No Way to Say Goodbye

by Anna McPartlin

  Mary

  She gave me hope. That first day on the train to Dublin she sat beside me and when she looked at me she made me feel like I was special. Together we were popular and she brought out all that was good and funny in me. Her encouragement ensured that I would strive to be the entertainer. Now I am the consummate entertainer but to be that I needed help. Why? I wanted to make her happy. I wanted to make her laugh. And now she judges me. She got pregnant and I was there for her. She nearly died and I nearly died with her. She lost her son and disappeared but I stayed with her because I loved her through it all. How hard is it to stay with someone so destroyed? Fucking hard. How hard is it to witness desperation? It’s a nightmare. Watching the person you care about utterly decimated is tantamount to a knife cutting through bone. I didn’t desert her. Has she deserted me? Worse, has she deserted me for some prick she doesn’t even know? The girl who was once impenetrable now reduced to a sucker for an arsehole. Heroin is forgivable but alcohol is not? Why has she chosen him over me? Why has she deserted me? Why?

  Me

  I am nothing.

  After that she stopped writing. She went to the fridge and pulled out a cold bottle of vodka, opened it and drank from the neck because she was thirsty, because she was desperate, but mostly because she wanted to vanish.

  She lost track of time as the days blended into each other. She ignored the doorbell. One morning she woke to find a card on her mat. It was from Mary. She had written one word: Sorry. Penny tore it up, binned it, and then she cried until she was sure there was nothing left. A while later she began to feel hungry for something other than a bag of crisps, but she didn’t want to stop drinking long enough to sober up so she called a taxi to take her to a little pub that served traditional fare just outside the town.

  She found a quiet corner booth and hid there drinking while she picked at a plateful of cottage pie and salad. It was when she got up to go to the Ladies that she saw Ivan and Sam. However, she felt sure they didn’t see her. She washed her face with cold water and cursed herself for leaving her coat in her seat. She hadn’t paid either so she couldn’t leave. She knew she could return to her table without them noticing her but she couldn’t risk attracting the attention of the barman – and she’d been waiting for him to approach her for a while. She needed another drink. Damn it. She emerged from the Ladies and gingerly made her way back to her seat.

  The men had their backs to her and were deep in conversation. She wished she was a fly on the wall – but of course she didn’t need to overhear what Sam was saying. He was probably tearing her apart and Ivan had been nodding so he was probably agreeing. Bastards. She could hear them laughing. At me? Of course. She heard them get up so she pressed herself into her seat and they passed her without spotting her. Thank God, she thought, and ordered another drink.

  Much later, when the same taxi man who had dropped her off had collected her and helped her inside, she flipped open her laptop and opened her document to add Ivan’s name to the list of reasons she was finding for being a drunk.

  Ivan

  He’s a backstabbing bastard.

  She woke some time in the afternoon a week after the article had been published. Her head hurt, her breath stank and she was so dehydrated that her skin was flaking. She decided to clean up. Enough was enough. She couldn’t go on as she had been. She accepted that she didn’t want to. She even considered getting help. She poured the last of the booze stash down the drain. She showered and made herself some toast, which she barely nibbled. She opened her laptop and looked through her emails. All were work-related, even though her colleagues were well aware that she was on holiday. She opened up the document that blamed everyone and everything for her problems.

  “Stupid girl,” she heard herself say. She missed Mary and Ivan, but mostly she missed Adam. She watched an afternoon movie, but by seven she was pacing the floor with her head in her hands, her body screaming.

  While Penny spent a week drinking, Mary was catching up on sleep and work. Sam played guitar, took long walks, ate late suppers in restaurants now busy with tourists. He had read, listened to music and once he’d even sat in the large empty church, soaking up the silence and contemplating his own Catholic upbringing. His mother was of Irish-Catholic descent, his father Irish-Polish Catholic. His mother had gone to a Catholic girls’ school and his father had been taught by the Christian Brothers. They had met at a Catholic dance, aged seventeen and eighteen respectively. They were married at twenty-two and -three in a big traditional Catholic wedding. He had been baptized, he’d made his First Communion and was confirmed. For his first fifteen years he had sat in one of God’s many houses on Sunday after Sunday and yet, aside from stillness, churches and Catholicism had nothing to offer him.

