Something Like Love

by Catherine Dunne

  Pauline nodded. ‘But you have to work hard on this with me: you’ve to be very guarded, give nothing away. All negotiations go through me. When you meet Ben with Lisa on Wednesday, for example, you smile sweetly and talk about the weather. Have you got that?’

  Rose nodded, slowly. ‘Yes. Yes I do. I really thought he meant well, towards the kids, at least. He even gave Brian a thousand euro towards his Paris trip the other night.’

  Pauline looked up sharply. ‘Did he, now?’

  ‘Yes. I thought he might be trying to buy Brian’s affection, and I was terrified. Then I felt ashamed of myself for being cynical, over-protective. Now, it seems I’ve got to see it in a far more sinister light. Is there a chance he could get away with this?’

  ‘Not if you do as I tell you. I’ve said to you before that you were your own most dangerous enemy. McGowan knows Ben’s not going to get fifty per cent: but we’ve a fight on our hands, because he’ll also know I’m wary in these cases of rushing into court.’

  These cases. There it was again: her life reduced to a manila folder full of faxes, valuations, lies, damned lies and statistics.

  ‘Okay,’ said Rose. She tried to keep the weariness out of her voice. ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Keep your temper. Keep your distance. Keep your business to yourself – even in front of your three children. Well, they’re hardly children any more, but you know what I mean. They could easily let something slip without realizing it.’

  Rose looked at her in dismay. ‘I can’t tutor them every time they meet him. That sort of pressure would be intolerable – I just won’t have it.’

  ‘Then you’ll just have to be very careful of what you say. Be aware of yourself and what’s at stake. That’s all I can say to you. I have to tell you, as well, that Ben might make the divorce awkward if he thinks it’s a bargaining tool.’

  Rose snorted. ‘Well, it’s not. I’ve no intention of ever marrying again. In fact, let me rephrase that: I’ve every intention of never marrying again. I don’t care about the bit of paper. I just want to know that all the ties are broken, that he can never do anything like this to me again.’

  Pauline nodded. ‘Okay. I’m now going to fire a shot across his bows. I’m going to ask McGowan for medical evidence of depression, unemployment records, bank statements. They’ll be expecting that, of course, but it should keep them busy for a while. Gives you time to get all your ducks in a row. Have you met with Sam?’

  ‘Yes. And I’ll be meeting him again on Thursday. He’ll have all the figures drawn up – ball park ones – and we’re going to look at house valuations, see what sort of a deal is good for me.’

  Pauline closed the folder and rested her arms on top of it. ‘Now that is one bit of news you keep absolutely to yourself. We don’t want Ben to know that you’re even thinking of selling the house. You say nothing to Lisa, to Brian, to Damien, even to your friends. Talk to Sam, by all means, but no one else. You need someone you can trust.’

  Rose stood up and placed her coffee cup carefully on Pauline’s desk. ‘I trust both of you,’ she said quietly. ‘And I’ll do as you advise. It’s just that it’s going to be even more difficult than I thought.’ She bit her lip. ‘I really didn’t think it was going to be such a filthy fight. He was the one who asked could we do this without being at each other’s throats; do you know that?’

  Pauline looked at her sympathetically. ‘Keep your nerve, girl. It’ll soon be over. I get the feeling that Mr Holden is a man in a hurry. That strengthens our hand.’ She stood up and reached for Rose’s jacket. ‘May I ask how business is, these days?’

  Rose pulled on her jacket and looked at Pauline ruefully. ‘You don’t want to know, right now. At least, I don’t want to tell you. One thing at a time.’

  ‘Okay – but don’t let anything slide. There’s nothing irrelevant at the moment, Rose, nothing that’s “by the way”.’

  Rose sighed. ‘One of our employees is stealing from us.’

  ‘Ah. Any idea who?’

  ‘Yes. The lovely Angela. She gives a Hollywood performance on CCTV. The Guards are investigating. Sarah is looking after it.’

  ‘Has Sarah contacted her solicitor?’

  ‘I don’t think so, not yet. I mean, I don’t know. Will I get her to give you a call?’

  ‘Do, please. Even if I don’t handle it myself, I want to know what’s going on. It could well have an impact on your “thriving business”.’

  Rose started. ‘I never thought of that.’

