Second Hand Jane (29 page)

Jess knew for
all her fighting talk, Brianna would be up those stairs, sorting
the two men in her life out the moment she’d gone.

“I’ll phone you
tomorrow. We’ll talk then, okay?”

“Alright then;
that sounds good.” Brianna looked hard at her friend. “Are you sure
nothing happened today, Jess? Because you look awfully pale.”

“No, I’m fine,
truly—just worn out from the driving. I’m not used to it and thanks
again for the use of the car.”

Brianna
followed her to the front door, pulling it open before giving her
friend a quick hug goodbye. “Do you want me to get Pete to run you
down to the station? He’d be glad of an excuse to escape.”

“No, it’s only
down the road. I’ll be fine.” Jess was looking forward to
stretching her legs after having sat in a car for the last couple
of hours. As she headed down the path, Brianna called out after
her, “Oh, I nearly forgot to ask. Did Nick get hold of you? And are
we on for Saturday night?”

Jess stopped;
she’d forgotten all about Saturday night. Crapity, crap, crap, it
was all getting too much. Brianna and her campaign, Nick and his
development, Owen bloody Aherne and poor wee Wilbur, Nora on the
rampage—when did her life get so complicated? She knew she should
go back inside and fill Brianna in properly on what development it
was that Nick was working on but she simply couldn’t face any more
drama in her day. “Yes, Nick’s free. We’ll be there. You go back
inside; you’re letting all the heat out,” she called back, hoping
against hope that the topic of Bray Community Centre wouldn’t rear
its head on Saturday night.

“Great. Is
sevenish alright?”

“Sevenish is
fine.”

Brianna
disappeared back inside and shut the door.

***

Later that
night, Jess fulfilled her fantasy by curling up on the couch in her
cosy flannelette pyjamas, a glass of red in her hand as she tried
to lose herself in the god-awful reality TV show she’d tuned in to.
It was no good, though; it couldn’t hold her attention. She didn’t
feel like doing a Bridget Jones and wallowing in the mess she was
making of things, either. No, she frowned, she was more in an angry
woman Melissa Etheridge sort of a mood. Sod Owen and his mixed
bloody messages. She got up and began rifling through her CDs,
looking forward to joining Melissa in belting out “Like the Way I
Do.”

The phone rang
just as she pulled it out of the rack and Jess sighed, looking at
it with dread as she debated whether or not to answer it. It was
probably Nora and, deciding she might as well get the lecture over
and done with, she reached over and picked it up.

“Jessica,
darling, it’s Mum phoning to see how your dinner date went.”

God! The perfect end to the perfect day.
Jess wrinkled her nose before having a big slug on her wine. “Hi,
Mum. It was fine, thanks.” As the wine slid down her throat, she
knew that
fine
just
wouldn’t cut the mustard, not with her mother.

“Fine? What
does that mean? And are you drinking?”

Jess took a
deep breath and her voice came out in one big long sigh. “A glass
of wine, yes. It doesn’t make me an alcoholic, Mum, and what I
meant was that I had a nice time. Nick cooked a lovely meal and he
was a real gentleman. We will be seeing each other again on
Saturday because Brianna’s invited us over for dinner.”

“
She’s drinking alone, Frank, and give me
patience—it’s like getting blood out of a stone trying to hold a
conversation with your daughter. Listen to me, my girl, I didn’t
put us on a family and friends calling plan to have you fob me off.
I want the details. What did he cook you? What wine did he serve?
Did you have, ahem…”—her mother tittered
girlishly—“
dessert
?”

Jess cringed at
the pathetic double entendre. “Mum! That is none of your business.”
Besides which, she wasn’t really sure her mother would understand
if she said sort of.

“Alright,
alright—no need to be coy. At least tell me what you ate.”

“He cooked
roast lamb and it was delicious, dessert was crème brulee, and he
served a red with the lamb and a white that offset the sweetness of
the brulee. He knows all about wine and stuff,” she added
dully.

“Well, for
someone who has been wined and dined and treated like a lady, you
don’t sound very enthusiastic. What’s the matter?”

