Good Things do Happen (when you least expect them)

If I wanted to, I could make a long list of all the bad things that happened to me over the years, but I won’t depress myself.  Thinking of the last year alone would be reason enough to jump off a cliff.

First of all, there was that new job. It was in an advertising company, a bit of a change for me.  When I walked through the glass doors into the large reception area, I felt I was already going up a notch.  There was red leather couches, chrome pillars and exotic plants everywhere.  The girl behind the reception desk looked like something out of Vogue.  When she called my name, I noticed she wore false eyelashes, and nails that had never seen a scrubbing brush.  “I’m too old for this place” I thought.  “Positive thoughts!” I told myself.  I immediately switched to a different persona and let the “new me” do the talking.

I did get the job, much to my surprise, and the following weekend, decided to go on a spending spree, credit card in hand.  I needed a few new outfits to fit the job, and, well, I hadn’t spent anything on myself in a long time.  The only trouble was, I wanted to be savvy about what I bought. I purchased two new suits, then I had to buy two blouses to go with them.  My present shoes looked a bit shabby when I tried on a new pair, and well, I’d had the bag since God knows when.  “Start from the inside out” was what all the stylists tell you, so out with the old and in with the new. To top it all, there was a really good hair stylists waiting for me to take the plunge.  I was getting a bit anxious when I saw all the hair on the floor around me, but a young trainee soon swept it out of sight.   I had palpitations thinking what I had spent, but consoled myself that with the new job and good wages, I’d have the credit card paid off in no time.  It was all great.  I settled in with the new job, new people, and things really looked rosy.  Then came the bombshell.  Six months in, and the firm went bust.  Some of the girls said they could see it coming, but there wasn’t a whisper until we all got our marching orders.

And so I left with one arm as long as the other.  My friend and I drank two bottles of wine discussing my next move, and apart from a sore head on Sunday morning, my options didn’t look good.  Weeks went by.  I got some Temping here and there.  I could just about pay the rent, but what was left didn’t even stretch to a bottle of vino on Saturday night.  I muddled through.  After sending off several CV’s and going to a few interviews, I got a job as secretary in an insurance office.  I was on the up again.  Bills were being paid, including my credit card.  I had no high notions about status in my new employment.  At least I had the new clothes to give the impression of someone upwardly mobile.  I declined the after work drinks and lunches out.  I kept my head down.  People started to talk about holidays abroad and plans for the summer.  I said I was going to a relative living on the coast.  Surprisingly no one showed much interest, so I got away with it.  I was making it up anyway

I often thought about how easy it was for other people my age to have their lives sorted.  Husbands, family, nice homes, holidays abroad.  My life seemed to just struggle mundanely onwards, month after month.  I remember being told years ago to “be grateful for what you’ve got.  There are other people worse off”.  Yes, I know.  It’s all relative really, isn’t it?  I’d fantasize about winning the lottery, while I sat with my feet up watching the soaps on television.  I’d buy a house by the sea, give some money to my family, give some to charity, and some to the RSPCA.  I’d make sure I had a nest egg so that I’d never have to worry about everyday bills again.  Those kind of dreams kept me going, even when week after week I felt like I was throwing money down the drain.  Then, out of the blue, I was asked out by this lovely man from work. “Play it cool” I told myself.  I tried not to be too keen.  “Sorry I can’t make it this Friday, but if you’re free next week sometime, that would be great” I told him.  I bought a video on Friday night so I wouldn’t be thinking of him.  We went out the following Thursday night.  He took me to a lovely restaurant in the city centre straight from work.  I reverted to my “new persona” and made myself feel like I was really used to eating out at stylish restaurants.  Strangely enough, it felt natural.  Life was really meant to be like this. I’d love to ask you in” I said coyly when he dropped me home,  “only my sister is staying and has to get up early tomorrow morning”, I lied.  He kissed me on the lips, lingering for a moment, and looked back before getting into his car.   Did that look mean he believed me or he didn’t?  I wasn’t sure. He must have liked me because we went out for six months.  Then he told me he was being transferred abroad.  I never quite understood what he did for a living, though I did try to find out.  He was always a bit evasive.   I minded more being on my own after that.

Then I got notice on my flat because the landlord was in trouble financially and was selling the house.  I felt I was back to square one again.   A girl from work told me about a flat that was going near her and I took it.  It was a dump, but It would do for a while. I felt so dejected, I joined the local tech and did an Assertiveness Course, for all the good that did me!

