Second Hand Jane (20 page)

“Thank God!—She
didn’t wear the wool outfit, Frank!—What about knickers? Did you
take my advice with regard to your knickers?”

Jess heard her father’s voice in the
background, “
Marian!”

“Sorry, Frank,
but this girl of ours needs all the help she can get. Well, did
you?”

“
Mum!
”

“Alright,
alright, keep your knickers on.”

Marian failed
to realise her pun as she carried blithely on, “So what was the
place he took you to like? It was a cocktail bar, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. It was
very posh minimalist with lots of polished chrome and expensive
leather couches. A place to be seen and not at all my normal sort
of hangout but the cocktails were free all night, which is
definitely my kind of thing.” Jess chortled silently, knowing this
would irk her mother.

“Well, maybe it
is high time it became your sort of hangout, my girl, and that you
started to mix with a better quality of people.”

Unbelievable,
Jess thought, holding the phone away from her ear and poking her
tongue out at the receiver but Marian was only just warming up.

“I hope you
behaved yourself, Jessica Jane. You’re too old to be making a holy
show of yourself these days. I remember the time you staggered home
after you’d been to a party at the girl Frankton’s house.”

“Sarah was her
name, Mum, not ‘the girl Frankton.’” Jess cringed; this was a story
Marian had regurgitated more than once.

“She was a bad
influence on you, that one, wasn’t she, Frank? It was disgraceful
behaviour on your part, my girl.”

“Oh, for
goodness’ sake, Mum, that was years ago—I was seventeen! You have
the memory of a flipping elephant. And for your information, as far
as a first date goes, I was very well-behaved and Nick didn’t mind
the striptease I did on top of the bar later in the night at
all.”

“That’s not
funny. Sarcasm is the lowest form of humour.”

“Well, what do
you expect, talking to me like that? I am thirty-four-years old,
not four.”

“Once you
become a mother, you are always a mother. I live in hope that one
day you will understand that your baby is always your baby, no
matter how big or how much of a smarty pants she might get.”

“Yeah, I know
you do, Mum.” Jess was in danger of dislocating her eyeballs with
the roll that followed that reply.

“So did you get
on well together? At least tell me that.”

“
We did, actually. He is very…” Jess
paused, chewing on her bottom lip. How would she describe Nick? An
image of Galaxy bar smooth milk chocolate sprang to mind. “He’s
very charming and he’s
really
good-looking.”

“Did you have
sex?”

“That is none
of your business!”

“
Marian,
would you leave the poor girl alone!”

Good old Dad,
Jess silently cheered, even though she knew it was a futile effort
on his behalf. Marian would ignore him because she wasn’t finished
yet. Oh no, not by a country mile.

“Good. I was
hoping you took my advice and that I can take that as a no because
believe you me, it’s really not a good idea on the first or even
second date to give a man what he wants.”

Jess cringed,
knowing she was about to go off on a tangent; it was as inevitable
as the ebb and flow of the tides.

“Now, I know
you young people get up to all sorts these days but no matter how
modern a man may be in his thinking, deep down they are all
Neanderthals. If you can remember that, then you won’t go too far
wrong. Men are hunter-gatherers of old who don’t like to think that
their mate may have been collecting her nuts and berries too
easily, if you get my drift?”

Good God. Jess
shook her head. The worst thing was that this was actually her
mother’s convoluted way of saying keep your legs shut.

She grinned as she heard her Dad snort and
say,
“Marian,
I am just off to club a woolly mammoth to death for dinner and then
I think I will drag you by your hair into the kitchen to cook
it.”

“Ignore your
father—he’s another smarty pants. Where do you think you get it
from? Deep down, men are old-fashioned when it comes to that sort
of thing, so you’d do well to wait until at least your fourth or
even fifth date before offering up the goods. Of course, you want
to keep him interested, though, which is why I was so concerned
over your choice of underwear. Think entrée, not the main and
certainly not all three courses!”

