by Nesta Tuomey
Claire knew from Sheena that Terry was using his charm overtime on the clinic assistants on the nights he called to drive Jane home. Grainne, the busty dark-haired one, was mad about him, Sheena said, but whether Terry had actually gone out with her, she didn’t know. Grainne was at least twenty-three, Sheena said. Claire wondered if she realised just how young Terry was but Sheena said, probably not. He looked older than eighteen. Acted older!
This was true. Claire blushed when she thought of herself and Terry doing very adult things. She felt like a voyeur spying on two strangers. To think the pair of them had been like that! She had relived these moments in her dreams many times, in different guises, and thought that even if Terry had forgotten, she never would.
Terry hadn’t forgotten, but when he looked at Claire, sitting there so cool and seemingly unaware of him, he found it almost impossible to believe they had ever been so intimate, although the mere memory of it brought him out in a sweat. He thought that if he lived to be ninety he would never forget the sensuous feel of her, the sweet response to his love-making, her near surrender. He wondered if he would ever get another chance with her and swore to himself that if he were so lucky, he wouldn’t mess it up next time.
Claire and Sheena were making plans to mark their last day at school. ‘Some of the class want to bring in eggs and flour and mount an arsenal near the teachers’ common room,’ Claire was saying.
‘Sounds feeble.’ Sheena grimaced. ‘Can’t anyone think of anything better?’
‘Only to Vaseline the blackboards and put glue on the teachers’ chairs.’
‘Big deal,’ Sheena sighed.
‘We have a great gag planned,’ Terry said, and they turned to look at him. He took a piece of paper from his pocket and waved it in their faces. He laughed provocatively. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know what it is?’
‘Come on, Claire,’ Sheena cried, jumping up. ‘We won’t let him out till we get it.’ She dived on her twin and tackled him about the knees. Terry laughed and easily bowled her back. Sheena ran at him again, breathlessly exhorting Claire to come and help her.
Claire hesitated, watching as Terry easily held Sheena off, his eyes alight with laughter, white teeth flashing against the tan of his face. He’s so attractive and sure of himself, she thought. If only I could get him out of my mind.
She met his smiling gaze over Sheena’s madly bobbing head and felt her face suddenly grow warm as the amused expression faded from his tawny eyes and was replaced by the intent look she remembered so well from the summer. They stared wordlessly at each other across the room.
‘I’ve got it.’ Sheena fell back triumphantly clutching the paper, pleased at her easy victory. ‘Now we’ll see what the great gag is.’ She scanned it eagerly and her face fell. ‘Well honestly! It’s nothing but an old bus timetable’
The other two were aware only of each other and did not hear her.
Terry really did have a great gag planned.
The night before their school-days ended he and three others from his class returned to the school, dressed in black jeans and Balaclavas. They carried walkie-talkies and a rolled-up canvas flag, painted with the skull and crossbones. Their intention was to rig it up on the clock tower, a building that was strictly out of bounds to the boys and requiring skill and nerve to scale. They successfully rigged it so that next morning, just before the eleven o’clock break, they had only to climb on to the school roof and pull a cord they had left conveniently dangling and a sinister-looking Jolly Roger flapped into view as if by magic. The juniors went crazy, dancing and pointing. The masters, hearing all the commotion, came dashing out to investigate. A search of the tower discovered nobody inside or out, nothing but the gently flapping flag. When the furore had died down and the flag been removed, the masters admitted that it was a pretty good rag.
‘As a matter of fact the best in years,’ Terry informed his family that evening with a satisfied grin.
‘I wish I’d been there to see it,’ Ruthie said wistfully.
‘Me too,’ Claire agreed, smiling at her, thinking that Ruthie looked so much like her old self since her hair had grown again. She was touched when the little girl came and rested her arm along her shoulders in the old fond manner.
Sheena frowned. ‘As usual, the boys have all the fun.’
‘Oh now, sour grapes,’ Jane chided with a laugh
‘So how did you make out?’ Terry asked the girls.
‘Really well,’ Sheena said, after a quick conspiratorial glance at Claire. ‘We’re not at liberty to say exactly what,’ she went on mysteriously, ‘but it was rather daring.’
