Читать книгу Second Time Around - Erin Kaye - Страница 7

Lucy was the last to leave the three-storey terrace house on Wellington Park Avenue that she shared with five other second-year girls. She locked the front door and lugged the bag of dirty laundry down to the bus stop. There was a washing machine in the house but it was coin operated and she’d neither the money for that, nor to buy the washing powder. It cost nothing to do laundry at home.

She did not have to wait long for a bus into Belfast city centre. Settling into a seat by the window she jammed her knees into the back of the seat in front, nursed the bag on her lap and looked out on the overcast, calm afternoon. Already the leaves on the trees that lined the many avenues around Queen’s University were starting to turn and soon the grey pavements would be littered with their crisp, bronzed beauty. The nights would start to close in, forcing her indoors to her room, making it harder to resist what she knew she must.

At the next stop a group of students, boys and girls, laden down with bags, got on the bus and she listened with lonely envy as they chatted about their plans for the weekend. The other girls in the house often invited each other home for the weekend, but Lucy was never on the receiving end of one of those invitations. And she had no desire to bring any of them home. They weren’t her friends. They were housemates, nothing more. Because try as she might she simply couldn’t get on their wavelength – a mindset that seemed to revolve around dyed blonde hair and too much make-up, short-skirted fashion and boyfriends. Their conversation was so shallow and she didn’t understand much of it anyway, peppered as it was with references to TV shows she didn’t watch and music she didn’t listen to. To Lucy’s mind they spent far too much time partying, while she sat alone in her room most nights poring over books – not because she wanted to but because she was afraid of what might happen if she didn’t.

And so Lucy was both amazed and annoyed, in equal measure, that not only had these girls managed to make it into second year, most of them had done it with better exam results than her. She attributed this to the fact that her Applied Mathematics and Physics course was more demanding, the assessment process more challenging, the examinations more rigorous – it must be so. She tried not to dwell on the fact that one girl was reading Biochemistry and another Physics – subjects that could hardly be dismissed as lacking in intellectual rigour. For the idea that these girls might be pretty, popular and clever was too much to bear. She would never be pretty, her singular character precluded her ever being popular and she could barely scrape a pass in exams.

Once off the bus, the strap of her heavy bag digging uncomfortably into her bony shoulder, she popped into a newsagents and, after a long deliberation, settled on a card and box of chocolates for her mother’s birthday. The card, one of those jokey ones with penguins on it, wasn’t exactly suitable but the selection was poor. And, at one pound sixty-nine pence, it was all she could afford. In her closed fist she clutched her last five pound note, wilted and damp from her tight, sweaty grip. Reluctantly, she handed it to the shop-owner with a weak smile. The change, when she counted it, wasn’t enough to buy a sheet of wrapping paper. Outside the shop she crouched down on the pavement and stuffed the purchases into her bag with a terrible sense of guilt. Even though they didn’t always see eye to eye, her mother deserved better.

She walked briskly to East Bridge Street then, her shoulders hunched against the cold, head down against the roar of the endless, screaming traffic, her shoulder-length hair, the colour of dirty straw, hanging lank round her face. She crossed her arms, feeling the wind through her thin grey jacket, and thought over the events of the past week. It wasn’t that she had forgotten her mother’s birthday on Wednesday, not at all. It was just that she’d forgotten to put aside some cash for a decent present – and she’d run out of money on her mobile so she couldn’t even call. She was on a pay-as-you-go contract, not that her parents knew this. The phone company had cancelled her monthly contract after she’d failed to pay her bills.

She could kick herself now. She should’ve bought a card and present – maybe a handbag from TK Maxx – earlier in the month, before she was skint. But, to be honest, her mother’s birthday was the least of her worries. She’d had to go and see the bank manager this morning, an extremely distressing experience that had her truly, deeply worried for the first time. Up until now she’d managed to keep him off her back with hints of family wealth. Her father had guaranteed her overdraft – a safety net, he’d said, for dire emergencies only.

But today, the bank manager wasn’t having any of it. He’d let her have twenty pounds along with a stern warning that enough was enough. If she couldn’t manage her money, then he would have to warn the guarantor, her father, that the debt could be called in. She hooked a hank of hair behind her right ear and bit the inside of her cheek. If her father started digging around in her finances, he would unearth the root cause of the debt. She could not allow that to happen.

