Three Wise Men, page 34
‘Very convenient,’ observes Gloria, although she’s impressed by the self-loathing that’s palpable in him. ‘Kate takes a clout on the ear and you say, “My oh my, I don’t know what came over me, it’ll never happen again.”’
He shrugs. ‘Pitiable, isn’t it? I almost expected her to call the guards, I wouldn’t have defended myself if she did. I deserve to be punished, it was brutish and primitive of me. All I can say about the incident, and I’ve replayed it and agonised over it a thousand times, is that I snapped. I saw yet another person leaving me, walking out of my life, and I couldn’t handle it. You see it’s fine for me to turn my back on other people but they’re not allowed to do it to me.’
The bottle is drained now, he takes his glass to the tap and fills it with water, emptying it in one gasp. ‘And there was something else about Kate,’ he picks up his thread again, standing at the taps. ‘About the relationship between her and me – it was extremely … physical. Perhaps that’s how I allowed myself to overstep the mark. It’s an explanation of sorts.’
Jack turns a tortured face towards her and Gloria feels the baby kick. She’s suffused with an urge to soothe the suffering on such handsome features.
‘Quick,’ she calls him urgently, ‘put your hand on my stomach.’
He approaches her bulge with some trepidation and lays a hand gently on her tent-like checked shirt, fluttering with the force of Junior’s blows. His eyes are incredulous.
‘So what happens now?’ asks Gloria, as he clears the dishes and prepares to wash up.
Jack shrugs. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. We threw away the rulebook when we started this baby, I think we’ll have to make it up as we go along.’
She attempts to stand so she can dry the dishes.
‘Sit where you are, Glory,’ he orders. ‘Drip-drying’s more hygienic.’
She cradles her chin in her hands and watches him immerse plates in suds. Glory, she likes that. Much better than baby girl.
‘Make it up as we go along,’ she muses. ‘What would you like to see happening?’
He faces her. ‘I’d like to see us become friends so we can both be there for our baby.’
‘It’s not our baby.’
‘But it could be. I want to be here for it.’
She considers the prospect. ‘You mean like a friendly uncle, or a godfather?’
‘That would be grand, Glory.’
‘It might be hard on Kate, she has to take precedence over you, I depend on her.’
‘I’ll make my peace with her,’ he vows. ‘Don’t ask me how but I’ll do it.’
‘And then there’s Eimear, I’m planning to ask her to be godmother.’
‘Making my peace there might be more difficult,’ he admits. ‘But I’ll give it a lash.’
‘This is Twilight Zone time,’ she murmurs.
‘So’s turning up on my doorstep and asking me for a few million sperm,’ he points out.
‘True. It’s so weird, we might just pull it off.’
CHAPTER 40
Gloria’s mother’s been on the phone to her, she’s pitifully upset because Mick’s going around the town making unpleasant remarks about her daughter. Gloria asked for specific details and when her mother told her she had to admit they were true. In theory. It’s just the spin he’s putting on them.
Granted, Eimear’s estranged husband is the father of her baby, and yes, he’s also the man who had an affair with Kate which shattered his marriage. But Mick’s making it sound as though the three of them are hens in a barnyard and Jack’s their rooster – and it’s not like that. The trouble is, he’s not hurting her by dredging this up in every pub in Omagh but it’s distressing for Gloria’s family.
She despises him for dragging her family into their dispute but she also realises he must be hurting like fury to react in this way. She supposes he must be counting her dates, it has to rankle that she’s close to – what’s the word her mother uses? – confinement. Perhaps that’s why the vitriol is spilling over. They had so many happy years together, herself and Mick, if only they could wave a magic wand and eradicate the bitter ones.
But there are no spangly sticks with stardust leaking from them and her attempts at apology or explanation were dismissed by him as self-justifying. She noticed a little pool of phlegm at the corner of his mouth as he spat the words out.
‘He hates me, he genuinely hates me,’ she realised.
