couple of hours, maybe less. OK? Don’t worry. No, I’m fine, I tell you. No problems. I haven’t got any more change, I’m just about to run out.’ The phone goes dead.
He rattles the receiver rest futilely. So she didn’t have any more coins. What has happened to all those other coins that she had yesterday? Or has she just been lying? And if she has been lying what else is she covering up? In the meantime he might as well go out and have a pint at the pub.
On his return, the phone is ringing again. It is his Aunt Lily.
‘Now listen, son,’ she starts. He is tired of people telling him to listen, and calling him son. Last night he dreamt of his two dead aunts, Deirdre and Eithne. They appeared before him dressed in purple satin and rose pink respectively though in his dream he had not been sure which was which. They shimmied their hips. ‘Son, son’, he heard them keening. He wakened sweating and had to peel off his pyjama jacket. How had he come to be the answerable son to so many women? Seven sisters and only one to bear a child.What a burden to lay upon a child. But he got the message a long time ago: there is no escape, not while any of them are still alive.
Lily’s voice is slurred, suggesting her hand has been in and out of her sewing basket where she keeps her halfs of Bushmills. She hasn’t sewn a stitch in years; her silken embroidery threads have thinned and dulled. She was disappointed in love, so Sal says. Well, who hasn’t been? Maybe love is bound to disappoint. God, he’s getting cynical in his old age. Old age! How Sal would scoff. You’re only forty odd, she would tell him, young enough to begin afresh. He is too anxious right now to feel either fresh or young. He can think only of his daughter. He is half listening to Lily. Although her speech might not be totally clear she is by no means drunk. She enjoys a dram or two, just enough to take the edge off and relax her. ‘I know it’s none of my business, son,’ she says, as if that would make any difference to what she would or would not say, ‘but your mother’s near up the wall and you know her blood pressure’s not good, don’t you? She tells me you’ve lost your job and your wife.’
He could make a smart remark about that being an achievement in itself, the loss of both together, but it would be wasted on his aunt. ‘There’s nothing I can do about it, Aunt Lily.’
‘You could come over and see your mother.’ And face the Inquisition.
‘Look, I’ll need to go, Aunt Lily, I can hear the door. I think it might be Sophie coming in.’
This time, he has told not a word of a lie, for it is his daughter arriving home. She greets him cheerfully, while avoiding his eye. ‘It’s cold, isn’t it,’ she says, rubbing her mittened hands together. He takes a long look at her while she is divesting herself of some of the scarves and the long woollen coat. She looks rather grimy to him, as if she hasn’t washed that morning or maybe even the night before. And doesn’t she pong a bit? He’d better not say that! But aren’t those lacy threads clinging to the hem of her coat cobwebs ?
‘Where does this Mandy live then?’
‘What do you mean – this Mandy?’
‘Well, whoever she is.’
‘She lives near the Meadows. She’s all right, you’d approve of her! Her dad is a lecturer at the university.’
‘I don’t know that that makes her all right. You could give your dad a kiss when you come in.’
‘Sorry.’ She comes closer and he kisses her frosted pink cheek. His nose twitches. He was right: her hair smells manky.
‘You could be doing with a bath, young lady.’
‘I am just going to have one.’
‘Mandy not have a bath in her house?’
‘I didn’t like to use their hot water.’
She’s lying. He’d like to grab her by the collar and whirl her round and demand to know the truth, but he doesn’t. He says, ‘Better get your skates on. We’re due at your mother’s for lunch.’
They
He rattles the receiver rest futilely. So she didn’t have any more coins. What has happened to all those other coins that she had yesterday? Or has she just been lying? And if she has been lying what else is she covering up? In the meantime he might as well go out and have a pint at the pub.
On his return, the phone is ringing again. It is his Aunt Lily.
‘Now listen, son,’ she starts. He is tired of people telling him to listen, and calling him son. Last night he dreamt of his two dead aunts, Deirdre and Eithne. They appeared before him dressed in purple satin and rose pink respectively though in his dream he had not been sure which was which. They shimmied their hips. ‘Son, son’, he heard them keening. He wakened sweating and had to peel off his pyjama jacket. How had he come to be the answerable son to so many women? Seven sisters and only one to bear a child.What a burden to lay upon a child. But he got the message a long time ago: there is no escape, not while any of them are still alive.
Lily’s voice is slurred, suggesting her hand has been in and out of her sewing basket where she keeps her halfs of Bushmills. She hasn’t sewn a stitch in years; her silken embroidery threads have thinned and dulled. She was disappointed in love, so Sal says. Well, who hasn’t been? Maybe love is bound to disappoint. God, he’s getting cynical in his old age. Old age! How Sal would scoff. You’re only forty odd, she would tell him, young enough to begin afresh. He is too anxious right now to feel either fresh or young. He can think only of his daughter. He is half listening to Lily. Although her speech might not be totally clear she is by no means drunk. She enjoys a dram or two, just enough to take the edge off and relax her. ‘I know it’s none of my business, son,’ she says, as if that would make any difference to what she would or would not say, ‘but your mother’s near up the wall and you know her blood pressure’s not good, don’t you? She tells me you’ve lost your job and your wife.’
He could make a smart remark about that being an achievement in itself, the loss of both together, but it would be wasted on his aunt. ‘There’s nothing I can do about it, Aunt Lily.’
‘You could come over and see your mother.’ And face the Inquisition.
‘Look, I’ll need to go, Aunt Lily, I can hear the door. I think it might be Sophie coming in.’
This time, he has told not a word of a lie, for it is his daughter arriving home. She greets him cheerfully, while avoiding his eye. ‘It’s cold, isn’t it,’ she says, rubbing her mittened hands together. He takes a long look at her while she is divesting herself of some of the scarves and the long woollen coat. She looks rather grimy to him, as if she hasn’t washed that morning or maybe even the night before. And doesn’t she pong a bit? He’d better not say that! But aren’t those lacy threads clinging to the hem of her coat cobwebs ?
‘Where does this Mandy live then?’
‘What do you mean – this Mandy?’
‘Well, whoever she is.’
‘She lives near the Meadows. She’s all right, you’d approve of her! Her dad is a lecturer at the university.’
‘I don’t know that that makes her all right. You could give your dad a kiss when you come in.’
‘Sorry.’ She comes closer and he kisses her frosted pink cheek. His nose twitches. He was right: her hair smells manky.
‘You could be doing with a bath, young lady.’
‘I am just going to have one.’
‘Mandy not have a bath in her house?’
‘I didn’t like to use their hot water.’
She’s lying. He’d like to grab her by the collar and whirl her round and demand to know the truth, but he doesn’t. He says, ‘Better get your skates on. We’re due at your mother’s for lunch.’
They
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