The Girl I Used to Know

by Faith Hogan

  ‘I don’t need to be talked to as if I’m an old biddy, Dr Kilker,’ she said huffily, but she wasn’t fooling anyone. She was just glad to be within sight of getting out of here for good.

  ‘It’s either me or back to the plaster room, Tess.’ He stood, arms folded truculently, unmoving before her.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘I’m bringing you for lunch. The cafeteria is a nice little walk from here. We can eat a sandwich, have a little chat and walk back again. You’ll be able to tell me then how many compliments you got for my stitches.’

  ‘How does it look? The arm?’ She nodded to the light box as they passed it. The slides had changed now and the doctors were studying a ribcage, small and vulnerable. The heart-wrenching sound of a child’s crying tugged at her for a moment too long. The feeling surprised her, she’d never considered herself a sensitive, bleeding heart sort of woman. Perhaps she was, at this late stage becoming a softie – there were, she realised, worse things in life.

  *

  Lunch was not the panic-inducing ordeal that Tess would have imagined. She found herself quite relaxed for the twenty minutes they were sitting.

  ‘So, what is it you do with yourself, exactly, when you’re not falling over cats?’ Dr Kilker asked. He paid for her sandwich so she couldn’t be too huffy with him.

  ‘Well, I…’ she smiled wearily, ‘I make a lot less money than you do office temping around the city.’

  ‘You’re a secretary?’ he said with his usual directness. ‘An honourable trade, but what do you do apart from work?’

  ‘I beg your pardon.’ She found herself blushing slightly. To cover it up, she leaned over to put some more salt on her sandwich and he pushed the saltcellar from her.

  ‘I mean, you need to be busy. At our stage in life, you need to have things to occupy your mind. You need people to take you out of yourself.’ He put his hand up to stop her objections, then he lowered it slowly and rested it on her forearm. ‘Don’t go shooting the messenger; I’m only saying it because you know that it’s the truth. Your bones and joints might be getting older, but you’re a young woman in terms of what life has ahead of you, Tess, and your life could be great.’ There was that familiar twinkle in his eye and she had a feeling they’d met before, long ago.

  ‘So, I suppose you have the whole thing down?’ she said flatly.

  ‘No, I’m not saying that. My life isn’t perfect. But I’m chasing it. That’s the difference. I’m out there looking for my own contentment every day.’ His words were gentle, perhaps too gentle because Tess could feel her heart softening.

  ‘And I’m not?’ She hated being so transparent.

  ‘I suspect you are too argumentative to agree, and too proud to admit it, but you’re on your own, Tess, I’ve seen it from the moment I met you. It’s like a shawl you carry about you and it’s going to kill you far faster than any cat or low blood pressure.’

  ‘So, join a club? Take an evening class, is that it?’

  ‘You’re a smart woman, Tess, I’m not going to advise you on what to do.’ He shook his head, looked about them for a minute, perhaps giving her time to think or make a plan.

  ‘I’ve started exercising, just gently until I’m fully mobile,’ she whispered. Somehow, it didn’t seem right to add that she had only started to want to live longer so she could spite her neighbours.

  ‘Well, good for you. That’s the spirit,’ he smiled. ‘And does it leave you feeling fulfilled?’

  ‘No. I mean, yes. Oh, I don’t know.’ She wasn’t sure what she meant. The only time she’d known real joy was when she sang, but that was years ago and long gone now. He was throwing her thoughts up in the air as if he was a practiced juggler. It annoyed her because she never liked to examine how she felt too closely. What was she doing, explaining herself to this old codger?

  She bent down to pick up her bag. She needed to be out of this café. It was suddenly claustrophobic, too hot, too packed and too intimate for her prickly nature. She could feel that tightening sensation in her chest again, as though she couldn’t breathe. It pulled her like a marionette; strings of resolve drawn from deep behind her ribcage so her lungs fell hot together and she gasped for air as though about to drown.