It’s funny how things work out.  Just when I thought I couldn’t cope with another disappointment, I met a girl from school.  We had been friends, but lost touch over time.  She had moved to New York and as we sat having coffee in “The Paradiso”, I was mesmerised at the stories she was telling me.  While my life was going from one fiasco to another, she was on the up and up in the Big Apple, living the life.

Now, months later, home after another working day, I look across the river and I’m dazzled by the New York skyline. I wonder why it took me so long to see that there could be something better.  I do miss home.  I miss, well I’m sure there’s plenty of things I miss, if I had the time to think about them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bernie’s Intuition

It was getting late.  Julie had said eight o’clock.  She was always so punctual.  I checked the phone but there was no text message. My feet were stuck to the spot with the cold.  A few more busses went past, and still no sign of her.  I tried her phone again, but it just went to voicemail.  I decided to get the bus home.  Maybe she couldn’t get a babysitter.  Maybe she ran out of credit.  I was starting to worry now.  Things at home had been turbulent for her these past months.  Sitting on the bus, my mind spun from one scenario to another.  It was too late and too far to call to her house.  I had a very bad feeling this time.

Julie had started work in the Superstore the same time as I did.  We both stocked shelves for a while, and walked to the bus stop together when the shift was finished.  It suited me as my daughter had started school, and my mother collected her each afternoon.  Derek, my husband, was a travelling salesman and spent a lot of time on the road, so it suited me to get out of the house.  It was a nice change to earn a few bob of my own. My daughter, Amy, loved her grandmother.  Julie didn’t talk about home much in the beginning.  She did show me a photo of her son Jake, with such a smile on her face I knew he was her pride and joy. Jake was not her husband’s child, but it had never been a problem when they started going out together.

As the months passed Julie opened up a bit.  Her whole face changed when she smiled, and had the heartiest laugh when she allowed herself to.  I often saw what I thought was a faraway look in her eyes.  I wouldn’t dream of prying into her business, but decided there was more to Julie than appeared on the surface.  I had my fill of nosey people in the past when Amy was born, and could sense people doing the sums when we eventually got married and Amy was born.  Derek and I were happy regardless of the small flat we lived in, and the fact that Amy was born a few months after our wedding.  The dress hid everything on the day.  I was in love and didn’t care what people thought anyway. We had a small reception of family and friends and went to the coast for the weekend.  Derek promised me a real holiday in the sun when we could afford it, to make up for the penny-pinching honeymoon.  We had a lot of expenses ahead with the coming baby and that was enough for me. Our baby was welcomed like a princess and we fell in love with her on sight. She was going to be fair, like Derek, and had the palest blue eyes, like the sky on a summer’s day. There was no spare cash to throw around, and my once-a-week visit to the hair salon fell by the wayside.  My mother was always careful about her appearance when I was a child, and sometimes gave out to me when my dark brown hair was pulled back with an elastic band, in need of a wash.  “No effort made to take care of your appearance” she would say.  She must have a short memory of how much time a baby takes.  If she cared that much, why didn’t she offer to babysit and treat me to a day of pampering?  It was only when Amy got to about two years old that she started to really take an interest, and Amy knew she had an audience.

I tried Julie’s phone when I got home, and checked to see if she had left a message.  Nothing.  It was so unlike her, but there was nothing further I could do until tomorrow.  Derek was going to be working down the country for a few days.  I spoke to him of my concern for Julie.  There was still no answer from her.  “It could be anything.  Probably not as bad as you think, Bernie”, he said as he grabbed a piece of toast and gulped down the last of his coffee. His tall frame bent down towards me, hand on my shoulder. “I’ll ring you tonight and you can tell me what’s going on”.  With that, briefcase in his hand and his overcoat over his arm, he kissed me, then Amy, and he was gone.  Amy wasn’t co-operating as I tried to persuade her away from the television.  Kids seem to sense when you have something on your mind.  “I’ll take you to the park after Grannies, Amy”.  It worked.  Soon she was dressed, lunch in her back-pack and some fruit.  Her smile had returned and it made my heart lighter.  It was a short walk to the school, and once she joined her little friends and saw her teacher ferrying them into class, Amy was in her element, with hardly a backward glance.

