Like One of the Family

by Nesta Tuomey

  ‘And see a bullfight,’ Jane agreed, nodding to the waiter to take away their plates. He did so, his eyes fixed yearningly on Sheena. She was flirting with all of the waiters They took their cues from her and held their hearts behind Jane’s back, or sighed over the gaspacho they carried to the table.

  As the evening advanced Sheena’s mood became progressively giddier. When José, her favourite, comically mopped his tears with a linen serving cloth, she went into paroxysms of laughter. The mood quickly spread, and soon even Ruthie was shaking, crimson-faced, behind her napkin.

  Jane watched their high spirits with a tolerant smile. She silently made another toast: that although the strong bond of friendship between the girls must inevitably weaken during the coming year while they pursued their different careers in their different colleges, it would continue to strengthen and grow on Spanish soil.

  EIGHT

  Claire was well into her second term at Belfield before she settled to college life. The buildings were so big and sprawling and it seemed to take half a day to get from one place to another. The library was miles from the sports centre and another long distance from the students’ canteen. Although they were initially supplied with a plan of the college, she found it difficult to put it into context and for the first few weeks wandered late into lectures because she had been too shy to ask the way.

  She had decided to take an Arts degree and in the first year chose for her subjects English, philosophy and classical studies. Her English class was split up into tutorial groups. Her tutor was an American woman in her forties, thin and slightly witch-like, who was never in her office although she was meant to be available for consultation during college hours. When, in desperation, Claire rang her home number it was invariably busy. Now she had given up expecting help and resigned herself to spending even more time in the library.

  One evening as she got off the bus, she saw Sheena ahead of her and called to her friend. Sheena turned around and waited for her.

  ‘Hi, Claire. Were you downstairs? Just wait till you hear...’ Sheena was lugging her portfolio and was dressed warmly against the crisp March weather in a blue duffle coat and a black felt hat pulled right down over her ears, hiding most of her glossy dark hair. She chatted away full of her news. ‘What do you think? Mum got word this morning the apartment is ready for occupation. Isn’t it great?’

  Claire nodded, infected by her excitement. She felt her heart lift at the thought of returning to Spain. She was living for the moment.

  Claire had seen very little of the McArdles since the summer. Although Sheena always invited her in for a chat whenever they met, like this, on the way from the bus, she seldom took up her invitation. Apart from being genuinely busy studying, she felt that her lines of communication with Sheena had become somewhat blurred. Sheena had taken to speaking in an ultra modern kind of jargon and she herself, through her contact with classical literature, seemed to have taken a step back in time. ‘Prithee sweet maid’ as opposed to ‘Move it, baby.’ Besides, these days Sheena was mixing with an older, more liberated crowd and spoke and dressed differently to the way she had before. Claire missed their old easy relationship but consoled herself with the thought of the summer when they would all be heading off again to Spain.

  ‘Mum’s going over for a quick visit some time after Easter,’ Sheena was saying. ‘She’s waiting until Terry can go with her.’ Sheena flashed her a sly grin. ‘Aren’t you going to ask how he is?’

  Claire blushed. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Well...he’s flying solo now and doing all kinds of dangerous things...not sure what...’ Sheena wrinkled her brow in concentration, ‘but really dangerous. He almost crashed a load of times.’

  Claire looked anxious. ‘Is he all right?’

  Sheena laughed. ‘Oh yes. Terry has nine lives. Hey, I’ve got a great video. Want to come over tonight and watch it?’

  ‘Wish I could but I have an essay to hand up tomorrow,’ Claire told her with regret. ‘I expect I’ll be up late finishing it.’

  ‘Pity,’ Sheena said. ‘It should be good. Robert de Niro and Meryl Streep.’

  ‘I’ll come over another time.’

  ‘Sure.’ Sheena went through her gate then impulsively turned back. ‘What’s wrong with right now? Come on in and say hello to Mum. She’s always saying how seldom we see you.’

  ‘Okay.’ Claire followed Sheena into the house, her mind still distracted by this latest bulletin on Terry. She wondered how Jane was feeling. She must be out of her mind with worry.

