Now and Then

by Mary O'Sullivan

  “I did.”

  “I’ll clear it with his mom. Can you pick him up someday after school, Ben?”

  Ben didn’t answer. He had a faraway look in his eyes. I guessed he had not heard any of that conversation. My new-found euphoria took a little dint. Just a little one. I accepted we had a long way to go before Ben was fully rehabilitated. But I knew, with every fibre of my being that we would eventually get there.

  If there is anything I detest more than grocery shopping it is putting the shopping away when I get home. I left most of the bags in the boot of the jeep that evening, taking in only the perishables. The children were tired, and all in need of a good wash, so I filled the bath and put the three in together. Ben sat on the edge of the bath, supervising. I put the seat down on the toilet and sat watching and listening to their chatter. Anna discovered that if she squeezed her rubber duck underwater, air streamed out and made beautiful heaps of bubbles with the baby bath I had added to the water. They all had a go and there was much laughing and bubbles with miniature rainbows reflected on them. Ben eventually pulled the plug before they turned into three little prunes.

  I went to the kitchen to get their milk and rice cakes while Ben dried the twins and put on their pyjamas. Rob went off and got himself ready for bed before coming into the kitchen to me.

  “Do you think Dad is all better now?” he asked.

  I was surprised by the question and wondered why he had asked.

  “What do you think, Rob?”

  “Hmm. He’s not cross anymore. Elliot said that Dad swam away out into the sea in the dark and that a helicopter had to fly down and pull him out of the water. Is that true?”

  I shook my head. Obviously there were still some dramatic rumours around Paircmoor about Ben’s dice with death.

  “Rob, I told you what happened. He went out for a run and tripped over a branch in the dark. An ambulance, not a helicopter, brought him to hospital. You know that’s what happened, don’t you?”

  He thought for a moment before answering. Then he nodded.

  “Yes. The Sanquest people called the ambulance, didn’t they? Not a helicopter.”

  “Exactly. And it may take a little while for Dad to get really strong again, but we’ll all help him, won’t we?”

  “Sure. Can I have jam on my rice cake?”

  I had been just about to say no, when I changed my mind. Having the gumption to confide his worry in me deserved a dollop of jam.

  Supper was a quick affair because it was getting late. Tooth-brushing, a trip to the bathroom, and they were all in bed. I tucked Rob up while Ben read the twins their bedtime story. Rob was reading one of Hugh’s comics which Della had allowed him to keep.

  “I think I might make cartoons when I’m older,” he told me. “Animation. Not just drawing.”

  I had no doubt he would. Or that his Uncle Hugh would pave the way for him into the world of computer technology.

  “You can be whatever you like when you’re older, Rob. Don’t forget to enjoy being young though. And don’t stay reading too long now. Love you loads.”

  “Love you too, Mom.”

  I kissed him on the cheek and breathed in the scent of baby bath. One of the most comforting smells in the world.

  I switched off the main light in his room, closed his door and went to say goodnight to the twins. They were asleep already. Ben was sitting at the end of Josh’s bed just watching his children sleep.

  “They’re angelic, aren’t they?” I said as I eased myself gently onto Anna’s bed.

  I looked at them both, Anna was lying on her back, her arms flung out, curls framing her face. Josh peaceful, a slight smile playing around his mouth, his dark lashes, incredibly long, casting shadows on his face.

  Ben stood up, smiled and held his hand out to me.

  I took his hand and we went back to the kitchen. He helped me bring the rest of the shopping in from the jeep. We worked in silence as we put things in the cupboards and fridge.

  “What’s this?” Ben asked, holding up the Santa bag with the Christmas trinkets from the mall.

  “Just a few bits and bobs for Christmas morning. I must put them out in the old shed with the other things Hugh bought.”

  “I’ll put them out for you later. I’ve a few jobs to do there anyway.”

  I handed him the bag and we finished putting the shopping away. Tired then, I sat down. I should get the children’s clothes ready for the morning and make Rob’s school lunch. I felt too exhausted. Baby number four was wearing me out. Maybe because I was getting older. Or perhaps all the stress of the past couple of weeks was taking its toll.

