by Andrea Mara
“Oh yes, the parking thing. Don’t mind Noel, he gets very het up about things sometimes. I’m very nice and normal, I promise. So what do you do?”
“I’m in digital marketing. Well, I’m taking time out with the kids at the moment.”
Georgia tilts her head to one side. “Aw, fair play to you. I couldn’t do it, but you’re absolutely right – they’re only small for such a short time. I just couldn’t deal with the drudgery side of it – the housework and all that.” She looks at her nails. “And I’m terrible at crafts and baking. But I’m in awe of you mums who stay at home and do all that – seriously, fair play.”
Kate digs her nails into the palm of her hand. You mums? Seriously, fuck right off!
“I’m no good at baking or crafting either,” she says, making a huge effort to sound civil. “I’m not very good at being at home at all sometimes. But hey, I muddle through like everyone else, dreaming of that glass of wine after they go to bed.”
Georgia smiles. “Now that I can relate to. You know who’d swap places with you though – your next-door neighbour in Number 25 – Sylvia. Now she’d love to be at home, I’d say. She always looks stressed and she never stops worrying about the kids. Have you met her?”
“No, not yet.”
“Oh, you’ve probably seen her – small, brown curly hair, always looks rushed? Sometimes wears glasses? I mean she’s lovely and everything, just a little neurotic, I think. And always a bit breathless, if you know what I mean?”
Kate doesn’t really, but she’s itching to get inside and under the shower. “Yes, I know . . . Listen, I should head on in, but nice to meet you.” She gives a little wave and starts walking backwards towards her house.
“You too! Oh – watch out for Rosemary as well. Have you met her? She has a tendency to ambush people and drag them in for tea.”
“Yes, I’ve met her and, yes, I’ve been ambushed.”
“Ah, then I’m too late. But you know what, she’s not a bad old thing – I think she’s just lonely.”
Kate nods and waves again, and this time she makes it home and through her front door, and even all the way up the stairs and into the peach-coloured shower before anyone else interrupts her.
Chapter 16
Sam – Friday, July 1st
He raises his glass. The first swallow makes him feel much better than it should, and the second one is even better. He takes a third, and puts the glass back down on the bar. His phone beeps – a text from Michael to say he’s running ten minutes late. But Sam’s not in any rush. No bedtime to worry about, and no texts home. Nobody to answer to for the whole weekend. He grins to himself, and unfolds the paper. It’s a very long time since he’s had a night like this.
Michael rushes in fifteen minutes later. “Sorry, man, I got a taxi from the flat and then the traffic was a nightmare – I should have walked and I’d have been here quicker.”
“No worries – I’m happy out here with my paper and my beer. What’ll you have?”
“No, I’ll get this – same again?” Michael orders, taking the bar stool beside Sam. “So how’re things – how’s the new house looking?”
“Grand. Loads to do – more than I thought really. And, you know me, I’m not the best with DIY.”
“Well, look, if you need a hand, I can come out to you – no bother.”
“Ah, I’d hate to ask, but maybe for some of the electrics. I remember you did a great job on your mam’s place the year before she . . . passed away.” Shit, he didn’t mean to bring up Bella.
Michael doesn’t seem perturbed. “Listen, it’s much easier if I give you a hand with it – Kate won’t be pleased if you electrocute yourself trying to show you can do it, will she?”
“No, and actually they’re away now for the summer so if you wanted to come out some night during the week we could try to get a few things done? Have a few beers after?”
“I’ve a few jobs on this week but what about next weekend?”
The barman puts a fresh pint in front of Sam and he takes a sip. “I’m meant to be going down to them in Galway but let me chat to Kate – it might make more sense if I stay up here. I’ll give you a shout during the week about it. And thanks for the offer – I owe you.”
“Don’t worry. You’ve done enough for me over the years. It’s the least I can do. So apart from all the work, how’s it going?”
“Yeah, good. The main thing is the boys get to play outside the front now without worrying about traffic, and there’s more space for all of us.”
“The leafy suburbs, eh? You’ll be having drinks on the lawn and barbecues with the neighbours in no time.”
“We haven’t met anyone yet at all actually. Early days though. Loads of time.”
“The closest I ever got to a barbecue with the neighbours is that time the little shit two doors down set fire to his mam’s couch,” says Michael, grinning.
Sam snorts into his beer, trying not to laugh mid-swallow. “Jesus, Michael, I’d say you see it all in those flats. Did you ever think of moving?”
“Nah, I couldn’t part with it now after all these years. And my mam’d be looking down in horror if I did. Remember her chasing us with the wooden spoon that time we stole penny sweets from the shop on the corner? She’d get me from the grave – you know she would. No better woman.”
