Twisted Agendas (15 page)

Piper set the print out down and went upstairs, almost wishing she hadn’t checked her email account. She lay on the bed, curled into a fetal position with her eyes open
wide and visualised her mother standing alone at the graveside, the polished black headstone with Rory’s photo and short life span etched in gold leaf at its centre. In the dusk, the whites
of her brother’s eyes glowed in the photograph on her bedside table.

She recalled that December evening her mother, brother and she had gone into the city so he could see the tree at the Rockefeller Center. Afterwards, they’d gone to see
the
Rockettes
Christmas Show at Radio City Music Hall. Her brother’s hand clung tightly to hers as he eased back his head to take in the art décor splendour of the Hall’s
interior.

“Mom, how can they make their legs lift so high?” he said.

“Shush, hon,” her mother said. She looked over his head at Piper and smiled. “We mustn’t spoil the show for the other people.”

But it was the nativity scene that blew him away. When he saw the camels led by the three kings walk across the stage, he’d jumped off his seat and stood rigid, his hands gripping the top
of the seat in front of him.

“Wow,” he said. “Wow.” And then he turned unexpectedly in the midst of his huge joy and searched deep into Piper’s eyes to see if she was equally enthralled. The
sacred connection between them had been over in a flash, but everything innocent and beautiful in her brother had been seared forever into her brain. Moments later, like the impish boy he was, he
laughed raucously when one of the donkeys urinated on the stage.

Tears coursed down Piper’s cheek. In jer thoughts she was catapulted now to her old home in Hempstead. She felt the wall of heat searing her face as she turned and ran out the front door,
felt the cat’s stiff body against her chest.

She took the photograph of her brother and traced the outline of his skinny body with her fingertip. Impulsively, she kissed the surface of the glass above his happy face. She placed the frame
on her cheek. It felt cold against her skin. Drawing the frame close to her chest now, she lay in the dusk with her eyes wide open. Seeing and not seeing.

Agnes watched Keith pick a photograph off the table, the one of him as a child on his father’s shoulders. He turned the frame around and inspected its black velveteen
back.

“That was taken in Blackpool,” she said. “You were two then.”

“You’ve told me the story, Ma.”

A wiry chap in his mid-thirties with a long neck and shallow chin, her son put the photograph back on the table.

“Put it back exactly where it belongs next to the one of your father holding the marrow. And you should be glad to hear my stories because the day’s soon coming when I won’t be
around.
Then
you’ll be sorry.”

“It can’t be healthy having this shrine in your living room.”

“It’s
not
a shrine.” She paused. “You still think about your father, don’t you?”

“Of course I do… just not all the time. He’s nearly gone a year… ”

“Are you coming to visit him on his anniversary?”

His momentary silence was answer enough. “Ma, you need to get on with your life. Dad would want that.”

Agnes ignored him, eased back the net curtain and peered out. “There she comes with that Irishman. She’s… ”

“You need to stop watching her, Ma. Let it go.”

“That’s not what you said when she came to live here.”

“It’s over.” He crossed to the window.

“She’s a slag. Blimey, you should see how many… ”

“Stop, Ma.”

It was always like this on the final day of her son’s visits. What was playing out was just a part of the essential ritual. There were his bed linens, the lightweight ones now because it
was mid June. They were waiting for her. She’d go upstairs after he left, bury her face in them and inhale his scent. She could never let him know she didn’t wash his pillowcases for
two weeks after these visits. It calmed her.

Another part of the ritual was the argument they were now having, an argument always beginning with his criticising her for displaying so many photographs and calling it a shrine. And now
she’d ask the question to maintain the status quo.

“You wouldn’t have left to go live in Barnsley if she hadn’t got the house, would you?” She turned away from the window to scrutinise his expression.

He tut-tutted. “You know that’s the case, but it’s all… ”

Status quo maintained, Agnes said, “Things can change. You just never know, do you?”

