Finishing Touches (32 page)

Her mother interrupted her reverie. ‘Cassie, would you ever switch on Irene’s blanket for me?’ she asked as the commercial break began. ‘She likes to have it on for a
while to heat up her bed.’ Cassie had to smile. The way her mother still babied her youngest daughter, who was all of seventeen years old! And the things she got away with! Irene never had to
lift a finger in the house and she was allowed to stay out until all hours – a far cry from when Cassie was growing up. That was always the way, wasn’t it: the youngest always had it
much easier. Barbara was forever giving out about Irene. But then Barbara always had a chip on her shoulder about something. Right now she was in a huff because Nora had given John a loan to buy a
few acres of land to start off his own business. John told his mother he would prefer to run his own farm rather than take over the management of hers and Nora had agreed that it was better for him
in the long run to have his own place. Then there’d be no arguments. Barbara felt John was getting special treatment. She could do with a loan to buy a car but there was no offer of financial
assistance forthcoming from her mother.

Barbara could still be so petty, Cassie reflected, as she switched on her sister’s electric blanket. She and that great lump of a detective she was currently dating were a great match. A
cute hoor, Laura had called Ian Murray, and Cassie had had to agree with her friend’s assessment of Barbara’s boyfriend. What her sister saw in the Donegal detective, Cassie could not
imagine.

Barbara sashayed into the bedroom with a couple of cans of beer and a plate of chicken sandwiches and watched with pleasure as her boyfriend’s face lit up. Whether it was
the sight of
her
, in her black see-through negligee, or the sight of the beer and sandwiches that caused his pleasure, she was not sure. Ian was a man of few words. But of course, that was
part and parcel of being a detective. They never gave much away; they were trained to keep their own counsel. His mates were all the same, watchful and silent. Barbara loved it. It turned her on.
She always enjoyed being with them for an evening, all these strong, manly, silent types. She felt so dainty and feminine when she was in their company. Being a feminist and a journalist could be
tough going at the best of times but with the crowd of male chauvinists that Ian hung around with one had to be rapier-sharp. Barbara never let them away with a thing and she knew she impressed the
hell out of them. She impressed the hell out of
herself
, if the truth were known.

She had come a long way from her small-town roots in Port Mahon. Now she was a cosmopolitan career woman on the way up. How she loved that word cosmopolitan. She even bought
Cosmopolitan
religiously every month and devoured its articles on sex and the single girl and how to please yourself as well as your man. She could really identify with the articles about
career women. That was what she was, a career woman, and she intended going as high up the ladder as she could. Cassie and Laura weren’t the only ones who could get ahead in their careers.
Barbara was hot on their tails. The set she mixed with was sophisticated and smart. Of course, Noreen, her mentor, would settle for nothing less.

It impressed Barbara no end the way Noreen went to the Horseshoe Bar at the Shelbourne every Friday and drank champagne as she mixed with all the movers and shakers. For the life of her, Barbara
could not understand all the fuss about champagne; it tasted like bubbly apple juice to her and gave her heartburn. But that was neither here nor there. It was what Noreen Varling drank and
therefore it would be what Barbara drank from now on.

She missed working with Noreen, missed their long gossipy lunch-hours. Noreen knew every bit of gossip going: who was having an affair with whom, politicians, actors, actresses, socialites and
ladies who lunch – Noreen knew them all, and all the seedy little secrets that circulated faster than Concorde around the hot spots of the capital. Noreen liked being a big fish in a little
pond and had never hankered after a post on one of the dailies but she had encouraged Barbara to take the position of junior reporter in
The Irish Mail
, when the job came up.
‘You’ll be right in the thick of things and you’ll go far!’ she assured her protégée and proceeded to give Barbara a glowing reference. Lots of champers had
been quaffed when Barbara got the job.

There were times, of course, when Barbara got fed up with her job. Like today, for example, when she was instructed by the features editor to do one of those silly vox pop things and interview
celebrities on what they thought of the Pope’s forthcoming visit. Most of the responses were pretty boring crap, but Arlene Ford, the flamboyant award-winning actress, had drawled in that
unmistakable husky voice that quite frankly she wasn’t the slightest bit impressed by the Pope or his visit but that box-office takings would be down and, as she was on a percentage, would
His Holiness care to reimburse her for her lower earnings, seeing as it was his fault in the first place.

