Skin Paper Stone

by Máire T. Robinson

  Stevie? She hears Kavanagh’s voice. If she can just get to him she knows somehow that she will be safe. But she can’t see him. And she is on a ledge now, high up over a sheer drop to the black sea below. The noise of crashing waves roars in her eardrums. The cliff edge is filled with carvings. She tries to see if they are sheela-na-gigs. She leans over, some part of her not registering the danger. They are carvings she has never seen before. She hears Dr Bodkin: An invaluable find, a stunning contribution to the field. Stevie reaches for her camera around her neck. Stevie, no! Looking up, she sees Adrienne standing on the cliff edge, her purple robe billowing about her. Stevie reaches for the camera and knocks off the lens cap, trying desperately, desperately, to focus the blurry image with hands drenched in sweat. She sees it in her viewfinder. It is not a sheela-na-gig. It is just a stone. Smooth, blameless. She raises her head above the viewfinder, looks at the spot where the carving was. It’s gone, she says. Adrienne reaches out her hand. They tricked you, Stevie.

  Ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seatbelts as we prepare for landing. The plane’s engine roars in her ears. One side of the plane is a sheer cliff drop. She clings to the edge with all the force she can muster, digging her nails into its surface. If she can make it to her seat, if she can fasten her seatbelt, she will be okay. She has never felt fear like it before; She has never felt fear like it before. The rocks under her feet give way. She looks down at the sheer drop below and she is falling, falling, falling….

  ‘Ow!’ Kavanagh sat up in bed, his hand over his face. ‘Stevie, you just whacked me!’

  ‘Oh God, sorry.’

  ‘Were you having a nightmare?’

  ‘No, I … I can’t remember.’

  He reached to put his arm around her waist, but she sat up abruptly. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Hmm?’ Kavanagh yawned and reached for his phone. ‘Just gone nine.’

  Shit.’ She jumped out of bed and grabbed her towel. ‘Gotta have a shower and get going to the library.’

  ‘But it’s Saturday. Do you have to go already?’ He gave her a lazy grin. ‘Why don’t you come back to bed?’

  ‘I can’t. I’ve so much to get done.’

  All of the ease of the previous night, how close she had felt to him, evaporated in the light, and in the imminent hangover that threatened at her temples. He was too charming, too distracting. Everything was so easy for him. He never seemed stressed or overwhelmed, and even though that was one of the things she liked most about him, now she found herself resenting his carefree approach, envying his calm.

  ‘Okay, well we can do something later.’

  ‘Yeah, I’ll see how I get on and call you, okay?’

  ‘Mm.’ He was already drifting back to sleep.

  She sighed and headed for the bathroom. She felt heavy as she walked, the approaching workload weighing on her shoulders.

  Chapter 35

  The train juddered and shuddered noisily along the track, rocking from side to side. Stevie had planned on writing up her notes but everything was a distraction: the noise, the movement, her view of the countryside as she moved through it. The landscape here was like something from a Bórd Fáilte advert – all fields dotted with dandelions, lambs frolicking in lush fields, hedgerows prickled with brambles. The bright yellow flower of gorse added a splash of colour to the green, leading to mountains in the distance. Roscrea, Cloughjordan … she had never been to any of these towns … and on and on the train swayed. The day was bright and clear, bathing the countryside in a warming glow. Sunlight lit up half the plastic table in front of her as the other half was eclipsed. She watched as the light crept over, inch by inch, until it had commandeered the entire table. Further along the track, the train became less jerky and fell into a predictable rhythm.

  Stevie stretched her arms over her head and yawned. She would love to sleep, to give in to the lulling movement of the train along the tracks and let her body sway loosely, but her mind was alert despite the tiredness of her body. In the fields all of the cows were lying down, which meant that it would rain soon. This was something Stevie remembered from childhood trips to visit her father’s relatives in Wicklow. He would point at the cows lying in the fields and say rain’s on the way. He told her that the cows lay down to keep the patch of grass underneath them dry. She wondered now how true it was. Perhaps it was just an old wives’ tale, or two separate unrelated events, correlation mistaken for causation. As she was thinking about it, the sky darkened and spatters of rain landed on the carriage window.

  It would be great to listen to some music, but the battery of her iPod was dead. So she listened to the symphony of the train on the track, the drone of the engine, the faint hint of voices further up in the carriage, the cla clunk, cla clunk of the forward movement. She sipped on black tea from a paper cup. The woman with the drinks trolley had placed two sachets of sugar and two tiny containers of UHT milk on her table along with the tea when she had ordered it. The thought of drinking milk made her stomach turn. She wrapped the containers in a napkin and pushed them to the other side of the table. She hadn’t eaten anything in days, not since the accident, but her thoughts felt clear, focused, unclouded. Her car was a write-off, and she wasn’t sure if her insurance would cover the full cost of her buying another one. She couldn’t bring herself to think about dealing with that now. The important thing was that she had now visited all of the sheela-na-gigs in the whole country. It had taken her two weeks longer than she had planned due to the car troubles and having to rely on patchy public transport. It struck her how very, very remote some places in Ireland were, but at the same time how complete strangers were willing to help you. She had been offered lifts, given names and numbers for local taxi drivers and even offered a bed for the night when she was having trouble finding her B&B. This helpfulness en masse was like the universe at large was willing her to succeed.

