He kneels down on the old brown linoleum with diamond shapes and rips, from where knives have fallen and sliced it.
‘What are you doing?’ I laugh, pulling his hands for him to get up.
‘I know I’ve done this before,’ he says. ‘But I want to do it again. Josephine, I want you to marry me. What are we still waiting for? Let’s just do it. Life’s too short.’
I kneel down on the floor in front of him and put my arms round his shoulders. Yes, yes, yes. I say it over and over again, kissing him as I say it. ‘You’re right. Life is short.’ Tears stream down my face and my throat blocks up, but it’s not with sadness. ‘I love you, Michael, I love you so much.’
‘I love you too, my darling.’
‘Don’t ever leave me.’
‘I won’t. Nor you, me.’
‘Never. Shall we do it as soon as we can?’
‘You’d make me the happiest man alive.’
I tell him I’ll call Father Francis, and I run to the phone and dial his number.
‘That’s great news, now, Josephine,’ he says when I tell him.
‘Thanks, Father!’ I squeeze Michael’s hand tight. ‘We’re thrilled!’
He looks in his diary and tells me he has a free slot in two weeks.
I turn to Michael and he gives me a big grin, so I tell Father that would be wonderful, and to please note us down.
I am so light with happiness that I am floating on clouds.
For dessert we have meringue with strawberries and cream. ‘I suppose I’ll give up my jobs once we’re married,’ I say, pouring us a glass of sparkling wine to go with dessert.
Michael rests his hands on the table and watches the bubbles fizz in the glasses. ‘Whatever you like,’ he says.
‘Then I could concentrate on making more nice dinners like this, and decorate the house, and we’ll have babies…’
He picks up his glass. ‘Cheers,’ he says, ‘to dinners, decorating and babies.’
I clink my glass with his. ‘Cheers!’ My cheeks flush red.
We carry on eating. After a while Michael says, ‘Of course, we have plenty of time. Don’t rush anything, just for me.’
‘I won’t,’ I say, feeling like a fool.
We finish off the bottle and curl up on the sofa with records playing softly on the record player. I look around the bare room, with a sealed box still in the middle of the floor and nothing else, apart from a lamp I brought from the flat and a small coffee table of Michael’s, and I try to get back that happy feeling I had when he was kneeling on the kitchen floor, telling me to marry him, and I was saying, Yes, yes, yes.
I mentally draft the letter to my mother informing her of our wedding. I will invite them, but I know they won’t come, and I am glad.
JOSEPHINE
15TH SEPTEMBER 1983
Missus Michael Reilly. Missus Reilly. Missus Josephine Reilly. I never get bored of it. It has a lovely ring to it. Missus Michael Reilly. ‘Hello, Mrs Reilly. Goodbye, Josephine Callahan,’ I say into the mirror. I say it smiling, as if I’m announcing my new name to friends. Then I say it officiously, pretending I’m in the bank, telling the woman behind the counter who I am. I’m bursting with pride. I’m a new woman. From now on, everything will be different. I can feel it.
‘Josephine, come on!’ Joyce calls from the hallway. ‘Today, woman – today! Or you’ll miss your own wedding!’
‘I’ll be right out.’ I sit down to do a piddle. I look around the bathroom. The paint has begun to bubble from the damp and it’s turned a mottled-yellow gungy colour.
‘Ye’ll have to ring the landlord, over the damp in there,’ I tell them when I come out.
‘Ah, sure we will, one of these days,’ says Joyce.
‘Listen to her ladyship, now that she’s got her house and her man!’ says Maura.
I laugh, but the comment comes as a jab. I hope they don’t think me high-and-mighty; I was only thinking of them.
‘Can I nick one off you?’ I ask Joyce, picking up her cigarettes.
‘You eejit,’ she says, ‘nick away.’
I join Maura at the kitchen table, where she is painting her nails. The smell of the nail varnish and frying rashers and eggs makes me smile. I light the cigarette and pull on it hard.
‘Are you nervous?’ asks Maura.
I fold my arms and hold the cigarette up high, so the smoke wafts above our faces. ‘You know, I’m not.’ But the truth is that, now she’s asked me, I’m aware of a ball of heaviness in the bottom of my stomach.
