by Claire Allan
It hadn’t helped that at approximately midnight the night before she had woken from her sleep to the very real memory of one of her last nights out with Seán.
It had been Christmas and Seán’s law firm was having its annual party. Niamh and Caitlin had travelled down to Dublin to shop for the perfect dress in Brown Thomas and had spent a weekend relaxing in a nice hotel, having every spa treatment under the sun until they returned to the North exfoliated, tanned and waxed to within an inch of their lives.
“You don’t mind me coming with you?” Caitlin had asked as they made their hair appointments over a cappuccino and slice of cake.
“Don’t be so daft. Of course we don’t mind.”
“I don’t want to be a gooseberry,” Caitlin had said, flicking her dark hair from her eyes.
“You’re no worse a gooseberry than two toddlers,” Niamh had laughed. “Besides, we can’t have you sat on your own all night and Seán will most likely be mingling. I’ll need you to keep me topped up with champagne and gossip. I’m so out of the loop these days. I never thought I would say it, but I miss the office.”
“Like hell you do,” Caitlin laughed. “Living it up in your fancy house in the country. What I wouldn’t give!”
And they had laughed – a lot.
On the night itself, Niamh had looked stunning. She didn’t need Seán to tell her that, but it was nice when he did. He had wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her neck before running his hands down her chocolate-satin dress.
“Can we not just stay here instead?” he murmured, reaching up and cupping her breasts.
She had to admit it seemed a shame to have a gorgeous hotel suite to themselves all night and not get proper use of it, but she also knew that horny as her husband was, he was never going to miss the chance to network with his law-firm pals.
“I wish,” she had murmured, turning around to kiss him. “But you know we can’t. Besides there is no way we can leave Caitlin to deal with Kevin all on her own. She’ll eat him alive.”
Seán had laughed, a deep throaty laugh and had kissed her hard on the lips before lifting his jacket and leading her out of the hotel room.
The night had been magnificent. She had laughed with Caitlin, had too much champagne to drink and had slow-danced with Seán under the mistletoe. When their dance was done he had taken Caitlin out for a dance and she had sat, dizzy with drink, watching them sway around the floor together, laughing and hugging and looking deep into each other’s eyes and right then she thought nothing of it – because she trusted them both, implicitly.
* * *
Niamh hadn’t told Connor and Rachel that a trip on a mini-bus was even on the cards because she knew she would have to give in to their constant whining and unending renditions of “The Wheels on the Bus”.
She had already been tortured into dressing them up. Connor was a very cute Bob the Builder while Rachel was swanning around the house as Cinderella. They were hyper enough without dosing them up on sugar and e-numbers she thought wryly – but then, as she had been such a fecking grump the last week, surely they deserved a little treat.
Picking up the phone she dialled Robyn’s number. Her friend had been available to take her many calls morning, noon and night since she had found the Post-it. And while Niamh knew that Robyn wanted to go and have it out with Caitlin in person she respected Niamh’s wishes enough to keep her cool.
“Hey, babes,” Niamh said on hearing her friend’s warm hello.
“Hey, yourself. How are you?” Robyn asked, her voice thick with concern.
“Well, I’m still here. I’ve not killed myself or dug him up just to kill him again or anything crazy like that.” Niamh forced light-heartedness into her voice. She wasn’t in the mood for a deep and meaningful conversation and, even if she were, the presence of Bob and Cinders singing a rousing rendition of “A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes” would have made it impossible anyway.
“That’s always a positive thing,” Robyn answered. “But have you hired a hit man for yer one yet?”
“What? And have the two of them living it up together in the afterlife? Not a chance.”
“It’s good to hear you sounding so calm.”
“You mean, not sobbing hysterically down the phone at you for once?” Niamh said, embarrassed at the memory of just such a phone call the night before.
“Well yes, but you know if you need to sob at anyone, I’m your gal.”
“Thanks, Robyn. You’re a dote.”
“So what can I do for you? Given that you want me to hold off on the assassination for now.”
“Tell me to wise up and take my children to Derry with the Loonies for the fireworks. They could do with a bit of fun.”
“Wise up and take your children to Derry with the Loonies. They could do with a bit of fun. And so could you, for that matter.”
Fun? Niamh could barely remember what that meant but she wasn’t – not today anyway – going to let the dark moods win. She certainly wasn’t going to have fun sitting in while the children slept upstairs so she nodded to the phone before saying, “You know, I will. Thanks, Robyn.”
“And if it all gets too much for you, I’ll be at home so you can call in. Just do what you can, pet. You need some form of distraction.”
“I know,” Niamh said “And I’ll phone you if I need you, but fingers crossed I can manage one night without a total breakdown.”
She said her goodbyes and sat her two children down to tell them the most exciting news ever: that they were going, in a bus, to see the fireworks. At once they screamed – that perfect high-pitched squeal of a toddler – and ran to her to hug her close.
“Oh, Mummy, I’m so ’cited,” Rachel said, jumping up and down in her dress while Connor started to run in wild circles around the living room, ending in a skid along the floor on his knees with his hands punched in the air in victory.
