In My Sister's Shoes (17 page)

Supportin’ her and showin’ our solidarity.

So now we all is bald because of our sista

But we don’t care coz we wanna be with her

Coz we is a family dat stick together

In times of trouble now and for eva.”’

Fiona and I stood and cheered. Eminem wouldn’t exactly be shaking in his boots, but it was a good effort and had come from the heart. Derek looked chuffed at our enthusiasm. Even Dad clapped.

‘That was brilliant,’ said Fiona.

‘Well, at least it was clean and no one contracted venereal disease,’ said Dad, and we laughed. Even Sheryl managed to crack a smile.

A couple more songs followed. One about ‘my bitch who went off with my bro’ though we weren’t sure if it was his imaginary brother or just his friend bro’. Another dealt with feuding gangs and drive-by shootings, and there was a long one about racism.

‘He’s a lively imagination, I’ll say that for him,’ said Dad. ‘The closest that boy ever got to a drive-by shooting was getting hit by bird shit on his tricycle.’

21

A few days later when I went to pick the twins up from school they were both in the bold corner. ‘What’s going on?’ I asked Mrs Foley. ‘What heinous crime did they commit this time?’

‘They were seen kicking Nigel in the shins,’ said the old witch. ‘If this continues, I’m going to have to seriously consider their position here at the school. We cannot allow unruly behaviour to upset the other children. The twins seem to have lost the run of themselves recently,’ she said, staring at me. Clearly I was an Unfit child-minder, with a capital U.

‘Mrs Foley, do you understand how ill their mother is?’ I asked, as if she was one of her pupils. ‘Are you aware of what chemotherapy entails? Do you realize how traumatic it is for children to see their mother go through physical and emotional hell? Because I’d be glad to bring in some breast-cancer information leaflets to help you get a grasp on what the boys are dealing with.’

She was furious at being spoken down to. ‘That won’t be necessary. Lots of the children here have difficulties at home and my school is the one place they can come to get away from it all. They need routine, discipline and consistency. It makes them feel safe and shelters them from upheavals at home.’

I was a bit taken aback. She had a point there. They loved school and seemed to be thriving. Knowing Fiona, I’m sure it was the best school in Dublin. Still, I thought that a little extra understanding and a bending of the rules under exceptional circumstances would be all right.

‘Did you find out why they kicked Whatshisname?’ I asked.

‘Apparently
Nigel Boyd
said something about Mrs Kennedy’s hair loss. He asked them why she had no hair or some such and they reacted with violence, which, as I said, is unacceptable.’

‘Well, maybe
Nigel Boyd
needs to be told to keep his gob shut,’ I retorted.

‘Nigel is a gentle boy and an only child. He’s traumatized by the incident.’

I decided not to tell her what I thought Nigel needed to toughen him up, and went over to the boys. ‘OK, guys, it’s time to go home.’ Two little tearstained faces turned towards me. I threw my arms round the boys and they let me hug them – which was rare as they normally squirmed when I showed them affection. ‘Hey, it’s OK, don’t mind Mrs Foley. I think you’re the best boys in Ireland.’

‘Mrs Foley said we were the boldest.’

‘Well, Mrs Foley’s wrong. What did that Nigel boy say to you anyway?’ I asked, as we were walking to the car.

‘He said Mummy looked like a scary monster and that she was going to die from the bad cancer,’ said Bobby.

‘He said
what
?’ I hissed. ‘Where is he? Which one is Nigel? Point him out to me now.’

‘There,’ said Jack, pointing to a pasty Kid with glasses, who was standing just inside the schoolroom.

‘Stay here and don’t move,’ I said. I strode back in, leant down to Nigel’s ear and whispered, ‘Listen here, nerd boy, if you ever say anything about Jack and Bobby’s mother again I will pull your hair out so you will look like a freak and no one will ever play with you again. Do you understand?’

Nigel gaped at me.

‘Everything all right, Nigel?’ asked Mrs Foley, from across the room, as I put my arm round Nigel’s shoulders.

‘Fine, thanks.’ I smiled. ‘Just checking that Nigel here has recovered after his traumatic day.’ Turning back to him, I whispered, ‘Don’t even think about telling anyone what I just said to you.’

