![](\"https:\/\/www.ciarageraghty.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/08\/Ciara-Geraghty-250-2.png\" "\\"Ciara")
<\/span><\/div>SHORT STORIES<\/strong><\/a><\/p>\n It\u2019s not all his fault. She knows that. She should have said something earlier. Maybe before the children were born. Or before they got married. She was just so desperate to get away. Maybe she should have taken better care of her hair. Or her face. Or just been more like her sister, Kate. Kate who lived in New York City with another woman. Kate who told her not to marry Se\u00e1n. Kate who wore jeans long before women wearing jeans became fashionable. Or acceptable. Kate who hadn\u2019t been home since their mother\u2019s funeral. Kate. Sounds from the neighbourhood float in through the open window. A dog barks insistently; the steady shriek of a car alarm slices the air. The high-pitched squeals of children anticipating the summer holidays. The dying rays of the sun pour in through the kitchen window, leaving her dull-headed and heavy with heat.<\/p>\n \u201cI was just thinking about our honeymoon,\u201d she answers lightly. \u201cEleven years ago tomorrow.\u201d He grunts in response, absorbed by the weather forecast flashing across the small screen sitting on the kitchen counter.<\/p>\n \u201cFucking rain tomorrow. I promised Ma I\u2019d look at her roof. Fucking typical!\u201d<\/p>\n Something catches Clare\u2019s eye and she glances towards the double doors of the front room. She stiffens when she sees Grace\u2019s nose pressed against the glass pane in the doors. She is mouthing something. Se\u00e1n is still talking, his voice getting louder as he stabs at the gravy on his plate with a piece of white bread. While his head is bent to his plate, Clare holds her daughter\u2019s face with her eyes, warning her with a slight shake of her head. She sees Grace moving towards the door, her small hand lifting to open it. Beads of sweat form above Clare\u2019s upper lip. She can taste it. Her mouth is dry. Se\u00e1n doesn\u2019t seem to notice.<\/p>\n \u201cIs there any more?\u201d he asks, holding his plate out to her. She jumps up from the table, her elbow sending her fork and spoon skidding off the edge. She tries to catch them but they slip past her hand and fall onto the tiled floor, rattling and rolling. Se\u00e1n puts his hands against his ears, colour staining his face, rising from his neck.<\/p>\n \u201cJesus, Clare, you\u2019re so fucking clumsy!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSorry, Se\u00e1n, they got away from me there.\u201d She is at the counter now, heaping his plate with seconds. She looks over to the door and Grace is still there, at the window, as still as a statue. Clare puts the plate carefully in front of Se\u00e1n and sits back down at the table. She picks up her wineglass, smiling at him. But Grace is still coming into the room, moving towards them, making no sound. She has her worried face on and doesn\u2019t look at her father. She moves over to Clare, bending her head to whisper to her.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll talk to you later, Grace,\u201d Clare says in a low voice. \u201cChrist, can a man not have his dinner in peace?\u201d Still Grace doesn\u2019t move. She speaks instead. \u201cWhat the fuck are you whispering about now? Can a man have no peace in his own house after a hard day\u2019s work?\u201d Se\u00e1n scrapes his chair away from the table, his knife raised.<\/p>\n Clare\u2019s hand jerks, the back of it hitting against the wineglass beside her plate. The glass teeters unsteadily on its stem and wine sloshes against the edges. For a moment Clare thinks it might be OK. Then, as if in slow motion, the glass tips too far and falls on its side before it rolls and rolls to the edge of the table. The sound of the glass shattering against the tiles is like a cat howling in the night. Blood-red stains seep through the impossible whiteness of the linen tablecloth and drip noiselessly onto the floor. A puddle of wine gathers in her lap. She can taste flecks of it on her lips.<\/p>\n Se\u00e1n is on his feet, moving towards her. She sees his lips moving, spittle gathering in the corners of his mouth as he strains to contain his rage. He can\u2019t contain it. She knows that. She hears nothing. She feels relief. She is giddy with it. The noise of the world rushes back at her and she is up, pushing her chair back, skidding on a puddle of red wine, nearly falling. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see her young daughter cowering against the wall, watching them. Again.<\/p>\n The doorbell rings and for a moment, neither of them can place the sound. It sounds ridiculous, like an icecream van in the desert. Clare and Se\u00e1n freeze, his fist raised, her hands in front of her, palms facing him, like a lollipop lady, halting traffic. She holds him with her eyes and lowers her hands slowly. The bell rings again, more insistently this time.<\/p>\n Still Grace stands there, saying nothing. Her stillness is like a sound moving between them.<\/p>\n \u201cSe\u00e1n, the door,\u201d she whispers breathlessly as if she\u2019s been running up a hill for the longest time. Se\u00e1n blinks his eyes several times, looking around him as if wondering where he is. Clare recognises the look and waits. His fist unclenches and lowers. He moves back from her, scrabbling at the waistband of his jeans, hoisting them up over his hips. He pulls his hand down the length of his face, straightening his features. Grace can move now. She closes the door of the sitting room behind her.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll get it,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n His voice is quiet now. The voice she remembered from years before. The voice of the man she thought would save her from her father\u2019s house. The voice he always uses afterwards. When he\u2019s sorry. He uses the backs of the chairs to support him as he moves towards the door.<\/p>\n She sits again, her legs trembling.<\/p>\n It\u2019s his mother. She sometimes calls at this time of the day. When he\u2019s not home, she frets about him working too hard, just like his father before him. When she\u2019s in the mood, she releases her tight curls from a wool hat and unwinds an endless scarf from around her thin neck revealing folds of jaded skin that sag under her jaw. Then she\u2019ll accept a cup of tea \u2013 leave the tea bag in, love, please \u2013 heaped with sugar and two Fig Roll biscuits.