Barbara was delighted with the quote but the lily-livered features editor wouldn’t run it for fear of controversy. It was enough to make a saint curse – and she was no saint! If she
were the features editor there’d be a lot of that sort of thing – and much more. She’d really have the pages of
The Irish Mail
humming. Still, in time she’d get
there. Even Ian was impressed with how ambitious she was.

It was through doing an article on the courts that she had met Detective Ian Murray. He was giving evidence in the case of some criminal gang involved in drug trafficking and Barbara was
covering the case for the
Mail.
They had got talking, rather Barbara had got talking, Ian giving monosyllabic answers to her questions. The following day he rang the
Mail
and
asked her to go out for a drink. Barbara accepted with delight – his silent demeanour had made a big impression on her. He was about five-eleven in height and stocky of build with a black
moustache and black hair. His eyes were a cold slate-grey. With Ian it was hard to know what he was thinking. For some reason this excited her. Barbara had always loved a challenge. They arranged
to meet in McGrath’s pub in Drumcondra as she was doing a piece on the Archbishop’s Palace just up the road.

Sitting waiting for him, Barbara observed small groups of prison officers, guards and detectives drinking in the smoky bar. With its proximity to Mountjoy Prison, it wasn’t surprising to
see so many law enforcers there. You just couldn’t miss them with their short-back-and-sides regulation hair-cuts and their wary way of observing everything that was happening. Obviously this
was one of Ian’s haunts as his station on Griffith Avenue wasn’t too far away. She wished he would hurry up. Despite her role as a modern Irish feminist, she didn’t like sitting
in a pub on her own for long. He was twenty minutes late, during which time she got up and went to the loo twice, re-touching her make-up and brushing her hair. She looked well, she felt, with her
newly-cropped hairstyle.

Barbara had decided she needed a new image and went to Peter Mark and had her long mousy hair chopped. Highlights and a short layered look had made all the difference and she had been delighted.
Now she really looked the part. The only thing was that her short hair caused more of her ears to be displayed than she cared for. Barbara was rather sensitive about her ears; they were
big
, unfortunately. The next time she got her hair done she would ask the hairdresser to layer her hair down over them. Nevertheless, in her black polo with just a silver chain for
decoration and her grey pencil-slim skirt, she felt elegant, a real cosmopolitan woman.

After several drinks, beer for him, vodka and orange for her, he took her to Captain America for a meal. Barbara was impressed. She had never been there before. Her salary just about covered the
occasional sortie to the Royal Dublin Hotel for lunch in the bar. Barbara did most of the talking as Ian listened and asked her the odd question. Getting information out of him was like drawing
blood from a stone, but she found out that he was from Letterkenny in Donegal and came from a family of six. He was thirty, he owned a house in Santry which was let in flats and he lived in a flat
in Drumcondra.

They went for a drive to Sandymount strand and he tried it on, his hands roaming over her like an octopus. Barbara told him in no uncertain terms to mind his manners. It wasn’t that she
was a prude but she was damned if he thought he could get away with anything on the first date. In keeping with her woman-of-the-world image, Barbara had lost her virginity several years back to
Dentist Burke’s son. It had happened one night after a dance her secretarial college had organized. It had been a rushed messy affair and she had not been impressed, nor had subsequent
couplings done much to improve her opinion. But avid readings of the glossy monthly mags had sent her on the trail of the orgasm that had so far eluded her. She was on the pill; she knew what she
wanted. Maybe Ian was the man to give it to her, but not on the first date.
Never
on the first date. Barbara was a woman of principle!

After the third date when she saw him eyeing up a tarty-looking blonde in McGrath’s she went to bed with him, although she was still on the quest of the fabled orgasm. Not that she let on
to Ian. She moaned and groaned and puffed and panted and she knew by him that he thought Casanova was only trotting after him! That night she found out that he was a Special Branch detective and
entitled to carry a gun, which almost made up for the disappointment in bed. Just wait until she told the girls she was seeing a Special Branch detective! They’d
have
to be impressed
by that.