  Ben frowned as he looked at me.

  “You look tired, Leah.”

  “I am. I think I’ll go to bed soon. I need to make an early start in the morning. Things to catch up on before the salon opens. Would you be okay with dropping Rob into school? I’ll take him on Friday morning to give you a break.”

  “Sure. Go on. Scram. I’ll heat your milk and bring it to you.”

  I had just got into bed when Ben arrived in with my mug of milk and put it on my bedside locker.

  “Don’t stay up too late, Ben. I’ll be leaving here at half past seven in the morning. That will give me an hour of peace and quiet in the salon to get the orders done. I’ll call you before I go.”

  I lifted my face for a kiss. He leaned down and stared at me for a moment.

  “You really are your mother’s daughter, Leah. So strong and honest. So much to offer. I love you for it.”

  It was a puzzling little speech. I hadn’t realised Ben had such admiration for my mother. Nor was I either strong or honest at that particular time. My bafflement disappeared when he kissed me, softly at first, then with an urgency my body responded to. Just as I was about to pull back the duvet for him to join me in bed, he stood up.

  “Drink your milk before it goes cold. Sleep tight.”

  Then he was gone. I set my alarm for six thirty, then picked up my milk to drink it. The skin already forming on top gave my stomach a turn. Besides, I ached for sleep. My eyelids were already drooping. Not wanting to hurt Ben’s feelings, I took the mug, still full, into the ensuite, emptied the contents down the loo and flushed.

  As I snuggled under the duvet I wondered, if I would ever, ever, understand the enigma that was Ben Parrish. Kind enough to bring me hot milk in bed, yet not trusting me enough to allow me to help him through his sadness.

  Ben turned off the television and wandered into his office. A one-time dairy. A cowshed. He switched on his computer. There were no new emails. Why should there be? He thought of writing some. But who would want to hear from him? Ellen Riggs? No. She was gone from Paircmoor and out of his life. Back to where she belonged. Into the arms of a man who could give her the life she deserved. He could email Garry Walton. Tell him that all the staff who had bowed and scraped to him because he was the boss’s son, had called him Wanker Walton behind his back. Let him worry that they still do. But the prick was so arrogant he would probably laugh it off.

  Maybe he should mail Hugh. Ask him to leave George Roche at rest. To give their uncle the peace he had craved so much that he had hung himself. But there was no talking to Hugh once he was on a mission. He would rake up every last skeleton in the Roache/Parrish family in an effort to explain his defective brother. That was it, wasn’t it? He needed to pin down the faulty Roache gene that had taken George’s life, skipped past Hugh, and fucked up Ben. To hell with Hugh and his billionaire brother-in-law.

  He logged off and sat for a moment listening to the house. Cowshit Cottage was never silent. It was an uneasy place, full of whispered memories. He had made plans for renovations. All drawn up and ready to go. Walls blown away, roof raised, and glass, glass, glass, to let the light in and the ghosts out. All he was short of was money. And a job. Plus a life.

  He left his office and tiptoed into his bedroom. Their room. His and Leah’s. She was sleeping soundly, lying on her back, her arms flung outside the du
vet, her blonde hair fanned out on the pillow. Anna was a perfect clone of her mother, except that her hair was curly where Leah’s was straight. Still beautiful, his Leah Scally, the little hair stylist from the wrong side of the city. The woman his mother never wanted him to marry. Ben stooped down and kissed her forehead, then picked up the mug from the top of her locker and turned off the bedside lamp she had left on.

  Back in the kitchen, he put Leah’s mug in the dishwasher and then stoked up the stove. It would be a long night. He picked up the key to the old shed from the hall table and made his way out there. As soon as he opened the door, he got that feeling again. Calm. Security. The first day he had set foot in this shed, he had felt as if it welcomed him. Fanciful as that seemed, time had proved his instinct right. Maybe it was the compact size, the crooked walls, the tendrils of ivy that poked through the corrugated roof. Or maybe it was that the space was his. Leah ventured in there only at Christmas time to sort out the decorations. Whatever the reason, he felt comfortable there, and breathed a sigh of contentment as he set about his task.

