You Have to Make Your Own Fun Around Here by Frances Macken

Author:Frances Macken
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction;Friends;Friendship;Female friendship;Fleabag;Derry Girls;Ireland;Irish;Young women;Girls;Coming of age;Small town;Funny;Comedy;Dark comedy
Publisher: Oneworld Publications
Published: 2020-02-28T00:01:48+00:00

Myself and Nuala and Norma are out for a hot chocolate at a shopping centre close to the apartment, and I have the sneaking suspicion that this is a sort of a prearranged intervention. Norma’s strongly recommending that I go forward for the teaching diploma, like she’s some sort of evangelist for doing the teaching. She has all the details tucked into her Filofax. ‘Just apply for it, Katie,’ she says firmly. ‘You can decide later. Give yourself the option.’ She’s like a dog with a bone.

I’m staring sullenly into the glass of hot chocolate, swirling a long-handled teaspoon in the lukewarm sugary gloop. ‘Norma. I don’t want to do the teaching. How many times have I to say it.’

‘You have to be realistic, Katie. Everyone gives up on their dream eventually. Holding on to it is a bit childish if you ask me.’

‘Norma,’ says Nuala. ‘You’re very harsh.’

‘I’m only saying. It’s human nature to think we’re all here for some big purpose. But most of us aren’t. Most of us are ordinary, and it’s important to accept it. A person has to be content to lead a normal life. There’s no shame in it.’ The three of us sit in terrible, awkward silence. The worst thing that could happen would be for me to fail, to never make something of myself, and I’ve the anguished feeling that failure is fated. I haven’t Evelyn’s self-belief. I haven’t Norma’s pragmatism. I’m not a natural Pollyanna, like Nuala. Polly-fucking-Nuala. Maybe it’s the usual thing for people to give up, and it’s a part of the fabric of life. Look at Mammy, sure, existing with the spectre of the unlived Self.

I wonder should I relent and apply for the teaching. The prospect of it is making more and more sense. I’ve the impression that Nuala and Norma are only keeping me on in the apartment out of charity: the rent hasn’t increased since I moved in. My tweed coat is four years old and fraying at the cuffs. There’s a hole in the left pocket and coins have slipped into the lining, ringing against my leg.

Nuala puts her hand on my forearm and rubs it. ‘It wasn’t your fault it didn’t work out,’ she says in a kindly tone. ‘You must put this incident behind you and have another go when you’re feeling better.’

Norma shakes her head, closes over her Filofax with a slap. ‘There’ll be more torment where that came from.’ She sits back and folds her arms. ‘I’m only saying.’

‘You’ve said your piece, Norma. It’s no one’s business only Katie’s what she does next.’ It’s a pity Nuala can’t get me a job herself, but she only recruits door-to-door salespeople.

It isn’t too hard to get back my old job. The Liffey Hotel has a revolving door, and it’s common enough for former staff members to return when they’re in a tight spot.

I have an email from Bernard. He says he’s sorry he had to leave Pyro Productions so suddenly. He’s done so for personal reasons, he writes, and he’s exploring new horizons.

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