Trio (24 page)

She did, feeling the cool air of the room on her thighs. He removed his clothes and they lay side by side on the narrow bed. He rubbed her breasts again and when he rolled her nipple between his fingers she gave a mew of pleasure which made him swear softly. She touched his willy again, began to slide her hand up and down. He pushed a finger inside her, then another. She rocked her hips, straining. Wanting more. Flames danced along her arms and the back of her legs and she began to repeat his name to the rhythm he was using.

‘Nina,’ he said thickly, ‘I want to do it with you.’

She felt a fresh flare of desire. ‘Don’t come . . . you know.’

‘I’ll pull out.’ He kissed her and she opened her legs as he climbed over her. He withdrew his fingers and she felt him nudge against her. He pushed and slid in. She had expected more pain but it felt good. He braced himself on his arms and moved in and out. She wanted him to go faster, she gripped his buttocks. ‘Yes, Gary, Yes!’

He pulled away, gasped.

‘No!’ she cried.

He flopped on the bed beside her. ‘Oh, Nina, oh wow! That was great.’

She had a stitch in her side. She felt goosebumps break across her skin and the sour disappointment washed through her. So that was it. Big deal. She ached with frustration, tempted to move her hand and show Gary what would make her feel great.

The door flew open and the light snapped on. She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms about herself.

‘Bloody hell!’ Chloe’s voice. ‘Sorry, but my Dad’s here and if you want a lift home you’re going to have to come now.’

Megan

There were two couples browsing and a single woman. She always let them take their time, none of that rushing to make a sale. The longer they stayed the more likely they were to buy, and once they got around to asking her about a particular roll or for a quote she could do her sales pitch then.

Brendan was off on a big job. They’d swung a contract with the university, fitting heavy-duty carpets and wear-resistant cord in the new halls of residence. It was just the boost they needed. They’d be able to complete on the loan and give Ronnie the bit they still owed him. It was a bloody marvellous feeling, to be getting level and knowing that everything else they made they could spend on themselves, on the kids and the house. Another big contract and there’d be the chance of a holiday, a proper holiday, Costa del Sol or somewhere. Mind you, it was so hot this summer you didn’t need to go abroad. An official drought, hose pipe bans and of course business in the shop had slowed down – most people couldn’t imagine wanting snug wall-to-wall when it was blazing out there.

One of the couples asked for a quote. The woman reminded her of Mia Farrow, big eyes and that elfin look to her. Megan established the size of the house and whether they wanted underlay – which really was recommended if they wanted maximum life from the carpets and better insulation – and fitting. She gave them two estimates based on the roll they’d chosen and a similar but slightly more expensive version which she explained had a greater mix of wool and would wear better.

She let them hum and haw a bit but she knew they’d go for the better buy, you could tell money wasn’t the main thing with them: they both had good leather coats on and his watch wasn’t off Longsight market. She took the order and arranged a time for Brendan to measure up. They’d three lads doing the fitting but he tended to do the initial measuring. You only needed to be a few inches out and you could really cock it up. And that would eat into any profit you made.

She’d just finished with the customers when the phone rang. It was her sister Kitty. Megan was surprised. She never rang her at work.

‘What is it?’

‘Megan. It’s Daddy. There’s been an accident.’

‘Oh, God!’

‘He got knocked down. He’s dead.’ She broke down.

‘Where’s Mammy?’

‘At home now, I’m with her here. We’ve just got back from the hospital.’

‘I’ll be over right away.’

Mammy had insisted on a traditional Irish wake with them up all hours eating and drinking and talking about Anthony. Open house for the whole parish.

He’d been a popular figure in the market and at the pub, though Megan wasn’t quite sure why. He’d been addled with drink a lot of the time, he’d never been a particularly generous man, not even with his affections, though he got sentimental sometimes when he’d had a few. But he’d never been violent, he’d never belted them like so many she knew. Mammy had never had to cover bruises or lie about walking into doors. He’d been rough with his tongue, now and then and that was bad enough.

