A Gift to You (19 page)

That had been the pattern throughout their marriage. They’d had one child, Garry. A quiet, introverted, lonely boy who’d left home as soon as he’d done his Leaving Cert.
He’d gone to live in a flat in Drumcondra when he’d got a job in the Civil Service. He’d married a girl from Phibsboro, Alison, and they had one child. Imelda didn’t see
much of them. They’d rarely come to visit when Ben was alive: Christmas, Easter that was it. And Imelda couldn’t blame them. Who’d want to come and try and make conversation with
the old grump sitting by the fire?

Well, Ben was dead and she was glad of it. She was in the ICA Ladies’ Club now. She went bowling, and flower arranging and they were always going on little trips to places of interest. She
was having the time of her life and she was going to make the most of it as long as she could. But today it was miserable, the weather had changed and she was staying in bed. Imelda sipped the
coffee she’d brought back to bed and nibbled on her toast and marmalade and settled herself against the pillows to read the latest copy of
Hello!
that had some lovely pictures of the
Queen and Kate and the Royal Family.

‘You’re a stupid cow, that’s what you are!’

‘And you’re a scummy bastard. I wish you’d get the hell out of here and never come back.’

‘Yeah, well, maybe I will, ya bigmouth bitch . . .’

Ciara McHugh pressed her thumbs into her ears. They were at it again, shouting and roaring and ranting and raving. She hated them. Why couldn’t they be like other parents? Why did they
have to be fighting all the time?

Why couldn’t her mother leave her dad alone? She was always nagging him. Nag, nag, nag. He’d just ignore her and that would make Alison worse and then she’d say something that
would get him going and then they’d be yelling and shouting at each other and her dad’s face would go dark with fury and Ciara was afraid he’d hit her mother. It frightened her.
Sometimes when they fought she’d run up to her bedroom and lie on her bed and her heart would be pounding so loudly she’d think it was going to burst out of her chest.

Ciara heard the door slam so hard that it seemed to shake the whole house. She heard the engine of the car rev. That would be her dad. He’d drive off and not come home for hours after a
row. There was a dull silence in the house. Soon her mother would come upstairs to Ciara’s room and start giving out about Garry. She’d tell Ciara that Garry was selfish and cruel and
that he’d never given her any support in their marriage, not like their best friend, Mike, gave to Kathy. Alison thought Mike was a great husband and father. ‘See how Mike helps around
the house, and cooks dinners at the weekend instead of sitting with his nose stuck into a football match on TV.’

‘See how Mike helps his kids with their homework.’

‘See how Mike takes them out at weekends and gives them . . .
quality
. . . time.’

Alison always paused before she said ‘quality’ time and made it sound like something holy and reverent. She was always reading books about relationships and quality time and
communication.

‘Mike . . .
communicates
. . . with his kids. Your father can’t
communicate
, Ciara. I’ve spent years,
year
s, trying to get him to talk to me, to
share the way Mike and Alison share and it’s like banging my head against a stone wall. I tell you, Ciara, if I can make a go of it with someone else, I bloody well will. I’m not
wasting any more time on that thick, squinty-eyed shit. Life’s not a rehearsal, Ciara. We only get one go on the merry-go-round. Always remember that. And if you’ve any sense . . .
never
get married. You don’t want to end up like me, stuck with a selfish, cruel callous bastard.’ She’d usually burst into tears at that point.

When her mother said she was going to go off with someone else it always frightened Ciara. She didn’t want Alison to go off with someone else. What would happen if her parents split up?
Where would her daddy go? She didn’t think her dad was
that
bad. He didn’t drink. That was good. Liz Kelly’s father was always drunk. Once, he even puked up his dinner in
front of a gang of them who were staying over for a slumber party. Poor Liz was so mortified she just burst into tears.

Ciara’s dad was good for giving lifts, even though he moaned about it. When his team won and he was in a good humour, he sometimes gave her five euros. His team was doing very badly this
season, so financially, it had been a bit of a disaster for her, Ciara thought glumly as she doodled on the brown paper cover of her copybook. She could do with some extra money. She’d been
invited to another slumber party in a friend’s house and it was going to be mixed. Alison said it was OK, but she told her not to say anything to Garry. Alison maintained that Garry was far
too strict. She wanted Ciara to be independent and stand on her own two feet.

