‘Chill, Roxy,’ she says. ‘And answer my question.’ She picks up her crochet and starts working while I tell her how successful Alison is and how astonished I was to find out she has her own enormous office and staff.
‘She was always the ambitious one,’ Mum remarks.
‘I didn’t realise how well she’d done,’ I say. ‘It’s amazing.’
‘As long as she’s happy,’ says Mum.
‘Of course she’s happy. Why wouldn’t she be?’
‘She’s never settled.’ Mum stretches the tentacles of the octopus she’s working on and looks at it critically. ‘Flits from man to man like a demented butterfly.’
‘No she doesn’t.’ I’m irritated on my friend’s behalf. ‘OK, she might go out on dates with a number of them, but she was engaged to Michael McGuirk for over a year and she lived with Pete Brandon for two.’
‘I’m not sure she ever got over Michael breaking off their engagement.’
‘Actually it was Alison who broke off the engagement,’ I remind her. ‘She had the chance to work in Portugal for a few months and Michael didn’t want her to go without him.’
‘That’s understandable,’ says Mum. ‘Michael had a good job and he’d have been mad to leave it. And if you remember, you didn’t let Dave go to London without you.’
But maybe I should have, I think now as I pick up one of the little octopuses and roll it around the palm of my hand. Maybe it would have been better for him and for me to have some time apart, to live separate lives for a while. And yet I loved him so much, I couldn’t bear the idea of not being with him. Until I moved in with Mum while Dad was in the hospice, the only nights we’d spent apart were when I was in hospital having the children.
I don’t say any of this to her. Instead, I continue to play with the octopus.
‘I’m not saying Alison can’t be happy on her own.’ Mum breaks the silence. ‘All I’m saying is that when you’ve found the right person for you, your happiness is increased.’
My happiness was increased a thousandfold when I met Dave. His love for me and mine for him gave me an inner strength. I still have that strength. But there’s a part of me that hasn’t got over it being tested. And – I don’t want to think this, but I do – there’s also a part of me that doesn’t trust him the way I did before.
‘Would you like a cuppa?’ Mum abandons her crochet.
‘I’ll make it,’ I tell her, but she insists on doing it and tells me to sit in the conservatory. I leave her in the kitchen and walk into the sun-filled room, picking up her iPad from the cane sofa so that I can sit in the warmest spot. Unlike mine, she hasn’t got it on auto-lock, so I can’t help seeing the page it’s opened at.
It’s a picture of a silver-haired man dressed in a bright orange cagoule and matching skin-tight leggings, standing beside a mountain bike. Beneath the picture is a description:
My name is Dean. I’m 65 years old, divorced, still fit and athletic. I’m looking for someone fun and outdoorsy, with a zest for life. Could it be you? Preferred age range 45–55 .
I read the description at least half a dozen times before it sinks in that Mum has obviously joined Tinder.
When she comes in with the tea (and some mini Jaffa Cake rolls), I ask her about it. I try not to sound as shocked as I feel. It’s not that I don’t want her to get on with her life, but it’s not that long since Dad died and I can’t believe she’s already looking for someone new.
‘It’s not Tinder!’ she exclaims as she takes the iPad from me. I realise this is why she’s been so edgy when I’ve picked it up before. She wasn’t looking nostalgically at old photos; she simply didn’t want me to know what she was up to. ‘It’s a site for older people to connect with each other. June told me about it so I thought I’d check it out.’
‘Are you seriously considering dating someone?’
‘It’s not necessarily dating,’ she says. ‘It can be for companionship too.’
Yeah. Right.
‘Have you been out with anyone?’ I demand.
She blushes.
‘Oh my God, Mum!’ I cry. ‘You have! You . . . Was it lunch?’ I ask. ‘When you went to Bay? You’d had wine!’
‘I’m a grown woman, Roxy,’ she says. ‘I’m perfectly entitled to go out to lunch with another person.’
I’m speechless.
‘But to put your mind at rest about that particular day, although I did go to lunch, it was with Donie Haughton.’
