Now and Then

by Mary O'Sullivan

  He smiled at me. “Sharp as a tack! You always were. But, it’s not just about me. I know you love it here and that you’ve worked really hard to establish your salon.”

  “Our salon. I couldn’t do it without you.”

  He frowned. I knew he felt I had patronised him. It was true that I could not have gone out working if he had not looked after the children. But there was the nub of at least one of his problems.

  “The point is, Leah, that besides fresh air and a clean environment, Paircmoor has little to offer us as a family. And before you say it, yes, coming here was a joint decision. I did think it the right choice at the time.”

  “And you don’t now?”

  “No. Not for me. Not for the children.”

  That statement took me aback. “Is this your way of telling me stay here, while you and the children move back to Dublin?”

  “Of course not! Don’t be so touchy. But you must agree that in Dublin the children would have better educational opportunities. And I would have more chance of picking up work. Firms are beginning to take on staff again. Very slowly, but it’s happening. Paircmoor won’t wake up for another fifty years. If ever.”

  I nodded. There was some sense to what he was saying, though I didn’t agree that the children would be better off in crowded classrooms. The small numbers in Paircmoor were a big advantage. But that was just up to primary level. They would have to travel from here to attend second level in the town and even further for university when the time came. I noticed, despite his denials, that he had it all worked out for himself and the children, but no mention of how he saw me fitting into his vison for the future. Or even if I did.

  “The point is, Leah, Mum has everything in place now. Just waiting on our say-so to sign the house over to me. Then she will be moving to the quayside apartment as soon as it’s renovated. We’re being handed an opportunity. It would be mad not to grab it. Though a touch of madness is also part of the Parrish legacy.”

  I decided to ignore his oblique reference to George Roache. One problem at a time.

  “Yes, I know it’s a very substantial house. Extremely generous of your mother to sign it over to you. Generous of Hugh also not to insist on his share. But because of its size the overheads must be huge. Heating, electricity, maintenance. I dread to think what it costs to run.”

  “But once we have sold here, we would have a nest egg to tide us over.”

  “Where would that leave me, Ben? Cowslip Cottage is fifty-fifty ownership. I would want my name on the deeds of the Howth house. I’m not sure your mother would like that.”

  “We can always add your name once the rest of the legal work is through. It’s a straightforward procedure. Does that mean you would consider moving? What about your salon?”

  “Oh, I’m not saying anything other than that I’ll consider it. There are so many things to take into account. One of them being the god-awful name on the house.”

  Ben laughed. “You mean you wouldn’t like living in The Parrish House. Nearly as bad as Cowslip Cottage.”

  I ignored that jibe. Nor did I even hint at the fact that we might soon need a bigger house to accommodate our growing family. My back was still aching after my fall yesterday. At least I assumed the pain was from the fall. It was gone past time that I saw my doctor. And certainly time that I told my husband that he was about to become a father for the fourth time. If that was what he wanted. What I wanted.

  I looked at Ben. His eyes, so dark but with a sparkle in them today, were mesmerising. That tingle of physical attraction to him I had first felt had not diminished over the years. And yet, I didn’t know him at all, did I?

  “I’m going to make an appointment to see the doctor today.” I said. “Do you want me to make an appointment for you?”

  “No, thanks, Leah. I’ll go to see him sometime next week. There’s no hurry. The hospital gave me what medication I need for now.”

  “Like what?”

  Ben looked askance at me, as if deciding whether to answer or not.

  “Blood thinners, cholesterol medication if you must know. And sleeping pills since I had a lot of trouble sleeping in hospital.”

  He didn’t say his treatment was none of my business, but I understood the implication from his defensive tone.

  “Your turn now,” he said. “Is your back still giving you trouble? You must have pulled a muscle when you fell yesterday.”

  I nodded. Words stuck in my throat. I told myself I needed to check with the doctor first. To find out if all was well with the pregnancy. That it would be upsetting to Ben to confront him with yet another choice to make. At least until he had fully recovered from his ordeal.

  Truth was, I didn’t want to share my news with him. I believed that, at that time, Ben could not cope with another child. And I knew, in my heart, I could not cope with a termination.

  Stalemate.

  The doctor’s surgery was packed. As usual. He was the only GP for the extensive catchment area surrounding Paircmoor. The magazines were always last year’s, so I had brought my book with me. I tried to read but it was difficult to concentrate on my novel as the room buzzed with conversation, coughs, sniffles, and whinges from children. The noise suddenly stopped as the secretary came to the door to call the next patient.

  “Leah Parrish, please. The doctor will see you now.”

  I felt fear in the pit of my stomach. Suppose he said I was about to lose the baby. Suppose he said I was having twins again and then we would have five children to feed, clothe and educate. All the supposes tumbled around in my head as I followed the secretary down the narrow corridor and into the consulting room.

  Doctor Kelly waved me to a seat without lifting his eyes from his computer screen. He was obviously looking up my chart. Not much to research, as thankfully I had been very healthy since arriving in Paircmoor. Eventually he raised his head.

  “It’s a while since I’ve seen you, Leah. What can I do for you?”

