The Bright Side (26 page)

“Mum,” she said by way of hello
.

“Hi,” I said. “I knew you’d get here first.
”

We hugged for quite a while. People were looking at us, no doubt wondering what the big deal was. I tried to imagine what I’d have guessed in their shoes. Bereavement, probably. Then Chrissy let me go, wrinkled her nose and said, “Have you been smoking?
”

“No!” I said, faking shock. “Don’t be ridiculous!” In fact, I’d just had three fags in a row, each lit with the butt of its predecessor. I felt quite nauseous
.

Chrissy sat down, gesturing around the table. “I got tea for two and a couple of muffins. Is that okay?
”

I worked my way out of my jacket and took a seat, my eyes locked on hers. Not only was she not crying, she didn’t look as if she was about to start. It was such a surprising development that I couldn’t help but comment
.

“You
look
grand,”
I
said.
“I
thought
you’d
be,
you
know
…
upset.
”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then joined her hands as if in prayer. “I’m all cried out,” she said. “Seriously, I think I’m dehydrated.
”

There was a protracted silence
.

“It’s hard to know what to say, isn’t it?” I ventured then. She nodded in agreement. “Yeah. It is.
”

“It must have been an awful shock for you. When Robert called. You at work and all …
”

“Yeah. It was.
”

“And did you go home or –
”

“Yup. Told them I felt sick. Which was the truth.” “Ah, Chrissy. Are you all right now?
”

She
grabbed
a
knife
and
cut
a
chunk
off
her
chocolate-
chip
muffin.
“I’m
fine,”
she
said
and
popped
it
in
her
mouth
.

At that point, I began to get a nervous feeling deep in the pit of my stomach. She wasn’t herself. Not by a long way
.

“Never mind me,” she said then. “How are you? That’s the main thing.
”

I took a moment and chose my words with great care. “I’m very shocked, obviously. Bad enough that he did … what he did. I could have done without catching him at it.
”

Chrissy cut another piece of muffin, finished chewing the first and then went to work on the second. When she’d swallowed it down, she said, “I can’t even imagine. I don’t want to think about it. I
refuse
to think about it.
”

I poured myself some tea, wondering how to proceed. “Have you spoken to your father yet?
”

She gave her head the tiniest little shake and said, “No, I haven’t spoken to him. I’m never speaking to him again.
”

I looked up and straight away I knew that she wasn’t being colourful. It wasn’t just a figure of speech, like “I’m going to kill him when I get my hands on him”. She meant it. That didn’t stop me from saying, “Come on, Chrissy, you don’t mean that.
”

“Yes. I do.
”

“No, you don’t.
”

“Yes, I do.
”

“No, you don’t.” “Yes –
”

“What is this, panto? You’re being silly, Chrissy, stop it.” “Watch my lips, Mum: I. Am. Never. Speaking. To. Him
.

Again. Ever.
”

“Don’t be so –
”

“No, I’m sorry. That’s it. We’re finished, me and him.” My head spun. “What is it, are you trying to help
me
?

Because that doesn’t help, dear. Far from it.
”

Once again, she took a bit of muffin before replying. It was as if she was getting some sort of strength from it. “I’m not saying it because I think it’s what you want to hear. It’s the truth, that’s all.
”

“But you love your dad. You and him were always –” “I did love him. Right up until yesterday.” “Chrissy!
”

“I’m sorry, but that’s the way I feel.
”

I slumped in my seat, defeated. A question formed in my head. I let it bounce around for a while before I gave it voice. “And what if it was me?
”

“What do you mean?
”

“Me who’d done the … dirty. Would you stop loving me too?
”

“I’m not answering that.
”

My
palms
dampened.
“In
other
words,
yes,
you
would.” “I
didn’t
say
that.
It’s
a
what-do-you-call-it
question
–
rhetorical.” “Hypo–
”

“Hypothetical, I mean. I’m not answering hypothetical questions about what I’d do if it was you for the simple reason that it’s not you, is it? It’s
him
.” She said this with real anger in her voice, so much so that a little old woman at the next table looked across for a moment before returning to the piece of toast she’d been encasing in butter
.

I didn’t know what to say
.

