City Girl

by Patricia Scanlan

  She had always intensely disliked the overpowering self-confident Ria. Their paths had crossed for the first time when they were living in Saudi and Maggie had been pregnant with the twins. Ria, who worked in the Department of Agriculture and had been in the Gulf as part of a team sent to teach animal husbandry to the Arabs, also hailed from the same part of Galway as Terry. She lived in the same apartment block as Terry and Maggie and she was a hard-drinking hard-living young woman who took what she wanted and to hell with other people.

  Although she was small and on the plumpish side she had an incredible ego and a loud imperious personality. At any party they attended Ria could be found, her brown eyes sparkling, her carefully tousled black locks tumbling in disarray over her plump little shoulders and invariably decolletée, as she flirted outrageously with every man in the room.

  Maggie judged her to be in her early thirties, although it was difficult to tell with the amount of make-up she always wore, and it seemed to her that beneath the gaiety there was the faintest hint of desperation about Ria’s giggly flirting. She would often loudly declare for the other women’s benefit that she was strictly a career girl and that marriage was certainly not on her agenda at the moment.

  ‘Wash some man’s socks! Not me!’ she’d declare. The men were charmed by her! Ria had taken one look at Terry and the heavily pregnant Maggie and had made a determined play for him. One night, having spent the evening sniping rudely at Maggie, she remarked insultingly, ‘You’re sooo tall, Maggie! I bet your nickname was beanpole!’ She laughed gaily.

  Maggie had had enough of her sarcastic comments. It was bad enough to sit and watch her flirting cheekily with her husband who was enjoying every minute of it, but to have to listen to her making personal remarks was too much. She was not in the humour to take any more and she snapped coldly, ‘I’d rather be a beanpole than a fat smart-ass tarty dwarf!’

  A stunned silence had descended on their table and then Maggie got up and walked out as Terry tried to laugh it off by saying it was her ‘condition.’ From then on out-and-out hostility existed between the two women and it wasn’t too long after their exchange that Maggie began to suspect that Terry was seeing Ria behind her back. Maggie never actually caught them, but she knew from the sly triumphant looks that Ria flashed her that something was going on. Terry was out late and Maggie was no fool. When she confronted her husband, he indignantly denied that there was anything between himself and the other woman. And Maggie, because she wanted to believe him, accepted his word. They returned to Ireland and she had put the episode out of her head. Ria had in fact returned to Dublin before the twins were born, and Terry never referred to her again. During her second pregnancy, Terry was so considerate of her welfare that Maggie was totally unprepared for the shock that awaited her.

  She had driven down to Wicklow one Friday to see her parents and had told Terry she would be back late in the evening and that his dinner was already prepared in the fridge. Nelsie, for once noticing her daughter’s pale and tired appearance, had unexpectedly offered to keep the twins for the weekend. Maggie jumped at the idea, it was so rare, a chance to have time to themselves. Driving home she hummed happily to herself. It was a lovely warm afternoon and maybe she could persuade Terry to leave work early and take her away for the weekend. Noting with some surprise that his car was already in the drive, she was astounded to find that the French doors to the patio were wide open and towels and suntan oil strewn around their well-sheltered lawn. Her mouth tightened. What the hell was going on? Instinctively she knew it was something she wouldn’t like.

  Heart pounding, she mounted the stairs and walked into their bedroom. She could hear the sound of running water and a female giggle and she didn’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to know that her husband was with someone in the bathroom. Opening the door, the steam almost took her breath away and her housewifely pride was annoyed by the fact that they hadn’t even bothered to open a window. Flinging aside the shower door she found Terry and that little fat bitch Ria Kirby! Her plump little dimpled bottom was the first thing that Maggie could see through the steam.

  Terry’s jaw dropped in horror and Ria gave a little squeal of dismay. Maggie’s blazing eyes met those of her arch enemy. ‘Get out of my house, you fat little trollop!’ she yelled. ‘What’s wrong? Can’t you get a man of your own? Well keep your claws out of mine or you’ll be sorry, you vulgar little tart!’

