The foolish prick, I thought. He straightened himself up and all three of them started to laugh. I recognised the sound. It was Joe.
‘You’re mad!’ I said.
‘Hi,’ he replied breathlessly. The two children were obviously having a ball. ‘This is Ronan and this is Katie.’ They paid no attention to me. They were too busy scrambling back up the hill.
Then, just as gleefully and twice as loud, a dark-haired woman came skidding down the hill. The children were screaming after her. ‘Look at Mum, look at Mum!’
Joe went to the woman’s aid. He picked her up and dusted her off. ‘And this,’ he paused, ‘is Juliet.’
‘Hi,’ she said, in an English accent.
I extended my hand. It was, after all, Joe’s friend. ‘Hi, Juliet.’
Joe curled her long black hair behind her ears. Only then did the penny drop. I could see it in her eyes. I could see it in his eyes. Ah Christ.
Ronan came tumbling down again. Screaming and shrieking like a lunatic. Katie stood nervously at the top.
‘Come on, I’ll catch you,’ Joe encouraged her.
She closed her eyes and dived forward, landing at Joe’s feet in convulsions of laughter. It was obvious he had gained her complete trust. How long had this been going on? How come he had not said anything on the phone? They were beautiful children. Ronan was a sturdy boy with a roundy, happy face, full of mischief. Katie was very pretty, but much more subdued. She looked like her mother.
‘This is David.’ I pointed to the sleeping body in the buggy. ‘As you can see, he has already had his adventure for the day.’
Juliet peered into the buggy. ‘He resembles you,’ she commented.
‘Yes. I’m afraid his mannerisms are all mine too.’
‘Poor bastard,’ Joe smirked. Then: ‘Ronan, watch your sister,’ he called. Katie was dangling from a tree and trying to scramble to the ground.
‘Joe has told me so much about you that I feel I’ve known you for years.’ Juliet smiled at me. It was a genuine smile. Yes. Just how long had this been going on? I liked Juliet immediately. I was annoyed that I liked her immediately.
‘How are you?’ Joe beamed. He was lit up like a Christmas tree, radiating supreme joy. The picture was perfect.
I felt like a spare prick. I was trying hard to adjust, that is, within the time-scale I had been given to adjust. I was angry with him for dumping me in at the deep end like this. I even wondered, had he done it deliberately? Then I was cross with myself for not being happy for them. It was a very strange contradiction.
We sat down by the pond as the children played with the ducks. David woke up and was delighted to have two new friends. Especially two new older friends. He loved older children. Juliet talked freely and openly. She treated me like her best friend. I wasn’t sure who she was doing it for at first, but it seemed to be completely genuine. She loved to talk and was very down to earth. She and I had a lot in common. She had married, the marriage had failed, she had set up home in Finchley, North London, and had met Joe in the local bar, where he was playing music.
At this point she stopped talking for a brief moment and smiled at him. He smiled back. It was obvious they were in the first throes of love. There was a special something between them.
The whole thing felt bizarre. I guess I had always taken it for granted that Joe would remain a loner. Now, that notion seemed utterly absurd. Watching him with the children and his devotion to Juliet, it seemed quite crazy to imagine him being alone for ever. This new relationship was as natural as night and day. Why hadn’t I thought about it before?
Joe was a loving, loyal and sensitive man and a wonderful father too. That was when I felt the first twinges of jealousy. I was absolutely sickened to my stomach. How could I feel something like that when it was plain to see he was happy? Juliet was the perfect partner for Joe. My depression increased tenfold.
‘I’m taking the kids for an ice-cream down the road. Come with us, Jack, there’s room for David in the back.’
‘Where did you get the car?’ I asked, looking at the black Mazda.
‘It’s Juliet’s. We came over on the ferry — it was cheaper. Besides, we needed it for the kids. Right, gang. Pile in!’
We drove down the causeway on to the beach. I remembered being sixteen, and Matt Howard. I smiled to myself. Katie went off to collect shells. She returned with a bucket-full. I held the strange shapes in my palm.
‘I used to paint these when I was a little girl like you. Why don’t you ask your mammy to help you paint them? Then you can put them in your room and look at them.’
