Where the Love Gets In

by Tara Heavey

  ‘Nothing. Forget it.’

  ‘No. I don’t want to forget it. I’m so what, Aidan?’

  ‘You’re so – harsh sometimes. So exacting.’

  ‘This is the way I’ve always been.’

  ‘No, Fiona. You never used to be hard.’

  ‘How can you say that to me? I spend all day every day helping people, only to come home and take care of my family.’ She spat out the final word as if it were a sick joke. He felt her weight rising off the bed and heard her unzipping herself out of her dress. All her movements were angry, loud and exaggerated. The pulling out of drawers, the slamming of wardrobe doors. He knew she wanted to punch him quite badly. He wished she would. He thought he would feel better if Fiona punched him.

  ‘You can finish clearing up.’ Her voice was muffled.

  She was in bed already, a rigid lump under the covers, several curls sticking out ludicrously at the top of the duvet. She was a parody of their daughter in her younger days, taking to her bed in a strop.

  It wasn’t like Fiona to retire without removing every last trace of makeup and scrubbing and flossing her teeth. He’d go downstairs and give her the chance to do it without losing face. It would kill her to lie there with a face full of caked-on makeup and a sugary coating on her incisors.

  He closed the bedroom door calmly behind him. He knew the very act would annoy her, that she would see it as him trying to assert his moral authority, but he told himself that wasn’t why he was doing it. Downstairs, he stood at the door to the dining room and surveyed the scene of carnage. It was like the aftermath of a battle. Chairs pushed out at every angle, discarded napkins like so many bandages. Red wine spillages – drops of blood. He walked around slowly to the end of the table and sat in the place where Fiona always seated their guests. It had the best view of the ocean.

  There was no need to turn on the light. One forgotten candle still flickered unevenly and the moon was now high in the sky. He’d missed its meteoric rise tonight but he was glad to see it now, hanging suspended from an invisible filament. He fancied he could see the Sea of Tranquillity and felt he wouldn’t mind being there.

  The clouds were moving swiftly, obscuring the moon’s face at intervals and dulling the silver ripples on the water. Then they were gone and it was revealed again in all its startling luminosity.

  Aidan poured some wine into the glass closest to him and brought it to his lips. The liquid was almost black in the darkness. He sipped it thoughtfully. But it wasn’t his wife he was thinking about.

  Fiona lay in bed, tears seeping out from the corners of her eyes, wondering how she had managed to get it so wrong. She had thought that things were starting to get back on an even keel with Aidan but now it was all ruined. Aidan could read her like a book and he’d known she wanted to let off steam about Sarah and the dolphin therapy. More to the point, he knew she wanted reassurance that what had happened over dinner would be okay, that she hadn’t ruined everything with Sarah. Normally if something was bugging her, he was a willing audience. He seemed to enjoy her passion. Other times he challenged her assumptions and made her see things in a different light. But he was always on her side, and he helped her to figure out what to do on those occasions when she really had put her foot in it. This was the first time he had ever acted as if he despised her.

  What was really tormenting her was the suspicion that she had brought it on herself. That Aidan was right and she was too harsh. Would she ever learn to shut up and let things go? She wanted to be friends with Sarah – she thought she was great: really warm and smart and, unexpected this, admirable – but when she’d heard her coming out with that mumbo-jumbo about dolphin therapy she’d felt she had to make the point that it was neither scientific nor monitored. Even when she was saying it, a part of her knew that she sounded like the stereotypical arrogant doctor. Did she honestly think she was going to change Sarah’s mind? Wouldn’t it make more sense to get to know her, then guide her to something more suitable for Maia?

  Why, oh, why couldn’t she play along as she did when she was out and about being Dr McDaid, a woman of standing in the community? She knew how to smile and nod and be pleasant to people who didn’t matter to her that much: she saw it as an extension of her professional duties. But as soon as she wanted to bring people into her world, she seemed to lose her footing, particularly with women. She’d never quite understood her trouble with making female friends. Was it because she’d had only brothers – not enough practice with girls when she was growing up? Or was it because she was just like her father, well-meaning to a fault but her own worst enemy?

