Finishing Touches

by Patricia Scanlan

  Barbara’s favourite way of making them sorry was to imagine that she was suddenly stricken with a fatal disease. Her funeral would be the biggest Port Mahon had ever seen. Almost six years before she had watched the funeral of President Kennedy and although she was very young, she had been deeply impressed. Once, when she was nine, she had put on her mother’s black lace mantilla, gone to the parish cemetery and stood at her grandfather’s grave, pretending she was Jackie Kennedy. She had pretended so hard she had made herself cry.

  Barbara loved her imaginary games because in them she was always the heroine and she was always in charge. She would have a magnificent funeral in Port Mahon. The army would be there, the police, the Red Cross, anybody who wore a uniform. The priests would say wonderful things about her. About how kind she was and what a terrible tragedy it was that she had died so young of such a painful disease that had been so bravely borne.

  Chief among the mourners would be Cassie and Laura, broken-hearted with grief and remorse over the way they had treated her. ‘My dear little sister,’ Cassie would cry, ‘please forgive me. Forgive me for treating you so badly!’

  Barbara would be nearly in tears as she imagined this scene. She couldn’t decide which was her favourite daydream, her funeral one or the one where she was Beth in Little Women, when Beth got scarlet fever and Cassie/Jo was desperately worried. Really, she was so good at imagining things she was going to be either an actress or a writer when she grew up. In the meantime, she was doing her best to get a duplicate of the key to the padlock that Cassie had used to lock her wardrobe door. If she could just get her hands on it for an hour or two and bring it to Mr Nolan in the hardware shop to get a second one cut, that would be perfect. Barbara knew that Cassie had bought some new clothes a few Saturdays before. That was another thing that bugged her. Cassie was allowed to go into Dublin on the train and go shopping with Laura. When Barbara was going shopping, her mother accompanied her, and it wasn’t the same thing at all. Next year, when she was a third-year student, she could go into town with Judy, Nora promised. In the meantime, Nora had quite a say in what Barbara bought and that did not suit her. If Nora had been with Cassie, her sister would never have been allowed to buy the latest outfit she brought home from Dublin.

  Cassie had bought the most beautiful denim mini and two gorgeous ribbed polo-necked jumpers. Exactly what Twiggy or Jean Shrimpton would wear. Barbara would kill to be able to wear that denim mini to the disco that Saint Joseph’s, the boys’ secondary school, were holding in two weeks’ time. Well, she had two weeks to get that key and get it she would.

  Standing at the dining-room door, Barbara noted with satisfaction that the table had been set. That was perfect timing. Barbara hated setting the table. In fact she hated all housework and tried to get out of it as much as she could. Usually quite successfully. She saw that Laura Quinn was staying for dinner. That was enough to put anyone in a bad humour. If Laura called her ‘Blabbermouth Barbara’ once more, she would really thump her. Deep down, Barbara wished heartily that she looked like Laura Quinn. With her jet-black hair and model-thin figure, she was the height of elegance and her clothes were always so with-it. Laura really had taste and style, something that Barbara longed to imitate. Ignoring the two older girls, she directed her gaze at her father. She wanted to go to the junior disco tonight and it was better to ask Poppa first because her mother might say no outright. If Jack said yes, as he usually did, Nora was more inclined to agree.

  ‘Poppa, can I go to the junior disco tonight and stay over at Judy’s?’ Cassie heard her sister Barbara ask her father. Typical of Barbara to appear when the table was set.

  ‘I don’t see why not, Babs,’ Jack Jordan said agreeably. ‘Ask your mother and then tell John to cycle down to the shop and get the evening paper for me. Isn’t it great about Apollo 10? Nine miles from the moon’s surface. What a feat, girls! What a feat! There’ll be men on the moon yet!’

  ‘And women!’ interjected Laura, ever the feminist.

  ‘Oh of course, Laura,’ agreed Jack, winking at Cassie.

