In My Sister's Shoes Read online

  In My Sister’s Shoes

  Sinéad Moriarty lives in Dublin with her husband

  and their two sons. In My Sister’s Shoes is her fourth

  novel.

  In My Sister’s Shoes

  SINÉAD MORIARTY

  PENGUIN

  IRELAND

  PENGUIN IRELAND

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland

  (a division of Penguin Books Ltd)

  Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia

  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi – 110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand

  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  www.penguin.com

  First published 2007

  1

  Copyright © Sinéad Moriarty, 2007

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  All rights reserved Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book

  EISBN: 978–0–141–90505–1

  For Geordan

  One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, TESTOSTERONE…

  I waited… nothing. Bollox. I still wanted to kill them. I thought the counting was supposed to calm me down, make me Zen, stop me wanting to murder them.

  The letter T flew by me, hit the wall and slid down, leaving a trail of tomato sauce behind it. An F hit me right in the face, splashing tomato sauce into my eye. They screeched with laughter.

  I wiped my eye with my sleeve and sighed. How, in God’s name, had I ended up here? Where was my old life, the glamorous one, the independent one, the nice, clean, nonfood-smudged, non-snot-covered one?

  Maybe if they were my own kids it wouldn’t be so difficult. Maybe if they were my own kids I wouldn’t want to kill them right now. Maybe if they were my own kids I’d know what the hell I was doing.

  But they weren’t and I was drowning in a sea of alphabet spaghetti.

  1

  As I strutted up the pathway to my sister’s house, I realized I felt really happy for the first time in ages. I was on top of the world. I, Kate O’Brien, was a television presenter. After eight years of living in a studio apartment in London, making tea for other presenters, I finally had my own show and it felt fantastic.

  I rang the doorbell and heard squealing from the other side. The twins were obviously very excited about being five.

  The door opened and a very harassed-looking Dad pulled me into the hall.

  ‘Guess what?’ I asked, dying to tell him my good news, but he cut across me.

  ‘Thank God you’ve arrived. Mark’s been boring me rigid about some new mathematical theory or other. I’d rather nail my balls to the mast of a sinking ship than listen to another word of it,’ he hissed.

  ‘Charmingly put. Nice to see you too, Dad.’ I laughed, and looked at my brother-in-law, Mark, who had his back to me and was now busy showing the twins how to multiply three apples by three pears. They gazed adoringly at their father as he prattled on.

  ‘That dude needs to get out more,’ drawled Derek, my younger brother, from the couch. ‘It’s bad enough that he’s a maths professor but he doesn’t need to inflict it on his kids. They’re going to be total nerds. No one wants to hang out with kids who are good at maths!’

  ‘You could have done with a bit more focus on your studies, instead of pie-in-the-sky dreams about being a musician,’ grumbled Dad. He had been funding Derek’s dream of becoming a famous rapper for years and was clearly fed up.

  ‘When I’m playing sell-out gigs in Wembley, you’ll eat those words,’ said the confident artist.

  ‘Seeing as you haven’t made it outside the garage yet, I won’t hold my breath.’

  ‘Where’s Fiona?’ I asked.

  ‘She’s in the kitchen putting the candles on the cake,’ said Dad. ‘If you can call it a cake, it’s a rotten looking organic carrot yoke. Sure you wouldn’t feed it to a rabbit.’

  As if on cue, my elder sister came through the door carrying the birthday cake. ‘Kate, I’m so glad you made it,’ she said, coming over to kiss me.

  ‘I wouldn’t miss the boys’ birthday,’ I said, winking at the twins, who ran across to say hello.

  ‘Except last year when you forgot,’ said Mark, as I glared at him. I could never figure out what Fiona saw in him. I suppose because she was a maths genius too, they had numbers in common.

  ‘Never mind, you’re here now,’ said Fiona, smoothing things over as she always did.

  ‘Where’s our present, Aunty Kate?’ Bobby demanded.

