A Gift to You

by Patricia Scanlan

  Ciara’s dad was good for giving lifts, even though he moaned about it. When his team won and he was in a good humour, he sometimes gave her five euros. His team was doing very badly this season, so financially, it had been a bit of a disaster for her, Ciara thought glumly as she doodled on the brown paper cover of her copybook. She could do with some extra money. She’d been invited to another slumber party in a friend’s house and it was going to be mixed. Alison said it was OK, but she told her not to say anything to Garry. Alison maintained that Garry was far too strict. She wanted Ciara to be independent and stand on her own two feet.

  It was going to be a camping slumber party. They were going to buy some alcopops and get langers. Ciara had tasted them at Sharon Ryan’s barbecue in August and they had made her feel nice and woozy. She’d smoked three fags as well. She didn’t really like smoking, but it was a cool thing to do and she wanted to hang out with the rest of the gang. She was the youngest – twelve – the only one not in secondary school. Ciara sighed. She was starting secondary school next year. She’d have to do her assessment next February and she was extremely worried about it. Her maths was a disaster. She hated it. Hannah Stuart was dead lucky. Her dad was a wizard at maths and he was great for helping her. Mike Stuart was a real nice dad even if he was a bit strict, Ciara thought enviously. Hannah wasn’t allowed go to the slumber party and she was freaking out about it. Actually, secretly, deep down, Ciara didn’t really want to go to the slumber party. Terry Owens was going to be at it, and Ciara didn’t like him any more. Once she’d thought she fancied him, but he’d given her a French kiss and stuck his tongue down her throat and she’d thought it was disgusting!!! He’d touched her boobs once too, and that made her feel dirty. She wished she hadn’t got boobs. She didn’t like having them. She hated wearing a bra but Alison had insisted. ‘You’re a young woman now,’ her mother said. ‘Enjoy it.’

  What was so enjoyable about having fellas sticking their tongues into your mouth and touching you up? Yuck! Ciara shuddered. Another horrible thought struck her. What if she got her first period the night of the slumber party? They could come any time now. Some girls in her class had them already. It was scary. What would she do? Imagine if some of the blood dripped down her leg and the fellas saw it. She wished that she could stay at home but her dad was going to a match and her mother had arranged to go dancing in Tamango’s when she knew Ciara was going on a sleepover.

  Why, why why couldn’t she have normal parents like the Stuarts? Kathy Stuart wouldn’t be caught dead in Tamango’s. She was a real mother. She cooked bread and tarts and she made proper dinners, not burgers and chips, Alison’s idea of a dinner, Ciara thought angrily as she heard her mother coming upstairs. She didn’t want to get an ear bashing about the row she’d overheard between her parents. She jumped up, switched off the light and dived under the duvet still in her clothes. She heard Alison open the door and peer in cautiously.

  ‘Are you awake, lovie?’

  Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Ciara screamed silently as she lay perfectly still, eyes scrunched tightly shut.

  ‘Ciara?’ Alison tried again, hopefully. Ciara knew she needed a shoulder to cry on. She always did after a row. It wasn’t fair. It was very confusing. She felt guilty. Maybe she should comfort her mother. She was just about to sit up when Alison closed the door with a little sigh. Ciara lay in the dark and felt tears brim from her eyes in a hot waterfall down her cheeks. Her stomach felt tied up in knots and she felt sick and very scared. She couldn’t do her maths, she didn’t want to go to the slumber party and her parents were fighting. What would happen to her if her parents got a divorce? She didn’t want them to get divorced. She just wanted them to be normal.

  Brenda Johnston smiled happily as she lay back in her lover’s arms. She hadn’t been expecting Garry to call tonight but he’d arrived unexpectedly just after nine. She and Garry had been having an affair for the past three years and she didn’t feel one bit guilty. How many times had her best friend, Alison, said, ‘I’m sick of him’?

  The trouble with Alison was that she didn’t appreciate Garry. She’d never looked after him. Not the way Brenda did. The trouble between Garry and Alison had started when Ciara was born, according to Alison. She claimed Garry resented not being the centre of attention.

