Despite the Angels (43 page)

“No, Lucy, going with the flow is only easy in
that you don’t have to paddle. But you’re more likely to hit rocks, or be overturned. If you can’t get ashore, at least steer.”

Maybe I’ll just take it one step at a t
ime. Give myself credit for achieving what I do. Lucy stopped walking, as a momentous thought came to her. “Oh God,” she whispered “help Martin realise how much I do.” Lucy rummaged in her bag for a tissue, and blew her nose. 

“What
were you asking the Boss about? I wish you wouldn’t close me out of those communications. I could talk to Roki about Martin, he might be able to help. Though on second thoughts, he’s never shown enough maturity to help about anything else I asked for. He even enjoys the tipsy phases. Says it’s fun.”

Lucy let herself into the house and put down the shopping while she enjoyed the onslaught from Fuzz.  Fuzz had really
kept up her side of the bargain after being adopted from dog rescue last year, as Lucy said to herself, ‘to be enthusiastic about me’. Other people were told that she had been adopted ‘for the children.’ Fuzz ran to and fro on the sofa, yipping and then threw herself around the room, rushing at random, occasionally jumping up at Lucy, but rushing away if Lucy tried to touch her. After a minute of this, she sat on her favourite cushion and panted, looking at Lucy with dark round eyes. Lucy sat down beside her and keeping her hands away, leant over to look into Fuzz’s face.

“Hiya Fuzzles! You a good girl?
Yea, you are. Good Fuzz, good girl.”

Fuzz licked Lucy’s cheek and the ritual was over.

“Come on, out you go. You’ve minded the house beautifully, now go and check out the garden.” Lucy opened the back door to let Fuzz out and started unpacking her shopping. Lucy was an imaginative cook, a skill she had learnt from an old great-aunt, to whom she was eternally grateful. It meant they ate well, no one would guess how little she needed to spend. Today Aisling and Robbie wouldn’t eat much, they’d be full of sausages and ice-cream. So a stir-fry would be perfect, the portions could vary to suit the appetites. Lucy rooted through the cupboards for a piece of fresh ginger, cut a slice, and started making tiny dice. For Lucy, cooking was relaxing and creative and her mind could wander.

She was putting the lid on a fragrant sweet and sour creation, when Fuzz barked and then rushed to the front door, her tail pumping, as Robbie came rushing in, followed by a rather more dignified Aisling.

“There was a magician! I got to help him! And the wand kept breaking! And I had to guess a card; and he had a real fluffy rabbit and I had to hold her and make sure she didn’t pee!” Robbie was triumphant and high from the party food.

“Robbie’s sugar-hyper again,” said Aisling, with all the certainty of her seven years. “He had four Cokes. His teeth will fall out, I told him.”

“No they won’t,” Robbie protested. “Anyway, you had some too. And Dad had wine.”

“When?” asked Lucy, as she measured out rice.

“After the party. The collecting Dads got wine and stood about and talked about a football match. Not rugby, so Dad didn’t say much, just drank the wine.”

“Martin, did you drink and drive?” said Lucy, as Martin came into the room, carrying a bag of peat moss. He dumped it down with exaggerated grunting and grinned.

“Only had a little, to be sociable. It’s not far away. You never know who you might meet at these things, you can’t just rush away. It’s called networking. Might be potential customers.” He opened the back door and carried the peat moss outside, leaving the door open.

It sounds reasonable, thought Lucy, as she stirred the sweet and sour.  I don’t know the first thing about business.  Maybe that’s how it’s done.  In my business you just wait for customers, it’d be undignifi
ed to go hustling. But Big Business is different. Advertising everywhere.

“Big business makes money, Lucy. What about that?”

But Martin doesn’t ever seem to bring any money home. I earn money, for all I don’t hustle, or ‘network’. I just have a job. My way is working, at least a bit. She smiled. My mammoth smells good!

“What’s the joke?”  Martin was back in the kitchen.

“I wish it was a joke,” said Lucy. “I was talking to Brian on the way back from the shops. He was asking about you. How things were going with your work, how busy you must be.”

“He’d know. He ran that firm for years. He knows how it is.”

