Читать книгу Worlds Apart - Ber Carroll - Страница 7

Erin applied a fresh coat of lip-gloss, dabbed her face with powder, and then, because she felt silly and excited and out-of-this-world happy, did an impromptu imitation of a plane taking off with her hand: up, up, up, whoosh and away. When her hand came back down to earth, she leant in closer to the mirror to examine her reflection. Her eyes were shining, excitement virtually glowing through their deep brown, and her cheeks were slightly flushed, the effects of the champagne everyone seemed so intent on forcing her to drink. The rest of her skin looked paler than its usual olive tone, probably due to the harsh lighting in the restrooms. Her hair still looked great, though, dark and sleek with lots of badly needed volume, thanks to a visit to the hairdresser that afternoon. If she could have hair like this every day, she could achieve great, great things. She giggled. That was the champagne talking … or thinking, more like.

‘Ah, so this is where the girl of the moment is hiding out!’ Her Aunt Cathy’s reflection appeared next to her in the mirror. ‘Everything all right, love?’

‘Never better,’ Erin responded and meant it.

On that reassurance, Cathy set about fixing her own lipstick, her mouth slightly apart as she applied a deep-red colour which complemented her stylishly cut blonde hair. Her knit dress was extremely flattering to her gym-toned figure, as were her very fashionable, very new, high-heeled boots. High heels were Cathy’s signature fashion item: Erin had never seen her aunt in a pair of flats. Cathy was in her mid-fifties, but could quite easily pass as a woman ten years younger.

‘Cathy, you’re my “fun” auntie. You know that, don’t you?’

‘I’m your only auntie, you goose!’

As a child, Erin had loved going to visit her aunt. Cathy still lived in the same detached house on the corner of a tree-lined street, the house having the same hint of glamour as its owner. It was a big house, capable of accommodating more people than it did – Cathy, Ian and Laura – and Erin used to fantasise about sleeping over in one of the light, airy guest rooms. Though such an invitation had not been forthcoming, Cathy had always made her feel extraordinarily welcome, laying out chocolate biscuits and fizzy drinks and, as Erin got older, supplying cast-off lipsticks, nail-polish and costume jewellery for her to take as she wished. Erin had been ambivalent about Laura back then; it was her aunt she’d looked forward to seeing. It was funny how she and Laura had become close in the long run.

‘I’m going to miss you, Cathy,’ she stated, swallowing a hiccup. She must remember to go easy on the champagne.

Cathy stopped rearranging her hair and turned to give Erin a quick hug. ‘I’ll miss you too, pet. But let’s not dwell on it – it’ll only make us both upset. Go out there and enjoy the rest of your night. Go on. Out you go.’

Erin did as she was told, thinking, as she swayed back into the party, her party, that Laura was far too harsh on her mother. Yes, Cathy was a little frivolous and not your stereotypical grandmother, but she was fun and had great zest for life, and that had to count for something, didn’t it? Life without fun was very, very dull. Sadly, Erin knew this fact firsthand.

* * * * *

Laura took a sip from her glass of wine and surveyed the party she’d organised in Erin’s honour. Family, friends and colleagues were squashed into the small function room upstairs at O’Donoghue’s pub, and everyone seemed to be mingling well and having a good time. The finger food had come out on cue, and the music was just the right volume and mix to appeal to the wide range of ages. Later on there would be cake and a speech, which would probably embarrass Erin but would be entirely appropriate for the occasion. Laura had organised it all – invitations, food, music and cake – right down to the very last detail. It had just involved making another list – a party-for-Erin list – and it had got done, just like that.

Speaking of Erin, where had she gone? Laura scanned the room, taking in the clusters of people close to the bar, some perched on stools, others standing, drinks in hand, heads bent in conversation. She swept her eyes along the rear of the function room, to the staid bench seating and low tables, but couldn’t spot her cousin. Her roving gaze caught her Uncle Gerry, who beamed a smile at her and made in her direction.

‘Ah, Laura, there you are!’ Gerry hung a friendly arm around her shoulders and planted a stubbly kiss on her cheek. ‘And where’s the better half tonight?’

‘He’s at home minding Olivia,’ Laura explained, not for the first time. Why was it so hard to go somewhere alone without fielding a thousand questions about her husband’s whereabouts? ‘We have a babysitter crisis now that Erin is leaving!’

