All That I Leave Behind (44 page)

June had wanted to yell, ‘No, we won’t. We’ll try to pretend that this never bloody happened, that’s what we’ll do. And we’ll pray that she doesn’t end up in prison.’ But of course, Gerry was right. It was a lesson India would have to learn, even though she’d give everything for her daughter not to.

‘India, why did you do it?’ Gerry said softly now. ‘Tell Dad. I won’t be angry. I just want to understand.’

‘Do the boys pressure you?’ June said. She’d read that in the article – that the boys nagged and begged to be sent pictures until the girls gave in. Kind of like it used to be in Monasterard, except for the fact that it could all go viral now. That’s what the article had said anyway, and as June had scanned it, absorbing the realities of pretty young girls like her daughter ending up on porn websites, being called THOTs or sluts, she found that she was entering a world she just didn’t understand. A world that terrified her. How could she steer her girls through this when she only half-understood it? What use could she really be to them? She wondered if Mammy had felt the same thing thirty years ago, just about different issues, different worries. Maybe June was just learning how to be a parent after all this time.

India sighed and looked exasperated, as if she couldn’t believe she’d inherited two such eejits for parents. ‘Look, you all think I’m some kind of saint and I’m sick of it, just sick, do you both understand? You just expect me to be responsible and kind and never to put a foot wrong, never to mess up. Georgia can do whatever she likes, and you both just laugh at her because you think she’s some kind of a clown, but me? Not goody-goody India,’ she said bitterly. ‘Well, I’ve had enough,’ she muttered, pulling her sleeves down over her hands, a crease appearing in the middle of her pretty little forehead.

‘But, darling, we’ve never put any pressure on you to behave a certain way,’ June said, looking at Gerry doubtfully. Have we? the look said.

‘You didn’t need to,’ India retorted. ‘You just kept telling me that I was the best daughter any parent could have, that I never gave you a moment’s trouble, blah, blah. It’s kind of hard to step out of line. And you hover over me all the time so I can’t have any privacy.’

‘I can see that,’ Gerry said thoughtfully.

India’s face crumpled then, and she looked as if she were about five years of age and her ice-cream had just fallen on the pavement. ‘Oh, Mum, Jamie told me that I was amazing. That he’d never met a girl like me. Turns out he was just like all the others – only after one thing.’ And she hurled herself into June’s arms. June held her and smoothed back her hair and told her it would be all right, all the time knowing that it probably wouldn’t. How could this ever be all right?

She looked at Gerry, who was calmly sitting there, and willed him to say something. ‘India,’ he said, gently but firmly, ‘we understand that you felt under pressure, and we’re sorry that you felt like that. It’s not right, and that … boy will be told. But do you understand what it is you’ve done? You’ve displayed your … naked body for everyone to see. And I mean everyone. Do you understand that?’ His tone was quiet, but he was making his point.

India nodded, head bent, and a fat tear fell onto her knee.

‘It’s a precious thing, India, and you can’t give it to just anyone.’

‘I know.’

‘You’ll have to go back to school on Monday, love,’ he said gently.

‘No, please, Daddy,’ India wailed. ‘Please. Everyone’s seen the photos – they’ve been passing them all around the school. You should see some of the comments – I can’t deal with that!’

‘India, I called Siobhan,’ June said. ‘Georgia gave me her number. She was devastated and she’s coming over later. She’ll stand by you, and so will Daddy and I. And Mrs Delaney. You won’t be alone. And you’re such a brave girl. You can do it.’

‘You can, love,’ Gerry added. ‘You’ll go in on Monday with Siobhan and you’ll hold your head up high and you’ll face them down.’ He gave June a look. ‘Come on, love, we’ll leave India to have a little think.’

‘Oh. Right.’ June nodded, wondering if that was really a good idea, but Gerry gave her that look, the no-mollycoddle look, and she got to her feet.

‘We’ll talk later, love,’ Gerry said softly and ushered June out the door.

‘Where did you learn to be so calm?’ June said once they were safely in the kitchen. ‘I mean … what happened?’

Gerry gave a small smile. ‘Oh, I haven’t had a personality
transformation, love, if that’s what you mean, but I have been doing a lot of thinking. And I know that I need to change the way I do things – take it easier, listen more.’

‘We both do,’ June said. Then she sighed, saying, ‘I don’t know. We’ll need to keep an eye on her,’ wishing that she could just put her in the car and take her down to Mary-Pat’s for a while. A few weeks in Monasterard with John-Patrick and Melissa would knock the corners off her, set her straight. If only she could talk to Mary-Pat. She’d know what to do.

