Falling in Love in New York

by HILL, MELISSA

  Her earlier sombre mood now greatly improved, Finn released Lucy from her leash and she raced off to join her offspring, while he went to speak to the adults.

  There was no need for introductions as Finn recognised pretty much everyone from the four-week intensive ‘class-training’ programme the centre held, whereby each dog was matched with a potential partner in order to make up a successful guide dog team.

  “Hi everyone. Enjoying the day?”

  “It’s fabulous,” Melanie, a partially-sighted woman in her mid-thirties who had been partnered with one of Lucy’s offspring smiled in the direction of the dogs. “They seem to be enjoying it too.” Now Lucy was lying on her back with all fours in the air, happily letting the other dogs climb all over her. “That’s your dog, isn’t it? Michelle’s mum?”

  “Yes it is.”

  As Lucy only attended the centre throughout the breeding programme and for a brief period after giving birth, she didn’t have much contact with the dog’s eventual companions, except on days like today. Normally, she stayed at home with Finn, who as well as being a qualified guide dog trainer also acted as a puppy raiser for some of the potential trainees–usually Lucy’s. When the pups were about nine weeks old he brought them home with him for a while to help socialise and get them used to their environment, teaching them good behaviour and manners as well as get them used to living indoors, something they needed to do should they eventually be suitable as guide dogs.

  “She’s gorgeous, and obviously knows how to put them in their place!” She and Finn laughed as Lucy nipped one of her charges for being too overzealous in his energy. “Brendan told me she was a working dog herself once, but she seems very young to be a retiree?”

  Finn sighed. “She’s six, but was only three when we had to retire her. Halloween fireworks,” he added in a flat voice when Melanie gave him a questioning look. “The noise frightened her so much, it rendered all of her training useless. She was only on the job for a few months.”

  “Oh no, what a shame.”

  Finn nodded. It was a crying shame, and was happening more and more as time went on. He sorely wished that the parents who were stupid enough to buy illegal fireworks for their little darlings could be around to see the damage they caused. If they could only experience what he had; the sight of a terrified dog shaking and cowering in a corner and refusing to eat for days it would be more than enough to make them change their minds. Or would it? Finn didn’t know. He didn’t have a whole lot of faith in human decency anymore, which is why he spent all his time working with animals.

  Finn had been Lucy’s original trainer and the two had always shared a special bond right from when he’d first brought her home to raise as a puppy, to when he’d eventually handed her over to her new partner at a graduation ceremony just like this one. Then, when the incident with the fireworks occurred and Lucy’s partner applied for a new dog and didn’t have the space to keep her too, Finn decided to take her in. Guide dogs worked for an average of eight years and while the centre often had a policy of finding retirees a loving home when their partners couldn’t keep them on, Finn knew that he couldn’t part with her again–especially given what she’d been through. And although there was no possible way she could be re-trained, in time he managed to coax the frightened Labrador out of her anxieties and bring her back to the intelligent, loving companion she was.

  Now, watching Lucy play happily with her equally clever and talented offspring, Finn was reminded of the comment Nora, one of his elderly neighbours had made recently, when she was (yet again) teasing him about his single status.

  “Honestly Finn, you’ll never find anyone as long as you keep that big, hairy mutt around!”

  And Finn thought to himself now, as he had then, why on earth would he want to, when Lucy was possibly the only female on the planet who hadn’t let him down?

  Chapter 8

  The following Sunday afternoon, Finn opened his front door to find Pat Maguire standing on his doorstep.

  “Hey Dad, how’s things?” he said, stepping back and beckoning him inside. As he did so, Lucy–who adored Pat–bounded down the hallway to greet him, her tail wagging furiously.

  The feeling was mutual.

  “Ah there you are, my darlin’” Pat bent down and ruffled Lucy behind the ears. “How was she the other day?” he asked, referring to the ceremony. Pat, like Finn, knew how lonely Lucy got when her pups went out into the big bad world.

  Finn shrugged. “Not too bad. A bit moody earlier in the morning, but much better when it was all over.”

  “Isn’t it gas the way they know what’s happening all the same?” Pat said, shaking his head. “Imagine pining over her young ones like that. Aren’t they nearly human sometimes?”

  “Better than some humans in that way.” Finn’s expression tightened and he moved to the sink. “At least she actually gives some thought to her offspring. Cup of tea, Dad?”

  “That would be grand, thanks.” Pat took a seat at the kitchen table and looked at his son. “Lookit, there’s no need for that kind of smart talk, is there?”

  Immediately Finn felt guilty. There was no need, and it wasn’t fair to his father– especially after all this time. But sometimes, he just couldn’t help but revert to behaving like some sulky teenager instead of the grown man of thirty-five he was.

  “Sorry, it’s been a busy week and I’m a bit stressed out.” Finn stood by the counter as he waited for the kettle to boil.

  “Stress, stress, stress–everyone in this country is stressed these days. Whatever happened to just taking things easy?”

  Finn smiled. “The one who’s talking! When’s the last time you took things easy, Dad? Sixty-eight years of age and you’re still going up and down ladders like a madman.”

