by Alex Coleman
“Did you visit him much? In … where was it?” “Portobello. I did at the start. The place was a tip, as I knew it would be. I wouldn’t have thought it was possible that Robert could have found a house-mate who was even lazier than himself, but he managed. Derek something-or- other, worked in the call centre. He could barely make a cup of tea. At least Robert knew how that miracle was achieved. He had an awful girlfriend around then too, worse than Jemima even. I can’t remember her name, but she was hideous, all tattoos and piercings and ripped stockings. I asked her what she did for a living once and she said, ‘Drummer’, just the one word. I said, ‘Bummer’.”
I waited for Melissa to say something supportive or at least smile at my joke, but she didn’t.
“I stopped going over there in the end,” I went on. “There was no point, he barely spoke to me. Sighed a lot, as usual but no real sentences. Gerry used to go on his own sometimes, you know, take Robert out for a pint.”
“PINT!” Niall yelped. I jumped a foot.
“Yes!” Melissa said, as if the boy had just suggested a cure for cancer. “That’s right. Pint!”
“Next thing you know,” I said, getting back on track, “Chrissy’s talking about moving out. Anything he could do, she could do better. I did blame him for that, I must say. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help it.”
Melissa nodded. “Have you any idea why, though? Why he was being like that?”
“I used to think it was because his acting hadn’t taken off and he was just frustrated. But when he got the part in The O’Mahonys, he all but thumbed his nose and stuck out his tongue at me. I said he’d never get anywhere and look at him now kind of thing. Then he went right back to treating me like dirt.”
I fell silent. My problems with Robert had always sounded intensely dramatic in my head. Now that I was talking about them out loud, they seemed so dreary.
“Did you say he’d never get anywhere?” Melissa asked. “No! Well, I warned him that it was an unstable business.
Lots of times.”
“Hmmm. And you’ve got no idea why things went wrong? Not a clue?”
My back went up again. “No. Why?”
“Well … you don’t think maybe … you were being a bit of a nag?”
I blinked in surprise. “Me? A nag? No. Why? What do you mean? A nag?”
“Maybe not. I’m just guessing. It sounds to me like you did a lot of complaining, that’s all. Didn’t like his friend Steven –”
“You called him a tosser yourself!”
“I’m not saying he wasn’t one.” She gave me a challenging look, then continued. “You didn’t like his friend Steven, you didn’t like his girlfriend, didn’t like his haircuts or his music and all that rubbish, didn’t like his choice of career –”
“It was hardly a career, working in a call-centre!” “I meant acting.”
“Oh.” I could think of nothing else to add.
“You didn’t like his flat, didn’t like his flat-mate, didn’t –” “All right, I get it,” I said. “I think you’re wrong.”
She stared at me. I stared back.
“Okay,” she said amiably. “So I’m wrong.” “Okay then.”
“Fine.”
“Good.”
We sat in silence for a few moments. I wondered if Melissa was thinking what I was thinking – were we on the cusp of a proper row? Was all the progress we’d made about to be undone? For my part, I was determined that it would not be.
“Still,” she said then. “All’s well that ends well, eh?” “I don’t follow you.”
“I mean, he’s all right now, isn’t he? With you?”
“No,” I said. “God, no. Friday morning, over the Jemima thing, he was effing and blinding at me like he was getting paid for it.”
“Oh. But he turned up yesterday, didn’t he? He seemed very concerned, I thought.”
I had to be careful here. “I was glad to see him. And yes, he did seem concerned. So maybe there’s hope.”
Belatedly, Melissa seemed to join me in realising that we were uncomfortably close to talking about our own fledgling reconciliation. I was greatly relieved when Niall threw down the tattered remains of his colouring book and announced that he wanted to hear a story.
“A story?” Melissa said. “I don’t know. Have we got any storybooks?”
“Yes!” Niall cried. “LOADS!”
“And who’s going to read this story? Mummy or Auntie Jackie?”
“It’s been a while since I read a story,” I said nervously. I didn’t know if I was talking to the child or his mother.
