Maeve Binchy - Evening Class

'I've no idea, honestly I'm getting madder than she is herself. Listen, have you decided what you'd like to do when we go out?'

And suddenly there and then Fiona decided. I'd like to come and have tea in your house.'

'No, that wouldn't be a good idea,' he said startled.

'You did ask me what I'd like, that's what it is. Your mother would have to stir herself to get something for me if you said you were bringing a girl to supper, and I could be nice and cheerful and talk about things normally.'

'No, Fiona, not yet.'

'But isn't this the very time it would be a help? How's she going to think that things will ever be normal if you don't make it look as if they are?'

'Well, I suppose you have a point,' he began doubtfully.

'So what evening then?' With grave misgivings Barry fixed the date.

Then he expected Fiona to dither and say that she'd like anything at all, and really it didn't matter. But to his surprise she said that she'd be tired after a long day at work and she'd love something substantial like say spaghetti or maybe shepherd's pie, something nice and comforting. Barry was amazed. But he delivered the message.

'I wouldn't be able to do anything like that,' Barry's mother said.

'Of course you would, Mam, aren't you a great cook?'

'Your father doesn't think so,' she said. And Barry's heart turned to lead again. It was going to take much more than Fiona coming to supper to make his mother turn the corner. He wished that he weren't an only child, that he had six brothers and sisters to share this with. He wished that his father would just say the bloody things that his mother wanted to hear, that he loved her and that his heart was broken when she tried to take her own life. And that he would swear never to leave her for anyone else. After all his father was terribly old, nearly fifty for heaven's sake, of course he wasn't going to leave Mam for anyone else. Who would have him for a start? And why did he have to take this attitude that suicide attempts were blackmail and he wouldn't give in to blackmail. His father had no firm opinions on anything else. When there was an election or a referendum his father would sigh and go back to his evening paper rather than express a view. Why did he have to feel so strongly about this of all things? Couldn't he say the words that would please her?

This bright idea of Fiona's wasn't going to work. He could see that.

'Well, all right, Mam, I suppose I could try to cook something myself. I'm not much good, but I'll try. And I'll pretend you made it. After all, I wouldn't want her to think you weren't welcoming her.'

'I'll cook it,' said his mother. 'You couldn't make a meal for Cascarino.' Cascarino was their big cat with only one eye. He had been called after Tony Cascarino who played football for the Republic of Ireland, but the cat was not as fleet of foot.

Fiona brought a small box of chocolates for Barry's mother.

'Oh, you shouldn't have, they'll only make me put on weight,' the woman said to her. She was pale-looking and had tired eyes. She wore a dull brown dress and her hair was flat and listless.

But Fiona looked at her with admiration. 'Oh Mrs. Healy, you're not fat. You've got lovely cheekbones, that's how you know if a person's going to put on weight or not, the cheekbones,' she said.

Barry saw his mother touch her face with some disbelief. 'Is that right?' she said.

'Oh, it's a fact, look at all the film stars who had good cheekbones…' Together they listed them happily. The Audrey Hepburns who never put on a pound, the Ava Gardners, the Meryl Streeps, then they examined the so-called pretty women whose cheekbones were not apparent.

Barry hadn't seen his mother so animated in weeks. Then he heard Fiona talk about Marilyn Monroe, who might not have stood the test of time if she had allowed herself to grow older. He wished she hadn't let the conversation get round to people who had committed suicide.

His. mother naturally took up the theme. 'But that's not why she killed herself of course, not over her cheekbones.'

Barry could see the colour rising on Fiona's face but she fought back. 'No, I suppose she did it because she thought she wasn't loved enough. Lord, it's just as well the rest of us don't do that, the world would be empty in no time.' She spoke so casually and lightly about it that Barry held his breath.

But unexpectedly his mother answered in quite a normal voice. 'Maybe she hoped she'd be found and whoever it was she loved would be sorry.'

'I'd say he'd have been more pissed off with her than ever,' Fiona said cheerfully.

Barry looked at Fiona with admiration. She had more spark about her today. It was hard to say what it was, but she didn't seem to be waiting to take her cue from him all the time. It had been a very good idea to insist on coming to supper. And imagine Fiona of all people telling his mother she had good cheekbones.

He felt it was a lot less disastrous than it might have been. He let himself relax a little and wondered what they would talk about next, now that they had been through the minefield of Marilyn Monroe's suicide.

Barry ran a list of conversational topics past himself without success. He couldn't say Fiona worked in the hospital, that would remind everyone of the stomach pumping and the stay there, he couldn't suddenly start talking about the Italian Class, the supermarket, or his motorbike because they would know he was trying to get on to other less controversial subjects. He was going to tell his mother about Fiona's tee-shirts but he didn't think she'd like that, and Fiona had dressed up in her good jacket and nice pink blouse for the meeting so perhaps it would be letting her down.

At that moment the cat came in and fixed his one good eye on Fiona.

I'd like to introduce you to Cascarino,' Barry said, never having loved the big angry cat so much in his life. Please may Cascarino not claw at Fiona's new skirt, or pause to lick his nether regions in full view of everyone. But the cat laid his head on Fiona's lap and began a purr that sounded like a light aircraft revving up.

'Do you have a cat at home yourselves?' Barry's mother asked.

'No, I'd love one but my father says you never know what trouble they lead to.'

'That's a pity, I find them a great consolation. Cascarino may not look much but for a male he's very understanding.'

'I know,' Fiona agreed with her. 'Isn't it funny the way men are so difficult. I honestly don't think they mean to be, it's just the way they're made.'

°

'They're made without heart,' Mrs. Healy said, her eyes dangerously bright. 'Oh, they have something in there all right beating away and sending the blood out, but it's not a heart. Look at Barry's father, he's not even here this evening even though he knew Barry was having a friend to supper. He knew and he's still not here.'

This was worse than Barry could have believed possible. He had no idea that his mother would go in at the deep end in the first half an hour.

But to his amazement Fiona seemed to be able to cope with it quite easily.

'That's men for you. When I bring Barry home to my house to meet my family, my father will let me down too. Oh, he'll be there all right, he's always there. But I bet you within five minutes he'll tell Barry it's dangerous to ride a motorbike, it's dangerous to drive a supermarket van, it's stupid to follow football. If he can think of anything wrong with learning Italian he'll say that. He only sees all the things that are wrong with everything, not the things that are right. It's very depressing.'

'And what does your mother say to all this?' Barry's mother was interested in the situation, her own attack on her husband seemed to be put aside for the moment.

'Well, I think over the years she started to agree with him. They're old you see, Mrs. Healy, much older than you and Barry's father. I'm the youngest of a big family. They're set in their ways, you won't change them now.' She looked so eager with her glasses glinting and a big pink bow tying back her nice shiny hair. Any mother would be glad to have a warm girl like this for her son.