Now and Then

by Mary O'Sullivan

  “How is Ben?”

  “Much improved. He’s been moved to a ward. And Claire, how is she?”

  “Claire is on the mend too. She’s gone off to town with her cousin to do a spot of shopping. The only therapy that works for her. That’s great news about Ben. He’ll be back on his feet in no time.”

  As she was talking, she was heaping a plate with roast chicken, roast potatoes, veg and stuffing. Proper Sunday dinner, gravy included. I was hungry, yes, but the attention Mags was lavishing on me was even more welcome than the food. She put the plate in front of me.

  “Eat up, Leah. When you’re finished, I have something to tell you.”

  Given my recent history, I had to assume that whatever Mags had to say would not be good news. I was glad she was holding back until I had finished eating. I had not realised just how hungry I was, or how long it had been since I had sat down and enjoyed a meal.

  “That was delicious, Mags. Thank you. Now I’m ready to hear whatever you have to tell me.”

  She poured two coffees and sat opposite me at the table. I heard her take a deep breath. So did I.

  “This is a long story,” she said. “It started when I met Minnie Curran’s niece in the supermarket. I don’t think you know her. She and Minnie aren’t the best of friends. There was a row years ago involving Minnie’s daughter and this niece. Minnie is not one to forgive easily. Anyway, we got to talking about Minnie’s drama with her inflamed scalp.”

  I felt the dinner I had just eaten turn sour in my stomach. I braced myself to be strong. Mature. To appreciate that Minnie Curran’s suing me was a small problem in the grand scheme of things.

  “Go on,” I urged Mags.

  “Look, I know I waffle on, so I’ll cut to the chase. Have you heard of Gobnait Slevin?”

  I nodded. I had heard people talk of her in reverent tones. From what I gathered, people credited her with the gift of healing.

  “Is she the healer who lives up Conicmoor Hills?”

  “Yes. And she’s Minnie Curran’s sister.”

  Everybody was interrelated here. Mags let that nugget of information sink in before continuing.

  “She’s a healer for those who believe in that sort of thing. Gobnait grows herbs, mixes them up into creams and lotions. She has people who swear her brews have cured them of everything from acne to baldness. Which brings me to Minnie.”

  “Is she involved in the business too?”

  Mags laughed.

  “Minnie Curran never did a day’s work in her life. Pure spoiled she is. The reason she went to Gobnait was about her thinning hair. You know how obsessed she is about it. In fact, she mentions it every single visit to the salon. Including her last one.”

  “So what are you saying, Mags? That Gobnait was getting treatment from her sister for alopecia?”

  Mags nodded. “In fact, she went straight from the salon to Gobnait last Thursday, to collect her new custom-made brew. A distillation of nettles, peppermint plant and god knows what else.”

  As Mags stopped to draw breath, I began to pull pieces of the story together.

  “Had she ever used it before? Do you know?”

  “No, she couldn’t have. Gobnait said it’s a new recipe. An experiment. A combination of essential oils and herbs she had just distilled. She warned Minnie to allow it to mature for three weeks before using it. And then just to use it very sparingly. Minnie promised she would.”

  “Gobnait said? You’ve been talking to her about this?”

  Mags looked a bit uncomfortable. She took a sip from her coffee before answering me.

  “Well, yes. I went to see her this morning. Claire came too. I hope you don’t think I’m interfering, but Minnie Curran was badmouthing the salon. I feel responsible because I was the one who put the colour in her miserable bit of hair in the first place. And I know you have more important things on your mind. I wanted to help and I –”

  Mags was talking herself into a panic. I reached across the table and caught her hand.

  “Mags! Don’t think for one minute your bear any responsibility in this. You did your job perfectly well, including doing a patch test. You’re not to worry about it anymore.”

  She surprised me then by laughing. I thought for a moment that she was edging towards hysteria.

  “What’s so funny, Mags?”