Good grief. Home runs, entrees and
mains—her mother’s metaphors when it came to sex were appalling. It
was a wonder she and Kelly had ever been conceived because Jess
couldn’t fathom how her mother had managed to communicate to her
father that she was in the mood.
I have an itch that needs
scratching
perhaps,
or
there’s
some urgent plumbing to be done
? Either way, it was a good thing she didn’t know the half
of it, thought Jess, because there were some things in life that
were just none of her damn business.

Not expecting a
reply, Marian Baré ploughed on with her inquisition. “Did you make
arrangements to see each other again?”

“Actually, we
did. He’s cooking me dinner next Wednesday night.”

There was a
loud clunk followed by a scrabbling noise and then silence. Finally
and to Jess’s immense relief, her father’s voice came on the
line.

“It’s Dad here,
sweetheart. Your Mum’s come over all strange and had to go and lie
down for a minute—what on earth did you say to her?”

Jess told
him.

“Oh, well, that
explains it. You’d better look out because the next thing we know,
she’ll be booking the church and arranging the flowers. You know
what she’s like.” His tone grew sombre. “Listen, Jess, while I have
you on the phone and your mother’s a safe distance away, I wanted
to tell you not to let her bully you where this Nick chap is
concerned. She means well, and she wants you to be happy, but from
what she’s relayed to me, he doesn’t sound your type at all. I know
you’ve picked a few wrong-uns in the past, love, but this fella—a
property developer with a sports car? Well, to be honest, Jess, he
sounds rather oily.”

Nick wasn’t
oily. Okay, yes, he was definitely smooth but not oily. “Dad, when
have I ever let Mum pressure me? I like Nick, actually I like him a
lot, but I have not managed to stay single well into my thirties by
rushing into things, so don’t worry, okay?”

“You’re right
and despite what Marian might think, you are old enough to make
your own choices. Just make sure you make the right one. Now tell
me, what have you been working on lately? Are you still busy
cooking up a storm?”

Jess smiled.
She could always count on her Dad to show interest in her work and
she settled into her sofa, pulling the throw rug up under her chin
as she began to fill him in on the Aherne family’s sad story.

When she’d
finished, Frank was quiet for a moment. “You’re right, sweet; it is
a story that needs to be told. Tell it well.”

“Can I read you
the draft I’ve written?” Her father, her biggest fan, was always
keen to hear her work—raw state or polished—and though Jess
preferred the impersonal nature of email by which to receive any
criticisms, she knew she could count on her Dad to relay back only
the positives. Getting the article up on her laptop’s screen, she
leaned forward and began to read. When she’d finished, Frank was
silent for a moment, digesting what he had just heard before
exhaling loudly.

“Powerful
stuff, Jess. What a thing for a family to have to have suffered
through. It’s incomprehensible, you know, but the same thing will
be happening to another family somewhere in the world right now as
we speak. Look at what’s been going on in Syria.” He sighed. “It
does make you stop and take stock when you hear a story like that,
even if it is only for a short while. It puts all the trivial
day-to-day stuff into perspective. We’re one of the lucky ones,
Jess—very lucky—and I know you and your Mum don’t always see eye to
eye, but she loves you. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I know
she does and I love her, too. She just drives me mad, that’s
all.”

Frank laughed
before asking, “This Owen fella sounds like a good man. Will you be
seeing him again?”

Jess wasn’t
fooled by his attempt at nonchalance. It was a funny thing, she
realised; had her mother asked her that question, it would have
gotten her back up straight away. With her Dad, though, she could
be honest. “Yes, he is a good man and he’s been through a lot but
he blows hot and cold all the time.” Jess chewed her bottom lip
agitatedly, remembering how whenever Owen had become conscious of
feeling relaxed around her, his guard had gone back up. “Maybe it
is some sort of defence mechanism. I’d definitely like to see
Wilbur again, though. He was so cute and uncomplicated.”

“I never
thought I’d see the day when my daughter was smitten with a piglet
and as for this Owen being a tad moody, well, perhaps he has good
reason to be. From what you’ve just told me, life hasn’t exactly
dealt him a fair hand, now has it?”

“No, it
definitely hasn’t.”

