‘Come on, you know how conservative my parents are. They’re going to freak.’
‘They’re more open-minded than you think. After everything that happened with my father, your parents were the ones who got me into counselling. Your dad spent years telling me I wasn’t to blame and that I deserved to be happy. He said the past didn’t matter, it was the future that was important. He was the one who inspired me to do something with my life, to help other people in similar situations. You’re very lucky to have a dad like him.’
‘Don’t get me wrong, I know how great he is, but sending someone to therapy is different from being happy that your daughter’s fiancé is black.’
‘He’ll probably find it a little difficult to accept at first, but I’m sure that when he sees how happy you are and how in love you are, he’ll welcome your fiancé with open arms.’
Clearly Sally had done a little too much counselling. She appeared to be delusional. No matter how much I would have liked to believe it, I knew fine well that Dad would not be throwing his arms round Pierre and rolling out the red carpet. Still, maybe she was right about him being more open-minded than I gave him credit for. Maybe he wouldn’t go completely mad, just a little bit mad.
I wasn’t going to ruin Sally’s positive bubble, so I just said, ‘Maybe you’re right.’
‘I know I am. Trust me. Now, I have to get back to work. I have patients to treat and lives to transform.’ And with that she gave me a big bear-hug and went off to save the world.
Irish Daily News
‘The break-up’
Niamh O’Flaherty
When Mary breaks up with her boyfriend, she calls her best friend and bawls down the phone. Her best friend listens, lets Mary cry, makes lots of sympathetic noises like, ‘Oh, no, I see, poor you’, etc., but does not interrupt the flow of grief.
When Dave calls his best friend to tell him he’s just broken up with his girlfriend, his best friend panics. He doesn’t do emotion. They go for pints together, play football on a Wednesday night, go to watch rugby matches, but they don’t do emotion. To try to hide his panic, Dave’s best friend says, ‘Do you fancy a few pints later?’ This buys him time to call in the troops and organize a bit of a session where no emotions will be discussed or, worse, displayed.
Mary’s best friend calls all her other friends and they arrange to meet in her house that night with supplies of chocolate, Häagen Dazs ice-cream, crisps and tissues.
Dave’s best friend organizes for everyone to meet in the local pub for a knees-up.
Mary calls over to her best friend’s house where everyone fusses and tells her that she’s fantastic, it’s his loss, and then they finely dissect what he said when he broke up with her. They say that maybe he just needs some time to himself and he’ll come round when he realizes what a big mistake he’s made. Maybe when he said, ‘It’s not you it’s me,’ he really meant he had to deal with some issues from his past and when they were sorted out he’d come back and reclaim her. Maybe when he said, ‘I’ll see you around,’ he meant, ‘I hope I bump into you soon.’
Dave’s friends avoid eye contact when he arrives into the pub. No one mentions the break-up. Five pints later, when Dave finally says, ‘So did you hear I got dumped?’ his friends tell him she wasn’t very good-looking anyway and none of them really liked her. They remind him of the freedom he’ll now have on the weekends to do what he wants when he wants. Then they ply him with more drink to shut him up and try to force him to go home and shag the East European waitress.
29
London, September–December 1986
After my summer immersed in Irish culture with Granny and Granddad Byrne, autumn came round and I went back to school where life took on its habitual autumn/winter drudgery. I had been to one more tennis-club disco and Teddy was nowhere to be seen, so my plans for us to go steady all year and for me to develop an I-have-a-boyfriend strut came to nothing. I continued my non-boyfriend shuffle and tried to keep out of trouble. I was also studying hard. Having seen what Liam was able to achieve and the fuss that was made when he got his results – not to mention the bonus Dad gave him for it – made me keen to get good results myself. I only had two more years of school before I could go away to university and really experience life – without babysitting on demand and curfews.
December came round and Dad invited Uncle Pat, Auntie Sheila and their kids over for Christmas dinner. Mum didn’t look too pleased about it – she got all tight-lipped and silent when he announced they were coming. But it was a done deal and that was that. However, that changed two days before Christmas when someone tried to break down our front door at two in the morning.
I looked out of the window to see my cousin Brian beating on it with his fists. He was in a terrible state. Dad ran down to let him in.
