by Melissa Hill
“But you were waiting for a break with your stories?”
Joe nodded. “It was all I wanted, Laura. I was consumed by it, so consumed that I didn’t worry too much about putting clothes on our backs or food on the table. I used to lock myself away for hours on end working on my baby, my masterpiece.”
“And Mam?”
“Eventually your mother began to resent me for it and sure, who could blame her? Nothing was happening. It seemed that the rejection letters were piling up at the same rate as the bills. Then the paper went bust, and to all intents and purposes I was unemployed – but as half the village knew about my writing and my bits on the side typing – I didn’t qualify for the dole. They were all a little wary of me too.” He sighed deeply. “Laura, you know Glengarrah as well as I do. The worst thing anyone can do in that village is try to be different or stand out in any way. As someone who didn’t make a ‘normal living’, I was a bit of an outcast.” His voice wavered a little. “Your mother, who of course was born and bred in Glengarrah found this -disapproval, if you like, very hard to tolerate. So, when I was let go from the paper, Maureen got a bit of work in the factory, but after a while she couldn’t continue, being around the smell of the sausages made her sick and –”
Then the realisation hit her. “She was pregnant,” Laura finished, “with me.”
Joe nodded. “Things were tight but I was still hell-bent on realising my dream, and keeping up with the writing. But one day your mother made me put a stop to it for good.”
“What happened?”
“We were badly off, Laura, badly off in the old-fashioned sense, not like nowadays when badly off means you can’t afford a second holiday or to change your car every year – badly off in the sense that we could barely feed ourselves. So one day, your mother swallowed whatever bit of pride she had left and went to the Kellys asking for help.”
To the Kellys? The Kellys who never had two pennies to rub together? Laura couldn’t imagine it.
“It was a small victory for Joan Kelly. She’d been telling Maureen for years that I was only a ‘layabout who had notions about himself’ and that no good would ever come of my ‘scribbling’. It seemed to Joan then that she’d been proved right. She gave her a few bits to keep her going for a little while, but it was probably the worst thing your mother ever did, because they never let her forget their generosity. I’m sure you know as well as I do that by now Joan’s charity has been repaid many times over.”
Laura tried to put herself in her mother’s shoes. Firstly, she couldn’t get a handle on how her parents had been that badly off. But Glengarrah was a small village with nothing much going for it back then other than farming or the factories in Carlow. And her parents weren’t farmers. She could only imagine the shame her mother felt then, how damaged her pride must have been.
Laura shook her head. “So that’s why she’s always so concerned about what everyone thinks of her, of us.”
“And why she was so worried about you going the same way as I did. She saw it in you quicker than I did. Laura, if you weren’t drawing pictures you’d be making things out of toilet rolls and bits of paper. You’ve been artistic since the day you were born. Maureen was terrified.”
“So she tried to stifle me, to make me go another direction . . .”
“She gave in to the college thing – thinking that maybe then you might get it out of your system – and for a while you did. And you started what these non-artistic types call ‘a proper job’.” He winked. “But I was secretly pleased for you, love, when you started up your business. Of course, I worried too. I worried about how you’d manage – what with you being so mild-mannered and that – but I never said anything to support you and that was a mistake. I should have. I should have stood up to Maureen, and made her see that she had to let you go your own way. Things are different now. Young people are more confident. There are greater opportunities and you have so much talent,” Then he laughed. “Still, you’ve more of your mother in you than I thought, love. You went your own way, anyway.”
Laura sat back. She had never ever considered that her parents might have had their own hopes and dreams, dreams that were eventually smothered by circumstance. And yet, how could she not have known?
When Laura thought about it now, it had always been her father helping her and Cathy with homework – never her mother. He had always been the one with all the answers to the general-knowledge questions on the quiz programmes, the one with the balanced opinions and the open-minded outlook – Joe being one of the few in Glengarrah openly spurning gossip or idle talk.