  Hustling the startled Ria out of the bathroom she flung her clothes at her and snapped angrily, ‘Get dressed you or I’ll put you out on the street naked.’ The other girl, scarlet with humiliation, had wasted no time, her fingers fumbling at the fastenings under Maggie’s laser stare. Terry remained bashfully in the bathroom until his lover was gone and then came into the bedroom with a sheepish grin on his handsome face.

  ‘Aw, Maggie, don’t be mad! I just needed some sex. I know you’re not in the humour for it these days. You know it means nothing!’

  ‘You dirty lowdown bastard! Don’t use that as an excuse,’ she shrieked. ‘Did it have to be with her? Did it? And in my own house? How long has this been going on? Since we came back from Saudi? What do you think I am? A doormat? What about your marriage vows? Don’t they mean anything?’ she raged, hurt beyond belief.

  ‘Ah come off it, Maggs. You’re getting upset over nothing.’

  ‘Over nothing! Don’t insult me, Terry. How would you feel if you caught me with another man? Would you think it was nothing? Would you even care?’ She glared at her husband, hating him. ‘Let me tell you something Mister, I’ve just had enough of you! I’m going to stay with Devlin for the weekend and when and if I come back there’s going to be some changes in this household – whether you like it or not!’

  Slamming the door behind her she left a thoroughly shaken Terry standing dripping on the carpet.

  How Maggie got from Castleknock’s lush greenness to Ballymun’s grey drabness alive she never knew. She drove automatically, her mind full of hurt, anger, bitterness.

  Betrayed! Once again she had been betrayed by someone she loved. Just as her best friend Marian had once betrayed her, so too had her husband. The man who had vowed to be faithful all the days of his life. Ha! Faithful! Terry didn’t know the meaning of the word. Poor Leonard. Was this how he felt the day he discovered his wife with another man? Leonard would never have done this to her.

  Why? why? why? she asked herself over and over again. Did she not give enough love? Was she someone who invited betrayal? Did people think because she was a fairly tolerant person that she had no feelings? Why did the two people in her life who had meant the most to her, hurt her so brutally?

  ‘Bitch! Bastard!’ she sobbed, tears blurring her eyes. She was stopped at red lights and she knew that the man in the car beside her was staring. To hell with him, she didn’t care. All she cared about was the anger that was bubbling up inside her. First Marian, now Terry! What a pair they would have made. Users! Abusers! They didn’t deserve her love. Marian and Terry would have made a perfect couple! Why was she thinking of Marian now? It must be the feelings of pain and hurt that Terry had caused her that had brought back all the old memories so long buried in her heart. The pain of betrayal was the same no matter who caused it.

  Well one thing was for sure, from now on she would be number one. No longer putting others first as before. From now on Maggie Ryan would do exactly what she wanted to, when and where she wanted to. She would love and raise her children but, by God, she’d teach them to be independent of people. Never would they be hurt as she had been – not if she could help it.

  ‘Love many; trust few; always paddle your own canoe,’ her mother had advised after Marian rejected her. She should have learned her lesson then. But not Maggie, too generous, and trusting and loving. That was her problem, always believing the best of people. But it was a failing she would guard against in the future and her children would learn from her. This she swore as she drove towards Devlin’s grey graffiti-decorated tower block.

>   Devlin had listened to her sad and sorry tale, eyes wide with dismayed shock. ‘Is Terry crazy?’ she blurted out. Maggie burst out crying. Devlin said nothing else, just put her arms around her friend and let her cry.

  ‘God, I haven’t cried for years!’ she gulped when it was over.

  ‘Just as well,’ Devlin smiled, ‘’cos it was a real Niagara and I’m drenched.’ In spite of herself Maggie laughed as she hugged her friend. ‘Thanks, Dev, for letting me stay and for letting me bawl all over you and, most of all, for being there.’

  ‘Listen!’ said Devlin firmly. ‘Don’t give it a second thought! You’ve always been there for me and I’m more than glad to do the same for you. That’s what being friends is all about. I just wish the circumstances were different.’

