Rose nodded. ‘I know. But we have to move on from that. I started divorce proceedings this afternoon, because we need to sort all of this out legally, once and for all. Everything is up for negotiation.’ She looked at Damien warningly, her eyes darting in Lisa’s direction.
He understood, took the cue, nodded imperceptibly. She smiled at him gratefully. Instantly, his voice became quieter.
‘Well, he can wait until hell freezes over before I see him.’
‘That’s up to you. You don’t have to make any decision now – Lisa and I have already discussed the same thing. You wait, you take your time, you think about it. Any contact will be initiated by you: you’re an adult. For what it’s worth, I think he does want to see all of you.’
And that’s as much leeway as I’m giving you, Ben Holden, you miserable shit, Rose thought, angry at having to be the one doing all of this.
Feeding, cleaning, minding, soothing: and still handling Ben Holden’s dirty washing, in all the ways that counted.
‘Well, tough on him. Sorry Ma – I’ve no interest. He was never here when I needed him.’
Fair enough, that’s fair enough. At least you now know that you needed him.
She smiled at him. ‘Don’t apologize to me. I’ll support you no matter what you decide.’ She turned to Lisa. ‘Now, madam, that was not the way to break difficult news to anyone. Don’t do that again.’
‘Sorry.’ Lisa looked down at her shoes. ‘I forgot.’
‘Hey – at least it’s over. What’s for dinner, Ma? I’m starvin’.’ And Damien ruffled Lisa’s carefully brushed hair until she squealed and tried to push him away. Naturally, he was easily able to keep her at a distance, so that both her arms windmilled uselessly in the air around her.
‘Okay, that’s enough. Sit down, both of you. Lasagne’s ready.’
That wasn’t too bad, she thought. Considering it’s Chapter One. She took plates out of the oven, served food, tossed the salad. He was angry, yes, but that was to be expected. But he was also in control.
She felt grateful, relieved. That was what was unexpected.
Four hours later, she and Damien were still sitting at the dinner table, yet another pot of tea between them. Lisa had earlier made her escape to Carly’s, despite her mother’s protests. Rose’s instinct had been to keep both son and daughter close to her just now. But eventually her son’s white, drawn face had been the deciding factor.
One at a time, she’d thought, one at a time. She filled Damien’s cup again. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Have you told him about me?’
‘No,’ said Rose firmly. ‘I simply said you didn’t live here any more, which is the truth. The rest of it is up to you.’
Damien pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. ‘Sorry, Ma, I just can’t . . .’
‘Go on,’ she said. ‘It’s all right. Special dispensation for you, as well, just for tonight.’ Rose couldn’t help remembering her sons’ indignation when they were younger, their absolute abhorrence of smokers, cigarettes, pipes, cheroots: it was a high moral ground that had grown increasingly boggy and treacherous once they’d begun to teeter on the brink of adolescence.
‘Does Brian know?’
‘Yes, I told him on Sunday night, after I picked him up from the station. He was at John’s party in Mayo over the weekend.’
‘How was he?’
‘A bit like yourself: astonished, angry, confused. I think he’ll see Ben, though. He said something about being entitled to some answers.’
‘So am I,’ said Damien grimly. ‘Maybe even more than he is.’
‘Well, all you can do is ask.’
The friction between her two sons had always saddened Rose. It had become more and more apparent over the years. The two boys had developed some sort of strange, symbiotic, inverse relationship with each other. It was as though Damien’s disturbing antics had lifted a burden, an imperative of bad behaviour, from the willing shoulders of his younger brother. It also seemed that she couldn’t have both boys on an even keel at the same time: when one stepped out, the other stepped in again.
‘I haven’t said I’d see him, yet,’ said Damien quietly.
Rose forced herself to stem an exclamation of irritation. ‘I’m not forcing you either way, Damien. You’re twenty-four years of age – you can make up your own mind about things like this.’
Things like this? What other things could there possibly be, like this? She stood up abruptly and went in search of an ashtray.
‘I’m sorry, Ma, I know this is tough on you.’
