Sunday Roast

Sunday Roast

Roll up, Roll up, and I bid you all welcome to the McCarthy Sunday Roast! It could and should have been such a lovely gathering, but rarely was. Present were my parents Patrick and Lydia both excellent cooks him savoury, her sweet. Stephanie the eldest daughter and second eldest child with her lovely husband Simon, Jo the baby of the family fresh out of uni, and me Jacqueline, but please call me Jackie only my mother, boss, and Stephanie call by my full name. Absent was James who lived too far away to make every meal had been excused on this occasion.

I'll be honest I hated these meals, dreaded them even, always had them ever since an early age. Most mealtimes when we had all been living at home, had been 'Mini Roast of Jacqueline and Jo' time. A time when most families caught up with each other's news, caring and sharing. For myself and Jo, it signified being cornered, trapped, much like 'going for a drive' then getting your ear chewed because you're only other option was to throw yourself out of a moving vehicle.

Aren't all families like this? Yes to an extent. Both Jo and I often left together early feeling ashamed, demoralised, and deflated. So being summoned, yes summoned, not invited, to the house filled us both with dread. Why not decline? We did from time to time, but there comes a point when love overrules you, and the almost pitiful quest for acceptance makes you say 'Perhaps today it will be a nice day, and I'll come away unscathed'.

“So Jacqueline”, we’d barely finished eating our main course yet Stephanie’s words filled a somewhat potent atmosphere around the Sunday lunch table, “you're looking more like your old self," she eyed me disapprovingly, "how are things?” Jo my younger sister coughed, her eyes narrowed to slits as she glared at Stephanie, who ignored her arrogantly, her nose turned up and away from Jo, clearly fixing her cool gaze on me.

Stephanie smiled serpent-like, she initiated proceedings before dessert, I should have been grateful I’d been allowed to eat my main course in relative peace tinged with a smattering of hostility. I was recovering from the abundance of food, despite an earlier jibe that I was gaining weight again. She picked up her wine glass and took a sip, her indication for me to reply.

Stephanie had been a second mother to me, our own becoming depressed and withdrawn as soon as she’d found out she’d been pregnant with me. She had not bonded with me at my birth or since. I was trier from within the womb. I’d been a good baby from all accounts, hitting my infant milestones early, turning out to be a bright, intelligent ‘Wee pup’ as my father called me. Until I reached the age of three when I could speak fluent English and Irish thanks to my Dad and Granny. It was clear my personality was akin to my looks appearing pure McCarthy with little trace of 'Sampson' from my mum.

The same with Jo, she was visually similar to me just shorter by two inches. My mother though shorter than my dad, outflanked us in height and svelteness, and so well put together as were her two oldest children. Whilst my father looked like a tall ginger wizard, we looked like his 'wee fiery-haired hobbit bairns'.

Back to the clan's gathering, where the lowly were gathered to be reviewed and instructed by the committee of two. Cue my mother, nodding Stephanie saying silently, ‘Thank you, dear, I’ll take it from here’.

“Yes, please do explain this ‘glow’ you have about you”, she insisted with the cool politeness she reserved for her mere acquaintances or subordinates, “you’re not pregnant are you?” She rode straight in there with the big guns, her 'go to' question whenever I reported any gastric illness or looked remotely healthy. The worst possible words that could ever come out of my mouth, even if I was married and settled would be ‘Hey Mum I’m having a baby’. Dad groaned and patted my hand and Jo looked horrified. Stephanie stifled a laugh, Simon knew dessert would late now and really just wanted to eat up and leave.

“Yes, Steph’ I’m well, thanks, and Mum?” I sent her a tired look then continued, “I’m feeling much better”. I didn’t say any more at this point, I knew how this went, the questions would come thick and fast so readied myself for the next.

“And the divorce? You have to move, a one-bedroomed flat would suit you, you do know a school receptionist can't earn enough to pay the mortgage on your place don't you? Mind you you'd have to be super tidy in a smaller place, and no offence but I don't see that happening”. Tag Team mum and daughter had expert timing, you had to give them that, Stephanie lectured me again.

Dad had heard enough for now, “For the love of Mary let the poor girl be, and no Lydia, she’s not having a baby, God forbid she ever do that to you!” he snapped, his Cork accent sounding stronger than ever when he was annoyed.

“We’re only showing an interest Patrick, it’s what families do”, Mum tersely clipped back at him, my father muttered to himself.

As thankful as I was for my father’s intervention, something came over me. ‘I dare you!’ said the monkey on my right shoulder. Left Shoulder Monkey quivered in terror whimpering. To be fair Left Monkey had reason to be afraid, but rather than be interrogated I would be the one to own my news rather than hotly defend it as I usually did.