  Maybe it was true, Brenda conceded privately. She’d known Garry as long as Alison had and Garry did like being the centre of attention. Not in a flamboyant in-your-face way. His way was much more subtle. He’d sit, shoulders hunched up, staring out from behind his glasses with his Poor-Sad-Misunderstood-Me-With-The-Weight-Of-The-World-On-My-Shoulders look that you’d have to feel sorry for him and ask him what was wrong. He’d say ‘nothing’. Then you’d have to keep at him. Wrinkling it out bit by bit.

  Then you’d get a litany about the pressure he was under at work. Or about Alison and the state she’d left the house in. Once he’d said to her, ‘Look, Brenda, I’m a loner, I always have been and always will be, so don’t even try and understand me.’ He’d been feeling very sorry for himself that night.

  But of course she understood him. She understood him more than anyone and she loved him very much. And if he’d let her, she’d make him happy. Much happier than Alison made him. It was just, she was never quite sure where she stood with him. He swore he loved her and he wanted to be with her. His marriage to Alison was over; they were just staying together for Ciara’s sake. He promised that when Ciara had finished college in another ten years he and Brenda would be together for good. He had his responsibilities as a parent and he knew she understood.

  It was very decent of him to be so concerned for his daughter, Brenda thought stoutly. He was a good, sound, honest, hard-working man and she couldn’t fault him for taking his responsibilities so seriously. That was a good trait, surely? But ten years seemed like such a long time away. She’d be over fifty.

  Crikey! What a horrific thought. Brenda hastily banished it to the recesses of her mind as she stroked Garry’s back. He had pale, pasty, spotty skin. Garry wasn’t God’s gift in the looks department or even in the sex department, come to think of it. But beggars couldn’t be choosers. He was her last chance to have a man of her own.

  Her bubble of happiness at his unexpected arrival was getting a little flat. Imagine even thinking like that. Was that how pathetic she was now? Why couldn’t she have been like all the rest of her friends and acquaintances? Why couldn’t she have met a nice man who would have courted her properly and bought her flowers and chocolates and held car doors open for her and then proposed and given her a day to remember with a beautiful white dress and veil and all the trimmings? Had it been so much to ask for? Had she just grasped at Garry because the years had been slipping by? Because she’d been so panicky and lonely that she was afraid of ending up a spinster on the shelf with no man to show for a lifetime of Friday and Saturday nights of dolling herself up, to go out on the hunt to find a mate? Year after year, dance after dance, disco after disco, nightclub after nightclub.

  Was she crazy to believe that Garry would divorce Alison and marry her? When she’d casually mentioned marriage to him one night when they’d had sex, he’d just grunted and said, ‘One marriage was enough.’ They could just live together, it was much less complicated, he’d muttered.

  Of course she’d agreed, but deep, deep down, she was scared. She wanted him to want to marry her. That was how it should be. What if he dumped her for some babe in the office? If he could cheat on Alison, he could cheat on her. The thought came unbidden. She buried it. Don’t think about that now. He was here, in her arms. That was all that mattered.

  He wouldn’t have been here if there hadn’t been a row. Another sneaky horrible little thought escaped and she shoved it back in the Pandora’s box she’d opened this evening. What was wrong with her, for crying out loud? Another even more hideous thought erupted. Maybe she was starting the menopause early. Hell! That was all she needed. To become a dried-up old prune as well.
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br />   She thought of Eileen O ‘Neil at work. Eileen had been having an affair with a married man for years. He spent Friday to Mondays with Eileen and the other three days at home. Eileen was nuts about him. She was so cracked about him she’d even got in Sky Sports for him so that he and his pals could watch live football. He’d assured Eileen many times in the past that he’d marry her if he could . . . safe in the knowledge that divorce wasn’t legal in Ireland at the time. Well, it was now and there was no sign of him leaving his wife to marry her. He was an-out-and-out shit, though. He couldn’t be satisfied with one mistress; he had several strings to his bow. He didn’t think being faithful to Eileen was a priority, and still she took him back and listened to his lies and believed him when he told her his flings were over. Twice, he’d deceived her with another woman and she had just closed her eyes to it.

  Brenda snorted. What a foolish woman she was. There he was, living with his wife, living with his mistress, seeing other women, having his cake and eating it. And Eileen was so desperate to keep the lying, cheating, two-faced creep she’d got Sky Sports for him!

