Wishful Thinking (a journey that will change lives forever) (13 page)

They were sitting in the local pub one Friday night, Dara sipping white wine, Eddie nursing a creamy pint of the black stuff.  Hannah, who wouldn’t be seen dead inside a poky little pub, and who was much more at home in hotels where she could show off a little, had stayed at home.  Typically, she’d expressed her disapproval when Dara told her that she and her father were going out for a while.

“What would this poor Mark think about you gallivanting around pubs behind his back?” she said.

Dara fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Mum, I’m going across to Brady’s with Dad for a quiet one.  It’s hardly gallivanting.”

Hannah sniffed. “I don’t think it’s right, a girl of your age going out drinking with ‘oul fellas in pubs like that. People could get the wrong idea.”

Aha! So it isn’t Mark you’re worried about then, Dara thought, gritting her teeth, it’s the fact that your decrepit thirty-three-year-old daughter might be seen as being left on the shelf!  Bloody hell, did everything always have to be about what people thought? What about what
she
thought?

“Let them think what they like,” she replied artlessly. “But if it’s gone to the stage where I can’t go for a quiet drink with my own father – ”

“Ready to go, love?” Eddie interrupted, trying to head off the inevitable battle of wills between the two women.  It had been this way since Dara had turned thirty, and he couldn’t understand for the life of him why, in Hannah’s eyes, his daughter’s unmarried state was such a shameful thing.  Of course, he’d love to see her settled, but only when it suited her and certainly not just for the sake of it.

Hannah harrumphed. “Don’t you come back here full to the scut with Guinness either.  I don’t want to have to listen to you moaning and groaning all day tomorrow.”

Dara shot a look at her.  Anyone listening would think Eddie was a raving alcoholic! Surely, after a hard week’s work, he deserved to go out and relax over a drink or two.  And it wasn’t as though he went out very often – the way her mother went on, you’d swear he was never out of the pub! 

“I won’t, love,” Eddie replied dutifully.

Dara shook her head.  Would it be too much to ask that her mother should simply wish them both a good night out?  But no, she had to get in the few digs and lay on the guilt trip.  God forbid that they might go out and actually enjoy themselves!

“So, how’s himself?” Eddie asked later, once they were on their second drink and had settled in for a chat. 

Surprisingly, no one in the premises had recoiled in shock at the sight of the local spinster out for a drink with her father.  And incredibly, they didn’t seem to notice the thick cloud of ‘desperation’ that Hannah was so sure Dara would emit.

“He’s fine,” she replied.  “He and the rugby team are up north this weekend.”

“He’s sounds like a nice lad,” Eddie went on. “Dependable too, I’d say.” Then he laughed a little.  “Sorry, love – that sounded a bit like something your mother would say.”

“It certainly did!” Dara laughed too.  It was exactly like something Hannah would say, but coming from her father it didn’t sound so loaded.  Still, seeing as he’d brought the subject up …  “He’s lovely Dad, and I like him a lot, but . . .” She reddened a little, wondering if her father was the right person to talk to about this after all.  Then she faltered, deciding that no, he probably wasn’t. “Yes,” she finished, “he’s great.”

Eddie looked at her. “I think I heard a ‘but’ in there somewhere.”

She grimaced.  “Better not tell Mum that.  She’d have a heart attack.  As it is, she thinks Mark’s ‘my last hope’.”  She made quote marks with her fingers.

“Don’t mind your mother – she only wants the best for you – we all do.”

Dara sat back, the second glass of wine relaxing her a little. “Is it really that awful, Dad?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light.  “Having an unmarried daughter at thirty-three?”

Eddie looked embarrassed.  “Not at all, that’s not what I meant.  I meant the opposite actually.  I know you get a hard time from your mother, and I’ve tried to talk to her about it, but,” he shrugged, “you know as well as I do that I might as well be talking to the wall. Anyway, I don’t think she means it, it’s just her way, and behind it all, it’s her way of showing that she worries about you.”

