Look into the Eye

by Jennifer Barrett

  I parked the car on the gravel driveway in front and turned off the engine. The sight of the house I knew so well from my teenage years never failed to affect me. I stayed sitting in the car and looked up at it. Sitting there, looking at the flaky white-washed façade, and the red-framed window panes, I felt more nervous than I had ever felt. I’d have given anything to have been able to jump forward a couple of hours, to be turning on the engine to go back home.

  The front door opened and Lucy stood in the doorway. She smiled a bit and waved me in.

  I raised my hand to say hello back, then took the key out of the ignition.

  All right, it was now or never.

  I ran in to try to avoid the downpour.

  “Would you like a cup of tea? Or coffee?” Lucy said when I was barely inside the door. “Or maybe a glass of wine? I know you’re driving, but perhaps you could have a small one? I think Dad has a nice bottle of Rioja open –”

  I could have really done with a drink to steady the nerves right then. It was getting harder and harder to stick to my new alcohol-free regimen, but I was determined.

  “No booze thanks, Lucy.” I said, shaking the rain out of my hair.

  She looked surprised. “Okay Richie.” She moved in the direction of the sitting room. “I’ll put the kettle on then.”

  “Excellent. A cup of tea would be great, thanks, Luce.”

  I took my coat off and left it on the coat-stand, then walked on in. There was a fire already roaring in the grate and the room appeared very familiar, cosy and welcoming. Lucy came in behind me then and I watched her as she pulled over the curtains. She seemed very uneasy – which made two of us.

  She puffed up a couple of cushions on an armchair then disappeared off in the direction of the kitchen again.

  I was quite grateful for the few minutes to get myself together. I sat back and stared at the flickering flames, enjoying the warmth and comfort after the long drive.

  A few minutes later Lucy arrived back with a laden tray.

  “I was glad to get your call, Luce, thanks for getting in touch.” I said, sitting forward as she set the tray down on the coffee table.

  “Yes, I’d been meaning to get back to you for a while,” she said as she sat down, “but I just couldn’t bring myself to call you back. Then your mother died, and yesterday when I read your article . . . well, I knew I just had to get in touch.”

  “Ah, the article,” I said.

  She picked up the teapot. “I never knew you had that deeper side to you, Richie, or even that you felt like that about Ben. You never wanted to talk to me about him.” She went to pour the tea, but partly missed the cup and the hot liquid splashed over the table.

  “Damn!” She jumped up and ran out to the kitchen, then came back with a dishcloth. I helped her mop it up, but stopped her when she picked up the teapot again.

  “Maybe we should just leave the tea for a minute, Luce?” I said. “Can you sit down?”

  She put down the pot, came over and sat down on the sofa beside me. But it seemed she couldn’t look at me – instead she sat up poker-stiff, and just stared straight ahead at the fireplace.

  I thought it best just to get to the point. “Lucy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I acted like an idiot and I treated you very badly. I feel terrible about what I did, about how I disrespected you and your family. I’m so sorry.”

  She swallowed, hesitated for a moment, then turned around to me. “Richie, I’m sorry too.”

  That caught me off-guard. I hadn’t expected her to apologise.

  I shook my head. “You’ve nothing to be sorry about, Lucy – you’ve done nothing wrong. I’m the one who cheated on you.”

  “It’s okay, Richie, really,” she said, looking back at the fire. “Sure I knew Sonya would get her claws into you eventually – she always fancied you, I could tell the first time I met her with Ed – the poor guy never stood a chance. She probably did us all a big favour anyway. You and I were never right together – we shouldn’t ever have got together in the first place.”

  “What? No, that’s ridiculous. C’mon, Lucy. We had a good time together – I really liked being with you.”

  “Yes, liked. You liked me a lot.” She turned to me. “But you didn’t love me, did you, Richie?” she asked, looking straight at me.

