No Way to Say Goodbye

by Anna McPartlin

  She lay on her bed for a while, opening a trouser button because she’d eaten too much brown bread.

  She pondered on Sam’s welcome. He’d put his arms around her and smiled, but deception was his strong suit. She had felt his warmth. He looked well and healthy. His friend Ivan seemed nice and the kids were cute. They were also a well-placed distraction. On the pier she had noticed Sam trying to catch Mary’s eye. Mary wouldn’t be drawn and she’d wondered, What is it with those two?

  It was after eight when she showered, careful not to wet her hair, which had been styled in the UK that morning. She sat at her dressing-table to apply her makeup. The mirror was deceptively large and seemed to engulf her. Mia, what are you really doing here? She often stared at her own reflection with wonder, not because she was intoxicated by her beauty, as others were, and not because she saw herself as extraordinary: she stared at herself in the hope that her face might betray her origin. Mia didn’t know where her beauty came from and she never would.

  Declared an orphan, she’d been in the system since she’d been found sleeping in a cardboard box one hot morning in the car park of a K-Mart in Michigan. She was of mixed race and answered to Lola. In the late 1970s, mixed-race children had been difficult to place. Adoption agencies wanted a newborn, preferably one race, colour and creed. They didn’t need the headache that came with a kid whose origin was in question and who was approaching two. Throughout her childhood she had been fostered over and over again and never quite found a family that fitted her. The other girls were jealous of her oval eyes and flawless caramel skin, while her height and grace had been an affront to her Plain Jane room-mates. The boys were always fighting for her attention, so much so that there was usually trouble. Her childhood and teenage years had been filled with insecurity, fear and disappointment.

  One day a lady named Kiki Shaw, an ex-dancer and one of her many foster-parents, had complimented her singing voice. She only mentioned it once but that was all it had taken. After that day Mia had done nothing but sing, initially in the hope that her voice would attract the attention and praise she craved, but when neither was forthcoming she did it for herself. When she was fourteen she stole a guitar. She stalked the shop for a full week before she made her move. She knew exactly which one she wanted. It was blue and closest to the door. Usually there were two young guys behind the counter but on that day there was only one. He went into the back once in three hours, but when he did she darted inside, grabbed the guitar and ran away as fast as her legs could carry her, holding her newly acquired possession high in the air until she was far away from the scene of the crime.

  She taught herself some chords from an old book she’d picked up second-hand. She wrote her first song aged fifteen. She left her last foster home at sixteen, got a job as a waitress and the owner let her live in the room above the diner. When she wasn’t working she gigged in every dive that would have her. But as hard as she tried, six years later she was still a waitress and the dive above the diner was still home.

  She was twenty-two when a beautiful man had come into her world and changed it utterly. He plucked her from obscurity. He dressed her. He styled her. He even named her. He believed in her and filled her with courage and hope. He had made her feel special and, for a long time, she’d thought he loved her.

  Deep down, Mia had long believed herself to be Sam’s creation. In him she had found her missing identity. He’d given her a family and her life, and she knew that, behind all his inexplicable fear and before heroin had stolen him, he had loved her. She knew this because once upon a time he’d been kinder to her than any other human being ever had. She couldn’t let him go. She needed one last shot to get him back.

  But then there was Caleb. She had lied to him, much as she had lied to Mary. Her therapist had not been involved in her decision to see Sam. In fact, he would have been wholly against the idea, and in any case, since Sam had left her she had become increasingly dependent on her bass player. Only the previous week he had declared his love for her in a beach house in Malibu. She had fallen into his willing arms, and this was something she didn’t do lightly. She had never wanted Caleb to be her casualty as she was Sam’s. And she cared for him: he made her laugh, he was kind, and he would even forgo a romp with an enthusiastic groupie in favour of winding down in a little café somewhere with her. If she did see him with someone, he would act as though he’d been caught out. She had spent last night with him in London, and had promised she would return the next day. Their relationship, if you could call it that, was new and she had made it clear she was very much on the rebound. He had told her he knew that. Then he had kissed her and said he’d wait for ever for her, which was sweet if unrealistic. She knew he was hurt by her insistence on the necessity of a final visit with Sam. She also knew he would forgive her. He always did.