  Pat was a cabinet-maker by trade, but for as long as Finn could remember he’d been working as a painter/decorator and odd-job man in the Balbriggan area. His father could turn his hand to anything; plumbing, carpentry, electrics, a feat that thanks to him, Finn could also lay claim to, and which had served him well in rejuvenating this house. After a stint of travelling and working abroad–mostly in the US–a few years back he’d decided to come home to Dublin and settle down, at least, that had been the plan. He’d bought this place shortly after taking up work in the training centre, deciding that a run-down, crumbling old farmhouse in the rural and more peaceful North County Dublin would suit him a lot better than the hustle and bustle of the city centre.

  “Well, I might have to give up those ladders for a while soon,” Pat said, and hearing a slight catch in his voice, Finn looked up. Suddenly realising that this was no casual visit, he stared at his father. “What does that mean?”

  When Pat didn’t answer immediately, he frowned. “Dad, what’s going on?”

  “Finish making that pot of tea and I’ll tell you,” his father replied, leaving Finn wondering what on earth was coming.

  He soon found out.

  “My health’s not the best at the moment, son,” Pat announced, having left Finn wait anxiously while he poured the sugar and milk.

  Finn said nothing; he simply waited for him to elaborate.

  “I’ve been a bit weak in myself these last few months, which isn’t like me.”

  No it’s certainly not, Finn thought. His father was one of the fittest, most active people he knew. Up at dawn every day without fail, Pat would go for a good long walk in the morning before putting in a solid day’s work, and then coming home to tend to the household. He’d always been scrupulous about looking after himself, and because of this tended to be fitter than even his thirty-five year old son. At least, that was what Finn had always believed.

  “So I called down to Doctor Murphy who said that I was probably just low on iron and put me on some tablets. But nothing changed.”

  “Well I can’t see why he thought that,” Finn muttered. “You’re a demon for red meat –he should know that.”

  “That’s what I thought, but sure you kn
ow yourself what they can be like sometimes.”

  I sure do, Finn thought irately. Don’t bother checking anything out in detail or asking any questions, just think of the first reasonable explanation, and then stick the hand out for your fifty quid, thanks very much.

  “Anyway, they did a few blood tests since, and to cut a long story short, it seems they have to keep on eye on me from now on, just in case.”

  “In case of what?” Finn demanded while trying his best to keep his thoughts in check.

  Pat looked almost embarrassed. “Prostrate trouble – the numbers are high apparently. Lookit, don’t you be worrying about me now,” he said, sitting forward in his chair. “That’s not why I’m telling you. The last thing you need is to be worrying about me.”

  “How could I not worry about you, you’re my father for Christ’s sake!”

  Not to mention the only family I have he added silently, his thoughts frantic. The doctors must have made some kind of mistake or something. But for his dad’s sake, Finn knew he couldn’t panic, he had to get a hold of himself.

  “The only reason I’m telling you now is that I have to go for some more tests soon– next month in Vincent’s.”

  “Next month …”

  “Yes. So I might need you to give me a lift in there now and again if you don’t mind.”

  “Well, of course I don’t mind.” Finn would do anything for his father, in the same way that Pat had done everything for him all throughout his life. He felt stunned … numb at the thought that this was happening now, that some form of illness had raised its ugly head. “So these tests … what’ll they achieve?”

  “God only knows, but Finn these things happen to men my age,” Pat was being remarkably practical about the entire situation, in much the same way as he’d been about every difficult situation he’d faced in his life. “Who knows how it’ll go? What will be will be.”

  Not for the first time, Finn wished he’d inherited some of his father’s strength of character, his extraordinary ability to face head-on any challenges life threw his way. Whereas in the face of challenges such as this one, Finn couldn’t summon his father’s strength; instead he simply felt weak, spineless and afraid–pointless traits he knew he’d inherited from his mother.

  He’d been seven years old when she left. He couldn’t remember much before that day, couldn’t really remember all that much about her, or what is was like having her in his life.

  Perhaps the memories just weren’t all that strong; or perhaps he’d blocked them out intentionally, Finn couldn’t be sure. All he remembered was arriving home from school one day to find his father sitting at the big oak kitchen table, his head in his immense, callused workman’s hands. Finn had never before (or since) seen his father cry.

  It was very strange.

  The family dog, Rex, who upon Finn’s arrival had been lying at Pat’s feet, jumped up to greet him.

  “What’s wrong?” Finn asked, setting his school bag down on the floor in order to pet the sheepdog behind the ears. “Dad, are you OK?”

  Seemingly caught unawares, his father looked at the boy as if he’d never seen him before; as Finn recalled, he seemed to stare right through him.

  “Dad?” he repeated, continuing to run his fingers through Rex’s silky coat. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

  “Me – crying? Would you get away out of that!” his father said, attempting a half-hearted laugh. “Haven’t I gone and got something in my eye–a chip of wood, I think.” Pat made a great show of rubbing one eye as if trying to dislodge something from it. “I was doing a bit of sawing in the workshop, so I had to come inside and splash some water on it.”

