In My Sister's Shoes (31 page)

‘Kate, I presume I don’t need to tell you that this information is never to be repeated to anyone. I’m not happy Fiona told you, but I appreciate that she had to as she was making you their female guardian.’

‘Of course I won’t tell anyone. I wouldn’t dream of it.’

‘In fact, I never want it mentioned again,’ he emphasized.

‘Not a word from me.’

‘With Fiona being ill and life suddenly seeming more fragile, I’ve taken the precaution of leaving a very precise list of instructions as to how I want the boys to be raised, should both Fiona and I die. I’ve listed the schools they’re to go to, the subjects they must take and the extra-curricular activities I’d like them to focus on.’

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that if Mark snuffed it, I’d be spending a lot of time driving the boys to extra maths tuition and sitting through chess competitions, pretending I’d a clue what was going on. I prayed for Fiona and Mark to live long, healthy lives.

‘OK, I’ll do my best.’

‘If you follow the instructions properly you won’t have any problems.’

I was really trying to like Mark. After all, he had stood by my wayward sister. I knew there was a good side to him but, my God, he hid it well.

Thankfully, before I told him I thought Bobby was going to be more into Broadway than physics, we were called in for Jack to be examined. He needed three stitches and he held on to Mark for dear life as they were administered. I had to look away. Every time he whimpered I felt as if a knife was being twisted in my stomach. Bobby thought it was great fun and insisted that I lift him up so he could watch.

The doctor reassured us that Jack would be fine, that it was a minor injury and no damage had been done to the skull. He told us to give him a good dose of Calpol before we put him to bed and to keep an eye on him over the next few days in case he suddenly became drowsy or his speech slurred.

Mark carried him out to the car as I hovered behind, fussing over him, still riddled with guilt.

‘Are you feeling better?’ I asked him, for the zillionth time.

He gave a weary little nod.

‘Will I get you a Loop the Loop now?’

‘No, I want a cone with a chocolate flake in it, like Bobby had.’

Kids. Go figure.

36

By the time we got back to the house, Jack had recovered fully and was merrily chomping down the ice-cream cone I’d stopped to get him. Mark had gone back to work and had promised to call Fiona to tell her what had happened so she wouldn’t get a shock when we arrived through the door and she saw Jack’s bloodstained T-shirt.

Needless to say, a forewarned but worried Fiona was waiting at the door when we arrived. She scooped Jack up, kissed him all over and examined his head. ‘Are you feeling better, pet?’ she asked, kissing him again.

‘Yes, and Kate bought me ice-cream,’ he said.

‘Fiona, I’m so sorry,’ I said. ‘It’s totally my fault.’

‘Kate,’ she said firmly. ‘You have nothing to apologize for. I owe you an apology. I haven’t properly thanked you for looking after the boys all these months. You’ve been incredible. I really don’t know what I’d have done without you. The boys will always take tumbles and Jack’s fine. I’m sorry for lumbering you with the job of supernanny. It’s not easy looking after them, especially when they’re off school. And I know you’d had a bad night – Dad’s been on about Gonzo,’ she said, beginning to laugh.

‘Nothing happened!’ I protested.

‘Sounds suspicious.’

‘Come on, Fiona – Gonzo?’

‘I have to admit I would have been surprised. What happened with Sam?’

‘Fuck Sam.’

‘Kate said “fuck’” squealed a recovered Jack.

‘OK, boys, go into the playroom and get out the abacus,’ said their mother. ‘Go on, what happened?’ she asked me.

‘First and foremost, I’d like to hear how your radiation went. It’s a little more important than my stupid love life.’

‘It was fine, actually,’ said Fiona, looking genuinely relieved. ‘It was over in ten minutes, and although it’s a drag having to go every day for five weeks, I feel pretty good. It’s nothing like chemo, thank God.’

‘Are you sore?’

‘It feels a bit like I’m sun burnt in the area they zapped. But other than that, and feeling a bit tired, I’m OK.’

‘Thank God it’s going to be easier than the chemo.’

‘I don’t think anything could be worse. Anyway, I’m bored with talking about my cancer. Tell me about Sam.’

