‘He didn’t say it to me!’ Deirdre says, before calling to Niamh and Becca. ‘Girls, c’mere a wee minute, I want to ask you something!’
Laura stiffens, the awkward feelings of being back in Becca’s company swooping in again.You’re being ridiculous, she tells herself.This is just Becks and Niamh. They are your friends. They care about you. You’re overthinking again.
‘Will you two tell our lovely Laura here that she is a lovely singer and Karl hasn’t been running around telling everyone they are “valuable assets” and she is actually a teacher’s pet,’ Deirdre says.
‘Definitely sounds like it,’ Becca says. ‘I can assure you that no one has told me I’m a valuable asset. I enjoyed it a lot, but I don’t think my singing ability has improved one tiny bit since school.’ She laughs, and Niamh joins in. Laura feels her face start to heat and considers telling everyone it’s just a hot flush when the truth is she feels embarrassed at having been complimented.
Quick, she thinks,change the topic. Turn attention away from yourself. ‘It was fun though, wasn’t it? I enjoyed it.’
‘I enjoyed it much more than I’d hoped even,’ Niamh says. ‘Definitely more fun than singing hymns in the back of the assembly hall. I felt like I was releasing a bit of my inner pop diva there. That song’s going to be stuck in my head all week. God love Paul and the kids, because I have a feeling they’ll be hearing me sing it on a loop.’ She sings a couple of the high notes and does a little dance and Laura allows herself to join in. It’s not lost on her that Becca does not join them, but just watches – a smile on her face that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
Maybe it’s that Laura has had so much fun this last hour, or that singing here has left her more relaxed than she has felt in weeks, or just that Karl has made her feel good about herself, but she suddenly knows that the only way to get through this awkwardness with Becca is to tackle it head-on. There will be no sneaking out the back door and away.
It would be easier, of course. She could just leave, go home, avoid the conversation and carry on with life. These things happen. People do it all the time – bury their hurt feelings for fear of being accused of being too sensitive, or making things worse. But it’s a temporary fix at best. The hurt stays; it buries itself until it’s ready to crawl to the top or to trump its way into the room swinging its trunk and demanding attention.
‘Do you think maybe we could go and get a cup of tea, or a crispy Diet Coke, or even a glass of water and have a chat?’ she says to Becca, almost afraid to meet her gaze.
‘I think that might be a really good idea,’ she hears her friend say in response. ‘A crispy Diet Coke sounds best of all. Maybe some fries too. Maybe it’s time to bring back the old Sneaky Car McDonald’s tradition.’
‘Sneaky Car McDonald’s?’ Deirdre asks.
‘I haven’t used that term in ages,’ Becca says with a smile. ‘It’s from when our kids were all little. Little enough that they could work our last nerves to the point of exhaustion. We’d call each other when it was all starting to get too much, but when we didn’t have time to get together and get sloshed on cheap wine. We’d call “Car McDonald’s” and one of us would pick the others up, we’d head to the drive thru and order whatever took our fancy and have a good old venting session while we ate. It’s amazing what a McFlurry can do. I swear they must load those things with sertraline or something.’
‘Sounds amazing,’ Deirdre says. ‘It’s hard to beat a sneaky McDonald’s every now and again.’
Laura agrees, so she nods and smiles at Becca and says of course, a Car McDonald’s sounds perfect. Unlike the olden days, they agree to drive there separately and then they can climb into Becca’s car to use the drive thru. Then they could have the big old elephant-sized conversation.
24
THE O’HAGANS SEND THEIR REGARDS
Becca
What, I think, is the worst that could happen? Laura is my friend. One of my oldest friends. She loves me and I love her. And no firm decisions have been made about Conal’s and my future yet anyway. Although I assume that at this point he will want to rescind his offer of moving in together. I’m not sure how else we can proceed. The offer will have been tainted in his eyes.
I had been hoping the universe would throw me a bone and have him message me while I was at choir telling me he’d had all the space he needed and he missed me so very much. You know that old ‘a watched kettle never boils’ saying – the modern version being ‘a watched WhatsApp never updates’? With my phone buried in the bottom of my bag and very unwatchable, I was really hoping there would be a sneaky wee message waiting for me by the time we were leaving the church hall. There was not.
There was only a message from Saul telling me that he hadbeen walking through Manchester city centre and one of the street drinkers had kicked a pigeon at him.
Another day living the dream, he’d written. I have to give Saul his dues. You never know just what exactly he’s going to say next. He keeps me on my toes.
I figure I can use the pigeon story as an opener when Laura gets into my car and we are waiting to order our McNuggets.
Driving towards the Strand Road, I try to think of all the possible outcomes of this conversation.
1) She will tell me that Conal is devastated and has run away to join the French Foreign Legion. At least half of this outcome is unlikely, but I guess there’s a good chance Conal is annoyed. He certainly looked annoyed as he stomped back across the grass that night.
2) Conal is annoyed and therefore, by dint of her genetic link to him, she is also annoyed. She may feel compelled to join him in some sort ofGame of Thrones-level feud. I can already foresee a ‘The O’Hagans send their regards’ type bloodbath. There might be an element of truth to this.
3) She feels stuck in the middle, again, and hasn’t a clue how to handle the situation. Much like myself. And much like myself, she might just want to run and hide from it all.
Whatever the outcome, it’s not a conversation I’m particularly looking forward to. I’d have been really happy to continue the evening in my little bubble of choral singing joy but I know I can’t ignore how awkward everything is. At least, I console myself, I get to eat nuggets and a medicinal McFlurry to ease my discomfort.
As I sit in the car park and wait for Laura to arrive and jump into the passenger seat beside me, I wonder, do we look like we are up to something illicit and dangerous? A drug deal, or a spy mission – something like that. Something cool that no onewould expect of a pair of forty-something mammies. I’m a granny for God’s sake. I can’t be up to selling marijuana outside of McDonald’s.
A knock on the passenger door window scares the living daylights out of me and I jump, proving at once I’d be a shite dealer. I can’t help but let out that most famous of all Northern Ireland expressions: ‘Jesus, Mary, St Joseph and the wee donkey.’
‘It’s only me,’ Laura says, opening the door. ‘I didn’t mean to give you a scare.’ She gets into the car and closes the door.
