‘Then why didn’t you say something? Speak up that night?’
‘Who would have listened? Not Ma and Dad. Of course they knew you’d do it. It’s always been like that in our family.’
‘That is really unfair, Brendan. You can’t just spring something like this on me. I think you’ve got a hide!’
His tone of voice changed. ‘I’m sorry, Lainey. I sounded harsher than I mean to. It’s just I’ve had a terrible few days at work this week. Every day is a terrible day at work at the moment. I didn’t mean to blurt it out quite like that. It’s just I was awake half the night thinking about it, wishing we were somewhere else. That we were in Ireland, not you.’
Lainey felt as though she was in a fast-moving car that had suddenly taken an unexpected and dangerous turn-off. She had imagined this conversation taking a number of paths, but this had not been one of them. Eva’s words leapt into her head. ‘You’re not in charge of the world, Lainey.’ She bit back a sharp answer, the answer the old Lainey would have given. A snap at him, telling him not to be so silly, that of course she had to be the one who came to Ireland. Because in the back of her mind she had a memory of that night at her parents’ house. Brendan had sat forward, looked a little bit interested. He had outlined all the negatives, saying that he was so busy at work, and of course they had the twins. But then that had always been Brendan’s way – to be cautious, to look at all the options, before making his decision. Not like her, who thought quickly, made snap decisions, generally involving her taking a leading, organisational role…
‘Lainey, are you there?’ Brendan sounded puzzled by her silence.
She sat down. ‘Do you mean all this? Has it really been that bad?’
Now he paused. ‘It’s not that it’s always been bad. It’s just that…’ he paused again while he seemed to struggle for the right words. ‘I don’t know, it’s like I ended up with the role of the boring, sensible one in the family, the one who couldn’t do anything surprising or interesting. You know what it’s like, you and Dec and Hugh, always making digs at us, the perfect family – oh, look at Brendan and his boring wife and the first grandchildren.’
Lainey felt sick suddenly, remembering all the times she and Declan and Hugh had poked fun at him and Rosie.
‘Bren –’
‘And all the cracks you’d make if we were ever late. “It’s just a matter of being organised, Brendan.” It’s all right for you, sitting there all glamorous, not a hair out of place, going on about how many kilometres you’d jogged that day when the most exercise we’d done in months was get out of bed. You have kids and try and stay organised, Lainey. It was all we could do to get out of the house at all with the twins sometimes. We didn’t have a clue what we were doing once they arrived. Nothing happens the way you expect it to any more once you’ve got kids.’
She was filled with guilt, able to picture every scene as he described it. He was right – she’d been exactly like that. When she spoke, her voice was soft. ‘I’m sorry, Bren. I didn’t notice.’
‘It’s not your fault. You were busy too. And that’s what it’s like with us, I know that. We tease each other all the time. But it just wasn’t feeling like teasing any more. It felt like attacks.’
‘Why didn’t you ever speak up about it? Say something to us?’
‘Oh, sure, Lain. What, call a family conference and say, could you all stop picking on me and Rosie? Stop picking on me? Let me do things in my time, in my way, sometimes? It’s impossible, especially with you and Ma always the ones in charge, running the show. After a while I just gave up. I was never going to be able to do it properly enough, so it was like, why bother?’
Flashes came into Lainey’s head again, against her will. Interrupting Brendan while he was doing the dishes. ‘Bren, you’re not doing them properly. Here, let me take over. You go and watch TV.’ Her mother did it with her father too. ‘Oh, Gerry, that’s not the way to carve the roast. Let me do it.’
‘So what’s it like with you and Rosie? At home?’
‘We worked out what I do well and what she does well. I like being in the garden, doing the handyman stuff, so I do that. And she likes the cooking and cleaning. It wasn’t a matter of us being Mr and Mrs Traditional. It’s just the way it worked out best for us.’ He changed the subject suddenly. ‘So why do you really want to come back? It’s not a holiday, is it? Not work?’
