Almost Perfect (46 page)

He entered the house a few minutes later, struck as always by the distinctive aroma of the place. A blend of stale cigarette smoke, damp, the smell of second-hand furniture and worn carpet, of never quite having enough. The redolence of his childhood. Familiar, but hardly comforting. He loved seeing his mum, but this house . . . just walking in made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. But Georgie was here this time. He could hear her laughter from here. This time it wouldn't be so bad.

He left the bags in the front room and walked out to the kitchen to join them. Georgie was sitting next to his father at the kitchen table. His mother had her back to them, making the tea.

‘Hello son.'

Liam stirred. ‘Dad,' he nodded, stepping further into the room and leaning across the table to shake his hand.

‘I like this one,' he said, patting Georgie's arm and giving it a squeeze.

Get your hands off her.

‘Better than that stuck-up dame–'

‘That's enough, Bill,' said Moira, leaning forward between Georgie and her husband and placing the teapot on a stand in the middle of the table. ‘Sit down, Liam. Are you hungry, love?'

He shook his head as he pulled a chair out. ‘No, I'm right, Mum, I can wait till lunch.'

‘Well, I'll put a plate of biscuits out, that's not going to ruin anyone's appetite. You'd like a biscuit, wouldn't you, Georgie?'

‘Don't go to any trouble.'

‘Yes, opening a packet of Monte Carlos is going to wear me out,' Moira clucked. She buzzed around the kitchen, fetching cups and teaspoons and sugar and milk and the biscuits, while they sat in an awkward silence, watching her.

‘Well,' Georgie said eventually, ‘sitting here next to your father, I feel like I'm looking at you in twenty years time, Liam.'

Bill MacMullen had lived a much harder life than his son, so perhaps it would take a little longer than twenty years, but the likeness was unmistakable. The craggy, leathery skin and the red bulbous nose did not disguise that it was the same line of the nose, the set of the jaw, the chin, the eyes.

‘Except for the baldness,' Moira broke in, pouring the tea. ‘Baldness passes down through the female and my father died at eighty-eight years of age with a full head of hair, just like Bob Hawke. So you don't have to worry, Georgie, Liam won't be losing his hair.'

Georgie grinned slyly at him from across the table. At least she seemed amused by all this.

‘But as for your little fella,' Moira went on, as she
did, ‘his fate in the hair stakes is going to come from you, Georgie. Your father got a good head of hair?'

‘Mum–'

‘It's all right, Liam,' said Georgie. ‘My father died when I was sixteen.'

‘Oh, no,' exclaimed Moira, dropping into the chair beside Georgie and taking hold of her hand. ‘That's awful. Your poor mother.'

Georgie took a breath. ‘They both died actually, in a car accident.'

Moira looked horrified. ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what a tragic thing. What happened to you, pet? Did you have relatives to take care of you?'

‘My brother was twenty-two so he was able to look after my sister and me.'

‘You have a sister and a brother as well?' Moira sighed. ‘You poor pets.'

‘So,' said Georgie, attempting to move the conversation along, ‘that makes you this little one's only grandparents.'

‘Dad,' Liam said stiffly, ‘would you mind not smoking around the baby?'

Bill stopped with a cigarette midway to his lips. ‘Baby's not here yet,' he muttered.

‘It's okay,' said Georgie. ‘I'll just leave the room.'

‘No, love,' he said, slipping the cigarette behind his ear. ‘I can wait.'

‘Well, I best show you where you're sleeping,' said Moira. ‘I put you in yours and Danny and Bren's old room, Liam.'

He brought the bags from the front room as his mother threw the door open.

‘It's a bit cramped,' she said. ‘The double bed doesn't leave much space for anything else.'

He looked over his mother to Georgie, but her eyes were riveted to the bed.

‘It's so tight, you'll have to leave the room to change your mind,' Moira went on. ‘But you're only sleeping here anyway, and you'll find the bed's quite comfortable, Georgie. I put nice, clean sheets on this morning.'

‘Thank you.'

‘Do you need a lie-down now, pet? Put your feet up for a while?'

‘No, I'm fine,' Georgie assured her. ‘But I wouldn't say no to another cuppa, that first one didn't even touch the sides.'

