Upside Down Inside Out

by Monica McInerney

  “No, she did leave the B&B to your father. But we’ve just heard from her solicitor in Ireland. There’s a little bit of a hitch.”

  Hitches came in sizes? “What do you mean a little bit?”

  “It’s too complicated to talk about on the phone. I think it’s better if we discuss it as a family. Can you call over tonight? If you and Adam don’t have any plans, that is.”

  “No, he’s working seven nights a week at the moment. Of course I’ll come over.”

  “Thanks, love. I’m asking the boys to drop by as well.”

  The boys? Her younger brothers were hardly that. Brendan was nearly thirty, Declan twenty-five, and Hugh nineteen. Lainey mentally ran through her appointments for the day. The barbecue party was from noon until three, then she had two meetings and a client briefing back at the office. “Around eight-ish then—sorry, Ma, can you hold on a sec?” She shouted over the music again as the sausages put down their sauce bottles and picked up giant barbecue tongs. “That’s when the managing director comes in and you form a guard of honor with your tongs, okay? That’s it, great. Sorry about that, Ma.”

  “I don’t think I’ll ask what you’re up to.”

  Lainey laughed. “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you. I’ll see you tonight then. Love to Dad.” She put her mobile away and turned her full attention back to the stage. The sausages were now brandishing the barbecue tongs as though they were samurai swords. It was hard to keep a straight face—she’d been picturing this event in her head for weeks now and it had looked nothing like the chaos in front of her. She stopped the music with another wave of her hands. “All right, from the top again please.”

  It was past seven by the time Lainey drove out of the office car park and through the Melbourne city center streets. Out of habit, she put on the language CD that she kept in the car. She listened to French language CDs while she jogged, and German CDs while she drove. Adam found it very funny. “You do realize you’ll only ever be able to speak German when you’re sitting in a car?” he’d remarked when he first noticed her system.

  She listened for a few moments, repeating the words until the woman’s breathy tones finally got to her. Stopping at the Flinders Street traffic lights, she put in a new CD, a bargain basement KC and the Sunshine Band greatest hits collection. She’d bought it for her brother Declan as a joke and then discovered she liked it too much herself. She wound down the window of the car, the tiny breeze it let in giving her little relief from the muggy late-January heat. The air-conditioning had broken down again and it was like driving around in a portable oven. A portable kettle barbecue, even. She certainly knew enough about barbecues now to understand how being in one would feel. “It was all fabulous, just how I imagined it,” Mr. Beaut Barbecues had gushed as Lainey said good-bye that afternoon. “See you in ten years for our next big anniversary, sweetheart.” Over my dead body, sweetheart, she’d thought as she nodded and smiled and tried to ignore his hand doing its best to grope at her behind. She’d had quite enough of Mr. and Mrs. Barbecue and all the little Barbecues for one lifetime.

  She finished singing an enthusiastic, badly out-of-tune version of “Shake Your Booty” just as she came off the freeway. She was the first to admit she had an appalling singing voice. “No offense, Lain,” Declan had said once, “but your singing sounds like a mating cat. Like a cat being slaughtered when it’s mating, in fact.” On the spur of the moment, she made a detour to the local shopping center to pick up a few treats to save her mother having to cook. A proper daughter would bring homemade casseroles, she knew, but her cooking skills were basic and her cooking time nonexistent.

  The clock on the dashboard clicked over to 8:00 p.m. as she parked in front of the house. Mr. and Mrs. Byrne’s redbrick bungalow in Box Hill was the sixth house the family had lived in since they’d arrived from Ireland seventeen years ago. Of the four children, only her youngest brother, Hugh, had a bedroom in this house these days and even he was barely there, spending most nights at friends’ houses. She took care not to stop under the jacaranda tree that had burst into bloom just before Christmas and was now showering blue flowers all over the street. There was no sign of her brothers’ cars—she was first, as usual. She walked through the open front door, down the hallway to the kitchen and put the meals away in the fridge.