Niall stared from one of us to the other for a few seconds, then fixed his gaze on me.
“YOU read it,” he said and pointed at me like that bloke from the army recruitment posters.
The tale Niall chose, after ten minutes of deliberation, was The Three Little Pigs. He handed me the storybook (which was a replacement for another volume that he’d flicked through, then thrown against the wall) and sat down at my feet. I smiled down at him and he frowned back. Just for a moment, he reminded me of Gordon Ramsay.
“The Three Little Pigs,” I began. “I KNOW,” Niall fumed.
I glanced at Melissa. She gave me a little you’ll-be-fine nod. “Once upon a time,” I read, “there was a mother pig who had three little pigs. The three little pigs grew so big that their mother said to them, ‘You are too big to live here any longer. You must go and build houses for yourselves. But take care that the wolf does not catch you.’”
I paused to clear my throat. Quite honestly, reading the words “Once upon a time” had caused a bit of a lump to develop. It had been so long.
“Hurry UP!” Niall screeched. That cleared the lump at least.
“Now, now,” Melissa said. “You have to be patient, sweetie.”
“The three little pigs set off,” I continued. “They said, ‘We will take care that the wolf does not catch us.’ Soon they met a man who was carrying some straw.”
Niall waved his arms around, and not in a good way. “What is it?” I asked him, trying not to sound annoyed. “Where’s the wolf? I want the WOLF!”
“The wolf doesn’t come into it just yet,” I said. “He’ll be along in a minute,” Melissa added.
Back to the book I went. I read quite well, I thought, all things considered. I did separate voices for each character and really went to town on my huffs and puffs. Right throughout, I was aware that Niall was growing ever more displeased, but I tried to tell myself that it was the subject matter and not my delivery that was upsetting him; pigs number one and two do get eaten, after all. The wolf was just beginning to realise that pig number three was a smarter cookie than his dead brothers when Niall suddenly blew his top.
“The WOLF!” he roared, his face crimson. “I want the WOLF!”
“The wolf”s here now,” I said. I didn’t want to make the child feel stupid, but there was no other way of putting it. “That was him blowing the houses down, remember?”
Niall made fists and stared at my feet. “The other wolf,” he said slowly. “The wolf in the dress. I want the wolf in the DRESS!”
Melissa cottoned on before I did. “No, honey, that’s a different story. That’s Little Red Riding Hood.”
“Ah,” I said. “Case of mistaken identity. Tell you what, we’ll finish this one and then I’ll read you that one. Is that okay?”
It was a more than reasonable offer, I thought.
Niall disagreed. He screamed and flopped onto his side as if he’d been shot. Then he curled up into a ball. Before I knew what was what, he was in the grip of a full-on episode.
“Brilliant,” I said under my breath.
Credit where credit is due – Melissa was dead right: an episode was nothing like a tantrum. There was a time, about twenty minutes after Niall had issued his first scream, when I thought we might need to call an ambulance. Or the Guards.
“No need!” Melissa roared over the din. “I used to think that too. But it�
��ll pass, don’t worry. He’ll burn himself out in a minute. Well, maybe not a minute but soon enough.”
The screaming was just as she had described it, only worse. And louder. It was accompanied by a frantic flailing of all four limbs which eventually became so threatening that we decided to restrain him. It took us quite a while to get him onto a sofa, where Melissa sat on his ankles while I held him by the wrists. He bucked and writhed and snapped his teeth at the thin air, periodically roaring something semi- comprehensible about the wolf in the dress.
“It’s nice having someone to help,” Melissa shouted. “I can’t get him into this position on my own.” She was perfectly calm, engrossed in the task at hand as if it was baking a cake or sewing a button on a shirt.
“He’s very purple,” I yelled, nodding at Niall. “Yeah. That goes away, don’t worry about it.”
I must have relaxed my grip then because his right hand broke free and, before I could even gasp, he’d grabbed the TV remote control from the cushion beside him and thrown it into the fireplace. The fire wasn’t lit, but that was hardly the point.
