Chapter 37
37
The drive back to Dublin was non-eventful, and Jess pulled into Brianna’s driveway at 5.55 p.m., pleased to have kept her word in getting the car back on time. Despite the fact she was heading out to a meeting that evening, Brianna invited her in for a glass of wine, eager to hear how her day had gone.
‘Do you want to stay for dinner? Sure, I don’t have to leave for over an hour yet and we’re not having anything fancy – just spag bol – but there’s plenty to go round. I always make enough to feed an army.’
Jess wasn’t hungry, and she wasn’t really in the mood to talk about what had happened, not even with Brianna. Besides, truth be told, she was the teensiest bit peeved that she’d blabbed to Nora about her whereabouts for the day. ‘No thanks, Brie. I’ll have this and get going.’
Brianna poured them both a glass from the bottle of Pinot Noir she’d had open on the bench – she liked a drop while she cooked – and they were sitting at the dinner table, the smell of onion and garlic heavy on the air. The relaxing scene was shattered by a bloodcurdling scream permeating the house. It had come from upstairs, and Jess’s eyes swung toward the stairs in alarm.
Brianna rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, pay no attention. It’s Harry’s bath time; poor old Pete will be drowned trying to get him in the water, so he will.’
Jess managed a small smile, but tonight, not even Harry’s shenanigans could lift her mood, and she quickly downed the rest of her glass. She didn’t want to intrude on the Price family’s weeknight routine. What she really wanted to do was head home, change into her pyjamas and open up a bottle of red of her own. She pictured herself curled up on the couch with a large glass, sipping away while she watched a mind-numbing TV show she’d eventually nod off in front of.
Brianna interrupted her thoughts. ‘So come on then, don’t be holding out on me – how did you get on today? How was your pig?’
For a moment, Jess wasn’t sure which pig Brianna was referring to – Owen or Wilbur?
‘Is he going to live?’
Ah, Wilbur then. ‘Yes, I think he probably will.’
‘Why so down then? Did something happen with your man?’
‘He’s not my man, and I’m not down. I’m just tired and I’d best be leaving you to it,’ she answered, standing up and pushing her chair in just as another scream shrilled.
Both women looked toward the stairs this time.
‘That sounded serious – you better go and give them a hand up there.’
‘Harry’s developed this fear of the water since he snuck down the stairs and saw Jaws on the telly a few weeks ago. It’s all Pete’s fault; you know how he loves his old horrors, so he can bloody well deal with it.’
Jess knew for all her fighting talk, Brianna would be up those stairs, sorting the two men in her life out, the moment she’d gone.
‘I’ll phone you tomorrow. We’ll talk then, OK?’
‘All right then; that sounds good.’ Brianna looked hard at her friend. ‘Are you sure nothing happened today, Jess? Because you look awfully pale.’
‘No, I’m fine, truly – just worn out from the driving. I’m not used to it, and thanks again for the use of the car.’
Brianna followed her to the front door, pulling it open before giving her friend a quick hug goodbye. ‘Do you want me to get Pete to run you down to the station? He’d be glad of an excuse to escape.’
‘No, it’s only down the road. I’ll be fine.’ Jess was looking forward to stretching her legs after having sat in a car for the last couple of hours.
As she headed down the path, Brianna called out after her, ‘Oh, I nearly forgot to ask: did Nick get hold of you? And are we on for Saturday night?’
Jess stopped; she’d forgotten all about Saturday night. Crapity, crap, crap, it was all getting too much. Brianna and her campaign, Nick and his development, Owen bloody Aherne and poor wee Wilbur, Nora on the rampage – when did her life get so complicated? She knew she should go back inside and fill Brianna in properly on what development it was that Nick was working on, but she simply couldn’t face any more drama in her day.
‘Yes, Nick’s free. We’ll be there. You go back inside; you’re letting all the heat out,’ she called back, hoping against hope that the topic of Bray Community Centre wouldn’t rear its head on Saturday night.
