Where the Love Gets In

by Tara Heavey

  ‘I came to talk.’

  ‘I want you to leave.’

  ‘I’m not leaving until you talk to me.’

  ‘Get out of my house.’

  ‘It’s my house too.’ He pulled out a chair and sat down beside her.

  Fiona eyeballed him furiously. ‘If you think,’ she said, ‘that I’m going to sit here and listen to you trying to justify yourself …’

  ‘I don’t think that.’

  ‘Well, that’s good, because I won’t.’ She looked at him sharply. ‘You shaved off your beard.’

  He instinctively cupped his chin with his hand.

  ‘It’s ridiculous.’

  ‘I know. I’m growing it back.’

  ‘She ask you to do it, did she?’

  He didn’t respond.

  ‘Well, I never would have married you if I’d known what you looked like underneath. Just like I never would have married you if I’d known what you were underneath. What you were capable of.’

  ‘Well, I’ll never regret marrying you, Fiona.’

  The words knocked her temporarily off balance, but she was back up again in an instant. ‘That’s because I didn’t destroy you, Aidan Ryan, the way you destroyed me.’

  ‘You look as if you’re doing pretty well.’

  ‘In spite of you, Aidan.’ The words were spat out. ‘In spite of you.’

  His face might have been made of stone for all the impression her words were making on it. Her anger rose and swelled. And she made it her mission to hurt him. ‘ “You were carved out for me and for me alone”. Do you remember saying those words to me right before our wedding? Do you, Aidan?’ She thought she saw him flinch. ‘I suppose Sarah was carved out for you too, was she? And how many other women?’

  ‘There were never any other women.’

  ‘Oh, just the one, was there? Well, lucky me.’ She looked at his bowed head and struck again. ‘You’re just another deluded, middle-aged man, Aidan. Do you think she would have looked twice at you if she hadn’t had the cancer? If she hadn’t needed someone to look after her?’

  His head snapped up. ‘Let’s just leave Sarah out of this.’

  She rose from her chair, rigid with fury. ‘Oh, I’d love to, Aidan. I’d just love to leave Sarah out of this. But you brought her into it. Remember? You bastard.’ The last word came out in a snarl and Fiona collapsed into the chair again, as if deflated. She sat in silence for a full minute before turning to him again. ‘And how about “I do”? Do you remember that? In sickness and in health? My sickness, Aidan, my health. Not somebody else’s. Not some other woman’s.’

  Aidan stared fixedly at the table, betraying no emotion. This was more than Fiona could bear. She picked up her mug and flung the contents violently in his face. The tea was only lukewarm now, more’s the pity. Aidan sat stock still and blinked several times, the liquid trickling from his hair and chin. Silently, he pushed back his chair and walked over to the drawer where the tea-towels were kept. He took one out, wiped his face, left the towel on the counter, returned to the table and sat down again.

  ‘Have you got nothing to say for yourself?’ she said, her words dripping with disgust.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Sorry is what I’ve got to say.’

  ‘And that makes it all okay?’

  ‘No, of course it doesn’t. But it’s all I’ve got.’

  She shook her head. ‘You’re so fucking reasonable, aren’t you? So fucking morally superior. You make me sick. I don’t know how you can live with yourself after what you’ve done to this family. Why did you come here anyway?’

  ‘I told you. To talk.’

  ‘Well, I really don’t want to talk any more.’ She sounded as drained as she felt.

  ‘I thought it was important to communicate on some level. For the kids. And for us.’

  ‘There is no “us” any more.’

  ‘There’ll always be an us, Fiona. If only as parents.’

  Aidan was waiting for a response, but she was damned if she was going to give him one. Let him stew. Eventually he seemed to make up his mind that she was finished and stood up.

  ‘Is that it?’ she said.

  He sat down again. ‘Tell me what you want from me.’

  ‘Tell me what you want from me. What the hell is that supposed to mean? Do you think you’re doing me a favour here? Is this some kind of therapy session for my benefit? Don’t make me laugh. Okay. I’ll tell you what I want, shall I? I want you to leave Sarah. Then I want you to walk around the town with the words “I am an unfaithful bastard” written on your chest in scarlet lipstick. How about that for a start?’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Fiona.’

