Look into the Eye

by Jennifer Barrett

  She swung around from the sink – vase in one hand, flowers in the other. “At the airport? Oh dear, now really, Richard, is that wise? Anyone could take it – you just don’t know what goes on in those storage places. I watched this documentary once where –”

  “Any chance of a drink?”

  “I’ll put the kettle on.” She put the flowers in the vase and started to reach for the kettle.

  “No tea. I need a drink-drink. What have you got?” I went back out into the living room to look in the drinks cabinet.

  “Well, I think there might be some sherry there.” She scurried out after me and placed the vase of flowers on the table. “Or there could be some of that Irish Cream left over – the bottle that Sheila brought over at Easter – but would you not prefer a nice cup of tea? I have some sandwiches made, and there’s some teacake.”

  “Nah, I’m okay. I ate on the plane, thanks.” I rummaged in the cabinet for whatever alcohol I could get my hands on to help sustain me through the next couple of hours. The bottle of sherry was about the only thing that looked vaguely drinkable so I grabbed it and a glass, flopped down in one of the armchairs, and poured myself a large measure.

  My mother tutted her disapproval, then went back out to the kitchen. I could hear her moving about, making the tea. After a few minutes she came back and sat down in her armchair opposite me, cup in hand.

  It was a few minutes before she said anything. “It’s a bit late to be drinking really, Richard, isn’t it? Don’t you have a very early start in the morning?”

  I chose not to react – I knew I couldn’t win the argument, so I took a huge swig of the sickly sweet liquid. It slid slowly down my throat like treacle. I coughed.

  My mother frowned, but didn’t say anything else for a minute or two. But, as suspected, the peace didn’t last too long – pretty soon she went for the jugular: “So have you heard from Ed?”

  “No.” I looked up at her. “Why? Have you?”

  “Yes, a few weeks ago. It was good to talk to him . . . he’d been very distant since . . . well, since . . .”

  I waited for her to say it.

  Her hand went to her neck. “Since you two fell out at the start of the summer. I don’t know all that happened, Richard, but he took it very hard. Don’t you think you should try to sort things out with him?”

  I tried to stay calm. “I’ve tried, okay, Mother? I called him after it happened. He didn’t want to know me then, and he won’t want to know me now. He moved out, and I can’t say I blame him.”

  But she wouldn’t let it go. “He might feel differently if you tried again now, a few months on. He’s doing a lot better. You boys were so close at one time. Just call him, Richard.”

  “No. I’m not bothering him again. Ed knows where I am. If he wants to get in touch he can.”

  My mother sniffed, then blew her nose with her cotton handkerchief. I hated when she did that, it was just one step away from tears.

  “Fine, okay,” she said. “I’ll be over myself in a few weeks’ time for Christmas anyway. I’ll see him then. I take it you’ll be at Sheila’s this year?”

  I didn’t want to think about Christmas. I didn’t know where I was going to spend it. “I don’t know. I might still be out in the field working on this story then.” The Greenpeace gig was starting to look more attractive by the minute.

  “In the field? I thought it was the sea you were going to?”

  I smiled. “It’s just a phrase, Mother – in the field means working on location.”

  “Yes, well, I hope you can do what you have to do out there and get back in plenty of time. I want us all together for a nice family Christmas.” She stared straight at me. It was like a battle of wills.

  “We’ll see,” I said.

  She pursed her lips. “I assume you haven’t heard from poor Lucy? Or the MacDonaghs since –”

  “No, Mother – I have not heard from any of the MacDonaghs since I let them and everyone else down earlier this year. Is that what you wanted to hear?” The MacDonaghs were the last people I wanted to talk to my mother about.

  “All right, all right, sorry I asked.” She got up and turned on another bar on the electric fire.

  “I don’t know why you won’t let me get you central heating,” I said, watching her. “It’d be a lot warmer than that thing.”

  She just sniffed. “No need to go spending your money on me.”