  He looked around him at stone and tile, stained glass and candles. He could smell incense and hear the whispered prayer of a nun. He left unsurprised that, for him, it still held nothing. The nightmares had returned and no amount of guitar-playing, late suppers or even religion would make them go away.

  Mid-week he’d met Ivan for a pint in a small bar a few miles outside town. Ivan had only an hour to spare as the kids had come home with him and he didn’t like leaving them with a frazzled Sienna. He filled Sam in on how his ex-wife was coping and when she would be released from hospital. They discussed her indecision as to whether or not to press charges against her boyfriend and, more importantly, whether or not she would come home. Ivan was adamant that the bastard who had broken her deserved everything he got, but he was afraid she would go back to him.

  Halfway through his pint, Ivan had mentioned another fear he’d harboured since he’d first seen his wife twisted and bloody. “You don’t think he would have forced himself on her?” he’d asked, and Sam had nearly dropped his glass.

  “Has she said anything?” he asked, recovering.

  “No. And I can hardly ask her.”

  “I doubt it,” Sam said, and finished his pint. “Just because he hits it doesn’t mean he…” He didn’t finish his sentence.

  “You’re right. But if I ever find out he did, I’ll hunt him down and I’ll kill him,” Ivan said, with conviction.

  “If you find he did, I’ll be happy to help you,” Sam said.

  “You’re a good friend,” Ivan said. “For a junkie!” He laughed at his own wit.

  Sam had become used to his past indiscretions being joked about, and he was smart enough to know that, although they teased, those around him would not tolerate his failure to remain clean. This worried him. Each night that passed made it harder, and all the more so now that he was being watched.

  They talked a little bit about the aftermath of Penny’s article. The furore hadn’t been as considerable as it might have been. To Ivan and, indeed, most of the townspeople, the fact that Sam had got and stayed clean was a major achievement. The man described in the newspaper was far from the one he and his fellow townspeople had come to know, and when judgement was passed, it favoured their new resident, as Mary had expected it would.

  Ivan had been sheepish when he broached the subject of Sam’s famous ex but he couldn’t help himself. “Give me something.”

  “Something?” Sam was playing with his new friend.

  “Anything at all.”

  “OK.” Sam sat back in his chair. Then he put his hand to his chin.

  “Oh, come on!”

  “It’ll stay between you and me?” Sam asked.

  “Absolutely,” Ivan agreed, yet both men knew Ivan couldn’t hold his water.

  “Horror movies turn her on.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean horror gets her really hot.” She’d jumped him midway through Scream. “The gorier the better.”

  “Really? I love horror films.” Ivan seemed satisfied with the titbit he’d been given. “One last thing.”

  “What?”

  “Did you ever do J-Lo?”

  Ivan seemed lighter and happier since his kids had come home, Sam thoug
ht. They had wiped the gloom from his eyes. His smile was warmer and his laugh heartier. Neither mentioned Mary, and Ivan didn’t say anything when he saw a dishevelled Penny sneak into a booth. It’s not the time. God save her!

  21. My, oh, Mia

  It was one of those days that Ben would have called yellow – bright and sunny enough for summer. Mary had just returned from a shift at the bar and was busy fixing the remote controls in line with the corner of the coffee-table when the doorbell rang. She wasn’t expecting company. Penny hadn’t spoken to her for more than a week. Sam was giving her the space she had asked for. Ivan was busy with his kids. She answered it, expecting to see no one in particular.

  The woman at the door was very beautiful. She also seemed familiar. It only took an instant for everything to click into place. Frigging hell!

  “Hi. I’m Mia.” The rock star put out her hand.

  “Mary,” she replied, embarrassed by her plain name. She shook the proffered hand.

