“My back is breaking,” Dominic said.
When all eighteen candles were lit, Elle signaled to the DJ and he played “Happy Birthday,” and Dominic and Jane walked in holding the cake. Kurt was left standing in the middle of the dance floor alone as all his friends abandoned him. He covered his face and then blew out his candles. Everybody clapped, and Jane and Dominic took the cake over to the side, where the caterer started to cut it.
“This is where we decipher who’s drunk and who’s stoned,” Dominic said. “Cake eaters, stoned; non—cake eaters, pissed.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said.
“You’re such a square, Janey,” Elle said, gorging on cake. “Yum,” she said, and she giggled.
After midnight everything got a little crazy. Jane was surrounded by sixty drunk teenagers and was feeling a little worse for wear herself. Tom was on his fifth whiskey, and even though there was plenty of food he wouldn’t touch any of it.
“Do you want to get some air?” she asked when the tent got so hot there was steam coming off the teenagers’ heads.
“Yes, please.”
They walked outside into the cool air.
“That’s better,” he said. “You know, I’d love a cup of coffee.”
“I’d love a cup of tea,” she admitted, “but I haven’t seen Elle in a while, so first I just want to make sure she’s okay.”
“You mean you’re checking up on her.”
“Did you see how much wine she was pouring down her throat? It was like looking at Rose.”
“Where is Rose?”
“Her pal’s house. She doesn’t like groups of teenagers—says they bring out the devil in one another.”
“Right.” Tom headed up to the house to put the kettle on.
Elle’s light was on, so Jane walked inside. The kitchen was empty, as was the sitting room. She called out and heard movement coming from the bedroom. To make sure that Elle wasn’t getting sick, she opened the door and saw Dominic attempt to cover his face with the duvet. Elle just sat there as though Dominic wasn’t in the bed beside her, hiding when he’d already been seen.
“Hi, Janey,” Elle said.
“I don’t believe it.”
Dominic took the duvet down from his face. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t mind, do you, Janey?” Elle said. “You’re over him, you’ve moved on.”
“Shut up, Elle.”
“Jane, look …”
“Shut up, Dominic.”
“Janey, relax!” Elle said.
“I’m finished with both of you,” Jane said. “Completely and utterly finished.”
“What does that mean?” Elle said.
“It means that you are on your own.”
She closed the door and walked out of the cottage and through the garden past all the drunken teenagers, two of whom were puking in her mother’s rosebushes and one of whom was taking a pee on the graves of Elle’s dead gerbils, Jeffrey, Jessica, Judy, and Jimmy. She walked into her kitchen, and Tom was waiting with fresh coffee and tea and was surprised when she slammed the door. She covered her face and then her mouth, and then she sniffed and sat down.
“What happened?”
“Dominic and my sister happened.”
“They were together?”
“Yes, Tom, they were together in bed postcoitus.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Everybody is always sorry. Don’t you get pissed off with people being sorry?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Me too. I am so fucking sick of being sorry, feeling sorry, and having people feel sorry for me.”
“Me too.”
“Dominic is an asshole, he can’t help it, I’ve always known and I’ve always put up with it. But Elle, it’s not her. Elle may be a lot of things, but she has always been kind, never cruel, and this is cruel—she doesn’t even like him.”
“Drink some tea.”
“I don’t fucking want any fucking tea.”
“That’s two ‘fucking’s in the space of three seconds. I think you need some tea.”
“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.”
“It’s okay, you’re just upset.”
“I don’t love him.”
“I know.”
“I just don’t understand why Elle would do that.”
“I don’t know what to tell you.”
“I’m finished with her. I have picked up after her since she was a kid, I’ve put her ahead of me every step of the way. I didn’t ask for much, in fact I don’t remember ever asking for or wanting anything but Dominic. She knew what she was doing. So I’m finished with her.”
Tom handed her the tea. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”
She shook her head. “No, I won’t.”
“It’s going to be fine,” he said.
“How could she do that?” she said.
And it was then that she burst into tears and sobbed and rattled in Tom’s arms until she was empty, and when she stopped crying he kissed her and it took her aback, especially as he was in such close proximity and she had puffy eyes, tear-burned cheeks, and, she suspected, a runny nose. It felt really nice and so she kissed him, and then they were both kissing each other for a minute or two or ten, and then he pulled away and under his breath he said he was sorry.
“Yeah,” she said, and she sniffled a little. “Of course you are.”
He walked out of the kitchen and out of her house, leaving Jane alone staring out at her son and his pals having the time of their lives. She walked into her bedroom and locked the door and laid her head on her pillow and cried into it until it caused her actual physical pain to continue. Where the hell did it all go wrong?
Two days after Kurt’s party, Leslie returned home from holiday. She was tanned and relaxed and even happy. Despite being sore, tired, itchy, and sometimes emotional, she’d had the time of her life. They laid on the beach, and while she slept under the sun her body and mind healed themselves. They drank wine in the evenings, ate beautiful food while looking at beautiful scenery, and armed with the clothes carefully chosen by Elle she didn’t feel odd or weird or freakish once.