‘Ah, you should have said something earlier,’ her uncle exclaimed. ‘Aidan could have come over … Don’t be afraid to ask him the next time you need someone to mind the little one.’

Aidan was the youngest of Gerry’s boys and, in Laura’s opinion, more irresponsible than his three brothers put together, which was quite an achievement. Olivia would be safer taking care of herself than being ‘minded’ by Aidan.

‘I’m sure Aidan is busy with his social life at college,’ she muttered as diplomatically as she could.

‘Of course, there’s Colm too.’ Gerry cupped his chin as he pondered his eldest boy’s suitability for the job. ‘Colm has a steady girlfriend now and I’m sure the two of them wouldn’t mind staying in the odd Saturday night to look after Olivia.’

Yes, Laura was sure that Colm and his new girlfriend would be quite keen to have a house practically all to themselves. Laura suddenly had a picture of her cousin making out with his girlfriend on her modular couch. She gulped some wine to obliterate the picture from her mind.

‘Don’t worry, Gerry. We have a new nanny starting next week and I’m sure that she’ll do a bit of babysitting here and there.’

‘Ah, that’s good news. Your mother will be happy – she was feeling the strain.’

Laura felt a flash of hurt, followed by a more enduring frustration. Strain? Cathy didn’t know the meaning of strain! She had an idyllic life, constantly going for coffee with her friends, scouring the internet for discount airfares and jetting off for romantic getaways with her husband every other weekend, shopping for clothes and accessories as though shopping were an Olympic sport. To think that lending a helping hand with her granddaughter for one measly week was a strain the whole family had to hear about!

Though Laura didn’t verbalise her thoughts, Gerry was perceptive enough to read her expression. ‘Sorry, love, I didn’t mean it like that. Of course, minding Olivia is a delight for your mother.’

Gerry looked so troubled that Laura had no option but to try to shrug it off. Her uncle brimmed with good intentions, always wanting to help, to solve whatever the problem there was, and the mere thought that he may have caused friction between Laura and Cathy was enough to keep him awake at night. Laura had always felt especially fond of her Uncle Gerry, and knew that he felt the same way about her. Some of her earliest memories were of riding high on her uncle’s sturdy shoulders, squealing with laughter as he held her upside-down by the ankles, and how important and special she’d felt when he’d asked her to be a flower girl at his wedding. Gerry had married late and his boys were a good few years younger than her. He maintained that Laura had broken him in and thanks to her he’d had the requisite qualifications by the time his own children came along.

Laura’s thoughts were interrupted by a loud guffaw, and she didn’t need to turn her head to identify from whom it had originated. Yes, there was Uncle Paddy bumbling towards them, and it was too late for her to discreetly slip away. If Gerry was her favourite of her mother’s siblings, Paddy was her least favourite. Paddy saw himself as the joker of the family, the problem being that his jokes were more like insults and were always at someone’s expense. Gerry’s earnestness made him an easy target for Paddy, and when it came to Laura his cracks invariably adopted a Spanish flavour.

‘Ah, Laura, where’s the Spaniard tonight? Did ye have an argumento?’

The problem with Paddy was that there was often a grain of truth in his remarks, and for that reason they stung. She had argued with Esteban tonight. She had wanted to ask one of the mums from playschool to mind Olivia, but Esteban had been adamant that he didn’t want to leave his daughter with someone they hardly knew. She had accused him of using Olivia as an excuse to get out of going to the party, and he responded that he was doing nothing of the sort, but admitted that he was tired and didn’t mind staying at home. She followed by shouting that he couldn’t be more tired than she was. The argument had ended the same way all their arguments ended: her screaming like a fishwife, and Esteban saying nothing at all, his shutters down, making her want to scream all the harder.

‘You’re looking a bit more cuddly than the last time I saw you, Laura. Must be having a few too many tapas and paellas, eh?’

Paddy had absolutely no sensitivity to people’s feelings, and had a booming voice that everyone in the vicinity could hear. He always, always commented on Laura’s weight. It was true that she had put on some extra pounds. With the mood she was in, if he said another word she would not be responsible for what she would do.

Paddy had a brood of boys too, most of whom were here tonight. They stood as a group, talking earnestly amongst themselves. In fact, Paddy’s boys were more of Gerry’s temperament, and Gerry’s unruly lot were more like Paddy. Maybe in the same way that Laura was the complete opposite to her own mother. Had the genes got mixed up somewhere, or did children consciously try to be different from their parents?

