Together Forever

by Siân O'Gorman

  ‘Sorry about that,’ he said, laughing again. From behind us we heard the sound of ‘Happy Birthday’ being sung. We watched as a huge cake was pushed on a trolley towards Clodagh and a surge of people followed, all singing. And then a chorus of ‘For She’s A Jolly Good Fellow’, which someone changed to ‘For She’s A Jolly Good Newsreader’ started up, whilst Clodagh attempted to blow out the candles. But for some reason, before she had even mustered enough breath, Bridget had swept over them, with the zeal of a firefighter determined to put out all flames, however miniature.

  ‘Sorry!’ she smiled at everyone. ‘Instinct! I see birthday candles and I just have to blow them out!’ She clutched Clodagh’s arm. ‘I hope you don’t mind, Clodes?’

  Clodagh looked as though she minded a great deal indeed. And as the cake began to be sliced up and handed around, she and Max were asked to pose for some photographer. But Bridget slipped in between them, holding a slice of cake in a paper napkin and as the shutter clicked, the cake totally obscured Clodagh’s face. I thought of Clodagh’s stricken expression whenever Max was around. Why did she bother with him? Why was such a cool and successful woman like Clodagh bothering her arse with Maximum Pratt?

  ‘What the hell is happening to this country?’ said Red. ‘I leave and everything is normal and upstaging people is considered entirely un-Irish. I come back and we’re all in competition with each other. It’s dog eat dog.’

  ‘If anyone blew out my birthday candles,’ I said, ‘I don’t think I’d be too happy. It’s one of those things that you just don’t do. Like cancel the barbecue because it’s raining or not watch Christmas Top of the Pops.’ I’d decided somewhere between Orville and Ray Houghton that I was just going to give in to this. I wasn’t going to run off. I wanted to be here, right now. Talking to an old friend. Okay, so we had history and it was slightly awkward and there was so much we weren’t saying, but for now, at this level, it was glorious.

  ‘Do people still do that?’ he asked. ‘Really?’

  ‘I don’t know if it’s still on,’ I admitted. ‘But every Christmas, when I am sitting at my mother-in-law’s dining table eating turkey, I wish I was at home, just me and Rosie, watching Top of the Pops.’

  ‘We watched it,’ he said. ‘Do you remember? It was just us and we roasted a chicken. You made the worst gravy I have ever tasted.’

  ‘And you insisted on making something from Delia Smith. Something involving asparagus. It didn’t work. Mushy asparagus, if I remember rightly.’ We’d had fun that day too. We’d had a lot of fun when we were together. We used to laugh a lot. And I’d stopped laughing over the years, and it was incredible to remember that I was still that person who laughed. Red seemed to be enjoying himself because he was laughing as much as I was.

  ‘I was just trying to show off,’ he said. ‘Impress you. Obviously didn’t work.’

  ‘Well…’ I wasn’t quite sure what to say. Yes, it did work. You did impress me. And I’m still impressed. More than impressed, actually.

  He was looking at me. ‘You look… you look beautiful.’

  ‘Sorry?’ I said, frowning. What did he just say?

  ‘You look beautiful,’ he repeated. And he blushed. I could see it, the pink spreading from his neck to the top of his head. I’d forgotten that he used to blush but now it all came back to me. He blushed that time he asked me out for a drink, and the first time we kissed on the bandstand on the pier when it had begun to rain. How could I have forgotten? But if I had remembered it, I would have thought it was just a youthful affliction, not something a grown man, someone so assured, could do.

  And I wanted to kiss him again just like that time on the bandstand. I wanted to be that twenty-two-year-old all over again.

  ‘Red…’ I began. ‘Red… I…’ I wanted to say that I was sorry. I wanted to explain why it had happened, my excuse, my reason. An answer for him.

  He was looking at me, intently.

  ‘Red, there’s something I need to say…’ But behind us we heard a voice. Bridget.

  .

  *

  ‘There you are, Tabitha,’ she said, as though we were old friends. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere…’ She turned to Red. ‘Oh hello. Bridget O’Flaherty.’ She held out her hand. ‘And who are you?’ She inched a shoulder in front of me, so that it was just her and Red talking and me hanging around. ‘Don’t tell me what you do,’ she said. ‘Production company? Managing director?’

