Cecelia Ahern - Mrs Whippy

My cheeks pinked beneath my rose-red blusher. Charlie had a point. My best outfit had been purchased for my eldest son’s christening years ago. I had spent so much money on it that Charlie had insisted I get as much wear out of it as possible. It was my anniversary outfit, wedding outfit and birthday-party outfit. Here I was, twenty-five years later, standing in my front hall that hadn’t been decorated in all that time. It was like some kind of time warp.

I could feel myself bursting out of the bright blue fabric. The buttons were stretching across my expanded waistline. They looked as if they were ready to pop. My shoulders were so padded I looked like I was armoured up and ready for battle. But ready for battle, I was not.

“Mammy, what’s in your eyes?” Mark asked timidly.

I thought he was referring to the tears that had begun to well up.

“Eye-liner.” Brian smirked and he looked like his father. “ Blue eyeliner.”

OK, so I had gone the whole nine yards. When I had got dressed that morning I had felt beautiful and ready to take on the world. Now I felt like the little girl in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory that blew up like a blueberry and had to be rolled off. The more they all stared at me, the more my confidence crumbled.

“Anyway,” Charlie continued, marching into the kitchen.

I could hear him rooting through the kitchen presses looking for food, as usual. Nobody noticed how I had scrubbed the house from top to bottom. Nobody commented on how I had attempted to make it and myself look fresh and new.

“What are you cooking?” Charlie shouted with his mouth full of food.

“Breakfast for the boys,” I replied wearily, pulling off the bright blue pumps that my feet were squashed into.

“They ate already,” he said, appearing at the kitchen door with a sausage in his hand. He dropped it into his mouth and munched it.

“You cooked for them?” I asked in surprise.

“No.” He looked irritated again. “We went to McDonald’s.”

“Oh, Charlie, I wish you wouldn’t do that. It’s so bad for them.”

He looked me up and down again. “You should talk,” he jeered and swaggered down the hall and out the door.

I went to the kitchen, filled a plate of food and brought it upstairs. I got down onto my knees in Mark’s bedroom and slid the plate under the bed.

“Thanks, Mam,” his little voice chirped. “You look funny. Is today fancy-dress day?”

I sighed, sat on the carpet and listened to his quiet munching underneath the bed. I caught sight of myself in the bedroom mirror with my big earrings and my frizzy back-combed hair. My face was painted in orange foundation, blue eye-shadow and ice-pink lips.

I certainly felt like a clown.

Eight

No sooner had the boys returned than the sparkle and freshness disappeared from the house. Their over-night bags had been overturned, leaving their clothes messily draped across the house. Toys, computer games and DVDs cluttered the living-room floor. Their washing piled up in the basket. The ironing piled up on the board. I had taken off my “best” outfit and replaced it with my usual black leggings and T-shirt. I felt completely deflated that my revolt had got me nowhere. I began the ironing while keeping an eye on the TV in the living-room.

Two school uniforms and three football jerseys later, the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Well, are the remnants back?”

It was Susan, my best friend since I had moved to the street twenty-five years ago. She always referred to the boys as remnants, meaning the leftovers of our marriage. The only proof that Charlie and I had ever had sex.

“Yes, they’re back.” I brought my cup of tea and cigarette over to the couch and sat down. I knew this would be a long conversation. It always was. Well, at least it used to be before she started seeing the window cleaner. I needed to talk to her. I had so much to tell her and I needed advice. I needed someone of sound mind to tell me that I wasn’t as useless as everyone else was making me feel.

“Damn,” Susan swore down the phone.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ll have to check with Julie if her kids are with her ex for the day.”

“Why?”

“Paul wants to take me out for a picnic today, up the Wicklow Mountains. Lately Ray’s been asking twenty questions every time I walk out of the house. I need an excuse. But if I say I’m in your house all day then the kids will let it slip that I wasn’t.” She groaned. “Oh, this is so unfair. Why can’t anything good happen for me?”

I was speechless. I just sat on the couch with my mouth open in shock. My cigarette burned down so much the ash fell onto my lap and burned a hole in my Mickey Mouse T-shirt.

“Hello? Are you there, Emelda?”

“Yes,” I managed to say. She had all the bad luck? She had a wonderful, faithful husband and four saint-like children who all got As in school. And she thought she was unlucky ?

“Never mind. What are you doing on Tuesday night?”

I ignored her earlier comment because of the chance to meet up with her. “Oh, I’d love to meet up. We haven’t had a good chat for such a long time. I’ve so much to tell you. Lately everything has really been getting on top of me. The boys are acting up. Charlie is being horrible and this new job I’ve started is –”

“No, no, no, no,” Susan interrupted. “I mean, does Tuesday suit you as a day for me to pretend to Ray I’m calling over to you? Paul wants to take me out for dinner. It’s really awful not being able to have dates without looking over my shoulder all the time. Honestly,” she huffed. “But you would have to promise me that the boys won’t be there to say anything. And it would be great if you could stay in for the evening. That way no one will have any proof that I’m not there. You wouldn’t believe how people like to talk around here.”

I saw red. She made me so angry that my whole body began to shake and my head became hot. I was tired of being used and walked all over by the people who were supposed to love me.

“No, Susan.” My voice shook with rage.

“No?” she asked in shock.

“No, you cannot use me as an excuse so you can carry out your dirty, lying, disgusting affair. If you had any sense at all, you would realise that what you are doing is exactly what Charlie was doing to me. You saw how hurt I was. You were there for the tears and all the pain. I can’t understand how you can do this to Ray. I love Ray. He is a lovely, honest and faithful man. I will not have anything to do with this.”

“But –”

She tried to interrupt but I wouldn’t let her.

“And as for bad luck, Susan, you wouldn’t know anything about it. You have a great husband, great children, a great house and a great life. You’re so selfish you don’t even know what’s right in front of you. You ignore those around you, like me , for example,” I burst out. “I could do with some friendship right now. Don’t you dare call me again.”

I hung up the phone. I felt good. Empowered.

And right on cue, I heard the magical music tinkling from far away, making its way toward my street.

Nine

I practically danced around the house over the next few days. My latest meeting with Mr Whippy was fresh in my mind. We had spent thirty minutes talking to one another. This time it wasn’t just about ice-cream. We really talked. He told me his name was Joe. He was divorced. He had two grownup children and three grandchildren. I told him all about me. He offered me support and advice. He even offered to take me out some time. A date! I was asked on a date! OK, we hadn’t set an actual date, but the prospect of one delighted me.