Complicated, Pauline would describe Mam as when I asked. Her English wasn’t great, she’d add when pushed for more information as I got older. Disturbed, she’d add sometimes if she was feeling honest. I don’t believe it was my age that made me want to know more, some days I just felt more curious than others, depending on what I’d heard or learned that day in life. It either made me care more about who she was, who she is, where she is, or didn’t intrigue me at all. Sometimes I thought Pauline’s stories of their time together could be something I could hold on to, something revealing about her character. Something to find myself in. I don’t know. It’s never that simple. Mostly I just wanted to know. Women always want to know, says every man I’ve ever known.
Complicated. Her English wasn’t great. Disturbed.
She disappeared for two weeks while staying with Pauline. I know this from Pauline. From Pops. From my cousin John. From Dara, who disappeared with her. Nobody’s hiding anything but I don’t know where they went. For her to know and for me to find out, Dara said. Pauline’s concerns had been running a B&B during the busiest months of the summer while her best room, the master suite, was being used by a heavily pregnant Spanish student, and I suppose the effect her stay was having on her two sons. Mam – Carmencita I’ll call her because that’s really who she is – had no interest in Pops the moment she found out she was pregnant, probably the moment after they’d slept together. She had wanted nothing to do with him. But she did need his help. She took his offer of help. She couldn’t tell her family about her pregnancy, she couldn’t return home. She needed Pops and he wanted me. This is what they told me.
Confused, Pauline had said on another day.
Complicated. Her English wasn’t great. Disturbed. Confused.
She was holed up in the master suite for six weeks, only opening the door for breakfast, lunch and dinner. What did she do in there all day, I’d asked. She watched television but back then they only had four TV channels. Three of them were in English, one of them was in Irish. She watched videos but they were in short supply, my cousin Dara would get them from the local video store – it sounded like the Stone Age – and she didn’t read the books that Pauline left for her on the food tray. I asked my cousin John about Carmencita too.
Bitch, he said.
Complicated. Her English wasn’t great. Disturbed. Confused. Bitch.
I tried, Pauline had said once, exhausted from the retelling of it, as if there was a concealed accusation beneath my questions, that if Pauline had done something differently then Carmencita would have stayed, she wouldn’t have given me up. No one thinks she and Pops would have gotten together and I’m glad she and Pops didn’t stay together. I’m glad she gave me up. I’m maybe not so glad that she left me completely. But she did always sound like a bitch.
I see Pauline’s side. Fifty years old, two sons, a business, a husband, minding a stranger night and day, waiting on her hand and foot, a young woman carrying her brother’s child. Her brother’s student, who regularly lashed out and wanted nothing to do with Pops or the baby. I can feel her stress, the pressure. She said she was terrified. She’d accused Pauline one time of holding her captive in the house. Pauline had told her she was welcome to leave if she wanted, that she was helping her because she said she had no place else to go. She left for two weeks and then came back.
She was dramatic, Pauline said.
Complicated. Her English wasn’t great. Disturbed. Confused. Bitch. Dramatic.
Carmencita stayed until she had me. Pauline said Carmencita never talked about her hospital appointments. No one ever knew if the baby was healthy or not, if I kicked or not; Carmencita wouldn’t tell anyone anything. Apart from Dara, my cousin, the weirdo with bad wiring. He didn’t think she was a bitch. He must have felt he’d met his spirit animal. Someone who was wired the same way as him and despised my family just as much as he did. He was the one who drove her to hospital appointments and to wherever she was hiding for two weeks. I’d like to think she and him didn’t have a thing going. She would have been over six months pregnant, but Dara was always a bit weird. Still is.
Of course I’ve thought about it from Pops’ perspective too. Especially when Katie said that pervert thing, I had to process it. Lonely but convivial music lecturer. Single man living in Dublin. A beautiful woman who just so happens to be a student meets his eye, wants him. He’s not used to being wanted. Not like that. Not from someone like her. He’s older and he’s lonely; quite frankly, is the kind of man who looked old even as a teenager. Only it’s not to be. She discovers she’s pregnant, wants nothing to do with him. She wants to get rid of the baby but he wants it. Maybe she’s scared to get rid of it, maybe she thinks it’s wrong, who knows, but she doesn’t. He’ll do anything for her, to help her, and he wants to keep the baby. Because he knows he’ll never be lonely again. He leaves his job, whispers and rumours have broken out. He’s not the first lecturer to sleep with a student, not his own student, but still people talk. Just as well he’s gone far away. He raises the baby alone but knows happily he’ll never be lonely again.