With that, I left the schoolhouse and walked out to the boys, feeling pleased with myself. I was the defender, the tigress protecting her cubs. No one messed with Kate O’Brien’s family.

‘
Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad
!’ I heard behind me, as Nigel sprinted past and threw himself into the arms of his father. ‘That nasty woman said she was going to pull myhair out,’ he whined, pointing at me.

Nigel’s father – who was surprisingly attractive and non-nerdy– grabbed his son’s hand and strode over. ‘Is this true?’

‘No,’ I lied.

‘Yes, you did,’ said Specky-four-eyes, landing me in it. ‘You said you were going to make me into a freak.’

The cute father glared at me. He was obviously going to believe his onlychild over a chubby, sweatshirt-wearing woman in a dodgy platinum wig.

‘Did you say that, Auntie Kate?’ asked Jack, plainly thrilled.

‘I think there’s been a misunderstanding,’ I said, coming over all formal. ‘Nigel upset the twins this morning by saying something nastyabout their mother – mysister – I’m not married myself.’ Well, you never know, he might be divorced and at this stage I was getting desperate, although if it meant having Nigel as a stepson Mr Boyd would have to be sensational in bed.

Mr Boyd looked at his son. ‘What did you say, Nigel?’

Nerd-boy might be good at chucking insults around but he was no liar. ‘I said she looks like a scarymonster,’ he admitted.

‘Why would you say something so unkind?’

‘Because she has no hair. She’s all baldy.’

I decided to fill the handsome father in. ‘My sister’s having chemotherapy at the moment and her hair’s fallen out.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘It’s been tough for the boys so they reacted badly, kicked Nigel and ended up in the bold corner. When we were leaving I just said to your son here that it wasn’t nice to call people names because they were bald,’ I said, bending the truth. This man was never going to ask me on a date if he thought I’d threatened to rip his five-year-old’s hair out with mybare hands.

‘Nigel, I’m very disappointed,’ said my future husband. ‘The twins’ mummyis sick and you should be extra nice to them and not say nasty things. Your mummy’s going to be very cross when we get home and I tell her what you did.’

Typical. Just my luck. Mrs bloody Boyd was alive and well and happily married to Mr Boyd. And I bet she had hair, was thin, wore nice clothes and fed nutritious homemade meals to her family.

‘But she was mean to me,’ said Nigel, who was going home with bruised shins and threats ringing in his ears.

‘Say you’re sorry to the boys,’ said his father.

Nigel mumbled an apology to Jack and Bobby.

‘Now, lads, you tell Nigel you’re sorry for kicking him,’ I said, trying to match like with like.

‘Sorry, Nigel,’ they said.

‘Right. Glad that’s all sorted. ’Bye now,’ said Mr Boyd, and disappeared into his cool sports car, leaving me destitute.

I felt a tug on my arm. ‘Did you really tell Nigel you were going to pull his hair out?’ asked Bobby.

I bent down and the two boys huddled up to me. ‘Yes, I did, but don’t tell Mummy because if you do I’ll end up in the bold corner for a very long time.’

‘You’re cool,’ said Jack.

‘Reallycool,’ added Bobby.

I smiled. Maybe older guys wouldn’t touch me with a barge-pole, but at least my two mini-men thought I rocked.

That evening I called over to Tara. I’d warned her about my shorn head – I didn’t want her going into early labour when she saw me.

‘Oh, my God,’ she said, as her hand flew to her mouth.

‘I know it ain’t pretty,’ I said ruefully.

‘No, it’s… just… different, that’s all,’ she lied.

‘It’s OK. I know I look like hell but it was worth it to see Fiona’s face.’

‘I’d say she was really touched,’ said Tara, recovering from her shock. ‘It was a lovely thing to do.’

‘I just hope her eyebrows and eyelashes don’t fall out. I’m not sure I can go that far.’

‘I think you’ve shown enough kinship.’ Tara smiled. ‘Come on, tell me what happened with Sam. I want proper details,’ she said, as she put on the kettle.

