MARCUS
Emily and Erin are ridiculously excited to see their mam on television. The two of them sit side by side in matching pink polka-dot pyjamas with the biggest bowl of popcorn occupying the space between them. It’s already way past their bedtime but they’re showing no sign of crashing yet.
The familiar theme song starts and the contestants arrive on stage. Erin leaps so high into the air the popcorn goes flying all over the living room carpet. I fetch the dustpan and brush, mostly because it’s an excuse not to stare too hard at my wife on television.
Shelly looks absolutely stunning in a costume that nips her waist in and emphasises her bust. In a mere few weeks she’s lost about five pounds and found her smile again – the one she used to wear permanently. When did she stop? She’s obviously been wanting to do something for herself for a long time. Why didn’t she tell me? Why couldn’t she talk to me?
Her calves boast a definition she used to have when she taught dancing and her thighs seem to extend all the way to her armpits. Blood rushes below. It’s been weeks since we’ve had sex. It’s practically a lifetime for us. I miss it. And I miss her. Fear stops me from getting too close to her again until this business is behind us. Self-preservation.
The noise levels subside. Erin’s eyelids are fluttering and drooping. Emily yawns, sinking further into the couch. By the time Shelly and Ben are called to the stage, I can hear gentle snores beside me. Sitting forward in the armchair, I grip my bottle of Heineken so tight it’s in serious danger of shattering.
Like watching a horror movie; I know I shouldn’t do it, but I just can’t tear my eyes away. The TV in our sitting room is so large, it almost feels like Shelly and Ben are standing right here in front of me. His arm snakes around her waist again, lifting higher until it’s almost grazing underneath her full bust.
The bottle cracks. Foaming beige liquid spills to the carpet and blood drips from my right palm. I stand just as a professionally captured photo of them appears on the screen. The last thing I hear before I switch off the box is Ben asking my wife if she needs a hand getting dressed. I’ve seen enough. It’s too much to bear.
I search the cupboards for the first aid box and a bandage. When I have the cut wrapped tight, I lift the girls upstairs, one at a time, tuck them in and kiss their foreheads.
‘Daddy loves you. Sleep well, princess.’
I’ve no idea how I’m going to sleep tonight. My teenage nightmares have now become my reality.
* * *
‘Did you watch Shelly on the television on Saturday night?’ Mam asks, as we sit outside the solicitor’s office waiting to sign the last of the paperwork. The plans haven’t officially been approved, it’s far too quick for that, but a contact at the council has confirmed they definitely will be – primarily because they aren’t wildly different to what is already there. We had to up our offer, but we’ve outbid Krawley Construction by a mile.
Mam has submitted applications for funding to everyone and anyone. All that’s left is to sign on the dotted line. With the boys on tour, that’s down to me.
‘Bits of it.’ I can’t even admit to my own mother how hard it is to watch. That kills me inside because of the deep-rooted history between the three of us.
‘She did so well. Her footwork was really good.’ Mam taps her foot against the plush, thick carpet underfoot. Eddie’s sister, Keira, is probably the most expensive solicitor in Dublin. She’s also the best.
‘She’s a great dancer alright.’ It’s on the tip of my tongue to blurt that I pretended to be asleep when she eventually got home around one in the morning. But how can I confess that I don’t know how to relate to my own wife? That I don’t know how to let her in. And that even though she’s probably completely pissed I’m ploughing money into this new venture when I promised I’d never buy another property again, she can still manage to reach out for me. To want to touch me.
It’s not that I don’t want to touch her. It’s just that if I do, all my resolve will whittle away and I’ll transform from an outwardly moody hard-ass, to an openly vulnerable, completely unattractive husband who’s riddled with almost twenty years’ worth of insecurities. Which is worse?
The thick oak door in front of us opens and Keira appears, beckoning us in.
While her and Mam make small chat, I scan the documents on the desk in front of us.
‘Everything is in order,’ Keira assures me with a confident nod. Her dark eyes and Roman features are very similar to her brother Eddie’s.
As I sign my name on the dotted line, Mam and Keira clap.
‘This calls for a celebration.’ Mam stands, pushing her chair back with the backs of her legs. She’s really aged in the past couple of years and I worry about her health deteriorating, and Dad’s.
‘It certainly does. How about lunch at The Sheraton?’ It’s the least I can do.
‘Enjoy.’ Keira bids us goodbye, offering a professional handshake. ‘I’ll have the deeds sent out to you. The planning department will be looking for them.’
The Sheraton Hotel is a stone’s throw away from Keira’s city centre office block.
‘How much time do we have?’ Mam asks, looking right and left before crossing the busy road. ‘I don’t want you to be late for the girls.’
‘It’s ok. A friend is picking them up and taking them for a playdate. I don’t have to collect them until five-thirty.’ A quick glance at the chunky Swiss metal on my left wrist informs me it’s only half one.
‘What friend?’ Suspicion rings in Mam’s tone. Being a rugby fanatic, she’s well aware the lads left for the Autumn Internationals last week.
‘One of the mothers from the school. She has a daughter in Erin’s class.’ We stroll into the hotel restaurant and I’m delighted she doesn’t ask any further questions about Maddy. It feels weird for some reason.