  Maggie stared at the slender young woman beside her. How different from the frivolous girl she had first known. Devlin had matured so much since her pregnancy. They had become much closer since they had returned to Dublin, sharing the joys and traumas of motherhood. It was to Devlin that she had instinctively turned in her time of need and as her friend fussed around making tea and toast she realized that Devlin was a far better friend to her than Marian Gilhooley had ever been. There was a steady integrity about Devlin and Maggie knew without a doubt that she could rely on her for anything. The thought comforted her. It was during the bad times that you found out who your real friends were and these were bad times!

  Later, they went shopping as Devlin hadn’t been expecting visitors and after they had gone back to the flat and Devlin had put the baby to bed, Maggie found herself starting to relax. It was strange not to have to rush out to the kitchen to get a meal for Terry and not to have the twins to watch out for. What was Terry doing now? Was he with Ria? Would she ever learn to trust him again? Did she want to stay married to him? Maggie swallowed the lump that was in her throat. Devlin was putting fresh sheets on the bed and she was alone in the shabby but spotless lounge.

  To break up a marriage was a serious thing. Would she cope with two children and another on the way if she decided to leave Terry? Suddenly, she felt lonely for the twins. How were they getting on down with their grandmother? Michael had forgotten his favourite Teddy so he wouldn’t be able to go to sleep. And Michelle? Maggie smiled as she thought of her precious little daughter. Always the one to get into mischief first, she was going to grow up exactly like her mother!

  Devlin came back into the room, took one look at her friend’s exhausted face and packed her off to bed. Maggie felt bad about taking Devlin’s bed but her friend had insisted. ‘For goodness sakes, Maggs, make the most of the weekend. Get as much rest and sleep as you can – you look as though you need it!’

  It was ironic. For the first time since the birth of her babies Maggie had time to herself, time to be alone, time to sleep, but her mind kept exploding with memories of the day’s events. Just before dawn she stood at the bedroom window and watched a jet gliding gently down on its approach to the airport. It seemed so near that she felt she could reach out and touch it. The twinkling lights disappeared from her sight and she heard the subdued roar of its landing. Silence had descended truce-like after the noisy battles of the day on the vast estate, its tower blocks reminding her a little of New York. Below and above her the lights of Ballymun shimmered and glittered in a losing battle against the glimmering dawn of the eastern sky.

  There was so much hardship here it was unbelievable. She took so much for granted. Devlin had told her that sixty-one per cent of its population was unemployed. She had seen the queues of men in the local supermarket doing the shopping. Some of them looked so hopeless and despairing her heart had gone out to them. Even shopping with Devlin had been an eye-opener. Devlin had selected the cheapest brands of every item she had to buy. Coffee was a thing of the past, she confided matter-of-factly, as she purchased special offer teabags and Maggie, knowing better than to offer to buy some, had begun to realize how unaware she was of the poverty that existed in her own city.

  As she stood staring out of Devlin’s high-rise window she reflected a little ashamedly that she was one of the lucky ones. So her husband had cheated on her! So a friend had let her down in the past! How trivial these problems might seem to many of the people here who were living in grinding poverty with no future to look forward to. At least Maggie knew she could go back to work if she had to. If she left Terry she’d manage – of that there was no doubt!

  ‘Make the most of what you’ve got and stop whingeing, Maggie!’ she murmured, easing her pregnant bulk into bed and snuggling down into its comfortable warmth. Minutes later she was asleep. Around midday, having slept soundly for the first time in almost two years, Maggie woke to find Devlin grinning at her, a tray in her hands.

  ‘You’d better give that child inside you some nourishment,’ her friend smiled warmly. Maggie gave a catlike stretch and an appreciative sniff. Her morning sickness had not lingered beyond three months in this pregnancy and she was hungry. Her eyes surveyed the attractive breakfast on the tray before her.

  ‘It’s a “Cruiser Breakfast”,’ Devlin grinned.

  Maggie grinned back at Devlin’s reference to a holiday Caroline, Devlin and she had taken – a cruise on the Shannon – the year before she got married. It had been a fantastic holiday. The three of them had hired a luxury cruiser for the week and sailed from Banagher to Clonmacnoise and then up to Athlone, across Lough Ree and up to Dromod. They had had a ball. The weather had been terrific and at times they had felt they were on the Mediterranean, passing little islands in the lakes, with the sun shimmering and glittering on the water. They had read and fished and giggled and ate. And at night they would pull into a riverside berth, join up with other cruisers and have barbecues and sing-songs until the early hours. The only thing was, they were eating like horses, the healthy fresh river air giving them enormous appetites.