  ‘Don’t look at me with that pathetic, hangdog expression. And don’t say sorry as if you had no choice in the matter.’

  He looked away.

  ‘That’s what you think, isn’t it? That you had no choice in the matter.’

  ‘Fi, I …’

  ‘If you tell me, Aidan Ryan, that you can’t choose who you fall in love with, then I swear to God, I’ll take that teapot and crack it across your skull.’

  Aidan avoided her stare and this time, at least, she knew he was ashamed. There was no need to say anything else. She could think of plenty more – really mean stuff about Sarah. But how could she say any of it in the circumstances? What kind of person would that make her?

  ‘You can go now,’ she said.

  He stood up again, as if he’d had as much as he could take too.

  ‘I’d like to say it was nice to see you but it wasn’t. It was shit.’ She laughed mirthlessly. ‘You know, you’ve really made things impossible for me. I can’t hate Sarah because she’s dying. Half the town has sympathy for her instead of me because she’s dying. And here I am, feeling jealous of a woman who’s dying.’

  He regarded her with an annoying amount of sympathy.

  ‘How could you leave me for her?’ Her voice almost broke. ‘Why would you hurt me like that? I thought we were happy.’

  Aidan looked stricken. ‘We were happy. It wasn’t a lie.’

  ‘You’ve made a mockery of everything I’ve ever believed in.’

  He came cautiously towards her.

  ‘Don’t.’ Her voice was urgent. ‘Don’t you touch me. Don’t you even come near me.’

  He held up his hands and backed away, as if he were trying to placate a cornered animal. Then he left the house quietly, his footsteps fading on the deck outside until … silence. Only when Fiona was sure of it did she allow herself some tears. And officially exempted herself from the rest of the day.

  Chapter 45

  Sarah was waiting anxiously for him. She scanned his face as he walked into the kitchen. Another woman, another kitchen. ‘Was it really grim?’

  ‘It was pretty bad, yes.’

  ‘She’s bound to be very angry.’

  He nodded.

  ‘Is it raining out?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Your hair’s all wet.’

  ‘She threw tea over my head.’

  Sarah laughed nervously, then stopped herself. ‘Was it hot?’

  ‘No. But it might have been. I don’t think that would have stopped her. I was just lucky it had cooled down.’

  She breathed deep. The laughter gone out of her. ‘It was brave of you to go and see her like that.’

  ‘I’m not brave. I’m a coward. I should have gone to see her long ago instead of waiting till we bumped into her.’

  ‘Well, at least it’s done now. You’ve got the first meeting out of the way. Perhaps it’ll get easier from now on.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ He sounded unconvinced.

  She pulled her chair up closer to him and put her hands on his shoulders. ‘You know,’ she said, ‘I don’t think I’ll ever get over what you’ve done for me. Even if I live to be – oh – forty.’

  ‘Is that your idea of black humour?’

  ‘Yes. Do you like it?’

  ‘Well, it’s better than no humour, I suppo
se.’

  ‘I’ve been reading this book. One Peter brought me. And now I know what you are to me.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Have you ever heard the term “anam cara”?’

  ‘Anam cara.’ He repeated the words, his expression thoughtful. ‘Soul friend,’ he said.

  ‘That’s right. I never knew you had good Irish. I suppose there are lots of things I’ll never know about you and now I won’t have the time to find out.’ She looked momentarily sad. ‘But, yes. You’re my soul friend, Aidan. When I first met you, I had a feeling we were meant to be together. Live together. I think you did too.’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘But now I know we were never meant to live together – not long term anyway. But you were meant to be with me as I died. God sent you to help me.’

  Aidan looked away. She knew he didn’t believe in God.

  ‘There’s a really good chapter in the same book about death. You should read it.’

  ‘Some other time, perhaps.’

  ‘Yes. You’re worn out now, I can see that.’ She kissed him on the cheek. ‘So, anam cara, how about a nice cup of tea?’