‘Any coffee?’ Gerry said wistfully.

‘In the fridge,’ June said, adding, ‘it’s from Lidl.’ When she saw the look of horror on his face, she almost smiled. ‘I’m turning over a new leaf – trying not to buy too much expensive crap.’

He made it carefully, filling the coffee maker with coffee and putting water into the reservoir, and when it had bubbled and hissed for a few moments, he filled two mugs with it and brought them over to her, placing them gently on the table. ‘Any biccies? I fancy a Jammie Dodger.’

June smiled and went to the cupboard over the extractor fan. ‘It’s where I keep my stash,’ she said, pulling down a tin out of which she took a packet of Custard Creams.

Gerry’s face lit up and when he helped himself to one he closed his eyes in pleasure. ‘You can’t beat Custard Creams – can there be any greater pleasure in life?’

‘I know, who’d have thought it – the two of us with our biccies and our cheap coffee. Maybe we’re changing.’

He grunted and took a sip, looking pleasantly surprised. ‘It’s not bad.’

‘It isn’t, is it? And nor is any of their other stuff.’

‘Right.’ His lips quivered as he sipped.

‘I know. Who’d have thought I’d shop in Lidl and enjoy it. Their frozen fish is very good, you know,’ she added, and they both snorted with laughter. Then they were quiet for a few moments, sipping their coffee. June wasn’t sure if Gerry was thinking what she was thinking, wondering if it was too late for change at their age. If it was too late to understand what really mattered in life and too late to teach the girls. June was still in shock about India, if she were to admit it: Mammy would have killed her stone dead if she’d so much as copied her neighbour’s answers in a maths test, never mind … what India had done, but then, Mammy’s standards, her principles, could sometimes be hard to live up to. June wondered now how Mammy would have coped with the world today, where things weren’t black or white any more, where you couldn’t just take a position and defend it because you could so easily take a completely different position and defend that, too. Maybe that’s why Mammy had gone so far away, to a place which, as far as June could see, wasn’t modern at all: that way, her principles would never really be challenged. June just couldn’t see Mammy muddling along, trying to follow a sort-of-acceptable path through life, not doing too much harm, but probably not doing all that much good either.

‘Is there any hope for us, do you think, Gerry?’

Gerry put the cup down softly on the table. ‘I’d say so.’

‘You would?’

He nodded and looked out the window, his pale-grey eyes filled with tears. June wanted to jump up and go to him and hold him, but she didn’t, because she didn’t have the right. Not after what she’d done. ‘I’m sorry, Junie,’ he finally said.

‘What on earth do you have to be sorry about?’ June said. ‘I’m the one who should be sorry. The other thing … it’s finished,’ she began, thinking about poor Dave in the Shelbourne, but Gerry put a hand up.

‘Love, if you don’t mind, I’d rather not.’

‘No, of course not,’ she muttered.

‘I’m sorry I wasn’t a better husband to you, Junie. I thought it was all about providing and making a home for you all and making sure that you never wanted for anything. I know that it wasn’t like that for you growing up and I just thought that if you had everything, that it might somehow make up for the years when you didn’t.’

‘I know,’ June said, ‘and I’m so grateful for that, Gerry. I have a lovely life. But, you know, I’ve been thinking more about how I grew up and I understand now that I might not have had a lot, but I had what mattered. I had two half-mad parents who were hardly able to dress themselves, but they cared, and they tried to bring us up in the right way. I only see that now, with India and everything. I chose not to live up to it. I just don’t have Mammy’s moral fibre, I suppose.’

Gerry ignored the invitation to tell her that she had. He was probably right, June thought ruefully. Instead he said quietly, ‘You never talk about her.’

‘No,’ June said. ‘For a long time, it was just too painful, because of the way she left and everything, and then because of the letters and keeping them a secret, I just felt I never could. I felt I wasn’t allowed to. I wasn’t allowed to give out about her or to get angry about why she’d left. And then when I did decide to tell the truth, look what happened,’ she said bitterly. She’d told Gerry about the family conference and, to her surprise, he’d told her how proud he was of her. She’d been expecting a lecture.

