No Way to Say Goodbye

by Anna McPartlin

“Two redheads, but who is the reddest of them all?” Steven said, in his movie-trailer voice.

  Mary looked at Penny. “You told them about the hair-dye incident.”

  “We heard it was more like a pushing-and-slapping affair,” Barry put in.

  Mary moaned. “Who’s the blonde?” she asked, gesturing at Sienna’s friend.

  “Her name is Flory,” Steven grinned, “as in Floor E.”

  “You’re messing,” Mary reproved him, but Barry and his boyfriend Steven shook their heads.

  “And here’s the best bit,” Barry added. “The lovely Sienna has brought her along as a potential date for your new neighbour.”

  Penny started to laugh, which struck Mary as unkind although she wasn’t sure why.

  “Well, I wish her the best of luck,” Mary said, as Steven stood up and took her arm so that they could walk to the makeshift bar together.

  “Don’t worry, she hasn’t a patch on you,” he whispered.

  “We’re just friends,” she said, for the umpteenth time, and sighed.

  Their friendship had been agreed upon over a meal in a local restaurant, which the hovering waitress, Minnie Morrow, had made uncomfortable by offering the new couple a free bottle of wine. Mary had tried to explain that her neighbour was merely thanking her for taking care of him during his convalescence to which Minnie had commented, “I bet you did,” then leaned in to Sam and whispered that if it didn’t work with Mary of the Sorrows he’d know where to find her.

  When Minnie had gone, Mary had said, “Don’t worry, I’m not looking for a relationship.”

  “Right back at ya,” Sam had replied.

  “I knew that. I just didn’t want you to think I was sitting here with any expectations. I’m happy as I am.”

  “Me too,” he had said, and raised his glass. “Here’s to friendship!”

  “Friendship,” she’d echoed happily.

  Mary made peace with Sienna over a hot dog, and told her how happy she was making Ivan. It was true – Ivan was like a playful puppy. When his wife had walked out, he’d lost his confidence as well as his family and Sienna had restored it so Mary was grateful to her. Ivan had put his arm around his favourite cousin and toasted his friends and family, while Justine sat on her grandmother’s knee and Chris sneaked a sip of his uncle’s beer.

  Mary cornered Penny when she was pouring vodka for herself at the bar. “Hey, stranger! You’ve been keeping to yourself.”

  “I know,” Penny said. “I’ve just been really busy.”

  “Maybe I could call over in the morning – I’ll bring breakfast,” Mary volunteered.

  Penny glanced over her shoulder at Sam, who was talking with the blonde. “Great.”

  Mary had watched Penny from a distance and noticed she was never without a drink. But it was a party. She vowed to keep a closer eye on her. “You’re OK, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “I’m fine,” Penny said. “You want a drink?”

  Mary nodded so her friend poured her one and they sat together.

  Penny looked back towards Sam and Flory. “I don’t trust him,” she said, out of nowhere.

  “Who?”

  “Sam.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Why did you dislike him at first sight?”

  “I didn’t know him.”

  “Aren’t you a great believer in gut feelings?”

  “And don’t you think my gut feelings are a load of crap?” Mary retaliated, attempting to defuse a potentially uncomfortable conversation.

  Penny let it go – she’d made her point. She wasn’t sure what it was. All she knew was that she didn’t want to be around Sam, not after what had happened. He was an arsehole. She hoped he liked the blonde with the stupid name so that she’d get her best friend back. “Do you think he likes her?” she asked, her eyes on Sam and Flory again.

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  Later, when night had fallen and Ivan’s garden was lit up from the porch to the sea, when Justine was asleep on her grandfather’s knee and Chris was in the den watching a DVD with a friend who was sleeping over, the party continued.

  Denis and his band, a Dubliners tribute called the Pale Pretenders, arrived a little after nine. The first time Mary had slept with Denis she’d mentioned that their name was pretty bloody stupid. He insisted on explaining its origins, hoping to change her mind. “You see, they’re the Dubliners, meaning they’re from Dublin. Dublin is also known as the Pale. We’re not the Dubliners but we do play the music of the Dubliners so we’re the Pale Pretenders.”