“But why does she worry about me? I’ve got a good job, my own home, a great life – it’s not as though I’m stuck in some bed-sit somewhere destitute and with no friends! Why is having a man the be all and end all for her?”

Eddie shook his head. “I suppose it’s different nowadays, but back when we first met, being married
was
the be-all and end-all.  Nobody thought too much about what would happen afterwards.  Sure, I know myself that a lot of those marriages weren’t necessarily a good thing for the people involved.”

He paused then, and for a brief second Dara wondered if he was speaking from personal experience.  It wouldn’t have surprised her.  Hannah was a difficult woman to live with, she knew that only too well.  But at least she could get away from the nagging and the little digs.  Did her father have to put up with it all the time? Did he fall madly in love with a woman very different to the one they’d left at home?  Had his marriage turned out differently than he’d expected?

Dara knew that they’d met in one of those old dance halls that were all the rage in Ireland back in the sixties and seventies.  Apparently they’d gone out together for a year before getting married and then, nine months later, Dara had arrived.   With barely two or three years between each subsequent child, her parents hardly had the time to enjoy just being together as a married couple. When she asked her father about this – about whether they’d had enough time together as a couple, Eddie smiled softly and shook his head.

“That kind of notion didn’t exist back then.  How it worked was you met someone you got on well with, you got married and then had a family soon as you could.  It was the same for everyone as far as I know.”

“So, when you met Mum at the dances, did you know right away that she was the one for you or …” Dara felt strange talking to her father like this, but what he’d said about everyone else at the time following the same path intrigued her.

Eddie laughed. “It wasn’t really like that either.  She was a fine-looking woman, we got on well and, well, I suppose, after a while, it was inevitable that we’d mosey along together.”

“Inevitable? It sounds like you didn’t think too much about it. Either she was the one for you or she wasn’t.”

Eddie sat back in his chair. “Dara, that was the way it was in those days.  We didn’t spend half our lives pondering over every decision like ye seem to do now.  I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that, mind,” he added, when he saw his daughter’s expression.  “It was just the way things were, but in fairness, I think it made life much simpler. Myself and Hannah got married, moved into the new house and soon afterwards, you came along and after that the other two.  Your mother always wanted a few children, particularly girls, so she was delighted when we had you.”

Didn’t last long, though, did it? Dara thought sadly.  These days her mother was as far from delighted with her as she could get.

But what her father described was so far from her expectations, so far from the thunder-bolts she was so sure existed, that in a way it was strangely comforting.   He hadn’t spoken about Hannah the way they often did in those old black and white movies, reminiscing about how from the first moment they met, they just
knew
. She’d never heard her mother wax lyrical about their courtship either – if anything it had come across as all very sensible and down to earth.  There was certainly no mention of knocking knees or butterflies in the stomach as far as Hannah was concerned. 

Eddie went on.  “To be perfectly honest, I think maybe there’s so much divorce around these days because people
do
think about it too much. They want instant perfection and if the one they’re with doesn’t live up to the ideal, they go off looking for one that does.  But, love, there’s a lot to be said for someone who’s reliable and dependable, and who doesn’t have any fancy notions about the ideal romance.  But these days, people are too busy chasing rainbows to realise that.” Then he looked at her, a mischievous glint in his eye.  “It’s nearly closing, but I must say I’m enjoying our little chat. Will we have another one?”

Dara nodded, deciding in that instant that her father’s words made a whole lot of sense.

Was that what she was doing then, she wondered, when Eddie had gone to the bar. Was she simply chasing rainbows, wishing for something that wasn’t there?  Making herself unsure and unhappy by waiting around for someone who could make her go weak at the knees, when in her father’s time, any sensible woman would have settled down with someone like Mark long ago. 

Perhaps she’d wasted years waiting around for the Hollywood fairytale, waiting around for the perfect man – the elusive One.  Waiting around for someone who could live up to her idea of perfection – Noah Morgan.  So perhaps she should give up on the fairytale, give up on the childish idea that she could find another Noah, and just be damned grateful for what she did have.  

