“Well, how is he getting on? Have they found anyone who knows anything about the wedding ring?”
“They sourced it to a guy from Kent. He said he’d bought it off a man from Clare, and when they knocked his door down he said he’d bought it in a flea market in Rathmines. He had thought it would make a nice ring for his girlfriend; she’d got confused, thought he was asking her to marry him and then noticed it was engraved with Alexandra’s name, thought he was a cheapskate and broke up with him.”
“Well, how did it get into a flea market?”
“The owner swears she doesn’t know – she had receipts and a paper trail for everything else she’d ever bought or sold. It’s like someone just left it there.”
“And what does Tom think?”
“He thinks it’s hopeful. Maybe she’s leaving us a clue how to find her.”
“Balls. She’s dead, long dead.”
“Rose, please don’t say that.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Janey, of course she’s dead! And if Tom was honest with himself he’d say so – and you can be sure the police have mentioned the likelihood on more than one occasion.”
“Let’s just stop talking.”
“You like him, don’t you?”
“What?”
“Tom – you like him.”
“He’s a lovely man.”
“Don’t play coy with me, Jane Moore.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Rose!” Jane got up from her chair and turned to leave.
“You be careful – you’ve been a gobshit with men for far too long.”
“It’s ‘gobshite’, Rose. The word you’re looking for is ‘gobshite’, with an e.”
“‘You say tomato’, Janey, and the point still stands: don’t be an eejit all your life. And judging by the dark circles and lines around your eyes, you’re not going to be pretty for much longer – so if you want a man get your skates on.”
Jane slammed Rose’s front door. God, I hate that horrible old woman!
Four weeks into her nursing-home stay, Leslie was battling depression. Her surgeon had warned her that it was a possibility and explained why, but reason was hard to hold on to when everything inside her was screaming. She didn’t feel like talking and when she could no longer sleep she just sat staring at the TV with a remote in her hand. Elle would sit with her and sometimes she’d talk and sometimes she’d say nothing at all. Jane tried little tricks to brighten the place up, including coloured balloons, a big cuddly toy and scented candles. Tom told jokes, which Jane laughed at. Mostly they were jokes that Alexandra had told him. She’d loved jokes and once she’d heard one she stored it and could regurgitate it at will. He wasn’t good at telling jokes and often forgot the punchline so it wasn’t necessarily the depression that prevented Leslie laughing. Jim came in every second day. He’d fluff her pillows even if she didn’t want him to, fix the bed and poke around her locker, which annoyed her so much she’d be forced to talk to him.
“Will you just leave it be?”
“No, you’ve an apple in there and it’s gone off.”
“Just leave it.”
“No.” He threw the offending fruit in the bin. “I might clean your sink.”
“The cleaners will do it.”
“Yeah, well, they’re not here right now and if you won’t talk to me …”
“What do you want to talk about?” She sighed deeply, indicating she was not amused by his neediness.
“I don’t know. How about flash floods?”
“Flash floods?”
“In Clonee, can you believe it? Cars were floating down the M50.”
“Well, it has pissed rain day and night for the past month.”
“I hate the rain,” he said, looking out at the dark grey sky and the rain hitting the window.
“Yeah.”
“I was thinking about going away. A week in the sun before the end of September maybe.”
“Good.”
“We could rent a car.”
“We?”
“You could get some sun on that sickly body of yours.”
“Thanks very much.”
“You could walk on the sand and soak up the sun,” he said, “eat well, sleep because you’re tired and not because you’ve taken a bucket-load of sleeping tablets.”
“Stop monitoring me.”
“We could go to Greece or Spain or France – I bet it will still be nice there.”
“You really want to go on holiday with me?” she asked.
“We’re friends, aren’t we?”
She nodded.
“And we both need something to look forward to.”
She nodded again.
“So when you’re feeling better and when your hormones are adjusted, we’ll go.”
“Maybe,” she said.
“Maybe is good enough for now.”
After that she slipped away from him again but he was happy enough to have elicited some chat, and on the matter of a holiday a “maybe” was better than an outright “no”.
Tom knew he needed to fill his days with more than checking the findingalexandra and Jack Lukeman sites and hounding his liaison officer. His business was dead and buried, and the way things were shaping up for his competitors, he was glad to be out of it. He’d heard on the grapevine that demand for new builds was disappearing at a shocking rate. One builder he was familiar with was close to bankruptcy and another was barely treading water. Once his accountant had finalized his tax and VAT for the end of the business year he had money in the bank and because he’d only rented his offices he was free and clear.
Getting back into building was certainly not something he could consider in the current climate, and he wasn’t really qualified for anything else because he had left school at sixteen to work with his dad on sites around Dublin. Tom’s mother had suffered from dementia since she was young so from when he was ten she’d had no idea who Tom was. His father couldn’t care for her so he’d put her into the best home that money could buy. The problem was that he couldn’t pay for the home and for him and Tom at the same time. That was when Tom had left school and they’d worked together to pay the bills. At night Tom would watch TV and his father would drink, and that went on until four years later when he had died of sclerosis of the liver. There was a year to go on the mortgage and Tom paid it off, sold the house and started his business.