Niamh couldn’t help but laugh with them and she set about getting their things ready and setting out for Ruth’s house where they would all go together to see the fireworks.
They walked through the village, hand in hand, and sang “The Witches of Hallowe’en”. By the time they reached Ruth’s the children’s cheeks were rosy from the cold and their eyes lit up with excitement at the sight of the rather ramshackle bus in the driveway.
Taking a deep breath, Niamh knocked on the door. I do deserve a bit of fun, she told herself.
The door opened to Ruth, resplendent in a witch’s costume complete with long, crooked nose. Connor screamed with delight while Niamh cringed. Oh Christ, she thought, I hope I’m not the only one in civvies. Her heart sank further when she saw a tiara-topped Ciara dancing in the living room with a mini-Dorothy.
“Come along, my pretties!” Ruth beckoned with a curl of her finger and the twins ran into the house to join in the dancing.
“Are you okay, my sweetheart?” Ruth said, this time in her normal voice.
“I’m not too bad. I’m determined not to talk about it. Tonight is just for fun.” Niamh thought she saw something – the briefest flash of sadness – across her friend’s face but just as she was about to ask Ruth if she herself was okay there was a cheer from the living room and Connor ran back out.
“Mummy, do you think Bob the Builder is a Munchkin because I want to be a Munchkin?”
“I’m pretty sure he is,” Niamh replied and followed her son back into the living room vowing that, should she get the chance, she would try and have a quiet chat with Ruth later. It was only fair, given how she had howled over her new friend the week before and, indeed, how she had almost thrown up on her while sopping drunk just a few nights before.
Niamh breathed a sigh of relief to see that Liam wasn’t dressed up either. “Glad I’m not the only Hallowe’en Grinch,” she said with a smile as she stood watching the children dance with Ruby and Ruth.
“Can we go yet?” Poppy asked, breathless with excitement.
“Yeah, can we go?” Connor chimed in, cl
osely followed by Rachel who was enthralled by the glittery plastic tiara on Ciara’s head.
“Not just yet,” Ruth answered. “We have to wait for Mrs O’Neill.”
“Detta,” Poppy said authoritatively. “She said I was to call her Detta and I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if Connor and Rachel called her Detta too. She’s lovely. She made my dress.”
Niamh was impressed. Her sewing skills amounted to little more than a slightly wonky apron in Home Economics at school – and even then the teacher had laughed at her efforts. Caitlin and Robyn had both been outraged and had offered to egg the teacher’s car if need be. That was when their friendship had still counted for something – when being a good friend involved pegging eggs at a teacher’s house rather than shagging her husband.
“Penny for them,” Liam said jovially and Niamh realised she had the most unimpressed expression on her face imaginable.
“Never mind me . . . just thinking of lions and tigers and bears . . .”
“Oh my,” he chimed and she found herself laughing.
“Well, in a very non-stalkerish kind of way, it’s nice to see you here. We all missed you on Tuesday.”
She nodded, and smiled back, “I think I missed everyone too.”
Ten minutes later she had forgotten her inhibitions and was, from memory, telling the story of “Room on the Broom” when Detta O’Neill walked through the door, resplendent in an emerald suit, which set against her curls looked stunning.
“I couldn’t get the Wizard to come here himself,” Detta said, “but I thought, you know, in the interests of gender equality and all that, this might do the job.”
Niamh sat there, mid-sentence, and gawped at Detta, impressed she had gone to such efforts and when she saw her children’s faces light up she realised that Robyn had been right all along. She needed this – some fun without having to think about what had happened and without having to be “Yer one whose husband was killed in that accident” for a little while. And her children needed it too – a day of not having to miss their daddy or wonder why Mammy was crying again.
Winking conspiratorially at Liam, she laughed. “We are the two odd ones out then. Do we look better for it or complete eejits for not bothering?”
“I’m not sure,” he laughed back, “but I’m already dreading next year.”
“Ach, look at you two like two big grumps,” Detta laughed. “You could at least have been a Cowardly Lion or something!”
“Hey, it was enough of an effort to get Bob and Cinders here sorted,” Niamh said and then wondered if she sounded curt.
She was well aware that she had been biting the heads off people a lot these last few months – people who, she knew, were generally just trying to help, but who she had thought were passing judgement on her life. But looking around, everyone was still smiling and laughing with her so she hadn’t put anyone’s nose out of joint just yet. But, as she reminded herself, the night was young.
“Right, well, you know,” she said, “I think we should be making a move soon because the traffic can be a nightmare getting into the city centre and we want to be near the Guildhall for all the fun and games so we don’t get stuck in the crush.”
“Well, Niamh, as you are from the big smoke yourself I’ll take your advice,” said Liam. “All aboard everyone!” And he led the way to the rickety bus outside.
Taking a deep breath and climbing on board with the children, Niamh told herself she was not to focus on that stretch of road too much. She was having fun. She would have fun – by hook or by crook and this was going to be the first night in a long time that she was just a mammy. Pure and simple.
