by Nesta Tuomey
‘How is that... good, is it?’ He sounded pleased.
She struggled up but he firmly held her and pushed himself against her, hurting her, but not unbearably, until a hot drenching pleasure juddered her lower limbs. He sighed, ‘Claire... little Claire,’ and it was over and he was driving down the mountain again, moving quickly through the darkness to come out into the lighted suburbs. Rain bespattered the car windows, making it difficult to see.
The house was ablaze with light. Jane was home. They carried the pumpkins into the house, Eddie taking most of the weight, Claire shyly supporting one side of the box, for the look of things.
Hugh and Ruthie ran out to meet them, having been alerted earlier by Sheena as to where they had gone. Ruthie was wearing the bottom half of a furry brown monkey suit Jane had made for her out of old car seat covers. She carried her tail in her hand to prevent it getting wet.
‘Can I have one?’ Hugh cried, reaching into the box for a pumpkin.
‘All in good time.’ Eddie playfully swung the box out of reach of his son’s clutching fingers and carried it, on high, into the kitchen where Jane, helped by Sheena, was preparing the tea. Jane swung around from turning sausages in the pan, her face flushed from her exertions and the heat of the stove.
‘Goodness!’ she said, staring in surprise at all the pumpkins. ‘Where did they come from?’ Terry, hearing the commotion, strolled in to find out the cause. The children clustered round the box, excitedly laughing and chattering. Unobserved, Claire retreated to the hall and slipped quietly out of the front door. The sound of their merriment faded behind her. As she ran home, she felt sudden aching loneliness.
Six pumpkin faces, with hollowed out eyes and jagged teeth, lit by guttering candle stubs, lined the ledge over the McArdle’s garage. Claire could just see them from her bedroom window. Earlier, Sheena had run over to invite her to the Halloween party but she had not wanted to be in the house when Eddie was there and pleaded a headache.
Now darting eerily about the garden were three sheeted figures, carrying torches, and one small capering monkey. The children’s excited shouts carried faintly on the night air, tantalising Claire. She thought she recognised the in-between figure of Hugh but couldn’t be sure.
Clouds scudded past the moon. Two taller sheeted figures came out of the house to join the others. They all joined hands and danced on the grass in a collapsing circle. After a while they disappeared round the side of the house and, a little later, there was a high-pitched whine, followed by the sharp crack of fireworks. It went on all evening.
When Claire fell asleep she dreamed she was in the kitchen when a huge serpent reared against the window, battering the glass with its head, seeking a way in. She rushed to close the windows but she wasn’t quick enough. Then they were all about her, in a seething mass on the floor and the only way she could get out of the kitchen was to kneel on one chair and, with another in front of her, push-drag herself down the hall. The snakes entwined themselves about the chair legs but she managed to escape. When that dream ended another began. She was running upstairs pursued by a rampaging black bull and only just managed to gain the safety of her bedroom. When he charged the door with his horns she ran to the window and climbed breathlessly on to the sill, jumping the moment he came crashing in.
She awoke feeling tired, played out. For a long time afterwards she could vividly remember every detail of her dreams.
Annette talked all the time about the children she was teaching, recounted the clever things they said, and was happier than she had been for a long time. She finished work at two o’clock but usually bussed it into town to ‘unwind’ as she called it, before returning to cook the evening meal. She might have been taking a Leaving Certificate class, Claire often thought, and not a bunch of infants.
These days there was a more cheerful atmosphere in the house. It was not enough to encourage their father to spend more time there but Claire found her mother more approachable and less inclined to irrational outbursts. It was possible to mention that she needed a textbook for school without encountering either a stony stare, or else, lists of domestic articles claiming priority. Claire was even able to ask for, and be given, a new fountain pen, something impossible before. Sheena, who had two of everything, had loaned her one for the first few weeks of the term.