  He got the trikes and bicycle out from behind the deck chairs, and ripped the packaging with his Stanley knife. There was some assembly to be done on Rob’s bike. That did not take long. Then he tipped over the refusac full of Christmas gifts Hugh had bought for the children. Box after box tumbled out on the floor. Some tied with red ribbons, some with silver wrapping, others in Santa paper. Extravagant. Typical of Hugh. Next he found the Christmas stockings Leah had bought, and put the trinkets in. Gifts ready, the hard work began.

  It took a long time to string all the lights around the inside of the shed. Next he hauled the tatty artificial tree, which had belonged to Leah’s mother, down from the rafters. It looked moth-eaten in its bare state but wound around with bell-shaped lights and a star on top, it was beautiful. He smiled as he thought how Granny Scally would love it. She was partial to glitz.

  He took a last look around before turning off the light. The twins’ trikes were one on either side of the tree, multi-coloured ribbons decorating the handlebars. Rob’s bike, balanced on the stabilisers, was standing to the side. The parcels were strewn around the floor and the stockings hung from the rafters. Low enough for the children to reach. He turned off the main light and hit the Christmas-light switch.

  Ben laughed out loud. He had done it! He had turned the old shed into a Christmas Grotto! It shone and twinkled with red and green reflections. The lights bounced off the metallic frames of the bike and the trikes. He imagined the children’s reaction when they saw it. How magical it would seem to them. How special it would make them feel.

  He turned off the lights, locked the door and went back into the kitchen. The fire in the stove had burned down but the room was still warm. He poured himself a drink. A whiskey. He had earned it. As he sat by the dying embers, glass in hand, he thought about his own childhood Christmases. How they had always been a disappointment. Not because he had been deprived of material things. He never was. But he had not felt the joy, the fun, the magic. Yuletide had been something he endured, rather than enjoyed. Until tonight. He could not wait to see the children’s faces when they saw their custom-made Christmas Grotto.

  He went to their rooms. They were all asleep. Innocent. Beautiful. Precious. He poured another drink for himself and brought it into the lounge with him. He toasted the ghosts of Cowshit Cottage, knocked back his whiskey in one swallow, lay down on the couch, and slept.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Thursday 9th December 2010

  I heard my alarm through a fog of sleep. I reached out my hand and turned it off. A few seconds later, realisation trickled through. I must go to the salon. Still half asleep, I rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom. I was in the shower before I fully awoke and realised Ben had not been in the bed when I got up. In fact it seemed his side of the bed had not been slept in. I rushed through my shower, quickly dried off and threw on my dressing gown. I double-checked in the bedroom before I left. Ben’s side of the bed was cool to the touch and undisturbed.

  I headed for the kitchen. No sign of him there. I remembered him sleeping on the Queen Anne chair in the twins’ room the last time we had a row. I tiptoed in, being careful not to make any noise. Anna was a very light sleeper. It was much too early for her to be up and about. In the dim glow from the nightlight it was plain to see that Ben was not there. Nor was he in Rob’s room. I would not allow myself to panic until I had searched the lounge and his office.

  The lounge was in darkness. I switched on the tall lamp just inside the door. Then I saw him. Lying on the couch, his long legs hanging out over the arm on one end, his head propped up on the other arm. Still dressed in yesterday’s clothes. I stooped down next to him and heard his breathing. I could see his eyes move inside his lids. I stood there watching, wondering what he was dreaming about. He was frowning. The stubble on his face, paradoxically, made him look boyish. Vulnerable. I gently touched my fingers to his cheek. His skin felt cold. I went to the hot press, got a rug and put it over him and switched off the lamp. I would let him sleep on, finish his dream, and call him before I left.

  Time flew past with getting the children’s clothes and food for the day organised. I barely had time for a slice of toast and a quick coffee before dressing myself. It was already seven thirty. I went into the lounge and gently shook Ben by the shoulder. He jumped up. Startled.

  “Hey! Sorry. I had to wake you. I’m leaving now. Why did you not come to bed last night?”