‘Crack open the Buck’s Fizz,’ says Joyce to Maura, but Maura’s nails are wet, so I go to the fridge and take out the bottle and three tumblers.
I undo the plastic seal and turn the cork, but I’m terrified of it popping, so I turn it just the smallest bit. Joyce says we’ll be here all day, so she takes it. I don’t have the nerves for opening bottles of fizz. It puts me on edge.
She twists the cork and it pops with a big bang. I scream, even though I knew it was coming, and Maura and Joyce laugh at me and I laugh at myself because even I find it funny. The Buck’s Fizz splashes onto the floor before Joyce gets the bottle to the glasses. I know it’ll be sticky for days, without me around to clean it. I imagine my shoe sticking to it and it gives me a shiver.
‘Cheers!’ says Joyce.
‘Cheers,’ say Maura and I, and we tap our glasses off each other, making sure we’re looking into each other’s eyes. We take a gulp.
It’s awfully fizzy and sweet and it hurts going down. I decide not to have any more; it’ll only make me worse.
‘How did you sleep?’ asks Joyce. She’s back at the hob, moving the sausages around. The bacon and eggs are already served on three plates on the counter. If she’d started with the sausages, everything would have been hot.
‘Grand, now – grand.’ Feck it, I think, and I take another sip of Buck’s Fizz. It makes me burp. I had dreams last night, but I can’t remember them. Probably anxiety dreams; that’s what they call it when you’re apprehensive about something important happening, before it happens, and you have strange dreams. I read it in a magazine.
I get out the knives and forks and clear the table.
‘Will I paint your nails?’ asks Maura.
‘Do.’
The music’s blasting. It’s Crystal Gayle singing her heart out. ‘Somebody Loves You.’ The neighbours could come knocking any minute, but I’d tell them I’m getting married. That today is my wedding day. Part of me wants them to come, just so I can tell them. I want to tell everyone. I would parade myself down the High Road if I could, showing everyone what a fine husband I got myself. And they’d all say, Didn’t you do well, now? How did you manage that, altogether? But I would be so proud I wouldn’t even mind.
When my face and hair are done, Joyce and Maura help me put my dress on, so I don’t stain it with make-up. I bought it from one of the shops on Oxford Street. It’s cream and to the knee and it has embroidery across the chest and shoulders.
‘It’s perfect,’ says Joyce when the zip is up.
‘It’s beautiful, Josephine,’ says Maura.
I look in the dressing-table mirror in Joyce’s room and remember the first night I came to this flat, when Joyce made me up and I looked like someone else. I look like someone else now, as well. Like an imposter. A pure, blushing bride. It’s not enough that it’s not a wedding dress. I should have gone for green, or red.
Michael’s old flatmate Daniel comes to pick us up. He has even gone to the trouble of putting a ribbon on his car, an old white Ford with rust along the edges of the doors. You can see where he tried and failed to attach the ribbon, because it’s stained on the bonnet.
We can’t open the windows because the ribbon would fall out. It gets hot and stuffy on the way and I keep touching my face to check if I’m sweating. Beads of sweat will be breaking out above my lip, I know.
Joyce tells me off and lightly slaps my hand away.
‘Do I look all right?’
&n
bsp; ‘Of course you do. Sure, you look beautiful.’
‘Do you promise?’
‘I promise.’
The heavy purr of the old engine reminds me of Daddy’s truck and I think I’m going to be sick. I picture the yolk of the eggs I had for breakfast mixing with the Buck’s Fizz. It makes me woozy. I hum a tune from this morning in my head. I pretend the vibrations are coming from the record player and that I’m on firm ground and everything is all right. I’m stuck on the same line, the way the pin gets stuck on the record player and it goes on repeat.
Walking down the aisle, I’m sure my legs are going to buckle from under me, but they carry me to the altar and when I get to Michael, I clutch his hands and never want to let go. My mouth, my chin tremble. He blinks in surprise and I know it is because he thinks me beautiful, and he loves me more than I could ever love myself.
‘I love you, Michael,’ I whisper. He looks so handsome in his suit and tie, with his blondie locks shining in the light – more handsome even than the day I met him.