Yesterday she wouldn’t have told him. She wouldn’t have wanted to admit she was feeling vulnerable, that she had made a mistake about Adam. Now it seemed different. ‘I’ve made a big mistake with Adam and I think if I don’t go back and sort it out face to face then I’ll have lost him.’
‘You broke up with him? Why did you do that? He’s the best man you’ve ever gone out with.’
Why were her brothers choosing to tell her how much they liked Adam now? she wondered once again. She kept her voice calm. ‘Yes, I’ve realised that myself.’
‘So how long would you need? A week? Two weeks?’
‘You’ll do it? You’ll come over?’
‘I’ll talk it over with Rosie, see what she thinks. Work might be a problem. We’re all having to do overtime as it is.’
Lainey had to stop herself from leaping in, telling him what to say to his boss, spelling out that he just had to say it was a family situation. Let Brendan do it his own way. She dug her nails into her hands to quell the impatience. ‘So will you let me know?’ She kept her voice measured too.
‘I’ll call you back as soon as I can.’
What could she do while she was waiting for his call? It was too dark to go back up to Tara, much as she’d have liked to walk until she had no energy in her at all. And she didn’t want to be away from the phone in case Brendan made a snap decision and called her right back. But she needed to do something, to go somewhere to think these new thoughts through. Because clearly she had been making a complete and utter mess of her life for years and hadn’t noticed. She had obviously done nothing but bully and boss people from her childhood on. And now all the chickens were coming home to roost.
The chickens. She’d go outside and talk to them. At least they couldn’t answer back. She grabbed a handful of grain and the bucket of scraps from the kitchen. As she came out, she heard a rustle in the bushes. She half expected to see Rod Stewart pulling a little cart, with a mouse comfy in the back, a rug over its little knees. She might be bossy with humans, but she certainly had no control over the animal kingdom.
The sky was bright with stars. She could just see the glow from the lights of Navan and Dunshaughlin some miles away, but here in the countryside there was little to spoil the view of the night sky. No Southern Cross to see here in the constellations. Instead she tried to spot the Plough and Orion. She gave up after a few moments, too distracted. She threw in the food to the chickens and was rewarded with a kind of half-hearted clucking, the four birds too sleepy to be bothered with late-night snacks.
She sat down on the garden seat and looked up at the stars again. What were you supposed to do with the personality you were given? she wondered. In her job, it was good that she was quick-thinking, organised, able to make decisions on the run, react quickly to situations, take control, see where problems lay and sort them out. But that same personality seemed to be doing nothing but cause problems in her private life. Was she supposed to get a work personality that she put on and took off like a jacket, left hanging in the hallway when she got home?
The phone rang and she nearly rolled off the bench in her hurry to get into the kitchen. It wasn’t Brendan, but Barry, her guest speaker from the Irish music weekend a month or so back. He had a group of friends coming over from London in a fortnight’s time and wondered if they could book out the whole guesthouse on the Saturday night. ‘Could you do it as a sort of one-off for us, Lainey, those beautiful meals and all? I’ve been raving about that weekend we had there.’ She thought quickly. She was only midway through organising the next series of theme weekends. It would be good to
have something like that to keep her occupied, either before she went to Australia or when she got back, depending on what happened with Brendan. ‘No worries,’ she said in her best Australian accent. ‘It’ll be great to have you back.’
It was nearly one o’clock before she went to bed. Brendan still hadn’t called back.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
HE RANG THE NEXT DAY. It was clear within seconds what his answer was. No.
‘Lainey, I’m really sorry. And it’s not because we don’t want to. To be honest, we were up all night talking about it. Thinking about whether I could just throw the job in and come over. Rosie said she’d love to live in Ireland for a while. But I just can’t take the time off work at the moment. Can’t you ask one of the others?’ Then he paused. ‘No, I guess you can’t.’
If she could have gone out and adopted a brother or sister right then, she would have. ‘Thanks anyway, Bren. And I’m sorry again, for not giving you the chance back in February.’