There was less tension in the atmosphere but she and Christopher suffered more in other ways. These days they lived on hamburgers and chips, Annette having invested her first week’s wages in a new deep-fat fryer. Sometimes she substituted fish for meat but the end product was much the same - a plate heaped high with fried food. Christopher loved it but Claire’s stomach had begun vaguely to trouble her again. She put it down to too many greasy, indigestible fries. As Annette’s interest in housekeeping further declined, the airing cupboard was in a worse state than ever before. It took half a day to find anything and continually provoked their father to violent language.
In an attempt to combat chaos Annette wrapped bundles of drying clothes in damp towels, to make ironing easier (whenever she got round to it, only she never did) and left household detergents and disinfectants strategically dotted about the house, as aids to on-the-spot cleaning.
Claire was the only one who took the hint and adapted to this new do-it-yourself regime. She rinsed her school blouses and hung them over the bath to drip-dry. Her father’s socks and hankies were always a crackling bone of contention between her parents: ‘For God’s sake, Annette! Just a few clean hankies and socks. Surely, it’s not too much to expect.’
It didn’t take Claire all that much longer to wash them with her own. It was a small price to pay for harmony.
One evening, her father came home while they were still having their tea. This was unusual and Claire could not remember the last time it had happened. Jim was very flushed. He sat at the table with a glass of gin in his hand, and watched them eat, cracking jokes, making them laugh.
Annette got up and went out to the kitchen. She came back with a slice of cheese and tomato pizza on a plate and pushed it briskly across the table. ‘You should eat something,’ she said. ‘It’s not good to drink so much on an empty stomach.’
Claire looked at her father. He was watching the television flickering in the corner, the sound turned down. But it’s only one drink! But perhaps he’s already had a few, she thought, and stayed in the pub till now and wishes he hadn’t come home.
Annette sighed extravagantly. ‘That’s right ignore me. Don’t pay any attention to what I say. Get an ulcer, if that’s what you want.’
Claire, too, looked at the television. Christopher knocked over his glass. It hit the table with a thud. He walked his fingers uneasily through the spilt orange.
Jim said, ‘Don’t exaggerate, Annette. I’m just not hungry, that’s all.’
‘You mean you’re not hungry for pizza.’
‘No, since you ask.’
‘Well, what do you expect?’ Annette said bitterly. ‘You come home when it suits you. Walk in without letting me know. You’re lucky to get anything.’
‘I don’t want anything,’ Jim said. ‘I told you I’m not hungry.’ He was frowning. ‘Stop making a big production out of this, Annette. Let the children finish their tea.’
‘I’m not preventing them.’ She stood up, her eyes angry and tear-bright.
‘Please stop it,’ Claire whispered to them.
Jim set down his empty glass and pushed back his chair. He went across to the drinks cabinet. Annette watched him intently. He lifted the gin bottle and set it down with a bang. ‘Nothing,’ he said in disgust. ‘Not even a drop.’
‘I suppose that’s my fault too,’ Annette said, beginning to cry. He left the room.
‘The one evening he comes home,’ Annette said, through her tears. ‘The one evening!’ She struggled to control herself, succeeded, and began clearing the table.
The next morning Claire woke up a five o’clock, having dreamed that she was in a pet shop choosing a puppy fr
om a tea-chest full of squirming animals. She wanted a black and white one and looked and looked but couldn’t see one anywhere. One puppy, jumping up, seemed to be saying, ‘Take me, take me,’ but for some reason she felt this particular one would mean trouble, so she burrowed down deeper and lifted out another pup with silky blue fur. She was cuddling it in her arms when all at once it became the curly-headed baby sister who had died, looking up at her with brimming eyes.
She lay awake, watching the sky growing pale beyond the curtains.
For weeks Claire kept away from the McArdle’s house, opting to do her homework in her own house. She had not been back across the street since Halloween. She was afraid of her feelings when she was with Eddie. She told herself it wouldn’t happen if she never allowed herself to be alone with him again, both sorry and relieved at the prospect.
One evening Claire was doing her homework in the sitting-room when there was a ring at the door. She went out, thinking it was the milkman collecting the milk money on Friday night, but when she opened the door Jane was on the step.
‘Claire dear,’ she said, ‘Can I come in a moment? You haven’t been over in a long time. Is there anything wrong that you have abandoned us?’ Jane spoke in her usual light, affectionate way but her eyes were concerned.
