‘Rory,’ she counters with a frighteningly sophisticated smile. ‘Don’t get up for me.’ She eyes Johnny as if sharing a joke.
‘How’s your mother?’ he asks, his tone pointed.
It’s as if she hasn’t heard. ‘Who’s your friend?’ she drawls.
Johnny takes the cue and introduces himself and his mates. She introduces hers. Grown women, all, it seems. Johnny starts scanning for chairs. Rory is ready to punch him.
‘They’re not staying,’ he says, glaring at Jenna.
Johnny looks from Rory to Jenna.
‘Actually we are,’ Jenna says cheerfully, throwing Rory with her audacity.
He thinks of Orla, at home, innocently unaware of proceedings. ‘No. You’re not.’
She just smiles, slowly sticks her butt out and lowers it seductively onto the nearest lap, like a professional porn star. She holds Rory’s gaze as if daring him to do something about it. The owner of the lap, Simon, seems part pleased, part unsure. The other girls settle in, one on Pete’s lap, another on a chair Johnny has gallantly produced. Rory is stunned at how quickly this has slipped from his control. What’s she up to? Is she really flirting or does she think that by sitting with older guys she’ll get served? In which case she’s teenage drinking. As for her blatant sexuality… Doesn’t she know he’ll tell Orla? Maybe that’s what she wants – to cause hassle. But she and Orla have been getting on so well. Why upset that? Maybe it’s Owen she wants to bug. The bar boy is coming over. Does she really think that her uncle is going to just stand by and let her be served? She can forget it. He knows he was no angel on the underage drinking front, but this is different. Jenna doesn’t want to end up on her ear. Not dressed like that. Not behaving like that. And not with guys like this.
‘Jenna, I need to talk to you inside.’
She is looking at the bar boy, about to give her order.
‘Now.’
She sees his face and knows he won’t let it happen. Reluctantly she gets up.
They go inside. He glares at her.
‘What?’ she asks, as if he’s the most uptight person in the entire world.
‘D’you want me to embarrass you in front of your friends? Because I will. If I have to. You’re sixteen.’
‘So?’
‘So it’s against the law for you to drink.’
‘Coke?’
‘What exactly are you doing, Jenna?’
‘Having fun. What does it look like?’
‘You were sitting on the lap of a man old enough to be your father.’ Just about.
‘No law against that.’ Arms folded. Jaw deliberately out of alignment. ‘You finished?’
‘You give me no choice but to ring Orla.’
She says nothing, just raises an eyebrow as if to say ‘You child’.
He takes out his phone, starts punching numbers into it.
‘All right. I’m going. I’m going. Jesus. I was just having a bit of fun.’
‘Well, maybe next time you want a bit of fun, you should pull out your chessboard.’
She looks at him with real hatred. ‘Fuck you.’ She marches out ahead of him. Her friends are sipping beer. Hers is waiting on the table.
Rory glares at Johnny. Moron!
‘Come on,’ Jenna tells her friends. ‘We’re outta here.’
‘Hey, let’s just finish these,’ the chubbier of the two girls is saying.
Jenna walks on without looking back. Reluctantly, they get up, one taking a final sad gulp of beer, the other slowly reaching over, and taking Johnny’s face in her hands and kissing him on the mouth. Her ‘bye’ is laced with sex and regret. Rory, who has inadvertently caught a flash of cerise thong is close to collapse. He sinks into his chair.
Finally, they’re out of view.
‘What is your problem?’ Johnny demands. All eyes round on Rory. Everyone wants an answer.
Rory focuses only on Johnny. ‘D’you make a habit of picking up sixteen-year-olds?’ His voice is ice.
Johnny laughs. ‘They were not sixteen.’
Pete adds, ‘They’d ID.’
‘Don’t you think it’s interesting they were asked for it?’
Johnny shrugs.
‘She’s my niece for fuck sake.’
Johnny pales. ‘Why didn’t you say?’