  ‘Nothing like that,’ he said. ‘I’m a school teacher. Red Power. Good to meet you.’

  ‘Oh.’ For a moment, Bridget was quiet, the only sound was her brain whirring, trying to work out if it was worth her while to be attracted to a teacher. ‘When did teachers get to be so handsome?’ She put her hand on the lapel of Red’s jacket and stood so I was slightly obscured.

  ‘You know,’ she said. ‘There’s something I’ve always wondered… how teachers manage to keep control of a classroom? I mean, we were always so naughty. I just wondered what you might do if someone you were trying to teach was being bold.’

  I could hear Red laugh but I couldn’t see his face because Bridget had actually moved so she was blocking me off entirely. And then another group edged towards us so I was being cut off from them, Bridget’s back right in my face. Clodagh came up to me and pulled me to the bar. ‘I need a drink. A large one. Or a tiny but lethal one.’

  ‘Not tequila?’ I said, looking back at Red and Bridget. ‘You know what dark powers tequila has over you.’

  ‘Don’t care,’ she said, waving to the bar tender. Red had moved and was looking over at me but maybe, I thought, Bridget had done us a service. We couldn’t stand there, having a good time. I was married. There was a whole lifetime behind us. We had grown up. It we tried to be friends, then it would very likely go wrong, leaving us worse off, perhaps, than before. And Red was a handsome and lovely man. He needed to find someone with whom he could settle down. I had to let him go a second time, wipe out any thoughts or feelings I might have for him.

  ‘Two shots of tequila,’ said Clodagh, mascara slightly smudged.

  ‘Are you all right,’ I said, focussing on her, forgetting Red. ‘Have you been crying? At your own party?’

  ‘Max,’ she sighed heavily. ‘Says he’s going home, that he’s tired. I said it was my birthday and he said I was like a spoilt child. So I told him that I’d had enough.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I told him, that I didn’t want to see him again.’

  ‘Really? At your own birthday?’

  ‘Yes, really. Me and Maximus Pratticus are no more.’ She gave a half-smile. ‘And now I’m single. Fucking again.’

  ‘Clodagh… remember? You like being single,’ I said, arranging my face into one of concern but inside I was relieved that Clodagh was no longer saddled with the man called Pratt. I glanced over at Red again, he and Bridget were now deep in conversation.

  ‘Just give me time, that’s all,’ Clodagh was saying. ‘A day or two and I’ll remember. But for now, let me get a little bit maudlin.’

  ‘Okay. Go ahead. You’ve got 48 hours starting now.’

  ‘Right.’ She sucked in air, and focussed her mind. ‘It’s really not fair. I’ve worked my arse off all these years, but here I am aged…’ she dropped her voice to a rasp… ‘forty-fecking-two… and what do I have to show for it? A career that is being threatened by a pneumatic weather girl with dodgy knees and a man who would rather spend his evenings at home than with me at my party. Surely I can do better than this?’

  ‘You can do whatever you put your mind to…’

  ‘I’m thinking of an ashram, in India.’ Clodagh was warming to her theme. ‘Or maybe running a nice little B & B in the foothills of somewhere. They always have to be foothills, don’t they?’

  ‘I don’t even know what a foothill is,’ I said.

  ‘I think it involves a hill, anyway,’ said Clodagh confidently. ‘And a foot.’ And we both laughed. But then she wiped away a tear. �
�So my brief encounter is over,’ she said. ’Appropriate, him being so short.’

  ‘Clodes, don’t cry… please don’t cry.’ This wasn’t the glamourous 40th birthday party either of us has imagined, Clodagh in tears, me bewildered and bothered by Red.

  ‘It’s the champagne,’ she said. ‘I’m the only person in the world on whom it doesn’t have an effervescent effect.’

  ‘And the tequila,’ I said. ‘This is what it does. It makes people who aren’t natural criers, who stay stony faced at The Color Purple or It’s A Wonderful Life, into cry-babies.’

  ‘I did cry at both those films,’ she said. ‘But Max is neither a smiler nor a crier. He didn’t cry once at Dunkirk. The whole cinema was in floods and he was calm and collected. I think he might have been supporting the other side.’

  I laughed.

