Legacy (18 page)

Chapter Forty Four

It was only when Maxine and I in particular started asking Mum about our Dad again when the mystery was solved. One cold evening we sat by the fire and Mum took out a sealed box, it contained Dad's personal effects. Things she had put away because she couldn't bear to look at them. Yet she kept them as she wanted to have some sort of memorial for us when we would be old enough to understand. I think on this night she decided that we were old enough. She took out a pair of scissors and cut the tape of the box, I remember it contained lots of newspapers articles, romantic letters he had written to Mum, sympathy cards and a photo album which I still retain today. We had seen pictures of our Dad in Northern Ireland before with Mum and his extended family; we used to pour over the pictures. Yet we had never seen the album from Nigeria, I remember its thick green leather cover and the fine paper between each page. I remember absorbing every minute detail.

The men wore funny clothes I had thought and laughed, I now know that they were wearing the Nigerian national costume. The women were so pretty. I was so taken with examining every detail of every picture, looking at these relatives that I didn't know. I was so engrossed that I didn't notice that Mum had stopped talking that she was silent and holding her breath. One of us asked her what was wrong for her reaction unsettled us, yet she shook her head and said she was fine. She picked up the album and put it back in the box.

A few years later I was to learn that in the back of the album Mum had seen a picture that at first looked like any other family gathering. It was only on closer inspection that she saw a familiar face smiling at the camera, a familiar set of eyes. Mum firmly believes that it was the woman, the ‘IT' the bearer of bad tidings, that had haunted Mum since 1980. When Mum looked at the names listed below the figures she confirmed what instinct was already telling her. That the strange sinister force she had been visited bore a striking resemblance to her mother-in-law. This was something she could never confirm but a suspicion she cannot shake. That day alongside the physical shelf where Dad's box was stored, Mum placed the conundrum of her mother-in-law, her possible uncanny ability to visit her on a metaphorical shelf in her head. We didn't talk much about my family in Nigeria after that. The subject became closed.

Whilst no one significant incident occurred to account for the visit, Mum believes that many minor incidents were all somehow heralded by it. I remember Mum sending Alison initially to a Catholic secondary school, but when she came home talking in Irish she was removed and placed in the nearest Protestant School she could find. Her mother was furious and not for the first time they were at loggerheads. Under her mother's instruction priests were dragged to our door to enlighten Mum on the errors of her ways. Mum was absolutely raging; she would decide where her children would be educated. No one, not her mother, not the priests or even the pope himself would sway her.

Mum did not need to be dictated to again and to ensure this was the case her solitary disposition came to the fore and she retreated from her families fold.

Over the years Mum blew hot and cold with her parents. I remember not seeing them for years at a time, one day we would have glorious days out with them and our extended family, we maybe even had months at a time where we visited regularly, then mum would blow a fuse and we wouldn't see them for years. When we made our final move from the town they weren't even told. I think they grew used to Mum's erratic behavioural patterns and left her to sulk. As far as they were concerned she knew where they were if she needed them. Mum's independent streak and her bond with misery made certain that she seldom came back.

Chapter Forty Five

It didn't take long, not more than a year after the visitation that Mum started to believe that the curse was alive and well. In stringent, merciless NHS cutbacks she lost her job. That job was all that kept us afloat; it was hard enough when Mum was working. I panicked; I just couldn't see how we would cope. I was now ten or 11 and was acutely aware that we still hadn't accumulated any savings, every penny that came in was needed, there simply wasn't enough left to put away. It took three months for Mum to succeed in finding a new post, as Mum was paid at the end of the month it would be four months before we hit the all-important pay day. The other problem was that even though the hospital was geographically less than a mile away it was in the Republic of Ireland; to the tax man this was a different country. Strabane was a border town and considered a part of Northern Ireland whilst Lifford where Mum's new post was, was considered to be in Ireland. In reality all that physically separated Ireland and Northern Ireland for residents of border towns was a mere footstep. Yet each country, neighbouring or not had different systems and governments, which had the implication that Mum would be paid in punts and that her tax rates would be different than what she had been used to.

As it transpired when Mum received her pay slip it looked great, yet due to heavier tax in Ireland she would lose almost than half of her earnings and even more again in the exchange of currency. Even though Mum worked, in effect we weren't much better off. The result being that she had to take on more shifts just to keep us afloat, until she was working what seemed to be continuously.

As we grew older we grew more expensive, secondary school uniforms, keeping up with our peers and even feeding us all required bigger budgets. A budget Mum no matter how hard she worked could not fulfil. When she did it was to the detriment of something else. Now on Mum's days off I would come home from school and find her staring at nothing, rather than being in bed. She would have a pile of unopened letters in front of her and the phone would be off the hook. It was as if she was cutting herself from all communication, what she didn't know couldn't harm her. Sometimes she would cry, she would say that it's hard to believe she was married to a chartered accountant yet all alone in this. I knew she was scared but remember a cruel part of me thinking ‘get over it' and worse ‘get on with it'.

