The Woman at 72 Derry Lane: A gripping, emotional page turner that will make you laugh and cry. Carmel Harrington
Larkin!
The day I finished my last junior cert exam, as we all gorged on big bowls of ice-cream sundaes that Mam made in celebration, she said, ‘I wonder how many of these boys we could put away in that free buffet they have?’
‘I’d eat ten of these without even thinking,’ Eli retorted. At eighteen, he was lean, tall and had an appetite that never was satisfied. Yep, he wasn’t lying. With ease he’d do that.
‘Well, let’s put that boast to the test. Get me the laptop there, Skye, and we’ll book ourselves a cruise.’
‘For real?’ I said, completely floored.
‘For real,’ Mam replied gently.
Eli and I didn’t celebrate until the moment that Dad actually paid the deposit. When he hit send on the words, Confirm Payment, we both held our breath. And then, all of sudden, it felt absolute. Dad started to sing ‘We Are Sailing’ by Rod Stewart and even though Eli and I didn’t know the words, we all joined in as best we could. I prefer to make my own words up anyhow. Mam started to wear scarves jauntily tied around her neck, or over her head, with big dark sunglasses. She told us she was perfecting her ‘cruise lounge wear’ and we took delight in jeering at her. But in my bedroom, when nobody was around, I tried on every single outfit I owned, planning my own cruise wardrobe.
I’d never had a boyfriend and I daydreamed that maybe my first one would be someone foreign and exotic. Maybe the son of a rich tycoon. With his own helicopter or private jet. That would be so cool. He’d be called Brad and he’d fall in love with me instantly. Yes, someone like Brad would certainly cruise a lot. Faye Larkin would die, she’d be so jealous.
Dad came home the next day from work with a bag full of sailors’ caps he’d bought in the euro store. When we all put ours on Mam giggled so much that she told us a little bit of pee came out. Sometimes my parents had no filter. She couldn’t be saying stuff like that on a cruise. What if Brad heard?
I got out my pencils again and made a countdown chart. We had forty-eight days until our departure date. I stuck the chart under a pineapple magnet on our fridge door.
Now I can’t even look at a pineapple without wanting to throw it hard against the wall, smashing it into smithereens.
Because before we got any wear out of the sailor caps our second curve ball was propelled at us, at great speed. Another clue from the universe telling us to stay home. Paradise is not meant for the Maddens, it screamed. Stop dreaming of foreign shores. Go on down to Sneem and do the Ring of Kerry for the twentieth time. It’s safer. But the universe’s warnings fell on deaf ears.
It was forty-six days until departure day when a phone call changed everything.
SKYE
Eli burst in from the hall, whispering to me and Dad that something was wrong with Mam. We walked out and she was ashen, silent, nodding over and over again, as she listened to the call.
‘What is it, love?’ Dad asked and she ignored us, or maybe just didn’t hear him, I don’t know. Minutes felt like hours as we waited for her to hang up and tell us what was wrong. Whatever it was, it had trouble written all over it. She walked slowly into the kitchen, shaking and tearful as she sank into one of the chairs.
‘Give your mother some space. Put the kettle on, Skye,’ Dad said and Mam reached her hands out to clasp his.
‘It’s Aunty Paula. She’s got cancer. Breast cancer. They have to do a full mastectomy next week.’
Dad sank into a chair beside Mam and he kept shaking his head, as if that would make the words go away and not be true. It was the first time that anyone in our family had ever been sick and we were all thrown by it. I felt panic and terror battle their way into my head. And looking at my family, we were all feeling the same.
The next week went by in a blur. Mam went down to Sneem and daily phone calls came with more damning updates. Aunty Paula’s cancer had spread to her lymph nodes. It was aggressive. More surgery. Mastectomies. Long talks with doctors were had, discussing treatment options. Paula would need chemotherapy and then radiotherapy.
‘A long hard road ahead of her,’ Mam told us.
When Mam came home two weeks later, her shoulders sagging, she looked older. Lines seemed to have sprung up on her face and there was a sprinkling of grey in her hair that hadn’t been there two weeks ago. The whispering in corners began again. When they called Eli and me into the good sitting room we stood close together, shoulder to shoulder, bracing ourselves for the bad news.
I whispered to Eli, ‘I think she’s dead.’ And he nodded in response and reached out to hold my hand.
I can remember looking down at our fingers clasped together and thinking that it was years since we’d done that. We used to play outside as kids, hand in hand, skipping around our garden as we came up with new adventures. I’d forgotten how much comfort I took from that hand. I felt the welts on his fingers, earned from his many woodwork projects. And when he squeezed my hand tight, I wished we were kids again and could skip our way to another land. Lose ourselves in our imaginations, far away from the damning imminent news.
But we were wrong. Thank goodness we were wrong, because Aunty Paula was kind and we loved her dearly.
‘Things are tough for Paula right now,’ Mam said tearfully. ‘She has a big mortgage and money is tight …’ she stopped and looked to Dad for help. But he was silent too and just looked at us, twisting his hands.
Eli got it before me, as he always did. ‘We are going to give our holiday money to Aunty Paula, aren’t we?’
They nodded silently.
Paradise lost once more.
Like the last time, my immediate reaction wasn’t very nice. I wish I was the kind of person who jumped right in on occasions like these and said with grace, ‘it doesn’t matter.’ But all I could think about in that moment was the big cinema screen that overlooked the outdoor swimming pool on the mahoosive cruise liner and the first kiss that Brad would steal under the stars. All I could feel was bitter disappointment.
I remained silent, selfish as I was, and made my parents feel worse than they already did.
‘We’ve only paid a deposit, so we’d just lose that. I don’t think in any conscience I could head off on a cruise, spend thousands, knowing that …’ Mam started to cry.
Dad looked at Eli and me, imploring us with his eyes to be generous and kind and not give Mam a hard time. ‘That money from the cruise would pay her mortgage for six months. Give her time to catch her breath after the surgery. She’s chemo to face, not to mention the radiotherapy.’
Eli squeezed my hand again and I sneaked a glance at him, trying to work out where he was with the news.
‘It has to be a decision that we all agree on. Everyone in this family has contributed to that saving fund. And if one of you says no, we’ll leave it at that.’
I felt elated for a moment. I can say no. And who could blame me. I mean, we gave up our money the last time for Dad’s car. Aunty Paula wouldn’t want us to miss our holiday. She’s lovely.
Lovely. Aunty Paula is lovely.
Memories of all those times she’d come to stay. Arms loaded down with all the gifts she had spoiled us with over the years. Arms open wide for all the warm hugs and cuddles she doled out with that same generosity. Only last month she’d sent down a new top for me that she’d noticed in a shop near her. Her note said, ‘It’s just your colour and will look gorgeous on you.’ And it did too. I wore it out the other night to the cinema with the girls and they all raved about it.
Oh Aunty Paula. Of course we had to give her the money.
I