Now and
Then
Mary O’Sullivan
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, businesses, organisations and incidents portrayed in it are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published 2020
by Poolbeg Press Ltd.
123 Grange Hill, Baldoyle,
Dublin 13, Ireland
Email: [email protected]
© Mary O’Sullivan 2020
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
© Poolbeg Press Ltd. 2020, copyright for editing, typesetting, layout, design, ebook
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978178199-358-3
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photography, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
www.poolbeg.com
About the author
I am lucky enough to live near the coast in beautiful West Clare, Ireland. Until 2006 I worked as a laboratory technician, wrote a column for a local newspaper, composed poetry and short stories, and daydreamed about becoming a published novelist.
Since the 2006 publication by Poolbeg Press of my first novel, Parting Company, I have devoted my time to writing.
My published novels include As Easy as That, Inside Out, Ebb and Flow, Under the Rainbow, Time and Tide, Fire and Ice, Thicker Than Water. I have also written a collection of short stories – Full Circle and Other Stories – which is available online.
Acknowledgements
I am very grateful for the support I have received from so many people, both in writing Now and Then and in bringing it to publication.
Firstly, my gratitude to Poolbeg Press for accepting this novel. Special thanks to Paula Campbell, editor Gaye Shortland and David Prendergast.
A big word of thanks to Siobhan Moloney, who read early drafts and told me to get on with it when I was dithering.
Thank you, Paul O’Sullivan, for your astute suggestions and insights. Thank you especially for your trip home from NZ to surprise me on my birthday. It was special.
Thank you, Anne Fleming and Mary Malone, for reading my manuscript and for your encouragement.
Appreciation to Lotte Sutton and Alice Twaite for your support and very welcome visit to Clare.
Thanks is such a little word to say to my family for all the support and love they have shown me, but I’ll say it anyway for my husband Sean, my sons Paul and Owen, and my sister Anne. Love you always.
For Siobhan Moloney, a token of thanks for the support and encouragement you have given me during the writing of this book and always being there with a listening ear.
NOW
CHAPTER ONE
Sunday 9th December 2012
Murmurs wash over me. I want to cover my ears, to hide from judgement and speculation. My breathing quickens, sweat breaks out on my forehead, my hands begin to shake. Signs I have been taught to recognise. Eyes closed, I force my breathing to slow, shakes to steady, fear to slither back to its hiding place. But the guilt stays. It is an integral part of me, encoded in my DNA. I am Leah Parrish, the sometimes fearful, always guilty one.
I hear the tap-tap of Cora Sheehan’s shoes as she strides towards the backstage room where I am waiting. She is the person who organised my visit to this County Kerry village hall. I get the welcome aroma of coffee as she pushes the door open with her elbow, carefully balancing a tray in her hands.
“You did say no sugar, didn’t you?” she asks as she busily sets about placing cup, plate and milk jug on the trestle table in front of me.
I nod. I dislike sweet drinks. Almost as much as I dislike the wobbly trestle tables, folding chairs and echoing timber floors in every village hall and community centre I have visited during the past two years.
“It’s filling up nicely outside,” Cora says.
“Good,” I hear myself say.
“We advertised your visit in the parish newsletter and the local paper so we’re expecting a fair turnout.”
Of course there will be a crowd. There always is. An entertainer, that’s what I am. A curiosity. Yet this torture is self-imposed. Nobody except myself to blame for the humiliation.
“The screen and projector are set up on stage for you. Anything else you need, Leah?”
“No, thank you. Just something to rest my laptop on. A table, a lectern. Whatever.”
“It will be ready and waiting for you. Well then, I’ll leave you to get your thoughts together. Five more minutes enough for you?”
“Yes, thank you, Cora. Would you close the door on your way out, please?”
“Fine, I’ll give you a call before I go on stage to introduce you. Just a few words. They all know who you are.”
As the door shuts I can no longer hear the murmuring voices from the hall. I reach into my bag and take out the notebook. The one with the green leather cover. I rest it on top of my laptop. It reminds me why I’m here.
I fish in the bag again and find my phone. There are new messages and emails. Ignoring them, I swipe the photo icon. Suddenly, there they are, grinning at me. The twins Josh and Anna and their big brother Rob. My heart, so full of love for my children, seems to swell and fill the room. A knock sounds on the door and it immediately opens.
“Time to start now,” Cora says. “Are you ready?”
I take a last glance at my children. At their happy grins, trusting gaze, their joy in life. Switching off the phone, I turn to Cora.
“I’m ready. Lead the way.”
I stand at the side of the stage as Cora introduces me. I can pick out faces in the front rows. Some leaning forward, waiting to catch a glimpse of me. Taking a deep breath, I walk onstage to join Cora at the podium provided. She goes, leaving me alone to face my audience. I put my laptop down, place the notebook beside it, and log onto my PowerPoint. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of colour as the first photo of my presentation appears on the screen.
