THE PROMISE OF HAPPINESS

‘I know, Mum,’ said Joanne, her voice softening. ‘But it’s best not to try. You only end up hurting yourself.’

Louise swallowed the shock like a dry, hard crust. Up until now she had clung to an image of her mother as she had always been – capable, reserved, self-effacing. The constant, steady backdrop to a happy childhood. Louise remembered sleeves rolled up on wash day revealing taut arms stronger than they appeared; slender pink hands, slimy with sudsy water, hauling clothes out of the twin tub, the water grey from previous washes. She remembered a slim, resolute woman who moved through her narrow life with purpose and busyness, ever watchful for extravagant waste and moral laxness.

She recalled the relentless, tight-fisted management of household finances so that there was always just enough money for Christmas and a week-long summer holiday in a grotty boarding house in Ballycastle. And the going without on her mother’s part that this rigorous budgeting required.

Her mother shifted in her seat, and winced. She flexed the fingers on her right hand and looked at the deformed knuckles with a scowl on her face. ‘The doctor’s put me on a new drug but he says it’ll take weeks, months even, before I notice any difference. Maybe I need another one of those injections …’

‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ said Louise, feeling a sudden rush of compassion for her mother – and a creeping sense of guilt. Balancing the cup and saucer on her knee, she reached over and patted her mother’s knee. ‘I’ll be able to help out more now.’ Why hadn’t Joanne, or Sian, warned her that her mother’s health had deteriorated so?

Thinking of their younger sister, Louise said, ‘Where’s Sian and Andy tonight?’

Joanne replied, ‘Oh, she and Andy had to go to some meeting about that eco-development at Loughanlea.’ Joanne fiddled with the tiny shell buttons on her cardigan, her small feet neatly tucked together under her knees. She seemed restless, on edge and she radiated what Louise could only describe as ill-will. ‘As Chair of Friends of Ballyfergus Lough, Sian said it was really important that she was there for tonight’s meeting,’ she went on, and then added rather formally, ‘She sends her apologies.’

‘That’s okay. I’ll see her tomorrow.’ Louise held her breath while her mother shakily lifted the cup to her lips, its dainty handle sandwiched awkwardly between her forefinger and swollen thumb. She managed to take a sip and return the cup to its place on the saucer without a spillage. Louise relaxed while Joanne, still on edge, let out air like steam.

‘She ought to have been here to welcome you. But you know Sian. Saving the world comes before her own family.’

‘Oh, Joanne,’ said Louise, scolding gently, ‘I’m sure she would’ve been here if she could. And I don’t mind. It’s better for Oli this way. Meeting too many people all at once would just overwhelm him.’

Joanne raised her eyebrows and looked out the window, unconvinced. Louise, wanting to avoid further discord, ploughed on with a change of subject, ‘Anyway, how’s the redevelopment of the old quarry at Loughanlea coming on? It must be nearly finished.’ The disused cement works, located just a few miles outside Ballyfergus on the western shore of the Lough, had blighted the landscape for over two hundred years. Four years ago ambitious plans for its regeneration had finally received the green light from the authorities.

‘According to Sian,’ said Joanne, ‘most of the major construction work’s completed. As well as the mountain bike centre, they’re building a scuba diving centre, a bird watching centre, a heritage railway centre and God knows what all else. And when it’s finished, the eco-village will have over four hundred homes. It’ll cover the northern part of the peninsula.’ She was referring to a wing-shaped spit of land formed from basalt excavated from the quarry and dumped into the Lough.

‘And when’s Sian and Andy’s house going to be ready?’

‘September, I think. Theirs is going to be one of the first to be completed.’

Louise nodded thoughtfully. She’d been so wrapped up in her own plans she’d almost forgotten that Sian was about to move home too, albeit not halfway across the UK.

Her mother tutted loudly, shook her head and set the cup and saucer down noisily on the table. ‘I don’t know what Sian’s thinking about, buying a house with a man she’s not even married to. Don’t get me wrong, your father and I are very fond of Andy.’ She folded her arms across her chest. ‘But we don’t approve of this living together business.’

Louise rolled her eyes at Joanne who said, ‘Everyone lives together before getting married nowadays, Mum.’

‘You didn’t,’ she snapped.

Joanne thought for a moment. ‘Well, maybe I should have. You can’t really know someone until you live with them.’

‘And a fat lot of good it did me,’ said Louise, looking into her cup. She sighed, took a sip of tea and added, ‘Mind you, I imagine an eco-village, whatever that is, will be right up Sian and Andy’s street.’

