Friends Like Us

by Siân O'Gorman

  Melissa was failing in her attempt to be magnanimous, but she was really furious. She usually led the weekend features section, as she was, after all, chief features writer, and the Saturday issue was their department’s most important day. She pushed a handful of crisps into her mouth.

  ‘These count as one of your five a day, don’t they Jimbo?’ she asked.

  ‘Aye, if they’re cheese and onion. It’s the onion that makes them healthy.’

  They shared the packet, like an old married couple eating chips at the seaside, licking their fingers.

  ‘Another one of those… whatever it is. Is it even a drink?’ Jimbo pointed at her glass, the lone lemon looking as appropriately desultory.

  ‘Yes, Jimbo, water is a drink. You can have it all on its own as well. It’s not just a mixer for whiskey, you know?’

  Jimbo pulled a face as if to say, ‘I have no idea what you are saying’, and stood up to get a round in. A voice interrupted.

  ‘I’ll get them. My pleasure for the hardest working writers in Ireland.’ They looked up. Liam was standing there, smiling his infuriating smile. ‘G&T for you, Melissa? Pint, Jimbo?’

  ‘She’s on the water. The bubbly kind,’ said Jimbo.

  ‘Melissa!’ Liam pretended to be shocked. ‘And you a journalist. What is the world coming to? They’ll be asking for your NUJ card back next.’

  They reluctantly shifted up in their seats to make room for him, annoyed that their moaning session was at an end. Liam returned with the drinks balanced in his large hands, packets of bacon fries in his teeth.

  ‘Not still sulking are you? Surely you are loftier than that?’ he asked Melissa. ‘Or maybe not?’

  She scowled unprofessionally. ‘It’s a good story. It should have been the lead.’

  He looked at her and… shrugged. ‘It’s all right. I mean, it’s not Watergate. It’s not even Pat the Hat.’ The latter was last month’s big scoop, broken by the Evening Express, their rival newspaper. It had involved a senior politician who had a penchant both for headwear and young men while extolling the primacy of the heterosexual home.

  ‘Maybe not. But it still deserves Page One.’ Melissa began to doubt herself. Maybe it wasn’t that good. Maybe her story about a couple who had been denied council housing because of complaints on the estate wasn’t such a good story. Maybe she was losing her touch. She didn’t know what to say.

  ‘Melissa…’ he grinned at her, showing that he knew he was annoying her, ‘I like you. I think you are a great girl…’

  ‘A great girl?’ She raised an eyebrow. She knew he was goading her, but she was too exhausted to resist the bait.

  ‘Woman, then. And you, Jimbo…’

  ‘A great man?’

  ‘I am sure you are, Jimbo. I’m sure you are. You’re mother, I imagine, would be the first to concur.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be too sure of that,’ said Jimbo.

  ‘But…?’ said Melissa.

  ‘But?’ Liam took a long soak from his pint glass.

  ‘But what?’ said Melissa. ‘I’m great, Jimbo’s great, the paper’s great. We’re all fecking great. But where’s the but?’

  ‘But…’ he said, ‘we are not selling papers. The point of our very existence is to sell papers, but we are failing at that quite spectacularly. And we are not selling them. Our circulation is going down. And so, my dears, things have to change. Which I know no one likes and no one finds easy.’ He was smiling at them. He wanted them to understand that this world they were in was changing and they had to find a way of changing with it. ‘We need to increase our on-line presence and stories about people on the breadline are not click-bait.’

  ‘We know that,’ said Melissa. ‘But you place so much emphasis – too much I would say - on entertainment and not the important things…’

  ‘What?’ Liam was laughing now. ‘Is it the fact I’m from the West of Ireland and not the posher parts of Dublin, like the rest of the media mafia?’ He shrugged again, looking distinctly unbothered.

  ‘I’m from Belfast,’ said Jimbo. ‘There’s nothing fancy about Belfast.’

  ‘Well, here’s to us outsiders,’ said Liam, clinking his pint to Jimbo’s. ‘Here’s to Belfast.’

  ‘No… it’s not that, it’s…’ Melissa tried to get the conversation back on track but struggled to explain herself.