‘There’s nothing to tell. We had a great night, all loved-up and happy, and then he said he presumed I was going to stay in Dublin and I said no, because my job is in London, and we had the same argument all over again.’

‘Wouldn’t you stay and give it a go?’

‘What if we break up in six months and I have no job, no boyfriend and am still living with Dad? I said I’d fly back every chance I got. We could probably manage to see each other at least once every two weeks and then, if it goes well, in a year’s time we can reassess the situation. If I felt then that we were going to make it long term I’d consider moving back. But we can’t even go out for dinner without breaking up, so it’s too big a risk to give up my career until I know we can make it work.’

‘What did he say about commuting?’

‘He’s dead set against it. Says there’s no point in having a half-arsed relationship with someone you never see. It’s all or nothing with him. He said I haven’t changed, I’m still the same self-obsessed person I was when I was twenty,’ I said, suddenly feeling worn out. Between the hangover, the shock of finding Gonzo in my bed, Jack falling down, hospital and the fiasco with Sam, I was completely wiped out. I needed to lie down.

‘Bollox,’ said Fiona. I started – she never cursed. ‘You
have
changed, and if he can’t see it he’s a blind fool who doesn’t deserve you. You’re a different person.’

God, how bad
was
I? With Fiona
and
Mark emphasizing how much I’d changed, there must have been a lot of changing to do.

‘Different how?’ I asked.

‘Calmer, kinder, nicer.’

‘What was I like before?’ I ventured, not sure if I wanted to hear the truth.

‘Well, you always seemed dissatisfied and ill-at-ease. As if you wanted to be somewhere else all the time.’

She was right. I
had
wanted to be some where else all the time. I’d always felt uncomfortable when I came home to Dublin. The minute I stepped off the plane I wanted to be back in London. I felt hemmed in and claustrophobic. The things that Dad, Fiona and Derek talked about seemed mundane compared to my jetting around interviewing stars – even though most of the time that had meant sitting outside hotel rooms for hours to get a three-minute slot with an inarticulate tosser about their latest film that you thought was absolute tripe.

I had felt restless at home and was always relieved to get on the plane and back to my apartment. I was in control of my life in London. I never thought too much about things. I lived from day to day, breezing along. In Dublin I had to answer questions. How was I? What was happening with my job? Did I have a boyfriend? Who did I see over there? Where did I go? Why hadn’t I been in touch? When was I coming home?

The when-are-you-coming-home question really got to me. No one ever thought that when you emigrated you’d stay away. Everyone always assumed you were desperate to get home, that it was just a matter of time…

Sure the quality of life ‘over there’ – regardless of whether you lived in a penthouse in New York or a bedsit in London – was rotten. Ireland had the best of both worlds. Sure you couldn’t raise a family ‘over there’. Big cities were a young person’s game. You went abroad for work experience but you’d never stay. God, no, only poor sods who ‘got stuck’ stayed. And you’d ‘get stuck’ if you didn’t come home before you were thirty. Lord save us if you were still there when you were thirty-five – sure you’d no hope!

But the saddest of all were the ‘lifers’. The poor ejects who fell in love ‘over there’ and married a local! They were trapped for ever. That was the worst that could happen. Parents through out Ireland were on their hands and knees, praying that their beloved children wouldn’t become lifers. Everyone felt most sorry for Australian lifers – sure you’d never see them again. It was a three-day camel ride to get to the other side of the world where those Australians lived. Those lifers were gone for good. Come home and marry the one-legged hunchback next door, but whatever you do,
DO NOT MARRY A LOCAL
.

So, every time I came home, I’d spend a lot of time answering questions – or avoiding them – and it made me take stock of my life, which I didn’t like doing. It freaked me out. I didn’t know where I was going or what the future held. All my school friends were married or in serious relationships, and I wasn’t. It made me question my decisions. I used to wonder if I was doomed never to meet someone. Maybe I should have stayed with Sam. But I hadn’t: I had chosen this road and it had brought me fulfilment of a sort, and when I was immersed in my London life I was content. So Fiona was right: I did feel edgy when I came home. I didn’t like reflecting on where I was going because I didn’t know where that was. I had no plan.