  But there was something else in all of that helpfulness. Are you alone, love? Where are you headed? Is there someone you can call? There was something that made people uneasy about a woman on her own. That’s what gave them the right to approach her like they already knew her, to ask her questions about herself, to suggest how she travel or where she should stay.

  Maybe that’s why she lied following the accident. After she hit the tree, she watched as her car was towed away and, in a detached way, she heard the man who had helped her out of the car: It’s a miracle, you know. You’re lucky to be alive. Not a scratch on you. She didn’t like being in the hospital even though they were only examining her as a precaution. She didn’t want to be stuck there having to answer their questions. But some part of her took over, reassured them. When they asked her if she wanted to call anyone to let them know what had happened, she invented some relatives in Ennis. She said they would come to the hospital to collect her and she would stay with them tonight.

  Stevie took another sip of tea. Her end-of-year meeting with the graduate research committee was on Monday and she didn’t feel prepared at all. She would have to sit in front of them and talk about her research so far. If it wasn’t up to scratch, they wouldn’t approve her for continuation. They could recommend that her research stop. She tried to push the thought from her mind, and the image of the crash appeared again. She had surprised herself with the lies in the hospital that had come to her out of nowhere. There was nobody she wanted to tell about the crash, nobody she wanted to have worrying about her. Saying it out loud would be admitting that something was wrong, that she had made a mistake.

  The accident didn’t mean anything, she knew that, but others might not see it that way. It was because she had too many ladders in a row. It was inevitable that a snake would appear. Roll the dice, up the ladder, roll the dice, move forward, roll the dice, down the snake. Arbitrary. No grand plan, just dumb luck. It was simply life carrying on regardless around and around the board. She remembered the games of sn
akes and ladders that she and Pamela played in the common room. They had played so many times that they became bored, so they changed the rules. They travelled up snakes and plummeted down ladders.

  ‘It’s more like real life,’ said Pamela. ‘How do you really know who is a friend and who isn’t?’

  Stevie agreed. It all depended on your perspective and what way the board was facing. She would have to lock herself away over the weekend and prepare something for her meeting. Anything. The answer was there somewhere, she could feel it.

  Chapter 36

  Jacqui sat quietly on the sofa, her hands resting on her stomach as Pajo paced in front of her. This was the first she had heard from him since the morning she had left his house after the party. She could see now how wrong she had been – how very, very wrong. For the first few weeks she had been expecting something. He would explain, apologise, say things would be different from now on. He would show up on her doorstep. He would surprise her in work. He would call her, text her: something, anything. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, despite the fact she could now see that she had been fooling herself all along, perhaps some tiny part of her was still hopeful. Perhaps this part of her conjured up a scene where he would embrace her and tell her how happy he was. She saw this in her mind’s eye and held it there, despite the contradictory feeling of dread in her stomach. But that had changed now.

  ‘Why don’t you sit down?’

  ‘I don’t want to sit down. This won’t take long.’

  ‘How did you hear?’

  ‘Walshy said he’d heard something. So it’s true?’

  ‘Good news really travels fast around here.’

  He took an envelope out of his pocket and went to hand it to her. ‘Here …’.

  ‘I don’t need your money.’

  ‘But do you not need to take care of it? While you still can?’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. I’m not asking you for anything.’

  All she wanted was for this conversation to be over and done with so that he would leave. Her head no longer had space for Pajo. It was full of plans for when the baby arrived. She was counting down the days in her head. It was still early but she could feel the little life growing inside her. She didn’t care that she would have to do it on her own. She would go for her scans, continue to eat properly. Already she had cut down on the junk food since she found out. She had cravings for fresh fruit and salads. The morning sickness didn’t bother her. Even work was better. Her co-workers no longer irritated her. She asked them questions about themselves. They made jokes together.

  ‘You’re like a new person, Jacqui.’

  ‘She must have some new fella on the go,’ they teased.

  But she wasn’t a new person. She was her old self, the self she had allowed to get lost. It was funny to think that it could have been like this all along.

  She felt more herself than she ever had before. There was a tenderness to her that she had tried to bury by cackling and drinking and egging Pajo on. But there was something about her even then, a softness that people saw, despite her best attempts not to let it show. Strangers told her their sad stories. They always had, like the girl in the toilet of Sally Longs that night who told her she was going to London the next day to have an abortion. All of her sad story came out and they both cried and held each other. They were like sisters that night, she and this girl she didn’t know.

  ‘I’ll help you, luveen,’ she said, and she meant it and she meant it and she meant it. She saw the girl in there again a few months later when she was sitting at the bar, but if she recognised Jacqui, she gave no indication.

  Pajo’s voice was louder now and his pacing more frantic. ‘Don’t be fucking stupid, Jacqui. What are you gonna do, bring a baby into work with you? Have a pram in behind the checkouts?’

  ‘I’ll manage,’ she said.

  He continued to roil and rage, but she didn’t react. She remained still, quiet, unshakable. He was a storm she would wait out.

