Evening Class (47 page)

‘Hey, that’s a good idea. Let’s go up to Adultery Mews and see her tonight. We might meet the geriatric as well.’

‘Shush, don’t call it that. Your father might hear.’

‘That’s what
he
calls it, it’s his expression.’ Brigid was unrepentant.

They fixed a place to meet. It would be a laugh anyway, Brigid thought. Fiona wanted to know if Grania had survived.

Grania opened the door. She wore jeans and a long black sweater. She looked amazed to see them. ‘I don’t believe it,’ she said, delighted. ‘Come in. Tony, the first sign of an olive branch has come to the door.’

He came out smiling, good looking, but very old. Fiona wondered how could Grania see her future with this man.

‘My sister Brigid, and our friend Fiona.’

‘Come in, you couldn’t have come at a better time. I wanted to open a bottle of wine. Grania said we were drinking too much, which meant that I was drinking too much… so now we have to.’

He led them into a room filled with books, tapes and CDs. There was some Greek music on the player.

‘Is that the Zorba dance?’ Fiona asked.

‘No, but it’s the same composer. Do you like Theodorakis?’ His eyes lit up at the thought that he might have found someone who liked his era of music.

‘Who?’ said Fiona, and the smile fell sadly.

‘It’s very plush.’ Brigid looked around in grudging admiration.

‘Isn’t it? Tony got all these shelves made, same man who did the shelves for Dad. How is he?’ Grania really wanted to know.

‘Oh, you know, the same.’ Brigid was no help.

‘Is he still ranting and raving?’

‘No, more sighing and groaning.’

‘And Mam?’

‘You know Mam, hardly notices you’re gone.’

‘Thanks, you know how to make someone feel wanted.’

‘I’m only telling you the truth.’

Fiona was trying to talk to the old man so that he wouldn’t hear all this intimate detail about the Dunne family. But he probably knew it all already.

Tony poured them a glass of wine each. ‘I’m delighted to see you girls, but I have a bit of business up in the school to attend to, and you’ll want a chat, so I’ll leave you at it.’

‘You don’t have to go, love.’ Grania called him love quite unselfconsciously.

‘I know I don’t have to, but I will.’ He turned to Brigid. ‘And if you’re talking to your father, tell him… well… tell him…’ Brigid looked at him expectantly. But the words didn’t come easily to Tony O’Brien. ‘Tell him… she’s fine,’ he said gruffly, and left.

‘Well,’ said Brigid. ‘What do you make of that?’

‘He’s desperately upset,’ said Grania. ‘You see, Dad doesn’t speak to him at school, just walks out if he comes in, and it’s hard for him there. And it’s hard for me here not being able to go home.’

‘Can you not go home?’ Fiona asked.

‘Not really, there’d be a scene, and the no daughter of mine speech all over again.’

‘I don’t know, he’s quietened down a bit,’ Brigid said. ‘Maybe he’d only moan and groan for the first few visits, after that he might be normal again.’

‘I hate him saying things about Tony.’ Grania looked doubtful.

‘Bringing up his lurid past, do you mean?’ Brigid asked.

‘Yeah, but then I had a bit of a past too. If I was as old as he is I’d hope to have a very substantial past. It’s just that I haven’t been around long enough.’

‘Aren’t you lucky to have a past?’ Fiona was wistful.

‘Oh shut up, Fiona. You’re as thin as a rake, you must have a past to beat the band,’ said Brigid.

‘I’ve never slept with anyone, made love, done it,’ Fiona blurted out.

The Dunne sisters looked at her with interest.

‘You must have,’ Brigid said.

‘Why must I have? I’d have remembered it if I did. I didn’t, that’s it.’

‘Why not?’ Grania asked.

‘I don’t know. Either people were drunk or awful or it was the wrong place, or by the time I had decided I would it was too late. You know me.’ She sounded full of self-pity and regret. Grania and Brigid seemed at a loss for words. ‘But I’d like to now,’ Fiona said eagerly.

‘Pity we let the stud of all time out, he could have obliged,’ Brigid said, jerking her head towards the door that Tony O’Brien had closed behind him.

‘I want you to know that I don’t find that even remotely funny,’ Grania said.

‘Nor do I,’ said Fiona disapprovingly. ‘I wasn’t thinking of doing it with just anybody, it’s someone I’m in love with.’

‘Oh well, excuse
me
,’ Brigid said huffily.

