It could never happen he.., p.26
It Could Never Happen Here, page 26
‘Beverley.’
Her hand flew two leaflets to the left and she plucked a page at random. Fiona Murphy had left the studio too, red-faced and sweating in a hot-pink Adidas sports bra that was at least a decade too young for her. Fiona threw the gold chain of her Chanel purse across her chest, like one of the tackier Kardashians.
‘I’m with you,’ she said, still breathing heavily. ‘Any excuse to wrap things up early.’ Her eyes tracked down. ‘Never too soon to be making plans.’
Beverley looked at the brochure in her hand, an advertorial leaflet for a new eco-cemetery in east Cork. She stuffed it back into the display. ‘What do you want, Fiona?’
‘Just checking in. You’ve been quiet on WhatsApp. And you didn’t sign Lorna’s petition for Woody Whitehead’s expulsion. Fair enough, I didn’t sign it either. It’s amazing Cooney hasn’t been submerged into the Atlantic with the weight of all these petitions.’ She pulled at the strap of her bag. ‘So, how are you? How’s the musical? I heard Woody’s gone. That’s quite the mess they’ve left you in. The lion, wow. Tough role to replace.’
‘We’ll manage.’
The rest of the class flowed out of the studio now, chatting and fanning their hands in front of their faces. Beverley waited for Fiona to stand to one side, then she did the same.
‘I was thinking this might be a chance for Ciara to move up a bit. You remember we were looking for a bigger role for her?’
‘And we found one. She’s the Wicked Witch of the West.’
‘The Witch of the West,’ she corrected.
‘I have to go now, Fiona. I need to get ice water on my face before it sucks up all these awful toxins.’
Fiona pursed her lips. Beverley felt the twitch, but she didn’t blink.
‘Now that the lion is available, I was thinking Ciara could move up again,’ she said, readjusting her gold chain. ‘I was also thinking that since Amelia has the perfect hair to play a lion – all yellowy and coarse – she’d be better suited to that role, while Ciara would work perfectly as Dorothy. Her hair is so fine, it looks great in pigtails, and she knows most of the lines.’
‘In-croy-able,’ said Beverley, throwing her head back and laughing, though what she really wanted to do was smack this pathetic cradle-snatcher hard on her inflamed cheeks. ‘I think the heat might have gone to your head.’
‘You just need a minute to think it over.’
‘I really don’t.’
Fiona frowned, or tried to. ‘I think you’re forgetting what I know, Beverley.’
Beverley stood straighter and relaxed her shoulders. She was always an inch taller after yoga and she used it to her advantage. Fiona didn’t balk.
‘I was actually out at Tamara’s house this morning,’ she continued, ‘and she was talking about Malachy, your Malachy, of all people. It seems she knows him, too. Which I didn’t realise. Did you realise?’
Beverley had had enough. ‘And I heard about you and Arlo Whitehead.’
Fiona smiled modestly, flapping a hand, as if batting away a compliment.
‘He’s a child, Fiona.’
The woman rolled her eyes. ‘He’s eighteen.’
‘You should be ashamed of yourself.’
‘Oh, come on,’ she scoffed. ‘Anyway, it’s got nothing to do with you. Worry about your own relationship. And let’s not get off subject here. Ciara is playing Dorothy. Or else.’
Two regulars from the class passed them and Beverley cracked a smile.
When they were gone, she moved closer. This time, Fiona’s chin betrayed her. She tried to point it upwards, but there was a hint of a tremor.
Beverley thought of Ella sobbing through the ceiling; of all the untouched trays of food that had sat outside her door; of how deathly lonely it felt to be betrayed. If Beverley could get away with it, she’d have pulled that bag strap up and wrapped it around Fiona’s neck.
‘If you utter one word about my family or me, I’ll tell everyone about you and that child.’
The woman shrugged. ‘He’s eighteen, and he’s hot.’
‘I’ll tell Ciara.’
Fiona’s eyes narrowed, or tried to.
Beverley, who paid twice as much for her Botox, widened her own.
‘You wouldn’t dare.’
