Mrs Whippy (4 page)

I hung up the phone. I felt good. Empowered.

And right on cue, I heard the magical music tinkling from far away, making its way toward my street.

I practically danced around the house over the next few days. My latest meeting with Mr Whippy was fresh in my mind. We had spent thirty minutes talking to one another. This time it wasn't just about ice-cream. We really talked. He told me his name was Joe. He was divorced. He had two grownup children and three grandchildren. I told him all about me. He offered me support and advice. He even offered to take me out some time. A date! I was
asked on a date! OK, we hadn't set an actual date, but the prospect of one delighted me.

I'd gone home and gone through my wardrobe. I discarded my “best” outfit, which only a few days ago would have been my immediate choice. I decided that I needed to go shopping. I decided to spend some of my first pay cheque on a new outfit. For once I didn't have Charlie breathing down my neck, trying to make me feel guilty for buying something for myself. I couldn't remember the last time I went shopping just for me. Usually everything I bought was for the boys.

On Thursday afternoon, after my third day at work, Brian returned from school with a scowl on his face. This wasn't unusual, but this time his anger was directed entirely at me.

“Why didn't you tell me you were working at the supermarket?”

I lifted my weary legs up from the sofa where I was lying and sat up.

“What?” was all I could think of to say. I had told him about the job at least five times over the past month. But he never seemed to be interested.

“You heard me,” he said rudely.

“Excuse me, don't you speak to me like that,” I said calmly. “I can remember at least five occasions when I told you about the job. But as usual you ignored me. What's the problem?”

He shifted his body weight from foot to foot. He looked at me with the same sort of expression as his father.

“You're obviously angry about something, Brian. You may as well tell me what because I'm not going to guess,” I said. There was a difference within me today. I didn't care what his problem was. I didn't care if I had done something to annoy him. This time I
knew it wasn't my fault. It had never been my fault. That's what Mr Whippy had taught me.

“I've been hearing about you at school,” he said a little less confidently. “You're working with some of my mates.”

“Really?” I said, sipping my tea. I felt myself become even calmer. I simply didn't care. He couldn't control my emotions any more.

“And Jenny, you've been talking to Jenny. I don't want you talking to her.” He tried to sound aggressive. He tried to sound mature and threatening. Just like his great old dad.

I laughed into the cup and spluttered my tea down my top.

His face reddened at being mocked.

“Oh,
Jenny
.” I smiled. “I see. Jenny is the girlfriend you and Charlie wouldn't tell me about.”

He looked surprised.

“I like Jenny,” I said, still smiling. “I was working with her this afternoon. Lovely girl. You know she works three times a week for her
own
money? She's a great girl.” I sipped the rest of my tea and continued to watch the TV.

“Don't talk to her, Mam. I don't want you talking to her,” he said through gritted teeth.

Vincent had appeared in the hall and was hiding behind the door, listening.

“Why? Are you ashamed of me?” I asked, looking him in the eye.

He looked away. “Why are you working there?” he asked angrily.

“I'm working there because your darling father, who you adore so much, has cut my money.
One
of us has to feed and clothe you. If he won't do it, I will.”

“He does look after us,” Brian said in defence of his dad.

“How? He takes you to McDonald's on Saturdays? What else does he do?”

Brian stared at me blankly and then spoke. “You won't let us see him any other days.”

My mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?” I sat up even more. “That's what he's told you, is it? Well, Brian, listen to this carefully. Your father hasn't even asked me
once
if he can take you another day.” I wanted to say that it was my idea for him to take them in the first place. But I didn't want to turn Brian against his father completely. That wasn't my style.

Brian's forehead wrinkled. “You're lying.”

I shrugged and looked away, not bothered with the conversation any more. Before Brian left the room, I
spoke again, still not moving my head from the television. “I'm a grown woman, Brian. How dare you tell me who I can and cannot talk to! How dare you tell me where to work! I'm your mother and you disgust me with the way you talk to me.” I spoke calmly and politely, but with enough strength for it to really hit home.