  ‘Melissa, listen to me.’ Liam put down his pint. ‘This paper is fecked. This country is fecked, if you hadn’t realized. And if you have been working all fecking week doing a shitty job and then on Saturday, your glorious day of leisure, your paper of choice, decides you should read about people with even shittier lives than you, then that’s a bit fecking depressing, don’t you think?’

  ‘No…’ But she didn’t sound convinced. ‘I…’

  ‘Well, believe me it is. It’s pretty fecking depressing to read about the hovels that some people are forced to live in, and their crappy lives. It may be important, we all know that. We know we should be reading about people on the breadline, but we don’t actually want to. And that’s why we are not only haemorrhaging readers, my dear bleeding heart liberal, we, as a newspaper are barely alive. We are on life-fecking-support. People, after five wrecking, horrible days of cleaning toilets, driving buses, or being shouted at by pricks like me, they want a bit of… what do you fancy folk here in Dublin 4 call it… is it razzmatazz? A bit of fun, a bit of enter-fecking-tainment. Is that too much to ask?’

  ‘No.’ Her voice was quiet.

  ‘You nice Dublin 4 girls, you don’t know what it’s like to throw a shovel on your back and break your bollocks for some bollocks on a building site, do you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well I do, and the last thing I would want to read about is fecking lesbians. I don’t care about their rights, not here, not on this paper. It’s called escapism. And that’s what we want – it’s what we need – in the paper if we are to survive. I mean, for feck’s sake, hardly anyone reads fecking newspapers anymore and they certainly don’t want to read anything serious. We’ll do it, but it’s not our lead.’

  He took a long drink of his pint. He put it down and smiled broadly at them. ‘Just had to get that off my chest,’ he said. ‘Feel better now.’

  ‘So glad for you,’ said Melissa. ‘So what do you want me to write about? What do you think would get people so amazingly excited that they would actually get off their arses and buy the fucking paper?’

  ‘Oh I don’t know. Just not fecking lesbians! Anything but lesbians… you’re obsessed with them! Every fecking copy has a lesbian in it…’

  ‘They don’t! Jesus! Anyway…’

  He wasn’t listening but he was smiling. ‘Now, here’s an idea. What about going off and having a fecking vajazzle – or whatever it’s called – and telling everyone about it.’ He laughed at his own brilliance while Melissa perfected her most withering of looks. Jimbo took a large slurp of his pint.

  ‘I’m a journalist. Not a… a… an idiot,’ she said.

  ‘Yes… but, and this bit is crucial, people would read it. It’s called entertaining people.’

  ‘So what are we leading with? What’s this idea of Lulu’s?’

  ‘Lulu’s done a piece on sexting.’

  ‘Sexting?’

  ‘You know, when you send a photograph of your genitalia to someone and they forward it on to all their friends and it ends up on Facebook and you lose your job. It’s all the rage. That never happened to you, Melissa?’

  ‘No. No it hasn’t.’

  ‘Jimbo?’

  ‘Not lately,’ Jimbo admitted. ‘But I’m hoping I won’t have too long a wait. I don’t want to deprive the world of my magnificent tackle.’

  Liam laughed loudly but Melissa squirmed in her seat. She didn’t want to be reminded of Jimbo’s tackle and she didn’t recall anything particularly magnificent about it.

  ‘People will read it, Melissa,’ said Liam, appealing to her. ‘It has everything: lurid, funny, and gossipy. You would fuc
king read it! And by Sunday it’ll be yesterday’s entertainment and the world moves on. People work hard, Melissa, let’s just give them a bit of fun. Is that too much to ask?’ He did big puppy-dog eyes. ‘Please?’

  ‘Liam, you’re wrong. People need the serious stuff, the important things…’

  ‘Yes, but not if you want readers. Bring me something fun, Melissa. Just don’t make it about lesbians.’

  Melissa finished her water. ‘Gentlemen, if you’d excuse me. I will see you in the morning but I think I’m going home. And by the way, Liam, I’m not from fecking D4.’

  ‘So where are ye from?’

  ‘Glenageary!’

  He laughed. ‘Same thing! Same thing!’ he hooted.

  25

  Eilis

  In the bed at the hospital was Mrs O’Malley, Charlie’s mother. Oh dear, Eilis thought. I hope she’s okay. Poor Charlie. He’d be so worried. She suddenly was desperate that he might be there with her and looked around but no handsome head lurked anywhere.

