by Roddy Doyle
Her sisters.
Where's bloody Leanne?
She'll have to go to work. She goes to the hall and gets her jacket – Jack's. She goes back into the kitchen. She drinks the last of her tea. She sips it standing up.
Her sisters. They're all in Carmel's kitchen. Paula goes there straight from work. Denise is after joining a gym. She tells them this as she leans over to get the wine bottle. Denise and Carmel drink wine these days.
—Why? says Carmel.
—Why what? says Denise.
—Why have you joined a gym?
—To get fit, says Denise.
—What age are you? says Carmel.
—What's that got to do with it?
—You're, what? Forty-eight?
—Forty-seven.
—So? says Paula.
—What's the point? says Carmel. —She was never fit.
—I used to run, says Denise.
—You stopped that when you were twelve.
—Thirteen.
Denise doesn't smile. It's not funny yet. But Paula thinks it's hilarious.
—So, says Carmel. —Thirty-four years later you've decided to get fit. Are you not a bit late? I don't like this one much, by the way, she says, nodding at her glass.
That's allowed because the wine came out of her own bottle. She hasn't opened Denise's yet. Paula brought a large bottle of Ballygowan. She had to bring something. And she brought as well – she feels a bit of a wagon for doing it – three peeled carrots, in a plastic bag.
—One each? Carmel had said.
—Not really, said Paula. —They're kind of for me.
—They look interesting, said Carmel. —What are they called?
—Fuck off, Carmel.
—Carrots. Isn't that it? I've a bag of them in the fridge over there. I knew I'd seen them before.
Now Carmel is still at Denise.
—Well? she says. —You are a bit late, Denise. Aren't you?
—You're never too late, says Denise.
That's real Denise; she can be hopeless.
—Sure, Jesus, Denise, you'll be dead before you're fit. Even if you go to the gym every day. If you live in the fuckin' place. Which one is it anyway?
—Lay off her, says Paula.
—Let's be fuckin' realistic here, says Carmel.
Paula watches her. Carmel mightn't think much of the wine but she's fairly knocking it back. Tut-tut.
—Get real, ladies, says Carmel. —We're finished.
—Speak for yourself.
—Our get-fit days are over. We're falling apart.
And she holds up her glass.
—Cheers.
She looks at Paula.
—And you with your fuckin' carrots. Between the pair of yis; Jesus.
She nods at Denise.
—Have you met Ms Midlife?
—You're just jealous, says Denise.
That's another real Denise line.
—Of what?
That's a real Carmel one.
Denise looks at the kitchen door, making sure it's closed. She moves her chair an inch closer to the table. She looks at the door again. The house is empty. It's just the three of them.
When Denise speaks she's not looking at Paula or Carmel.
—Just because I've met someone, she says.
Paula watches Denise redden before she really understands what she's just heard. Denise's face – excitement, fear.
Jesus Christ, she's having a fling.
Paula looks at Carmel. It's news to Carmel too.
—What's this? says Carmel.
Denise shrugs.
Paula's stunned. She hasn't felt this way – slow, stupid, outside the meaning – since she stopped drinking.
Her sister is having an affair.
Denise still hasn't spoken. Neither has Carmel.
Her sister, whose husband isn't dead, is having an affair.
She looks at Denise. Denise is coming down from the shrug. Her hand goes for her glass. She's shaking a bit.
Paula decides to get in before Carmel. It'll be easier for Denise.
—You're seeing someone?
Denise nods. She gulps. She hides behind the glass. Then she puts it down on the table. She still holds it.
—A fella? says Carmel.
Paula can't help it; she laughs. But it's not fair. Carmel makes it sound so silly. Fella. Denise is running around with some sixteen-year-old. They're snogging behind the chipper. He has his hand up her jumper.
It's cruel.
But Denise is wise this time. She just nods.
Carmel looks at Paula. Paula can tell. Carmel needs to know if Paula knew about this before her. She'd love to cheat –Yes! I did! I fuckin' introduced them! She'd love to break Carmel's heart.
She shrugs.
Carmel looks at Denise.
—So, she says.
Denise giggles. She does. It's the only word to describe the noise that comes out of Denise. Paula could kill her; she's not sure why. She'd love to be Denise right now and she wouldn't be fuckin' giggling.
Carmel sighs.
—Tongues and all, yeah? she says.
Paula doesn't laugh this time. She looks at Denise.
—Tongues and all, says Denise.
And the tongues have just gone across her eyes. That's what it looks like to Paula. Or a hand, fingers have gone down Denise's back. She sits up – she arches, the bitch – in the kitchen chair. She looks as if she's going to lick her lips.
—Well, says Carmel. —We'd better hear it. Tell your Auntie Carmel.
—Where do I start? says Denise.
For fuck sake.
—Your eyes met, says Carmel.
—Sneer away, says Denise.
Paula hasn't seen Denise like this before. She's dangling it all in front of Carmel. Carmel bites; she always has. And Denise doesn't care.
—In the gym? says Carmel.
Denise shakes her head.
—Wrong, she says.
—Look it, Denise, says Carmel. —We're not going to spend the rest of the night guessing.
—Parent-teacher meeting, says Denise.
—There's romance, says Carmel.
But Paula thinks it's lovely.
—He sat—, Denise starts.
She sits up, nearly acting it out.
