Still You

by Claire Allan

  Jonathan and I left to get a coffee – to give Emma and Áine some time to talk. I sat at the long Formica table and shook a salt sachet, listening to the rattle of the fine grains as the contents moved about. Jonathan was in the queue, ordering two coffees and two chicken-salad sandwiches. For the first time in days he seemed more content – the arrival of Emma having eased his burden, I supposed. When Áine was out of hospital we would do something nice, I vowed. We would go out for a lovely dinner, maybe a night away in a hotel. Just the two of us – when Áine was well enough of course. I guessed he wouldn’t want to leave her any time soon. But we would do something. I smiled at him as he walked towards me – my heart swelling with affection for him.

  He sat down and I sipped from the coffee he had brought me.

  “Do you know she’s been asking for my father?” he said as I struggled to open the cardboard around my sandwich.

  “Emma?”

  “Áine,” he said. “The nurse asked me this morning who he was. She’s been asking when he is coming to visit. She got distressed when the nurse said she didn’t know who Jack was.”

  I raised my eyebrow. “She is still confused – the antibiotics are only starting to kick in. Give her time. Think of how good the last few months have been.”

  “And how hard the last week or so has been,” he said. “I asked the nurse how much she was likely to come round …”

  “You know that’s hard for them to tell,” I said.

  “I know, but I just wondered … you know, these nurses have a lot of experience. They’ve seen it all.”

  “And what did she say?”

  He sipped from his coffee. “It was a mixed bag. She could get a little better – or she could stay where she is now. Or she could get worse. Well, ultimately, she will get worse.”

  “We have to take it one day at a time,” I said softly. “You know she’s a fighter.”

  He sat his coffee down and took a deep breath. “The thing is, Georgina, and this is what I wanted to talk to you about. Before everything. We don’t have one day at a time. She doesn’t want to fight forever …”

  I looked at him, confused. His face was etched with worry again.

  “What do you mean?” I asked him.

  “She wants to go, George. Before it gets too bad. She made me promise, when she was diagnosed, I wouldn’t let her go too far. She made me promise to help her.”

  I felt the air sucked from my chest. “Help her?” I asked – not sure if I wanted to hear the answer.

  He leant towards me, checking first no one was within earshot, and whispered: “She wants me to help her end her life. Before she loses her dignity. How do I do that? How do I make that decision? I promised her – but how could I ever let her go?”

  I didn’t know what to say. He was confiding something huge to me. Something I could barely process. How do you get your head around something like that? How do you react when someone tells you something like that? Was I supposed to say I understood? Was I supposed to offer to help? Was I supposed to run screaming? Call the police?

  “Oh Jonathan,” I managed.

  “I don’t want to let her down, but I don’t want to let her go,” he said as my stomach turned at the thought of what we were discussing.

  Chapter 36

  Present Day

  “You look like hell,” Sinéad said.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Gee, thanks,” I teased.

  “George, anyone would look like hell going through what you’re going through. How were you supposed to react to that bombshell?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure what he expected. I felt for him. It’s clear it’s not something he wants to be a part of, but he feels he promised her.”

  We were sitting on Sinéad’s sofa, drinking tea and fighting the urge for something stronger.

  “Christ,” Sinéad said, “that’s serious stuff.”

  “It is. It’s awful. He said the reason he hired me, the reason he had tried to lock the house up – all of it was to try and keep her well, to slow things down in the hope it wouldn’t come to this.”

  “Is he going to do it?” Sinéad looked directly at me.

  “I don’t know, I don’t think he knows. It’s just … so awful.” I felt tears spring to my eyes. “It’s so awful that she wants to give up.”

  Sinéad reached over and squeezed my hand. “Sweetheart, I know – I am not saying what she wants is right or wrong, but can you imagine facing that in your future? Knowing you’ll lose your mind, your dignity, your ability to function for yourself? I have to say, I’d consider it if it were me.”

  “But she has so much love around her – she’s so special!” I cried.

  “I know that – and it’s very clear how fond you’ve become of her. But that love – I don’t want to sound harsh – but she won’t even know that in a while. This disease is cruel, Georgina – it’s horrible and it’s unfair and it steals people from us. They’re still there – still in their chairs and their beds but they are gone.”

  I curled my knees up to my chest and hugged them. “I’m not prepared for this. Not a bit – this wasn’t in the plan.”

  “He may not do it?” Sinéad offered. “She could rally round. The doctors said. These things – there can be setbacks and then she could rally.”

  “In a way that’s more of a worry,” I said. “At the moment, she’s not in any fit state to make a decision for herself, let alone swallow pills or whatever.” I felt my stomach turn at the very thought. “But if she rallies … Jonathan said this latest scare could be enough for her to ask him to help her now.”

  “He must be beside himself.”

  “He looked haunted,” I said, thinking of how tired he had looked as we had sat in the cafeteria and how he had held me so tightly afterwards in the hall and had cried in my arms.

  I wanted to make it all better for him – but I knew I couldn’t.