  Each morning whoever was on cooks for the day would serve juice, cereal, tea, toast, rashers, sausages, mushrooms, puddings, and crispy fried bread. Having polished off this repast they would then attack the ‘Sin bag,’ so called because in it reposed occasions of sin, most injurious to the figure. Yorkies, Crunchies, Twixes, Flakes. The ‘Sin bag’ was replenished at every riverside stop . . . and was never empty. All three of them had returned to Dublin half a stone heavier!

  Maggie smiled at the wonderful memory. ‘That was a great holiday, wasn’t it? We were all so young and carefree and untroubled.’

  ‘The best ever! We’ll do it again some time!’ Devlin agreed, plumping up a pillow at Maggie’s back. Maggie surveyed the loaded tray.

  God! Devlin must have spent a fortune. Honestly, she was the best in the world.

  ‘Eat up, Maggie,’ Devlin admonished her. ‘It’s great having you here. It’s just like old times!’

  They spent a lovely day together. They went into town and rambled around the shops, not looking for anything in particular, just enjoying the freedom of having time together. On their way back to Ballymun, Devlin asked Maggie to stop at the library so she could get some books for the rest of the weekend. As she made her selection, Maggie strolled around the impressive single-storeyed building with eyes wide. Libraries had certainly changed since she was a child, she mused, as she observed scores of children painting, playing chess and Scrabble, or just reading in the brightly decorated airy children’s section. As she studied a large well-filled notice board displaying information on a variety of subjects, she thought that maybe when Michelle and Michael were older she would enrol them. She noticed a door that was marked ‘Community Information Centre.’ If she decided to leave Terry she’d need the services of such a centre. What on earth would her entitlements be? Fishing in her bag, she took down the times of opening and noted with surprise that the Centre held free legal and financial advice sessions as well. It was good to know such services existed. Then another notice caught her eye.

  ‘Would you like to write? Join our Writer’s group!’ Well that was an idea! The memory of a half
-written novel came to mind. She should take up her writing again. A writer’s workshop would be a great outside interest. She was too consumed with her children and the home. It was time she started discovering her own identity again.

  ‘Ballymun has a nice library,’ she remarked to Devlin as they drove to the flat in the light drizzling rain.

  ‘I’d be lost without it!’ Devlin replied frankly. ‘I can go there to borrow a painting, cassettes, magazines, books and I can read the papers too, all for nothing. But Mollie says that because of the cutbacks the services provided have gone down badly; and you could see for yourself the staff on the desks are run off their feet. Did you see that gang of kids? Imagine having to put up with that all day? The kids here love the library but I suppose they’ll start charging eventually and for the likes of me and them, that will be disastrous. Believe me Maggie I’m an expert on free entertainment and you won’t get much better than this.’

  ‘Don’t you ever feel bitter?’ Maggie asked, sometimes wondering how Devlin, who had had so much, could cope so well with living on the breadline. It annoyed Maggie sometimes, because she felt that if Devlin wasn’t so stubborn about letting her father and Kate help her, she could have been out of Ballymun long ago. She was going to say it to her too some day.

  Devlin grimaced. ‘Maggie, sometimes I wake up cursing the day I was born. But,’ she shrugged her shoulders, ‘it’s a mess of my own making. Things could be much worse. I have a beautiful daughter, good friends, an independence of sorts and a roof over my head, and I’ll get out of here some day.’

  You can say that again, if Kate and I have anything to do with it, Maggie thought to herself. She insisted on buying a steak for each of them for dinner plus a bottle of sparkling wine. ‘My treat!’ she said in tones that brooked no argument. She cooked a delicious meal and they enjoyed every morsel. By now there was a full blown gale outside. Yesterday’s sun was a memory, and as the rain lashed against the windows, they sat mellowed by wine, giggling at memories of the good times in the past.