Together Forever

by Siân O'Gorman

  ‘After the meeting with Max, I went straight to the vending machine which I had passed several times a day for the last decade but had never sullied with my hard-earned cash. I flung in the coins, pressed the code for a Mars Bar and waited for the drop. I ate it standing there. And I haven’t stopped eating sugar since. God, this coffee and walnut is good. I’d forgotten how nice food can actually be. Why did I ever think it was a good idea to go out with Max? I think I was desperate.’ Sugar had made her slightly hyper, I noticed. But maybe that was the whole point.

  ‘After I’d eaten the Mars Bar, I was practically buzzing with the sugar. I felt almost luminous like ET or something, like I could take off. I barged right into his office and I could swear he was playing a game on his phone. Sudoku or something. Anyway, Max says…’ She couldn’t quite get the words out. ‘He says that I’m not the right fit for the news anymore. They want a new look. Freshen it up, that was the phrase he used. It’s a euphemism for using younger talent, that’s all. He said that I had to be realistic, now I’m forty. He said that no one wants to see a mature woman on television except for notable exceptions. And I’m not a notable exception.’

  ‘That’s outrageous.’

  ‘He said that there’s always going to be someone younger and prettier and more talented so just get on with it. Which I think, in his weird little world, was him actually trying to be comforting, but I told him to fuck off.’

  ‘Would you like a drink? There’s still the Baileys in the cupboard. Cake in alcohol form.’

  ‘Yes please,’ she said. ‘I may as well become diabetic as well as jobless, old and single.’ She shrugged. I poured us both a drink, thinking I needed one too after the conversation with Red and worrying about Rosie. ‘How could Max do this to you?’

  ‘He’s ruthless. Told me not to take it personally. It’s business. He’s not a very nice person, you know. And mad. Quite, quite mad.’ She sipped her drink. ‘Christ on a bike. What am I going to do?’ she said, mascara-streaked, her hair all over the place, her silk blouse had signs of chocolate and cake over it. ‘God knows what I’m qualified for? Reading an autocue. Wearing make-up. Pronouncing unpronounceable names.’

  ‘Those are important skills.’

  ‘Right.’ She picked up her Baileys and drained the glass. ‘I used to be a journalist,’ she said. ‘I used to know things. I still know things. And I know a damn sight more than Bridget fecking O’Flaherty. So what if I can’t leap around the stage in ringlets.’ She waved her glass at me.

  ‘More?’

  She nodded and tears began to trickle down her face. ‘Bridget came to find me,’ she said. ‘I was getting my make-up done and she gave me a big hug. Said she was sorry and hoped there were no hard feelings. I said there wasn’t and I wished her the very best; that I was delighted to be given the opportunity to try out something new, that I was thinking of going backpacking with a yak in the Siberian Steppes for a year, was renouncing all my worldly goods and if she wanted my biro she could have it.’

  ‘Did you really?’

  ‘No, I just said I was delighted for her and the best of luck.’ She paused. ‘I had my fingers crossed behind my back, of course. But Nicky says to lay low, go on holiday… maybe a Saga cruise or something suitable. Says she’ll come up with something. But I can’t think what.’ She began to cry again while I topped up the Baileys. ‘I’ve got a week to go. And then that’s it. News-reading career over. And it’ll be in the papers tomorrow. I’ve already been tipped off. Can’t wait for that.’

  And she swigged back the drink in one go, a Baileys slammer.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Clodagh had been right, she made all the front pages in the morning, leaked no doubt by Bridget, because there was a picture of Clodagh, looking slightly worse for wear, taken the night of her party, shoes in one hand, hanging onto Lucinda. Caption: ‘Clodagh given the boot’. And next to it, in an evil kind of compare and contrast quiz, they had a picture of Bridget, the whites of her eyes and teeth glinting with youth and vitality and the caption ‘TV’s new girl’.

  The paper was on the seat beside me as I headed into school. Christy, Arthur, Robbo, Nellie and Leaf all gave me a wave as I drove past. Nora flagged me down.

  ‘How’s Rosie?’ she said.

  ‘She’s… okay. I mean, I think she will be okay.’

  ‘Of course she will!’ said Nora confidently. ‘Us Thomases…’

  ‘Michael says Us Fogartys in the same way’ I told her. ‘Us Fogartys never surrender!’

