All That I Leave Behind (37 page)

As she came towards him, he grabbed her hand and attempted to kiss her full on the lips.

‘Not here,’ she hissed.

He flinched and sat back down again. She took up the menu and, on cue, so did he, looking at the selection of pastries and petits fours as if he’d never seen such a thing in his life. ‘Any chance of a pint?’ His top lip was sweating.

‘They don’t serve alcohol here,’ June said briefly.

‘Oh. Right.’ He looked around the room. ‘This is very you, June, very classy. You always did have your eye on this kind of lifestyle, didn’t you?’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ June said. ‘Will I order tea?’

There was a long silence before Dave put the menu down. ‘You haven’t invited me here for a little tea party, have you, June?’

June shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just … Gerry … Gerry knows.’

Dave stopped dead, his blue eyes wide with alarm. ‘How?’

‘He saw texts.’

‘Oh, fuckin’ brilliant.’ Dave ran a hand through his hair. ‘Why the fuck didn’t you delete them? What’s he going to do? Will he tell Majella or will I have to – Jesus, I’m fucked. She’ll hack my balls off.’ He looked around the room as if contemplating escape.

‘He will do nothing,’ June said quietly. ‘He’s been very good about it. He’s forgiven me.’ And she looked at Dave primly.

Dave sat back in the overstuffed seat then, an expression on his face that she’d never seen before. ‘Well, aren’t you the lucky one, June, to have such an understanding husband.’

‘Yes, I suppose I am—’ June began, but Dave interrupted, leaning forward in the chair, waving a finger.

‘Do you know something, you’re just a prick tease, June, thinking that you can just walk into my life after twenty-five years and get me all riled up again and then just tell me to fuck off. You know what your problem is – you’re a user and you’re a snob. You’ve always thought you were too good for people like me – but everyone knows that the O’Connors are just trash. That sister of yours who doesn’t belong to anyone in particular – who the fuck knows who the daddy is there, eh? And that father of yours, prick out all over the town until he wasn’t capable of it any more. Jesus Christ.’ His voice had been growing louder and louder and a group of nuns, who were gathered at the next table, turned around, anxious looks on their faces underneath their navy blue veils. June wanted to kneel down and beg for absolution, beg them to ask God to forgive her.

Then the nice Russian manager was standing beside them. ‘Sir? Madam? Is there a problem?’

Dave jumped up, his knees crashing off the low coffee table. The look on his face was wild. ‘There’s no problem … Svetlana,’ he muttered, looking at her name badge. ‘We won’t be ordering tea after all.’ Then, louder, ‘June, try keeping your knickers on in future.’ And with that, he was gone, head high, striding across the room.

‘I’ll just get my coat,’ June said quietly, gathering her bags and exiting the room with as much dignity as she could muster.

When she got home, the house was empty, as it generally was these days. She went to the fridge and opened it, then closed it again. She’d find nothing there. At least, nothing that would make her feel any better. She sat down at the kitchen table, drumming her fingers on the expensive surface. Gerry had had it imported from Sweden and it was birch, a lovely blonde shade that felt cool under her touch. She laid her cheek down on it and closed her eyes. She was getting a headache, a pain right above her left eyebrow that throbbed and ached.

It’s finally happened, she thought. I’m alone. The one thing I was afraid of – it happened anyway, and it was all my doing. I have no one to blame but myself.

There was only one thing left to do and it would take all of her strength to do it, but she knew that it would set them all free. And even if the others never knew she’d done it,
she’d
know. And she’d understand that, for once in her life, she’d done the right thing.

She sighed and went upstairs to the bedroom, to her dressing table and took out the lovely Smythson notepaper. She was running low and knew that the next time she’d be opting for Basildon Bond. She didn’t have the nerve to ask Gerry to fork out for more. It seemed appropriate, somehow, for the next phase in her life. She sat down, put a fresh sheet in front of her and lifted her pen to write. ‘Dear Mammy …’

She was distracted then by a presence behind her. She turned to see Georgia standing at the door in a pair of grey jogging pants and a black T-shirt that said ‘Queen Bee’ on it. She couldn’t help it, the flicker of impatience she felt when she saw her there. It wasn’t fair, she knew, after everything the girls had gone through, but she wanted to get this done, without interruption, so that she could put the whole awful thing behind her.

Maybe if I just ignore her, she thought, turning back to her task, and then, after a few minutes, ‘You’re hovering,’ over her shoulder.

