Jack
A STUPID IDEA. I’VE WARNED them all that this is a stupid idea.
But Tom is nearly doubled over with the desperation of having people up to the cottage.
To show off how well we’re doing and prove what a wonderful family we are.
To confirm to himself that people like him.
It doesn’t matter that I don’t want the Nevans calling up; it’s all about Tom.
Isn’t everything? When people include him in a round in the pub, he thinks it’s because they are dying for him to drink with them.
In Mass, he likes to think that people are shaking his hand because it’s an honour.
When they say ‘peace be with you’, what they mean is ‘good man, Tom’.
He would have invited anybody up this evening.
The Moores, the Doyles, any eejit who was willing to be hauled up the hill and sat down at our table.
And the Nevans are the fools who said yes.
As if we don’t have enough to be tense about.
It’s pure Tom to draw people on us like this, into our home. Right into the eye of the storm.
‘Nobody helps me in this house.’
Anna says under her breath, hoping to be heard.
Since she came back out of the bedroom, she has been like a dog.
Fighting with Tom over the dinner, screeching at Peggy to get out of the kitchen.
Wanting to be pitied, I’m sure. But not actually wanting any help, because then we couldn’t pity her.
She is scrubbing a fork, trying to take all the worn-in stains out of the handle.
‘I can help, Anna.’
Peggy says, crowding her. Any minute now, there will come the threat of the wooden spoon. But Anna takes a steadying breath.
‘Not now, Peggy. I haven’t the patience for you.’
Tom is milling around, setting and resetting the table. Hiding shoes in the bedroom and trying to make the house look both grand and ordinary at once.
‘Feck this.’
Anna mutters, dropping the fork into the sink.
The house smells of heated fish. And I must admit that I feel sorry for her right now.
Since I was born, we have had the same three or four meals on rotation.
Boiled veg, tough meat. I’d be sucking the fibres of it out of my teeth for two days following.
Mammy never passed any passion for cooking onto Anna.
A shame. And now she is expected to prepare a fish, which she has never done before, and serve it as dinner to strangers.
Sweat collects in the bow of her top lip.
Her eyes, lightly twitching, focus on the stove.
I wonder when would be the right time to suggest opening a window and letting the smell out.
‘Why do you do all the cooking, Anna, if you don’t like it?’
Peggy has a real talent for asking the wrong questions at the wrong time. I would laugh if Anna wasn’t so tense. Maybe Peggy is after some attention.
‘If I didn’t cook, ye would all starve.’
There is gravel in Anna’s voice.
‘Peg, why don’t you go out and pick a few flowers for the table?’
I shoo her out the door, and breathing deeply, I try to remain detached from the stress of preparing for our guests. I want to watch all of this like a film, objectively, not like my real life, unfolding before me. I think that will make it all easier to digest.