‘Righto then,' Moira smiled. ‘I'll put the kettle on again. Liam, she'll need the toilet, show her where it is. Come along back to the kitchen when you're ready.'

After she left them alone they stood for a while not saying anything as they contemplated the double bed.

‘I'll sleep on the floor,' said Liam eventually.

Georgie considered the narrow space around the bed. ‘Where?'

He hesitated. ‘Or I'll sleep out on the lounge.'

‘What's your mother going to think?'

‘Um, I'll wait till they've all gone to bed, and I'll say you were uncomfortable through the night–'

‘Oh, for heaven's sake, Liam,' Georgie sighed. ‘This is not a fifties movie and I'm not Doris Day. Are you forgetting how I got this way in the first place?'

He looked sheepish.

‘I think I can cope sharing a bed with you, there certainly won't be any sex happening.'

‘Understood,' he said seriously. ‘I assure you that was never going to happen here anyway. Walls are paper-thin.'

‘It was never going to happen, period, Liam.'

‘Of course,' he nodded. ‘Come on, I'll show you the bathroom.'

When Georgie returned to the kitchen they had been joined by a young woman, sitting cross-legged on the benchtop, dressed in black satin pyjamas. Her long, straight, dyed blue-black hair shielded most of her face, but Georgie could see she had a silver nose ring, and Liam's eyes, albeit circled with smudged black eyeliner.

‘Georgie,' said Liam, ‘this is my youngest sister, Dymphna. She's living back home again, so it seems.'

Dymphna sneered at her brother.

‘Nice to meet you, Dymphna,' said Georgie. ‘That's an unusual name, isn't it?'

‘Patron saint of lunatics,' she said drily.

‘She loves telling people that,' said Moira. ‘But I knew nothing of the sort when I named her after a lovely Irish nun who taught me when I was a girl. The things people find out on the internet.' She shook her head. ‘And she's one of those “Gothics”, Georgie, that's why she's done up like Morticia Addams.'

‘Moira,' Dymphna said, interrupting her mother, ‘I eschew labels.'

‘Well, I don't even know what that means,' said
Moira, raising an eyebrow. ‘Anyway, Georgie, not to worry, it's just a fashion, not a religious cult or anything.'

Dymphna groaned loudly and reached for a packet of cigarettes.

‘Ah, we're not smoking in front of Georgie,' Liam told her.

‘Who's “we” may I ask?' said Dymphna. ‘I didn't know you'd taken up smoking, Liam?'

‘He means you and me, kiddo,' said Bill, standing up and pushing his chair out. ‘Come outside and have a fag with your old man.'

Dymphna slipped down off the kitchen bench. ‘Got a light, Bill?'

‘Yeah.'

‘I feel terrible sending them out of their own home,' said Georgie after they walked out the back door.

‘It won't hurt them,' said Moira. ‘You're our special guest, Georgie, and besides, don't think I'm not glad to have a reason to send them outside with their smelly cigarettes.'

At lunchtime Liam's brothers converged on the house along with their wives and about half-a-dozen kids between them. There was a Jake and a Mitchell . . . or maybe Matthew, and a Luke, and there was an Emily, a Becky, a Lauren and a Jessica. Georgie didn't know who was who and she certainly didn't know who belonged to who. But they were all loud and friendly and gathered around Georgie like she was
something special. Danny and Brendan were big, burly gregarious men who took turns smacking their brother on the back and ribbing him – ‘So you've finally managed to get one knocked up?', ‘We thought you were shooting blanks all this time!'. To which Liam would wince, Moira would shake her head and order them to stop, as would their wives. And then they'd all apologise profusely to Georgie.

She hadn't taken offence so much for herself, but Georgie was mortified for Liam's sake. He must never have told his family the truth. He couldn't have. His brothers were only having a good-natured dig, they wouldn't have said anything like that if they'd known about the IVF. Why had Liam never told them? Georgie felt a little sorry for him at that moment.

After a noisy, riotous meal, a cricket game was announced and Georgie sprung up and out the door along with the rabble. It took Liam a minute to catch up with her outside.

‘You're not playing, Georgie,' he said sternly.

‘Oh, let her have a hit,' said Danny.

‘That's exactly what I'm worried about – you getting hit with a ball. You're a little harder to miss these days.'

Georgie pulled a face at him. ‘You have such a way with words, Liam,' she said. ‘But fine, I'll bowl instead.'

