‘Perfect, thank you.’
And that’s exactly what she did. But having left her daughter alone with Mandy, Marianne couldn’t stand the confines of the waiting room and Andrew’s whining. Instead, claiming she had a phone call to make, she’d gone outside and paced back and forth in front of the building, head down, hands deep in her pockets. Her attention was caught by the number of butts ground into the pavement; a testament to other nervous patients. She had never been a smoker but had she been offered a cigarette right then she’d have smoked it gratefully. She knew that Dot thought she was being silly bringing the kids down here and maybe she was right, but Marianne couldn’t help worrying about them and what harm could it do to get an objective opinion?
Dot sat in the doctor’s waiting room not at all sure why the hell they were all there. Since when did you take kids to see a doctor because they were sad? Wouldn’t it be strange if they weren’t? Still, if it put Marianne’s mind at rest she supposed it was worth it. That poor girl seemed to be permanently worried these days. Dot felt ashamed that it was all because of her son. He had put her through so much and now she had money worries too, although Dot hoped that would be short-lived. On the bright side, she was convinced that the move to Kilbarrack would be a step in the right direction. She was stunned by the lack of community in the Howth estate and how isolated Marianne and the children were. Neither was she a fan of the posh private school they went to. The teachers seemed nice enough, it was the parents she wasn’t that keen on. They arrived up at the school driving their big cars and dressed in their designer clothes and they didn’t seem remotely genuine. As for the gifts, clothes and holidays they showered on their kiddies, well, she thought it was downright madness.
Marianne defended them, she said there were some very nice people, but Dot hadn’t seen much evidence of it. Where were they when Dominic died? Not one parent had offered to mind the children for a few hours or even take them to school and allow Marianne and herself time to come to terms with Dominic’s loss in privacy. It wouldn’t be plain sailing for Kate and Andrew in their new school, but once they’d settled in and made friends, they’d be grand. She knew that her good neighbours would have their grandchildren primed to keep an eye on the youngsters and make sure they were welcomed into the fold. It would probably be harder for Marianne to adjust. Not only was she leaving a fancy house for her smaller and much simpler one, she would probably feel strange in Dot’s house and might be thrown at the way neighbours popped in on a regular basis. But with a bit of luck she’d be out working and that would make the transition easier.
Her thoughts were interrupted by her grandson running a toy car along the window ledge and smashing it into the wall.
‘That’s not yours, Andrew, stop.’
‘I’m bored.’
‘Then find something else to play with.’ Dot nodded towards the box of toys in the corner of the waiting room. Kate was in with the GP and a tense Marianne had gone outside to make a call. Andrew was not happy, didn’t want to be here and wasn’t taking any trouble to hide his feelings.
‘They’re all crap,’ he retorted.
‘That’s not a nice word,’ Dot said and rolled her eyes at the teenage girl tucked tightly into the corner, who simply looked blank and turned away. ‘Have a look at the books, Andrew.’
‘Don’t want to read a bloody book.’
‘No bad language.’
‘You say it, Granny.’
‘That’s different.’
‘Why?’ he demanded.
‘I’m a grown-up, that’s why.’
‘When will I be a grown-up?’
‘When you’re about thirty,’ Dot told him.
‘That’s ancient,’ he exclaimed, and whacked the car against the wall again in disgust.
‘It is,’ Dot agreed, ‘but it won’t be something you have to worry about if you don’t learn some manners. Come over here and sit down and we’ll read a book together.’
‘Don’t want to read,’ he grumbled, but nevertheless he dropped the car into the box and clambered up on the chair beside her. ‘Tell me one of your stories, Granny, not a made-up one.’
‘Well, let me think.’ She put her arm around him and planted a kiss on his golden-red hair, so like his father’s. ‘Did I tell you about the time your granda was arrested?’
‘What’s arrested mean, Granny?’
‘It’s when the guards come and take you to the police station because they think you’ve done something wrong.’
He turned round eyes up to look at her. ‘They put Granda in jail?’
Even the girl in the corner looked over at his screech.
‘Will you hush. No they didn’t put him in jail, they just took him down to the station for questioning.’
‘But why, Granny, what did he do?’