The following Friday evening, she and Mark were invited to a family dinner at his sister’s house. Gillian, the oldest of the Russell children, lived in Blackrock with her husband and two young children.  Mark’s mum also stayed there, Gillian insisting on caring for her mother when her father died and Sheila’s health began to fail.  It was a wonderful selfless gesture, and Dara admired her for it, not sure if she could ever see herself doing the same with her mother.  They’d end up strangling one another! 

Gillian had always been polite when they met, but for some reason, Dara had never really warmed to her.  She couldn’t quite put her finger on what that was, but there was something about the other woman’s manner that made her uneasy. 

The other sister Linda, though, was a different story.  Sweet, pretty and a little bit shy, at twenty-six she was the baby of the family, and Dara liked her enormously. Linda worked and lived in the city centre.  

She and Mark hadn’t seen the family since the wedding, and she knew he was looking forward to catching up with them all.

Dara loved the way the Russells were so close and seemed so relaxed and at ease with one another, and where Mark’s mother was just as likely to make a witty comment or hilarious joke as Mark was. Sheila treated all her children like adults, a very far cry from the Campbell household, whereby Hannah treated all her children as though they were undisciplined idiots, sure to embarrass her at any given moment.

So, she was particularly looking forward to this dinner, despite her misgivings about Gillian. 

“Well, if it isn’t the honeymooners!” Gillian’s husband Jeff greeted them effusively at the front door.  They had taken the Dart from Sandycove for the short hop down to Blackrock.  “Come in, come in – Dara, let me take your coat.” He winked at her. “So, any sign of an old niece or nephew for me yet?”

Mark rolled his eyes to heaven. “Jaysus, give me a chance!  I have to recover from the wedding yet!” 

Used to her brother-in-law’s playful teasing, Dara laughed.  Although, she thought, she’d better get used to those sorts of comments.  No doubt the questions would soon start at home too, taking the place of the ones she’d had to listen to previously about getting married.  She groaned inwardly.  Sometimes there was no keeping people happy!

Following Jeff into the living-room, Dara waved a greeting to the others. “Hello, all!” The twins were nowhere to be seen and Dara deduced they must have already gone to bed.  Pity, they were great kids and Dara enjoyed spending time with them. Although perhaps it was just as well. Gillian could be a bit of a baby bore and while the toddlers were very pleasant, it was not so pleasant hearing every tiny detail of their latest exploits. Out of sight, out of mind hopefully?

“Hi, Dara!” Linda stood up, and gave her a warm hug. “You’re looking fabulous – and typical, you’ve managed to keep your lovely Italian tan!”

“You’re looking great yourself,” Dara replied, meaning it. Then catching sight of the handbag her sister-in-law was holding her eyes widened.  “Lynda!
‘Is this a Fendi which I see before me, the handle toward my hand’
?”

Linda laughed.  “Fake, I’m afraid.” Grinning broadly, she handed Dara the bag for further inspection. “So, I take it you studied
Macbeth
in the Leaving too?” she added, raising an amused eyebrow.

“No, she’s one of those weirdos who actually
likes
Shakespeare,” Mark quipped, outwardly mocking his wife. “She’s always sprouting that stuff to me too, although unfortunately not in the way you’d think.  Only last week I made dinner, and she comes into the kitchen, wrinkles her nose and says, ‘
There’s something rotten in the state of Denmark!
’” He mimicked her tone perfectly, and Dara elbowed him. “Denmark?  It took her half an hour to explain to me that it was a quote from Shakespeare and what it was supposed to mean!”

The others laughed and just then Gillian entered the room. “I knew a girl like that in college,” she said dryly. “She was also doing that, seemed to love trying to make other people feel inadequate with her fancy words and fancy wardrobe.”

Instantly, the buoyant mood changed. 

Dara couldn’t believe Mark’s eldest sister hadn’t even said hello before getting a dig in. “Well, I was actually trying to give Linda a compliment,” she said, smiling tightly and trying not to betray her embarrassment.