Laura had never really given it a second thought; she thought that her father knew things because he read so many books and newspapers. In fact, her father was always reading. Just then, Laura had a brief memory flash of her father scribbling things in a notebook, things he found interesting or things he wanted to remember. But she had never thought twice about why that might be.
Now Laura would have given a lot to read some of her father’s writing. He might have been brilliant!
“Look, I didn’t come here to make you feel guilty,” Joe said, seeing Laura’s torn expression, “and I hope you don’t think that your arrival was the reason for my giving up the writing. We were mad for a baby, and when you came along it was better than anything. No, I just wasn’t good enough and over time I came to accept that. Anyway, there were more important things in life. I had to look after my family and I did.”
“But haven’t you ever pursued your writing since? OK, I know it wouldn’t have been possible when Cathy and I were around, but the house is very quiet now. Couldn’t you try again?”
Joe’s eyes twinkled. “Ah, I do a bit now and again, when your mother’s not around,” he said. “I enjoy it as much as I’ve always had, but I doubt it’s any good.”
“Dad – I’d love to take a look at what you’ve written! Will you let me read it?”
Joe shrugged. “Why not? But it’s more of a hobby for me these days, love, not something I could do on a regular basis, so don’t get any ideas. And we don’t want your poor mother losing her mind altogether!” he added, laughing.
Laura looked at him, thinking she had never heard her father speak so much, so easily all at once. Then again, when did he ever get the chance – Maureen more than made up for the both of them!
Joe continued. “Look, I suppose I just want you to maybe try and see things the way your mother sees them. She’s nervous of things like that, Laura, nervous and untrusting of anything she can’t understand – anything she can’t control. Because of what happened with me, Maureen craves stability, and I suppose she couldn’t really understand why you would throw caution to the winds and give up a good job like you did. And let’s face it, love, sometimes the worst thing an ‘ordinary’ Irish person can do is actually be successful and have everyone else believe that they think they’re better than them.”
He gave a wry smile, and Laura thought she understood exactly what he meant. A sense of innate inferiority was at the root of Maureen’s problem and why she worried so much about Laura ‘running away with her notions’.
“I was so hurtful though, Dad, and I tried so hard to make her understand how important it was to me, and why I had to do it. But she’s impossible to talk to and she treats me like I’m a child . . .” she trailed off exasperated. “Oh, I don’t suppose we’ll change her now.”
“No, we definitely can’t do that,” Joe laughed softly. “In a way, I suppose she does still see you as child. But, Laura, what I’m trying to say is that you shouldn’t make the mistake I did, and let the bedgrudgers or Maureen affect your choices. Your mother can’t help herself, and in fairness I don’t think she realises that she is hurting you.”
“I know,” Laura said, and for a long while she and her father sat in silence, lost in their thoughts.
“Look, pet, it’s late and I’d better head back,” Joe said eventually. He stood up and then reached across and patted Laura lightly on the han
d. “I’ll tell your mother you’ll give her a ring tomorrow, maybe?”
“I’ll ring her first thing.” Knowing what she knew now, Laura was anxious to make it up with her mother but she needed to mull things over a bit first. “Thanks, Dad, thanks for everything.”
Giving him a quick hug at the doorway, Laura closed the door behind her father, and went back into the kitchen. She’d tell Neil all about it, but first she needed a coffee.
Despite everything, she felt a little better now that she understood her mother’s reasons for being so hard on her all these years. She had thought it was because she wasn’t good enough, but that wasn’t it – she had been too good and that had terrified her mother.
Her mother’s lack of trust, lack of belief still hurt, but in spite of everything, maybe it was understandable. And as her father had said, Maureen had been raised in a different age – an age where people raised their families, went to work on a weekday and Mass on a Sunday, and were perfectly happy about it. Her mother couldn’t comprehend ambition and dreams and crazy things like that, because she had seen it all go wrong for Joe. And maybe, Laura realised, maybe she too had inherited some of her mother’s sense of acute inferiority – something the Catholic Church had drummed into most women of her generation, and something that this one was doing its best to discard.