  ‘What is it?’ He moved closer to her now. ‘Sometimes, you need to tell whoever is there at the time, Tess, because if you don’t… well, these things they only end up getting bigger.’

  ‘There’s nothing to tell,’ she said, but her heart was racing in her chest, the same as it had a million times before, the same as it did a dozen times a day when she was home doing absolutely nothing. They careered into silence gravid with words she couldn’t find.

  ‘Just sit,’ he said quietly and she found herself obeying him. ‘You’ve the classic signs of hypotension. That feeling, it’s sitting probably in either your stomach or maybe even your chest?’

  ‘I…’ There was no point in trying to lie.

  ‘The breathlessness? Hopelessness? You’ve been feeling all of those things?’ He shook his head and she knew he was too wise to judge her and maybe too kind behind those mocking eyes. ‘You’re having panic attacks and you need to help yourself before anyone else can make you feel better.’

  They sat in silence for a few more minutes. Tess felt her heart slow down, her pulse slackened to a rate where she didn’t feel as if it might burst through every vessel in her body.

  ‘So, what do I do?’ Tess muttered once she was ready. Part of her couldn’t believe she was asking Dr Kilker for advice, and especially for advice like this. It may be okay for the younger generation to bandy about their breakdowns, addictions and phobias as though they were a badge of honour, but Tess felt only shame. It made her feel weak and vulnerable.

  ‘Do you sing?’ he asked and she imagined herself like old Dancy, the handyman who hung about the square singing old rebel songs under his wheezy breath. ‘Don’t even answer that, Tess, because I know you do. I heard you, years ago – you were unforgettable.’

  ‘I…’ For once, Tess didn’t know quite what to say. ‘You heard me sing?’ She felt an odd flutter, something rattle in some deep part of her, as though the very fact that someone remembered her from that time made it seem like it might have been real. ‘You heard me sing?’ she said again and, just beyond her reach, she thought she saw his shadowy figure many years before. That was all it was, a ghost, a bit player, one of many in that club perhaps, or churchgoers on a Sunday morning that she hardly recognised, then she’d been too lost in her own world. ‘It was a long time ago.’ Tess could hardly remember that time, she had spent too long sending memories scuttling like spiders into the crevice of her thoughts whenever they threatened to remind her how things had once been. It was so far back, but then, she had almost been a different person altogether.

  ‘That’s settled so,’ he said, smiling at her indecision, and it felt to her as though she’d missed half a conversation, or maybe it was half a lifetime. ‘I’ll pick you up at seven on Monday evening.’ From deep inside his jacket pocket, an incessant buzzing intruded on their conversation. He pulled out a pager and shook his head sadly then he looked at Tess. ‘Your arm is fine, Tess. Go home, don’t do anything silly, and we’ll start working on that other thing straight away.’ He waved a hand regally, to flap away her protests, ‘It’ll be good for both of us, I promise,’ he said and then he was getting up from the table, hardly giving her time to catch her breath, much less wriggle out of whatever torture he had lined up for her on Monday evening.

  Chapter 20

  Twenty-two years earlier…

  Amanda found herself wondering if Claude had a second name. It was nerves, pure and simple, the morning of her wedding. The day that should have been the happiest in her life and all she felt was grief. They had buried her father two days earlier. The little grave, where her mother waited, seemed much too small for two, but it was what he would have wanted. Linda had hardly said a word since the funeral. Shock, Amanda supposed, it was all so sudden and n
ow they were barrelling into her wedding day; it felt as if they were hurtling along with no brakes.

  ‘So, ve agreed, ve vill go high to give you another inch or two, but not so high the groom is looking too much a shortie,’ Claude said as he took strands of her hair upwards, inspecting it as if he’d never seen such a terrible mess. ‘Non, non, non. This vill never do, it is the hair of a volfhound,’ he was waving his hands theatrically. ‘I can’t vork on this, today,’ he placed the back of his hand over his eyes and forehead, as though he might go into meltdown. Amanda could feel all stares upon her. She darted her eyes about the mirror, keeping her body rigid, as though Claude might yet resort to a guillotine to rectify the mess. ‘Vax,’ he screamed. ‘Vax, I need vax,’ he was shouting orders at the scurrying junior stylists. ‘How could you expect me to vork on this… this…’ He wrinkled his nose, looking down at Amanda’s offending tresses.

