The Glass House - Chapter One

Chapter One

         'Clematis, honeysuckle, a winter flowering jasmine and an evergreen cistus?' Caitlin gestured to the gardening manuals, spread across the gleaming granite worktop, seeking her sister's approval.

         'I've no idea what any of those are, you choose.'

'Sometimes I despair of you. I'm never going to convince you gardening is good for the soul, am I?'

         'You inherited those genes,' Niamh replied, fingers splayed and moving, like hands dancing across a keyboard, 'I much prefer nail extensions to green fingers, thank you very much.'

The sparkling, well-tended talons settled on the counter, next to Caitlin's, who's stubby finger nails and skin were indelibly stained from the green and brown of plants and soil, the tools of her trade.

        'Lucky you found a rich man to marry then,' Caitlin said, tucking her hands between her legs and shifting on the uncomfortable bar stool she detested.

        'Don't knock my rich man, it's his generosity paying for your gardening services.'

'What am I paying for now?' Tom Whitley asked, his sudden arrival preventing Caitlin's reply.

        Niamh turned to him, hands on hips. 'Don't be such a grump, you know full well Caitlin's redesigning that hideous garden for me.'

        'Nothing wrong with the it the way it is,' Tom said. 'No need to spend any money on it.'

'It's the last reminder of your ex-wife in this property and I want it gone, now.'

        'Now, that's not fair. You know I can deny you nothing. If you insist on changing it, I'm sure Caitlin will be offering me family rates.'

        Caitlin, having no intention of offering him anything, pursed her lips and remained silent, ignoring his placating smile.

        'Anyway, I don't have time for this right now. Just popped home to pick up my passport, had a great tip about a property in Marbella that would be prime a-list rental; rushing out to see it before the family of the recently deceased little old dear sell it to someone else for a song.'

        'Wait a minute,' Niamh placed her hands on his chest, 'You're going to Marbella, now?'

'That's what I said, isn't it?' Tom muttered, walking away and rifling through a kitchen drawer for his dog-eared passport.

        'You're not going to Marbella without me. Give me an hour to get ready.'

'Be serious pet, the flight leaves in three hours and I have to be at Belfast airport in an hour. You know you'll not be ready to leave by then.'

        'I just have to pack a bag, change my clothes and freshen my make up.'

Caitlin sniggered. 'And we all know how long that takes.'

        'I haven't booked you a seat,' Tom continued, 'and, even if I could get you one, you'd be bored whilst we try to get a good deal out of the family.''

        'We. Who's we?'

'Just a business contact who's interested in investing in this property with me.'

        'Male or female business contact?'

'Don't start that. We're still newly weds after all and you know I only have eyes for you.'

'You better have.'

Clutching the passport, Tom reached around Niamh pulling her close and placed his hands on her bottom.

'Why would I need to look elsewhere when I have my pretty, young wife waiting here to welcome me home?'

        As Niamh stroked the lapels of Tom's suit and cradled into his embrace, Caitlin wondered how her sister could welcome words she found condescending. Spotting the familiar pout decorating her sister's face, Caitlin smirked, knowing Tom's escape was about to become conditional.

'You better make sure you bring me home something expensive and dazzling.'

        Caitlin was relieved to see him break the embrace and turn to leave the room. The man repelled her and she couldn't imagine how Niamh could bear his touch. Hearing the front door slam as he made his speedy departure Caitlin realised he'd side-stepped the issue of who he was travelling with.

'How can you stand him talking to you like that?' she asked.

        'Oh don't be such a feminist. Your attitude is the reason why I'm happily married and you're alone.'

        'I'm alone because I have standards and anyway, I'd rather have no-one than an old man groping me and talking down to me like some brainless doll.'

         'Tom's not old. He's only fifty.'

'Exactly. He's twice your age.'

         'He looks after himself and he's fitter than some of the men I know in their twenties. Sometimes I think you're just jealous. I have a loving husband and two beautiful homes whilst you dig around in the dirt every day, just to pay for a scruffy van and that crumbling house. Tom says if you knocked it to the ground and sold the plot you could make a fortune.'

         'Tom would, but how can you be so soulless? You know how much I love that house and I happen to like digging around in the dirt. It's more honest than digging for gold.'

Gathering the catalogues, and heading for the door, Caitlin found her muddy wellies.

         'That's typical, throw insults at me and then run away.'

'Goodbye, Niamh.'

        Caitlin sat in a wooden chair by the Aga watching her mother enact the daily ritual of placing the peeled potatoes into the pot of boiling water. Once upon a time the Aga had been fuelled by coal and Caitlin's head swam with delightful memories of her father sticking his feet on the edge of the fire to warm his toes, to the chagrin of her mother who knew there would be yet another pair of charred socks to be darned. Now oil-fired, the coal and the darning needles had long ago been discarded, no longer needed.

        'Did you call round to see Niamh?'

'Yes, Mum.'

         'Lovely house - isn't it? Was Tom there too?'

'Briefly.'

         'He's such a hard worker that man. Looks after Niamh so well. I wish you could find someone like that.'

         'I don't want to be looked after and certainly not by someone like Tom.'

'Why do you have to be so hard on him?

         'Aside from the fact that he is a misogynistic dinosaur?'

'That's nonsense. He just enjoys looking after your sister and she's more than happy to be looked after, so who are they hurting?'

         Caitlin stared at her mother wishing she could answer, almost speaking the words which boiled in her head. If only she could be sure of what she saw the night of Niamh's wedding, she wished yet again that she'd gotten a better look at the man, then maybe she could voice her suspicions. Instead she hung her head, knowing her mother would assume she was sulking.

          'Anyway, were you able to help Niamh out with the garden?'

'Sort of.'

         'What does that mean?'

'I made some suggestions but we had a bit of a disagreement before I left.'

         'You two don't know how to have a bit of a disagreement; blazing row would be more like it. I've never met two sisters who fight as much as you do.'

         'That's not fair Mum. All siblings squabble.'

'I remember that day we brought Niamh home from the hospital. You were three years old and kept telling us how excited you were to be getting a sister, then you looked at her and you both burst out crying.'

        'We're just very different people.'

'Niamh was always more like me, I'd love to have had the advantages she has, but you're so like your father and your grandmother. Never happier than when up to your elbows in muck.'

        'Speaking of which, I better get back to work.' Caitlin pushed the chair away from her legs, scraping it on the tiles, as she stood. Pushing her hands into her pockets she wondered if she'd ever gain her mother's approval in the way Niamh managed.

        'Aren't you staying for dinner? I've done enough spuds for you and your dad.'

Eager to leave the conversation, but equally keen not to look any more of a petulant child than she already did, Caitlin acquiesced, thankful that her father would be home soon and she could update him on the glass house.