Andy’s phone rang out. She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her runners on. She’d just reached the bottom of the stairs when the phone rang. She sat down on the steps and answered.
‘How are you doing?’ Andy sounded chirpy, typical of him to ignore the fact that she’d insulted him. Sometimes he was too nice; she’d prefer if he stood up for himself, told her she had no right to talk to him like that, no matter what she was going through. She tried to focus on that rather than allow his passivity to irk her. Otherwise, she’d end up lashing out at him again before she’d even had a chance to say she was sorry.
‘Look Andy, I want to apologize. I was awful to you yesterday.’
He made some dismissive sound but didn’t deny it.
‘No one’s stayed over since David’s been gone. When I heard you downstairs, there were a few seconds when I thought it was him, and then … ugh, look, it’s no excuse, you were there for me, you didn’t deserve that …’
‘Forget it, Caitie. It’s fine. I figured I’d crossed the line.’
‘No … look, you’ve listened to me go on and on … don’t think I don’t appreciate that. You’re the only one who has, apart from Gillian.’
‘Did you get the flowers?’
She didn’t answer straight away. ‘That was you?’ she asked.
‘Sure, didn’t you get the card?’
‘No, I mean, yeah, but there was no name on it. I rang the florist’s. They wouldn’t give me any information. But why were you sending me flowers anyway?’
‘It was your birthday, wasn’t it? But hang on, what did it say on the card?’
‘It said, “with admiration always …” No name on it.’
‘That’s not what I put, they must have mixed up the cards. I just told them to put: Happy birthday, your friend, Andy.”
She took a breath, aware that he could probably hear her irritation on the other end. ‘My birthday’s not till next week. Anyway, there was no need to send me flowers. I thought they were from him; whoever that creep is pretending to be David.’
‘Oh Jesus, I’m sorry, Caitie. I can imagine … bloody florist. I’ll call them tomorrow …’
Caitlin sighed. ‘There’s no need, it’s just a stupid mistake. But Andy, please … don’t send me flowers. I’m-I’m not comfortable with that.’
‘What? Can’t a friend send flowers? What’s wrong with that?’ He sounded annoyed. ‘I thought it was your birthday.’
‘It’s not that, it’s …’
‘I’m not trying to take David’s place, Caitie, if that’s what you think. I’m just being a friend.’
Caitlin closed her eyes. ‘That’s fine,’ she said. ‘As long as you know that’s all it can ever be. I’m not saying you want anything else, it’s just it’s better to say it now rather than risk any misunderstandings …’
‘Oh, don’t worry. It’s loud and clear, Caitlin. No flowers – nothing that might be misinterpreted …’
‘For God’s sake, Andy. I’m trying to be straight here. I’m sorry if I’ve bruised your ego.’
He laughed but it was a harsh sound. ‘I think you might be the one that’s got the wrong end of the stick … I care about you, Caitie. I cared about David and that’s why I look out for you. I’m not making any moves here … I’ve never thought of you like that. To be frank, you’re not my type.’
His words, so unexpected, stung. She didn’t believe him – there had been signs, particularly in the last few months – but if she wanted to keep him as a friend, she’d have to take him at his word.
‘Well, that’s good then. I didn’t mean to insult you, Andy, but it’s a relief to get things out in the open. Now we both know where we stand.’
He didn’t answer, and she figured the best thing would be to wrap up the call. She tried to sound less curt, get back to the reason she’d called. ‘Anyway, I just wanted to tell you I felt bad about the other morning. I was grateful you stayed. I’d better let you go, I’m just on my way out for a run. I’ll see you Wednesday?’
‘Sure, yeah, Wednesday.’
She hung up, knowing that she’d angered him, but glad she’d set things straight.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Michelle
Michelle and Nick had stayed up late talking about all that had happened. She’d begun by telling him about finding the address for Dr Maurice Davis, and then about going out to the old Davis house, which had led her to Lydia’s mobile home out in Thornton’s field.
