Ripples Read online

  PATRICIA

  SCANLAN

  RIPPLES

  Patricia Scanlan is the author of ten Number One best-selling novels, City Girl, Apartment 3B, Finishing Touches, City Woman, Foreign Affairs, Mirror Mirror, Promises Promises, City Lives, Francesca’s Party and Two for Joy. She has published three adult literacy books: Second Chance, Ripples and Fair-Weather Friend. She lives in Dublin.

  RIPPLES

  First published by GemmaMedia in 2009.

  GemmaMedia

  230 Commercial Street

  Boston MA 02109 USA

  617 938 9833

  www.gemmamedia.com

  Copyright © 1999, 2009 Patricia Scanlan.

  This edition of Ripples is published by arrangement with New Island Books Ltd..

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Cover design by Artmark

  12 11 10 09 08 1 2 3 4 5

  ISBN: 978-1-934848-06-7

  Library of Congress Preassigned Control Number (PCN) applied for

  OPEN DOOR SERIES

  Patricia Scanlan

  Series Editor

  Chapter One

  “You’re a stupid cow. That’s what you are!”

  “And you’re a mean bastard. I wish you’d get the hell out of here and never come back.”

  “Maybe I will. You big mouth – ”

  Ciara McHugh pressed her thumbs into her ears. They were at it again. Shouting and roaring. Ranting and raving. She hated them. Why couldn’t they be like other parents? Why did they have to be fighting all the time?

  Why couldn’t her mother leave her dad alone? She was always nagging him.

  Nag, nag, nag.

  He’d just ignore her. That would make Alison worse and she’d say something to get him going. Then they’d be yelling and shouting at each other.

  Her dad’s face would go dark with temper. Ciara was often afraid that he’d hit her mother. Sometimes she’d lie on her bed and her heart would pound so loudly she’d feel it was going to burst out of her chest.

  Ciara heard the door slam. Hard. It seemed to shake the whole house. She heard the engine of the car start. That would be her dad. He’d drive off after a row and not come home for hours.

  There was a dull silence in the house. Soon her mother would come upstairs to Ciara’s room. She’d start giving out about Barry, telling Ciara that Barry was selfish and cruel. She’d say that he’d never given her any support in their marriage. He wasn’t like their best friend Mike.

  Alison thought Mike was a great husband and father.

  She was always saying, “See how Mike helps around the house. He cooks dinners at the weekend, instead of sitting with his nose stuck into a football match on TV.

  “See how Mike helps his kids with their homework.

  “See how Mike takes them out at weekends and gives them … quality time.”

  Alison always paused before she said “quality time”. She made it sound like something holy and reverent. She was always reading books about relationships and quality time and communication.

  “Mike … communicates … with his kids. Your father can’t communicate, Ciara. I’ve spent years, years, trying to get him to talk to me. Trying to get him to share our life, the way Mike and Kathy share theirs. It’s like banging my head off a stone wall.”

  Her mother always rolled her eyes dramatically at that part.

  “I tell you, Ciara, if I can make a go of it with someone else, I bloody well will! I’m not wasting any more time on that thick, squinty-eyed shit. Life’s not a rehearsal, Ciara. We only get one chance on the merry-go-round. Always remember that. And if you’ve any sense – never get married. You don’t want to end up like me. Stuck with a selfish, cruel, heartless bastard.” Alison usually burst into tears at that point.

  When her mother threatened to go off with someone else, it always frightened Ciara. She didn’t know what would happen to her if her parents split up. Where would her daddy go? Ciara’s stomach tightened. It always did when she thought about it. Butterflies danced up and down. A tear rolled down her cheek. She felt very scared.

  Chapter Two

  Ciara didn’t think her dad was that bad.

  He didn’t drink. That was good. Liz Kelly’s father was always drunk. Once, he’d even puked up his dinner in front of a gang of them who were staying over for a slumber party. Poor Liz was so embarrassed. She burst into tears and ran up to her room.