  “It turns out Minnie went against Gobnait’s advice and plastered her scalp straight away with the newly brewed concoction. When it began to burn and itch, she blamed our colour treatment. I believe she paid you a visit at the salon the next day.”

  “She certainly did. That was the day Claire had her accident. And Ben – he had his accident too.”

  I shivered, remembering last Friday and how I had thought then that things could not get any worse. It was only two days ago but it seemed like a lifetime.

  “Yes,” Mags said. “That awful day. But we all survived, didn’t we?”

  We sure did. Some better than others. I was still waiting for the funny bit of Mags’ story. So far it was more tragedy than comedy, even though she was grinning. I nodded to her to continue.

  “So Minnie, convinced it was the colour affecting her scalp, kept rubbing in Gobnait’s brew. Eventually it got so uncomfortable she had to go to the doctor, who sent her to A&E with a sample of Gobnait’s hair-thickening brew. It turns out that Minnie Curran owes us an apology. Especially you, Leah.”

  I had to sit back to absorb this news. Had the hospital confirmed that Minnie’s scalp had not been affected by the colour treatment? Had she agreed to keep her damaging allegations to herself in future? Was her mentor, the manipulative Viv Henderson, willing to spread this news as willingly as she had the accusations against my salon?

  “You can take that scared look off your face, Leah. The hospital confirmed the reaction was caused by Gobnait’s mixture. In order to protect her sister, Minnie told them she brewed it up herself. But I put Gobnait straight on that one.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I have often felt, long before now, that what Gobnait was doing up there in her mountain cottage had the potential to be dangerous. It’s not the Paircmoor way to snitch on anyone so I kept my counsel. Now, I felt it was time to talk up. I warned her that if she handed out any more hair treatments, I would report her for running a pharmacy without a licence. I . . . uumm . . . I told Minnie also that you would sue for defamation of character if there were any more false allegations. I hope you don’t think I overstepped the mark.”

  Then Mags and I laughed together. The sweetest, last laugh.

  I laughed until the tears of laughter turned to tears of relief. Then tears of relief turned to tears of fear. Dread of not knowing the truth, of facing the truth, of finding the strength to be mother and father to my children until Ben, my Ben, came back from the dark place his mind had taken him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  When I had no more tears to shed, Mags made fresh coffee. We sat at the table and discussed the salon. I had no idea when Ben would be out of hospital, or of how much care he would need when he came home. Looking after the children and getting Ben well again were my priorities.

  But, but, but. The salon was our main source of income. I could not be at home and in the salon at the same time. There could only be one answer.

  “Mags, would you consider running the salon on a temporary basis? Just until Ben is back on his feet again.”

  She was silent. Head bowed. I tried to give her time to think. Tried to be calm, but all I could see was my business failing, while at home bills built up.

  “You would, of course, have an increased salary,” I offered.

  Mags raised her head. She was smiling.

  “I am so flattered that you would trust me to do it. And no more silly talk about money, please.”

  That was one problem solved. Temporarily. Tina had three weeks left in her work experience. Both Mags and Tina together would be able to keep the place ticking over. Assuming we still had customers after
the Minnie Curran saga.

  It was a lucky break that the next day was Monday. The day the salon always closed in keeping with hairdressing tradition. That would give me time to contact Tina. I would have to, tactfully, talk to Mags about giving Tina the chance to show initiative. Then I realised that Tina was more than capable of looking out for herself, and Mags, I knew now, would never deliberately upset anyone. They would settle that situation between themselves. We should, with a little luck, be ready to open for business on Tuesday.

  “I’ll ring Tina later, to see if she’ll be willing to come in to help you until I get back.”

  “Do that,” Mags said. “But don’t worry about it. I sort of mentioned it to her. She said she would be delighted to do it. I hope you don’t think –”

  “Don’t! Don’t say it again!” I warned her. “I do not think you’re interfering. What would I do without you?”