‘Yes, it is.’ She pushed the ashtray towards him, sat down again. ‘All I want to do is the right thing, and then somehow find the way to live a quiet life. That’s all I want. A quiet life.’
He leaned across the table and squeezed her hand. ‘I gave you a really hard time over the past few years, and you know how sorry I am about all that. I’m not going to make this one any tougher than it has to be.’
Rose felt her eyes fill. ‘Thank you. That’s a huge comfort.’
‘Remember when you came to see me in the hospital?’ His voice was suddenly quieter, the tone softer. He concentrated on tapping his cigarette on the ashtray in front of him.
Rose nodded. How could she ever forget?
‘You gave me the chance to get back on my feet. It made me realize, more than ever, all you had to do on your own. I’m not going to let you down. And I will see the old git, of course I will.’ He grinned at her, and his face was suddenly a five-year-old’s again: cheeky, challenging. ‘Doesn’t mean I won’t make him wait, though.’
Rose smiled at his expression. ‘Well, I think we’re all entitled to play the waiting game. After all, we’ve been taught by the master.’
It was three o’clock in the morning before Rose finally crept, shivering, into bed. She wrapped the duvet tightly around her, making sure there were no gaps anywhere, no opportunities for the still chilly night air to catch her unawares.
And so morning came, the sixth day: the thought surprised her, caught up with her out of nowhere. She felt wide awake still, not in the least drowsy. It was as though one full phase of this other new life had just been completed: as though the chapter entitled ‘The Children’ had finally been written.
Now, she thought, let battle commence.
PART TWO
Chapter Six
ROSE COULD HEAR the phone ringing as soon as she turned off her hairdryer. She took her time, allowing the answering machine to pick up. Some sixth sense told her that it was Ben. Earlier still that morning, there had been two calls: one she’d missed while in the shower, the other Lisa hadn’t bothered to answer, or simply hadn’t heard over the blare of the television. She checked the messages now, fairly sure of what she was about to hear.
Nevertheless, despite her preparedness, despite her sense of calm certainty, Ben’s voice on the answering machine still took her by surprise. It was a few seconds before his tone registered with her as one that she knew, one that was already all too familiar to her.
‘Rose, it’s Ben calling. I just wanted to make some arrangement to meet up with Brian and Lisa and Damien, and I think we should talk before I do. Maybe you could give me a call at—’ And the line went dead. Rose erased the message, overwhelmed by the pedestrian normality of his words.
The second call was Ben successfully leaving his mobile number, the third again urging Rose to contact him at his hotel as soon as possible. Rose wrote his numbers rapidly into her notebook and erased both messages just as Lisa came into the living room.
‘Was that a message? Was it for me?’
‘Yes, it was a message, and no, it wasn’t for you. Are you ready to go?’
‘I can’t find my book of maths questions.’
‘Do you need it for this morning?’
‘Mum! That’s the whole point of this morning! We’ve a double revision class before our test tomorrow! I have to have it!’
Rose refused to rise to the b
ait. Moments like this one made her believe that she had another shape-shifter under her roof, another changeling child. Lisa seemed to be possessed by at least two conflicting personalities, each cohabiting uneasily with the other. Sweet, helpful Lisa of the past week was now anxious, truculent Lisa of early Wednesday morning. A school morning. But at least Rose was beginning to get used to it. First Brian, then Damien, now her. There was a certain comfortable, predictable symmetry to it all.
She reached into her handbag and pulled out her lipstick. Very deliberately looking in the mirror, and away from her daughter, she said, her voice quite calm: ‘Where do you think you had it last?’
Her affected nonchalance only seemed to send Lisa’s anxiety register soaring even higher.
‘I don’t know! Doing my homework—’ she trailed off abruptly.
Rose zipped up her handbag briskly. ‘Exactly – homework ou insisted on finishing at Carly’s yesterday evening, even though I specifically said I wanted you to stay at home.’
‘But she was helping me with stuff I didn’t understand.’
