I shook my head.
“No, Hugh, I don’t miss the life we had there. Looking back, it was superficial. I do miss the convenience though. The shops and services at your fingertips. Although we can access what we actually need here, rather than what advertising tells us we should have. Maybe that’s a better way to live.”
“Yes, there’s a lot to be said for pared-back living. It’s not for everyone though. Ben, for instance. He’s always been evasive when I’ve asked him about his move to the country. What do you think? Has he settled here?”
Hugh got up to get biscuits, giving me time to think about that question. The honest answer was that, for the most part, I had been too busy for the past two years to notice whether Ben was really happy here or not. He had seemed to be until very recently. There must have been hints. Clues that I missed. Or it could be that he only found Paircmoor bearable while Ellen Riggs was imbuing it with her particular brand of beauty and sophistication.
I took one of the chocolate biscuits Hugh offered but left it beside my mug on the table. My stomach had knotted tight at the recollection of Ellen Riggs and her hold over my gullible husband.
“I thought he was happy in Paircmoor,” I told Hugh. “No matter what he says now, coming here was an agreed decision between the two of us. We didn’t make it lightly. But he seems to have snapped all of a sudden. Well, since . . . He had a friend – a woman. She . . .”
Hugh put his elbows on the table and leaned towards me. “I’m not prying, Leah. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”
“Oh, but I do, Hugh! I must tell somebody. It’s not that he had an affair. It was a platonic friendship because that is what she wanted. I believe Ben saw it differently. He was obsessed by Ellen Riggs. But she suddenly left and went back to the husband she had never mentioned until she was leaving. That was when Ben hurled himself onto the storm-flooded beach. So you tell me – is he depressed because of Paircmoor, unemployment, or Ellen Riggs? I sure as hell can’t answer the question.”
Hugh sat back in his chair, shaking his head. “Seems like he’s more like my dad than I thought. Playing away from home, I mean.”
“In a way I can understand that. Ellen is extremely beautiful. By far and away the most exotic flower in Paircmoor. I’m sure he wasn’t the only man here to drool over her. He just took his fantasy to a different level.”
“His overreaction shows that his problem lies deeper. Do you mind if I give you my spin on the situation?”
It was my turn to sit back. I nodded at Hugh, wondering what he meant by his ‘spin’. Very Hollywood.
“I’ve been thinking about Mum and how determined she seems to be to prevent Ben being diagnosed with a mental illness. I thought at first her attitude was influenced by her age. Her generation was raised to see any mental vulnerability as shameful. But that doesn’t wash. In other areas she is very broadminded. Also well-educated and well-read.”
“So you do think Ben is mentally ill?”
“Depressed. Stressed. Put any label you like on it. He needs professional help, Leah. You know that. I know it. Have you spoken to Ben’s medical team? Has he been offered counselling?”
“Yes, he has. And he’s turned it down. When I was asked by his specialist in ICU if I had noticed any changes in his behaviour, I said no. As far as I was aware he was well and at least coping, if not happy. I haven’t spoken to them since because he doesn’t want me to. He said he needed to take responsibility for himself and that he would talk to his GP. He didn’t want me controlling him like Della did. And does. I went along with that.”
“Della.” After uttering that one word, Hugh pointed to his laptop. “I’ve been doing a bit of research on my mother’s home place. As you know it’s in Wexford.”
“I know very little about your mother’s background.”
“None of us know her really. She just won’t talk about her childhood. Can’t say I blame her. When, as children, we were brought to visit her parents we found them quite intimidating. Especially her father. Looking back, I can see he was very authoritarian. A bit of a bully. Might explain why she was so protective of Ben when Dad used to get annoyed with him.”
I raised an eyebrow and looked at Hugh in surprise.
“No,” he said instantly. “Dad never lifted his hand to Ben. He wasn’t that type of person. But he did resent the attention Mum gave her youngest son. In fact, Ben was, and still is her priority.”