  1965

  Rosaleen’s anger remained. It simmered away in the background. Áine couldn’t help but feel she had hurt her mother greatly and yet she couldn’t let go of Jack, nor he of her. When it felt as though it would get too much she would hear Charlotte’s strong voice whisper in her ear that she deserved to be happy, that Jack deserved to be happy, and she knew that her sister wouldn’t mind that they had found comfort in one another. Still it stung when Rosaleen would give her one of her stern looks to keep her in line, when she would question where she was going and who she was seeing. She was a grown woman who had made almost every decision in her adult life to support her mother and her family. But she didn’t want to upset her mother further – so she played the good daughter.

  At least most of the time. When Jack came to Ireland, she made sure she saw him. She would tell her mother she was going out with friends and she would dress up with lightness in her heart at the thought of seeing the man she had fallen in love with. When she was with him, she could truly be herself. She felt every ounce of hurt, every ounce of self-doubt, every pang that she wasn’t good enough or worthy enough, slip away. She felt loved, cherished and needed – and it was worth the sneaking around and the keeping her joy to herself between visits.

  When he was gone, she threw herself into caring for the children. Jonathan became her shadow – a little friend who kept her company each day after school, who played in the garden while she worked, who read to her at night to show her how clever he was and who would always tell her he loved her.

  Emma remained more guarded – and that perhaps, more than her mother’s distaste, was what hurt the most. Áine had to remind herself, time and time again, that Emma was a child, one struggling to deal with her loss, but her niece clung to her grandmother and, if Áine was honest, the child also quickly perfected her grandmother’s stern look.

  As the months passed Rosaleen’s hurt remained, but Áine started to suspect her mother was now content or resigned at the very least to ignoring that which she couldn’t see. However, as the next summer rolled around, Áin
e felt her heart lurch at the thought of telling her mother she would be travelling with the children to Italy.

  “It’s not much to ask for yourself,” Jack had told her on his last visit. “And the children are too young to travel alone in any case.”

  “But she is still hurt,” Áine had said, holding his hand over the Formica table in the steam-filled coffee shop.

  He sighed, lifted her hands to his mouth and kissed them gently. “She will always be hurt. We will always be hurt. Charlotte’s death broke a piece of all of us that nothing will ever fix. But I love you, and I know what it is to lose love. I don’t want to lose it again – nor should you.”

  Áine had nodded and, emboldened, she had gone home and sat her mother down in the living room and told her she would, as she had the year before, travel with the children to Italy.

  Rosaleen had dropped her head to her hands, before looking up again. “I can’t dissuade you?”

  “No, Mother. I promise you, as long as you live, I’ll be here for you. I’ll not leave you. I’ll help you raise the children and do everything I can for them. I will never stop caring for you – and I promise you that I will be the best daughter I can be. But I need him, Mother. And this, these moments, are the only thing I ask for myself. If I’m honest, I will do this with or without your blessing, but I love you so much and I would very much prefer to have your blessing.”

  “I can’t give that now,” Rosaleen had said, and Áine’s heart had sunk. “But I will try. For now, I’ll tolerate it. I’ll hold my tongue. But, my darling girl, please remember there are two children involved. Children who are confused and who will be grieving for their mother for a long time. Tread carefully.”

  “I will, Mother,” Áine said. “I promise.”

  And so it began, the long-distance relationship Áine would turn to throughout her life to keep her warm on cold winter nights in Temple Muse.

  She would know that each summer she would arrive in the villa and, while it would have aged some more, and Jack would have aged some more, she was finally free to be the woman she always wanted to be. They would spend their days looking after the children – and their nights together on the terrace, drinking wine and laughing until the pull of the bedroom they now shared became too much.

  When the children grew, and Áine visited on her own – a new stage of her life began. A stage where she felt reborn. They would travel through Italy, or fly to a neighbouring country for a few days and in those days and weeks she would feel complete.

  But she kept her promise to her mother – and Jack understood. As they grew older, and more set in their ways, they felt comfortable with their separate lives and their frequent visits where the real world was put on hold and they could love each other without judgement.

  And so it continued – until the day Áine received the phone call that changed everything. That Jack, now in his sixties, had passed away peacefully in his sleep. The shock of his loss winded her – and she started to allow herself to live a little in the past. When she closed her eyes each night she replayed the memories that had made her life the unique experience it was. And she promised Jack she would see him again, and Charlotte, and her mother and her father and all those who had shaped her.

  Present Day

  “When can we visit her, Mam?” Eve asked over breakfast.

  “I’m sure in a few days,” I told my daughters. “When she is a little stronger. She gets tired easily and the hospital want to make sure she gets her rest.”

  “She will be okay though?” Sorcha asked, her eyes wide with concern.

  What was I to say? Yes? No? Maybe? Or well, until she feels strong enough to take her own life?

  “Girls, you know that Áine is getting older and her condition is progressing,” I said. “The best we can do is hope she rallies – but none of us know. Not even the doctors and the experts. She may live for years, or she may not.” I felt sick at the thought that she could leave us sooner rather than later.