How had she got herself into such a mess? And how was she ever going to get out of it?

On the train, two suited businessmen sat down opposite her and opened the sports pages of the Belfast Tele. She sniffed back the tears with determination and fingered the gold watch on her wrist, an eighteenth birthday present from her father. She could sell the watch. Better still, she could pretend she’d lost it and claim the insurance money. And then, appalled by the idea of such deception, she yanked the sleeve of her jacket over the watch and turned her back on temptation.

The train creaked into motion and rolled out of the station. She would have to seek the answer to her problem – the immediate one of money, at least – in Ballyfergus, in the form of her parents and their deep pockets. And then, she resolved firmly, though not for the first time, she would take herself in hand. She would conquer this thing. This time she meant it. She closed her eyes, inhaling slowly, allowing this resolve to fill her up. And, when she opened her eyes, she found her spirits brighter, her outlook less gloomy.

The train picked up more passengers at Yorkgate, then on to Whiteabbey, Jordanstown, Greenisland, names that, as a child, had signified the world beyond Ballyfergus. A world she had been curious, keen even, to explore until discovering that the place she loved best was her hometown.

She pulled a book on calculus out of her bag and tried to focus. But the graphs and figures danced around the page, meaningless, incomprehensible. She put down the book and twirled a shaft of thin, brittle hair around her nail-bitten fingers and allowed herself to imagine what it would feel like to do something she actually enjoyed …

The train reached the garrison town of Carrickfergus, dominated by the great, grey fortress of the same name, which many considered to be the finest and best-preserved Norman fortress in Ireland. After Mum and Dad split up, Dad used to bring her and Matt here, more often than she cared to remember, as if he didn’t know what else to do with them. It was marginally better than sitting around his new flat with none of her favourite things around her. It got better after Dad married Maggie and they moved into the big house. At least that felt like a home, albeit someone else’s.

The train pulled into the station and one of the businessmen got off. After leaving Carrickfergus, the train hugged the coastline, the beautiful waters of Belfast Lough stretching out to the east, calm and steel-coloured on this dull day.

The rocking of the carriage had a calming effect on Lucy; the heat made her drowsy. The man across from her turned the page of his paper, the rustling sound reassuring somehow, and her mind turned to the pleasant things that awaited her at home. Her heart swelled with happiness at the thought of her brother, Matt, who would be waiting for her at the station. And her beloved dog, Muffin. She was looking forward to seeing her two little step-sisters, whom she had loved from the day they were born. Her parents too. And by Sunday night, she would be back on the train with a pocketful of cash and all would be well. For a time anyway …

The train rumbled along the coast through Downshire before cutting inland again through the town of Whitehead. Then on through leafy Ballycarry station before emerging, finally, on the shores of Ballyfergus Lough.

The familiar beauty of the Lough brought a sense of peace to Lucy and she smiled at last as she caught her first glimpse of Ballyfergus in the distance. The town’s origins lay in the busy ferry port, around which the town had grown and expanded. And now, with a population of over eighteen thousand, the town sprawled up the hillside, engulfing the surrounding rural townlands. A town small enough to know like the back of your hand, big enough to pass through unnoticed, and the only place where Lucy felt at home.

An hour after leaving Belfast city centre, Lucy stepped onto the platform and into a quickening westerly wind. She took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh, clean air, then hurried to the car park. She spotted her mother’s red car straight away, the sound of music blasting across the tarmac even though all the windows were shut. When he saw her coming, Matt got out of the car, took her bag and threw it in the boot. Then he gave her a bear hug, nearly lifting her off her feet, and she smiled for the second time that day.

‘How are you, big sis?’ he said, releasing her.

‘Glad to be home.’

At six foot three, Matt had, like her, inherited their father’s height and slim build. He’d also inherited their mother’s good looks that had so cruelly passed Lucy by – thick, dark hair, an oval-shaped face, high cheekbones, large dark brown eyes, and a smile that was impossible to resist. Lucy, with her washed-out colouring, too-skinny figure and plain face felt as though she’d been handed the leftovers. And while Matt’s height was a blessing, hers was a curse. At five foot eleven, she towered over most guys, making her feel ridiculous and conspicuous. It was so unfair – why had Matt got all the trump cards?

Matt frowned. ‘What are you thinking?’

‘Your hair needs a cut.’

