Departures (19 page)

It's done now, my mother said, and ran her razor down the short seam at the back of the garment and plucked the torn stitches out with a pin. Hand me that thread, luv, she said, and I snapped off a strand and moistened its end, and she pushed it through the eye of the needle she held with the same hand that gripped the thin fabric of my father's summer suit. There, she said after a minute, tugging his sleeves and smoothing his shoulders, her fingers running over his lapels till he caught her wrists and drew her to him, placing a kiss on each open palm. Go on, get out of here, she said, you'll be late, but she stood at our gate with me and John-O and even waved back to him as he waited for the bus.

Alright, everybody, she said as the bus pulled away, show's over, back to work. But the expected client was late for her fitting, and when John-O sent his niece over with cream buns later, my mother agreed she had made enough progress to stop and have one with a quick cup of tea. It was some time after that when the girl rang our bell.

C'mon in, my mother shouted from the kitchen where she'd taken a break from replacing a zipper to clean the grit out of Ricky's wounds. He'd been fighting again,
though he wouldn't admit it. He'd told my mother he'd slipped on the ladder she'd told him expressly to stay away from, knowing the clout she was likely to give him would have been worse if he'd told her the truth. That's it there, my mother said before the girl could apologise, go ahead and try it on.

The girl took a step towards the dress and looked around her, at the no longer sterile roll of cotton and the bottle of alcohol on the kitchen counter, at Ricky's arm in my mother's firm grasp, at the teetering piles of new jeans and chinos purchased on sale from shops in the town, every one of them too long in the legs to be worn immediately and belonging to boys from our estate.

Where d'you want me?

Right here, my mother said. Ricky, go do something. He gave me a look as she released him, corked the bottle, and tossed the used swabs, but he needn't have bothered. I remembered the last time he'd gotten in trouble. He'd been one of a crowd of children who'd demolished a car that had been in an accident and was moved temporarily to the side of the road. The front left-hand corner had been shorn off on impact, but apart from that there'd been little damage, and those who'd come running when they heard the collision were saying it was too bad the driver was uninsured when a boy took a stick and smashed the taillights. Within half an hour all the windows were broken, the roof had caved in, and someone had started an ineffectual fire in the foam rubber stuffing they'd pulled out of the backseat. That afternoon Ricky and I went out with my father, who'd been in town when it happened, and found the owner of the car sitting on the kerb. Whose fault was it? my father asked him. It was his, the man said, but what does it matter? He's already got witnesses to say it was me. Later that night I'd informed on
my brother, but my father said only, Yes, I know, and told me a story about Belfast Courthouse. A long time ago its four walls were formed out of living flora, a garden attended by Justice herself. But the crimes of Mankind had been so dazzling they had left Justice blind, and with no one to tend it the building itself had turned into stone, the grey marble leaves and flowers blackened by soot and ringing the pillars outside the court the only reminder of what Justice once was. So is Ricky not going to get beaten, then? I'd asked. No, he said, that's not the point. People don't often get what's coming to them, one way or the other. The important thing is to keep trying to make sure they do.

The dress opened and closed by button only. At least three dozen ran from the small of the back towards the high collar, each one fastened through a tight elastic loop. My mother lay a board across two tins of paint and tested it briefly; then the girl stepped onto it, the heavy folds of her skirts gathered high in both hands.

Are you redecorating? she asked.

All the time, my mother said. Lift up now; that's right.

I need to buy wallpaper myself, the girl said, holding her arms away from her sides. I was trying to get the house ready for Friday, but it's taking forever. I still have another two bedrooms to go, and I've done nothing else but that house all week.

How many bedrooms, altogether?

Five—well, four and a half, really. There's a wee room at the top that'd suit a child. It used to be part of the other back bedroom, but I put up a partition. We can always take it down again if we need the space. She dropped her arms on my mother's instruction and smiled. I retiled the bathroom, too, and lay new lino in the kitchen. I bought seeds to replant the garden, and a trellis for the side of
the house, but I won't have the chance till after we've moved in.

