Dermot Bolger - Temptation

It was best to get the children ready before the babysitter came. She rose and walked towards the boys, praising her self–control in ignoring the bearded man when he spoke to her.

‘You need to trade in those wheels of yours,’ he joked, like the incident had been amusing. ‘Get something with a bit more vroom in it.’

She stared at him.

‘Maybe that’s what you need yourself.’ He looked puzzled, his daughters moronically staring through her like she wasn’t there. Her accent thickened, reverting back to girlhood. ‘I mean these things are about compensation, aren’t they?’

‘I don’t see how compensation enters into it,’ he said, defensive now, watchful of his wallet. ‘There was no accident, nobody hurt, nothing.’

‘I don’t mean that type of compensation.’ She was aware of Peadar anxiously at her shoulder. ‘I mean the other kind, the need to make up for things. Or as we say in Waterford, the bigger the horsepower the smaller the prick behind the wheel.’

She walked on, aware of the silence behind her, of the girls staring and of Peadar at her shoulder. They got around the corner before Peadar managed to speak.

‘His face,’ he said. ‘You should have seen the gobshite’s face.’ Both started laughing, unable to stop, collapsing onto the nearest sofa, while the boys hovered, convinced their parents were cracking up. Danny’s eight–year–old face was such a picture of mortified respectability that he could have passed for Peadar’s father.

‘Stop it,’ he hissed, ‘you’re embarrassing me.’

Alison pulled him onto her lap, tickling him as he struggled and the others jumped up in a tangle of limbs. Now she felt truly on holidays.

Throughout dinner she knew they were going to make love that night. She kicked off her shoes and played footsie with Peadar, even when Jack Fitzgerald himself stopped to welcome them back. She could feel Peadar’s shoe gently brush her calf, then explore upwards between her bare knees as the owner moved off and the waitress took their order for dessert. During the two days of packing she usually just pecked at snacks, too flustered to feel hungry. This always made their first meal all the more special.

There was never music in the Slaney Room on Sunday nights. Older couples gathered around the piano instead in the French Bar at the far end of the building. Alison and Peadar enjoyed their coffees in the foyer near the open fire. The porter got them drinks and Peadar allowed himself his usual single cigar. The heat from the logs scorched Alison’s legs. Yet she loved the smell of wood–smoke. She would happily have gone back to the room then but they waited a little longer to make it worth the babysitter’s while. They nestled like lovers, her head against his chest, nursing their second drinks until sufficient time had elapsed.

The boys were asleep in single beds on either side of the double one, with Sheila snuggled down in a third bed near the French doors that opened out onto gardens overlooking the sea. Peadar had his hands under the waistband of her skirt while she was still closing the door on the babysitter. She turned and he picked her up, her legs straddling his waist as he carried her towards the bed. He collapsed on top of her, each shushing the other while simultaneously trying not to laugh. He undid the top of her outfit, his hands gripping her silk slip as if about to tear it off, while her eyes warned him against trying any such thing. He worked it upwards, his hands managing to undo her bra while she kissed him and tugged at his zip.

She wasn’t sure if their noise caused Danny to shift, his legs kicking the blankets off. But pure instinct made her slide out from under Peadar and go to fix the blankets. Peadar raised a hand to silently stop her, yet even as she touched Danny she knew she was crazy not to leave the boy alone. When would she learn to stop meddling until it was necessary to do so? She tucked in the blankets then turned back to Peadar but the mood was already broken. He looked past her to where Danny stirred again. He was not a child you could disturb in his sleep. He was half awake now and half dreaming, sitting up to call for her in distress and yet not realising she was already there. Alison settled him down once more but knew it was no use.

‘Take him out, quickly,’ Peadar hissed, but she hesitated, hoping against hope the boy would settle back asleep. Danny sat up and cried, making the first retching noise in his throat. His eyes were open but she knew that everything seemed like a bad dream for him. Peadar grabbed him and ran, getting his head over the toilet before the vomit came. Danny cried as he retched again, with his whole dinner coming up.

Alison watched from the bathroom door, cursing herself and knowing Peadar was silently cursing her too. Danny’s pyjamas were untouched. There were just a few specks on the tiles and on Peadar’s shoes. Peadar carried him back to bed and tucked him in. The child would sleep peacefully now till morning.

Her clothes were disarrayed, but she knew her semi–nakedness wasn’t arousing any more. It was the mundane nudity of child raising. Her nipples looked flat and worn, but Peadar wasn’t even gazing at her.

‘I might get a last drink,’ he whispered, as though anxious to extricate himself. ‘You read if you like, I’ll only be a few minutes.’

She wanted to stop him, to suggest they try again, but it was too late. She let him go, undressed and turned the lights out. It was wrong to think that Peadar was punishing her. It just wasn’t like ten years ago, when he seemed to develop a permanent erection whenever they were alone. Kids changed you and three kids wore you out. You saw your partner in situations that modesty would once never have allowed. Neither of them had been able for a third child if they were honest – no more than her own parents had been. Let Peadar enjoy his drink, let his tension subside. She found she was still damp. Her fingers touched the spot idly, wondering why his tongue always had such difficulty in locating it.

A noise outside froze her hand. A footstep on gravel beyond the French doors. For a second she thought that maybe it was Peadar, crazily planning to surprise her, to rekindle the spontaneity which had once marked their lovemaking. But he would know the door was locked. It had to be a burglar. But the kids had been racing in and out all afternoon. Was she sure she had remembered to lock the French doors? She wished Peadar was here. She waited for the click of a hand to test the handle but there was just silence as if the footsteps had moved on or she had imagined the whole affair.

She lay curled in the dark. I gave up my happiness to make another person happy, she found herself thinking, to make my family happy. I am who I’ve become because this is who they need me to be. When I got the all–clear I wasn’t even happy for myself. It was them I was thinking of. I couldn’t die because other people needed me. But what do I need? The image returned from last night, a woman swaying under water, her lifeless hands against the glass, waiting to be chanced upon by some diver.

Her body felt old and stale. Her hand was motionless between her thighs. The rich food lay heavily on her stomach while her children’s breathing filled the room. She was on holidays, the treat she had so looked forward to. So why did she feel alone, like she had woken to find she was leading another person’s life inside somebody else’s skin?

Sheila woke first. Alison could tell by the springs of the small bed and knew that her daughter was content to lie there, self–contained, savouring the wonder of waking in a hotel bedroom. Shane would sleep on, even feigning sleep for a time after he woke, but Danny would be out of bed once his eyes opened. Alison lay on her side, watching her elder son’s sleeping face, knowing that his eyelids would flicker automatically open at half past seven. Every morning the same so that she had stopped using an alarm clock.