‘Great. Is sevenish all right?’
‘Sevenish is fine.’
Brianna disappeared back inside and shut the door.
Later that night, Jess fulfilled her fantasy by curling up on the couch in her cosy flannelette pyjamas, a glass of red in her hand as she tried to lose herself in the godawful reality TV show she’d tuned in to. It was no good, though; it couldn’t hold her attention. She didn’t feel like doing a Bridget Jones and wallowing in the mess she was making of things either. No, she frowned, she was more in an angry-woman Melissa Etheridge sort of a mood. Sod Owen and his mixed bloody messages.
She got up and began rifling through her CDs, looking forward to joining Melissa in belting out ‘Like the Way I Do’.
The phone rang just as she pulled it out of the rack, and Jess sighed, looking at it with dread as she debated whether or not to answer it. It was probably Nora, so, deciding she might as well get the lecture over and done with, she reached over and picked it up.
‘Jessica, darling, it’s Mum phoning to see how your dinner date went.’
God! The perfect end to the perfect day. Jess wrinkled her nose before having a big slug of her wine. ‘Hi, Mum. It was fine, thanks.’ As the wine slid down her throat, she knew fine just wouldn’t cut the mustard, not with her mother.
‘Fine? What does that mean? And are you drinking?’
Jess took a deep breath, and her voice came out in one big long sigh. ‘A glass of wine, yes. It doesn’t make me an alcoholic, Mum, and what I meant was that I had a nice time. Nick cooked a lovely meal, and he was a real gentleman. We’ll be seeing each other again on Saturday because Brianna’s invited us over for dinner.’
‘She’s drinking alone, Frank, and give me patience – it’s like getting blood out of a stone trying to hold a conversation with your daughter. Listen to me, my girl: I didn’t put us on a family and friends calling plan to have you fob me off. I want the details. What did he cook you? What wine did he serve? Did you have, ahem’ – her mother tittered girlishly – ‘ dessert ?’
Jess cringed at the pathetic double entendre. ‘Mum! That is none of your business.’ Besides which, she wasn’t really sure her mother would understand if she said sort of.
‘All right, all right – no need to be coy. At least tell me what you ate.’
‘He cooked roast lamb, and it was delicious; dessert was crème br?lée; and he served a red with the lamb and a white that offset the sweetness of the br?lée. He knows all about wine and stuff,’ she added dully.
‘Well, for someone who’s been wined and dined and treated like a lady, you don’t sound very enthusiastic. What’s the matter?’
Before she could stop herself, it was out of her mouth. ‘I’ve just had a big day – that’s all. I drove up to Ballymcguinness again because Wilbur, the little runt I befriended, got sick.’
As soon as she’d finished her sentence, she knew she’d made a big mistake in confiding what she’d been up to. There was a deathly silence down the other end of the line and then an ear-splitting shriek. Jess held the phone away from her ear, completely unprepared for what she heard next.
‘You’re doing it again, Jessica Jane Baré. You’re damn well doing it again. Frank, I told you this would happen!’
‘Calm down, Mum! I have no idea what you’re on about.’
‘You’re falling for the pig farmer with the past instead of the property developer who could offer you a future – that, my girl, is what I’m on about.’
‘No, I’m not.’ Jess flushed. ‘Wilbur was sick so I went to see him, that’s all, and the article I wrote about Owen’s sister, Amy, being killed in a bombing during the Troubles is running this weekend. I was glad of the chance to tell him in person because the story coincides with it being the thirtieth anniversary since it happened. It’s called being sensitive to your source, Mother, and that’s it – end of story. There’s no reason for me to see him ever again, and anyway, I just told you I’m seeing Nick on Saturday for dinner.’