Ah, there was Erin, coming out of the toilets, slightly unsteady on her feet. She looked amazing in her black cocktail dress, her skin glowing, her hair shining; it was though she was lit up from the inside. Laura had always envied Erin her beautiful olive skin and glossy hair, so different from her own paler skin tones and, in her opinion, nondescript hair.

As Laura watched, Erin almost lost her balance and had to hold on to someone’s arm to steady herself. Mmm … The guest of honour was decidedly tipsy. Laura gulped back the rest of her drink, deciding that if her cousin was going to get drunk, she would keep her company. It was the least she could do.

* * * * *

Erin, her fingers curled around the stem of a fresh flute of champagne, instinctively sought out her mother with her eyes, and seeing that she was alone, made in her direction. If Cathy looked ten years younger than her age, Erin’s mother – Moira – looked ten years older. She sat in one of the far corners of the room, detached from the party in much the same way she was detached from life.

‘Hi, Mum. Are you enjoying yourself?’

‘Yes,’ Moira smiled. ‘Though I don’t think this place is as good as it used to be.’

An interesting observation, Erin thought, given that Moira had never set foot in O’Donoghue’s pub before tonight.

‘It’s a good crowd, isn’t it, Mum?’

‘Moira, Gerard, Patrick and baby Cathy,’ Moira recited in reply.

‘Yes, Mum, all your brothers and sisters are here tonight.’

‘Moira, Gerard, Patrick and baby Cathy,’ Moira repeated, before her gaze focused on the small dance floor. ‘Has Cathy gone out dancing yet? She loves to dance, you know!’

‘Yes, Mum, I know.’

Moira cupped a hand over her mouth. ‘Oh, that Cathy! She’s so naughty,’ she giggled. ‘I don’t know what we’ll do with her.’

Erin smiled as though she was in full agreement.

‘We spoil her, all of us,’ Moira continued fondly. ‘She’s the youngest, the baby of the family, and we just dote on her. Oh, but she’s as bold as brass … I have to be the sensible one, being the eldest … Let me tell you, it’s very tiresome being sensible all the time.’

‘Yes, Mum, I’m sure it is.’

‘Moira, Gerard, Patrick and baby Cathy.’

Moira recited the names of her siblings a few hundred times a day. It was her mantra, her mainstay. After all, her brothers and sisters were the only thing that had remained constant in her life. Everything else had disintegrated beyond recognition.

Erin felt a sudden urge to cry. She was overwhelmed by the sheer unfairness, the hopelessness and the sadness of it all. Her mother was only sixty-seven. Until the onset of her illness she’d been an intelligent, well-read, well-travelled woman, a loving mother and a devoted wife. She should have had many more good years to look forward to. If her younger self had known that this was coming, a time when she couldn’t hold a conversation without reciting the same phrase over and over again, a time when she was living more in the past than the present, a time when a roster would determine whose turn it was to mind her, she would have been truly horrified.

Laura appeared by Erin’s side, as though by some sixth sense.

‘I’ll sit here with Moira for a minute.’

‘You don’t have to. I –’

‘Go away, Erin. Spend some time with your guests.’

Erin blinked her eyes to clear away the tears that had formed. ‘God, you’re not half bossy!’

‘I was bossy,’ Moira chirped in. ‘I was the eldest, you see.’

Laura shared a rueful grin with Erin. ‘Yes, Auntie Moira.’

Moira leant closer to Laura. ‘And who are you again, dear?’

‘I’m Laura, Cathy’s girl.’

‘Oh, yes. Of course you are.’

Moira was finding it harder and harder to keep track of who was who in the family, particularly the faces she didn’t see every day. She always knew Erin, though she sometimes got mixed up as to what age her daughter was, occasionally packing a lunch for her in the mornings and enquiring why she wasn’t wearing her school uniform.

‘Go, Erin. Go back to the party,’ Laura commanded.

‘Okay. I’m gone, I’m gone!’

Erin left her mother in Laura’s care – in effect, what she was about to do for the coming year – and made her way back to the thick of the crowd. The champagne had lost some of its glow, as had the party and the crazy notion that it was okay to go away and leave her mother. How long would it take for Moira to completely forget her face or, worse still, that she had a daughter at all? When Erin eventually came back from Australia, would her mother lean close and ask ever so politely, ‘And who are you again, dear?’