‘Oh, you should hear the two of them banging on about it,’ said Joanne, diving back into the conversation with sudden energy. ‘They’re like religious zealots. What they don’t know about sustainable living isn’t worth knowing.’

‘They’re always on at your dad and I to grow our own food,’ interjected her mother, nodding, ‘and make compost out of our used tea bags.’ She snorted. ‘I think they forget that your father and I are in our seventies.’

Her mother’s uncharacteristic ridicule took Louise slightly by surprise. ‘Well, the whole project sounds very exciting,’ she said feebly, feeling a little guilty at her participation in the mean-spirited mockery, albeit gentle, of Sian and her fiancé. ‘And it’s good that Sian and Andy are involved. You need passionate people to get something like that off the ground.’

Joanne pulled the edges of her cardigan together. ‘Hmm … I’m just glad she found someone like Andy who shares her views, that’s all.’ But she said it like she was affronted, rather than pleased.

‘Andy’s lovely,’ said Louise. ‘He really is.’

Her mother nodded. ‘Yes, he is a decent fella.’ A pause. ‘In spite of his … ideas.’

‘Well,’ said Louise, ‘there’s nothing wrong with being concerned about the environment.’

Joanne snorted dismissively like Louise didn’t know what she was talking about. She folded her legs and said, snippily, ‘It’s not what they do that bothers me. It’s going round telling the rest of us how to live that grates. It drives Phil nuts.’

Joanne had been married to handsome Phil Montgomery for fifteen years. A little flash of envy pricked Louise. She wished she had a husband and everything that went with it – the sharing of worry and responsibility, the freedom to have as many kids as they pleased, the security of two incomes, the social inclusion. But envy was a destructive emotion – she tried to put these thoughts out of her mind.

‘Wait till Sian starts on you,’ said Joanne, raising her eyebrows and running the flat of her palm down a smooth tanned leg. ‘You’ll know all about it then.’ She stood up suddenly, while Louise was still formulating a reply and slung her bag over her shoulder. ‘Well, I suppose I’d better take my lot home and give you a chance to get Oli to bed. Oh, how could I forget? The keys to your flat!’ She pulled a yellow plastic key fob from the bag and passed it to Louise. ‘It was the best one I could find. Furnished flats are a bit thin on the ground in Ballyfergus.’

‘Thanks.’ Louise nodded, staring at the two shiny Yale keys, the passport to her new life, and rubbed one of them between her finger and thumb. ‘You know it’s really weird moving in somewhere I haven’t seen, even if it is only rented. The pictures on the internet looked nice.’

‘I think you’ll like it,’ said Joanne and frowned. ‘Though it’s not as big as you’re used to.’

‘I’m sure it’ll be just fine. Thanks for sorting it out for me.’

‘Now’s the time to buy, you know,’ said Joanne, dusting something imaginary off the front of her cardigan.

‘And I will,’ said Louise, ‘just as soon as I get my place in Edinburgh sold.’

‘Are you moving in straight away?’ said Mum.

‘Tomorrow. The removal van’s due at eight-thirty but most of my stuff’s staying in storage until I buy a place.’

‘I’ll meet you there at nine to give you a hand,’ said Joanne. ‘Phil can look after the girls for a change!’ She laughed humourlessly, then marched purposefully out of the room. Moments later howls of protest echoed up the hall.

Her father’s voice bellowed from the kitchen, not sounding nearly as scary as he intended. ‘Will you wee ’ans keep the noise down in there? We’re trying to talk.’

‘I’d better go and see what your dad’s up to,’ said her mother, hauling herself to a standing position and hobbling painfully out of the room.

Louise went and stood at the door to the TV room which seemed so much smaller than she remembered it. She slipped her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, and leant against the door frame. The two younger children – seven-year-old Abbey and Oli – were seated cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV. Abbey wore a grubby candy pink T-shirt and mismatched fuchsia-coloured shorts. She insisted on choosing her outfits herself – and it showed. Ten-year-old Holly, thin-faced, with long brown hair and pale blue eyes, was draped over the sofa.

Maddy, womanly at fourteen, was perched on the arm of the sofa, texting furiously with the thumbs of both hands. She possessed a full chest, brown eyes and shoulder-length, dark brown hair streaked with blonde. She wore a short denim skirt over bare orange-brown legs and, even though it was summer and warm outside, a pair of fake Ugg boots. A fringed black and white Palestine scarf was draped around her neck – a fashion, rather than a political, statement.

