‘If Shannon can’t have her nana here on her birthday this year, I can at least hope for her daddy to show up for a change,’ Maureen whispers, looking out of the window as she does. ‘You may not like him much but, as you keep reminding me, it’s only for a couple of hours. I’m sure Sean and I can be civil to one another for the child’s sake for that length of time.’
‘Of course you can,’ I whisper in return, my head tilting to the side as I take in the sight of my big sister, though the thought of Sean McGee or his kind being anywhere near our house makes my stomach burn. The conflict that has torn our country apart for over thirty years might have been officially over since April, but there’s an element of the underworld in this rural Ulster market town where we live that still feels the need to rule our streets. Unfortunately, my sister’s ex is the leader of a very dark, sinister pack – a pack that no doubt framed our mother by hiding their crap in our garden shed, though we’ll probably never be able to prove it. Sean McGee is way too clever for that. He plays my sister like a fiddle and as soon as I turn my back, I know she dances to his tune.
Our Maureen, the most pitiful, sad-looking, pathetic-in-so-many-ways 22-year-old girl I ever did see.
The weight of the world sits on her broad shoulders, the pain of her daily struggle stuck here on her own, day in, day out, with a 6-year-old child and Sean McGee to deal with, the most useless piece of shit, who drifts in and outof their lives when it suits him, terrorizing our housing estate and everyone who comes near it in any way he can. Not to mention the constant stress of our mother, who is paying the price for her well-known views as a ‘pro-choice feminist, strongly committed to the struggle for Irish freedom’, whose strong but democratic viewpoints made her a sitting duck for cowards who continue to hide behind true crime. The dogs on the street know who set her up, but are too afraid to bark out the truth and prove it.
I try not to imagine what she is doing in there, right now at this very moment, and say a silent prayer for her early release now that we’ve peace at last. I blank out the stories I’ve heard of strip-searches, of bullying and other obscenities, thoughts that consume my mind every night as I lie in the dark, riddled with anxiety for her. Even trying not to imagine it makes me sick to my stomach, but I can’t let Maureen see how worried I am every minute of every day. I will never let her see that.
‘Will you do my hair in a bit?’ Maureen asks me, touching the back of her fluffy, fuzzy brown bob that lacks shape and beauty since she almost gave up on the world a few years ago. ‘I may as well make an effort for my daughter’s sixth birthday, I suppose. I might even have my photo taken to mark the occasion when you’re here to take it.’
I brighten up instantly. It’s the most positive thing I’ve heard her say in months, but then again, it’s the most positive thing I’ve heard at all in this house in the past year since …
‘Mum won’t be gone for ever, Maureen,’ I remind her. ‘And soon it will be you, her and Shannon here like it used to be, and you’ll be giving out to her over putting sugar in her tea, and giving out to me for not partying enough down in Belfast while I’m still young and irresponsible enough to do so. I get it from her, you know.’
‘What? Beingresponsible?’ Maureen says with a raised eyebrow and just a touch of sarcasm.
‘Yes, she can be very responsible when she needs to be. She just has strong beliefs and you can’t fault that,’ I say, tilting up my chin. ‘I was talking about her sweet tooth if you must know, and the fact that she’s still got a figure to die for.’
Maureen fixes her size eighteen black cotton dress and I close my eyes, instantly regretting any reference to weight in her company.
‘Prison food is a good way of keeping slim, I suppose,’ she retorts, staring at the sink before bursting into tears. ‘She’ll hardly … she’ll hardly put on a lot of weight in there, will she? Oh Kate! I’m so worried for her.’
I put down my Little Miss Trouble mug and walk towards my big sister, pulling her into a tight hug where we both collapse into each other’s shoulders and shed tears as the hum of a neighbour’s lawnmower and the sound of Shannon singing spills down the stairs of our tiny childhood terraced home.
‘Mum’s going to be fine, we’ll all be fine,’ I say, pushingMaureen’s fuzzy curls behind her ears and staring up into her emerald eyes. ‘Now, today is going to be a good day and it’s all about Shannon, so I’m going to take her to town and spoil her rotten while you soak in a nice long bath. We’ll make the best of today, no matter about Sean McGee and his grand appearance or lack of it. We’ll do our girl proud, yeah? I’ll fix your hair really nice when we come back. I’ll do your make-up too if you want?’
She sniffles and nods, tears spilling from behind her glasses and down her flushed cheeks.
‘You don’t need to spend your student loan on Shannon, Kate,’ she stutters, wiping her eyes under her steamed-up glasses. ‘She isn’t used to a fuss, birthday or no birthday.’
‘Well, she’s having a fuss made of her today and I won’t be told any different.’
Maureen bites her lip and we hold each other’s gaze for a few seconds. There may be only two years between us but there’s a world of difference with the way we live our young adult lives. She is simple and fragile, vulnerable and easily led. She tried so hard to stay out of trouble but she always ended up in the wrong crowd. I, in turn, am known as the strong, focused, sensible student, determined to make a better life away from the claustrophobic confinements of these pebble-dash terraced houses, where the neighbours don’t need to ask what you had for breakfast because they can see so much through your window from their own.
‘You’ll make a really good nurse one day, Kate,’ Maureentells me, her green eyes drowning in pain as she nods her head. ‘You deserve to get out of here and make a name for yourself. I’m so proud of you already.’
I smile and she does too.
‘And I’m proud of you too, Mo,’ I tell her gently. ‘We’re a great team and always will be, no matter where I end up when I graduate or whatever life throws at us. Now, I’ll go get the birthday girl. Enjoy your soak and for goodness’ sake don’t be worrying about a thing about today. This will be the best birthday ever, just you wait and see.’
DAVID
‘He is testing us! He is testing us!’
‘Flee the evil desires of youth!’ I say to my workmate and best friend Aaron. He is brushing the supermarket floor behind me with a great vigour that only a Saturday feeling can bring, while he copies my father’s gruff voice and makes fun of me for ogling after Sarah Edwards.
Sarah, the red-haired trainee doctor who first stole my heart in primary school and whom I last saw in church six weeks ago, is leaving through the shop’s exit with her Scottish boyfriend, now wearing a pair of shorts that would give any 21-year-old heterosexual young man like me a nose bleed.
‘Do you think she’d fancy you more if you quoted God’sword as you blatantly stare at her bare legs?’ Aaron teases. ‘I bet she’s like every other girl in this town and is just gagging to go out with a vicar’s hunky son if you ask the right questions.’
I don’t bother correcting my friend that my father’s actual job title is ‘church minister’ and not ‘vicar’, and focus instead on the mounting queue that is building at the corner shop counter where I’ve spent what feels like every moment of this long, hot summer and, as my father keeps reminding me, I am probably going to spend the autumn and winter here too if I don’t up my game on the career front.
It’s almost three in the afternoon and I long for my break, where I plan to saunter up the street and window-shop, daydreaming for a while away from the hubbub of a Saturday shift of selling mainly ice cream, cigarettes, scratch cards and lotto tickets to revellers whose eyes light up as I hand them their weekly flutter, dreaming for a fleeting second of a life that’s different.
‘So, what do you say then? Beers tonight? I heard Sarah say to her friend she’s—’
‘For sure!’ I answer too quickly, trying to shut Aaron up as I deal with one of my least favourite customers, Julia Sampson, who as usual can’t decide whether she wants a vanilla ice cream or strawberry, as a short queue forms behind her.