‘N...no...n...nothing,’ Claire stammered, taken aback.
‘Ruthie is always asking for you.’
‘I’m sorry.’
Jane put out an arm to hug her. ‘Claire... Claire... you don’t have to apologise. It’s just that we’re fond of you and miss you, that’s all.’
Claire said nothing.
‘But that’s not why I came,’ Jane said. ‘I wanted to see your mother.’
‘I’ll call her,’ Claire said, but at that moment Annette came into the hall. She stopped short at the sight of Jane.
‘Well, look who’s here?’ she said. ‘What a nice surprise.’ But there was an edge to her voice. ‘Why don’t you come into the heat.’
Claire stepped back to allow Jane precede her into the living-room.
‘I’ve been meaning to drop over for ages,’ Jane said, as she sat down. ‘You know how it is... you work yourself, Annette. Weekends are the only time to get anything done.’
‘Oh yes,’ Annette said vaguely.
Jane smiled. ‘Oh well, I never was a very organised person, was I? Look, Eddie and I are having a few friends to supper next Saturday night and we’re hoping you and Jim will come.’
Annette brightened. ‘That sounds nice,’ she said. ‘Can I let you know?’
‘Of course,’ Jane said expansively. ‘No rush. I’m doing a fork plate... rice and something or other, so a few more or less won’t make any difference. And that’s another thing.’ She looked at Claire. ‘Would you be a love and give Sheena a hand with the serving, Claire? I’d be eternally grateful.’
Annette said: ‘Of course, she’ll be glad to. Won’t you, Claire?’
Claire could hardly say no.
On the evening of the supper party Claire went across to the McArdle’s house early. They had strung up fairy lights in the macrocarpa tree. Claire thought they were very pretty.
She met Hugh in the hall. Of all the McArdles she had missed him the most. She smiled at him shyly.
‘Hero’s in trouble,’ Hugh said glumly.
‘But why?’
‘She tried to bite the postman.’
‘But she’s so gentle,’ Claire protested. ‘She wouldn’t hurt anyone.’
‘It wasn’t her fault,’ Hugh said. ‘The bastard is always hitting her with his bag. It’s making her vicious.’ He looked like he was going to cry and Claire ached for him. She went on into the kitchen where Sheena was.
‘Why didn’t you change?’ her friend wrinkled her nose at Claire’s school uniform.
‘Didn’t have anything decent to wear.’
‘You should have told me,’ Sheena said. ‘I’ve loads of things would fit you. Let’s go up quick and have a look.’
‘No really, it’s all right,’ Claire said embarrassed, wanting to get off the subject. ‘Honestly. Anyway I’ll be in the kitchen most of the time.’
Sheena looked as though she were going to protest then shrugged. ‘Okay have it your way. Give us a hand with these,’ she indicated a bowl of grapes she was stuffing with cream cheese. Claire stood beside her, slitting grapes with a sharp knife. There was a big pot simmering on the stove.
‘Beef Stroganoff,’ said Sheena, lifting the lid and releasing an appetising aroma. ‘Hope there’s some left over for us.’
Claire eyed the pavlova and the temping array of mousses laid out on a sidetable. She could have given the stroganoff a miss, desserts she adored.
The first couples began arriving soon after eight-thirty. Claire peeped into the cosy drawing-room. Flames licked about a freshly placed log, and lamps glowed at opposite ends of the room. Centre ceiling, the unlit Waterford Glass chandelier shimmered palely. Beneath it, the guests stood about, glasses in hand, their laughter as tinkling as the translucent lobes overhead. Jane had deliberately left the velvet curtains open so that the fairy lights were visible through the patio window. In front of it stood a huge vase of chrysanthemums, perfuming the air.
Claire and Sheena went about offering little bowls of crisps and peanuts. Claire shyly and Sheena with gay impudence. No-one seemed to take offence at her bluntness and only laughed when she said, ‘Go on, make yourself fatter.’ One or two of them admired her dress and the velvet bow in her hair, as they scooped up fingerfuls. ‘Quite the young lady,’ a man said to the woman beside him.