  ‘Claire!’ Jane looked around with a welcoming smile. ‘Come in and sit down. This is a nice surprise.’ She rose to pour coffee and soon placed mugs of milky brew in front of them. ‘How’s college treating you?’

  ‘Great.’ Claire sipped the hot liquid gratefully. Now that she was into her second term she was gaining more confidence, felt less timid about speaking up at lectures.

  ‘I suppose Sheena told you we were down in Baldonnel last month for Terry’s ceremonial parade,’ Jane said. ‘It was a beautiful cloudless day and the Air Corps’ acrobatics team provided a marvellous air display. You really must come to his Wings in May, Claire.’

  ‘Thanks. I’d love to.’ Claire was glad of an opportunity of asking the question that was bothering her. ’Don’t you worry at all about Terry flying?’

  Jane deliberated for a moment. ‘Look at it this way,’ she said at last, ‘Terry is the kind of person who needs the excitement and variety of a physically demanding job. I have no doubts that the Air Corps is just right for him and will teach him the discipline he badly needs.’

  ‘Sheena says he nearly crashed ...’

  ‘Oh Sheena exaggerates as usual,’ Jane frowned. ‘It was all part of their routine training... recovery from spins and forced landings type of thing’ She met Claire’s sceptical gaze. ‘Of course, I’m aware of the danger, Claire, but statistics prove there are more deaths on the road than in the air, you know.’

  Claire suspected Jane was protesting too much. She knew just how emotionally involved Jane was with her children. How could you not feel concerned about your only son becoming a military pilot?

  The conversation became more general and Jane spoke of Ruthie and the improvement in her since she had taken her to a child counsellor.

  ‘Sister Dunphy says she’s so much better this term the teachers can’t get over it,’ Jane said. ‘I think the Spanish holiday really did wonders for her, Claire.’

  Claire grinned. ‘She’s not the only one. I loved every minute myself.’ Over the months her memories had kept her warm as she battled in and out of college in the cold and damp of yet another typically Irish winter.

  When Jane began preparing the evening meal, Claire ran upstairs to chat with Sheena, not at all convinced by the older woman’s apparently calm acceptance of her son’s perilous career. It just didn’t ring true somehow, Claire thought. When she said as much to Sheena her friend lowered her paintbrush and nodded vehemently.

  ‘That’s just it, Claire,’ she said. ‘Mum cares so much that she deliberately keeps aloof to protect herself. She worries dreadfully, you know.’

  Claire saw that Sheena was working on a water-colour of a flowering cherry tree with a blurry black and white penguin in the foreground. It was rather good, Claire thought, like the work of the Impressionists.

  She noticed there was a new snapshot on the bedside table. The man was slightly older than Sheena’s other boyfriends and rather arty looking, with long hair and an engaging grin,

  ‘Did I tell you I’ve got a new boyfriend,’ Sheena said. ‘I met him at a party. He’s a sculptor and has a fabulous motorbike. Wait until you see it, Claire. Does a ton! Sean’s really nice,’ Sheena went on. ‘Takes me to lots of parties. Some night we’ll bring you with us.’ Claire was too much of a stay-at-home and Sheena was fully determined on shaking her out of her rut.

  Claire liked her rut.

  She didn’t stay much longer. She still had that essay to do. S
he stuck her head into the kitchen to say goodbye to Jane, and let herself out.

  The following week Claire crossed the campus, her books gripped tightly under her arm, and entered the arts building. She was relieved to find her tutor’s room empty and sat down to take a last look over her essay before she had to stand up and read it to the class.

  She would be glad when the ordeal was over. And then there would be another, for she had agreed to go with Sheena to one of her arty parties that night. She didn’t really want to but she felt the need to get out of the house. The sight of her mother drinking was beginning to get her down.

  Annette had taken to spending her weekends before the television, with a book in one hand and a glass in the other. Once or twice Claire had crept down during the night and thrown a quilt over her mother’s sleeping body, only to find her still lying there in the morning. She found the situation disturbing and depressing. Even thinking about it now was enough to cast her down.