Sam remembers the wooden-spoon incident – he hasn’t thought about it in years. Claire had had to go into hospital for something – he was only six or seven at the time. Funny, they’d never said what it was. He’d gone to stay with Bella and Michael for a few nights, sleeping on their battered old couch. He remembers a musty smell now, and an orange cushion for a pillow. And sweet wrappers down the back of the couch. They’d had fish and chips for tea, and Coke to drink – he’d never tasted Coke before and the bubbles had gone up his nose. He remembers Bella laughing as she wiped his face, then giving them 20p each to go to the shop for sweets. “For afters,” she’d said, hooshing them out the door and warning them to be back in ten minutes. How they’d decided to fill their pockets with stolen Wham Bars and Cola Bottles, Sam wasn’t sure, but they’d come home delighted with themselves. And then he’d wrecked it all by taking his stash out to count the sweets. Bella had gone mad with the two of them – shouting till she was red in the face. He’d nearly collapsed when she took out the wooden spoon – his mum never did things like that. Bella didn’t do anything more than wave it but it was enough. Sam never got on the wrong side of her again.
“True – she certainly kept the pair of us on the straight and narrow,” he said. “Do you remember the old biddy who lived on the ground floor – the one who hated us sitting on that wall outside her flat? Remember that time she said she’d call the police on us? For sitting on a wall. It’s funny when you think back – it was so innocent. Kids today don’t bother sitting on walls any more – they’re all on their iPads and phones, getting in trouble for Snapchatting and cyberbullying. To be honest, I’d much rather have Seth and Jamie hanging around on a green than locked in their rooms doing God knows what online. Simpler times, the 80s, weren’t they?”
“Jesus, your lads don’t have phones yet, do they?”
“Ha – no, I just mean when they’re older.”
“All ahead of you so, Sam. Sometimes I’m glad I’ve no kids – I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“Still time! You never know, you might meet a nice young one who’s only dying for kids – happens all the time. A guy in my work is in his fifties and just announced he’s marrying a twenty-eight-year-old! From Thailand. But I suppose that’s different.”
Michael looks at him across the top of his pint. “How do you know I haven’t met someone already?”
Sam puts down his drink. Now this is a first. “Go on – tell me – who is she?”
“Ah, early days, I’ll fill you in when I know it’s going somewhere.”
Sam’s phone beeps and he checks the message. Nina – she wants him to call in. He keeps looking
at the screen, trying to work out what to say to Michael. It’s going to look rude no matter what he says. But he can’t say no to her either. He types a quick reply then looks up at Michael. “Listen, something just came up at work – I’m really sorry, but I’ll have to head in there to sort it out . . . ”
“You’re grand, don’t worry. As long as you leave me your paper. And, sure look, I’ll be out to you next weekend to have a look at this fancy new house of yours, as long as Kate’s okay with you staying up in Dublin.”
“Cheers, man,” Sam says, putting his phone in his pocket and sliding the paper across the bar.
“Hope it doesn’t take you too long.”
“What?”
“The work problem.”
“Oh yeah, me too. Right, I’ll give you a bell during the week.”
Sam walks out into the bright evening light, and turns towards the river, texting to say he’s on his way.
His phone pings again but this time it’s Kate.
Just a reminder – new fridge being delivered in morning between nine and eleven. Boys asking to Skype – is now good?
He punches letters in quickly as he crosses the bridge, pushing guilty thoughts out of his head.
Still at work – bit of a problem this evening. Will Skype in morning when waiting for fridge. Give them hugs from me.
He makes his way across the road and up to her apartment block, ringing the familiar bell, and wondering not for the first time how exactly he got himself into this.
Chapter 17
Sam – Friday, October 5th 1990
Sam races down the stairs and makes it halfway through the front door before his mother calls him back.
“Sam, where are you going?”
“Just out.”
“Where to?”
“Molly’s outside.”
Claire rolls her eyes.
“Mum! Don’t be like that.”
“I’m joking. It’s fine, go on. Be home by six for dinner. Remember we’re going to the play at the Olympia tonight – if you can tear yourself away from Molly, of course. Young love, eh?”
“That’s just gross,” Sam says, pulling the front door shut behind him.
Molly is sitting on the low wall at the end of the front garden, her back to the house. Sam stops for a moment to look at her, wondering again what she sees in a guy like him. She raises a hand to her mouth. Is she smoking? Jesus, she is, and right outside his house.
“Molly, my mum is there – put out the smoke, quick!” Sam hisses, running towards the wall.
“Sure,” she says, dropping it on the ground and twisting it underfoot.
“Aren’t you worried you’ll be seen smoking in your uniform?”
“Nah, the nuns aren’t usually out wandering around Booterstown on a Friday afternoon. Come on, head up to the Bowler?”
Sam looks at his watch. “I’ve got to be back by six – I don’t know if there’s time.”
Molly stands up and links her arm through his. “There’s loads of time. Come on, Sam, live a little! You never know which day is going to be your last.”
They turn up the avenue, kicking leaves as they walk, free from heavy schoolbags and grown-up eyes.
In the distance, two figures walk towards them, slowing as they approach. Sam recognises the uniforms – they’re from St Michan’s. When they reach Sam and Molly, they stop.