  I noticed Sorcha – tough-as-boots Sorcha – was crying and I sat down beside her and put my arm around her.

  “I’m scared, Mum,” she said.

  I did all I could do at that time – pulled her close to me and admitted that I was scared too.

  Chapter 37

  Present Day

  I was asleep, lost in a strange dream, when I became aware of my doorbell ringing. Struggling to get my brain to focus, I sat up and, blinking, looked at the clock. It wasn’t long after 6 a.m. Rubbing my eyes, I climbed out of bed and put on my dressing gown. I could hear the girls stirring in their rooms, a shout from Eve that someone was at the door.

  I padded downstairs and opened the front door to see Jonathan standing there, soaked by the fresh morning rain. He looked broken. He wore a wrinkled T-shirt and jeans and needed a shave. His eyes were red from exhaustion and emotion.

  He could not speak and he did not move. He just looked at me, a pleading look in his eyes, and I knew. I knew she was gone. The pain on his face was so raw, it could be the only explanation.

  “Georgina,” he stuttered and fell towards me, pulling me into his arms.

  “Oh Jonathan,” I managed.

  At that I heard a creak on the stairs and turned to see the two girls, faces pale, taking in the sight in front of them.

  “Mam!” Eve croaked as Jonathan pulled himself from me and turned to hide his face.

  “Girls,” I said, my voice shaking, “can you go into the kitchen and put on the kettle?”

  “But, Mam …” Sorcha said, her voice shaking.

  “Sweetheart, get your dressing gown on, and go and put on the kettle. I’ll be in in a minute.” I tried to keep my voice as soft as possible.

  The truth was that I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. I couldn’t bring myself to say that it was Áine. And from what I could tell, what I could feel in the very pit of my stomach, Áine was gone. The fact that this might well have been what she wanted gave me no comfort. She didn’t need to go. Not yet. Not so soon.

  Reluctantly and falteringly Sorcha turned and took her sister’s hand – a gesture I hadn’t seen in many years. The pair went back upstairs to get their dressing gowns. They were good girls and I knew they would do as I asked. They would come back downstairs, and they would put the kettle on and that would at least buy me some time to find out what exactly had happened. As I saw them disappear from view, I turned and ushered Jonathan into the living room and onto the sofa where I sat down beside him and held his hand. We sat there in silence for a while – it may have been thirty seconds, it may have been ten minutes – time had become fluid and its distortion mirrored the thoughts and feelings spinning through my head.

  “You don’t need to say the words,” I said softly, breaking the silence, as I watched this tall, confident, handsome man crumpled and folded with grief in front of me.

  I didn’t want to ask but I had to. I had to hear him say it even though I didn’t know how I would react to his answer.

  “Did you help her?” I asked softly.

  He looked at me, his eyes red with tiredness and pain. A look of pure wretchedness on his face, he shook his head slowly.

  “She was alone. She slipped away all on her own.”

  I stood in front of the sink and mirror in our downstairs bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. I had left Jonathan as I needed to go and tell the girls, reluctant to leave him but aware of my daughters and the distress they were in. I needed some fresh air, a moment to gather myself together. After everything, a massive stroke had taken Áine overnight. It hadn’t been her illness. She hadn’t declined in the way she had feared. She had gone – in her sleep it seemed. No pain, they had told Jonathan. She just slipped away. It was what she would have wanted, they said. Peaceful and calm. It happens sometimes, they said. It could explain the headaches she was having before, they said. The extra confusion. Yes, she did have a kidney infection too – that may have masked what else was going on, they said. Nothing they could have do
ne, they said.

  I had tried to comfort Jonathan – to assure him that her passing peacefully was a good thing. That he wouldn’t have to carry the burden of being part of her death with him for the rest of his life. I had told him of the conversations I’d had with Áine where she talked of her wish to just slip away. But all he could see was that she had been alone. Peaceful or not, she had been alone and he couldn’t help but ask himself the questions he could never know the answer to. Was she scared? Had she been aware she was slipping away?

  And more than all that – he never got to say goodbye. None of us got to say goodbye and it seemed so terribly, terribly unfair. We didn’t get to tell her how we loved her. And we did. I loved her – she had become so much more than a client to me. She had become my friend, my confidante, the person who had brought Jonathan into my life – and I knew I would miss her more than I could imagine now.

  I wiped the tears from my face and pinched my cheeks. I took several deep breaths and offered a silent prayer up that Áine was indeed at peace and that we would all find some peace ourselves from that.

  And then I went to face my girls, pulling them into the biggest hug I could – telling them that the old woman they had shared their summer months with had gone. My heart broke again as I heard them cry – knowing that nothing I could say or do in that moment could make it any better and that we all just had to work through this. It was as simple as that.

  Sinéad had hugged me as I left off the girls to her house. Jonathan had waited in the car and, when I climbed back in beside him, I squeezed his hand tightly.

  “Are you ready?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure I will ever be ready, but I have to see her,” he said.

  I nodded. “I’ll be right beside you, if you want me to be,” I told him. “Will Emma be there too?”