‘Damien offered – and you turned him down.’ Rose began to walk towards the front door. ‘Ring her on her mobile,’ she said sharply. ‘Tell her to bring your maths questions with her to school.’
‘But she’ll have left by now!’ Lisa’s voice ascended to a wail.
Jesus, thought Rose. How many variations of this must I endure on a daily basis? ‘Ring her anyway. If she’s only just left, she can go back for it and you can meet her at school, no harm done. If she’s too far away, I’ll pick her up, we can go back to her house together and I’ll leave you both to school.’ She raised her hand to stem Lisa’s protest. ‘We’re not going to argue, Lisa – that’s how we’re going to handle it. If we’re late, I’ll tell your tutor what happened: that you were too disorganized to have discovered this earlier. Now let’s go.’
And she walked out the front door, leaving her daughter for once with nothing to say. Get used to it, kiddo, she thought grimly; this mother’s not for turning. These days have far too much depending on them.
The journey to school was a silent and indignant one, as soon as the call to Carly had been made. Rose pulled up at the school gates and turned to her sulky daughter. She spoke gently to her, but firmly, not wanting to leave with this spiky silence prickling the air between them.
‘Let’s not be like this, Lisa. We’re both dealing with some difficult stuff at the moment.’ She leaned over, tucked strands of Lisa’s hair behind her ear, lifted up her chin with one finger. The girl had no choice but to look her mother in the eye. ‘Let’s try and help each other,’ said Rose, smiling at her. You can do your bit by looking after your things, and I’ll do my bit by looking after you. Deal?’
Lisa looked down, away from her and examined her fingernails. ‘Are you seeing Dad today?’
Rose sighed inwardly. ‘No, not today. But I will be speaking to him later on. Would you like me to give him a message?’
Lisa shrugged. ‘No – I mean, not yet.’
‘That’s fine. Whenever you’re ready. Now, do we have a deal?’
She nodded. Then the words came out in a rush. ‘I’m sorry, Mum. I just feel . . . nervous and cranky.’ She turned away from Rose and stared out of the window. ‘I’m feeling really rotten this morning, and it doesn’t have anything at all to do with Dad being back.’ She looked down miserably, picking at her fingers. ‘I feel like this too much of the time.’
Rose squeezed her hand. ‘There’s lots of things going on in your life right now. And you’re due a period soon, aren’t you?’
Lisa looked at her, her eyes a surprised blue. Two large tears trembled on the lower lashes. ‘Yeah, but how did you know?’ She wiped her eyes hastily, using the back of her hand.
Rose grinned. ‘You’d be surprised at the things I know. But keep that in mind when you feel bad and just keep on talking to me, won’t you? We’ll make those nerves go away together.’
Lisa looked thoughtful.
God bless your innocence, child, thought Rose, amused. ‘Now, come on, give your old mother a kiss and have a good day. You always do, once you get inside, don’t you?’
‘Spose.’
‘And you’re really lucky with your friends, aren’t you?’
Lisa’s face brightened at that. ‘Yeah.’
Rose leaned towards her. ‘Hang onto them, girl. Nothing like your friends. They’re God’s apology for your family: did you know that? Now go.’
Lisa giggled, despite herself. ‘Thanks Mum. See ya later.’
‘Bye.’
Rose watched her go. She bit her lip, remembering all too clearly her daughter’s experiences of the adult world: how familiar certainties had shifted, without warning, and hurtled her towards calamity. No wonder she felt on edge, poised for the next wave to strike. Rose tried not to think about it.
And anyway, there was a lot to be grateful for: Damien was holding, still steady. His reactions last night to his father’s return had been enough to give her great hope. The heat of his initial anger had given way to sadness, sadness to the cooler waters of reflection.
By the time he’d climbed the stairs to his old bedroom, at three o’clock in the morning, Rose had had the feeling that her eldest child finally understood the poison of unfinished business.
‘Ben? It’s Rose.’
How strange her own voice sounded, Rose thought. For so long now, she had only ever uttered Ben’s name to other people. He had become somebody who existed only at second-remove, somebody to be referred to, spoken about. Saying his name now, over the phone, it acquired a directness, a peculiar intimacy that unnerved her, made her feel somehow off-guard.
