Chapter 32
BAG FOR LIFE
Laura
Laura carries her bag for life and what remains of her dignity towards a hotel.
She has no idea what availability will be like at this time on a weeknight in October.
She has no idea if they even allow randomers to check in in the middle of the night.
She has vague memories of hotels locking their doors except to residents.
Will they think she has been chucked out in the middle of the night? Will they think she is the world’s least sexy escort, arriving with her Tesco carrier bag and a packet of chocolate biscuits peeking out of her coat pocket?
Or have they seen this a million times before? A woman who has most certainly had enough and has stormed out in need of some space before she becomes a headline on the news. Laura can see it now: MOTHER OF ONE LOSES HER SHIT AND BURNS HER HOUSE TO THE GROUND.
Her other option is to go to Niamh’s house.
But she’s aware that Niamh’s house is crowded and chaotic and she is not sure she has the emotional strength to deal with two teenage boys, a tween girl, a new mother and an infant, and that’s without even considering Niamh and her husband Paul.
There are no spare rooms at Chez Cassidy.
There is a sofa though and right now even a sofa would be welcome.
But no, she doesn’t want to be an imposition. Niamh has enough to do without taking in a waif and stray in the form of a disillusioned menopausal feminist who has simply had enough.
So she decides that it will be a hotel and if they want to judge her, then let them judge.
She doesn’t care. She has to stop caring, for her own sanity.
And if she is being totally honest the thought of a king-size bed with starched hotel sheets and a bundle of pillows all to herself sounds absolutely heavenly.
Oh, and a shower – a power shower. The kind that pummels the absolute life out of your skin as you stand under it – its force so strong that nothing survives it and you are almost worried you’ll have to hoke your nipples out of the drain afterwards.
The heavy blackout curtains of a hotel room, the mini-bar, the coffee machine, the no snoring husband or huffy teenager daughter.
It sounds exactly as if it is what she needs.
She might even book one of their luxury rooms, or a suite if they have one.
She has the money from her inheritance. She stashed some away for a rainy-day fund, and while it might not be daytime, it is in fact raining.
When Laura’s alarm sounds, she is disoriented to wake in a room that is pitch dark.
This is not her usual bedchamber, she thinks as she reaches for her phone to stop it ringing.
Switching on the bedside light, she remembers, with a surge of pride, that she took a stand last night and walked out on her husband and teenage daughter.
She does not feel guilty. She does not care that Robyn will wake this morning with no clean PE gear.
It is about time that child learned that she needs to take responsibility for her own belongings.
In a year she will want to go off to university and she needs to be able to cope with the basics, like organising her own washing, if she is to stand a chance at surviving away from home.
Laura does not feel guilty either that Aidan’s shirts are unwashed. What did he expect? That not only would she come in and wash his clothes, but she would stay awake long enough to put them in the drier too? And what, exactly, was ailing him from washing them – and Robyn’s PE kit – himself?
No. She has had enough and thinks what good is it if she studies everything there is to know about feminism if she doesn’t enact its principles in her own home.
She has been taken for granted for too long and she’s not going to put up with it any more.
Too many good women have been taken for granted and it’s not, and never has been, fair.
She thinks of her mum, of poor Mrs Burnside who thankfully has survived the night but who could be facing a long recovery.
She thinks of Becca and how overnight her life will have changed.
Overnight she will have become a carer because that’s what women do – that’s the role society sets for us.
Never mind Maiden, Mother, Crone; it’s Maiden, Mother, Carer, Crone.
We spend our lives putting other people first and of course we do it, because we love our families.
And we do it because woe betide the woman who doesn’t.
She’ll be shunned. Branded uncaring, unnatural.
Condemned for not doing what is expected. Well, feck that for a game of soldiers!
It’s that fighting spirit, and the invigorating pummelling with hot water in the shower, that makes her feel absolutely okay about ignoring the messages that land on her phone from an increasingly panicking Aidan.
She watches them light up her screen without so much as opening the message, let alone reply.
Ha ha! Very funny! Point made!
What do you mean, you quit?
Where are you?
Laura, okay. I get your point. You can stop hiding now!
Look, I’m trying to understand here. I know the menopause is tough, and your emotions are all over the place but you’re being irrational. You can’t just clear off!
Laura – do you think you might need to see a doctor? This is a bit of an extreme reaction. I think maybe your mental health is playing up. You should do something about that.
This has gone beyond a joke now. Do I need to call the police? How am I supposed to know you are okay?
The last message comes in just as Laura is getting into her car to drive to Magee for her morning lecture.
Okay, she probably shouldn’t ignore that one.
She can’t be sure Aidan would call the police, but she doesn’t want to waste police time by launching them into a missing person’s investigation when she is sitting in a lecture hall perfectly safe and happy.
I am fine and perfectly well. I am taking a break.
I do not need to see a doctor. This is not about my menopause.
I am not being irrational. This is not an overreaction, if anything it is an under reaction to the lack of respect I am treated with in our home.
I need space to think about what I want.
You can contact me ONLY in the case of an emergency.
I will be in touch with Robyn separately.
Ordinarily, standing up for herself would send Laura into a spin, convinced that the worst possible outcome – that no one would like her any more – was a given.
She’d immediately be beset with regret and fear and offer an apology above and beyond what was appropriate, and end up making herself feel even more uncomfortable.
But not this time. This time, she feels elated. Empowered. Even though she is tired from limited sleep, and from worrying about Mrs Burnside, and just how solid her friendships actually are, she feels as if she is taking control of her own life.
She thought it would be enough when she registered for university, but it seems it had to go a little further. She orders Siri to play some Whitney Houston, followed by ‘I Feel The Earth Move’, and by the time she arrives at the university campus, she feels ready to take on the world.
Meeting Abby in the foyer, she grins a bright hello.
‘You look really too awake,’ Abby groans, then smiles. ‘Have you been on the caffeine already?’
‘Nope. But we’re going to get some now and yes, it will be my treat and I’ll even grab a couple of brownies. We’re going to need our caffeine and sugar reserves to be high to fully appreciate this lecture!’
Abby grins. ‘You know what, I’m not even going to argue with you. I’m secretly very excited about this class. I’ve heard it’s amazing and the lecturer is so passionate about it.’
‘I’m really excited too,’ Laura admits. Women and Human Rights is a topic that sets her soul on fire. She wants to drink in as much of it as possible. She’d love to work in this field – knows she would feel Kitty encouraging her if she does.
‘Okay, but before we go in, tell me about the choir. How was last night?’
‘I’m not sure I have long enough to tell you about all of last night. We’ll save that for lunchtime. But as for the choir? It was good fun. Cheesy. A bit of craic, you know. No one seemed to take themselves too seriously.’
‘That sounds like just the sort of thing I’d love,’ Abby said. ‘If I could sing.’
‘Oh, you don’t need to be able to sing. Trust me. You just need to be enthusiastic. Why don’t you come next week? Sure it can’t hurt to give it a try. If you don’t like it then there’s nothing to lose.’
‘You know what, I just might,’ Abby says, grinning. ‘Laura, I don’t mean for this to sound weird, but you’re really cool. I hope you know that.’
Laura thinks about the fact that she really doesn’t know that.
Or didn’t. But is starting to believe that she just might be but in her own weird way.
A way that dances to Carole King, and is obsessed with learning about Irish goddesses and menopause rituals across the world.
A way that can make friends with older women, or younger women.
A way that occasionally gets her into trouble for lurking outside her former home.
A way that is forgiving, and loving, but is no longer willing to let people mistake those qualities for weakness.
She smiles back at Abby and tells her she thinks she is pretty cool too.