If you don't mind me asking, my mother said, where are you getting the money for all this?

I won the pools, the girl said simply. I played the numbers Fortuna gave me, and I won about two thousand pounds. My mother was on her knees adjusting the hem so the lace trim of the underskirt would show more clearly; she glanced up at the girl but did not pause. She's been right about other things, too, the girl continued. She knew my sister miscarried the first time, and told her she was pregnant again before she knew herself. She can tell things about you just by holding your hand.

I don't think I'd like that, my mother said. Turn this way, please.

I know, the girl said, I thought I wouldn't, either. But it's okay, it's nothing like I expected. She's awful good. My girlfriend saved for two years to put a deposit on a trip to Corfu, and the first thing Fortuna says to her is You're going to travel. And she told my mum she was going to get better and it was six months before she took sick again.

I don't know, my mother said. Here, try the veil on. The pools thing's impressive, but the rest of it sounds pretty familiar.

You should go, the girl said generously. She knew wee things about me I never told anyone. I was ill myself last year and she knew about it. She even knew what was in my head at the time.

Upstairs Ricky kicked a football through the door of his room onto the landing and down the stairs into the hall. I saw the ball bounce on its way past the kitchen and then heard the sound of it striking wood. Go easy! my mother warned him when he came in, but he only grinned.

Da's back, he said.

My father seemed surprised when he saw us together, the girl on her platform, my mother on her knees, myself on a chair in charge of the pincushion, and Ricky with the football under his arm, spoiling his supper with the last cream bun.

This is my husband, my mother said through her teeth. The girl nodded quickly, flushed and self-conscious, but at that height even her awkwardness was elevated to grace. She wore the veil as it's worn after vows, the thin film of gauze spilling over her shoulders like freshly brushed hair. My father stood beneath her, gazing up.

You look very beautiful, he said.

It's lovely, isn't it? the girl said eagerly.

It's alright, my mother said, but I knew she was pleased. I'd helped her select the low, smooth bodice, and approved the change to sleeves which began off the shoulder and tapered to a point just past the wrist. I'd been there when she'd added a bustle, and replaced a full skirt which just brushed the ground with one more narrow, with a heavy train. Think elegant, my mother had said as we looked through the patterns. What we don't want is to make the thing vulgar. Feminine, yes, but not delicate, necessarily. Handsome? I'd offered. That's it, she'd said. Whatever else happens, at least she'll look strong.

We won't be much longer, my mother told him. Why don't you go next door for awhile? I'll send Ricky over when the supper's ready.

No need, my father said heartily, almost before John-O came into the room. John-O, this is the wee girl that's getting married.

Oh, aye? John-O said. Congratulations. What's your fiancée do, by the way?

Not now, my mother said sharply. We're not finished here.

Fortuna says he'll be a baker. She says he'll come home with flour in his pockets, and he'll leave white footprints on the carpet when he takes off his shoes. She says I'll never smell another woman on him, only bread from the oven and marzipan.

My father's mouth opened, but when no words were coming John-O stopped waiting and turned back to the girl.

Is he from round here, your boyfriend?

Oh no, she said, he's from the country. That's why I got a house near Bellevue. Fortuna said he'd like it, being close to Cave Hill.

An outdoorsy type, is he?

He'll like having a garden, the girl said, he can make anything grow. I was just going to get roses, put a few bushes at the front of the house, but Fortuna said I should invest in a fruit tree or something, since she didn't see us moving house for a while. Course, I'm useless with flowers, and I can't cook. That's why Fortuna thinks we'll make a good match.

Right, my mother said, that's us finished. Could youse all get out while she changes, please?

