Like a lot of Irish people, I have a sister who is ten years younger than I am. I’ve always enjoyed the relationship I have with Cara, as it keeps me young. While a lot of the friends my age have no idea what the hot TV shows and bands are, Cara has given me an introduction, although I won’t pretend I enjoy a lot of them. I look on this as a professional necessity, as I need to know what the latest trends are for PR. Cara and I bond over sharing contemporary culture -she says at least I have an open mind, something she wishes more Christians would have. When I went to her place for dinner one night, I told her about the red light prayer. She was sceptical.
“Praying as a weapon?” she scoffed. “It sounds very passive to me.” Cara is the least tolerant of my “religious phase” in my family, something I’m always working on to change her outlook. So I told her how highly abolitionists rated prayer, and she just wrinkled her nose. “That was a different time. Do you really think it can work in today’s world?”
That’s an argument I never stop having with her. She thinks the church needs to “move with the times”. I keep trying to tell her how eternal God is but she just shakes her head. Instead of having this discussion yet again, I focussed in on how important prayer is. “You pray about everything…there are plenty of examples of people who pray for things, and miraculous things happening!”
“You sound like Mum…she swears that I passed my exams with the help of all her prayers.”
I had to smile. “And you think that’s not true?”
“I walked right into that one,” Cara had to admit. She handed the takeout menu to me “So which pizza should we get?”
I thought of my jaw and must have winced, because Cara gave me a look of concern. “Is your jaw still hurting you?” she asked.
“I feel a sharp twinge every now and then.” I was starting to get worried about eating, which was probably a good thing in the long run. “Sometimes when I eat, I feel it. So maybe this will help me lose those ten pounds I’ve wanted to shed by summer!” Cara laughed and shook her head. She thinks Christians are incorrigible optimists.
“Please tell me that you’re talking about losing weight doesn’t mean you won’t be ordering in; I’m starved!” Niamh, Cara’s flatmate, had just gotten home. She was taking off her jacket and was peeling her over-sized tote out from under her armpit.
“We’re ordering pizza,” Cara told her. One second ago, she was worried about my jaw, and now we’re all having pizza. She handed a pizza takeout menu to Niamh, while I waited for Niamh to say hello, or at least acknowledge my presence.
“Hiya Niamh,” I ventured. Niamh stuck out her lower lip and blew upwards at her fringe as she considered the menu.
“I love Hawaiian pizza!” she said. I don’t, and said so. She didn’t look at me, just set her mouth as she continued looking at the menu. I bristled at her rudeness, something I should be getting used to. I looked at Cara, who was trying to ignore the growing tense atmosphere.
“We were considering pepperoni and mushrooms,” Cara told Niamh, sticking to the topic at hand. Were we? That was the first I’d heard of it.
“How about BBQ chicken?” Niamh suggested, still not looking up.
“What else is on that?” I asked. I like my pizzas simple – too many toppings muddles the taste. Niamh handed me the menu wordlessly. I checked – BBQ chicken pizza has onions.
“We’ll ask for it without the onions,” Cara said, reading my mind. She took the menu from me and dialled the phone.
“Whatever,” Niamh said, picking up her tote and heading for her bedroom. “As long as it has chicken and cheese, I’m happy!”
I don’t really like Niamh, I will admit. She’s a friend of a friend of Cara’s; when that friend moved to Australia and left Cara without a flatmate, Niamh stepped in. She’s tidy and pays her half of the rent on time, but other than that, there’s not much I can say for Niamh. In one of the first chats I had with her, she called me intolerant for not sharing her viewpoint on a “woman’s right to choose.” When I tried to point out that not respecting differing points of view was not very tolerant, she made a face and walked away. Since then she makes a point of censoring everything she says, so it won’t offend my delicate sensibilities, but I’ve frequently caught her rolling her eyes up to heaven when she’s listening into conversations Cara and I have. While she’s certainly not in the same league as the colleague of Tommy’s who wants them all to go to lap dancing clubs, she’s the person I need perseverance in dealing with.
Cara knows the difficulty I have with Niamh, but she’s not much help. Like all spoiled little sisters, can’t help herself and enjoys stirring it when Niamh is around me. The smile that crept over her face after she hung up after ordering the pizza told me she was at it yet again. “Niamh, tell Lisa about that show you found on satellite!”