It was going to be a camping slumber party. They were going to buy some alcopops and get langers. Ciara had tasted them at Sharon Ryan’s barbecue in August and they had made her feel nice
and woozy. She’d smoked three fags as well. She didn’t really like smoking, but it was a cool thing to do and she wanted to hang out with the rest of the gang. She was the youngest
– twelve – the only one not in secondary school. Ciara sighed. She was starting secondary school next year. She’d have to do her assessment next February and she was extremely
worried about it. Her maths was a disaster. She hated it. Hannah Stuart was dead lucky. Her dad was a wizard at maths and he was great for helping her. Mike Stuart was a real nice dad even if he
was a bit strict, Ciara thought enviously. Hannah wasn’t allowed go to the slumber party and she was freaking out about it. Actually, secretly, deep down, Ciara didn’t really
want
to go to the slumber party. Terry Owens was going to be at it, and Ciara didn’t like him any more. Once she’d thought she fancied him, but he’d given her a French
kiss and stuck his tongue down her throat and she’d thought it was
disgusting!!!
He’d touched her boobs once too, and that made her feel dirty. She wished she hadn’t got
boobs. She didn’t like having them. She hated wearing a bra but Alison had insisted. ‘You’re a young woman now,’ her mother said. ‘Enjoy it.’

What was so enjoyable about having fellas sticking their tongues into your mouth and touching you up? Yuck! Ciara shuddered. Another horrible thought struck her. What if she got her first period
the night of the slumber party? They could come any time now. Some girls in her class had them already. It was scary. What would she do? Imagine if some of the blood dripped down her leg and the
fellas saw it. She wished that she could stay at home but her dad was going to a match and her mother had arranged to go dancing in Tamango’s when she knew Ciara was going on a sleepover.

Why, why why couldn’t she have normal parents like the Stuarts? Kathy Stuart wouldn’t be caught dead in Tamango’s. She was a
real
mother. She cooked bread and tarts
and she made proper dinners, not burgers and chips, Alison’s idea of a dinner, Ciara thought angrily as she heard her mother coming upstairs. She didn’t want to get an ear bashing about
the row she’d overheard between her parents. She jumped up, switched off the light and dived under the duvet still in her clothes. She heard Alison open the door and peer in cautiously.

‘Are you awake, lovie?’

Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone.
Ciara screamed silently as she lay perfectly still, eyes scrunched tightly shut.

‘Ciara?’ Alison tried again, hopefully. Ciara knew she needed a shoulder to cry on. She always did after a row. It wasn’t fair. It was very confusing. She felt guilty. Maybe
she should comfort her mother. She was just about to sit up when Alison closed the door with a little sigh. Ciara lay in the dark and felt tears brim from her eyes in a hot waterfall down her
cheeks. Her stomach felt tied up in knots and she felt sick and very scared. She couldn’t do her maths, she didn’t want to go to the slumber party and her parents were fighting. What
would happen to her if her parents got a divorce? She didn’t want them to get divorced. She just wanted them to be normal.

Brenda Johnston smiled happily as she lay back in her lover’s arms. She hadn’t been expecting Garry to call tonight but he’d arrived unexpectedly just after
nine. She and Garry had been having an affair for the past three years and she didn’t feel one bit guilty. How many times had her best friend, Alison, said, ‘I’m sick of
him’?

The trouble with Alison was that she didn’t
appreciate
Garry. She’d never looked after him. Not the way Brenda did. The trouble between Garry and Alison had started when
Ciara was born, according to Alison. She claimed Garry resented not being the centre of attention.

Maybe it was true, Brenda conceded privately. She’d known Garry as long as Alison had and Garry
did
like being the centre of attention. Not in a flamboyant in-your-face way. His
way was much more subtle. He’d sit, shoulders hunched up, staring out from behind his glasses with his Poor-Sad-Misunderstood-Me-With-The-Weight-Of-The-World-On-My-Shoulders look that
you’d have to feel sorry for him and ask him what was wrong. He’d say ‘nothing’. Then you’d have to keep at him. Wrinkling it out bit by bit.

Then you’d get a litany about the pressure he was under at work. Or about Alison and the state she’d left the house in. Once he’d said to her, ‘Look, Brenda, I’m a
loner, I always have been and always will be, so don’t even try and understand me.’ He’d been feeling very sorry for himself that night.