‘Yes,’ Claire loyally played along with her. ‘It really was.’ Actually, Sister Whelan, knowing what to expect from other years, released them an hour before their usual time, and urged them to go straight home. The girls had quickly taken up position outside the school door and begun filling plastic bags with flour. Nothing short of a cylinder of tear-gas could have deflected them.
A kind of madness seemed to possess everyone. Even girls renowned for their gentle dispositions became spitefully aggressive as soon as the teachers emerged, and when one or two hapless first years were caught in the cross-fire and fled, drenched and screaming, there was unkind laughter. Sister Whelan was framed in an upper window but she was too far away for anyone to read her expression. Claire couldn’t help feeling uneasy as she watched the Irish teacher retreat weeping down the driveway. Poor thing, she thought, meeting Imelda’s half-shamed glance. Some of the girls excitedly went in search of fresh prey, but Claire and Sheena went home. Although they had half-heartedly joined in the fray neither were in favour of the gag, considering it too childish and messy.
‘The nuns put a stop to it at once, rotten old spoilsports,’ Sheen was saying. ‘I suppose they just considered it too daring.’
Claire nodded loyally.
‘Daring, was it?’ Terry asked with an evil grin.
‘More risqué, wouldn’t you say, Claire?’
Again Claire nodded. She saw Terry doubling over, howling delightedly. ‘Flourballs and eggs, wasn’t it?’ he asked, calming at last. ‘Boy, oh boy, how daringly risqué can you get!’
Compared to his brilliant gag, theirs couldn’t have appeared more feeble.
SEVEN
With her exams only days away, Claire sat in her room hunched over her work table, reading the same passage of prose over and over without registering any of it. She sighed and pushed away her books.
Two nights before she had allowed Sheena to persuade her to go with Terry and herself to the Wolfhound Bar to celebrate the end of their schooldays. The pub had been packed out with sixth-formers from St Catherine’s and St Gabriel’s and other schools in the area, and everyone was drinking pints and intent on having a good time. One of the sixth-formers from the Dominicans had made a real set for Terry and lured him away to join her group. To Claire’s secret delight, he had come back to Sheena and herself and suggested that, as soon as the pub closed, they should head into town to a nightclub. But then the fun had grown rowdier. Someone lurched into Rory, who fell against an ornamental stone flowerpot, gashing his head. Terry had called an ambulance and gone off in it with Rory, promising that the pair of them would meet up with Sheena and herself in the Grey Lizard just as soon Rory’s head was stitched. Only they had never turned up.
Claire felt again her acute disappointment at the way the evening had ended. In the urgent expression in Terry’s eyes when he’d said goodbye to her she had seen how much he had wanted to meet her. So what could have happened?
Claire heaved another frustrated sigh, and as her gaze wandered down to the street below, she glimpsed a flash of red coming in the gate. Sheena. She got to her feet and ran downstairs.
‘Hope you’ve got graph paper,’ Sheena said, coming into the hall. ‘I’m all out and haven’t time to go and buy any.’
‘Sure,’ Claire said, leading the way up to her room. ‘I’ve plenty. You’re welcome to it.’ She ben
t and rummaged in the bottom of her wardrobe.
‘Listen,’ Sheena was saying. ‘I’m sure you’d like to know what happened the other night.’
An understatement if Claire ever heard one. Dying to know would be nearer the mark. She straightened up, paper in hand. ‘What did happen?’
‘Well, it seems the boys were kept waiting so long at the hospital that Terry decided to bring Rory to Mum’s clinic,’ Sheena told her. ‘Mind you it was late by the time she stitched him up, nearly one o’clock, but we were at the club till well after two.’
‘Why didn’t they?’ Claire asked, feeling disappointed all over again.
‘Terry never really said but he was out all night, so I think it had something to do with Grainne. She was on with Mum and you know how she’s been after him for ages.’
Claire felt her spirits sink. And to think she had been jealous of the girl in the Wolfhound! A mere sixth-former like herself. She gave Sheena the graph paper and walked downstairs with her.
‘Don’t work too hard,’ Sheena said gaily, and went back across the road to her own house. She was going to a play that night with Rory.
