The Day I lost You

by Fionnuala Kearney

  La, la la, la la la, la la la la la …

  They kiss, a tender, fleeting touch of their mouths and I swallow hard. She has her own form of unconditional love; my sister loves her man with all her heart. I look across at Rose and hope for her sake that my love will always flow for her and that my heart hasn’t been blackened the way it feels it has. Today is a really bad day.

  17. Anna

  Raw Honey Blogspot 10/08/2014

  I think I should have travelled, you know, done the backpacking thing. It’s something I often wonder … How things might have panned out had I made it across Australia, me and my BF picking fruit along the way. But I didn’t want to defer my university place, and then getting pregnant during my first year changed everything (not least of which meant I chose to live at home and travel to the London campus when I needed to, rather than in digs, as I’d hoped). It sounds completely unbelievable but DD really was an accident. I have no idea, other than the obvious, how she was conceived. There was no burst condom, no missing my pill. She was just meant to be. And I was just not meant to travel the outback …

  Mama was fantastic. She never pushed me to keep the pregnancy, nor would she have judged me if I hadn’t. She just gave me the space to know that I could do whatever I chose to. I chose to have DD. He came around to it eventually; took Him a few weeks but when He saw how determined I was, He caved. And the moment I felt his hand stroke my tummy, swelling with our baby, I caved and forgave Him.

  But today, I’m on holiday with Mama and DD in a small hotel on the southwest corner of Ibiza and I wish I’d had the chance to travel more. I wouldn’t change a thing about having DD. She’s my life. But I think I allowed my world to stay small. If things had been different, if I’d had the chance to live a few pages of Eat, Pray, Love, I think maybe I could have been happy anyway – a different happy, but happy. I’d have moved on from Him, eaten a lot of pasta and met a Balinese yogi. I’d have ridden a bicycle with a warm wind in my loose hair.

  Pah, travel, schmavel …

  If I’d done all that I wouldn’t have DD.

  And I’d probably have got dysentery.

  And I’d probably have got pregnant anyway since DD’s soul was heading my way whatever, her trajectory already decided. She’d have had different DNA. She’d have probably looked more like the Italian tenor I would have fallen for when I heard him sing in Rome. But she’d have had the same soul …

  I’m out by the pool, under an umbrella, using my phone to upload this. DD is sitting ten feet from me playing in the kiddies’ splash area with a little boy her own age. I’ve covered her in sunscreen and she seems to be loving it here. Mama’s finding it a bit hot. She got too much sun yesterday and she’s inside now, reading on her bed, air-con on full whack.

  I’ve been doing a lot of soul-searching and I really think that – much as I love living with Mama, much as she makes it easy for DD and me to be there – it can’t continue in the long run. What if I meet someone? What if we both wanted to move somewhere else, with or without someone new in my life?

  She loves me so much. She loves us both so much. Dad told me once that he couldn’t take that – it’s why he left. At the time I called him a coward, but now, I get it. Mama’s love – she calls it unconditional but, on the receiving end of it, it feels suffocating. And I’ve allowed our lives together to create a situation where DD and I have become her whole life. And that’s a big bloody responsibility. When you realize you’re absolutely everything to someone, that without you, their life would be empty – suddenly love feels like it comes with handcuffs, and I’m not talking furry pink ones …

  18. Theo

  There was never a good time to be haunted. Day or night. Night, Theo thought, might have brought darker shadows, more menacing shapes, but daytime was just as worrying. She troubled him; the letter had knocked him sideways. He walked to the den and sat down on the large grey leather sofa, the one he’d told Harriet to take if it ever came to halving the furniture. He had always hated it. He leaned back and flicked the television on. Football. He would watch football …

  The score was 3-1 to Manchester City. He didn’t care who won. He didn’t much care for football. Reaching into his jeans pocket, he pulled out and opened a tiny blister pack of paracetamol, the telling pulse across his brow meaning a bumper headache was on its way.

  He called Jess’s number, only to hear it ring out again. Annoyed, he thumbed a text to her.

  Tried to call you twice now.

  He knew he should just go upstairs, lie down on the bed, and sleep it off.