“Niall, honey!” Melissa cried. “That’s not very nice!”
I caught his wrist again before he could do any more damage, but he clearly felt that he had scored a little victory; for a couple of seconds, the screaming was replaced by giggling. Then he screwed his face up into the same tight little knot of anger and went right back into it. God knows how long he would have kept it up for if he hadn’t been interrupted by his father’s return home.
Colm had gone into his office to “catch up on some paperwork”. I’d never trusted that phrase. It always sounded so obviously bogus to me, like “I walked into a door” or “The cheque’s in the post”. I assumed that Colm had been doing what Gerry did when he used those words; he’d been in the pub, watching football in peace. On the other hand, the man was a cardiologist. For all I knew, he was drowning in life-or- death paperwork. Either way, his arrival had a remarkable effect on his son. When he stuck his head into the room, it was as if Niall had been suddenly unplugged. He went limp, then stretched and, to my astonishment, yawned, as if he’d just come to the end of a vigorous but enjoyable work-out.
“What’s going on here then?” Colm asked.
“Usual,” Melissa said, arching her back. “I’ll put the kettle on.”
“KETTLE!” Niall yelled and clapped his little hands in glee.
“Yes!” Melissa said and tousled his hair. “Kettle!”
Colm dropped his briefcase and sat down beside his son. “Were you being naughty?” he asked. Niall shook his head; Colm nodded his, then turned towards me and said, “So – how are you?”
Apparently, the crisis was over.
“I’m fine,” I said. “But I’m not sure about …” I nodded down at Niall.
“Ah, he’s grand,” Colm said. “Aren’t you, soldier?” “I’m a GRAND,” Niall declared.
“Tea or coffee?” Melissa asked and moved towards the kitchen. I got up and followed her.
“Coffee for me,” Colm said cheerily.
In the kitchen I closed the door behind me. “Uh …” Melissa turned to face me.
“Is that it?” I asked.
“Is what what?” she smiled. “With Niall …”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean … no discussion, nothing?” “Discussion?”
“Well … don’t you think it’s something you should … investigate?”
Her smile became fixed. “We’re used to it at this stage, Jackie. I know it looks alarming, but you saw for yourself – he snaps right out of it.”
“But you’re the one who calls them ‘episodes’. You gave out to me a while back when I used the word ‘tantrum’.”
She flapped a tea-towel. “That was ages ago. I was a bit panicked that day, that’s all. As I say – I’m used to them now.”
“I know, but –”
“There’s no need for a ‘but’, Jackie. Honestly.”
I regrouped and tried again. “There doesn’t seem to –” “You know what it is,” Melissa said, folding her arms (an ominous sign, I thought). “You haven’t been around very young kids for a long time. You’ve forgotten what it’s like, that’s all.”
“I haven’t forgotten anything,” I said coldly. There was an uncomfortable silence. “Look,” I said then, “I don’t mean to be critical –”
“So don’t be.” “I just think –”
“Jackie. Let it go.”
The words hung over us for a moment. “Okay,” I said slowly.
“Good. Now – tea or coffee?”
* * *
I had a sudden urge to cook that night. It had been a few days and I was missing it badly. Melissa wasn’t keen on the idea at first. She did a lot of (unconvincing) flapping about my status as a guest in her house, but I persisted. Eventually, she took me aside and confessed that she didn’t want me showing her up in front of her husband. I wasn’t sure how to react to that. Backing down, I thought, would be tantamount to saying Yeah, you’re right, I’m much better than you are – you’d never live it down if Colm got a taste of my cooking. Digging my heels in, on the other hand, would make me look like an insensitive clod. I thought about it so hard and for so long that Melissa eventually took the decision out of my hands. If it meant that much to me, she sighed, I could go ahead – but I was to do my best to make mistakes. I spent a happy hour cobbling together a mushroom risotto and while it was far from my finest work, I was reasonably chuffed with the results. So was Colm. He started insisting that I write down exactly what I did for Melissa (he put great emphasis on the word “exactly”), but when she caught his eye, cleared her throat and raised her chin in one fluid movement, he suddenly seemed to lose his voice. Niall was impressed too. After much prompting from both parents, he gruffly allowed that his dinner was “a nice colour”.