I didn’t have to wait long for a bus.  The shop was bustling when I arrived.  Before I took my place at the cash desk, I looked around for Julie.  Her coat wasn’t where she usually left it, near the door, and after scanning the area, there was no sign of her.  I looked around for the Manager.  Mr. McDonald was middle aged and a big bulk of a man, but fair in his dealings with staff.  I went straight to his office, knocking before he waved me in.  “What can I do for you Mrs. Baker? He asked.  I hesitated for a moment, then said “I can’t see Julie Barnes, Mr. McDonald.  Did she ring in this morning?”  “I shouldn’t discuss staff with you Mrs. Barnes, but I know you and her are friends.  She’s indisposed.  Had to bring her son to the doctor”.  “Oh!” I said,” thank you Mr. McDonald”.

The morning went by at a snail’s pace.  At break I tried to phone Julie again, but still got voicemail.  My mind was racing.  I’d ring my mother and tell her something had come up and I’d be a bit late collecting Amy. If I got a taxi to Julie’s house, I should be back to collect Amy by six thirty at the latest.  The taxi was slow getting through the build-up of rush hour traffic, but left me off by five thirty.  Julie lived in the third house down, by the lamp post.  After ringing the bell a few times, I got no response.  I’ll try her neighbour’s house.  A teenager came to the door.  “Ya” she said (no manners there!).  “Is your mother in? I’d like a word please”.  Miss Teenager disappeared down the hall.  The television was on and I could hear the jingle of ads.  A small, woman, probably in her late fifties, came to the door.  I was expecting a hostile reception like the daughter, but this woman looked more amenable.  “I was looking for Julie Barnes” I said.  Before I got another word in, I was told “ah, poor woman, her son fell down the stairs last night.  He was rushed to the local hospital.  Havn’t seen her since.  Lovely child too”.  “Was her husband around at the time?” I asked.  “That fella.  She could do better than him”.  She paused for a moment, then said “who’s asking anyway.  Can I take a message for Julie?”  I smiled at the woman with the gentle voice, and said “I’m sorry.  My name is Bernie Baker.  I work with Julie.  We’ve been friends for ages”.  I wasn’t sure what to say next.  “You could tell her I called, and to phone me when she can.  She has my number”.  With that, I thanked her and closed the gate behind me.

In the taxi back, my mind was in turmoil.  If Derek was here, he’d say “no point in projecting until you know what’s happened”.  Easy for him to say.  It was close to seven o’clock when I got to my mother’s house, and I could see by her expression that she was none too pleased at my delay.  I didn’t want to go into the whole thing with her, so made some excuse about an emergency at work.  Amy had her coat on, back pack by her side, ready to go.  “I hope you get paid for overtime” she said, as she waved us off.

When I got Amy to bed that evening, I phoned the hospital, asking about Jake Barnes.  “Are you a relative?”.  I wasn’t quick enough and started waffling.  “I’m sorry, we can’t give out any information about a patient” I was told.  “I’ll have to go to the house again tomorrow”, I thought.

When I arrived at Julie’s door the following day, Julie was edgy and it took a few minutes before she asked me into the house.  “Mrs. O’Shea told me you called”, Julie said, taking my coat and walking ahead of me into the kitchen.  “Sorry about not meeting you”.  At first there was no explanation offered. I watched Julie go to the sink and fill the kettle.  She put cups on the table in silence.  I thought I could see bruising on her neck, but it could be a shadow.  Her eyes were puffy and her skin the colour of chalk.  Her blond hair looked lank and unkept. The tea was poured and we sat opposite each other in silence.  “Sugar?” Julie offered.  After the awkwardness passed, Julie skirted around Jake being in hospital.  “I’m leaving him Bernie.  I have to” she finally said.

Julie and Andrew had been arguing the night of the accident.  Andrew, who was out of work for a while, was looking for money from her.  He already had a few drinks on him, having spent the afternoon in the pub.  At one stage, he had Julie pinned up against the wall, his hands around her neck.  Little Jake tried to get between them, and Julie yelled at him to go upstairs.  Suddenly, there was a thud, then another.  Julie screamed and Andrew let her go.  Jake was lying at the bottom of the stairs.  An ambulance came and before she knew it, Julie and Jake were in the back, sirens blaring, on their way to the hospital.  She was told it might be a fractured skull, and Jake would be kept in overnight.  The doctor said she could stay with him.  If she expected sympathy, it was guilt she experienced.  It had gone out of her head completely that she was to meet Bernie in town.  Even if she had, her mobile was at home.  As dawn appeared, she lifted her head to look at Jake.  He was sleeping and his breathing was even.  She prayed as hard as she ever prayed that he would be alright.  There was a resolve creeping into her thoughts.  “This will never happen again”.