Megan passed around open rolls with thick slices of ham and beef on and a dish of pickles. Someone kicked off ‘My Wild Irish Rose’ and they all joined in, even her three sat by their Nana, though Chris’s eyes were wide and fixed, the poor lamb was shattered. She’d never really forgiven her father for not letting her and Brendan get married back then. It had seemed such a cruel refusal. As the years had gone by she saw just as much of him but she felt distant from him. She’d lost the passion he’d inspired in her as a little girl when she had run to show him, tell him . . . Her kids had liked him well enough but he wasn’t always there when they went round. Once the stall was shut Anthony preferred to relax with his mates rather than at home and his routine never varied. If it was within opening hours and not a meal time he’d be at the bar no matter who was coming to visit.

The kids were close to their Nana. Francine and Chris took after her in looks, redheads the pair of them. But Aidan was like Anthony, wild black hair and a rangy frame. Though where he’d got his contrariness from she didn’t know. Brendan reckoned Aidan got his temper from the Conroy side. Like Brendan’s father he was always ready to lash out before engaging his brain. Too handy with his fists by far. Only twelve and fetched home from school countless times for scrapping. He was sly too, which worried her more. He was trouble waiting to happen was Aidan and she hadn’t got a clue what she could do about it.

Caroline    Kay

Theresa

Kay

‘Happy Birthday to you!’ The song reached its crescendo and Theresa blew out all the candles in one long blow.

Kay smiled and called the cluster of children to go into the lounge for pass the parcel. The party had taken days to organise and meanwhile Dominic’s croup had kept her up in the night just as the twins had started sleeping through. Four babies in five years. People in the parish thought it was a fairy story. If they hadn’t all been adopted there might have been less interest, though families did seem to be getting smaller these days.

She watched Theresa pass the parcel round and got ready to lift the arm off the record player. Theresa was a lovely looking child, thick shiny dark-brown hair, creamy skin that turned caramel in the summer sun and brown eyes like dark chocolate. Kay wondered sometimes whether there was any Spanish or Italian ancestry. She looked darker than her brothers, who all had blue eyes, but of them all it was only the twins who had a clear likeness to each other. They weren’t identical but very similar.

But people saw what they wanted to see. Strangers often remarked on the resemblance between Kay and Theresa – ‘She’s just like you isn’t she?’ Kay found it bizarre – they both had shoulder-length brown hair, cut with a fringe, but that was it really. There was little alike in their faces – Kay had chubby cheeks and a generous mouth, grey eyes, a motherly look to her, while Theresa was more delicate, like a little fawn with those big, brown eyes and long eyelashes and a small nose. Even more amusing were the comments the whole family would get on holiday, which veered from ‘like peas in a pod’ to ‘they’re all quite different, aren’t they?’ The Farrells’ standard response was to smile and agree with either observation.

Kay stopped the music and waited while Jimmy’s mother helped him take away a wrapper. She lowered the needle and ‘Nellie The Elephant’ rang out again. Four children meant a busy life but she had a cleaner every day now. She couldn’t have managed otherwise. Adam’s estate agency business had expanded and he’d opened a second shop in Chorlton-cum-Hardy. More people than ever were wanting to buy their own home and new Barratt’s and Wimpy estates were being built everywhere. Modern homes with all the mod-cons and easy to look after. Adam would enthuse about the more stylish developments but Kay loved the character of their old Edwardian semi in Sale even though it was a magnet for dust and hard to keep warm. But he was talking about central heating before next winter. That would make so much difference.

She stopped the music and Andrew undid the parcel. Theresa looked across at Kay, eyes shining, a jelly stain on the neck of her party dress and crumbs round her mouth. She raised her shoulders and grinned, a little gesture of happiness that made Kay wink back. Nearly done, she was dying for a cup of tea and to sit down for a few minutes. Before then there was cake to parcel up and balloons to give out. Some of the other mothers would help. Not a man in sight though. Funny they never came to the parties, it just wasn’t done. Never did much of anything in the house either. She wasn’t complaining but just now or then it would be lovely to have a meal cooked for her or find a room tidied or the ironing done. The image of Adam hunched over an ironing board made her giggle.