  Ciara’s dad was good for giving lifts, even though he moaned about it. When his football team won and he was in a good humour, he sometimes even gave her a pound.

  His team were doing very badly this season. Financially, it had been a bit of a disaster for her, Ciara thought glumly. She scribbled on the brown paper cover of her copy. She could do with some extra money. She’d been invited to another slumber party in a friend’s house, and she’d have to bring a present.

  It was going to be mixed.

  Alison said it was OK to go. She told her not to say anything to Barry. Alison felt that Barry was far too strict. She wanted Ciara to be independent. To stand on her own two feet.

  It was going to be a camping slumber party. They were going to buy some of that new alcoholic lemonade and get langered.

  Ciara had tasted it once at Sharon Ryan’s barbecue in August. It had made her feel nice and woozy. She’d smoked three fags as well. She didn’t really like smoking, but it was a cool thing to do. She wanted to be part of the gang.

  She was the youngest in the gang. Twelve. The only one not in secondary school.

  Ciara sighed deeply. She’d be starting secondary school next year. She’d have to do her assessment in February, and she was very worried about it.

  Her maths were a disaster. She hated them.

  Sara Stuart was dead lucky. Her dad was a wizard at maths. He was great for helping her. Mike Stuart was a really nice dad, even if he was a bit strict, Ciara thought enviously. Sara wasn’t allowed to go to the slumber party. She was freaking out about it. Sara was her best friend.

  Secretly, deep down, Ciara didn’t actually want to go to the slumber party. Declan Mooney was going to be at it. Ciara didn’t like him any more. Once she’d thought she fancied him, but he’d given her a French kiss. She’d thought it was disgusting! He’d also touched her up once, and that had made her feel dirty.

  Yuck! Ciara shuddered.

  She wished that she could stay at home. But her dad was going to a match and her mother had arranged to go dancing in Tomangos when she knew Ciara was going on a sleep-over. Her mother was always going to Tomangos.

  Why, why, why couldn’t she have normal parents like the Stuarts? Kathy Stuart wouldn’t be caught dead in Tomangos. She was a real mother. She baked bread and tarts and cakes. She made proper dinners. Not burgers and chips, Alison’s idea of a dinner, Ciara thought angrily.

  She heard her mother coming upstairs. She didn’t want to get an ear-bashing about the row she’d overheard between her parents. Ciara jumped up. She switched off the light and dived under the duvet, still in her clothes. She heard Alison open the door and peer in cautiously.

  “Are you awake, lovie?”

  Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone, Ciara screamed silently. She lay perfectly still, eyes scrunched tightly shut.

  “Ciara?” Alison tried again, hopefully.

  Ciara knew that her mother needed a shoulder to cry on.

  She always did after a row. It wasn’t fair! It was very confusing. She felt guilty. Maybe she should comfort her mother. She was just about to sit up when Alison closed the door with a little sigh.

  Ciara lay in the dark and let tears brim from her eyes into a hot, wet waterfall down her cheeks. Her stomach felt tied up in knots again. She felt sick.

  She couldn’t do her maths. She didn’t want to go to the slumber party. Her parents were fighting. Life was horrible. She wondered again what would happen to her if her parents split up, or worse still, got a divorce. She didn’t want this to happen. She just wanted them to be normal.

  Chapter Three

  Brenda Johnson smiled happily as she lay back in her lover’s arms. She hadn’t been expecting Barry to call tonight. He’d arrived unexpectedly just after nine. She’d been watching the news. It was all about the passing of the amendment for divorce.

  The YES vote had won by a very small majority. The relief she’d felt had been enormous. Then the terrible fear when some senator and his supporters had argued the decision.

  Brenda wanted to strangle him with her bare hands. Didn’t the fool realise that this was her last chance? And the last chance for many like her.