  “I get the reference and it’s still rubbish.”

  “Fair enough,” he’d acquiesced. “Any chance of a shag?”

  He was the most relaxed man she’d ever met. Then again, he, like her neighbour Mossy, smoked hash like others smoked cigarettes, which pretty much explained his permanently numb state. Initially, although she was attracted to him, she had thought him to be one of life’s losers, which hadn’t bothered her at all. His grubby appearance suggested as much and his lackadaisical approach to life almost confirmed it – but that was before she had become aware of his past. He intrigued her, with his sharp green eyes, his matted hair and the clothes that were ten years old even though he owned half of Kildare. Later she would discover that he had bought his first property at sixteen, his second at seventeen, and while she was night-swimming and getting herself pregnant he had been building an empire. At twenty-six he’d got bored and learned how to play the guitar. He had always been a fan of traditional music, especially the Dubliners, so by the age of thirty-two he was a bona fide Traveling Wilbury, touring wherever the music took him. She had liked him instantly, especially as he was only in town for one night every few months.

  Now he smiled, bringing her back to the present, and made his way over to the area that would become his stage. The fiddle player, Dillon, and the kid who sang with the voice of an old man followed him.

  “Howya, Mary.”

  “Good, Dillon. You?”

  “Just like jam.”

  She had no idea what that meant but guessed that it was good – he looked pretty happy.

  As the band were setting up Mary brought Denis a drink. “It’s nice of you to do this,” she said. “I didn’t know Ivan had asked.”

  “We were in Tralee last night. It was no problem.”

  It had been four months since she and Denis had seen one another.

  “So, are we on tonight?” he asked.

  “You don’t waste time,” she responded, swirling the contents of her glass.

  “I think Jesus would be sad if I did.”

  She laughed. “I’m sorry – it’s not a good night.”

  “No harm in asking.” He grinned, glanced at Dillon and the boy, and suddenly there was live music and dancing.

  Sam had viewed the guy talking with Mary from a distance. He looked like a hippie with dreads and was wearing a jumper two sizes too big. There was a hole in the sleeve that hung over his hand: his thumb, which bore a thick silver ring, stuck through it. He was tall, well built and his face was chiselled like rock. When he introduced their first song his voice was like gravel, briefly reminding Sam of Danziger. The guy beside him with the fiddle was smaller and rounder and the hair on his head had absconded. He made up for that with a long, grey-speckled beard. The third guy looked like a kid in a suit – short hair and rosy cheeks with freckles. He was engaging – close your eyes and it was Luke Kelly back from the dead – but Sam kept returning to the hippie, who spent his time staring at Mary.

  Penny sneaked off to skinny-dip with Steven and Barry. She listened to the live band lying on her back in the water while the men, drunker than they’d been in a long time, frolicked, each pushing the other under water and taking turns to give chase.

  Sam danced with Flory, who was possibly the most insistent woman he’d ever met. He had been polite all night as she clearly had issues with men. She had cried three times and every time he’d attempted to escape s
he’d grabbed his hand and wouldn’t let go. When he’d caught Mary’s eye she’d merely smiled and looked away. Everyone was having a good time but he was at a parallel party, listening to the problems of a disturbed woman.

  Mary was sitting with her uncle, who was caressing the hair of his sleeping grandchild while he complained that his wife wouldn’t feed him properly. “Who in the name of God in heaven eats whole grains?” he asked.

  Séamus was dancing on his own with his shoes off and his trousers turned up. “God help him,” his father said.

  Mary looked at her cousin, then at her uncle.

  “Twins will do that to a man,” he said, nodding.

  She looked past him towards the band, met Denis’s eye and went past him to where Sam was kissing Flory. She got up, deciding she needed a drink. She met her dad at the bar. “A good night,” he said, pouring her a drink.

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re OK?”

  “I’m great.”

  “Right so.” He left her to it.

  Mary put her drink down. She had decided to go home.

