‘No.’ Claire was brusque. ‘Health and safety. In other words, you’re bound to trip and fall. Not a chance worth taking.’
Mum’s iPad started bing-bonging. ‘Here’s Anna,’ she said. ‘Sweet Jesus, what do I press?’ She made some panicky jabs and, more by luck than judgement, Anna’s face appeared on the screen. ‘Hey, Mum, hey, Claire. Rachel! How was the funeral? Did you see Luke?’
‘Saw him, he saw me, but we didn’t speak.’
‘So, how did he … seem?’
‘Still hot,’ Claire called.
‘I didn’t mean … I was wondering if he was …’ She was fooling no one.
‘No leather trousers,’ Claire elaborated. ‘Just a suit.’
‘That’s too bad … Are you okay, Rachel? Call me if you need to talk. So how are the party plans going?’
Mum said, ‘Do you swear to me, Anna Walsh, on your bended knees, that you have eighty Lucerne Bio serums for the party bags?’
‘I swear to you. And loads of other stuff too. Your sisters will be so impressed, they’ll be sick.’
A disturbance at the door heralded the arrival of Helen, in a dark form-fitting tracksuit, her hair up in a high pony.
‘You look like an assassin!’ Mum was all admiration.
‘Fecken wish I was.’ Helen scanned the room and focused on me. ‘You, girl! Report on Luke Costello. How was his crotch?’
‘It was his mother’s funeral,’ Mum said, her tone sharp. ‘Have some respect.’
‘He was in a suit,’ Anna called from New York.
‘Suits can be tight,’ Helen said. ‘Remember their wedding? Sweet. Jesus. Remember the debate we had, wondering if he had the trousers specially tailored or if it was just down to … him?’ At my stricken face, she muttered, ‘Anyway, he’s an asshole.’
‘Stop talking about him,’ I said. ‘Like, please.’
If they didn’t knock it on the head, I’d have to leave. Since yesterday, I’d been awash with humiliation – both old and new. Every time my memory reran the little home-movie of the dismissive flick of his eyes in the church, fresh shame flooded in.
Underneath the shame was an appalling sadness.
But I’d be okay. So long as I didn’t take anything to sidestep the pain – and I wouldn’t – this awful discomfort would eventually disperse.
‘If I could have your attention,’ Mum called. ‘Claire, Helen, before I arrive at the hotel, you’re to have the guests all fired up. Make them practise yelling, “SURPRISE!” Do it a few times. My sisters, but especially Imelda and Philomena, won’t want to, and some of the cousins are right bitches too, but tell them there’ll be no goody bag for them if they don’t. Ah, here’s Margaret. What’s that you’re wearing?’
‘A shirt-dress. It’s new!’
A blue-and-black checked flannel button-through, the sleeves rolled back over a slubby grey T-shirt, it was very Margaret. With flat black leather knee boots and her choppy bob, she looked comfortable and stylish. It was a great look and it really suited her.
‘You’re … well turned out.’ Mum sounded surprised.
‘You look like a social worker,’ Helen said.
‘… who’s having an affair.’ That was Claire trying to be nice and it made Margaret laugh. Not that there was any chance of Margaret having an affair. Of all of us, her relationship was the most convincing. She and Garv were lovely to each other.
‘How are you, Rachel?’ she asked. ‘How was Luke?’
‘We didn’t speak.’
‘Oh. Well. How did he … look?’
‘Do any of you care about my surprise party?’ Mum exploded. ‘Or do you just want to talk about Luke Costello’s tight trousers?’
‘I’ll take Luke Costello’s tight trousers for five hundred dollars,’ Claire said.
‘Ah now! Bitta respect for Dr Spork!’ Helen said.
‘Who? Oh, Quin.’ Mum snorted. She didn’t like him. ‘Cocksure of himself,’ was her sour assessment.
Confidence was usually seen as a positive. But Mum was from that generation of Irishwomen who prided themselves on raising children with rock-bottom self-esteem. Nothing galled them as much as an offspring with confidence. Quin might have got away with it if he’d put the effort into charming her – because he could be very charming when it suited him – but, contrary fecker that he was, he decided not to. （‘Why should I?’ He’d declared. ‘I shouldn’t have to apologize for who I am.’） ‘Is Spork coming to my party?’ Mum asked.