Matt pulled the cap off, ran his hands through his thatch of thick hair. He grinned, put the cap back on and said, ‘I’m growing it. Lots of chefs have ponytails these days.’

Lucy gave him a sceptical look and they both got in the car. ‘Would you turn that down?’ she shouted above the din – of a male rapper she thought, but couldn’t be sure.

‘Don’t you like Dizzee Rascal?’

‘Not my favourite,’ she grinned and rolled her eyes like she knew what she was talking about. Was Dizzee an artist? Or a band?

Matt turned down the music and Lucy breathed a sigh of relief.

She didn’t care for music – of any kind. It was a language she could not understand, a code she could not crack. Background music, whether in the communal kitchen of her digs or drifting down the hall from Matt’s room at home, was an unwelcome distraction, demanding her attention, interfering with her ability to think clearly. She preferred silence or the soothing sounds of the spoken word. For this reason, she listened to Radio Four – though she’d quickly learnt to turn it off when her flatmates were about.

Matt drove off, tyres screeching on the tarmac. Mum would have a fit if she saw the way he drove the Micra when she wasn’t around. But Lucy would never tell, not on Matt. She stared out the window as they drove the familiar route home. Away from the town centre the streets were all but deserted, save for the odd dog walker or kids wandering home late from school. Nothing much happened in Ballyfergus and that was part of its appeal. She found the continuity of life here reassuring.

‘I’ve got some news for you,’ said Matt, interrupting her thoughts. ‘I had an interview at The Lemon Tree today. I did text you.’

‘Oh, problems with my phone,’ said Lucy dismissively. ‘But what about the job? Did you get it?’ She clasped her hands against her chest praying that he’d been successful. Since he’d finished college three months ago he’d found only sporadic work at the local chippy. And it was getting him down. He’d started talking about leaving Ballyfergus for Dublin or London. So the prospect of a job that kept him so close to home was wonderful news.

He grinned, said nothing for what seemed like forever, and then blurted out, ‘Yes!’

‘Oh, Matt,’ she said, her eyes filling with tears. She touched him lightly on the arm. ‘That’s just the best news. Now you won’t have to move away from Northern Ireland.’

‘I won’t have to move anywhere,’ he announced happily, the optimism in his voice making her blink back the tears. ‘The job’s in Ballyfergus.’

‘Where?’ she said and sent up a silent prayer of thanks. If Matt had moved away, what would she have done? He was the one person who understood her best and loved her in spite of the way she was. Mum and Dad were always trying to change her, to mould her into the popular, cool daughter they so clearly desired.

Matt told her about the interview with someone called Ben, the new restaurant opening up where Peggy’s Kitchen used to be, when he hoped to start work. And Lucy listened to his animated chatter filled with joy. This was what she’d hoped for as they moved into adulthood – both of them living in, or close to, Ballyfergus.

Unlike her flatmate Fran, who came from Ballyclare, and Bernie, who hailed from Limavady, Lucy had never yearned to leave her small town roots behind. Fran and Bernie loathed the places they came from and vowed to never go back. Lucy, who listened with astonishment as they derided their hometowns, had no desire to live anywhere else.

She was not jealous of Matt. She loved him too much to envy him. But she could not help but contrast the direction his life was taking with her own. He had always known what he wanted to do while she, full of uncertainty and doubt, still had no idea.

‘Mum and Donna were having lunch there,’ went on Matt. ‘It was a bit embarrassing. Mum went all soppy when she found out I got the job. I thought she was going to kiss me at one point but, thank God, she only patted me on the cheek.’

They both laughed heartily at this and Lucy managed to say, ‘But you’d be disappointed if she did any less.’

‘I guess so. Though I’m still going to move out.’

‘But why?’ she said surprised. ‘You and Mum get on really well.’ If Matt moved into a place of his own, or worse, a shared flat or house, she’d not see so much of him. ‘And, it’s cheaper living at home,’ she argued, trying to think up reasons to deter him. ‘You’ll have more money to spend, and save, if you don’t waste it on rent. That way you could save up a deposit on a flat of your own.’

He cocked his head to one side, considering this. ‘That’s true but I really need my own place. I love Mum but it can be difficult sometimes, living at home.’

‘In what way?’ said Lucy, astounded. She knew that it would be difficult for her to live at home full time. Mum was always picking on her, moaning about how she managed her money, needling her about her social life, expecting her to do things around the house she didn’t ask of Matt. And though she would’ve died for her brother, there was no doubt in Lucy’s mind that Matt was the favourite.