‘Next time you see hotties, make sure they’re out of nappies.’ He is too angry and shocked by what has happened to stay. He wasn’t cut out for Hottie Patrol. Johnny needs to wise up. Doesn’t he know how quickly girls grow up now? Rory starts to walk home. Though it’s more of a march. Down by Bullock Harbour, he sees the flat shiny head of the resident seal who has a very easy life, eating fish and generally larking about.
He should tell Owen about this. After all, it’s his fault – him and his second family. But then Owen would probably blame Orla for not managing Jenna better. Rory thinks of the fake ID. Why else would she have it, only to get her hands on booze. He senses trouble. Has to tell Orla. But then, why does she have to be the one to clean up every mess created by Owen leaving? Maybe Jenna was only teasing Rory, pulling that stunt just to annoy him. No. There’s more to it. The kid is looking for trouble. And Orla needs to know.
27
In Dun Laoghaire, he takes a taxi to Orla’s, stopping on the way for a bottle of white wine. He wants to do this carefully, break the news slowly. Jenna is a good kid, angry, and maybe now a little out of control, but ultimately a good kid. He knows what it’s like, underage drinking. It’s something you slip into. Having a parent freak out about it might not be the best thing.
Orla is surprised to see him. ‘What happened to your friends?’
‘They were bugging me,’ he says, then smiles.
She opens the door to let him in.
Glasses of wine in hand, they sit out on the patio, catching the last fighting rays of a dying orange sun.
‘So, how’s Jenna doing these days?’ he asks, as casually as he can.
‘Ah, all right. This thing with Owen has really upset her. She lets on she doesn’t care. But I know she’s devastated. She was the only child. It used to be just the three of us. So tight. She adored him, Rory. It makes this all the more tough on her.’
He wonders how to bring the conversation round to the incident in the pub. ‘Who does she hang out with these days, kids from her school?’
Orla looks mildly surprised by the question, but then gets absorbed by the answer. ‘That’s another problem. I couldn’t tell you who they are. I used to know all her friends. But since she started at that boarding school they’ve all changed. I don’t know any of them. I should. It’s so important. But she won’t ask any of them over no matter how many times I suggest it. I’m hoping that because it’s a good school…’ Her voice trails off. And then, as though to reassure herself, she says, ‘She’s good at picking friends. In her old school they were all lovely girls.’
He nods. Taps his middle finger on his thigh. ‘She go out a lot?’
‘Why d’you ask?’
‘Just curious.’
‘You know teenagers, out and about most evenings, now that they’ve summer holidays. God, it was so much easier when she was younger, always with us, under the same roof. But you have to give them responsibility, allow them to grow up. She’s never back late. She has her mobile and always answers it. I always know where she is.’ After a moment, she asks, ‘Why all the questions about Jenna?’
‘I saw her in Dalkey this evening.’
Orla looks confused. ‘Dalkey?’
‘Yeah, with some friends.’
She is squinting. ‘Are you sure it was Jenna?’
He has an urge to laugh. ‘Yeah. I’m sure.’
‘What was she doing?’
He pauses, deliberating. ‘Walking down the street.’
‘She was supposed to be in Dundrum. I’d never let her go as far as Dalkey. She knows that. Who was she with?’ Anger gives way to concern.
‘Two girls her own age. They seemed fine. No one was bothering them.
’
‘I’m going to call her. She knows she’s not allowed to go that far. She’s taking advantage…’ Orla stands.
‘Wait. Before you ring her, let me tell you everything.’
She sits down, worry all over her face.
He tells her.
And she’s out of her chair heading for the kitchen. ‘I’ll kill her. I’ll kill her.’
From inside, Orla’s voice carries. Her words to her daughter are clipped, staccato, as though trying to contain a lot of emotion. Finally, she returns outside. ‘She’s on her way,’ she says, but doesn’t sit back down. Instead, she walks about, biting her knuckles. She becomes aware of Rory watching her, and sits. Then gets up again. ‘I’m ringing her,’ she says, ‘I’m going to collect her.’
Orla makes another call and comes out carrying the car keys. ‘You coming?’
‘Just drop me off on the way. Otherwise it might be awkward for her.’ He follows Orla into the kitchen.