I heard it. The note of hurt in Hugh’s voice. I understood how he felt. I, too, had been cut to the quick by the cold edge of Della’s rejection.
“I’m going there tomorrow,” Hugh said.
“To Wexford?”
He nodded. “Mum, as you probably know was an only child – so she sold the house when her parents died. Curra Manor was bought by a German family. I don’t know if they are still there or not. But what I did discover online is that the Cosgraves have stayed in the area.”
Cosgraves? I had never heard Ben mention that name. “Are they relations of your mother?”
“No. James Cosgrave and his wife Breeda worked for Gran and Grandad Roache as cook and gardener. In fact, they were more than that because James did all the maintenance work and Breeda did all the housekeeping. They had a daughter, Maria, who was around the same age as my mother. Maybe a little older by a year or two. If anyone can give me information about the young Della Roache, it’s Maria Cosgrave. They were friends until Mum went to boarding school in Dublin.”
“All sounds very Victorian to me, Hugh. But, from what I read, I don’t see that your mother and the cook’s child would have been allowed to have a friendship.”
Hugh laughed. “They were not royalty, Leah! Though Grandad Roache held himself like he had a poker up his bum and Gran certainly had airs and graces.”
I frowned as I tried to figure out where Hugh was going with his research. It seemed very odd that he chose this traumatic time to go trawling through his family history.
“Family history is interesting, Hugh, but does it really have a relevance to Ben’s situation now?”
“That’s what I intend to find out, Leah. I have a gut instinct that if we knew what drives my mother to overprotect Ben, then we would know how to correct that and move forward. I’ve been able to track Maria Cosgrave on social media. I’m meeting her tomorrow. ”
I shrugged. Not that I didn’t appreciate any help, no matter how off-beat, but I couldn’t see how trawling through Della’s childhood could help. I sensed that Hugh was looking for answers about his mother for himself, as much as for Ben. I wondered which brother was the worst off – the overprotected, or the under-loved. And I had thought them to be the perfect family. The Parrishes of Howth.
I looked across at the photograph on the dresser. Another perfect family. The Parrishes of Paircmoor. Me, Ben and the three children. Taken on the day Rob started primary school. I remembered every minute of that happy day. We were smiling. All of us. Proud. I almost cried out when I thought of the photo that might never be – of mother, father and four children. Taken perhaps when the embryo started primary school. All of us beaming with pride because the youngest in the family would be taking the first steps towards independence. But would Ben be there to take his place as father of this perfect family?
“He’s stashing pills again,” I blurted out.
Hugh paled.
“He had them locked in his desk. I’m ashamed to admit I rifled through his private office, but I’m glad I did. Apparently his GP prescribed anti-depressants. He has three months’ supply of pills stashed away.”
“Jesus! Sounds familiar. You must talk to his doctor, Leah.”
“Yes, I must. Difficult, though, since Ben has convinced everyone that what happened on Friday night was an accident and has refused counselling or psychiatric assessment.”
“To my mind he’s very volatile now. Very angry. Why can’t they see that?”
I shrugged, knowing that Ben would be the essence of calm and r
ationality when he needed to be in order to get his own way. The trouble was, at that stage I didn’t know what his own way was.
I no longer recognised the angry, spiteful man in Room 5 as Ben Parrish, the love of my life and the father of my children. All four of them.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Thursday 2nd December 2010
Hugh left for Wexford early the following morning. The children had clamoured around him, demanding hugs and a promise that he would be back soon. Their intense attachment to the uncle they did not know that well told me how much they were missing Ben. Maybe that’s why I too felt sad as we waved Hugh off on his cross-country journey.