Gloria sighs. It’s a miserable feeling, knowing there’s someone out there in the world who harbours an enormous grudge against you. Who isn’t willing to let bygones be bygones. She realises everybody can’t like her but it’s particularly indigestible to recognise that a man who once loved her now detests her like no other. Loving and loathing, two sides of the one coin, isn’t that what they say? The omniscient ‘they’.
Kate rings, foreshortening her wallow.
‘You’ll never guess what Mick is saying about us, Kate – he’s claiming we belong to a kinky sect which advocates sharing one man among all the women.’
‘Wistful thinking, he’s hoping to be invited to join the cult,’ she hoots.
‘You’re not taking this seriously,’ Gloria complains. ‘My mother and brother and an assortment of aunts and uncles have to live in that town.’
‘Ten-minute wonder, they’ll have found someone else to talk about by tomorrow. But Mick McDermott should know better than to drag me into this, I’ll have a few words for him when I see him. Bridie’s just told me you rang yesterday, I was out all afternoon and I’m only catching up on phone messages now. Everything all right?’
‘Fine, couldn’t be better, apart from feeling like an elephant and having a drunk with a flick-knife tongue for an ex-husband.’
‘Poor little Glo. No point in reminding you, I suppose, that you longed for a belly the way some of us crave rocket rides to the moon.’
‘No point at all. Besides, I don’t think it was a gut the size of Rockall I was particularly yearning for, a baby by special express delivery would have suited me just as well.’
‘Sure the worst is over. The stork is poised at the starting gate, even as we speak, tiny bundle of joy in its beak. You know, like in Dumbo. Now, are you eating properly, shall I drop over with some Chinese food later? You have to keep your strength up for labour, I’ve been checking EveryWoman in preparation for this Awfully Big Adventure. Apparently I’m to smuggle Mars Bars into the delivery suite to keep you going and a bottle of vodka for myself. Doesn’t leave a smell, the nurses will never suspect.’
‘I’m sure you didn’t read that in Every Woman,’ says Gloria.
‘Honest to God. It’s a page-turner, it makes labour sound so captivating you want to rush out and get yourself impregnated, just to try it out.’
‘You could be in luck there, Kate. Apparently all you have to do is wait until Midsummer’s Eve and find a vegetable patch.’
‘Potatoes or carrots?’
‘I don’t think it matters.’
‘You’re cracking up, Glo,’ she says kindly. ‘You’re obviously hallucinating for lack of food. Man cannot live by winegums alone.’
‘Actually,’ Gloria begins, and trails off. ‘Actually,’ she tries again, ‘Jack O’Brien called by yesterday and cooked a meal.’ The words tumble out.
Gloria waits – but Kate’s waiting too.
‘You were right about him, Kate, he may not be as black as he’s painted.’
‘Well,’ Kate says. ‘You certainly know how to spring a surprise.’
‘It was yourself told me to give him a second chance.’
‘I did, Glo, but you were set so adamantly against him that I never thought you would. Your chances of patching anything up with’ Eimear after this are about as likely as breathing life into the Dead Sea Scrolls.’
‘I’m just willing to be friends with him, I’m doing it for the baby’s sake,’ protests Gloria.
‘Tell it to the marines. And you do know he hits women, don’t you? Of course you do, you saw my face when I had a rainbow painted across it.’
‘Kate, I don’t understand,’ wails Gloria. ‘You told me to give him the benefit of the doubt, now you’re reacting as though I’m inviting a sabre-toothed tiger into my cat basket.’
‘You’re right,’ she sighs. ‘Obviously some unresolved issues between Jack and me are muddying the water here. Of course you and Jack should try for an amicable footing, it’s the sensible course of action. And I don’t think it was justifiable but I don’t harbour any ill-will over the punch – it’s not ideal but there are more painful ways to end a relationship. So good luck to you both. But don’t count on Eimear taking you up on your offer to be godmother; you may have to make do with me.’
‘Kate, you’re so understanding. When did you get to be so mature?’