  When he woke up the next morning, the bed was empty beside him. He could tell from the light it was later than his usual getting-up time – that, and the sounds and smells emanating from the kitchen. Someone was playing opera quite loudly. He eased himself up on one elbow and rubbed the corners of his eyes. Then he looked at the clock. It was after nine. He got out of the bed with some urgency. He never slept this late. The perpetual fisherman, he usually woke around five – even as a young lad, going out on his father’s boat. You just became accustomed to it. He didn’t know what had happened this morning. He dressed himself rapidly in yesterday’s clothes and went down the stairs barefoot.

  The kitchen was in uproar. Sarah was right in the eye of the storm, moving from pot to pan and singing obliviously. She eventually spotted him, her smile incomparable. She walked up to him and took both his hands. ‘Madame Butterfly,’ she said. ‘She dies in the end. Tragic but beautiful. Come on, sleepy head, I made you breakfast.’ She led him to the table.

  ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’

  ‘I thought you deserved a lie-on.’

  ‘Where’s Maia?’

  ‘I asked Bridget to take her to school this morning. There you go.’ She laid a plate in front of him. ‘Bacon and eggs. Just the way you like them.’

  Aidan couldn’t help thinking that it should be the other way around, him helping her, him serving her. But it was good that she was feeling up to it. Great, even. And so was the food. He realized how ravenous he was, hours after his usual breakfast time. ‘Won’t you sit down beside me?’ he said.

  ‘Just give me a minute to check the food.’

  She fluttered around the cooker, tasting and stirring. Then she sat down beside him with a satisfied sigh.

  ‘What are you cooking?’

  ‘Different things. I’ve done a casserole and a lasagne and I’ve divided them up into smaller portions.’

  ‘What for?’

  She looked at him anxiously, as if worried about his reaction. ‘I’m going to put them in the freezer so you can have them after I’ve gone.’

  Aidan dropped his knife and fork with a clatter. ‘Well, you certainly know how to put a man off his food.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Why would you do that, Sarah?’

  ‘You won’t have time to cook. There’ll be the funeral to sort out, Maia to cope with, people coming and going. It’ll be hectic – and handy to take one of these meals out of the freezer, pop it into the microwave and hey presto.’

  He looked miserably at her.

  ‘And I like the idea of being able to do something for you after I’m gone. To be able to nourish you when I’m no longer here.’

  Aidan sat in stricken silence. Sarah took his hand in hers and laid it against her cheek. ‘Look, Aidan, I know you find it difficult when I talk this way but I have to talk about it with someone and you’re all I’ve got. It’s asking a lot of you, I know it is, when I already ask so much. But I need it so badly, I really do. If I don’t talk about it, it’ll get bottled up and I’ll be depressed again. And I don’t want to waste one more precious second being depressed. I’ve accepted it now. I’m going to die and that’s the beginning and the end of it.’

  ‘Sounds like giving up to me.’

  ‘It’s not giving up. It’s accepting. Surrendering to what is. This book I’ve been reading –’

  Aidan got up with an angry scrape of his chair. ‘Not those bloody books again. I’ve a good mind to burn them all.’ He dropped his plate into the sink.

  ‘They help me, Aidan. I’ve found some of the ideas so inspiring.’

  Aidan was leaning heavily against the sink, staring out of the window. She came up behind him, encircled his waist with her arms and laid her cheek against his back. He didn’t have it in him to respond – his body remained rigid. She let him go and stood at his side, gazing imploringly into his face. ‘Aidan, the Buddhists have this concept of a happy death and that’s what I want for myself. I want to die well. I’ve made lots of mistakes in my life, done many things badly. I don’t want my death to be one of them. I want to do it properly. I want to die beautifully. I want my death to be an inspiration. But I don’t think I can do it without you.’

  She watched closely as all the different emotions fought for dominance on his face. She could see the clouds reflected in his irises. As if there was a miniature sky inside each eye. She could feel the resistance draining out of him as he relaxed and turned to her. ‘Okay, Sarah, I’ll help you. I’ll help you die beautifully. As beautifully as you’ve lived. As beautiful as you are.’

