The Bright Side (5 page)

I hung up. There’s only so much a person can take, even from flesh and blood. Especially from flesh and blood
.

Chrissy
worked
at
a
gym
in
Swords.
She’d
been
there
since
she
left
school
and
she
seemed
to
like
it.
Actually,
she
seemed to
love
it.
She
was
as
contented
in
her
job
as
anyone
I’d
ever
known.
I’d
always
had
a
problem
admitting
that.
I
was
all
for
my
daughter
being
happy,
of
course
I
was.
It
was
just
that
I
could
never
remember
looking
down
at
her
in
her
crib
and thinking
What
a
beautiful
little
girl
–
one
day,
many
years
from
now,
fingers
crossed,
she’ll
get
a
job
pulling
strangers’
hair
out
of
a
shower
drain
.
I’d
met
her
boss
a
few
times
and
he
always
went
on
and on
about
how
great
she
was,
how
motivated,
how
focussed, how
mature
for
someone
barely
out
of
her
teens.
It
was
all
I
could
do
to
smile
at
him
and
mumble
something
like
“That’s
my
girl”.
Gerry
had
a
minor
problem
with
Chrissy’s
job
too,
but his
was
easily
explained:
he
couldn’t
stand
the
thought
of
his daughter
wearing
a
track-suit.
If
Gerry
had
had
his
way,
women
would
have
worn
dresses
and
full
make-up
at
all
times, regardless
of
whether
they
were
going
out
for
dinner
or
digging up
weeds
in
the
back
garden.
It
was
like
a
phobia
with
him.
If you
sneaked
up
behind
him
and
said
the
words
“tomboy”,
he lost
his
breath
and
had
to
have
a
quiet
sit-down
somewhere
.

“Mum!” Chrissy trilled when she answered her mobile. “I was just thinking about you. You know Linda, my old flat- mate? She was away for a few days and she got the exact same pair of –
”

“I was talking to your brother,” I said, not caring about the interruption
.

“Did he tell you about Jemima? He rang me at three o’clock this morning, absolutely
polluted
. Good riddance, I say.
”

“Oh? Is that what you say? Good riddance?” “Sorry?
”

I swallowed. “That’s what you think about all this, is it? Good riddance?
”

“Are you all right, Mum? You sound a bit –
”

“Because
that’s
not
what
Robert
says.
He
says
you’ll
be
sorry
to
see
her
go.
He
says
the
pair
of
you
are
great
pals.
”

There was a pause. “Why did he say that?” Chrissy asked then in a watery tone. It was a classic response to an awkward question: giving nothing away while at the same time sounding childlike and vulnerable
.

“You tell me. Could it be because it’s the truth?” “Uh …
”

“I don’t know what to say, Chrissy, I really don’t. You’ve been letting me sit there week after week complaining about that horrible girl and then running to your brother to tell him all about it? I can’t, I don’t –
”

“Mum, listen –
”

“I know Robert hates me. I’m kind of used to it at this stage. But I thought we were all right, you and me.
”

“We are all right! Of course we are! And Robert doesn’t hate you, he just, you know, he … You and him … It’s a phase, that’s all.
”

“A phase? It’s been years!
”

“Don’t get upset, please, you’re going to set me off …” She’d no sooner threatened it than she burst into tears
.

Her huge, heaving sobs sounded like something out of an opera
.

“Oh, stop it!” I snapped, not meaning it to sound as angry as it came out. “I’m the one who’s upset here, not you.
”

I heard a rustle and a thump, then another rustle, a sort of groan, another thump and finally a tremendous gulp. From previous experience, I knew that Chrissy got very physical when she was upset. I could easily picture her falling around the place, dropping the phone, righting herself, dropping the phone again
.

“Are you all right?” I sighed, knowing the conversation had been flipped on me. “Chrissy?
”

“I’m a terrible daughter!” she whined
.

I forced my voice to sound pleasant. “No, you’re not. Of course you’re not. I was just surprised to hear it, I felt –
”

“I have to go, I can’t deal with this,” she said and, just like that, hung up
.

“Jesus
Christ
!” I hissed into the dead phone. Then I threw it into my bag and dropped my head into my waiting hands
.

The pain was rapidly intensifying now. My mouth had gone bone dry and my limbs felt like they belonged to someone else, someone who hadn’t been looking after them very well. After a few minutes of sitting as still as possible, I became aware of a figure standing behind me. I knew it was Jenny before I even turned around. Her arrival seemed like something that would happen, that was all
.

