Divided Loyalties (16 page)

‘Fuck you, Dad,’ he cursed as he passed the big redbrick house belonging to the priest, and saw the lights of his father’s bungalow in the distance. If it wasn’t for Noel
he’d be relaxed and warm and pissed in Carrie’s, instead of cold and stressed and filled with unhappy thoughts. Resentment surged through him; Noel had never treated him with kindness,
so why should he have to show him any? he thought sourly.

‘Is Carrie with you?’ Noel asked weakly when he let himself in and found his father hunched over the fire in the kitchen.

‘There was no need for her to come. I’m here.’ He tried to keep the annoyance out of his tone.

‘She said she was coming,’ Noel said petulantly. ‘I’ve been very sick, you know.’

‘You’ll be fine. It’s just a tummy bug.’ Bobby injected a false hearty note into his voice.

‘As long as it doesn’t affect my hiatus hernia. That can flare up something terrible,’ Noel moaned.

‘Have you any magnesia?’ Bobby sighed.

‘I took some.’

‘Why don’t you go to bed and I’ll bring you some hot milk,’ Bobby suggested.

‘Put some pepper into it. Your mother always put pepper into hot milk when anyone was sick,’ Noel said.

‘I know, I remember.’ Bobby went to the fridge and took out a carton of milk as his father rose feebly from the chair and headed for his bedroom. ‘And the Oscar goes to . .
.’ he muttered as he filled a saucepan and turned on the gas. Noel wouldn’t entertain having a microwave.

His father hadn’t turned off the heating before he went to bed and Bobby decided he was damned if he was going to spend another cold night in the house, so he wasn’t going to turn it
off either. He threw a few logs and a shovelful of coal onto the fire to build it up. He’d finish the thriller he was reading in front of it. A real fire was a treat. Listening to it hiss and
spark and flame brought him back to when he was a little boy on wintry afternoons when it was getting dark and his father was still at work. His mother would be cooking their dinner and he’d
be sitting by the fire reading, safe for a while from the hassle of the school yard and his father’s disapproval.

He brought Noel in his hot milk. It was disconcerting to see his father in his brown pyjamas looking vulnerable and washed out. For the first time Bobby could see that Noel was starting to age.
His hair was thinning, he had liver spots on his hands, and tonight his face had a greyish hue.

‘Do you need anything else?’ he asked gruffly.

‘No. Thanks for the milk.’ Noel too was clearly feeling awkward.

‘Right, call me if you need me. I’ll leave my bedroom door open.’

Noel hunched down under the bedclothes with a deep sigh. Bobby left the door ajar and headed for the welcome respite of the fire-brightened kitchen.

Noel huddled under his bedclothes feeling queasy and annoyed. He was only a nuisance to his children, he thought sorrowfully. Carrie couldn’t even be bothered to come and
make sure that he was all right. And Bobby was only here because he had to be. As for Shauna, he could be dead in his bed for all she’d really care. She’d been antagonistic towards him
from when she was a little girl and even to this day he could still sense it from her.

Carrie had been his pet, his favourite. Kind Carrie who had always tried to please him and her mother. But tonight she’d let him down and left him to his son’s tender mercies.

A stomach spasm gripped him and waves of nausea swept over him. He could be dying for all they knew. If he was found dead in his bed in the morning it would serve them all right, he thought
vengefully as he made his shaky way to the bathroom.

‘Mammy, I feel sick.’

Carrie woke out of a deep sleep to see Olivia, pale and shivering, standing beside the bed. ‘Oh, no,’ she groaned. If she could get her hands on Della Keegan she’d break her
damned neck, she swore, as she swung out of bed and brought her daughter to the bathroom. Dan snored peacefully. Carrie knew that if she woke him he’d take care of Olivia, but she was awake
now. What was the point of two of them being up?

He’d really stood up for her this evening, she thought, remembering the heart-warming feeling of knowing that she was loved and cherished that had enveloped her when he’d put his
hand on her shoulder and told her to sit down. Dan was the greatest gift the universe had ever given her. He had a kind and steady heart that had her and the children at its core. She was a very
lucky woman, she acknowledged, remembering how gentle his hand had been.

Bobby had been taken aback when her husband had more or less told him to go home and look after Noel. He’d hidden it well and been agreeable but Carrie had caught the initial look of
dismay on her brother’s face. It might be good for Bobby to realize that Noel was getting old. Maybe some of the old wounds might heal, she thought wistfully, ever the optimist.

