No Way to Say Goodbye

by Anna McPartlin

  When her tremor became so severe that Adam feared she might seize, he made the executive decision to allow her a shot of vodka. While she attempted to sip it he called the clinic to ask if he was doing the right thing.

  Eventually the tremor subsided. “What have you told Alina?” Penny asked.

  “I lied,” he lied.

  “It’s still that easy?” she said.

  “It was never easy.”

  They looked out of the window at the fields and grazing animals, the towns and houses, all passing them at speed.

  “I want another drink,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “Thanks for being here.”

  “It was the very least I could do.”

  *

  The taxi pulled up outside the clinic and Penny sat pinned to the back seat, looking much like the deer she had destroyed.

  Adam paid the driver, then reached for her hand. “Time to go,” he said.

  “I can’t.”

  “You can.”

  Fresh tears spilled. “I don’t want to.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “I’m really scared.”

  “It’s OK to be scared.”

  He helped her out of the car and the taxi drove away. He guided her towards the door. A nurse emerged with a clipboard and stood there, waiting. Penny stalled. Adam put his hand on her waist and she snuggled into him. He spun her around and suddenly they were dancing as they had on the night he’d said goodbye. In her head she could hear Sinéad singing about sacrifice. He kissed her cheek and held her close to him, and all the while the nurse watched and waited.

  “You’re always leaving me.”

  “I never want to.”

  He wasn’t allowed past the front door. The nurse took her new patient by the hand and Penny smiled through her tears and waved goodbye to the love of her life, who waited for her to disappear behind the white doors.

  I’ll always love you, Penny Walsh.

  Mary sat on the sofa alone that night, Mr Monkels having fallen asleep on the window-seat. She was drinking tea and listening to Snow Patrol. For some reason she felt like crying. The boy in her dream was haunting her. She didn’t have to sleep for him to find her now. At any given moment he would appear, staring at her with the most terrible expression on his face. She had seen things before, but they had all been so vague and about people she knew in the here and now. Nothing had ever manifested itself as this had – and what was it telling her? What part of the story was missing? And why, suddenly, did the boy seem familiar? Who the hell was he?

  Emotion welled inside her, like untapped oil ready to burst through solid rock, and she wondered if she was having her tenth breakdown in that month. But then, of course, it had been so long since she had felt anything. When her child had died a part of her had stopped, like a broken clock, stuck for ever in the past. She had become Miss Havisham minus the wedding dress and the cruel streak. Until a stranger had appeared and something inside her had begun to tick…

  Sam sat in his kitchen sipping a glass of Jack Daniel’s from the bottle Caleb had left behind. He hadn’t slept properly in a week and earlier had succumbed to the shakes, like he used to when he was without control. Penny’s intervention had hit him harder than he’d expected. For some reason it had projected his mind to another place. A place in the past when he had been a shit-scared teenager, running with all his might. Oh, God, no!

  And then he was somewhere else, in another time, a time when he was older and successful and an addict. He was in a communal bathroom in a bad area, kicking the shit out of another junkie much larger than himself. He was beating him with all his strength, both mental and physical, even though he was coming down and needed a fix so badly.

  The junkie was crying and begging, “Don’t, man! I’m sorry. You don’t know!”

  But Sam did know. He knew he wanted the fucker dead. “I’ve paid for it – I’ve paid for it a hundred times!” the junkie cried.

  “Not enough.” Sam kicked him so hard in the nuts that the guy vomited.

  “I’m a dealer! I can sort you out – I can keep you going, man,” the junkie shrieked, and Sam stopped kicking him.

  Just like that.

  Ivan was sitting on the sofa with his daughter asleep on his lap. Chris was on the chair and they were watching a show about football. Norma was in the kitchen, making the kids’ favourite biscuit cake. The doorbell rang and Chris got up.

  Seconds later Sienna was in front of Ivan. He stood up, forgetting that his daughter’s head was resting on his lap. “Dad!” she cried, rubbing her eyes.

  “Sorry, Button.”

  He hugged Sienna, who seemed a little stiff. Later, when the kids were in bed and Norma had made herself scarce, they sat in the kitchen together.

  “I haven’t heard from you,” she said.

  “We keep missing one another.”

  “We never used to.”

  “It’s been chaotic. I’m trying to find Norma a place with the kids, there’s been madness with Penny and it’s just –” He stopped.

  “Maybe we should cool things for a while,” she said.

  “I don’t want to.”

  “You’ve got your family back, Ivan,” she said sadly.

  “But I want you,” he said, and she rested her head on his chest.

  “I know, but I think this is a case of bad timing. Maybe when things settle down…” Then she added, “You’re a good father, Ivan, and a good man.”

  “I’ll work it all out,” he promised.

  “I know.”

  “I love you.”

  “I hope so,” she said.

  He walked her to the door and watched her leave.

  You can’t have it all.