‘It’s fine.’ A pause. ‘I actually feel better just having told you what it felt like. Rosie said I should have told you years ago.’
Lainey imagined a little whirring sound as her hackles stood up on the back of her neck. She mentally flattened them again, counted to ten in rapid time. ‘It’s good we talked about it, Bren. We’ll have to decide on a code phrase that you can shout at me if I ever start bossing you again.’
‘What about “Cease and desist, bossy boots”?’
She laughed, despite her mood. ‘Yes, that’d do it.’
So now what could she do? Her dramatic arrival and face-to-face proposal was out of the question. Could she ring Adam? She could – but he wouldn’t be able to talk if he was at the restaurant, would he? She suspected that would be the only place she could get hold of him at the moment, the hours he was apparently working. She could write to him, but writing had never been her strongest skill. Business letters, perhaps, but how could she put something so personal down on paper? She could email him, but that was far too impersonal, worse than a letter. And her message could arrive jammed in between junk mail, be deleted accidentally… She needed to get some advice, talk about it with someone. She needed to talk to her mother. She sat on the stairs and dialled the number. She and her mother didn’t have a lot of heart-to-hearts, but right now she needed the kind of blunt honesty that her mother specialised in.
The phone rang for some time. Lainey was about to hang up when it clicked. She could tell from her father’s voice that he must have been sleeping. ‘Dad, it’s me. Sorry, did I wake you?’
‘Just having a bit of a nap, Lain. You’re looking for your mother, I suppose? She’s out at the moment, at the supermarket, doing those demonstrations.’
‘Oh, of course. Is she still enjoying it?’
‘Well enough, I think. How’s the weather been over there?’
Her heart sank a little further. Right now she needed to talk about more than the weather. ‘It’s fine, Dad. Summer’s on the way.’
‘And how are you, Lainey?’
‘Fine. How about you?’
He sighed. ‘Up and down, I suppose. Still waiting for the insurance money. Everything is really on hold until that comes through or until we can sell the B&B.’
A rush of anger surprised her. She was doing her best, wasn’t she? ‘Isn’t there anything you can do while you’re waiting? Those exercises the physiotherapist suggested to build up your muscles again?’
‘You’re sounding like your mother.’
The anger went up a notch. She wanted to shout at him suddenly. You have to try, Dad. You have to stop feeling sorry for yourself. You have to do those exercises, not lie around in bed all day. Don’t you realise the effect you’re having on all of us, on Ma? Can’t you think of someone other than yourself sometimes? She only just stopped the words from coming out. It wasn’t up to her to say those things to him, was it? She wasn’t in charge of her father, either.
Her father continued. ‘In fact, your mother’s been very forthright of late.’
Lainey’s temper returned to simmer levels. ‘Of late?’
‘Well, let me just say she’s been reaching new levels of forthrightness. She also said she’s going to push me and my walker off St Kilda Pier if I don’t start at least trying to do some of the exercises soon. And she also mentioned something about setting my bed on fire if I keep spending so many hours a day in it.’
‘She said all that?’
‘She did.’
Lainey started to laugh. She couldn’t help herself. ‘She’s never really been one to mince her words, has she? I’m sorry, I’m as bad. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that, either.’
‘Don’t apologise, Lainey. I probably need to hear it now and again. And I know I haven’t said it as much as I should have, but I’m really grateful to you for going home to run the B&B. Doing all that for me and your family. You’re a good girl.’
His words made a direct hit on her heart. She felt a warm, light feeling inside. ‘It’s been fine, Dad, really. Great even. And I’m sorry for trying to boss you before.’
‘It runs in the family, love. You didn’t have a hope of missing out on the bossy gene.’
‘Maybe I just need to dilute it down a little.’
‘No, don’t you change a thing. Do you want me to get your Ma to call you back?’
‘No, I’ll call another time. Thanks, Dad.’
‘Thank you, love. For everything.’