  Pauline grinned. ‘That’s why you pay me. Now, go home and put your feet up. You look worn out.’

  ‘I am,’ Rose admitted. ‘Recently I felt full of beans, really optimistic. Now it’s like somebody just let the air out of my tyres.’

  ‘That’s how it’s going to be,’ said Pauline, gently. ‘Up and down, one extreme to the other, one day to the next. First the relief that closure was on its way, now the awful prospect of fighting again. Go with the flow. It’ll get better, I promise you. This will all be over sooner than you think.’

  Rose smiled. ‘Thanks, Pauline. I’ll keep that in mind.’

  ‘Particularly on Wednesday: talk to Ben only when Lisa is there, keep it neutral. If he arrives at the house, you are not to let him in. If he phones, tell him to talk to his solicitor. That’s it, Rose. That’s how it has to be. I’ll call you as soon as I have any more news.’

  Rose left the office, feeling the familiar sensation of the ground unsteady beneath her feet. She wished this was over, wished Wednesday was over, wished Sam was back.

  She couldn’t bear the thought of a dirty fight on her hands.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘DO I LOOK OKAY?’

  Lisa came into the living room, dressed in new pink jeans and a top that stopped just short of her navel. Rose watched as the ends of her daughter’s trousers swept the carpet as she walked. The fabric would be frayed, tattered, dirty by morning. She smiled at Lisa now as she stood in front of her: young, shiny, innocent.

  ‘You look absolutely wonderful,’ she said.

  Lisa’s face relaxed. She slumped onto the sofa beside her mother. ‘Are you ready? What time are we going at? Where did you say we were meeting Dad?’

  Rose took her hand. ‘Hey! One thing at a time. We’ve half an hour yet. We’re meeting in Bewley’s in Grafton Street, because I thought the Westbury would be too quiet. You’re not to be worrying: you spoke to your dad on the phone last night, so the ice is broken. And, by the way, you did a great job of arranging all those old photographs.’

  Lisa pulled at the elasticated bracelet on her slim wrist. She looked down at it and spoke quietly. ‘I know I told you I was going to bring them with me – the albums, I mean – but I think I’ve changed my mind.’

  Rose felt relief at her daughter’s words. Too much too soon, she’d thought, when Lisa showed her the photographs she’d chosen: their intimacy had been stark, unnerving. Now, she just smiled and said lightly: ‘Okay – do whatever you feel is right. You’ll be seeing your dad again, anyway, you’ll have lots of other opportunities.’

  Lisa nodded. ‘I suppose so. Anyway, I don’t want to do it today. It wouldn’t be . . . wouldn’t feel right.’

  ‘If it doesn’t feel right, then you’ve made the right decision. Now, I’m going upstairs for a few minutes, to drag a brush through my hair and repair my slap. I won’t be long.’ Rose stood up and smoothed the creases out of her navy skirt.

  Lisa grinned. ‘You look fine, Mum . . . that’s a nice skirt. But . . . er . . . aren’t you going to change?’

  Rose looked at her in surprise. ‘Why? I thought you just said I looked fine. Do I need to change?’

  Lisa shrugged. ‘You look kinda formal. Why not wear your new black jeans with one of your silk blouses? The outfit you bought for your birthday. You look really great in that.’

  Rose nodded slowly. She began to see her daughter in a new light – watched in amazement as ancient feminine wiles swam cunningly to
her youthful surface. ‘Lisa Holden, are you saying that your mother should look sexy?’ she teased.

  ‘Yeah, why not?’ Lisa’s smile was conspiratorial. ‘Show him what he’s missed.’

  Fourteen, Rose thought, as she climbed the stairs. She’s only fourteen: how did she get to know all this stuff ?

  As she changed her clothes, Rose remembered how flicking through Lisa’s albums had made her feel as though she’d suddenly stumbled and lost her balance. It was as if all the images she had chosen to forget had been hiding somewhere, lying in wait for the moment to catch her unawares. Happy family photos, full of toddlers and tenderness: sandcastles, ice creams, swimming pools, all the faded, blurred clichés that should have helped to harden the heart. But they hadn’t. In a way, they had been the worst, the ones that could have belonged to any family, any father. Their bright promise had made Rose flinch and turn away, suddenly discovering an urgent need to put on the kettle, answer the phone, visit the bathroom. She was glad that such charged memories would be no part of the afternoon ahead.