  “Hello, Lainey. Oh, thanks a million, your father loves those. Shut the fridge door, would you? I don’t want the flies getting in there.” Mrs. Byrne specialized in greeting-and-command combinations. “I like your haircut, by the way. I wouldn’t have thought hair that short would work with a biggish nose like yours, but it looks very well.”

  Lainey didn’t blink at the mixture of compliment and insult—her mother had long specialized in them too. “Thanks, Ma.” She gave her mother a quick kiss on the cheek. With the same tall, very slim build, the same dark-brown hair, they were sometimes mistaken for sisters. “Where’s Dad?”

  “Playing water polo. Where do you think he is? In bed, of course.”

  Lainey ignored the sharp tone. “Has he been up today at all?”

  “No, for a few minutes yesterday. But the way he carried on about it you’d think he wanted me to hang banners and streamers around the house in celebration. He said he’d get up tonight to see you all, but there’s been no movement yet.”

  “I’ll go and say hello.” She walked through the living room to her parents’ bedroom. No, not her parents’ bedroom, she corrected herself. Her father’s bedroom. He had moved into one of the spare bedrooms several months previously, as a trial to see if he could sleep better without her mother beside him. The trial continued, still waiting on positive results, perhaps.

  She knocked softly on the door. “Hi, Dad.”

  No answer.

  “It’s me, Lainey, your favorite daughter.”

  “My only daughter.” His Irish accent was loud in the dark room.

  She came in and sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light. The curtains were drawn. She could just make out his face, the bedcovers drawn up to his neck. “Just checking you remembered me. How are you?”

  “In bits, still. Why, have you been praying for a miracle cure?”

  “Burning candles for you every night, you know that.” She kept up a jovial tone. “Can I bring you anything? A cup of tea? A cold drink?”

  “A new life would be nice.”

  Her mother had been right, he was in very bad form. She changed the subject. “Ma said there’s a bit of a problem with May’s will?”

  “Of course there is. How long is it since anything ran smoothly in this family?”

  Lainey tried to stay cheerful. “Nothing we can’t sort out, I bet. What about I get you a cup of tea while we’re waiting for the others to arrive?”

  There was a long sigh. “Thanks, love, that’d be great. Tell Peg I’ll be out as soon as I can.”

  Back in the kitchen, Lainey filled the kettle and tried to shake off her sudden gloom. “Honestly, the sooner he gets his own chat show the better, don’t you think?”

  Mrs. Byrne didn’t smile. Lainey looked closer at her. “Are you all right? Have you been, crying?”

  “No, of course I haven’t. It’s hayfever.”

  “In the middle of the city? Imported hay, is it?”

  “No, we’ve had a rough day, that’s all. Here, look.”

  Lainey took the letter, immediately noting the insurance company logo. Since her father’s accident on the building site there had been piles of correspondence bearing this logo. She scanned the latest.

  Re: Gerald Patrick Byrne

  In regard to your claim for compensation following your recent workplace accident, please be advised we require additional proof of your injuries and incapacitation. However, please note this evidence may or may not have any bearing on your claim, which is still under consideration…

  Lainey gave up reading midway. She’d seen enough of these sorts of letters already. She felt like inviting one of the insur
ance people to come and look at the mark that slab of concrete had left on her father’s back. “Ma, why won’t you let me take over? I’d get in there and sort them out so quickly—”

  “Because your father wants to handle it his way, for some reason. And you know what he’s like with people in authority, he’s never been able to stand up to them. I’ll tell you who else wrote to us today—the physiotherapist. She says your father’s been canceling too many appointments at the last minute, she’s going to have to start charging us soon. What am I supposed to do? I can’t make him go. He’s a grown man, isn’t he? Though I don’t know anymore, half the time he’s like a bold child, sulking and skulking in there…”

  Quick, Lainey thought, don’t let her get upset. Make her think of something else. “Is there something I can do in the meantime? Before the money comes through from the B&B sale? Handcuff myself to the railing in front of the insurance company, perhaps?”