‘I love you, too,’ he says. He rubs my hands in his, then tries to release my grip. I don’t let go. If I let go, surely I’ll fall and ruin my lovely dress and my make-up and my hair, curling down my back.
My chest swells like the river behind the house at home after a downpour. I think of the river now, flowing, as I look into Michael’s open, shining eyes. I think of them all, and it occurs to me that I am a stranger to them now. And that I don’t know them, either. I wouldn’t know Sean if he walked past me in the street. I will never go back. I have everything I need now.
The vast wooden doors close with a bang that bounces off the church walls like arrows. The sunlight is blocked out and we are left with the reds and yellows and blues of the coloured glass. New shadows are cast, as if my family were here after all. There go Mammy and Daddy, dancing on the wall behind the statues. They’re laughing at me. Who do you think you’re kidding? Look at her, pretending she’s Lady Muck. Who does she think she is?
I want to scream, Go away! Go away you dirty, rotten, filthy bastards! They won’t leave me alone. They will ruin everything for me. Even my sweetest, happiest moments.
‘Josephine.’ It’s Michael. He is looking deep into my eyes and shaking my hands to bring me back to him. Father Francis is speaking. I smile at Michael and turn to look at Maura and Joyce. On the other side is Daniel and his girlfriend and a handful of other friends of Michael’s. I smile at them all, wishing the shadows away.
The church is empty but for our small group. They’re not here; I keep telling myself this. They’re not here and I’m never going back. I never have to see any of them again. I listen to Father Francis and I smile at Michael. I say my vows. The blood catches in my throat as it runs through my veins. I am alive.
CLARE
21ST JULY 1997
Mummy makes me put on the full shebang: dress, frilly socks, ribbons in my hair and my good shiny black shoes. I don’t want to wear any of it.
‘Ye have had plenty of fun now, Clare,’ she says. ‘Don’t be spoilt. We’re going to make our visits.’
It’s Visitors’ Day, which means doing the rounds to see all these old people I don’t know and sit on their sofas and watch them all drink tea. It’s so boring because Sooty is By No Means Allowed. Sarah, Mary and John can’t come, either, because Aunty Joan said we’re visiting relatives, and they live here all year round so they’re staying put. That means me and Thomas have to sit and behave like a good girl and boy while the adults discuss how are things here and in London, and isn’t it sad about your one who died? I don’t know who ‘your one’ is and I don’t care. I want to go back to Uncle John and Aunty Joan’s and run around until I need to take a puff – breathe in one, two, three, take another puff, breathe in one, two, three, and then breathe in and out nice and slow.
Being in tracksuit bottoms and a top, and normal socks and trainers, is much more fun, and you can run around and roll on the hay and not worry about getting dirty. When Mummy said I was to wear a dress, I pushed my lips together and folded my arms.
‘Wipe that puss off right now, Missy, or I’ll put that dog out,’ Mummy said.
I unfolded my arms and rubbed Sooty, who was curled up on my lap.
When Mummy was doing my hair and yanked it back hard into a ponytail, I remembered to be good, like Daddy said.
We start with Aunty Anne, who lives down the road. Aunty Anne is Daddy’s big sister and Uncle John’s big sister, too. She never married, and John told us once it’s because she stayed at home to help my granny look after Daddy and Uncle John when they were small, and that the boy she loved went away and she didn’t go with him. Then she never met another boy, and now she lives in a small house by the beach and you can even see the sea from her front-room windows, which I think is nice because if I didn’t have someone to love, I would at least like to look out the window and be able to see the sea.
She comes out when she hears the car and is there standing in front of the house when we pull up outside. We get out and she hugs us all, one at a time, starting with Mummy and then me and then Thomas and then Daddy, because he’s the last out of the car. She squeezes me so tight and I squeeze her back. I feel bad for complaining, because she is the only one that’s fun to visit and if she heard what I said she would be upset. She’s tall like Daddy and Uncle John, taller than Mummy and bigger, so next to her, Mummy looks teeny-weeny. Aunty Anne has long, light-brown hair and big square glasses and a pretty dress on that’s the colour of chocolate. She’s the best because she says we’re her niece and nephew, so that means that we can have free rein in her house.