‘Well, you see, he was driving a bit faster than he should have been and the next thing he knew, there was a police siren, flashing blue lights and a copper on a motorbike came tearing up beside him and waved at him to pull over.’
‘And did he?’
‘Well, of course he did; he was a stubborn oul fella be times, your granda, but he wasn’t stupid.’
‘And what happened?’
‘Well, the guard climbs off the bike and strides over to the car, a dirty big scowl on him. “Is it a race you’re in, sir?” says he, real sarcastic like.
“Sorry, Garda,” says your granda, as polite as can be.
“And what speed do you think you were doing?”
“No idea, Garda, but I am sure you’re going to tell me.”
“Oh, a smart-arse,” says the garda . . .’
‘Granny, that’s a bad word!’ Andrew giggled.
‘It wasn’t me that said it,’ Dot said quickly. ‘Now do you want to hear the story or not?’ Andrew nodded enthusiastically. ‘Well, Granda says, “Look, Garda, I’m not trying to be difficult but I really am in a hurry so if you’re going to give me a bloody ticket, give me a ticket—”’
Andrew erupted into giggles. ‘You said it again!’
‘Granda was upset,’ Dot explained.
‘So did he give Granda a ticket?’
‘Not at all. Sure, that would have been too easy; he was narked and he wanted blood. “Step out of the car,” says he, and goes off to his bike to get a breathalyser kit. That’s a special test where you blow into a bag and it says if you’ve had too much to drink,’ she added when Andrew opened his mouth to ask. ‘“This is ridiculous,” says my Bill, “I haven’t touched a drop. Would you not make yourself useful and go and catch some real criminals?” Well, now, that just made the garda madder, but you see, that was your granda; a good man but he had a terrible short temper. “Blow into the bag and less of your lip,” says he. So Granda does and of course it’s fine, although the fecker took his time about telling him. Well at this stage your granda was fit to be tied. “I told you I hadn’t had a drop, now will you give me a ticket and let me be on my way? My son is sick and I need to get to the late-night chemist for cough medicine.”
“Do you now?” says the garda, obviously not believing a word. “Can I see your driver’s licence, sir?”
Wouldn’t you know it? Granda didn’t have it with him.
Well, the garda gives him a look and pulls out his little notebook, nice and slow, like. “Can I have your name, sir?” he says.
‘Now Granda knew he was in trouble.’
‘But why, Granny?’
‘Well you see, there was a well-known criminal around in them days and what was his name? Only Bill Thomson, the same as Granda’s. So he says, “The name’s Bill Thomson, Garda.”
“Aren’t you feckin’ hilarious altogether?” says the garda. “Let’s see how funny the lads find you down at the station.”
“Garda, I’m not kidding you, honest, that’s me name and I don’t have time to go to the station; I told you, I’m on me way to the chemist. Can’t I drop you in the licence tomorrow?”
‘Well, the garda just
fixes him with a glare. “You can follow me down to the station, sir, or I can call for a squad car to take you there. Now which is it to be?”
So down he went and they kept him there, kicking his heels for a while until another garda that used to play hurling with Granda arrives. Well, sure it was all grand then, the copper was all apologies, even made him a cup of tea and while Granda drank it and had a natter with his friend, your man only went off on his bike down to the chemist for the medicine. Well, they were the best of pals after that. They even went—’
Dot broke off as the door opened and Marianne walked in with a red-eyed Kate.
‘Okay, come on, Andrew, your turn, sweetheart.’
‘I don’t want to go to the doctor.’ Andrew shrank in behind his grandmother. ‘I’m not sick.’
Marianne crouched down in front of him and touched his face. ‘I know love, but this is just a check-up. Mandy is only going to look in your eyes and ears with her torch and listen to your heart; don’t you remember she let you use her stethoscope the last time?’
Kate smiled at her little brother. ‘And she gave me this.’ She held up a chocolate lollipop and Andrew’s eyes lit up.
‘Will she give me one too?’ he asked, already climbing down off the chair.
‘Of course she will,’ Marianne said and led him from the room.
‘So, how did it go, luvvie?’ Dot asked, patting the place that Andrew had vacated.