* * * * *

Laura turned on the light in the landing. It cast a soft glow into Olivia’s bedroom, over the rumpled bedclothes and her upside-down silhouette. Laura turned her daughter the right way up, her body much heavier in sleep than awake, tucked the duvet back in place, kissed Olivia’s forehead and then, for good measure, planted a second kiss on her button nose.

‘Night, night, Floss.’

In her own bedroom on the other end of the landing, she used the borrowed light to get undressed, allowing her clothes to spool on the carpet at her feet, a carelessness she wouldn’t usually allow herself. As she got into bed, Esteban stirred and his arm snaked around her waist to pull her close. She felt like wriggling free, pushing him away, but the heaviness of his arm held her captive for long enough to melt some of the resentment she’d harboured from earlier.

‘I am sorry.’ His voice, thick with sleep, whispered in her ear. ‘I do not like it when we argue.’

‘I’m sorry, too,’ she returned automatically.

‘Let’s not fight about little, insignificant matters.’

‘Yes,’ she said wryly. ‘Let’s keep our arguments for the big stuff.’

Her Spanish husband, contrary to popular perception, did not thrive on spectacular arguments and passionate making-up afterwards. At heart, Esteban was a gentle soul and hated discord of any kind. Laura knew he would sleep easier now that they had both apologised.

‘How was the night?’ he enquired, pressing his cheek deeper into the pillow.

‘It was good. Everything went off perfectly. I tried to get drunk, but it didn’t work.’

Esteban chuckled. ‘And Erin?’

‘Erin was in top form.’

For a while they said nothing. The silence felt like an extra blanket on the bed, warm and comforting. For a few minutes, Laura floated on the verge of sleep, pondering it, trying it out for size, but then her thoughts woke her up, rattling inside her head and rousing the rest of her body.

‘Esteban?’

‘Mmm …’

‘Maybe I shouldn’t have encouraged Erin to do this …’

‘Huh?’

‘What if something happens to Moira while she’s away? She’ll never forgive me if it does!’

‘I don’t think …’

‘Or what if Erin has another attack? Like the one last year, but this time with strangers around and no family to help her through.’

Esteban tightened his arm around her waist, restraining her as one might restrain a toddler who was spiralling out of control.

‘Relax, lovely Laura. It is time to sleep. Let go. Relax.’

Under his command and the confinement of his arm, she did let go and finally fell asleep.

* * * * *

Erin stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. If her reflection earlier in the night had been glossy, this was the matt version, the real her. An Alice band held her hair back from her face, all traces of make-up cleansed from her skin, her eyes a little watery with tears she’d struggled to keep at bay at various points throughout the night, including now. The party was over, everyone had said their goodbyes, and in three days’ time she was getting on a plane and not returning for a whole year. She felt excited, scared, happy, sad, jittery, nostalgic and guilty, guilty, guilty.

It had been a good party, a great party in fact, and she must thank Laura again for organising it all. Cathy had started the dancing, jiving with Ian on the small dance floor, not minding at all that they were the centre of attention until others came to join in. When the DJ finished for the night, Gerry stepped in to take his place, his baritone voice keeping the music going with a traditional song about immigration that had both Erin and Laura in fits of laughter.

‘God love him, Gerry thinks I’m getting on a ship and never coming back again!’

There had been a few lowlights during the night, one when Paddy cornered her and made his usual – not remotely funny – remarks about her single status.

‘Ah, it’s the girl herself. Where have you been hiding all night?’

‘Nowhere, Paddy, I’ve been right here.’

‘Tell me once and tell me no more, are you going to meet the man of your dreams out there and bring him back with you so we can finally have a wedding?’

‘I have absolutely no idea.’

‘Ah now, Erin, you need to be more enthusiastic and committed than that. Sure, Laura brought the Spaniard back with her. And you’ll have no language barriers in Australia – it should be very straightforward! Ha, ha!’

For once Erin had struck back at him. ‘Jesus, Paddy, will you just shut up. Believe me, I’m not single by choice, and I’ll be as fucking happy as you if I meet a man in Australia!’

Paddy had jumped as though he’d received an electric shock. ‘I’m sorry, love. I was only having a joke, that’s all.’

‘Well, Paddy, it’s not bloody funny.’