‘I said it’s time to go,’ said Joanne, authoritatively. She picked up the remote, switched the TV off and threw the control on the sofa with some force. Instantly the air was thick with tension. Holly glanced at Maddy. Louise bit her lip, sensing a confrontation, afraid to watch, afraid to look away. Abbey leapt instantly to her feet, placed her hands on the place where she would one day have hips and stared at her mother, her face hard with anger.

‘Put it back on! I hadn’t finished watching,’ she demanded. Blonde hair, tied up in two pigtails, stuck out either side of her head. Her freckled cheeks were pink with indignation and her entire body shook with rage. Oli’s cherubic mouth fell open in amazement.

The muscles on Joanne’s jaw flexed. ‘I said it was time to go, Abbey.’

‘But you don’t understand. It’s not finished yet, Mum!’ wailed the child, arms held out to convey her frustration at her mother’s ignorance.

Oli stood up, a toy car dangling from his right hand, his mouth still gaping open, utterly transfixed by his cousin.

‘Mum, there’s only a few minutes left to go,’ ventured Maddy, looking up momentarily from her texting. ‘Why don’t you—’

‘That’s enough,’ snapped Joanne, pushing her hair back. ‘I don’t know why you lot can’t just do what you’re asked. Just once.’ Her voice rose to a shriek. ‘Would that be too much to ask? I work my fingers to the bone for this family and I ask you to do one thing. One thing! And you can’t do it.’

Maddy sighed loudly and turned away, her features hidden by a curtain of hair. Joanne put her hands over her face, stood like that for a few moments and then removed them. ‘You can finish watching the programme another day, Abbey,’ she said, her calm voice barely disguising hysteria. She gave Holly a poke in the leg with her finger. ‘Now come on all of you. It’s time to go. Oli needs to go to bed.’

‘It’s not even dark yet,’ said Holly huffily from her slouched position on the sofa, arms folded across her chest. Her skinny legs stretched out Bambi-like from beneath a flowered skirt.

Maddy looked up and said, ‘Holly, can we just, like, go please?’

But Abbey would not give up. ‘It’s not a DVD, Mum!’ she screeched. ‘Don’t you understand? It’s on TV. I’ll never, ever get to see it again. You’re … you’re …’ She bubbled with rage. ‘… so stupid.’

‘Don’t you dare speak to me like that young lady!’ snapped Joanne, and she reached forward and swiped ineffectually at Abbey’s legs – the child, too quick for her mother, sidestepped nimbly out of harm’s way.

Louise bit her lip and winced. Oli ran over to her and peered out from behind her legs, no doubt keen to see, as Louise was, how this fracas would play itself out.

Maddy groaned quietly, rolled her eyes at Louise and returned to her texting. Common wisdom dictated that an only child was harder work than a bigger family, the idea being that an only child, with no sibling to play with, always looked to the parents, or in Louise’s case parent, for entertainment. Louise wasn’t so sure that the theory held. She’d never attempted to hit her child like Joanne had just done. Louise wondered what was going on with her sister. She seemed to be on the verge of losing it.

Abbey looked about feverishly, spied the remote and dived for it, just as Holly scooped it off the couch and clutched it to her chest. ‘Mum said the TV was to stay OFF, Abbey,’ she said sternly, and gave her sister a devilish smirk.

It had the desired effect. Abbey pounced on her sister screaming and both rolled on the couch wrestling with the device.

‘Mum, get her off me!’ yelled Holly. ‘She pulled my hair.’

‘Give me that,’ hollered Abbey, throwing her head back to reveal a face red with exertion and two missing front teeth. ‘Give me that now!’

‘That’s enough both of you!’ screamed Joanne, her eyes bulging with rage, her face puce.

Immediately the children went silent – even Maddy paused in her texting – and stared at their mother. Joanne closed her eyes and sliced the air horizontally with a slow cutting motion, like a conductor silencing the orchestra. She lowered her voice until it was full of menace and barely audible. ‘I have had enough,’ she said, pronouncing each word like an elocution teacher.

Frankie Cahoon shouted a goodbye from the other end of the hall and the front door slammed.

‘What’s going on in here?’ came her father’s genial voice over Louise’s shoulder. He smelled of whiskey and aftershave. What remained of his hair was grey and short and his bald patch, browned by the sun, shone like a polished bowling ball. His jaw was slack with age but his brown eyes twinkled with the same good temper Louise remembered from his youth.

