Temptation. Dermot Bolger
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dream for him. Peadar grabbed him and ran, getting his head over the toilet before the vomit came. Danny cried as he retched again, with his whole dinner coming up.
Alison watched from the bathroom door, cursing herself and knowing Peadar was silently cursing her too. Danny’s pyjamas were untouched. There were just a few specks on the tiles and on Peadar’s shoes. Peadar carried him back to bed and tucked him in. The child would sleep peacefully now till morning.
Her clothes were disarrayed, but she knew her semi–nakedness wasn’t arousing any more. It was the mundane nudity of child raising. Her nipples looked flat and worn, but Peadar wasn’t even gazing at her.
‘I might get a last drink,’ he whispered, as though anxious to extricate himself. ‘You read if you like, I’ll only be a few minutes.’
She wanted to stop him, to suggest they try again, but it was too late. She let him go, undressed and turned the lights out. It was wrong to think that Peadar was punishing her. It just wasn’t like ten years ago, when he seemed to develop a permanent erection whenever they were alone. Kids changed you and three kids wore you out. You saw your partner in situations that modesty would once never have allowed. Neither of them had been able for a third child if they were honest – no more than her own parents had been. Let Peadar enjoy his drink, let his tension subside. She found she was still damp. Her fingers touched the spot idly, wondering why his tongue always had such difficulty in locating it.
A noise outside froze her hand. A footstep on gravel beyond the French doors. For a second she thought that maybe it was Peadar, crazily planning to surprise her, to rekindle the spontaneity which had once marked their lovemaking. But he would know the door was locked. It had to be a burglar. But the kids had been racing in and out all afternoon. Was she sure she had remembered to lock the French doors? She wished Peadar was here. She waited for the click of a hand to test the handle but there was just silence as if the footsteps had moved on or she had imagined the whole affair.
She lay curled in the dark. I gave up my happiness to make another person happy, she found herself thinking, to make my family happy. I am who I’ve become because this is who they need me to be. When I got the all–clear I wasn’t even happy for myself. It was them I was thinking of. I couldn’t die because other people needed me. But what do I need? The image returned from last night, a woman swaying under water, her lifeless hands against the glass, waiting to be chanced upon by some diver.
Her body felt old and stale. Her hand was motionless between her thighs. The rich food lay heavily on her stomach while her children’s breathing filled the room. She was on holidays, the treat she had so looked forward to. So why did she feel alone, like she had woken to find she was leading another person’s life inside somebody else’s skin?
Sheila woke first. Alison could tell by the springs of the small bed and knew that her daughter was content to lie there, self–contained, savouring the wonder of waking in a hotel bedroom. Shane would sleep on, even feigning sleep for a time after he woke, but Danny would be out of bed once his eyes opened. Alison lay on her side, watching her elder son’s sleeping face, knowing that his eyelids would flicker automatically open at half past seven. Every morning the same so that she had stopped using an alarm clock.
She couldn’t tell if Peadar was awake or asleep. It had been late when he returned from the bar and she hadn’t turned over, forcing him to make the first move, if any. She knew that he had lain awake for a long time, with inches of sheet separating their skin. She turned towards him now. His breath was nasally and in a few years’ time he would snore. He looked older in the dawn light, worn out, although she knew that once he woke he would summon the energy to sparkle and make the children laugh. He was a morning person. Perhaps that was one of the contrasts which made their marriage work.
She spooned herself into his back and put an arm around him, her fingers luxuriating along his furry chest, then moving mischievously down to the untidy tangle of hair spilling out from his Y–fronts. He stirred, sleepily, as her fingers lightly brushed against the unsummoned stiffness he sometimes woke with.
‘I’ve told you, McCann,’ he murmured, ‘my wife is getting suspicious.’
It was an established joke between them. ‘Very suspicious,’ she whispered back, gently taking his earlobe between her teeth. Peadar turned towards her and the creak of their bed woke Danny who padded across to snuggle sleepily against her back, his eyes not even fully open. Peadar rolled over to disguise his stiffness as Danny leaned across to hug his father. All three lay in silence, then Peadar turned more fully onto his stomach as Sheila joined them on his side of the bed. Alison smiled, wondering what cold unerotic thoughts he was filtering through his head.
‘The plunge pool,’ she muttered to him.
‘What?’
‘Think of diving into the ice–cold plunge pool.’
Peadar shivered loudly. ‘I was thinking of McCann with Mother Teresa,’ he replied and stared across at Shane still feigning sleep and clutching his Paddington Bear.
‘I’ve an idea,’ he said. ‘Let’s all eat Paddington for breakfast.’
‘You will not.’ Shane uncoiled himself and landed with one spring on their bed. Peadar laughed and soon had the children laughing too, as he invented songs, with no trace of disappointment in his voice at the sexual tension which, just a few moments before, seemed about to spill over between them.
Alison was relieved some years back when Peadar stopped attempting to explain the rules of the Fitzgerald’s golfing scramble competition to her. It combined the complexity of Einstein’s theory of relativity with a propensity for appalling dress sense on the part of more serious disciples. For lesser mortals like Peadar it apparently consisted of three strangers teeing off, almost everybody picking their ball up again, everyone blaming the prevailing weather conditions or their hangovers and promising to buy each other a drink in the hotel bar that night.
However, she knew it kept Peadar happy for a few hours on the Monday morning, after which he was generally content to put his golf clubs away for the remainder of the holiday. The biggest cheer at the prizegiving every Thursday night was for the golfing competition, with scores calculated by a formula, based on points from individual rounds and a percentage of points from the scramble, which seemed better applied to nuclear physics. Alison could spot the men and women who spent whole days trying to better their scores, and evenings huddled at the bar working out minute calculations.
Every year Peadar simply put his name down to make up the numbers for some old couple’s scramble team and steered clear of everything else. Alison told him she didn’t mind if he entered the competition properly by playing a full solo round now that the children were older. But she knew how a sense of duty held him back from abandoning her for so long. His scramble partners this year, the Irwins, came from Northern Ireland. They hailed him at breakfast time, with Peadar jokingly saluting Mr Irwin as ‘captain’ and arranging to meet them on the first tee at eleven o’clock.
It was only after Peadar had left and she brought the children for their morning swim, that she realised Danny was now too big to be taken into the ladies’ changing room. She had to ask an attendant to stay in the gents’ locker room with him, and even then she was uneasy, not recognising him from any previous year.
She got Sheila and Shane changed quickly and brought them out to where Danny waited impatiently at the poolside. The attendant smiled and walked away to fix the pile of towels, making Alison feel guilty for harbouring suspicions about him.
There were two full–size pools, a kiddies’ one sloping to a depth of five feet and an eight–foot adult one nearly always empty. The sauna and steam rooms were hidden behind statues up steps beside the adult pool, with a plunge pool between them. Out on the terrace, once you braved the sea breeze and occasional rain, was an outdoor Canadian hot tub whose powerful jets of water made the indoor jacuzzi almost tepid by comparison.
Alison