Still, I have to make an effort for Dad.
The Moka splutters explosively on the stove top telling us that the coffee is ready. Dom stands watching it, which makes me aware that he’s expecting me to take it off the stove and pour the coffees. I am a woman, hence I perform the domestic duties. Poor Dom: he’s going to have to cop on.
I have no idea how Sue put up with him for so long. She’s a lovely, clever woman – she must have really loved him.
I pour two coffees – I wouldn’t dream of asking my mother if she wants one, because she’s a tea person through and through – and add sugar into mine.
‘Do you want to talk about what’s upsetting you, Ma?’ I ask gently, hoping to bring the heat in the kitchen down.
‘Oh, only that my children have no respect for me or the Church.’ She eyes thesugar-laden cup of coffee in my hand like it’s an illegal substance. Ma is veryanti-sugar. She gave it up one Lent and never went back. Now she views all people who take it in their tea or coffee as people who do not understand the value of sacrifice for one’s religion. I much prefer to do things for Lent – help the homeless, that type of thing. Not Ma.
‘Respect goes two ways, Ma,’ says Dom loyally.
‘Oh does it?’ she snaps back. ‘If you respected me, you wouldn’t expect to live under my roof while getting a divorce. How will I ever hold my head up at Mass again? Have you any idea what Father Leonard will say? Imagine the way they’ll look at me in the choir.’
‘Choir? You all sing like ferrets being strangled.’
I have to hide a grin. He’s being childish but, sadly, accurate.
‘Dominic!’ she shrieks in rage.
Ma is building up a head of steam here and I feel myself assuming the role I always used to as a child:fixer-in-chief. Children do when they’re trying to cope with rage and anger.
I feel that familiar tension in my chest and my breathing turns shallow. I can remember the endless arguments at home, arguments out of nowhere that my mother started and Dom somehow ignored, that made April run to her bedroom, pick up another romance novel and escape into it. Dad ran to the allotment and I tried to calm it all.
No wonder we are all the way we are, I think. April in fantasy world hoping that her current married boyfriend will leave his wife; Dom with his head in the sand, ignoring the fact that he has screwed up his own marriage.
I go to the biscuit cupboard and find some very plain biscuits, which are what my mother thinks are suitable offerings in the confectionary department. The only time she bakes nice things are when she is baking for church socials or fetes.
‘You’re getting a divorce then, Dom?’ I say quietly.
‘Yep,’ he says. ‘Sue went out with that bastard Liam the other day. D’you remember him from school? He always said she was the hottest thing. Bastard. I can’t believe she’d do that to me.’
‘Do what to you?’ I say.
‘You know, go off with someone else.’
‘But you moved out. The two of you have been fighting for about three years, so yeah, I guess she wants to move on.’
‘Marin, how can you say such a thing,’ growls my mother.
I’m reminded slightly of the satanic voice inThe Exorcist. I finish my coffee and feel the caffeine and the sugar hit my system.
When home feels like a horror movie, it’s time to leave. You never see that embroidered on cushions.
‘Ma,’ I say gently, ‘you can’t stop Dom and Sue getting divorced.’
‘I can,’ she says fiercely. ‘I can and I will. I just need somebody to talk some sense into him,’ she goes on. ‘He got married in a church. Your cousin, Father Michael, came over from Canada to perform the ceremony.’
‘Michael was here anyway to visit Auntie Silvie; he didn’t fly over on purpose,’ huffs Dom.
‘That’s not the point,’ shrieks my mother, and the bell rings for round two.
I roll my eyes and leave them at it, go back into the hall and find Dad in his den.
‘Sorry, I didn’t help much.’
He reaches under the couch for his chocolates.
