Excerpt from YOU'RE A DESPERATE WOMAN, SHIBBY MAGEE:
When the vase falls to the floor, the attic bedroom is filled with the acrid incense of chrysanthemums. Spicy and medicinal.
“Where did the fecking flowers come from?” asks Vera Coffey.
“Alice Duffy picked them for us,” says Shibby, “from her very own garden.”
Shibby sits next to her twin sister, Dorah, on the edge of the third bed. Shibby with her hands clenched into fists, and Dorah with hers lying loosely on her lap. And while Dorah studies the ceiling, Shibby is watching Vera, their mammy, as she swipes her hairbrush and hairspray off the dressing table and into a plastic bag. It was all the sweeping and swiping that caused the vase to topple over, Shibby reckons. That pulled the lace doily right from under it. A lace doily that also ends up in the plastic bag, along with the eyeshadows her mammy makes her cat-eyes with, and along with the rouge that puts apples on her cheeks.
“You’re leaving us again,” says Dorah. Yawning.
“Why?” Shibby asks her mammy. “Where do you go?”
“That’s a secret,” says Vera, which is an answer Shibby has heard many a time before. And yet Shibby will keep on asking the same question, hoping to hear something new. “I’m leaving ye in the care of that ding-dong,” says Vera. “Ye’ll be fine without the likes of me.”
That ding-dong being Alice Duffy, the housekeeper, who’s been with the Magees for sixteen years. But as much as Shibby loves Alice, Vera Coffey is the real mammy. And having a mammy is a normal state of affairs in Shibby’s opinion. A mammy and a daddy together in a house. Even if the mammy is spare with her kisses and Benny, the daddy, spends the majority of his time outside in the bakehouse.
Or else at Frenchie’s Pub...