I was 11 by this stage and being so young my life span was my eternity, I couldn't imagine anything gone before. I knew my dad had died nine years earlier but to my young mind that may as well have been 90 years earlier. Now I know that such a time frame is a blink of an eye.

One day after Mum had left for work, I resolved to get to grips with the situation myself. My sisters were at secondary school and out more and more with their friends, the repercussion being that I had lots of time to myself. I may as well make myself useful I mused. I came home from school and as usual lit the fire, peeled the spuds and put the dinner on. This day though was different for rather than retreat to the table to do my homework I went to the drawer in the living room where Mum had stashed the letters from the last fortnight. I took the heap out and worked my through the pile. There were bank statements, final demands and numerous bills. Some emblazoned with capital red letters and marked urgent.

Even then and as young as I was I knew the situation was dire. In the four months between pay checks we had lost almost everything and with Mum's pay being lower I just didn't know how we could regain it. I sat up late that evening trying to work something out to create a new budget based on clearing overheads and somehow getting us out of debt. It was much later that I remember it being said that most people are never more than three months away from the streets, when I look back on those times I know how true that saying is.

I tried my best to work out a solution but it seemed unworkable to my young mind. Mum's bond with her parents had been severed by her own accord. She had no one to turn to for help, despite searching everywhere it seemed that no financial assistance was available and losing our home was unfortunately inevitable. Mum began to crumble. I would shout at her that we needed money; she would shout back that she couldn't do any more. It was a dreadful time and Mum became depressed again. She found her old friend Misery and retreated to bed. All the letters and phone calls in the world couldn't find her there.

One day I had had enough, I was so upset and afraid that I confronted Mum bearing a cup of coffee and begging her to get up.

Mum's new drugs induced a trance like state so for the most part my pleas were ignored. My sisters were now accustomed to Mum's unpredictable behaviour so tended to avoid being home where possible. Yet somehow Mum listened to me this time, she saw her GP who introduced her to a new drug to keep her nerves and anxiety at bay: Diazepam. Misery retreated back from Mum a little and only tried to gain entrance when she wasn't busy.

After a few weeks the Diazepam and other drugs had taken their effect. Gone was Mum's trance like state and at last we were able to sit down and look at the letters,

“Mum, I've used all the money there's nothing left,” I said.

“It's ok,” she reassured me, “I'll get something organised.”

“I spoke to the bank,” I said afraid of Mums reaction. “They're taking the house,” bawling now I wailed, “I tried to pay them as much as I could, but we ran out, I'm so sorry.” I think my distress shook Mum into action.

The gravity of the situation confronted her; there was no going back on the bank's decision. As all the letters and communication attempts were ignored we now had just 28 days to leave. Our last day in the house would be Christmas Eve.

“Right young lady,” Mum said, “it looks like, we're homeless, I suppose we'll be needing boxes to live in, there's four of us so one each perhaps? Or would you like to share?”

Her joke was lost on me and I wailed even more by this stage my understanding of the predicament was too strong. I even reminded Mum that this was no laughing matter.

That was the day that my proud Mum threw herself at the mercy of the state. Since Dad's death she had struggled alone, she had sought help from no one until now. Hesitantly and dripping in shame, she claimed social security and put her name down on the councils housing list. The man in the council offices had said that the timeframe she had given him was tight and it would be unlikely that a home would arise at such short notice, especially with Christmas coming up. Mum says that she panicked inwardly, but came home and told us to pack up, that she had secured a home.

The next few weeks were a waiting game; we had packed up our belongings but had nowhere to go. Homelessness loomed. Then when least expected with only three days to Christmas Mum received a call from the council.

A house had become available, enormous relief washed through her and she had to sit down to continue the call. Lighting a cigarette she braced herself to take in the good news. It was a good thing that she had sat down, for it seemed the only house that the council could find us, the only way we could avoid homelessness was to accept a house in the town's largest and most republican estate.

The estate was notorious, a large brown and grey sprawling development that housed many known republicans, it was the hiding place for IRA arms and the meeting place for IRA campaigns. It was flooded with army on a daily basis. It had such a name that when we heard that someone lived there it was assumed that they were
in it up to their
eyeballs
.

Mum used to warn us against befriending the children from the estate, as she feared ever coming into contact with their parents. Now we would be
from
the estate. Mum's stomach plunged and she begged the council to find something else, anywhere else. Unfortunately they could not. And so it became that the woman who had made a stand against the IRA, one of the town's only victims was left with no alternative but to live amongst them. It was a very unhappy Christmas that year.

Chapter Forty Six

Reluctantly we moved into the unknown enclave, only this time we were stony broke. We needed to carpet the house from top to bottom, get curtains and paint throughout. Council houses weren't left decorated and pretty like houses on the private market. The house had all necessary safety fixtures and fittings but it hadn't seen a coat of paint in many years. How we were to get the money in the wake of our Christmas repossession was a conundrum but one I soon solved by looking in the local paper.