  Armed with Pauline’s advice, she was ready to talk only about the weather. No more confrontation, no guilt, no lingering sense of failure. And no photographs.

  Rose touched up her lipstick, regarding her face critically in the mirror. Still only a few lines, she thought, despite everything. A forgiving hairstyle, subtle make-up, brown eyes still her best feature. Not bad, she thought, for fifty. You’ll do.

  Right, Mr Holden. Let’s do as your wise young daughter says. Let’s show you everything you’ve missed.

  He was waiting for them on the mezzanine. Rose saw at once that Ben was sitting at the same table by the window that she had occupied less than a week earlier. He stood up as they approached. She watched his eyes widen in surprise as Lisa walked up to him.

  ‘Hello, Dad,’ she said, her voice strong, confident.

  Rose looked over at her, startled.

  Lisa looked at her father. ‘Where the hell have you been?’ she said.

  A gust of sudden, hysterical laughter threatened, somewhere at the base of Rose’s throat. She felt it struggle with the shock of disbelief. Shock, finally, got the upper hand. She sat at the table, almost knocking over the chair beside her.

  ‘Hello, Lisa.’ Ben smiled at her. His face was tight, his smile nervous. Rose felt almost sorry for him. She had never seen Lisa like this.

  ‘I’m very happy to see you.’ Ben reached out to her, but Lisa moved away, just a fraction. He succeeded only in patting his daughter awkwardly on both of her elbows.

  Lisa tossed her hair back from her face and sat down beside him, opposite her mother.

  Ben sat carefully onto his chair. He had almost recovered his composure. ‘I must say, you look beautiful. Amazing. A real young woman.’

  She nodded, her gaze unflinching. ‘Thank you. It must be a bit of a change, all right, from the last time you saw me.’

  Jesus, thought Rose, astonishment growing with every syllable her daughter uttered. I never would have expected it. From Damien, certainly; from Brian, possibly; but Lisa?

  A waitress approached, breaking the sudden, appalled silence. Rose could see relief flood her husband’s features; his shoulders began to relax.

  ‘Yes – Rose, what would you like?’

  ‘Cappuccino, please, Ben,’ she said, the words solid, normal, as though nothing much had happened.

  ‘I’ll have a Coke, please.’

  Rose tried to catch her daughter’s eye, to look at her warningly, but the girl deliberately avoided looking at her.

  ‘Tea for me, please,’ said Ben.

  The waitress disappeared, leaving the air to fizz and crackle behind her. Rose wished she’d come back. She’d keep her there as long as she could, deliberate over every type of tea and coffee; she’d order everything on the menu, do anything she could to put a stop to the teenage thunderbolt across the table.

  ‘I’ve wanted to ask you that for a long time,’ Lisa continued, evenly. ‘Cos I’d absolutely no idea where you’d gone to. Do you know that I had to search for photos to find out what you looked like when I was a little girl?’

  Don’t, Lisa, thought Rose. Please don’t do this. She leaned across the table, drew closer to her daughter. ‘Lisa—’

  But Ben raised his hand in the air. ‘It’s all right, Rose. She’s entitled. Let her have her say.’ His face was pale, the five o’clock shadow reminding Rose suddenly, painfully, of her sons.

  Lisa continued. ‘I was only six when you went away, and now you’re back. Why did you go? Did you not want us any more, me and Brian and Damien?’ There was only the faintest quiver in her voice at Damien’s name.

  Ben shook his head. ‘It was nothing to do with you, with any of you, why I went away. It was much more . . . complicated than that.’ He looked straight at her. ‘I missed you, all of you. And I never stopped loving you.’

  She leaned towards him, her voice very quiet. ‘You’d a funny way of showing it.’

  Rose felt her hands begin to tremble. Her voice had deserted her completely. All she could hear was her heartbeat pounding in her ears, racing back and forth across the top of her head. She tried to reach out a hand towards her daughter, but Lisa glared across the table and stopped her.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’m back now, and I know I’ve a lot to make up for. I’d be very glad if you’d let me try.’

  ‘Why should I?’