Niamh was coming into the kitchen when Cara spoke, and stopped in her tracks. Her face looked about as uncomfortable as mine when she heard Cara’s request. “Come on, Cara; it’s not her thing!”
Something not suitable for the intolerant, obviously. “Oh come on,” Cara soothed. “She doesn’t have to watch it…”
“I watch that show about the serial killer you’re all so crazy about,” I reminded them, feeling defensive. I don’t agree with the morals of most shows on the telly, but I don’t live in an ivory tower.
“That show isn’t a reality show,” Cara said. “This one is about real people!”
Niamh sat down, scowling at Cara. “This is definitely something she wouldn’t like.”
“I’m not a fan of reality TV,” I admitted. Those shows were a showcase for bullying, as far as I was concerned.
“This one is worse,” Cara told me, grinning. “This is about wife-swappers!”
Niamh at least looked as awkward as I felt. Cara was obviously just goading me, something I’ve asked her to stop doing. I found myself exchanging a look with Niamh as Cara gloated.
“You really watch a show about men swapping wives?” I asked. I was amazed such a show existed – it was probably from Sweden or the Netherlands.
“It’s about people who are polyamorous,” Niamh clarified. “It’s not just men swapping wives, it’s couples who are in open relationships.”
“Not just open relationships.” Cara sang. “They form groups where they have sex with each other’s partners…and each other!”
Sodom and Gomorrah was now on satellite TV. “Where do you find these things?” I asked, horrified.
“America,” Cara said smugly. “I thought it was Scandinavia or something, but Niamh says it’s in Florida!”
Niamh said nothing while I digested this. “Is that legal there?” I asked after a pause.
“You can’t outlaw sex,” Niamh said in exasperation.
“Why do you watch this?” I looked at Cara. Was she watching it, too? What were they showing on that programme – not full on pornography, I hoped.
“I wanted to see how other people live,” Niamh said, a touch defensively. “They don’t show them having sex, obviously. It’s all about them and their relationships.”
To be honest, that sounded kind of boring. These people were having a wild life, so I couldn’t really picture them sitting down to talk about their liaisons calmly. It probably didn’t even make good television if everyone was in on it – where was the secrecy, the jealousy and in-fighting that reality TV thrived on? If they weren’t filming full-on orgies and people were happily sharing partners, what was there for the cameras?
“It must not be all happy families, if they’re making a reality show about it,” I said. “Those kinds of shows live off conflict!”
“Oh, they’re not happy!” Cara supplied. “They’re all very selfish and terribly jealous! Someone’s always having ‘an affair’ – going off with someone outside the group and not sharing!”
It sounded horrible. Not just because of the racy content, but because a production company was exploiting the agony of these misguided people. “How can you watch people make themselves miserable?”
“I keep hoping they’ll find someone who’s happy in their alternative lifestyle,” Niamh said quietly. “Some who doesn’t live by the rules and isn’t sad and lonely.” She peered up at me through her fringe, reminding me of Cara when she was a toddler. I prayed to God to give something non-judgemental to say.
“Sometimes living without rules is not as freeing as you’d hope,” I managed finally. It wasn’t gold, but Niamh just shrugged slightly. She offered me a weak smile. I smiled back and turned on my sister.
“I hope you’re not still watching it,” I said sharply to Cara, playing bossy older sister.
“I never watched it!” she cried in a loud protest of innocence.
“You did!” Niamh reminded her, just as loudly. “More than once!”
“I never watched a whole episode, like you do!” Cara howled, sounding very much like the child caught with his hand in the biscuit tin. The door buzzer sounded – our pizza had arrived.
“Saved by the bell,” Niamh grumbled as Cara ran to answer the door. I shook my head sympathetically. It was all right for Cara to get others into hot water, but when she got scalded herself-!
We split the bill and sat down to eat. While Cara and Niamh chatted about other things, I ate slowly and carefully. I thought about what Cara and Niamh had told me. A show about sleeping around, and it didn’t sound like these people were enjoying it. They weren’t being forced into it, but they were trapped. I had a minor spasm of pain as I crunched down on a bit of crust. These people needed to be added to the red light prayer, I realised, rubbing my jaw.