The cursor was blinking at me, asking for a password. Of course he would have had his work protected. Or whatever else he had stored there. I turned off the computer and stood up. As I was pushing the chair back under the desk, I noticed the drawers. I opened the righthand one. Pens, pencils, printer paper. All the paraphernalia of a working office. I tried to open the left-hand drawer but it was locked. I searched the desktop but no sign of a key. I glanced up at the bookshelves over the desk. They were high. By standing on the chair I was able to reach up to the top shelf. I found the key, obviously put there out of reach of the children. And me. My hands were shaking as I inserted it in the drawer lock and turned it. I pulled the drawer towards me and gasped when I saw three pill bottles. Full. I picked one up and read the label. It had been prescribed by the local GP, Doctor Kelly. For Ben. I knew they were an anti-depressant, because I had read an article about that particular drug. A controversial article about side-effects. These were the pills Ben had told me he had not got. I remembered his words exactly. “I didn’t fill the prescription. But I will. I’ll go back to the GP, good old Doctor Kelly, and tell him I’m ready to listen to him now.”
This was another half-truth. True, he had not taken the pills. But he had gone and bought them. According to the dates on the labels, he had filled the prescription every month for the past three months. Stashed them. I didn’t have to ask why. Had he not admitted to me that he had overdosed twice in the Booly Clinic using the same technique? A sort of stash-and-slash policy. An insurance against life being too unbearable. What was I to do now? Confront him? Take the pills away? Go talk to the GP? I was shaking so much I felt dizzy and had to lean on the desk for support.
A shout that was unmistakably Anna’s reached me. I quickly put the pills back in the drawer, locked it and returned the key to where I had found it. I rushed back and met the children, all three of them, in the kitchen. Rob had Anna on one side of him and Josh on the other, holding their hands. Their faces looked terrified. Anna rushed towards me.
“Mom! I think you were gone too.”
“We went to your room, Mom,” Rob said. “It was scary when you weren’t there cos neither was Dad. And we miss him.”
“Miss, Dad,” Josh said.
I knelt down and opened my arms to the three of them. My life. My love. My sanity. I kissed their faces and held them close to me, conscious that the embryo, their sibling, my fourth child, was also in that circle with us. I felt devastated that I could not welcome it with the same joy as I had Rob and the twins. Or with any joy at all.
I made the children pancakes for breakfast. Leaving the tidy-up and washing to one side, I sat with them reading stories and drew strength from their innocence and honesty. From their love for their father. And despite Ellen Riggs, half-truths and pill stashes, I knew I loved Ben with all my heart.
I vowed then that I would do whatever it took to get Ben back to full health.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The usual background hospital noises were missing. Ben knew that was because the change-over was happening. The exhausted night shift would be at the nurses’ desk, handing over charts, observations and patients, to the day staff. He had heard a lot of activity in the small hours. Hurried footsteps along the corridor, a trolley, wheels rattling as it was pushed at speed. He had lain there in the dark, wondering if somebody had died, or if, like him, the patient had been pulled back from the brink. Whether they wanted to or not. He thought about it again last night. About dying. About that very last breath, the one he had almost drawn several times. How it would feel. Painful. Terrifying. Liberating. And what then? Harps and angels? Judgement? Ben Parrish found wanting in death, as in life. Condemned to the hell of reincarnating as himself in a different guise, again and again. Or maybe, just maybe, that last breath would shudder into nothingness. Blissful annihilation of shame and despair. That comforting thought had lulled him to sleep.
The hospital silence was broken by a very distinctive tap-tap sound coming along the corridor. Ben sat up, wondering what his mother was doing here at quarter to eight in the morning.
“Do you sleep at all?” he asked, as Della opened the door.
“Not much last night,” she answered. “A lot on my mind.”
Ben cringed. His fault again. He remembered being cruel to her. Threatening to remove her entirely from his life. He knew he had hurt her. Perhaps he had meant to then, but not now, seeing how tired and frail she looked.