I heard a voice much like my own, but it was speaking confidently and assuredly. Right shoulder monkey leaped and hopped with delight. Challenge accepted. ‘You go girl!’ he squealed with delight.

“Thanks, Dad, but I’ve got this”, I looked at him earnestly, and took a large gulp of my orange juice, “so I don’t think all families do this Mum, Steph, you know you target and belittle us to make yourselves feel what? Superior?” I held them in my sights firmly.

“I love you both, but you don’t even know what you’re doing, do you? And we've all let you get away with it for so long so it's our fault too!" I looked at the rest of the party. "I’m happy to share my news any time, but it is my news, my life, and it’s not up for judgement by you,” their mouths opened and closed wordlessly, I continued, “so please listen to me and hear me, I do have good news, and I’m so happy about it. Now at the end of it if you could be happy for me, or even congratulate me, that would be nice, so shall I bring you up to date?”

I felt my body throb from head to toe, if I had been standing I would have needed a seat. My dad smiled encouragingly looking proud.

I paused their faces a picture they just stared at me. Of course, I’d tried to argue with them before, but that had been pitiful attempts with me defending myself, then shouting and screaming whilst they calmly scraped away at me void of empathy. I don’t ever recall coming away with any sense of equality let alone victory. It wasn’t victory I wanted however, it was just to be able to say, ‘Hey guess what happened ….’ and to enjoy a conversation with them.

I cleared my throat and took a breath, “The Decree Absolute came through last week, the house is sold and I’ve found somewhere I like.” So far so good.

Stephanie fully recovered from being caught out by my new 'Head’em off a the pass' tactic, ‘so not pregnant’, she thought, but still, this had the potential for a fight she mused, like a grand Chessmaster she was one step ahead.

Knowing the next question would be about where and how I warned my brain to be ready.

“How can you afford to move around here?” Stephanie protested rather than asked, “Simon”, she touched her husband’s hand his prompt to back her up, “was telling me you won’t get much with what you made, either of you”. He shifted in his seat, ‘Please don’t involve me in this’, his body language screamed. He practically snatched a bowl of steaming hot apple pie and custard from my father who was now wandering from kitchen to dining room, his need for dessert getting the better of him also.

“It’s a cottage in Ireland, you see the plan is,” I tried to carry on but was interrupted so skilfully or rudely depending on how you look at it by Mum.

“Oh so you have an actual plan go on then, that would be a first” she scoffed.

“Lydia”, my father interjected, “You’re supposed to be listening”. I nodded, angrily, “IF you let me speak I’ll explain”, I asserted myself again, annoyed I had snapped with the ‘IF’. Undeterred I knew I had to plough on.

“As you know I spent a couple of weeks with the family, and whilst I was there Gran offered me a job helping her run the holiday homes”.

“So that‘s what you’ve been up to”, Mum’s ‘you’re about to get ripped to shreds’ voice began, “and that explains the hushed phone calls from Ireland doesn’t it Patrick?” she shot him an accusatory glare, “just tell me one thing how much?” She looked to my father first then me.

I shook my head sadly, “Oh Mum, don’t you think Dad and I would have told you what was going on earlier, involved you even, but you don’t advise, you've managed, instructed me with every decision I’ve made, and I've yet still managed to disappoint you”. I was drained, ‘Come on’, said Right Monkey, ‘you can do this’. Could I? All I wanted was her blessing and love and I was making a right mess of it.

“Well you got that last bit right, that’s one thing we can agree on at least, and if you had asked my advice it would have been to not go to Ireland”. She couldn’t help herself. Not even now.

Dad gave my mother an inquiring look, “What is so awful about my birthplace, and my family? Why shouldn’t she go somewhere she loves? With people she loves and who love her? Doesn’t she deserve a break?” He looked as sad as I felt, “And regarding the money, well that's tucked away, she's going to live in my cottage”.

Mum laughed nastily.

Before either of us could say any more, Jo exploded, she’d been sat there so quietly. She had heard enough.

“MUM!" She shouted banging her fist on the table, getting to her feet.

"Why can’t you just be nice to ALL of us?" she was stood now gripping the table edge to steady herself, her knuckles turned white.

"Sure Dad’s helped her out with the paperwork, just like you both did with James and Stephanie, but he’s not given any money, to either of us! Anyway, who bails Steph’ out all the time, cosying up going shopping, who bails Prince James out for his ‘ventures’ but never questions what he actually does for a living?”