‘Mummy hasn’t any paints,’ she replied solemnly.
I made a face at Juliet. She blushed a little. ‘Maybe you can ask her to buy some when you go home.’
‘My mummy kisses Joe,’ she added without any warning whatsoever.
‘Katie!’ Juliet interrupted.
‘I have paints.’ I changed the subject quickly. ‘You can borrow them if you like.’
‘OK,’ she smiled. Then did an about-turn and fled down the beach with her arms flapping in the wind like an aeroplane.
My face burned with jealousy. It was ridiculous. I couldn’t understand my feelings — they made no sense. Joe was entitled to kiss whoever he wanted. I couldn’t figure out why it mattered all of a sudden.
‘My God, she’s got some energy — how do you manage? I can barely cope with one child.’ I tried hard to conceal my inner turmoil.
‘It’s a case of having to,’ she answered in a perfectly spoken British accent. ‘I can see you’re confused,’ she added.
Intuitive and perceptive. Joe had hit the jackpot.
‘Well, to be honest,’ I confessed, ‘he never told me, I’m a little shocked, that’s all. God, I’m delighted for you both, really.’
‘You’re his best friend, I know. I hope we can be friends too.’
She was doing her very best. She delved into her pocket and drew out a small parcel. ‘We brought you something for Mother’s Day. I hope you like it,’ she smiled and handed it to me.
I opened the beautifully wrapped box and inside was a tiny gold charm. I could just about make out the engraving on the inside: /./. I looked at it for a long time. I wished it had been from Joe alone. I wished he had chosen it, not her. I found myself surprisingly upset.
David was now insisting he needed to go to the toilet. ‘Can I go with Joe?’ he asked candidly. He had that look on his face, the one that said, ‘That’s a man. I know it’s a man and I’d like to examine him.’ The lack of a father figure in David’s life had become more and more apparent. Especially now as he approached schooldays. I knew it would be difficult. Mammies and Daddies would collect their children from school. Pretty soon he would notice — no Daddy. Then the inevitable questions would begin. I dreaded it.
The sky had become overcast and grey. Time had gone by very quickly. We piled back into the car and headed up the causeway.
‘I’ll drive you home, Jack,’ Joe offered.
‘No, honestly, the bus is just here. We’ll get out here.’ I didn’t want Juliet to see where I lived. Luckily a bus came driving up the road at that very moment.
‘There’s our bus,’ I said, sighing. ‘Better run or we’ll miss it.’
‘Hey. Mind yourself, Jack. It was great seeing you. I’ll call you soon.’
Juliet waved and the children shouted from out of the back window. I jumped on the bus trying desperately not to look awkward. The buggy slid across the floor. The bus conductor stayed sitting, chewing moronically on a piece of gum. I grappled with the buggy, my bag and David and somehow managed to get the buggy stowed safely out of the way. Then I slipped back into the seat and hugged David.
The bus conductor continued to stare at me. I stared back. The ignorant prick.
Without warning, David stood up, yanked down his trousers and pissed all over the floor.
I was never so proud of him.
/> Chapter 8
What was left of the day was spent in a semi-coma. I was dazed and uninterested, found it hard to concentrate on anything. I couldn’t bear to stay in the flat alone. For the first time in a long time, I took it upon myself to visit home at teatime.
As I walked down Vernon Avenue, everything felt strange and different. I had forgotten the beautiful greens and browns of Clontarf, the cherry blossoms lining Belgrove Lane. It was that time of year when the cherry blossoms were snowing heavily on the footpath. David waded through the sea of pink. Every now and then he’d kick his shoe high in the air and the confetti-like petals would swirl around us. I had walked that road millions of times. As a child I went to the shops daily for my mother. ‘Ten of the cheapest cigarettes, please.’ The shopkeeper would hand me back ten Richmond. I could still remember the blue box and my mother puffing furiously on them. They had cost 12 pence then. I knew every crack and hole in the road. We always tried so hard not to walk on the lines, as we thought it would rain if we did that.
Our house hadn’t changed much down through the years. That is, on the outside. Come to think of it, the inside hadn’t either, and I’m not talking about the decor.