  I shook my head, wishing she would just let me do something nice for her for once. I picked up an old newspaper from beside the chair and started to flick through it.

  She sat back down. “So are you seeing anyone else now?” she asked after another short silence.

  “Nope.”

  “Oh, Richard, you need to be getting a move on.”

  “Leave it please, Mother.”

  But of course she wouldn’t.

  “Is there anybody you like even?”

  I’m not sure why, but the image of Mel McQuaid rolling down the hill in Wicklow flashed before my eyes. But a lot had changed since that day.

  “There’s no one. And I’d rather not talk about all this anyway if that’s okay?”

  She looked away from me to the fire. “You’re just like your father – can’t bear to talk about anything that matters.”

  But that was taking things one step too far. I dropped the paper down beside me. “I am nothing like that man!”

  My mother stared at me as I stood up, knocked back the end of the sherry, then marched over to the drinks cabinet for the bottle of Irish Cream.

  I looked at my reflection in the mirror over the fire an hour or so later while my mother boiled the kettle for her hot-water bottle. By that time she’d managed to get several more digs in – not only about Ed, but also about my drinking, about my approaching forty (in two years!), and finally about my weight – which was a new one. I squashed the loose skin under my chin together with one hand, then looked down and pinched my belly with the other. Okay, so maybe I’d put on a few pounds over the last couple of months, but so what? I’d lose it all in no time after a few sessions at the gym.

  I turned away from the mirror, then I poured myself another glass of the putrid alcoholic cream.

  “I’m off to bed, Mother,” I shouted in to her in the kitchen. “I’ll pop my head around your door to say goodbye before I leave in the morning. Don’t get up – it’ll be very early.”

  And before she could object, I went upstairs to my old bedroom.

  It was just before five o’clock when I came down the next morning. I’d had less than six hours’ sleep, and was already dreading the journey ahead. I went into the kitchen to grab a quick glass of water, and was surprised to see my mother up and cooking. I was eager to get going, but the taxi still hadn’t arrived and the smell of sausages was very appealing.

  My mother turned around from the cooker. “Oh good, sit up there now at the table. You’ll need a good breakfast before that long flight. I’ve made some sausages, bacon and scrambled eggs – runny – just the way you like them.”

  I checked my watch, I only had a few minutes at most before the taxi arrived, but the breakfast smelled great. I couldn’t leave without tasting at least one of those sausages. And runny eggs? Superb.

  “Okay, thanks, Mum, but I’ve got to be quick.”

  I was just mopping up the last of the eggs with some fried bread when I heard the taxi horn outside. “Right, I’d best be off. Thanks for the breakfast, Mum. Appreciate that.” I picked up my plate.

  “No, no, leave all that – you’d better go,” she said, shooing me out to the hall.

  She took my coat from the hook and held it open for me to put on. I turned around and crouched down to fit my arms into the sleeves, then turned to face her as I buttoned it up. She handed me my scarf. “Don’t forget this, it might be cold out there.” She leant up on her toes and wrapped the scarf around my neck, patting it down when she was finished.

  Then she stood back to look at me, both hands
on my arms.

  “Take care of yourself over there, Richard. You haven’t really been yourself lately, I hope this trip helps you to get back on track. Do make sure to stay safe, won’t you?”

  Her eyes looked a little watery. I looked at the old, grey-haired woman standing in front of me in her pale-blue fleece dressing gown and matching slippers. She seemed quite frail and harmless. A small part of me almost wanted to stay and just look after her.

  I choked a bit. “Yeah, I will, Mum, thanks.” The moment must have got the better of me then, but before I knew what I was doing I put my hand on her shoulder then leant in and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. She didn’t flinch or pull away so I put my arms awkwardly around her to hug her, and she let me, even putting one arm around me herself.

  The taxi driver blew his horn again.

  My mother patted my back to break the hug.

  “All right, all right, man. I’m coming!” I shouted at the closed front door, then stood back from my mother. “Best be off, I guess.”

