Cecelia Ahern - Mrs Whippy

And I’ve just realised that each of my boys has copied their father in some form or another.

My eldest son, Charlie Junior, has my heart broken too. He’s in prison. He has a sentence of four years for burglary. He’s been there for two years. My second eldest, Terry, went on one of those year-long world trips with a group of friends. That was three years ago. He has decided to settle in Thailand. He sends me an e-mail once a month. I don’t really know how to work e-mail, so I have to ask Brian to read it to me. He rarely does.

I try my hardest with the boys. I really, really do. I’m a good mother. I know I am. But I can’t seem to get through to them. There isn’t anyone around me to help. My husband refused to recognise his own bad behaviour during our married life. I doubt he has noticed his sons’ carry-on. Any time something was wrong, it was always my fault. He could never compromise. The only time we met in the middle was when we both rolled into the dip in the centre of our twenty-five-year-old bed. If my husband won’t listen to me, why on earth would the boys?

My dear mother died last month. My older brother has moved to Ohio. He’s opened an Irish store that sells Irish butter, sausages, bacon, chocolate bars, crisps and tea to the homesick Irish community. My very best friend, Susan, is a mother of four and married to a saint of a husband for twenty-five years. She has just begun an affair with the window cleaner. He is twelve years her junior. I feel I can’t talk to her any more.

I’m feeling very alone these days. Every day, as I sit on my twenty-five-year-old sofa, I begin to think that it and my life are very similar. It’s falling apart at the seams.

Three

My husband takes the boys on Saturdays. I watch him from the bedroom window every week as he drives off in our car. Then I fall onto the bed we used to sleep in together. I stay there until the boys come home the next day.

Today I greeted him at the door. I needed to talk to him about the boys’ behaviour. I needed him to back me up more often. I needed the boys to see him support me and respect me. Then perhaps they would listen to me. When all they ever saw was a man that walked all over me, they assumed they could do the same. My mother saw it in them. She tried to teach them. They were as good as gold for her. But as soon as she would leave they would return to their old ways. It was like a bulb being switched off inside me when that happened. My mother was always on my side. I needed the boys to see that Charlie was on my side too.

“Charlie,” I said, opening the door before he put the key in the lock. He refused to return the key to what he considered “his house”. And it was his. He had never put my name on the deeds to the house. In fact, he had refused to.

He looked up at me in surprise. Then his usual scowl returned. He always seemed irritated by everything I did.

“Where are the boys?” he growled, looking past me.

“They’re in the sitting-room,” I said, aware that my voice sounded child-like. He had that effect on me. “I just wanted to talk to you about something first.”

“What?” he snapped. “We’ve done enough talking. I’m not coming back. Don’t beg me again.”

My face reddened. I felt my head get hot. I swallowed hard and looked down at my hands. I still had my wedding ring on. He hadn’t. He had refused to wear it the day after he said “I do”. I should have known that meant “I don’t”. I should have known it meant “I never will.”

“No, I … I … I don’t want to talk about that,” I stammered.

“You, you, you what?” He imitated me cruelly. He was enjoying my discomfort.

“I want to talk to you about the boys, Charlie.”

“What about them?” He picked at the back of his teeth. When he removed his finger from his mouth, he studied his nail.

“They’ve been acting up for the past while. They –”

“They’re always acting up. They’re kids, for Christ’s sake.” He waved his hand dismissively and looked irritated again. Even when we started going out, I always had the feeling he was embarrassed by me in public. When I began to tell a story he would interrupt and finish it. Sometimes he would make a joke half-way through to change the subject. He didn’t like when the attention was on me, when someone else asked for my opinion. He was embarrassed by my opinions. He was ashamed when I didn’t agree with him. He belittled me all the time. I said and did nothing about it because I loved him. When I said “I do” at the altar, it meant that I really, really did.

“No, Charlie,” I said a little more strongly. “Mr Murphy called me into the school again this week. Vincent still won’t talk to anyone. He won’t talk to his brothers or any of the kids at school. He won’t talk to the teacher. He –”

“He talks to me,” he said childishly. Accusingly.

“He does?” I asked in surprise.

“The boys are fine with me. They feel comfortable with me, Emelda,” he said. “If they’re not happy here, we’ll have to make different living arrangements.”

I felt like he’d punched me in the stomach. My body started to shake. I couldn’t lose my boys.

“Charlie, I think it’s important that you tell them to listen to me. I’m their mother. They’re with me six days a week. I have to look out for them. I need you to tell them that. I need you to tell them that we both know what’s best for them. They should respect that.”

He had smirked the whole time that I was talking.

“You want me to do your job for you?” He looked over my shoulder and down the hall.

“Charlie,” I continued, “they don’t –”

“Boys!” Charlie shouted loudly. He pushed me out of the way and walked into the living-room.

“Listen to me,” I continued quietly. I said it to myself, really, rubbing my arm, which had banged against the wall when he pushed me.

“Dad!” Mark yelped. I could hear him jumping up from the floor to wrap his arms around his father.

I tried to control my rage. Every day of my life, everything I did was for those boys. But I never received an excited hug like that.

“Hi, Brian, how’s the girlfriend?” I heard. My eyes almost popped out of my head. Girlfriend? What girlfriend?

“Shh,” I could hear Brian say.

“Don’t worry, she can’t hear.” Charlie dismissed me and they both laughed. She. He called me she .

They left the living-room and pushed past me in the hall. Nobody said goodbye to me apart from little Mark, who was being carried by Charlie.

“Bye, Mam!” he called, leaning over to give me a kiss.

“Bye, love. Be good for your dad,” I said, kissing him on the nose.

He nodded excitedly and Charlie carried him away before we could hug.

I watched them walk toward the car. For the first time I noticed that she was in the car. The Russian broomstick. The one who swept the ground right from under me. I didn’t know her name and I didn’t care.

“Hi, Goldie,” a voice said as they opened the doors. My heart almost stopped.

It wasn’t her name that shocked me. It was the fact that it had been said by Mark. My baby Mark. He jumped onto her knee in the front seat and innocently waved at me, bursting with excitement.

My whole body shook and my knees weakened as I watched them all drive off, leaving me in silence. Even at forty-six years of age, I sat on the stairs and cried for my mammy.

Four

As I said already, on Saturdays I usually collapse onto the bed and stay there until the next day. This week I couldn’t do that. On Monday I had decided to go out and get a job. Well, I didn’t have a choice. Charlie had cut my weekly allowance. When we were married he had felt very strongly about me not working outside of the home. I was happy to stay at home with the boys. Knowing that Charlie wanted to provide for me and the children made me feel safe and protected. I was a very innocent young woman. I handed my independence and life to him on a silver plate. He took it and feasted on them.