  Sam was talking to the barman as though they were old friends. “It’s a warm night,” he acknowledged.

  “Warm? ’Tis almost hot.”

  “Well, it’s nearly summer.” Sam sipped his pint.

  “Summer my arse!” the man said quietly, so that Mia had to strain to hear him from behind a well-placed antique plant pot. “We’re being globally warmed as we speak. Sure if it keeps going as it is, in a few years we’ll all be just stains on the street!”

  Sam laughed. “Well, I guess you’d know better than I would.”

  “Oh, I would, Sam. I’ve been a connoisseur of Kerry weather for nigh on thirty-eight years now.” He grinned. “So, you’re here to see your lady-friend?”

  Mia’s heart missed a beat.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I wish you the best of luck.”

  “Thanks, Henry,” Sam said.

  It was at this point that an elderly lady, who looked as if she might be a cousin of the Queen of England and smelt of roses, approached Mia’s hiding-place. “Are you all right, dear?” she asked. “You seem a little lost.”

  “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  The old woman had attracted the attention of Sam and the bartender so Mia made her entrance. Sam immediately got off the bar stool. Henry followed with Sam’s drink on a tray, his demeanour immediately changing from casual to professional. Once they were seated by the window overlooking the bay, he asked if Mia would like something to drink.

  “I’ll have a dry martini.”

  “Certainly, madam,” he said, with a bow, and then they were alone.

  “It’s a beautiful place,” she said, gazing out over the water.

  Sam nodded.

  “Are you going to say anything?” Mia said, annoyed by his silence.

  “What do you want me to say?” he asked, knowing he was being rude.

  “You hate me that much?”

  “I don’t hate you. I just don’t want to hurt you again.”

  “Is that what you’ve planned?”

  “Why are you here?” he asked, as Henry appeared and placed Mia’s drink on the table in front of her. Without a word, he was gone.

  She looked from Sam to her drink and back to Sam. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “To say goodbye? To win you back?” She sighed.

  He took her hand in his and kissed it. “Say goodbye.”

  She nodded. “The trouble is, I know I can get over losing you as a lover but I don’t think I’ll ever recover from losing you as a friend.”

  “You don’t have to,” he said, unable to hide his relief.

  “You’ve got my back?” she asked playfully.

  “I’ve got your back,” he said, with a grin.

  Later, over dinner on the terrace, Mia told Sam about her burgeoning relationship with Caleb. “He’s so good to me.”

  “Like you were to me. You deserve the very best, Mia. You just have to believe it.”

  “I shouldn’t be here,” she said.

  “Probably not.”

  “Still, I’m glad I came.”

  “Me too,” Sam said, and he meant it. “Are you in love with him?”

 
; “Yes, I think I am. And are you in love with Mary?”

  “Yeah, I think I am.”

  “She’s lucky.”

  “No. She’s pretty unlucky, actually.”

  “You’re well matched, then.”

  “We’re giving each other space.”

  “She told me. You know what I think?”

  He shook his head.

  “Space is for astronauts.”

  They laughed. He had missed his friend Mia and he was glad to have her back, even if just for one night. They made their way to the restaurant arm in arm, and after dinner they travelled down Memory Lane. She worried that her career would suffer without him. He reminded her that she was the talent and that every good student outgrows their mentor. She discussed her fears for the album. She knew it was good but it needed one more song, a signature tune, something she could hang the whole thing on. He agreed to listen to the rough cuts. She complained that she couldn’t stay more than a day for fear that she’d put on weight, yet she was determined to finish her lobster. Over coffee he thanked her for saving his life and this time he meant it. At the end of their evening he kissed her goodbye. She hugged him and smiled. “Closure,” she mumbled, before kissing him one last time. He waited while she walked up the staircase and she didn’t look back.