  ‘It’s in here,’ I said, handing him the bag.

  ‘I hope it’s more suitable than their Christmas present was,’ said Mark.

  I blushed. Riddled with guilt at having forgotten their fourth birthday had spent a month’s wages on a PlayStation that came with two games – Big Mutha Truckers 2 and Airforce Delta Strike – which I’d thought was a really cool present. How was I to know that they were violent games and that the boys were too young for PlayStation? I didn’t have a clue about kids. Fiona was speechless and Mark kept shaking his head, saying how totally unsuitable it was and didn’t I know that these games corrupted children’s minds? I had felt about two feet tall.

  Jack held up his present, looking confused. ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  ‘Burberry ear-muffs – to keep your ears warm in the winter when you go to the park,’ I announced.

  The twins looked blankly at me.

  ‘Look, you put them on like this,’ I said, placing them on Jack’s head.

  ‘Yucky,’ he said, and pulled them off.

  ‘What’s this?’ asked Bobby, trying to put a little jacket over his head.

  ‘That’s a little Burberry coat for Teddy, so he can keep warm when you take him for walks,’ I said, grinning at Teddy, the cocker spaniel, who was curled in a ball in the corner.

  Everyone was staring at the ear-muffs in silence.

  ‘Lovely,’ said Fiona, bemused.

  ‘What’s Bunberry?’ asked Dad.

  ‘It’s, like, totally blind designer gear,’ said Derek.

  ‘I thought tartan went out of fashion in the sixties,’ said Dad, laughing.

  ‘Well, it’s better than last year’s fiasco,’ said Mark.

  Bobby peered into the bag to see if anything else was in there. Finding nothing, he fixed his eyes on me with raw disappointment.

  ‘Sorry, guys, I thought you’d like them,’ I said, feeling like a total moron.

  We heard a yowl and turned to see Jack wrestling Teddy into the dog coat – clumps of his fur were stuck in the zip.

  Mark ran over to save him.

  ‘Guess what?’ I said, still bursting to tell them my news.

  ‘You’re up the duff,’ said Dere
k.

  ‘You’ve met a nice lad,’ said Dad, hopefully.

  ‘I’ve got my own show!’ I said, ignoring them both.

  ‘Kate, that’s fantastic!’ said Fiona.

  ‘Ah, sure what good is that to you?’ said Dad. ‘You need to focus less on that auld job and more on meeting a nice boy.’

  ‘So, are you going to be earning mucho dinero?’ asked Derek, perking up.

  ‘Well, it’ll be a lot better than what I’m on now, although that wouldn’t be hard. But don’t be expecting hand-outs – get your own job.’

  ‘Is it an entertainment show?’ asked Fiona.

  ‘Yes, pretty light stuff – interviewing rising stars, reviewing music, movies and TV shows. It’s on the Lifechange channel, not exactly the BBC – but it’s up and coming and at least I finally get to present. I’ve taped the first three shows already. It’s going well.’

  ‘Mark,’ Fiona called, ‘did you hear the good news? Kate has her own show. She’s going to be famous.’

  ‘Finally. Well, at least now you won’t have to worry about her so much,’ he said, sitting down beside his wife and putting his arm round her.

  ‘Fiona! What are you doing worrying about me? I’m thirty, for God’s sake, I’m fine.’

  She shrugged. ‘I can’t help it. It’s habit.’

  I smiled at her. She’d been worrying about Derek and me since Mum had died twenty-two years ago. Dad, heartbroken, had thrown himself into work and left Fiona, aged twelve, to look after her younger siblings. I was eight and Derek was only four, so Fiona had become our surrogate mother. I always felt guilty that she had given up her youth to make our sandwiches and do our homework with us. She had been twelve going on forty.

  ‘Well, you can stop right now,’ I said. ‘I’m an overnight success after eight years’ grafting.’

  ‘So, like, can Gonzo and me come on your show and try out some of our new material?’ asked Derek.