  She and Barry had been having an affair for the past three years. She knew Alison suspected. But Alison wasn’t bothered by it. How many times had her best friend said, ‘You can have him. I’m sick of him.’

  The trouble with Alison was that she didn’t appreciate Barry. She’d never looked after him. Not the way Brenda did. The rows between Barry and Alison had started when Ciara was born. That’s what Alison said. She said that Barry hated not being the centre of attention.

  Maybe it was true, Brenda agreed.

  She’d known Barry as long as Alison had. Barry did like being the centre of attention. Not in a flashy, in-your-face way. His way was much more crafty.

  He’d sit, shoulders hunched up, staring out from behind h
is glasses with his Poor-Sad-Misunderstood-Me-With-the-Weight-of-the-World-on-My-Shoulders look.

  You had to feel sorry for him. You’d ask him what was wrong. He’d say “Nothing.” And then you’d have to keep at him. Wrinkling it out bit by bit.

  You’d get moans about the pressure he was under at work. Or about Alison and the state she’d left the house in. Once he’d said to her, “Look, Brenda, I’m a loner. I always have been and I always will be. Don’t even try and understand me.” He’d been feeling very sorry for himself that night.

  But of course she understood him. She understood him more than anyone. She loved him very much. And if he’d let her, she’d make him happy. Much happier than Alison had ever made him.

  It was just that Brenda was never quite sure where she stood with him.

  He swore that he loved her. He wanted to be with her, he said. His marriage to Alison was over. They were just staying together for Ciara’s sake. He promised that when Ciara was finished college in another ten years he and Brenda would be together for good. He had his responsibilities as a parent. He knew she understood.

  It was very decent of him to be so concerned for his daughter, Brenda thought stoutly. He was a good, sound, honest, hard-working man. She couldn’t fault him for taking his responsibilities so seriously. That was a good trait surely? But ten years seemed like such a long time away.

  She’d be over fifty.

  Crikey! What an awful thought. Brenda quickly put it to the back of her mind.

  She stroked Barry’s back. He had pale, pasty, spotty skin. Barry wasn’t God’s gift in the looks department, or even in the sex department, come to think of it. But beggars couldn’t be choosers. He was her last chance to have a man of her own.

  Her bubble of happiness at his unexpected arrival was getting a little flat. Imagine even thinking like that! Was this how pathetic she’d become?

  Chapter Four

  Why couldn’t she have been like all the rest of her friends? Brenda thought sadly. Why couldn’t she have met a nice man? A man who would have courted her properly. Brought her flowers and chocolates. Held car doors open for her. A man who would have proposed and given her a ring and a day to remember.

  A wedding day with a beautiful white dress and veil and all the trimmings.

  Had it been so much to ask for? Had she just grasped at Barry because the years were slipping by? Because she’d been so panicky and lonely. Afraid of ending up a spinster on the shelf. With no man to show for a lifetime of Friday and Saturday nights dolling herself up to go out on the hunt to find a mate?

  Year after year. Dance after dance. Disco after disco. Night club after night club.

  Was she crazy to believe that Barry would divorce Alison and marry her?

  How happy she’d been to vote YES to divorce.

  She could still remember how firmly she’d marked the X with the black pencil in the polling booth. She’d been so happy to hear the news this evening that the law was to be passed in favour of divorce. She was sure Barry would have been pleased too. When she said it to him, he’d just grunted and said, “One marriage was enough for me.”

  They could live together. It was much less complicated, he muttered.

  Of course, she’d agreed. But deep, deep down she was scared. She wanted him to want to marry her. That was how it should be. What if he dumped her for some babe in the office? If he could cheat on Alison, he could cheat on her. The thought came out of the blue. She buried it.

  She wasn’t going to think about that now. He was here, in her arms. That was all that mattered.

  He wouldn’t have been here if there hadn’t been a row. Another sneaky, horrible little thought escaped.