‘And Butcher.’
Fiona looked worried now.
‘I’m not sure how he’d feel about his ex-wife taking up with a teenager, but I guess we’ll find out. Do you remember that time he thought Mr Peoples had the hots for you? Arlo will have a lot more to worry about than a pig’s head on his car bonnet.’
‘It’s not true, okay?’ Fiona hissed, looking over her shoulder. ‘We kissed, just about, but he – I mean, I was just about to stop it, but he chickened out first. Not that I was actually going to do anything. It was just sort of a joke. Nothing happened.’
‘That’s not what I heard. That’s not what everyone is saying.’
Fiona sighed. ‘I can’t help it if people are obsessed with my love life. They’re trying to live vicariously through me. But I never actually said anything happened; Lorna Farrell heard what she wanted and ran with it.’
‘And you didn’t think to correct her?’
The woman shrugged.
Beverley could imagine exactly how it had gone down: the teenager shunning Fiona’s advances and, not taking this slight well, her allowing everyone to think something had happened between them. It was pathetic, but it was very Fiona.
‘Goodbye, Fiona,’ she said coldly. ‘I really can’t allow my pores to suck up any more of this.’ She looked her straight in the eye. The woman inhaled loudly but said nothing. Then she turned on her heels and walked to the exit.
Beverley headed for the bathroom. If she didn’t get water on her face stat, her skin would get even worse. But first, she leaned back and grabbed the Recovering from Eating Disorders pamphlet.
..................
Mrs Rodgers had waited patiently by the back door for almost twenty-four hours. She’d arrived home from her Tidy Towns committee meeting yesterday afternoon to find the house empty. She’d thought Albert had been suitably fattened so he could no longer fit through the cat flap, but she must have been mistaken. She had the back door wide open now and she was sitting on a low stool ready to greet him, but still he didn’t return.
She didn’t know how Albert would have coped last night. He’d never been out alone in the dark. Come to think of it, he had never been out alone. She’d done a thorough tour of the house, checking every window, and giving the front and back doors a good once-over. Of course, her mind had sprung to the neglectful family up the street, but there was no way they could have got in to steal her cat.
A thought occurred to her. The only other person with a key to her home was Father O’Shea. As far as she knew, he was still in Medjugorje, hunting for the spectre of Our Lady. Still, it was worth a shot.
To her surprise, he answered on the third ring.
‘Blessings upon you, Father Brendan O’Shea speaking.’
‘Oh, hello, Father, it’s Rita Rodgers, from number one. I wasn’t expecting you to be home.’
‘Hello, Mrs Rodgers. Yes, I flew in last night. Turned out it wasn’t the Blessed Mother up on the hill at all, just some kids playing a practical joke, Protestants probably. So, I said I’d get back before All Saints’ Day.’
‘I’m sorry you had a wasted trip.’
‘Not at all. Didn’t I get a beautiful new halo in the apparitions’ gift shop? Fits perfectly on my Blessed Mother shrine and phenomenal wattage. You must call and see her, Mrs Rodgers. She’d bring the most lapsed believer to his knees.’
‘Sounds lovely.’
‘What can I do you for? Another few prayers over an animal grave?’ The priest chuckled, but when she didn’t immediately correct him, he grew sombre. ‘Oh, I am sorry, Mrs Rodgers, don’t tell me you’ve lost another cat? Of all the bad luck. How many is that that have gone and died on you this year?’
‘Still just the three, Father. And I don’t know what happens; I feed them so well.’
‘You need to stop adopting such hopeless cases.’
‘That must be it,’ she said gravely. ‘But no, no funeral required today. I’m calling about the spare key to my house. I wanted to check you still have it. Nobody has come looking for it?’
‘Not that I know of, but as I said, I was away until last night. Hang on just a tick and I’ll check.’
‘Thank you, Father.’
As she waited for the priest to pull out the old tea tin where he kept the keys, Mrs Rodgers gazed out onto her vibrant rose bushes. Wcasthile every other garden on Seaview Terrace was muted in the autumn months, hers retained colour. She never bothered with coffins. At least that way their lives had not been in vain. Their lovely, overfed bodies were the greatest fertiliser her plants had ever known.