‘I want it to be awkward. And I need you to back me up.’
‘You know what happened. I’ve told you everything. If I’m there it’ll seem like we’re ganging up on her.’
‘Well, maybe that’s exactly what she needs. I’m a walkover. Discussing everything, talking calmly about teenage drinking, and thinking her attitude so mature, believing her, not worrying, and all the time she’s been going around with fake ID. Maybe I need to explode.’ She looks at him.
He doesn’t know what to say.
‘Oh, God.’ She puts her hands to her face, her fingers covering her cheeks. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she says, doubt and worry drowning outrage. ‘I don’t know what to do. I’m on my own. If only Owen was here.’
Owen is probably the problem, Rory thinks.
Her sigh is so deep it could affect the tides. ‘We’d better go.’
‘Orla?’
She stops, from where she is about to set the alarm.
‘Maybe Owen needs to be involved in this.’
‘No.’
‘It’s his responsibility too.’
She shakes her head.
‘What if this is about Owen?’
She looks at him for a long moment. ‘Didn’t you know? Everything is about Owen.’
Orla does drop him off. And he spends the rest of the evening worrying about how it’s going. When he doesn’t hear from her, he worries more. Next morning, he delays as long as patience will allow him before finally calling her mobile.
‘Can you talk?’
‘Yeah, just a sec.’ He hears her unlock the back door. ‘OK,’ she says, finally. He gathers she is down the garden, out of earshot.
‘Well?’
‘Well, I tried to be reasonable.’
‘And?’
‘Didn’t work.’
He waits.
‘I tried to stay calm. At first, it was going OK. She looked guilty, remorseful even. But as soon as we got home and I tried to make her see that she was wrong to have broken my trust and taken advantage of how easy I am on her, she blew up. She said that I can’t stop her doing what she wants. And that the only reason I don’t want her to have fun is because I’m not having any.’
‘Jesus. That’s harsh.’
‘No. That’s mild. She said that if I loved her I’d have tried to get Owen back, and now it’s too late. She said I’ve more time for Jason than her. She said so many things one after the other and with such,’ she pauses, ‘hatred, that all I can think is that however well I thought we were getting on, I was wrong.’
‘It was drink talking. She doesn’t mean all that.’
‘This is my daughter, my little girl. My angel. Who used to love me. Unconditionally.’
Jesus, he thinks. Is this parenting?
‘And you’re right. She had been drinking.’
It was the blatant sexuality that worried him most… well, that combined with drink. Orla needs help with this, but he doesn’t know how to say it. He hesitates. ‘D’you think she should see someone?’ As soon as he’s said it, he regrets it as too drastic.
‘I do.’ He’d forgotten for a moment he was talking to Orla. ‘Try telling her.’
‘Maybe Owen could get her to.’
‘Are you kidding? She won’t take his calls. But still she wants him back. He’s the one who is messing her up. And don’t get me wrong – I don’t think I’ll have any more influence. Just because she’s directing a lot of her resentment at him, doesn’t mean she feels any less towards me. I learned that last night.’
‘Is there anyone she’ll listen to?’
She sighs. ‘I don’t know. Sometimes I think I don’t know her any more.’
Rory tries to be hopeful. ‘Maybe it was a once off.’
‘No.’ There’s a pause. ‘I found cans in her room a few weeks back. When I asked her about it, she said they weren’t hers, she was keeping them for a friend. It was staring me in the face, but I wanted to believe her. I took the cans, went into a long explanation as to why drink doesn’t solve anything, hoped that would be the end of it. Some agony aunt I am – advising the nation about their problems, when I can’t even face my own.’ She pauses. ‘Fake ID. That takes effort.’
He can’t argue with that.
‘I’ve taken it off her. Grounded her for a week. But I know I can’t stop her. If she wants to drink, she’ll find a way.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know,’ she says slowly. ‘I. Don’t. Know. She gets too much money. Owen – again.’
‘Then you’ll have to talk to him.’
‘She probably won’t take it from him now. But it’s not just the money. She has to decide not to drink.’