Before she
could stop herself, it was out of her mouth. “I’ve just had a big
day, that’s all. I drove up to Ballymcguinness again because Wilbur
the little runt I befriended got sick.” As soon as she’d finished
her sentence, she knew she’d made a big mistake in confiding what
she’d been up to. There was a deathly silence down the other end of
the line and then an ear-splitting shriek sounded. Jess held the
phone away from her ear, completely unprepared for what she heard
next.

“You’re doing
it again, Jessica Jane Baré. You’re damn well doing it again.
Frank, I told you this would happen!”

“Calm down,
Mum! I have no idea what you are on about.”

“You’re falling
for the pig farmer with the past instead of the property developer
who could offer you a future—that, my girl, is what I am on
about.”

“No, I’m not.”
Jess flushed. “Wilbur was sick so I went to see him, that’s all,
and the article I wrote about Owen’s sister Amy being killed in a
bombing during the Troubles is running this weekend. I was glad of
the chance to tell him in person because the story coincides with
it being the thirtieth anniversary since it happened. It’s called
being sensitive to your source, Mother, and that’s it—end of story.
There is no reason for me to see him ever again and anyway, I just
told you I am seeing Nick on Saturday for dinner.”

“That as may be
but I know how you work, Jessica. Your heart’s not in it anymore. I
can hear it in your voice. This pig farmer fella tells you his sob
story and you melt. If Nick were to announce he was going in for a
double leg amputation on Monday or, or oh I don’t know, that his
cat was terminally ill, then you’d be all over him but
unfortunately he has no problems, no issues to work through. He is
normal. N-O-R-M-A-L, Jessica.” Marian spelt it out and then carried
on, “Well, I am not having it! This time, I am not going to stand
by and let you sabotage things for yourself. You are too long in
the tooth to mess about like this.”

“Gee, thanks,
Mum.”

“Don’t be
sarcastic with me, young lady.” There was the sound of heavy
breathing down the phone and then the muffled sound of her parents
conferring in the background. Jess realised her mother must have
put her hand over the receiver. This was not boding well, she
thought and in the next moment was proved right.

“It was going
to happen sooner and now I am glad I decided to make it
sooner.”

“What?”

“I have
retired, Jessica. It was time for me to hang up my socks. As of
last Friday, I became a free woman.”

Jess refrained from adding
shouldn’t that be
knickers she’d hung up
but she didn’t think her mother would find it funny at the
moment; besides, she was getting an uneasy feeling in the pit of
her stomach that she really wasn’t going to feel like joking around
shortly.

“I felt it in
my water. I knew that you were going to need me more than Smith
& Caugheys does. So, I’ve talked to Dad and your sister and
we’ve all decided it’s for the best. I am coming to Ireland.”

“What?”

“I’m coming to
Ireland.”

“No, Mum, you
can’t!” Jess wailed in horror.

“Oh yes, I can,
my girl. Your sister’s taught me how to surf the Net and I’ve been
gurgling all sorts of bargain return flights that I can book
online. Your father’s insistent I go budget now that I’ve
retired.”

God spare me
the computer jargon, Jess pleaded, making a mental note to ring
Kelly and give her a mouthful once she managed to talk their mother
out of coming over.

“In fact, I
have my eye on a deal that could have me at your place by the
middle of next week.”

Good grief, she really was serious. Jess
flailed around, desperately groping for reasons she couldn’t
possibly come. “What about Dad? He might have said it was okay for
you to come here but he would, wouldn’t he? You know how useless he
is at looking after himself. He’d never cope without you.” Yes,
that was a good one; Jess’s tensed shoulders relaxed as she
finished playing her winning
Dad can’t even boil an egg
hand.

“Women always
rally round a man left to fend for himself and if they don’t, the
neighbours will look after him. There’s your sister, too; she can
help out and I will leave him plenty of frozen dinners. He won’t
even know I’m gone.”

“Well, well…”
Jess blustered, “Well, what about Kelly and Brian? They’ll never
manage the kids without you to help out.”

“Your sister
and her husband will just have to miss their date night for once.
Might do them good to give that side of things a rest or I am going
to wind up with more grandchildren than I know what to do with,”
Marian muttered.