  Cassie smiled. Barbara left the room to announce to her mother that Jack had said it was all right for her to go to the disco and sleep over at Judy’s. She couldn’t care less about the Apollo space programme. Who the hell wanted to live on the moon? But Cassie was interested, as interested as Jack, and since the launch of Apollo 10, she and her father had watched and discussed the developments as they went on their evening walks. Star Trek was Cassie’s absolute favourite programme and Jack was another fan. Mind you, he didn’t like it for the same reason as Cassie, who rather fancied Captain Kirk. Laura was crazy about Mr Spock. Tonight, with Barbara out of the way, they’d be able to watch it in peace. Barbara thought it was pure nonsense and loved to show her superiority by making scathing remarks about people who watched silly programmes about aliens with pointed ears. Barbara preferred The Forsythe Saga. But then, she thought she was so literary.

  In the distance Cassie could hear her sister ordering their brother John to go for the paper. ‘Get lost, I’ll go when I’m ready,’ was John’s spirited retort and Cassie grinned. John wouldn’t put up with any crap from Barbara.

  That’s telling her! John assured himself as he did a wheelie out the backyard, pretending to be Batman on his way to the scene of a crime in Gotham City. He didn’t mind going for the paper. It was one of his jobs. He just hated it when Miss Barbara told him to go for it. Who did she think she was? A grown-up or something! If Cassie asked him to go she usually gave him a few pence to spend on himself. Cassie was OK for a girl. When she caught him and Martin smoking down at the boat-shed, she had just given them a clip on the ear and never said a word about it to Mam and Pops. If it had been Barbara they would have been sunk. Barbara was always going on that she was a teenager. So what! Big deal! She was only three years older than him. It was great that he was getting tall now. She wouldn’t be able to boss him around for much longer. They had been having an argument the other day and he had managed to give her a clout that had made her screech. That would teach Miss Barbara to annoy him again.

  John smiled to himself as he cycled along the lane. A lovely breeze blew in off the sea and he wondered if his Uncle Joe would take him fishing soon. He was starving. He could murder a packet of Perry crisps or a Trigger Bar. What a thought. Cassie had whispered to him that Laura was staying the night although he wasn’t to mention it to Barbara. That would be a bit of fun. Laura was great gas. He called her Lanky Laura and she always called him the Pest! Still, he liked Laura; she too often gave him a few pence when she stayed over. He’d ask Cassie to give him a hand with his sums and then he’d have the whole weekend to spend solving crime. He and Martin might play Mission Impossible down at the boat-shed tomorrow. Cassie was quite good at sums, for a girl. She was very good at explaining things. If you asked Barbara anything she just called you a dunce and walked off with her head in the air. She and that hoity-toity Judy. They’d want to watch it, that pair! Batman knew they were agents of Catwoman and he was planning something special for them. He had been training his Batmouse for ages and the next time Judy stayed over with Barbara they were in for a bit of a shock. Ha Ha!

  Something glinting in the sunlight caught his eye and he came to a halt with a squeal of brakes. Just as well he was riding his Bat bike. He looked around cautiously. It could be a trap of the Joker’s. Robin the Boy Wonder, alias his brother Martin, was nowhere in sight to come to his assistance should he need help, so he moved with caution. A quick look. ‘Oh good!’ said Batman to himself as he picked up a penny. He’d be able to buy himself a penny-bar. It would keep him going until dinner. Whistling cheerfully, he remounted his trusty bike and continued in the direction of Gotham City!

  Standing at the sink, up to her wrists in soapy water, Cassie washed each pot as her mother finished dishing up the dinner from it. At least it was peas and carrots today. If there was one thing she loathed it was a cabbage saucepan. She always preferred to get as much of the washing
-up done as possible before sitting down to her dinner; knowing that she had a pile of dirty saucepans facing her always took the good out of her meal. Boy, was she starving! Nora was dishing up the roast potatoes, putting the crispiest ones on Irene’s plate. Irene was such a pet. Nora would let her get away with anything. Cassie smiled as she saw her seven-year-old sister playing two balls up against the side of the house, her little blond pigtails swaying crazily as she hopped around singing in her lispy voice:

  Plainy a packet of Rinso

  Uppy a packet of Rinso,

  Downy a packet of Rinso.