Grania poured another glass of wine for them. ‘Let’s not fight,’ she said.

‘Who’s fighting?’ Brigid asked, stretching out her glass.

‘Remember when we were at school we used to have truth or dare?’

‘You always took dare,’ Fiona remembered.

‘But tonight let’s do truth.’

‘What should I do, the two of you tell me.’

‘You should go home and see Dad. He does miss you,’ Brigid said.

‘You should talk about other things like the bank and politics and the evening class he runs, not things that would remind him of… er… Tony, until he gets more used to it,’ Fiona said.

‘And Mam? Does she really not care?’

‘No, I only said that to annoy you. But you know she’s got something on her mind, maybe it’s work or the menopause, you’re not the Big Issue there like you are for Dad.’

‘That’s fair enough,’ Grania said. ‘Now, let’s do Brigid.’

‘I think Brigid should zip up her mouth about being fat,’ Fiona said.

‘Because she’s not fat, she’s sexy. A huge bum and big boobs, isn’t that what men just love?’ said Grania.

‘And a very small waist in between,’ Fiona added.

‘But very, very boring about bloody calories and zip fasteners,’ Grania said with a laugh.

‘Easy to say when you’re like a brush handle.’

‘Boring and sexy, an unexpected combination,’ Grania said.

And Brigid was smiling a bit, she could see they meant it. ‘Right. Now Fiona,’ Brigid said, visibly cheered.

The sisters paused. It was easier to attack a member of your own family.

‘Let me have another drink to prepare for it,’ Fiona said unexpectedly.

‘Too humble.’

‘Too apologetic.’

‘No views on things.’

‘Not able to make up her mind on anything.’

‘Never really grew up and realised we all have to make up our own minds.’

‘Probably going to remain a child all her life.’

‘Say that again,’ Fiona interrupted.

Grania and Brigid wondered had they got too carried away.

‘It’s just that you’re too nice to people and nobody really knows what
you
think,’ Grania said.

‘Or
if
you think,’ Brigid added darkly.

‘About being a child?’ Fiona begged.

‘Well, I suppose I meant that we have to make decisions, don’t we. Otherwise other people make them for us and it’s like being a child. That’s all I meant,’ Grania said, afraid that she had offended funny little Fiona.

‘That’s extraordinary. You’re the second person who’s said that to me. This girl, Suzi, she said it too when I asked her should I cut my hair. How amazing.’

‘So do you think you’ll do it?’ Brigid asked.

‘Do what?’

‘Make up your own mind in time about things, sleep with your man, get your hair cut, have views?’

‘Will
you
stop bellyaching about calories?’ Fiona said with spirit.

‘Yeah, I will if it’s that boring.’

‘OK then,’ said Fiona.

Grania said she’d go out for a Chinese takeaway if Fiona promised she wouldn’t dither about what she wanted and if Brigid didn’t say one word about things being deep fried. They said that if Grania agreed to go and see her father next day they would obey her rules.

They opened another bottle of wine and laughed until the old man came home and said that at his age he had to have regular sleep so he would chase them away.

But they knew by the way he was looking at Grania that he wasn’t thinking about regular sleep.

‘Well, that was a great idea to go and see them.’ Brigid thought it was her idea by the time they were on the bus home.

‘She seems very happy,’ Fiona said.

‘He’s so old though, isn’t he?’

‘Well, he’s what she wants,’ Fiona said firmly.

To her surprise Brigid agreed with her vehemently. ‘That’s the point. It doesn’t matter if he’s from Mars with pointed ears if it’s what she wants. If more people had the guts to go after what they want the world would be a better place.’ She spoke very loudly, due perhaps to the wine.

A lot of people on the bus heard her and laughed, some of them even clapped. Brigid glared at them ferociously.

‘Aw come on, sexy. Give us a smile,’ one of the fellows shouted.

‘They called me sexy,’ Brigid whispered, delighted, to Fiona.

‘What did we tell you?’ Fiona said.

She resolved that she would be a different person when Barry Healy asked her out again. As he undoubtedly would.

The time seemed very long, even though it was only a week. Then Barry turned up again.

‘Are things all right at home?’ she asked.

‘No, not really. My mother has no interest in anything, she won’t even cook. And in the old days she’d have you demented baking this and that and wanting to force-feed you. Now I have to buy her instant meals in the supermarket or she’d eat nothing.’

Fiona was sympathetic. ‘What do you think you’ll do?’ she asked.