  The girl who took her back to the washing and conditioning area was a mouse, a lovely mouse, but she could see that Amanda was already teetering on the edge of disintegration. Across the salon, Claude hopped with temper, ‘Imbeciles, I am surrounded by vork-shy, vomen. I am an artist, creative…’ He darted behind a curtain covered in glinting silver stars and Amanda made a mental note never to come here without having her hair in tiptop condition first. It was cleaning for the cleaner, barking for the dog, but it was the cost of being lucky enough to be here in the first place.

  ‘Don’t be minding him. Sure, your hair is just lovely, this is Claude’s way of getting at the juniors.’ Then she smiled conspiratorially, ‘It’s not you, it’s us!’

  ‘Crikey, I’m just so nervous about everything today,’ Amanda said as she sank down in the chair and let the girl rescue her hair so Claude could do his magic.

  And he did, everyone said she was the most beautiful bride, even if her stomach growled louder than a bear after hibernation.

  In some ways, it was a terrible thing to admit, but Amanda felt her wedding ceremony, the church bit at least, passed over her in much the same way as her father’s funeral had. Linda understood, she had smiled and stood in for photographs and waited for as long as it was decent and then she slipped away. Amanda knew she hadn’t the heart to stick it out without him at her side.

  Hugo Lennox walked her dutifully up the aisle and she caught sight of Nicola, Clarissa and Megan. They all smiled at her, if not with the kind of love that she would have had if her parents were there, but with a great dollop of encouragement. They wanted the wedding to be a success. They were her friends now and, in some ways, she had a feeling that her day was their day. They’d invested hours with her, picking out everything so it would be perfect. Nicola in particular had taken over all the details that Amanda knew would have driven her to distraction. ‘All you need to do is be thin and gorgeous on the day,’ she said every time Amanda gushed her thanks. In the planning, she’d just known it would be fabulous, but with the passing of her dad, well, fabulous just wasn’t so important any more.

  Today, she had stood at the top of the aisle thinking of weddings and funerals and how people marked them out with rite and ritual. To be fair, the cathedral was a more gothic and impressive aisle than little St. Brid’s where her father’s funeral played out. Every so often, she’d looked across at Richard, just to check that this was really happening. And there he was, standing next to her, looking more handsome than she’d ever seen him, but he never returned her glance. Perhaps he was nervous too? His smile was set as if it was rictus, as though he might never return to the carefree playboy she fell in love with. Amanda was glad when the ceremony was over, she couldn’t escape quickly enough to have a little cry.

  Amanda had decided, the day of the funeral, that if her dad couldn’t come along to her wedding, the least she could do was visit her parents grave on her wedding day. They would pass by the graveyard on their way to the reception in Dodder Castle.

  ‘Not today,’ Richard said when she asked the driver to pull in for just a moment.

  ‘Oh, Richard, I won’t take long, I just wanted to stand at their grave for a moment, I’ll feel better going into the reception then, as if they’ll know they’ve been included.’

  ‘Amanda, listen to yourself.’ Richard’s voice was gentle but firm. ‘We’ve done this, we’ve spent our week sorting out the funeral, when we should have been…’ He bit his lip, maybe he knew that she was about to cry again. ‘Amanda, it’ll just upset you more. I’m thinking of you, really. Your dad wouldn’t want to see you upset today, you’ve done all you can for him, but this is our day.’ He sighed, looked out the window, they were speeding by the graveyard now and he turned towards her. ‘This is our day and we need to get back to the reception, people are waiting for us to arrive.’

