They went through to the church hall for the christening party. They’d done the buffet themselves with plenty of help from Maggie Driscoll and Kate Conroy. Proud grandparents. And the band were happy to play for a free slate at the bar. Michael, one of Megan’s brothers, was doing the disco. She hoped he’d stay upright long enough to see them through to the end.
Megan told Brendan to get her a rum and Coke and settled down with Aidan and Francine at the centre table. From this vantage point she could see the whole of the room: the sweep of tables and chairs arranged around the wooden dance floor, the bar to her right, the stage at the left and ahead the entrance. Anyone coming in and she could see them. Aidan began to fuss again and she rooted in her bag for his bottle and the little jar of baby food.
She moved the highchair round and got him strapped in. His eager face was alight, burbling with anticipation.
Brendan set the drinks down and took Francine off. Two of Megan’s sisters plus kids and both sets of grandparents sat down with her. She put Aidan in his seat, tied his bib on and started feeding him. The band struck up with a jig and like a flash the older crowd were up, twisting and whirling and giving it all they’d got. Showing the youngsters how it was done. Megan leaned over and took the ciggie her mammy had abandoned in her haste.
She looked over at her father, Anthony, whirling Mammy about. His face was the colour of beetroot these days but his hair was still black. He’d a belly like he was about to pop. Mammy looks old, Megan thought, the skin on her arms hung loose, her lips were thinner, eyes hooded as her face had succumbed to gravity. Maggie still sported ginger hair but it came from a bottle and in-between treatments it faded to the colour of pale rust.
Aidan had finished and was squirming in his chair. She lifted him up and sniffed at his bum, well-padded beneath the christening gown. ‘Jesus, Aidan,’ she complained, ‘been saving that one up, haven’t yer?’
When she returned from changing him she handed him over to Brendan, who was chatting with Billy from work. The disco was starting up and she took to the floor, which filled up to the strains of Herman’s Hermits, ‘Something tells Me I’m Into Something Good’, a Manchester band and they’d got to number one. It had them all joining in, not that they needed much encouragement. She went up and got him to put on Candy’s new one, ‘Walk My Way’ and ‘Doo Wah Diddy Diddy’ after that. She danced until she was out of breath. Francine toddled over and danced beside her when they all got into a line for ‘The Locomotion’.
There was another drink waiting for her, she took a gulp and lit up. Billy stood up to leave them. ‘’S all we can do,’ he said, ‘wait and see.’
Brendan sighed.
‘What’s that then?’ She sat in the seat Billy had left.
‘There’s talk of a takeover and there’s more talk about modernisation.’
‘Good or bad?’
‘Bad, probably. Either could mean lay-offs.’
She saw his mouth tighten. Knew he was worried.
He recognised her concern. ‘There’s been rumours before,’ he shrugged. ‘Prospects might be better, now Labour’s in. Harold Wilson, more in touch with the likes of us than the rest of ’em.’ He bent forward, kissed her.
‘What’s that for?’
‘The most beautiful woman in the world.’
‘Oh, yeah. And you the biggest liar?’
Chubby Chekker came on, ‘Let’s Dance’.
‘Shall we?’ Brendan cocked his elbow at her.
She ground out her cigarette, took another gulp of her drink. He was right. Could be owt or nowt. No point in fretting. Life was hard enough anyway with kids to feed and clothe and nothing getting any cheaper. But today was for Aidan and for them. This was a party and whatever troubles lay ahead they could still have a bloody good knees-up.
Brendan passed Aidan over to Granny Kate and the pair of them went over and into the circle that the dancers formed for them. Brendan winked at her, caught her hand and they launched into the jive that they’d first learnt as teenagers.
Marjorie
‘Sit down!’ Marjorie Underwood screeched at Nina.
‘No!’ The four-year-old glared back defiantly, then leant forward and shoved her plate of food into the centre of the table. It knocked over a glass of Ribena, which bled across the cloth.
‘Now look what you’ve done! You stupid child!’ She lashed out with her hand. Nina ducked but her mother still managed to clip her across the head. ‘Get upstairs.’ Her voice was tight with anger. ‘Now.’
Stephen stared dismally at his plate.
Marjorie pulled the edge of the tablecloth up to stem the flow of juice. Time and again the child pushed her to breaking point. Of course there was nothing wrong with a smack to instill discipline when the child was deliberately naughty like this but Nina’s behaviour never seemed to improve. And when Marjorie smacked her she was often helpless with rage herself. The child made her see red, literally, a flood of orange in her eyes, a mist of bloody fury. Red hair. Red rag to a bull.
And at the end of these awful scenes she always had the sense that she had lost, that the girl had bested her in some obscure way. She would not cry and say sorry and have a cuddle. No matter how harsh the words that Marjorie used or how hard the slap, the girl would blink and swallow and look at her in defiance, vivid blue eyes bright and hard, her small mouth tightly pursed. Where did we go wrong? she thought for the umpteenth time. They had treated the two children exactly the same but Stephen had been so happy, so easy and biddable. Unlike Nina. Everything was a battle. Even as a tiny baby she had cried with a ferocity that had frightened Marjorie and had refused to be mollified. Her small face contorted with rage and her legs kicking as Marjorie paced the room almost demented with fatigue.
That evening when Robert came in she told him about the confrontation at tea-time. He loosened his tie and put his slippers on.
‘She’s definitely living up to the redheads’ reputation. Vile temper.’ He turned to find Marjorie in tears.
‘I can’t go on like this,’ she gasped. ‘I feel awful. There are times when I just want her gone.’
A shocked silence followed. She hid her face, appalled at what she had said.
‘Marjorie…’
‘I don’t really mean it. It’s just all too much sometimes. Like the day’s one long battle with her. And I’m so tired. I can’t sleep with worrying about it.’ She ran her hands back through her silky blonde hair.
He came and put his arm around her shoulders. ‘She’ll be starting school in the autumn,’ he pointed out. ‘She’ll have to buck her ideas up then. And it’ll be a break for you. Do you want me to have a word with her?’
‘She’s asleep now. I do love her, Robert.’
‘Of course you do.’
But I don’t think I like her very much. The thought drenched her with guilt. She took a deep breath, wiped her face and went to dish up their tea.
Nina
It was sunny in the room even though most of the walls were covered in wood and all shiny. There were lines of sun coming in the windows and dust fairies floating in them, millions of them. They were practising for their first confession. You had to close your eyes and think very hard of all the things you’d done that were sins. And you even had to say bad things that you thought about, even if you hadn’t done them and just thought of them. Nina had lots but she couldn’t remember every single one. Then there was a list in the prayer book that you had to look at.
If God was so strong and powerful then why couldn’t he make everyone be good all the time and then there wouldn’t be any sins? No wars or robbers or lies or anything.
‘Oh, my God,’ Father Leary began, ‘because thou art so good…’