“And do you know, Martin?  Do you have any idea how it is? When you’re going to bring home any money? Any contribution? Any mammoth, as Brian called it? Or am I going to have to share my mammoth with you for ever?”

“Of course not, it won’t be long before I’m in profit,” said Martin

“How long?” said Lucy.

“That varies, of course. After all, this is capital equipment I’m selling. Firms don’t make up t
heir minds just like that. It’s not like selling cheese, you know!”

“I wish you did sell cheese, then people might buy something. If you’d start selling something they actually want. Which part of ‘we don’t wan
t any, thanks’ do you not get? Those gadgets you were selling last year were meant to be like hot cakes.”

“Oh for God’s sake Lucy, will you lay off! I know what I’m doing, but if you keep going on at me it doesn’t help.” He took a deep patient breath. “Those great gadgets, as you call them, were too
like the competition. And anyway, they didn’t have a great mark-up on them. I’ve new ones now, far better, more expensive. When I get this order from Blake’s, I’ll be banking ten grand for us. No more grotty camping holidays, we’re off to the Caribbean!”

“What was wrong with our holiday?
I thought you enjoyed France?” Lucy’s mind ran back through her memories of their last and most exciting holiday, trying to remember Martin’s moods. But all she could dredge up was the image of Martin lying on their folding sun chair with a book over his face.

“France is okay,” said Martin, “but it won’t be a patch on what Dad will arrange.” This last comment was directed a
t Aisling, who had just come in. He grabbed her hands and whirled her around.

“Dad!” squealed Aisling. “What are you going to arrange?”

“A really posh holiday. Where would you like?  Jamaica?”

“The Maldives. Before they sink. The ice caps are melting and we’ll all be flooded, but the Maldives are flattest, they’ll disappear first.  Unless we all stop being selfish and burning fossil fuels and using sprays,” Aisling paused in her recitation, “We did it in school.”

“Well,” said Martin, “we’d better arrange the CFC free holiday then.  Life on the beach, palm trees, surf, cocktails at dusk.  Nothing’s too good for my girls.  Go and look out your togs!”

“No, Aisling,” said Lucy, as Aisling, eyes shining with expectation, was heading out the door with plans of rooting through the cupboards for her flippers. “No, Dad doesn’t mean now
, love.  It’s just a daydream. We can’t afford the Maldives yet. Maybe France.”

“
Oh Mum, don’t be a spoilsport. Why won’t you let Dad bring us to the Maldives? You’d love it too!”

“Of course I’d love it.
I just wouldn’t love paying the bills for it when we got home. Your Dad hasn’t the money for it just now, he’s just encouraging himself by telling us all fairy stories.”

“Stop throwing cold water, Lucy,” said Martin “yo
u always undermine my efforts. What’s wrong with looking ahead to the good times?”

“Nothing.
Not if there really are good times ahead. And it’s OK to fantasise too, but you get the two mixed up and the result is a lie.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Martin walked out of the room.
Lucy blinked hard and got out the plates. Aisling stood uncertainly, leaning against the table.

“Your Mum needs some love now. Give her a hug or something” Lekna was sitting at the table beside Aisling. “It’ll help you too. You support her and she’ll have more strength to keep going. You need your Mum well.  Go on.”

“Mum, I really liked France.  Specially the campsites with swimming pools.  I’m not that keen on swimming in the sea really.  Can we go to that site with the diving board again this year?”

“Good girl, that’s the way.”

Lucy wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, came over and swept Aisling into a hug, burying her face in her daughter’s hair. After a while she looked up, quietly took a deep breath and smiled at Aisling.

“I’ll do my best.
I don’t know if we can go for long this year, but we’ll manage something. Now, how about setting the table and telling Robbie to wash his hands. It would do him good to sit still for a few minutes, even if he isn’t hungry.”