She pulled a chair over to the bed, then took off her coat and hung it up. She smoothed her hair and straightened her already perfect skirt before sitting down.
“Thinking about my future kept me awake last night, Ben.”
He leaned back against his pillows, waiting for her to continue. She was silent.
“And?” he prompted. “What conclusions did you reach?”
She clasped and unclasped her hands. It was not like Della to be nervous. Ben began to feel anxious. Worried that maybe she was not well. Terminally ill. Because of all the worry he had caused her.
“Are you alright, Mum?”
She stopped fiddling with her hands and looked him straight in the eye.
“The answer to that, Ben, is yes and no. I am reasonably fit and healthy for a woman of my age but I don’t have the energy I once had. I’m finding the house and garden in Howth too much for me now.”
“How? You have a cleaner for the house and Tom Dempsey still looks after the garden.”
“Yes, I have help, but that house is too big for me. It’s a family home. A lonely place for me to be these days. When I’m in San Francisco with Hugh and Piper, I stay in their guest house. It’s a two-bed bungalow. I really like the more compact space. It’s cosier.”
Ben shook his head in puzzlement. The last thing he ever thought he would hear his mother say was that she wanted to leave the family home. Yet that appeared to be where this conversation was leading.
“Mum, is this because of what I said to you yesterday? I’m sorry. Really I am. Not about what I said. It is important that I take responsibility for myself and stop leaning on you so much. But I do regret the way I said it.”
She smiled at him. A patient, longsuffering smile, practised on her husband and perfected on her son. A martyr to the cause of domestic harmony.
“You were right, Ben. In fact, I’m glad. It’s a very healthy sign that you’re ready to strike off on your own. Serendipitous in fact, since I find myself in exactly the same position. I want to live the life that suits me now, not a shadow of the life I used to live when we were all together. Do you understand?”
No, Ben did not understand. Della was defined by that house in Howth. She had chosen the furniture, the décor, planted the willows in the garden when she had been young, reared her babies there. She was the very spirit of that house. His childhood home.
“But where would you live, Mum? With Hugh and Piper?”
“Goodness, no! I love going there for a holiday but never to live. Besides, I would quickly wear out my welcome. What I’m thinking is that I need to be nearer the town and all the amenities at this stage of my life. Less travelling.”
“But you love Howth, the village, the sea, the walks, the views. Your friends. You can’t move into the hustle and bustle of the city. You’d hate it.”
Della sat back in her chair and laughed. Ben raised an eyebrow.
“Who was lecturing me about being allowed to make his own decisions?” she asked.
Ben grinned. She was right. She was taking responsibility for her own future. Just like he said he wanted to do.
“Touché. So tell me, where are you planning on living?”
“The quay apartments you designed. Remember your father invested in one? We still own it. It’s let out at the moment but my solicitor will deal with finishing up that contract. Once it’s refurbished, I’ll be happy to move in there.”
It would all make perfect sense to Ben if the woman involved had not been Della. It was impossible to see her li
ving happily in the busy surrounds of the apartment block.
“Mum, is this about money? I know I’ve been a drain on your resources for the past few years. Do you have to sell The Parrish House because you can’t afford the upkeep?”
“Who said I was selling The Parrish House?”
“Oh! You’ll be letting it out so. But maybe you should change the name first!”
Della laughed, making her look years younger.
“I don’t know about that,” she said. “Your father named it the day we moved in. He had a wry sense of humour, hadn’t he?”
Ben shrugged. He had never seen too much of his father’s humour, wry or otherwise.
Della began clasping and unclasping her hands again. So here it comes, Ben thought, the thing that’s making her so agitated.
“I want you to listen to me, Ben. Don’t interrupt and don’t say anything when I’ve finished. Just think about what I’m going to tell you for a while. Then we’ll talk. Agreed?”