‘Sorry, Mum. It’s just … I need to talk to you.’ Georgia’s voice wasn’t her usual confident boom but a little, childlike wobble.

June swivelled the chair around until she was facing her daughter. ‘Look, love, I know it hasn’t been easy—’

Georgia waved her away with a hand, a look of impatience on her face. ‘It’s not that. It’s India. She’s done something bad.’

India? June shook her head for a minute. ‘I don’t understand.’ ‘India’ and ‘bad’, the two words just didn’t go together. India was a good girl. She’d never given June a day’s trouble. She’d studied for all her exams and never went out to social nights lathered in fake tan and wearing nothing but a bandage, like some of those girls she saw hanging around outside Wes. Georgia, on the other hand …

Georgia gave a half-smile, as if to say, ‘I know. You thought it’d be me.’ And then her eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh, Mum,’ she blurted and ran towards June, hurling herself into her arms, where she gave a little wail of distress. June put her arms around her daughter, around her solid little back, and said, ‘It’s all right, shush, shush,’ into Georgia’s hair, thinking as she did how long it had been since she’d done that, given either of her girls a real hug.

June pulled her daughter onto her knee, giving her a squeeze. ‘That’s my girl. See? You’re not too old to sit on my knee, are you?’

‘No, Mum.’ Georgia’s sobs had died down a little and she leaned her lovely dark curls against June’s shoulders and hiccupped gently.

‘Georgia, tell me what the matter is.’

Georgia took a deep breath. ‘There are photos of India online.’

‘Right,’ June said cautiously. ‘Well, she has an account. She showed me once – there were kittens on it and Leinster rugby players.’

Georgia rolled her eyes to heaven. ‘For God’s sake.’ And she got up from June’s knee and walked out of the kitchen before sticking her head back around the door. ‘Wait there for a minute.’ June could hear her thump up the stairs to her bedroom, and then thump back down again, her determined steps, a little terrier. She was holding her iPad, which she put on the table between them. She tapped in a password and logged on to India’s profile.

‘How do you know her password?’ June asked.

Georgia gave her a patronising look. ‘Now …’ She scrolled down through pictures of dogs leaning out car windows and American cheerleaders. ‘Mum, you might need to prepare yourself. Are you ready?’

June nodded, her stomach clenched. She wasn’t sure she was ready. She looked at the photo Georgia showed her on the iPad. There was silence while June tried to process the information. The photo was blurry and only showed from the bottom of India’s face down, but June knew that scar on her daughter’s collarbone. She’d got it when Georgia had hit her with a hockey stick in the back garden. She’d needed five stitches.

‘She’s not wearing any top,’ June said, stating the obvious.

‘No, Mum. She isn’t.’

I’m not sure she’s wearing any bottoms either, June thought bleakly. ‘Where does this come from?’

‘Probably that asshole Jamie Ferguson; he says he’s her boyfriend, but he’s only after one thing. Guess he’s got it now.’

‘He asked her to post … naked photos of herself online?’

Georgia sounded weary now. ‘No, Mum. He asked her to send them to his phone and then he posted them online for all the world to see. It’s what some boys do.’

‘And girls let them?’ June looked at Georgia in horror.

‘Well, not exactly, but it happens, Mum.’ Georgia shrugged.

‘My God,’ June said. How the hell had she not been aware of this? What kind of world were her daughters living in … that something like this could happen? That they could be defiled like this, in front of the whole world, by a young man. June couldn’t think. Her mind was a blank.

‘Everyone in the school knows and Mrs Delaney says you’ll be hearing from her, like, today, and she’s phoned you twice and India’s made me run to the phone every time it rings in case it’s the Gorgon. I’ve had to pretend to be the Chinese takeaway twice now.’ Georgia was growing agitated and June soothed her. ‘Georgia, calm down. I’ll ring Mrs Delaney.’

‘No!’ Georgia wailed. ‘India will kill me. She’ll know it’s me. I’ve been trying to keep it a secret, I really have, because I know that things are so bad with you and Dad, but I just can’t keep it in any more,’ she said.

June held her breath, just for a second, while she tried to take it all in, patting and soothing and telling Georgia that it would all be all right. ‘Daddy and I will sort it out, and you are not to worry about a thing, do you hear me? You’ve done the right thing,’ she said, trying to sound convincing, all the while wondering how she hadn’t noticed what was going on with her girls, right under her nose. How had she not seen? Maybe, she thought bitterly, because she hadn’t been looking.