  ‘Mrs O’Malley? You’re back again?’ Eilis smiled at the small and frail figure on the bed, a sheet pulled over her, her handbag on the chair beside her. She’d just been seen by Mr Kapil and was now waiting for tests.

  ‘I can’t keep away it seems.’

  ‘No, we have that effect on people… we’re the place to be.’

  The old woman tried to smile.

  ‘So…’ said Eilis, reading the notes, ‘you fell again. We’re going to have to do something about that. We’ll have to have a special bed for you.’

  ‘I know, dear. Sorry to be such a nuisance.’

  ‘Not at all… we just want to make sure you are all right. You lie there and we’ll take care of you.’

  Eilis examined her, checking her eyes, holding her hand. ‘You’re freezing,’ she said. ‘We need to get you an extra blanket.’

  ‘Do you know…?’ The old woman spoke so quietly that Eilis leaned in to hear her. ‘Do you know…? I was just thinking of politics…’

  ‘You were? Why on earth?’ Eilis almost laughed.

  ‘You see…’ Mrs O’Malley was almost whispering. ‘My father said never to trust the other side. We were Labour, you see, through and through.’ She smiled and nodded at Eilis, suddenly animated. ‘And I didn’t. I didn’t. Even when the man I had agreed to marry was revealed to be from the other side.’ She smiled at the memory. ‘He had lied to me. Would you believe it? Lied for months, knowing I wouldn’t have anything to do with the likes of him. I thought he was one of us. Until the day he confessed all.’

  ‘And what did you say?’

  ‘I was shocked. Of all things! I had no idea what I was going to tell Daddy. I couldn’t go through with it. We were in Howth for the day, taking a walk on the hill. And he looked at me, his face as white as his Sunday shirt, the colour all at his feet. I said, no I couldn’t and no I wouldn’t. I told him never to call on me again. And I walked away.’

  ‘And you left him there?’

  ‘Yes. We had been courting for sixteen months and we’d had a fine old time of it. He was handsome, and tall, a beautiful dancer. So light on his feet he was. We loved dancing together. Hours and hours we would dance. But he was one of them. I walked all the way to the train station to take me back to town, and I was crying. Tears rolling down my face. And I found a seat. And just… just as the train to Connolly was pulling away, a man sat down beside me and put a bunch of heather on my lap. Picked from the hill.’

  ‘It was him?’ A nurse stood behind Eilis trying to get her attention. She had the sense of this whole hospital, the accidents, the emergencies, the pressure all taking place outside this curtain. She resisted the pull… just for a moment, she would listen to someone, take the time. ‘He followed you?’

  ‘We were married the following week,’ said Mrs O’Malley. ‘I always said we were a mixed couple. We agreed on everything except politics. It was a happy forty-two years. My Sean. He passed ten years ago.’

  ‘You were lucky.’

  ‘I was. Sean was a good man. Even though it took me six years to tell Daddy he wasn’t Labour and it took him another six years to come round. He did though and the two were great pals.’

  ‘And you had two children,’ Eilis prompted.

  ‘We didn’t think we would,’ Mrs O’Malley admitted. ‘We thought that maybe God had other plans for us. Anyway we had each other. And then, our darling Kate was born. And her brother a year later. Sean was a wonderful father. Perhaps you remember my son, Charles. He was with me last time. Kate, you see, was in Cork. But Charles was there that night.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I do remember him. I bumped into him in his shop. I was buying a tree. Is he…’ she tried to be as casual as possible. ‘Is he coming in to see you?’

  ‘I think Kate will be calling in for me,’ said Mrs O’Malley. ‘I’m ready to die, doctor. Join my Sean. I’ve been long enough without him. I’m ready.’

  ‘Please don’t say such things,’ objected Eilis. ‘You are going nowhere. Your family would obviously be lost without you. You are going to be fine.’ She smiled, trying to show that she meant what she said and that they weren’t just white lies. ‘I’ll be back later to check on you, Mrs O’Malley.’ She turned to Becca who was just passing. ‘Becca, is there any chance you could get Mrs O’Malley a cup of tea?’ It was the least they could do.

