Aisling's Diary

Chapter 33

Monday 9 January (continued)

7:00 p.m.

Whatever Rory has written on his white wall on his Bebo page, I did not ‘nobble’ Kerry-Ann in order to get my place in the dance competition, and I am not like that Canadian ice-skater who had her main competitor’s legs taken out before the Winter Olympics. The imagination that boy’s got – honestly. Although he’s animated this cat so it does all these break moves on his page–it’s pretty cool. Enough, Aisling – back to practising the moves in the mirror. Leave the animated cat alone, check your email and get off the computer. Back to practising your moves in front of the mirror.

7:10 p.m.

So, I checked my email and I had an email from Murphy:

To: Aisling Fitzsimons

From: Murphy

Re: Me and You, You and Me

Ais, I know you need space, but it’s hard, I really miss you. I never got to tell you that when we were dancing with Ace FX all he was interested in was you. You were every bit of the reason we won that competition and why Ace FX wanted to dance with us. The crew’s not the same without you, and neither am I.

Murph x.

He walked past the dance room today. I saw him ages before he saw me, but when he looked at me I pretended I hadn’t seen him. This is the hardest bit of it all. Much harder than winning Kennedy over or learning the steps. Much, much harder.

Friday 13 January

Phase 1 complete. I have secured my place in Killer Kennedy’s Irish Dance Team, which is going to compete for the places in the World Championships. One step closer to getting home. I expected Mum and Dad to be really pleased, but they barely noticed. I swear I could have said: ‘I saw a kitten on the way home from school’, or ‘I’m not sure I really like McFly any more’ for all the interest they showed. The only time I saw Dad smile was when he realized there were loads more roast potatoes so he could have second helpings. What’s a girl to do? Oh well, just three more hours’ practice before bed. One thing’s for sure, whatever happens at the Championships no one will have practised as much as me. A fact I find very comforting.

6:45 p.m.

Rory is being so annoying. Most people would get the message that I don’t want to talk about all that break dancing, but not him. He went on and on and on and on about it. ‘Why have you given it up?’, ‘Why are you doing Irish Dancing again?’, ‘I thought you were a B-girl, sis’. So many questions that boy has. Lorks only knows what he was like when he was two and going through that stage where you ask loads of questions. I’m surprised Mum and Dad didn’t give him up for adoption. But then who’d have him? Ahh, only joking, I’m sure there must be worse younger brothers.

He’s back again. I turn round to get my hair out of my eyes, and there he is, a non-stop question machine. You know his mobile never stops. How on earth did he manage to get a mobile? I didn’t even have one until I was fourteen and here he is with one of those touch-sensitive phones – day trading must be paying well, I guess. He’s got this Lupe Fiasco ring tone, which he’s remixed himself on Garage Band. Even though he’s my little brother, I have to say it sounds pretty cool. Hard not to start shaking yourself down when it goes off, which is fine at home but could be pretty embarrassing at Tesco’s.

At one point when his phone went we were both dancing to the tone – I was doing my Irish Dance and he was doing his version of break-dancing or ‘watch out you’re gonna break something’ dancing as I think of it. It was just like we used to do, mixing up all the styles.

Rory says tonight we developed a whole new way of dancing; i-breaks, he’s calling it – I for Irish, breaks for well … breaks. Either way it felt good to develop a whole new dancing style from my bedroom.

Saturday 14 January

Granny Nora just told me the strangest story. We were talking about this woman she knew who was married to her husband who was a plumber, but he got ill and so couldn’t work. This woman had to go out to work to support them both, and she decided the way she was going to do that was to become a plumber so she could keep his business going while he was ill. So she went off and enrolled in a class. But the men in the class wouldn’t accept her. They would send her off looking for left-handed saws and glass hammers! Neither of which exist apparently, although thinking about it how useful would a glass hammer be? It would just break, instantly. No wonder this woman couldn’t find one – no one would setup a company making glass hammers unless they were criminally insane.

Some of the men were really mean and would make sure she got all the really dirty jobs. She would end most days covered in dirt and all messy. Sometimes they wouldn’t help her at all. Granny Nora said they did everything to stop this woman doing what she wanted to do.

But she didn’t stop, she kept at it and learnt her trade. When her husband got better she kept on working with him, making the family business bigger and better for everyone. Granny said she just smiled when people said plumbing was a man’s profession – because she knew better.

But the strangest thing about this story is how it ended. There I was thinking about this woman underneath some U-bend somewhere in Dublin 50 years ago, and Granny Nora got this strange glint in her eye. Because SHE was that woman. Granny Nora is the one who enrolled in a plumbing course and got to grips with Victorian heating systems and rainwater tanks. And Fitzsimons Plumbing is the company she set up. Wow. All of us, Conor, Stell, Dad, Mum, Shane, Rory, Me, all kept in Doritos and Mercedes Benz just because Granny Nora believed in herself and wouldn’t let herself be put off by all the people who said she couldn’t do it.

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