  She nodded, with a sad smile.

  “I’ll see you at Christmas then,” she said, handing me my bag.

  “Yes, okay, see you then, Mum.” I took the bag and walked out to the taxi, followed by my mother. She stood watching me from the garden gate, waving as the taxi moved off.

  I smiled and waved back until the house disappeared from sight.

  I settled back in the cab. That wasn’t too bad actually, I thought. Maybe I won’t leave it so long next time.

  Chapter 7

  MELANIE

  I was twelve metres below, finning hard to fight my way through the strong current. I kept hitting off the jagged rocks on my left side, and I couldn’t get my buoyancy right so I had to struggle to maintain my depth. After a while I managed to fin out of the current, and into a calmer piece of clear water. I turned around to check on my dive buddy’s position, but I couldn’t see him anywhere. I was alone underwater.

  I checked my air gauge – under seventy bar left – it was just about enough air to dive through the calmer water for another few minutes. I knew I should have resurfaced and tried to find my buddy as per diving code, but if I did I wouldn’t have had enough air to get back down and enjoy the better conditions. I looked ahead – the coral looked so beautiful and colourful, and the surrounding water was calm and clear. I was a bit scared of going on alone, but decided to risk the dive club’s wrath, and finned on.

  Within seconds I was gliding through the crystal-clear, warm water. It was blissfully quiet aside from the soft release of bubbles escaping from my diving apparatus. I managed to get my buoyancy right, so that I floated effortlessly through the multi-coloured coral gardens, barely noticed by the multitude of fish happily munching away on the abundant coral. Any fear or apprehension melted away as calmness washed over me with every gentle flap of my fins.

  Just then I spotted an enormous fish, the biggest I had ever seen. It was swimming straight towards me, out of the darker, deep water. As it came closer, I saw that it was black and white.

  Wait! That’s no fish!

  I squinted to make sure I was seeing clearly.

  Bloody hell, it’s a killer whale!

  The whale swam right towards me. My heart started beating faster. It was an incredible sight, yet I was terrified, frozen to the spot. Then, just as the whale was about to collide into me, he changed direction. He circled around, passing by so close that I could feel his tail shift the water. He swam all the way around me, then stopped right in front and appeared to look straight at me. He opened his enormous mouth. I could see the small pointy teeth lining his jaw, his huge pink tongue resting within.

  Then, with no warning whatsoever, he threw back his head and started to sing.

  What the –?

  Then he started to dance – standing up erect on his tail, he swayed from side to side, fins flailing to the strange tune he was singing. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, and hearing: it just wasn’t possible.

  That’s when my buddy reappeared. He swam up from behind the whale and I realised who it was then – that journalist Richie Blake. He was almost suspended in the water as though he was sitting in it. He had a black eye and his nose was broken and bleeding, but he didn’t seem to care. He started to laugh, causing more and more bubbles to escape from his regulator up to the ocean surface above.

  I began to laugh myself, as the whale danced on. It was at that moment that my alarm finally woke me up.

  “Grace – have you ever seen whales?” I asked my assistant as she handed me the morning post.

  “Huh?” she grunted.

  Grace wasn’t much of a morning person.

  “Whales. I had the strangest dream about one just before waking up this morning. I’ve never seen them in the wild – I’d love to though. I did see a killer whale in Windsor safari park in England once when I was visiting with my family as a kid, but it’s not the same really, is it?”

  “Eh no, I suppose not,” she said, looking at me as if I was half mad.

  “I mean, it’s just plain cruel to keep such large animals in parks simply to keep people amused,” I said. “Why don’t we go to them – visit the animals in their natural environments, not in those fake theme parks? We have lots of wild dolphins and porpoises off the coast here in Ireland – you can even see whales if you’re lucky.”

  But Grace wasn’t in the mood to indulge my marine mammal musings. “Yes, well, anyway, Melanie, reception just rang to say that the first of the board members has arrived. He’s gone upstairs for the meeting.”