Kate sat down and shot a nervous look at the girl sitting in the corner.
‘Don’t worry about her,’ Dot whispered. ‘She’s in a world of her own.’
‘Mandy says I am the healthiest nine-year-old she’s seen this year,’ Kate said.
‘Well, isn’t that grand. Did she say anything else?’
‘Not much.’ Kate sighed. ‘She asked me about Daddy. Everybody wants to talk about Daddy.’
Dot squeezed her hand. When Dominic was pumping his body with those bloody drugs, had he even thought of the hurt it would cause? ‘Don’t you want to talk about him, love?’
Kate shook her head. ‘It just makes me feel sad. Aren’t you sad, Granny?’
Dot swallowed back her tears. ‘Of course I am, but I know he’s safe in heaven with your granda.’
‘But I don’t want him to be in heaven, I want him to be back here with us,’ Kate protested, her eyes filling with tears.
‘I know you do but,’ Dot nudged her granddaughter in the ribs, ‘at least he won’t be working, that’ll make a change, won’t it?’
Kate smiled and took the tissue Dot held out to her. ‘He did work an awful lot. I didn’t mind weekdays; I was doing my homework and had to go to bed early anyway, but I hated him being out over the weekend. All my friends’ dads used to do stuff with them on the weekend. Even G.G. took Rachel and Di swimming.’
Dot stroked the child’s silky hair and sighed. It said it all that even Greg-grudge Buckley was held up as a better father than her son. But she couldn’t let Kate see that she shared her view, the child needed reassurance.
‘But your daddy was out working hard so that he could give you and Andrew a lovely home and a good life, not because he didn’t want to be at home with you. Sure, he was as proud as punch of the two of you; adored the very ground you walked on. Don’t you think he would have loved to have been home with you morning, noon and night?’
‘I know he couldn’t have done that, Granny,’ Kate said, looking indignant.
‘No, love. All he could do was his best for his family and that’s what he did. Now, tell me, what will we have for tea?’
Marianne was standing in the corridor waiting when Andrew emerged, grinning from ear to ear and brandishing a chocolate lollipop.
‘Bye, Andrew,’ Mandy called after him.
‘Seeya,’ he said cheerfully.
‘My turn,’ Marianne smiled. ‘You go to Granny, darling, I won’t be long. Well?’ she asked after she’d closed the door. ‘What’s the verdict?’
Mandy waved her into a chair. ‘I really don’t think you have anything to worry about with either of them, Marianne. Andrew is reacting exactly as any child his age would but it’s great that he can talk about it. I think to get the aggression out of his system it might be a good idea to organize lots of outdoor exercise and plenty of family time. How is he sleeping?’
‘Fitfully.’
Mandy nodded. ‘Yes, I expected that. The exercise should do the trick.’
‘And the bed-wetting?’
‘I’d ignore it as much as possible; I think time will take care of the rest.’
‘Okay. And Kate?’
‘Kate is very mature for her age and a deep thinker.’
‘Tell me about it,’ Marianne sighed.
‘She didn’t say much but I would imagine that she’s terrified of all sorts of things, in particular you or Dot getting sick or dying. Could she be worried at all about your financial security?’
Marianne’s eyes welled up as she wondered if Kate had overheard any of her conversations with Dot about job hunting. ‘It’s possible,’ she admitted.
‘Don’t start guilt-tripping, Marianne,’ Mandy warned. ‘This isn’t your fault.’
‘How can I help her?’
‘Just reassure her at every opportunity. Hold her and kiss her, even if she doesn’t respond. Do things with her without Andrew, even if it’s simply going for a walk or baking a cake. And watching a sad movie together can be a perfect opportunity to bring up difficult subjects. Also, don’t be afraid to cry in front of them, Marianne. If you let them see your emotions, if you open up and talk about how you feel then they will do the same.’
Marianne thought about how she’d always tried to pin on a smile for the children. How she and Dot had talked in hushed tones about Dominic and shut up as soon as the children came into the room. How she’d left them watching cartoons while she ploughed through the bills and bank statements. ‘I’ve been handling it all wrong,’ she told Mandy, horrified.
