Jumping in Puddles Page 5

  “What more could you ask for?” Seán had asked, smiling as he stole the last of her chocolate cake.

  “Hey, Mister,” Niamh had teased, “I‘m a pregnant woman – bearing the fruit of your loins – could you leave my bloody cake alone!”

  “What’s mine is yours, and yours is mine,” he teased, reaching back for a second bite – and narrowly avoiding the stab of her fork. He never realised that getting between a hormonal woman and her chocolate cake was never going to be a good idea.

  They had walked back to the office hand in hand, her stomach round and heavy and she remembered feeling so very excited about everything that was still to come.

  “There’s nothing that can’t be made better with carrot cake,” Robyn muttered as she sat back down.

  Niamh looked at her friend – well, it was more of a glare really – and Robyn quickly apologised.

  “No, no, I’m sorry,” Niamh stuttered. “It’s been a tough day and I know you didn’t mean any harm, and if I’m honest carrot cake does make things marginally easier to take.”

  “Atta girl!” Robyn smiled, sitting back and breathing out. “So what now? Straight to the dump or recycling depot? Or should we just hit the shops for a bit? You could do with some new clothes to perk you up.”

  Niamh felt her clothes loose around her frame – stress having made weight drop off her – and smiled. “I think the shops would be good. I can pick up something for the twins as well.”

  “But we must make sure to be back at the dump before four unless you want to be hauling all that rubbish out to Rathinch with you.”

  Niamh blushed. She knew Robyn would be disappointed in her. “Actually I’ve not finished sorting through it all yet,” she said.

  “Have you even started?” Robyn asked softly.

  “Well, it’s in boxes,” Niamh answered. “And I threw out the old packets of salt and the cup where a new breed of penicillin was growing. I’d like to think of that as a start.”

  “You know you have to do it some day so I won’t go over my notes to you, but if you need help, you know where I am.”

  “Yes, thanks, Robyn. You are a superstar.”

  “Of course I am,” said Robyn, sipping from her coffee cup. “How about we give it a wee go this weekend?”

  “I thought you said you weren’t going to go over your notes?”

  “I’m not,” Robyn said with a smile. “But a gentle nudge won’t hurt. It’s most likely there is little important there and you don’t need business papers and old letters cluttering up your house. It will play havoc with your feng shui. Wouldn’t it be nicer to get to the things you really want? The things that remind you of Seán more than a pile of rubbish does?”

  Niamh had to admit her friend had a point and, as she sipped her own coffee and took a huge bite of carrot cake to make her feel better, she found herself agreeing with Robyn that this weekend she would start to sort out her husband’s belongings.

  11

  On Tuesday Ruth was sorting through the prescriptions Dr Donnelly had left out for collecting when she saw James walk through the door.

  Arse, she thought. This was the last thing she needed – so far her day had been going well. She hadn’t found any extra grey hairs or found her favourite bra had popped its wire in the machine. She had even felt a little teeny tiny bit chipper as she walked to work that morning, telling herself she was a strong and confident woman who could do this single parent malarkey with no problem. “Wee buns,” she had said aloud as she pushed her way through the door into the surgery.

  But now it felt different. James had that effect. He made wee buns feel like big fecking insurmountable mountains. Her heart thumping, she found she had to put her hand to the desk to steady herself before she spoke to him. She didn’t actually think people ever did that – steadied themselves. She had seen people walk out of the doctor’s office, weeping and wailing at whatever news had been imparted to them, but not many had steadied themselves, so physically shaken they could barely stand.

  It had been three weeks since she’d seen her husband – since he had called to the house on the pretext of seeing the children but had actually only wanted a good look around to see what she was getting up to.

  He didn’t want her – he had made that clear in the harshest and most painful of terms. But he did not want anyone else to have her either. And he didn’t want to think for even one second that his influence was gone entirely from his marital home.

  He had shared three short, stilted conversations with his children before collecting yet more of his belongings and bundling them into the car. He had barely spoken to Ruth except to ask her if she knew where his cufflinks were. He had a dinner, you see, with Laura and her friends and he wanted to look his best. He had smiled when he asked her.

  “Can I help you?” Ruth said now, finding her voice.

  James sniffed and moved closer to the receptionist’s desk, while the few patients still milling about that late afternoon strained to hear what was going on. He leant over the desk and tried to get a look at the confidential records his wife was working with.

  She pulled them away and took a deep breath before meeting his gaze.

  “I wanted to talk to you about taking the kids away over Hallowe’en,” James said.

  “I’m at work, James,” Ruth answered with a calmness she hoped didn’t betray the growing sense of panic she was feeling.

  “Yes, well, I was at work too but I was passing and thought I’d call in. I’ll pick them up on the Friday and drop them back on Sunday.”

  “We have plans,” Ruth said, almost in a whisper. “They want to go up to Derry to the carnival and I promised I would take them.”

  James took a deep breath, and then as if he was talking to a three-year-old he rolled his eyes and spoke slowly. “I will pick the children up on the Friday and return them on the Sunday. Laura has it all arranged.”