  ‘Shit!’ He screamed the word before falling back on the sofa in a lying position. He needed to sleep. And he hoped when he did, that he would wake up and all those things that poked at the edge of his brain, making him anxious, would be nothing more than bad elements of a bad dream.

  Four hours asleep in the middle of the day was not how Theo envisaged spending his first day without his son. He wasn’t sure what exactly he’d had in mind, but it wasn’t that. At four o’clock, he stood under the pressured hot water of the shower for a full ten minutes. He ignored his phone ringing. He ignored the sound of a message pinging, knew from experience that a shower was needed to hydrate, that drinking two litres of water would be needed before he set a foot outside the house. He groaned out loud, placed his palms on the tiles, and stretched his long arms to the max. He should cancel. He was in no mood for company.

  Towelling himself dry in the bedroom, he checked his phone. One message. He clicked on Jacqueline’s number.

  Looking forward to later. See you at seven.

  He tossed the towel in the wash and walked around his bedroom, talking to himself out loud. He spoke in an animated way; used his hands a lot to gesticulate; told himself that it was only a date.

  She said she liked pizza. So, it was agreed between them to keep it simple – a pizza in a local Italian. As soon as she’d suggested it, he had wanted to argue, maybe try and find a venue a bit further away, one that he hadn’t frequented so often with Harriet; one where he, and probably Jacqueline too, weren’t so well known. He didn’t change the plan, and when the head waiter greeted him by name and an arching of his left eyebrow, Jacqueline laughed.

  ‘Maybe we should have tried somewhere a bit further afield?’

  He smiled, pulled out her chair and took a seat opposite. He honestly had no idea what to do, what to say.

  ‘You obviously come here often,’ she smiled, laid her napkin across her lap.

  ‘I haven’t been in a while.’

  ‘Hopefully you can create some new memories.’

  He nodded. She knew. Of course she knew. Everyone in the town seemed to know he was now single.

  Jacqueline chatted enough for them both. She ordered a light vegetarian pizza with salad in the middle while he opted for a meat feast. He wasn’t drinking so she didn’t either, asking only for sparkling water.

  ‘There,’ she said when the food arrived, ‘Mars and Venus on a plate. Women constantly counting calories and men just want their meat.’

  ‘You don’t look like you need to count calories,’ he said.

  Her cheeks flushed a light pink. ‘Yes, I do, but thank you for saying so. Climbing up and down the wall fifty times a day – I need to be at or under a certain weight to have the stamina. How’s Finn, by the way? I missed him at club last night.’

  ‘He’s with Harriet, his mum, for the weekend.’

  She nodded, her mouth full of rocket.

  ‘It’s the first weekend actually. It all feels a little bit weird.’

  Right next to their table, loud conversation made both Theo and Jacqueline stare at their neighbours. The male, a very tall man whose torso towered above Theo’s, sat very still. His companion, a tiny oriental woman, was jabbing his right arm with a finger. Suddenly she stood and screamed. In the most perfect English she swore a long stream of abuse at him. Her hands waved wildly, finally landing on him, giving him a push. His bulk meant he never moved. His n
ature seemed to imply he was also unmoved by her tantrum.

  Jacqueline’s eyes widened. When the woman sat down and picked up her cutlery again, Jacqueline whispered, ‘It’s fun here, isn’t it?’

  ‘More Mars and Venus?’ Theo asked.

  She giggled. ‘Not sure. She’s a bit of a pocket rocket and he seems to be a gentle giant.’

  ‘Maybe he beats her at home and this is the only place she can vent. In public.’

  ‘Okay …’ She picked a piece of pizza up with her hands, studied Theo. ‘That could be it, I suppose. Or maybe she’s the one doing the thumping. You never know people. Do you mind if I use my hands? I can’t be bothered with a knife and fork with pizza.’

  ‘Go for it.’

  She took a bite and chewed slowly before speaking again. ‘Jules and Eddie pestered me to go out with you. Sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it came out. Obviously, I’m here because I want to be here.’

  The next table had started up again. Pocket Rocket stood and grabbed her handbag. ‘Fuck you and your whole family,’ she cried before marching out the door.

  Jacqueline nodded her head towards the woman’s coat, still on the back of the chair. ‘She’ll be cold.’

  ‘She’ll be back,’ Theo said.