‘How’s Dad? Olivia puked all night and Shauna’s feeling queasy.’ Bobby could hear the weary tone in his sister’s voice at the other end of the
phone.

‘He was sick twice. He wanted to call the doctor at five a.m. but I managed to persuade him to wait. I phoned him an hour ago so we’re waiting for him.’ Bobby yawned.

‘Oh, crikey. The house could do with a hoover—’

‘Don’t panic. I’ve hoovered and polished and changed his bed. I’m a regular Mrs Mop,’ he assured her.

‘Don’t forget the bathroom. The doctor might go in to wash his hands.’

‘Good thinking. I’ll do that now. I don’t want Mam haunting me. She was always very particular when the doctor was coming.’

‘I’ll try and get over later on,’ she promised him.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll manage fine. I’ll do something light for dinner; I’m sure Dad won’t be eating, anyway. I’ll talk to you later.’ Bobby hung up
and went into the bathroom to give it a clean.

His father had refused an offer of tea and toast, and was anxiously looking out his bedroom window to see if there was any sign of the doctor’s car. He was convinced he was dying.

‘Would you get me the priest?’ he said weakly to his son when he poked his head round the door to see if he was all right.

‘If the doctor thinks you need the priest I’ll get him when he’s gone,’ Bobby said firmly.

Noel’s lips tightened. He wasn’t used to being disobeyed, or, even worse, treated like a child.

‘I want Father Doyle, now,’ he ordered.

‘Here’s the doctor.’ Bobby indicated the car pulling into the drive, relieved beyond measure that he wasn’t going to have to go on a wild goose chase looking for the
priest. He hadn’t realized what a hypochondriac Noel had become. Poor Carrie, she had a hell of a lot to put up with, he thought as he hurried to open the door.

Twenty-five minutes later he was on his way to the pharmacy to get a prescription. The doctor had given Noel an injection that had made him drowsy, much to Bobby’s relief. Dr Reid had
assured Noel that he had a twenty-four-hour stomach virus and that he was in no danger of death.

‘Bit of a worrier,’ he’d murmured to Bobby on his way out. ‘He’ll be fine tomorrow. No solids, some boiled 7-Up, perhaps a slice of toast later.’

Noel had stayed in bed all day and Bobby had busied himself around the house, giving it a good cleaning. He knew Carrie wanted to get a woman in once a week to polish and hoover but Noel
wasn’t having any of it. He really ought to start thinking about her well-being, Bobby scowled, as he washed the kitchen floor. She was pregnant and had enough to do looking after her own
house without having to hoover and polish and clean her father’s.

He was cleaning the windows when his sister drove up with a tureen of chicken soup and a chicken and mushroom pie for him.

‘My God, you should come and stay more often. The place is gleaming,’ she said, following him into the kitchen.

‘I’m going to say to him about getting someone in,’ Bobby said firmly, as he plugged in the kettle to make her a cup of tea.

‘I’ve been trying to get him to do that for the last year. I know the very woman, too, but he won’t have it. He thinks she might steal things on him. He’s very
distrustful sometimes, not to mention judgemental,’ Carrie said ruefully as she ladled the soup into a saucepan to heat it up.

‘I know,’ Bobby agreed, not at all surprised. ‘He’ll just have to get over his sad lack of faith in human nature. I’ll work on him,’ he assured her.

‘I can do my own cleaning,’ Noel said crossly the following morning. He was nibbling on a slice of toast and drinking a cup of hot, sweet tea when Bobby brought up the subject.

‘Dad, be realistic. You’re getting on, Carrie’s pregnant and has got her hands full with her own family. It’s not easy trying to look after two houses—’

‘She doesn’t have to look after my house. I told you I’m perfectly capable of looking after this place by myself,’ he said testily. ‘Don’t worry, I
won’t be a nuisance to anyone, least of all you.’

‘Don’t be like that!’ Bobby flared at his father’s ungraciousness.

‘Well who do you think you are, coming here and telling me what to do and what not to do in my own house? And trying to make me feel guilty about Carrie doing a bit of hoovering.
She’s never complained to me and she’s well able for it. She’s a young woman. It would match you better if you’d straighten yourself out and go and concentrate on finding a
nice girl for yourself and settling down!’ He glared at his son, all his anger coming to the surface.