  And he turned and walked away.

  Ruth knew she should have told him where to go. She should have been honest with him and told him the kids wouldn’t want to go away with him and Laura. She should have told him there was no way Laura – a woman who had left her gorgeous little girl – was ever going to tuck her precious Matthew into bed. She should, she thought, have given him the finger or kneed him in the balls, but she didn’t and as Mrs Quinn walked up to collect her script Ruth bit back tears and felt as if she had let him win again.

  “No man’s worth crying over, dear,” Mrs Quinn said, “and the one who is won’t make you cry.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. Now here you go. The doctor has asked you to come back to see her before re-ordering again.”

  * * *

  As predicted there was all holy hell when she broke the news about the Hallowe’en trip. She told the children as they ate their tea and watched as one by one their faces fell. She felt as if she’d just bought them a puppy and given it a good kick for their viewing pleasure.

  “But, Mammy, I wanted to go Derry and see the fireworks! Sam from my class saw them last year and said they are brilliant,” Matthew pouted.

  “Well, I don’t care what he wants,” Eimear spat. “There is no way I’m going on holiday with him and her.”

  Thomas didn’t say much at all, and perhaps that worried Ruth more than anything. He rarely talked about his father’s departure – in fact he had become quite withdrawn since James had left and when he looked at her, with that sadness in his eyes, she could weep because he reminded her so much of her own reflection.

  When she left them at home to walk to the community centre, everyone was in rubbish form. Eimear had tried the hysterical-crying-till-she-almost-puked route. She had always been remarkably good at that but, unfortunately for her, Ruth was well used to ignoring this particular tactic. Matthew had opted for the altogether more manipulative baby of the family/puppy-dog-eyes combo. Thomas had just pounded up the stairs and put on some interminable racket which was allegedly music. Ruth had slapped on some foundatio
n – powdering over the cracks – and headed out the door, stopping just short of slamming it behind her.

  She thundered into the community centre, trying to smile at Niamh though truthfully it was more of a grimace than anything resembling a friendly greeting. She was angry at James but angrier at herself for allowing him to control her.

  She should have said no when he came to the health centre – and she definitely should have said no when she saw the reaction from her children, but instead she had smiled and told them it would be fine and that they would have a nice time with their daddy. Ruth slammed her handbag onto the desk and sat down defeated.

  “Tough day?” Niamh asked softly.

  “Something like that,” Ruth said, taking a deep breath to calm her breathing.

  “There’s a kettle in the kitchen. I’ll make us a cuppa while we are waiting for the others – I think we’re a bit early.”

  Ruth looked at the clock: it was just ten to seven. At least her rage would do wonders for her figure, she thought wryly. Although she’d left at her usual time, she had made it down to the community centre in record time.

  “That would be grand,” she said, smiling as Niamh made for the kitchen. “The sugar is kept in the press below the sink,” she called, “in case you need it.”

  “Naw, I’m sweet enough,” Niamh called back, popping her head around the door. Ruth stood up and walked to the kitchen, leaning against the door frame for a chat. “Sorry for the dramatic entrance. I’ve had a rubbish day with my ex. Sometimes I wish he would just drop –”

  She stopped herself before she said it, but noticed Niamh’s expression change just that little and instantly wished the ground would open and swallow her up. Sometimes she swore she had been born with her foot in her mouth.

  “God, I’m sorry. Me and my big gob. I’m such a stupid cow.”

  Niamh paused and reached out to Ruth, touching her arm. “Don’t worry about it. I had plenty of days when I’d have gladly wished Seán off the planet too. I know you don’t really mean it.”

  Ruth smiled back, and just stopped herself from saying “Oh yes, I do,” in a pantomime style.

  When the kettle was boiled and the tea brewed the two returned to the main hall where Ciara was just arriving, soaked from a fresh shower of rain.

  “Jesus H Christ,” she muttered, pulling her denim jacket off and slipping it on the radiator. “It’s pishing down out there.”

  Ruth sat back and resisted the urge to tell the young girl she should get herself a proper coat for the winter. She had to remind herself that she was not talking to Eimear and even though there was little difference in the two girls’ ages, Ciara had a lot more on her plate than her daughter did. Eimear wouldn’t have a notion if she was presented with a baby, a dirty nappy and a box of wipes.

  “The kettle’s boiled,” Niamh said. “Grab yourself a cuppa and get some warmth into you.”

  “I’m grand,” Ciara said. “I’ll get a can from the vending machine. I’m not a hot-drink person.”

  Detta arrived next, not swearing but clearly not impressed with the rain either. “God, it’s a bad night. We’d better not sit too long in case it gets much worse.”

  Ruth noticed Niamh shiver and knew it wasn’t from the cold. If she remembered correctly it had been teeming down the night Seán‘s car had gone off the road. Change the subject, she told herself, while trying to think of something to say which wouldn’t make Niamh think of her dead husband.

  “I wonder if Liam will make it tonight,” she said.

  Detta sat down. “I hope we didn’t scare him off – poor creature, stuck with all us women yapping on. He must have felt a little odd.”