  Ben shifted on his chair. The abrupt movement seemed to release something in Rose’s throat: words began to come to the surface at last.

  ‘Lisa, I don’t think that this is—’

  Lisa turned to face her. ‘Mum, I’m fourteen, almost fifteen. Do you think I haven’t noticed anything since I was six? Did you think I was too young to understand? I know what our family was like without a dad. And now he wants us all back as though nothing ever happened?’

  Ben folded his hands on the table in front of him. Rose was reminded suddenly, of the way Sarah had gripped the steering wheel, knuckles showing moon-white underneath the pale skin.

  The waitress returned. Her cheerful voice was monstrous, Rose thought, her words fell like stones around the table. ‘That’s one Coke, one cappuccino, and a pot of tea for one. Is there anything else?’

  Rose shook her head. ‘No, thank you. That’s everything.’ We’ve more than enough to be going on with.

  Ben sat very still, looking at his hands. ‘I know I have a lot to make up for,’ he said again, quietly. ‘All I’m asking is to be given a chance to show you that I care.’

  Lisa leaned back in her chair. Her voice rose, ever so slightly. ‘Did you care when I made my First Communion that I was the only one in the class to have no dad beside me? Or when I won the swimming championship? Did you even care on eight birthdays and eight Christmases?’

  Their corner of the café had gone very quiet. Ben’s face looked creased, somehow, elderly. With a jolt, Rose realized that she was now seeing how her husband would look as an old man, how her daughter would look as a grown woman. This was too much. It was time to put a stop to it.

  Ben spoke then. ‘I don’t know what your mother has said to turn you against me, but—’

  Rose’s gasp was audible. She couldn’t help it.

  Lisa pushed her chair back noisily. ‘Mum said nothing. She never said anything because there was no need to. I’m not a child; I can make up my own mind, all by myself. And I’m not thirsty. Come on, Mum. I want to go home now.’

  She made her way past her father and began walking rapidly towards the stairs.

  Ben turned to Rose, eyes blazing. ‘Thanks,’ he said.

  Rose felt fury gather, raise its head, poise to strike. She thought of all the things she wanted to say, all the things she had sat on for years, all the empty calories of half-truths she’d fed her children. Then she thought of Pauline. With a physical effort, she swallowed the words that were fighting their way to the surface of her consciousness, clamouring loudly to escape.

 
‘You can thank yourself,’ she said, and followed her daughter down the stairs.

  Lisa was several yards ahead of her, striding down Grafton Street towards the car park. Rose followed. She felt as though someone had painted garish, abstract brushstrokes over a delicate but familiar image. The steel in Lisa’s demeanour had taken her completely by surprise. Had she planned this, or had it been on the spur of the moment? Rose tried to think, quickly. What had she missed? What was she to say to her daughter now?

  I have absolutely no idea, she thought, as she reached the car park. I have no idea at all.

  Lisa was standing by the van, waiting. Her face was closed, her eyes looking at nothing in particular. Rose disabled the alarm and Lisa opened the passenger door at once and sat in.

  ‘Put on your seat belt,’ Rose said automatically, putting the key in the ignition. Lisa obeyed. Rose didn’t look at her.

  She pulled out into the afternoon traffic. This was one silence she wasn’t going to break. It might take a whole night of television viewing, of averted eyes, of truncated conversation. So be it. This was much too important to hurry.

  Lisa went up to her bedroom immediately they arrived home. Rose hung up her jacket, feeling as though every moving part of her had suddenly become numb, jerky, as if some essential part of her machinery had rusted, ceased to function. In the kitchen, she fumbled at the lid of the kettle, dropped it. She left it where it fell and sat down at the table, resting her forehead in her hands.

  Why hadn’t Lisa told her? Why hadn’t she refused to meet her father, or fought about him, or at least given some clue as to how she was feeling? Rose felt suddenly terrified: was this yet another child who was going to blaze a dark and dangerous trajectory, leading to some place where her mother couldn’t follow?

  I’m giving her another hour, she thought. No longer. Then I’m going upstairs to make sure she’s all right.

  The kitchen door opened with five minutes to go.

  Rose was drinking tea, glad to be able to do something banal, something that occupied one hand, at least. It was reassuring to discover that the parts of the body still worked, after all.