  He rubbed his eyes, still not totally awake.

  “I told you I had a few jobs to do in the old shed. It was late when I finished. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  “I left everything ready for the children. It’s all I the kitchen.”

  “Good. Thank you. Stop fussing, Leah. I can manage the children. Go to work.”

  I didn’t like his prickly tone but knew him long enough to admit that morning was not his best time. I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. I thought for a moment I smelled alcohol on his breath but knew I must be imagining it. Silly idea. He never drank on week nights. Not much on weekends either. As I picked my bag up off the kitchen table, I realised my phone was still in our bedroom. I dashed in there, picked up my phone and popped it into my bag. I noticed the mug was gone from the locker top, so Ben must have been in the bedroom last night. So thoughtful of him not to wake me. I was ready to go except to say good bye to the children. I looked at the clock. Seven forty. They could have another twenty minutes sleep if I did not disturb them. I put three tiny kisses on my fingers and blew them in the direction of their bedrooms.

  I peeped into the lounge in passing. Ben was still standing where I had left him. At least he was awake.

  “Eight is time enough to call them,” I said. “I’ll ring later.”

  I dashed out the door, not waiting for an answer. My car was reluctant to start. I cursed and tried again. Thankfully the curse worked and the engine ticked over. I looked back towards the cottage as I turned the car. Ben was standing at the door. Hand up to his eyes as he was caught in the headlights. I waved to him. He did not respond. I got the message then. Ben did not want me to go into the salon. He resented me having a job to go to, while he had none. As I drove out onto the road and headed in the direction of Paircmoor village, I wondered where the loving Ben of the past few days had gone. Who was the real Ben Parrish? The caring man, or the boorish boy-man?

  I parked in front of the salon, and sat for a moment, listening to the clicks of the cooling engine. It was at times like that, challenging, frightening times, I usually had my one-sided conversation with Mam. I didn’t want to talk to her now. Not while I was still angry with her for not telling me about my father. Could I talk, one to one, to Della? Ask her if this was how Ben had behaved in his teens. Up one minute. Down the next. No. Della still wanted to deny that Ben needed help. Psychiatric help. Hugh. I could talk to him. Ask for his advice. And I would. Tonight.

  That decision made, I locked
the car and faced my first day back in the salon post ‘the incident’ which had landed my husband in hospital.

  Ben waited at the door until he could no longer hear the sound of Leah’s car or see the twin arcs of light created by her headlights. It was a cold and damp morning. He shivered and headed back inside to the warmth of the cottage. The embers in the kitchen stove still glowed from last night’s stoking. It was blazing in minutes. He looked at the table and saw that Leah had bowls and spoons laid out, the cereal boxes standing in a neat row on the counter. An organiser of bowls, spoons, boxes and lives. That was Leah.

  A glance at the clock told him that the children would be up and about soon. Not enough time for him to shower and shave. He had caught a glimpse of himself in the hall mirror. A pathetic sight, still dressed in yesterday’s clothes, a shadow of dark stubble on cheeks and chin. He shrugged. Pathetic was his default style.

  He heard some sounds coming from the twins’ room. Anna was up and about and ready to tackle the day. He met her in the hall, already on her way to the bathroom, Josh in tow. She ran towards him.

  “Daddy! Him won’t let me brush his teeth.”

  “Anna, Josh can do his own teeth after breakfast. Can’t you, Josh?”

  “Can too.”

  Rob emerged from his room, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

  “Dad, can I go to the bathroom in Mum’s bedroom? Anna and Josh will be ages here.”

  Out of the mouths of babes. Mum’s bedroom. It was. Cowshit Cottage was all Leah. He nodded to Rob.

  “Get a move on, guys. I’ve a surprise for you before we go to the school.”

  Anna and Josh clapped their hands, while Rob, obviously in dire need, ran off to ‘Mum’s bedroom’.

  Ben poured cereal into bowls and sat at the table with the children as they ate. He looked at them each in turn and knew they were his greatest achievement in life. His only achievement. They were so beautiful, so clever, so precious. So vulnerable.