‘That’s as may be, but I know how you work, Jessica. Your heart’s not in it anymore. I can hear it in your voice. This pig farmer fella tells you his sob story and you melt. If Nick were to announce he was going in for a double leg amputation on Monday or… or… oh, I don’t know, that his cat was terminally ill, then you’d be all over him, but unfortunately he has no problems, no issues to work through. He’s normal. N-O-R-M-A-L, Jessica. Well, I’m not having it! This time, I’m not going to stand by and let you sabotage things for yourself. You’re too long in the tooth to mess about like this.’
‘Gee, thanks, Mum.’
‘Don’t be sarcastic with me, young lady.’
There was the sound of heavy breathing down the phone and then the muffled sound of her parents conferring in the background. Jess realised Marian must have put her hand over the receiver, which didn’t bode well.
She was quickly proved right.
‘It was going to happen sooner or later, and now I’m glad I decided to make it sooner.’
‘What?’
‘I’ve retired, Jessica. It was time for me to hang up my socks. As of last Friday, I became a free woman.’
Jess refrained from adding, Shouldn’t that be knickers she’d hung up , but she didn’t think her mother would find it funny at the moment. Besides, she was getting an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach that she really wasn’t going to feel like joking around shortly.
‘I felt it in my water. I knew that you were going to need me more than Smith Jess’s tensed shoulders relaxed as she finished playing her winning Dad can’t even boil an egg hand.
‘Women always rally round a man left to fend for himself, and if they don’t, the neighbours will look after him. There’s your sister, too; she can help out, and I’ll leave him plenty of frozen dinners. He won’t even know I’m gone.’
‘Well… well…’ Jess blustered. ‘Well, what about Kelly and Brian? They’ll never manage the kids without you to help out.’
‘Your sister and her husband will just have to miss their date night for once. Might do them good to give that side of things a rest or I’m going to wind up with more grandchildren than I know what to do with,’ Marian muttered.
The fear was building in Jess’s stomach like a volcano about to erupt. She couldn’t think of anything else that might make her mother change her mind. It was last-resort time. ‘Put Dad on for me!’
‘Don’t bellow like that, Jessica; it’s unladylike, and a please wouldn’t go astray. Frank! Your daughter wants a word.’
‘Hello, sweetheart.’ His tone was wary.
‘Dad, you can’t let her come here – you just can’t. You know it wouldn’t work. Say something to stop her.’
Frank sighed. ‘Jess, love, you know as well as I do that when your mother sets her mind to something, there’s no stopping her, and I’m telling you there’s no stopping her. She’s going to Dublin, and to be fair, it’s not just about sorting out whatever it is you’re playing at with these two fellows. She wants to see where you live. You’ve been gone a long time, you know.’
‘Yeah, I know, Dad.’ She didn’t add that there was a reason for that. ‘I’ve been home for holidays, though. It’s not as if you haven’t seen me.’
‘To be honest with you, she needs a holiday. What with working full-time and helping Kelly out these last few years, well, she deserves a decent break. Your sister runs her ragged with those kids. It won’t do Kelly any harm to have to stand on her own two feet for a bit either; it might make her appreciate just what Marian does for her. And it’ll do you and her good to spend some quality time together on your home turf.’
Crikey, that was the longest speech she’d heard her father make since Kel’s wedding.
‘Well, I don’t think it’s a good idea. In fact, I think it’s a terrible idea. Besides, she’s just told me she’s retired, so I don’t know what you’re going on about her needing a rest for. If it’s a holiday she’s after, well, Fiji is a lot bloody closer.’
God, what a nightmare.
Jess got up, cradling the phone in the crook of her neck as she topped up her glass. ‘If she comes here, she’ll do nothing but criticise me the whole time. You know what she’s like.’
‘Love, your mother just wants to see where her eldest child has been living for the past decade. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill.’
‘No, she doesn’t. What she wants is for me to marry money and breed. She’s never approved of any of the choices I’ve made – not with work or with men. Why do you think I love living here so much? There’s nobody going on at me all the time – that’s why.’ She sounded like a petulant child even to her own ears, but she couldn’t help it.
