Anna
IT ISN’T THAT I THINK cooking makes me indispensable, it’s just good to remind them that there are reasons to keep me around. If they ever did think about leaving me somewhere, bumping me off, one of them would need to learn how to cook first. It’s like a little alarm I’ve set for myself.
Tom lands turf onto the fire. I am so hot already. I haven’t changed my clothes yet, the Nevans will be here any minute, and my stomach is cramping.
This isn’t fair; it was Tom who wanted a dinner party, but it’s me who has to create one. With no notice, I’ve had to cook a fish and clean the half empty cottage into his vision of perfection. Like he’s a spoiled child. Like I’m the mother that spoils him.
Peggy bursts through the door, weeds and wildflowers in one hand, the Nevans on her heels.
Jesus christ, they’re here already. All smiles, letting the fresh air flood in, and I see them.
The singing woman, her dark hair, cake tin in her hands.
Bringing all this cold, bright air into my home.
This is Betty Nevan, and her husband shutting the door after her.
And here I am, fish blood in the creases of my fingers, with the threat of a leak from my underwear, damp with sweat.
‘Hello all!’
She comes into my cottage like it’s her own.
Taking off her coat, taking in the layout and all of our things, making long, fluid strides around the room.
Her hair catching the yellow of the big light, as she admires what little there is to be admired.
Bill starts talking to Tom, she starts talking to me. It’s a lot to listen to at once.
‘Ye are so good to have us!’
‘’Tis years since I was up this hill.’
‘You’ve the place lovely, Anna.’
‘Who’s for a drink?’
For just a moment, I wonder whose home we are in.
They move around with such familiarity it’s like they once lived here with us.
They take their places at the table and talk among themselves.
I can’t keep up with them and the dinner at once.
Peggy nods along with everything, as though she understands.
Now and again, she interjects with something about her day, without the manners to know to be quiet when adults are talking.
Her shrill little voice, piercing the conversation with news of a baby doll she made out of sticks, or a dress that she saw a girl wearing in town.
At her age, she can’t separate her interests from everybody else’s. But astonishingly, Betty is interested.
‘Is that right? A doll from sticks? And an orange dress! Would you wear an orange dress?’
This woman is all but lifting Peggy into her lap.
‘Do you know Ciara Moore?’
Peggy asks her, and Betty brightens further.
‘I know Ciara Moore well. She’s a great friend of mine.’
‘Because I was at her house and I met her puppies, and I was hoping to go again.’
‘Now that’s a lovely idea! I’ll sort that out for you, pet.’
Betty puts a hand on Peggy’s shoulder, both beaming.
For a moment, I am jealous of the attention they are giving each other.
Then I realise I have to serve the dinner.
And I’m not sure how to announce it. Usually, I would just put the food on the table, but this evening, I feel I need to say something.
‘It’s my first time attempting fish, so.’
I want to tell them to manage their expectations, or ask them to go easy on me. But I don’t know how to finish the sentence; it trails off into a silence for them to absorb.
‘I’m sure it’s beautiful.’
Bill says, but I see his eyes go straight to the potatoes.
I don’t even know what to serve fish with.
Tom and I fought between cabbage and potatoes for nearly half an hour earlier.
Betty smiles at me across the table. With a shaking breath, I smile back at her, and I try to settle.
But there is no settling. The Nevans are all questions.
‘What do ye make of the town so far?’
‘Did ye get down to the strand for a walk yet?’
‘And what age are you now, Peggy?’
They are charismatic, the sorts of people who know the right things to say and to ask.
And they have a way of nodding along with our inane answers that makes us seem interesting.
Bill, talking with the confidence of a politician.
Betty’s laugh sparkling up out of her throat like Christmas lights.
Happily, Tom takes their lead in the conversation.
It was never made clear what he wants them to know about us.
He gives them a little about Miltown, a little about our parents, and how much we adore being in Ballycrea. All lies.
‘Actually, Tom, you might be just the man I need. I’ve a fence below that I need a hand with. There’s cows need to go in there in the morning but ’tis knocked down.’
Jack straightens in his seat. Presumably offended that Tom was asked instead of him. He chews his food for a long time without swallowing, as though he is afraid of it. Jack is afraid of everything.
Tom looks so pleased with himself. There’s probably plenty of men in the town who could help Bill out. He’s only trying to get the measure of Tom, that’s all. To see what sort he is. That must be why they’re here tonight. To see what sorts we all are.
‘Oh, absolutely, Bill. No bother at all. Sure we can head up after we’ve eaten.’
I give him a warning look, but he ignores me.
‘You wouldn’t let the Nevans have their evening?’
I try to sound unbothered.
‘Sure you heard him, there’s cows need to go in the field in the morning.’
Tom wants to sound relaxed, but his voice is grating; he is annoyed. Betty shifts in her chair. We are making her uncomfortable. He grunts, dismissing me. Can you believe that? Grunting, in front of these special guests of his.
‘What do you like to do, Betty?’
I ask, surprised at myself. What a good question to move things along. She is pushing the food around her plate.
‘Oh, all sorts, really. Book club, the bingo, sewing circle, I go walking with Ciara Moore most evenings. And then, of course, there’s the soaps! Did ye watch The Riordans?’
I think she might talk all night if we let her.
She doesn’t seem to have noticed that we don’t have a television.