Having got a first in his business degree, Danny knew how to work hard. He was also very disciplined and used the same approach to tackle German. Now a month into the course,
he was pleased with his progress. Having internalised both the vocabulary contained in the lists distributed by the teacher as well as additional words he took upon himself to learn, he was already
able to converse in grammatically perfect but simple sentences. He could talk about food and describe his fellow students eye and hair colours. A few other students could also form perfect
sentences, including Finty who’d studied basic German, Hilary now receiving extra tuition from Herr Fehler and the two Chinese students.

Learning German wasn’t the only reason Danny looked forward to classes at the
Institut
. On those afternoons when she didn’t leave immediately after class to fetch her puppy
from the sitter or work a shift at the juvenile detention center where she was employed part-time, Danny and Finty went for coffee. Or they’d have lunch in a nearby pub, though her menu
selections were always confined to lackluster garden salads or overly spicy vegetarian chili.

Danny had also invited her to his home twice so they could study together for class tests. She’d come but vexed him by never reciprocating and asking him to visit her flat in Elephant
& Castle.

The answering machine was blinking when he returned home. Two telemarketing messages preceded a call from his mother saying she’d been ‘working subtly on his
father’ and felt she was ‘making progress’ because he’d asked about Danny for the first time since he’d left for London. Another telemarketing call preceded a call
from Julia. His face tightened as he listened to her insincere apology about leaving the place in such a mess for him to clean up that morning. She’d overslept.

“Danny, hello,” the next message began. “I hope all’s well. I bet this’ll be a surprise… ” A peal of high-pitched giggling ensued. He’d never
liked the way Susan laughed. “God, I hate talking to machines. Where are you?” There was a silence, as if she expected him to pick up. “At class, I suppose. You’ll never
guess, but I bumped into your father the other day completely out of the blue. He told me you’re doing well. He’s looking forward to having you back in September.” The line
crackled for a moment and she breathed heavily into the receiver. “And so am I. Listen Danny, I’ve been thinking about you… about us a lot.” Another pause. “I’m
missing you very much. I didn’t mean it when I said I never wanted to see you again. I was just so angry. But I forgive you.” She sighed. “I’m okay about the postponement
now. It’s taken until now, but I fully understand. You were right when you said time would pass quickly. It’s going so fast. I was silly, I suppose.” There was another silence.
“I wish you were home. I really hate talking to this damned machine. Anyway Danny, I want you to know I’d taken off my engagement ring because I was so mad at you. But I’m wearing
it again. I’m looking at it right now in fact. It’s gorgeous. Nothing’s changed. Don’t think my family still hates you, either. Daddy’s been feeling ill recently. We
don’t know what’s wrong with him. It’s a pain around his heart. We’re hoping it’s just a bit of indigestion. He’s fair going through the anti-acids, I can tell
you. Gosh, I hope your machine’s recording still.” He could hear some background chatter, and then she said, “No, he’s not at home, Mammy. I have no idea. Probably at his
German class.” Susan’s voice grew loud again. “Mammy told me to say hello. Danny, please call me. We need to talk. I love you. I can’t wait till you come home and we can get
married. Bye.”

He checked his watch. It was quarter past eight. She’d most likely be at home. He fetched a beer from the fridge and returned to the dining table. He picked up the receiver and started to
dial.

The discarded summer jackets thrown over the back of the sofa, the towers of CDs on the floor next to the stereo, the curdled cold tea in the mugs on the dining room and coffee
tables, the grimy bathroom, all of it screamed disrespect. And cleaning up after Julia made him feel like her skivvy. At first, he hadn’t really noticed, or more truthfully avoided noticing.
He’d been settling in, wanting to make a good impression, wanting them to be friends. When Julia told him she’d broken up with Katie after her husband discovered their affair, the
untidiness worsened but he hadn’t made a fuss. He’d felt sorry for her. But no more. What he needed now were permanent changes. He hadn’t broken away from his father to become a
lesbian English woman’s patsy.

When he heard the key inserted in the front door, he lowered the television volume and picked up a magazine. He peered at her under his eyes as she entered.

“I’ve had one hell of a shit day, my dear,” she said. She set her briefcase by the foot of the stairs, took off her jacket and tossed it on the back of the sofa. Her eyes
skipped over the CD piles before darting to the kitchen where the sink was still full of dirty dishes.