But it was always there, wasn’t it? That old-fashioned sense of guilt. Finally, Laura had dared to dream, and to realise her ambitions, and then, when something good did happen, she worried that she didn’t deserve it. After Amanda Verveen’s call her first thought was that it couldn’t possibly be happening to her, that she just wasn’t worthy – despite the fact that she’d worked as hard as she possibly could to attain it.
She smiled inwardly. Catholic guilt she could deal with. But for the moment, she resolved to talk to her mother, firstly to apologise for the argument, and then have it out with her about the business. OK, so it might take a while, and Maureen was still a stubborn old witch, but maybe over time, and with Joe’s help, she might be won over. And Laura was going to make her parents really proud of her.
Both of them.
She smiled warmly and shook her head as she waited for the kettle to boil. Her father – a writer! These days, life never failed to surprise her.
Chapter 37
NICOLA LOOKED UP. “Hi,” she said softly, her heart quickening.
“Hi.” Ken stood in her office doorway, stony-faced and
tired-looking.
“Did you enjoy your few days off?”
He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Yes, thanks.”
“Well, did you go away somewhere or . . .”
Ken ignored the question. “Nicola, I just wondered if there were any problems here while I was away?” he asked curtly. “Anything you couldn’t deal with?”
“No, nothing.” He sounded so cold, so distant, she thought. Why was he doing this?
She sat forward, her body taut with anxiety. “Ken, come in and close the door, please. We need to –”
“No,” he interjected, his tone brisk and offhand and still he wouldn’t meet her eyes “I don’t think we have anything to say to one another. As far as I’m concerned, it’s over and done with.”
“What?” She barely heard her own voice. “But, why? Why won’t you listen, give me a chance to –”
“Look, Nicola, I know I gave you back your key but I wondered if I might have permission to get some things from your house? My golf-clubs are still there – I should have taken them before but I wasn’t thinking.”
Her permission? Who did he think he was talking to – the Queen? “Well, of course you can – do you want to call round later and maybe –”
“I need to go now, if that’s okay.”
“Sure.” Wounded by his curt and dismissive manner, Nicola reached into her handbag and tossed the keys at him.
“Thanks.”
“But can we not . . .” She trailed off in mid-sentence, realising he had already left the room.
Nicola moved to the window and, looking down at the carpark below, she saw Ken approach his car, his expression rather amused as he got in and drove off. What the hell . . . ? What was so fucking funny? Was he enjoying taunting her like this? All of sudden, Nicola felt a burst of annoyance. Okay, so he thought he saw something that night and she made a mistake in lying to him, but the very least he could do is give her a chance to explain. But no, he had just taken what he wanted from it and gone off sulking like a spoiled child. Never mind that he might have taken things up wrong, never mind that Nicola would never dream of going back to Dan – no, Ken had decided that he had seen something damning and that was that. Well, stuff him!
Nicola moved back behind her desk. Who the hell did he think he was, speaking to her like that and going off in a strop, letting no one know where he might be going? Here she was, these past few days, worrying and fretting over him, wondering how he might be feeling and what he might be thinking. Well, stuff him – a second time! If he wouldn’t give her a chance to explain then that was his bloody tough! ‘Permission to get my things’ indeed! Well, it was about bloody time he did call and collect his things – those awkward bloody golf-clubs and squash-racquets and gym-gear that had been cluttering up her house! And he could take his blasted Lord of the Rings DVD box-set with him too, and his shagging Grisham books and his Playstation 2 and . . .
Nicola slumped miserably on her desk. Was that it? Was it really over? She couldn’t imagine being without Ken – he was such a huge part of her life now. He was her life now. What would she do without him?