  She hugged him again, a new lightness infusing her. ‘Thank you.’

  Aidan looked over her shoulder, wondering how the hell he was going to make it through the next few weeks.

  The next morning the doorbell rang. Sarah looked up from her book. ‘That’ll be the soul midwife. Let her in, Aidan.’

  Aidan did as he was told. What new madness was this?

  A woman in her fifties stood at the door. She had blonde hair and kind eyes. Quite normal-looking. ‘Hello, I’m Sheila. You must be Aidan.’

  He held the door open. Another woman. That was all he needed.

  They entered the sitting room. Sarah smiled and made to get up from her duvet cocoon on the couch.

  ‘Please don’t move,’ said Sheila, sitting down beside her. ‘It’s lovely to meet you, Sarah.’

  ‘And you.’ Sarah smiled at her new best friend.

  Aidan found he couldn’t watch. ‘Would you like some tea?’ he found himself saying.

  ‘No, thank you. I’m sure you do nothing but make tea for visitors. A glass of water would be lovely, though.’

  Aidan went through to the kitchen. He gazed out of the window as he filled the glass. That was where he wanted to be. He went back into the sitting room and handed the glass to Sheila. ‘I have to go out. I’ll leave you to it.’

  ‘But I wanted you to hear what Sheila has to say.’ Sarah’s face was a picture of disappointment.

  ‘Sorry, I can’t. I have to source a new part for the boat.’

  ‘Oh, all right. See you later, then.’

  He nodded and was gone. Soul midwife! What next? Thank God he had Tommy – another male – to talk to on the boat each afternoon. He’d go mad otherwise. He looked at his watch. Still a few hours to go. There was only one place in the world he wanted to be and that was the pub.

  He snuck through the door in the early hours, hoping in vain to go unobserved. But Sarah was waiting. ‘Where have you been?’

  She sounded exactly like a wife.

  He walked past her, avoiding eye contact, and headed straight for the kitchen. There he stood unsteadily by the sink, filling a pint glass with water and swaying ever so slightly.

  ‘Tommy called here about five times. He was frantic.’

  Tomm
y. Shit.

  ‘And so was I, Aidan. Where on earth have you been?’

  She was standing by his side now, her hands on her hips. Classic fishwife pose. He said nothing, instead knocking back the water.

  ‘Are you … drunk?’

  He paused after several gulps. ‘Yes, I am, thanks be to God.’ He continued slugging the water down, impervious to her glare. When he’d finished his glass and looked down, she was gone. Good. Bloody woman. Trying to control him. Telling him how to live his life. Aidan belched and the sound reverberated around the kitchen. He felt great – for several seconds. Then he didn’t feel so great. He walked out of the kitchen, placing each foot in front of the other with elaborate care. He took one look at the stairs, knew in his drunken wisdom that he’d never make it, and even if he did, she’d probably kick him out. He collapsed on the couch.

  Aidan came to slowly and painfully. Something was poking at his face. He tried to swat it away but it didn’t work. He finally realized it was Maia, playing with the new growth on his beard. He attempted to sit up, shielding his eyes from the midday sun with his forearm. He groaned, as only half the contents of his head seemed to sit up with him. It was as if someone had loosened his brain while he was asleep. Everything was thudding.

  ‘Here.’

  He removed his arm from over his eyes and blinked. Sarah was standing above him, holding out two white pills in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He took them from her. Sarah giving him painkillers. This was a first. She left the room and he swallowed the pills with all of the water. Then he sat up properly, placing his feet on the carpet and his head in his hands. He was still in his clothes. He could actually smell himself – seldom a good sign. There was no point in putting it off. He raised himself to his feet and walked gingerly into the kitchen. Sarah was playing with Maia and studiously ignoring him. He sat down again, this time at the table, and awaited whatever punishment she was to bestow. He felt somewhat blasé: it wasn’t possible to feel worse than he already did. He jumped when she spoke to him.

  ‘There’s coffee in the pot.’