The Business (63 page)

Once she had settled in, her fear of her actions and their consequences had faded away. She had realised just what a big favour she had done for them both, after all, her son and daughter were very close, closer than a junkie and their dealer. It didn’t come much closer than that. She had expected her daughter to have at least thanked her for her lost years. She had expected her to appreciate exactly what she had done for her. Instead, she had been on the receiving end of her daughter’s absolute contempt.

Now, her daughter’s constant refusal to even acknowledge her was really rankling. She had conveniently forgotten the past, as was her wont. Imelda had always been capable of editing her life to suit her own purposes. Jordanna’s impudence and repeated rudeness had struck a chord inside her somewhere. Imelda accepted that she might not have been mother of the year, but she felt that her selfless act should have cancelled all those bad feelings out. She
owed
her mother; Jordanna fucking
owed
her. And she owed her big time, if not for her, she would have been banged up and forgotten about. After all, it was only her addiction that had helped her get a reduced sentence.

None of her kids had tried to help her with that. She had been left to sort it all out on her own, and as she told herself on a daily basis, that had been the story of her life. Her kids had been like a pair of fucking albatrosses hanging around her neck, dragging her down. At least Kenny Boy had afforded her a measure of entertainment, had grown up to make her proud of him. She prided herself on that much anyway.

In all honesty she had always loathed her daughter, had seen her as the reason for all her bad luck, had blamed her for everything that had ever gone wrong in her life. Yet now she decided Jordanna should recognise her, appreciate what she had done for her. She had done a lot for that ungrateful little whore, and she was determined to see that she was given the credit for it. She would hunt her down, and force the respect from her, if it was the last thing she ever did. She had Kenny Boy onside, so it was only a matter of time before that stuck-up little mare was forced to bend her knee, and finally accept her mother into her life. Because, for all her new-found faith, Jordanna would always be nothing more than the shit on her mother’s shoes. Jordanna thought she was better than everyone else, well, she wasn’t. As Imelda cut herself another line of coke, she couldn’t help smiling; she was now welcome everywhere. She knew that was because of her son and she milked it for all it was worth. It was a matter of principle now, making her daughter come around to her way of thinking, she felt strongly that whatever might have happened in the past, she had cancelled it out.

She needed her daughter’s approbation, because she knew that without it, her precious son would eventually be forced to choose between them, and she also knew that should that scenario ever happen, he was not about to choose her.

 

‘Nan, she is driving me up the fucking wall. She sits in that fucking little house praying and reading her Bible. I don’t know what she wants from me, I don’t know what I am supposed to do.’

Mary Dooley sighed, she was too old for all this and they both knew it. ‘That girl has had to put up with a lot and, unlike you, she has not been in a position to shrug it off. She
killed
somebody, someone she loved dearly. Now, I know you might not think that is something important, but she does. So, leave her be, will you?’

Kenny was angry, he knew that his sister had problems, but he also felt that she should be sane enough to let him help her with them. His granny suddenly acting like she was in the know annoyed him: she was the one who had decided that their mother should be brought back into the fold. As far as he was concerned, she should either shit or get off the fucking pot, and he said as much, his anger making him vindictive.

‘
You
are the one who insisted me mother be treated like visiting royalty; if it was left to me I would have given her a drink and waved her on her way. She is an old brass, she spent her life on her back, pursuing the business, and she was very good at it by all accounts. She thinks that Jorge is a fucking nut-job and she is, she is a fucking Looney Tunes with her praying and her fucking ramblings about the Book of Revelations. I know she flipped her lid, but that was years ago. I think it’s time Jordanna pulled herself together and stopped blaming everyone else for her problems.’

Kenny had finally said what he really thought out loud, and the words didn’t make him feel relieved: they made him feel like a snide, like a grass. He was ashamed of her, knew that she was looked on with disdain, knew that people who saw her and listened to her felt she was a few sandwiches short of a picnic. He loved her, but he hated her for how she was, he resented her for not getting over her depression and making a life for herself.