‘Still there, Mrs Rodgers?’
‘I am, Father.’
‘Well, so are the keys. I’ve got yours right here.’ The soft jangle travelled down the receiver.
‘Okay, Father, thank you for checking. I’ll see you at mass on Sunday.’
‘By the grace of God,’ said Fr O’Shea, in what was more Irish pessimism than religious blessing.
Mrs Rodgers walked out into her back garden and looked up in the direction of the Maguires’ home. If Albert was there, could it be that he’d gone of his own volition? When she thought about all their evenings, eating meat and cheese boards in front of marathon runs of The Chase – well, it was almost too much to bear.
..................
‘Two minutes. Literally, two minutes and then you get the fuck out of my house, boy.’
Ella wrapped her arms tightly across her chest as she stood in the middle of her bedroom. She’d never cursed at him before, not in a serious way. He stayed where he was, right inside her door, arms hanging uselessly by his side. He didn’t dare go any further. He was so glad to see her, even if she refused to look at him, even if he’d just risked being shot as she snuck him up the stairs. Ella’s father had inherited a military collection of guns, and you could just tell Beverley would have a killer aim.
‘Thanks for seeing me. I really appreciate it,’ he said, like she was a doctor who’d fitted him in for an early check-up.
‘One minute, forty-five seconds.’
She’d finally answered one of his calls. He’d promised it wasn’t about him. He needed to talk to her about Woody. He was worried, and there was nobody else.
‘You’re not wearing your A and E necklace.’ He looked around the room, deciding that if he could see it, if it was still here, then all hope was not lost. He scanned the bedposts, the hooks above her desk, but nothing. ‘It’s not what you think with Mrs Murphy, Fiona, your mom’s friend. I barely kissed her – I mean, I didn’t kiss her at all. She kissed me, but barely. And I didn’t kiss her back. I couldn’t. It was barely a second and then I pushed her off.’
‘One and a half minutes.’
‘I should have messaged you back straight away, I know, but I wanted to tell you about it and I was just trying to figure out how, and then I had to visit my dad and there was all this stuff with Woody, and then your mom came to my house’ – her eyes widened at this, but he ploughed on; he didn’t want to miss his one chance to explain – ‘and she seemed to think something more had happened, like maybe we slept together or something mental like that, but I don’t know where she got that idea, because I would never, I could never …’
Sweet Jesus, Arly, do not cry.
Leo’s voice righted him. He hadn’t heard from him in days.
‘I wouldn’t even have let her get that close, if it wasn’t for Woody.
She knew he’d been sexting other girls in the class and I wanted her to keep it to herself. I mean, it’s too late now because everybody knows, but that’s the only reason I let her, even for a second …’
Eyes cold, she didn’t budge.
‘I’m so sorry, Ella.’
‘You promised you were here to talk about Woody.’
‘I am.’
‘Well, if you don’t start talking about him, I’m going to open that door and scream down to my parents that there’s a boy in my bedroom – a Whitehead boy.’
The scorn hit him in the chest, and it was worse than people phoning their house and telling them to move, worse even than being spat at on the street. He wanted to sink into the carpet and disappear.
‘Did you hear about the pictures? About all the other girls, not just Amelia? Woody was exchanging nudes with all these girls in his class. I mean, I know you and me sent …’ She was looking at him now, but it was not a regard he welcomed. He cleared his throat. ‘But he’s twelve, and so many girls. That’s not normal, is it? And he’s always on his own, in his room, playing computer games. Why wasn’t I more alarmed by that? My dad asked me to look after him and I’m fucking up, Ella. I am fucking everything up.’
There was silence, and he thought she was going to leave it there, his desperation hanging in the air.
‘Talk to him.’
‘I don’t know how.’
‘Of course you do. You’re close.’
Arlo shook his head.
‘You said he was the most important person in your life.’
‘When did I say that?’
‘In your fifth-year religion essay. You said you knew him better than anyone else.’