  ‘No.’

  ‘What happened to families helping each other out?’

  ‘She doesn’t want the show to be cancelled,’ said Dad.

  ‘Your stuff isn’t good enough yet. It needs more work,’ I said, trying to be tactful.

  ‘We’ve been working on some new songs. You’ll be blown away when you hear them. We’re recording a CD on Friday so I’ll send you a copy and you can slot us into your show,’ said the wannabe rapper, as he headed out the door. ‘Thanks for the grub, Fiona, I’ll catch you later.’

  ‘Oh, God.’ I groaned. ‘How am I going to get him off my back? He’s going to hound me about this everyday.’

  ‘Couldn’t you put him on the show for a few minutes?’ asked Fiona.

  ‘No way– he’s brutal.’

  ‘Is it that bad? I thought some of the lines rhymed well,’ said the ever-supportive oldest sibling.

  ‘It’s absolute tripe. The lad needs to cop on to himself and get a proper job,’ huffed Dad.

  ‘Well, Bill, you’re the one who’s funding his delusional music career,’ Mark pointed out, and Dad bristled.

  ‘I’ve told him, next year when he turns twenty-seven the finances will dry up. Besides, he’s working part-time at the moment so I’m helping him less. I can tell you now, when your two boys grow up and beg you to support their pipe-dreams, you’ll find it a lot harder to say no than you think.’

  ‘Our boys will be mathematicians, like their parents,’ said Mark, as we watched Jack rubbing birthday cake into Bobby’s hair.

  ‘Now who’s delusional?’ muttered Dad.

  ‘So, how’ve you been?’ I asked Fiona, changing the subject as quickly as possible.

  ‘Good, thanks. You know, busy with teaching and the boys. Actually, we have some exciting news too. Mark’s been asked to submit a paper for the Goldwin Prize.’

  ‘Sounds great,’ I said.

  ‘Tremendous,’ said Dad.

  Mark nodded. ‘It’s a big honour. It’s for the conference on statistics, mathematics and related fields.’

  ‘What do you get if you win?’ Dad asked, in his usual blunt manner.

  ‘A huge grant for the department, and worldwide recognition of his work. It’s a really big deal – there’s a lot of pressure on him,’ said Fiona, smiling proudly at her husband.

  ‘Wow! Well, good luck with it all,’ I said.

  ‘Thank you, Kate,’ said Mark. Then, to Fiona, he said, ‘Actually, darling, speaking of the prize, I need to slip away and do a couple of hours’ work, if that’s all right?’

  Fiona looked a bit crestfallen.

  ‘Now? On the boys’ birthday?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s fine, Kate,’ said Fiona.

  ‘This paper’s going to make a difference to the way people think. Not as important as interviewing teenage singers, perhaps, but important none the less. I’ll be back to read the boys a bedtime story,’ he said, kissed Fiona and walked out.

  ‘Who’d like tea?’ asked Fiona.

  ‘I’d love some,’ I said, as she went into the kitchen to boil the kettle.

  ‘Imagine how insufferable he’ll be if he wins this prize.’ I sighed.

  ‘Perish the thought,’ said Dad, with a shudder.

  The phone rang. Fiona mustn’t have heard it in the kitchen so I picked it up. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hello, Mrs Kennedy, your biopsy results have come through and Dr Summer needs to see you right away. I’ve scheduled you in for nine tomorrow morning.’

  ‘OK,’ I said, as the phone went dead.

  What the hell was going on?

  2

  I sprang up from the chair and went to find Fiona, who was in the kitchen with the twins.

  ‘Hey, boys, will you go to Granddad? He wants to talk to you,’ I said, and ushered them out.

  I took the teapot out of Fiona’s hand and led her to the table to sit down. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked.

  ‘My question exactly. You’ve just had a phone call from Dr Summer’s secretary. Your biopsy results are back and he wants to see you at nine tomorrow morning.’ Fiona’s face crumpled. ‘Are you OK? Why are you having biopsies?’

