‘Two shots of tequila,’ said Clodagh, mascara slightly smudged.
‘Are you all right,’ I said, focussing on her, forgetting Red. ‘Have you been crying? At your own party?’
‘Max,’ she sighed heavily. ‘Says he’s going home, that he’s tired. I said it was my birthday and he said I was like a spoilt child. So I told him that I’d had enough.’
‘What?’
‘I told him, that I didn’t want to see him again.’
‘Really? At your own birthday?’
‘Yes, really. Me and Maximus Pratticus are no more.’ She gave a half-smile. ‘And now I’m single. Fucking again.’
‘Clodagh… remember? You like being single,’ I said, arranging my face into one of concern but inside I was relieved that Clodagh was no longer saddled with the man called Pratt. I glanced over at Red again, he and Bridget were now deep in conversation.
‘Just give me time, that’s all,’ Clodagh was saying. ‘A day or two and I’ll remember. But for now, let me get a little bit maudlin.’
‘Okay. Go ahead. You’ve got 48 hours starting now.’
‘Right.’ She sucked in air, and focussed her mind. ‘It’s really not fair. I’ve worked my arse off all these years, but here I am aged…’ she dropped her voice to a rasp… ‘forty-fecking-two… and what do I have to show for it? A career that is being threatened by a pneumatic weather girl with dodgy knees and a man who would rather spend his evenings at home than with me at my party. Surely I can do better than this?’
‘You can do whatever you put your mind to…’
‘I’m thinking of an ashram, in India.’ Clodagh was warming to her theme. ‘Or maybe running a nice little B & B in the foothills of somewhere. They always have to be foothills, don’t they?’
‘I don’t even know what a foothill is,’ I said.
‘I think it involves a hill, anyway,’ said Clodagh confidently. ‘And a foot.’ And we both laughed. But then she wiped away a tear. ‘So my brief encounter is over,’ she said. ’Appropriate, him being so short.’
‘Clodes, don’t cry… please don’t cry.’ This wasn’t the glamourous 40th birthday party either of us has imagined, Clodagh in tears, me bewildered and bothered by Red.
‘It’s the champagne,’ she said. ‘I’m the only person in the world on whom it doesn’t have an effervescent effect.’
‘And the tequila,’ I said. ‘This is what it does. It makes people who aren’t natural criers, who stay stony faced at The Color Purple or It’s A Wonderful Life, into cry-babies.’
‘I did cry at both those films,’ she said. ‘But Max is neither a smiler nor a crier. He didn’t cry once at Dunkirk. The whole cinema was in floods and he was calm and collected. I think he might have been supporting the other side.’
I laughed.
‘I’ll have to carry on being nice to him,’ she went on. ‘My contract is up at the end of the month so I have to be professional and charming. When what I really want to do is set fire to his balls.’
‘Are they flammable then?’
‘When I finish with them, they will be. But what about Red. He looks cosy with old Bridget… are you okay with that? How are you? You never say anything!’ she said. ‘How awkward is it, really? And don’t give me that everything’s fine, it’s not weird at all. Because it must be. And I shouldn’t have invited him tonight. I’m sorry.’
We both looked over at Red and Bridget, still talking. Well, she was anyway. His back was to us.
‘It’s weird and awkward and… the same,’ I admitted. ‘I still feel the same.’
‘Good God no! You mean that you still, you know… still love him?’
‘Yeah,’ I nodded, resigned. ‘So it’s horrible. Can’t wait for the term to be over actually. And then I might never see him again except for brief encounters on the pier or whatever.’
‘Oh Tab,’ she said, hugging me. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘I’m fine, I’m more worried about Rosie doing her exams, you know?’
‘So, why aren’t you crying?’ she said. ‘You’re drinking it too. Maybe you need another shot. A pint! A pint of tequila.’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I should be. Because I’m not happy.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m not happy. Not really. Okay, so you make me happy. And my job. And Rosie is the best thing ever, but I’m not happy, not really, not deeply. Something’s missing.’
‘Tell me about it.’ Clodagh signalled for two more tequilas.
‘It’s like I’m living half a life,’ I rambled. ‘And I so desperately want all of me to be alive. Do you know what I’m saying?’
‘I think so.’
‘I hate being married to Michael.’ On I droned, the tequila loosening my tongue. This was probably why I never had any fun. I turned into a self-pitying fool at the first whiff of alcohol. ‘And I can’t complain because he’s all right, really. But he’s not interested in me.’ I was starting to slur. ‘And I’m not interested in him.’ I picked up my refresh tequila. ‘But do you know what the worst thing is?’
Clodagh was agog, with drink, I realised, and definitely not my fascinating story. ‘What is it?’ she whispered.
‘I’ve been married to a man for seventeen years who calls me Mammy.’
‘Maybe he doesn’t know your name,’ she said, ‘and it’s been so long and he’s too embarrassed to ask you what it is.’ And the two of us began to laugh.
She passed me another shot. ‘Ready?’
We both launched the drinks down our throats, faces contorted with the sheer horror.
‘You know,’ she said, signalling for two more. ‘If there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that things can change just like that. It’s happened to me so often that I’ve stopped taking anything for granted. I mean, look at madam over there, talking to Red. I’ve got a funny feeling that she’s going to cause a few waves.’
I looked over at Red and Bridget but they had gone.
‘You see,’ said Clodagh, slurring. ‘It’s my theory that you never get everything you want at the same time. Keeps you persevering, you see. So all those things you want, nice relationships, happy career, children, a glass of rosé, that kind of thing. Basic needs in other words. You can’t have all of them at the same time. Each has to take its turn. So, you have a child, your career suffers. If you meet someone nice…’
‘You become allergic to rosé?’
‘Exactly.’ Clodagh looked as plastered as I felt.
‘Clodagh, I think you and I just might have had too much to drink.’
‘How very dare you!’ she said. ‘I haven’t had half enough!’ She held up her newly refilled shot glass. ‘Tonight,’ she declared. ‘Tonight I drink tequila.’ She tossed it back. ‘God, that’s disgusting,’ she said. ‘Disgustingly good.’
Chapter Sixteen
The next morning, I wondered if I was the only school principal in the world who was suffering from the effects of too much tequila. I suspected not. But my mood darkened and my head throbbed further when I remembered it was the morning of this term’s cake sale.
I lay in bed for a moment, trying to focus and come to. The last thing I remembered was Clodagh promising to come to the cake sale.
‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ she had said. ‘You have no idea, Tab. You have no idea how much I want my life to be normal, surrounded by normal people.’
‘Normal? My life?’ I was pretty drunk at this point in the evening, my head swimming, our conversation deep and engrossing. The world put to rights. ‘I am surrounded by lunatics.’
Clodagh wouldn’t accept it. ‘There’z lunatics and there’z lunatics.’ She was really indistinct now, her head and eyelids drooping. ‘You don’t know the lunacy I have to deal with. Day in, day out. And Max,’ she said. ‘He’s so lunaticky that he won’t wear underpants twice.’
‘What do you mean? He washes them after every wear? That’s normal.’
‘No!’ She put a finger to her lips. ‘No! I mean, he doesn’t wear them ever again. Don’t tell a soul. He’d kill me.’ She made a slicing action across her throat. ‘He’d kill me.’
‘He’s mad,’ I said. ‘Mad Max!’
‘Mad Max!’ She was nodding and laughing.