Primperfect (23 page)

Sorrel came in on her lunch break to keep me company and when she saw that Fintan wasn't there and I was frightened, she stayed with me. My waters broke and I had that mucous thing and it was pink, which was really weird because I'd always envisioned mucus as either clear or white or green or yellow. Those were the acceptable colours for it. I walked around and she held my hand and I obsessed over whether or not she was going to get fired and she said, ‘A new life is coming out of you, Bláth,' and ‘That is so far from being the most important thing you could be thinking about.' She rubbed my back. The doctors said it might relieve the pain. It didn't really, but I still liked getting rubbed.

Quote from Prim's mum's diary

ad's date with Sorrel went quite well I think. And it wasn't the worst thing in the world to get sent to Ella's house. It's just I'd like to visit her out of friendship, not because I have to be babysat in case my nascent drinking problem escalates further. Mary had obviously heard about the incident. She did the eyebrows at me and made a few pointed little comments. In a good-natured way. Which still kind of made me feel embarrassed and frustrated.

Felix was more sympathetic. ‘I can't believe Karen did that. I mean, not that I can't believe she would do that because she clearly would and did and all. But she was really subtle. I hardly noticed her there, and she certainly wasn't brandishing her phone or anything.'

‘She's a smooth operator, that one,' said Mary, who was popping in and out of the kitchen as we drank our tea. Probably to make sure I didn't offer Felix a feed of pints and then try it on with him.

‘She is,' said Ella. ‘I wish I'd been there.'

‘No, you don't.'

‘Yes, I do. I've never seen anyone be that drunk before. Except for Felix's Junior Cert results night.'

‘Shut up, Ella,' said Felix.

‘I won't. Hearing about other people's mistakes will make Prim feel better. He had a naggin and then drank some more things as well and then fell over and Mum had to come to the crap youth disco thing they organise every year to collect him.'

‘What was it called that year?' I asked.

Felix smiled ruefully. ‘Junior Jams.'

‘Oh God. I wonder what they'll call it this year. Not that I'll be going.'

‘They could call it Cert du Soleil,' offered Felix.

‘Or Sexy Results.'

‘Too far. I wonder if we'll all go anyway, without you.' Ella was running her fingers through her hair, ratting out the little tangles.

‘I expect you will,' I said, feeling sorry for myself.

‘I mightn't,' said Ella. ‘It depends on how awkward things get with Caleb.'

‘When do the Leaving Cert results come out, Felix?'

‘Oh, way before the junior ones. Middle of August, so we've another two weeks to go.'

‘Are you nervous?'

‘Not really.' He swallowed. ‘A bit. I mean, the points for sound engineering aren't that high. Science is higher, but I kind of only put that down for Mum.'

‘A diploma is not a degree.' Felix's mum was folding towels and putting them in drawers.

‘I can get a
job
out of it, Mum. A job I'll actually like.' Felix looked a tired kind of angry.

‘How did Karen get your dad's number anyway?' asked Ella

‘Her mum had it from back when I was homophobic-bullying her and Dad and her parents had to have meetings and things.'

I made air quotes with my voice for ‘homophobic bullying'. It still stings that people think of me as a bully. I only hate gay people who are Karen. And Karen doesn't even seem to be that gay any more, so maybe that puts me in the clear. Or maybe people will think I have scared her back into the lady closet. At least Nora doesn't hate me any more. Which is good, because I think I have been sufficiently hated for one year.

Felix and Ella and I made dinner together. It was lasagne and baked potatoes and garlic bread. The lasagne was pre-made by Mary but we still had to do the washing-up. It was kind of nice. I wondered what it would be like to have a brother or a sister close in age to me. Someone to help and be helped by. I think it would be nice.

We all curled up on the sofa after dinner and watched a nature documentary about wolves. I shared some rather interesting facts with Robb.

How are you? X

I began, to lure him in.

Not too bad, now. What are you up to? X

The true answer was, ‘Being minded in Ella's house in case I turn to heroin while my Dad goes on a date with my dead mother's best friend and also I fancy Ella's brother, Felix, who you met on the night of Syzmon's party when I threw up on your shoes and basically offered you to my friend for kissing purposes like I was an aging warlord and you were my beautiful young courtesan. Oh dear God.' So I opted instead for:

Not much. Eurasian wolves tend to be more adaptable than North American wolves in the face of human expansion. X

Not this again. X

They have coarser fur than their yank cousins also. X

So does your mother. X

My mother is dead, Robb. One of the largest Eurasian wolves on record weighed 189 lbs. X

He rang me as soon as he got that. He was all stumbling and sorrying and I could tell he thought he'd really put his foot in it. But, to be honest, it was kind of a relief that he forgot. Like, it wasn't the most important thing about me. Like, he doesn't fancy me because he feels sorry for me. It was nice.

I texted him to let him know that wolves were a huge part of Ireland's postglacial fauna. I think he knew that meant that things were OK.