  She was doing the required actions with the balls. Irene was such a skinny little thing, with her spindly legs. You would think by the way Nora treated the youngest of the family that Irene was delicate, but all that was wrong with her was that she was a bit timid. And half of that was her mother’s fault, Cassie reflected, as she got to grips with the greasy roasting-dish. After all, it was a bit much, her mother still collecting her from school as if she was a baby. Lots of Irene’s classmates walked home through the town in the same direction and they didn’t even have to cross the Dublin road. All she had to do was turn left off the main street, walk down Fisherman’s Lane and then she was on the coast road, with a footpath the whole way to the farm, which was less than a mile away. Mam would have to let Irene stand on her own two feet some time. She wouldn’t even go to sleep without a light on. None of the rest of them had got away with that!

  ‘Cassie, will you bring in the dinners for me?’ her mother asked. ‘That one there,’ she indicated a heaped plate, ‘is your father’s, and that’s Laura’s.’ Nora smiled at her eldest daughter. ‘I’d be lost without you.’

  Cassie smiled back at the tall dark-haired woman standing at the cooker. Her mother was a fine-looking woman. After five children and years of hard work, her hair was only lightly flecked with grey. Her skin, untouched by make-up, was soft and unlined and her brown eyes sparkled with strength and good humour. A robust, active woman, Nora managed with ease to look after her family, assist her husband and be involved with the local community. Her mother was a very capable woman, Cassie acknowledged, as she called Irene and Martin in out of the yard and carried the two dinner-plates into the dining-room.

  ‘Great, I’m famished,’ said Jack, rubbing his hands as he seated himself at the top of the table.

  ‘I’ll never eat all that!’ protested Laura as she gazed in awe at the steaming plate that was placed in front of her. Despite her model-thin figure, she had a healthy appetite, but she wasn’t used to such big helpings. Besides, her mother was not the world’s greatest cook.

  ‘Don’t worry, John and Martin will help,’ Cassie reassured her as she headed out to the kitchen to get some more plates.

  ‘Is John home yet? Put his in the oven,’ her mother instructed, as she passed by her carrying a tray with four dinners. ‘Just get your own, Cassie. Barbara! Martin! Irene! Dinner’s on the table,’ Nora called. As Cassie prepared to put John’s plate in the oven, the crunch of tyres on gravel informed her that her brother had arrived. His timing was always impeccable where food was concerned!

  Dinner was a lively affair as usual and Cassie smiled as she saw Laura discreetly place a roast potato on each of John’s and Martin’s plates, much to their delight. After dessert, when the boys and Irene excused themselves to go and watch the cartoons before the news, Nora said to Jack, ‘I believe you’ve given Barbara your permission to go to the junior disco and stay at Judy’s.’

  Barbara smirked self-importantly.

  ‘I did, love,’ Jack agreed.

  ‘Make sure you’re home by eleven-thirty,’ Nora said firmly.

  ‘Aw Mam! That’s not fair!’ Barbara protested. ‘Cassie is allowed to stay out until twelve.’

  ‘Cassie is a year older than you, Barbara. Don’t argue, like a good girl.’ Nora stood up from the table. ‘I’m off to my ICA meeting. Jack, Joe left some fresh crabs in today if you want to cook them for supper. Laura is staying the night with Cassie so you can all have a sandwich.’

  Oh yum yum, thought Cassie in delight, although she was as full as an egg after her dinner. If there was one thing she loved it was crab-meat. Her Uncle Joe was a pet. Nora’s brother, he fished his trawler out of Port Mahon and kept the family supplied with fresh fish.

  ‘I’m going to have a bath before I go out if anyone wants to use the loo,’ announced Barbara, highly miffed at being told in front of Laura to be in by half-eleven. The indignity of it! Spoken to as if she were a child! She was half-inclined to say that she would come home instead of staying at Judy’s so that Laura and Cassie wouldn’t have the bedroom to themselves. But it was too late now to change her plans.

  ‘Just a minute, young lady!’ her father addressed her.

  ‘Yes, Poppa,’ Barbara said coolly. She was not in a good humour.

  ‘Your sister had to set the table, and that’s your job, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, but I had to play a tennis match and that’s why I was late. I’m in the league at school,’ Barbara explained, edging out the door.

  ‘Well, I think it wouldn’t kill you to finish the washing-up. Cassie has the saucepans all washed. Fair is fair, after all,’ Jack said firmly.