<\/p>\n When she is settled in her chair and the steam from the tea has lent a pale flush to her cheeks, she\u2019ll tell Clare kindly stories of Se\u00e1n as a youngster. Clare has heard these stories many times but she never gets tired of listening to the comforting ramblings of the old lady.<\/p>\n Se\u00e1n is all she has left. Her husband died years ago. It is a widely known fact that he died from cirrhosis of the liver but this is never acknowledged by the remaining members of the family. His two daughters took the boat when they were barely out of their teens and little has been heard of them since. His mother never mentions them.<\/p>\n \u201cLook who\u2019s here!\u201d Se\u00e1n bellows with a wide smile that she can see from the kitchen. He gently escorts his mother down the hallway towards the kitchen. The pair of them stand under the arch of the doorway, arms around each other, wide smiles like boats across their faces.<\/p>\n Clare stands up abruptly and feels the wetness of the wine on her legs. She rushes to explain herself, her words falling over each other as she reaches for a cloth. \u201cPlease, Mrs Murray, sit down.\u201d Clare ushers her mother-in-law to a high-backed chair. \u201cSe\u00e1n, pour your mother a glass of wine and I\u2019ll go and change.\u201d As she ascends the narrow staircase, Clare can hear the old lady feebly protesting against the glass of wine that she will sip for the next two hours. When she gets near the top, she sits on a stair, the wine cold now against her thighs. When she takes her trousers off, she will soak them in cold water with a little salt. She can hear Mrs Murray open the door into the front room, hoping for her grandchildren. The children will be brought out from the front room by Se\u00e1n and greedily admired and fussed over by their only living grandparent. Soft cheeks will be pinched; round bellies will be tickled. Grace will hang her head and hide behind her hair. Ois\u00edn will settle himself in the warm bulk of his grandmother\u2019s lap, hoping for sweets which will inevitably be produced.<\/p>\n Clare will make good strong coffee which Se\u00e1n will obediently drink under his mother\u2019s adoring eyes. The family will collectively breathe in and breathe out. Clare will hug her long arms about her thin body, her knees tucked under her chin. Mrs Murray will repeat herself again and again and Clare and Grace will catch each other\u2019s eyes and share a smile that no one else can see. When Clare\u2019s hammering heart slows to a steady dull thud, she will acknowledge that there will be peace in this house tonight. She will hug Mrs Murray close when she leaves and bid her goodnight and a silent thank-you. She will leave Se\u00e1n to fall asleep in front of the telly in the front room, sprawled on the couch. She will put her children to bed, tucking the bedclothes so tightly around them they can barely move. She will hold them close to her and shut her eyes and breathe in the warm, sweet smell of them. She will go to bed and set her alarm for 7.45 a.m. She will hear the door being wrenched open and banging shut behind him.<\/p>\n And life will go on.<\/p>\n SHORT STORIES<\/strong><\/a><\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div>Waiting<\/h1>\n
\n\u201cAfter dinner, OK?\u201d
\n\u201cWhat does she want now?\u201d Se\u00e1n is scratching the back of his neck furiously. She can hear his wide, thick nails rasp against his skin. He swats an imaginary fly away from his head and breathes out heavily through his nose, like a horse.
\n\u201cDon\u2019t worry, Se\u00e1n \u2013 Grace can talk to me later, OK?\u201d<\/p>\n
\n\u201cMa, I need twenty euro for school tomorrow. It\u2019s for our school tour.\u201d Grace\u2019s voice is an urgent whisper and Clare curses herself for not paying enough attention when Grace spoke anxiously about the school tour last week.
\n\u201cGrace, I\u2019ll sort you out later, OK? Just let your father have his dinner.\u201d Clare is pushing the girl away from her towards the front room.<\/p>\n
\n\u201cClare, love, don\u2019t worry. I\u2019ll clean that up.\u201d It is Se\u00e1n speaking and she can hear the confusion in his voice, wondering how they ended up like this. His face is stained with shame and a part of her feels sorry for him. Mostly, she just wishes things were different.<\/p>\n
![\"Queen](\"https:\/\/www.ciarageraghty.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/01\/Queen-Bee-500.jpg\")
<\/a><\/div><\/div><\/div>![\"Make](\"https:\/\/www.ciarageraghty.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/08\/Make-Yourself-at-Home-500.jpg\")
<\/a><\/div><\/div><\/div>![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.ciarageraghty.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/08\/Rules-of-the-Road-500.jpg\")
<\/a><\/div><\/div><\/div>![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.ciarageraghty.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/08\/This-Is-Now-500.jpg\")
<\/a><\/div><\/div><\/div>![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.ciarageraghty.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/09\/The-Stories-that-Remain-500.jpg\")
<\/a><\/div><\/div><\/div>![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.ciarageraghty.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/08\/Now-That-Ive-Found-You-500.jpg\")
<\/a><\/div><\/div><\/div>![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.ciarageraghty.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/08\/Lifesaving-For-Beginners-500.jpg\")
<\/a><\/div><\/div><\/div>![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.ciarageraghty.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/08\/Finding-Mr-Flood-Illustration-500.jpg\")
<\/a><\/div><\/div><\/div>![\"Becoming](\"https:\/\/www.ciarageraghty.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/08\/Becoming-Scarlett-500.jpg\")
<\/a><\/div><\/div><\/div>![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.ciarageraghty.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/08\/Saving-Grace-500.jpg\")
<\/a><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>