Bobby stared at him, furious. ‘Listen, you selfish, ignorant, sanctimonious hypocrite. I won’t ever be settling down with a girl and you
know
it. You know I’m gay and
always have been and always will be. It’s the way I was born, however much you want to deny it, so deal with it. And I won’t say it to you again. So cut the crap, Dad. And stop treating
Carrie like a drudge—’

Noel’s face mottled puce, his veins standing out purple against his temple as rage permeated every fibre of his being. ‘How
dare
you! You have a nerve to speak to me like
that. Get out of here, get out of my sight, and may God forgive you because I wo—’

‘No, you won’t, Dad, because you’re a judgemental hypocrite! Well one thing I know that it says in the Bible is judge not lest ye be judged. But you’ve spent your life
judging even though you think you’re so bloody saintly, spending all your time in church. You think you’re going to go to heaven and I’m not, don’t you? Well let me tell
you, you have a lot to learn about compassion and mercy and you won’t learn that on your knees at the altar rails. You would have made a great Pharisee. Jesus had a great name for your sort.
Whited sepulchres. I remember
that
from the Bible, too. It suits you down to the ground. Everyone thinks you’re a good, churchgoing Christian; well,
I
know better,’
Bobby said heatedly, his voice shaking. He turned on his heel and slammed the bedroom door good and hard.

He was relieved that he was going back to London today. He’d never set foot in this bloody house again, he vowed as he packed his rucksack and waited for Carrie to collect him to bring him
to the airport.

Noel lay shaken and agitated as he heard the front door close and the slam of car doors before the grind of tyres told him that Bobby was driving away, possibly for good. He
didn’t care! He was livid. How dare that young pup speak to him the way he had? How dare he accuse him of being a whited sepulchre, quoting the Bible at him? It was surprising that he even
knew a quote from the Bible, Noel thought bitterly, still stung by his son’s harsh accusatory slurs. He took a sip of the tea Carrie had brought him and saw that his hands were shaking. It
had been a most distressing incident. His heart was beating far too fast. Noel drank the tea and tried to calm himself.

Bobby was never setting foot in this house again and as soon as he was feeling any way better, he was going to go to his solicitor and change his will, Noel decided, feeling a little more in
control. Bobby was not going to get one penny of his money. He’d gone too far this time. Noel had put up with enough. He had a good mind to leave it all to Carrie and Dan. Greg and Shauna
didn’t need his money. As far as he could see, they were loaded. He heard the car engine getting fainter in the distance and had never felt so lonely in his life.

‘You only had another couple of hours to go and you were doing so well. Could you not have risen above whatever he said to you and ignored it?’ Carrie
couldn’t hide her exasperation. ‘He’s sick, he’s getting old—’

‘Don’t
start
, Carrie. He had it coming. And don’t try and make me feel guilty. He’s made me feel guilty about everything, all my life,’ Bobby raged.
‘He never tried to understand. His way of understanding was to bring me to a fucking psychiatrist when I was ten. Do you remember
that
, Carrie? He was trying to make out that I was a
nutcase, and I think he would have preferred it if I had been,’ he added bitterly.

‘Yes, I remember,’ she said wearily. ‘He thought he was doing his best.’

‘Why do you always stand up for him? Why do you never stand up for me? You
always
take his side,’ he cried.

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Bobby, stop it. You sound like Olivia. What age are you?’ Carrie snapped. ‘I’m sick of the whole bloody lot of you. You’ll be gone,
Shauna’ll be gone and I’ll be left to pick up the pieces. He’ll probably get chest pains tonight or something and I’ll end up spending the night in A and E in Our Lady of
Lourdes.’

‘Sorry,’ Bobby muttered.

They sat in resentful, angry silence, Bobby casting a lingering look at the graveyard as they drove past. He’d planned to visit before leaving Whiteshells Bay but with all the upset of the
morning he hadn’t got round to it. He didn’t want to ask Carrie to stop; she was probably dying to see the back of him, he thought self-pityingly as he stared out the window.

He saw his old teacher, Mrs Crosby – or rather Florence Dympna as everyone in the village called her, as far back as he could remember – crossing the road at the traffic lights. She
was wearing a green hat with a jaunty feather. The teacher had always adored hats and had a big collection of them and he’d always admired them when he was small. She hadn’t lost her
sense of style, he noted with approval. The lights turned green and they drove on. He smiled as she waved at him. Florence Dympna was a very sprightly eighty-year-old. She’d encouraged his
love of poetry and reading when she’d taught him all those years ago. He would have liked to stop and say hello but Carrie’s jaw was set and he didn’t feel he could ask for any
favours.