‘Well, you know what she’s like about smoking in the house,’ he said, reluctantly, as if uncomfortable talking about their mother like this behind her back. ‘And she’s right, I guess. It’s her house, after all,’ he added hastily, and waited for Lucy’s nod of agreement before going on. ‘Well, Rory had a smoke in the TV room the other night and she was none too pleased. It wasn’t a big deal but it’s hard living under parent’s rules when you’re an adult.’

‘Still, I wouldn’t do anything too hasty, if I was you,’ she said quickly, looking out the passenger door window to hide the colour in her cheeks, brought forth by the notion of her, of all people, dishing out financial advice. If only Matt knew …

She yawned then, the heat of the car making her sleepy. She’d hardly slept the night before worrying about that bank manager and his threats.

‘Hard week?’ said Matt, leaning over to change radio channels.

‘Oh, just the usual,’ said Lucy nonchalantly and she thought back on the last, typical week at uni. She’d spent four of the last five nights in her pokey single room in the subdivided house. On Tuesday night she’d gone to the cinema with Amy, one of her few friends, to see a horror film.

‘All that partying’s catching up on you,’ he said and winked conspiratorially.

Lucy forced a grin and looked out the window again. She longed to tell Matt the reality of university life – how much she hated her course; how lonely it was; how she didn’t seem to fit in anywhere; how much she missed Muffin. Matt knew her better than anyone else, yet she still could not be herself entirely, even with him.

‘That’s the one thing I regret about not going to uni,’ went on Matt, wistfully. ‘The craic must be great.’ He shook his head regretfully and Lucy opened her mouth to reassure him that he wasn’t missing anything, but Matt, who was never down for long, brightened. ‘But you know me. I’d much rather be doing something than poring over dusty books. That was never my style, was it? You were always the clever one,’ he said without malice.

How could he not see the truth? She wasn’t clever, not clever enough anyway. She’d failed to get the grades for vet school. And she’d never forget the look on her father’s face the night she’d told him she wouldn’t be following in his footsteps.

Matt’s mobile, lying on his lap, flashed and he picked it up and quickly scanned the incoming text, keeping one eye on the road ahead. He chuckled.

‘What is it?’ said Lucy.

‘It’s Paul. He wants to know if I’m coming out for a pint tomorrow night.’

‘Will you go then?’

‘Aye, probably,’ he said and she bit her lip on her disappointment. He tossed the phone on his lap and Lucy glared at it jealously. She had hoped they might spend some time together. Matt was so popular, and had a talent for making new friends. Within weeks of starting his catering course he’d been pals with everyone. And if he wasn’t actually out socialising, he was never done texting and tweeting and posting things on Facebook.

‘Here we are. Home, sweet home.’ Matt pulled up in front of a modest detached house in a small leafy development of ten houses just off The Roddens. It had been quite a shock after the big house they’d lived in before their parents split up twelve years ago. Jennifer had tried to sell this new home in Oakwood Grove to Lucy on the basis that it was better located, but she wasn’t fooled. Nothing good had come out of her parents’ divorce. In fact, it had marked the start of everything going wrong for Lucy.

As soon as she opened the front door Muffin came bumbling slowly up the hall. His bony tail, the only part of him that moved with any exuberance these days, thwacked against the wall. He was a black and white collie, breathless from lack of exercise because he could not walk very far on his arthritic paws. And he was almost deaf. But his chin lifted when he realised it was his Lucy come home. He let out a little whine of delight and raised his snout in the air.

Lucy dropped to her knees, her eyes filled with tears at the sight of him, and he came over to her and sat down. He rested his head on her shoulder and let out a long contented sigh. Lucy buried her face in his coarse, dry fur, the lustrous glossiness of his youth long gone. And then he yelped and jumped back – Lucy, shuffling on the carpet, had leant her weight on his front paw.

‘I’m sorry, Muffin!’ she cried. She would rather hurt herself than her best friend. Like Matt, Muffin’s love was unconditional. He didn’t care that she was unattractive and had no friends. He simply loved her. And she him.

‘Hey, what’s up, old boy?’ said Matt, stepping around them both. He touched the dog on the head. Muffin licked Matt’s hand and sat down again.

