alexandra, gone

by Anna McPartlin

  “It’s too much,” she argued. “He’s never been away from home for longer than a week, and that was with supervision, and now nearly an entire summer!”

  “He’s eighteen,” Dominic reminded her.

  “I know, but—”

  “But nothing. My brothers did it, I did it, Brick and Mint did it, and we all came home safe and sound.”

  “Times have changed,” she argued.

  “Times are always changing. He’s not going to war. All he’s doing is strapping a bag on his back and going out into the world to have a blast.”

  “Did you have a blast?”

  “Time of my life,” he said.

  “Alexandra spent two weeks in the Canaries with Siobhan Wilson and Christina Benson. She came home burned alive and with beads in her hair. She said it was the best time of her life.”

  “Who are they?”

  “They were in our class.”

  “I don’t remember them. What was she doing with them?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Dominic. Maybe it was because her best friend was sleep deprived, knee-deep in nappies, and on the verge of a nervous breakdown.”

  “Oh yeah,” he said, “sorry.”

  “So you think I should just let him go?” she asked then.

  “I think that if you are really honest with yourself, you have no choice.”

  “God, I hate that woman!”

  “I don’t know—maybe you should thank her.”

  “For what?”

  “Kurt’s seeing you in a different light. He appreciates you in a way he didn’t in the past.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean he’s seeing you through his girlfriend’s eyes, and as a mother you beat that Martha bitch hands down.”

  “Yes, I do,” she said, and she smiled. “I can live with that.”

  It was true. Since his girlfriend had moved into his home, Kurt had come to appreciate his mother more.

  “You’re lucky,” Irene told him one day in his room, “you just don’t know how lucky you are.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “No. Not easy. I live with a woman who doesn’t seem to notice if I’m there or not, and as for my dad, the last time I saw him was over three months ago. Your mum lives for you.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe that’s the problem.”

  “That’s not the problem, Kurt. The problem is she gave up her future for you and now you’re scared she’ll want to keep you.”

  “Bollocks,” he said.

  “Okay,” she said.

  “You’re so full of shit, Irene,” he said, and she laughed.

  “Fine,” she said. “Maybe I’m wrong, but it’s a thought.”

  Irene was wrong, but it made Kurt think. A whole new world was opening up in front of him—opportunity, his first foray into adulthood, leaving home, university, making his own decisions, living his own life. He was so excited about his future and was counting down the days until he and Irene were on a flight and leaving their childhood behind for good. And eighteen years ago his mum had been standing in the same kitchen, but instead of holding a bag full of pens and a solar calculator she had been holding a baby, and instead of planning trips abroad, preparing for college and a life without Rose, she had been stuck in the rut she still found herself in eighteen years later.

  Two days after their exams finished and with packs on their backs, Irene and Kurt made their way down the front steps and toward Jane, who was holding the car doors open. Elle sat on the wall, wearing sunglasses even though it was dull and raining. Rose emerged from her basement flat and stood by her door. Kurt put his bag in the trunk and went back to kiss his grandmother. She hugged him tight.

  “Stay safe,” she said. “Life is hard enough without you disappearing on me.”

  “It’s only six weeks, Gran,” he said.

  “Six weeks is a lifetime, my darling. Live well.”

  “I will.”

  She let him go and watched him hug Elle, who took the opportunity to slip him an extra few euros.

  “You don’t have to do that,” he said.

  “I do,” she said.

  Irene got into the car and waved at Rose and Elle, and Kurt joined her. Jane got into the driver’s seat and started the car, and Elle waved one final time, and they were gone. Rose went inside, and Elle sat on the wall smoking a cigarette and wearing her sunglasses despite the rain.

  Jane had felt bad about the ways things had ended with Tom for a number of weeks, and when she eventually got the confidence to call him, she left a message apologizing for blowing up. She asked him to call her and told him once again she was sorry.

  Tom had listened to the message, but he was too embarrassed, too ashamed, to call her back. In the few weeks that had passed he had found himself missing her. He missed her smile and the way she twisted her face when she wasn’t happy. He missed her laugh and her calm and caring nature. He missed the devil side of her because just when you thought she was a total pushover, she pushed back, and by God she pushed hard. He liked that. He liked that she was formidable, just like Alexandra, and it made sense that they had once been best friends because in a way they were similar.

  Jane missed Tom so much it interrupted her thoughts. She’d be on the phone to a buyer and she’d think of him and lose her concentration. She’d be parking the car and she’d stop dead in the middle of the car park just to remember a moment they’d shared, and only when someone beeped would she resume normal operations. She’d find herself thinking about him and worrying about him, and at night she lay awake wondering what he was doing, where he had been, where he was going, and whether or not she’d ever see him again.

  Jane woke up early on June 21 and was up and out before eight. She knocked on Tom’s door a little after eight forty-five, and when he didn’t answer she pressed the doorbell and held it down until she heard him stamp down the stairs.

  He opened the door roughly and, with a big sleepy head and wearing boxer shorts and a GO WEST T-shirt, he yelled, “What?” Then he wiped his eyes, focused, and saw who it was. “Jane.”