Ben nodded. He had to if he wanted to know what was making his mother behave in such an un-Della-like way.
“Firstly, I have no money worries. You know your father was a wonderful architect. What you may not realise, is that he was an even better financial investor. A wizard, in fact. He left me very well provided for. I’m free to make the decision to move because I want to, not because I have to.”
“I’m glad to hear –”
She raised her hand to stop him mid-sentence.
“No talking. You agreed. Now it’s my turn to apologise. I had no right to contact the Booly Clinic on your behalf. It was disrespectful and I’m very sorry. I suppose I just panicked, thinking all this was a replay of what – what happened when you were sixteen.”
Reaching across to her, Ben took her restless hands in his and smiled at her. She returned the smile.
“I believe now that what happened on Friday night was an accident,” she told him. “But I also know if you stay in Paircmoor any longer you will definitely struggle to maintain balance. That is why I intend signing the Howth house over to you. On condition that you and the children move in there as soon as the paperwork is done and dusted.”
Ben’s gasp was one of shock, and anger too. Della put her fingers to her lips.
“You can’t do that! How do you think Hugh would –”
“Shhh! No talking. Not until you have thought it all through. It would mean a lot to me to have family in the house again. I’ve run it by Hugh and he says he won’t be back here. He’s settled in California for good. Paircmoor is dragging you down, Ben. The city is already showing tentative signs of recovery. You’ll get work there eventually. It will be better for the children too. You would have more space, should you need it in the future. Come back home.”
She stood, got her coat, then turned on her heel and walked out the door.
Ben sat still, eyes closed, for a long time after his mother left, furious with himself for allowing her to silence him. He should have demanded to know why she had not mentioned Leah. Did she really think he would move back to Dublin with the children and leave his wife here? No. Obviously she had assumed that Leah would be coming too. Hadn’t she? A wrong assumption, since Leah was rooted in Paircmoor. So tied to her blasted little hair salon that nothing would prise her away. Why did Della say she recognised his need for independence, while at the same time demeaning him by continuing to make decisions for him? And what did she think he would need more space for?
He punched his pillow, then texted Leah to tell her he needed to talk to her. Urgently.
After pancakes and stories, I asked the children what they would like to do. They all voted for making muffins. I was looking forward to, for once, being the mom who joined in the fun with them. I sent them to the bathroom to wash their hands while I finally cleared up after breakfast. When the text alert beeped on my phone, I glanced at it to see who it was from. Then I kept staring at the text message from Ben, as if I could read the answers to all the questions it raised by gazing long enough.
When will you be in to see me, Leah? Important that we talk. Ben
I had decided not to visit Ben in hospital that day. Not because I didn’t want to see him, but I felt it would not be right for either him or the children. Now, I might not have an option. There was an urgency in the text message, but I had no babysitter. I wondered if his text was about the hidden pill stash. A confession. An admission that he was sorry he lied about the prescription. And I would confess that I had invaded his private space. He was right. We really needed to talk.
I rang Ben. The call went to voicemail. Typical. He could be gone for some tests or procedures. He might be asleep. Or he might well be sitting there, listening to the ring. Whatever the reason, he was not answering his phone. Sending me this worrying, cryptic message then making himself unavailable to talk, was so very Ben.
I heard Anna demanding that the boys show her their hands. I tiptoed to the bathroom door and watched as they obediently held them out for her inspection, front and back. She nodded and her blonde curls bounced with the movement. Obviously she was the appointed hygiene inspector for baking sessions. I could see that Josh was anxiously waiting for her approval, while a tolerant smile lit Rob’s usually solemn face. They were such a tight little unit. Not needing the embryo for completeness. I pushed that thought away, but not before I put my hands on my stomach. On baby Number 4. It took all the strength I had not to cry out at the treachery of the decision circumstances were forcing on me. I stepped back into the passageway and leaned against the wall.
“You pain in tummy, Mom?”