  ‘He always did sound like a cut-price Winston Churchill,’ she said, dismissing him. ‘But us Thomases actually don’t.’

  ‘That sounds ominous,’ I said. ‘You at the battle of Little Bighorn. Me as General Custer.’

  ‘You see, Tabitha,’ she said. ‘That’s where you’re wrong. You’re one of us. You thought you could be on the side of the bluecoats and soldiers. But really you’re an Indian just like us. Us Thomases…’

  Can we drop the Us Thomas thing, please?’ I was growing weary of sides and stands and everyone jostling for their place in history.

  She grinned at me. ‘Now, is Rosie decided on not doing her exams?’

  I nodded. ‘I think so.’

  ‘Good. Because I have just the thing for her. A trip. To West Cork. It’s Finty. Nothing has got him so far. Cancer, pneumonia, malaria, falling off scaffolding, knocked over by a Hell’s Angel on the road into Glengarriff, only one kidney. But it’s his liver, now.’

  From one of the pockets in her Barbour, she pulled out an envelope. ‘Here it is…’ she scrunched up her eyes, squinting at the words. ‘I would like the chance to say slán go fóill before I slip off to the green fields of eternity,’ she read. ‘We spent some good times here and I wouldn’t like to go without saying goodbye to my Nora…’

  Would Rosie come? I wasn’t sure spending hours in a car with just me and her grandmother was a good idea. It would tip the Dalai Lama over the edge. But I suddenly fancied a trip away, getting away from the protest, Red and it might do Rosie some good. A break from her bedroom.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Let’s go. Saturday morning. But only if Rosie comes.’

  ‘I’ll call her, said Nora. ‘Tell her an old man’s dying wish depends upon it. We will have a great time. It’ll be a road trip, isn’t that what they are called. Like Bonnie and Clyde.’

  ‘No, please not like Bonnie and Clyde.’

  ‘Who do I mean then?’

  ‘Thelma and Louise?’

  ‘Thelma and Louise, those are the ones.’

  ‘You do know what happened to them at the end, don’t you?’

  ‘They lived happily ever after? And Rosie needs a bit of West Cork, I think. It will weave its healing magic on her, it never fails.’

  *

  I had hoped to hear from Mary, just to let me know if she was all right. She had left the office and the school well prepared for her absence but it wasn’t as enjoyable without her calm, pleasant presence. At lunchtime, I walked passed the staff room and hovered for a moment, as I heard laughing coming from inside. Red and the other staff members were having their break. I hadn’t heard from Red since he had left me on the bench, but I took a breath and walked in and sat down with them, as Fidelma Fahy scooted up to make room. Red nodded hello, no smile, just polite, perfunctory.

  ‘Good to see you here Tabitha,’ said Fidelma. ‘Redmond is planning the staff night out for the end of term. He’s suggested karaoke but I think he might be joking.’

  ‘What about just a nice meal,’ another voice said. ‘When did a nice meal and a drink go out of fashion?’

  ‘We need Mary to organise it,’ said Angela Leahy. ‘She always makes sure it’s a nice place. Remember when we went to the talk in the National Gallery and then for a special dinner afterwards. That was nice. None of this karaoke nonsense.’ She nudged Red and laughed. ‘Actually Tabitha, any news from her? When is the family crisis going to be over?’

  I shrugged, catching
Red’s eye briefly. ‘I don’t know. She said she was hoping to be back for the end of term so make sure she is on the list for karaoke or whatever.’

  ‘What about a night at the Greyhound stadium?’ suggested Red to the group. ‘Come on. Don’t tell me that doesn’t excite you all?’

  ‘Redmond,’ said Angela. ‘I hope you’re joking about that. We want something a little more sedate. ‘What about a nice pizza at the place in the village?’

  ‘As long,’ said Fidelma, ‘there’s a fair few bottles of vino to wash them down with.’

  They all laughed.

  Later, before I left for the day, I wrote a text.

  Red, you asked if I was happy. I’m not. All that disappointment you had, I had too. But I married Michael because I knew I’d lost you and I wanted a child. I thought that marrying someone so different to you, would help me forget you. I was wrong. I’m sorry for everything but there are reasons. I missed you too. And still do. Tab.