  “Tom,” she said and pushed past him into the house. He followed her into his kitchen, where she set about finding the coffee.

  “Second shelf on the left,” he said.

  She located it and made some.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “We’re going to spend the day together,” she told him.

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “Jane, I don’t want this.”

  “Want what? You don’t want to spend the anniversary of your wife’s disappearance with the woman who recently called you a fucking bastard? Fair enough, but tell me, what do you want to do?”

  “I don’t remember you exactly calling me a fucking bastard.”

  “Must have been in my head,” she said.

  He sat down at his counter. “I was thinking I’d stay in bed.”

  “No,” she said, “out of the question.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “I want you to come to Dalkey with me.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “I think we should walk the streets she walked, and I think we should talk and reminisce, and then maybe we could get some lunch, and after that we’ll hand out some of those flyers you keep in that black bag of yours by the door, and maybe we’ll make our way into town and we’ll stay there until it gets dark and this day is over.”

  Tom thought about it for a moment or two, then nodded. He went up to his bedroom and came down dressed and ready.

  They walked together through the village of Dalkey, and as they walked they handed flyers to anyone who would take them.

  After a while Jane decided to broach the subject they had both been avoiding.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things.”

  “You were right,” he said, “perfectly right.”

  “I was taking out my own frustrations on you,” she said, “
and while I’m never going to be able to comprehend how a man who loves his wife as much as you love Alexandra could possibly be with that woman, I’m still on your side.”

  “Alexandra’s gone,” he said, “and I miss her so much I ache, and I’m so terrified that I swear it’s brought me to the brink of insanity and I’m just holding on, and for a while that woman helped me do that. I’m not making excuses. I’m just telling you the way it is.”

  “Okay,” she said, “and again, I’m sorry.” She handed a flyer to a woman pushing a pram. The woman looked at it for a second and then crumpled it right in front of them. “What a cow,” Jane said, and Tom pushed her ahead.

  “I ended it with Jeanette,” he said. “Actually, if I’m honest, I treated her pretty poorly.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I pushed her out the door and slammed it in her face two minutes after you left.”

  “Oh, that is a poor show.”

  “I blame you,” he said, and he grinned.

  “That’s funny,” she said.

  There had been no developments since the reconstruction had aired. The police had received a number of calls after the show, but none of them had panned out. Tom was at a loss as to what to do next, and part of him wished that he could just let go.

  “How about we get a drink?” he said.

  “Love to,” she said.

  Tom put the flyers back into the black bag, and together they walked to the pub.

  On the last day of June, Leslie sat up in her hospital bed. The nurse had just taken blood and the trainee doctor had just taken her history for the tenth time. She was asked if she wanted something to help her sleep, but she declined—she wanted to spend as much time with her breasts and womb as possible. She was wearing a nightshirt that Jane had bought for her, and under her bed were slippers from Elle. She moisturized her face and put balm on her lips. When the woman across the way tried to make eye contact, she pretended to read a magazine, and when the woman disappeared into the toilet, she jumped out and pulled the curtain around her bed.

  The woman in the bed opposite watched the clock, waiting for visiting hour, but Leslie didn’t expect any visitors because she had been adamant that she wanted to be alone.

  Jim was the first to appear from behind the curtain with a bag of fruit and a bottle of 7UP raised high.

  “I told you not to come.”

  “I wouldn’t have expected you to say anything else,” he said, and he sat on the chair by her bed.

  “I can’t believe you are ignoring my express wishes.”

  Jane called out Leslie’s name, and Jim opened the curtain. “She’s here,” he said, and he turned back to Leslie. “Looks like I’m not the only one.”

  Jane appeared with a Brown Thomas bag filled with moisturizer, perfume, and a pair of candles. “They’re from Elle too,” she said, “and I know it’s weird to give you candles, but they smell so good.”

  Leslie sighed. “Thank you.”

  Elle appeared, going on about the toilets. “My God, where are we, Basra? There was blood on the floor. Make sure you wear your slippers everywhere.”

  Leslie nodded that she would, and Jim got up and pulled two more chairs over so that the girls could sit, and just as they sat, Tom appeared with a brown bag full of sweets and mints.

  “Oh for God’s sake,” Leslie said, and she smiled and shook her head. “What are you doing here?”

  “Why wouldn’t I come?” he said. “After everything you’ve done for me.”

  Elle got up and let him sit down, and she sat at the end of the bed. Jane introduced Tom to Jim, and they chatted happily about the building trade dying on its feet. Jim had read an interesting article on the subject, and he was interested to hear Tom’s point of view. Tom explained he had closed up shop at the end of ’07 and he was happy to see the back of his business.

  “So what are you doing now?” Jim asked.

  “Well, aside from looking for my wife, nothing.”

  “What would you like to do?”

  Tom thought about it and shook his head. “I have no idea.”

  “Well,” Jim said, “the world is your oyster.”

  “I suppose it is.”

  Jane and Elle fussed over Leslie, and she pretended she didn’t like it, but she couldn’t conceal her joy.