“It’s bad enough that you waltz in late
again
,” she said as I turned around. “Is it too much to ask that you log in at some point and do some, oh, what’s the word … work?
”

You
could
stab
her
with
a
biro
, a voice in my head declared.
Just
stab
her
and
run
like
hell.
No
one
would
mind.
You
might
even get
a
reward.

“I’m not feeling well,” I said. “I’ve got one of my headaches. I’m going home.
”

Jenny’s eyes narrowed. “Is that so? Well, before you run off … when can I put you down for the tardiness hat?
”

It must have been around then that Gerry started fumbling with my neighbour’s buttons and zips
.

CHAPTER
3

Before
I took
up with
Gerry
, I’d
only
ever kissed
two boys. I met
both of
them in Cleopatra’s,
which was
by far
the nicer of the two discos in Ashbourne in the early 1980s. It
was
popular
with
my
crowd
because
we
were
all
under-age and
the
bouncers
there
would
let
almost
anyone
in,
provided they
weren’t
actually
sucking
their
thumb
at
the
time.
Kissee number
one
was
called
Rory.
I’d
never
seen
him
before
that night
in
Cleo’s
(as
we
called
it),
but
every
time
I
turned around,
there
he
was.
It
didn’t
dawn
on
me
that
this
was anything other than coincidence until I felt a tap, no a
poke
, on
the
shoulder
during
the
second
of
the
three
slow
sets.
I spun
on
my
heels.
Rory
frowned
up
at
me
–
he
was
about four
feet
tall
–
and
spat
the
single
word
“Dance?”
I
was sixteen
then
and
had
never
been
slow-danced
before.
I
thought
it
was
about
time,
so
I
said
yes.
We
swayed
around for
a
few
minutes
in
stony
silence
until
I
found
the
courage to
ask
him
his
name.
He
supplied
it,
then
asked
mine.
Before I
had
finished
speaking,
he
suddenly
got
up
on
tip-toe
and clamped
his
thin,
dry
lips
over
mine.
It
wasn’t
a
pleasant experience,
exactly,
but
it
wasn’t
foul
either.
We
danced
on for
another
couple
of
minutes
before
I
ran
away
to
tell
the girls.
I
never
learned
his
second
name
and
I
never
laid
eyes on
him
again.
I
suppose
I
was
in
shock.
It
was
almost romantic
–
almost,
but
not
quite.
Kissee
number
two
came along
a
few
weeks
later.
He
was
called
Marty
Byrne
and
he was
my
first
real
boyfriend;
we
were
an
item
for
almost
the entire
month
of
July
1983.
Like
Rory,
Marty
made
his
initial move
during
a
slow
set
in
Cleo’s.
Unlike
Rory,
he
was capable
of
conversation,
inasmuch
as
he
had
deeply
held convictions
about
the
relative
merits
of
the
local
chippers, which
he
was
all
too
keen
to
share.
We
had
a
little
snog
while dancing,
then
retired
to
a
dark
corner
where
he
told
me
I
was easily
sexy
enough
to
be
in
Bucks
Fizz,
maybe
even
Abba. That
didn’t
age
well
as
a
compliment,
but
at
the
time
I
was
firmly
swept
off
my
feet.
Ours
was
most
definitely
a relationship
of
two
halves.
The
first
couple
of
weeks
were great.
We
saw
Flashdance
together,
went
for
walks
in
the park,
made
a
couple
of
return
trips
to
Cleo’s
(suddenly
much more
fun,
now
that
I
was
part
of
a
couple).
Then
he
started going
for
my
boobs.
I
had
no
real
objection
to
being
felt
up, as
such.
It
was
just
the
way
he
went
about
it,
all
snarly
and aggressive.
He
reminded
me
of
nothing
so
much
as
a
hungry dog
that
had
spotted
a
dropped
pork
chop.
I
tried
to
explain
that
it
was
a
question
of
manners
more
than
anything
else, but
he
wouldn’t
listen.
Then,
one
quiet
Sunday
tea-time,
he
called
me
up
and
announced
that
he’d
started
seeing
“someone
a
bit
more
maturer”.
A
few
days
later
I
saw
him hand
in
hand
with
Dolores
Quinn,
a
notorious
local
bike
(and
shoplifter
–
she
ended
up
in
prison,
I
heard).
The
shock
of
being
dumped
was
like
nothing
I’d
ever
known.
“If
it
feels
like
this
when
the
guy’s
an
arsehole,”
I
wailed
at
anyone
who
would
listen,
“what
the
hell’s
it
like
when
you’re
in
love
?”
That
was
it
for
me
and
romance,
I
decided
–
the
risks
were
too
great.
I
was
never
going
to
Cleo’s
again
–
ever!
Ever,
ever,
ever
!