‘Mam?’ I called, as I let myself in with an old key. ‘Dad? Anyone home?’
I heard the breeze blow through the house and I knew the back door was open. That meant my father was here, in the back garden — his favourite haunt. David went straight to the video cabinet and put on Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. I knew that guaranteed total peace for at least ten minutes.
I found my father in the back garden, as predicted. Hunched over a vegetable plot, he was digging away furiously, and cursing at the same time. I smiled.
‘Dad?’
‘Move, you bastarding thing,’ he muttered.
‘Dad?’
‘Ah, bollox on the cursed object!’ He still hadn’t heard me.
‘Dad!’ I yelled.
‘Ah what!’ he roared, turning around to see who had dared to speak. ‘Oh, it’s yourself, I see. Where’s Dennis the Menace?’
‘Inside, watching a video,’ I replied.
‘He’ll get square eyes if he keeps that up. C’mon you stubborn swine, move!’ He jabbed at the ground in a temper, his face red with rage.
‘What in God’s name are you trying to do?’ I asked.
‘Get these bastarding roots out. They won’t… fucking… budge!’ The roots suddenly came loose and he tumbled backwards, tripping over his feet, and landing arse upwards on the grass.
‘Dad, why do you have to be so stubborn?’ I pulled him up with both hands and he dusted himself down.
‘It’s her fault. She planted it, she did it deliberately. She hasn’t a bull’s notion about plants. Look at it!’ He waved the giant roots in my face. ‘It’s a shagging palm tree! I ask you, it’s not Buckingham Palace we’re living in. The woman was bom to torment me. She’ll never be done making me suffer.’
‘Now Dad, that’s a load of rubbish, and you know it. Where is she?’
‘Over at the Headquarters,’ he mumbled.
The Headquarters was a term my father used for the neighbours. He swore they gathered with one single agenda in mind: to talk about him. ‘Tearing strips off me, no doubt, babbling on with their mindless prittle prattle, while I’m out here breaking me arse…’
I left him to it and wandered back inside. Nothing had changed. Why did I always think it would? It had been like this for years. Most couples died fighting for each other. Mine would die fighting with each other.
My mother returned flushed and hassled. When she saw David, her expression changed to one of delight. He seemed to be the only thing on this earth that could do that.
‘Where’s my little soldier? Where is he?’ She tickled him, prodded him, and poked him.
‘Mam, what’s wrong with Dad? He’s like a bear with a sore head.’
‘Ah, sure don’t talk to me.’ She waved her hand dismissively. ‘He never stops — morning, noon and night. Saints preserve us, I’ll be one myself when I pass on.’ She blessed herself quickly and then kissed her fingers.
‘Why does he have to complain so much?’
‘Ah, nothing’s good enough for him — he’ll always find something wrong. You have to learn to ignore him, love.’
But I didn’t want to ignore him.
Dad arrived at the back door, rubbing the small of his back. ‘In the name of Jaysus where did you put me garden gloves?’
Mam turned around. ‘They’re where you left them, Will. I don’t wear them. How the hell am I supposed to know where they are?’
Dad started to pull all the kitchen drawers out. He knew quite well they weren’t in there. It was all a ploy to infuriate Mam.
The plot thickened.
‘Well, you probably threw them out along with all me other stuff.’
‘What other stuff?’ Mam looked mystified.
If he didn’t win the argument first time around, he reverted to Plan B. Fabricating lies, to add fuel to the fire. The fire was already blazing. I thought, If the house is on fire, do you run into it, or out of it?
Watching Mam now, I thought about her mothering ability. Now I was a mother myself, I wondered had I inherited her traits? I was often impatient and intolerant of David. I felt I needed eyes in the back of my head to keep a constant watch on him. I couldn’t recall my mother ever losing her temper with us. She saved that for Dad. She had always referred to him as ‘the extra child’. She loved the three of us children. We were her salvation.
Mam made David sit on a high stool. She took out her scissors and made a meal out of trimming what little hair he had. She cut the fringe too much on one side and had to even it up. Pretty soon, he looked like one of the Three Stooges. David squirmed and tugged at the towel she had tucked into his neckline. The falling downy hairs were making him itch. I looked at Mam’s face. She was humming away, happy as the day is long.
