Drip Dry (21 page)

‘Great.' I head down the passage behind him. He turns into the bathroom, walks along the plank competently and dumps his tools in the bath. I keep going towards the kitchen and then head over to the oven to check on my lasagne. When I straighten up, CJ appears in my peripheral vision.

‘I hab finished all the table. What do you want me to do next?'

I look over at the table and, sure enough, it has been set pretty well perfectly.

‘Well done, sweetheart.' I tousle her hair and give her a big hug. ‘What a great job. You
are
a good helper.'

‘I know.'

‘Oh, okay. Well, let me see.' As I look around the kitchen for inspiration, the phone starts to ring and I reach over to grab it. ‘I know! You can get all the salad stuff out of the fridge.'

‘Yep.' CJ moves purposefully towards the fridge and I turn my attention to the phone.

‘Hello?'

‘Hello, you. How's things?'

‘Maggie!'

‘The one and only! We're having a quiet night so I thought I'd give you a ring and see how everything's going over there.'

‘Fine. The usual bedlam, you know.'

‘And how are you finding my Fergus? Has he finished the job yet?'

‘No, actually he's here right now finishing it off.
No, CJ!' I put my hand over the mouthpiece and turn to my daughter. ‘No sauce! It's a salad!'

‘Hello? Hello?'

‘Sorry, Maggie. CJ's helping me get dinner ready.'

‘Huh, enough said! So Fergus's there right now?'

‘Yes, just finishing it off.' Suddenly it dawns on me what Maggie is after here. Well, I never said I was quick off the mark. ‘Um, have you seen him recently?'

‘Well, yes. Yesterday, in fact.'

‘I see.' And I'll bet he told you about that phone call I received from Alex while he was measuring up the bathroom. Little traitor – he's supposed to be working for me!

‘Yes, so tell me, how's it going living next door to my brother?'

‘Fine.'

‘Just fine?'

‘Yes. Just fine.'

‘Oh, okay. Well, do you happen to know where he is? I've been trying to get hold of him all day.'

‘No idea,' I say shortly, because she sounds like she's holding
me
responsible for his whereabouts. ‘Probably out sprinkling his wild oats around fresh pastures.'

‘I doubt that.' Maggie sounds amused. ‘Not
my
brother.'

‘Really?' I ask nastily. ‘Are you
sure
about that?'

‘Quite sure,' says Maggie, and then adds, ‘why, do you know something I don't?'

‘Well, that all depends.'

‘On what?'

‘On whether you knew he was engaged.'

‘
What
!' Maggie screeches down the phone.

‘Engaged,' I repeat, holding the phone away from my ear. ‘I take it that you didn't know? That's shocking. I mean,
we're
relatively unimportant but he really should have told you – his own sister. Unbelievable.'

‘No. It
can't
be true. I thought you . . . that is, you and him . . . ' Maggie falters.

‘Oh, no! Us? Together? Ha, ha, ha!' I chortle convincingly. ‘Whatever gave you that fanciful idea?'

‘Well, I heard . . . that is I –' Maggie pauses. ‘Doesn't matter.'

‘You'd better check your sources, Maggie. And perhaps kneecap them for passing false information.'

‘Yes. Anyway, maybe you'd better start at the top,' says Maggie in a level voice that bodes ill for her little brother. ‘When did this all happen?'

‘Well, Maggie –' I put the phone back to my ear because it's obvious she's not going to yell any more – ‘I have no idea when it all happened. Because I am not your brother's keeper. All I know is that he arranged to take the kids out for tea last night and then reneged at the last minute because this female called Linnet turned up. His fiancée.'

‘His fiancée,' Maggie repeats in that same level voice. ‘Lynette.'

‘Yes – but it's L-I-N-N-E-T, not with a “y”.'

‘Really.'

‘Yes, really. And, Maggie, you should have seen her!' I start warming to the task at hand. ‘She's Monte Carlo, Paris and the Riviera all rolled into one. With a blue MG. Slim, young, long black hair and the most incredible hat. She thought
I
was his bloody housekeeper.'

‘You're kidding.'

‘I know! I can't even keep my
own
house.'

‘I don't believe this.'