‘Stop that, of course you haven’t,’ Mandy said with a kind smile. ‘Try not to worry, Marianne. You will all be fine, I promise.’
Chapter Thirteen
The day of Helen and Johnny’s party dawned and Jo dragged herself out of bed, pulled on a dressing gown and went downstairs to make tea. Rachel was sprawled in front of the TV watching cartoons.
‘Morning, love.’ She went over to kiss her daughter.
‘Hey, Mum.’ Rachel jumped up and wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist in a tight hug.
‘Where’s your sister?’
‘Still in bed.’
Jo’s eyes shot up to the clock; Di was due at the hairdressing salon in thirty minutes.
‘Go and wake her, Rachel; tell her she’s going to be late for work.’
Jo poured cereal into two bowls, added milk and set them on the table before putting on the kettle. Rachel was halfway through her breakfast and Jo was sipping her coffee and leafing through a magazine when Di walked in, still buttoning her shirt.
‘You should have called me, Mum,’ she complained. ‘Maria will kill me if I’m late again.’
‘You wanted this Saturday job, no one made you do it,’ Jo reminded her. ‘And you do know how to set an alarm clock. Now don’t waste time moaning, sit down and eat your breakfast.’
‘I don’t have time; I’ll grab something on the way.’
Jo looked up at her. ‘It won’t take two minutes, love; you need your strength if you’re going to be on your feet all day, and remember it’s the party this evening.’
‘You’re a fine one to talk; when was the last time you ate a proper breakfast?’ Di looked pointedly at her mother’s coffee but sat down at the table and started to spoon cornflakes into her mouth.
‘We’re not talking about me, cheeky.’
Di grinned. ‘Remember, Maria’s doing your hair at two. Don’t be late.’
‘I won’t,’ Jo sighed. ‘Though I doubt she will be able to do much with my mop.’ Jo hated getting her hair done.
She always felt like a guilty child, sitting there, while her hair was picked up in clumps and peered at critically; it was almost as bad as visiting the dentist. ‘What are you wearing?’
‘My black jeans and the silver T-shirt,’ Di said.
‘Oh, love, that’s very casual for a party. Would you not wear the purple dress, you look so pretty in that.’
‘It makes me look fat.’
‘No it doesn’t. You look gorgeous,’ Rachel looked in adoration at her big sister.
Di smiled as she stood up. ‘Want me to put your hair up on top for you?’
‘Oh, yes please.’ Rachel’s eyes lit up. ‘And will I wear my pink or orange top with the pink jeans?’
‘The orange,’ her sister pronounced.
Jo looked from one to the other in dismay. ‘But I’ve ironed your blue dress.’
‘Oh, Mum, I look like a dork in that!’ Rachel rolled her eyes.
‘It is a bit childish, Mum,’ Di said.
‘She’s eleven, not sixteen.’ Jo shot her youngest a reproachful look. ‘You’ve only worn it a couple of times.’
Why did children, especially little girls, want to grow up so quickly? Her daughters were so different from her; Di full of confidence and attitude and Rachel, though shyer was still much more outgoing that Jo had been at the same age.
‘I’m sorry, Mum.’ Rachel looked at her, large baby-blue eyes full of remorse. ‘It’s just not very cool.’
‘It’s dreadful,’ the less tactful Di said.
‘Well, sorry, I’m sure. Go on then, get down those jeans and I’ll press them for you.’
‘And my top, Mum?’ Di said, fluttering her eyelashes.
Jo laughed. ‘Oh, all right.’
‘Mwah!’ Di planted a kiss on her cheek and patted her sister’s head. ‘Later!’
‘Whatever happened to saying goodbye?’ Jo asked as the front door slammed.
Rachel giggled. ‘What are you going to wear, Mum?’
‘My green dress.’
Rachel pulled a face. ‘You always wear that, Mum. Why don’t you try on the black trousers and that nice lacy pink blouse?’
‘Trousers?’ Jo frowned. Greg hated her wearing trousers; he’d always liked her legs and used to complain that she didn’t show them off nearly enough. It had been a while since he’d said that though.
Every Time We Say Goodbye Page 12