I had not noticed Anna come out, the boys trailing behind her. I levered myself from against the wall and forced a smile on my face.
“No, Anna. I’m good. Are we all ready for muffin-making now?”
The log stove, which I had lit earlier, was glowing. I switched on the oven, then supervised while ingredients were weighed, muffin tins lined with paper cases, and eggs cracked. All the while the kitchen was filled with the sound of laughter, mine as well as the children’s. I wallowed in that precious oasis of happiness. We high-fived when the filled muffin tins were finally in the oven. That was when Josh went into listening mode, head cocked to one side. His hearing was as acute as a bat’s. He ran to the lounge where he had a view out to the avenue.
“Red car, Mom!” he called.
I was just setting the timer for the muffins, so I did not take too much notice of what he said. That was until Anna came racing into the kitchen and grabbed my hand.
“Uncle Hugh!” she said. “C’mon! Open door for him!”
I allowed her to lead me out to the hall, wondering if it really was Hugh. Even though Anna had seen him several times, it was a few months since last she had met him. I should not have doubted her. Sure enough, when I opened the front door, Hugh Parrish stood there in all his tanned glory.
“Hope you don’t mind me calling unannounced,” he said. “I thought it better to come here before going to see Ben.”
I held my hand out to him. “You’re very welcome, Hugh. Come in.”
I wasn’t sure about how welcome he really was. That depended on why he called and what he had to say. The twins escorted him into the kitchen, with Rob, ever watchful, behind him. Anna and Josh were giving him the two-and-a-half-year-old version of our muffin-making adventure. I was surprised that such a high-powered techie person seemed so at ease with their chatter.
“Do you mind if I give them these?” he asked, pointing to the bag he was carrying. “A few little things I picked up in Duty Free.”
Anna and Josh were peering into the bag in the blink of an eye. I was cross with them for letting me down.
“Guys! That’s rude,” I said.
Hugh laughed. “No! Just healthy curiosity.”
He handed Rob a camera and the twins a soft toy each. Anna’s was a donkey, and Josh’s a dog. Josh discovered straight away that the soft toys had an on/off switch. They were super-excited, flicking
the switch through different levels of toy activity like tail-wagging, ear-twitching, noisy braying and barking, while Rob snapped pictures of them.
Time to herd them into the lounge once they had said their thanks.
Another ten minutes of small talk passed while I made coffee and took the muffins out of the oven. Distracted by the toys, the children had forgotten all about them, so I just put them on a wire tray to cool. I poured coffee, then sat down across from Hugh at the table.
“How is Ben?” he asked. “And I don’t mean just physically.”
I shrugged. Truth was I didn’t know anymore. The discovery of the bottles of pills had called everything into question.
“Hard to tell, Hugh. Physically he seems to have coped well.” I sat back and looked him straight in the eye. “I happened to see a text you sent to Ben. You were urging him to tell me the truth. I’m sure that didn’t just refer to the Swiss Army knife. So now that you’re here, why don’t you do the honours?”
He looked back at me steadily. None of the down-the-nose stares of his mother. I suddenly realised that was the first time Hugh and I had ever had a direct one-to-one conversation, despite the fact that I had been married to his brother for over six years. Also surprising was how comfortable I felt in his company. I had judged, no, misjudged him, to be a pompous arsehole with an affected, quasi-American accent. Wrong again, Leah Parrish. More guilt. Though the accent was grating.
“He told you about the Swiss knife. The cutting.”
“Yes, he did.”
“About the cruise and his leap overboard?”
I nodded.
“The Booly Clinic? The drug overdoses?”
“Yes, he’s told me all that, Hugh. But that doesn’t mean I understand it. And I’m baffled and hurt by the secrecy. I can understand, maybe, that twenty years ago mental-health problems were a stigma. At least that’s an explanation for the boarding school cover-up story. But why did he feel he had to keep it secret from me? He should have been able to trust me. I suppose I should be grateful that he has told me now.”
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