  For ages, my finger hovered over the send button, but then, rashly, I pressed it and there was no going back. I gathered up my things, worrying about Rosie and wondering about Red and hoping that wherever Mary was, she was safe.

  *

  ‘I’ve told granny, yes,’ said Rosie.

  Really? What did she say to convince you?’

  ‘She said she was leaving me out of her will if I didn’t go and that I would never get my hands on her teapot shaped like a cottage.’

  I laughed. ‘You’ve always loved it.’

  ‘So, I said yes. I had to.’

  ‘Good. Because I couldn’t go if you don’t. Are you okay with it?’

  She nodded. ‘Yeah, I’ll be fine. You’ll be there anyway.’

  ‘That’s what mothers are for. Secret bodyguards. Just hovering around ready to be needed.’

  She smiled. ‘I’m sorry that what happened, happened to you. If you know what I mean. I’ve been thinking about it.’

  I did. ‘Me too,’ I said. ‘But I had you. Maybe if I hadn’t lost that baby, I wouldn’t have had you exactly the way you are. So I wouldn’t change a thing.’

  ‘Did you have a name for the baby?’

  ‘No, it was really early days.’

  ‘Granny is convinced I need a bit of West Cork magic. Says I’ll come back transformed, that it never fails to work.’

  ‘That sounds ominous,’ I said. ‘Transformed into what exactly?’

  ‘Who knows?’ she said. ‘But anything would be preferable to me right now. It’s quite romantic though, isn’t it? This man’s dying wish. That’s what Granny said it was, anyway.’

  ‘You make it sound like Romeo and Juliet or something.’

  ‘Granny said she wants to bring me to Rosaleen’s house. There’s a tree apparently.’

  ‘She’s full of it,’ I said. ‘Never gives up, does she?’

  Rosie shook her head. ‘She’s an amazing woman.’

  ‘Amazingly awful,’ I said, making Rosie laugh again which was lovely to see. ‘And you’re happy to subject yourself to a car journey with me and granny?’ She nodded. ‘Listen, I have to warn you, there may be a few cross words, the odd tetchy comment, a side-of-the-road throttling.’

  ‘Mum, I’ve been dealing with that since the day I was born. The only thing that would surprise me is if there was no side-of-the-road throttling. And it might be fun. A road trip… anything might happen.’

  ‘Fun? Are you sure that’s the right word?’ It was pretty heartening to see Rosie’s lighter side re-emerge.

  ‘Okay, then, diverting. Tell me about more Granny and this Finty,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe she used to have a boyfriend.’

  ‘Finty! Oh God. She was mad about him.’ I said. ‘He was her long-term on-off-on again fling, fancy-man, lover, whatever. They were together I would say for at least ten years and when the peace camp disbanded, he moved to a tepee nearby. She used to go and see him there. But eventually it all kind of fizzled out. So she left the tepee and came home.’

  ‘Was it really a tepee?’

  ‘Yes, an actual tepee. I saw photos. It was like the Last of the Mohicans. Finty wrapped in some kind of rug, bare chested and toothless...’

  ‘Toothless?’ Rosie was loving this story and she was eating up her dinner, I was so relieved and pleased to see. Maybe the West Cork magic was already weaving its spell.

  ‘Dental hygiene was low on his list of priorities,’ I said. ‘He was more interested in pursuing a… how shall I put this? Pursuing an unconventional life. Anyway, he no longer lives in a tepee because it collapsed one night, nearly suffocating him to death, so now he’s in a caravan.’

  ‘Why did they split up? I think Finty’s charms ran out in the end. And Nora did say she’d had enough of his particular bodily fragrance. She said it wasn’t so much eau de unwashed man as eau de decaying sheep. I think the passion had well and truly waned.’

  She laughed again.

  ‘He would arrive up to Dublin with only an old sweet wrapper in his pocket. Never any money or anything. But Rosaleen would always give him food. And Finty would hold court and tell stories and then always pretend to offer to do the washing up but at the last moment his back would go or he’d remember that he promised to find something in a book and by the time he found it, everything would have been done. Let’s just say he’s a man who was popular with a certain kind of woman. Hippies, bohemians, free spirits. I saw him in his element down on the Peace Camp that time. He was like a god. Well, one that smelled a little of decayed sheep.’