After they'd gone she brought out the linens, four sets of sheets and eight pillowcases so heavy that when she set them down on the kitchen table loose scraps of thread and less durable fabrics jumped up in protest, and the hair around all three of our faces was moved by the puff of air she'd displaced. Your shift and things aren't finished yet, she told the girl, but I'll have them all ready for Wednesday. You can come and collect them any time after noon.

Can't I have them delivered? It's just I still have so much to do.

If you want, my mother said. It's a bit risky. Personally I like to have a good look at a thing before I pay the bill.
But it's up to you. If you want them sent over I need the balance off you now.

That's okay, the girl said, I brought money with me. The bills she counted onto the table were still crisp and in sequence like the sheaves that spill from unmarked envelopes or are stacked and banded in open briefcases and pushed across deserted warehouse floors, and I thought of a trick that John-O had taught me, a way to fold bank notes to make the face printed on them smile or frown. That only works with the real ones, my father had added. All the forged ones do is grin.

It really is lovely, the girl said as she pulled on her coat.

I think it suits you, my mother said, following her out. You'll look well on the day. Are you getting your hair done?

Aye, I am, I'm putting it up. I brought in that picture you gave me, the one you drew the first time I came here. The girl in the salon said she could do something that'd set off the dress. I hope it's okay—I nearly rang you up to get your opinion, but you'd have to have seen it, really, to know. Here, why don't you come? she suggested suddenly. I've booked a wee room for the reception after—there's one right beside where they do the service.

Sorry, my mother said, but I'm up to my eyes in work at the minute. Thanks all the same.

It'd only be for an hour. There's another couple booked in for one o'clock. Please come. And think about going to see Fortuna. It's only five pounds for a palm reading, ten if you want the crystal ball.

My father sighed as he closed the door after her. So what d'you think? John-O asked him. Is she crazy?

No more than most.

Will there not be a wedding, then?

You never know, luv, he said. She might find someone yet. It's easier now, certainly, than it used to be. A long time ago there were rules about who you could marry. If a man fell in love with a widow, for example, he couldn't marry her unless he was a widower himself.

That's true enough, John-O said before my mother could protest. I heard about that on Celebrity Squares.

One boy in particular, my father continued, fell in love with a girl who was already married. Many years went by and the young man grew old, but he stayed a bachelor, for he knew he'd be no good as a husband without her as his wife. He spent his time writing bad poetry and romantic letters which of course he never sent, for the woman herself was happily married, and whatever his feelings he'd never do anything that might cause her pain. He wished no harm on her husband, either. In fact, he was almost resigned to a life as Love's martyr when word reached him that his beloved had been widowed at last. After a period of respectful courtship he crossed his fingers and made his proposal; naturally he was over the moon when she said yes. To get round the rules he married a tree the following morning, chopped it down to be widowed around three o'clock, and that very evening joined his sweetheart in holy matrimony.

Married a tree, my mother repeated.

You see? Ricky said. If that girl's not crazy, what d'you call him?

It's all true, John-O protested. I remember the programme.

If there is a wedding, I asked my mother, are you going to go?

I am not, she said. She glanced at my father. And neither are you.

Maybe we ought to, he said. She shouldn't be alone.

She's got family. Her sister'll be there. She'll be alright.

Aye, she will, Ricky said. If she can't find a man she can marry a tree.

What's going to happen? I asked my father when he came in later to kiss me good-night. I don't know, luv, he said. Maybe she'll be lucky. Lots of people are.

I rolled towards the weight of him on the edge of my bed, and for a long time his fingers brushed the hair from my brow and temple, smoothing and shaping it over my ear. We did not speak. I kept my eyes closed when he finished, and he stood up without asking if I were asleep. I opened them only when his back was turned and saw my mother in the doorway, watching him come.

Well? she asked. How'd it go?

He took her hand from her pocket and turned it over.

You'll have a long life, he said, and two lovely children. But you'll live in a house that brings only trouble, and you'll marry a man who'll be good for nothing and make your life seem longer still.