  Much to my shock and embarrassment, I felt tears in my eyes and my words were strangled by a tightness in my throat. What could I say? I’m pregnant – I want the baby but not now?

  Doctor Kelly pushed a box of tissues towards me, then sat back in his chair. “Take your time, Leah.”

  I thought of the packed waiting room outside and of the growing baby inside me. I did not have time and neither did the doctor.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  “Ah! When was your last period?”

  “I’m not exactly sure. Ten or eleven weeks ago.”

  “You’ve done a test?”

  “Yes. Positive.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Good until yesterday. I fell. On my face. But I’ve got a pain in my lower back since.”

  “I see. I’ll do a quick examination and then I’ll need a urine sample. Hop up on the couch, please.”

  Examination, urine and blood samples done, I sat in front of him again. I had the illogical fear that he could see right into my head and would judge me for the fact that I had considered, even if just for a short time, terminating this pregnancy. And might yet have to. Apart from the fact that Doctor Kelly was a middle-aged man with traditional views, abortion was not available in Ireland. Not at that time. And I wanted, needed, my baby to be alright.

  “Is the baby okay?”

  He nodded and smiled at me. “Yes, indeed. You have a healthy nine-week pregnancy. I think you may have pulled a muscle when you fell. Nothing a bit of rest won’t cure. I’ll book you in for your scan in the hospital just to be sure. The secretary will be in touch with your appointment.”

  “Thank you, Doctor. There’s just one other thing. My husband, Ben. I’m sure you’ve had notification from the hospital about his recent accident. If it was an accident.”

  He narrowed his eyes as he looked at me. He seemed wary.

  “How is Ben?”

  “Good. More positive, I think. But I’m worried about telling him of this pregnancy. I know you’ve prescri
bed anti-depressants for him. Could the –”

  The doctor’s hand shot up, palm towards me.

  “I’ll have to stop you there, Leah. As my patient, I guarantee you one hundred per cent confidentiality. Ben is also my patient, so I owe him exactly the same. I cannot, and will not, discuss his treatment with you. Unless with his permission, which I don’t have. I’m sorry.”

  I felt as if I’d been slapped across the face. There were so many things I had wanted to ask him. For instance, if he knew that Ben had been stashing his anti-depressants, not taking them. If he had been made aware of Ben’s past history, both his own and his Uncle George. If the depression was likely to take over his life again and lead him to another overdose, another slashed wrist. Another brush with death on a tide-swept beach.

  The doctor’s stern look and clipped words left me with no option but to pick up my bag and coat to leave. I looked back as I reached the door. Doctor Kelly was concentrating on the computer screen again. Next patient, I assumed. His attitude made me angry as well as worried. I needed to know exactly what Ben’s mental condition was. How could we make a measured decision about returning to Dublin if his battles with deep depression were rooted in his childhood home? The only thing I knew for certain was that he undoubtedly loved Rob and the twins with all his heart and soul. But I did not know if he had the capacity to share that love with another child.

  I needed time and space to think. To ease the hurt of the doctor’s professionally correct, but cold, rejection of my plea for advice. The salon was my place of refuge and today, being Monday, it was closed. I passed by the turnoff for Cowslip Cottage and headed for the salon.

  I made myself a coffee and sat there in the empty salon, in the dim December light, letting the coffee go cold as I reviewed the disaster my life had become. My husband, I had to admit, was a liar. Not that he overtly lied to me. He had not, and probably never would, tell me the full truth. And yes, he had now informed me about his past episodes of depression, about his family history. But only because circumstances forced him to.

  I sat there for a long time, wondering what else was going on in Ben Parrish’s head and who I could turn to for help.

  That was the day I realised that, while first puberty, then unemployment, had exacerbated Ben’s difficulty, the real trigger had been his genetic inheritance through the Roache line. I shook with fear as it finally dawned on me that my children, my beautiful Rob and my darling twins, my vulnerable inch-long foetus, all shared that same bloodline. Also I had no idea what I had brought to them through my unknown father’s line. Of course, it was different now. They could be monitored, counselled, medicated if needed. But I could not be inside their heads.

  Just as I had no idea what was happening inside my husband’s head.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Tuesday 7th December 2010

  We were on the road to Dublin by seven o’clock next morning, three sleepy children in the back of the jeep. I was tired after the early start, but Ben was so full of energy that I felt no guilt in having a snooze as he drove. I didn’t wake until the jeep stopped at a service station. I woke to the children chattering and laughing in excitement. We were at our halfway stop and they could now have their promised juice and treat.

  The car park was full with trucks, camper vans and cars. People on the move. These modern-day oases off the motorways always fascinated me, wondering where people were going, and why. In fact, I could have asked the same questions of myself. Yes, I was about to visit Ben’s childhood home in Howth, but was I going to inspect my future home?

  Taking the children to the bathroom and shepherding them to a table for their snack allowed little time for soul-searching. I took over the driving when we got back to the jeep, glad that traffic was light. The nearer we got to Dublin, the more excited the children became. And as we headed north from the city towards Howth, they started a chorus of ‘Are we there yet?’.

  “Not too far now,” I assured them. “We’ll soon be in Della’s house.”