S
he
must be pure mad, Mary-Pat thought as she tasted the sauce and decided it needed a little more salt. To think she could get her husband to love her again with a bit of nice food and underwear, but she had to start somewhere. God, these knickers were killing her, she thought, as she ran her finger around the elastic, which was digging into her flesh. Her breasts almost spilled over the top of the corset: she’d been a bit optimistic with the sizing, she realised.

She’d planned it for days, trying on the underwear and standing in front of the bedroom mirror, wondering if she’d stand any chance of seducing him in that get-up or did she look like a giant marshmallow with a little strip of purple at the top and bottom. ‘Are you cracked or what?’ she’d ask herself, turning around to get a view of her rear end encased in blue lace, her face flushing with embarrassment as she caught an unwelcome glimpse of her back fat. Sure why would he be interested in you? Why would he find you sexy? The thought would move her to tears. He used to find her sexy, but now, she wasn’t so sure. At other times, she’d feel a rush of self-confidence as she planned the seduction menu, grinning as she thought of how much he’d love the venison steaks and steamed asparagus.

But, sure, the whole thing distracted her anyway. ‘Displacement activity’, Graham called it: doing one thing to avoid thinking about something else. He’d be right there. But it didn’t matter what the hell he called it, Mary-Pat thought, the result was just the same. She was trying not to think about everything because it was just too much to take in, and so it was easier to focus on asparagus. Easier than to go to the phone and pick it up and dial Rosie’s number, slamming the phone down before it had even rung once. She had no idea what she could say to her anyway. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about that O’Brien woman, that I kept it a secret from you because I was trying to protect you from the sordid truth about Daddy. Who the hell would want to know that her father couldn’t keep his hands off any woman who happened to be passing? No one, least of all Rosie. She’d had enough to bear in her life. Mary-Pat wanted to explain to her that she’d had the best of intentions, but that somewhere along the line they’d gone wrong.

But Mary-Pat also knew that there was a part of her that hadn’t rung Rosie because she couldn’t forgive herself for the way she’d been with her. She wasn’t sure how it worked like that, how hatred for one person could be moved onto someone else, someone entirely innocent. Her logical mind told her that Rosie was blameless, but her heart had been filled with anger and resentment. She couldn’t help herself: all the years she’d given to her sister after Mammy left. She only had to catch a glimpse of Rosie’s red head for it to seize hold of her, for the thought to pop into her head: if you hadn’t appeared, Mammy would still be here. You’re the reason she left.

Mary-Pat closed her eyes as she stirred the sauce. How could she ever make it up to Rosie? Where could she even begin?

After Pi had carried Rosie off into the night that dreadful night of the family conference, June and Mary-Pat had sat in silence in the kitchen, the only noise being the click of Duke’s paws on the kitchen tiles as he shuffled back and forth, sniffing for any food that might have miraculously fallen from the sky. The two of them had blown themselves out and the silence now stretched between them.

‘Well, that went well,’ Mary-Pat had eventually said. She’d intended to sound sarcastic and was gratified when her sister had flinched. It was mean, she knew, but June deserved it.

June had shrugged, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘Can I have one of those?’ She’d nodded at Mary-Pat’s cigarettes.

‘You don’t smoke.’

‘I do now,’ June had said in a shaky voice, accepting the proffered box from Mary-Pat and selecting one, inhaling deeply when Mary-Pat had lit the cigarette, then coughing and spluttering.

‘Easy. You don’t have to smoke it all at once.’

June had given a tight smile and there was another long silence while she had puffed away at the cigarette. Mary-Pat didn’t break it. She wasn’t going to throw her sister a lifeline.

Eventually, June had blurted, ‘I’m sorry, MP, I didn’t meant to spring it on you all like this. And I didn’t mean to keep it a secret from you all these years. It was just … Mammy made me promise not to breathe a word. She didn’t want the others to worry. She wanted to let sleeping dogs lie. It was an awful responsibility, MP, and I hated it, but I felt I had no choice. It was either that or lose Mammy for ever.’ She’d sounded whiny and nervous, the way she always did when she knew she’d done something wrong. Mary-Pat remembered her using the same tone when they’d done something bold as children and Daddy told them he’d tan the hide of whoever was responsible. June would just look wounded and whine, ‘It wasn’t me, Daddy.’ And, sure, who wouldn’t believe her? Like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.