came, yet this felt like such a deep rejection, not only of her, but of their whole shared history together too. So how could she possibly let Frank back into the house again, even if he were to sleep in the spare room, as if she were OK with it all? I’m barely holding it together as it is, she told herself. But this would really be the straw that broke the camel’s back.

  There was Ben to consider, too. He had right to say how he felt about Frank coming back home and he had long since made his feelings on the subject perfectly clear.

  ‘It’s him or me, Mum,’ Ben had said, firmly and decisively. But then that was Ben all over; once his mind was made up, there was no turning back. None. ‘I just – I can’t even look at him right now. I don’t know him anymore.’

  Which of course meant even more sleepless nights for Gracie, torn between each of her kids, trying desperately to hold her little family together and knowing that she was failing at every turn.

  Then, out of nowhere, came a huge warning sign. Amber had spent most of the school year begging and pleading with her parents to be allowed go to an Irish College in Waterford; it was just a two-week summer school and all h
er school friends were going.

  Gracie had agreed, thinking that the two-week breather away from home and all its inherent stresses would do her the world of good. So she packed Amber’s bags for her and got her all organised for the trip; she’d even taken her shopping for some new clothes to wear while she was away. Then, one sunny morning, she dropped Amber off at the school coach and watched her clamber aboard, surrounded by all her over-excited friends and classmates.

  ‘Have fun, sweetheart!’ Gracie called out through the coach window. Amber had smiled back at her and given a big thumbs-up sign.

  But after just two days, Gracie had a phone call from one of the Irish teachers at the college – the call every parent dreaded.

  ‘I’m afraid Amber doesn’t seem to have settled here at all,’ Gracie was told matter-of-factly. ‘She’s desperately upset and crying and keeps saying she wants to come home.’

  Gracie ran out of her office, cancelled no fewer than three meetings, jumped in her car and hotfooted it for the three-hour journey to Coláiste na Rinne in Waterford.

  The sight of her daughter, pale and withdrawn as she sat in the passenger seat beside her, ready for the long drive home, cracked at her heart.

  ‘Sweetheart, are you really sure you want to leave?’ Gracie asked her gently. ‘It’s only been a few days and you were so looking forward to the trip. Did you really give yourself a proper chance to settle in?’

  ‘Don’t be angry with me Mum,’ Amber said, looking white as a ghost. ‘All I want is to go home.’

  ‘But Amber, you’ve got the whole rest of the summer to be at home.’

  ‘I need to be there, Mum.’

  ‘Why, love? It’s the summer holidays and you’re meant to be off enjoying yourself.’

  ‘Just in case.’

  ‘In case of what?’

  ‘In case Dad comes home and I’m not there.’

  Gracie’s hands tightened around the steering wheel as she navigated the motorway back to Dublin. Jesus, she thought furiously. I could wring Frank’s selfish, self-absorbed neck for this.