  What was wrong with her, for crying out loud? Another even more awful thought came to torment her. Maybe she was starting the change of life early. Hell! That was all she needed. To become a dried-up old prune as well.

  She thought of Eileen O’Neill at work. Eileen was having an affair with a married man. He had four kids. His wife knew about it. He spent Friday to Monday with Eileen and the other three days at home.

  Eileen was nuts about him. She was so cracked about him she’d even got in Sky Sports so that he and his pals could watch live football. He’d promised Eileen many times that he’d marry her if he could. Safe in the knowledge that divorce wasn’t legal in Ireland.

  Well it looked as if it was going to become legal now. It would be interesting to see if he kept his word. He was an out-and-out bastard though. Not satisfied with one mistress, he had several strings to his bow. He didn’t think being faithful to Eileen was important. But still she took him back and listened to his lies, and believed him when he told her his flings were over. On two occasions he’d been unfaithful to her, but she’d just closed her eyes to it.

  Brenda snorted. What a foolish woman she was. There he was, living with his wife, living with his mistress, seeing other women. Having his cake and eating it. And Eileen was so desperate to keep the lying, cheating, two-faced creep, she’d got Sky Sports for him!

  Never! Never in a million years would Brenda sink to such levels. She had her pride. Besides Barry wasn’t anything like that two-faced rat of Eileen’s. Barry had integrity.

  Brenda felt a little happier. He’d change his mind about the divorce. She was sure of it. If only Alison would find a new man. That would solve everything, Brenda thought with renewed hope. Maybe it would happen soon. In a few days’ time, Alison was going to Tomangos with some friends. Ciara was going to a party. Brenda was going to have Barry all to herself for a few hours. They would go to a football match together. She wanted to share every part of his life.

  “I suppose I’d better go home,” she heard her lover say.

  How she longed for the time when he could stay all night. That would be the most wonderful thing in the world.

  Chapter Five

  Lillian McHugh snuggled under the quilt and pulled it up over her ears. The bed was lovely and warm. She could hear the rain lashing against the window. I think I’ll have a lazy day today, she decided.

  Lillian smiled. How lovely! Who would have ever thought that she’d be able to lie in bed and do exactly what she liked. She could stay in bed all day if she wanted to. At seventy years of age, she was a liberated woman!

  Thank you, God, for making me a widow.

  It was a heart-felt prayer. Since her husband Tom had died two years ago, her life had changed completely. She’d discovered a whole new world.

  She didn’t have to get up at the crack of dawn any more to cook a breakfast for a cross, grumpy old man. She didn’t have to wash smelly socks. She didn’t have to iron shirts. There were a lot of things she didn’t have to do any more.

  Lillian had hated Tom McHugh, her dead husband. They’d been married for forty-five years. He’d made her life a misery. She’d had to put up with his moods. His meanness. And his bad temper. Tom had been a most selfish man.

  He’d courted her for three years, and then married her. She, like a fool, had believed that life would be happy-ever-after. She’d mistaken his quiet, reserved ways for shyness. The relief of having a ring on her finger had been wonderful. She wouldn’t end up an old maid! The excitement of having a home of her own had helped her overlook her disappointment in her new husband.

  She’d thought that they would do things together. Go to the cinema, the theatre. Or even go out for a meal now and again. But once the honeymoon was over and they’d started living in the small terraced house they’d bought in Fairview, her dreams had quickly turned to ashes.

  Tom wasn’t the slightest bit interested in them doing anything together. He went to work. Read his sports news in the paper. On Friday he went to his football matches.

  He expected his breakfast on the table at seven a.m. sharp. His dinner had to be on the table when he came home from work in the evening. They had sex every Saturday night and that was over almost before it started. After a few grunts and groans and rough fumblings Tom would roll over and fall asleep.

  That had been the pattern throughout their marriage.

  They’d had one child. Barry. He was a quiet, lonely boy. He’d left home as soon as he’d done his Leaving Cert and gone to live in a flat in Drumcondra.