‘What’s going on?’
‘It’s my dad! He’s had a fall! I think he might be dead,’ croaked Brian.
‘Jesus Christ. Let me throw on a coat and get my keys,’ said Dad, grabbing his anorak and hustling Brian into the car.
The rest of us stood there in shock.
‘Do you think Pat fell because he was drunk?’ I asked.
‘Mind your tongue, young lady,’ said Mum, pulling her dressing-gown closer. ‘It was obviously a terrible accident. Let’s pray he’s all right and just concussed.’
She made Finn and me kneel down on the cold kitchen floor and say a decade of the rosary. Siobhan and Liam went to ‘check on Muireann’ and hopped back into their warm bed.
By the time we got to the last Hail Mary, the phone rang. Mum snatched it up. It was Dad.
‘Oh, no, Mick… Oh, Lord, that’s desperate… Poor Pat… Was it because he was – you know? What a waste of a life! It was truly the death of him. How’s Sheila?… Ah, no… Hard to take… And the kids?… Bring them all back here… They can’t stay there… I’ll put the kettle on.’
By the time Auntie Sheila and my cousins arrived, Auntie Nuala had already high-tailed it to our house and was ensconced in the kitchen, a coat thrown over her nightie. Mum and she were trying to piece together what had happened. Siobhan, Liam and Muireann were asleep, and when I offered to wake them again, Mum told me to leave them. ‘There’s nothing they can do. I don’t want the baby upset. Let them be.’
Five minutes later the doorbell rang. Mum rushed out to greet Auntie Sheila and the children and brought them into the good room, where Finn had been ordered to light the fire. They looked shell-shocked. We sat around and Mum fussed about them being warm enough and handed them hot tea and cake, which none of them touched. Eventually Auntie Nuala got to the point. ‘What happened, Sheila?’
‘He fell,’ she said, in a strange faraway voice.
‘Did he die instantly?’ Auntie Nuala asked, as Mum made faces at her to stop interrogating the poor woman.
‘Yes. I think he broke his neck,’ Auntie Sheila said.
Brian and Sally winced.
‘Niamh, take your cousins into the kitchen and give them something to eat and drink,’ Mum said.
‘But there’s tea and cake here,’ I said, not wanting to be evicted from the room during Auntie Sheila’s cross-examination.
Mum gave me one of her withering looks and I jumped to attention. I led Finn, Brian and Sally into the kitchen and made toast, which Finn and I ended up eating while our cousins sat like two statues.
‘Did you call an ambulance?’ I asked.
‘Yes, but only after Mum tried to resuscitate him,’ said Brian.
‘Did you see him fall?’ asked Finn, wide-eyed.
‘No,’ said Brian.
‘I did,’ whispered Sally.
‘Did he trip?’
‘No. I pushed him.’
Finn gaped at her.
‘SHUT UP!’ shouted her brother.
‘What did you say?’ I asked, my voice shaking.
‘You heard me,’ she said evenly.
‘But… then… you –’
‘Killed him? Yes, I
did.’
‘She doesn’t know what she’s saying. He was drunk and he tripped,’ said Brian. ‘She’s in shock.’
He could spin it whatever way he wanted but it seemed to me that Sally knew exactly what she was saying.
‘Does your mum know?’ I asked.
‘He was shouting at her and calling her horrible names. I had to help her, so I pushed him.’
‘He was drunk and he tripped,’ said Brian, sticking to his story.
‘It was an accident,’ I agreed. ‘If he hadn’t been drunk he wouldn’t have fallen.’
‘I had to stop him,’ said the cold-hearted murderess.
Beware of the quiet ones! Sally rarely had two words to say and now, suddenly, she was all about the talking. I wished she’d go back to being mute. I wasn’t sure how to respond. I didn’t know how to handle murderous confessions. Did I have to tell the police? Was it my duty to report that my cousin had killed her father?
As if reading my mind, Brian repeated: ‘Sally doesn’t know what she’s saying. She’s traumatized by what she saw. Dad was drunk and he fell down the stairs. That’s what happened.’
The door opened and we jumped. It was Auntie Nuala.