Steph’s jaw dropped, they both paled, flushed then paled again.

"Joanna please keep out of things that don't concern you", mum warned.

Jo was now pacing up and down, dangerously near Stephanie who flinched wary of flying objects potentially being flung her way.

“But they do, she’s my sister! He’s my Dad!” Jo replied.

Mum hissed "Joanna".

“What? Is it my turn now?” Jo asked squaring nose to nose right up to mum, “What bitchy digs have you got for me?”

“Let’s do them now. We’ll do the pregnancy thing first eh, am I .. ah wouldn’t you like to know? God, the thought of that really screws with your brain doesn’t it?” My mum flinched.

“The only grandchildren you want are those that Steph and James will give you, the nice neat number not a whole fricking gang of them!” she caught her breath, and before they could say anything was off again.

“O.K what next? erm, my hair yes I like it. My clothes likewise, yes they are from the market, and no I didn’t spend all my money on them. My weight, ah come on you’re dying to do the weight check, I’ve put on two pounds, next week I’ll lose three, GET OVER IT!” Jo shouted, hot tears falling down her face, she gulped, then just breathed before asking, her voice sounding small.

Jo went and sat down again, she looked shaken and unsteady. “Why mum? Why Steph? Why is it always me and Jacks that get it?"

Before either of them could respond Jo added hoarsely.

"Why did you even have us, Mum? You clearly don’t love us or even like us"

My heart thudded, this was getting nasty. Dad took Jo by the elbow and lead her away to the lounge, saying “O.K that’s enough Jo, that’ll do”.

It went deathly quiet.

Then.

Coldly and calmly.

“Your father wanted you both, so I kept you for him. There you made me say it, happy now?” a flat reply came from mum.

Icy thick silence filled the air.

Even Stephanie had the decency to quietly say to mum, “Oh Mum no,” sadly, "I'm so sorry Jo, and Jackie I.. I..." Mum glared at her.

“Oh Mum indeed”, Dad whispered fixing my mother with tears in his eyes. He held Jo as she cried, and looked over to me as I was thrown into a quandary. Was that my fault? Had being brave forced this to happen? Should I have just let them dig and dig and add their spiteful opinions as they did so? Had I broken my family?

Eventually, I muttered, “I think I should go”, I wasn’t running out, I was walking out as calmly as I could. “Jo come and stay with me tonight,” I suggested as I gathered up our coats and bags.

“There’s no way you’re driving Jacks,” he said, “give me your keys I’ll take you both back to yours, I need some air myself anyway”.

Jo still clinging to dad for all her fight resembled a child and to be fair as he wrapped his free arm around me, I felt like one too.

I watched mum get up and start to clear the table as if nothing had happened. I stood and watched her, was that relief I saw flooding her body? She looked more relaxed than she had for years. There was no sign of tears. Her confession may have caused potentially lasting damage to our family, but she had been freed.

She had clearly been unhappy. Her sacrifice, for that, is what it was, meant she must have loved dad very much to grant him his wish of continuing with the resentful bringing of Jo and me into the world. He would not have pressured her, but his sadness would have riddled her with guilt. I could understand this but reasoned if she was able to love dad, James and Stephanie so unconditionally could it really the case that she had agreed to bear us but not love us?

It now made sense why the McCarthy’s had made dad, Jo, and I a second home in Lissarda, Cork. He’d go and visit them every summer leaving us there for all of the school holidays, sometimes at Christmas. The others were welcome, mum refused point-blank, and she only allowed James and Stephanie to stay as long as dad did.

"It wasn't easy for your mum,” dad explained, mum sighed, "she had her doubts about having any more children, you know I would have had a football team, Christ look at the size of my family!" he half laughed. "That however doesn't excuse how you have been treated, today or in the past and that", he shook his head and looked briefly at mum, "was unforgivable Lydia, come on girls”.

Before leaving the house I was compelled to go back into the dining room, refusing to leave things like this.

I tried to hug my mother she froze, then my sister who hugged me back “I’ll call you”, I said. “Please know I love you, I’ll come back and see you before I go”. My mother would not meet my eyes with her own.

So here I am, sitting in my cosy new lounge, it’s been a few weeks since I arrived and I am so settled and my job is fantastic. I am snuggled up with my puppy a gift from my uncle, a Heinz 57 with the most enormous feet and ears.

The phone rings casually I answer it, “Hello?” I say.

"Hi, Jacks! We're at Holy Head, the ferry's about to leave, so we'll see you in about two hours", an excited voice said.

"Who was that?" Gran asks as she settles down beside me. "Stephanie and Jo," I reply smiling.