Lying in Wait(54)

Two plain girls, Bridget’s sisters, were sitting at the kitchen table peeling potatoes. Mr Gough was in Slaney’s bar but would be home for his ‘tea’ at seven thirty. Tea was being delayed for our arrival.

The youngest sister took one look at me and said accusingly to Bridget, ‘But he’s quite good-looking. You said he was really fat!’ Whereupon she was kicked in the ankle by Maureen. ‘Josie! That’s rude.’

‘I used to be very fat,’ I said to deflate the bubble of panic that had arisen.

‘Yeah, you’re a bit fat but not massive. I thought you’d be huge,’ said Josie.

‘Josie!’ in chorus from Bridget, Maureen and Mrs Gough.

‘I’m only saying what Bridget told us. She said he was very fat and very posh.’

Bridget looked mortified.

‘You girls can go up and clean your room,’ their mother said. They trooped off, complaining it was too cold upstairs to clean. ‘Put on a jumper!’ called Mrs Gough after them.

Bridget and I sat in the sauna of cabbage steam while Mrs Gough made conversation.

‘So, Laurence, Bridget tells me you’re very good at your job?’

I answered her questions courteously but a heat was rising within me. It seems that even though Bridget had never directly mentioned it, she too had defined me by my weight. She was supposed to care for me. She acted like she was in love with me. Yes, I had been obese when she first met me, but it was the primary thing her family knew about me. I felt shame. And also malice. Bridget was no oil painting. She was no Karen.

When Mr Gough came home at seven thirty on the dot, the meal was served. This was a traditional home. Mr Gough looked me up and down, shook my hand vigorously, then stared at his shoes and said very little. A white tablecloth now covered the kitchen table.

‘We only have tablecloths at Christmas!’ exclaimed Josie, and then ‘Oww!’ as she was kicked under the table.

For the first time in months, I was absolutely ravenous. I ate everything that was offered. When I was offered second helpings I ate those too, and third and fourth helpings. Mr Gough paid attention now as the last scoop of mashed potato was dolloped on to my plate and Mrs Gough got up to fry me an extra cod fillet. I pretended not to notice their astonishment. For dessert, I ate half a chocolate Swiss roll while the family shared the other half, and after all the plates were cleared away and tea was offered again, I enquired if there were any biscuits. Maureen was sent to the shop to buy some. Even Josie was shocked into silence. Now Bridget could talk about her fat boyfriend.

The chatter was inane. What did I like to watch on television, which newspaper did I read, which sport did I follow or play? All my answers were at odds with the family. The visit was not going well. The television was turned on to the Nine O’Clock News to avoid further embarrassing conversation. Certain parts of Ulster were still saying no to the Anglo-Irish Agreement. Prince Andrew had married a fat girl in England, and Chris de Burgh’s ‘Lady in Red’ had broken some records. ‘And some record players,’ I laughed, but they looked baffled and didn’t get the joke. After the news, Mrs Gough indicated that it was time for the rosary and the whole family got to their knees, clutching sets of rosary beads. Not wanting me to feel left out, Mr Gough handed me a ‘spare’ set made of dark wood. I mumbled the prayers along with the rest of the family, but I made it obvious that I was not accustomed to this ritual. Even when my father was alive, there had been no religiosity in our family outside of Sunday Mass. Ironically, I had no recollection of my father ever having gone to Confession. He, who had the most to confess.

In that moment, reminded of my dad, I compared my murdering, dishonest family to Bridget’s, and instead of feeling superior I realized they were sweet and innocent, this family who prayed on their knees together, who welcomed a stranger into their home. I felt bad for how I had behaved, how little effort I had made. Bridget caught my eye and I flashed her a genuine smile.

When everyone retired to bed, we were left alone momentarily. ‘Don’t be long, now!’ called Mrs Gough from the stairs, obviously terrified of what we might get up to if left unsupervised.

Bridget threw another sod of turf into the fireplace.

‘Laurence, why … why were you like that with them? Why couldn’t you just play along? Don’t you want them to like you?’

‘Bridget –’

‘No, stop, why did you eat like that? I’ve never seen you eat that much before. Why did you do that? Didn’t you see that there wasn’t enough food left for my dad? I don’t understand.’ She was tearful now.

How could I explain this meanness that was inside me? That I had taken revenge on her for saying that I had been fat, for having a normal family, for not being Karen? Why was I so spiteful towards this girl who had done nothing bad to me, had been nothing but kind?

I shook my head. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I … I love you. I wanted them to love you too.’

Poor Bridget. She loved me. Her good eye pierced me. I reached out and smoothed her hair and kissed her on the mouth.

‘Tomorrow, I’ll try harder. I promise.’

I did not sleep well that night in Bridget’s childhood bedroom. I worried about when I would get to slip away and post the letter by myself. My stomach was queasy and the eiderdown was lumpy in places. Maureen had since occupied the room, but it was clear that this was a family who had never known privilege or wealth. The furnishings were cheap and the new curtains thin. Everything in the room was functional, no room for decoration apart from a solitary snow globe atop a bookshelf, a gift from some Christmas past perhaps, and a few obligatory holy pictures. There were no radiators in this room, but it was directly above the front room so the residual heat from the fireplace downstairs took the bite from the chilled air, and Mrs Gough had thoughtfully provided a hot-water bottle. They had done everything to make me feel comfortable. I resolved to be a better boyfriend the next day.