Fiona

by Gemma Whelan

  CHAPTER NINE

  BIRTH

  “The center that I cannot find

  is known to my unconscious mind.”

  W.H. AUDEN

  The evening after her Los Angeles arrival, Fiona visited her brother’s house for the first time and surprised herself by liking it. It was the polar opposite of her little New York studio—Declan’s home was spacious and airy with expanses of wood and glass and wonderful light. The walls were mostly white and decorated with contemporary abstract paintings which complemented the newness and freshness of the space. And it managed to convey a sense of lived-in-ness—it wasn’t just a showcase.

  Fiona, Declan, Julie and Una sat around the cedar dining room table eating dinner. They had sweet strong cantaloupe for starters and had just begun to savor a wonderful Gorgonzola pasta.

  “This is delicious, Julie.”

  “It’s your brother that deserves the praise—I made the salad, but the rest is his creation.”

  Fiona tried not to register her surprise at the mere fact that her brother could cook at all, let alone cook this well. Yet another tidy notion she needed to retire.

  “Daddy’s a great cook,” Una piped up as if reading her thoughts. “Are you, Fiona?”

  “Afraid not, I have to admit. My culinary skills mostly extend to ordering Chinese take-out and opening cans of soup!”

  Una continued with the line of questioning. “Do you make films?” she asked between bites of pasta.

  Fiona laughed. “No. I’m a writer,” she told her. “Sometimes. Right now I’m just helping out on a film here.”

  “You’re being modest,” Julie turned to Fiona. “Fiona is working on a film that is being made from her own novel.” She told Una.

  “What’s it about? What’s the story?” Una chimed in.

  Fiona hesitated before responding. “Well, it’s set in Ireland . . . ” she began.

  “And it’s our family history,” her brother interjected.

  “It’s a fictional acc—” Fiona defended.

  And Una jumped in to ask what fictional meant.

  “It’s made up,” Fiona started to tell her. “It’s based on . . . ”

  And again Declan cut in. “Actual events, thinly disguised!”

  Una was trying to figure this out. She started to ask what disguised meant but skipped it to get to the meat of the story. “Are you in the story, Dad?” she asked Declan. “Are you, Fiona? Are there other brothers and sisters, too?” There was a pause as Una looked from Declan to Fiona to get an answer.

  Declan began to explain. “Una, do you remember I told you that Fiona and I had a little sister . . . ”

  Una turned to Fiona in her breathless excitement.

  “I’m going to have a little sister, too, or it could be a boy.” Then she turned back to her Dad. “What was her name, I forgot her name, your little sister?”

  Julie interjected. “Maybe we can talk about that later, Una. We had a late dinner, and it’s close to your bedtime.”

  Fiona breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Fiona’s going to be visiting for a while, so there’ll be plenty of time to talk.”

  “Can Fiona read me a bedtime story?” Una pleaded, not quite ready to give up her new-found aunt yet. Fiona was about to say fine when Declan interrupted.

  “Una, it’s time for you to run up and brush your teeth.”

  Una protested. “But, Daddy, I’m not tired.” Declan insisted. “But I’m not even a little bit sleepy. Can’t I stay up longer? Can’t Aunt Fiona please read to me? Can you play to me on the violin?”

  Declan laughed. “I don’t think my violin playing would put you asleep yet—more likely keep you awake all night, sweetheart!”

  Julie came up with a compromise. “How about Fiona will read you a story the next time she comes over? And I’m sure Daddy will play to you when he has some tunes worked out. But you have school tomorrow, and we need to hustle now and get ready for bed.” This worked like a charm. Una jumped up and said good-night to Fiona, and gave her a big hug.

  “Are you coming up to say good-night, Daddy?”

  “Yes, I promise. I’ll come up to kiss you good-night when you have your teeth brushed and are in bed, love. And maybe there’ll be time for a very, very short story.” Una gave a little squeak of delight and bounded up the stairs, followed by Julie.