  ‘I’ll have to carry on being nice to him,’ she went on. ‘My contract is up at the end of the month so I have to be professional and charming. When what I really want to do is set fire to his balls.’

  ‘Are they flammable then?’

  ‘When I finish with them, they will be. But what about Red. He looks cosy with old Bridget… are you okay with that? How are you? You never say anything!’ she said. ‘How awkward is it, really? And don’t give me that everything’s fine, it’s not weird at all. Because it must be. And I shouldn’t have invited him tonight. I’m sorry.’

  We both looked over at Red and Bridget, still talking. Well, she was anyway. His back was to us.

  ‘It’s weird and awkward and… the same,’ I admitted. ‘I still feel the same.’

  ‘Good God no! You mean that you still, you know… still love him?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I nodded, resigned. ‘So it’s horrible. Can’t wait for the term to be over actually. And then I might never see him again except for brief encounters on the pier or whatever.’

  ‘Oh Tab,’ she said, hugging me. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘I’m fine, I’m more worried about Rosie doing her exams, you know?’

  ‘So, why aren’t you crying?’ she said. ‘You’re drinking it too. Maybe you need another shot. A pint! A pint of tequila.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I should be. Because I’m not happy.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’m not happy. Not really. Okay, so you make me happy. And my job. And Rosie is the best thing ever, but I’m not happy, not really, not deeply. Something’s missing.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’ Clodagh signalled for two more tequilas.

  ‘It’s like I’m living half a life,’ I rambled. ‘And I so desperately want all of me to be alive. Do you know what I’m saying?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘I hate being married to Michael.’ On I droned, the tequila loosening my tongue. This was probably why I never had any fun. I turned into a self-pitying fool at the first whiff of alcohol. ‘And I can’t complain because he’s all right, really. But he’s not interested in me.’ I was starting to slur. ‘And I’m not interested in him.’ I picked up my refresh tequila. ‘But do you know what the worst thing is?’

  Clodagh was agog, with drink, I realised, and definitely not my fascinating story. ‘What is it?’ she whispered.

  ‘I’ve been married to a man for seventeen years who calls me Mammy.’

  ‘Maybe he doesn’t know your name,’ she said, ‘and it’s been so long and he’s too embarrassed to ask you what it is.’ And the two of us began to laugh.

  She passed me another shot. ‘Ready?’

  We both launched the drinks down our throats, faces contorted with the sheer horror.

  ‘You know,’ she said, signalling for two more. ‘If there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that things can change just like that. It’s happened to me so often that I’ve stopped taking anything for granted. I mean, look at madam over there, talking to Red. I’ve got a funny feeling that she’s going to cause a few waves.’

  I looked over at Red and Bridget but they had gone.

  ‘You see,’ said Clodagh, slurring. ‘It’s my theory that you never get everything you want at the same time. Keeps you persevering, you see. So all those things you want, nice relationships, happy career, children, a glass of rosé, that kind of thing. Basic needs in other words. You can’t have all of them at the same time. Each has to take its turn. So, you have a child, your career suffers. If you meet someone nice…’

  ‘You become allergic to rosé?’

  ‘Exactly.’ Clodagh looked as plastered as I felt.

  ‘Clodagh, I think you and I just might have had too much to drink.’

  ‘How very dare you!’ she said. ‘I haven’t had half enough!’ She held up her newly refilled shot glass. ‘Tonight,’ she declared. ‘Tonight I drink tequila.’ She tossed it back. ‘God, that’s disgusting,’ she said. ‘Disgustingly good.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  The next morning, I wondered if I was the only school principal in the world who was suffering from the effects of too much tequila. I suspected not. But my mood darkened and my head throbbed further when I remembered it was the morning of this term’s cake sale.

  I lay in bed for a moment, trying to focus and come to. The last thing I remembered was Clodagh promising to come to the cake sale.

  ‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ she had said. ‘You have no idea, Tab. You have no idea how much I want my life to be normal, surrounded by normal people.’

  ‘Normal? My life?’ I was pretty drunk at this point in the evening, my head swimming, our conversation deep and engrossing. The world put to rights. ‘I am surrounded by lunatics.’

  Clodagh wouldn’t accept it. ‘There’z lunatics and there’z lunatics.’ She was really indistinct now, her head and eyelids drooping. ‘You don’t know the lunacy I have to deal with. Day in, day out. And Max,’ she said. ‘He’s so lunaticky that he won’t wear underpants twice.’