Claire ’s feet dragged as she went back upstairs. So Grainne had got what she was after. If Terry had stayed out all night, he’d obviously gone home with her without a thought for any of them, waiting like fools. Claire felt like crying.
Then she was angry with herself. Was she going to die the death every time Terry McArdle went with a girl? Why allow him do this to her? He probably wasn’t even aware he was doing it. She sighed and doodled aimlessly on her Chemistry notes. Terry was Terry. He wasn’t going to change. People never did. But he wasn’t people, Claire thought sorrowfully, he was Terry.
She stabbed her pen into the paper, making crazy zigzag patterns. Better cut off now before he ruined her life. But her life was already ruined, Claire thought. She had already accepted this. So what difference did it make what she did?
The end of May and beginning of June passed in a blur of exhaustion. Claire was in danger of collapse before the exams and felt so bad that she took Jane’s advice and eased off the few days beforehand. She would well anyway, unless she messed up the papers through exhaustion or nervousness.
Claire wrote good papers and made no slip-ups.
Nothing major anyway. Not the kind of mistakes which would pull her down to a C in weaker subjects or rob her of an A in her best ones, like English and History.
When the whole ordeal was over Claire no longer cared whether she did brilliantly or not. She felt flat, as if the prize she had slaved her guts over wasn’t really worth the winning. Sheena said she understood how she felt, but Jane had given her the good news about her scholarship to the Art College.
It was a terrible anti-climax having nothing to do.
When her exam results were out in August Claire would find that she had done not just well but very well. As in English, History and Physics; B’s in her other subjects. Annette took Claire out for a meal in her own favourite Italian restaurant and shared a bottle of wine with her. But that wasn’t until August. In the meantime Claire went on holidays to Spain with the McArdles.
During the year Jane had decided to sell the holiday bungalow. She got a good price for it, even more than she had hoped for and, feeling the need of a relaxing holiday in the sun, booked a fortnight in Spain for them all. On the day she told them the good news she had the flight tickets in her bag.
‘Yippee!’ Sheena cried when she heard. Even Ruthie was excited, a flush staining her pale cheeks.
‘There’s a ticket for Claire too,’ Jane said with a smile. She had deliberately waited until Claire was there with them before breaking the news. Claire blushed with shock, unable to believe her ears.
‘M..me,’ she stammered. ‘Oh but you shouldn’t... I mean I really couldn’t...’
Jane went over and hugged her. ‘Of course you could. It’s what we all want, isn’t it?’ she asked, looking about at her children. Sheena and Ruthie gave an eager assent. Terry’s yes was a little less hearty than the others but not because he didn’t approve, just that he was struggling with something that had to be said.
‘Mum,’ he said with a frown. ‘Don’t think I’m not grateful or anything but...’
‘Yes?’ Jane prompted.
‘The fact is, I can’t come with you.’ It was out in a rush and Terry looked grimmer than ever.
‘Not come,’ Sheena burst out. ‘Don’t be mad, Ter. Of course you’re coming.’
‘Sheena!’ Jane motioned her to be quiet. ‘Why, Terry?’ she asked him.
‘I’m going to America for the summer.’ Terry looked embarrassed. ‘I’ve promised some of the other chaps. I can’t let them down.’
‘Well, of all the scabby things,’ Sheena burst out. ‘Here Mum goes and books us a terrific holiday and you want to go to America. I’ve never heard anything so rotten in my life.’ Sheena’s expression was so disgusted that, despite her own disappointment, Jane had to smile.
‘It is a pity,’ she agreed gently. ‘It would have been nice, all of us together. A really decent holiday in the sun. In the past your father and I sometimes talked about it, but somehow we never got beyond the planning stage.’’
‘Don’t make me feel bad now, Mum,’ Terry pleaded. ‘It’s all arranged. I’ve booked through the student travel bureau and even got my J1. I can’t change it now.’
‘Well then, I suppose I’ll just have to try and see if I can get a refund,’ Jane said lightly, but there was a pained look in her eyes. She had so looked forward to telling them all.
‘Really rotten,’ Sheena repeated with a disgusted glance at her twin. He glared back at her, then went out banging the door after him.