‘Anyway, so then they went out for a meal. And spent the night next door. And then they vanished. With the blue MG. And he hasn't been seen since.' I'm really beginning to enjoy myself. I
know
that it's not Maggie's fault, but they
are
related.

‘I really don't believe this.'

‘Would you like me to call Sam to the phone to verify it?'

‘No, I didn't mean I don't believe
you
. Hmm, only that I don't believe it, this – everything. You know.'

‘Yes, I know,' I relent. After all, her carefully laid plans have just blown asunder right in her face – and I really can't see her and little Linnet without a y getting on like a house on fire.

‘How could he not tell
me
?'

‘That's precisely what Sam has been saying ever since she found out. And you should have seen Ben's face when she threw her arms around him and announced she was going to be his new mother.'

‘You're having me on.'

‘You wish.'

‘Look, I'm going to have to go. I'm going to try and track him down. Hmm, then I'm going to shoot him.'

‘Okay,' I say agreeably. Actually it's more than okay – it's exactly what he deserves. Hopefully she uses those bullets that self-explode internally. And I won't be the one serving time for the crime either.
We say our goodbyes and I hang up the phone. I stand in the same spot, with my hand still on the phone, for a few minutes while I treat myself to a full-colour fantasy of a terrified Alex being cornered by his sister brandishing an M-16 with a full clip of rounds. He begs for mercy but it is easy to see from the expression on her face that none will be forthcoming and, in fact, his death will be very slow, and very painful. I smile happily and give myself a little shake in order to return to reality. Because I don't actually want to
see
him die, I just want to know it's going to happen.

I look down the passage towards the bathroom and spot CJ, who has obviously abandoned choosing salad vegetables in favour of leaning against the wall and giving Fergus the third degree.

‘Fergus is a berry strange name,' she comments. ‘Why hab you got it?'

‘Well, it's like this,' Fergus's voice issues forth from the bathroom. ‘Way back in my family wasn't there a fellow named Gus? Which is a nice, respectable name, to be sure. But didn't this fellow have a son who was also called Gus, but who was
so
covered in black hair – and I am meaning everywhere, his legs and arms, his hands and feet, even his neck and face. Well, wasn't this young fellow so hairy that he looked like one of those little black bears? And didn't his friends and neighbours up and start calling the young fellow Fur Gus, because of the hair. And the name was passed down through the generations until it became Fergus and my dear old parents chose it for yours truly.'

‘That's not true,' states CJ emphatically. ‘Is it?'

‘Aren't you a wise one?' comes the voice once more. ‘All right, I'll be telling you the real tale then. You see, there was this young fellow who was awfully shy and didn't he up and get himself a job in the best place in all of Ireland? I'm talking, of course, of the blessed Guinness brewery. Well, on his first day of work, the shy young fellow walked into the front office at the very same time as a messenger carrying a huge parcel. And didn't they both go up to the desk, and the receptionist said, in that snooty voice that receptionists have, ‘Yes, and can I help you?' and didn't the messenger butt in and put her parcel on the ground and say, “This here's fer Gus.” And left. So the receptionist said to the shy young fellow, “Pleased to meet you, Fergus.” And the shy young fellow wasn't game to correct her, so from thence came all the Ferguses in the world. And aren't we a grand bunch, to be sure.'

‘But what was in the parcel?'

I turn my attention away from Fergus and his vivid imagination, and finish getting the salad vegetables ready for dinner. I tear up some lettuce and slice some tomato, cucumber, mushrooms and carrot and throw the whole lot in a glass bowl. Then I liberally sprinkle some salad dressing on top and voila – it's finished! I love summer. I shove some salad servers in the bowl and take it over to the table. When I return to the kitchen, CJ is standing by the fridge looking pensive.

‘What's up?' I ask as I grab the water jug out of the fridge and fill it under the tap.

‘On the phone before, when you were talking about that woman. Will she be my new mother too?'

‘Oh no, sweetheart, she won't be anyone's mother.' I smile at her reassuringly as I put the jug down on the bench. ‘Well, that is, she might be Ben and Sam's
stepmother
, but that's not the same. And it's all right, she definitely won't be yours.'