  With a heavy heart she heaved herself out of the bed and went into the en suite. She took in her blotchy face, red eyes, hair like a stack of hay. She attacked her face with a cotton-wool ball soaked in cleanser as if she was angry with her very skin. She reached for her electric toothbrush. She’d figure out what to do in the morning.

  Chapter 8

  The boat was finally ready and Atlantic Dolphin Tours officially opened for business. They had a launch and everything – a bottle of fake champers smashed against the prow. Everybody came, even Sarah. People stared at her with unabashed curiosity, the women dissecting her outfit and the men, no doubt, imagining the body underneath. Did they, Aidan wondered, imagine her with only one breast?

  The maiden voyage was free to all comers. The family were aboard – Alannah, her father’s pet, was home for the weekend. He hugged her as if she was five. Aidan couldn’t deny his nervousness, as he steered his vessel to the mouth of the harbour. Was it just a joy-ride he was giving these people? Doubt stabbed at him.

  But how could he have doubted her? Star rose beautifully to the occasion by not only appearing but doing a series of jumps and leaps worthy of an Olympic champion.

  ‘Look at her, Dad. She’s showing off.’ Tommy had come up behind him, his face open and boyish. ‘She knows we’re all watching her and she’s showing off.’

  Sarah agreed that it certainly seemed that Star liked an audience. And she should know.

  Aidan was grateful for the distraction of all the outer activity because never before in his life had he experienced such inner turmoil. He had always been such a definite man, his moves positive and dynamic. True, he had lived his life slightly out of kilter with society but that was because he’d always been so sure of himself and what he wanted. And now, perhaps for the first time in his life, he found himself floundering. Was he having some kind of mid-life crisis?

  He paced the beach that night, his feet bare, his trousers rolled, Rufus snuffling a few yards ahead. Where was the peace of mind this activity always engendered? Why did it constantly evade him?

  He knew why. He could avoid it no longer. He sat down heavily on the shoreline and sighed.

  It was Sarah.

  Always Sarah.

  Always in his head, wherever he went. He loved it and he hated it, loved her and hated her too. For doing this to him. Wrecking his head. Wrecking his marriage. Except he was doing that all by himself, with his ridiculous schoolboy crush. Constantly comparing his wife with Sarah. Being angry with her because she wasn’t Sarah. How could she be? It was so unfair. And stupid. So fucking stupid. To think that she – a famous actress, such a beautiful woman – would be interested in the likes of him. He was no fool – not most of the time anyway. He had mirrors. And he’d never even finished his degree. She had been to RADA, for pity’s sake. He needed his head seeing to.

  Although, thank God, nobody could see inside to the thoughts within. What a shock they’d get. The images alternately rose-tinted and pornographic.

  ‘Sarah.’ He said her name out loud. It felt delicious on his tongue.

  ‘Sarah.’ He said it again, louder this time. Tasting it. Feeling he could possess part of her at least. There was no one to hear, only Rufus. The dog stopped and stared at him for a few seconds, before resuming his panting.

  Aidan looked out to sea. He’d be taking her out in the morning. The thought thrilled
him. He could pretend to himself that they had a date. These weekly voyages were all he thought about. He was only truly present when he was with Sarah. The rest of the time he was elsewhere. Absent from his wife and from his life. Each seven days felt like seven years. He was addicted and he knew it. He didn’t have a clue what he’d do when she went back to Dublin.

  Chapter 9

  The first time Sarah had seen the bay she was convinced she’d come to the right place. As her car rounded the bend, the sun had come out and illuminated everything, and she had felt somewhere deep in her soul that, even if the dolphin proved a phantom, she had found a fitting home for herself and her daughter. She had come to believe that even if you were in a place for just a short while, it could still be your home if you wanted it to.