It's weird to think of Ireland under ice. Like Snow White in a coffin, waiting to wake up and be a living breathing bit of world again. A world with wolves inside. A world with ringforts.

Dad picked me up and when I asked him how his date had been he said OK and then went straight to bed. Maybe she unleashed her crazy on him. Sorrel has a wealth of benign crazy. She owns like seven scrying crystals. I'm still not sure how to feel about two people, both of whom I want to see happy, being together in that way. I mean, it is gross to think about Dad having a romantic life. That's just a given. But I've seen him mess around so many women, and I've seen Sorrel on both sides of romantic messes. They knew each other way back when, and that is kind of difficult, you see, because they have so much ammunition. And Mum can't not be hanging there between them, like a spectre. I wish she were a spectre. We could hang out. She could give me guidance and things. Maybe we could even solve some mysteries together. Or she could get to know the me I am today, instead of the child I was. I mean, there are a lot of things the same about me. But also a lot different. I have new friends and hair and like new music. I fancy boys and sometimes even kiss them. I think about sex. And not like it's a thing that grown-ups do. Like it's a thing that I might one day do. That I am curious about. I probably wouldn't tell that to ghost-Mum, but I could ask her certain questions about boys and girls and life and things.

Mum wasn't judgemental. She was a great listener. I can imagine her haunting me. The night of my debs, putting on mascara and I'd get a whiff of her orangey-lilac perfume and I'd turn and there'd be no-one there. But when I turned back to the mirror she'd be in there behind me, her hand stroking my hair and looking proud. She'd mouth, ‘I love you Primmy,' or, ‘I love you Pose,' and then she'd fade but I'd know she was there, still watching and caring.

I don't think there's an afterlife at all. And I think the reason I still turn it over in my mind and question it is because I want there to be one so badly. I want the end of things to not be the end of all things ever. But only of corporeal things. I want the spirits, live and shimmering somewhere fabulous, to linger and reach out towards our world and maybe touch. Ghost Mum. Ghost Roderick. Ghost Granny and Grandads. I didn't really know them, though, so while I'd like to have had the chance to know them properly, like Ciara did Lily, I don't feel the lack of them, pulling at my stomach in the night. Missing them never stops me sleeping.

Red bumpy lines turn to purple bumpy lines turn to pink bumpy lines. I haven't thought about cutting myself in ages. And I'm not thinking about it now. I'm just smoothing myself. Taking stock. Accounting. Everything's in ledgers in accounting. Debit. Credit. Dad says it's a life-skill. He wants me to take it for the Leaving. I don't really like it. Do I need it? I wonder if all my sins and kindnesses would balance. If there was a heaven – and there's not – but say there was a heaven, would I get in or just be left behind? I don't think that I'd go to hell, not really. But I could be left. That would loop in nicely to my life. Would snugly fit.

Everyone is always leaving me behind. It's a good thing I like my own company. A blessing. I don't feel blessed, though, endowed with special favour by the gods. Can you be blessed if you don't have a god? You can probably be lucky? I wonder if everyone who's lucky believes in God. If you made a graph of that, it would be interesting.

No, it wouldn't. Why does Dad not want to talk to me?

He arrived and I dilated. Those two things are COMPLETELY unrelated. ‘Holding on for Daddy,' the doctor said, and Fintan gave an ‘Aww'. I gave a snort. I am mad at him. And in a good deal of pain. ‘What are you writing?' he wants to know. I glare at him. SELFISH MAN is what I'm writing, Fintan. Guess who it applies to?

Quote from Prim's mum's diary

ad sat me down to have a talk with me this morning. He did that thing – you know, in books, when someone clears their throat and it's written as ‘
HARRUMPH
'? Well, he basically cleared his throat but also said

‘Did you just say “
HARRUMPH
”?' He had. But I wanted to make sure.

‘I did, yes. I was about to tell you something.' He cleared his throat again, but in a less showy manner.

‘What?'

‘Well, I have something to tell you.'

‘What sort of something?' I asked.

‘Something big. I'm not sure how to broach it with you, really … I mean …'

His face went a bit pale and all his features contracted a little. My heart began to eat itself.

‘Are you dying, Dad?'

‘No.'

‘Because you have to tell me if you're dying. Like, as soon as you know yourself, you have to tell me. It's like a rule.'

I was pretty close to crying at this stage. I had him gone through a range of unsuccessful treatments, wasting, dead and buried.

‘There is no such rule. Dying people are above rules.'

‘No, they aren't. They have to tell their daughters right away. And also not die. Is it bowel cancer?'

‘What? No.'

‘Testicular.' I nodded. I had read things on the Internet about older men, letting their scrotal lumps go by unnoticed. ‘You really should get regular checks at your age.'

‘I don't have testicular cancer, Prim. I don't have any type of cancer at all. I am healthy. Very healthy. It's just. I want to tell you something else. Something positive. Something good, in fact. A surprise. A lovely surprise.' He was poking at his nail beds and smiling without blinking.

