I was left with no option but to misappropriate some of Helen's things. She would be annoyed. But she was annoyed with me anyway for the al- leged flirting with her boyfriend, so what did I have to lose?
I started to riffle frantically through Helen's hangers. Honestly, she had some really lovely clothes.
I felt the sap rising, the old juices start to flow.
I loved clothes.
I was like a man who was dying of thirst in the desert, who unexpectedly stumbles across a fridge full of ice-cold 7-UP. I had spent far too long in that nightgown.
I found a little wine-colored dress in her wardrobe. That'll do nicely, I thought as I clambered feverishly into it. I went back to my room and looked at myself in the mirror, and for the second time in two days I was surprised and delighted with what I saw.
I looked tallish and slimmish and youngish.
Not a bit like a single parent.
Or a deserted wife.
Whatever they're supposed to look like.
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With a pair of woolly tights and my boots I looked pleasingly girlish (ha!) and innocent (double ha!).
And, if the dress was a little bit too short for me, exposing an alarming amount of my thigh (what with Helen being a good deal smaller than me), then so much the better.
Then I piled on the makeup. I was quite excited about going out--I'd forgotten what fun it was.
Gray eyeliner and black mascara made my eyes look really blue. And with my newly washed shiny hair I was very pleased with the overall effect.
Of course, Mum wasn't.
"Are you going to wear a skirt with that top?" she asked.
"Mum, you know perfectly well that this is a dress, not a top," I told her calmly.
Nothing she could say or do would stop me from feeling good about myself.
"It might well be a dress on Helen," she acknowledged. "But it's too short to be anything but a top on you."
I ignored her.
"And did you ask Helen if you could borrow it?" she said, obviously hell-bent on destroying my good mood. "Because I'll get the flak from Helen. You won't care. You'll be in town with your rowdy friends knocking back the Malibu or whatever it is you drink. And I'll be here, being shouted at by my youngest daughter. And it's not like any of us are in Helen's good graces at the moment anyway."
"Oh shut up, Mum," I told her. "I'll leave a note for Helen explaining that I've borrowed it. And when I get my clothes from London she can borrow some of mine."
Silence from Mum.
"Is that okay?" I asked her.
"Yes." She smiled. "And you look lovely," she added grudgingly.
Just before I left my bedroom to go downstairs, a glint from the dressing table caught my eye. It was my wedding ring. I had forgotten to put it back on after my shower. It lay there winking up at me, obviously eager to get out of the house for a bit. So I went over and picked it up. But I didn't put it on. My marriage is over, I thought, and maybe I'll start to believe
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it if I don't wear my wedding ring anymore. I put the ring back down on the dressing table.
Of course it was furious--it just couldn't believe that I wasn't going to wear it. And then it was upset. But I didn't give in. I couldn't afford any sentiment. I decided to leave before the recriminations started. "Sorry," I said shortly, turning my back, switching off the light and walking from the room.
Dad was watching golf on the television when I went in to him to borrow his car keys. I think I gave him a bit of a fright when I finally managed to wrench his attention away from the men in the plaid pants.
"You're very glamorous," he said, looking startled. "Where are you off to?"
"Into town to meet Laura," I told him.
"Well, don't get the bloody car vandalized," he said, alarmed.
Dad came from a small town in the west of Ireland, and although he had lived in Dublin for thirty-three years, he still didn't trust Dubliners. He thought that they were all petty criminals and thugs.
And he seemed to think that the center of Dublin was like Beirut. Except that Beirut was far nicer.
"I won't get it vandalized, Dad," I told him. "I'll leave it in a parking lot."
But that didn't calm him down either.
"Well, make sure that you pick it up by midnight," he said, getting very agitated. "Because all the parking lots close then. And if you don't get it, I'll have to walk to work in the morning."
I forbore from telling him, but only just, that he wouldn't have to walk anywhere in the morning if I got the car impounded. That there was actually nothing stopping him from borrowing Mum's car or using public transport.
"Don't worry, Dad," I assured him. "Now give me the keys."
He reluctantly handed them over.
"And don't go changing the radio station. I don't want to turn it on in the morning and be deafened by pop music."
"If I change it, I'll change it back," I sighed.
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"And if you adjust the seat forward make sure you move it back again. I don't want to get in in the morning and think I've put on loads of weight in the night."
"Don't worry, Dad," I told him patiently as I picked up my coat and bag. "See you later."
It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than to borrow the car off Dad.
As I closed the sitting room door behind me I heard him calling after me, "Where are you going without a skirt?" but I kept walking.
It was awful leaving Kate. It was the first time that I had gone out without her and it was a real wrench. In fact, I nearly brought her with me but then I realized that she'd be spending enough time in noisy smoky pubs when she was older, so no call for her to start just yet.
"You will check on her every fifteen minutes," I said tearfully to Mum.
"Yes," she said.
"Every fifteen minutes," I emphasized.
"Yes," she said.
"You won't forget?" I said anxiously.
"No," she said, starting to sound a bit annoyed.
"But what if you're watching something on TV and you get distracted?" I suggested.
"I won't forget!" she said, sounding definitely annoyed. "I know how to look after a child, you know. I have managed to rear five of my own."
"I know," I told her, "it's just that Kate is special."