‘Everything all right in here?’ she asked. ‘Your mum’s asking for you kids,’ she said to Brian and Sally. ‘She wants you close to her tonight, poor thing. Go on inside to the fire.’
They left the room. Finn and I sat in silence. I was afraid to speak in case I gave away incriminating evidence. My mind was racing. The best thing to do was say nothing.
‘Are you OK? You both look stunned,’ Auntie Nuala asked.
We nodded and, thankfully, she left the room.
‘Wow!’ said Finn, finally finding his voice.
‘Look, forget what she said. You heard Brian, she’s in shock. She didn’t mean it. She didn’t push him. He fell. Sure we all saw how drunk he got. He was a basket case. It was an accident waiting to happen.’ As the elder sibling I felt I had to protect Finn. He needed to keep his innocence. It was no good for him to think his cousin was a killer.
‘Bullshit,’ he said. ‘She pushed him all right. But I’ll say nothing because he deserved it.’
I stared at my little brother. Revenge was obviously a family trait. I’d have to be nicer to him from now on or I’d end up at the bottom of the stairs with a footprint in my back.
Mum came in. ‘Nuala said you seemed distressed. Do you want to talk about what happened?’
We shook our heads.
But, as usual, we were ignored. ‘Lookit, kids, it’s no secret that Uncle Pat had a fondness for the drink.’
No secret! If it wasn’t a secret then how come we had to listen to those ridiculous stories about him going on ‘holidays’?
‘But he was a good man underneath it,’ Mum continued.
‘That’s crap,’ said Finn.
‘Excuse me?’ Mum’s head jerked up.
‘He wasn’t a good man. He was a nasty drunk and he deserved to die,’ said Finn.
Mum was appalled. ‘That’s a terrible thing to say. Apologize at once.’
‘It’s the truth and you know it.’
‘He’s just upset,’ I said, jumping in. ‘And let’s be honest, Mum, Uncle Pat was a mean old drunk. I know it’s wrong to speak ill of the dead, but he was no saint.’
‘Now, you both listen to me,’ said Mum. ‘He was your father’s brother and he loved him. I won’t have a bad word said about him in this house. I won’t have you upsetting your father with this kind of talk. Do you understand me?’
We nodded.
‘Off to bed with you, Finn, and don’t ever let me hear you speaking about your uncle that way again.’
Finn shuffled off to bed, pausing only to roll his eyes at me when Mum wasn’t looking.
‘What’s got into him?’ Mum asked, when he had gone.
‘He’s just upset and shocked, like the rest of us,’ I said.
Auntie Nuala came in with a tray of cold tea and uneaten cake. ‘I’ve left them alone for a minute,’ she said. ‘They’re in a bad way. Not a word out of them. Sheila keeps hugging Sally and telling her she’s sorry. For what, I ask you? It’s a blessing the bastard fell down those stairs.’
‘Nuala!’
‘He was rotten to the core.’
‘He used to be a nice lad,’ Mum said. ‘Drink is a cruel thing.’
‘He was given every chance to get better,’ said Auntie Nuala. ‘How many times did we pay for him to go and dry out? He was weak. I blame his mother. She spoilt him rotten when he was young. It was always poor Pat this and poor Pat that. While the others were out working themselves to the bone, he was getting drunk in the pub.’
‘It’s a disease,’ said Mum.
‘He should have been able to stop with all the help he was given. He was a hopeless case. Poor old Sheila – what she’s had to put up with over the years. I wouldn’t blame her if she pushed him down the stairs herself.’
‘She didn’t. Sally did.’ It was out before I knew it. Shit! What was I doing? I’d make a really bad spy. I couldn’t even hold classified information for ten minutes.
Mum and Auntie Nuala stared at me. I clamped my hands over my mouth, horrified.
‘Niamh,’ Mum said, coming over to me, ‘why would you say something like that?’
‘Did she tell you she did it?’ asked Auntie Nuala, cutting to the chase.
I remained silent. I wouldn’t betray Sally – even though I already had. If she went to prison it’d be my fault. I was a snitch.
Mum and Auntie Nuala looked at each other. ‘I’ll go and talk to Sally,’ said Auntie Nuala.