He was quiet when she told him that she’d gone out there.
‘What were you hoping to find out?’ he’d asked.
And she knew that he’d sensed her doubts, but she managed to persuade him that it was for his sake, not hers. ‘I wanted to find out what Johnny was really like before any of it happened,’ she told him. ‘Find out what drove him to do what he did.’
Nick had taken her hand, told her that she didn’t have to stay with him.
She’d told him then about Caitlin, and about the meeting she’d managed to set up, and he was too surprised and impressed by the fact that she’d pulled it off to dwell on her visit to Lydia. It was the first step, she told him. Her intention was to get to know everything about Caitlin Davis, and that way allay some of his guilt about the past.
On Friday, Michelle’s article would be published in New Woman, and she decided to impress Caitlin by getting a head start on the article she’d mentioned about interviewing the homeless in the streets. She showed the article to the leaders at the Simon Community and told them about Caitlin’s request for the follow-up with more personal stories. The woman in charge, Clare, had agreed at once, telling her that as long as she didn’t mention any names, and she explained to the people she interviewed exactly what she was doing, she could go ahead – it was the kind of exposure the crisis needed, especially after the death of poor Dan.
Clare sent another volunteer out to work with Conor that evening. Michelle would go with them too, but if she found someone willing to talk to her about their situation, she’d stay behind and catch up with the other volunteers at a later point.
The first person she spoke to told her he’d been on the streets for almost a year. His mother had died and without him knowing had made a will leaving the house he lived in to his brother. The brother had forced him to move out, sold the house and gave him nothing. He’d told him he could stay with him and his wife for a few months until he’d sorted something out, but the man refused. He had his pride, he told her, and the underhand way his brother had convinced his mother to sign the house over to him sickened him so much that he couldn’t even look at him anymore.
Michelle sat down next to the man, listened to him speak. ‘But why did your mother put the house in his name only?’ she asked, gently.
‘Trickery,’ the man said. ‘I used to have my own place – well, my wife’s place. We’d moved into her parents’ house after her mother had passed. Kevin and his girlfriend were renting – throwing away more than a thousand a month on a one-bed flat in Rathmines. He convinced the mother that I was doing well, that I had a roof over my head, no mortgage ’cause Angie’s parents had bought the house. And I was doing well for a while, but sure no one can tell what way the future will go. Angie got sick of me – found a new fella – wanted me out of the house, and so I moved in with the ma. Of course, I had no idea what the brother had done – that he’d screwed me over.’
‘And what about your wife? Does she know you’re living like this?’
‘Agh, we haven’t spoken in two years. She probably thinks I’m still in the mother’s –probably thinks the house came to me – nothing to do with her anyway.’
‘But wouldn’t you be entitled to something from the house you shared with your wife, the house you were both living in?’
The man shook his head. ‘It was her parents, I’d take nothing off her. It’s her inheritance, not mine. And besides, the only thing we could do would be to sell it, and neither one of us could buy anything with half
the money. Your man is up there now, instated as if it were his. No shame.’
‘And what about the government? Couldn’t you apply for social housing?’
‘Ha! Do you know how long that list is?’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t even be entitled to the dole because I don’t have a permanent address.’
Michelle nodded sympathetically. She knew all this, knew too that most people would rather be in the street than stay in a hostel. It was safer outdoors, at least safer than being in a room full of junkies.
‘Would you mind me telling your story? I wouldn’t mention your name, of course. Show people that there are plenty of genuine cases, people who shouldn’t be in a predicament like yours.’
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Doubt it’ll have much effect, no one gives a damn. But you’re good for trying, for doing this. If it weren’t for people like you, like the Simon, we’d be a lot worse off.’
Not everyone Michelle met wanted to talk. There were the ones covered in their sleeping bags that she let be, others were drunk or stoned, and then there were people who just wanted to be left in peace, who had no intention of talking to anyone who wanted to print something about them.