  That brought a faint smile. “No, it’s far too hot at the moment. In the autumn perhaps.”

  “I could go on a hunger strike.”

  “You’re skinny enough as it is.”

  “Seriously, there must be something I can do.”

  “Perhaps there is.”

  Lainey waited.

  Mrs. Byrne shook her head. “Wait till the other three get here.”

  “You’ve collected the whole set? Well done.”

  “Well, Declan said yes. And Bren said yes. But Hugh…”

  The back door opened to admit a tall, brown-haired man with a bag slung over his shoulder. “Saintly mother figure, greetings. Laineyovich, glorious being, ahoy to you too. Hideous haircut, by the way, you look like a boy. No offense, of course.”

  Lainey smiled serenely at her middle brother. “None taken, of course. How are you, Declanski? Still tunneling your way through the education system?”

  “The work is hard, but yes, the rewards are endless. And how is your world of frivolous product launches and rampant commercialism? Shallow as ever?”

  “I’ll have you know I celebrated the birthday of a barbecue today that would make Lenin sit up and take notice, Declanski, let alone some baby-faced communist sympathizer like you.”

  Mrs. Byrne frowned. “Declan, you’re not still a communist, are you? I thought you’d given up all that business when you left teachers’ college. There’s no future in it, you know that.”

  “No, Ma, Lainey is still living in the past. I’m actually between radical beliefs at the moment. I’m tossing up between the Fur Trappers Society and the Animal Rights Movement.”

  “Go for the middle ground, Dec,” Lainey said. “Give up teaching and get a job inside one of those giant koalas that go begging for donations in the shopping center.”

  “I’ve been offered a job at the shopping center,” their mother announced.

  They both stared at her. “Doing what?” Lainey said.

  “As a product demonstrator. In the supermarket there.”

  “Oh, brilliant,” Declan said. “So now I’m surrounded by capitalists.”

  Mrs. Byrne was defiant. “We need the money. I’ll be able to go out for a few hours in the evening during late-night shopping, while your father’s friends call around. Any he’s got left, that is.”

  “Good on you, Ma,” Lainey said enthusiastically, trying to send an ESP message to Declan not to tease their mother about this. “What are you demonstrating?”

  “New food products—anything and everything, apparently. I start next week. My friend Mrs. Douglas down the road suggested I do it. She’s been doing it for years. Says it’s great gas altogether, gets her out of the house as well. God knows I need to do something. If I’d known this was going to happen I would never have taken early retirement from the library. Oh yes, your father promised we’d finally get that caravan, go and see Australia, go home to Ireland once a year, but look what’s happened instead. Stuck here while he lies in state feeling sorry for himself…”

  Brendan arrived then, dressed in his suit, obviously straight from work. Lainey was relieved at the interruption. She knew their mother needed to talk about things, she just found it hard to listen sometimes. Declan tossed his older brother a beer from the fridge. “Golden boy himself. A little late, I’m sorry to see. We don’t want a black mark on that perfect slate of yours now, do we?”

  “Hi, Ma. Hi, Lain,” he said, ignoring Declan and putting the beer back in the fridge. Lainey noticed Brendan had put on even more weight since she’d seen him last. Like herself and Declan, he was taller than average, and usually very slim. Ever since he’d moved into a managerial position at the recycling company he worked for, though, his edges had been getting flabby. She suspected he was in no mood for it to be pointed out. “How are the twins going, Bren? Eaten any more cat food lately?”

  “It wasn’t cat food, Lainey. It was a single dog biscuit between them.”

  Mrs. Byrne passed him a glass of milk. “Don’t mind Lainey, Brendan. And it could have been worse—the daughter of a friend of mine came home to find her children had been working their way through her laxative chocolate. The babysitter hadn’t even noticed, just thought they had a bit of a stomach upset.”

  “There’s an idea, Bren,” Lainey said brightly. “Laxative chocolate cakes for the twins’ next birthday party. That’d give their parents a day to remember.”