  “Well, I –”

  “See? That moment of hesitation – it says it all.” She sighed. “Oh look, if I was being honest, I knew you weren’t in love with me, Richie. We never really worked. Sure, we were friends and we got on well enough, but you couldn’t ever really let me in. I thought things might develop between us eventually, but you were always so guarded about your thoughts and your feelings. That’s why I was so surprised yesterday when I read your article. I’d never seen that side to you before, never knew you felt like that about Ben’s death.”

  “I’m sorry, Lucy.” It sounded so lame, but I honestly didn’t know what else to say.

  “It wasn’t your fault, Richie – I realise now that the reason you couldn’t open up, or couldn’t tell me you loved me was because you didn’t feel it. And I was angry with you about that for some time, but I shouldn’t have been – you can’t choose who you fall in love with, can’t decide who to let into your heart.”

  I had to strain to hear what she said next because she spoke in such a quiet voice as she stared straight ahead at the fire.

  “When you proposed,” she said, “I tried to forget all that. I pretended to myself that everything had changed – tried to believe that maybe somewhere along the line you had happened to fall in love with me. And like a fool, I got swept away with the idea of marrying you. I thought everything was going to be all right. It was stupid, I realise that now . . .” Her voice had tapered out to almost nothing.

  “I did think I wanted to marry you at the time, Lucy, but I suppose you’re right – I wasn’t in love with you.” I felt like a right shit.

  She turned her face around to me, and I saw that she had tears hovering in her eyes. I moved closer to her, and she let me put my arm around her shoulder for a couple of seconds.

  Then she pulled back, and wiped some stray tears away with the back of her hand.

  “It’s okay,” she said, coughing to recover. “I was a mess after we broke up, Richie. I was single again, missing my life in New York, and utterly miserable. And of course I blamed you for most of it. It was hard, but it also turned out to be the best thing that could have happened. A few weeks after we broke up I went to see a counsellor and, after spending the majority of my time talking about Ben and my family, I realised that my problem wasn’t about you, or about us at all.” She took a deep breath, “My coming back to Ireland eighteen months ago, and seeking you out –”

  I raised my eyebrows. This was news to me.

  “You’re surprised?” she said. “Well, it’s true. It wasn’t a coincidence we met, Richie – I went along to your twenty-year Ashvale reunion specifically to see you again. I was mad about you when we were kids, even thought I was in love with you then, but that was just a teenage girl’s crush. By the time I started going out with you last year I think subconsciously it was all just a way for me to try to cling on to the past.” She took a deep breath. “You know, I’d forgotten his face.”

  “Ben’s?”

  She nodded. “It was coming up to his twentieth anniversary. Mum and Dad were planning his memorial, discussing the different projects that his Foundation might support for the next few years – but all I knew was that when I closed my eyes I couldn’t see my big brother’s face any more. I think that’s why I came back to Ireland from the States, why I sought you out. My counsellor suggested that I must have subconsciously thought that if I spent more time with the people who knew him best, that I would start to remember Ben again.”

  I knew what she meant. I’d been doing the same thing – going out with Ben’s sister, clutching on to my Ashvale roots for dear life. I’d been trying to hold on to the memory of a friend, and a
time and place that were long gone.

  That much was clear to me, but what I didn’t know was how to finally let it go – how to move on.

  “My counsellor helped me to see that it wasn’t that I’d forgotten Ben,” Lucy was saying, “but rather that I’d been carrying around so much guilt about his death over the years that I almost wouldn’t allow myself to remember him any more. His twentieth anniversary, everybody talking about him again – it all just served to magnify those feelings of guilt.”

  She turned away from me again and stared at the flickering flames in the fire.

  “I’ve replayed that last Christmas with Ben over and over in my head at least a million times since,” she went on, “each time searching for reasons, looking for ways that I could have foreseen what was going to happen, ways that I could have been nicer to him, got him to open up more. Anything that might have changed what happened.”

  I nodded – it sounded so familiar.

  “What the counsellor helped me to do was to finally forgive him,” Lucy said.