‘I’ve no idea, honestly I’m getting madder than she is herself. Listen, have you decided what you’d like to do when we go out?’

And suddenly there and then Fiona decided. ‘I’d like to come and have tea in your house.’

‘No, that wouldn’t be a good idea,’ he said startled.

‘You did ask me what I’d like, that’s what it is. Your mother would have to stir herself to get something for me if you said you were bringing a girl to supper, and I could be nice and cheerful and talk about things normally.’

‘No, Fiona, not yet.’

‘But isn’t this the very time it would be a help? How’s she going to think that things will ever be normal if you don’t make it look as if they are?’

‘Well, I suppose you have a point,’ he began doubtfully.

‘So what evening then?’ With grave misgivings Barry fixed the date.

Then he expected Fiona to dither and say that she’d like anything at all, and really it didn’t matter. But to his surprise she said that she’d be tired after a long day at work and she’d love something substantial like say spaghetti or maybe shepherd’s pie, something nice and comforting. Barry was amazed. But he delivered the message.

‘I wouldn’t be able to do anything like that,’ Barry’s mother said.

‘Of course you would, Mam, aren’t you a great cook?’

‘Your father doesn’t think so,’ she said. And Barry’s heart turned to lead again. It was going to take much more than Fiona coming to supper to make his mother turn the corner. He wished that he weren’t an only child, that he had six brothers and sisters to share this with. He wished that his father would just say the bloody things that his mother wanted to hear, that he loved her and that his heart was broken when she tried to take her own life. And that he would swear never to leave her for anyone else. After all his father was terribly old, nearly fifty for heaven’s sake, of course he wasn’t going to leave Mam for anyone else. Who would have him for a start? And why did he have to take this attitude that suicide attempts were blackmail and he wouldn’t give in to blackmail. His father had no firm opinions on anything else. When there was an election or a referendum his father would sigh and go back to his evening paper rather than express a view. Why did he have to feel so strongly about this of all things? Couldn’t he say the words that would please her?

This bright idea of Fiona’s wasn’t going to work. He could see that.

‘Well, all right, Mam, I suppose I could try to cook something myself. I’m not much good, but I’ll try. And I’ll pretend you made it. After all, I wouldn’t want her to think you weren’t welcoming her.’

‘I’ll cook it,’ said his mother. ‘You couldn’t make a meal for Cascarino.’ Cascarino was their big cat with only one eye. He had been called after Tony Cascarino who played football for the Republic of Ireland, but the cat was not as fleet of foot.

Fiona brought a small box of chocolates for Barry’s mother.

‘Oh, you shouldn’t have, they’ll only make me put on weight,’ the woman said to her. She was pale-looking and had tired eyes. She wore a dull brown dress and her hair was flat and listless.

But Fiona looked at her with admiration. ‘Oh Mrs Healy, you’re not fat. You’ve got lovely cheekbones, that’s how you know if a person’s going to put on weight or not, the cheekbones,’ she said.

Barry saw his mother touch her face with some disbelief. ‘Is that right?’ she said.

‘Oh, it’s a fact, look at all the film stars who had good cheekbones…’ Together they listed them happily. The Audrey Hepburns who never put on a pound, the Ava Gardners, the Meryl Streeps, then they examined the so-called pretty women whose cheekbones were not apparent.

Barry hadn’t seen his mother so animated in weeks. Then he heard Fiona talk about Marilyn Monroe, who might not have stood the test of time if she had allowed herself to grow older. He wished she hadn’t let the conversation get round to people who had committed suicide.

His mother naturally took up the theme. ‘But that’s not why she killed herself of course, not over her cheekbones.’

Barry could see the colour rising on Fiona’s face but she fought back. ‘No, I suppose she did it because she thought she wasn’t loved enough. Lord, it’s just as well the rest of us don’t do that, the world would be empty in no time.’ She spoke so casually and lightly about it that Barry held his breath.

But unexpectedly his mother answered in quite a normal voice. ‘Maybe she hoped she’d be found and whoever it was she loved would be sorry.’

‘I’d say he’d have been more pissed off with her than ever,’ Fiona said cheerfully.

Barry looked at Fiona with admiration. She had more spark about her today. It was hard to say what it was, but she didn’t seem to be waiting to take her cue from him all the time. It had been a very good idea to insist on coming to supper. And imagine Fiona of all people telling his mother she had good cheekbones.