Gerry rang again that night, at almost exactly the time he’d called on Friday. This time it was Colm who answered. When he told me who was on the phone, there was a deeply weird moment where I almost bounded out of my chair, eager to tell him that I was making progress with Melissa and, as an unexpected bonus, with Robert too. But I stayed put, telling Colm to explain that I wasn’t in the mood to talk and would be in touch soon. I could see that he wasn’t happy about being the bearer of bad news, but fair play to him, he trooped off and did as I had asked.
It was a little awkward when he came back. The next topic of conversation seemed to have been chosen for us, but no one, least of all me, had any stomach for it. We pushed our coffee cups around in silence for a while, periodically smiling to each other as if to say, This is great, isn’t it? Nope, no tension here. Nosirree. Finally, Melissa leaned across the table and said she had an idea. Why didn’t we all go to the zoo the next day? She’d been promising to take Niall for ages, Colm wasn’t working, and I … She ran out of steam at that point, but only for a second. It would be good for me, she eventually declared; it’d blow the cobwebs away. Frankly, I’d been half- thinking of going to work and had been wondering how to bring it up without setting Melissa off on the Jackie’s-not-that- bothered track again. This was a much better idea; I couldn’t remember the last time we’d been on any kind of outing together. It might be the perfect opportunity to consolidate our progress to date. On the down side, however, it would mean prolonged exposure to Niall. He’d been set off on one by the wrong kind of fictional wolf – who knew how he’d react to a real-life tiger? There was only one way to find out, I guessed.
CHAPTER 15
On Monday morning, I didn’t even hear the phone ring before Jenny picked it up. Her lightning-fast response to the merest hint of a beep was something I’d noticed before while sitting miserably in her office. She seemed to pride herself on it, as if it was proof of her dazzling efficiency. “Jennifer Moore,” she said in a somewhat sultry tone of voice. I guessed she was waiting for a call from someone she fancied. The “Jennifer” was new too. “Jenny?” I said. “It’s Jac
kie O’Connell.”
“Oh. Jackie.” There was considerable disappointment in her voice. “Let me guess –”
“I won’t be able to come in today,” I said, not wanting to give her the satisfaction.
“Really?”
“Yes. Really.” “Headache, wasn’t it?” “Yeah. Awful.”
“That’s a pity. Poor you.”
“Yeah.” There was something coming, I could feel it. “Headaches can last for hours, can’t they?”
“That’s right.”
“Or a whole day, sometimes.” “Bad ones, yeah.”
She paused for dramatic effect. “I didn’t know they could last for four days.”
Attack, I decided immediately, was the best form of defence. “What are you implying?” I growled. “Are you accusing me of faking it?”
“No, no –”
“I can hardly see, Jenny. And if you must know, it isn’t the same headache, I’ve had several over the weekend. They’ve been coming and going.”
“Okay, Jackie, keep –”
“I must say I find this very offensive. Does Trevor know you carry on like this?”
Trevor was her boss. In my three years at First Premier, I’d laid eyes on him maybe four times.
“Now wait a minute –”
“No, you wait a minute. I’m sick, Jenny, I’m sick and I’m not coming to work. You can take it that I won’t be in for several days, in fact. I’m … badly … weakened. And next time I call in like this, please do your best to be sympathetic and if you can’t manage that –”
“I’m sorry, Jackie, okay? I apologise.”
I did some heavy breathing, pretending to be recovering my composure. “Fine then,” I said. “Believe me, I would rather be going to work than spending all day in a darkened room vomiting into a bucket.”
I was quite pleased with that bit. As I’d hoped, it killed off any interest she had in continuing the conversation.
“I have to go,” she said feebly. “Hope you get better soon.”
“So do I,” I said and hung up – just in time too. A smile had started to form and if I hadn’t got off the phone, she would surely have heard it in my voice.
