by Colm Toibin
‘What does she teach?’ Helen asked.
‘Irish and English.’
‘Could you read me her message exactly?’
The secretary read her out the phone message. Helen thought for a minute and then said: ‘We’d better write to her. Could you type out a note saying that the position has been filled, and thank her for her interest, and I’ll sign it before I go. She sounds like a real nuisance.’
‘Also,’ Anne said, ‘there’s a problem with Ambrose. He was drunk, or at least he had a lot of drink on him on Monday. He implored me not to tell you.’
‘When was the last time he was drunk?’
‘The sixth of April,’ Anne said.
‘He’s the most obliging handyman in Ireland,’ Helen said.
‘He’s afraid of his life of you,’ Anne said.
‘But he was sober yesterday, and is he sober today?’
‘Yes, and really sorry.’
‘I’m going to do nothing about it,’ Helen said. ‘But tell him you told me, and I’ve gone off to think about it. Frighten him a bit.’ She laughed, and Anne shook her head and smiled.
She walked around the empty, echoing corridors of the school, then went upstairs and sat on a bench opposite the staffroom. Suddenly, the whole weight of what had happened and what was going to happen hit her as though for the first time: her brother was going to die, and they were going to watch him sicken further, suffer and slowly fade. A vision came to her of his lifeless, inert body ready to be put in a coffin and consigned to darkness, closed away for all time. It was an unbearable idea.
She tried to put it out of her mind. She felt tired now, worried that if she stayed too long in one place she would fall asleep and be found by Anne. She walked slowly down to the office and signed the letter and then drove home, desperately wishing that she could lie down on the bed and sleep until the morning. She had a shower and changed her clothes. When she phoned Hugh in Donegal, there was no answer. At four o’clock, she drove back across the city to the hospital.
She met her mother and Paul in the corridor outside Declan’s room.
‘They’re just doing a general check-up on him now,’ her mother said. ‘They’re going to let him out for a few days.’
‘Does he want to come to my house?’ Helen asked.
‘No, he wants to go to Cush, to his granny’s house,’ her mother said. ‘I don’t know why he wants to go there.’
‘To Granny’s house?’
‘Of course, when I tried to phone her, she had the phone turned off,’ her mother said.
‘He’s been talking a lot’, Paul said, ‘about Cush and the house by the sea.’
‘If he wants to go there, then we’ll take him there. I told him that.’
‘When?’ Helen asked.
‘If he’s going he’ll have to go now, because he might have to be back here in a couple of days,’ her mother said.
The consultant and the doctor came out of the room. ‘He has the all-clear for a few days anyway,’ Louise said. ‘I’ll make out a list of drugs and as soon as pharmacy has them ready he can go.’
‘One day we waited here two hours for pharmacy,’ Paul said.
‘I’ll take the prescription up there myself and if you come with me, Paul, and stand there looking at them, then they might do it now,’ the consultant said.
Helen and her mother went into the room, where Declan was sitting on the side of the bed.
‘I feel all dizzy when I sit up like this,’ he said. ‘But I’ll be all right in a minute.’
‘Declan, I stayed in Granny’s house last night,’ Helen said. ‘The beds are really uncomfortable and the sheets are ancient.’
‘I’ll get sheets from home,’ her mother said.
‘How was Granny when you told her?’ Declan asked.
‘She was worried about you,’ Helen said.
They went outside while Declan dressed.
‘Do you know who this Paul is?’ her mother asked.
‘He’s an old friend of Declan’s. I think he’s been very good.’
‘This whole thing is a nightmare,’ her mother said.
‘Yes, I know. He seems so well. It’s hard to believe.’
‘You can drive us down,’ her mother said. ‘You’re on holidays, aren’t you?’
‘Not exactly, but I can drive you down.’
When the drugs came, Paul and Declan began to clear out the room, putting rubbish into a black plastic bag and clothes and CDs into a holdall. Declan began to give Paul detailed instructions on how to get to his grandmother’s house in Cush. Helen and her mother looked on, puzzled, as Declan told Paul to give these directions to Larry as well – Helen did not know who Larry was – and ask him to come down to Cush too as soon as he could.
They set out for Wexford. Her mother fussed over Declan’s comfort in the car and wondered whether he would be better in the front or the back. As they drove through the city, Declan in the back seat, her mother turned to him and said: ‘Helen said on the way up that you were worried about how I’d react. Well, you needn’t worry about that at all. You and Helen are the two people I care about most, and nothing would ever change that.’
‘I should have told you before,’ Declan said, ‘but I couldn’t bring myself to.’
They stopped at Dunnes Stores in Cornelscourt, where Helen left them in the car park and filled up a trolley in the supermarket with things they would need over the next few days. She did not know how her grandmother would respond to their arrival. She realised that for the first time in years – ten years, maybe – she was back as a member of this family she had so determinedly tried to leave. For the first time in years they would all be under the same roof, as though nothing had happened. She realised, too, that the unspoken emotions between them in the car, and the sense that they were once more a unit, seemed utterly natural now that there was a crisis, a catalyst. She was back home, where she had hoped she would never be again, and she felt, despite herself, almost relieved.