  “Forgive Ben?” I said, startled.

  She nodded, then turned back to face me.

  “I had to forgive him for leaving us so suddenly – without any warning, any explanation,” she said. “It was hard, but I worked through it with my counsellor. I hadn’t realised how much anger I’d stored up towards him – it was quite a shock.” Her voice had started to break.

  I put my hand out for her, and she took it.

  “Thanks.” She took a deep breath and went on. “I made my peace with Ben. I forgave him fully and, once I did, I made peace with myself.” She smiled at me. “Richie, you and I are the same. I can see that now from your article – we both felt guilty, and we were angry with him.”

  “I’m not sure, Lucy. I don’t really think it is the same for me.” I certainly felt guilty, and I’d been angry with everyone over the years – my father, my mother, even Ed, but the person I was most angry with wasn’t Ben at all, it was myself.

  “You know he called me that week, Luce? Just after Christmas – he called me at my mum’s in London and suggested meeting up for a pint in Dublin in the new year – before we both started back to college. But I was seeing a girl, and I’d planned to meet up with her instead, so I told Ben I’d catch him another time. We’d been trying to meet for a few weeks already at that stage, but I was always too damned busy enjoying myself.” I dropped my head and rubbed my forehead with the tips of my fingers. “I wish to God I could have that phone call back, I wish I had met up with him that week.”

  “Richie, you were eighteen years old. You can’t be too hard on yourself.” She stopped and looked thoughtful for a few seconds, before going on: “Although, I do know how you feel. Ben spent that Christmas with us here at Glenamara – and he didn’t want to go back to college in Shannon after, he just wanted to be in Dublin with you and the Ashvale lads in college there. But Dad told him to get hold of himself, and I teased him about being a wimp – those were my last words to him, can you believe it?” She put her head in her hands.

  I moved in closer to her and put my arm around her shoulder. We just sat like that for a while.

  “I realise now that I couldn’t have known what was to happen, what he would do,” Lucy said eventually. “Neither of us could, Richie. We couldn’t have changed events and, even if we could have, we need to accept that we didn’t. I needed to forgive Ben, but I also needed to forgive myself before I could move on.” She took my hand and squeezed it. “And you need to forgive yourself too, Richie. It’s okay to be the one alive, it’s okay to be happy. Really it is.”

  I just nodded. It was a lot to process.

  “I’ve been thinking of going to talk with someone about my mother, and about Ben – even about my relationship with my father,” I said after a while. “It seems to have helped you.”

  She squeezed my hand. “It really has. You should do it, Richie. You’re a good man – underneath it all.” She smiled.

  I smiled back.

  “Really, though – you deserve to be happy, Richie. Do whatever you need to do to be able to move on.” She sat up straighter then, and looked a little nervous. “Did I tell you I’ve started seeing someone?”

  “No, you didn’t. Anyone I know?”

  “I don’t think so – Craig Malloy, he’s a doctor from Mayo, went to Mount Crescent College there.”

  “A Mountie? And I thought you had taste!”

  She laughed. “He doesn’t play rugby – he’s more of a golfer and hill-walker.”

  I smiled. “That’s great, Luce. I’m happy for you,” And I meant it. She deserved the best. “And how are your folks?”

  “They’re fine – in good form actually.” She paused and looked at me for a few seconds. “You should meet them.”

  “No way! I’m sure Mr Mac still wants to kill me!”

  She laughed. “I think he’s mellowing. He’s quite keen on Craig as it happens – they’re in the same golf club – that’s how I met him.” She looked out the window. “Anyway it’s pitch dark out there now, and the weather’s awful. Why don’t you stay here at Glenamara tonight, Richie? You could say hello to Mum and Dad then in the morning. I’m sure they’d like to see you and you’d still get home in plenty of time for Christmas Eve. I assume you’ll all be going to Mass at Ashvale this year as usual?”