‘Hello, Rose. Thanks for getting back to me.’
She was intrigued by his tone. He was subdued, less combative than she had expected. Rose was immediately suspicious; she couldn’t help it. She decided to kick to touch.
‘You’re welcome. Can I ask you a favour, Ben?’
There was a brief, surprised silence.
‘Of course.’
Rose smiled to herself. Pauline had been right, after all. Conciliation was the way to go, she’d insisted. Avoid conflict at all costs in the early stages: there’ll probably be more than enough of it later on.
‘Can you leave it up to me over the next while to get in touch with you? I think it would be better if you didn’t ring or call to the house just now.’
Rose allowed an uncomfortable silence to gather. She sensed surprise, perhaps even shock, at the other end of the line. Good, she thought. Let him wonder. She wasn’t going to show her hand just yet. When she continued, she was careful to keep her voice neutral. ‘Lisa is at a tricky stage, particularly with school exams looming. To be honest, she can be a handful. I need the time to talk to her before she meets up with you. I don’t want anything sprung on her suddenly.’
Still Ben said nothing. He cleared his throat, as though about to speak, and Rose waited. If he wouldn’t keep away for her sake, then perhaps he’d do it for his daughter’s. Time; they all needed time. Rose tried to remember where she’d heard, or read, or absorbed recently, that the average teenager spent an hour and a half alone with a parent in any given week. What influence could a father or mother possibly have, what positive difference to a young person’s life could you even begin to make in less than fifteen minutes a day? And right now, Lisa’s life was far from average.
‘Okay,’ he said finally. ‘That sounds all right. How long do you think you’ll need?’
Definitely suspicious: mildness, reasonableness – these were not the traits Rose remembered of her husband. She stopped herself, mid-accusation. You’re dealing with a father, now, only a father. Maybe this was just the simple parental imperative: a clear, flowing instinct unmuddied by the white-water rapids of separation. She had to believe that Ben meant well towards his children. This was pure fatherly concern, chiselled away from all the bonds of marriage, the ties of failure. Rose decided to give him
the benefit of the doubt.
‘Give me another few days. I need to be sure that she feels ready to meet and talk. But I don’t want to make a big deal about it, either – I don’t want to fuss her.’ Rose paused, but again, there was no response. Despite her best intentions, her husband’s silence made her begin to feel exasperated, on the defensive. ‘I’m really trying to find the right balance here, Ben, and it’s going to take me a bit of time.’
‘Okay,’ he agreed. ‘I know it’s tough on you, Rose, and I appreciate you taking all this trouble. I’d love to see Lisa as soon as possible, of course, but I’ll wait to hear from you. You let me know when you think the time is right.’
Ben? Trusting her judgement? Rose missed a beat.
‘Yes, well, I’ll keep in touch. Today’s Wednesday – I’ll definitely get back to you before the weekend. And just in case you need to speak to me beforehand, I’ll text you my mobile number. You can always get me on that.’
‘Okay, fine. What about Brian? Have you told him?’
‘Yes, I have, immediately he got back on Sunday night. He’s nineteen, Ben, an adult. I’m leaving him to do the running for himself. Now that I have your numbers, I’ll pass them onto him. He’ll get in touch in his own time.’
‘Right. I did try the house over the weekend, but I couldn’t get through.’
And the day before yesterday, she thought. What about the day before yesterday? She couldn’t let it go. She struggled with the instinct to blurt it all out: how she’d seen his calculated arrival, how angry his man with the measuring tape had made her. She stopped herself just in time, imagining Pauline’s advice. Under no circumstances, she’d have said. Keep your counsel.
All Rose knew right now was that she was in the grip of some ferocious, perhaps unreliable instinct: the overwhelming need to protect her children from all threats, real and imaginary. It was as though she had reverted to living in the shadow of the cave, alert for the stranger’s footstep crackling on branches, the dim, steady thrum of danger in the distance.
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