  Never! Never in a million years would Brenda sink to such levels. She had her pride. Besides, Garry wasn’t anything like that two-faced slug of Eileen’s. Garry had integrity.

  Brenda felt a little happier. He’d change his mind about the divorce. She was sure of it. If only Alison would find a new man. That would solve everything, Brenda thought with renewed hope. Maybe it might happen next Friday night. She was going to Tamango’s with some friends. Ciara was going to a party and Brenda was going to have Garry all to herself for a few hours. She was going to go to a football match with him. She wanted to share every part of his life. ‘I suppose I’d better go,’ she heard her lover say. How she longed for the time when he could stay all night. That would be the most wonderful thing in the world.

  Ciara felt sick, One of the fellas had brought vodka in a Seven-Up bottle to the party and she’d drank some and it made her feel very odd. Then she’d smoked a cigarette and it made her feel dizzy. The music was very loud. She didn’t really like Baauer. She much preferred Adele. Her friend’s parents had gone off to the pub and two fellas that hadn’t been invited had gatecrashed and they were causing trouble. Ciara wanted to go home. Terry Owens grabbed her.

  ‘Let’s snog.’ He smirked, shoving his pimply face close to hers.

  ‘In your dreams,’ Ciara said, in what she hoped was a sufficiently cold and sophisticated rebuff. Terry ignored her and kissed her anyway. She thought she was going to puke.

  ‘Can’t wait to see you in your nightie. Whose tent are you sleeping in?’ he asked hopefully.

  ‘Not yours, for sure. Besides you know it’s one tent for the boys and one for the girls,’ Ciara retorted. Terry winked.

  ‘We’re coming visiting.’

  ‘Get lost,’ Ciara slurred irritably. She didn’t want to sleep in a tent. She wanted to be safe and snug in her own bed knowing that Terry Owens couldn’t get near her. She felt most peculiar. Her fingers closed around her house key in her jeans pocket. She always carried a key. She got home from school at three, every day, and her mother was never home from work until after six and often later. She was used to being on her own in the house. She wouldn’t mind being alone until her dad came home from his match tonight.

  Ciara slipped out of the side gate and hurried along the footpath, glancing around every now and then to see if anyone had seen her. She felt very sick and dizzy. Her knees started to shake. She felt scared as she hunkered down, trying to take deep breaths.

  ‘Ciara, Ciara,’ are you all right?’ She heard Mike Stuart’s anxious enquiry.

  ‘I drank some stuff. I feel funny.’

  ‘Come on. Come home with me.’ Mike sounded very kind as he helped her up and she leaned against him. His house was just across the street and it was a huge relief to sink down onto his sofa and close her eyes while Kathy covered her with a blanket.

  ‘It’s a bloody disgrace. Those kids are all half pissed down in Hennessy’s. I rang some of the parents. How could Garry and Alison let Ciara go to something like that? They should be shot.’ Mike was furious.

  ‘They don’t care about that poor child. Do you know they left her on her own in the house after school with two men who were fitting a new alarm system. Maybe they were perfectly nice men, but who’s to know these days? Have they no cop-on? Don’t they worry about things the way we do? I wouldn’t leave Hannah on her own with two strangers for three minutes, let alone three hours. It’s just not safe any more. Have those two lost their marbles, or have they any sense of responsibility? By God, I’m going to give Garry and Alison an earful when I bring Ciara home,’ Kathy fumed. ‘She’s out gadding. He’s out at his match, and that poor child is wandering the streets pissed out of her skull. Haven’t they a great life all the same, the pair of them?’

  ‘Let her stay the night,’ Mike suggested.

  ‘No, Mike. I want Garry to see Ciara’s little white face, God love her. I’ll bring her home in an hour or so; besides she wants to go home to her own bed.’

  ‘OK, maybe you’re right.’ Mike agreed as he handed his wife a mug of coffee.

  An hour later, Kathy drove her weary goddaughter home. She’d tried to phone to check that Garry was there, but the phone was engaged. So one of them must be there. She felt very sorry for Ciara but it was time that pair accepted some responsibility for their child, she thought grimly, as she swung into the McHughs’ drive. Garry’s Audi was there and there was a light on in the hall.

  ‘I’ve my key, the bell’s not working properly. You can’t hear it if the TV’s on,’ Ciara said miserably. ‘Dad’s going to kill me.’