On the journey to Cush, her mother talked about her staff and her clients; she was trying hard, Helen believed, to be witty and bright. A few times they thought that Declan was asleep, but he turned out only to have his eyes closed. Her mother said that at some stage that evening Helen could drive her into Wexford and she could get her own car and bedclothes from home.
‘We’ll make you very comfortable, Declan,’ her mother said.
‘Do you think Granny will mind us barging in on top of her like this?’ Declan asked.
‘She’s always loved you, Declan.’
‘Yes, but will she not mind?’ he asked.
‘If she’d turn her telephone on, we could find out.’
‘I think she’ll want to help in every way she can, Declan,’ Helen said.
It was still early evening when they arrived in Cush. Their grandmother came out and looked into the car, unable to make out who its occupants were.
‘Is it Declan you have in the back?’ she asked Helen when she opened the front door.
‘He wanted to come down here for a while, Granny,’ Helen said. ‘We couldn’t refuse him.’
‘Oh come in, all of you. Lily, come in and bring Declan in with you.’
They left the car in the lane and came into the house. Their grandmother turned off the television and moved over to the sink, where she began to fuss with the teapot and kettle. She kept her back to them while they remained uneasily in the kitchen. When Helen looked at Declan in this light, she saw for the first time how sick he was, how tight and drawn the skin on his face was, how tired his eyes seemed, and how shrunken his whole body had become.
Her mother had Declan sit down while her grandmother stood, washing up cups in the sink, although there was a row of clean cups on the dresser. The two cats watched them from their perch.
‘Mammy,’ their mother said, ‘maybe we shouldn’t be barging in on you like this.’
‘No, Lily, I was worried about you all day.’ Her face, Helen could see wh
en she turned, was as unreadable as stone. ‘I’ll make tea,’ she said, ‘and I’ll make sandwiches if you like, or will you be having a meal when you go home?’
Helen could not tell whether she was pretending not to understand that they wanted to stay here in the house, or whether she genuinely believed that they were on their way to Wexford. She tried to think back to what she had said to her when she got out of the car, but she was too tired to remember.
No one answered her grandmother, who now went outside, leaving the three of them to look at each other.
‘Declan,’ their mother said, ‘we can drive into Wexford and you and Helen can stay in my house.’
He did not reply, but stared straight ahead of him. Helen wondered if he had built up a picture over days in bed of this house and the cliff and the sea and now the sight of it had disappointed and depressed him. He looked miserable.
Her grandmother came in with a bucket and left it down beside the sink. She filled the teapot from the kettle, once more turning her back to them. Declan closed his eyes and sighed. Her mother glanced sharply at Helen.
‘Granny,’ Declan said, ‘they’ve let me out of hospital for a few days and I thought of coming down here and looking out at the view, and staying for a few days, but maybe it’s too much for you.’
His grandmother turned and looked towards the window. ‘Declan,’ she said, ‘you can always come down here. There’s always a bed for you. Let us have a cup of tea first, and then we’ll make sure you’re all fixed up.’
By half-past nine they had been assigned beds. It was arranged that Declan would have the room he and Helen had shared all the years before, which gave on to the front of the house. Helen would have the room behind and her mother would have one of the upstairs rooms.
Some of Declan’s medicine had to be put in the fridge; his grandmother made space for it, and they watched, half fascinated, half repelled, as Declan attached a small plastic container to a tube which ran directly into his chest. He went through his pills and took four of them with a glass of water.
‘Granny, the doctor says I’m allergic to cats. It’s not a problem as long as they don’t come near me.’
‘Oh, they stay up there if I have visitors, so I don’t think they’ll be troubling you.’
‘I’m sure it’s not a problem,’ Declan said.
‘Look at them, they know we are talking about them,’ his grandmother said.
As darkness fell, Helen drove her mother into Wexford.
‘She doesn’t want us here,’ Helen said as they came near Blackwater.
‘Oh that’s just pretence and nonsense,’ her mother said. ‘She likes company, you know.’
‘She doesn’t want us here,’ Helen said again.
They remained silent until they reached the other side of Curracloe.
‘How long have you known about Declan?’ her mother asked.
‘Since yesterday. I told you.’
‘I mean, how long have you known that he had friends like Paul?’
‘Like what?’ Helen asked.
‘You know like what.’ Her mother sounded irritated.
‘I’ve always known.’
‘Don’t be so stupid, Helen.’
‘I’ve known for ten years, maybe more.’
‘And you never told me?’
‘I’ve never told you anything,’ Helen said firmly.
‘I hope nothing like this ever happens to you.’
‘You sound as though you hope it does.’
‘If I meant that, I would say it.’
‘Oh you would, all right.’
They drove along the quays in Wexford until they came to Helen’s mother’s car. She did not speak before she got out; she banged the door as she left as though in temper and walked to her car. She drove towards Rosslare, Helen following close behind, and then turned into a maze of side roads for several miles. Even the indicator of her car was in a rage, Helen felt.