‘Oh-
huh
,' says CJ with disappointment. ‘They get
eberything
. It's not fair.'

‘How do I look, Mum?' Sam pirouettes into the kitchen and fixes a pose against the doorjamb. ‘D'ya like it?'

‘You look – stunning,' I reply earnestly, because she does. She is dressed in the black hipsters from yesterday, but with higher heels that make her look
extremely
long-legged. And on top she is wearing an off the shoulder skimpy little emerald green sequiny number, which shows off her belly-button ring admirably. With her long dark hair loose and with full make-up, she looks not only stunning, but slinky and downright dangerous.

‘And I like the name Linnet,' continues CJ. ‘It's pretty.'

‘Danke! And I'm off, see you tomorrow.' Sam does another pirouette and almost collides with The Handyman, who is standing behind her, his arms full and his mouth open. ‘Oh, sorry! I didn't see you there.'

‘To be sure,' says Fergus as he closes his mouth and tries to focus on her face.

‘Sam!' I call, ignoring The Handyman because, really, he should be old enough to know better.
‘Don't forget I'm picking you up at lunchtime! No excuses!'

‘No worries!' Her voice floats back from the hallway and then the front door slams shut. I concentrate on The Handyman, who has managed to pull himself together somewhat.

‘
That's
your daughter?' he asks, as if such a thing couldn't be humanly possible. ‘She's
very
attractive.'

‘And that makes it hard to believe that she's
my
daughter?'

‘Oh, no! I was only meaning that – well, she's
very
attractive.'

‘Yes.
And
she's only eighteen.' I fix him with a meaningful look.

‘Oh, to be sure, would I have any designs on the lass? It's like all beautiful things – lovely to look at, that's all.' He grins at me disarmingly. ‘And I've already met your other daughter. Isn't she going to be a little beauty as well, that's plain to see.'

‘I
am
?' asks CJ happily. ‘Like Sam?'

‘To be sure, to be sure,' says Fergus as he bobs down to CJ's eye level, ‘and you still haven't told me your name, little lass.'

‘It's CJ. For Christine Jain.' CJ shyly traces his silver-studded logo with one finger. ‘And I like your oberalls. That's nearly my fabourite colour – next to pink, that is.'

‘Ah! Well, I
have
pink ones as well, you know.'

‘Oh,' breathes CJ, gazing at him in adoration.

‘I hate to break up this happy little chitchat,' I say sarcastically, ‘but did you want me for anything particularly?'

‘Ah, no. Except didn't I find all these clothes under your bathroom?' He holds out the bundle in his arms. ‘And once I'm putting the floor down, to be sure they'll be trapped forever.'

‘Whose are they?' I take the bundle from him and gingerly pluck an item off the top. It's one of Ben's school shirts. The next item is the torn t-shirt from the aborted dinner with Alex, and the next item is a pair of his jocks. In fact the entire bundle is made up of Ben's dirty clothing from this week. I suppose he found dropping them through the bathroom floor easier than putting them in the dirty clothing basket. I sigh with annoyance.

‘And what is that wonderful thing you've got cooking here to emit such a heavenly smell?' Fergus sniffs the air appreciatively. ‘Ah!'

‘That's lasagne,' says CJ obligingly before I can open my mouth. ‘It's in the oben.'

‘Benjamin!' I call crossly, ignoring Fergus's appreciation of my cooking. ‘Benjamin – come here at
once
!'

‘Lasagne! Oh my, isn't that my very favourite?'

‘Is it? Well, why don't you hab –'

‘CJ!' I say quickly, hoping to head her off at the pass. ‘
Benjamin
! Come here!'

‘
Mummy
! I was only going to say that –'

‘Benjamin, you have to the count of three to get in here!'

‘Oh no, little lass. If you're going to ask me to join you, I couldn't possibly. But just the sheer smell of lasagne is enough to a starving man.' The Handyman demonstrates this by breathing in deeply and smiling happily.

‘
ONE
!' I yell loudly.

‘Besides, wouldn't that be like taking food from the mouth of babes? Even if it
is
lasagne. Did I mention that it's my very favourite?'

‘
TWO
!'