  ‘What do you mean? He washes them after every wear? That’s normal.’

  ‘No!’ She put a finger to her lips. ‘No! I mean, he doesn’t wear them ever again. Don’t tell a soul. He’d kill me.’ She made a slicing action across her throat. ‘He’d kill me.’

  ‘He’s mad,’ I said. ‘Mad Max!’

  ‘Mad Max!’ She was nodding and laughing.

  ‘Mad Max!’ I had hooted again. ‘Mad Max! Do you get it?’

  And the two of us began laughing so much, we started to slide off our chairs. I remember Clodagh on her knees, trying to get up. And then a conga danced past us, famous and not so famous faces whizzing by. Bridget was there, I think I remember, but no Red. Sheer horror on Lucinda’s face, as though she was running with the bulls in Pamplona and was terrified that she would be trampled. Clodagh was scooped up into the melee and I, sensibly, took it as my cue to leave.

  Lying in bed, I put the pillow over my face. Oh Jesus. Why had I thought it was a good idea to do shots last night? Not that it was ever a good idea to do tequila shots.

  What had happened to Red? Gone home, I had assumed. Not with Bridget, though. Which was a small consolation. But I was meant to be a grown woman. A married woman. And yet here I was, lying, hungover and sick to my very being, thinking about him.

  *

  My car was having its annual service in the garage but the walk would not only do me good but it would bring me past a very nice coffee place where I could get a takeaway.

  Once I arrived in the school hall, there were Victoria sponges as far as the eye could see, teetering piles of brownies and biscuits. Angela Leahy, Fifth class teacher, was putting out paper cups in a regimented line, and Sarah Casey (Second class) was looking more than a little excited at being the one who was in charge of the tea urn.

  Even some of the protestors were helping out, basically feeling members of the school’s wider community. Maybe their plan was to buy enough cake that we would easily earn enough money and there would be no question of selling the Copse. Arthur was on the ground fixing a table and Nellie was unveiling an impress
ive looking pineapple upside cake and a chocolate-covered tray bake.

  ‘Red was here earlier,’ Mary said. ‘Carrying things in. Setting up the tables, you know. He got the keys and set up at 8am. Spent a good two hours getting all the tables and chairs out of the storeroom. The place was in a state. He managed to find two of those big brooms and we got the place shipshape in no time.’

  Red? I thought he’d be too hungover.’

  ‘He said he was at Clodagh’s party last night. Said he didn’t stay long. Weren’t you talking to him?’

  ‘I was, for a bit,’ I said, deflation mingling with my hungover brain. I didn’t think he’d be at the cake sale at all, and now I’d heard he’d been and gone. ‘Has he gone home?’ Please say no, I thought.

  ‘No, just off to get some breakfast,’ she explained. ‘Said he wouldn’t be long.’ She chuckled. ‘You know, he’s been such a great addition to the staff, I must say. We’ll be sad if he has to leave us at the end of term. Can’t do enough for any of us and always making us laugh in the staff room. You know he carries Ms Morrissey’s bags in from her car every morning? The operation on her back was postponed. Again. He’s become quite the pet of the staff. We say we don’t know what the school will do without him. He’s started a little lunch club on a Friday and each of us brings in things to eat. It’s all very civilised.’

  That did sound nice. Sometimes being head teacher meant you missed out on the craic, having instead to worry about leaks in the roof or raising money

  ‘I’m determined to beat last year’s total of €260,’ Mary went on, arranging lemon drizzles and fairy cakes on plates. ‘We’ve upped the prices of these little cakes by 5c, and the big cakes by 50c.’

  ‘You should be on The Apprentice,’ I said. ‘Lord Sugar would love you.’

  My tequila headache was really beginning to kick in. ‘I’m just going to take two painkillers,’ I said. ‘Thanks for saying that Mary, I’ll be back in a moment.’

  ‘Ah! Here he is!’ she said. ‘Mr Eurovision himself!’

  Red was walking towards us, a coffee in one hand and a bagel in the other. ‘Shhh!’ he said to Mary, smiling. ‘I don’t want everyone to know about my double life.’ He turned to me. ‘Hi Tab. How’s the head?’