‘You did your best, love,’ Gerry said diplomatically now. ‘There’s never a good time to deliver news like that. But it was time for the truth, even if it didn’t get the reaction you’d wanted. It’s a risk, Junie. You did well to take it. Anyway, the truth is all that really matters,’ he said, taking a slurp of coffee, before saying wryly, ‘Would you listen to Confucius here?’

June leaned back on the uncomfortable, straight-backed kitchen chair and looked out the window. There was a long silence in the kitchen, and June could make out the low hum of the radio. I just want my family back in once piece, June suddenly thought. I want to ring my sister up and bitch with her the way I used to and I want to go down and help my brother to clean that awful house up and I want my daughters not to be miserable or to be finding out about life the hard way. And I want to stand on my own two feet for once.

‘Everything’s broken, Gerry,’ she said. ‘And I just want it to be fixed. Is it too late, do you think?’

‘It’s never too late, June,’ and then he gave her hand a little squeeze.

‘I don’t know where to start,’ June said softly. ‘There seems to be so much to do.’

‘One step at a time, love.’

You’re right, June thought. That’s what Daddy used to say when I’d get in a sweat with my homework. ‘One thing at a time, love. Rome wasn’t built in a day.’ How funny that Daddy, of all people, could give such sage advice. ‘Listen, will you stay for dinner? I think there’s some lasagne in the freezer.’ And when Gerry looked hopeful, she added, ‘Don’t get any funny ideas. It’s just leftovers.’

‘Oh, so it’s leftovers now?’ Gerry grinned and June playfully punched him on the shoulder.

‘I made it myself, actually. I spent a whole Saturday afternoon making a batch of them – can you believe it?’ She laughed.

‘No, I can’t,’ Gerry said from behind his mug.

They had a nice family supper of reheated lasagne. Gerry made India come down from her bedroom with the promise that nothing of any significance would be discussed at the dinner table, and when Orianna came to do the cleaning, Gerry invited her to sit with them and have dessert. ‘Will you have a little drop of wine?’

‘No thank you, Mr Gerry,’ she said quietly.

‘It’s Gerry. Please,’ he said, with exemplary politeness. It felt good, June realised, the undemanding chat. It was also good to have her family around her, Orianna included, a woman who had half-raised her girls and yet with whom she had hardly had a moment’s real conversation. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d all sat around like this – not dressed up to sit in the chilly dining room, to make stilted conversation about politics because Gerry insisted on it.

Gerry hadn’t even commented on the lasagne, which had ended up a slight mess on his plate: he’d merely looked at it for a bit before picking up his knife and fork and tucking in. Georgia looked over at her mother and winked. She reminded June more and more of Daddy, with her funny whims and her dark hair and loud laughter. She was a blast, Georgia, but hard work with it. June instinctively knew that she’d have to spend her younger daughter’s adolescence on alert: there’d be smoking and probably drinking and boys, no doubt about it. She half-smiled at the thought. It’d probably be fairly tame, though, compared to what India had got up to – it was always the quiet ones you had to watch. And she would watch India from now on – very closely – but in a way that actually mattered, she thought, looking at her older daughter, hunched over her plate in her pink dressing gown, face bleached of any colour. It was part of the job description.

And Gerry and herself? Well, they could share the same space and talk civilly, so that was a start. And he’d hated his mother’s, even though she made him nice dinners and put a hot water bottle into his bed every night – June couldn’t help but feel a dart of triumph.

Georgia was in the middle of a funny story about Mrs Marsh, the gym teacher, her mouth half-full of pasta because she never closed it when she ate, when the phone rang. ‘I’ll get it!’ She was up off her seat like a hound after the scent, bolting into the hall in case she’d miss even a slight bit of action. ‘It’s probably Aoife wanting to Skype me,’ she roared back into the kitchen.

‘Good God, that child has a voice like a foghorn,’ Gerry muttered, tucking into the last bit of pasta. ‘When the hell did she get so loud?’

When you were living in that office at Talk FM, winding up half the population of Ireland with your nonsense, June thought. When we used to have to listen to you on the radio to know what you were up to.

Georgia bellowed ‘Hello!’ loudly into the phone, no doubt deafening poor old Aoife at the other end. ‘Oh, hello.’ The name was slightly muffled, but it must be someone they knew, June thought, because Georgia was giggling. ‘Yes, I’ve been a good girl. No, no boys yet. Or smoking. No drugs either.’ She laughed. ‘Do you want Mum? Hang on.’ Georgia bustled back into the kitchen. ‘It’s for you, Mum.’ She nodded in the direction of the hall.