‘What is it?'

‘Um.'

‘Dad!'

‘WE'RE GOING ON A HOLIDAY!' he exclaimed, as though he were a chat-show host and I a studio audience.

‘Oh.' This
was
a surprise. Were we going to Paris?

‘A lovely holiday.' He nodded his head, agreeing with himself.

‘And you're sure you're not dying? Of any type of cancer or heart disease or any type of older human male thing?'

‘I am definitely not dying, Prim.'

‘Because the way you've presented this holiday to me feels an awful lot like a sort of a consolation prize for bad news.'

‘I don't give consolation prizes for bad news.'

‘You
TOTALLY
do. You gave me a new phone when Roderick died,' I pointed out.

‘That's, like,
one
time. And it was your birthday.'

‘When you mess up, you always get me stuff. Like caramel squares or vouchers that you get in fancy work hampers and never use.' (I love backing things up with evidence. It's like a super-power everyone can have, All you need are
FACTS
.)

‘I'll stop,' said Dad.

‘Don't – it's kind of nice. A blow-softener, if you will.'

‘I won't.'

‘
HA
.'

Sometimes, when people say things that don't make me actually laugh, but are funny none the less, I find myself actually saying ‘ha'. Ha is my harrumph. My real laughter cannot be transcribed phonetically. It's a kind of soft cackle that gets increasingly brittle as it escalates. Ciara and I and Joel sometimes cackle in tandem and it is a beautiful thing indeed. A beautiful, ugly thing as our laughter blends to make sounds that no human thing should make at all. The sound of ridiculous, helpless laughter makes things funnier. It amplifies the fun and sucks your agency, until you are a collection of wobbles and nerve endings. Mum had a ridiculous laugh as well, the kind of laugh that you would hear and laugh at.

But, in fairness, Dad's retort was not that funny. So I just said ‘
HA
' and left it at that.

We are going to London. Which isn't that far away. And it is a bit of a business trip as well. But the good thing is because it is a business trip, and Dad won't be around all the time, he is going to see if Joel can come over for a few days too, and be my holiday friend. If Joel can't come he'll ask Ciara. Isn't it funny that he assumed that's where my preferences lay, and I suppose they do lie there traditionally speaking, but Joel being cold to me for so long has kind of brought me and Ciara closer and also made me aware that Joel can do that. Turn his back on thirteen years of friendship for an idea that he'll later admit was wrong and a backlog of unimportant slights.

I know the Kevin thing was important at the time, it was. But now it's water under the bridge. Horrible, sewagey water that should not be allowed to dally with girls again until it has had some hardcore sensitivity training.

I've been to London once before, with Mum. We went to see a ballet of
The Secret Garden
. It was one of Mum's favourite books when she was a little girl and she read it to me and then I read it by myself and it was one of my favourites too. We couldn't often afford big holidays, like the kids in my class had. Mum couldn't pay and I don't think it ever occurred to Dad that I would like to go abroad with him. I'd like to go to Spain some time. Spain is such a normal place to have visited, but I've never been. I've only been to places Mum had friends that she could stay with. Berlin. Vienna. London. Belfast. Meath. Dad and I are going to be staying in a big hotel. And I'm going to have my own room. There'll be, like, a door between the two so he can keep an eye on my drinking, but that's still very cool in my book.

Dad drove me to my Caroline appointment. I was texting Robb about Bengal tigers for a bit. It's not that I fancy Robb
per se
. But I have been turning him over in my mind like he was a peculiarly shaped piece of stone I'd picked up on the beach. Maybe a denim-coloured limestone with marble bits striated in. Or granite. I think he'd make a very handsome quartzy granite pebble. I think about him at the oddest times. Like, with Felix, I'm always thinking of things that I could do to impress him.

Become a world-class musician.

Become a beauty, in a cool indie-music magazine kind of way. The kind of beauty that's always a millimetre away from having a face on her. Dark hair. Pale skin. Red lips. Possible vampirism.

Offer to sleep with him.

I don't think number three would actually impress him, as it would be very desperate and creepy of me. But he is a teenage boy who hasn't had a girlfriend in a year and a half, so maybe he thinks about sex. And I am a girl, so sex is technically something he could have with me. If he wanted to. He totally wouldn't, though. I think he'd think that he was taking advantage of me or some such nonsense. When in reality, it would be the other way around.

Anyway, recently, like since the party, when Ciara wanted him, I think Robb has been entering into my maniacal thought-patterns. He is a bit easier to impress than Felix. I think number three would probably appeal to him, but obviously, he's not going to get near that level of intimacy until I'm good and sure I fancy him. By which time he'll have gone back to his wonderful boarding school where everything is peachy keen and forgotten all about me. Oh my God,
I'M HIS SUMMER GIRLFRIEND.
As Caleb is to Ella, so am I to Robb. It's like those word association things Ms Griffin sometimes gives out in CSPE.