I don’t want to be the one to point it out.
The chicken comes out from under the dresser.
What year are we living in that we have a chicken in the house but no television? I chase it outside, mortified.
‘So you’ll give me a hand with the fence?’
‘I will, of course.’
‘We’ll be an hour at most.’
Bill says to me, as though they need my permission to go.
I want to clarify to them that I am nobody’s mother.
How controlling, how uptight I must appear.
Tom smirks. It takes all I have not to throw my food at him.
Betty looks around, trying to think of something to say to clear the air.
I wish I could tell her I love whatever programme she was on about.
I nod at Bill and Tom. Let them put up their stupid fence if they have to. I put a piece of fish in my mouth. To my horror, it’s centre cold.
‘Oh, Mammy, look at the state of this.’
I say to her under my breath, sighing. Mortified.
I can’t help it. It’s a natural response.
I cough to try to cover it up, and hope that Betty and Bill are as polite as they seem.
Nobody acknowledges it. They’ve warned me about this before.
It makes them uneasy. Tom clears his throat, pretending he didn’t hear me.
I can’t be bothered with this anymore. I want to ask the Nevans to go home now.
‘Ciara Moore is your friend, so? I met her there last night. Lovely woman.’
Jack offers. It turns me cold. Why should Jack have noticed the loveliness of that woman? What has he seen in her? And why would he mention it to her friends?
‘She is, yes. She’s great for dancing, you know.’
Betty smiles, teeth gleaming.
‘Is that right?’
Jack is yet to swallow a bite of food.
‘And John, did ye meet John? He’s a pure gentleman.’
Peggy scrapes her fork along the plate. Tom flinches.
‘I loved The Riordans, the best thing on television at the moment.’
‘Well, I sold most of the land years ago, ’tis only a very small farm I keep now.’
Rain pelts against the windows.
‘Did ye see Lemass went off to meet himself in Belfast?’
‘What’s the pony’s name, Peggy?’
Everything they’re saying glides past me, faster than I can manage.
‘Christ almighty, when I saw that fence knocked.’
‘This isn’t cooked at all.’
Little Peggy is the last to speak. It all comes upon me.
They all have so much to say, so loudly and so close together.
They always have opinions. I’m never allowed to have an opinion.
I’m never allowed to be right. They expect me to be a mother, but only give me the respect of a sister.
They are all allowed to tell me how they feel, with no regard for how I feel.
Before I know it, I have stood up from the table, and I growl at Peggy.
‘Don’t eat so!’
Betty’s hand covers her mouth, and they let me sit in the silence of what I have said. Tom’s eyes are black; he might jump across the table at me. Instead, he waits for an inevitable surge of shame to take me, for the collection of thoughts, the apology.
I always say sorry, if they wait long enough.
But they won’t say sorry for provoking me.
Watch. They don’t even consider that they might have pushed me.
It seems they are always, always looking for an apology, for me to take the blame and make everything better.
I have to laugh, or I’ll look mad. Slowly, I lower myself back onto my chair.
‘I never cooked a fish before. Not once!’ I giggle, hoping it will all seem funny. ‘Sure how would any of us know that it’s cooked?’
Tom is the only one to speak. He puts a hand across the table for me to take, which, for the sake of my dignity, I feel I have to ignore. My god in heaven, was there ever such a disgraceful scene at a dinner party?
‘Sorry, Anna, it’s lovely.’
And suddenly, I am moved to take his hand. Such gorgeous warmth. Such a gentle soul. I hate to have startled him. I don’t want him to fall out with me.
‘Don’t eat it, pet, you’ll get sick. Sorry, lads, I’ll clean this away.’
And as I move to take the plates, Betty stands and takes charge, bringing over her cake tin.
‘I know what we’ll do; we’ll have the cake! Folks, life is too short not to have cake for our tea.’
She is laughing, like everything is fine.
Maybe it is fine. Maybe it was funny, and I’m just too aware of myself.
Loosen up, Anna, take a breath. I throw my eyes up and laugh at myself.
It’s sometimes unnerving how quickly my moods can shift.
I get up and put the water on to boil. Peggy bounces in her seat while Betty presents the cake, shaking off my outburst. In fairness to her, Peggy never gets too upset.
Something in me wants to let everybody know that Daddy was dead with years when she was born.
I don’t know why this thought comes to me.
A shifting mood; ammunition, I think. We’ve had a few discussions about whether we should tell Peggy all this.
While I think it might do her good to know the truth, Jack says it’s best not to have a child know just how extravagant their original sin is.
‘’Tis all fish here, isn’t it? I suppose I better get used to cooking it.’
I hoot with laughter. It’s best to keep it all light and nice, and not pay attention to Peggy, in case she brings something bad out of me.
And then Betty gives me the biggest, warmest smile. She saved me this evening. It would have been easy for her to walk out with Bill and tell the whole parish that I am a madwoman. But she is kind, and gentle, and she brought cake.
‘You wouldn’t come up to ours with Tom this evening? I might show you a few tricks.’
She asks, winking, smiling, glowing, and handing me a plate of her cake.
‘You know, I heard in Japan they eat all their fish raw. Did you ever hear that?’
Bill asks, trying to make us all feel better. Aren’t they good? I breathe in all the fresh, bright air she brought into my cottage. This evening, I’d follow Betty anywhere.