Vincent stepped out from behind the door. He gave me what I
thought
was a small smile before disappearing again down the hall. The very thought of a smile sent tears flying to my eyes.

After the morning break on Saturday, I was put working on Jenny's till. She eyed me warily for the first thirty minutes. Then she finally spoke.

“So you're Brian's ma?”

I didn't answer. I looked away and waited for the customers to approach us. But the supermarket wasn't busy.

“Hey,” she said. “Hello?”

I looked the other way.

“Are you ignoring me?” she asked in surprise.

I turned to her. “My son has ever-so-politely requested that I don't talk to you.”

The sides of Jenny's mouth lifted into a smile. Dimples formed on her cheeks. She looked much softer.

“Ah, don't mind him. He's an old grump.” She smiled.

My heart lifted.

“What do you see in him?” I asked in confusion. She laughed and shrugged. But I could see her thinking about it.

After a moment she spoke. “He's got nice eyes. Blue sparkly eyes.”

“Oh,” I said in surprise.

“They're like yours, actually.” She studied my face closely. “You've got nice eyes.”

“Usually people say the boys look like Charlie,” I said, feeling flattered.

“Yuck.” Jenny pulled a face. “No way!”

I laughed. “Not a fan of Charlie's, I see?”

Jenny shook her head. “I should ask you what you saw in
him
.”

I laughed again. “It looks like you and I are going to get along just fine,” I said. “But don't tell Brian,” I added.

“Oh,
forget
him.” She rolled her eyes. “He'll grow up.”

On Sunday morning I came downstairs to find Charlie rooting around in the kitchen presses again.

“Charlie!” I said angrily.

“You've stopped buying brown sauce.” He looked around the press door with a scowl.

I stared at him with anger.

“Why?” he said more forcefully.

“Charlie, you were the only person who liked brown sauce. And you don't live here any more,
remember
?” I folded my arms across my chest.

The boys looked at me in surprise. The child-like tone that was usually in my voice when I spoke to Charlie was gone.

Charlie slowly closed the press door. He stood across from me with his legs spread and his shoulders back, trying to intimidate me.

“How did you get in here?” I asked, knowing that Brian had left his keys behind when he went out with his father.

“They're called
keys
, Emelda.” Charlie spoke as though I were stupid. He dangled his keys in front of my face.

I snatched them out of his hand, causing the three boys and Charlie to jump. I put the keys in my pocket.

“Now that you're living with the woman you left me for, you won't be needing
these
any more, will you?”

“What?” Charlie shouted.

“There's no need to raise your voice, Charlie. It's very simple. You have chosen not to be with me any more. You told me you didn't love me any more and that our marriage was over, yes?”

Brian's mouth dropped open. This seemed to be news to him.

Charlie looked at the kids and back at me. “Not in front of the boys, Emelda.”

“Why? Afraid you'll look like less of a man, Charlie?” Normally I would agree with him about not discussing this in front of the children. But the circumstances were different this time. His children were imitating his actions because they were being misled. He was not the person they thought he was.

Brian stood up from the kitchen table and cleared his throat. “Da?”

“Not now, Brian,” Charlie growled, staring at me.

“Yes now, Da,” Brian said forcefully.

Charlie turned to face him in surprise. “What?”

“I was talking to Mam yesterday.” Brian raised his chin and puffed out his chest. “And she said that she doesn't mind if you take us to that match on Wednesday.”

“Eh … Wednesday?” Charlie said, looking nervous.

“Yeah, Wednesday,” Brian repeated.

I was confused.

Brian looked at me to explain. “Da said he had tickets for us for the match on Wednesday, but he couldn't bring us because you said we couldn't go. But you said it was OK, didn't you?”

I tried not to smile at what Brian was doing. Instead I nodded.

“See?” Brian said.