‘World War Three,’ said Louise without humour and she cast a worried glance over her shoulder. Her father chuckled, his whiskery cheeks crumpling into a smile. He rocked a little in his slippers, his hands deep in the pockets of his navy slacks.

‘Let me guess – Abbey?’ he said.

‘Yep.’

‘Grandpa,’ cried Holly, as soon as she saw him. ‘Abbey pulled my—’

‘She wouldn’t let me have the—’ interrupted Abbey.

‘Enough,’ commanded Joanne in a loud, forceful voice and Abbey, now seated on the floor, started to cry.

When it came to tears, their father was a pushover. ‘There, there now, pet,’ he said, shuffling past Louise into the room. He sat on the sofa, pulled the crying child onto his knees and stroked her hair. Abbey’s sobs, instead of abating, intensified.

‘She started it,’ said Joanne, clearly not impressed by this intervention. She folded her arms across her chest and glared at Abbey.

‘Now that’s not very nice, is it, Abbey?’ asked her father and Abbey, glancing furtively at Joanne, sniffed and shook her head.

‘But she wouldn’t give me the remote,’ protested Abbey.

Holly retaliated quickly. ‘She wanted to turn the TV on and Mum said—’

‘I want you both to say sorry to each other,’ said their grandfather, cutting Holly short. After a brief exchange of petulant glares, amazingly, both girls complied. Under their grandfather’s direction, they even embraced and in moments all was forgotten.

Then suddenly Joanne grabbed Abbey by the arm and pulled her off her grandfather’s lap. ‘We’re going now. Come on. Bye, Dad.’ She marched Abbey out of the room brushing past Louise, Maddy and Holly trailing in her wake. ‘You three go on out to the car. I’ll be out in a minute,’ she instructed, giving Abbey a rather forceful shove out the door.

Joanne said a brief goodbye to her parents and Louise followed her out to the car. As soon as the front door closed behind them, Louise said, ‘Are you okay?’

‘Of course I’m okay. Why shouldn’t I be?’

‘It’s just that … well, don’t you think you went a bit over the top in there with the girls?’

‘No,’ said Joanne irritably.

Had Joanne lost all sense of perspective? In Louise’s book, physical punishment was the last resort of out-of-control parents. ‘You tried to hit Abbey, Joanne. And if she hadn’t jumped out of your way, you would have.’

Joanne stopped and turned to face Louise. ‘She deserved it. They all did. They didn’t do what they were asked.’

‘Show me a kid who does?’ said Louise with a laugh, trying to inject some humour into the situation. But her sister remained stony-faced. ‘She’s only seven, Joanne,’ said Louise softly. ‘You have to remember that.’

‘Seven,’ said Joanne, unmoved, ‘is the age of reason. Abbey is old enough to know the difference between right and wrong.’

There was a long pause and, sensing that it would be fruitless to pursue this subject any further, Louise said, ‘Mum and Dad have aged terribly, haven’t they? Mum especially.’

‘Yes, they have,’ sighed Joanne and she rubbed the back of her neck. ‘At least you’ll be able to help out a bit now. It’s been quite a strain on me – what with work and the girls as well. Sian’s only interested in the common good – not helping her own family.’

‘Of course I’ll help out. As for Sian, well, she is working full-time,’ said Louise in her younger sister’s defence.

‘And you think I have more spare time than she does?’ Joanne shook her head. ‘I might work part-time at the pharmacy, Louise, but believe me, running a home and looking after a family as well is more than equivalent to a full-time job. Sian has no idea.’ With that, Joanne got in the car, waved goodbye tersely and drove away.

Later, when Oli had finally fallen asleep, Louise crept up to the bedroom and knelt on the floor and watched him. His chest moved with the gentle rhythm of his breath, his eyelids fluttered in his sleep. Damp curls clung to his sweaty face, and he stirred, throwing a chubby arm up over his head. Louise sat back on her heels and thought about the day’s events. She had done the right thing in coming back, hadn’t she? Oli should know his grandparents and his family. This was the right place for him – and her. And it looked like she had come back at just the right time. For Joanne, it seemed, was barely holding it together.

Chapter Two

With Joanne’s help it didn’t take Louise long to organise the small, two-bedroom flat on Tower Road. Joanne had chosen well. On the first floor in a modern two-storey building, it was bright and functional with pale cream carpet and walls, a brand new blonde wood kitchen and a pristine white bathroom. The bay window in the small, narrow lounge overlooked a pleasant residential street and the flat was only a few minutes’ walk from the seafront. Once Joanne had helped her unpack Oli’s toys, and her own familiar belongings, it started to feel like home.