  The classroom door opened and Claire moved over to make room as, chatting and laughing, her fellow students sat into the seats alongside her. She hated these group sessions. While the majority of students were avid for the limelight, Claire disliked drawing attention to herself. She had got away with this until the second term, but only the previous week Rothman had cottoned on to the fact she hadn’t yet read a paper and ruthlessly winkled her out, ‘Okay, Shannon, your turn to dazzle us next week.’ And now the time had come.

  Blushing, Claire rose to her feet and started to read her paper, which explored the influence of colonialism on the writers John Millington Synge and Jean Rhys. The fact she knew practically nothing about Synge had greatly added to her task but, and she greatly regretted not paying more attention to him in class. Fortunately she was already familiar with Rhys, having read and enjoyed her novels the previous summer. She knew it was quite a good paper. She had spent the whole weekend on it and been fairly satisfied until now. But it was one thing reading in the quiet of her bedroom and another before this mob.

  ‘Okay,’ the tutor told her at last. ‘You can sit down.’

  Claire retreated gratefully to her seat, her face burning and her throat dry.

  ‘So, any comments?’ the tutor asked.

  This was the worst part, when other students felt free to tear your precious paper to bits. Claire waited in trepidation, her head down.

  There were surprisingly few comments, mainly because few people had actually read Jean Rhys or Synge, nor indeed knew much, if anything, about either one of them. The focus quickly shifted to Joyce, about which everyone had some opinion.

  Claire sighed with relief. She leaned tiredly back in her seat and concentrated all her remaining energy on willing the session to end, so that she would get home in good time to get herself ready for the party.

  Except for a few candles stuck in bottles the cellar was in darkness. Music thundered from twin speakers. It was mostly men, Claire could see as she came down the steps after Sheena and was effusively welcomed by Sean. He introduced her to his friend Phil and bore Sheena away.

  Phil took Claire’s hand. ‘Come and have fun,’ he suggested.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Claire. She did not in the least expect to.

  They were immediately drawn into the group on the floor. Everyone linked hands behind each other’s necks and swayed to the music like they were about to go into a rugby scrum. Claire felt a bit silly. She smiled a lot to show she was enjoying herself, but the girl opposite her frowned at her through her curtain of hair.

  More women and one or two men, spilled down the cellar steps. It was too dark to make out their faces, but when the light from the candles fell on the face of one of the men, Claire, with a jolt, recognised Terry. She supposed the girl with him was Grainne. She was wearing a low cut dress and looked a lot older than twenty-three. Very sophisticated, Claire thought, with a dipping of spirit.

  ‘Let’s dance,’ Phil said, putting his arms about her.

  Claire was aware of shouted conversations going on about her and caught the whiff of various scents, turpentine and sweat, heated wool and flesh. Her mind felt very alert, perhaps because she had practically nothing to drink. Some had already over- imbibed and were crashing into other dancers, but she was shielded from the worst of it by her partner. She raised her eyes to find Terry staring at her. She was too taken aback to even smile. She couldn’t remember when she had seen him last - October... November? He quirked his eyebrows at her then flashed his white-toothed grin. Claire was cheered at this silent exchange and the noisy cellar seemed a more friendly place.

  The music stopped and Phil went in search of a drink, got waylaid by someone and forgot about her.

  ‘Enjoying it?’ Sheena asked.

  Claire nodded. She wasn’t but then she never felt at ease at parties. Everyone was far too intent on having a good time

  ‘What do you think of Phil?’

  ‘He seems nice, if a bit forgetful.’

  Sheena laughed. ‘Watch out! His partner is lurking somewhere.’

  The girl with the hair, Claire supposed.

  ‘Terry is here with Grainne.’ Sheena made a face. ‘He has a weekend pass.’

  Claire nodded and looked about for him. She saw him coming through the gloom towards her, carrying a drink in each hand. He sat down cross-legged on the floor beside Grainne and the girl whispered something in his ear. Laughing provocatively, she pulled him towards her, pressing his face down against her near naked flesh. Shaken, Claire looked away.