“I have a
feeling your story isn’t done yet either. You’ll be seeing him and
your wee runt Wilbur again soon.”

Jess chose to
misinterpret his words. “Yeah, you’re probably right. If Owen is
true to form, then he’ll be difficult and probably want loads of
editing done before I submit my final copy to Niall. Still, it
would be good to have an excuse to see Wilbur again. I’d like to
see him grow up into a big pig.”

Her father
laughed. “I thought women who didn’t have children got cats or
those white yappy dogs as substitutes, not pigs.”

“Bichon Frises,
Dad, and Wilbur is not my baby substitute.”

Frank grew
serious once more. “I know I don’t say this to you very often,
Jess. Nowhere near often enough but you do know that you’re making
us proud, don’t you? What you’ve achieved with your writing, your
own column—well, I want you to know that we are proud of you.
That’s not just coming from me either; Mum feels the same way.”

Jess felt the
hot sting of tears and blinked them away as quickly as they had
come. She wished she could believe what he said where her mother
was concerned but she didn’t have time to dwell on it because speak
of the devil, Marian—fully recovered—came back on the line.

Ten minutes
later, Jess hung up the phone with relief. She felt drained by the
grilling she’d just had over what she was planning to wear on her
dinner date, where Nick lived, and the kind of property he
developed. At least this time round, though, she had been able to
reply satisfactorily. She’d only just finished flexing her fingers
to do a spot of channel surfing when the phone shrilled again.

Oh no! Please,
please don’t let it be Mum again. She sighed and if she had been
Catholic, she would have crossed herself but since she wasn’t, she
just wished she had splashed out the extra couple of euros for
caller display. With a sigh, she leaned over and picked it up.

It was
Owen.

Owen had
telephoned to tell her that he had received her emailed draft of
“Amy’s Story.” Jess braced herself for a barrage of corrections but
to her surprise he said he thought it read well. “It was hard to
read my own words and see them laid out like so but you’ve written
it well. It’s not too flowery like.” He finished by telling her he
was happy for it to be submitted to her editor as it was.

Jess stopped
slouching and pulled herself upright. This was high praise coming
from someone like him who, she was quite sure, would not be shy in
coming forward had he not liked what she had sent through to him.
It was only right, too, given how close to his heart the article
was that he should want it word perfect.

“I am glad you
are pleased with it. It wasn’t an easy thing for me to write.” She
wouldn’t send him the bill for the two Big Macs. Comfort eating at
its worst.

“Aye, I’m sure
it wasn’t.”

“Do you think
Amy would be pleased with it?” She held her breath because his
answer mattered to her.

“Aye.”

“Good.”

An awkward
silence stretched out between them which Jess finally broke. “How’s
Wilbur doing?”

“Not bad. He’s
hanging in there. He’s a fighter, alright.”

“Good. I’ve
been worried about him.”

“Well, you
don’t need to worry; he’s in good hands. I know what I’m
doing.”

Jess could tell
by his tone he was amused, though she didn’t know why. He changed
the subject on her before she had a chance to mull it over
further.

“The reason I
rang you was because I found an old family album I’d forgotten
about and there were some pictures of our Amy in there that I
thought might go with your piece.”

“Oh, that would
be great! I was going to phone you anyway and ask if we could use
some pictures but I didn’t know how you’d feel about it. Would you
be able to scan them through to me?”

“Well, the
thing is I’m down in Malahide tomorrow for a meeting. There’s a new
deli opening soon who are interested in stocking some of my produce
and being a Saturday, I thought that you might be able to, uh… ”
His voice trailed off and Jess, getting the gist of what he was in
an awkward roundabout way trying to say was, offered, “You’d like
me to meet you in Malahide?”

“Yes. If you’re
free, that is. I thought we could have some lunch and you could
take a look through the photos then.”

Why did he have
to make it sound like he was asking her to join him while he had
his teeth pulled out? Remembering her father’s words about him
having good reason for being an awkward bugger, she decided she
could afford to be gracious. “That would be lovely, Owen, thank
you. If you hang on a minute, I’ll let you know what time the Dart
gets in.”