  Fiona and Declan were left alone, and an awkward silence descended. She started to clear away the dishes and bring them into the kitchen. Declan put on water for tea. She tried to break the ice. “You’ve started to play the violin?”

  “Just playing around—fiddling around a bit! You remember I took lessons?”

  “Now that you mention it, I have a vague recollection.”

  “I used to play with Dad a bit. Then I took it up again in third year or so—you were away in boarding school.”

  “I don’t remember you practicing.” They continued to clear away the dishes.

  “I didn’t much during the holidays. And later on Dad didn’t want to play—so I dropped it, eventually.”

  “And you’re interested in taking it up again?” Fiona asked

  “I think Dad used to think I had some talent, though he never really said that. Then, at the wake, one of the fiddlers remembered me playing as a teenager, said that Dad wished I had kept it up.”

  Fiona flashed on Mrs. Connelly’s remarks about her Dad’s pride in her writing. “There was a lot left unsaid, wasn’t there?”

  Declan nodded. “Oh, yes! So, since he left me his violin, I’m starting to try it out again. Might take some lessons to get back in my stride—it’s been a good few years!”

  “That’s great, Declan. Dad never played again after Orla died, did he?”

  “I gather he occasionally joined in a few sessions locally from time to time, but he never played at home. He lost the heart for it, I think.”

  Lost the heart, is right, Fiona silently concurred.

  They worked in silence for a while. Fiona noticed a photograph of Una on the sideboard. “She’s the image of Orla, isn’t she?”

  “Una?” He nodded and helped Fiona clear more dishes from the table. “There’s a definite resemblance—the curls I suppose. She definitely takes after my side.”

  “The good-looking side,” Fiona added, a bit deviously, remembering “The Old Maid in the Garrett.”

  Declan was quick to jump in. “I meant, as opposed to Julie’s.”

  Fiona laughed. “I know what you meant. And I didn’t really mean just looks, but personality. It’s almost uncanny.” She loaded up the dishwasher.

  When Declan had the tea brewing he pulled out the big folder from his desk and placed it on the table. “You sure you want to start on this tonight?”

  Fiona nodded affirmation. She really wanted to try to work out some agreement. They sat down opposite each other. Declan took a deep breath, and Fiona wondered if he was more nervous than he looked. He cleared his throat. “It seems like Dad was hoping we could—get on.”

  “Do you mean like some kind of test?”

  “Maybe. Fiona, we’re family. Julie and Una are my family now, too, and it’s important to me to be able to bring them to Ireland, to our old home.”

  “And how do we reconcile that with my wanting to say goodbye to it all, to leave it behind?”

  “I honestly don’t know. I’m hoping we can talk it through. There must be a way we can both get what we want.”

  “But if I don’t want anything to do with it . . . ?”

  “Why should it bother you that I still have ownership?”

  “But it’s about the ties, the connections to the past.”

  Declan paused before responding. “You say you don’t want to hold on to those memories, but your work on the novel, and now the film, belies that.”

  Fiona felt herself losing her grip on the barely controlled emotions. “Why are you so threatened by my novel?”

  “Your view of our childhood is so skewed.”

&nb
sp; “I could understand that you would be in denial about the past—you were such a bully and liar.”

  “See. That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” Declan was red in the face now and his voice had lost its cool command. “I can’t let you portray me that way. I know it’s not really me, but, as I’m your brother . . . ” He stood up abruptly and went to the kitchen to pour the tea. He took the teacups from the cabinet and filled up the milk jug.

  Fiona wondered for the millionth time if Declan knew about the sexual abuse and knew that was why Frank would side with her and break the tie on the will, if it came to that. She measured her words carefully.

  “You know, I exaggerated and changed some real life incidents when I was writing the novel. If you think the brother is that unsympathetic, maybe you have a guilty conscience over things I don’t even know about.”

  “What are you implying, Fiona?” Declan fumed. “What would I have a guilty conscience about?”

  She hazarded a reply. She tried to keep her voice even.