‘How is she now?’
‘Hasn’t come down. And who knows what she’ll be like when she does. An angel or a devil, whatever suits. Should I have gone mad, screamed at her, shouted, ranted, frightened her into stopping?’
‘I don’t know, Orla. This is out of my league. There must be someone who can help, someone you could go to for advice.’
Silence for a moment. ‘There are one or two good teen psychologists I know from writing the column. Maybe I’ll talk to them.’
‘I wish you’d tell Owen.’
‘Why, so he can blame me for messing up?’
Rory calls for Jason, who is ready this time. Still, Rory lingers.
‘How’s the job going?’ he asks Naomi.
She produces a wide smile, a rare and heartwarming thing, he discovers. ‘The job’s great. Great.’
‘Good,’ he says. ‘Good.’
‘You coming?’ Jason asks.
‘Eh, yeah.’ He wants to offer to help Naomi in some way, but can’t think of how without sounding charitable or condescending. ‘OK, well, see you later then,’ he says.
Jason is heading for the steps.
Before Rory turns away from her, Naomi speaks quietly, so her son can’t hear. ‘Thanks for not forgetting him.’
It catches Rory by surprise. ‘I’d never do that.’
‘I know that now.’
And it occurs to Rory that while he was busy thinking the worst of Naomi, so was she about him.
They’ve been in Cabinteely Park over an hour now. Jason has raced to the top of a climbing frame that resembles a giant spider’s web of ropes. Rory, worried that he’ll fall, has had to look away. Afterwards, they knock a ball around.
Walking back to the car, Jason throws the ball up in the air.
Rory asks, ‘So, how’s your mum?’
Jason catches the ball and holds it. ‘Fine.’
‘Job going OK?’
‘Yeah, can we get a drink?’
‘Sure. D’you ever call in to the flower shop?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘What’s it like?’
Jason throws him a look. ‘You know what it’s like.’
‘Yeah, I know, but I was just wondering what you thought of it.’
‘I like it, ’specially when Louise gives me jobs. T
here’s this flower, right, called the Amaryllis and it grows real fast and I got a measuring tape an’ all and a watering can and I even got a chart to write down how fast it’s growing. It’s cool. We keep it in the shop.’
We. He imagines the three of them together. Happy. And he wonders: for someone who never wanted a family, Louise seems to have adopted this one. He imagines her with Jason, measuring the plant with him, touching his hair, smiling. And then he makes himself stop.
‘How is she, Louise?’
‘Louise is cool. Don’t know why you dumped her.’
Rory’s about to say he didn’t when he imagines the interrogation that would follow. ‘Is she happy?’
He shrugs. ‘Suppose so.’
‘And everything’s all right with her, yeah?’
‘I dunno. I’m just a kid.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Want me to ask her if she’s happy?’
‘No! No. Don’t do that. She’s fine. She’s absolutely fine.’
28
Rory is not a born orator, of this he has never been more aware. Already he has spent days on his best man’s speech. And it doesn’t show. He is wasting yet another evening in front of the computer, worrying not only about making a fool of himself in public but in front of Louise, who will no doubt be there. Bad enough that he has to face her, but to have to perform in front of her too seems worse than bad luck. There doesn’t seem any way around it. When the phone rings, it takes a moment for him to hear it. His worries suddenly disappear. Replaced by another. His father is in A&E. Suspected stroke. Brought in by ambulance. Not looking good. Come immediately.
He is in the car, on his way, imagining his father unconscious, his mother, who is with him, stunned, terrified and surrounded by casualties, noise and bright lights. What were they doing when it happened? Was she with him? Does Siofra know? He calls her. And her line is busy. Maybe the hospital is on to her now. He tries Owen. His phone is off. And the answering machine at his girlfriend’s apartment is on. He leaves a message on both.
Pulling into the staff car park he dials Siofra’s number again, and she answers.
‘Were the hospital on to you?’ he asks.
‘The hospital? No. Why? Is everything OK?’
Do You Want What I Want? Page 21