A local car garage was paying cash at ‘best' rates for cars and since that was about the only thing we had managed to cling onto I asked Mum if she would be prepared to sell ours. Like me she thought that this was a great idea, however she didn't relish the idea of selling the car locally. Instead she instructed me to go and get the Belfast Telegraph where we could scan the classifieds for a garage further away, one that offered similar promises. Low and behold we found one, Mum gave them a ring and they agreed to buy our car on inspection and even replace it with another cheaper model, thus providing us with cash in hand whilst still having a means of transport. How they were going to do this was beyond me as our current car was far from new and worth little. Yet miracles did happen so Mum and I arranged to go to Enniskillen to meet the amazing car dealer.

Alison was cynical and preferred to stay at home whilst Maxine going through the awkward teenage stage preferred to mope to romantic music in her room. It would be just Mum and I on this journey.

After what seemed like an endless drive we arrived in Enniskillen and found the garage easily enough. The man Mum had spoken to on the phone met us and looked over our car; he nodded all the while seemingly happy with what he saw. He brought us into his office and told Mum he would take the car of our hands; he would give her £500 cash and another cheaper car. I was delighted and although Mum sat poker faced I knew she was too.

When everything was signed and sealed the salesman brought Mum and I out to the back of the garage, a place not seen by his regular customers. There he presented us with our new car. It was gorgeous red and so shiny, a four door Nissan Sunny a model that was all the rage back then. This car was better than the car we had traded in. Mum nudged me excitedly and eagerly took the keys from the sales man and we made our way towards our new car.

“Where are you going?” The sales man asked bemused.

“To the car,” Mum replied.

“Sorry love I know we pride ourselves with value but we're not magicians,” he said shaking his head laughing.

“Your cars against the wall there.”

He pointed to the very back of the yard.

Eclipsed by the shinning Nissan was our car. It was parked tightly against the wall in the furthest most reaches of the garage; it was as if even they were ashamed to have it. I can honestly say it was a banger like no other. A brown fiesta so old it looked like if you touched it, even sneezed beside it, it would disintegrate. It was difficult to determine if its unique colour was rust or paint. It wasn't difficult to determine the colour of our faces however, for both our faces burned red with shame.

Ten minutes later still red faced we both clambered in, we couldn't get out of the yard quick enough; the cars slow pace did not help in our efforts. When we got round the corner Mum pulled over at a cafe and said we may as well get our tea. We entered the cafe and sat down laughing so hard that we didn't get a chance to look around us. When we did it was too late. The cafe was straight out of a time warp. It consisted of two tables with little blue and yellow (formerly white) checked table cloths, locals gossiping in the corner and 1950's decor. The waitress was upon us before we could escape or even comment,

“Just two teas,” Mum said.

“Auck is that all? We have good specials on today too,” she said, “two for the price of one.”

Mum sighed and asked what they had; we were hungry after all.

“Stew or beef burgers,” she said.

“Maybe the burgers, do you want one Jayne?” Mum asked.

The waitress looked at me with such pleading eyes that I was afraid I would offend her if I said no, so I reluctantly agreed to have a burger and nodded my answer to Mum.

“Two burgers then,” Mum said.

We anxiously awaited our burgers rather frightened at what we would presented with, all the while watching as the oldest lady I had ever seen tucked into a bowl of stew.

Eventually our burgers arrived delivered by the smiling and as we discovered to our horror, toothless waitress. A smile is always a pleasant sight but when one smiles with no teeth the overall picture is not at oil painting to put it mildly.

When she left us Mum looked at her burger then at me, in the middle of the baps was a meat ball it clearly hadn't been flattened or had undergone any attempt at being shaped like a burger. We dissolved into giggles much to the distaste of the clientele. Afraid for our lives we quickly composed ourselves and ate around the baps.

Just like in the garage half an hour earlier we couldn't get out quick enough and as Mum went to pay for our interesting dinner I watched as the stew eating old lady scraped her bowl clean, her spoon clattering against the dish as she scooped up every drop. Clearly not satisfied that every morsel was gone, she removed her false teeth and with her forefinger she scarped the remainders of her stew from the rim and sucked it. The image stayed with me for a long time.

Once we paid we readied ourselves for our journey home. We climbed into the car and began the trip back to Strabane, it was a long trip not helped by the fact that the car shuddered when it reached more than thirty miles per hour. Yet the journey gave us time to count the holes on the floor. In true Flintstone style we slowly made our way back laughing all the way. We decided that we would have been home quicker if we'd walked. I always remember that in the absence of a disguise I ducked as low as I could on entering Strabane. That was how I spent any journey I was ever forced to go on in that car.

Now we lived in a council estate and drove a banger, I wondered could we get any lower. On the plus side we had had a hilarious day and had secured enough to get the house decorated so I supposed it wasn't all bad.