  “Uncle Frank. He used to hurt me. After Orla died and Aunt Rita, of course, was already dead.” Fiona glanced sideways at Declan to try and gauge his reaction.

  “What do you mean, hurt you? How? When?”

  “I remember him sticking his fingers into my shoulders, maybe he was trying to reassure, you know the way people do, but he always did it too tight, like he was prying his fingers between my bones. And it always hurt for a long time afterwards.”

  Declan seemed puzzled. “But when; were we there? Maybe he was just giving you a hug or something and he pressed too hard.”

  “I remember in the bedroom once, Orla’s and mine, when she was sick, and we were all standing around in the dark. Then lots of places—when we said the rosary at night, remember? He’d be behind me and had this habit of pressing my shoulder. But you and Dad and Mam were there, so I didn’t know why you didn’t stop him. From hurting me. I thought you would try to stop him.”

  “But how could we know if you didn’t say? He couldn’t have meant to hurt you. Not deliberately. He was a bit distracted then, wasn’t he, a bit strange?” Declan’s voice was agitated.

  Fiona nodded affirmation. “Weren’t we all?”

  She then looked directly into her brother’s eyes. “I thought that you were the only one who was sane, normal. Who could see things clearly. I was a bit afraid of all of them. So I thought you might stop him. I hated those rosaries. Do you remember?”

  Declan nodded. “Oh, yes! ‘Thou, O Lord, wilt open my lips . . .’ et cetera. Then the launch into, ‘Glory be to the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, as it was in the beginning is now and ever shall be, world without end, Amen.’ ”

  “And the five mysteries—Joyful, Sorrowful or Glorious.”

  “And then Dad always continued with a litany of other prayers, ‘Hail Holy Queen, Mother of Mercy. Hail our life, our sweetness and our hope.’ ”

  “I liked ‘our sweetness and our hope’ ” Fiona interjected. “I liked those words. But the whole thing went on so long, and my knees were always sore, and then there was Uncle Frank.”

  There was a long silence before Declan added, “Me, too, I hated them too.”

  He shifted his attention back to the pot. “This tea is probably turned to porter by now!” They smiled, and Fiona sunk into the chair, drained. It seemed as if her brother didn’t know about Frank.

  As Declan re-emerged with the tea, Una’s twinkling voice called out from her upstairs bedroom. “Daddy, Daddy! I’m ready for my very, very short story!”

  He handed Fiona her cup of tea. “I’d better attend to the little empress.”

  And he called up to Una, “I’ll be right there pumpkin.”

  Fiona watched his disappearing back, shifted to an armchair and took a deep sip of her tea. It was going to be a long haul.

  “Will I pour you a cup?” Fiona offered when Julie came downstairs

  “No thanks.” Julie laughed. “I’ll fix myself an herbal one. I haven’t picked up the Irish habit of drinking tea late. I tried it a few times and was awake half the night.”

  Fiona had last met Julie at her mother’s funeral in 1988, and, once or twice, their visits to Ireland had briefly overlapped. Fiona always found her easy to get on with. Julie and Declan had been married over ten years now. They got married in a small civil wedding in Los Angeles, and none of the family had been invited. His parents wouldn’t have traveled anyway—neither of them liked to budge beyond their own environs, and Fiona wouldn’t have been inclined to come either, so it was probably just as well.

  “You must be excited about the new baby. Declan was saying it’s due around Christmas.”

  “Yes. December 23rd—a winter baby.”

  “Orla was born on December 24th, Christmas Eve. I always thought she was a Christmas present, because she was born at home—she just appeared.”

  “That’s interesting. I recall Declan saying something very similar about you once. You were born around Easter?”

  Fiona nodded. “I was actually born the day before but came home from the hospital on Easter Sunday.”

  “He said he thought you were an Easter present. What age was he, about three?”

  “Right. He would have been about three and a half. Maybe he thought I came from a golden egg!”

  Julie laughed. “Was that an Irish tradition?”

  “No. But in our family it was the Golden Hen who came at Easter when we were small. And we believed she laid the chocolate eggs!”