  15. A kiss is just a kiss

  The pounding rain woke Sam some time after five the next morning. He needed the loo. After he’d emptied an alarmingly distended bladder he made his way downstairs, opened the fridge and took out a bottle. He was pouring water into a glass when he noticed that Mary’s french windows were open. He looked over the wall and saw the rain pooling on her kitchen floor and drenching the curtains. It was a marvel to him how, in just a few hours, the weather had changed from a glorious spring night to a winter deluge.

  The lights were out and he was sure she wasn’t awake. He had seen her leave Ivan’s party just after he had prised the insane blonde off him. He hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye – she had been gone before he could speak to her. He wondered if she had seen the kiss. They were just friends, of course, but he didn’t want her to know that he had kissed another woman. It would have been fine if that was what he had done, but it wasn’t. Suddenly he realized it was very unlike Mary to leave her doors wide open and, considering the hour and that her wooden floor would suffer if he did nothing, he made his way towards her garden.

  “Mary?” he said, but there was no answer. “Mary!” he said again, a little louder. Still nothing. He was getting soaked. The moss-ridden rock wall separating the two houses was slippery, not to mention sharp. Concerned for his back, he decided against trying to leap over. Instead he brought a chair out of the kitchen and stood on it, then manoeuvred himself carefully over the wall and dropped down on the other side. For some reason he felt like a criminal – his heart was beating way too fast to be good for him.

  He took a deep breath and went into the kitchen gingerly. A heavy vase had fallen onto the floor and cracked. As he ventured further in he noticed that the place was a mess – in fact, the closer he looked the more apparent it became that he might be interrupting a burglary. A book of menus that had obviously been laid out on the table was now spilled across the floor along with CDs out of their cases. She never leaves CDs out of their cases. He listened carefully. He picked up a heavy wrought-iron poker from beside the fire and heard a thud upstairs. He grasped his weapon tightly and ran to the stairs.

  It was after five when Mary emerged from the bathroom and made her way into her bedroom. Just as she was closing the door she heard a noise downstairs. She listened intently, interrupted only by Mr Monkels’s thud when he fell off the end of the bed. He didn’t even wake up – instead he rolled onto his belly and wheezed. She had worried that he might have had an epileptic seizure on the night Sam had hurt his back, but the vet had disagreed and the dog had displayed no symptoms since. She surveyed him intently for a moment or two – then heard another sound. She grabbed the hardback book she’d been reading and tiptoed to the stairs. They met halfway, their weapons held high.

  “Sam?” Mary whispered.

  “Mary! Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. What’s wrong?” She lowered the book and beckoned him downstairs.

  Inside the kitchen, he answered her: “This is what’s wrong!” He swept the room with his hand.

  “So I left a mess.”

  “Exactly. You don’t leave messes.”

  “Well, I did last night.”

  “And what about the door?”

  “I forgot about it,” she admitted, picking up the vase before moving to close the french windows and standing in the pool of water. “Knickers!” she said, under her breath, and reached for the mop.

  Absentmindedly, Sam sat down.

  Mary raised her eyebrows. He has a neck. One minute kissing the blonde and the next sitting in my kitchen. She had convinced herself on her journey home that she didn’t care about that kiss.

  “Do you often leave your back door open?” he queried.

  She pushed her hair off her face. “You know I don’t.” She felt the damp curtains. “Frig it! I just had those dry-cleaned.” She moved across the room past Sam. Despite the damp, he smelt expensive. She was suddenly aware that she was wearing a pair of little black pyjama shorts and a vest top, especially now that her nipples were sticking out like bloody spare parts. She turned to the kettle, wondering whether he wanted tea and how long he was planning to stay. His closeness made her heart skip. He stood up, slipped his hand into hers and bent towards her. The impending kiss hung in the air.

  She was paralysed rather like her dog had been two weeks before. Moments passed but they seemed like years. His face remained fixed at an intimate distance. Oh, holy crap! Pull away, Mary! Pull away before he does something you’ll both regret!

