Despite the Angels (44 page)

“Leave him, Lucy. He is exhausting you. You would be better off even on your own. But you won’t be on your own, not for long.”

I’m exhausted. I’m on my own, really.

“Apart from me, of course. Try and remember I’m here. I’m on your side.”

Lucy backed out of the space and turned the car towards home. She drove the short distance automatically, her mind elsewhere and nowhere. Back at home, she lugged the shopping into the kitchen, carefully avoiding stepping on Fuzz who was doing her usual greeting dance. Lucy stuffed the frozen things into the freezer compartment and put on the kettle. She would just have time to relax before Aisling and Robbie would erupt into the house and distract her.

She took her mug into the sitting room and flopped onto the couch. Fuzz jumped up and climbed up onto Lucy, hoping for more attention. The phone shrilled and she startled, catapulting Fuzz onto the floor and spilling tea onto her leg.

“Hello? Oh, hi Jen, just a sec,” Lucy put down the receiver and the tea and went for a cloth to mop herself down. “Yes, sorry, I leapt a mile when you rang, I’ve drowned myself in tea. No, it’s okay now. No, only old slacks, not important. I don’t have any that are, really.”

Jen chattered, about her son, about Peter’s promotion and her mother-in-law’s hospital investigations. Lucy listened, feeling out of it. No promotion for Martin, how could he, with no job. He’s a one-man outfit since he fell out with his brother three years ago. So he doesn’t see his family anymore because he refused to speak to anyone who didn’t take his side. He hangs out of me, makes me agree with him about everything or he gets angry and sulks. Of course, I have my own family, but they don’t like Martin, never did. Maybe they were right. Her thoughts stopped, her mind on hold. After a while she became aware of Jen’s voice squeaking down the wire, “Luce, Luce are you still there?”

“Yes Jen, I’m here. Sorry, my mind wandered and I realised: I think my marriage is over.”

“Yes.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“You’ve noticed. That’s great.” Jen stayed silent and Lucy’s thoughts whirled around her.

“How did you know? When?”

“Oh, Luce, it’s been as plain as, as whatever things are as plain as, for ages. I mean, I’ve watched you, trying to make things work with that eejit hanging out of you. You’re exhausted. We can all see it.”

“You’re right. I am. It’s like living beside an open fridge or something, every bit of happiness I create just gets sucked away. I have to be richer than I can manage, happier than I feel, just to stay on the spot. But now what? I’m stuck, I can’t do anything about it really. Martin says his business will get off the ground this winter, with the Christmas sales and then I can cut back and work less and have more time with the kids and..”

“Whoa,” Jen cut across her, “Take it easy. One thing at a time. For now why don’t you just get used to the idea and not change anything. Maybe it will come clearer later. Just do something to look after yourself.”

“Well, I do yoga and I’m still going to the art therapy sometimes. I think that was a huge help. Did I tell you about the parking space?”

“Yes, several times. Why don’t you ask whoever was getting you a parking place to help you now?” Jen laughed. “He must be at a loose end, now that you aren’t in a car!”

“Don’t mock.”

“Don’t mock, Jen. I really think something was helping me. I did try talking to him, earlier. Didn’t get any reply.”
Trynor sighed
. “But I think you’re right. I’ll ask again.”

“No point, darling. I’m already trying my best. But she’s right, your friend. Look after things one at a time.”

“I’d better go, Jen. Lots to do. How come you aren’t making dinner, which is what I have to do now?” She listened, as Jen explained that Peter was bringing home Chinese take-away, as he did whenever he decreed that Jen deserved a day off; then sighing internally, Lucy said goodbye to her friend and hung up. She scooped up Fuzz and hugged her, burying her face in the soft fur, feeling the hot skin with the end of her nose. It’s so simple for Fuzz, she thought, she’s so lucky. She just loves me and she’s with me and that’s it. No worries, just happy for now. Maybe I can copy her.

In a similar house a little way down the street Marge was distracted and busy. She had just got home and was being bombarded by demands from her three children. Her baby-sitter in contrast was calm and unflustered.

