Divided Loyalties (11 page)

His behaviour was an affectation, a looking for notice, that had always afflicted his son. Noel was sure he could behave normally if he made the effort. And as for the other unmentionable thing
. . . the liking of other men . . . that was too distressing to contemplate. The Bible was very clear on it, as he’d told his son and indeed his daughters over and over again. It was too
painful to think about. The sigh came from the depths of his being. He dropped more ham on the floor for Twiskers, who devoured it and rubbed her head against his leg, and pressed the top slice of
bread onto the last of the sandwiches.

Maybe he’d get a pleasant surprise when Bobby arrived home. Maybe he’d got all that nonsense out of his system and was now ‘normal’. Noel fervently hoped so. He cut the
sandwiches in half and arranged them on the plate, then went into the sitting room to put another few logs on the fire. It was good to come home to a blazing fire. By making the effort he was
acting in a forgiving manner, he comforted himself. God would surely be pleased with him. He heard the crunch of tyres outside the window and saw Carrie’s car pull to a stop in the drive.
Noel peered out eagerly, hoping to see a smartly dressed, ‘normal’-looking young man get out of the car.

An apparition dressed in a brown leather jacket and a beige floaty silk scarf got out. Noel stared at Bobby’s hair. The last time he’d seen his son his hair was its ordinary brown
colour. Now it was different shades of blond. Just like a woman, Noel thought in dismay.

‘O Mother of God give me patience and strength,’ he prayed as he heard Carrie’s key in the door. ‘This is a hard cross to bear.’ Bobby had become even more
outrageous. He hadn’t straightened himself out one bit. If anything, he was a thousand times worse.

‘Hello, son,’ he said heavily as Bobby came through the door. He didn’t even bother to shake hands. What was the point? If his only son wouldn’t even try to make an
effort on his visit home, why should he bother?

‘I’ve made sandwiches, they’re in the kitchen. Help yourself; Carrie will make you a cup of tea. I’ve to go and see Father Doyle about something. I’ll see you
later.’

Just for an instant, Bobby looked crestfallen as Noel went into the hall to get his coat. ‘See,’ he whispered to Carrie. ‘He can’t even bear to be in the same house as
me.’

‘Don’t forget it’s Christmas Eve. There’s always a lot of things to do in the church,’ Carrie said lamely, hurting for him.

‘Nah.’ He shrugged despondently. ‘Some things never change.’

‘Mammy, Daddy! He’s come, Santa’s come!’ The shrieks of excitement penetrated the fog of sleep that shrouded her, and Carrie struggled to come to
consciousness. Beside her Dan snored contentedly.

‘Wake up.’ She gave him a dig in the ribs as Olivia and Davey danced into their bedroom, light from the landing shining onto their faces, which were radiant with excitement.

‘Daddy, I got a chopper bike!’ Davey could hardly get the words out he was so excited.

‘Mammy, Mammy, I got a bike too and a Barbie Bride. Look, she’s got a veil and everything.’ Olivia was in ecstasy as she waved her doll under her mother’s nose.

‘And we got sweets in our stockings, real chewy toffees.’ Davey’s cheeks were bulging.

‘Give us one,’ Dan said groggily, hauling himself up into a sitting position. ‘What time is it, Carrie?’

Carrie squinted at her alarm clock. ‘Four thirty-five. Ten minutes later than last year.’

‘Dad, watch me cycle up the hall,’ Davey urged.

‘Come on so,’ Dan agreed, flinging back the duvet. ‘If you give me another one of those sweets.’ He smiled at Carrie and she smiled back at him as she lay against the
pillows with Olivia snuggled in beside her. This is happiness, she realized. That rare fleeting moment when everything is just perfect.

Della gazed with dismay at the heap of puke-stained sheets and clothes strewn in her bath. She ran the shower hose over them then piled them all into a basket and headed for
the kitchen and washing machine. This was the third time that Kathryn had puked. The girl in the crèche had told her that there was a bug going around when she’d gone to collect her at
midday.

When she’d taken her to the doctor he’d just given her Dioralite and told her to keep Kathryn hydrated and not to let her mix with other children for a couple of days. Her daughter
was sleeping fitfully now, after her last bout. She was flushed and hot in the bed in the spare room. Eddie had come in from the pub well pissed and was snoring, oblivious. It was five a.m.

