Finishing Touches (6 page)

‘It’s just a bit of extra study before our exams,’ she explained.

‘Does Barbara have to go in?’

‘Oh no,’ said Cassie hastily. ‘It’s only because we’re third years.’

‘It’s also because we’ll be missing some days next week for our school retreat,’ Laura added smoothly. Cassie stared admiringly at her friend. Laura was always able to
think on her feet. That response was so plausible, her mother would have to believe it.

‘Oh yes,’ Nora nodded, as she basted the stuffed seabass, already golden-brown, that she was going to serve for dinner. The smell of it made Cassie’s mouth water. She was
starving. ‘And who is giving you the retreat this year?’

‘We don’t know yet. All we know is that we’ve to go to the Priory at nine on Monday morning, and we don’t have to wear our uniforms.’ Cassie was so relieved that
her mother had accepted Laura’s explanation without question. She was really looking forward to the retreat. Two days off school. Last year they had had a gorgeous priest, Father Paul, and
they had all fallen madly in love with him.

‘Wouldn’t it be great if we had Father Paul again?’ Laura echoed her thoughts.

‘Mmm . . .’ Cassie agreed enthusiastically, helping herself to stuffing while her mother was distracted, straining the peas.

‘Cassie, would you set the table for me, like a good girl?’

‘Where’s Barbara?’ Setting the table was Barbara’s job. Cassie’s job was to wash up after the dinner. But invariably Barbara was not to be found when it was time to
set the table and Cassie ended up doing it.

‘I don’t know where she is. If you’re going to make a fuss I’ll do it myself,’ Nora said crossly in her martyr voice.

Cassie sighed. It was always the same. Barbara was a lazy little bitch and she got away with blue murder.

‘Come on. I’ll help you,’ offered Laura briskly, going to the drawer and getting a handful of place-mats. ‘How many for dinner?’

‘Mam, Dad, John, Barbara, Martin, Irene, you and me,’ Cassie said, counting on her fingers. ‘Eight.’ She counted out eight knives, forks and spoons and followed Laura
into the dining-room.

‘Which table-cloth?’

‘The embroidered one. I’ll get it,’ Cassie said grumpily, pulling open the door of the sideboard with more force than was necessary. ‘It’s just not fair!’ she
muttered. ‘That one gets away with everything.’ Cassie flung the table-cloth across the long polished wooden table. ‘It’s not that I mind setting the blasted table.
I’d prefer to do that than the washing-up. She’s even got an easy job. It’s the principle of it. I don’t see why just because I’m the eldest I have to do
everything,’ she moaned as she began laying the table.

‘At least John and Martin do a bit,’ Laura observed. ‘Just look at me. Once Jill left I had to do everything. Da doesn’t think boys should have to do housework.’
This was true, Cassie conceded. Laura really had it tough at home. At least Nora insisted on the whole family doing their share, even if Barbara did her best to get out of it.

‘Well, how are the terrible twins?’ Cassie’s father enquired, as he walked into the dining-room from the kitchen.

‘Hi, Pops!’ Cassie immediately brightened up as she affectionately kissed her father on the cheek.

‘Hi, Mr Jordan,’ Laura said cheerfully, kissing him on the other cheek. Laura really loved Mr Jordan. He was a very kind man and always had time to talk to her and have a bit of
crack with her, unlike her own sourpuss of a dad.

‘What’s this about you having to go to school tomorrow? Your ma was saying you’ve to do extra study or something?’

‘That’s right,’ Laura said demurely, saving Cassie the trouble of telling her father a fib.

‘My eye,’ said Jack Jordan. ‘What were you up to this time?’ He knew the girls of old. Cassie and Laura laughed. They knew Jack wouldn’t give out to them. He was
always entertained by their escapades. He chuckled as they told a censored version of their carry-on with Mother Perpetua, refraining from giving exact vulgar details of their ditty.

‘God help those poor nuns!’ said Jack with mock solemnity. ‘Saint Trinian’s had nothing on you lot. Young ladies, my hat!’ The girls giggled. They loved it when
Jack teased them.

Barbara appeared at the dining-room door. She ignored the two older girls completely.