‘Crept up on me, I guess. Hey, Jack and Mick must be the two men in your life Mrs Gilmartin mentioned, one who bears you malice and one who wants to do good turns.’
‘Could be,’ Gloria agrees. ‘Does that mean you’re about to jet off to the Tropics in fulfilment of her predictions for you?’
‘No such luck. Unless there’s an equatorial climate in Waterford, I have to go down there on business tonight.’
‘Thought you were bringing over emergency supplies of monosodium glutamate?’
‘Can do, before I set off.’
‘No, I’ll find something in the freezer,’ Gloria tells her. ‘You may as well hit the road straight after work instead of detouring here. Besides, I have the second half of Pillow Talk on video to watch again.’
‘You taped it?’
‘Certainly, I want to watch the scene again where Rock Hudson implies he might be gay so Doris Day is obliged to abandon her Ice Queen pose and initiate lovemaking.’
‘Kind of ironic, under the circumstances,’ Kate comments. ‘Don’t record over that video, Glo. Better head off now, the calls are banking up. The Seventh Cavalry will be with you tomorrow, hold out as best you can until then.’
‘You’re bringing reinforcements?’
‘Only me, my sweet, but I can pretend to blow a bugle if it makes you feel any better.’
CHAPTER 41
The letter arrives as Eimear juggles drinking orange juice with overloading her eyelashes with mascara on a Monday morning. It’s on crested notepaper and comes from her old Latin teacher, Miss McGinn.
It reads: ‘Dear Eimear, the teaching staff at Loreto Convent are delighted by your literary success and are following your career with great interest. We always knew you’d make your mark on life. The head nun, Sister Xavier, has asked me to invite you to speak to our sixth-formers who could learn a great deal from you. Perhaps you’d contact me if you can fit us in on your next visit to Omagh. Wishing you all the best, Yours sincerely, Maura McGinn.’
Bingo! At last she’ll see inside the staff-room, none of the pupils were ever allowed past the door. What they could detect of it looked intriguing: armchairs, wreaths of smoke and locked cupboards stacked six-deep in bottles of the hard stuff, or so Kate claimed.
‘I wonder if Amo-Amas-Amat McGinn is still doing a line with that ancient accountant Ronan Donnelly, or did he abandon her on the grounds that he came, he saw but he couldn’t conquer,’ Eimear conjectures.
This is her chance to find out – her marketing guru Josie says she’s to accept all invitations, no matter how minor, because they lead to book sales.
Her imagination revs into overdrive – if she plays her cards right, maybe Mna will end up on the school syllabus. But a hint of reality creeps in and Eimear realises it would have to be a doctored version – some of the poems are too, er, adult for textbook consumption.
Naturally Christy will want to come with her, he can’t bear to let her out of his sight. Eimear is finding his worship suffocating. He’s hounding her to allow him to move in with her, he’s always leaving clothes and CDs and other possessions at the cottage as though it gives him squatter’s rights. One of these days she’ll pile them all into a cardboard box for him to take away – but not just yet, it might be construed as provocative.
Eimear lifts the photograph of her that Christy took only last week on the Ha’penny Bridge, its curving metal roof framing her like an upturned heart. She likes Christy and it’s flattering that he permanently wants to take pictures of her but she wishes he’d give her a moment’s warning to straighten her hair instead of shoving the camera into her face and snapping. He carries a photograph of her around in his wallet – Jack didn’t do that. And Christy never notices other women when he’s with her, unlike some people.
But he seems suspiciously keen on commitment – a handful of nights of passion and he wants them to set up home together. She’s at a loss to know why women are meant to feel complimented when men suggest they move in with each other.
Something bizarre has happened since she was single first time around, men have become model citizens, desperate for responsibility. Lads used to hyperventilate at the thought of being tied down, now they suffer more severe panic attacks at the idea they’re not tagged and accounted for.
‘Whatever happened to “I like you and you like me, let’s hang out, go drinking and shag”?’ Eimear asks the photograph.
