Chapter Three
Eileen Booth was angry. She was always angry. As she pushed her daughter's bedroom door open, she said in her usual demanding way, 'Are you deliberately ignoring me or have you suddenly been struck stone deaf?'
Christine sighed audibly. She wasn't going to take the bait, wouldn't bite back. That was what Eileen wanted, she always wanted a full-on row, a reason to ground her daughter. Well, Christine wasn't going to play into her hands.
'I'm sorry, Mum, I was miles away.' She was smiling at her, trying to look innocent, trying to make her leave her alone.
Eileen Booth narrowed her eyes in suspicion – was this a piss- take? She knew better than anyone that her daughter would need to be at least fifty miles away to block her voice out when she was at full throttle. 'Where are you off to again?'
'Round Joanie's, we're doing our history homework. The Elizabethan era, I told you last night.' She saw her mother looking her over, determined as always to find fault. But there was none. She made sure of that.
Christine had on the minimum of make-up, she wore a plain black dress that ended below the knee and American Tan tights. She also wore her school shoes – black, clumpy school shoes from Clarks. She looked awful in comparison to her contemporaries, and she knew it. She saw her mother battling inside herself to find fault.
'For crying out loud, I'm only going to Joanie's! When have you ever had cause to doubt me, Mum? When have I ever let you down?' She had the hurt and misunderstood look down to a T.
'Well, make sure you're home by nine, and I'm ringing Joanie's mum so don't think you can pull the wool over my eyes, all right?'
'Why would I bother, Mum? Answer me that one, eh?' Picking up her schoolbag off the floor, Christine kissed her mother on the cheek dutifully and walked sedately from the room.
Eileen Booth listened to her daughter's retreating footsteps and sat down on the bed. Why couldn't her daughter see the danger her looks and friendly nature put her in? She was a nice girl, Eileen knew that better than anyone, but it was the nice girls who got caught out. She didn't want her daughter to have a life like hers, making do. Christine was worth so much more than that, but she was too young to see it.
One day, Eileen was convinced her daughter would thank her for her love and the interest she took in her life. Until then she consoled herself with the knowledge that not only was her girl too shrewd to be caught out, but that Eileen herself was far too vigilant to let her daughter get into any position that could ruin her future. Her Christine was going to have every advantage, every chance to make something of herself. Whether the ungrateful little mare wanted it or not.
Chapter Four
Breda Murphy opened the front door wide with a smile that was even wider and eyes that were merry. Christine liked her at once.
'You must be Miss Booth.'
Christine smiled shyly, she had got this far so she was determined to make a good impression. 'And you must be Miss Breda.'
Breda laughed, but it was a derogatory laugh. 'Oh Jesus, he'll eat you for breakfast. Come on in anyway. You're expected.'
Christine followed her, disconcerted by Breda's greeting.
Phillip's street, she hadn't been able to help but notice, was very run down. It was part of a typical council estate and it was alien to her. Her home was a large semi in a nice neighbourhood. It was quiet, and people kept themselves very much to themselves. Here though, there were kids hanging around in the street and curtains were left wide open so anyone could look in and see what was going on. See their lives as they really were without any kind of pretence.
Even Phillip's home, which she knew he was proud of, and was nicer than all the others in the street with its double glazing and obvious extension, would only fit into the ground floor of her own home. She saw the house as her mother would see it, and that annoyed her. These were nice people, friendly people, and they had invited her into their lives without hesitation. She knew her mother would have a full-on coronary if she knew where her daughter was, and she didn't care. For the moment, she didn't give a monkey's.
Christine had to admit, though, that walking up the road had been like walking a gauntlet. She was new, she was suspect, and the people there had made her aware of that. When she had walked in the gate that was the entrance to the Murphy home, she had seen the young lads hesitate, watch her closely. She knew they were wondering what she was there for.
But now she was inside, she was amazed at the warmth, the size and the sheer goodwill that seemed to emanate from everyone and everything around her. This was a home alive with people and sounds. There was noise coming from every room and, as she saw Phillip in the kitchen doorway, his handsome face smiling and his obvious nervousness at her visit, she felt herself relax. She knew then that he was as scared as she was, and that made it suddenly all right.
Breda pushed her gently from behind and, laughing, she walked through to the enormous kitchen that was so obviously the pride and joy of Phillip's mother. Smiling shyly, Christine looked around the table at his whole family but before she could utter a word his mother bustled towards her shouting, 'Jasus, Phillip, she's gorgeous and far too good for the likes of you.'
It broke the ice, and Christine Booth, for the first time in her whole life, felt like she had finally come home.
Chapter Five
'It's only twenty past nine, are you sure you have to get going, child?'
Christine smiled nervously, embarrassed at her predicament. 'To be honest, I'm already late, Mrs Murphy.'
Veronica grinned, her round face thrilled at the girl's obvious decency. Her Phillip had chosen a good girl and, in this day and age, they were few and far between. She only had to look at her Breda to know that. And if not her Breda, then the papers. Young girls were like men these days, sex was everywhere, and girls were bombarded with so-called choices. The world had gone shagging mad, as her mother would have said.
'My mum is a bit of a tartar about me being home on time. She worries about me.'
Veronica laughed easily. 'And who could blame her? Sure, you're a dote, that's what you are, Christine, a dote.'
Veronica glanced at her husband for support and he winked at the girl, as thrilled as his wife with his son's choice of mate. Like his wife he knew that his son was serious. Phillip had been attracting girls, and women, since he was a lad, and he'd got away with a lot over the years. Seeing him with this little one and knowing that if he had brought her to his parents' house he had to be serious about her, pleased Phillip Senior as much as it did his wife. He knew better than anyone what the wrong mate could cause in a man. His younger brother had married a whore of the first water, and he was doing life for his mistake. She had escaped his wrath – you didn't hit women – but her fancy man had met a knife in the ribs, and none of them thought his brother had done the wrong thing. The whore had produced a child and the parentage had been very suspect. It had been blonder than a Swedish au pair, with nonexistent eyebrows and a harelip. As the old saying went, it was a wise child that knew its own mother, but it was a very wise child that knew its own father.
Who would take the chance on something like that? Why would you put yourself through it? If you chose wisely from the off, got them young and innocent, and never shat on your own doorstep, then you were guaranteed a happy marriage and peace of mind. Women were like horses, you stabled them and gave them a stud. If you did it right the first time and kept them close, you had a marriage that could only bring you children and lasting happiness. He had told his three sons that from the off, and it seemed his words had struck a chord. With this one anyway. His daughter, on the other hand, lay down for any man she liked the look of. His words of wisdom had seemed to send her in the opposite direction altogether; sure, she delighted in her loose ways. But she was his only daughter so he overlooked a lot in that respect. In any case, he saw it as his wife's job to keep Breda on the straight and narrow. And he wished Veronica good luck with that. Breda was like his own mother: strong, capable and able to have more fights than John Wayne in the course of the average day. Plus, if he was really honest, he felt a small iota of respect. Breda's voracious appetite for men, sex and adventure came from his side of the family. Strong women the lot of them and proud of it.