“Thank you all for coming along this evening. I appreciate you giving me the opportunity to talk to you. Let me take you back to two years ago. I was married to Ben, mother to two-and-a-half-year-old twins and a five-year-old boy. I also ran a hairdressing salon in Paircmoor, the rural village we had moved to from Dublin.”
I can see several heads nod. They already know the details of my life. Or think they do. I click on the next frame. As it flicks on screen, I pause, straighten my shoulders, clear my throat and take myself back two years to Leah’s Salon in Paircmoor village.
THEN
CHAPTER TWO
Thursday 25th November 2010
Mags was doing it again. She was taking a phone call, leaving the client sitting with her root treatment half done. My fault. I was never assertive enough with her, maybe in deference to the fact that she was older than me. Or perhaps I was just an incompetent boss. As she rushed towards me, I braced myself for another drama.
“Leah! Emergency! Claire’s had an accident. I must go. Now!”
My first reaction was annoyance with Claire and her constant need to have her mother dance attendance on her, especially during work hours. We were busy. I could not spare my only trained stylist
to babysit her twenty-seven-year-old daughter. Yet again.
“What kind of accident?” I asked.
Mags’ lower lip was quivering, her eyes filled with tears.
“A van rammed into the back of her car. She can’t move.”
I didn’t need to hear anymore. I could see the scene – a hysterical Claire causing chaos, demanding attention. I nodded to Mags.
“Go on.”
She was already racing out of the salon, muttering apologies as she went.
“Try to get back here if you can, please!” I called after her.
She waved a hand without turning. I knew then she would not be back until the morning.
I looked at Tina, a work-experience student I had agreed to take on for two months. She was leaning against the reception desk, a blank expression on her face. I’m not sure whose idea it was to send her to a hairdressing salon but, judging by her lack of interest, it clearly wasn’t Tina’s. However, she was all I had now.
Minnie Curran, she of the abandoned root treatment, cleared her throat. Of course, she was about to complain. And the child whose hair I had been cutting was starting to get restless. The arrival of another customer, early for her ten o’clock appointment, was not what I needed just then.
“Tina, would you seat our ten o’clock and give her some magazines, please?”
To my relief, Tina peeled herself away from the desk and went towards our customer.
“What about my roots?” Minnie Curran asked me.
“I’ll be with you as soon as I can, Minnie.”
“I need to go to the bathroom,” the child said and wriggled off the seat before I could stop her. She tripped over the towel I had draped around her, fell and began to cry.
As I helped her up, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I glanced at the screen. It was my husband, Ben. I switched off my phone and put it back in my pocket.
I had a chaotic, understaffed hair salon to sort out. Ben would have to wait.
Ben gave up leaving messages for Leah. Obviously, she was too busy to take a call. Entrepreneur that she was. Clawing her way onto the Paircmoor commercial Who’s Who list. Gaining respect in the community they had moved to only two years before. Garnering pity for her circumstances. His lack of circumstance. His joblessness.
The baby monitor was silent, so the twins were still napping. If he stopped feeling sorry for himself, he could get something done before they woke. Assuming there would be an internet connection today. The service was hit-and-miss in the Paircmoor area. Mostly miss. Not the ideal location to set up an e-business. He clicked on his browser and was relieved when his home page opened. He logged on to his email. Nothing new. He had been so certain the Maine souvenir company would have placed an order by now. It was tempting to contact them, to ask if they had reached a decision yet, to offer them a better deal. He visited his website. There had been twenty visits since last he checked. If interest in his product was money, he would be making a living. Hell, he would be making a fortune. Enough to fuck off out of the prison that was Paircmoor.
He shut down the computer and, standing up, took a key from the top shelf, inserted it in the keyhole of the left-hand drawer of his desk, and opened it up. Taking out the few loose items, he removed the false bottom, then lifted out his diary and sat down at his desk, pen in hand.
Thursday 25th November 2010, he wrote. Same old shit. Leah too busy to answer my calls. The twins asleep. Rob in school. No update on business front. Losing hope now that
The baby monitor sounded. One of the twins was up and about. Ben guessed it would be Anna. He replaced his diary in its hideout and locked the drawer. He would come back to it later. He always did. It was his place of refuge. His non-judgemental friend. When he reached the twins’ bedroom he saw that Anna was standing up on her bed, challenging life to come and get her, then running across to her twin brother’s bed to shake him awake. Even at two and a half years of age, she was as driven as her mother.
Ben tried Leah’s number once more. It went straight to her chirpy voicemail. He would have thrown his phone against the wall if he could afford to replace it, and if he didn’t now have to make lunch for the twins. Because his wife was too busy washing strangers’ hair to look after her own family.
His angry stream of thought was halted abruptly by a cry of pain. He lifted his eyes from his phone, just in time to see Anna pinch Josh on the soft flesh of his tummy.
“Stop, Anna! That’s very naughty. You’re hurting Josh!”