  “Already?” I looked at my watch. “Drat, he’s early. All right, I’ll head up there now – thanks, Grace.” I grabbed my presentation notes and left.

  I was glad when I arrived up to the boardroom to see that the early arrival was Father O’Mara – one of my favourite board members. The author of a number of celebrated classical music books, he was widely regarded as one of the country’s most informed experts on Irish composers. And he was a real sweetheart. Father O’Mara and I often ended up in a corner chatting during some of the dull receptions and occasions we were called upon to attend at The Mill.

  He was standing by the long mahogany side-table. His long black coat was dangling across his arm and he was holding his black trilby hat in one hand while pouring himself a cup of coffee with the other. Father O’Mara was one of that generation that never left home without a hat, and it suited him – together with his white priest’s collar, it gave him a certain presence when he entered a room. He hadn’t aged a bit since I’d first met him six years earlier, even though he must easily have been into his seventies.

  “Ah, Melanie, lovely to see you, child,” he said, putting down the coffee-pot and coming to greet me.

  “You too, Father – welcome.” I took his outstretched hands and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Let me take your hat and coat.”

  “Why, thank you, Melanie, very kind of you.” He handed them to me and I hung them up on the coat stand in the corner.

  “I’m a bit early,” he said. “I wanted to avoid the worst of the traffic. Don’t let me keep you now if you need to finish up anything before the meeting.” He went back to the side-table to pick up his coffee.

  “No, not at all, Father. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Marcus is waiting for Fenella downstairs, but he’ll be up soon, I’m sure.” I followed him over and poured myself a coffee.

  “Well, that’s good, gives us time for a bit of a catch-up ourselves. Tell me now, how are you keeping?”

  I smiled. “I’m good, thanks, Father. I’m getting settled into my new house – I’m there almost a year now – it’s hard to believe how the time flies. Lots still to do, but it’s really starting to take shape now.”

  “Congratulations. You must be delighted.”

  “Yes, I am pretty chuffed – and it’s a great house. It’s just that since the promotion I’ve barely had time to enjoy it really.”

  “I do hope you’re not overdoing it here,
Melanie. You work very hard, don’t you? Perhaps a little too hard sometimes?”

  Bless him for noticing.

  “A bit, I suppose, but I’m trying to get the balance right, and it won’t be forever. This is a very exciting time for the Millennium Centre. We’re very excited about the new fundraising campaign for Phase Two.” I churned out the company line and tried to sound enthusiastic.

  Father O’Mara nodded. “Mmm, yes, that’s good. Tell me, though, have you been doing any of that – what is it now you called it again? Sub-aqua scoobing, was it?”

  I smiled. It never ceased to amaze me how Father O’Mara remembered the details of all his conversations, considering he must have talked to hundreds of people in a week. “It’s scuba diving I mentioned before, Father; but no, sadly I haven’t been able to go diving in quite some time. I’ve been so busy with work, the house and various family commitments that I haven’t really had too much spare time. Still, it will all be worth it in the end – hopefully later next year I might be able to take more time for travel and the like.”

  Father O’Mara peered at me over his coffee cup as he took a sip. He put it back down on the sideboard then and said: “Remember, Melanie, to travel is often a better thing than to arrive.”

  “Sorry, Father?”

  He smiled. “It’s important to enjoy the journey that is life, as much, if not more, than the destination, don’t you think? Better to enjoy life today, than to be always striving for something else in the future.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is, Father,” I said. But I probably needed to think about what he was trying to say a bit more. I was just about to ask him to elaborate when the door opened and Fenella and her lapdog Marcus sailed in.

  Father O’Mara gave me a wink before turning to greet them.

  “Thank you, Melanie dear, for that proposal,” Fenella said when I’d finished my presentation on the new campaign fundraising strategy to the board.

  Fenella was wearing her trademark false smile, but I could tell something was bothering her. All I could do was to sit back and wait for the fallout.