  “We’re all in this together though, aren’t we?” Ciara said. “I hope he does come back. He looks like a nice man. He definitely didn’t deserve what that wife of his did to him.”

  Ruth felt herself blush. She chided herself. Why did she feel responsible for Liam’s misery as well as her own just because it was her husband that Laura had chosen to run off with? It was ridiculous that she tied herself up in knots like this all the time.

  “No, he didn’t and nor did I,” she said, trying to keep the childish tone out of her voice. “And now that fecking pig of a husband of mine has gone and made things so much worse.”

  “How do you mean?” Liam asked, walking through the door and looking alarmed at news of any developments with Ruth’s ex-husband and, by association, his wife.

  Aw fuck, Ruth thought. This was not going well at all, was it? Perhaps she would have been better off taking her chances back at home with her three children – hear no evil, see no evil and pure huffy teenage-girl evil.

  * * *

  It had been bad enough when Agnes showed up at half past six while Liam was sitting down to a plate of stew and ushered him out the door. He had hoped to give the group tonight a miss and watch the football instead, but Agnes was most insistent. He was to go and talk to that “lovely Detta O’Neill woman” and leave her to have some “quality time with her granddaughter” – which he knew was code for “nosy around the house to her heart’s content”.

  And now, after getting a soaking just by walking from the car park to the hall, he had to listen to the women of the group gossiping about his wife and her latest carry-on.

  Liam’s heart had sunk as he walked into the hall and heard Ruth say things had just become worse for her. He had been hoping Ruth might say things had improved for her – that perhaps James was making noises that it had all been a huge mistake and he dearly wanted back into the family fold.

  When he should have been shouting orders to his project manager on the site that afternoon he had been imagining a scene where Laura walked back into his – their – house and told him it had all been a horrible, horrible mistake. He would, of course, fold his arms around her and tell her that she was welcome home and that she had been missed. And then he would take her upstairs and shag her senseless. There was no doubt he was missing the intimacy he once shared with his wife.

  He sat down on the plastic seat in the community centre, gratefully accepting the cup of tea Detta put in front of him, and as Ruth explained how James was planning to take Laura and his children away for the Hallowe’en break he felt sick.

  There was no good outcome to this, he thought. If they were planning on taking Poppy with them – which had not even been mentioned – he would have to cope with his daughter playing second, third and fourth fiddle to James’s kids. And if they weren’t taking Poppy with them – well, that just might break his precious daughter’s heart.

  “I‘m sorry,” Ruth said, “I assumed they would have told you. James could barely hide the glee from his voice when he spoke to me earlier.”

  “No, no,” Liam answered, shaking his head, “they haven’t told me anything.” It was embarrassing really, to be the last to know.

  Looking downwards he tried to find his composure. Jesus Christ, he couldn’t cry – not here, in front of the women. They would all think he was some kind of freak.

  Taking a deep breath, he sat up straight in his seat. He had to change the subject and fast. He had to retain his cool and calm exterior. He was a man. A dude. An alpha male. He took a bite of a chocolate Hobnob and said: “Right, Detta, what’s on the agenda for tonight?”

  Detta appeared to take a deep breath and give him an odd sort of a look before she started talking. Liam couldn’t help but wonder if she was wondering what she had let herself in for. He knew she hadn’t long returned to Rathinch after spending the last ten or more years in the big smoke of Dublin. While the capital city had more than its fair share of junkies and crackheads, the madness levels of this delightful village was just that one step beyond.

  “Well,” Detta said, “I thought tonight we could write some letters to ourselves.”

  Liam snorted. He didn’t know if he had it in him to write again and this was all just feeling a little bit too much like new-age mumbo jumbo and if there was something Donegal men di
dn’t do, it was new-age mumbo jumbo.

  “Now, now,” Detta said, seeing his grimace, “it will be fun, honest to goodness. Well, maybe not fun – but you might find it useful.”

  Liam wondered just how helpful it would be. He also wondered if she would make them tear the feckers up again, because if so there was a good chance he could get away with a couple of wee doodles instead of pouring his heart out. It might not be in the spirit of the group, but it still held a certain appeal.

  Detta stood in front of them, handing out the requisite spiral notebooks and blue biros, and began to chat.

  “Can we all try this exercise,” she began, her voice suddenly more mellow, “Write yourself a letter. Imagine it is a year from now. What would you have hoped to have achieved? Do you think you will feel stronger? That your children will be doing okay? Do you want romance?”

  All four snorted at the thought of romance and Liam found himself laughing – a deep belly laugh and as the others joined in he relaxed. Okay, he’d rather be down the pub supping a pint of Guinness but this wasn’t the worst thing he could be doing. At least they were all, one way or another, in the same boat as him.

  “You never know what the future holds,” Detta chided.

  “Oh yes, I do. As long as I live I’m never going near another man again,” Ruth said.

  “I’d rather turn gay,” Ciara chimed in with a look of disgust on her face.

  Although he was shocked to see one so young talk so openly, Liam could not help but smile. He didn’t want new romance either – he wanted Laura back and if he had his way it would happen.