‘No!’ I shouted, grabbing her by the arm. ‘Don’t say anything to anyone. I shouldn’t have blurted it out. It’s not… She didn’t… He was… She had to –’ I began to cry. It must have been post-traumatic stress. It’s not every day you find out your cousin’s a cold-blooded assassin.
‘It’s all right. Take a deep breath and tell me what happened,’ Mum said, guiding me gently back to my chair and holding my shaking hand.
‘She said he was shouting at Auntie Sheila and she had to make him stop so she pushed him and he fell.’
‘My God,’ said Auntie Nuala.
‘I’m sure it was an accident. The poor girl’s just confused,’ said Mum.
‘Who else knows?’ asked Auntie Nuala.
‘Only me, Finn and Brian, and I presume Auntie Sheila does because she was there.’
‘OK,’ said Auntie Nuala. ‘Nobody else can know about this. Do you understand, Niamh? You cannot tell another soul. We have to stop Sally saying things that could get her into serious trouble.’
‘She’s right, pet,’ said Mum, putting her arm round me. ‘The rest of the family mustn’t find out. Not even your dad and Uncle Tadhg. It’d be too upsetting for them. The fewer people who know, the better it is for Sally.’
‘I’ll speak to her,’ said Auntie Nuala. ‘I’ll sort it out.’
‘No, Nuala, you can’t tell her I told you,’ I said, panicking. If Sally was capable of murdering her own father, what would she do to a cousin who ratted her out?
‘I’ll be very careful what I say. I just need to make sure she doesn’t repeat the story to anyone else. Your mother’s right. It was bound to have been an accident.’
While Auntie Nuala went to do damage control, Mum sat down with me.
‘Will Sally be OK?’ I asked.
‘Don’t you worry about her. Nuala and I will look after her. This’ll all blow over soon. Once the funeral is done with, they’ll be able to get on with their lives. To be honest, they’ll be better off now. They won’t have to worry about Pat coming home drunk, upsetting and embarrassing them. You know, when I first met him twenty years ago he was good fun.’
‘Uncle Pat?’ I asked, finding that hard to imagine.
‘I know it’s hard to believe now, but he was very witty. Back then he drank, but he was good fun with it. He’d have you in stitches with his s
tories and jokes, but over the years the drink changed him. He couldn’t stay away from it. He could never just have a few pints like Tadhg and your dad. He always had to drink till he passed out. It’s a terrible disease and he didn’t have the strength to fight it.’
‘Do you think Sally will end up in a mental institution?’
‘No, Niamh, she won’t. Nuala and I will make sure she gets the help she needs to deal with what happened.’
‘Mum?’
‘Yes, pet.’
‘When did life get so complicated?’
‘I’m afraid it always was.’ She sighed.
As I contemplated my mother’s cheery answer, Auntie Nuala came back in. ‘It’s OK,’ she said, relieved. ‘It was an accident, after all. Sheila, Sally and Pat had a tussle at the top of the stairs and Pat staggered backwards, tripped over his own feet and fell. If he hadn’t been drunk he wouldn’t have fallen. It’s not the poor child’s fault at all. She’s just confused and traumatized. Now, we need never mention this again. Cup of tea?’
And with that, another family secret was swept firmly under the carpet.
30
The day of the funeral dawned grey and rainy, which suited everyone’s sombre mood. For three days the coffin had been laid in our good room. It was open and Uncle Pat was lying inside it in his best suit, looking quite well for Uncle Pat, although he reminded me a bit of the waxwork people in Madame Tussaud’s. I found it spooky having him there, but my father insisted that an open coffin was the best way for people to say goodbye. He had no visible bruises from his fall, although they could have been camouflaged with makeup. Finn had told me, ‘Undertakers are geniuses at making people look normal, even when they’ve been in really bad car crashes and their heads have come off and stuff. They have all this equipment they use to make them presentable for their relatives.’
Frankly, the whole thing freaked me out and I couldn’t wait for the coffin to be closed and Uncle Pat buried six feet under. Having a dead person in the house was just plain weird. Yet another Irish tradition that I didn’t understand or appreciate.
Whose Life is it Anyway? Page 19