Until she turned into her mother’s driveway, Helen did not know that the house had a view of the sea, a view even clearer than her grandmother’s because the house stood on higher ground. They were closer here to Tuskar; its beam skimmed across the front of the house as Helen stopped the car. Her mother went into the house without paying her any attention, so Helen waited in the car for her to come out again. Declan had told her that the house was grand and had cost a fortune, but it looked to her like an ordinary, detached bungalow with a tiled roof. It was the site, she thought, that must have cost a fortune.
In the dark she could only vaguely make out the line of horizon in the dwindling light. She realised that the house would catch the sun first thing in the morning. She wondered why her mother had not put more glass in the front of the house. The beam of the lighthouse came again and washed over her.
Her mother emerged now with her two arms full of sheets and pillows and put them in the back of her car, still ignoring Helen. Helen wondered if she should drive back to Cush and let her mother follow whenever she wanted, but she realised that a certain curiosity was now tempting her to go into the house. She opened the door of the car and was surprised by the stillness, the pure silence here, not a breath of wind, and the sea too distant for its roar to be heard. Her mother came out again with duvets; she almost bumped into her at the door.
‘I’ll need your help with the mattress,’ she said brusquely.
The hallway and the bedroom to the right seemed ordinary, like rooms in any new house, but it was the room on the left which caught Helen’s attention: it was, she thought, more than thirty feet long, like an art gallery rather than a living-room, with white walls and pale parquet floors and high ceilings with roof windows. In the middle was an enormous fireplace, and the end wall – the gable wall of the house – was all glass. It seemed barely credible that her mother could live alone here.
When her mother came upon Helen looking at the room, she brushed past her.
‘What an amazing house!’
‘Helen, we have to get the mattress out of the small bedroom.’
Helen ignored her and walked into the room, noting an armchair and a sofa and a television in one comer, but aware more than anything of the emptiness in the room. And then it struck her what the room looked like; it resembled her mother’s offices on the top floor of the building in Wexford. It also had a high-beamed ceiling and the same roof-lights, the same cool austerity. It must have been done, she thought, by the same designer. She wondered if there was another smaller, cosier room where her mother could sit in the evenings and at weekends, but she realised as she went back into the hall that there were only two bedrooms, a kitchen and a bathroom. There were no other rooms.
Her mother came into the hallway pulling a mattress. ‘Are you going to stay there gawking?’ she asked.
‘I can’t get over your house,’ Helen said.
‘We can put the mattress on the roof-rack. I have a thing that will tie it down.’
‘It would be nice to bring a lamp that we could put beside the bed for him,’ Helen said.
‘God, that house in Cush is depressing,’ her mother said. She went into her own bedroom and unplugged a bedside lamp. ‘Will he need anything else?’ she asked. ‘He seemed very sick just there when we were going. I can hardly bear to look at him.’
‘I think he’s happier now that you know the whole story,’ Helen said.
‘I hope it doesn’t rain on the mattress,’ her mother interrupted.
They carried the mattress out to the car. In the darkness, they could see the row of lights at Rosslare, and when the lighthouse flashed, it was like a moment from a film as they were caught in its glare. They tied the mattress to the roof-rack and put the lamp in the boot.
‘I’ll see you back there, so,’ Helen said.
‘Do you know your way into Wexford?’ her mother asked.
‘I’ll find it,’ she said.
She phoned Hugh from the coinbox in Blackwater. His mother answered the phone and was full of worry about D
eclan and Helen’s mother and grandmother.
‘It’s a hard time for all of you,’ she said, ‘and you can be sure our prayers are with you.’
Hugh told her that the boys were fast asleep. Manus had to be carried sleeping all the way home from the pub, he said.
‘The pub?’ she asked.
‘They remembered the pub from last year, and they forgot I existed until they needed money.’
‘Are they all right?’
‘They’re fine, they’re asleep. I’m going back down to the pub myself.’
‘Don’t fall into bad company,’ she said.
‘I won’t,’ he said. ‘I am keeping myself pure and holy.’
She drove back to Cush to find her mother and grandmother dragging the mattress into the house. She felt that she could have lain down here on the cold cement in front of the house and fallen into a deep sleep. She was worried about the night to come, that she would once more sleep deeply for a short time and then wake and spend the night brooding over things.
When they had placed the mattress on the bed-frame they began to make the bed. Helen thought that all the linen her mother had brought was brand new, had never been used before. Her mother must be making a lot of money. They plugged in the lamp and put it on a chair beside the bed.
The cats stared down suspiciously as Helen came into the kitchen to find Declan watching television. The bruise on his nose seemed much darker and uglier under electric light.
‘Are you really allergic to cats?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, they would do something to my stomach.’
She told him that she had been in their mother’s house.
‘It’s amazing during the day,’ he said. ‘It’s really beautiful.’
‘Why didn’t you want to go there?’
‘It gives me the creeps,’ he said.
‘Does this place not give you the creeps too?’
‘I need these creeps,’ he said. ‘I don’t know why.’ He laughed.
Helen noticed that her mother and grandmother seemed happier and more satisfied now that they had made the bed and lit the lamp. Declan, too, seemed brighter.