  ‘No, he won’t. I’ll explain. I know you won’t drink again after this,’ Kathy assured her.

  ‘I promise I won’t, honest,’ Ciara said fervently as she slid the key into the lock.

  Kathy followed her into the sitting room and heard Ciara’s gasp of horror as she halted in her tracks at the scene in front of her. Wailing loudly, she ran from the room as Garry cursed vehemently and Brenda squeaked, ‘Ohmigod, ohmigod’ from her prone position underneath him on the sofa.

  Kathy was so shocked she could only think, What a hairy arse he has!

  ‘I . . . I . . .’ she stuttered. ‘I’ll bring Ciara home with me.’ She had to get out of here. This was a nightmare. ‘You prat, Garry, could you not have gone to her house?’ Kathy exploded. She raced upstairs after Ciara. ‘Come on, love. Come and stay the night with us.’

  ‘I hate him. I hate him. I hate all of them.’

  ‘I know, sweetheart. We’ll talk about it at home. Come on, you need a good night’s sleep.’ Kathy’s heart bled for her. Ciara, only five weeks older than her own Hannah, had just had her innocence and security snatched from her in the cruellest way imaginable.

  Kathy had lost all respect for Garry. Having an affair was his business, but couldn’t he have the decency to conduct it somewhere other than his own home. And Brenda was supposed to be Alison’s best friend . . . some friend. The McHughs’ marriage was well and truly over, that was for sure, Kathy thought sadly as she ushered the distraught young girl out of the front door. Hard as it was on Garry and Alison, it was a thousand times worse for Ciara.

  A year later

  Thank God he was staying with his fancy woman tonight, Imelda thought with a sigh of relief, as she plonked herself in front of the TV with a cheese and pickle sandwich. He wasn’t coming home for lunch, so she could watch Home and Away in peace without having to worry about cooking a meal. What had she done to deserve this trial in her life? Imelda wondered angrily. It was almost eight months since Garry had arrived on her doorstep, muttering that there was a bit of trouble at home and could he stay with her for a while. Imelda had been dumbstruck, but what could she say? She couldn’t turn her own son away, even if he was the last person in the world she wanted living with her.

  He was so like his father, surly and bad-tempered. He’d moved in, bag a
nd baggage and the days turned into weeks, then months and slowly but surely her precious hard-won freedom was eroded away. She had to wash and iron his clothes, and cook his meals for him. She couldn’t even watch the programmes she liked on TV any more if there was sport on.

  He had another girlfriend, he’d told her that, and he usually spent a night or two and the weekends with her. But if they had a row, which they did frequently, he ended up staying with Imelda. She bitterly resented the situation but couldn’t bring herself to ask him to leave. She’d never been good at standing up for herself; a lifetime married to Ben McHugh had seen to that. Now it was if he’d come back to haunt her. She woke up angry in the mornings and went to bed angry at night.

  A little flicker of hope glimmered. Maybe Garry would get a divorce and go and marry that Brenda one. Imelda had never met her nor did she want to meet her, but if she took Garry off her hands, Imelda would be eternally grateful. She wondered, could she pray that Garry would get divorced and remarried? Hardly. It didn’t seem right. Maybe she’d just pray that Garry would move out and get a flat of his own. He surely didn’t want to spend the rest of his life living with her?

  It was all so distressing. Imelda pushed away her sandwich. She wasn’t hungry. Her life was a hard old grind again. Just like before. And she didn’t have the guts to do anything about it. That was the hardest thing of all to live with.

  Kathy glazed the top of the chicken and mushroom pie and popped it in the oven. It would be cooked by the time the kids came in from school. She’d made it especially for Ciara. It was her goddaughter’s favourite. Ciara was spending the weekend with them . . . yet again.

  Kathy’s mouth tightened into a thin line as she remembered how Alison had phoned with her one of her rigmaroles about how she needed Ciara looked after as she’d just got a lovely offer of a weekend away with her new boyfriend and she couldn’t ask Garry and Brenda to take her because it wasn’t their weekend to have her and they weren’t at all flexible in that regard. ‘And she just loves being with you and Mike. And Hannah’s her very best friend,’ Alison gushed, as usual.