  25. To know you is to love you

  The funeral was lovely. Dick Dogs had been one of Kenmare’s best-loved. His greyhounds had won many a race and those who’d backed them had profited time and time again. In his early years he’d been a fixture in many a local pub. He had always enjoyed a pint but, unlike some, he’d known when it was time to go home. He was kind too, always having time for those less fortunate than himself. He’d never married, which was a pity because most would say he’d have made a good husband. Everyone agreed that it was his time, though. He was the last of his generation to go. His friends had led the way and he had said openly that he was looking forward to seeing them again. He had died early in the morning just before the sun rose. He hadn’t suffered, just stopped. Paula Dubury had found him, cold but with a smile on his face.

  “What were you dreaming, sweet man?” she’d asked. If his corpse had had the power of speech he would have told her that, just before he left this world, he had relived a time when he was a young man and he and his best friend David Breslin were standing at the back of a dancehall watching the girls line up in their Sunday best, their hair fresh out of curlers.

  Dick had winked at Lena, who shook her head and wagged a finger.

  David had laughed at his high ambition. “She’ll never be yours,” he said.

  “But she could be,” Dick had responded.

  “She’s leaving,” David whispered.

  “And where would she be going?” Dick had queried.

  “We’re sending her away.”

  “Away?” Dick repeated.

  “My mother’s got it in her head that she’ll marry Joseph Dunne.”

  “But what about me?” Dick asked.

  “What about you?” David responded. “She wants something else and what Lena wants Lena gets. She doesn’t know it yet but she’s leaving tomorrow.”

  “You’re killing me,” Dick said, and his friend had laughed.

  “Take your dance. It’ll be your last,” David said, not knowing how prophetic his words were. Halfway through it, the old man reliving the memory breathed his last.

  The funeral was held two weeks after Norma’s home-coming. She had kept a low profile and Dick Dogs’s funeral would be her reintroduction into Kenmare society
. She didn’t feel ready, still bruised and broken, yet she had always been fond of the old man. She wanted to pay her respects and her ex-husband encouraged her to do so. She was worried about how she would be viewed, yet her fondness for the man who had dedicated his life to caring for animals ensured that she was there.

  The church was packed, which was odd for a man of Dick’s age, especially as he’d had no family of his own. Ivan stood beside Norma, and the rest of the congregation didn’t seem to notice her presence. All heads were bowed in remembrance of an old friend.

  When the time came during the service for them to shake hands as a sign of peace, people went out of their way to shake her good one. It was only when she saw men and women, with a perfect right to judge her, walk towards her smiling with hands outstretched… It was only when she heard… “Glad to have you home.”

  “Everything will work out.”

  “You don’t have to worry any more.”

  “God bless you.”

  It was only when she stood in front of those she’d been convinced would hate her that she discovered what it meant to be forgiven.

  Thank God I’m home.

  Mary had spotted Sam standing at the back of the church. She had been with Ivan and Norma during the service. She had had a particularly bad migraine over the previous five days and he had called every day to make sure she was OK, seeing her at her worst and seeming not to care. The injections Dr Macken gave her meant that the week was full of holes but she did remember Sam holding her hand, wiping her brow and whispering to her. If only she could remember what he’d said. She’d continued to have the nightmare, always the same, always unfinished. The lack of progress was frustrating but she knew that sooner rather than later the curtain would rise.

  She noticed that Sam had attempted to leave the church unseen but Paula Dubury had nabbed him in the churchyard. She wanted him to know how much Dick had enjoyed his visit, reliving his affection for Sam’s grandmother. He had talked of it often in the past few weeks. She wanted him to know, too, how glad Dick had been that he’d taken the time to call in and that the old man had thoroughly enjoyed his gift of ice-cream. Sam thanked her, but she wasn’t finished. She wondered if he was seeing anyone. He told her he wasn’t. She giggled girlishly, and asked if he wanted to see someone. Despite her curves, her shining black hair and her pretty face, he told her his heart lay elsewhere.

  “Pity,” she said.

  “Sorry.”

  “Can’t win them all,” she said cheerfully. “Is Ivan still seeing that hotel girl?”

  “No.”

  “Right,” she said. “Well, watch this space! After all, every dog has his day!” She laughed uproariously. She waved and she was gone.

  He turned away to find Mary standing behind him. “You shouldn’t be here,” he told her.

  “I’m going straight home to bed.” She still felt weak.

  “How’s Penny? Any word?”

  “She’s still hanging in there but they won’t let me talk to her.”

  “It’s not unusual. It’ll work out.”

  “I know I’ve seen you but I miss you,” she said.

  “I miss you too.” He looked sad.

  “Maybe you could come for your dinner tomorrow?”

  “We’ll see how you are.”

  He seemed distant and she didn’t want to push it. “OK,” she agreed, and then she, like Paula, was gone.

  Penny was allowed to make one phone call at the end of a very long week. It had begun with urine and blood tests that revealed Penny hadn’t a moderate dependence but was a high risk for delirium tremens. She didn’t know what the doctor was saying – it was all Greek to her.

  “The DTs,” he explained, and went on to outline what she might be in for over the next three to four days. He mentioned confusion.

  I think I’m already there.

  Agitation was also possible.

  Stop drumming your fingers, Penn.

  Disturbances of memory came next.

  Not necessarily a bad thing.