He blushed at the memory of that essay being read aloud in school. He couldn’t believe she remembered. ‘Not any more. I’ve been avoiding him for months – I’ve been avoiding everything and everyone in my house. What am I supposed to do? Just waltz into his bedroom now and ask him why he’s become some sort of weird sex fiend?’
‘I wouldn’t phrase it like that but yeah, basically.’
‘I can’t. I know it’s pathetic, but just thinking about it makes me want to die of embarrassment. I can’t do it. I’m too much of a wimp.’
‘You’re not a wimp, Arlo,’ she said reluctantly, her arms loosening slightly. She sighed. ‘Look, what you need to do is channel Bev. Whenever I have to do something I don’t want to do, I just pretend I’m my mother. She sees the thing that needs to be done, and she does it. She can be rude, but she gets shit done. And she does it straight away. She says you should start the day with the task you least want to do and, loath as I am to ever take her advice, it’s a pretty good philosophy.’
‘So, talk to Woody in the morning?’
‘Not just any morning; tomorrow morning. If it wasn’t so late, I’d say go home and do it now, but yeah, first thing in the morning. Now get out of my house.’
35
••••••
Arlo knocked on the bedroom door and waited. It was barely 7 a.m. and already the low rumble of gunfire and general warfare emanated from the other side. He knocked again. Then he let himself in.
His little brother was in his pyjamas, sitting in his usual position, on the carpet with his back against the foot of the bed, eyes focused on the lifelike military forces doing battle on the Whiteheads’ old TV set. He leaned slightly to the right, pressing down hard on the controller, and furrowed his brow.
‘I don’t think you’re supposed to be playing games this early.’
‘I’m not allowed to play them before school,’ corrected Woody, leaning forward now. ‘But I’m not going to school today. I’m off all week.’
‘You’re not off. You’re suspended.’
‘Yeah, I know.’
‘Well, it’s a bit different.’
The boy made no further sound until something exploded on the screen, the muted colours reverberated, and the action stopped. ‘That’s so sly! I almost had him!’
‘Can I talk to you for a minute?’
‘Yeah, I just have one more life left and then …’
The screen burst into motion again, text appearing at the top as the man in camouflage began to jog. Arlo could feel his insides tensing. It would be too easy to turn and leave, to say he’d be back into him later.
He walked across the room, so he was standing to the side of the old television. ‘Now, Woody.’
‘It’ll only take two secs—’
‘Now!’
His brother looked up at him, mouth slightly open. This was not a dynamic they were used to. Even when they had been closer, he had always been Woody’s ally, not his disciplinarian. Arlo wasn’t a father figure; he was a big brother.
Woody hit a button on the remote and the whole screen went dark.
Arlo pushed some of the clothes, including the Glass Lake uniform, from the armchair in the corner of the room and sat. Woody scrambled up on to the bed, his legs tucked under him.
‘Is – is everything okay? Did something bad happen? Is it you? Is it Mom?’
‘No, it’s you, Woody. I want to talk about you. Okay?’
Arlo was stalling, trying to figure out how to address the matter. He tried to imagine what his father would say, but all he could hear was Charlie Whitehead’s instruction, that Arlo look after his mother and brother. This was his responsibility. He couldn’t channel his father any more than he could channel Beverley Franklin.
‘I want to talk about the photos of the girls in your class and the graffiti on your teacher’s coat. I don’t understand why you would do those things. It doesn’t make sense to me.’
Woody regarded him blankly.
‘Why did you do them?’
‘I just did.’
‘You just did? That’s it? No greater reason than, ’cause I felt like it.’
‘Not really.’ Woody picked up the controller and turned it around in his hands before tossing it aside again.
‘You just really wanted to see the other kids in your class naked, your friends?’
Woody cringed.
‘You wanted to see them all naked?’
‘No,’ said his brother.
‘Well, that’s what you got. Do you fancy them? I didn’t even think you were into girls yet. And now apparently you’re into them all.’
‘I’m not.’ Woody’s face started to go that familiar shade of red.