Lucy looked at her two children as they sat, increasingly quietly as the excitement of the party wore off, eating the little portions of food she put in front of them. Her heart filled with pride when she watched them, Aisling being so grown up and aware of the world, at not quite eight,

“She’s an old soul, Lucy. Lots of experience. That’s why she’s here, for you. She almost always hears Lekna, too.”

and Robbie, trying desperately to keep up with his adored older sister. He was an exuberant child, inclined to rush into things, to see the best in everything. She was glad she had held him back a year, so he was only in the first term of Junior Infants, even though it had meant an extra year of Montessori. It was worth the fees, for this self-confidence. Just gone five, with the energy of five children, only now beginning to droop. Fuzz was standing on her hind legs next to Robbie, her front paws on his leg, pawing at him occasionally. Fuzz knew Robbie was a soft touch. He took after his namesake Grandad, he was caring too.

Martin was finishing his food. He was always finished first, shovelled it in in great scoops. Rarely made any comment. “Food is fuel” he’d said once, after Lucy had spent all afternoon making an elaborate meal for Jen and Peter, “I don’t know why you bother.”

“Because I think food is interesting. It’s relaxing to prepare and enjoyable to eat. It’s not just to fill you up.” Martin had said he would prefer a pint.

“I’m going out,” Martin pushed his chair back and stood up. “I’ve a person to see.”

“What about?”

“The business. I talked to a man on the phone yesterday who said he had a contact in Blodwen’s, you know, that chain of shops?”

“Yes, the really cheap and tatty jewellery.”

“That’s them. But anyway, he can get me an introduction there and if I get in with them, I’ll be selling display cabinets all over Ireland. North and South. Told you, it’s only a matter of time.”

“Why can’t you meet him in office hours?”

“Not how it works,” Martin tapped the side of his nose. Lucy wondered what that meant, wondered if Martin knew what it meant either. “It’s who you know. See you.” He swung on his heel and went out.

“Daddy!” Robbie was out of his chair running after his father, “Night night?”

“Oh, yes, sorry, Rob. Night night.” Martin bent down and kissed the top of Robbie’s head. “Night, Ash.” He was gone.

Lucy struggled her full trolley out of the supermarket. She was trying to push it and it was more or less in front of her, but it seemed to have ambitions to be a racehorse and lead with one shoulder. Certainly it wasn’t going forward. She gave an exasperated tug and the wheels locked, dragging her sideways into the line of parked trolleys. She stopped, wrestled her trolley free and then leant on it to catch her breath. She looked up an
d across the car-park. The late-afternoon light was heavy, it had a solid quality, a translucent grey hung in the air between Lucy and the world. She felt a smile grow on her face as she watched the other shoppers come and go in the gathering gloom. A germ of triumph sprouted, somewhere deep inside her and bubbled its way up to her throat. It’s beautiful, she thought, and maybe I’m the only person here who knows it. Look at them all, scurrying in out of the dusk, out of the horrible dark night. But it’s not horrible and actually, not really dark yet either. You could cut that air up like snow, she thought, and make an igloo out of it. She laughed, a short surprised sound, muffled by the silent air. But her eyes still glowed and she tugged her shopping between the rows of patient cars. Who’d have thought a dark evening could lift my heart? Maybe I’m losing my mind totally. The strain is getting to me. She stopped behind her own car and let the trolley go, so that it turned as though on one wheel and sagged against the boot she was trying to open.

“Oh, for goodness sake! Who invented these stupid things?” Lucy pulled the trolley clear, opened the boot and began to lift the heavy bags in. On my own again, she thought. Always on my own, or with the kids. It’s great they’re safe down the road at Marge’s. It’s easier to shop without them wanting stuff all the time. Them and Martin, the odd time he bothers to come, throwing in treats we can’t afford. She finished loading the boot and slammed the lid with a satisfactory thud, pulling the trolley clear and trotting with it over to the trolley bay. On the way back, contemplating the chances of someone stealing all the groceries in the time it took to park a trolley and wondering if one really ought to lock the car, she stopped again to look around. The air had darkened and the mystical half-light had been swallowed by the night.  Like me, thought Lucy, as she sat into the car and groped with the key for the ignition, I think I’m being swallowed too. What can I do about it? Have I the energy to do anything about it? I feel as if I am just lurching from week to week. Hey, you who does parking spaces, do you sort other stuff too? I could do with some help here.