“Go away out of that, Gill – we’re only having a bit of
craic
!” Sheila laughed, giving Dara an encouraging wink. “Anyway, we all know how intelligent Dara is.  Isn’t she entitled to show off a little?”

Yikes! Definitely the wrong thing to say, Dara thought, wincing, particularly as Gillian seemed to be in one of her moods.  She had long suspected that the other woman’s apparent dislike of her stemmed from the fact that she felt somewhat threatened by
Dara’s supposed high-flying job and education.  Yet, Dara respected Gillian enormously for the wonderful sacrifice she had made in looking after her mother – something that she herself knew she could never do.  In her opinion, every woman’s circumstances were different and all anyone could do was respect another’s choices. It seemed Gillian wasn’t prepared to do that.

Dara knew well that the two of them would never be close, but stupidly she’d thought that things might get easier once she and Mark were married.  Although, the fact that Dara hadn’t automatically taken Mark’s surname as her own after the wedding was another lost Brownie point where Gillian was concerned.  Dara didn’t have a strong opinion about it one way or the other, but because her professional name was Dara Campbell, and people were used to that, it seemed easier just to keep it that way.  And Mark didn’t give a damn either way. But, apparently, this was something that really got up Gillian’s nose. 

Still, it wasn’t fair of the woman to imply that Dara was being patronising tonight.  “Well, something smells
gorgeous
,” she ventured generously, determined to keep things upbeat. “Can I give you a hand with anything in the kitchen, Gillian?”

“No, it’s fine – I’ve got it all under control.”

“You’re right not to let her near the place, Gill,” Mark interjected sardonically, “especially if you still want the house standing tomorrow.  Did I tell you about that time she tried to do a shepherd’s pie for me, and we had to call out the fire brigade?”

Dara looked at him, all innocence. “You’re wasted in physio, Mark Russell.  For the life of me, I can’t understand why you didn’t go into dramatic writing.”  

Truthfully, Dara hated her domestic shortcomings being aired in front of Gillian, who – judging by the wonderful aroma coming from her kitchen – was obviously Nigella Lawson’s long-lost twin. She had a bit of Martha Stewart in there too, she thought, eyeing the corners of the room, which looked strangely conspicuous by the absence of a single cobweb. And there wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere. How did Gillian keep up with it all, she wondered, thinking of the never-ending cleaning that needed doing in her apartment.  Never-ending, because she rarely did it.

Sheila laughed, and regarded her son shrewdly. “You know, you
do
look like you’ve lost a bit of weight recently.  So, my daughter-in-law hasn’t been feeding you properly then?”

Dara grimaced, wishing they’d change the subject. “Sorry, Sheila.”

“Mam, I don’t know where I got her,” Mark was saying. “And here’s me thinking I’d end up going for a woman like my mother.”

“Well, in my opinion, you did a lot better!” Sheila laughed, hobbling along in front of them towards the kitchen.

They all took a seat around Gillian’s huge farmhouse table in her huge farmhouse kitchen.  Gillian obviously took great pride in her cooking and mothering skills and seemed totally at home with entertaining.  Dara had always envied that, envied those women who could quite effortlessly cope with cooking huge dinners for more than four people, and who didn’t get flustered as she did by trying to entertain them while at the same time having to get everything ready all at once. Her mother was the same. Hannah hated having visitors, probably because she spent the entire time wondering what her visitors were thinking of her, if they noticed the carpet was a bit threadbare in places, if her children were behaving themselves. 

But it seemed Gillian was a whiz at that kind of thing. There she was balancing a couple of plates on each arm, dishing out the starters along the table as though she did it every day.  Which in a way, Dara supposed, she did.

Picking up a mouth-watering prawn wrapped in perfectly cooked filo pasty, Dara once again marvelled at Gillian’s domestic prowess. 

“This is fantastic,” Dara knew it was rude to speak with her mouth full but she couldn’t help it.  This stuff deserved it.