  I smiled at her and then impulsively got up and threw my arms around her. I wished at that minute I could tell her about Ben and his scarred wrist, about his panic attack and the text from Hugh hinting at secrets and lies. About Della and her constant, draining disapproval of me. And about my own secret. Instead I stayed on the safe subject of the salon.

  “I’ll do a stocktake tomorrow,” I told her. “And I’ll order in whatever has run low. I’ll drop the keys in to you on the way back.”

  “Tomorrow will look after itself, Leah. Go home to your children. They need you.”

  Wise words. And I, with all my heart, needed to see my children, to hold them in my arms and tell them everything in their shattered little world would soon be put together again. Just like Humpty Dumpty.

  The children were ready for bed by the time I got back to Cowslip Cottage. They crowded around me, all with their stories to tell. It was a stream of what Della did and what Della did next.

  “Mine hair – Della fixed it,” Anna said, tossing her head so that her two curly, blonde pigtails, tied with sparkly clips and ribbons, shimmered. “Do you like it, Mom?”

  “Gorgeous,” I said as she twirled around in front of me.

  “And mine nails,” she said, holding out her hands to show me the sparkly nails.

  As I admired the tiny nails, so carefully varnished, I wished it had been me painting my daughter’s fingernails and not her grandmother.

  Josh showed me the hospital he had built from his wooden blocks. It had a sign on top, written on fluorescent green card, saying Daddy’s Hospital. It was of course, in Della’s copperplate writing. Calligraphy was one of her interests, which she apparently was passing on to Rob. He had another piece of the green card in his hand.

  “For you, Mom,” he said.

  I took the card from him and immediately felt tears in my eyes. Happy ones, this time.

  For the best Mom in the world. Love from Rob, Josh and Anna.

  “Della showed me how to do the squiggly writing with the funny pen,” he said. “Do you like it?”

  “I think it’s very beautiful, Rob. Thank you.”

  I stooped down and gathered the three of them together in a hug. They smelled of shampoo and baby bath oil. They were safe, clean, fed and happy.

  I looked over their heads at Della. She was smiling as she watched the children, her expression for once unguarded. I knew, without doubt, she loved them almost as much as I did. Maybe, just maybe, our mutual love for Ben and the children would eventually bridge the gap which yawned between us.

  “Thank you so much, Della.” I said. “I really appreciate what you’ve done for us today.”

  She raised her head and looked directly at me. It was there again, that coldness. The disapproval.

  “Glad to help,” she said. “And by the way, I had a headache when I came here and needed something for it. I found Paracetamol in your medicine cabinet. I hope you don’t mind.”

  I did mind. A lot. There was something very private about a medicine cabinet. It exposed your vulnerabilities and held information that rightly belonged to the owner of the cabinet and nobody else. That is why it was always locked. I remembered the Paracetamol was on the bottom shelf. Della would have had no reason to search the top shelf where the most personal of my things were safely stowed. Or would she? I couldn’t imagine her poking around in our medicine cabinet. That kind of behaviour would be beneath her. Hopefully. And yet she would have had to reach up to the very top of the cabinet to find the key. Maybe she was not above poking around after all. Her expression was giving nothing away.

  “You locked it again?” I asked, worried also about the children’s safety as well as my privacy.

  “Of course. I left the key back where I found it.”

  She turned and walked out into the hall. I heard the closet door open and the rattle of a hanger on the rail as she got her coat. When she came back into the kitchen, the children ran to her.

  “I’m going to my hotel in town now,” she told them. “But I’ll be back soon.”

  “You’re welcome to stay here,” I said.

  She gave me one of her cold smiles.

  “I know that, but for the time being I prefer to be nearer Ben. I’ll go in to see him in the morning. After that I’m available to babysit again, if you want. I thought I might use Ben’s jeep to take the children for a spin somewhere. It’s all set up with their car seats so I may as well use it.”