Della was utterly browned off. They could hardly go to Dublin if Kathryn was puking. The doctor had said not to have her around other children, as the bug was highly contagious even if it was
only a twenty-four-hour thing. She felt like crying. Such rotten luck. Christmas ruined. She supposed she should soak some aduki beans and take a leg of lamb or a joint of beef out of the freezer,
seeing as she had no turkey. She went to open the door and paused. She’d give it another hour or two. If Kathryn didn’t puke any more she’d take her chances. She wasn’t
going to let a bloody bug spoil her Christmas jaunt to Dublin.

Bobby stirred in the bed, conscious that he was cold. His feet were like two ice blocks. He was sleeping in his childhood divan and the duvet had slid off him. Noel,
parsimonious at heart, did not believe in keeping the heating running all night and the house had grown chill. He shivered and pulled the duvet back over him, burrowing down into the warm spot his
body had created. He had slept badly, his body tense and restless. He wanted to go back asleep but his mind was racing.

He knew Noel had been dismayed when he’d made his offer to go to Midnight Mass. ‘Carrie’s coming with me,’ his father had assured him hastily.

‘No, I told her to go to bed early. She’s tired from her pregnancy. I told her I’d go with you,’ he’d said firmly.

‘You’re grand. I can go myself; you go to bed. I’m sure that you’re tired after travelling. Go to Mass in the morning with the family,’ Noel urged.

‘I promised Carrie that I’d go with you and besides, I like Midnight Mass. I love the carols.’ Bobby dug his heels in.

‘Have you a proper coat? It’s cold,’ Noel said gruffly. The silence hung between them. Bobby knew well that his being cold was not the issue. The younger Bobby would have stood
his ground and resisted; the older, more mature young man that he now was let it pass.

Bobby had gone to Mass wearing an old green parka over his maroon jacket. He knew it was a compromise, but for Carrie’s sake he’d made a decision to try to get through the few days
at home with as little hassle as possible. If Shauna hadn’t been going abroad in the New Year, he might not have bothered coming home this year. But it might be their last time together as a
family for a while. He wanted to make the most of it.

‘Tanta Plause.’ Chloe stroked the cuddly miniature Santa at the end of her Christmas stocking and listened with delight to the musical chimes emanating from the
little xylophone Shauna was playing for her. It was seven forty-five a.m., the turkey was stuffed and in the oven, Greg was asleep and Shauna was playing with her daughter and sipping a welcome cup
of tea.

The aroma of roasting turkey was beginning to fill the kitchen and she inhaled it appreciatively. She wanted everyone to enjoy their Christmas dinner. The caterers that she used had delivered
several dozen tasty canapés, starters, soup, pudding and a selection of desserts, but she’d prepared the potatoes and vegetables that Carrie had brought. The ham was cooked and the
marrowfat peas were steeping. She and Greg had done as much preparation as they could the previous evening but had managed to get to bed before midnight so she wasn’t too exhausted.

She wouldn’t have minded some help stuffing the turkey and lifting it into the oven. It was very heavy and just about fitted, but Greg had rolled over when the alarm clock had shrilled
earlier and made no offer to help. Sometimes her husband could be decidedly selfish. His family was coming as well as hers; it wouldn’t have killed him to muck in a bit more.

Once the Christmas dinner was cooked and served she was downing tools, she decided. They could all help themselves to whatever they wanted afterwards and if Della and Eddie imagined for one
second that they were getting a cooked dinner on St Stephen’s Day,
she
wouldn’t be cooking it!

Greg could drive up to Mass in Whiteshells Bay and back, today, she decided. If he thought she was going to drive and he was going to drink he could think again. If he had helped out with the
turkey she would have driven with a good heart, but he could go shag himself, she thought grumpily. Della and co. were coming and she was going to be nice and relaxed and just the slightest bit
tipsy when they arrived.

Carrie watched with pride as Davey stood at the altar holding his staff and dressed in long red and white robes, playing his part as St Joseph with great gravitas. She saw him
bend down under the small manger and whisk out the little doll wrapped in swaddling clothes, and hand it to Ciara Clarke who was playing Mary. Ciara tenderly placed the doll in the manger,
smoothing its blanket as the shepherds began to crowd around.

‘And so the infant Jesus was born,’ intoned the small narrator breathlessly as the children’s choir began to sing ‘Angels We Have Heard On High’, their young,
enthusiastic voices filling the church.