  The man called for the bill, paid with cash and left, leaving the woman’s coat behind. Within seconds she was back, picking it up and putting it on. Neither of them seemed to have any real awareness that they were in a public place.

  ‘So, “pestered”.’ Theo smiled.

  ‘Wrong word, sorry.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘They think that you – and I’m quoting here – “need the love of a good woman”.’

  Theo didn’t meet her eye. The woman sitting opposite him was everything he should have wanted. Attractive, chatty, bubbly. She had kind eyes, grass green; a careful little flick at the edges with an eye pencil giving her a feline look. She had high cheekbones – Slavic blood somewhere, he concluded. She was the perfect height; he figured she’d fit right under his arm as they walked.

  ‘We don’t have to do this,’ she said. ‘I know you’re not separated for very long, and if I’d known this was your first weekend alone, I’d have said no to this date.’

  His eyebrows arched. ‘You would? Why?’

  She shrugged, pushed her plate away from her, half of her food still remaining. ‘Because you need time to just be you. You have to adjust to that first. And before you say anything,’ she held a palm up, ‘I know this is just a pizza, but even that. Just being in another woman’s company. It takes time and my sense is you’re not ready.’

  ‘You talk an awful lot,’ Theo said.

  ‘Sorry,’ she replied, without looking sorry at all.

  ‘Don’t apologize. It’s quite refreshing. I did all the talking in my marriage.’

  She looked surprised.

  ‘Harriet’s a lawyer, talks all day. Wants to be mute when she comes home – came home. So, what would Mars and Venus say about that?’

  A waiter handed them both a dessert menu. ‘That it’s unusual,’ Jacqueline said to Theo. ‘No thank you,’ she told the waiter. ‘I’m full.’

  ‘Nothing for me either.’ Theo tapped his stomach.

  He listened to her talking about her niece, a gymnast, good enough to be an Olympian some day; about her family, both of her parents living in Scotland, and her two siblings – brothers. His head bobbed in apparent appreciation.

  ‘Coffee?’ the waiter interrupted her flow. She shook her head and he followed her lead.

  With the waiter out of earshot, she spoke again. ‘I have coffee back at mine,’ she said.

  Theo hesitated, embarrassed. ‘Another time …’

  Jacqueline placed both her palms on the table. ‘When I said coffee back at mine, I really did mean coffee.’

  Theo scratched his head and scrunched his flushing face. He picked up the bill and placed some notes on the tiny tray. When she started to object, he told her he had asked her out. It was his shout. He reached across the table, placed a hand over hers. ‘No coffee, but I’d like to drive you home?’

  ‘Thank you. That would be great.’

  Outside the restaurant, she shivered in her coat. He offered her his arm and she looped hers through it as they walked to his car. Two cars from his, they noticed the couple from the restaurant, kissing passionately in the front of a car.

  Jacqueline shook her head. ‘There’s nowt as queer as folk,’ she said.

  Theo grinned, though he felt as if his insides were coming apart at the seams. The night was young and he didn’t want to be alone. He so didn’t want to be alone that it alarmed him.

  ‘Drop me home, maybe come in for a proper drink? I hate coffee.’ She smiled as she faced him. ‘I’ve got a lovely rioja open.’

  He held his breath, dismissed the fact that he normally never drank after a headache, squeezed her arm and said, ‘A rioja would be perfect.’

  19. Jess

  It’s the Monday after half-term but school is out because of teacher-training day. Being a mere teaching assistant, I don’t have to go in. I usually choose to anyway, but today I opt not to. Rose and I are walking; on our way to the high street to have her hair trimmed. She’s holding my hand and swinging it front to back like a pendulum. The playground we pass is full of children still on holidays and Rose stops walking, looks up at me. ‘Can we?’ she asks. I look at my wrist. ‘Five minutes. That’s all.’

  I hold onto her hand tightly until we get inside the gate, then I relax my grip and she’s off. She runs to the swings, her eyes firmly on the prize – one free, the last one in a row of six. I follow and, when I reach her, stand behind, ready to push.