“I’ll walk Aisling and Robbie home, Marge. They tell me it’s only a little way. I’ll come back for my bike.”

“Thanks, Clare. That would be great, it’s dark out. It was really good of you to help out, when you had to come so far. Yes, Jamie, I’m looking, it’s gorgeous, clever boy,” she said to her three year old who was dancing on the spot just in front of her, holding up a Duplo construction to be admired, “now, hold on while I find my purse. Three hours, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. Do ring me again if you’re stuck. It’s not that far really, my bike is pretty good. And I have different lecture times from Mandy, so if she can’t make it, maybe I can. Thanks.” Clare pocketed the money and wrapped her scarf snugly round her neck. “Come on, Robbie, Aisling, coats! Hurry up, Marge is busy now.”

“I’m sorry for inflicting neighbour children on you, as well as my own,” Marge was unwrapping Jamie from her leg and trying to take off her coat.

“It was really no trouble. Aisling and I got on really well, didn’t we? And Robbie just mucked in. It made no difference.” Clare took Robbie’s hand and they moved towards the door.

“Clare has twins,” Robbie announced solemnly.

“Is a twin, silly,” Aisling was knowledgeable. “She’s called Caroline and she has the same hair but straight. They don’t know which one is older.”

“Why not?” Marge was momentarily interested.

“Because my parents couldn’t decide which of us was which, until after they’d taken our identity bracelets off and then they couldn’t remember. It doesn’t matter really; actually we think it’s better.”

“No fights? Just as well you aren’t royalty and needing to know,” Marge opened the door. “Thanks again, Bye now.”

Aisling and Robbie walked slowly up the street with Clare. It was only a few hundred yards and Aisling suddenly found she didn’t want to say goodbye to this new friend.

“Can you come and babysit us? I’ll ask Mum, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind changing.” She reached up and rang the bell, then hopped from foot to foot. “Mum? This is Clare, she’s Trish Jamie and Conor’s sitter and we’d like her to be ours, is that all right?”

“Good idea, Aisling,” said Selta, who had accompanied Clare on this new job, “Hey, TRYNOR! Are you there? Look what we’ve got here!”

“Brilliant!” said Trynor, “Come on Lucy, say yes. It’ll work out just fine, her Dad can collect her one night and then you’ll meet and Bob’s your uncle, as you say.”

“Hello, Clare,” Lucy looked at this young woman and felt she had met her before. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

“I don’t think so, Mrs Fitzgerald. I don’t live locally.”

“Oh, that’s a pity. Though we already have two girls who sit for us. They’re both nearby.”

“That’s okay, I didn’t come to ask for a job, that was Aisling’s idea. I was just helping Marge out, my friend normally sits for her. But we both have Finals coming up, so we don’t do as much as we used. But if you’re stuck, Marge has my number. Bye now, bye Ash, Bye Rob.”

Aisling watched Clare walk down the short drive.

“I’ll ask Marge for her number tomorrow, Mum.”

“Why?”

“Because we’ll need her and Marge will be out and then we’ll have lost our chance.”

“You make it sound like winning the Lotto! Our chance of what?”

Aisling thought about this as she took off her coat. “Of being friends with Clare. Seeing her twin sometime.”

“Well, it sounds like she’s really busy, if she has her Finals. Those are really important exams. She’s a bit old for baby-sitting.”

“She’s nice,” Aisling was pouting, “she can tell stories and knows how to do hair and she can draw. I’d like a sister like her.”

“I’d like a brother,” said Robbie.

“Dad, you should get a girlfriend. It’s not right, being here all on your own.”

“I have you and Caro. That’s enough for the moment.” And Paulette on page thirty-one, he thought, a bit guiltily. Very flat and unresponsive, but not demanding anything. A very cheap date. “I don’t think I have the energy to get to know anyone. It’s a lot of work. Learning if they prefer tea to coffee, and if they take milk, or want ice in their gin, or if it’s vodka.” David sat down and opened the paper.

“But if it was someone you clicked with, Dad, it would be easy. Look at Caro and Declan. Just as well she went to work in the bank, instead of college, they’re meant to be together, anyone can see that.”

