Retrieving her clothes from the floor at the side of the bed, she dressed herself beneath the blankets before emerging and grabbing her coat off the chair by the window. She headed to the kitchen to start her day with a cup of black tea. She had forgotten to get milk after leaving Martin and his mother the night before. Already she was allowing herself to feel comfortable in the little bungalow. She could imagine herself living here. A fridge stocked with things she liked, no heavy dark furniture to polish, an entirely selfish existence. She’d need to sort out the heating but apart from that it seemed perfect.
Ellen sat with her hands wrapped around the warm mug, wondering how long the world would allow her to hide from it. Any moment now, she would get a call from Martin demanding her return, or maybe from her mother asking if she’d lost her mind. The tea reminded her that she was hungry. There had been no dinner last night and no supplies here, so she would have to go out. Ellen considered going for breakfast in the café behind the jewellers but then she thought about people asking questions. The slightly raised voices remarking that they didn’t often see her at this time of day. Enquiries hanging in the air, the spores of gossip. No, she would buy something in the bakery, a bottle of milk, and bring them back to the bungalow. Maybe she could get a fire going if the autumn sun didn’t begin to heat the place up soon.
She had just put her mug in the sink when she felt a vibration in her coat pocket. She wondered which name would be on the phone screen, who had noticed her absence first. Whoever it was, she resolved not to answer. Let them stew. Taking the mobile out, however, it wasn’t Martin or her mother, it was Annie, the help. She hesitated. Maybe something was wrong or was it just Martin asking her to call because he knew Ellen wouldn’t answer him. She chose to err on the side of caution.
‘Annie?’
‘Oh, thank God. Where are ye all?’
Ellen’s heart felt like a stone.
‘What do you mean? I went out early.’
‘But there’s no one here. The waiting room is full and nobody’s been in to Mrs Coulter. She’s after spoiling the bed. She’s very upset.’
‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’ How had she allowed herself to believe that she could just walk away from her life with no repercussions? ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
‘Where’s the doctor?’ Annie asked as if Ellen’s return was irrelevant.
‘I don’t know,’ she barked down the phone.
By the time she was parking the car in front of the surgery door, Ellen could see her mother walking, almost running, down the street towards her. She waved when she saw the car. Ellen sighed. This was not what she needed.
‘Mammy. What are you—?’ But before the question could be asked Chrissie was in full flow.
‘Thank God. I was that worried. Where were you? Where’s Martin? Your father went out to get the paper and heard the surgery was full and the little Angela one telling everyone that the two of you had vanished.’ She paused. That was all the information she had and she now required Ellen to provide her with more.
‘It’s fine, Mammy. I’m here now. I think Martin is just sick. You go home and I’ll sort all this out.’ She went to cross the footpath to the door, but her mother held her arm.
‘You must let me help, darling.’
‘Help with what? You’re not a doctor. I’ll be fine. Go home. I’ll phone you later.’
Chrissie looked shocked by her daughter’s forthright manner.
‘Well. If you’re sure.’
‘I’m sure. Go home.’ Ellen resisted the urge to physically shove her mother away.
‘Call me later.’
‘I will.’
Once inside she opened the door to the waiting room. Several faces turned expectantly, but the disappointment was palpable when they saw Ellen standing before them. She remembered that she hadn’t even glanced in a mirror this morning; she had no idea how dishevelled she might be looking.
‘Good morning, everyone. I’m so sorry but I’m afraid Doctor Coulter isn’t feeling very well, so today’s appointments have been cancelled. He is very, very sorry, but Angela here can rebook for later in the week.’
Ellen smiled weakly and indicated the receptionist who appeared to be hiding behind her computer.
A small woman stood up, clutching her handbag to her chest like a shield. ‘I am in severe pain. I have to see a doctor.’
Ellen knew the face. Galvin, was she? Casey?
‘I’d say your best bet would be the clinic or you could always go to the chemist.’