“Okay,” she said, sitting down and painting on a smile, “who knows ‘The Witches of Hallowe’en’?”
“Ooooh, me, me, me!” Poppy chirped before launching into an impressive rendition, which had all the grown-ups fake-quaking in their boots.
“Oh, I can’t wait till Ella is that age and a bit of craic,” Ciara said to Niamh as they watched.
“I know what you mean. They say the twos are terrible, but threes are pretty hard going too. I can’t wait till I tell them what to do and they actually listen.”
Ruth choked back a laugh, “God, girls, I hate to break it to you, but I’m still waiting for that. Only Matthew pretends to listen to me, the other two are in a world of their own.”
“No,” Ciara laughed, “don’t tell me that! It’s supposed to get easier.” Turning to Niamh she said, “Is it too late to ask for a refund?”
“Ach, you wouldn’t wish her away for the world. I remember when my two were that little. God, they were hard work – the two of them – but we were about as happy as we had ever been.” Almost as soon as the words were out, she wished that she hadn’t thought of how happy she had been because she didn’t know if it had been a lie. And that, she realised, made her very, very unhappy.
Pushing the thoughts from her mind again – and vowing to get ratted when the whole thing was over – she begged Poppy to sing again and watched with a lump in her throat as the twins joined in.
25
Resentment against James and fears for the children had allowed Ruth’s deepest darkest thoughts to surface and swarm about in her head uninhibited. But, if anyone had noticed her inner turmoil, they’d at least had the good grace not to mention it, she thought thankfully as they drove up to Derry.
No one, seeing her in her finest witch’s costume, could have guessed at the feelings that were threatening to overwhelm her tonight. Because, no one – not one person apart from her and James – had known what had gone on in her marriage.
He hadn’t hit her before they were married. Her joy on her wedding day was real. Her love for him had been too. It was only afterwards, when they were both exhausted as first-time parents, that he let his temper get the better of him. Eimear had been bawling all night and they’d both been exhausted. Being young was no consolation. With a job to go to the next day James wasn’t in the form for an interrupted night’s sleep and Ruth was worn out from the day in/day out routine of being a new mother to the world’s most demanding infant.
“Sort that baby out,” James had grunted as he’d rolled over to fall back to sleep.
Ruth had felt tears prick her eyes. All she wanted was a full night’s sleep. She had done every night feed to allow her husband a good rest, but should Eimear dare to wake him he was like a bear with a sore head. Of course he’d only be awake until Ruth got up and quietened the baby down, while she was the one walking the floors downstairs, heating bottles and burping their daughter until her eyes were so heavy with sleep she became terrified she would fall asleep and smother her baby.
That night her spirit could take no more.
“Honey, can you do it? I’m so tired,” she’d said, her voice breaking.
She felt his body stiffen, his breathing growing deeper, but there was no response and Eimear was still crying.
“Please honey,” she pleaded, reaching out her hand to him and stroking his back gently.
He turned around and in what seemed like one swift movement he grabbed her wrist – hard – and pushed her back on the bed. His face close to hers, but all hint of intimacy missing, he told her that Eimear was her responsibility and if she didn’t sort the baby out right there and then she could spend the night, along with her child, in the garden. He had pushed her then, so that she fell out of the bed and crashed to the floor and as she fed her daughter shortly afterwards, feeling the bruising on her wrist and her legs, she wondered what had just happened.
They were on edge, of course they were. Their happy existence of just Ruth and James had gone out the window and they were bound to get snappy, weren’t they?
He hadn’t meant it, he hadn’t meant for her to fall from the bed and when she climbed in beside him later he reached over and wrapped his arm around her.
“Sorry,” he muttered and fell back to sleep while she lay in the dark and promised to try harder to be a good wife.
The n
ext time was a few weeks later. Eimear hadn’t been crying that time, but Ruth had been exhausted again from a day dealing with her. When James came in from work she offloaded her complaints to him until he had asked her to give his head peace. She had sat down, her pride hurt and her temper flaring. She tried to bite back her frustration but a day dealing with a colicky baby had her at the end of her tether.
“So sorry to interrupt your busy day with worries about my sad little life here looking after our baby – who has been crying all afternoon. I’m sorry that I thought you might be interested or supportive or give a damn about what I’m going through.”
“I asked you to give my head peace,” James said, his fists clenching.
“And I asked you to listen and to give a shit about us!” Ruth shouted, her temper finally breaking. But as her words reached a crescendo, she was silenced by a blow to the side of the face. It was so strong it knocked her against the wall. It was so strong it took the breath from her body and it was a good ten seconds before it came back. Gasping, unable to believe what had just happened, she stood up. Her cheek throbbed, and there was a ringing in her ears. All of this however was eclipsed by the thumping of her heart and the sobbing of her husband.
“Oh God, Ruth, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
She walked across the room to where he was sitting and crouched down beside him. Wrapping her arms around him she soothed his tears as he promised never, ever to do it again.
He’d lied.
Each incident had left invisible bruises which would remain long after the lurid purple and yellow had disappeared.