‘I accidentally knelt on his paw. Oh, look Matt. He’s holding it up. Do you think it’ll be all right?’ She hugged the dog again and whispered, ‘I’m so sorry, Muffin. It was an accident. I never meant to hurt you.’ Sensing her distress the dog, still seated, licked her face and his tail swept across the carpet like a broom.

‘He’ll be all right in a minute,’ said Matt. ‘He’s always hurting himself. Walking into things. Happens all the time.’

Lucy’s eyes filled with tears. She struggled to her feet and Muffin ambled slowly back up the hall to the kitchen where he spent most of his time now curled up in his bed. He flopped down with a weary sigh and Lucy said, ‘Oh, don’t say that, Matt.’

Matt came over and patted her briefly on the shoulder. ‘He’s fourteen, Lucy. That’s old for a collie.’

Lucy’s bottom lip quivered. ‘I don’t want him to die, Matt.’

Matt squeezed her shoulders. ‘I know. I don’t either. But he’s not in great shape. And you wouldn’t want him to suffer, would you?’

Lucy blinked back the tears. ‘No, of course not.’

‘And when the time comes, we won’t let him, okay?’

‘Okay,’ she said bravely. She remembered with sudden clarity the summer she’d got Muffin. She remembered a soft bundle of black and white fur tearing madly round the garden after the water spurting out of the sprinkler. She’d been only six then and his liveliness had astounded, almost frightened, her at times. She had loved it best when he, finally exhausted, fell asleep in her arms, his black nose like a wet pebble, his warm damp breath like a kiss on her cheek. Everything was perfect then; her parents still loved each other, and she had the best dog in the world.

After they’d had something to eat together, Matt went out. She was disappointed, but having the house all to herself was the next best thing.

Now was the perfect opportunity to raid the cupboards for food – she squirrelled two tins of tuna, a tinned steak pie and a can of corned beef in her bag, along with shampoo and soap from a supply she found under the stairs. She’d take more food on Sunday night before she left. Mum’d never notice – she stockpiled food like there was a war on. She tipped her laundry on the floor of the narrow utility room and rummaged in the under-sink cupboard for washing powder but the box, when she found it, was empty. She gave the pile of laundry a desultory kick and decided to deal with it later.

Upstairs Lucy unpacked her few belongings and put on flannel pyjamas and stood for a moment staring at her long reflection in the mirror on her bedroom wall. Pale grey eyes, as dull and lifeless as a winter sky, stared back at her. Her thin, mousey hair did nothing to enhance her long face – nor disguise her sallow skin and the red-raw spots clustered like barnacles around the corners of her mouth. She turned away – no wonder people disliked her. She was grotesque. She would never have a boyfriend. She would never marry or have children. She would be alone all her life.

A little sob escaped her and Lucy straightened up and pulled herself together. Marriage and family life wasn’t for everyone, she told herself sternly. She would just have to find something useful to do with her life. She had few natural talents, but an empathy with animals was one of them. How she wished that, like Matt, she’d been brave enough to follow her heart, instead of trying to please. Because a degree in Applied Mathematics and Physics, assuming she managed to graduate, was hardly going to lead her to her ideal job, was it? And yet, she could not give it up. Not now, not when the expectation of so many weighed so heavily on her shoulders – Mum, Dad, Grandad, Maggie, even Matt.

She tugged on a fleece dressing gown and slipped her feet into an old pair of slippers. Her life was a mess but tonight she would not think about it. Tonight she would try and relax. And she would not even turn on the computer because last night she’d lost seventy quid on Celebration Bingo. Her heartbeat quickened and her stomach made a little nauseous somersault at the thought. She mustn’t get carried away like that again. Only she so loved the tacky, garish websites; the guaranteed million-pound jackpots; the nervous anticipation; and the adrenaline rush when she won. Oh, there was nothing like it. And she knew, she just knew, that if she could find the money to keep on playing, then one day – not tomorrow or the day after maybe, but one day soon – she would win millions and her life would be utterly transformed.

She took a deep breath and calmed herself. Now and again she needed to prove to herself that she was the one in control.

Downstairs, she sat on the sofa in front of the TV, ruffled the fur between Muffin’s ears, and told herself it wasn’t all bad. At the end of the month her allowance would arrive in her bank account, and she would be able to breathe again. Meantime, she would be strict with herself – absolutely no online gambling.