  “And does the name Fiona have a connection to Easter?”

  “Not particularly. It means white or pale.”

  “Well, that fits your lovely skin.” Julie flashed a smile, and Fiona blushed. She didn’t mention that Fiona also meant “fair.”

  “And now your baby is arriving as a holiday present, too. For years I thought babies came from Santa. I bet Una doesn’t think that!”

  Julie laughed. “No, she knows this baby is in my womb. She hasn’t asked for too many details yet, but I bet it’s around the corner. Sometimes I think she’s seven going on seventeen.”

  “And she’s probably old enough not to be jealous, do you think? Or are they ever?”

  Julie laughed. “I suspect she’ll be happy to have a sibling of either gender to boss around. I know I would have loved a brother or sister myself growing up—you always romanticize what you don’t get.”

  “I suppose I never thought about it much with the three of us, though we were a tiny family in Ireland at the time. Everyone around us had six or eight or ten or more. Once, when I went to the hospital with Orla and was waiting outside because I was too young to go in, I met a Dublin girl who came from a family of twenty-two. Can you imagine?”

  Julie groaned and held her expanding belly. “No! I can’t imagine or don’t even want to! Poor woman. She must have spent half of her life pregnant. Not that I mind it, but twenty times, I would!”

  “Declan mentioned in Ireland that you were having a hard time?”

  “Was as sick as a dog for the first couple of months. Swore I’d never go through it again. But it seems to have miraculously cleared up. I feel great now.”

  “Would you want another child, then?” Fiona asked. “Were you planning on more?”

  “I’m not sure. Declan would have been happy with just Una. But I really wanted her to have company.”

  “Maybe Declan felt it would be less complicated with one.” Fiona thought of their convoluted relationship. “But then you were lonely on your own. Will we ever get it right?”

  Declan appeared down the stairs at that moment and joined them in the living room.

  “How is she?” Julie asked.

  “Grand. Out like a light. She was worn out.”

  “It was a big day for her.” Julie smiled at Fiona. “Her entire family expanded by a quarter! Since she started the school project on family and ancestors I think she feels rather impoverished. Even though she only met your mother and father once, she says sh
e remembers them. We all visited before your mom died in ’88, so Una was five. She added deceased signs to the chart when they died.”

  Fiona felt a wave of loss for the little girl. “What about your parents, Julie? Are they still alive?”

  “They’re very much alive and well. They’re only in their mid-60’s. Same ages as your parents, come to think of it.”

  “But they’re not inclined to visit.” Declan added.

  Fiona thought that he appeared somewhat agitated as he headed to the wine rack and browsed through the selection.

  “Would you like some wine, Fiona?”

  “Yes, sure. Red if you have it.”

  “I have a good rich Pinot here, local—well northern California. Julie, would you like a juice or anything?”

  Julie shook her head. “I’m fine with my tea, thanks.” And she continued to Fiona. “My parents have developed a kind of mania for travel. They never went anywhere until about ten years ago, and now, I never know where they are. They’ve retired to Florida, but they’re always taking some trip to Europe or Costa Rica or an African Safari or Bermuda.”

  “Los Angeles doesn’t seem to be on their itinerary.” Declan threw in sardonically as he uncorked the wine.

  Julie sighed. “They’ve only seen Una twice, once when we flew out there to visit them and once on a brief stopover here when they were on their way to some place else—New Zealand, maybe, or Hawaii.” She shook her head. “They don’t seem to be interested.”

  Fiona felt bad for them and guilty. She hadn’t made any effort herself to get to know her niece because of her unspoken feud with Declan. She also felt the weight of the responsibility of being the only remaining candidate for a family relation. But she couldn’t be sure Declan had any interest in her filling that role, either. She genuinely liked Julie and Una, and now her head was beginning to fill with yet another new version of her past reality—Julie’s perceived version of Declan’s childhood. She couldn’t get the idea of Declan remembering her as a gift out of her mind as she sipped the wine and chatted easily to her brother and new-found sister-in-law.