  “I still can’t believe anyone would voluntarily invite children into their homes. They’re bad enough for six hours in a classroom each day,” Declan said. “Tell me, Bren, are you planning on stopping this breeding program of yours soon, or do you intend to singlehandedly repopulate the eastern suburbs of Melbourne?”

  “Leave Brendan alone,” Mrs. Byrne said. “At least someone in this family has managed to get married and give me some grandchildren.”

  Brendan drank the milk in one swallow, then turned back to them, wearing a milk mustache. Neither Lainey nor Declan drew attention to it. “I have to go back into work tonight, so can we get started? Is Hugh coming?”

  “Hugh knows,” Declan said in a singsong voice.

  “That really bugs me. I break my back to get here…” Brendan seemed to realize what he’d said and stopped short, embarrassed as he noticed his father out of the corner of his eye. “Dad, hi. I’m sorry about that. Just a figure of speech, you know.”

  “I know.” Mr. Byrne was at the door, leaning heavily on his walker. On the wall behind him Lainey could see a large photo taken at the time of her parents’ thirtieth wedding anniversary five years ago, Mrs. Byrne all elegance and beaming smiles, Mr. Byrne tanned, full of good humor and vitality. Lainey wished her mother would take the photo down. The man in front of her couldn’t have been farther from that image. He’d lost lots of weight, yet somehow he looked puffier, unhealthy around the face. He shuffled into the room. “How are things, Brendan? How are Rosie and the twins?”

  “Going great guns,” Brendan said in a fake cheery tone. “The twins are starting to run around so much, it’s all we can do to keep up with them these days.”

  Mr. Byrne gave a mirthless laugh. “I wouldn’t have a chance at all then, would I? Some grandfather I am. Can’t even pick them up anymore.”

  Brendan’s smile faltered. There wasn’t anything he could say to that. It was the truth. The phone rang. Lainey picked it up, guessing correctly that it would be Hugh. She listened for a moment. “No, Hughie, of course I can’t take notes for you. It’s a family meeting, not a lecture. Okay, see you soon.” She hung up. “He’s running late. He had to do a double shift at the radio station.”

  “He’s only a volunteer at that station, how can he get a double shift?” Declan asked, throwing his empty beer can into the bin and taking a new one from the fridge. He ignored a glare from Brendan who pointedly retrieved the can and put it in the recycling bin. “That’s like nothing times nothing which equals nothing. Which sums up Hugh’s contribution to society, really, doesn’t it? The world hardly needs another media studies student. We need more teach
ers like me, don’t you all think? Pushing back the boundaries of modern education, stretching young minds, exploring the frontiers of learning techniques. Or more like you, Brendan, our very own guardian of the environment, in there in your suit each day, pushing your pen and keeping Melbourne’s recycling industry ticking over. As for you, Lainey, I’m afraid we still can’t understand your role in society—”

  “Declan, could you shut up?” Mrs. Byrne clearly wasn’t in the mood for one of his rants. “Come into the living room, please. Your father and I need to discuss something with you all.”

  Praise for

  THE FARADAY GIRLS

  “Crossing the globe, from Australia to Manhattan to Dublin, McInerney’s bewitching multigenerational saga lavishly and lovingly explores the resiliency and fragility of family bonds.”

  —Booklist

  “It’s always an almost-sinful pleasure to delve into anything written by Monica McInerney, whose delightful prose brings her rich characters to sparkling life.”

  —Irish American Post

  “McInerney has penned an engaging character study with a heaping helping of crazy family dynamics. But first and foremost, she’s written a good story…. McInerney explores issues such as sibling rivalry and family secrets with sensitivity, humor and insight.”

  —Burlington Times

  “McInerney is a talented storyteller…. A great story and a great read.”

  —Library Journal

  “Monica McInerney writes books that you want to read by the fire on a cold winter’s day, or read in a hammock on a hot one. Either way, before you’re too deep into the story, you will hunger for a delicious meal, a glass of wine, a trip to both Australia and Ireland and at least two or three sisters.”

  —The San Jose Mercury News