Second Time Around

He should have finished with Rebecca a long time ago. Lately he’d begun to wonder if her ardour had more to do with what he was – a Crawford – than who he was as a person. Last week she’d given him a price list of everything she wanted, nay expected, for her birthday, a gesture so mercenary it had shocked him. And today, those cruel, unnecessary remarks about Jennifer – well, they only confirmed that he was doing the right thing.

‘No you’re not, you’re talking to me. Anyway,’ she said, casting a careless glance over her shoulder, ‘they can manage without you for a few minutes, can’t they? You’re the boss after all. No one can tell you what to do.’ And she actually snapped her fingers to attract the attention of Chris behind the bar.

Ben’s face reddened with embarrassment. ‘It’s all right, Chris,’ he said, jumping up, as the stony-faced barman approached. ‘I’ll get it.’

He served her drink. She made no offer of payment, not that he’d have taken it. ‘I have to get back to work, Rebecca. Can you meet me later?’

‘You’re going to finish with me, aren’t you?’ she said flatly.

He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Let’s talk tonight, Rebecca.’

‘You are, aren’t you?’ she said fiercely, her eyes glinting with angry tears.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell you here. Like this.’

She glared at him and drummed her painted nails like weapons on the granite surface of the bar. ‘Why?’

‘We’re just not suited, Rebecca. You’re a great girl but we’re not very compatible, are we?’

‘Tell me about it,’ she said viciously. ‘You and your stupid books and old black and white movies. And wanting to sit in on a Saturday night like an old fart reading bloody poetry when everyone else is out partying. Jesus, I don’t know how I put up with it.’

Ben felt his face colour. He thought she liked their nights in. Was this how she’d felt all along?

She grabbed her bag and wriggled off the stool, pulling the hem of her skirt down with her right hand. ‘Well, you can go screw yourself, Ben Crawford,’ she shouted, as a hushed silence descended in the room and all the diners strained to hear. ‘I never want to see you again.’

Chapter 3

Lucy was the last to leave the three-storey terrace house on Wellington Park Avenue that she shared with five other second-year girls. She locked the front door and lugged the bag of dirty laundry down to the bus stop. There was a washing machine in the house but it was coin operated and she’d neither the money for that, nor to buy the washing powder. It cost nothing to do laundry at home.

She did not have to wait long for a bus into Belfast city centre. Settling into a seat by the window she jammed her knees into the back of the seat in front, nursed the bag on her lap and looked out on the overcast, calm afternoon. Already the leaves on the trees that lined the many avenues around Queen’s University were starting to turn and soon the grey pavements would be littered with their crisp, bronzed beauty. The nights would start to close in, forcing her indoors to her room, making it harder to resist what she knew she must.

At the next stop a group of students, boys and girls, laden down with bags, got on the bus and she listened with lonely envy as they chatted about their plans for the weekend. The other girls in the house often invited each other home for the weekend, but Lucy was never on the receiving end of one of those invitations. And she had no desire to bring any of them home. They weren’t her friends. They were housemates, nothing more. Because try as she might she simply couldn’t get on their wavelength – a mindset that seemed to revolve around dyed blonde hair and too much make-up, short-skirted fashion and boyfriends. Their conversation was so shallow and she didn’t understand much of it anyway, peppered as it was with references to TV shows she didn’t watch and music she didn’t listen to. To Lucy’s mind they spent far too much time partying, while she sat alone in her room most nights poring over books – not because she wanted to but because she was afraid of what might happen if she didn’t.

And so Lucy was both amazed and annoyed, in equal measure, that not only had these girls managed to make it into second year, most of them had done it with better exam results than her. She attributed this to the fact that her Applied Mathematics and Physics course was more demanding, the assessment process more challenging, the examinations more rigorous – it must be so. She tried not to dwell on the fact that one girl was reading Biochemistry and another Physics – subjects that could hardly be dismissed as lacking in intellectual rigour. For the idea that these girls might be pretty, popular and clever was too much to bear. She would never be pretty, her singular character precluded her ever being popular and she could barely scrape a pass in exams.