  “I was looking for Sam,” Mia said, having been directed to Sam’s cottage by the helpful hotel manager.

  “Oh,” was all Mary managed. “I’m not sure. I think he’s on the water.”

  Mia raised her perfectly arched eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

  “He usually fishes with my cousin on Sundays.”

  “Oh,” Mia sighed, “I can’t imagine him fishing.”

  “Would you like to come in?” Mary asked tentatively, not wishing to seem pushy.

  “Sure, I’d love to,” Mia said, and walked past her.

  “Right, then,” Mary said, closing the door and freaking out a little. She turned off Alanis Morissette in case Mia had a problem with competition. Mia didn’t seem to notice. Instead she sat on the kitchen chair Sam had occupied on the many evenings Mary had cooked for him.

  Mary made a pot of coffee and placed it on the table between them.

  “Nice place,” Mia said, looking around.

  “It’s OK,” Mary said.

  “So, you and Sam are friends?” Mia asked, studying Mary’s expression. She smiled when Mary nearly spilled the coffee she had begun to pour.

  “We’re giving each other a little space.” She regained control of the coffee pot.

  “Space?” Mia queried suspiciously.

  Instantly Mary regretted her comment. Shut your mouth, Mary! “Are you here for long?” she asked, as breezily as possible.

  “Not really. I was surprised to discover he was here. He never did like the countryside.”

  “People change.”

  “Not so much.”

  Mary wasn’t enjoying her conversation with an international rock star. It was uncomfortable, as though the women were in some unspoken competition. It made her edgy, especially as, being so ordinary, she felt at a disadvantage. “Are you hungry?” she asked, for something to say rather than out of the desire to cater. Also, her auntie Sheila often said, “When in doubt, feed someone.” It made sense now, especially as Mia’s stomach refused to stop gurgling.

  “No, I’m fine.” But then her stomach grumbled again and Mary’s face suggested that, unlike most, she didn’t have the good grace to ignore it. “Well, actually, I’m a little hungry.”

  “Good. Do you like fish?”

  “I love fish.”

  “Shellfish?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “How about a warm scallop salad with home-made dressing and a round of fresh brown bread?”

  “I’m sorry – I may dribble a little.” Mia laughed.

  Mary got her to work on chopping leaves for the salad, and it was while they were preparing dinner that both women relaxed.

  “Do you like blues?” Mary asked.

  “I should but I don’t,” Mia admitted.

  Mary checked her CD player. Rufus Wainwright was loaded directly under Ms Morissette. “Rufus Wainwright?”

  “Why not?” Mia said, taking off her jacket and shaking the salad dressing.

  They were halfway through their scallop salads when Mia broached the subject of Mary’s relationship with Sam. “I hope you don’t mind me asking but are you two together?” she asked.

  “Seriously, we’ve only ever been friends,” Mary said.

  “Yeah, that’s what we said for the entire duration of our relationship.”

  “He’s here to get better,” said Mary, quickly, “nothing more.”

  “He got better at home.”

  “What about you – do you want him back?”

  “Yes,” Mia nodded, “but I’m not stupid enough to think it will ever happen. He’s been here months and I didn’t even get a phone call. I had to find out where he was through a damn tabloid. We didn’t even officially end it. He wanted to but I begged.” She was shamefaced. “Of course, deep down, I knew it was over.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. He didn’t love me… He didn’t then, he doesn’t now and won’t in the future. It’s just like I said: people don’t change that much.” She placed another forkful of salad in her mouth. “God, this is amazing!”

  Mary smiled.

  “You’re wondering what I’m doing here,” Mia said, when her mouth was empty.

  “I suppose I am.”

  “My therapist says I need closure,” Mia said, between bites.

  “Oh. OK.” Americans!

  They were enjoying a glass of white wine, lying on deck-chairs placed at the edge of the pier, when Mary caught sight of Ivan’s boat heading towards the shore. Ivan spotted his cousin at around the same time. His son was untangling a net.