She felt better after talking to her father. Not just because it had made her feel good about being in Ireland for him, reminding her she was doing what she could. But she also felt glad she’d been able to stop herself from snapping at him. Well, even if it had only been because her mother had got in first. She gave a guilty smile. She and her mother really were some pair. Please welcome the all-singing, all-dancing, mother-and-daughter team – yes, it’s The Bossy Byrnes.
She wandered about the living room, restless now, straightening cushions, checking the tops of cupboards for dust, so used to housework these days it was second nature. She picked up the Adam video lying on the TV and fought a temptation to put it on again, before realising it wouldn’t do her any good. If only she could talk to him honestly, face-to-face, tell him exactly how she felt, explain how sorry she was, that she hoped it wasn’t too late. But how could she do it? Send a hologram of herself? Do a Star Trek and beam herself over? Then she stopped short, staring at the TV screen.
Could she send a video of herself?
She’d given plenty of video presentations at work, done video conferencing and knew how to operate a camera. Surely she could hire one in Dunshaughlin or Dublin? Was that the next best thing to being there? Would that show Adam how she felt, if he could see her face, read her expressions, rather than just read a letter or an email? Was it worth a try?
Twenty-four hours later she threw down a pen in despair. In the living room the video camera was all set up. In the kitchen, she was on her tenth version of the script. She couldn’t get the words right, couldn’t get her ideas straight.
She rubbed her eyes. She’d been working on it all day, had made several attempts at it already. The first version had looked more like a breezy holiday program, showing shots of the B&B, scenery around the Hill of Tara, even the kitchen. Watching it back she’d realised she had told him everything about the place and nothing about how she felt. She’d erased it.
‘Come on, Lainey,’ she said aloud. ‘Focus.’ If she was advising a client, what would she say? The answer came quickly. Forget the tricks. Forget the razz and the glamour and the smoke and mirrors. Sometimes the most effective message is the simple message. Just say what you want to say – nothing more, nothing less.
She’d try it. She spent a few minutes in the bathroom upstairs, looking at herself in the mirror, wishing for the zillionth time that her nose was smaller, that her eyes were bigger, that her lips were fuller. That she looked completely different, in fact. She carefully wiped away the latest
bit of smudged mascara, applied a little bit of lipstick, a touch of blush. She was very pale these days. She ran her fingers through her hair – still all it needed to style it. She straightened her dress, a deep maroon colour. A good colour for television, she remembered someone telling her once.
Down in the living room again, she moved the camera around, finding the right setting. She arranged the shot so it had her in a sofa chair, with the empty fireplace in the background, but it looked too much like a party political broadcast, the Prime Minister’s wife relaxing at home. She tried it against the window, but the glare turned her into a silhouette. On the staircase? Too odd. In the end she settled for the kitchen, her at the kitchen table, where she had spent so much time. And apt, in a way, for a message to Adam.
She started writing a few notes, cleared her throat, then realised she was planning too much again. She’d do it, just say it, from the heart. And that’s what she would send. Well, perhaps.
She pressed the ‘record’ button on the camera and then moved quickly to her seat. She felt like an eejit, but then a mental picture of Adam came into her mind, and she realised what she was fighting for, what she wanted to say.
‘Adam, this is Lainey.’ She groaned inwardly. She was as bad as her mother on Hugh’s first video. Clearly she was Lainey. She kept going. ‘But you’ve probably guessed that. I’ve got a lot of things I want to say to you, and I didn’t want to do it in a letter or on the phone or in an email. I wanted to come home, even just for a day, and surprise you, at home or in the restaurant. But that isn’t possible. So I thought this might be the next best thing.’
She looked into the camera again, silent for a second. ‘Ad, I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry, for hurting you so much the morning I left. For making you feel that what we had meant nothing to me. That you were just a business colleague. It’s gone round and round my head since that morning, the memory of the look in your eyes, your voice, what I must have made you feel.
Spin the Bottle Page 31