She was happy. Of course, there were days when she snapped at the children or the hours before bedtime seemed to yawn ahead with nothing but demands on her. On the rare occasion that she left the house without a pram, a toddler on reins or a small hand in hers, she felt anxious, as though she had lost something precious and would get into trouble. The unease persisted, albeit at a low level, until she was back home, so she never really enjoyed the rare trips to the sales or a get-together with an old friend. Her social life revolved around the children and the network of women nearby who were at home with theirs. She was closest to Joanna. She didn’t agree with everything Joanna said but she was honest and she was funny and you knew she wouldn’t sit in judgment on you like some of the others.

Damien, Joanna’s five-year-old, opened the next layer and grabbed the twist of floral gums that fell out. Two more layers, if she remembered correctly. She’d try and get Karen next, a whining child that she found hard to like, who looked close to tears at not having had a go. How different would life have been if she and Adam had been able to have their own family. She might have ended up with one like Karen. She’d no regrets. Not now. Though she did wonder what pregnancy would have been like, all that side of things. And breast feeding. Not many people did it, with bottles being so convenient, but she thought that would have been something special. She’d talked to Joanna about it once.

‘Ghastly business. Tried it for a week. I’d bosoms like a cow, it hurt like crazy and the poor mite nearly starved to death. Ken hated it too.’

The odd thing about their birthdays was that she’d not been there when they were born. There were no anecdotes about the day like other people had. They didn’t even know what time Theresa had been born or how the labour had gone. That was another woman’s story. She always thought of her and said a prayer for her, hoping that everything had turned out all right, as well as a prayer of thanks for what they had been given.

Karen got her turn and then the final parcel made the rounds. The bat and ball in the middle went to Janey from nextdoor.

‘Home time!’ Kay called out. ‘Get your coats.’ She handed each child or their mother a balloon and a piece of birthday cake. She saw people out and when they were all gone except for Faith she heard the woman’s voice, etched with tension, ‘For Christ’s sake just put the bloody car down. Now!’

A caterwaul rose and Kay hurried in. Faith was gripping Andrew’s arm and the child was obviously in pain. Theresa watched, her lower lip trembling. Faith’s older son Oliver stood unblinking to one side.

‘Faith?’

Her friend wasn’t usually harsh. But with two youngsters and another on the way there were bound to be difficult days.

Faith let go immediately. ‘I’m sorry.’ She bent to put an arm round her son. ‘I’m sorry, Andy. Mummy’s very tired.’ She rubbed his hair and straightened up, turning so Kay caught sight of her face crumpling. ‘It’s just . . .’

‘Come in the kitchen,’ Kay said. ‘Theresa, you take Andrew and Oliver and Dominic out to the sandpit. Go on and I’ll bring you all an ice-lolly in a minute.’

Kay sat Faith down, put the kettle on and offered her a cigarette. Faith took it, mouth working, wiping at her tears with the heel of her hand. ‘It’s Mick,’ she said. ‘He’s gone.’

‘Gone?’

‘Left us. Walked out.’

‘Oh, Faith. Why . . . what?’

‘We’ve been rowing –’ she gave a short laugh – ‘endlessly. He didn’t want another baby. He says I can’t control the children. He expects them to be little angels, all the time.’ She picked up Kay’s lighter and lit her cigarette, her hand shaking. ‘He was coming home later and later.’

‘Do you think he was . . . involved with someone?’

‘No. I just think he was avoiding the children. It can be frantic at tea time, you know what it’s like. Oliver is always teasing Andrew. Anyway, Mick’s been drinking, more than he should . . .’ She frowned deeply, pressed the back of her hand to her nose.

Kay got up and made the coffee. Put the mugs down, lit her own cigarette. Ate a slice of cake. Waited.

‘Kay, please promise you won’t tell anyone but . . . he . . . Sometimes he hits me.’

‘Oh, God!’

‘He always says sorry and things seem better for a while but . . . it’s worse when I’m pregnant.’

‘He hits you when you’re pregnant?’

‘Please don’t tell anyone?’

‘I won’t. I promise.’

She could be trusted. She thought of Joanna – Kay had never betrayed her confidences about Ken’s affair and one day Joanna had made some dry remark about Bev that revealed the whole thing was over.