“All right, man, any chance of two naggins of vodka, twelve Dutch Gold and four packs of Silk Cut before tomorrow night?” says the taller of the two. “I have the cash here like.”
Molly looks at Sam, eyebrows raised.
“Eh, I’m not sure what you mean?” Sam says. “I don’t have any drink or cigarettes!”
The smaller boy gives his friend a subtle dig in the ribs. “Ah gotcha, yeah, we’ll catch you later so. No worries. My mistake,” he says, giving Sam a huge wink.
The boys walk on down the avenue, muttering to one another, and Sam and Molly link arms again and keep going towards the Bowling Alley.
“What was that about?” Molly asks. “Have you become some kind of dealer in booze?”
“I have no idea. I guess they thought I was someone else. Jeez, I’d be lucky to get served myself – remember that time we tried to get a flagon of cider from O’Donovan’s and they just laughed at me?”
“I do indeed, Sam, I do indeed. It’s lucky I’m not with you for your drink-buying skills. Speaking of which, Albie’s having a party tomorrow night at ours – Mum’s going out – want to come? I mean, it’ll probably just be a load of sixth years getting stoned and trying to pretend the Leaving’s not happening but it could be a bit of craic. Albie seems to have got his hands on a ton of drink somewhere.”
I’ll bet he has, Sam thinks. “Is Albie at home at the moment?”
“No, I think he’s in the Bowler actually – why?”
“I just need to check something with him – I’ll catch him there.”
“Anyway, what about the party?”
“That sounds cool, but I’ll have to check with my mum.”
This time it’s Molly’s turn to roll her eyes.
“Sam, you’re fifteen – surely your mum won’t mind you going to a party on a Saturday night? And you’re in Transition Year, for God’s sake! It’s not like you need to study!”
“Yeah, course she’ll be fine – I just mean I need to check in with her.”
Molly squeezes his arm. “I know, and I shouldn’t be slagging you. I wish I got on even half as well with my mum as you do with yours.” She goes quiet after she says this, and looks at the ground.
Sam elbows her gently. “Hey, your mum is nice. Don’t be silly.”
When she looks up at him again, her eyes are suspiciously wet. He’s never seen Molly upset – not even when her grandmother died last summer.
“What is it – is something wrong with your mum?”
“No,” she says. “Unless you count her state of mind.”
“What do you mean?”
Molly sighs and says nothing for a minute. Then she looks up at him again and takes a deep breath. “My mum is moving to Philadelphia, and apparently that means me and Albie are moving to Philadelphia. In the States. That Philadelphia.”
Sam shakes his head. This doesn’t make any sense. “Why?”
“She says there’s nothing for her here, with my dad gone and my grandmother dead. Her sister is in Philadelphia, and she can get Mum work. So it’s all sorted – all neat and nice. No need to worry about uprooting your fifteen-year-old daughter from school and friends and . . . well, from you.” She blinks, and two tears roll down her cheek.
Sam pulls her into a hug, because she looks like she needs a hug, and because he doesn’t know what to say, and because he’s fairly sure he doesn’t want her to see that he’s about to cry too.
Sam turns the key in the front door at six on the dot, and walks through to the welcome warmth of the kitchen. Beef casserole smells fill the air, and the table is set for three. His mum is in her favourite chair, engrossed in a book – a cup of tea on the small table beside her looks untouched. She hasn’t heard him come in.
Sam walks over and kisses the top of her head, then puts on the kettle. “I’ll make you a fresh cup, Mum – is Dad home?”
“Any minute now. How’s Molly?”
“She’s . . . she’s fine. Is it okay if I go to a party in her house tomorrow night?”
“Well, will her mother be there?”
“Yes – it’s just a small party with a few friends – I won’t be late home.”
“All right then, you can go. You need to get changed before the play.”
Sam looks down at his jeans and hoodie. “Do I?”
His mum nods as they hear the front door open and shut.
John brings the outside in with him – smells of autumn leaves and cold and pipe smoke and even newspaper ink, though that might be Sam’s imagination. He puts his briefcase down and kisses Claire’s cheek, then pats Sam’s shoulder.
<
br /> “Sam, have you seen the key to the shed?” he asks, taking off his coat and sitting down at the table.
Shit, this isn’t good. “No – why? Is it missing?”
“Yes. Your mother doesn’t have it and it’s not on the hook – I think you were the last person to use it?”
“I . . . don’t think I had it recently, Dad.” Sam can feel his face going red and turns towards the counter to pour water into cups. “Do you need something from the shed?”
“Well, nothing urgently this minute but there’s a lot of stuff I need on and off all the time – a locked shed without a key is pointless. If it doesn’t turn up, I’ll need to break open the door and put on a new lock. Are you sure you don’t know?”
Sam busies himself with a teabag.
“I’m sure, Dad, but I’ll keep an eye out for it.” Still facing the counter, he discreetly checks his pocket. It’s still there. But he’ll have to do something.