‘Do you ever think about him, Mam?’ I asked suddenly.
‘Think of who?’ she answered, comb clenched between her teeth. Her eyes remained fixed on the job at hand. She pushed David’s chin into his chest. He objected strenuously. He had inherited my defiance. I couldn’t decide if it was a good thing or a bad thing. He looked so cute, I couldn’t help smiling as he struggled to get free, lips pushed downward in a long-drawn-out sulk.
I waited for her to take up the opportunity. I wanted to push the question again, but something in her determined face told me to back off. I was a grown mother, but she still couldn’t bring herself to treat me like one. I sensed her fear. Behind the fear was sorrow. Behind the sorrow was the truth. I realised Mam couldn’t go there, not today. I loved her. I loved her for loving my son. It suddenly dawned on me whose hair she was really cutting, and I wanted her to have her illusion, however momentary. The ghosts of the past were still sleeping. Neither she nor I were ready to wake them up.
I sat with David watching TV. There was a wonderful documentary on about Philip Lynott’s untimely death and the fate of Thin Lizzy. I loved hearing the old songs again. Recalling that my brother had purchased some of their CDs, I searched through his collection until I found the particular one I wanted. The ghetto-blaster was downstairs, in the kitchen. I noticed it was no longer there.
‘Mam, where’s the tape-recorder?’
She appeared at the door with a look of exasperation. ‘Shhh!’ she motioned to the back door. ‘Robbed,’ she whispered.
‘When?’
‘Months ago. And the portable TV.’
Ah Christ.
*
That night, I did the same thing I had been doing for years. As soon as David was asleep, I went to my favourite place — the place that only existed for me. The place where nobody could gain access. I emptied the fridge of all its delicious goodies and lined them up, like soldiers. Then I took my six cans of beer and hid them behind the couch. I made sure I had the large ashtray, and pl
enty of cigarettes. I put my feet up and turned on the television and started my little party for one.
The parties had become a habit. Born out of boredom, or so I thought. I very rarely ventured outdoors any more, only to visit the library, Alice or the supermarket. This was the highlight of the day. My time, my little piece of heaven. I savagecj several packets of crisps, peanuts, and chocolate bars, and washed them down with my cans of Budweiser. I looked forward to this so much. I gorged and drank and smoked to my heart’s content. Pretty soon, though, the cans were empty and it was still early. I called in to Alice and asked her to mind David while I nipped down to the off-licence.
On the way back I heard my own thoughts pleading to be let in, but I was determined to keep the little bastards at bay. I didn’t want to reflect on today’s events. I just wanted to vanish up my own arse. At the rate I was putting on weight, the odds of that happening were rising by the minute. I didn’t want to think about that either.
For the first time ever, Joe had genuinely surprised me. After he had turned up at the birth, I felt a bond with him that was indescribable. In real life, he wasn’t the father of my child, but in the Labour Ward, he had taken on that role. I never really asked him why he had done that, what had prompted him to make himself available for the most important moment of my life. It was a milestone, but it wasn’t something I had dwelled on afterwards. I was always good with delayed reactions. I was having one now. Juliet’s face kept peering into my subconscious.
The experience in the hospital naturally transformed my relationship with Joe. After that, I saw him with different eyes. I felt a certain ‘ownership’. Joe had become a special person. Maybe I had taken our relationship for granted? I never dreamed that I would be assailed with these intense emotions on hearing of this new girlfriend. I laughed out loud at my own arrogance.
Opening another can I threw the empty one on top of the pile gathering in the corner. I flicked from station to station. Fifty-seven channels and nothing on. In desperation, I turned on the radio. A woman was talking about her mastectomy and how to cope. I switched it off. I picked up a book and started to read, but couldn’t get past the second page. I threw it across the floor. I knew that Joe would be waiting for the obligatory phone-call but I couldn’t bring myself to make it. I just couldn’t. I could not rise above this strange new emotion. It was devouring me whole. Oh jealousy, most definitely the deadliest of sins!
The House that Jack Built Page 10