  ‘High, Nanny,’ she orders. I push her high as I dare and she squeals with delight. The sound fills me, reminds me I have parts of me that can only be replenished with laughter. I focus on it as the chains clink and gravity pulls her back to me. I focus on her happiness, imagine it filtering through my pores, nourishing my soul. I push the bad stuff from my mind, like the letter I received from Sean this morning, the one where he tells me he’s seeking full custody of my granddaughter. Listening to the laughter in the playground, I can hear her laugh separately from those of the other children. Like a mother can tell the perfect, unique scent of her newborn, I can hear only Rose’s joy. I focus on it now, this moment in time with her, and I can feel a smile shape my lips.

  I push her curly fringe to one side of her face. Abigail, the girl who also cuts my hair, has put Rose in the chair and raised her as high as possible. I realize this is the first time I have ever brought her here. It would have been Anna before. All around us is the sound of dryers and people chattering and radio music piped through to speakers.

  ‘I don’t want short hair.’ Rose speaks loudly to the mirror.

  Abigail smiles.

  ‘My hair is like Nanny’s,’ Rose states. She holds a hand out to me and I take it in mine. ‘I want it to look like Nanny’s.’

  I laugh. ‘I’m afraid when you’re all grown up that it will and then you’ll want straight hair.’ Mine is, as usual, pulled into a bun, pinned into the back of my head. ‘Just a trim,’ I tell Abigail. ‘Just so it’s out of her eyes.’

  Rose gives a triumphant grin and she looks so like Anna in that moment that my heart almost tears apart. Any fissures that it already has have just suddenly widened. Despite my earlier confidence in the world, I wonder if I’m going to be capable of watching this child grow for another thirteen years before she will probably leave home. Will I be able to keep her and Anna separate? Will I be able to allow her to grow as the little individual that she is? Like Anna, but not Anna. They are the thoughts running through my head as Abigail leads Rose to the basin and as my phone vibrates in my hand.

  I look at the number. Doug. He hasn’t mentioned the money he lent me and I haven’t raised it. Oh, hell, not today, please. I push the phone back down to the end of my bag.

  Rose insists I sit beside her
. ‘Don’t let the lady cut too much,’ she says to both of us in the mirror. I’m in awe; five years old, her mother probably lost to her, yet already so sure of herself. I blow her a kiss. She catches it, tosses it back to me and I tap my heart. My phone rings again and I sigh, excuse myself, stand off to the side, tell Rose not to worry, that I’m watching.

  I take a deep breath and answer the call.

  ‘Doug,’ I roll my fingers in an assuring wave to Rose.

  ‘Jess.’

  Immediately, instantly, I have that same sense flow through my body as I did when he came to my house that night seventy-eight days ago. Rose is chatting to Abigail. I catch some of her words. ‘Daddy’, ‘school’, ‘Nanny’, ‘ballet’, ‘Lego’. She doesn’t say ‘Mummy’. Doug is talking and I’m thinking, It’ll be up to me and him now – it’ll be up to Doug and me to make sure she never forgets her mummy. I cannot leave that to Sean.

  ‘Body’ is the only real word I glean from Doug’s quiet speech. He probably had to practise it, and here I am not even taking it all in: poor Doug. Rose waves and I try hard to smile back but it feels as though if I do, my face will crack. I concentrate on Doug, who is crying softly into the phone. I lean into his words, ask him to repeat some.

  ‘Say something,’ he says when he has repeated them all. His voice sounds like my face: fragile.

  I can feel a pain in my jaw and search my quite extensive mental medical vocabulary for a word for it. When I used to work in the same surgery as Theo years ago, the staff would play medical word search games. Mandible. That’s it. My mandible is throbbing. I can feel its beat cumulate to a crescendo until the only thing I can do is open my mouth wide. A sound competes against the salon noise and I immediately wish I could haul it back, shove it back in my mouth. Rose looks in the mirror, wide-eyed.

  Abigail’s hand guides me to the chair next to her. I now have my own mirror. And the sounds don’t stop. I pray for them to stop. Please God. Make them stop. Rose is watching me. And, in my mirror, the horror unfolds. Anna’s body has been found. My beautiful girl’s body; maybe just her bones have been found in a crevice on the mountainside. I have a screaming mandible. My face is wet; months of stored-up grief finally flowing. Somehow Rose has made it down from her high chair and runs into my arms. She too is crying. With the palm of my hand, I stroke her wet, twisted hair.