  Rosie laughed. ‘Not Dad’s sort, then,’ she said.

  ‘No, he’s the kind of man your father would have to wash his hands after meeting. Celia would be clutching her pearls and passing out. And now he wants to see your Granny for one last time.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Just as Rosie and I were sitting in the car, ready to off on our West Cork odyssey, a text from Red.

  Call me

  But I couldn’t because Rosie was with me. She had had her first counselling session the previous day and had walked to school and home again, no bother on her. ‘The counsellor has given me advice about how to deal with a panic attack,’ she had said, carrying her bag to the car parked on the road, as we packed up ready to head off to West Cork. ‘It’s all about staying calm. Not letting your thoughts spiral. Focus on one thing, one object.’

  ‘That sounds like good advice,’ I said. ‘And you don’t mind leaving Dublin for a night. You’re not worried about six hours in a car with me and Granny?’

  ‘As long as you talk nicely to each other,’ she said and smiled. ‘I’m glad we’re going. It feels like the right thing to do. And it sounds ridiculous, but it helps that you’re going to be with me. I’m meant to be grown up.’

  ‘It doesn’t sound ridiculous,’ I said. ‘It sounds normal.’

  ‘Wait. What?’ she said, in mock surprise. ‘You called me normal?’

  ‘Oh, out of all of us, you’ve always been the normal one.’

  She grinned at me. ‘Normalish,’ she said.

  ‘That’s all any of us can ask for. Today West Cork, tomorrow the world. All right?’

  But just then, out of the corner of my eye, there was a flash of light. I looked behind me and I thought I heard footsteps, someone running away.

  ‘Hey!’ But he was gone. Was it another photographer, someone trying to capture Clodagh at her low ebb? Hopefully, looking old and haggard and past it.

  ‘Come on Mum, let’s go.’

  And I forgot all about it.

  *

  Nora, in her usual jubilant mood, talked the whole way down, turning around in the front seat so Rosie didn’t miss a second of the stories from the Mizen Head camp.

  ‘It was such a great time,’ she went on. ‘We were all so free, it was beautiful, all of us young and idealistic. Now I’m just old and idealistic.’

  ‘What was the aim of the peace camp?’ Rosie said. ‘I’ve always wondered.’

  ‘They were just drop
outs,’ I answered for her. ‘Desperate to sing songs out of tune and slip around in the mud all day.’

  ‘The aim, Tabitha,’ Nora said, ‘and you should listen to this, Rosie, dear, the aim was to create a movement, an energy, an idea that life shouldn’t be about living unconsciously, but that that there were other ways of living that didn’t involve the nine to five or the daily commute or the office job. That we could take time out of our lives and create a sense of unity and strength. I’d like to think that we were like the old Celtic people. The pagans. Living in huts and making fires and singing. I taught myself the melodeon and I composed a few songs. I’ll try and remember them now and teach them to you, Rosie...’

  ‘Please don’t. I beg of you. Please don’t,’ I implored.

  Nora ignored me. ‘It was possibly one of the most transformative things I have ever done. I wish we could have lived there permanently, instead of a month here and there.’

  ‘Why didn’t you, Granny?’ said Rosie.

  ‘Well, I had little Tabitha,’ she said, ‘and she, Rosie, in case you haven’t noticed, is not cut out for tent life. That was very clear from an early age. She liked everything neat and tidy.’

  ‘Don’t blame me,’ I said. ‘Anyway, I don’t think your free spirit was curtailed too much by me. You practically spent my entire teenage years down there.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ she insisted. ‘You must be imagining it. As far as I recall, it was a week here and week there.’

  When we finally entered the county of Cork, after hours of driving and stops for loo breaks, tea breaks, leg stretching, Nora sat up, like a farmer’s collie and rolled down the window and sniffed the air.

  ‘Ah, it’s good to be back,’ she said.

  ‘In Blarney?’ We were driving past the castle at that moment.

  ‘Cork. The ancestral home. Spent my happiest years of my life here in Cork.’

  ‘Your happiest years?’

  But Nora was too busy, lost in thought, looking out of the window, no doubt remembering magical days of mud and melodeons.