With Derek away for a few days, Julie took Jake and whatever she could carry, and stayed with me.  Julie’s mother and father were coming to collect them and bring them back to their house.  Julie and Andrew rented a furnished house, so there wasn’t much of importance to leave behind.  When Amy and Jake were settled in that first night, Julie suddenly started to cry.  “You know I love him Bernie.  He’s wonderful when he’s not drinking and has always treated Jake like his own”.  I moved my chair closer and put my hand on Julie’s arm.  She sobbed for a while without saying anything.  “It’s my fault that Jake fell down the stairs” she said.  “No it’s not Julie” I said, “you were trying to protect your son”.

Andrew had been in and out of work for the last twelve months.  He was often in a bad mood when Julie came home from work, after collecting Jake from the babysitter.  He complained about her cooking, sometimes throwing his dinner into the sink untouched.  She kept quiet while Jake was around.  By the time Jake was in bed, Andrew was gone out of the house again.  When he returned later, there was a smell of booze that would knock you down.  It even lingered in the house the next morning.  She tried to play along with him, frightened of raising his temper.  He would provoke her, and grab her arm, telling her to sit down, when she tried to leave the room and go to bed.  She made all sorts of excuses for him.  He was different when he was working.  There’s never enough money to go around now.  Somewhere inside her though, she knew that there were lots of people in the same situation, living from week to week.  Their husbands didn’t behave like him.  Sometimes she would shout back at him, then think of the neighbours.  She felt so ashamed.  She didn’t want anyone to know what was going on, least of all her parents. They thought he was such a charming lad. Everyone did. They didn’t even know he was out of work.

I was glad I hadn’t left my telephone number with Julie’s neighbor.  Andrew couldn’t trace me. He wouldn’t get a good reception at her parent’s house, now that the truth was out.  Mind you, he thought he was the golden boy, so would get a surprise if he did turn up at their house.  Julie’s parents arrived the following day.  She ran out to them, and her small frame was almost invisible when they hugged her between them.  Jake ran out to the gate, and arms embraced him too.  They all had tea in the kitchen, and I made some sandwiches to keep them going on their return journey.  Amy was amusing Jake on the mat near the back door, warm where the sun was streaming through.  Their cat was pawing the glass on the outside, asking to be let in.  “My daddy hates cats, says they’re dirty” said Jake, looking up at his mother.  She smiled at him, but no one commented.  My heart sank for the little boy.  He was too young to understand what was going on.  Maybe it was as well.

By the time Derek came back from the country, things looked back to normal.  “Jake and his mum stayed with us” Amy said to her dad, after she gave him a big hug.  Derek looked over Amy’s head, his eyebrows knitting together.  “It’s a long story, love.  Dinner’s nearly ready. We’ll talk later.

Boyne Berries 17 Launch – Spring 2015

I had been invited to the launch of Boyne Berries 17 magazine, in Trim, Co. Meath.  The date was Thursday, 16th March 2015.   Last summer, and to my amazement, my story “Play it Again Sam” had been selected to be included in the Spring edition of the magazine.   I had been asked to read my story at the launch.

When I first got the e-mail to tell me that my story had been chosen, I thought I was seeing things.  I could not believe it.  But I was thrilled also.   When the time of the launch drew near, my son Dylan said he would drive me down toTrim, and my daughter Natalia said she would come too.  They both had a long day at work.  Dylan and myself left Bray, and drove over to Ballinteer to pick up Natalia, who drove the rest of the way in her car.  It was busy on the motorway.  People were heading home so the traffic was slow in parts.  On the outskirts of Trim, one of the roundabouts had a monk ringing a bell in the middle of it (a stone replica of course).    There were a few ruins of castles on the outskirts.  It looked a pretty town.  We eventually found the Castle Arch Hotel, with an hour to spare.  Natalia and Dylan were starving, so we had time to relax and have a meal in the hotel.