We run into the sitting room, through to the kitchen, and see all the food on the table. ‘Mummy!’ I shout. ‘Aunty Anne’s made a party.’
Mummy and Daddy come into the kitchen and Mummy says, ‘Anne, you shouldn’t have.’
‘Of course I should have,’ Aunty Anne says back. I throw my arms around her.
She tells Mummy and Daddy to sit down in the front room, that she’ll be right in and we will help her, which makes me and Thomas smile at each other. We love being helpers. First, I carry in bread and butter and thick slices of cheese on a plate, and then another plate of fat slices of ham and turkey. Thomas brings in napkins, because they’re light. Aunty Anne brings in pieces of meat on long, thin sticks.
‘Jesus, Anne,’ says Daddy.
‘Oh, Anne,’ says Mummy, when Anne reappears with a bottle of wine and three glasses. Then she comes back with two glasses of Ribena for me and Thomas, which looks the same as wine. She pours wine for the adults and then we all put our glasses in the air and say Cheers and clink them together.
‘Dig in,’ Aunty Anne says and we all eat and drink, and Aunty Anne puts music on and Daddy says, ‘Sure, John and Joan should be here,’ and Aunty Anne says, ‘Not at all, I see enough of them. I want to see my brother and sister-in-law over from London and my lovely niece and nephew and have ye all to myself.’
Me and Thomas get up and give her a hug then. Visiting isn’t bad at all, I think. If only all the rounds could be as fun as this. Me and Thomas cheers again and push our glasses together and Thomas spills Ribena on the carpet, but Aunty Anne says it doesn’t matter at all, and smiles at Mummy and they drink more wine.
I’m having so much fun and so is everyone. I just wish Sooty was here and then it would be perfect.
Aunty Anne asks how are things in London and Daddy says, ‘Great, great,’ and I think, Liar, liar, pants on fire. But then Aunty Anne brings out chocolate cake and they talk about other things, like work and bills, and the costs of things. ‘How long are ye here for?’ asks Aunty.
‘Until next Wednesday,’ says Daddy.
‘Is that all?’ says Anne.
Mummy nods. ‘You two, why don’t you go outside and see if you can find any snails in the garden?’
‘Come on, Thomas!’ I say. I know they’re going to talk about Mummy’s dying mum.
I jump up and get another squar
e of chocolate cake with lots of the chocolate cream on and run outside, where the air smells salty and fresh because we’re right next to the sea. I turn and look over my shoulder and there is Thomas, running after me with his chocolate cake, wobbling in his hand.
After we do the rounds, like Daddy says, and visit more people who Daddy went to school with and who he worked with before he got the boat to London, and other old people who were friends of the family, we get to play again. In the hayshed, in the fields, in the forest. And we bring Sooty, Handsome, Fluffy, Blackie and Freckles with us, even though we’re not allowed and we’ve been told to stay away from them. None are allowed in the house any more and we’re not allowed into the hayshed under any circumstances. But no one sees us sneak in the back door and, like John says, what they don’t know won’t hurt them. It’s so much fun not being in my good dress that I can’t get dirty, rolling around in the hay and letting Sooty crawl over me. I could stay like this for ever.
JOSEPHINE
1ST AUGUST 1986
I notice a swelling in my body and I am sure I’m pregnant. The swelling isn’t only in my belly, it is in my breasts, my hips. There is something beautiful about it. About the wonder of the body and what it is capable of. I have never thought of it as something wonderful; as a vehicle for new life. It has been my cage. I am convinced I am pregnant and I am convinced I am not. I run through scenarios of how I will tell Michael. Michael, I have something to tell you. Michael, we’re to have a baby. Michael, my period’s late. Yet, I expect it to come at any second and snatch it all away from me.
I decide to go to the chemist to get one of the tests I’ve heard people talking about. I get the bus down the road to the nearest chemist. As I turn to go in I see the man behind the counter. I will myself not to care, to pretend it’s for Maura or Joyce. I turn and walk out and go to the next one. This time an elderly gentleman comes in behind me, so before the woman in the white jacket can serve me, I pretend I’ve forgotten my purse and leave. I go to four chemists but can’t muster the courage to go in to buy a test. God only knows what questions they will ask me.
Her Mother's Daughter Page 11