Her uncle had uttered a few more mumbled apologies before making himself scarce. Now Erin found herself smiling at the recollection. Actually, maybe the scene qualified more as a highlight than a lowlight. She’d never really learned how to retaliate or stick up for herself, and cutting comebacks were something she only ever thought of when the opportunity to deliver them had long passed. Now that she thought about it, her bravery hadn’t just been spurred by the fact that she was getting on a plane and didn’t have to face her uncle for another twelve months. There was also the effect of seeing all her college friends tonight – friends who had, one by one, got married and started families, friends whom she usually caught up with at their homes, playing with their children and having cups of tea at their kitchen counters. Seeing them on a night out, dressed to the nines with wine glasses in their hands and attentive husbands by their sides, made her realise that it had been a long time since she’d seen them at this sort of social event, and for some reason that realisation made her feel distant from them – as well as very single. And how dare Paddy make light of it, how dare he act as if it was something she could change at will.

Enough brain space wasted on Paddy. She had so much else to think about, so much to cram into the next few days. What to pack and what to leave behind. Chores around the house which she wanted to finish, cupboards and drawers that needed cleaning out, that sort of thing. Bills and paperwork for Moira and herself. Not forgetting to print her tickets, pack her passport somewhere safe, and ensure that she had enough of the right currency when she got there. Should she make a list? Just this once? No, she would not. She and Laura were different in that respect. Tonight her cousin had casually commented that her life would fall apart at the seams if she didn’t keep lists. Erin had a different viewpoint. In fact she’d developed a deep mistrust of lists, and tried to conduct her life without them. As far as she was concerned, if you had to write something down in order to remember it, then you had really forgotten it. Everything she had read on Alzheimer’s and other related diseases advocated mental workouts and memory training as essential for maintaining brain function and health. And so she never gave in to the urge to write things down, always endeavouring to train her brain to remember of its own accord, without prompting or assistance. The downside of not keeping lists was that her mind never felt clear; there were always things whirling round and round in it, like now.

A sound, a click, startled Erin from her thoughts.

She opened the bathroom door. ‘Mum?’ Her voice sounded small and insecure in the draughty landing. ‘Mum?’

Moira’s bedroom was empty, the covers on the bed neat and undisturbed. Erin’s stomach did a sickening little turn. She ran down the stairs, jumping the last three steps, and did a quick check of the kitchen and living room, though she knew in her heart that the sound, the click, had originated from the front door.

‘Mum? Mum?’

The door opened into the bitter cold. Erin’s cotton pyjamas and bare feet were totally inadequate for the wintry night that greeted her. Her mother was on the other side of the garden gate, illuminated by the street light overhead as she diligently leant over to close the latch.

‘Mum!’ Erin rushed down the path, damp, slippy and chillingly cold under her feet. She flung open the gate that Moira had so carefully latched, and grabbed her mother by the arm.

‘Where are you going?’

Moira looked perplexed. ‘I’m meeting Joe outside the cinema.’

She was wearing peach-coloured lipstick and eye-shadow, gold teardrop earrings and her best coat. She really thought she was meeting Joe. How could Erin persuade her that it was 2010 and not 1970? How could she tell her that the cinema – if the one she had in mind still existed – would be closed at this hour of the night? Worst of all, how could she tell Moira that Joe, her beloved husband, had died five years ago, after a long, exhausting battle with cancer?

‘I think that’s tomorrow night, Mum. Come on inside, you’ll need to get your beauty sleep before then.’

Docilely, Moira allowed herself to be led back up the garden path, back into the semi-detached house, out of her clothes and into bed.

Erin tucked her in tightly and kissed the papery skin on her forehead. ‘Night, Mum! Straight to sleep now.’

For a long time afterwards, Erin sat on the side of her own bed, shivering after her dash into the freezing night and on alert should her mother get another notion to go out and meet Joe. Her stomach continued to turn, champagne, guilt and frantic worry a sickening mix. On the floor, her suitcase lay open, its lid propped against the wall, like a question.

Are you? Will you? Can you?

Surely tonight’s events proved beyond all doubt that she shouldn’t get on that plane?

Dare you, replied a familiar, contemptuous voice, that of Rachel Murphy. Once upon a time, Erin’s misery and humiliation had been Rachel’s sole focus in life. Though Erin hadn’t set eyes on her since the day she’d left school, Rachel’s sneers and disdain seemed to be permanently etched in her psyche.

Dare you, dare you, dare you.