In Oli’s bedroom, after Joanne had gone, Louise wrestled with a Thomas the Tank duvet cover while Oli played happily with his rediscovered Brio train set.

‘It’s nice here, isn’t it? Do you like it?’ said Louise happily, shaking the cover like a sail in the wind. If everything else went as well as today, their new life would work out just fine.

He shrugged without looking up. ‘It’s okay. Look. Choo-choo. The train’s coming into the station.’ He pushed a red engine along a wooden track. ‘When can we go home?’

The smile fell from her lips. She sank down dejectedly on the tangle of bedcovers and sighed. ‘This is home, Oli. For the time being anyway.’

‘But I want my old room. And I want to see Elliott,’ he said, referring to his best friend at nursery. He stuck out his bottom lip.

‘Oh, darling,’ said Louise, momentarily stuck for the reassuring platitudes that usually sprung so readily to her lips.

He got up then and ran to her and buried his face in her lap. She smoothed the fine soft hairs at the nape of his neck, closed her eyes, and prayed to God that he would settle down.

A few days later, she visited her parents and found her mother in the kitchen drying dishes from the evening meal with a red and white checked tea towel. Mindful of the signs of stress she’d detected in Joanne, Louise was trying to do her bit to support her parents.

She heaved a canvas shopping bag onto the kitchen table. ‘I made a big stew last night,’ she said lifting three foil containers out of the bag and setting them on the table. ‘I thought some would be handy for you and Dad. It’ll do for when you don’t have time to cook.’

Of course this wasn’t true. Her mother had all the time in the world – she was just no longer capable of running a house and putting a square meal on the table every night.

‘Well, thanks, love,’ said her mother, graciously. ‘That is very kind of you.’

‘It’s no bother. I get Oli to help me. It passes the time.’

‘How’s he settling in?’

Louise sighed. ‘He’s been having bad dreams. He’s had me up nearly every night this week.’ She yawned. ‘It’s like having a baby again.’

‘It must be terribly unsettling for him.’

Louise nodded. ‘I’ve tried my best to explain what it means to move house, but I’m not sure how much he understands. He keeps asking me when he can see his friends. I feel awful.’

‘Never mind, love,’ said her mother, with an encouraging smile. ‘He’ll soon make new friends.’

‘Perhaps you’re right,’ said Louise hopefully.

Her mother examined the packages on the table and shook her head. ‘I don’t know where you get the time.’

Louise smiled in acknowledgement. ‘Well, I’m not working and I only have Oli to look after. Not like Joanne.’

She watched her mother dry the bottom of a china dinner plate, then the top. She was so painfully slow. Louise resisted the urge to intervene, placing the portions of stew in the freezer instead. ‘Do you think Joanne’s all right?’ she said casually, closing the freezer door.

‘What do you mean? Like not well?’ Her mother set the plate on the counter and picked up another one.

‘No, she just seems a bit stressed to me.’

Her mother rubbed the tea towel on the surface of the wet plate in a languid circular motion. ‘She probably is. Those girls can be a bit of a handful. And Phil’s not around much to help.’

Louise paused, considering the wisdom of sharing any more of her concerns with her mother. She looked at her gnarled hands, decided against it and said instead, ‘I suppose it’s hard when there’s three of them.’

‘What?’ asked her mother distractedly, stacking the plates.

‘It’s so much easier with just one child.’

‘Easier, maybe,’ her mother replied and left the sentence unfinished – like an old plaster partially hanging off a wound.

‘Go on.’

Her mother sighed, shuffled over to a chair, sat down and regarded Louise thoughtfully. ‘It might be easier for you. But it might not be best for Oli. It’s not healthy him being with just you all the time.’

‘He’s not with me all the time,’ said Louise evenly. ‘He sees other people – adults and kids – regularly. And that’s one of the reasons I moved back, isn’t it? So he could be closer to his family and cousins and grow up knowing them.’

Her mother shrugged her shoulders and Louise found herself compelled to pursue this topic, realising as she spoke that it was essential to her that her mother endorse her lifestyle.

‘Oli has a very happy life, Mum. He wants for nothing.’

‘Except a father.’

Louise bit her lip, anger bubbling up like boiling fudge in a pan. ‘There’s nothing like stating the obvious, is there?’ she said. ‘Why do you have to focus on the one thing he doesn’t have instead of all the things he does? Like a mother who adores him and gave up her job to look after him?’