  ‘I…’ Amanda strained to catch sight of her parents’ grave, she picked out the tallest yew trees and knew they were nestled just beyond them. ‘I suppose you’re right. It was a silly idea and my dad wouldn’t want me upset.’ She took a deep breath, she would not cry. She would not be one of those brides who spent the day bawling like a baby. The yew trees were passing out of site. She decided she would go back tomorrow, early, before any of their guests had risen from their beds, and she would sit at her parents’ grave and tell them all about her fabulous wedding day.

  Chapter 21

  January 16 – Friday

  It seemed a shame to Amanda having all that lovely gym gear and not using it. So, on Friday night, Amanda decided she would head off around the city alone. She couldn’t face Tess Cuffe again this evening. These days, there was something different about the old girl, but there was too much water under the bridge for it to really matter to Amanda anymore.

  After dinner, she donned her ridiculous Lycra leggings, dayglo vest, sweatband and failed to convince herself she looked the part. She set off on a half-walk, half-jog, pant-a-thon along the city streets. She watched with envy as experienced runners glided by her. The women were the worst. They seemed to have a personal kind of happy going on and she wondered, if she jogged for long enough, could she ever achieve that too. It surprised her that she’d take happy over thin any day. She hoped, it would come, after the breathlessness, the racing pulse and the red-faced sweatiness had subsided. For now, she was accepting the fact that, for her, running was going to be more about pain than gain, but funny enough, she was okay with this. Physical discomfort proved a consoling relief from the ongoing soundtrack in her head. He’s a cheat. He’s a cheat. He’s a cheat. He’s a cheat.

  Amanda pounded down Dame Street, and came up behind two students straggling home after one too many drinks in the campus bar. They swayed a little uncertainly as she slowed down to catch her breath. She would have to sidestep them to keep her pace. There was a time when they would have annoyed her, sauntering home of an evening, living off the tax her husband paid. She would have automatically tutted as she passed them, assuming that they spent all their time in the college bar. Tonight, she caught a glimpse of something else. A young girl, wearing the ubiquitous student uniform – denims, parka and Converse – her hair straggly, her face bare of make-up apart from unfortunate HD brows that branded her desperation across her forehead. Her boyfriend, a slightly spotty, hair-gelled cocky little bloke walked with the assurance of a gunslinger in a bad cowboy movie. The girl was hanging off the boy’s every word and she looked at him with the kind of open adoration that Amanda knew she’d once felt for Richard. The boy for his part looked a little younger; he was smaller, thinner and rather pretty compared to the girl’s plainness. Amanda imagined them going home to some squalid little flat and having twenty-something sex until they fell asleep contentedly, each having fulfilled that thing they uniquely craved.

  She missed sex. She never thought she’d miss it. If she was honest, she’d been a little relieved when Richard hadn’t instigated it for a few weeks. Now, well, now she’d give anything to see longing in his eyes. For her. She shook her head at the correction; of course, he would desire her again.


  She started to jog faster then, anything to get away from the thoughts. She passed the two students and puffed her way along the road. To take her mind off her own non-existent sex life; she let her thoughts wander to what might unfold for the students who were now walking behind her. Amanda had a feeling that he would break her heart, after he used her. Suddenly, she wanted to turn back and run right through them both. Stop it happening before it was too late. Then she thought of the girl’s arm reaching around the boy’s shoulder and she knew that she was the same as Amanda: she would not believe there was no hope until it hit her in the face like an icy bucket of water on a warm day.

  Then something caught her eye. Just a little in the distance, a familiar figure. Dark suit, neat overall appearance and the tell-tale signs of a small middle-aged-spread tummy.

  It was Richard. Amanda’s breath caught somewhere between the inhale–exhale rhythm so she seemed to teeter on a precipice from within. He was on his way into a very expensive restaurant. She stopped for a moment; let the students pass her out. Not that he’d even notice her. For one thing, he didn’t know she’d taken to running the streets of Dublin on dark evenings. For another, in her Lycra leggings, her sweatband holding back the shock of red turbocharged hair, out here, without a cream cake in sight, well, she was positively unrecognisable from the woman she had gradually turned into since she married him.