Walking the Dog (part x)

Sometimes Podge felt as if she lived her life on a film set, so perfect was it.  Picture this! The cinema is in darkness.  Suddenly, the screen is flooded with bright, white light as if a thousand switches had been flipped.  Eyes adjust to the image, an exterior shot of a bijou cottage in one of Dublin’s more fashionable villages.  The morning sun bounces fiercely off the white painted frontage and fulsomely flowered hanging baskets.  Slowly the camera approaches one of the discretely curtained windows, and, through the magic of cinema, passes through. In the small but artfully designed kitchen our kimono-clad heroine is spooning Lapsang Souchon into an earthenware teapot, her cropped hair boyishly tousled from her nights repose. A radio plays in the background, the chirpy D.J. giving weather forecast details for the ‘Bay Area’.

Mug in one hand, triangle of toast from which she nonchalantly nibbles in the other, our heroine passes through the tasteful but inexpensively furnished living room and approaches the alcove in the far wall. The workstation, inset under a book-shelved arch, bears a pastel-coloured computer.  She perches on the chair and rouses it from its slumber. A  few quick clicks with the mouse and a document appears on the screen.

The MOTHER-DAUGHTER DYAD IN THE POST-PATRIARCHAL FAMILY: 
A HYSTERIE OF MOTHER-ING.  

By Padrigin Ni Duibhir.
 
A dissertation submitted in partial fulfilment of the requirements of University College, Dublin for the Degree of Master of Women’s Studies.

Even now, Podge can hardly believe it. Last night, when she typed the last words, she had been too tired to fully appreciate the moment.  But seeing again the title page, scrolling down though the hundred and twenty pages, she feels lightheaded, euphoric.  The culmination of five years, yes, of personal development and change, but of  work,  tears and stress also.  From downtrodden hausfrau to feminist intellectual!  The end of the first stage of her new life.  And the beginning of who knows what?  The feminist establishment is in need of a good shaking up, and Podge intends to be the one at the bottom of the tree, doing he shaking. Look out, Second Wavers! Padrigin Ni Duibhir is on her way!

Later this morning she will go into college and print off some copies, and drop them into Professor Murphy’s office.  Talking about the feminist establishment.  Then maybe drop in on Jim.  A little R&R.  He’s been a bit sulky, these past few weeks, as she devoted all her time to completing her dissertation, but she is confident she can bring him round.  

The phone rings.

“Patsy.”  It’s Eoin.  Only he calls her Patsy anymore.  She is sure he does it deliberately, to provoke her.  But this morning she is unprovokable.  

“How’s the work going?”

They chat inconsequently for a few moments, two civilised adults having a polite conversation, while he screws himself to the point of the call.

“Listen, Orla wants to stay here for another week.  She’s welcome to of course, but I’ve told her that it’s entirely up to you”

Orla is their thirteen year old daughter.  Lately she has developed a major Daddy obsession.  Daddy this and Daddy that.  Nevermind that she was the one who sacrificed her youth for her, wiped her bottom, dried her tears, while Daddy spent all his time in the office.  Now she wants to spend all her time on the farm in Wexford where Jim and his hippy-dippy girlfriend fled after the divorce.  He writes his technical manuals and she feeds the goats and chickens, probably grows marijuana on the hillside.

Truth to tell, it suits her not to have Orla around for another week.  Would give her a chance to unwind after the hard grind of the past few weeks.  Time to renew some neglected relationships, and to plot the path ahead. But no need to tell him that.

“Look this really is most inconvenient.  I  have arranged everything for next week, tennis lessons, riding, guitar.  Its not fair to chop and change like this”

“Fair enough.  As I said, I told her that it would be up to you.”

“Right.!  So Mummy becomes the big bad witch!  I’m always the one saying no to her.  I’m always the one making the hard decisions.”

“Look, I’m sorry Patsy,  I’ll tell her …”

“I’ve told you before, don’t call me Patsy!  I’m Podge now! Oh for Gods sake, let her stay with Daddy then, if she insists, but for one more week only.  That’s it. I’ll meet her off the train at the usual time”

“OK Pat..Padrigin.  I’ll let her know.  Sure it will give you time to relax and unwind after all your studying.”

“Well thank you very much for that” she responded, with heavy irony.  “I’m sure I will find plenty to do, what with getting her clothes ready, tackling her cesspit of a room, apart altogether from my work ….”

The call, with its reminders of her old life, and the way she was still constrained by that life, punctured the bubble of euphoria she had inhabited all morning, but before the resentment and depression could completely wash it away the phone rang again.

“Hello?  Could I speak to Padrigin Ni Duibhir please?”  The beautifully modulated female voice is unfamiliar.

“Speaking.”

“Oh hello.  I hope you don’t mind my ringing you like this, Ms Ni Duibhir.  I was given your number by Professor Murphy? My name is Caroline Brady, I’m a researcher with {name} an independent production company and we’re looking for panellists for a new show we’re devising, which we hope will go into production next month.  The working title is ‘Sex Wars’, which will give you some idea what it will be about.