Chapter 25
25
Orla stood in front of the brouette and took another photo. How did you make a wheelbarrow look a little bit extra? To be fair it was looking more festive now since the last time she had seen it. There was tinsel wrapped around its handles and there were more gifts piled into its basin; there was also now a fir tree either side of it, teeming with golden stars, bright icicles and effigies of Santa Claus. It was a reminder that Christmas was fast approaching.
She put her fingers to one of the more rustic ornaments on the slightly bigger tree – a carved stable with the nativity tableau depicted on it. It reminded her of something she had made at school, something her dad had helped her with. He had always been a hands-on kind of father. A doer rather than a talker. Actions speaking louder than words. Was that one of the reasons why he was struggling now? Because he didn’t have a job any more, no real hobbies or purpose?
She let go of the ornament and slipped her phone out of her bag. Pressing on the screen, she put it to her ear and waited for the call to connect. While the dial tone sounded she looked around at the village. There were definitely more Yuletide offerings on the outside of the homes and businesses. Bright garlands were draped from the eaves of overhangs, lights were stuck around the edges of windows and there seemed to be the scent of pine, peppermint and pumpkin spice infusing with the winter air.
‘Hello.’
Her dad’s voice on the other end of the phone threw her for a second and she rapidly regrouped.
‘Hi, Dad. It’s… Orla.’ She didn’t know why she’d felt the need to tell him who it was but it was done now. Had her mum told him she was going to call?
‘Hello, love. I thought you were in Spain.’
She frowned. ‘I’m in France, Dad.’
‘Oh, perhaps that was it. I knew it was some place I haven’t been. Well, you’ve been to all the places I haven’t been. Is everything OK?’
No , she wanted to say. Because I’m worried about you . She just had to say it. But that would involve admitting her feelings.
‘Yes, everything’s fine here.’ No pregnant reindeer. Staying with a crazy guy who lets foxes eat cheese. Erin probably one Insta message away from ‘doing bits’ on video call .
‘Weather all right?’ her dad asked.
‘Yes. I mean, it’s been very cold. But it’s a few degrees warmer today so, you know, better.’
‘That’s good, love.’
‘So, how are you?’ Orla asked. ‘Everything OK?’
Why couldn’t she get this right? She had given her mum the air of someone who was going to problem-solve the shit out of the situation yet here she was talking around it as much as anyone else.
‘All good here. Was it your Mum you wanted to speak to? Because you phoned my mobile.’
‘No, I wanted to speak to you, Dad.’ She took a deep breath, kicked at the snow on the ground. ‘I’m… worried about you.’
As her stomach coiled itself up like it was a spring that needed restricting there was a deafening silence from the other end of the line.
‘Dad? Are you there?’
‘Yes, I’m here. Your mum’s been talking to you, hasn’t she?’
‘Mum’s worried about you too.’
‘Is she? Or is she more worried about not having enough money to buy candles that make the house smell like an overpriced brothel?’
Orla was taken aback. She had never heard her dad talk like that before. She wasn’t quite sure how to react.
‘It’s nag, nag, nag whenever I’m home. Don’t do this, Dalton. Don’t do that, Dalton. If you’re doing this then you shouldn’t be doing that as well. If I fart she would tell me it’s in the wrong octave. And, did you know she accused me of selling her mother’s jewellery? I don’t know what she’s done with it, but I’ve done nothing with it!’
‘She’s worried that you’re drinking too much, Dad.’
‘She told you that, did she? Knew I was fed up with the nagging and thought she’d get you to do the work for her now?’
‘Dad—’
‘I am fine, Orla. I’m grand. The one who isn’t fine is your mother. She doesn’t leave the house and she keeps track of Erin like she’s starring in an episode of FBI . That poor girl can’t take a crap without your mother wanting to know the consistency of it.’
Now Orla was confused. Was this turning-the-tables talk because he was a proud man who knew he was struggling and didn’t want to admit it? Or was there some truth to his comments about her mum? She was very invested in finding out everything about Erin and Burim and being concerned about Erin’s coursework but surely that was just being a good mother. While she was thinking she tuned into the background noise across the line.
‘Dad, where are you?’
‘Why? Are you going to tell your mother?’
She sighed. ‘No, I’m just… wondering.’
‘I’m on the bus with Greta.’
Who was Greta? It wasn’t someone Orla was familiar with. And it was a woman’s name…
‘And before you go reporting back to FBI Agent Dana,’ her dad carried on. ‘Greta is an Irish Wolfhound who’s having a diabetes check at the vets.’
She didn’t really know what to take from that sentence. Why was her dad with a dog that wasn’t his on public transport going to the vets?
‘I don’t?—’
‘The person you should be talking to is your mum,’ her dad carried on. ‘She’s the one who’s fallen out with all of her friends except Helen. She’s the one who’s doing nothing all day except finding fault with everyone else. She’s the one who barely leaves the house and accuses people of doing things they haven’t done.’
Orla didn’t know what to say to this. Who was telling the truth? And why would whichever one it was be lying to her anyway?
‘Listen, love, I’ve got to go. The vets is the next stop. But, don’t be a stranger, will you? Call me again if you need to. Bye, love.’
There wasn’t a chance to say anything else before her dad ended the call and she was left even more confused.