  ‘You should have called me. That was a private phone call,’ she said, trying to compose herself.

  ‘The woman didn’t give me a chance to say I wasn’t you? Anyway, that’s irrelevant. Are you sick?’

  ‘If they’re calling me back first thing tomorrow it must be bad news,’ she said, fighting tears.

  ‘Jesus, Fiona, what is it?’

  ‘A lump.’

  ‘Oh, God, where?’

  ‘Breast.’

  I stared at her, speechless.

  ‘Freaky, isn’t it?’ said Fiona, laughing bitterly. ‘She was exactly the same age as me when she died.’

  ‘Don’t think about that. It was a long time ago and the treatment now is much better. Besides, Mum’s was very advanced. Yours is probably just a little lump that they need to take out,’ I said, grabbing at straws.

  She sighed.

  ‘Does anyone know?’ I asked.

  She shook her head. ‘I didn’t want to worry Mark unnecessarily.’

  ‘I’ll go with you tomorrow.’

  ‘You’re flying back to London in the morning.’

  ‘I’ll change my flight.’

  ‘Don’t you have to work?’

  ‘Yes, but I can sort something out. Come on, I’d like to go with you.’

  ‘No, it’s fine. I’ll tell Mark tonight and he’ll come with me.’

  ‘Well, if you change your mind I’m happy to stay.’

  Fiona smiled at me. ‘You’ll break out in a rash if you stay in Dublin for more than twenty-four hours. It’s OK, I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Rash?’

  ‘Come on, Kate, you’re allergic to Dublin.’

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘Yes, you are. You always look uncomfortable and edgy after a couple of hours.’

  ‘Do I?’ I asked, knowing fine well I did. ‘I don’t mean to. I love catching up with all of you.’


  I did like the idea of coming home and seeing my family, but after an hour or two I always began to feel claustrophobic. In the last three years I’d only come home for Christmas, and once during the summer for a weekend. I could never wait to get back to the airport. A weight lifted off me when I boarded the plane to London. I was always glad to see my family, but after the initial catching up, I never knew what to do with myself. I didn’t seem to fit in. Dad, Fiona and Derek had moved on with their lives and were closer to each other than they were to me. I felt like an outsider as they told stories about things that had happened while I was away. I spent most of my time lurking about the house, clock-watching.

  ‘Maybe if you came home more regularly it’d be more comfortable for you. I know Dad would like to see more of you. I would too.’

  ‘Sure, absolutely, I’ll try and do that,’ I lied. ‘Anyway, what are we talking about this for when there are much more important things going on? How are you feeling? Have you been sick?’

  ‘No, not at all. I only noticed the lump a few weeks ago, so I decided to get it checked out and they sent me for a biopsy.’

  ‘It’ll be OK, Fiona. You’ve caught it early.’

  ‘What if I haven’t? What if the boys end up like us, with no mother? I couldn’t bear that, Kate. Life can be so unfair. I hated not having Mum around. It meant having to grow up so quickly. I want the boys to be children for as long as possible.’

  I tried desperately to think of something reassuring to say. I owed her so much. She had given up her youth to raise me and Derek. While we were playing with our friends on the road, Fiona was cooking dinner or doing our laundry. Because of her selflessness, Derek and I had had a very stable upbringing. She was the one who made all the sacrifices.

  ‘Fiona, the boys will be fine and so will you. Women are always having lumps removed and go on to live long, healthy lives. I bet when you see the doctor tomorrow he’ll tell you it’s nothing to worry about.’

  Before we could continue the conversation, Dad barged in, with the twins hanging off his back, screeching with laughter. ‘Jesus, did you go to India to pick the tealeaves?’ he puffed, as Fiona and I peeled the boys off him. ‘My God, Fiona, they’re very lively. I don’t know how you do it. I’m worn out after ten minutes,’ he said, plonking himself down on a chair while the twins chased each other round the table.