‘She does nothing, Nan. She looks like the Wreck of the fucking Hesperus, she talks bollocks and she won’t move on. She’s had a few bad breaks but, as you and I know, that’s fucking life. If she doesn’t get a grip soon she never will.’

Mary sat at the kitchen table and watched her grandson as he tried to understand his sister and her way of life. She knew he was incapable of even scratching the surface where Jordanna was concerned, and she was sorry for that. She knew that he was the kind of person who was classed as a doer. He didn’t have the patience for anyone who wasn’t like him, who wasn’t capable enough.

Kenny opened his arms wide in a gesture of defeat. ‘I think we should get her put away again, make her get better this time . . .’

Mary laughed at his audacity. ‘You can’t just put her away because she doesn’t fit into your world, she is happy enough. She is marvellous if you consider what she had to contend with all her life.’

Kenny dismissed her words with a wave of his huge arm, and Mary was reminded of how dangerous this young man actually was. ‘I know she had a bad time, but she has to sort herself out now. Have you seen her lately, Nan? She looks like a fucking immigrant. She goes to Mass three times a day, takes communion three times a day. Look, Nan, I have tried to help her, but she won’t let me. If she would face me mother I think she would be halfway home, but she just fights her. And, in fairness, Mum came up trumps for her. I know I might have
made
her take the can, but she did her time without letting on about the truth . . .’

Mary was now getting sick and tired of her grandson’s constant insistence that his mother was some kind of fucking saint: she had been the cause of every ill that had befallen this family. She might have been grateful to her for taking the pressure off Jordanna but, considering she should have been banged up years ago it was what she now deemed a moot point.

Standing up with difficulty, Mary walked to her pantry. Opening the door, she removed a bottle of Teachers whisky, poured herself a large tot into a tea cup and swallowed it down quickly. Then, pouring herself out another hefty measure she looked at her grandson who was watching her in awe and she said softly, ‘You don’t know the half of it, Kenny, we all protected you from the truth. Jordanna has the right to do whatever she wants. Leave her be.’

Kenny laughed incredulously, his granny was supposed to be agreeing with him, she was supposed to tell him that he was right, that Jorge needed to be sorted out properly.

‘So I should stand back and let her move again, should I? Watch her find another shithole to rent, and stand by while me mother tracks her down once more? Jordanna needs help, she is still not the full shilling. You know what I am saying is the truth.’

Mary looked at her grandson. He was the love of her life, and because of that she had forgiven him everything. He had been protected all his life from the harsh reality that was his mother’s addiction, and his sister’s destruction. His arrogance and his assumption that his opinion of his sister and her mental state was accurate annoyed her. That he had not understood the reason why his sister had finally exploded made her want to shake him, grab his shoulders and shake him until his teeth rattled in his head.

‘Your sister was used and abused by your father, and many others. Your mother passed Jordanna out to anyone who wanted her; that’s why she can’t keep a child inside her, you stupid bloody fool. Your mother might have been good at the business, as you so joyfully pointed out, but she tortured that girl and her breakdown was a long time coming. So I am sorry if you think she is a bit too
strange
for you, and I am sorry if you are
ashamed
of her, but next time your mother turns up on her doorstep shouting the odds, remember that Jordanna, God love her, has never opened her trap about what she went through as a child. I had to sit back and wait for the opportunity to get you two away from her. Jordanna looked after you because your mother, Saint
fucking
Imelda, only cared about her drugs. So, the next time you see your sister, try and remember that she has been used and abused nearly all her life, and your mother is the culprit. Your fucking mother might have gone away for her but, in my opinion, it wasn’t before fucking time. If I had my way I’d put her away for good.’