  The children were whooping and hollering so the trip would have to be on, whether I approved or not. Besides, it would be good for them to get away from here for a break. I wondered though, about Rob and school. I didn’t like him missing any class time. I also knew that the story of Ben going missing and then being found in a cave on the strand would be the talk of Paircmoor. There was a chance Rob would hear a very frightening version of what happened. In other words, he might learn the truth, whatever that was, and not the edited version of tripping over a fallen branch I had given him. Ben’s drama would be old news in a few days. I decided that would be time enough for Rob to go back to school. I would ring his teacher in the morning and give her an adult spin on Ben tripping over a fallen branch.

  “Thank you, Della. It would be a great help if you could come here tomorrow afternoon. I’ll hop in to see Ben then.”

  She hugged the children and turned her back to me. The raised shoulders, the head held high, the assertive tap of her heels on the tiled floor, all spoke louder than words of her disapproval. And blame. It was very obvious that she believed me responsible for what had happened to Ben two nights ago. For whatever had driven him out into the storm, down the cliff and into a black cave to almost freeze to death.

  I wondered then who she had blamed when, as a sixteen-year-old, he had cut his wrist. Not Hugh, the golden-haired boy, for sure. Perhaps she had blamed her husband. The renowned architect, Gavin Parrish. The icon Ben always tried to emulate.

  As I stood at the front door, watching the children wave Della off, I realised that someday I would have to break down the wall she had built between us. With a sledgehammer if necessary. There was so much I didn’t know about Ben. So much, I now believed, that his mother did not want him to tell me. But they both must, if there was to be healing, share the past with me so that we could share the future together.

  The children scampered ahead of me into the kitchen. Inside I felt a tidal wave of fear. Who was their father really? Not the Ben I thought I had known. Why had he hacked at his wrist when he had been little more than a child himself? And most of all, what other revelations were yet to come?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Monday 29th November 2010

  I didn’t feel well on Monday morning. A combination of exhaustion and eating too many roast potatoes in Mags’ house the previous evening.

  I sat at the table, sipping hot water, as the children ate breakfast. While they were occupied, I rang the school to explain Rob’s absence for the next few days. They were very understanding. Next I gave Tina a quick call about the salon. As Mags had said, they had it all organised between the two o
f them.

  I called Ben. No ring. The battery could not be down already. He must have switched his phone off. Obviously not in a talking mood. The hospital was next call. The nurse who answered told me Ben had a comfortable night and was now being transferred to a private room. I knew then that Della was already pulling strings. Organising her son. My husband. The interfering old biddy had a right, I supposed. Not just because she was his mother, but by virtue of the fact that, since Ben’s redundancy, she had taken over the payment of the private health care he could no longer afford. The coverage was for him and the children. I had refused to have her pay for me. She had not pushed too hard to change my mind. I depended on the public healthcare system, just as I had always done before I became Mrs Ben Parrish. It was true Ben would probably feel more comfortable in his own room, but I was not sure that isolation was the right thing for him now.

  “How’s Dad?” Rob asked.

  “Much improved. He’s getting better every day.”

  “Can we go to see him so?”

  I had been considering that. Whether it would be good for the children to see him. And for him to see them. They had never been separated before. But then I did not want them in the hospital environment where they might be exposed to infections. And instinct told me I should ask Ben first. He might find seeing them too emotional at the moment.

  “Tell you what,” I said. “I’ll ask him to phone you. Or write you all a message.”

  “Why can’t we get one of those iPhones?” Rob asked. “Like Uncle Hugh has. Then we could see Dad and he could see us.”

  “IPhone!” Anna and Josh echoed.

  I smiled at my tech-aware tots. Hugh was introducing them to the wonders of modern technology. Unfortunately it was my job to introduce them to the reality of life in Cowslip Cottage.

  “We will have to save our money for a long time to buy one,” I explained. “They cost a lot.”

  “When are you going?” Rob asked. “What time will Della be here?”