“Oh,” she said, a puzzled expression on her face.

“Yes?”

She didn’t answer and sat on the armchair. “I thought today would never end.”

“So you said.”

“I had to detain three illegal Jamaicans and process them for deportation.”

He didn’t speak.

She eased her legs up on the coffee table. “I’d love a cuppa if you’re making.”

“I’m not.”

She met his eye. “Is something wrong?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“I’m sorry about the mess.”

“I’m doing all the work, Julia.” His voice sounded quivery. “It’s not on.”

She swung her feet on the floor. “Why don’t I make us a lovely cup of tea?”

“Tea won’t fix it. We need to discuss this.”

“What’s to discuss? It’ll not happen again.”

“You always say that.”

“Now’s not a good time.” She looked at him soulfully. “Really.”

“Yes, now.” His resolve amazed him.

“You’re being inconsiderate, Danny.” She pushed her head back on the chair and closed her eyes as if to convey the depth of her exhaustion.

“I’m tired of living in a sty. The bathroom’s crap. I’m tired of doing all the hoovering.”

Her eyelids popped open and she looked up at the ceiling without blinking. The fridge started up with a shudder, followed moments later by the phone ringing. He made no attempt to answer it like
he always did.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” he asked.

“It’s probably Katie calling again and I don’t want to talk to her. We’re done.”

Both of them waited for the answering machine to pick up, which it did after the fourth ring. It was his fiancée to say she was shocked she hadn’t heard from him.

“You haven’t told her yet?” Julia asked.

“Are we going to discuss who cleans where in this house?”

Her neck turned the colour of claret. She laid a hand on the armchair rest and began to drum. “I’m not the tidiest person in the world. I admit that. But I’m
not
dirty
and I resent the accusation. If you’re not happy here, you should leave.”

Her gallop to sanctions stunned Danny. Rational, assertive people discussed problems and devised with solutions.

“You’ve misunderstood me, Julia. I’m not calling you dirty.”

Her mouth became a grim line. “We’re not working out. You need to go.”

Her invitation to leave was now a requirement. He was homeless. It was Sunday. He’d have to find a hotel. First, he had to pack, then ring to find an available hotel and finally move his
belongings. It would take hours. Danny sprang from the sofa and went to the bottom of the stairs.

“Your ad read ‘immaculate condition’. That was fraudulent.”

“So sue me.”

“I should.”

“We’re not in a relationship, you know?”

“True. I don’t have breasts.”

“Get out of my house, you fucking Paddy.”

Her insult was worse than a slap in the face. He mounted the stairs two at a time and went into his room, taking care to slam the door behind him. A picture fell off the wall on the landing.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he stared out the picture window at the darkening sky above the rooftops.

Five minutes later, he heard her coming up the stairs. He rose, seized a suitcase from the top of the closet and began to hurl T-shirts into it. She passed by without hesitating.

“Bitch,” he muttered.

He snatched a shirt from the wardrobe, laid it on the bed and started to fold it. The shoulders wouldn’t line up symmetrically. Every attempt was deformed. He tossed it into the case and
fetched another shirt.

He’d progressed to trousers when he heard her come out of her bedroom. She walked across the creaky landing, came down the three stairs and stopped at his door. A silence preceded two
quick raps.

“Can I come in?”

He made her wait five seconds. “Enter.”

The door opened and she peered inside. Her puffy eyes darted from the open suitcase to the elephant cord trousers he was folding. “You don’t have to leave.”

Her tone was a hybrid of empathy and control. He placed the trousers in his suitcase and took a pair of chinos from the wardrobe, holding them by their bottoms and shaking them until the sharp
creases aligned.

“Until the next row?”

“I shouldn’t have insulted you. I apologise. It was unwarranted.” Her lips twitched. “I’ve also taken you for granted.”

How often he wished to hear these words from his father. Danny tossed her a bone, laying the folded chinos on the bed rather than putting them in the suitcase.

“Let’s work something out,” she said, her gaze travelling from the trousers to his face.