‘The chemist?’ The woman was shrill with indignation. ‘I’m extremely ill.’
‘Well then, maybe you’re going to die.’
The whole waiting room gasped. Ellen knew she had gone too far. She couldn’t quite believe the words had come out of her mouth and nor could anyone else. Flustered by her own bluntness, it was time to make a retreat. She turned to leave, calling ‘Angela!’ over her shoulder as if that was a command rather than the name of the ashen young woman sitting slack-jawed behind the reception desk.
Ellen strode down the corridor and opened the door into the main house. Immediately Annie was by her side.
‘You’re back. Any word from the doctor?’
Ellen felt like swatting her away.
‘How’s Martin’s mother?’ she asked as she made her way to the stairs.
‘Better, the poor old thing. I’ve cleaned her up. She’s had her breakfast.’
The final words were almost shouted as Ellen was now upstairs. She headed to their bedroom and threw open the wardrobe. The little weekend bag wasn’t there but maybe he hadn’t unpacked from last night. The bathroom told a similar story. His toothbrush and razor weren’t there, but again, they could still be in his case. The car. She had forgotten to look for his car when she had arrived back. She rattled down the stairs and out of the front door. She could hear Annie’s voice somewhere in the house calling ‘Mrs Coulter!’
No sign of the car. She was no wiser. Leaving the front door open she hurried to the corner to see if he had parked along the side street the night before. Sometimes he left the car in the little bay beside the bookies beyond the hardware shop. She ran across the road to go and look but she knew it wouldn’t be there. Where was he? She slowly walked back to the open door. Ellen had no idea what to do next. He had probably just decided to punish her by disappearing for a few hours, but … no, that was stupid, Martin was not the sort of man to … was he? She tried to block out her worst fears. Ellen decided she would see if she could organise a locum for the afternoon and tomorrow. Angela could ring patients and let them know. Annie was there for old Mrs Coulter, so Ellen wondered if she should try and look for Martin. She had no idea where to begin and she knew that the guards would just laugh at her if she went to them.
By the time she stood in the hall she had managed to calm her breathing. She slipped off her coat and put it on the chair by the telephone. All her immediate concerns were temporarily held at bay. She felt like someone arranging sandbags to block an approaching flood, without knowing the scale of the deluge or how many bags she might need.
Tea. Ellen made a pot, put some mugs on a tray and took it through to the surgery. The waiting room was now empty of patients and Angela had put a hastily written sign on the locked front door informing people that the premises would remain closed due to illness. Annie followed with a plate of digestive biscuits. The three women sat on the hard plastic chairs normally occupied by the sick. They stared awkwardly at each other. Ellen knew she would have to tell them something, but the thought of sharing personal details of her life made her feel queasy and anxious.
‘Sorry about this morning.’ That seemed like a good place to begin.
Angela and Annie froze and looked at her expectantly. Ellen felt too hot and stood. Positioning herself in front of the reception desk, she addressed the room as if it contained an audience greater than the two ill-at-ease women facing her. Annie was chewing a biscuit, the dry crumbs scraping a
gainst her teeth. Ellen couldn’t look them in the eye so focused instead on the noticeboard at the other end of the room. While she spoke, a poster was advising her what to do if she was in the presence of someone having a stroke. There was also a raffle to raise funds for the hospice. From outside came the noise of cars and the certain rhythm of footsteps that knew where they were going. The waiting area had taken on the air of a panic room or what Ellen imagined a wartime bunker might have felt like.
‘Doctor Coulter …’ That sounded ridiculous. ‘Martin, will be back soon I’m sure, but in the meantime if you could both carry on looking after the surgery and Martin’s mother, I’d be very grateful.’ She finished her short statement with a smile that she hoped assured her audience that there was in fact nothing to worry about.
‘Has he left you?’ Annie spoke. The question sounded detached, as if she was asking about strangers or characters in a soap opera. Angela leaned forward. This was obviously the question she had been too shy to ask herself.