  Grainne’s laughter was beginning to jar on Terry. He was glad of the covering darkness, which concealed the embarrassing way she was poking her fingers in his pants.

  He twisted away from her on the pretext of making himself more comfortable and wondered why he had given into the impulse to bring her with him tonight. He supposed he had wanted to boast a bit about the Air Corps. He had taken his first flight on a jet that morning and, still caught in the euphoria of jet-powered flight, wanted to tell everyone.

  Terry would never forget the sense of power as the Fouga had gone screaming into the sky, turning onto its back at the top of the climb before rolling right way up again and diving earthwards through the cloud with dizzying speed. They had repeated the manoeuvre, climbing almost vertically into the sky every time. He had climbed out with the other pilot and gone unsteadily back to flight operations for debriefing still soaring and diving.

  He had been given a weekend pass and come up to town with his friend, Con, and some other cadets from his squadron.

  Dropped at his mother’s clinic, he had lingered to chat with Grainne. Lately, he had cooled off her a lot and they only met very occasionally, but she had hung on his words, telling him she had always known he would be a wonderful pilot. When she had begun dropping heavy hints about finishing work early he had asked her to come with him to the party.

  Seeing Claire there he had realised his mistake.

  ‘Isn’t that your sister over there?’ Grainne was asking.

  Terry nodded and took another sip of Coke. He would have liked beer but he was driving.

  ‘Let’s go over and talk to her.’

  ‘Who?’ Terry stalled.

  ‘Your twin. I’m dying to meet her and see if she’s anything like you. They say identical twins have the gift of telepathic communication. Did you know that, lover? Comes from sharing the same ovum.’ Grainne gave her provocative laugh again.

  ‘We’re not identical twins,’ Terry said. ‘Telepathic communication!’ he mimicked. ‘Who spelled that one out for you?’

  Grainne sulked. ‘Okay, be like that!’ She pushed herself to her feet and made her way through the shifting crowd. Terry frowned and went after her, afraid what she might say in front of the girls.

  ‘I knew you’d change your mind,’ Grainne crowed, moving over to make room for him. She laid her hand on him as she talked, suggestively rubbing her fingers up and down the inside of his thigh. He shifted away from her.

  Terry notice
d the way Claire was eyeing Grainne’s sagging décolletage and was struck again by how revealing it was. In different company he might have enjoyed the sight, but now he was conscious only of embarrassment and decided to leave.

  ‘I’m off,’ he whispered to Sheena. ‘I have to drive Mum home. Don’t let on I’m gone.’ He cast a significant glance at Grainne, now flirting with an entranced Phil.

  ‘Sure thing,’ Sheena said, only too pleased to join the conspiracy. Claire leaned over and asked him for a lift.

  ‘Of course,’ he agreed, surprised. It had never occurred to him she might want to leave so early. It wasn’t midnight yet. ‘Give me a minute and I’ll meet you outside.’

  Claire nodded and watched him slip adroitly through the crowd about the stairs. Despite herself, she couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for Grainne. Terry was so charming and so fickle, she thought soberly. Heaven help any girl caring too much for him. She was still a little dismayed by her own jealous reaction earlier.

  Claire almost shivered with pain as she remembered how deeply smitten she had been two summers before and how quickly their growing intimacy had been shattered. The pain of it still lingered. However, there was no trace of it in her manner as she sat into the car beside him.

  ‘I think you’ve got clear,’ she reported with a grin.

  Terry shot her a glance.

  ‘You must think I’m a real bastard,’ he said, as though actually caring for her good opinion.

  ‘Not really,’ Claire said, after consideration. ‘I would say Grainne gives as good as she gets.’

  Terry laughed. ‘She has that reputation,’ he agreed. He spun the wheel between strong, capable fingers and aimed the car fast down the street, pressing the accelerator to the floorboards. ‘I had reason to leave early, but you could have stayed on. Weren’t you enjoying it?’

  ‘It was all right, I suppose,’ Claire said doubtfully.

  ‘You don’t sound too crazy about it.’

  ‘I was afraid I wouldn’t get a lift home,’ she lied. ‘Sean could hardly take both of us on his motorbike.’