Donie is an old friend of Dad’s. He was married for thirty years before leaving Marion because he’s gay. He now lives in an apartment in Drumcondra. I feel slightly better knowing that he was Mum’s lunch date.
‘I’m a little surprised that you’ve joined a site,’ I say. ‘And it does seem very soon to be checking men out. A bit . . . a bit disrespectful to Dad,’ I add awkwardly.
‘Checking them out is all I’m doing,’ says Mum. ‘You know, just scoping to see what sort of man is out there. A bit of market research before I ever think about dipping my toe in the water.’
I look at her in astonishment.
‘I’m sixty-two,’ she reminds me. ‘I can’t afford to waste my time.’
‘Do you want to get married again?’ I can’t get my head around this. I really can’t. My parents were rock solid. And it’s not that I expected Mum to be in mourning forever, but I can’t believe she’d want to marry another man.
‘Ah, here.’ She makes a face at me. ‘You’re getting a bit ahead of yourself there, Roxy. I’m not sure I’d be bothered with marrying anyone. But a bit of male company would be nice.’
Is ‘male company’ simply another way of saying ‘sex’? I don’t dare ask. I don’t dare to think of my sixty-two-year-old mother in bed with a sixty-five-year-old man in orange cycling shorts!
‘The trouble with this,’ she adds as she swipes away from Dean’s picture, ‘is that all of the men are looking for women who are about twenty years younger than them. This site is supposed to be for over-fifties, but no matter how old they are, they all seem to want women in their forties.’
She’s right, I realise, as I watch the names and photos go by. Tom (66) is looking for a woman in the 40–50 age bracket. So is Des (68). And Maurice (72). None of these potential boyfriends are oil paintings. Do they seriously believe that a woman of forty-five would be interested in them? I suppose they do. After all, they see it all the time in the movies. Some grizzled old actor is paired with a gorgeous young woman. I guess they think life is like that. I say this to Mum.
‘I don’t know what they’re thinking.’ Mum grins. ‘You’re nearly forty, for heaven’s sake, and would you be on a site looking for men as old as your dad?’
I make a face. And then remind her that I’m only thirty-seven.
‘They’d probably prefer a thirty-seven-year-old.’ There’s a hint of acid in her tone.
‘Probably.’ I’m continuing to skim through them, and not one – even Reg (78) – has specified a woman over the age of sixty.
‘I keep telling myself it’s ageist to think of them as too old for a forty-year-old,’ says Mum. ‘But they’re being ageist about me! I didn’t realise before that, as a woman, I’ve clearly been placed on the discards shelf.’
‘Oh, Mum!’ I put my arm around her and hug her. ‘Of course you haven’t. These guys – well . . .’ I stop at Henry (69). His photo – clearly a selfie, from the weird angle and bad focus – has been taken in his kitchen. There’s unwashed crockery on the worktop behind him, along with an open box of Rice Krispies and a badly wrapped loaf of bread. He describes himself as ‘laid-back and positive but needing a woman in his life’. I’m wondering if he’s actually looking for a cleaner. Or perhaps a carer.
‘I think some of them are,’ agrees Mum when I say this out loud. ‘They’re getting old and rickety and they need a fit young wan who might be able to push their wheelchair in the future.’
I burst out laughing. I can’t help it.
‘Though ho
w they expect that to happen when their photos are so awful, I don’t know,’ she says. ‘I got my hair and make-up done before I uploaded mine.’
‘I thought you were only stalking them?’ I say.
‘Yes, but you have to put up your photo and details to join,’ she explains. ‘I haven’t tried to connect with anyone yet.’
‘Have they tried to connect with you?’
‘I’ve had a few likes,’ she admits.
‘Have you liked them back?’
‘No,’ she says. ‘I’m not that desperate.’
‘At least it proves that their age requirement is aspirational,’ I point out. ‘If they only wanted the forty-five-year-olds, they wouldn’t give you a like.’
‘I think they do it when they get to the desperate stage,’ confesses Mum. ‘After they’ve been rejected by the forty-five-year-olds.’