‘No.’ Ellen blurted her reply. She could feel her face flushing. ‘He, Martin, he, well, he’ll be back soon and then we can find out more, but, well, as I say, sorry about this morning.’ Unsure of what to say next and fearful of further questions, she walked out of the room. As she made her way down the corridor to the house, she could hear Annie and Angela whispering feverishly. Let them talk.
She hesitated outside her mother-in-law’s room but then crossing the living room, she picked up her coat and headed out of the front door. At once Ellen felt conspicuous. There weren’t many people around, but every eye seemed to be on her. She was transported back to the days after the crash all those years before. A renewed surge of anger towards Martin coursed through her. The lies, and now to just walk out, leaving her to … to what? Could she tell anyone what she knew? The truth seemed redundant when neither Connor nor Martin were here in Mullinmore to take responsibility for the new version of events. It wasn’t her story to share. She thought of phoning Finbarr so that she could contact Connor to tell him what she now knew, but she couldn’t call her son without telling him that his father had gone missing, could she? She had to eat something. That would make her feel better. She got into her car and began to drive.
Ellen couldn’t have said where she was going but it helped being behind the wheel. It gave her a sense of purpose and made it harder for her mind to drift off into her darkest fears. About twenty minutes from the town along the Cork road there was a large petrol station. If she was lucky there wouldn’t be anyone she knew in the convenience store that stood brightly lit behind the pumps. She parked on the forecourt and went in, the automatic door doing its best to make her feel like a valued and welcome customer. She grabbed an egg sandwich and a bottle of water before heading to the till.
‘Any fuel?’ The young man spoke with an accent. Eastern European?
‘No. Just these, and, oh, this as well,’ she said, picking up a bar of chocolate with whole hazelnuts in it. It seemed a healthier option.
Ellen keyed her PIN into the machine. She wondered where she would go to eat her sandwich.
‘Declined.’
‘Sorry?’ She hadn’t been listening.
‘The card is not go through.’ The young man informed her in his bored monotone.
Ellen was instantly flustered and looked in the back of her purse where she found a lone ten-euro note and handed it over.
‘Sorry. Sorry about that.’
‘It happen. Sometimes it is no the card. It is machine.’
He handed her back her change.
Hunger meant she ripped the sandwich from its wrapper immediately and ate it in the car. A quick slurp of water and then she broke the chocolate bar into pieces. She sucked them soft and then crunched through the nuts. She should call her mother but what was the point when she still knew nothing?
Martin. She should call Martin. Just because he hadn’t answered the calls from the surgery didn’t mean he wouldn’t answer her. Why hadn’t she tried already? She was a fool.
It went straight to voicemail. The phone must be off or out of range. Maybe he’s on a plane. No. Her husband wouldn’t run away leaving everything behind. That wasn’t him. Or was it? Under different circumstances she might have found it almost amusing how little she knew about the man she had been married to for over twenty years. Ellen had to admit that she couldn’t begin to go and search for him because she hadn’t a single idea of where he might have gone. As a family they had taken trips to various beaches, the end of Mizen Head, that holiday in a rented cottage outside Westport, the time they took the car on the ferry to Wales for a week, but she couldn’t believe that any of those destinations held a special significance for Martin. She crushed the foil from her chocolate into the empty plastic wrapper from the sandwich and rammed them deep into the pocket of the car door. Martin was just trying to worry her and then he would return with some story that would discredit Linda and place Connor back in the driving seat. What about Dublin? How was he going to explain all the other lies he had been telling? The hotel! Maybe he was back at the Hilton. She dialled her directory services and asked to be put through.
‘Hilton Dublin!’ An educated Dublin accent suggested bored efficiency.
Ellen felt nervous.
‘I was hoping to speak to a guest. Doctor Coulter. Doctor Martin Coulter?’ What would she say to him if he was there? She could hear her new friend stabbing at a plastic keyboard.