“Yes!” Mark jumped up from the table. He started dancing around and singing about how they were going to the match. My heart broke for him. I didn't like this one bit.

“No, son,” Charlie said to Mark, trying to stop him from passing out with excitement. “Calm down. I … I … The tickets are … I don't …” He stopped and looked to me for help.

I shrugged.

Charlie swallowed hard. “I
had
the tickets for you, lads. But when your mam said you couldn't come I gave them to someone else.”

Mark stopped jumping up and down. He looked at me with big sad eyes.

“You said we couldn't go, Mammy?”

“No,” Brian cut in. “She didn't say no. Da didn't even ask her, did he?” He
looked at me. When I refused to answer, he looked at his father. “Did you?” he repeated, his eyes boring into Charlie.

Charlie slowly turned to me with narrowed eyes. I could feel his hate. “You've poisoned them against me,” he hissed.

He raised his hand and my hands flew to my face. Brian grabbed his dad's raised arm and shouted, “Get out!”

Little Mark began howling. I dived for him and held him in my arms until he stopped.

There was a long silence.

And then, right on cue, the sweet music of Mr Whippy sounded once again.

Mark's eyes lit up. “Mammy! It's your friend!”

Charlie's head snapped around to face me. “Is this your fancy man I've been hearing all about, Emelda? I've heard all about you chatting him up like you're some young one. Are you forgetting who you are and what you look like? A fat –”

“Charlie!” I warned, stopping him from continuing with his insults.

I immediately grabbed Vincent by the hand and carried Mark out of the
room. I brought them to the Mr Whippy van. Their eyes lit up and their brows relaxed. Here they were allowed to be children again and to not worry about their parents.

“Are you OK?” Mr Whippy asked, reading my hurt expression.

“Yes.” I smiled, his concern touching me. “I am now.”

He returned the smile. “Now, what shall I get you boys? I remember you.” Mr Whippy looked at Mark. “Your name is Mark, isn't that right?”

Mark nodded happily, feeling very special.

“And what's your name?” He looked at Vincent.

I held my breath, hoping and praying that I would hear Vincent's voice again. It had been so long. I was afraid the scene in the kitchen would have set him back even more.

Vincent looked at me with big, wide blue eyes. I nodded at him in encouragement. He looked back to Mr Whippy and opened his mouth. “Vincent,” he said, so quietly it came out as a whisper.

“That's a lovely name. Well, Vincent, it's nice to meet you,” Mr Whippy said softly. “I bet you love 99s like your brother, do you?”

Vincent nodded and said yes. And how I loved the sound of his little voice.

The boys sat happily on the grass with their ice-creams. Joe handed me a chocolate ice-cream cone with butterscotch sauce and sprinkles.

As I took my first taste, I watched as Charlie was forced out of the house by Brian. I watched as he was forced into his car and ordered off down the road. I watched him drive out of my life.

When I was a little girl I believed in fairy tales. My mother used to read to me every night while I was snuggled up in bed. I loved hearing stories of princes and princesses who lived in beautiful castles in faraway lands. Just before I would drift off into my own faraway world, my mother would whisper to me that I too would find my prince some day.

Charlie was the first man I ever fell in love with. For over twenty-five years he remained the only man I loved. But
when I fell in love with him, I stopped believing in fairy tales.

I believe in them again. Mother, if you can still see me, look. I've found my prince. His white van is the white horse that took him to me. His ice-cream cone is his sword! This fairy tale is real. I have a messy divorce to face and troublesome sons to guide. I have lost a best friend. But I've found my prince and that makes me smile. It's not
where
I live happily ever after, or
who
with. It's the fact that
I
live happily ever after. I know now that's what my mother was trying to teach me.

I have a new ice-cream memory now. Chocolate ice-cream, butterscotch sauce and sprinkles gives me new feelings when I eat it. It gives me the feelings of empowerment, freedom and inner strength. I've learned that the best revenge is finding happiness again.