In fact she felt good, especially when she caught the eye of a few locals, and one particular waiter attempted to chat her up every time Jim left the table.
She enjoyed Jim’s company, they had fun together, it was easy and freeing, they talked when they had something to say and other times they just relaxed in silence. Leslie’s mood had improved one hundred percent, she felt better, she looked better, the hormones were obviously kicking in, and a confidence she hadn’t known she had was coming to the fore. Jim called it “survivor’s confidence.” She liked that. She liked Jim, and he was more than family. Leslie Sheehan was falling in love.
14
“I’ve Been Raining”
I’ve been raining I’ve been pouring
there’s a hole in my roof I’ve been ignoring
I’ve been washed up idle and wasted.
I know my luck is going to change
I can almost taste it.
Jack L, Broken Songs
October 2008
After weeks and weeks of doctor visits and referrals, Breda was hospitalized. Two days later her husband, Ben, her son, Eamonn, and her daughter Kate were called into a consultant’s office and told that she had end-stage colon cancer. Ben didn’t understand what the doctor was saying and so he repeated the words a few times, looking at his daughter and son. Kate cried and Eamonn got angry.
“She’s been sick for months. How the hell was this not picked up?” Eamonn said, banging his fist on the table.
“Eamonn, calm down,” Ben said.
The consultant had no answer. “It should have been picked up,” he said.
“Is that all you can say?” Eamonn said.
“I can’t answer for the other doctors you’ve seen. I can only tell you what I’ve found. I will say this: I reviewed your mother’s medical history and only last year sh
e had a clean bill of health, which means the cancer has spread in a very short period of time.”
“How do we fix her?” Ben asked.
“All we can offer is palliative care.”
“Palliative?” Ben said.
“She’s dying, Dad,” Kate said.
“Don’t say that, Kate,” he said.
“How long does she have?” Eamonn asked in a whisper.
“Six to eight weeks,” the consultant said.
“Ah no,” Ben said, “this isn’t happening.”
“I’m very sorry, Mr. Walsh,” the consultant said.
“No.” Ben shook his head. “I can’t have this—we lost our daughter only a year ago—I can’t have this.”
“We will make her as comfortable as possible.”
Ben stood up and walked out into the corridor. He looked for the exit sign that would take him outside. He was halfway down the corridor when he stopped and held himself and sobbed so loud and so hard that a nurse came to assist him. She guided him to a chair and waited with him until his family came to find him.
Ben sat in a big red armchair pulled up close to the bed, and when he wasn’t sleeping he was holding Breda’s hand. His daughter and son took turns badgering him to eat or drink or take a walk or shower or sleep. He said no every time. He washed with antibacterial soap in the disabled bathroom two doors down from his wife’s room, Kate brought clean clothes, and he changed in the toilet cubicle. He ate a sandwich in the chair, and sometimes Frankie and Eamonn arrived with some warm stew. They hadn’t told Breda she was dying, but Ben knew that deep down she was aware of her situation. She didn’t talk much. The medication made her sleep a lot, and the Breda he knew had all but disappeared. So he watched his wife lie still and wondered where her mind was—was she happy or sad, scared or at peace, did she even really know he was there, could she feel his hand, would she come back around and talk to him and did she even want to?
Kate would talk to her, telling her about what was happening and complaining that after an entire summer of rain it was still raining and even for October she couldn’t believe how cold and miserable it was. She told her about the liaison officer’s latest report on Alexandra, and unfortunately there wasn’t much news there: the ring seemed to lead only to a dead end. She talked about Owen’s job and how as a member of the management team he had been forced to let some people go because the company was starting to cut back. She brushed Breda’s hair and put moisturizer on her face and Vaseline on her lips. She washed her nightgowns and made sure that she had water even though she wasn’t awake to drink it, because she would be thirsty when she came back.
Eamonn always stood just inside the door leaning against the wall, watching his mum and waiting for a sign. He was quiet, speaking only when necessary, to answer a question or to ask the doctor or nurse for a status report.
Tom came and went, and it was hard because although Kate was kind and Ben’s attitude to him had softened, Breda had been the only member of the Walsh family never to blame or suspect him in the loss of Alexandra. She maintained his tenuous link with the Walshes, and in her absence he felt like an outsider rather than family, but in deference to her he went anyway.
Things had been slightly awkward between Tom and Jane since the kiss, but when Kate phoned him with Breda’s news, she was the first one he called. Initially she was hesitant; he could hear it in her voice, so he didn’t beat around the bush.
“Breda has cancer,” he said.
“Oh Tom, I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“She’s dying.”
“Oh my God!”
“They say she’s only got six to eight weeks.”
“Oh Tom, that’s awful!”
“I can’t believe it.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I thought you were fucking sick of listening to people say fucking sorry,” he said in jest, and all the tension that had built up that night dissolved.
“Let’s just leave it at that, shall we?”