  Barbara was fit to be tied! ‘But I’ll be dead late,’ she wailed.

  ‘Ten minutes and you’ll have it all done. And bring me in a cup of tea when you’re finished,’ Jack ordered, winking at his eldest daughter. Cassie grinned at Laura. What a treat, not having to wash up. It wouldn’t kill Barbara for once.

  ‘Don’t forget Star Trek,’ her father reminded Cassie as he went into the sitting-room to watch the news.

  Barbara was furious. ‘You had no business setting the table. That’s my job and I don’t see why I have to do this bloody washing-up. It’s not fair!’

  ‘Mam asked me to set the table because you weren’t here, as usual, so don’t annoy me,’ retorted Cassie.

  Barbara clattered plates and cutlery together.

  ‘Don’t you annoy me, Cassie Jordan!’

  ‘Oh, shut up, Barbara, you do damn all anyway. It’s always left to me to help around the house, so doing the washing-up won’t kill you for once. Come on, Laura, let’s go in and watch TV.’

  ‘Just go to hell,’ snarled Barbara, marching into the kitchen with a load of dirty crockery, which she dumped, none too gently, into the sink.

  An hour later, Cassie, her father, Laura and the boys watched, thoroughly engrossed, as Captain Kirk, Mr Spock and the crew of the USS Enterprise engaged three Romulan ships in a nail-biting battle. Barbara appeared at the door. ‘Tsk . . . such rubbish!’ she remarked with an air of supreme superiority. ‘I’ve just put the sheets of my bed in the washing machine, so don’t turn it off by accident. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ She left, a trail of Lily of the Valley perfume wafting after her.

  Little bitch! thought Cassie in annoyance. The only reason she had put her sheets in the washing machine was so that Cassie would not be able to sleep in her bed. Fortunately, Cassie had a sleeping-bag. That would do fine. Miss Barbara would never know that she had slept on her bed. It would be better than the camp bed, and Laura could sleep in peace in Cassie’s. Typical of Barbara to be so spiteful.

  Three

  After watching their favourite television programme, the girls took themselves off to the dining-room, where, with much moaning and groaning, they proceeded to write out their punishment lines. Their aim was to have it done before Nora got home. If Nora saw them writing lines, she’d know something was up.

  They lay in their twin beds that night, sipping their hot chocolate and cream. Laura gave a huge sigh. Cassie, enveloped in a sleeping-bag on Barbara’s bed, looked over at her friend. ‘Are you worrying about Jill?’

  ‘Yeah, Cassie, I just feel so sorry for her. Da was such a bastard. I wish I could do something to help her. But what can I do?’

  ‘You can stand by her. At least she’ll know she can depend on you,’ Cassie said firmly. ‘W
hy don’t we go to Dublin as soon as we get out of school and spend a few hours with her tomorrow? Do you think she’d like that?’

  ‘Oh Cassie, that would be great. Are you sure you don’t mind coming? Are you sure you don’t mind about her being pregnant?’

  ‘Don’t be daft, Laura. Who am I to mind? I just hope to God it never happens to me, that’s all. Not that there’s much chance. Here I am, fourteen and manless,’ she reflected mournfully.

  ‘Are you sorry you broke it off with Andy?’ Laura asked sympathetically.

  ‘Well, I am and I’m not,’ Cassie said seriously. ‘It was nice having someone special and having someone to bring you to the pictures and the disco. You know yourself.’ Laura nodded. She was currently dating Brendan Connolly, best friend of Andy.

  ‘I just blew a fuse when I saw him kissing Denise Atkins down at the boat-shed the night of the barbecue.’

  ‘It was a great barbecue,’ Laura enthused. Catching Cassie’s outraged expression she said contritely, ‘Sorry!’

  ‘Denise Atkins! For God’s sake! Can you believe it? She’s done it with everybody she’s dated,’ Cassie said in disgust.

  ‘That’s probably why Andy was kissing her,’ Laura said drily.

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Cassie glumly. ‘Andy has sex on the brain.’

  ‘Haven’t we all?’ retorted Laura tartly. ‘Even Perpetua, Mother Patrick, and the triangle on legs, our esteemed maths mistress, go to bed at night and think of sex. It’s human nature, my dear.’