I shrugged. ‘Nothing to tell. As I said on the phone, I made a pass at him, he said he was seeing someone else and I fled.’

Tara made a pot of tea.

‘Any biccies?’ I asked.

‘You never eat rubbish,’ she said, surprised.

‘Well, let’s face it, no one’s going to come near me in this state so I might as well stuff my face.’

‘Stop that, you’re still gorgeous,’ said Tara, handing me a plate of chocolate-chip cookies, which I began to wolf down.

‘I know you, Kate,’ she mused. ‘There’s no way you would have made a pass at Sam unless you were sure he was interested.’

‘I dunno. My head’s all over the place at the moment. The
old
me would never have made a show of herself like that. I did think Sam was keen, we were getting on so well, and I thought he was looking at me the wayhe used to… but I was completely wrong. I don’t actually know who I am any more. I feel like I’ve lost my identity. I don’t have a job or an apartment, I never go out and I just seem to be stumbling along at the moment. I can’t believe how much my life has changed,’ I said, staring into my cup.

‘It must be really hard, but what you’re doing for Fiona and the twins is amazing. You’ll never regret it and they’ll always be grateful. And, yes, you have changed but, if you don’t mind my saying so, it’s for the better.’

‘How’d you mean?’

‘You’re a bit softer,’ said Tara, treading carefully. ‘You’ve got more patience and compassion. You’re a warmer, more cuddly person.’

‘I’m cuddly, all right,’ I said, reaching for another biscuit.

‘Seriously, Kate, the little weight you’ve put on suits you. You were far too thin and obsessive about your figure.’

I bristled. ‘I had to be thin for TV.’

‘I know, but being hungry all the time was making you tense. You’re more relaxed, less regimented about everything. You always seemed restless before, as if you wanted to be somewhere else all the time. Now you’re calmer and, in a way, happier.’

‘I’m not, though.’ I sighed. ‘I feel lost. I had a purpose with my job. I wasn’t changing anyone’s life, but doing the best show I could was important to me. Now all I do is look after the twins and clean. It’s fine, but it’s not going to get me anywhere. I’m thirty and I need to focus on my career. Sadly I don’t have a handsome millionaire to take care of me, and I don’t fancy living with Dad and Derek for ever. The longer I stay away from London and presenting, the harder it’s going to be to get back in. I’m scared. I don’t know how to do anything else. I’ve no other skills and I don’t think taking a long sabbatical to wipe the twins’ noses and arses is going to convince the head of ITV to hire me.’

‘Have you been in touch with your producer?’

‘Yes, but she said that there was nothing she could do for me until I had a definite date of return, and right now I don’t have one. Fiona’s got her fourth chemo session coming up, then another four to go and then the radiation, so it’ll be at least another four or five months.’

‘Well, I think you’re brilliant and I bet you end up with a better job – and the fling Sam’s having with that young one won’t last. She’s just his rebound person.’

‘I need to find someone new. Lunging at my ex-boyfriend after eight years is a bit sad.’

‘Did he look good?’

‘Amazing.’ I groaned. ‘Anyway, what about you? I see your bump’s coming along nicely. How’re you feeling?’

‘Fine, thanks,’ said Tara, placing a hand protectively on her swollen stomach. ‘It’s great actually. The baby’s started to kick, which makes it all so much more real.’

I studied her flushed face. She looked so happy and settled: she was exactly where she wanted to be in life. She had achieved what she had dreamt of: a lovely husband and now a baby. I felt very empty as her joy and contentment was hed over me. The old me would have been far too busy jetting off to some foreign capital to interview a sexy film star to feel lonely, but the new me felt it acutely. What did I want from my life? What did I need to make me feel as fulfilled as myfriend? Would I ever find it? Or was I doomed to spend the rest of my life alone, going on holidays with other sad, lonely people? Travelling by coach from town to town to visit places of historical interest and staying in run-down hotels where the rooms smelt of boiled cabbage and everyone got tipsy on sherry and sang songs like ‘It’s A Long Way To Tipperary’, spitting out pieces of mashed turnip when they got to the ‘Tip’ in ‘Tipperary’.