“I’d love to.”
“What can I do for Breda?”
“Absolutely nothing.”
“God, Tom, I really am so sorry to hear that.”
“I know, I know you’re fond of her.”
“Poor Mr. Walsh!”
“Are you going to call Ben ‘Mr. Walsh’ till the day you die?”
“Probably.” She sighed. “How’s Eamonn?”
“Annoyed.”
“Nothing new there, then.”
“For once I don’t blame him.”
“I wish I could do something for her,” she said.
“Me too.”
They agreed to meet for coffee the next day. Jane put down the phone, and Kurt was standing behind her when she turned.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“I’d like to ask you the same thing.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Dad says he’s not welcome here anymore. What the hell?”
“He’s not, and you don’t want to know,” she said, walking from the sitting room to the kitchen.
“I really do,” he said, following her.
“Do you want coffee?”
“Yes.” He sat down.
She boiled the kettle and scooped the coffee into the percolator and stood at the counter, tapping her fingers on it. Kurt waited at the table with his hands in his hair.
“Mum?” he said when the kettle was just about boiled.
“It’s complicated.”
“I’m not twelve.”
She poured the water into the percolator, put the top on, and grabbed two cups. She placed the percolator and cups on the table and sat. Kurt leaned back on his chair, opened the fridge door, and grabbed the milk.
“Well?” he said.
“He slept with Elle,” she said.
“Elle, your sister, my aunt?” he said, pointing to her and then to himself.
“Yes.”
“What the fuck?”
“Language, Kurt.”
“No, seriously, Mum, what the fuck?” Kurt stood up and paced. “Why? Jesus, they don’t even like each other that much.”
“I don’t know.”
“When?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters.”
“Your birthday party.”
“Oh man!” He sat down. “No wonder Dad’s been acting strange.”
“I’m sorry, Kurt, but I don’t want to see him again.”
“I know you love him, Mum,” Kurt said.
Jane blushed so red she was embarrassed by her embarrassment. Her eyes filled and stung.
“I’m really sorry, Mum.”
“Thanks,” Jane said, and she pulled herself together.
“What about Elle?” He hadn’t seen her in well over a week, but that didn’t mean a thing as she often disappeared for that long and longer.
“She’s not welcome here either.”
“But she lives down the back of the garden.”
“And that’s where she can stay.”
“Okay. What about me?”
“I don’t understand the question.”
“I hate what they did to you, but he’s my dad.”
“And I don’t expect you to take sides,” Jane said. “You’re an adult now. You’re starting college next week. You can still have a great relationship with your dad, just one that doesn’t involve me.”
“Okay, but I promise I’m going to give him such shit for this.”
“I appreciate that.” Jane smiled at her son. “If you throw in a kick in the nuts I’d appreciate that too.”
Kurt practiced swinging his leg. “Consider it done. And, Mum, he isn’t good enough for you.”
Jane’s eyes filled up again. “Thanks, son.”
Kurt left the kitchen, and Jane sighed and thought to herself that even if she was about to turn thirty-seven and she was alone, at least she had Kurt, for a while anyway.
She walked to the sink and poure
d the coffee that they hadn’t touched down the drain, and when Elle appeared and stared at her through her kitchen window, Jane ducked.
Jesus, Jane, get a grip.
She stood up and left the room.
Elle deeply regretted her actions with Dominic. As soon as they were caught, their affair was over. There was no discussion, no debate, and no good-bye. After Jane vacated Elle’s room, they sat in the bed in silence, allowing her words to sink in. They both knew Jane well enough to hear in her voice the hurt and damage they’d caused, and they both knew her well enough to know that she was serious when she said she was done with them. They both had realized that in that moment their happy family was no more. Jane was the glue that held them all together, and the glue had become unstuck. Elle got out of bed and got dressed, and Dominic followed suit. She walked into her sitting room, closed the door, and cuddled up on the sofa with her favorite blanket, and he left without a word. Since then she had kept out of Jane’s way because after sleeping with the love of Jane’s life, adhering to her request to stay away was the least she could do.
She missed Jane in her life instantly. Jane was one of the very few people she talked to every day, and Jane was the one who took care of her when she was sick, when she was well, when she didn’t want her to, and when she needed her to. Jane was Elle’s world, and without Jane Elle’s world was incredibly empty. Four days after Kurt’s party, Jane sent Elle a business letter ceasing their working arrangement, withdrawing as Elle’s agent, and providing her with names of other agents and galleries she could work with. Elle was devastated. Jane knew that she was a ditz with business, and so ceasing their working relationship was the final straw and it meant that Jane was absolutely adamant that she wanted nothing more to do with her. For the first time in her life, Elle had done something so bad that there was no coming back from it. Jane had been forgiving her all her life, but Elle had crossed the line.
Leslie arrived at her cottage to go for a planned walk in a nearby park. Leslie asked if she should nip up to the main house to ask Jane if she wished to join them, and Elle broke into tears.
“What happened?” Leslie said, hands on hips.
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