“And look at you and that Luke. Anyone could see you weren’t, except you. Took you three years to cop on.”

“Yeah,” Clare hugged her knees, “He was a waste of space. You should have pointed it out sooner. I’ll help you with girlfriends.”

“You think I’d listen, when you didn’t? Caroline and I were blue in the face trying to point out to you that Luke was using you. But you didn’t hear a thing. Why should I?”

“You’re older. More sensible.”

“I don’t think that’s a given. I might make appalling mistakes. The world isn’t like that film you dragged me to last year, where everything worked out. Life isn’t like that. If I flew to the Empire State building to meet someone at the top on Valentine’s Day, it would be closed for maintenance.”

“You loved that film. Have some faith Dad,”

“She’s right, David. Listen to Clare.”

“If you don’t go out there, you’ll never find out. Even after Luke, I haven’t given up. I still go out and meet people.”

“You’re twenty-one. You’re meant to meet people. I was twenty-one when I met your mum.”

“You’re only forty-four now. Hardly antique. And you’re going to be on your own in a year or two. Caroline is going to be with Declan and I’ll be away working, probably. Or trying to do post-grad. You don’t have to marry anyone, Dad. Just have a friend.”

“I can’t marry anyone. I don’t think the Irish law recognises foreign divorces, so that paper your mum sent from America is no use to me.”

“We’ll all vote for divorce when they have the referendum. It’ll go through, all my friends think so.”

“You’re in Trinity and you live in south Dublin. I don’t think it’s so certain in other parts of the country.”

“By the time you know anyone well enough to marry them, it’ll be possible.”

“Oh, I’m meeting the love of my life when I’m ninety, am I?”

“Dad! You have no faith. Go out there and meet someone. Take up dancing. They’re always short of men at dancing classes.”

David was silent. I’d love to dance properly, he thought. I’ve always enjoyed moving to music, it would be good to know the steps.

“Go for it! You’ll be good, you have a sense of rhythm. Now all we have to do is get Lucy to the same class. You choose where, I’ll do my best. And we’ll work on the divorce scenario. A lot of us are plugging away, trying to make sure our people vote for it. Too many of us are guides to people in bad situations. You’re lucky compared to some, at least Kathleen got sense and moved away. Lots of them hang on to the sinking ship. Oh, listen to me, no wonder you never understand me, when I gabble like this. Dancing classes. Dancing classes, Dancing classes!”

“How will I find a class?”

“Good for you, Dad. That’s the spirit. I expect the new terms start in January. We’ll have time to ask around.”

As Lucy put the receiver back it rattled, missed the cradle and clattered to the floor. She pulled it up by its cord with trembling hands and replaced it more carefully. Then she sat and looked at the phone and the piece of paper where she had written confidently only a moment before, ‘10th March, 4.30, Marian’. So easy, to ring the marriage counselling people and ask for an appointment. So difficult to tell Martin. I don’t know how to put it. He thinks everything is fine, at least I think he does. How can he think we have a normal marriage? No sex unless he’s drunk. Neither of us properly working, or properly at home. No discussions. And now, when I want to make things better, I’m scared to even say it to him. Have to be so careful every time I say anything he mightn’t like, or he sulks.

“Why does it matter to you that he sulks, Lucy?” Marian, the counsellor, was sitting opposite Lucy, listening carefully to the whole story. Martin had refused to come.

“He makes me feel wrong. As though I’m in charge of his happiness and I’ve spoiled it. Failed him somehow.”

“It sounds like you are having difficulties communicating properly. It would really help if Martin would come next time, but if he doesn’t, I can still help you to cope with the situation.”

“Don’t do that,” Trynor said to Marian’s guide, “We don’t want her to cope. We want her out. Can Marian do that?”

“She won’t always do it directly,” said Marian’s guide, who was sitting on the floor beside Marian, “but it often happens, when people realise what’s actually going on in their lives. Get your girl to keep coming, even if her husband won’t. After all, you only have to worry about her, you know.”