  “Yes, can’t miss it this year,” I said. “Not now Ed’s living down there.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a whole other story, Luce!” I laughed.

  She smiled. “All the more reason to stay, Richie – you know how much I love to hear all of the Ashvale stories.” She looked more serious then. “And to be honest, I think my folks would really like to sort things out with you – for Ben’s sake.”

  And before I knew what I was doing, I was nodding, then telling her about Ed’s new life and Jangler’s new retreat centre.

  It had been a long and emotional day, and I was glad to be upstairs settling in for the night in Glenamara’s familiar guest room. I looked at my phone before turning off the light and read through the email I’d got late the night before from Mel. I’d been out with the lads when I got it and I hadn’t had a chance yet to reply.

  To: Richard Blake

  From: Melanie McQuaid

  Subject: Great article!

  Date: 22 December 2007, 22.39 GMT

  Hello, Mister Blake,

  Great to bump into you again yesterday, Richie – sorry for rushing off. I just got a bit excited when I heard about the humpbacks being saved!

  Just to say also I enjoyed your second article in the paper today – congratulations. This one was so special – very honest and moving. I loved the way you described looking into the eye of the humpback – it was the perfect description, and just made me want to go back and see the whales all over again. And what you said about your conversations with that new friend was very kind. I’m so glad to hear she helped you so much. I’m quite sure those chats meant a lot to her too ;-)

  So I hope you’ve had a good weekend since we met, and that you got lots of good feedback on your article. I owe you a couple of coffees by the way – I ran off so quickly yesterday I forgot to pay. So let me know when you’re free and it’ll be my shout. Only thing is, Richie, after reading that article, I can’t promise I won’t have a go at chatting you up for real next time!

  x Mel

  I could almost hear Mel’s voice and see her smile as I read her email.

  And she seemed to be finding it harder to resist the ol’ Blake charm, eh? Most excellent!

  I couldn’t stop smiling as I quickly typed my response with one finger.

  Chapter 30

  MELANIE

  I must have checked my email over twenty times all through Sunday to see if Richie had replied. I knew I was being an idiot, but I couldn’t help it – after reading his article and sending him the email on Saturday night, I just couldn’t stop thinking about him.

  I was checking my email
one last time before going up to bed on Sunday night when I saw his response pop into my in-box.

  Finally!

  To: Melanie McQuaid

  From: Richard Blake

  Subject: Re: Great article!

  Date: 23 December 2007 23:17 GMT

  Hey there, Miss McQuaid,

  Good to hear from you! Yes, you certainly disappeared fast on Friday night. Still, I suppose it would take some man to compete with Mister Splashy Pants and forty-nine other humpback whales, eh?

  Glad you liked the article anyway – I was keen to get back in your good books after that contentious piece about The Mill a few months back. This one was tough enough to write to be honest, but I’m glad I did it, and I have you to thank for helping me to see things more clearly. Hope you didn’t mind me mentioning our conversations – they did indeed mean a lot to me – good to know they meant something to you too.

  As for this weekend? Well, it’s been a bit of a rollercoaster of a couple of days since I saw you as it happens – the big news is, I finally heard back from Lucy yesterday. In fact, I’m here at her home in Clifden at the moment. We’ve worked a lot out and things are going better than I could possibly have imagined – really great actually. I’m staying over tonight – will tell you all about it when I see you again – hopefully very soon.

  Have a great Christmas in the meantime, and keep me posted on the swim progress.

  Richie

  PS: Put me down for a hundred euro for the swim – least I can do after borrowing your eye of the whale theory!

  I had to read the email through a couple of times.

  He seemed to want to see me again, but it was pretty clear he was getting back with Lucy. Why else would he be staying with her and it all be going ‘better than he could possibly have imagined’?

  Dammit anyway! I thought. He’s getting back together with Lucy but keeping his options open with me. Well, you can forget that, buster! No way is that happening. I won’t be anyone’s back-up plan, or worse still – their bit on the side.