But of course she understood him. She understood him more than anyone and she loved him very much. And if he’d let her, she’d make him happy. Much happier than Alison made him. It
was just, she was never quite sure where she stood with him. He swore he loved her and he wanted to be with her. His marriage to Alison was over; they were just staying together for Ciara’s
sake. He promised that when Ciara had finished college in another ten years he and Brenda would be together for good. He had his responsibilities as a parent and he knew she understood.

It was very decent of him to be so concerned for his daughter, Brenda thought stoutly. He was a good, sound, honest, hard-working man and she couldn’t fault him for taking his
responsibilities so seriously. That was a good trait, surely? But ten years seemed like such a long time away. She’d be over
fifty
.

Crikey! What a horrific thought. Brenda hastily banished it to the recesses of her mind as she stroked Garry’s back. He had pale, pasty, spotty skin. Garry wasn’t God’s gift in
the looks department or even in the sex department, come to think of it. But beggars couldn’t be choosers. He was her last chance to have a man of her own.

Her bubble of happiness at his unexpected arrival was getting a little flat. Imagine even thinking like that. Was that how pathetic she was now? Why couldn’t she have been like all the
rest of her friends and acquaintances? Why couldn’t she have met a nice man who would have courted her properly and bought her flowers and chocolates and held car doors open for her and then
proposed and given her a day to remember with a beautiful white dress and veil and all the trimmings? Had it been so much to ask for? Had she just grasped at Garry because the years had been
slipping by? Because she’d been so panicky and lonely that she was afraid of ending up a spinster on the shelf with no man to show for a lifetime of Friday and Saturday nights of dolling
herself up, to go out on the hunt to find a mate? Year after year, dance after dance, disco after disco, nightclub after nightclub.

Was she crazy to believe that Garry would divorce Alison and marry her? When she’d casually mentioned marriage to him one night when they’d had sex, he’d just grunted and said,
‘One marriage was enough.’ They could just live together, it was much less complicated, he’d muttered.

Of course she’d agreed, but deep, deep down, she was scared. She wanted him to
want
to marry her. That was how it should be. What if he dumped her for some babe in the office? If
he could cheat on Alison, he could cheat on her. The thought came unbidden. She buried it. Don’t think about that now. He was here, in her arms. That was all that mattered.

He wouldn’t have been here if there hadn’t been a row.
Another sneaky horrible little thought escaped and she shoved it back in the Pandora’s box she’d opened
this evening. What was wrong with her, for crying out loud? Another even more hideous thought erupted. Maybe she was starting the menopause early. Hell! That was all she needed. To become a
dried-up old prune as well.

She thought of Eileen O ‘Neil at work. Eileen had been having an affair with a married man for years. He spent Friday to Mondays with Eileen and the other three days at home. Eileen was
nuts about him. She was so cracked about him she’d even got in Sky Sports for him so that he and his pals could watch live football. He’d assured Eileen many times in the past that
he’d marry her if he could . . . safe in the knowledge that divorce wasn’t legal in Ireland at the time. Well, it was now and there was no sign of him leaving his wife to marry her. He
was an-out-and-out shit, though. He couldn’t be satisfied with one mistress; he had several strings to his bow. He didn’t think being faithful to Eileen was a priority, and still she
took him back and listened to his lies and believed him when he told her his flings were over. Twice, he’d deceived her with another woman and she had just closed her eyes to it.

Brenda snorted. What a foolish woman she was. There he was, living with his wife, living with his mistress, seeing other women, having his cake and eating it. And Eileen was so desperate to keep
the lying, cheating, two-faced creep she’d got Sky Sports for him!

Never! Never in a million years would Brenda sink to such levels. She had her pride. Besides, Garry wasn’t
anything
like that two-faced slug of Eileen’s. Garry had
integrity.

Brenda felt a little happier. He’d change his mind about the divorce. She was sure of it. If only Alison would find a new man. That would solve everything, Brenda thought with renewed
hope. Maybe it might happen next Friday night. She was going to Tamango’s with some friends. Ciara was going to a party and Brenda was going to have Garry all to herself for a few hours. She
was going to go to a football match with him. She wanted to share every part of his life. ‘I suppose I’d better go,’ she heard her lover say. How she longed for the time when he
could stay all night. That would be the most wonderful thing in the world.