Christy’s even planning an expedition to Ikea in London, she marvels. Not a trip to London to go to Harvey Nicks or take in a few shows, oh no. They’re supposed to go across on the ferry, dump the car somewhere north of Wembley, spend hours in a warehouse full of Scandinavian plastic objets d’art and then crouch doubled up on the homeward trip to make room for blinds which don’t fit Irish windows and toasters too small for Irish bread.
Eimear likes her home as much as the next woman, she has a new one to decorate after all, but she draws the line at organising holidays around a trip to Ikea. All Jack expected blinds to do was pull down to shade his hangover; Christy requires his to make a statement.
‘What kind of statement, Christy?’ she asked him.
‘A statement of who I am,’ he replied.
‘Who’s that then?’ she asked him.
‘Why are you being difficult?’ he replied.
Maybe she is a difficult woman, but so what. She’d rather be awkward than amenable – she’ll never be anybody’s trophy girlfriend again. She used to be teased about being fussy, Kate and Gloria always said she was too preoccupied with having a perfect home, but Christy is borderline obsessive. It’s enough to put anyone off housework; Eimear looks at the smears on her television screen and decides they’re staying.
He scolded her for the way she washed the dishes the other night – she didn’t rinse the suds off before placing the plates on the rack.
‘There’s such a thing as gravity,’ Eimear explained. ‘The suds will slide down all on their own and then they’ll fall off.’
Christy becomes anxious when she’s snotty and backs down instantly but it’s increasingly intolerable all the same. Imagine noticing in the first place. She wouldn’t mind but they were her own plates in her own drying-up rack in her own kitchen in her own house. The litany of Christy’s shortcomings reminds her of Kate, with her complaint about Jack drinking HER champagne in HER bedroom in HER flat. Eimear smiles, then realises to her surprise that she’s just thought about Kate without an accompanying smarting sensation.
There’s something else about Christy that’s bothering her: she’s noticed he has a hygiene fixation about everything to do with the house – not the car, it’s a wasteland. But he won’t touch the TV remote control without wiping it with a tissue first and she actually caught him squirting disinfectant down her 100 once. And he bought her one of those anti-bacterial sprays the other day. Eimear plots revenge: she’s going to spit in his coffee one of these days when he isn’t looking, that’ll give him something to chew on in the germs department.
Christy has his uses, though, she’ll grant him that. He sorted out the ancient electricals in the cottage and he was able to recommend a builder who’s converted her bathroom just the way she wants it. He charged her a grand more than she expected and didn’t return for two weeks to make good but it’s done now and money well spent. Even if the rest of the house is a no-go zone she can retreat to the bathroom and sink into luxury.
Eimear’s noticed Christy prefers it when she’s helpless and he can take charge. Sometimes she’s willing to go along with it and sometimes she’s not. He was furious when she used her own plumber instead of the one he suggested and once when she turned around in the cinema and asked the man behind to stop kicking her seat, Christy said she should have told him and he’d have sorted it out. As if she didn’t have a tongue in her head. Eimear didn’t let him sleep over that night.
But she has to go out with somebody. Of course she does, she can’t sit at home on her own. And Christy is very keen on her, which is reassuring. He keeps telling her she’s gorgeous; Eimear needs that, her confidence took a hammering with Jack. If it weren’t for Christy she’d have to resort to evenings out with Nuala Ryan from the library, who buys all her clothes in House of Style in Thurles. Eimear keeps volunteering to go shopping with her and organise a makeover but Nuala reacts as though she’s on a mission to corrupt her.
‘Nuala Ryan takes a close interest in corruption,’ remarks Eimear to the empty room. She’s always seeing evil around her – she’s convinced the Italian and Spanish language students about town are setting a bad example, with their exposed tummy buttons (some pierced).
‘You see what I’m reduced to for a friend,’ complains Eimear. ‘Christy’s foibles pale by comparison.’
She wonders what she should wear to this question-and-answer stint with the sixth-formers. A sharp suit to indicate she’s a career woman who means business, a trendy number so she doesn’t come across as antiquated or something hand-painted and poetic?