A thin, scrawny girl, with fine mousy hair and nondescript blue eyes, even at the age of thirteen Barbara had an air of self-importance about her. She was forever out to impress and loved to be
the centre of attention. Bossy by nature, it galled her that Cassie was the elder, even though it was only by a year. And Cassie’s friendship with Laura really infuriated her. What was really
wrong with Barbara was a big dose of envy. When she watched the two older girls having fun, listening to the Beatles and the Rolling Stones and going into Dublin to stay over with Jill, darts of
jealousy like hundreds of tiny pinpricks would torment her and as she watched them leave for the city, she fumed.
She’d
make them sorry one day.

Barbara’s favourite way of making them sorry was to imagine that she was suddenly stricken with a fatal disease. Her funeral would be the biggest Port Mahon had ever seen. Almost six years
before she had watched the funeral of President Kennedy and although she was very young, she had been deeply impressed. Once, when she was nine, she had put on her mother’s black lace
mantilla, gone to the parish cemetery and stood at her grandfather’s grave, pretending she was Jackie Kennedy. She had pretended so hard she had made herself cry.

Barbara loved her imaginary games because in them she was always the heroine and she was always in charge. She would have a magnificent funeral in Port Mahon. The army would be there, the
police, the Red Cross, anybody who wore a uniform. The priests would say wonderful things about her. About how kind she was and what a terrible tragedy it was that she had died so young of such a
painful disease that had been so bravely borne.

Chief among the mourners would be Cassie and Laura, broken-hearted with grief and remorse over the way they had treated her. ‘My dear little sister,’ Cassie would cry, ‘please
forgive me. Forgive me for treating you so badly!’

Barbara would be nearly in tears as she imagined this scene. She couldn’t decide which was her favourite daydream, her funeral one or the one where she was Beth in
Little Women
,
when Beth got scarlet fever and Cassie/Jo was desperately worried. Really, she was so good at imagining things she was going to be either an actress or a writer when she grew up. In the meantime,
she was doing her best to get a duplicate of the key to the padlock that Cassie had used to lock her wardrobe door. If she could just get her hands on it for an hour or two and bring it to Mr Nolan
in the hardware shop to get a second one cut, that would be perfect. Barbara knew that Cassie had bought some new clothes a few Saturdays before. That was another thing that bugged her. Cassie was
allowed to go into Dublin on the train and go shopping with Laura. When Barbara was going shopping, her mother accompanied her, and it wasn’t the same thing at all. Next year, when she was a
third-year student, she could go into town with Judy, Nora promised. In the meantime, Nora had quite a say in what Barbara bought and that did not suit her. If Nora had been with Cassie, her sister
would never have been allowed to buy the latest outfit she brought home from Dublin.

Cassie had bought the most beautiful denim mini and two gorgeous ribbed polo-necked jumpers. Exactly what Twiggy or Jean Shrimpton would wear. Barbara would
kill
to be able to wear that
denim mini to the disco that Saint Joseph’s, the boys’ secondary school, were holding in two weeks’ time. Well, she had two weeks to get that key and get it she would.

Standing at the dining-room door, Barbara noted with satisfaction that the table had been set. That was perfect timing. Barbara hated setting the table. In fact she hated all housework and tried
to get out of it as much as she could. Usually quite successfully. She saw that Laura Quinn was staying for dinner. That was enough to put anyone in a bad humour. If Laura called her
‘Blabbermouth Barbara’ once more, she would really thump her. Deep down, Barbara wished heartily that she looked like Laura Quinn. With her jet-black hair and model-thin figure, she was
the height of elegance and her clothes were always so with-it. Laura really had taste and style, something that Barbara longed to imitate. Ignoring the two older girls, she directed her gaze at her
father. She wanted to go to the junior disco tonight and it was better to ask Poppa first because her mother might say no outright. If Jack said yes, as he usually did, Nora was more inclined to
agree.

‘Poppa, can I go to the junior disco tonight and stay over at Judy’s?’ Cassie heard her sister Barbara ask her father. Typical of Barbara to appear when the
table was set.

‘I don’t see why not, Babs,’ Jack Jordan said agreeably. ‘Ask your mother and then tell John to cycle down to the shop and get the evening paper for me. Isn’t it
great about Apollo 10? Nine miles from the moon’s surface. What a feat, girls! What a feat! There’ll be men on the moon yet!’

‘And women!’ interjected Laura, ever the feminist.