Claire might have been invisible in her school uniform. She looked about for her mother and father but, despite having such a short distance to come, they had not yet arrived. She wondered if, after all, they might not come.
Then she saw Eddie standing by the mantelpiece, head bent, talking to a woman in a black dress. He looked very tall and handsome. The woman laughed up at him, a jewel glinting at her throat. Claire swallowed hard, her own throat dry and constricted.
Her parents were still absent. She and Sheena took it in turns, betweens trips with fresh drinks or canapés, to stir the beef stroganoff. Every so often one of the younger McArdles, usually Ruthie, would run into the kitchen. She helped herself to so many cheesy grapes that Claire was afraid she would be sick.
Ruthie loved the house filled with people. She clung to Claire’s skirt, anxious to be in on the excitement as more and more guests arrived. There must have been fifty. A few people to supper!
Claire peeped into the oven. Any minute the garlic bread would be ready to take out of the tinfoil and place it in the baskets Jane had left ready. She turned and caught Ruthie with her hand in the pavlova, her lips rimmed with cream.
‘Oh Ruthie,’ Claire sighed fondly. She picked up the little girl and Ruthie squirmed in her arms as she ran the tap and washed away the evidence.
‘But it’ll all be gone when I get up,’ Ruthie wailed.
When Jane came in to put her to bed Ruthie was reluctant to go, then with a tired little sigh she suddenly capitulated, holding up her arms for Claire to carry her. She placed one small hand in a proprietary fashion on her mother’s silk-clad arm, and the three of them went upstairs to her room.
The tigers and lions, the giant pandas, on the wall were the same, yet somehow the room looked different. Claire told herself what happened that night had been a dream, another of her fantasies, that she had never actually lain there with him, done what they did on the bed. She was only a schoolgirl. How could she have?
‘Can Claire-bear tell me a story,’ Ruthie pleaded. It was her pet name for Claire.
‘Would you be an angel?’ Jane was anxious to return to her guests. When Claire nodded, she kissed Ruthie and slipped away, turning off the light as she went.
Claire sat reluctantly on the bed. Party sounds filtered through the ceiling: laughter, the hum of voices, doors opening and closing. She heard Jane welcoming the last of the guests, her
mother’s nervous laugh, her father’s deep voice. The drawing-room door closed over.
Claire decided to tell Ruthie one of her favourite Rufty-Tufty tales that she had read many times to the little girl, the one where the golliwog floated high in the sky holding on to a balloon and came to rest in a faraway garden. Ruthie listened, thumb sleepily plugging her mouth. Claire heard the light footfall outside the door and looked up. Ruthie heard it too. Sleep banished, she bolted up in the bed.
‘Daddy come in and sit down,’ she cried, patting the coverlet imperiously.
‘What! Are you still awake?’ He pretended to be cross but his manner was playful. ‘This won’t do at all, young lady.’ He came in and sat on the end of the bed. ‘Go on,’ he gently prompted Claire, ‘Don’t let me spoil your story.’
Haltingly, she continued, aware of his quiet breathing beside her. Quickly she brought the story to an end.
‘Quite a guy that Rufty-Tufty,’ Eddie approved. He got to his feet and bent to tuck Ruthie in. ‘Go to sleep now, poppet.’ He disengaged her clinging arms. ‘Claire must go down and you must get your beauty sleep.’
He stood aside politely for Claire to precede him on to the landing.
Claire was happiest in the classroom. There, somehow, her other life did not impinge upon her at all and she could lose herself in her schoolwork. In fact, she came out near the top of the class in the mid-term exams.
She was not unfriendly with the rest of her class but kept remote from them. She shuddered when they giggled about dirty old men.
June Kelly’s next-door neighbour was always trying to feel her up, she said. Some of the other girls had similar experiences. They shrieked and made faces. Sheena laughed along with them.
‘There was this man on holidays,’ she began, choking so much with laughter that she could not go on. ‘If you’d only seen him!’