The numbers by which homelessness had increased in the last few years were staggering. The queues that formed outside the GPO every night at the soup kitchen were getting longer.
Michelle looked at her watch. She’d spent a long time talking to the man who’d been tricked in the will. She’d need to talk to at least three others with diverse stories if she were to show the reality of homelessness. She wouldn’t gloss over it. If there was someone with an addiction who was willing to speak, she’d talk to them too. She wouldn’t discount anyone.
The next girl she spoke to was in her twenties. She told her she’d only been on the streets a few weeks. ‘Me whole family are addicts,’ she said. ‘I’m not. I’m not into any of that shite. Me sister’s on heroin – me Da’s an alco – fucked me out ’cause I was getting on to the rest of them. Ah yeah – didn’t want to hear me preaching. Fucks your head up, that stuff, so it does. Now look at me.’
‘Did you go to anyone for help? Your local councillor maybe?’
‘Yeah. Dead nice, he was. Said he’d try to help me get a gaff. Suppose something’ll turn up anyways.’
‘Does your family know you’re sleeping rough?’
The girl shrugged. ‘They couldn’t give a—’ Suddenly, a figure nearby caught her attention. ‘Here Deco, any skins, have ya?’ The tracksuited man turned, raised a hand and started in their direction, but was waylaid by another slouched figure propped up on crutches in a shop doorway.
Michelle straightened and thanked the girl for talking to her. She didn’t like to judge people, but Deco, now coming towards them, didn’t look like someone to mess with. She took a couple of sandwiches from her knapsack, gave them to the girl and moved on.
Leaving the city centre, she walked towards the river where she knew Conor and the other volunteer would be by now. The Liffey boardwalk was a camping ground for the homeless at night. She stepped onto the boardwalk; the river was black under the mock gaslights that lined the bridges. It wasn’t a place she’d usually walk alone. In the river, something bobbed in the water; she saw that there were several objects, glinting silver. Curious, she walked to the railing and looked down. Beer cans floated on the surface, more than a dozen of them. Soon they’d fill with water and sink to the riverbed. Another one whizzed through the air and landed softly. A group of men were congregated on benches further along. One of them was standing smoking. He kept stepping back and forth on the balls of his feet as if in time to music.
‘Hey, could you stop for a sec,’ the man said, as he saw Michelle coming towards him.
‘Sorry,’ she muttered, walking quickly past him, head up. She wasn’t usually afraid in the streets at night, but here by the river the threat was palpable.
Up ahead, she spotted Conor and the other volunteer, a girl whose name she didn’t know, and she hurried to catch up with them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Nick
Michelle. Susan. Rachel. Everything rewound at speed. Tessa hadn’t changed her technique; she hadn’t needed to. Within minutes, he was catapulted back to the past.
‘Where are you, Nick?’
‘The house. There are lots of people. They’ve come to pay their respects.’
‘To who?’
‘To Rachel. And to me too, I suppose. They shake my hand, but they’re embarrassed … And Rachel won’t look at me.’
Tessa’s voice was gentle. ‘Who’s died, Nick?’
A pain in his chest, like he was experiencing it now. He breathed deep to quell it. ‘Daniel. He’s just a child, a toddler … it’s so small – the coffin. He’s laid out, but I can’t bear to look at him. Caitlin’s come into the room. I don’t think she should see him like that, but Rachel says she should, that it’s better that she understands what’s happened. I don’t think she does though. She’s too young. The adults waylay her, making a fuss, and she giggles. She pays no attention to the coffin. The guests avoid me. They’ve come for Rachel, not for me, and that makes me feel even more out of place. I have this awful feeling, like whatever’s happened to put Daniel in that box is my fault. But I don’t know why … I don’t know how I’ve come to this place.’
‘What’s happening now, Nick?’