Nicola didn’t get much of a chance to wonder as just then her extension buzzed and Sally put through a call from one of the gym-equipment suppliers. She groaned inwardly as the rep on the other end tried to explain why seven of the ten treadmills they currently supplied to the centre would need to be taken away for servicing.
“But can’t you do it here?” Nicola asked impatiently, but her heart wasn’t in it. At this stage, they could take the bloody swimming-pool out of the place for all she cared!
A long, highly volatile conversation later, Nicola rang off, tired and frustrated. She kneaded her forehead, hoping to massage away the beginnings of what would undoubtedly be the mother of all headaches.
With growing irritation, she turned to her PC only to discover that while she was on the telephone, her hard drive had crashed and the database information she had spent the whole bloody morning inputting and didn’t save, had gleefully toddled off into PC Never-Never Land! Grrr! Nicola resisted the urge to throw the whole bloody lot out the shagging window.
Could anything else go wrong for her today?
“Nicola,” Kelly announced breathlessly from the doorway just then, “Mrs Murphy-Ryan’s kids have just –”
“Aaaaaah!” Nicola yelled, putting her hands over her ears. “Please don’t say any more, Kelly – I don’t think I can take it!”
Slowly, the pool attendant stepped backwards. “O – K,” she said, obviously taken aback. “I’ll get someone else to talk to them.”
“Thank you!” Nicola exhaled relief.
She got back to work but her mind wasn’t focused and she had covered very little ground before Ken reappeared in her office, and, without even looking at Nicola, casually dropped the keys on her desk, before turning to leave. This indifferent gesture, along with his blatant, unashamed rudeness was just about enough for her.
“Hold on there. Just one second, you!” she said, in a tone that brooked no messing about.
“What?” Ken answered innocently but, most annoyingly, she could see him trying not to smile. He was enjoying this, the bastard!
“What? What?” she mimicked, doubly annoyed. “Ken Harris, I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but if you think you can treat me like a piece of dog – dog – meat, then you’ve got another think coming! How dare you carry on like this – sulking and grouching like a spoilt child and making it plain to all and sundry that you’re annoyed
with me! How dare you take off for days on your own – refusing to listen or speak to me when you know damn well that I’ve done nothing wrong! Not to mention embarrass me here at work by not telling me you’re going!”
“You’ve really done nothing wrong, then?” Ken said, in a tone that Nicola could only describe as brazen.
“Yes! I mean – no!” She shook her head. “I mean, I haven’t done anything wrong and yet you’re treating me like I’m responsible for a breakout of bloody chicken-pox or something! Ken, I’m sick of it! You won’t listen to me, you won’t even look at me – who the hell do you think you are?”
“Fine, I believe you,” Ken said and shrugged indolently, a gesture that really set her off.
She could feel her heartbeat quickening, her pulse racing, her irritation rising as, saying nothing more, he headed for the door again.
“Don’t turn your back on me!” she shouted at him, desperately trying to resist throwing something at the annoying, infuriating, exasperating – idiot! “Hey, I’m talking to you . . . what? What the hell is he doing here?” Nicola watched in astonishment as Barney sauntered casually through her office door, his tail wagging enthusiastically as he sniffed the floor beneath him.
“Well, would you look at that?” Ken said nonchalantly, his eyes wide and innocent-looking. “He must have sneaked into the back of the car while I was at your house, and came back here with me.”
“Sneaked into the back of the car? For goodness sake, Ken, he’s a fully-grown Labrador – how could you not have noticed him?” What was the matter with him? Of all the stupid . . .
“I don’t know. I suppose I wasn’t thinking. Anyway, he’ll be fine with you now, won’t he?”
Nicola harrumphed, now really frustrated. “This is a leisure centre, Ken Harris – you can’t have dogs in . . .” Barney ambled to Nicola’s side and she reached down to pat him on the head. “Sorry, Barn, as much as I’d love it, you can’t stay here.” She glared at Ken. “And silly Ken here will have to drive you home . . . now what have you found for burying this time . . . oh!”