‘Listen to yourself! Grow up, Jessica!’
Chastened, Jess felt like she was twelve again, caught pinching the milk money for sweets, as he carried on.
‘Do you know Marian’s friends all roll their eyes behind her back when she starts in on the “our Jessica’s got her own column in a Dublin newspaper, you know” because they’ve heard it so many times. She just wants you to meet someone who you can make a commitment with. What mother doesn’t want to see their child settled? And look at it this way: this might be your golden opportunity to prove to her that you’re capable of making the right decision all by yourself.’
The spark of anger dissipated, and he deftly changed the subject. ‘Anyway, enough of all that. When does the story you wrote about the young girl who died in that bombing run? I’d like to read it.’
‘It goes to print this Saturday – thirty years to the day that Amy was killed.’
She could imagine, on the other side of the world, Frank Baré sitting there, shaking his head. ‘Do you know, I remember Philip Sherry telling us about the bombings and troubles over there in Northern Ireland on the six o’clock news. It’s hard to believe it was thirty years ago and that you’re all grown up and living over in that part of the world now.’
‘I live in the Republic of Ireland, though, Dad; the Troubles never really touched the South.’
‘I find that hard to believe. It’s all one land mass, isn’t it?’
He didn’t give her a chance to answer. ‘Will you be going up to see your chap in Ballypintofguinness, the one who has your mother’s knickers in such a knot, when it runs? It won’t be easy for him seeing it all laid out in print like that, I shouldn’t imagine.’
‘Bally mc guinness, and I’ve told you before he’s not my chap. No, I won’t be going up to see him because he hasn’t asked me to, so make sure you tell Mum that. Owen’s a very private person, and he wouldn’t appreciate me just showing up.’ She studied the hangnail on her thumb. ‘His father’s in a retirement home nearby so I think he’ll probably spend the day with him.’
‘Ah, he’s a loyal son. I like that.’
‘And a right moody bugger to boot.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You will be sending us a copy of the article, though, won’t you?’ he asked again.
Once a month, Jess faithfully sent copies of her weekly column cut out of the paper to her parents. ‘If Mum’s such a whizz kid on the computer these days, you two could always read it online.’
‘Your mother’s relationship with the internet is very new, and I have a feeling it won’t last. Besides, she likes to have a hard copy of your column so she can pass it round her friends.’
That was news to Jess, and she felt herself softening a little. ‘Really? Well, OK then, I’ll post it off as soon as it’s run.’
‘From what you read to me last time we spoke, it sounded like you were trying to get a moral point across to your readers, not just relaying to them what happened. Am I right?’
Jess thought for a moment. Her dad’s perception amazed her because until he’d mentioned it, she hadn’t realised that was exactly what she’d tried to do.
‘I hadn’t thought about it like that, but I suppose that was what made it so special to write. It sounds a bit pretentious, but I don’t usually get the opportunity to be thought-provoking, and I hope I’ve managed it. Maybe it’ll make people contemplate the ongoing effects war has on innocent families because what happened to Amy should never happen again in Ireland. I want her to become real to the reader and not just a casualty in an old fight.’
Brianna’s face sprang to mind. ‘My friend summed it up when she said hearing what Owen had to say made her want to go and hug her son. Families are just too precious to be destroyed by one senseless act.’
As she finished her impassioned speech, she realised Frank Baré was indeed a clever man. He’d just set her up.
‘Exactly, Jessica. Think about what you just said when your mother arrives.’
She knew he was right, and she loved her mother – of course she did – but she was just so damn annoying at times. ‘Point taken.’
‘Good. Anyway, Mum wants another word with you so I’ll say cheerio, sweetheart.’
As she listened to her mother burble on excitedly about her impending trip and how she couldn’t wait to visit Trinity College and Dublin Castle and all the other sights, the realisation that there was nothing she could say or do that would change things sank in. Marian was coming to Dublin whether Jess liked it or not.