  “When this is done,” Elle said, “and when you’re feeling better, we’ll do something fun.”

  “Can’t wait.”

  “And you know that if things are a little bleak in the hospice, there is plenty of room at my place,” Jane said. “The house is so empty without Kurt and Irene.”

  Leslie couldn’t believe Jane’s kindness. It took her by surprise, and looking around at the people she now had in her life moved her to tears.

  Elle squeezed her hand. “You’re not alone anymore, pal.”

  “I know,” she said. She wiped away her tears and opened the bag of chocolate. “Who wants chocolate?”

  They all dug in, and even though Leslie couldn’t eat, she felt full.

  11

  “Simple and True”

  Like a rainbow after a shower

  I don’t regret a day, not one single hour.

  Ah bring on the bigger things I can’t help but follow,

  without you by my side my heart would be hollow.

  Jack L, Universe

  July 2008

  Breda had refused to get out of bed since the television reconstruction of Alexandra’s disappearance. Her daughter Kate gave her sponge baths, and her husband sat with her and encouraged her to eat the food that Kate and Eamonn’s wife, Frankie, took turns to cook and deliver. She’d take a few bites but only when her husband pleaded with her and only to satisfy him. It was not Breda’s intent to starve herself or to cause pain to the people she loved, and if she could have summoned the mental and physical strength to get up, she would have.

  “Look, love, it’s shepherd’s pie,” Ben Walsh said to his wife, raising the fork toward her mouth. “Frankie made it according to your own recipe.”

  Breda closed her eyes and opened her mouth, the food fell in, and Ben cleaned off the tiny amount that fell out with a tea towel. She didn’t chew. Instead it just sat in her mouth until it had melted enough for her to swallow.

  “Eamonn’s downstairs. Would you like to see him?”

  She blinked a few times, and he wondered if her eyes were dry or whether she was now resorting to communication through the medium of eye movement.

  “Kate will be over tonight with fresh clothes, and she’ll help you wash,” Ben said, “and I’ll be downstairs, so maybe afterward you could come down and join us for a while. I can put a duvet on the sofa. What do you think, love?”

  Breda closed her eyes and then opened them and nodded slightly.

  Ben smiled at her. “Great, great stuff. I’ll tell the kids.”

  He took the tray off the bed and walked out, closing the door behind him.

  Breda lay there motionless, waiting for sleep to come.

  Ben joined Eamonn downstairs. Eamonn hung up from a call and turned to his dad. Taking the tray from him, he noticed that the shepherd’s pie was not even half eaten.

  “We need to get a doctor out here,” he said.

  “I know,” Ben said. “We will.”

  “When?”

  “When your mammy says it’s okay.”

  “Dad, my mother is in no fit state to decide that.”

  “She’s just sad, son.”

  “No, Dad. She was just sad; now it’s more sinister.”

  Ben walked outside and lit a cigarette. Eamonn followed him, grabbed a plastic deck chair and sat beside him.

  “You can’t hide from this, Dad,” he said. “You could hide from Alexandra, but not this.”

  Ben stayed silent because his son was right. He had hidden from the reality of the loss of his daughter for months. He had pushed her away into a tiny corner of his mind because to think about her and to allow himself to feel the emotions
he had felt those first few weeks would have been unbearable. His pain turned to anger, and in the absence of an aggressor he had turned on Tom. He had loathed him since that day over a year before when Alexandra had walked out her door and vanished. He had decided that even if Tom had been working when they lost her and even if he had loved Alexandra, his love hadn’t been enough to keep her safe. He didn’t care that it was cruel and unkind to blame the man who’d driven himself half mad to find her, because the only time he had felt better in the past year was when he was making Tom feel worse. Eamonn coped by pretending that Alexandra hadn’t been as happy as she had pretended to be and that mentally she hadn’t been capable of accepting her life as it was. She had forfeited a career she’d worked hard to succeed in for a baby that never came. She had tried hormone injections and four rounds of IVF, acupuncture, herbs, tonics; she had given up smoking, joined a gym, changed her eating habits; and although she had maintained a happy and casual façade, he had known she was lying, he had known that she was desperate to be a mother, and he had known that every single month and every negative test was eating away at his sister until there was little of the real her left. At least that’s what he told himself, because it was easier to believe that she had chosen to walk away from her own life or even that she’d thrown herself over Dalkey pier than to face the horrifying alternatives. And so again, while he didn’t hold the same anger as his father, there was a large part of him that held Tom accountable for the loss of his sister. The difference between Eamonn and his father was that since the reconstruction and Breda’s subsequent withdrawal, Ben had realized, while sitting on plastic chairs in their back garden, that Tom was as helpless in the disappearance of Alexandra as he now found himself in the face of his wife’s mysterious illness. All the anger that he’d built up to protect himself from true suffering was slowly dissipating, the pain was slowly returning, and he now found himself experiencing the darkness that Tom had been experiencing all along.

  “Call the doctor,” he said to his son after the longest time, “and call Tom.”