The launch was due to start at 8 pm.  We walked up the stairs, arrows directing us to the function room where people were already taking their seats.  The proceedings were introduced by the young lady whom I had been in touch with by e-mail, Orla Fay, the Editor of Boyne Berries magazine, 16 and 17.  (It is in book form more than a magazine).  There was no microphone, so you had to project your voice as best you could.  I’m not sure how many people were there, but the seats were three-quarters full.  Above us were the most beautiful chandeliers, befitting the rest of the room.  It was an old hotel, very elegant and efficient.

The entries consisted of poems, fiction and prose.  Each person was introduced by Orla, with a little biography, then they took the podium to read their piece.  Initially I was a little nervous but not as bad as I had been in the days before.  Eventually my turn came.  The fiction and prose were towards the end of the proceedings, after the poetry.  There were people from all around Ireland, some from America, Canada and New Zealand, Europe and the UK.  One lady originally from Dundalk but now living in Arizona introduced the proceedings.  Another lady from the USA sent an audio message as she could not attend.  The man who came from New Zealand (or was it Australia), said, jokingly, he wished he had thought of that, it would have saved him the journey to Ireland!  We were all invited to have tea and biscuits after.   It finished about 11.30 pm. Then we had to make tracks to drop Natalia home and get back to Bray and Greystones, where Dylan lives.

It was a privilege to be part of this launch.  I was amazed at the achievements of most of the writers and  delighted and grateful that my daughter and son made it possible to be there.

Boyne Berries 17 3 Boyne Berries 17 2 Boyne Berries 17 1 Boyne Berries 17 4

Partings

They had all arrived for their father’s funeral, from all the far flung countries that our young people go to find work.

The house had been full, even joyful.  Stories of their childhood, of their happy home had been told, and different versions of events.

She stood at the gate, watching Dennis, the last of her family to leave, getting into the taxi. She expected to see his hand waving to her from the rear window, like when he was a child.  She waved until he was out of sight. The taxi turned the corner, and he was gone.

She sat in her chair, looking out through the French doors, as the early afternoon sun moved up the garden. In her mind, she saw him at the airport.  She stood at the large windows as he boarded the plane.  She could see him putting his hand luggage above his seat, and imagined tears in his eyes.

She didn’t know how long it would be until she saw any of them again.

Josephine Nolan

Exhibition shows Bray through creative eyes – Bray People

Click the link below for news paper article

http://www.independent.ie/regionals/braypeople/entertainment/exhibition-shows-bray-through-creative-eyes-30486804.html

Click the link below for Radio Interview

http://youtu.be/Ry1K0d3k9F0

‘Bray Now and Then: Building Community Expression through Creative Writing’ is a poster exhibition at Signal Arts Centre by writers from Little Bray Family Resource and Development Centre opening on Tuesday, September 2.

‘Bray Now and Then: Building Community Expression through Creative Writing’ is a poster exhibition at Signal Arts Centre by writers from Little Bray Family Resource and Development Centre opening on Tuesday, September 2.

The group of nine, all of whom are resident in Bray, has had a six-month residency to explore, discuss and write in a creative response to their Bray environment. The work includes a wide variety of artistic responses to aspects of the town and its environs: short stories, poems, memories and flights of imagination.

All of the pieces are short and designed to be read in large poster format. On launch night, Thursday, September 4, a selection of pieces will be read by participants. All are welcome to the launch night which runs between 7 p.m. and 9 p.m.

Bray-based writer, Shirley McClure, who co-ordinated the project, said: ‘We have all learned a lot about Bray in the process of researching and discussing this venture. We want to promote the idea that literature and culture are for all people, along with the idea that literature and art are changing forms, no longer just in books or art galleries.’

‘Bray Now and Then: Community Expression through Creative Writing’ has been supported by IPB Insurance through the IPB Youth and Community Fund and by Bray Credit Union and Little Bray Family Resource and Development Centre.

Exhibition Order of readings

Exhibition Opening Order of readings

  1. Bray is.. (group)
  2. Maria: Early Morning..
  3. Elis: My Twin Town
  4. Nicola: St Peter’s School
  5. Anne: Corpus Christi
  6. Pat: Bray as it was & now
  7. Caroline: Petrified
  8. Jo: Our Town
  9. Patricia: A Victoria Plum
  10. Barbara: My Dad’s Garden

Exhibition Night 4 Sept 2014 (1)

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