  Hallucinations. He ticked his page again.

  Just another Saturday night.

  Fever appeared on the list.

  You give me fever.

  The doctor informed her that she might experience high blood pressure and/or seizures.

  “My grandmother died of a stroke,” she said.

  “We’ll be keeping a close eye on you,” he promised.

  The headache started on day two, and it was worse than any hangover she’d ever had. The fever kicked in that afternoon. Her heart-rate increased and she felt nauseous and dizzy.

  “You’re doing really well,” the nurse said.

  “Easy for you to say,” she said, to both of the woman’s heads.

  Day three was even tougher. She lost track of time. Her eyes leaked something that felt like pus and her body shook. The seizure took hold that evening but Penny was so out of it she had to be told about the incident rather than having any memory of it. By day four she was over the worst. She still had the symptoms but they were milder and the IV fluids and tranquillizers were helping. She had been allowed out of her bed on days four, five and six.

  Now, a week on, she sat in a hospital corridor dialling a number she hadn’t dialled in a long time. She figured she’d have to leave a message and was quite surprised when her mother answered. “Hello,” she’d said breezily, as though she’d expected a call.

  “Mum,” Penny said, “it’s me, Penny.”

  “Penny! It’s been an age, darling. How are you?”

  “Fine,” she said.

  “Good,” her mother replied. “Your father was only talking about you last week, saying we should all get together soon. There’s a Law Society function in a few weeks and we’ve got a spare ticket.” She laughed. “There’s a few tasty treats attending, I don’t mind saying!”

  “I’m not looking for a man,” Penny said.

  “Of course not – let them look for you. Right? How’s all in Kenmare? I really am sorry we got rid of the house but who knew then that bloody prices would soar?”

  “Mum.”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “I’m an alcoholic,” Penny said, for the third time that day.

  “What?” Her normally unflappable mother sounded a little flustered.

  “I’m in a hospital in Dublin.”

  “Good God!”

  “Mum?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you love me?”

  Her mother took a moment to answer. As a solicitor, she was trained to absorb all the information in a case before she responded. “Is this our fault?” she asked.

  “No. It’s mine. I just want to know.”

  “Of course I do. You’re my child. I may not be Mary Poppins but I love you with everything in me.”

  “Mum?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can we try to talk more?”

  “Absolutely.” Her mother sounded a little shell-shocked.

  “Good,” Penny said, relieved.

  “Do you want us to come and see you?”

  “No, but thanks for asking.” She smiled to herself.

  “I love you. Your father loves you.”

  “Thanks, Mum,” Penny said. She put down the phone and went back to her room.

  In the short time Norma had been home she had slipped back into the centre of Ivan’s life, ably assisted by her children. Her intention was not to get in the way – on the contrary – but her mere presence had already ended his burgeoning relationship with Sienna. Norma had been upset by this news but he had told her it had nothing to do with her homecoming: the relationship had simply run its course. He had known that Norma living under his roof, roaming the corridors in a nightgown and making breakfast while his new girlfriend was ringing the bell, like a kid wanting a friend to come out and play, was never going to work. But he had asked his wife to stay because that was best for his kids.

  His mother watched Ivan’s wife entwine herself into the fabric o
f his life and worried for her son. She asked Norma to join her for a coffee in Jam on the pretext of catching up. Norma was no fool and prepared herself for her mother-in-law’s interrogation over tea and scones.

  “I see you’re doing his washing now?” Sheila said, having witnessed Norma separating Ivan’s dark from white smalls.

  “Well, I might as well, seeing as I’m doing my own and the kids’.”

  “He’ll miss that when you go.”

  “I’m sure he’ll cope.” Norma smiled.

  “I wish I was. He had a nice thing going with Sienna.”

  “He said it had run its course.”

  “He lied,” his mother said. “Norma?”

  “Yes?”

  “He has strong feelings for that girl. He might even love her but he would still take you back in the morning.”

  “You’re so sure?”

  “He’ll do what he thinks is best for his family. I’m his mother, and I know.”

  “What do you want me to say?” Norma asked, taken aback.

  “Say you’ll do nothing to hurt him. The first time I’ll forgive, the second I won’t,” Sheila said, and smiled at a passer-by.

  “I won’t hurt him,” Norma promised.

  “Good. I’ll hold you to that.”

  Mossy was frying steak and onions when the bell rang. Sam stood at the front door, nervous and a little shaky.

  “You look like a dead man,” Mossy said, without concern.

  The door swung open and Sam followed him inside. “I’m wondering if you have anything to buy,” he said.

  Mossy lit a cigarette and resumed cooking. “Be specific.”

  “Drugs.”

  “I thought you were clean,” Mossy said, turning to stare at him.

  Sam’s legs were threatening to give way. He sat down on a hard chair with his head in his hands. “I am. I just haven’t been sleeping. I need to sleep,” he said, in a voice that almost begged.

  “I don’t sell,” Mossy said.

  “Please,” Sam muttered.

  Mossy took his pan off the heat. He ran his fingers through his hair, taking time to scratch his head. “All I’ve ever done is hash,” he said.