Once off the bus, the strap of her heavy bag digging uncomfortably into her bony shoulder, she popped into a newsagents and, after a long deliberation, settled on a card and box of chocolates for her mother’s birthday. The card, one of those jokey ones with penguins on it, wasn’t exactly suitable but the selection was poor. And, at one pound sixty-nine pence, it was all she could afford. In her closed fist she clutched her last five pound note, wilted and damp from her tight, sweaty grip. Reluctantly, she handed it to the shop-owner with a weak smile. The change, when she counted it, wasn’t enough to buy a sheet of wrapping paper. Outside the shop she crouched down on the pavement and stuffed the purchases into her bag with a terrible sense of guilt. Even though they didn’t always see eye to eye, her mother deserved better.

She walked briskly to East Bridge Street then, her shoulders hunched against the cold, head down against the roar of the endless, screaming traffic, her shoulder-length hair, the colour of dirty straw, hanging lank round her face. She crossed her arms, feeling the wind through her thin grey jacket, and thought over the events of the past week. It wasn’t that she had forgotten her mother’s birthday on Wednesday, not at all. It was just that she’d forgotten to put aside some cash for a decent present – and she’d run out of money on her mobile so she couldn’t even call. She was on a pay-as-you-go contract, not that her parents knew this. The phone company had cancelled her monthly contract after she’d failed to pay her bills.

She could kick herself now. She should’ve bought a card and present – maybe a handbag from TK Maxx – earlier in the month, before she was skint. But, to be honest, her mother’s birthday was the least of her worries. She’d had to go and see the bank manager this morning, an extremely distressing experience that had her truly, deeply worried for the first time. Up until now she’d managed to keep him off her back with hints of family wealth. Her father had guaranteed her overdraft – a safety net, he’d said, for dire emergencies only.

But today, the bank manager wasn’t having any of it. He’d let her have twenty pounds along with a stern warning that enough was enough. If she couldn’t manage her money, then he would have to warn the guarantor, her father, that the debt could be called in. She hooked a hank of hair behind her right ear and bit the inside of her cheek. If her father started digging around in her finances, he would unearth the root cause of the debt. She could not allow that to happen.

How had she got herself into such a mess? And how was she ever going to get out of it?

On the train, two suited businessmen sat down opposite her and opened the sports pages of the Belfast Tele. She sniffed back the tears with determination and fingered the gold watch on her wrist, an eighteenth birthday present from her father. She could sell the watch. Better still, she could pretend she’d lost it and claim the insurance money. And then, appalled by the idea of such deception, she yanked the sleeve of her jacket over the watch and turned her back on temptation.

The train creaked into motion and rolled out of the station. She would have to seek the answer to her problem – the immediate one of money, at least – in Ballyfergus, in the form of her parents and their deep pockets. And then, she resolved firmly, though not for the first time, she would take herself in hand. She would conquer this thing. This time she meant it. She closed her eyes, inhaling slowly, allowing this resolve to fill her up. And, when she opened her eyes, she found her spirits brighter, her outlook less gloomy.

The train picked up more passengers at Yorkgate, then on to Whiteabbey, Jordanstown, Greenisland, names that, as a child, had signified the world beyond Ballyfergus. A world she had been curious, keen even, to explore until discovering that the place she loved best was her hometown.

She pulled a book on calculus out of her bag and tried to focus. But the graphs and figures danced around the page, meaningless, incomprehensible. She put down the book and twirled a shaft of thin, brittle hair around her nail-bitten fingers and allowed herself to imagine what it would feel like to do something she actually enjoyed …

The train reached the garrison town of Carrickfergus, dominated by the great, grey fortress of the same name, which many considered to be the finest and best-preserved Norman fortress in Ireland. After Mum and Dad split up, Dad used to bring her and Matt here, more often than she cared to remember, as if he didn’t know what else to do with them. It was marginally better than sitting around his new flat with none of her favourite things around her. It got better after Dad married Maggie and they moved into the big house. At least that felt like a home, albeit someone else’s.

The train pulled into the station and one of the businessmen got off. After leaving Carrickfergus, the train hugged the coastline, the beautiful waters of Belfast Lough stretching out to the east, calm and steel-coloured on this dull day.