  The lack of associations was a blessed relief. There was nothing to remind her of her old life. Except, of course, the mirror. So she avoided it. She also avoided all forms of media. She didn’t want to hear the news or read the theatre reviews or find out who was shagging whom. Or, worst of all, find out what they were saying about her. It was somehow imperative that she should cut herself off from as much of the noise and the mayhem and the chaos of everyday life as was humanly possible. It seemed to be the only way she could find out what was real and true to her. And her illness had taught her that this was something she really needed to know. And right here, at the very edge of the Atlantic – the edge of the world, it felt like – this seemed the very place to discover it.

  She would stand at the edge of a cliff and gaze out at the ocean. It was all she could see. It was so soothing to watch the waves and nothing else – nothing made by human hand. She fantasized that she was the last woman on the planet. And she felt her infinitesimal smallness, which didn’t faze her because the cancer had already shown her how tiny she was. How little she mattered to God.

  Then she would feel Maia’s hand in hers and it would pull her back into the present. Into her life. Where she had to stay. Where she wasn’t alone. Where she wasn’t insignificant to the wholly enigmatic creature who relied on her so completely.

  Sarah had never planned to be a mother. Indeed, when she’d met Maia’s father, Mitch, she’d never thought she would be, and although that made her sad, it didn’t disturb her unduly. She had plenty of happy thoughts with which to replace it: her career was going well and there was talk of a run in New York for the play she was in. She had met Mitch in the same way that she had met all the significant men in her life – through work. None of those significant men had been father material – but he was the least likely candidate of all. No wonder they had made a singular child.

  Mitch had spent most of the run of the play angling for a date. One evening after the show there had been a knock on her dressing-room door. As usual.

  ‘Come in.’

  Of course it was him. Sir Twitch-a-lot. She suppressed a smile. ‘Hello, Mitch.’

  ‘Sarah.’ He parked himself on her dressing-table, touching her chair with his tightly wound legs. Everything about Mitch was tightly wound. He was a mass of nervous energy, fuelled mainly by nicotine. He dragged deeply now on his ever-present cigarette.

  ‘Great performance tonight,’ he said.

  ‘And you.’

  ‘No, I really mean it.’

  ‘So do I.’

  He allowed a cautious smile, attractive lines appearing at the side of his mouth.

  Robert Mitchell was one of the new, up-and-coming actors. He hadn’t quite reached leading-man status but he was well on his way. Sarah thought him very talented. And he was bound to develop a strong female following. His write-ups tended to describe him as ‘brooding’ and ‘intense’. Something to do with that floppy black hair. And those eyes – great eyes. Greeny-hazel with extra-dark lashes. He’d be well cast as a vampire.

  Sarah was pleased she couldn’t take him seriously. She seemed immune to his charms, which was probably why she interested him so much.

  ‘Are you hungry?’ he asked.

  ‘I could eat.’

  ‘Want to get something together?’

  ‘Why not?’

  Why not indeed? Although she doubted he’d be able to sit still for the duration of an entire meal. He was like a toddler with ADHD. Maybe he’d manage a main course. He chose somewhere simple and local. Good. She’d be home at a decent hour, she thought, as the waiter seated them. And it meant he wasn’t trying too hard to impress her. Although possibly he couldn’t afford to impress her. She knew what that was like and felt sympathetic towards him.

  ‘So, Mitch.’

  ‘Want one?’

  ‘Why not?’

  She took a cigarette and he made a show of lighting it for her with his fancy Zippo. Then he flipped it closed and put it back in the pocket of his leather jacket.

  She laughed. ‘You’ve done that before.’

  ‘Might have.’ He was examining her closely. She didn’t care. ‘You don’t take me seriously at all, do you?’

  ‘Do I need to?’

  ‘It would be nice if you did.’

  ‘Why is my opinion so important to you?’

  ‘Because I like you, Sarah.’

  She was taken aback by his intensity. And now it was her turn to examine him. Did he like her? Really? Rather than viewing her as just another conquest? She sighed. ‘I like you too, Mitch. You seem like a really nice guy. And you’re a fine actor.’

  ‘Don’t patronize me.’