Back in the house, I looked at the clear-up needed after the breakfast, the washing and dressing of the children yet to be sorted, the stove to be cleaned out, lunch and dinner to be organised, hoovering and laundry to be done. I had a moment of empathy with Ben. This was his day-to-day life. Almost. He was spared the bulk of the mundane tasks as I did them before I went to the salon. Ben was essentially a baby-minder. I remembered back to Dublin, before our whole world fell apart, when Ben was working and I was at home with first Rob, then also the twins. Not for long. The twins had only been six months old and Rob three years when we moved to Paircmoor. But in that short time as a stay-at-home Mom I had felt truly fulfilled. The reality of unemployment and the threat of homelessness had been cushioned for me by the warmth of my babies in my arms, my love for them, their trust in me. I knew Ben loved them too with all his heart but, for him, it was obvious there remained a void in his life that only a career could fill.
And now? Now, my wonderful little brood was causing mayhem judging by the sounds drifting into the kitchen. Even Rob was shouting. I rushed to the twins’ bedroom to find Anna standing up on her bed, trying to photograph herself with Rob’s new camera. Rob was attempting to grab it back from her, while Josh stood beside her, defending his twin. It was hard not to laugh as I saw her pose this way and that. If Rob had not been so upset, I would have stayed watching, just to see how many poses she would strike.
It took a while to get them all back on an even keel, and longer again to get through the housework which had been piling up. Immersed as I was in domesticity, I decided to make a quiche for lunch, something all the children enjoyed. I had just taken it out of the oven when the doorbell rang.
I heard shouts of ‘Uncle Hugh!’ as the children rushed to the front door. I knew he could not be back from Wexford already. Anna had the letter flap open and was peeping through it. Her piercing squeal – her special Della squeal – told me who was there even before I opened the door.
Della was pale, her mouth a straight line, puckers around her lips that I had never noticed before. She was wearing a coat with a fur collar, into which she seemed to be shrinking. I couldn’t understand how she had aged overnight until I noticed that she was not wearing any make-up. It was the first time I had seen her, barefaced, so to speak. The battleground seemed a little more even.
I held the door open for her. After the children had had their hugs, she straightened up and looked me in the eye.
“We need to talk,” she said.
We certainly did. She had, of course, brought along a goody bag for the children which she let them see, then asked if I minded. I worried they were getting spoiled with gifts from Hugh and Della, but they needed the distraction from their father’s absence. This time she had given them books, with interactive sounds for the twins and an audio and print for Rob.
“Uncle Hugh gone,” Josh piped up. “On a big long spin.”
Della looked at me and raised an eyebrow.
“To see an old friend,” I answered.
It wasn’t a lie. Just a bending of the truth.
“We were about to have lunch,” I told her. “You’re welcome to join us.”
She nodded and began to lay the table while I tossed salad and cut up the quiche.
“Della, have you been to see Dad?” Rob asked.
“Yes, I have. The great news is that he’ll be home soon. Isn’t that good?”
“You know this for sure?” I asked, furious that the children’s expectations had been raised.
“Of course he will. Why would they be keeping him any longer than necessary?”
“Have you been talking to the doctors, Della?”
She shrugged and looked away. I felt like pouring the salad dressing over her head. She was bluffing. Winding me up. I was sure Ben’s medical team were talking only to him. I noticed Rob scrutinising us both. He obviously knew that all was not well between his grandmother and his mom. The child had more than enough trauma in his life without having him worry about that dysfunctional relationship. I smiled at him, then turned on my best smile for Della. She did not respond.
I tidied the table after lunch, settled the children down with their new books, and told them Della and Mom needed to have a grown-up chat in the lounge. Even as I said those words, I felt more like an errant pupil being brought before a headmistress, than an adult.
In the lounge, Della sat herself in Ben’s armchair. It was upholstered in the softest, wine-coloured leather, and placed so that it was in line with the television and near the fire for cold winter evenings. Brought here all the way from our Dublin home. It was Ben’s throne. Sacrosanct. Della knew that. I sat myself opposite her on the other side of the fireplace. She was dwarfed by the chair. I felt a nasty thrill of satisfaction at seeing her authority diminished. Or so I thought.