The rocking of the carriage had a calming effect on Lucy; the heat made her drowsy. The man across from her turned the page of his paper, the rustling sound reassuring somehow, and her mind turned to the pleasant things that awaited her at home. Her heart swelled with happiness at the thought of her brother, Matt, who would be waiting for her at the station. And her beloved dog, Muffin. She was looking forward to seeing her two little step-sisters, whom she had loved from the day they were born. Her parents too. And by Sunday night, she would be back on the train with a pocketful of cash and all would be well. For a time anyway …

The train rumbled along the coast through Downshire before cutting inland again through the town of Whitehead. Then on through leafy Ballycarry station before emerging, finally, on the shores of Ballyfergus Lough.

The familiar beauty of the Lough brought a sense of peace to Lucy and she smiled at last as she caught her first glimpse of Ballyfergus in the distance. The town’s origins lay in the busy ferry port, around which the town had grown and expanded. And now, with a population of over eighteen thousand, the town sprawled up the hillside, engulfing the surrounding rural townlands. A town small enough to know like the back of your hand, big enough to pass through unnoticed, and the only place where Lucy felt at home.

An hour after leaving Belfast city centre, Lucy stepped onto the platform and into a quickening westerly wind. She took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh, clean air, then hurried to the car park. She spotted her mother’s red car straight away, the sound of music blasting across the tarmac even though all the windows were shut. When he saw her coming, Matt got out of the car, took her bag and threw it in the boot. Then he gave her a bear hug, nearly lifting her off her feet, and she smiled for the second time that day.

‘How are you, big sis?’ he said, releasing her.

‘Glad to be home.’

At six foot three, Matt had, like her, inherited their father’s height and slim build. He’d also inherited their mother’s good looks that had so cruelly passed Lucy by – thick, dark hair, an oval-shaped face, high cheekbones, large dark brown eyes, and a smile that was impossible to resist. Lucy, with her washed-out colouring, too-skinny figure and plain face felt as though she’d been handed the leftovers. And while Matt’s height was a blessing, hers was a curse. At five foot eleven, she towered over most guys, making her feel ridiculous and conspicuous. It was so unfair – why had Matt got all the trump cards?

Matt frowned. ‘What are you thinking?’

‘Your hair needs a cut.’

Matt pulled the cap off, ran his hands through his thatch of thick hair. He grinned, put the cap back on and said, ‘I’m growing it. Lots of chefs have ponytails these days.’

Lucy gave him a sceptical look and they both got in the car. ‘Would you turn that down?’ she shouted above the din – of a male rapper she thought, but couldn’t be sure.

‘Don’t you like Dizzee Rascal?’

‘Not my favourite,’ she grinned and rolled her eyes like she knew what she was talking about. Was Dizzee an artist? Or a band?

Matt turned down the music and Lucy breathed a sigh of relief.

She didn’t care for music – of any kind. It was a language she could not understand, a code she could not crack. Background music, whether in the communal kitchen of her digs or drifting down the hall from Matt’s room at home, was an unwelcome distraction, demanding her attention, interfering with her ability to think clearly. She preferred silence or the soothing sounds of the spoken word. For this reason, she listened to Radio Four – though she’d quickly learnt to turn it off when her flatmates were about.

Matt drove off, tyres screeching on the tarmac. Mum would have a fit if she saw the way he drove the Micra when she wasn’t around. But Lucy would never tell, not on Matt. She stared out the window as they drove the familiar route home. Away from the town centre the streets were all but deserted, save for the odd dog walker or kids wandering home late from school. Nothing much happened in Ballyfergus and that was part of its appeal. She found the continuity of life here reassuring.

‘I’ve got some news for you,’ said Matt, interrupting her thoughts. ‘I had an interview at The Lemon Tree today. I did text you.’

‘Oh, problems with my phone,’ said Lucy dismissively. ‘But what about the job? Did you get it?’ She clasped her hands against her chest praying that he’d been successful. Since he’d finished college three months ago he’d found only sporadic work at the local chippy. And it was getting him down. He’d started talking about leaving Ballyfergus for Dublin or London. So the prospect of a job that kept him so close to home was wonderful news.

He grinned, said nothing for what seemed like forever, and then blurted out, ‘Yes!’

‘Oh, Matt,’ she said, her eyes filling with tears. She touched him lightly on the arm. ‘That’s just the best news. Now you won’t have to move away from Northern Ireland.’

‘I won’t have to move anywhere,’ he announced happily, the optimism in his voice making her blink back the tears. ‘The job’s in Ballyfergus.’