  “Dad’s house too,” Rob said. “Cos he lived there when he was small.”

  “I was born there,” Ben said. “And I stayed there until Mom and I bought our own house.”

  “Were you borned a baby or a daddy?”

  Anna’s question sent Rob into a fit of giggles. Josh showed his solidarity with his brother by joining in. That sent Anna into a sulk, until Ben distracted them by telling them about the seesaw he and Hugh had in their garden when they were young.

  Concentrating on my driving, I was unprepared for Rob’s next question.

  “Where did my Granny Scally live?”

  Granny Scally. My mam. Rob had been just three years old, little more than an infant, when my mother had died. They had been close. She, more than anyone, recognised that Rob valued quietness and calm above all else. “He’s one of life’s thinkers,” she used to say.

  “Granny Scally and I used to live in the city,” I told him.

  “Where? Can we go there today?”

  “No, Rob, we can’t,” Ben told him. “The place where Mom used to live when she was small is gone. People needed to build shops and offices there, so they took away the houses.”

  “Oh! Where did you and Granny Scally go then, Mom?”

  Where indeed? I was already married and living with Ben in my four-bed detached in a nice suburb, when the inner-city flats were demolished. They should have gone years before that. They were shabby, damp, increasingly a hub for social problems. And yet, it had been a good place to grow up. Mam and I were an integral part of that underprivileged community. Lacking in money and educational opportunities but blessed by supportive friends and neighbours. Ben was not saying anything. I supposed he was leaving it to me to tell Rob what I wanted him to know. What I could allow myself to remember.

  “Granny Scally went to live in a new house, Rob. A very nice one.”

  “I don’t remember it.”

  “You were very little then.”

  Yes, Rob had only been two when I was pregnant with the twins. Busy with my family and my social life. Mam had been rehoused outside town. In an area she was unfamiliar with, beside people she did not know. If I had visited her more often, if I’d had her around to our house on a regular basis, if I had been the type of daughter my mother deserved, I would have seen how unhappy she was. How lonely. How sick she was. Her death certificate attributed her passing to pancreatic cancer. I saw it in her face the day she came to attend the twins’ christening. The jaundiced skin, the lifeless eyes, the deep sadness, the knowledge that she would not live to get to know the twins or see her beloved Rob grow up. That was also the day I acknowledged that my selfishness had contributed to her dying. Leah Parrish, née Scally, always the guilty one.

  “What do you remember about Granny Scally?” I asked Rob.

  “She smelled nice. And she read me stories and did funny voices. She used to sing to me too.”

  Ben and I exchanged glances, amazed at how much detail Rob remembered. I made a mental note to talk to Rob about my mother in future, just as often as I spoke silently to her.

  “That’s why Mom is such a good singer,” Ben told the children. “She inherited her lovely voice from Granny Scally.”

  “Me too!” Anna said. “I’ll sing.”

  She did. The same line over and over. ‘Twinkle, twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are.’ Or words to that effect.

  I was relieved to see The Parrish House come into view.

  The room Della had ushered me into was roughly the area of the flat where I was reared. It had built-in wardrobes, an ensuite bathroom and a window overlooking the extensive back garden. The place where Ben had played on the seesaw with Hugh, and where he was now kicking football with his children. I walked to the window and looked down. From my vantage point, Ben looked healthy and happy, infused with a zest for life I had thought lost for good. Sounds of laughter drifted up, the children’s light and carefree, Ben’s deep and hearty. A glorious chorus, an
d a very powerful argument for agreeing to move here.

  “Ben enjoyed having all this space to himself as a boy,” Della said.

  “This was his room?” Lucky boy.

  “Oh! I forgot that you hadn’t seen it before.”

  “I never got past the kitchen, Della.”

  I sat down on the double bed and looked around, taking in the chest of drawers, the bedside lockers, the order and neatness, a few discreet paintings. There was no trace of Ben in this room. It was pure Della. She sat on the bed beside me.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I could have, should have, been more welcoming to you.”

  “No need to apologise, Della. I do realise it was difficult for you. You had a different view of the type of woman your son should marry. Let’s leave it at that.”

  “That’s kind of you, Leah, but I can see now how much damage leaving things unsaid has caused. I resented Hugh for what I saw as interference in my family history. But it is, in fact, also his history. And Ben’s. I owe them an apology too.”

  I turned my head to look at my snobby, cold, mother-in-law. What I saw was a vulnerable old lady, confused, sad, and, I thought, genuinely regretful.

  “Della, every family has secrets. Everyone has regrets. I’m sorry too, for not making a greater effort to bridge the gap between us. But the future can be different, can’t it? And because we’re being completely honest with each other from now on, I should tell you the Scally family also has a secret. I don’t know who my father was. Or is. My mother simply refused to tell me.”

  “I know.”

  “Ben told you?”

  “Yes. He told me before he proposed to you.”

  “Is this why you were so against Ben marrying me?”

  “No! I just felt . . . Well, because of his history of – you know – depression, that maybe he shouldn’t marry at all. That he was not ready for the responsibility of a baby already on the way. And also, in truth, I felt you and he had little in common. I’ve made a lot of mistaken judgements.”