  “’Bye, Mia.”

  22. Holding on, letting go

  Sam left Mia just after eleven. He was tempted to knock on Mary’s door but her lights were off and he knew from Ivan that she had been having sleepless nights. He had also heard a greatly exaggerated account of her breakdown in Gemma’s beauty shop. He wondered if she was having that terrible nightmare again. He worried for her as he knew how devastating nightmares could be. He had been haunted by them for as long as he could remember – but his were based in reality.

  He fell asleep quickly. Minutes later the nightmare woke him. He was starting to panic – that terrible panic to which he had often succumbed in his past life. The panic that started in the pit of his stomach, then leaked into his system and threatened to debilitate him. The panic that had enticed him into messing around with drugs. Sam hadn’t started with heroin – he’d tried pretty much everything else first: marijuana, mescaline, magic mushrooms, acid, china white, LSD, ketamine and cocaine to name a few, but nothing had come close to heroin. The others he could take or leave, but heroin had seduced him instantly and become his mistress. He had lost himself in her.

  He made tea, trying to control the tremor in his hand. He sat at the kitchen table and tried to remember the breathing technique that Phones, his shrink, had taught him. He closed his eyes and attempted to visualize a calm day, but instead he saw a needle slipping into his vein, liquid slipping into his system and himself slipping into heaven. He shook his head vigorously to empty it. No. No. Think of the sea or a cornfield or a park. Think of the sun, the moon or anything but that. Come on, man, you can do it. If only I could stop this damn tremor. Damn it, what’s happening? But he couldn’t stop the memories of the almighty high flooding back.

  When he was up, he was filled with colour. His body felt light and his mind free. He didn’t need to be touched or loved. He didn’t need to talk or listen. He could just be, wrapped up in his own heavenly bubble. He could almost feel the warmth. He stood up and walked around the room. OK, you want to remember heroin, remember all of it. Remember the bad times. Remember the nightmare, he told himself, as Danziger, his male nurse, had instructed. He closed his eyes and visualized coming down. It wasn’t hard to relive the hell that always followed like a blinding light – his head aching, his ears and skin buzzing, his body screaming. He could see himself in a ball, cold and twisted. His only escape was to slip another needle into his vein. He opened his eyes. I won’t go back there. It’s all OK. Everything is fine. I’m fine.

  It was the first time he’d really thought about using since rehab. I’m OK. I’ll be OK. He needed to calm down so he took a hot bath. The techniques his shrink had taught him finally kicked in and the panic dissipated.

  He was drying his hair when someone banged on the door. It was after two a.m. but he thought that maybe it was Mary.

  He answered with a relief that was short-lived.

  Caleb pushed past him. “You’re a real fuckin’ asshole, you know that?” He was holding a half-full bottle of Jack Daniel’s. The rest was on his breath.

  “I didn’t ask her here,” Sam said, closing the door.

  “No, of course you didn’t. Why would you? You don’t give a damn about her!”

  Caleb plonked himself on one of Sam’s kitchen chairs. Sam took two glasses out of his cupboard and put them on the table. Caleb snorted at his presumption but poured them both some anyway.

  “You’re wrong,” Sam said, after a sip of bourbon.

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “I do care about her. I just don’t love her. Not like you.” He drained his glass.

  Caleb put his glass on the table in front of him. He began drumming his fingers. “She told you about us?”

  “Yes.” Sam poured another round.

  “What’s your hold over her, man?” Caleb asked, sounding defeated.

  “She came to say goodbye,” said Sam, “and that was what she did.” He put his glass down without taking another sip. Instead he got up and switched on the kettle. “She was just looking for a clean slate.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Caleb said, swirling the contents of his glass.