  Eventually, he stopped shouting. ‘I’ll see you out,’ she said.

  ‘This isn’t over,’ he said as she closed the front door, but she knew that it was.

  Jacqui was unafraid now. She could already sense the huge reserves of strength she contained within her. Her mother was gone, but she still had family. That’s what mattered, really. All of a sudden, she wanted to see her brother.

  She found him in Eyre Square, sitting with the winos, drinking from brown-paper-wrapped bottles.

  ‘Sis!’ he called as she approached.

  ‘Is that your sister, Maloney?’ one of the winos said. ‘Fuck off, it’s not.’

  ‘How’ve you been?’ she asked him, ignoring the others.

  ‘Sound. Try this. It’s unreal. We got some of that high-powered weed that’s going around.’

  ‘I can’t be smoking that stuff,’ she patted her stomach. ‘I have some news. You’re going to be an uncle.’

  ‘Sis Sis Sis!’ he said and flung his arms around her in a hug, and the drunkards followed his cries with a chorus. Sis, Sis, Sis they called, and flung out their arms and swooped around her, laughing like some deranged dance troupe as she stood laughing at the centre, holding her brother’s hand.

  Chapter 37

  There was something apocalyptic about the weather. It battered the roofs and swelled the Corrib. Giant waves crashed onto the prom in Salthill. A storm warning was in place, and sandbags lined the houses by the river. Wind whistled against the windows of Alex’s flat.

  Kavanagh turned to Alex. ‘So is this it do you reckon?’

  ‘Is this what?’

  ‘The end of days.’

  ‘Sounds like it,’ said Alex. ‘Ah well, sure. It was good while it lasted.’

  Kavanagh smiled and passed the joint to Alex. ‘It reminds me of this religion teacher I had years ago. He said, “Boys, ye should live every day like it’s your last,” and I couldn’t get my head around that at all. I think the idea was that if you thought you were about to die and be judged with the possibility of eternal damnation facing you, you would walk around being extra nice and charitable to everyone. I sat there thinking, if this was really my last day on earth, I wouldn’t be sitting here in this classroom filled with BO, that’s for fucking sure. I’d go out and break each and every one of the windows and piss on the shards. I’d take whatever drugs I could get my hands on and fuck anyone who would have me. If this is it, I mean really it, then why not?’

  Alex laughed. ‘Is that still what you’d do?’

  Kavanagh shook his head. ‘Nah, I was angry back then. I don’t even know why. I hated everything.’

  ‘Ah, adolescent angst,’ said Alex. ‘You’re too old to be an angry young man any more. So, what would you do now, if it was your last day on earth?’

  ‘I don’t know. Stay in bed probably.’

  ‘With Stevie?’

  ‘Yeah. If she’d have me.’

  ‘Things not going well?’

  ‘Nah, things are fine. She’s just been busy with this research she’s doing. I’m sure it’s …’. He checked his phone to see if Stevie had replied to his texts. Nothing. He had tried to ring her over the last few days, but she never answered. Maybe she was immersed in studying and she had run out of credit. Yeah, that was probably it. He would call over to her on his way home. He put his phone back into his pocket. ‘So, last day on earth. What would you do, Alex?’

  Alex looked around the room at the film projected onto the wall, the joint in his hand, the cup of tea on the table. ‘I dunno. This?’

  ‘There’s nowhere you’d want to go? Nothing you’d want to see?’

  Alex shrugged. ‘Nah.’

  ‘You know who you remind me of?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Monet. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I
fucking hate the impressionists – bland leading the bland – but I have respect for Monet, just painting those water lilies in Giverny over and over again, striving to capture the essence of that one tiny place. You’d think it’d be boring but it’s not, man. It’s really beautiful.’

  Alex smiled. ‘I think people think if they go far away they’ll leave the parts of themselves they don’t like behind. But it doesn’t work like that. They’re on the other side of the world but they’re still themselves. There’s no escaping that.’

  ‘Hey!’ Kavanagh feigned a hurt expression.

  ‘Oh shit, but I’m sure it won’t be like that for you in Thailand.’

  Alex didn’t need to go out and discover the world. His world was right there in that room, and in truth there was something beguiling about it. Sometimes Kavanagh struggled to leave that room. Some of his happiest moments had been spent there. It would never occur to Alex to go out into the world, to find himself. There he already was. But that wasn’t enough for Kav. He had glimpsed the possibility of something different, something else. Why did he have to be this Joe Kavanagh when he could paint over it, start afresh? But maybe Alex was right. Maybe he was just lying to himself. Maybe over there he would be just as lazy, just as clueless, just as scared.

  ‘You know I had a religion teacher like that too,’ said Alex, ‘and I think he meant well. I mean, he honestly believed that he had the answers. He had an answer, but nobody has the answer, and the people who are convinced that they do, who go to such great lengths to force what they believe onto other people, those are the most dangerous ones. I don’t believe that there’s one true path. There’s endless paths stretching out to infinity. You just have to choose one and walk down it and see where it leads. We’re all stumbling in the dark, but how we stumble is our choice, nobody else’s.’