‘And have one of them batting the ball back at you? No way, Georgie. I'm not going to allow it.'

‘Hey, lay off her,' Brendan sneered. ‘Jeez, who died and made you dictator?'

‘He's always been a dick,' Danny muttered.

‘Shut up, you two. Liam's right,' said Trudy. ‘You haven't seen these fools play, Georgie, you're better off keeping well out of the way.'

Liam planted his arm firmly around her and marched her to the back of the house. Georgie brought her arm around his waist and felt for the flesh between his hip and ribs. ‘I could pinch you now and there's nothing you could do about it,' she said under her breath.

‘And I could kiss you now and there's nothing you could do about it,' he returned. ‘So behave.'

Liam went around the backyard collecting a couple of chairs and a garden bench for Georgie and his sisters-in-law to sit on.

‘You playing or what, Liam?' Brendan called from the pitch.

‘Yeah, give me a sec.'

‘Stop trying to impress your missus and get your arse over here.'

He trudged off as Moira came out the back door wiping her hands on her apron. ‘World series underway yet?' she asked, just as a couple of red-headed children ran into the yard from the side of the house, singing out to the other kids.

‘Oh, Bridgie's here,' exclaimed Moira, obviously delighted.

As if on cue, a woman appeared around the corner of the house, dressed in what looked like a nurse's uniform. ‘Declan, Caitlin,' she called. ‘I hope you two said hello to Nan before you started playing.'

The two redheads raced over and flung their
arms around Moira, firing off ‘Hi Nan', ‘Hi Aunty Trude', ‘Hi Aunty Chris' in quick succession before scampering off again.

‘Hey Liam, get back here,' Brendan called as Liam made his way over. ‘You can't desert midwicket.'

‘Declan'll handle it,' he called over his shoulder as his nephew passed him, high-fiving him on the way. ‘Hey Bridge!' he exclaimed, clearly as pleased as his mother to see her. He gave her a warm hug and brought her over to meet Georgie.

‘No, don't get up!' Bridget insisted, but Georgie was already on her feet.

‘It's okay, I'm not an invalid,' Georgie assured her.

‘Just very pregnant!' Bridget declared, smiling widely, exactly like her mother. Georgie had an idea she was looking at Moira twenty years ago, and she had obviously once possessed a gorgeous mane of auburn hair. ‘I've been dying to meet you, Georgie, Liam can't stop going on about you.'

Georgie glanced at him, but he was gazing proudly at Bridget.

‘You're a nurse, Bridget?' Georgie asked.

‘Oh no, nothing so fancy,' she replied. ‘I work in a nursing home. That's why I couldn't get here earlier.'

‘Where's Mick, love?' Moira asked.

‘I told you, Mum, he had to drop the kids to me at the end of my shift so he wouldn't be late for work.'

‘Like ships in the night those two,' Moira remarked to Georgie. ‘Mick's a security guard so they both work shifts. They never see each other.'

‘That's probably what keeps us together, Mum,' she joked. ‘Where's Dad?'

‘He just ducked out to the TAB, love, he'll be back in a little while.'

‘Couldn't stay away for one afternoon,' Liam muttered, shaking his head.

‘Don't start, Liam,' said Moira. ‘The man works hard, he's entitled to a couple of hours to himself. Now, Bridgie, have you eaten, love? Come and we'll put the kettle on. Chris made some kind of fancy cake – what did you call it, love?'

‘It's a hummingbird cake, Moira.'

‘Wait till you see it, I think I put on a pound just looking at it.'

At eight o'clock Georgie stood under a hot shower, almost falling asleep on her feet. The afternoon had been filled with cricket and cake and laughter, and so many cups of tea Georgie thought she'd float away in the end. Bill came back late in the afternoon, obviously sozzled, but harmless enough, sitting quietly in a corner and keeping to himself. The families left one by one soon after, Bridget being the last to go after Liam spent the longest time out front saying goodbye to her. Moira wanted to make soup and toast for tea, but Georgie insisted she couldn't fit another thing in and all she wanted was a shower and bed.

Reluctantly she turned off the taps and stepped out of the recess. She dried and dressed and gathered up her things, walking back up the hall to the bedroom. Liam had his bag open on the bed when she came in.