Gillian was temporarily mollified.  “I know my darling brother loves them,” she replied, before adding, “and since Mark tells us you’re not feeding him …” Her tone was light but there was no mistaking the barb.

“It was a joke, Gill,” Mark interjected, annoyed. “And I’m perfectly capable of feeding myself.”

Jeff, it seemed, also felt his wife had overstepped the mark, and he deftly changed the subject. “So, Linda, how’s the social life these days?” he asked, smiling warmly at Gillian’s sister.

Linda reddened a little.  “I wouldn’t really know.  I haven’t been out much lately.”

“Why not?” Mark asked.

“Ah, money’s tight at the moment, and to be honest, it gets a bit boring after a while.”

“You’ll never meet a man sitting at home at weekends in your pyjamas watching the
Late Late Show
,” Gillian pointed out.

“Maybe I don’t
want
to meet one,” her sister replied testily and Dara suspected that this was an old and well-worn conversation. “Anyway, it can be like a meat-market out there sometimes, and every man I meet these days seems to be just after the one thing. Sorry, Mum,” she added, when Sheila looked worried.

“I can only imagine,” her mother agreed, “and to be honest, I’m a little relieved that I’ve brought you up wise enough to see it.  There’s no point in going out and throwing yourself at fellas for the sake of it.”

“Linda, at your age you’re mad to be sitting at home on your own!” Gillian continued, ignoring her mother. “You have to start getting out there, meeting people.  So, you have to kiss a few frogs before you find your Prince Charming but so what?  We all had to do it.”

“I don’t think it’s quite the same anymore, Gillian,” Dara ventured, speaking from experience. As far as she knew, Gillian and Jeff had been together since their schooldays and had married relatively young.  Gillian had been lucky enough not to have to kiss too many frogs.  “I know what she’s saying.  It can be hard to meet people these days.” She’d been deliberate in using ‘people’ rather than ‘men’, knowing full well how pathetic this could make a girl sound – or feel.  Anyway, Linda was way too young to be made feel odd for not having a man.  She was only twenty-six for goodness’ sake!

“Exactly the reason she should be putting herself out there.  If you’re not careful, Linda, you’ll end up missing the boat and where will you be then?”

Dara noticed Linda’s knuckles had gone white.

“Work is very busy at the moment, Gill.” Linda worked for the tax office, and she’d been recently promoted.  “Most of the time, I don’t have the energy to go out chatting up men. Anyway, I’m not like that.  I don’t like throwing myself at people.”

“I don’t like the idea of you throwing yourself at people either,” Mark piped up protectively, “and I agree with Dara that it isn’t easy to find someone decent these days.  It took us long enough, didn’t it?” he laughed.

Dara didn’t laugh.  She was too annoyed at Gillian for making Linda feel exactly the way her own family used to make her feel, before she’d joined the club and married Mark. What was it with families that they had to stick their oar into everything?  What business of Gillian’s was it whether or not Linda had a man?

“You’d want to be careful not to turn into one of those high-flying career women,” Gillian said, and again Dara sensed there was a dig in there.  “You might have a great job and lots of money but what good is it if you have no man and no friends to share it with?”

“But I’m only twenty-six – ”

“Exactly.  I was twenty-two when I got married and I had my first child at your age. Time is moving on and – ”

“Gillian, do we need more salad?” Sheila interjected, evidently trying to change the subject and take the heat off Linda.  Why she didn’t challenge her daughter directly, Dara didn’t know, although, in fairness, as a permanent guest in Gillian’s house she wasn’t exactly in a strong position to start acting the matriarch.

Clearly uncomfortable with the conversation, Linda stood up. “Excuse me, I need to use the loo,” she said quietly. “Back in a second.”

The poor girl obviously couldn’t take any more of her sister’s intrusive and dismissive comments.  Dara couldn’t blame her either.

“Gillian, are you really suggesting she should sacrifice her career for the sake of finding a man?” Dara asked when Linda had left the room.  She knew she was overstepping the
mark – this was a family conversation after all – but Gillian’s comments had got right up her nose.