Sheena looked at Claire, ‘Thank goodness, you’re coming,’ she said. ‘Terry really is a pain, isn’t he?’
Claire smiled weakly, reluctant to take sides. When she examined it later she would be both disappointed and relieved that Terry wasn’t going, but now she was still trying to take in the fact that she would be going abroad. A whole fortnight in Spain. She had never even been out of Ireland before. She was actually reading a book at the moment, all about Spain and bullfighting. It suddenly seemed astonishingly appropriate, she told them.
‘Will we go to a bullfight?’ Ruthie asked suddenly.
‘Bullfights are shockingly gory,’ Sheena teased. ‘Bet you won’t like it, Ruthie. She spent most of Bonnie and Clyde under the couch when it was shown on television,’ Sheena told Claire with a grin.
‘I did not,’ Ruthie said indignantly.
Claire laughed. ‘Don’t mind her, Ruthie,’ she said. ‘I kept my eyes closed most of the time, too.’
‘So there!’ Ruthie said triumphantly to Sheena.
‘Okay, go to a bullfight,’ Sheena said. ‘Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
‘Gosh!’ she said a moment later. ‘I can’t believe we’re really going to Spain.’
Neither could Claire. She felt she simply had to tell someone her wonderful news and, letting herself into her house, ran into the kitchen where Annette was at the stove frying hamburgers.
‘Guess what, Mummy?’ Claire cried. ‘I’m going to Spain with the McArdles.’
Annette stared. ‘I suppose she wants you to help out with Ruthie,’ she said at last.
The glow faded from Claire’s face. ‘I don’t mind if she does,’ she said stiffly.
‘From all she tells me that child is quite a handful,’ Annette went on. ‘You’ll earn your holiday looking after her.’
Claire turned away and began laying the table for the tea, thinking whenever she found herself getting on with her mother a little better, Annette always went and said something that grated on her.
‘Some people have all the luck,’ Annette was saying. ‘He must have left her very well off if she can take the whole family abroad like, that while here am I with hardly enough to pay our television rental.’ Deftly, she turned the burgers and added sliced onion to the pa
n. ‘How long are you going for?’
‘Only a fortnight,’ Claire said. ‘Usually I’m away much longer.’
‘You’ll need new clothes. Well, don’t expect me to tog you out on the money your father allows me. Let Mr Family Man contribute towards his daughter’s holiday wardrobe.’
As if she could ring her father and ask him for money.
‘I suppose I should be thankful having so much time to myself,’ Annette broke the silence. Christopher was spending most of the summer with his father.
‘What will you do?’ Claire asked, refusing to feel guilty.
Annette laughed mirthlessly. ‘Let me see. I’ve a huge range to choose from, haven’t I? Honestly, Claire. What a question.’ She sounded scornful. ‘I’ll do what I always do when you’re away. Sit here on my own and read.’
And drink. Claire was ashamed of her thoughts. She banished them and gave herself over to the delightful contemplation of two weeks in the sun with the McArdles.
The girls were instantly enamoured with Hotel El Murillo. It was a family-run hotel with an unpretentious entrance and magnificent gardens overlooking the sea. There was one swimming pool of respectable proportions, with a shallow section for younger children and a tiny play area concealed within a flowery arbour. The food was very good, but best of all was the genuinely friendly atmosphere.
Ignacio, the manager, was plump and smiling. He made a pet of Ruthie and when she became friendly with his little daughter, Adela, he encouraged them to come to the bar for free Cokes and limonada. The girls joked about her drinks on the house - they had to pay for theirs! But in reality Sheena and Claire received a similar flattering amount of attention from the waiters, who brought them tit-bits on the sly and blew them extravagant kisses behind Jane’s back. Sheena regally accepted their homage as her right. Claire did not have such a high regard for herself and was just as happy to let Sheena have the limelight.
She fished in her bag for a book and contentedly turned the pages. Close by, Ruthie splashed about in the shallows with Adela and some other little Spanish girls. Claire reflected that on this holiday so little was needed to keep Ruthie amused. She seemed happy to play in the water all day with her new friends, and their excited cries mingled with the shouts of swimmers as they tossed a red beach hall to one another in an endless game of Burro.