—We were sitting beside each other.
All those years, Paula didn't go to those parent-teacher meetings. She'd been too afraid to go. Afraid of what she'd hear, of how she looked. Too busy; otherwise engaged. She'll go to the next one.
—A teacher?
—No! says Denise. —A parent. A father, like. A dad.
—We know what a father is, Denise.
—There was a queue at the English teacher's desk and I'd seen all the other ones. The other teachers, like. And Anthony's very good in school —
Anthony's her youngest, a few years younger than Jack. A nice kid, but a bit thick – Paula thinks.
—So I didn't mind waiting. I knew that whatever she
– his teacher – was going to say about him would be good and I'd go home on a high.
—And you did, says Carmel.
—I didn't go home at all, says Denise.
She giggles again.
—Well, I did.
—You're not a complete slut, so, says Carmel.
—Yes, I am, says Denise.
What the fuck is happening here?
Denise sits up again; she keeps sliding. And Paula sits up. And – Paula watches her – so does Carmel. There's a man in the room.
—But I was bit late, says Denise. —Home. But not that late. We went for a drink, just.
Anthony doesn't go to the local school, the same school as Jack. They sent him to the Christian Brothers, even though there aren't any Brothers left in the school. They're all dead or in jail. Paula remembers Denise saying about it being better suited to Anthony's abilities. Paula knows the school. She goes past it every Wednesday, on the bus, on her way
to her Wednesday house. She tries to remember, to see, the nearest pub to the school. She tries to see its inside. The lounge. A corner. A lounge girl, the tray.
—How'd it happen? she asks.
Denise looks at her, surprised, disappointed it's Paula asking and not Carmel. Then she realises that Paula is serious.
—Well, says Denise. —He said —
—D'you come here often? says Carmel.
Denise looks caught, confused – ashamed.
—He didn't, did he?
Denise nods.
—Yeah. But it wasn't — . It was the way he said it. He was funny.
—It's a great line.
—Feck off, Carmel.
—He was being ironic, says Paula.
—Yeah, says Denise. —And it really was funny. And anyway, we just got talking.
—What about?
—I'm not sure.
—Yes, you are.
—Our boys.
—Lovely.
—Just at the start. Anyway, what else would we have talked about?
—Football, the Peace Process, Charles and Camilla.
—I didn't go there for it to happen, Carmel, says Denise. —It just —
—You weren't on the prowl, no?
—No.
—How long was the queue?
—Long enough, says Denise.
Good girl.
—He was just —
She looks at Paula.
—Nice.
Paula nods.
—We just chatted. And he was in front of me —
—Nice one.
—And he went to the seat at the teacher's desk and I must say now —
But she doesn't say now. She doesn't say anything. She holds her glass. Paula thinks she's going to smash it, her fingers are so stiff. Paula's going to lean over and take it from her. But Denise breathes out.
—I liked the look of him, she says.
—The look of him, says Carmel.
—Yeah.
—What? His —
—Don't cheapen it, Carmel, says Denise. —Use your fuckin' imagination.
And Paula sees it; they all sit up again. The synchronised fuckin' sisters.
—And he had his few minutes with the teacher. Miss Murray. She's very nice. And he got up and I sat in the place where he'd been.
—Nice.
—And Miss Murray said her bit. He's doing really well. She says he'll sail through his Junior Cert.
—Good, says Paula.
—Yeah. And I said thank you very much. I was thrilled, you know yourself.
Paula nods.
—And I got up and I was finished then. I'd seen them all. And all the teachers were in the one big room, at tables. The assembly hall, I think they call it. And I was going to the door. And there he was.
—At the door.
—Yeah.
—Blocking your way.
—Yeah. No. Just there. I could've walked past him. I was going to. I mean. I was on my way home. But I —
She stops. She puts both her hands on the table. She moves her glass.
—Something, she says. —I slowed down, I suppose. I didn't stop. But I slowed down a bit. I didn't decide to. Not exactly.
She isn't drunk at all. Paula can see that.
—But I did slow down. So I'd go by him slowly. He smiled. Like, a goodbye smile, you know. See you next time. Who'd be a parent? You know, like?
Paula nods.
—And I smiled back. And he opened his mouth, like he was going to say something. And I said, What? And I stopped. And he said, Sorry? Like that, you know. And we laughed.
—Ah.
—And I was blushing; Jesus.
She's blushing now. Paula wants to hug her. And kill her.
—And he said would we go for a drink. But, like. Hesitantly. Like, only if you want, if you have the time. He wasn't used to it. You could tell.
—Used to what? says Carmel.
—Going for drinks with women. Asking them.
—That's nice.
—Well, it was.
—You're his first slut, so.
The timing's perfect. The oven goes ping. It's the bell, the timer. They laugh. Paula leans across and pats Denise's hand.
Carmel stands up.
—Here we go.
She puts her face down to Denise's.
—Finger food.
And that sets them off again. Denise takes her glasses off; they're steaming. She wipes her eyes. She smiles at Paula.
—She's a wagon.
Carmel bends down, opens the oven door.
—Jesus.
The heat – Paula can see it – sails out, up, past Carmel's face. Carmel steps back. The smoke alarm goes off. It's on the ceiling, over the oven. Paula doesn't have a smoke alarm at home.
—Give us the brush, there, says Carmel.
