Paula Spencer Read Free Page B

name and still go in, and those who call it Finnegan's Wake and don't go in.
    —What's it like inside? she says.
    —What? says Jack. —The pub?
    —Yeah.
    —Alright.
    —I haven't been there in ages.
    He says nothing.
    —Have they done much to it? she asks.
    —Not really, he says. —Just pictures and that.
    —The usual, she says. —You can't do much with a place like that.
    She came out once and he was standing at the door, in the cold, only his shirt on. She went home with him. She put him into the bed beside her. She cried, once she knew he was asleep. And promised.
    Jack knows.
    But it's grand.
    She doesn't miss it, the pub. Not at all. She hated it.
    She hasn't been in a pub since the smoking ban. She wonders what it's like. It's good that Jack will be working smoke-free. She feels good for thinking that.
    —D'you smoke, Jack?
    She doesn't look at him.
    —No, he says.
    —Never?
    —No.
    —Ever?
    She's no one to be talking.
    —I don't like it, he says.
    But she's his mother.
    —Good, she says.
    It's not too late. It's not meaningless.
    —Here we go. Plates now, Jack.
    He gets the plates. He takes dry ones off the rack beside the sink.
    —D'you want butter on your toast?
    —Cool; yeah.
    —Good lad.
    She goes to the fridge. Happy days. She has to move things out of the way to get at the butter. Real butter. Kerrygold.
    They sit at the table. They say nothing. They eat their rasher sandwiches.
    It's later now.
    She's staring at the plate. She can't do anything else. She's afraid to.
    She waits.
    The house is empty. She thinks she heard the door slammed twice. Leanne and Jack. She doesn't know which of them went first. She thinks they're gone. She's not sure.
    Leanne.
    Jesus.
    She screamed at her. Leanne did. She screamed at Paula. She hit her.
    Leanne hit her.
    She can still feel the sting. The shock of it.
    She slapped her. Across the face. Said sorry.
    —It's okay.
    Jesus.
    She's been sitting here for hours. She thinks she has. She thinks the house is empty.
    Today is her birthday. Her daughter has just attacked her.
    She won't let herself get corny. She has to be honest.

She stands up now. She looks at the clock. She took it down off the wall a few months ago. It had been stopped for years. She took out the old battery. She brought it down to the shops and asked if they'd any more like it. It was one of the old batteries, one of those huge ones, before Walkmans. But they'd had one and she bought it. She brought it home and put it into the clock. She washed the sides and the glass, and she put it back up on the wall.
    She looks at it now.
    She's been sitting there for half an hour.
    She goes to the kettle.
    It's been coming. She knows it has.
    She empties the kettle. She fills it with new water.
    Leanne is an alcoholic.
    But Paula's not sure. She isn't certain. She's a bit of a reformed hoor. Everyone's an alcoholic.
    She puts the kettle onto its stand. She presses the switch. She looks out the window.
    Leanne came in after Jack. Paula'd heard her getting up. Jack was back up in his room, maybe back in the bed. Full of his rasher sandwich.
    Paula listened, as Leanne moved around in her room. She heard her on the stairs. And she was frightened. Of what she was going to see. The signs, the face. Red, wet eyes and broken lips.
    The kettle's nearly there. She hears it starting to rumble.
    She's pleased with herself. That's odd, and kind of indecent. But it's true. She hasn't let the slap become the thing she can't get past. She's over it. She isn't – but she is.
    The kettle clicks itself off.
    She throws a teabag into the cup. She pours the water onto it. She watches the colour glide out of the bag. Like red smoke. She likes that colour, before all the water turns that way and darkens. It would look great in her hair. Just a splash of it. A streak down the side.
    What does an alcoholic mother say to her alcoholic daughter? It's shocking. It's terrible. But Paula's not falling down on the ground. She's not