But this time it had been different because I knew I had to stay for a while, and I had a purpose. I had come back to help Fiona and mind the boys. And it had been fun – difficult, trying and absolutely exhausting, but I was enjoying it and I did feel different, in a good way. It had been nice to focus on others for a change, and I loved spending time with the boys, becoming an important person in their lives. It had been lovely to finally give back something to Fiona too.

‘I suppose I have changed a bit. At least it’s for the better,’ I said, with a smile.

‘Don’t worry, Kate. Things will work out.’

‘Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be saying to you?’

‘You have, a thousand times. Now, why don’t you go home and get some sleep? You look exhausted.’

‘Are you sure you’re able for the boys?’

‘Absolutely. I feel fine.’

‘OK, well, I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Kate?’

‘Yeah?’

‘You’ve been really amazing. Thanks.’

‘It’s a pleasure.’

When I got home I went to grab something to eat before I crashed out. Derek was in the kitchen. I looked around suspiciously.

‘He’s not here,’ said Derek.

‘Thank God for that,’ I said, sitting down with a bowl of corn flakes. I couldn’t have faced Gonzo. I was too tired.

‘I hear Jack ended up getting stitches.’

‘Yes, and it was my stupid fault.’

‘Is he OK?’

‘He’s fine, thank God.’

‘Scar?’

‘Tiny one, but it’s hidden in his hair.’

‘Cool.’

‘Derek?’

‘Yo.’

‘Do I seem different?’

‘Did you get a boob job?’

‘No!’

‘Lips?’

‘I haven’t had any plastic surgery. I’m talking about different in personality.’

He shrugged. ‘Like how?’

‘Calmer.’

‘Nope.’

‘Fiona said I am,’ I said, put out that Derek hadn’t spotted my new Zen-like personality.

‘You didn’t seem too chilled this morning when you were freaking out about being heartbroken and stuff.’

‘Yeah, well, you accused me of being with Gonzo so naturally I flipped. What about before this morning? Have I changed over the last few months?’

‘I suppose you’re less all about you.’

‘Was I very self-obsessed?’

‘Kinda.’

‘In what way?’

‘You weren’t interested in other people’s shit.’

‘Yes, I was,’ I said, offended. I might not have been very relaxed, but I was always concerned about my family and what was going on.

‘No,’ said Derek, firmly. ‘You weren’t. When I got into all that trouble in college, Fiona was the one who bailed me out. You just told me I was a gobshite.’

Derek hadn’t done too well in his school exams – he had problems applying himself, the teachers said – so Dad had got him into this small private college to study marketing. He had been desperate for Derek to get some kind of third-level qualification and was convinced that it would stop him obsessing about a career in music.

Needless to say, Derek had had about as much interest in marketing as he did in chess. He continued not to apply himself and was lucky to scrape through the first year. In year two, he had been caught smoking dope at the back of a lecture hall and had been given a warning by the dean: clean up your act or you’re out. A couple of weeks later he got caught again and was asked to leave.

The expulsion had happened a few days before I flew back for Tara’s wedding, and the night I got home he confessed to Fiona and me that he was no longer in college. A letter was on its way to Dad.

I told him he was a gobshite – something he had clearly not forgotten – and that he deserved to be expelled for behaving like an idiot. Fiona told him he was irresponsible, but that if he promised to behave and study hard, she’d do everything she could to help him. The next day she went to see the dean and somehow managed to persuade him to give Derek another chance, while I skipped off to Tara’s wedding.

Derek had spent the next two years keeping his head down and muddled through his exams, helped and tutored by Fiona.

‘You’re right I was no help to you. I’m sorry about that.’ It looked like I was going to be spending this entire day apologizing to people.

‘’S OK, I’m over it. Besides, you’re not like that any more. You actually seem to give a shit now and you’ve stopped dissing my music all the time.’

‘Well, I think you have talent but you need to face the fact that you may not get signed and think about possible options for the future,’ said the new mature, caring, subtle me.

‘You went to London to follow your dream, right?’

‘Yes, but –’

‘I always thought that was cool. You know, you went over there, took a chance and it worked out. You made it. You got your own show. I respect that. You chased the dream. That’s what I’m doing with my music.’

‘Well, thanks. But all I’m saying is that you need to think about alternatives in case it doesn’t work out.’