‘I bet you wish it was that easy,’ Bobby murmured, highly entertained. ‘Oh, look. One of the angels is having a row with another one. This is better than the Abbey.’ Two
little angels were engaged in a silent struggle over ownership of a scroll that bore the legend
Baby Jesus
. Fraught, the junior infants teacher hastened to settle the argument.

‘It was never like this in our day. It’s great, isn’t it?’ Bobby approved as Olivia in her role as Balthazar made her dramatic entrance carrying her jewellery box, which,
much to her disappointment, did not contain gold, frankincense or even myrrh.

‘Couldn’t you at least get
one
of them?’ she’d demanded of her mother, when she’d been given the part.

After the last carol had been sung and the crib had been visited, the family set off for the graveyard that adjoined the church grounds. It was a chilly, bracing day. Banks of gunmetal cloud lay
to the east on the horizon, a portent of the bad weather that was forecast for later in the day. The sea was choppy, with big white-frosted waves rolling in to shore. Birds chirruped in the
bare-branched trees. Two red-berried pyracanthas on either side of the old green iron gates blazed their glory against the surrounding stone walls. Graves were festooned with flowers and wreaths,
seasonal offerings for loved ones. Here and there, in small groups or singly, people stood at the graves. Carrie had always felt sorry for her friends and neighbours who had to go and visit graves
on Christmas Day. Now they were part of that sad circle and it had become one of their Christmas rituals.

‘That’s a lovely wreath,’ Carrie said appreciatively as Shauna laid the arrangement of holly, ivy, skimmia, evergreen foliage and snowberries on their mother’s grave.

‘I made it up myself. I like doing things like that rather than buying ready-made stuff. I always feel Mam would like it better. Daft, I know.’ Shauna straightened up and brushed two
holly berries off her gloves.

Carrie laid her arrangement of red roses and carnations nestled in frothy wisps of gypsophila beside Shauna’s wreath. ‘I got these because I used to always buy her red roses and red
carnations for her flower arrangements on Christmas Day. It was our little tradition.’

Bobby knelt down and put a lovely outdoor candle arrangement in front of the headstone. He lit it before slipping the open-topped glass cover over it to keep it from blowing out.

Noel knelt and tenderly placed his offering of yellow and pink roses from the bushes in their own garden. Gardening had been a great bond between Anna and himself and he nurtured his roses
especially carefully so that he would have fresh flowers to place on his wife’s grave on Christmas Day. A tear trickled down his cheek and Carrie’s heart contracted when she saw him
brush it hastily away. She placed an arm round his shoulder and stood silently beside him.

Bobby saw it too and bowed his head, struggling with the myriad emotions that consumed him. His father’s harsh words came back to haunt him. It was because of worrying about him that his
mother had suffered her heart attack and died, Noel had accused cruelly. Although Bobby’s reasoning mind argued that this was nonsense there was that small, dark, fretful place in him that
wondered if his father was right and it
was
all his fault.

‘Bim bam bom, bim bam bom.’ Chloe’s carefree song broke the sad, subdued silence around the grave. ‘Bim bam bom, bim bam bom,’ she sang gaily to the sky, her curls
dancing exuberantly in the breeze.

‘What are you singing, darling? That’s a lovely song,’ Carrie exclaimed, glad of the diversion.

‘That’s “Jingle Bells” to me and you, if you listen carefully,’ Shauna explained, grinning. Davey laughed uproariously.

‘Bim bam bom!’ he echoed. ‘She’s
really
funny.’

‘I like that version.’ Dan chuckled, lifting Chloe in his arms and singing ‘Bim bam bom’ back at her.

‘I bet Granny would like that too,’ Olivia said thoughtfully. ‘She liked Christmas songs. She used to sing them to me when I was small.’

‘Do you remember that?’ Carrie looked at her daughter in surprise. ‘Yes, Mom,’ Olivia assured her. ‘I used to sit on her knee and she used to sing me the songs.
Will I sing her a song?’

‘Yes, love, you do that,’ Noel said, his eyes lighting up. ‘Granny would love that.’

‘I’m going to sing “Little Donkey”,’ Olivia decided. ‘This is especially for you, Granny. I hope you’re having a great Christmas in heaven. Santa
brought me a Barbie Bride. I just thought I’d tell you before I start,’ she said matter-of-factly as she gazed up at the sky, earnest and intent.