“I’ve been presuming something,” Chrissy said then, “and now I’m starting to think I’ve got it wrong.
”

I swallowed. “What’s that?
”

“You
are
leaving him, aren’t you? I mean, you
are
getting a divorce, right? Right?
”

“God, Chrissy, it’s only been two days. I haven’t thought about it yet.
”

“But you must have done! How can you not have thought about it? You have to leave him. Of course you have to leave him! How could you trust him after this?
”

“I don’t know …
”

“Every time you left the house, you’d be thinking –” “That’s enough.
”

“I’m just saying –
”

“I said, that’s enough.
”

She pouted for a moment, then said, “You know what, Mum … I know you’re in shock and all, but I have to say, you’re not doing yourself any favours by being like this.
”

“Like what?
”

She waved her hands around. “All passive and easy-going. You can’t let him walk all over you.
”

“No one’s walking over me, Chrissy.” “You’re allowed to get angry, you know.” “I am angry.
”

“Well, it doesn’t show.
”

“You obviously haven’t heard about the car, then.” She blinked at me. “What car?
”

“Your father’s. The jeep. I wrecked it.
”

Her eyes took over her face. “What? How? When?
”

“I took it when I left the house on Friday. And yesterday morning I drove it into a pillar. Well, along the side of a pillar. Right and left. Ruined it.
”

She reached across and grabbed my hand. “Great! That’s fantastic! Well done, you. He’ll go nuts, he loves that bloody jeep.
”

“He didn’t go nuts. I got a text from him. He said he understood and wasn’t mad.
”

The wind left her sails, but not for long. “He’s just saying that. I guarantee you, he would have been gutted.
”

She smiled. My child was positively delighted by the thought of her father being gutted about something. My heart felt like a piece of coal
.

“I really don’t think he was. There wasn’t even a hint of anger in what he said. None.” I ran a hand over my forehead, which suddenly felt numb and tingly
.

“Oh, Christ,” Chrissy said. “You feel
bad
about it, don’t you? Mum!
”

I made no reply
.

“Not only should you not feel bad,” she went on, “you should be thinking of what else you can do for revenge. What about
her
? You’ll have to do something to get back at
her
.
”

I exhaled as if for the last time. “That’s what your brother said.
”

“Well, he’s right. You can’t let her get away scot-free. She’s got it coming to her.
”

“No, Chrissy. I don’t want to get involved with her at all.” “But you have to!
”

We were back to square one. “No, I don’t. Nothing’s going to change if, I don’t know, I throw a brick through her window, is it?
”

Chrissy sat back and took some tea. “She’d have a broken window,” she said then. “Better than nothing.
”

I let that one just hang in the air for few seconds. Then I said, “How are things with you anyway? How’s work
?

She grimaced. “‘How’s work?’ Mum!” “What?
”

“We’re having a crisis here! You can’t be asking me about work! Who cares?
”

“I’m only making conversation.
”

“Jesus! We’ve already got a topic of conversation – the end of your marriage, remember?
”

I collapsed back in my seat and slapped my hands to my face like Macaulay Culkin in
Home Alone
.

“I’m sorry,” Chrissy said as she realised she’d gone too far. “I didn’t mean to sound so –
”

“I have to go,” I wheezed and rose from the table
.

“No, don’t go,” she said. “Please. You just got here.” Her voice was cracking
.

“I’ll talk to you later.” “Mum, please!
”

I grabbed my bag and jacket and scarpered. More fool me, I looked back as I threaded my way between the tables. Chrissy was bent over her teacup, crying into her hands; just the way I’d expected to find her when I arrived. I should have gone back. But I didn’t. I hurried on towards the exit
.

Outside
on
the
street,
I
paused
and
considered
my
options.
After
a
moment’s
thought,
I
turned
right
and
headed
towards
St.
Stephen’s
Green,
where
I
planned
to
take
a
breather
and
clear
my
head.
It
had
been
a
while
since
I’d
been
in
town
at
the
weekend
and,
as
ever,
I
was
overwhelmed
by
the
sheer
volume
of
human
traffic.
It
didn’t
seem
possible
that
all
of
these
people
knew
exactly
where
they
were
going
and
how
to
get
there;
it
looked
too
chaotic,
too
random.
If
I’d
suddenly
noticed
that
they
were
all
carrying
bits
of
leaves
on
their
backs,
I
wouldn’t
have
been
at
all
surprised
.

In Stephen’s Green, I took a seat on a bench near the bandstand, next to an old man. He had a tremendous beard which he stroked continuously, making a loose fist at his chin and then drawing it down to where the fuzz ran out, in the centre of his chest. I turned my head a little and watched him from the corner of my eye.
It
must
be
so
nice
to
have
a
beard
like that
, I thought.
A
little
security
blanket
that
you
can
never
lose
. Then I had one of those moments where you catch a glimpse of yourself from the outside and snapped my head forward again. Jealous of an old man’s beard … These were strange days indeed. After I’d been sitting there for fifteen minutes or so (and had nauseated myself all over again with a fresh string of cigarettes), my mobile rang. I didn’t recognise the number and didn’t think of Eddie until I heard his voice
.