  “Chris, pass me the binoculars, son,” he said, and Chris dutifully complied. “Christ in a canoe! It’s Mia Johnson!” he yelled.

  Chris grabbed the binoculars back. “Jesus!” he said, under his breath.

  “Don’t swear!” Ivan said automatically.

  “Holy crap!” Chris was still staring at the rock star lounging beside his aunt.

  “That’s better.” Ivan took the binoculars from the boy. “Sam!”

  Sam emerged from below with Justine and a flask of coffee. “I heard you,” he said, with a sigh.

  Ivan had the boat tied off in record time. From their chairs, Mia and Mary watched Sam and his comrades walk the length of the pier. It was evident, despite his smile, that Sam was feeling the pressure for he was sweating excessively. Ivan was as dry as a bone and happy as a puppy, bounding towards the beautiful stranger to shake her hand and tell her how much he admired her. Mary wanted to slap him. Chris sat on the side of his aunt’s chair to prevent his knees buckling in the aftermath of Mia’s cheek-kiss. Justine held Sam’s hand, uninterested in the woman. She liked Jamie Lynn Spears.

  Sam was the last person to welcome her. It had been almost six months since he had nearly died of a heroin overdose and just over three months since he had ended his relationship with Mia, but now, seeing her face and feeling her arms wrapped around him, it felt like an entire lifetime had passed. She was a stranger with a tight grip. He pulled away and suggested he should take her back to her hotel but Mary and Ivan insisted she stayed, at least to finish her wine. They all went into the house, where Ivan found two more glasses and told the kids to watch TV in the sitting room. Then he joined Sam, Mary and Mia Johnson sitting around Mary’s kitchen table sipping white wine. He was beaming like a kid at the circus.

  “Mr Mockless?” Mia was saying, rubbing Mr M’s back.

  “Monkels,” Mary corrected her.

  “Weird name.”

  “Originally he was called Norman,” Ivan said, still beaming.

  “What changed?” Mia asked, intrigued.

  “One day when my son was three years old he decided that Norman didn’t work and Mr Monkels did.”

  Ivan laughed. “The strange thing is, the dog immediately responded to it.”

  “It was like he’d always been Mr Monkels,” Mary added. “It just fitted.”

  “It’s a cool name,” said Mia. “Your son has good taste. So where is he?”

  “He d
ied,” Mary said.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry!” Mia was covered with embarrassment.

  Sam stood up. It was obvious he was uncomfortable. “We should go.”

  “You don’t have to,” Mary said.

  “No,” Mia said, “Sam’s right. I should go. It’s been a long day. It was really good to meet you, Mary, and you, Ivan.” She leaned over to shake his hand and he took the opportunity to kiss her cheek.

  “You’re a lady,” he said to her, which seemed to please her.

  Chris was too busy talking on his mobile phone, telling his friends about his encounter with a rock star, to say goodbye to her.

  Justine waved at the window, with Mr Monkels at her side.

  Mary closed the door.

  “Christ on a cruise ship!” Ivan said. “Stick a fork in me, Mare, I’m done.”

  She laughed, but she would have been lying if she’d said she wasn’t a little jealous – not a lot jealous but definitely a little. Frig it, why couldn’t she have been a bitch?

  Mia returned to the old-world hotel she’d booked into earlier that day. Sam had agreed to meet her there for drinks at nine. She sat by her window, looking out at the grounds, which led to a little gate. She wondered what lay beyond it. The suite was reminiscent of a bygone era, sumptuous and scattered with antiques and oil paintings. She hadn’t expected such decadence and had thought Kenmare would be as hick as some of those places she had spent months in while touring the States. But, of course, that wasn’t Sam’s style – she was the hick, after all. She considered spending some time in the spa, impressed with the couple’s day suite that offered seclusion, but then she remembered that she wouldn’t be requiring a couple’s day suite and there didn’t seem to be a suite for one. No matter how many treatments, how beautiful the view, or how tranquil the spa pool, the empty chair would surely taunt her.