The fear was
building in Jess’s stomach like a volcano about to erupt. She
couldn’t think of anything else that might make her mother change
her mind. It was last-resort time. “Put Dad on for me!”

“Don’t bellow
like that, Jessica; it’s unladylike and a please wouldn’t go
astray—Frank! Your daughter wants a word.”

“Hello,
sweetheart.” His tone was wary.

“Dad, you can’t
let her come here, you just can’t. You know it wouldn’t work. Say
something to stop her.”

Frank sighed.
“Jess, love, you know as well as I do that when your mother sets
her mind to something, there is no stopping her, and I am telling
you there is no stopping her. She is coming to Dublin and to be
fair, it’s not just about sorting out whatever it is you’re playing
at with these two fellows. She wants to see where you live. You’ve
been gone a long time, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,
Dad.” She didn’t add that there was a reason for that.

“To be honest
with you, she needs a holiday. What with working full-time and
helping Kelly out these last few years, well, she deserves a decent
break. Your sister runs her ragged with those kids. It won’t do
Kelly any harm to have to stand on her own two feet for a bit,
either; it might make her appreciate just what Marian does for her.
And it will do you and her good to spend some quality time together
on your home turf.”

Crikey, that
was the longest speech she had heard her father make since Kel’s
wedding. “Well, I don’t think it’s a good idea. In fact, I think
it’s a terrible idea. Besides, she’s just told me she’s retired so
I don’t know what you’re going on about her needing a rest for. If
it’s a holiday she’s after, well, Fiji is a lot bloody closer.”
God, what a nightmare. Jess got up, cradling the phone in the crook
of her neck and shoulder as she topped up her glass. “If she comes
here, she’ll do nothing but criticise me the whole time. You know
what she’s like.”

“Love, your
mother just wants to see where her eldest child has been living for
the past decade. You are making a mountain out of a molehill.”

“No, she
doesn’t. What she wants is for me to marry money and breed. She’s
never approved of any of the choices I’ve made—not with work or
with men. Why do you think I love living here so much? There’s
nobody going on at me all the time—that’s why.” She sounded like a
petulant child even to her own ears but she couldn’t help it.

“Listen to
yourself! Grow up, Jessica!”

Chastened, Jess
felt like she was twelve years old again, caught pinching the milk
money for sweets, as he carried on. “Do you know Marian’s friends
all roll their eyes behind her back when she starts in on the ‘our
Jessica’s got her own column in a Dublin newspaper, you know’
because they’ve heard it so many times. She just wants you to meet
someone who you can make a commitment with. What mother doesn’t
want to see their child settled? And look at it this way: this
might be your golden opportunity to prove to her that you are
capable of making the right decision all by yourself.” The spark of
anger dissipated and he deftly changed the subject. “Anyway, enough
of all that. When does the story you wrote about the young girl who
died in that bombing run? I’d like to read it.”

“It goes to
print this Saturday—thirty years to the day that Amy was
killed.”

On the other
side of the world in his brick house in Hillsborough, Frank Baré
sat shaking his head. “Do you know, I remember Philip Sherry
telling us about the bombings and troubles over there in Northern
Ireland on the six o’clock news. It’s hard to believe it was thirty
years ago and that you are all grown up and living over in that
part of the world now.”

“I live in the
Republic of Ireland, though, Dad; the Troubles never really touched
the South.”

“I find that
hard to believe. It’s all one land mass, isn’t it?” He didn’t give
her a chance to answer. “Will you be going up to see your chap in
Ballypintofguinness, the one who has your mother’s knickers in such
a knot, when it runs? It won’t be easy for him seeing it all laid
out in print like that, I shouldn’t imagine.”

“
Bally
mc
guiness and I’ve told you before he is not my chap. No, I
won’t be going up to see him because he hasn’t asked me to, so make
sure you tell Mum that. Owen’s a very private person and he
wouldn’t appreciate me just showing up.” She studied the hangnail
on her thumb. “His father’s in a retirement home nearby so I think
he will probably spend the day with him.”

“Ah, he’s a
loyal son. I like that.”