‘I’m sorry. I can’t see a guest by that name. Am I spelling it correctly?’
She checked and she was.
‘No. No Doctor Coulter. Sorry about that.’
‘All right. Thank you.’ Ellen hung up, deflated that her one idea of where to look had proved fruitless. She tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and started the engine. Maybe Martin was at that very moment sitting behind his desk catching up with emails. No, Annie would have called her, surely? Maybe not. She had the feeling that if Martin had returned then she would quickly slip everybody’s minds. He was the head of the household. Annie and Angela probably considered her little more than just another member of staff. She shifted the gear stick out of park and her hand hovered over the indicator. Was she heading home? A pause and then she was turning right. Leaving wasn’t an option for Ellen.
IX.
The story told, Tim held Connor in his arms. Connor had begun to cry quietly as he recounted his walk back across the dunes and by the time he had reached the part of the story where he and Martin were crouched by the roundabout, Tim was struggling to understand him through his sobs. This embrace felt right. He knew Connor wanted to be held and he, Tim, wanted to be needed. He enjoyed feeling strong and reliable. He liked the feel of his own hands splayed wide on Connor’s back.
When Connor had managed to calm himself, they sat on the sofa together. Tim held his hand. It was easy and familiar, like a foot slipping into an old shoe.
‘Why didn’t you tell me all of this years ago?’
Connor was intensely aware of everything. It was almost like being high. He could sense the blood flowing through his veins, his hair growing, the movement of his eyes. It felt as though Tim was seeing him for the first time. Finally, somebody, another human being, knew everything about him. It was overwhelming.
‘I felt ashamed. Embarrassed. How could you love me when I was so weak, so stupid?’
‘How could you think that? You weren’t weak or stupid. You were just young. You did what you thought you needed to. It’s the keeping it a secret that’s crazy. I feel awful that you were carrying this around all these years.’ The two looked at each other and for a moment Connor thought Tim might kiss him. Was that a good idea? Well, it wasn’t a bad one. It was too confusing. Connor didn’t speak. He looked away across the room. This was his favourite time of the morning, when the sun found the window by the kitchen and light formed a pool at the foot of the bed.
‘You must tell your parents.’ Tim’s voice held no judgement, only concern.
; ‘I don’t even know if they’re still alive.’
‘The kid didn’t tell you?’
‘No. I got out of there so fast. The Martin thing is just too much. How can I tell my parents, if it’s just going to destroy my sister’s life?’
Tim nodded. He understood.
‘God, it’s such a shit show. You’ve got to at least let them know you’re alive and well.’
‘I know. You’re right.’
‘Then what’s stopping you?’
Connor pulled his hand away and rubbed his face.
‘I just don’t want to dig it all up again. It was awful. So awful, and the thought of making everyone go through it all over again makes me feel sick.’
‘You’re their son, Connor. They love you. They’ve got to want to know where you are, how you’re doing. You owe them that, surely?’
‘You’re right. You’re right.’
‘Is it the gay thing? Is that still the problem?’
‘I honestly thought it was. You have no idea what it was like back there, but little Finbarr is just out and proud, without any real dramas according to him.’
‘Yeah, but he is very cute.’ Tim laughed and Connor slapped his head playfully.
‘This story is fucked up enough. Do not sleep with my nephew!’
‘Really? It sounds like you nearly did.’
Connor blushed. ‘That is not true. Is that what he told you?’
‘No, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.’
‘Well, you’re not as smart as you think you are, because nothing happened.’
Tim raised one eyebrow.
‘Seriously. I swear,’ Connor insisted.
A laugh. ‘I believe you.’ Tim glanced at his watch. ‘Can I take you to brunch?’
Despite the past year, Connor wanted to accept the invitation. He didn’t want Tim to leave his life again, but of course he would.
‘And what would Carl have to say about that?’
Tim looked blank for a moment and then repeated the name as if he had just remembered who it referred to. ‘Carl! Oh, we’re not together any more.’
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