‘More mourners. A hand on my arm, a woman … I shrug her off. I don’t want to speak to her. I don’t want to speak to anyone. I break away from her and she calls after me, but I need to get away, get out of this room.’
When Tessa brought him to, his heart was beating fast. He was glad to be out of the room, away from that little coffin and the accusing eyes of the mourners. What had happened to that child – his son? Tessa was looking at him, waiting for him to speak.
‘The way they looked at me,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t pity, it was contempt.’
‘Why do you think that is, Nick?’
‘I don’t know, but I have this terrible feeling, like maybe it had something to do with me.’ He looked at Tessa. ‘What if I did something? I mean … I don’t know anything about Johnny Davis. Look, what he … I … did to Rachel … what if I?… I wish I knew what was happening. When I’m under, I get one small piece of the jigsaw, never enough to put a proper picture together. And then there are things I haven’t seen under hypnosis, but that I suspect … For example, that day, the day that I walked in on Rachel and that man … he was someone I knew. I could feel it. I think I’d suspected that Rachel was having an affair, but not with him. He was a friend. I think that’s why I lost it. Johnny and Rachel were happy before. Something must have gone really wrong for it to end the way it did. And the boy, our son, I don’t know but maybe that was the catalyst. His death, particularly if it was my fault, maybe that’s what drove them, us, apart.’
Tessa didn’t say anything immediately. Then she put her pen down and looked up. ‘Remember, not everything you’re seeing is necessarily true. From what you’ve told me, the visions may be a manifestation of the guilt you’ve been harbouring since your wife’s miscarriage.’
‘A confabulation?’
‘Exactly.’
‘So, how can we know what’s real and what’s not?’
‘It might be that we never will. But in terms of your treatment, that doesn’t matter. What you see under hypnosis, whether from a previous life or not, will still be an expression of your feelings, of the things that you’ve repressed. Don’t forget our aim here, Nick. The only reason we’re doing this is to uncover the reasons for your alcohol abuse to help you stay sober in the future.’
He nodded, imagining what the hypnotist would say if she knew he and Michelle were planning on meeting Caitlin. She would discharge him, of that he was sure. And so he had to make sure that no matter what happened over the coming weeks in terms of Johnny Davis’s daughter, he didn’t reveal anything under hypnosis.
Nick called Michelle as soon as he was in the car, r
elieved to hear her cheery voice. For a moment, it was like it had been a month ago – before the doctor had delivered her grim prognosis, and Michelle’s voice alone was enough to make him smile like he hadn’t done in a long time, not since his divorce. Now she asked him how the session had gone, and he took a breath and told her the whole story. He’d have preferred to do it face-to-face, but she was on the soup run that evening, and he wouldn’t see her.
‘What did Tessa say about it?’ she asked.
‘The usual, that it mightn’t have happened, that whole thing about false memory.’ Suddenly, he had a thought. ‘You mentioned that Johnny’s father, the doctor, had died, right?’
‘Yes, in 2010. He’s buried in Castleknock.’
‘Okay. So if there was a child, maybe he’s buried out there, in the family plot…’
There was a pause on the line. ‘Nick, are you sure you want to know?’
‘I have to. At least if there’s no evidence of this child, I can forget about it, accept Tessa’s theory…’
‘And if there is?’
‘Then I’ve got to find out what happened to him.’
‘I don’t know, Nick. Are you sure it’s a good idea? You’ve got enough to deal with …’
‘If it were you, you’d want to know, wouldn’t you?’
Another pause, before Michelle breathed ‘yes’ down the line.
‘I know you’re worried – but never knowing, that would be just as bad … now that I’ve come this far, I have to know the rest. I have to know just what kind of man I was and do whatever I can to make up for it now.’
He rang off, promising Michelle that he’d text her if he discovered anything. He knew she was worried that the whole thing would send him back on the drink again, but it was like he said, not knowing would be no better.
When Your Eyes Close Page 12