“Him won’t get up,” she said.
“But you mustn’t hurt him.”
Ben sat on Josh’s bed and took the crying child into his arms. Anna clambered onto his knee.
“I sorry,” she said, rubbing Josh’s face with her fingers.
Josh stopped crying and smiled at his sister. If Anna was like her mother – and she was in her delicate blonde beauty, deep blue eyes, her boundless energy – then Josh, dark-haired, brown-eyed, compliant little Josh was his father’s son. Ben held his son closer, as if he could protect him from the hurts and pain life would inflict on him.
Anna stared at Ben for a moment then gently touched his cheek.
“Why you sad, Daddy?”
Why? Why? Why you sad, Ben Parrish? Just because you were made redundant from your swish architect’s office? Just because you, and practically every other architect who hasn’t emigrated from Ireland, has fallen foul of the economic crash? Just because you know in your heart the business you are trying to launch is dead in the water before it starts? A joke. Born out of desperation. Just because you are now being supported by your wife? Financially, that is.
He kissed Anna on her blonde hair.
“I’m not sad, you goose. I’m just hungry. What do you two say to pancakes for lunch?”
She slithered off his knee and raced towards the kitchen. Ben reluctantly eased Josh’s warm little body away from him.
“Come on, Josh. Goodness knows what your sister will get up to in the kitchen.”
Josh, wise beyond his two and a half years, shrugged. An acknowledgement that he could never second-guess his sister’s next move.
Ben took his son’s hand and led him to the kitchen where Anna had dropped a carton of eggs on the floor.
It was Ben’s turn to shrug his shoulders. An acknowledgement on his part of both defeat and acceptance.
“What do I owe you?”
I knew by the way she narrowed her eyes that Minnie Curran was issuing a challenge, not asking a question. I glanced at the clock. The cuckoo clock Ben’s mother had brought back from one of her skiing trips to Switzerland. It looked out of place in the salon but at least I didn’t have to listen to the blasted bird and its hourly mechanical clatter at home.
“It’s quarter past twelve,” Minnie Curran said.
It was. The old biddy had been here since half past nine. She was the last of the morning customers to leave. She had her bag open but no sign of purse or money in her hand. I nodded. I would have to take this one on the chin, no matter how much I needed the cash. I mustered a smile, false but functional.
“I apologise again, Minnie. As you saw, the delay was unavoidable because of Mags being called away.”
“Well, I’ve missed my lift home. You know I live six miles the other side of the village.”
I needed to ring Ben to know how the children were. I especially needed to be rid of moaning Minnie Curran who was already preparing to spread the word about the bad service in Leah’s Salon.
“Please accept my sincere apologies, Minnie. I won’t be charging for your root treatment today. I hope to see you here again soon.”
She squinted at me for an instant. I thought she was going to ask me for a taxi fare. Suddenly she smiled and the usual affable Minnie came to life.
“That’s very kind of you, Leah, if you’re sure. Between you and me, Mags Hoey has her daughter spoiled. She had no right to leave you in the lurch.”
I caught her by the elbow and gently steered her
towards the door. It opened just as we got there and Tina sloped in. Refreshed no doubt after her break in the village café. Though I had to admit, much to my surprise, she had pulled her weight since Mags left. She had even managed to shampoo and condition without scalding or drowning customers.
It was starting to rain. Needles of icy cold, wind-driven rain swirled around Minnie and her newly styled hair. She stepped back in, fumbling with scarf and umbrella.
“Bother!” she said. “Why does it have to lash just now?”
“Yes, it’s a bad day,” I answered, holding the door open long enough for Minnie to fix her scarf and accept that she did indeed have to face the weather.
Free of Minnie, I checked the appointment book. One o’clock was the next wash and blow-dry. A break at last.
There was no sign of Tina, She had obviously gone into the little canteen in the back of the salon. Probably leaning against the kitchen counter there instead of against the reception desk. I picked up my phone to ring Ben but Tina called from the canteen. I sighed and went to see what she wanted. Maybe she needed me to clear a counter space for her to lean against.
I had a precious mug. My very own Stephen Pearce mug. It sat on the counter now, steam rising from the freshly made coffee inside. Beside it was a plate on which sat a cream-filled chocolate éclair. Tina pulled out a stool.
“I thought you could do with this, Mrs Parrish. You had no break since morning.”
It hit me then, how long it had been since anyone had done something nice for me. At the same time, I was struck by the realisation that I gave people no reason to believe their kindness would be welcome. Leah the almighty, managing home and business with efficiency. I no longer recognised myself. Who was inside my mind, spewing all these bitter thoughts, judging some people, misjudging others? How could I expect support from Ben when I offered him none? Even Mags – I hadn’t bothered enquiring how her daughter was doing since the accident this morning. And this trusting young girl, Tina. I had dismissed her as worthless. How arrogant. How shallow.
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