‘He hates me like this.’ Faith lowered her eyes. ‘I was so worried about the baby. I’m almost glad he’s gone but I don't know how I’m going to manage.’

Kay was appalled. She’d no idea. But she wanted to know more: where did he hit her, how, when; did he shout, did they make love afterwards? A prurient curiosity that made her feel ashamed.

‘You can sue him for maintenance, at least for the children. It’s cruelty – you could divorce him.’

‘I don’t want to. I still love him. You probably think I’m mad. Maybe things will change, once the children are older, easier . . .’ She faltered.

Kay bit her tongue. ‘If I can help, if there’s anything, take Andy and Oliver for an afternoon. Just ask.’

Faith nodded. ‘Thanks.’

‘And when the baby comes.’

‘He’ll probably be back before then. Wanting his marital rights. Did you and Adam, this late on . . .’ She realised her mistake. ‘Oh, God, Kay, I forget. I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t worry.’

‘Well, it’s blooming uncomfortable, I can tell you, and you’d think he wouldn’t want me, looking like a barrage balloon.’

Kay smoked her cigarette and took a drink. ‘Do you know where he’s gone?’

‘His mother’s. She thinks the sun shines out of his you-know-what. She likes having him home again. She’s on her own now,’ she amended.

‘When did he go?’

‘Tuesday.’

‘Have you spoken since?’

‘Nope.’ She crushed her cigarette in the ashtray. ‘They never tell you about this part, do they? All the films and the books, they always stop at the altar. I keep thinking, How did we end up like this?’ She sighed heavily. ‘Sorry to put a damper on the party.’

‘Don’t be daft. And if I can do anything . . .’

‘I know. Why can’t they be more like us, Kay? They say women are the weaker sex but I don’t see much sign of it. They waltz off but we have to keep going no matter what, we get stuck with the children. We just have to get on with it, don’t we?’

Theresa

Theresa had made a whole row of sandcastles. She loved the little paper flags that Mummy had bought her to stick on top. There was a white cross on blue paper, a lovely red dragon, a Union Jack and a stripey one.

She needed seaweed now to make a pattern round them all, and some shells. At the water’s edge she squatted down, selecting slippery strands of bladderwrack, with its leathery skin and bulbous pods, and fronds of the other slimy, bright-green weed.

Another girl came up close. She had a fishing net. Theresa watched the girl’s toes disappear into the soft sand.

‘There’s a crab over there,’ the girl said. ‘In the big rock pool.’

‘Can you see it?’

‘I’ll show you. What’s your name?’

‘Theresa.’ She got up, leaving the seaweed.

‘How old are you?’

‘Six.’

‘What’s wrong with your ear?’

Theresa blinked. The question stung her, she felt a bit sick.

‘Nothing.’ She pulled her hair over it, hiding it. ‘It didn't grow right.’

‘Does it hurt?’ The girl had a mean mouth. Theresa wanted her to shut up and go away.

‘It looks horrible. Are you a bit deaf?’

Theresa grabbed her bucket and ran up the beach. When she reached the shingle she slipped, skinning her toes against the pebbles. She began to cry. She couldn’t see the place where Mummy and Daddy and Dominic and the babies were.

She walked on. Stupid, horrid girl. She hated her ear. Mummy said it was nothing to worry about but she didn’t know, she didn’t have a lump like a slug on her head, did she?

She sobbed some more, her tummy hurt. She was lost. Then she saw her castles, the flags tiny specks in the distance and nearby Daddy rolling the big beach ball to Dominic. She squeezed her face to make more tears come and then ran to them. Mummy was reading, lying on her front on the blanket. The twins were asleep on the picnic rug. Theresa wailed so Mummy would hear her.

‘Theresa, what’s happened?’

She cried some more first, really loud to show how bad it was and then she told her about the horrid girl and hurting her toes. She saw Daddy look at Mummy and felt Mummy squeeze her tighter. ‘It’s not horrible, Theresa. Little girls like that say silly things.’

‘I wish I was dead,’ she said.

‘Sshhh! Don’t say that. We love you. What would we have done without you? When we fetched you home it was the happiest day of my life.’