‘Oh of course, Laura,’ agreed Jack, winking at Cassie.

Cassie smiled. Barbara left the room to announce to her mother that Jack had said it was all right for her to go to the disco and sleep over at Judy’s. She couldn’t care less about
the Apollo space programme. Who the hell wanted to live on the moon? But Cassie was interested, as interested as Jack, and since the launch of Apollo 10, she and her father had watched and
discussed the developments as they went on their evening walks.
Star Trek
was Cassie’s absolute favourite programme and Jack was another fan. Mind you, he didn’t like it for
the same reason as Cassie, who rather fancied Captain Kirk. Laura was crazy about Mr Spock. Tonight, with Barbara out of the way, they’d be able to watch it in peace. Barbara thought it was
pure nonsense and loved to show her superiority by making scathing remarks about people who watched silly programmes about aliens with pointed ears. Barbara preferred
The Forsythe Saga
.
But then, she thought she was so literary.

In the distance Cassie could hear her sister ordering their brother John to go for the paper. ‘Get lost, I’ll go when I’m ready,’ was John’s spirited retort and
Cassie grinned. John wouldn’t put up with any crap from Barbara.

That’s telling her! John assured himself as he did a wheelie out the backyard, pretending to be Batman on his way to the scene of a crime in Gotham City. He didn’t
mind going for the paper. It was one of his jobs. He just hated it when Miss Barbara told him to go for it. Who did she think she was? A grown-up or something! If Cassie asked him to go she usually
gave him a few pence to spend on himself. Cassie was OK for a girl. When she caught him and Martin smoking down at the boat-shed, she had just given them a clip on the ear and never said a word
about it to Mam and Pops. If it had been Barbara they would have been sunk. Barbara was always going on that she was a teenager. So what! Big deal! She was only three years older than him. It was
great that he was getting tall now. She wouldn’t be able to boss him around for much longer. They had been having an argument the other day and he had managed to give her a clout that had
made her screech. That would teach Miss Barbara to annoy him again.

John smiled to himself as he cycled along the lane. A lovely breeze blew in off the sea and he wondered if his Uncle Joe would take him fishing soon. He was starving. He could murder a packet of
Perry crisps or a Trigger Bar. What a thought. Cassie had whispered to him that Laura was staying the night although he wasn’t to mention it to Barbara. That would be a bit of fun. Laura was
great gas. He called her Lanky Laura and she always called him the Pest! Still, he liked Laura; she too often gave him a few pence when she stayed over. He’d ask Cassie to give him a hand
with his sums and then he’d have the whole weekend to spend solving crime. He and Martin might play
Mission Impossible
down at the boat-shed tomorrow. Cassie was quite good at sums,
for a girl. She was very good at explaining things. If you asked Barbara anything she just called you a dunce and walked off with her head in the air. She and that hoity-toity Judy. They’d
want to watch it, that pair! Batman knew they were agents of Catwoman and he was planning something special for them. He had been training his Batmouse for ages and the next time Judy stayed over
with Barbara they were in for a bit of a shock. Ha Ha!

Something glinting in the sunlight caught his eye and he came to a halt with a squeal of brakes. Just as well he was riding his Bat bike. He looked around cautiously. It could be a trap of the
Joker’s. Robin the Boy Wonder, alias his brother Martin, was nowhere in sight to come to his assistance should he need help, so he moved with caution. A quick look. ‘Oh good!’
said Batman to himself as he picked up a penny. He’d be able to buy himself a penny-bar. It would keep him going until dinner. Whistling cheerfully, he remounted his trusty bike and continued
in the direction of Gotham City!

Standing at the sink, up to her wrists in soapy water, Cassie washed each pot as her mother finished dishing up the dinner from it. At least it was peas and carrots today. If
there was one thing she loathed it was a cabbage saucepan. She always preferred to get as much of the washing-up done as possible before sitting down to her dinner; knowing that she had a pile of
dirty saucepans facing her always took the good out of her meal. Boy, was she starving! Nora was dishing up the roast potatoes, putting the crispiest ones on Irene’s plate. Irene was such a
pet. Nora would let her get away with anything. Cassie smiled as she saw her seven-year-old sister playing two balls up against the side of the house, her little blond pigtails swaying crazily as
she hopped around singing in her lispy voice: