Like One of the Family (6 page)

‘Thanks but it's a waste of time,' Sheena brushed it aside. ‘Fling us over your copy.' When Claire hesitated she held out her hand, impatiently wiggling her fingers. Suddenly, Claire wanted to slap her for being so careless and ungrateful and selfish. ‘No!' she wanted to shout. ‘Go and work it out for yourself.' Maybe I should tell her out straight, she thought. She stood up and gathered her books into her satchel. Sheena did not even notice her going.

For the next few days Claire kept away from Sheena's house, her homework at her dressing-table, but it was chilly in her bedroom and lonely. By the end of the week she was back across the street again.

A few days before Halloween, Eddie came in unexpectedly one afternoon and said he needed Claire's help. He didn't say what it was about but he laughed and winked at Sheena as if he had already discussed it with her. He was dressed in sweater and pants, not the dark suit he wore to the hospital, and Claire thought he was very jolly and relaxed.

‘Just you, Claire,' he said. ‘I won't keep you long.'

Sheena went back to her books, a little smile playing about her mouth.

Claire got obediently to her feet. She wondered what he was doing home so early.

Eddie went out the door, leaving it ajar. He seemed in high good humour. She followed more slowly, uncertain as to where they were going.

In the hall he reached for her school gabardine and handed it to her.

‘Better put it on,' he said. ‘It's cold out.' He opened the front door and stepped aside to let her go before him. His car was in the driveway. He motioned for her to get in.

Eddie drove out the gate and turned on to the road. Claire fastened her seat-belt and leaned back. She watched absently as the roads became narrower and darker. They passed Daly's farm, where Hugh had got straw for the pups, and went on up the mountainside.

‘Where are we going?' Claire asked.

‘You'll see in a minute.' He kept the nose of the car steeply climbing. Every so often he glanced at her and chuckled. Once he put his hand lingeringly on her knee and squeezed it. She shivered at his touch.

Eddie turned down a dirt lane and brought the car to a halt outside an old farmhouse. He got out and crossed the yard to knock on the door. A man came out and led the way to one of the outhouses.

Claire waited, wondering what it was all about. When they reappeared, Eddie was carrying a box, which he placed on the back seat. She twisted around to see half a dozen globular orange-coloured fruits.

‘What are they?' she asked, curious.

‘Don't you recognise pumpkins when you see them?' His tone was light, almost gay. He got into the driver's seat and drove back along the lane. Then, instead of returning the way they had come, he drove on up the mountain for about half a mile. He turned off the road and parked amongst the trees.

It was very dark. Claire could just distinguish his features in the gloom. He moved her closer to him so that his arm was cradling her. She grew rigid.

‘I'm not going to touch you,' he whispered, ‘unless you want me to.'

She wasn't sure what she wanted. She was excited and afraid as he aroused her with the deft touch of his fingers. That part of her yearned to be stroked and, almost of their own volition, her hips lifted towards him. When he slipped his hand between her thighs and gently caressed her she involuntarily arched towards him, sickened by her own shame and desire. He angled her on the seat and continued to stroke her. She moaned with pleasure, feeling dizzy, light-headed almost. She heard herself as if from a very long way off.

‘How is that... good, is it?' He sounded pleased.

She struggled up but he firmly held her and pushed himself against her, hurting her, but not unbearably, until a hot drenching pleasure juddered her lower limbs. He sighed, ‘Claire... little Claire,' and it was over and he was driving down the mountain again, moving quickly through the darkness to come out into the lighted suburbs. Rain bespattered the car windows, making it difficult to see.

The house was ablaze with light. Jane was home. They carried the pumpkins into the house, Eddie taking most of the weight, Claire shyly supporting one side of the box, for the look of things.

Hugh and Ruthie ran out to meet them, having been alerted earlier by Sheena as to where they had gone. Ruthie was wearing the bottom half of a furry brown monkey suit Jane had made for her out of old car seat covers. She carried her tail in her hand to prevent it getting wet.

‘Can I have one?' Hugh cried, reaching into the box for a pumpkin.

‘All in good time.' Eddie playfully swung the box out of reach of his son's clutching fingers and carried it, on high, into the kitchen where Jane, helped by Sheena, was preparing the tea. Jane swung around from turning sausages in the pan, her face flushed from her exertions and the heat of the stove.

‘Goodness!' she said, staring in surprise at all the pumpkins. ‘Where did they come from?' Terry, hearing the commotion, strolled in to find out the cause. The children clustered round the box, excitedly laughing and chattering. Unobserved, Claire retreated to the hall and slipped quietly out of the front door. The sound of their merriment faded behind her. As she ran home, she felt sudden aching loneliness.

Six pumpkin faces, with hollowed out eyes and jagged teeth, lit by guttering candle stubs, lined the ledge over the McArdle's garage. Claire could just see them from her bedroom window. Earlier, Sheena had run over to invite her to the Halloween party but she had not wanted to be in the house when Eddie was there and pleaded a headache.

Now darting eerily about the garden were three sheeted figures, carrying torches, and one small capering monkey. The children's excited shouts carried faintly on the night air, tantalising Claire. She thought she recognised the in-between figure of Hugh but couldn't be sure.

Clouds scudded past the moon. Two taller sheeted figures came out of the house to join the others. They all joined hands and danced on the grass in a collapsing circle. After a while they disappeared round the side of the house and, a little later, there was a high-pitched whine, followed by the sharp crack of fireworks. It went on all evening.

When Claire fell asleep she dreamed she was in the kitchen when a huge serpent reared against the window, battering the glass with its head, seeking a way in. She rushed to close the windows but she wasn't quick enough. Then they were all about her, in a seething mass on the floor and the only way she could get out of the kitchen was to kneel on one chair and, with another in front of her, push-drag herself down the hall. The snakes entwined themselves about the chair legs but she managed to escape. When that dream ended another began. She was running upstairs pursued by a rampaging black bull and only just managed to gain the safety of her bedroom. When he charged the door with his horns she ran to the window and climbed breathlessly on to the sill, jumping the moment he came crashing in.

She awoke feeling tired, played out. For a long time afterwards she could vividly remember every detail of her dreams.

Annette talked all the time about the children she was teaching, recounted the clever things they said, and was happier than she had been for a long time. She finished work at two o'clock but usually bussed it into town to ‘unwind' as she called it, before returning to cook the evening meal. She might have been taking a Leaving Certificate class, Claire often thought, and not a bunch of infants.

These days there was a more cheerful atmosphere in the house. It was not enough to encourage their father to spend more time there but Claire found her mother more approachable and less inclined to irrational outbursts. It was possible to mention that she needed a textbook for school without encountering either a stony stare, or else, lists of domestic articles claiming priority. Claire was even able to ask for, and be given, a new fountain pen, something impossible before. Sheena, who had two of everything, had loaned her one for the first few weeks of the term.

There was less tension in the atmosphere but she and Christopher suffered more in other ways. These days they lived on hamburgers and chips, Annette having invested her first week's wages in a new deep-fat fryer. Sometimes she substituted fish for meat but the end product was much the same - a plate heaped high with fried food. Christopher loved it but Claire's stomach had begun vaguely to trouble her again. She put it down to too many greasy, indigestible fries. As Annette's interest in housekeeping further declined, the airing cupboard was in a worse state than ever before. It took half a day to find anything and continually provoked their father to violent language.

In an attempt to combat chaos Annette wrapped bundles of drying clothes in damp towels, to make ironing easier (whenever she got round to it, only she never did) and left household detergents and disinfectants strategically dotted about the house, as aids to on-the-spot cleaning.

Claire was the only one who took the hint and adapted to this new do-it-yourself regime. She rinsed her school blouses and hung them over the bath to drip-dry. Her father's socks and hankies were always a crackling bone of contention between her parents: ‘For God's sake, Annette! Just a few clean hankies and socks. Surely, it's not too much to expect.'

It didn't take Claire all that much longer to wash them with her own. It was a small price to pay for harmony.

One evening, her father came home while they were still having their tea. This was unusual and Claire could not remember the last time it had happened. Jim was very flushed. He sat at the table with a glass of gin in his hand, and watched them eat, cracking jokes, making them laugh.

Annette got up and went out to the kitchen. She came back with a slice of cheese and tomato pizza on a plate and pushed it briskly across the table. ‘You should eat something,' she said. ‘It's not good to drink so much on an empty stomach.'

Claire looked at her father. He was watching the television flickering in the corner, the sound turned down. But it's only one drink! But perhaps he's already had a few, she thought, and stayed in the pub till now and wishes he hadn't come home.

Annette sighed extravagantly. ‘That's right ignore me. Don't pay any attention to what I say. Get an ulcer, if that's what you want.'

Claire, too, looked at the television. Christopher knocked over his glass. It hit the table with a thud. He walked his fingers uneasily through the spilt orange.

Jim said, ‘Don't exaggerate, Annette. I'm just not hungry, that's all.'

‘You mean you're not hungry for pizza.'

‘No, since you ask.'

‘Well, what do you expect?' Annette said bitterly. ‘You come home when it suits you. Walk in without letting me know. You're lucky to get anything.'

‘I don't want anything,' Jim said. ‘I told you I'm not hungry.' He was frowning. ‘Stop making a big production out of this, Annette. Let the children finish their tea.'

‘I'm not preventing them.' She stood up, her eyes angry and tear-bright.

‘Please stop it,' Claire whispered to them.

Jim set down his empty glass and pushed back his chair. He went across to the drinks cabinet. Annette watched him intently. He lifted the gin bottle and set it down with a bang. ‘Nothing,' he said in disgust. ‘Not even a drop.'

‘I suppose that's my fault too,' Annette said, beginning to cry. He left the room.

‘The one evening he comes home,' Annette said, through her tears. ‘The one evening!' She struggled to control herself, succeeded, and began clearing the table.

The next morning Claire woke up a five o'clock, having dreamed that she was in a pet shop choosing a puppy from a tea-chest full of squirming animals. She wanted a black and white one and looked and looked but couldn't see one anywhere. One puppy, jumping up, seemed to be saying, ‘Take me, take me,' but for some reason she felt this particular one would mean trouble, so she burrowed down deeper and lifted out another pup with silky blue fur. She was cuddling it in her arms when all at once it became the curly-headed baby sister who had died, looking up at her with brimming eyes.

She lay awake, watching the sky growing pale beyond the curtains.

For weeks Claire kept away from the McArdle's house, opting to do her homework in her own house. She had not been back across the street since Halloween. She was afraid of her feelings when she was with Eddie. She told herself it wouldn't happen if she never allowed herself to be alone with him again, both sorry and relieved at the prospect.

One evening Claire was doing her homework in the sitting-room when there was a ring at the door. She went out, thinking it was the milkman collecting the milk money on Friday night, but when she opened the door Jane was on the step.

‘Claire dear,' she said, ‘Can I come in a moment? You haven't been over in a long time. Is there anything wrong that you have abandoned us?' Jane spoke in her usual light, affectionate way but her eyes were concerned.

‘N...no...n...nothing,' Claire stammered, taken aback.

‘Ruthie is always asking for you.'

‘I'm sorry.'

Jane put out an arm to hug her. ‘Claire... Claire... you don't have to apologise. It's just that we're fond of you and miss you, that's all.'

Claire said nothing.

‘But that's not why I came,' Jane said. ‘I wanted to see your mother.'

‘I'll call her,' Claire said, but at that moment Annette came into the hall. She stopped short at the sight of Jane.

‘Well, look who's here?' she said. ‘What a nice surprise.' But there was an edge to her voice. ‘Why don't you come into the heat.'

Claire stepped back to allow Jane precede her into the living-room.

‘I've been meaning to drop over for ages,' Jane said, as she sat down. ‘You know how it is... you work yourself, Annette. Weekends are the only time to get anything done.'

‘Oh yes,' Annette said vaguely.