I’m overcome with the giggles and it takes me a while before I can ask another question.
‘Haven’t you come across anyone at all?’
She sighs. ‘Not really. Truth is, sweetheart, if I’m looking for anyone, I’m looking for someone like your dad. And I don’t honestly think he’s out there.’
‘I’m sure there are other good men.’ I realise that I’ve suddenly switched tack and am encouraging her in her quest.
‘But they all come with a trainload of baggage,’ she points out.
‘It’s not baggage,’ I protest. ‘It’s life experience.’
She puts the iPad on the glass table, out of my reach. ‘All I want is someone to go to dinner with from time to time. I’m not disrespecting your dad or anything. We talked about it before he died. He wanted me to be out there.’
He probably did. Dad wouldn’t like to think of Mum being on her own in the house and not going out.
‘Actually,’ she says, ‘women do much better than men on their own. We have more friends. We’re more open to going places and trying new things. I think that’s why the men on the sites are so desperate. They need women to stop them skulking around at home. I read about it before. Women mourn, men replace.’
I think of Henry in his kitchen with the unwashed crockery and the packet of Rice Krispies. And then I think of Dave living at home while I was at Mum’s. It only took five days for him to replace me with Julie Halpin, even if it was only a temporary measure.
I hope he hasn’t replaced me in Wexford too.
That night, after Tom and Mica have gone to bed, I phone him. At first I don’t say anything about my meeting with James Mallon, but it was the biggest thing of my day and in the end I tell him. He’s shocked that I went to talk to someone without him, and I can hear the annoyance in his voice.
‘You’re in Wexford,’ I point out. ‘There’s no way you could’ve come.’
‘I’m not sure I would have wanted you to go,’ he counters. ‘We agreed you could drive till I got home, even though it’s hugely inconvenient. We never said anything about having meetings with so-called experts about the future.’
‘Driving till you got home was a suggestion, not an agreement,’ I remind him.
‘You’re being totally unrealistic about this, Roxy.’ I can feel his exasperation with me flowing down the line.
‘James Mallon thinks it’s a good business. And Alison has offered me a place on a course for start-ups.’
‘Oh for crying out loud!’ he says. ‘You didn’t need some kind of consultant to tell you the business was sound. Your dad worked all the hours God sends to make it that way. And you don’t need a course to tell you how to pick up passengers and charge them for it. But you do need me to remind you that it’s not a good long-term proposition.’
‘It’ll be easier when the children go back to school,’ I point out. ‘Besides, I like working and—’
‘Then look for part-time stuff in the mornings. There are loads of places hiring now. You could get something in one of the retail parks, maybe? Or at a checkout? Why don’t you ask Debs if there’s anything at B&Q?’
I don’t want to work on a checkout. Or as a temp in a retail park. I’ve done that in the past, during my school holidays when I was employed by the café at the Clare Hall centre. I made sandwiches and coffee and cleared tables and it was fine but it wasn’t a career. I want to do something more than that. Something that makes me feel valuable. And valued. I tell Dave that I don’t want just any sort of work; I want to drive – I nearly say ‘Dad’s car’ but I remind myself I’m a businesswoman and change it to ‘the Merc’ instead. Dave picks up on it all the same.
‘Isn’t it more that you don’t want to let Christy go?’ he asks.
‘I’m tired of people thinking that,’ I say. ‘It’s true I felt it a bit at first, and it’s nice to continue his business, but I’m doing it for me, not him.’
‘Only if everyone else helps out,’ says Dave. ‘Like they’ve been doing recently. But you can’t expect your mum to step up to the plate forever. And Natalie has her own stuff to do. Your children have to be properly cared for.’
‘Our children,’ I correct him.
‘You know what I mean, Roxy. Don’t turn this into some male against female argument.’
But in some ways it is. Dad’s business is a proper business. It provided for my mum, my brother and me. It’s not a game. And yet because I’m doing it, it’s become dispensable. Less important than Dave’s plumbing. Which is also a good business, of course it is, and Dave works hard to provide for all of us. But in the early years he couldn’t have done it without me, and without the money that my other work brought in. I don’t see why I should feel bad for wanting my own thing.
