Page 52 of Anxious Hearts
‘Fergus!’ June said sharply. ‘We agreed not to talk about the incident.’
‘What? It’s hardly a secret. It’s trending on Twitter and is all over the news.’
Kelly had deliberately avoided going online since she’d left Juliana that morning. She didn’t have Instagram on her phone anymore – she let Juliana run her account. Kelly just sent her pictures every now and again and let the expert come up with banal captions and mind-numbing hashtags. Kelly had also approved a few proforma responses that Juliana rolled out depending on the type of messages she received. Whenever she received a dick pic, Juliana simply deleted the message and blocked the sender.
‘How bad is it, Ferg?’ Kelly asked.
He grimaced. ‘Pretty bad. They’re calling you Dr Omelette.’
Her father chuckled. ‘That’s actually pretty good.’
‘I don’t get it,’ Kelly said.
‘Because you break eggs to make an omelette, darling,’ her mother said. ‘Well, people who cook do.’
‘Not the time, Mum.’
‘I agree,’ June said. ‘Let’s not talk about all this now. Lunch is served.’
It was one of the rare times in her life that Kelly appreciated her mother’s steadfast dedication to avoiding problems, conflict and uncomfortable conversations. She often joked with her brother that they would one day adorn their mother’s tombstone with the epitaph:June O’Mara – A lifetime devoted to sweeping shit under the rug.
But that was not the style June’s fiercely competitive children had adopted. And Kelly owed her brother a hit. ‘Are we allowed to talk about Fergus’s marriage?’ she said sweetly.
‘Was Fergus married?’ Roy said with barely concealed contempt. ‘Must have set some kind of record for world’s shortest-lived nuptials.’
‘Thanks for your loving support as always, Dad.’
The air between father and son crackled with tension.
June put her knife and fork down. ‘That’s enough. Easter Sunday is a time to celebrate family and be thankful for all that God had given us.’
Fergus cocked his head. ‘A failed marriage and a career in tatters?’
‘God didn’t give you a failed marriage,’ Kelly said. ‘That was your wandering member.’
Roy picked up his wine glass. ‘Kelly, you know the rules. We don’t talk about Fergus’s member at the table.’
‘Thank God he doesn’t get it out at dinner anymore like he used to when he was a little boy,’ June said.
Roy snorted red wine through his nose, Fergus howled with false indignation and Kelly nearly choked on a mouthful of roast potatoes. June didn’t often spear anyone with her wit, but when she did, she speared them all the way through.
Roy put his knife and fork down and leaned on his elbows, fixing his gaze on Kelly.
She stole a quick sideways glance at Fergus, whose face confirmed what they both knew was coming. They’d seen that expression on their father’s face a thousand times and more as kids. The lecture was about to begin.
‘You let yourself down at the supermarket, Kelly. But not because you assaulted that moron. He deserved a punch in the face more than an egg on his shirt.’
‘Roy!’ June hissed.
He ignored her. ‘You let yourself down because you let yourself get distracted by an unremarkable person with a small, unremarkable life. That man means nothing to us. He’s not one of the special ones, Kelly. He’s not like you. He’ll never be anybody. And ifyouwant to be somebody, you can’t make that mistake again. Laser focus. That’s what you need. Focus and hard work.’
Kelly could feel the heat of Fergus’s shame and indignation radiating towards her just like when they were kids. Not once had her father called his son special. It was always Kelly who promised the most. Kelly who delivered the best results. Kelly who could be relied upon to succeed. Fergus just continued on the path of proving his father right by fucking up time after time after time. When he did, their father put it down to his flawed character. When Kelly made a mistake, it was because she stooped to the level of the unremarkable mob.
Fergus spread his arms wide and smiled caustically. ‘Just like old times,’ he said.
‘Speaking of old times,’ June said in a fluster, predictably changing the subject, ‘when is Finley coming over today?’
‘He’s not coming over.’