Kenny Boy had lost his usual ruddy complexion, he was almost grey. His deep-blue eyes, framed by long dark lashes, were almost closed as his grandmother’s words penetrated his brain. He knew she was telling the truth, he knew that somewhere inside he had known about this all along. He knew that his sister’s weakness bothered him because she had always been so strong in his eyes. As children, she had been the one to look out for him, he had
depended
on her to look after him. She had been the only constant in his life.

Mary knew she had spoken out of turn, knew that she should have kept the truth inside herself; after all, if Jordanna had not mentioned it then she had no right to broadcast it. But Kenny had needed to know why his sister had been broken like she had. He had needed to understand that she had actually survived her mother’s ministrations and that his sister had actually overcome more than he realised, that Jordanna was actually proof of how faith and self-belief could bring a measure of peace to even the most persecuted of people.

Kenny had needed to understand that he should be applauding her for the way Jordanna had clawed her way back from the abyss, not trying to force her to be happy because her chosen lifestyle irritated him. Because he felt she should want the same things as he did, need the same things as he did. Mary gulped at the whisky once more, and watched her grandson as he digested all the information she had just given him.

It was only as her grandson stormed out of her house a few minutes later, that the enormity of what she had done finally hit her.

 

Jordanna knelt at the altar of her local church. She looked better than she had in years. Her hair was brushed to a silky sheen and her slim frame had filled out so that she once more had a figure of sorts. She was dressed smartly, and she looked a shadow of her old self. She had lost her permanent frown, was much more ready to smile and her eyes had lost the dullness that had become a fixture. She looked almost happy, she was looser somehow, had a softness to her features that reminded people of how lovely she actually was.

As Jordanna accepted the Eucharist she prayed silently and, bowing her head, she walked slowly back to her pew. Kneeling once more, she prayed with all the energy she could muster. As her brother slipped into the seat beside her, she blessed herself quickly then, pulling herself up slowly, she sat beside him. They enjoyed the rest of the Mass together, and as the weak November sun forced itself through the stained-glass windows, Jordanna prayed for a final end to her sadness. She knew she was finally emerging from the darkness that had enveloped her for so many years, and she felt lighter, felt more involved with the world around her. She was once more in accord with her brother, and that alone was something she was grateful for. They were close again, and he had even professed to an understanding of her love for the church, and had helped her to assuage her guilt at her relief when she had been told of her mother’s death. She had tried to forgive her mother, had tried to tell herself that her mother’s addiction had been the cause of everything that had happened. But she knew that wasn’t true; her mother’s addiction had been something she had
chosen
, her addiction had been the only thing her mother had ever really cared about.

The sins of the fathers, Jordanna understood those words now. They didn’t mean that the sins a parent might commit would be visited on their offspring. The words actually meant that the
mistakes
a parent made while they were bringing up their children would be visited on the second, the third, even the fourth generation.

She was destined to be an auntie, her mother had seen to that. But she was also destined to find her own happiness where she could. She had recently met a widower with three children and she knew that he had been sent to her, that she had been looking for someone like him. It was early days yet, but she knew instinctively that he was her second chance at happiness.

Her mother had been found in an alley. She had been beaten to death and had choked on her own blood at some point during the attack. She had been there, scoring as usual, and the police believed that she had become involved in an argument with her dealer. Her mother had died as she had lived, pursuing the only thing that had ever mattered to her. She had been buried without any pomp or ceremony and with no mourners at her graveside. Even her own mother had declined to attend the service. The news had brought a measure of peace to Jordanna; knowing that she would never have to deal with her again had lifted her spirits, had brought her a measure of peace she had not known in her life before.

Her mother would never again turn up on her doorstop demanding attention, causing her daughter to relive the terror and the disgust that had made up her childhood and had eventually destroyed her chance of having any kind of real life. Her mother had eventually broken her both mentally and physically, and the worst thing of all was, Jordanna knew that the damage had been inflicted without any thought whatsoever. Whoever had come up with the idea that a child was better off with a parent, even an addicted parent, had a lot to answer for. Addicts’ children should be removed from their influence, and placed as far away from the offender as was humanly possible.