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m just holding on, man.” He sighed.

  “I know what you mean,” Sam said, as he poured coffee grounds into a percolator. “So, where you staying?”

  “Sheen Falls.”

  “She’s at the Park.”

  “I always thought you were an asshole,” Caleb said.

  “You were right. I was – maybe I still am. It’s a constant battle.” He hid the reality of his statement. “She said she’s in love with you.”

  “Don’t fuck with me.” Caleb looked as though he was about to cry.

  “I’m not.”

  Caleb lowered his glass. “I’ve loved her since the first day I saw her. Do you think I should go to her?”

  “Have some coffee first,” Sam instructed.

  “No, thanks. I must go.” Caleb stood up. “You got a bathroom?”

  Sam waited while Mia’s bass player gargled with mouth-wash. He emerged pumped up.

  “Good luck,” Sam said.

  “Thanks.” He walked outside and stopped dead. Sam deduced that he didn’t have a clue where he was going. He’d probably come here in a taxi, which, of course, had gone when he’d paid it off.

  “You couldn’t drive me, could you?” Caleb wondered.

  Sam smiled. “Get in the car.”

  Mary’s day had been eventful. Although the glitterati often visited Kenmare, Mia Johnson was the first of the fraternity to have spent time in her home. By coincidence that evening she had invited Ivan and Sienna to dinner at Ivan’s behest. He had confided in her that his relationship was suffering slightly under the strain of his children’s homecoming. As their mother was at a rather unfortunate crossroads that she was taking her time to traverse, his new girlfriend could only wonder whether or not she had inherited another woman’s kids. Of course, she hadn’t said as much but she had become slightly snappy, if not downright sulky, especially after a long day’s work. She was used to having Ivan to herself, and family life was way more difficult than The Brady Bunch had suggested. Mary had agreed to distract his new girlfriend with her famous scallop salad, but unfortunately she had fed this to a ravenous rock star. Her father came to the rescue, providing her with fresh sole that she planned to serve with risotto. It hadn’t been the dish requested but it was the best she could do.

  Fortunately Sienna was partial to sole and it appeared that she was so glad to spend a night away from the kids that a two-litre bottle of cider and a park bench would have sufficed. Mary played an old Bonnie Raitt album, one of her favourites that she knew
the hippie in Sienna would like. “I love Bonnie.” Sienna sighed, and sipped some red wine.

  Ivan sat at the kitchen table drinking beer and texting the baby-sitter.

  “We’ve just left them, Ivan,” she said, irritation in her voice.

  “Sorry,” he said, when he’d pressed send.

  “Can I help?” Sienna asked Mary, who said she could manage fine.

  Ivan took her hand. “Cheers!” he said. He and Sienna clinked glasses. “Any news from next door?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “You’re still giving each other space.” His voice was laced with sarcasm.

  “None of your business,” said Mary.

  “Well, I’ve some news on the subject,” Sienna said. “An American booked into the hotel late this afternoon. He asked if his girlfriend was staying.”

  “Who is she?” Ivan asked.

  “Mia Johnson.” She smiled smugly.

  “No!”

  “Yes!”

  “Did she mention a boyfriend to you?” he asked Mary.

  “Hardly.”

  “Well, now the plot thickens,” said Ivan.

  “I wonder why she didn’t stay in the Sheen?” Sienna said, as much to herself as anyone else.

  During dinner Sienna revealed the strain she felt at having Ivan’s kids around. He was talking about the great day by the sea that he, Sam and the kids had spent and said she should have come too. She told him it was hard enough for her to share a large house with them, never mind a small boat.

  Bolstered by the presence of his cousin, he drew her on the subject. “They’re not that bad, surely?”

  “They hate me.”

  “They do not.”

  “Justine refuses to look at me when I talk to her. She doesn’t respond when I call her. She won’t eat what I give her, and instead of using my name she refers to me as ‘the woman’.” She drained her glass.