  She’d angered him. He flicked the ash from his cigarette and began tapping his foot and looking about him.

  ‘I’m sorry. It’s just, well, you’re very young.’

  ‘I’m twenty-eight.’ He was indignant.

  ‘And I’m thirty-two.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Well …’

  ‘You always go out with older men.’

  ‘Well – yes, I do. I don’t seem to be attracted to men my own age. I think it’s got something to do with losing my father so young.’

  ‘Bullshit.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You just need to give us younger guys a chance.’ He leaned in closer to her, giving her the full force of those paranormal eyes. ‘Isn’t it time you swapped those saggy, wrinkly arses for one like mine?’ He winked at her. ‘Did you see the review it got in the Independent last Saturday?’

  A few seconds passed – then Sarah exploded into laughter. Mitch sat back in his chair, evidently pleased with himself. She felt herself flush and brought her hands to her cheeks. The nerve of him. He was funny, she’d give him that. The waiter brought the garlic bread and she crunched into a slice to buy herself a little time. But Mitch wasn’t giving her any.

  ‘Well?’ He leaned forward again.

  ‘And I had you down as shy.’

  ‘How wrong can you be?’

  ‘Very, it seems.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘You want me to decide right now?’

  ‘No time like the present.’

  ‘Well, Mitch,’ she wiped her fingers on her napkin, ‘I guess I’d be willing to give your arse a try.’

  ‘Tonight?’

  ‘Don’t push your luck, Sunshine.’

  Their romance followed a classic storyline. She allowed herself to be wooed like an old-fashioned heroine. He bought her flowers and dinner, whenever his finances could stretch that far. She listened as he expressed his feelings; she was gracious, he was ardent. It was as if they were playing a time-honoured courting game. He even kissed her hand on occasion – but slyly, sensuously. Not like a true gentleman. She finally succumbed and tried out his arse. She found it worth the wait and the publicity it had garnered. And he didn’t withdraw once the prize was in his grasp, as she had half feared he would. He seemed genuinely smitten and, she had to admit, she was too. The more secure he felt with her, the more he relaxed. She understood now that he had come across like a hyper-active kid because he’d been so nervous around her. Starstruck as well as lovestruck. He was still just a little bit twitchy but
she learned to like that about him. To find it endearing.

  They went to all the parties together, were regularly featured on the society pages. It did neither career any harm, and Sarah wondered why she had resisted as long as she had. Still, that had been part of the fun.

  Were all young men so passionate? So intense? So urgent in everything they did? She had to admit that it was very flattering and a soothing balm to her fragile, actor’s ego.

  Shortly after starting her relationship with Mitch, she’d bumped into Peter, a former boyfriend, who had directed her first two plays. And how old, how grey, how drab he seemed to her now. How lacking in vitality beside her current lover. She loved the way Mitch could flip her over in the bed into any position he desired. Peter would have done his back in if he’d tried. It seemed kind of sick to her now, made her uneasy just to think about it. Had she been using him as a surrogate father figure? Had she been his trophy girlfriend? Was that all they had been? Mitch was certainly at pains to convince her of it.

  And she was so willing to love him, so in love with love, that she overlooked any fleeting moments of immaturity. They paled into insignificance beside the passion. And, in those early days, she had to admit to being a little less than mature herself. You could even say they gloried in their shared immaturity. Their lives consisted of work, pub, friends, restaurants and parties. And that was it. That was enough. Sarah was having such a good time, in fact, that she barely noticed she had skipped a period.

  When it dawned on her that she might be pregnant and should buy a test, she did so with a reasonably light heart. It wasn’t the first time she’d taken one and because they’d always been negative before she somehow convinced herself that this one would be too. It was the immaturity again. When it was positive she took another in case the first was faulty. But there was no change. And suddenly all the weird symptoms she’d been having made sense to her. They weren’t the result of too much partying after all.

  She couldn’t look after a baby. She was only thirty-two. She heard an odd whirring sensation in her ears – which might have been the sound of her world crashing down around her.