  It was at that moment that Denis came in. His piercing eyes took in Mary while seeming to ignore Sam. He walked right up to them and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Are you coming back to bed?” he asked.

  Sam dropped her hand. She battled against the urge to throw up.

  Denis left his hand on her shoulder while he registered Sam. He put out the other to shake Sam’s.

  Sam reciprocated while waging an inner battle of his own.

  “You’re the neighbour?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m the casual shag,” Denis said, and Mary closed her eyes so that she didn’t have to look at Sam’s expression.

  “I should go.” Sam turned to leave.

  She walked him to the door and opened it to let him out. “I’m really sorry,” she muttered.

  “Don’t be,” he said cheerily, as though nothing had happened – but, then, of course, nothing had happened.

  He’d pretend he hadn’t been about to kiss her and she’d pretend she hadn’t believed he was about to kiss her. His momentary lapse would be ignored by both parties. He would pretend to be grateful for the reprieve Denis had provided – after all, he wasn’t ready for a relationship or, indeed, anything other than friendship. She would pretend that she hadn’t wanted him to kiss her and that it was a good thing Denis had been there to save the moment and their friendship. Both would determine that their friendship was not worth jeopardizing.

  She watched him walk out of her little front garden. Denis’s two band mates were waking from an uncomfortable sleep in the car parked out front. She motioned at them to come in for breakfast while her neighbour entered his house, closing the door behind him without glancing back. She guessed he’d seen enough for one morning.

  Oh, my God, he thinks I’m a whore.

  It was after nine and Penny was dreaming of a frog dancing a hornpipe on a blue carpet surrounded by GAA football players clicking their fingers.

  Mary plonked herself down on her friend’s bed and she sat up, still half asleep. “What? What? What is it?” she called, to the weird little frog clicking his heels.

  Mary opened a bag of fruit scones under her nose. “I’ve got raspberry jam and fresh cream in the kitchen.”

  Penny’s eyes opened slowly. “My favourite.”

  Mary went to the window to open the curtains.

  “You wouldn’t belie
ve the weird dream I just had.” Penny yawned.

  “I wouldn’t believe it if it wasn’t weird,” Mary said, going out of the door.

  “What the hell are you so chipper about?” Penny grabbed her dressing-gown and followed.

  “I had sex last night.”

  “Oh, my God, either pigs have taken flight or one-dimensional Denis had his way.” Penny peered out of the window and into the bright blue sky. “No pigs. It must be Denis.”

  Mary was dumping beer bottles. “Did people come back here?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” Penny lied, not knowing why. Maybe because she didn’t need questions about bottles so early in the morning.

  “What the hell happened to your tooth?” Mary asked.

  Penny remembered that when she’d got home from the party she’d needed a drink. After a few weeks of too much wine she’d decided to buy only beer. She hadn’t been able to find the bottle-opener. After a few minutes of searching, she had become annoyed and annoyance had turned quickly to frustration. Eventually she did what anyone else would have done: she used her teeth to get the top off the bottle. Her endeavour was successful – at the cost of a cap on her left molar, bought by her parents many years previously. Now Mary scrutinized her as she felt the gap in her mouth with her finger.

  “I said, what happened your tooth?”

  “It’s been loose for weeks. I must have lost it when I was asleep.”

  “OK,” Mary said, as though she didn’t believe her.

  “Anyway, enough of that. How’s one-dimensional Denis?” Penny said, in an attempt at distraction but also because she had a genuine interest in her friend’s nocturnal activities.

  “He’s not one-dimensional.”

  Penny scoffed. “And?”

  “He followed me home from the party.” She started to make coffee.

  “And the mood just came over you,” Penny noted, shaking her head. “Well, after how many months? I suppose that kind of thing can happen.”

  “Ha-ha,” Mary said, giving Penny the fingers. She knew how Penny felt about Sam, but she was desperate to talk about his possible kiss with Flory and to seek counsel on the handling of such a delicate matter – or, at the very least, confirmation that ignoring it would be beneficial to their friendship. She thought she’d test the waters.