“We must start with an apology,” she said. “Yours. To me. You accused me of being controlling and selfish. I am neither.”
I did admit that what I had said yesterday was hurtful to her. For that I would certainly express my regret. But what about all the years she had undermined my position as Ben’s wife? My right to be the one to share decision making with him. Not for him. And yes, I thought her attitude to mental illness, her reluctance to admit that Ben needed help, her need to cover it all up by hiding him away, could, quite rightly, be classed as controlling. As for the selfishness, I was conflicted on that one. Della was undoubtedly generous in material things. However, she was utterly greedy when it came to sharing her youngest son. I figured that unless I apologised we could end up sitting here, in our respective chairs, staring at each other for a long, long, time.
I squared my shoulders and went for it.
“If what you overheard me say yesterday upset you, Della, I apologise. I never meant to offend you.”
“Of course you upset me! But nevertheless, I accept your apology.”
Deuce. An insincere acceptance of a half-hearted apology. We needed to move on from there.
“I hope you can see things from my perspective, Della. I don’t wish to interfere in family business but offering Ben and the children a home in Dublin, without even discussing it with me, was not fair.”
“Oh, you’re splitting hairs now. Admittedly, I didn’t mention you by name in the invitation, but of course I assumed if Ben and the children were moving, you would be too.”
That comment took the wind out of my sails. That was not what Ben had told me. What had she hoped by not including me? That I would stay in Paircmoor while she spirited my family away to Dublin?
“Whether you like it or not, Della, Ben needs help that neither you nor I can give him. I believe he should stay here and be treated by the doctors who are most familiar with his recent history.”
“Don’t be silly. Medical reports can be sent anywhere in this day and age. And he would certainly have access to more cutting-edge treatment in the city. If and when he wants it.”
“What do you mean ‘if’? He must have it, Della. Surely you don’t want him to continue to struggle?”
“Of course not! That’s why I suggested he leave Paircmoor. And he agrees.”
Game, set and match to Della. Unless . . .
“You haven’t got him to sign any documents, have you?”
She smiled at me. “Would I do that?”
I shrug
ged. “Would you?”
She stood. Grown-up talk over. I had been dismissed. Sidelined yet again. In my own home. On which she had paid the deposit. There was the catch. Her trump card. She had bought her way into our lives, and we could not afford the price of reclaiming our independence. Nor could we, as a family, allow her to dictate our future.
She walked out, but I continued to sit there for another few minutes, analysing our conversation and realising our attempt at a truce had not brought peace to either of us. I dragged myself up from the chair, battle-weary from fighting my mother-in-law, from the worry of Ben’s health, and from the pregnancy that was now beginning to sap my energy and break my heart.
Della, as always, balanced being mean with being kind.
“You go visit Ben,” she said. “I’ll stay with the children. I know Hugh sometimes forgets to come back when he goes out.”
I gladly accepted her offer as the afternoon was pushing on without any sign of Hugh returning. I hoped that meant he had made contact with the Cosgrave woman and that she had talked for hours and hours about Della, detailing the most awful scandals. I fantasised as I drove to the hospital about what secrets Hugh might uncover. Maybe Della once had an affair with a married man. Though she was unlikely ever to have shown that much passion. Perhaps she had cheated on exams or been charged with drink driving. Or shoplifting. I had to smile to myself as I pulled into the hospital car park. If I wanted a big black secret to hold over my mother-in-law’s head, then I would surely be disappointed. Della was too bloody uptight to have ever stepped over the line of what was socially acceptable.
I went to the nurses’ station before going in to see Ben. I stood there for a full five minutes before anyone appeared. I could see how understaffed the whole floor was and that it appeared to be a time when medications were being dispensed too. But I needed to ask them about my husband. The nurse who approached looked so young she could have been playing dress-up doctors and nurses. I felt old as I noticed her unlined skin, trim figure and sparkling eyes. At that moment I knew my own middle age was waiting around the corner for me, getting ready to pounce.
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