‘We’ll work something out,’ says Dave when I say nothing.
I hope he’s right.
Chapter 18
I ring James Mallon the next day and ask him to do whatever paperwork needs to be done. We agree that the new name for the business will be StyleDrive, though until that’s registered I continue to accept bookings for Christy’s Chauffeurs. Meantime Alison sends me a link to the business start-up course. She says it’s subsidised, though it still costs three hundred euro. I reckon it’s money well spent, so I sign up.
This week, my driving is mainly in the city, which isn’t as much fun as longer trips. The summer camps have started in, so I don’t have to worry about Mica and Tom. I bring them to St Anne’s Park each morning, and Oladele’s mum, Grace, collects them in the evening, which is ideal; although Mum is picking them up on Friday because Oladele has a dental appointment. I think she was quite pleased when I asked her, as she hasn’t seen them all week.
‘You’re quite determined then?’ she said when I dropped in to see her in a break from airport pickups.
‘Quite determined about what?’
‘To keep the business going?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Don’t let Dave feel like you’re neglecting him.’ She gave me a warning look and I had to bite back the retort that Dave never worries about neglecting me when he’s working. I reminded her that he was living the life in Wexford at that very moment, but I wondered if Mum used to worry that Dad might find someone else if she wasn’t at home whenever he walked in the door. Does she think that if I’m not around, Dave will fall into the arms of Julie Halpin again?
‘Dave has learned his lesson,’ she said when I asked her. ‘And as for your dad, I never had the slightest concern about him. It was that he worked mad hours and I liked to be there when he was home. That’s why I preferred to work mornings. He was mostly in bed then.’
Dad used to do a lot of evening shifts as a taxi driver. We had to be quiet getting ready for school in case we woke him up.
‘Which are you worried about more?’ I asked. ‘That I’m doing too much or that I’m pissing Dave off?’
‘Neither!’ Suddenly her tone was softer, more understanding. ‘I simply don’t want you chasing your tail to prove a point.’
‘I’m not trying to prove a point.’
‘When you were driving befor
e, it was the odd time,’ she said. ‘You’ve only started talking about turning it into a proper job since Dave . . . well, you know. You’ve never felt the need to have a practically full-time job until now.’
‘Mum, this has absolutely nothing to do with Dave cheating on me,’ I insisted. ‘It’s about me wanting to step out for myself. It’s about time I did. And that’s it. I promise you.’
‘So long as you know what you’re doing,’ she said.
I do. And I told her that very firmly indeed.
Julie Halpin walks out of her front door at the exact same moment as I’m getting into the car to go and pick up Thea Ryan for her charity lunch on Friday. I’m already looking in her direction and I don’t want to glance away as though I can’t meet her eye. She doesn’t look away either and so the two of us are locked in some kind of death stare for what feels like an eternity.
I’ve forgotten all the cool and cutting things I planned to say to her and I’m afraid that if I open my mouth I’ll call her a skanky bitch. Which might be cathartic but is neither cool nor cutting. In the end, it’s Julie who speaks.
‘Look, Roxy,’ she says. ‘Dave and I were a one-night thing. You don’t need to worry. I’m seeing someone else.’
‘How nice for you.’ I suddenly find my voice, and the words come without me even thinking. ‘Will I let his wife know?’
Then I get into the car and close the door behind me. I realise my hands are trembling as I start the engine and move out of the driveway. In the rear-view mirror I can see Julie still standing in her garden, looking after me.
I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding. And then I smile a little. I didn’t realise it before, but the need to say something, anything, to Julie Halpin had been hanging over me. And now it’s done, and it’s the start of getting over her as much as I’ve had to get over Dave.
By the time I reach Thea Ryan’s house, I’m actually feeling quite pleased with myself. Thea notices, and tells me that I’m looking cheerful today. I don’t say it’s because I finally looked the woman my husband had slept with in the eye. Instead I tell her that I’m having a better day than I expected.
Mistake Page 20