They weren’t, and Barbara was furious. The first time she brought him back to the flat and introduced him to Aileen, Cassie and Judy, Ian plonked himself in front of the TV after the
introductions and switched over to the Leeds–Everton match.

‘Yeh don’t mind, do yeh?’ he mumbled. ‘Any chance of a cup of tea?’

Aileen had been watching
Coronation Street
and her eyebrows nearly shot off her forehead as she caught Cassie’s wide-eyed gaze. Judy babbled something about making tea and went
scuttling off to the kitchen. It had been a strained visit.

‘Listen, Barbara, the next time Sherlock Holmes comes visiting I won’t be so polite about letting him watch his football match, OK?’ Aileen informed her coolly over breakfast
the next morning. Thank God she was going to England after her exams were over. Barbara couldn’t stand Aileen and the feeling was mutual. They were always rowing. A few weeks before, when
Barbara had left the grill dirty and Aileen had come home from work to cook her dinner there had been a screaming match as Aileen had called Barbara a slovenly bitch and Barbara had countered by
calling Aileen a pathetic old maid. At least Laura was living with someone and Cassie was engaged to Robbie. If Aileen, who was manless, were feeling frustrated, she was not to be taking it out on
her flatmates.

Aileen was so furious that she had issued Cassie with an ultimatum. ‘Either she goes or I go.’

Tor God’s sake, I’ve had enough, Barbara!’ Cassie yelled. ‘If you can’t make an effort, go and get your own place!’

‘Typical!’ screeched Barbara. ‘You take her side against me every time.’ Slamming the door behind her she got the train to Port Mahon and went home to pour out her woes
to Nora. Her mother lifted the phone and gave Cassie a piece of her mind.

Cassie was sizzling with anger and told Barbara in no uncertain terms that she should cop on to herself and grow up, instead of running home to her mother with every little upset. The coolness
in the flat lasted for ages. Even Judy was annoyed with her and that really bugged Barbara. She had been so looking forward to coming to live in Dublin and to sharing the flat; Cassie, Aileen and
Laura had a ball living together. When Laura went to live with Doug Donnelly, conveniently leaving the way open for Judy and then Barbara to take up residence, the two younger girls had been
delighted. After all, it was a flat for four and with Aileen going to the UK, there was no reason why Judy, Cassie and she should have any less fun and good times.

When Aileen sarcastically called Ian Sherlock Holmes, Barbara had to bite her tongue. She didn’t want there to be another row, because she’d really have to go and get a place of her
own if she upset them all again and moving was such a load of hassle.

Mostly they went back to Ian’s flat at night from then on. If Aileen thought Barbara was slovenly, she should see Ian’s pad! Dirty shirts strewn all over the place, a mountain of
dishes in the sink, the bed unmade. Barbara was a bit disgusted. Some men, if they hadn’t a woman to look after them, just hadn’t got a clue. When she knew there was going to be nobody
in the Ranelagh flat, Ian stayed the night and she really enjoyed those evenings, sitting in front of the fire with him, and then going up to her and Judy’s shared bedroom, where at least the
sheets on the bed were clean.

When Aileen left and went to England Barbara was delighted. No more nagging from that quarter. Cassie was lucky, she had a room to herself and Robbie could stay over if he wished. Barbara was
almost sure that Cassie and her fiancé were sleeping together. If Nora knew she would be horrified. It was a pity Barbara hadn’t got her own room; then she wouldn’t have to wait
for the times she had the flat to herself to bring Ian over for the night. Since Aileen left, she’d had the flat to herself only three times in the space of six months.

To have a Saturday night in the flat on her own was a precious treat, Barbara reflected, sitting on the bed beside Ian as he tucked into the chicken sandwiches. It wasn’t her chicken
either, it was Judy’s. She’d have to get a cooked chicken somewhere tomorrow before her flatmate came back. That chicken was supposed to be Judy’s dinner. It really was a stroke
of luck that Robbie had gone to Belfast and Cassie had decided to go home. Judy was in London visiting Aileen and wasn’t due back until tomorrow afternoon so Barbara and Ian could relax and
have a lie-in and linger over breakfast. Sighing contentedly, she nestled close against her boyfriend. Ian belched as he finished his second can of beer. ‘That was nice grub. Any more chicken
left?’ he asked.