  ‘Consider it sorted,’ said Becca.

  And then Eilis saw him. Walking down the ward with a bunch of flowers was Charlie.

  ‘There’s my son,’ said Mrs O’Malley, sounding surprised.

  He saw her and came over. ‘Mam? Are you okay? What happened? You fell again. Was it the path outside the house? I knew I should have swept up the leaves.’

  ‘Hush now,’ she said. ‘I’m alright. Just ask this nice doctor here.’

  Charlie looked at Eilis then, who was standing there, wondering if she should go or stay. What would normal protocol be? Stay and have a quick chat or run away and risk being thought of as weird and rude.

  ‘Hello,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘We’re making a habit of this, aren’t we?’

  ‘You and me?’ she said.

  ‘Well, that as well but my mam and me. Hospitals. I swear none of us have ever been in and out of hospitals before this year and now we’re regulars. Aren’t we Mam?’

  ‘I thought Kate was coming,’ said Mrs O’Malley.

  ‘We just thought it was easier if I came,’ he said, looking sideways at Eilis. ‘Kate’s so busy and I just thought it made more sense for me to… you know…’ he smiled, blushing slightly, ‘so I’m here.’

  ‘And I’m being looked after by the kindest doctor,’ said Mrs O’Malley. ‘She says I’m am ready to go home, as soon as possible.’

  ‘Well, maybe tomorrow. We just want to keep an eye on you,’ said Eilis. ‘I’ll ask Mr Kapil and see what he thinks you should do. He’s waiting for test results.’ She could sense Charlie close to her and she was trying to focus on what she was saying.

  ‘So, how are you feeling, Mam?’ he said.

  ‘Grand, thank you Charles.’

  Eilis looked up at Charlie and their eyes locked in together, like two strong magnets finding each other. She felt this force surge through her body, her whole being charged with a sense of rightness, that something strange and profound and wonderful was happening and as though she had known him all her life, she felt she knew everything about him. He was looking at her as though he felt it too. She looked away, breaking the connection.

  ‘I don’t know who to give these flowers to,’ she heard him say to his mother. ‘You or the doctor? For looking after you.’

  ‘Yes, do give them to her, Charles,’ said Mrs O’Malley. ‘This lovely young woman, here. So young and a doctor, isn’t it wonderful? In my youth, I would never have dreamed of such a thing. None of us would.’

  ‘Yes, but Mam, you did other things,’ said Charlie, taking her hand. ‘Like your garden, your beautiful garden.’

  Mrs O’
Malley smiled. ‘I wish I could still do what I used to do with it. But my hands…’ she held up her un-held hand which was bent with arthritis. ‘It’s not so easy these days.’

  ‘You should have seen it, Eilis,’ he said. He looked straight at her and again the electric charge between them was so strong, she could have boiled a little. A remotely controlled kettle at that.

  She forced herself to look back at him, desperately trying to seem normal and casual but she was feeling overwhelmed.

  ‘It was filled with colour, all year round. Nothing ever died when Mam was around, all her plants grew just for her. We had an apple orchard, and a rose garden and a greenhouse where we grew melons.’

  ‘Hush, Charles,’ said Mrs O’Malley. ‘You’re making it sound like it was a stately home.’

  ‘Every inch had something growing. It was such a beautiful place to grow up in. Kate and I loved it. We used to have an open day for the neighbours and people would pay fifty pence to come in and all the money went to the homeless. One year, we made 650 pounds. And everyone had a taste of melon. It was the talk of the neighbourhood for years.’

  Mrs O’Malley was laughing. She shook her head at Eilis. ‘That’s the way he remembers it but it wasn’t always like that. There was the time when the birds got into the greenhouse and ate all the grapes on the vine or when the storm blew down the apple trees.’

  Eilis looked up and she saw Charlie was watching her.

  ‘Will you take them?’ he said, holding out the flowers. ‘For you. From me.’

  ‘No, you’ve already given me flowers.’

  ‘Please? I grew them myself.’ He smiled at her. ‘In my greenhouse.’ And he winked at his mother and Eilis found herself smiling back and blushing. This was ridiculous. She felt as though she was skipping through the pages of a Mills & Boon novel… and she was starting to enjoy it.