  “Oh.” With some relief, Finn let go of Rex and returned the smile, although in retrospect he was convinced that he should have known there and then that something wasn’t right. But he was seven years old, and didn’t yet know how to read–or react to–deception.

  He picked his schoolbag off the floor and hung it on the back of one of the chairs. “So when’s dinner? And where’s Mam?”

  Pat stood up from the table and walked to the window above the sink, turning his back to his son. “She had to go away for a while.”

  “Where did she go to?”

  His father was silent for a long moment, and his shoulders heaved a little before he spoke again. “Just away.”

  Finn frowned. This was odd. His mother was always here when he came home from school …OK, so maybe not always, but nearly always. Where could she have gone to? Why would she leave without saying goodbye to him? And who would make his dinner?

  Once more uneasy, Finn called Rex over, and again began softly caressing the dog’s head. “But where did she go? And when will she be home?”

  “Soon,” Pat replied flatly, but Finn realised that throughout the entire exchange his father never once turned to look at him. “She’ll be home very soon.”

  But of course, his mother never did come home, and to this day Finn could still recall the sound of his father crying softly to himself at night, when he thought seven-year-old Finn was asleep and wouldn’t hear. He remembered lying wide awake, Rex sprawled at the bottom of his bed and keeping him warm, listening to the muffled sobs coming from his parent’s room. And despite his nightly tears, Pat behaved for all the world as though there was nothing unusual in Imelda, his wife of nine years, taking off and leaving him and their young son to fend for themselves. In hindsight, Finn understood that this was simply his father’s way of trying to make things easier for him, that by carrying on as normal maybe Finn wouldn’t notice his mother’s absence.

  And for a time, it worked. In the years following her departure, he and his father did have a relatively happy and carefree life. Pat was always around when Finn came home from school, he regularly helped him with his homework and cooked him meals, and at weekends, the two of them spent long hours making things in the workshop, or took Rex out for lengthy walks in the fields surrounding their house.

  For the next few years of his life, Pat did such a good job of raising him that Finn had almost forgotten his mother ever existed, but then when he reached puberty for some reason everything changed. Suddenly, Finn wanted to know more about his mother, and why the woman had just upped and abandoned them.

  “It’s complicated–I’ve told you that,” Pat insisted, after Finn’s repeated attempts to delve into the matter in more detail.

  “What could be complicated about it? The selfish cow just took off and left us to our own devices!”

  “Don’t use that kind of language around me–and don’t you dare use it when talking about your mother,” Pat warned, and not for the first time, Finn felt unbelievably frustrated by his father’s apparent lack of anger where Imelda’s actions were concerned.

  “How can you defend her like that after what she’s done?” he’d exclaimed, while all the time his father sat on the sofa, quietly stoic in the face of his son’s anger.

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “It seems pretty damn simple to me! I come home one day from school to find that my own mother has just upped and left me–no goodbye, no explanation, nothing.”

  “Finn that was eight years ago! Why is it such a big problem now? We’ve had a nice life up till now, haven’t we? You’ve wanted for nothing in all that time, so why get all het up about these things now?”

  “Because I want to know why she left!” Finn shot back. “I want to know why she thinks she had the right to abandon me like … like a piece of dirt. And,” he added ominously, “when I find her, I’m going to ask her exactly that.”

  “Find her?” Pat stared at him, and a shadow of anxiety quickly crossed his face–or was it fear? Fifteen-year-old Finn wasn’t at all sure, because the look was gone almost quickly as it appeared. “Well good luck to you then,” his father said finally, in a relaxed-sounding tone that unnerved Finn. Pat turned back to the newspaper he’d been reading. “Let me know how you get on.”

  Of course, back then, Finn
never did try to find out where his mother was, and in truth his periodic rants about her disappearance were more bravado (coupled with a hefty dose of teenage angst) than anything else.

  But there was no denying that, despite his father’s best efforts at giving him a relatively, normal, happy upbringing, his mother’s departure, along with what could only be described as her rejection of him, had certainly left a mark.

  Now almost twenty years later, he’d mostly got over the urge to find Imelda and bring her back, or indeed find out her reasons for leaving him and Pat in the first place. His mother had disappeared from his life a very long time ago, and as far as Finn was concerned, she could stay away for good.

  Chapter 9

  Abby arrived at Hannah O’Neill’s office in Leeson Street for her first appointment.

  It was three days since she’d been discharged from the hospital, and despite her reluctance to share her feelings about the prognosis with someone who was by all accounts a stranger, her thoughts were so all over the place that in truth she now welcomed the opportunity.

  Hopefully the neuropsychologist would be able to shed some more light on her condition and tell her more about what to expect.

  She still hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary and as far as she was concerned her memory was in perfect working order. Unfortunately the same thing couldn’t be said for her state of mind.

  “Hello there–good to see you again,” Hannah got up from her desk to shake Abby’s hand when she entered the office.

  “It’s nice to see you too,” she replied. Despite her reluctance, Hannah had made a good impression on her back at the hospital, simply because she was the only one there who had been willing to give her a straight answer. The nurses and Doctor Moroney tended to just hide behind platitudes and a ‘try not to worry’ approach, whereas Hannah had been direct and approachable.