He and Jane had discussed their similar backgrounds one night over dinner. She had told him about the father she lost to heart failure and she didn’t need to tell him about her drunken mother because he’d met her. She talked about leaving school to have Kurt and how Albert had given her her life back. Tom talked about his poor mother who had lost her mind long before she lost her life and his dad who, unlike Jane’s mother, had been a fall-down drunk incapable of stopping once he’d started, often disappearing for days on end. He talked about school too and admitted that at the time he had been delighted to leave, not being one of the most academic students and lacking any lofty career ambitions, but in the years since he had developed a keen interest in human rights.
“I know it sounds weird,” he said. “A bit hippie-dippy for a property-developer.”
“I think the fact that you’re using the term ‘hippie-dippy’ is weirder.”
Jane confided in him her fear of living in that big house without her son.
“It’s totally understandable,” he said.
“It keeps me awake.”
“You need to start living for you again.”
“And you need to take some of your own advice,” she said.
Tom stayed quiet for a moment. “Yes, there’s a part of me that knows you’re right.”
Jane had told him about her doomed love for Dominic as part of the apology for roaring at him the night she had been with him and Jeanette had turned up. He asked her about him now, to change the subject.
“His marriage is over,” she said.
“He told you?”
“No, Elle did. He’s stay
ing away.”
“Good.”
“Yeah,” she said. “It’s actually the first time in fourteen years that I’ve a break from my son and his father.”
“And you’re not the slightest bit interested in how he is?”
“Nope,” she said. “I’m moving on.”
“Good for you.”
“What about Jeanette – are you thinking about going back there?”
“Oh, don’t! I’m so embarrassed.”
“Trust me, I know how that feels.”
After they had eaten, they walked together on Grafton Street. They stopped in front of a band playing for coins and watched them for a while, then pottered on. Initially they were looking for a taxi but, as the rain had stopped and they were entertaining one another, they ended up walking all the way to Jane’s. When they found themselves outside her door she asked him in.
“I shouldn’t,” he said, looking at his watch. “It’s getting late.”
“Okay,” she said. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
They stood, rooted to the spot.
“We’ll do it again soon,” he said.
“Great.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
Tom bit his lip and Jane exhaled, and in that moment they were so close to kissing, yet so far from it. They heard knocking and turned to see Rose tapping at her window. When she had their attention she pointed at Tom and gave him the finger. Jane and Tom laughed at the crazy drunk and, thankfully, the moment passed.
Elle knocked on Dominic’s front door. He opened it and grinned. She walked inside and he grabbed her by the arse. She slapped his hand, then ran to his bedroom with him hot on her heels. He gave chase around the bed, which she jumped over. She ran down the hall into the spare room and around the chair. He tried to grab her but she bobbed and wove and ran to the box-room, where he cornered her. They were both breathing heavily and Dominic pinned her to the wall. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” he said.
“That’s why it feels so good,” she said. He kissed her and pulled at her panties and she jumped on his hips, and if it hadn’t been for his bad back they would have finished up there, but instead he was lying flat on the floor. Afterwards when she’d returned from her shower and he was still lying there, she wondered if he’d be okay.
“Fine,” he said, trying to make light of it.
“Good,” she said. “Get up.”
He sighed and she helped him to his feet. He rubbed his back and took two painkillers with water. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he said.
“That’s nothing to what Jane would do to you if she found out.”
“But she won’t,” he said, with alarm. “You won’t tell her.”
“No. I have as much to lose as you, if not more.”
Elle sat down at Dominic’s kitchen table and poured salt on it.
“So why are we doing this?” he asked. “And don’t say fun.”
“Because I’m impulsive and you’d get up on the crack of dawn.”
Afterwards when she’d gone and he was cleaning salt from his table with one hand and rubbing the small of his back with the other, he promised himself faithfully that he would not sleep with Elle again.
Leslie came out of the nursing-home on a Tuesday. Jim had the summer off from lecturing so he offered to drive her home. Her spirits had picked up a little and she was looking forward to seeing her cat.
Deborah was in Leslie’s apartment cleaning out the kitty-litter tray when she followed Jim inside.
“Welcome home,” Deborah said. She seemed genuinely glad to see her but then again she had been feeding and cleaning up after a cat for weeks and she hated cats the way some people hated iguanas.
“Thanks,” Leslie said, and sat on her sofa because getting out of the car, walking to the lift, standing in it and walking from it to her door had felt like a ten-mile hike. The cat jumped up on the sofa and rubbed herself against Leslie, purring. Leslie stroked her head and looked around. It was good to be home.
Deborah finished cleaning the tray and made her excuses to leave. “It’s good to have you back,” she said.
“It’s good to be back.”
When she’d gone Leslie lay on the sofa and Jim made tea. “Will you come out with me on Sunday?” he asked.
“Where?”
“Surprise.”
“I hate surprises.”
“Indulge me.”
“Why should I indulge you? I’m the one who’s just been mutilated.”
“Will you stop saying that?”
“It’s true.”
He wasn’t getting anywhere so he decided to start again. “Will you come out with me on Sunday?”
“Where?”
“Leslie!”
“Tell me where.”
“It’s a garden centre.”
She sat up slowly because even though she’d spent several weeks lying in bed it still hurt to move. “A garden centre?”
“Yes.”
“I may be in menopause but I’m not in my seventies.”
“It has a really good restaurant and the forecast is positive for once. The gardens are beautiful.”
“I’d rather just stay in.”
“Please.”
“Oh,” she sighed heavily, “fine, we’ll go to your poxy gardens.”
“Great. And, Leslie?”
“What?”
“You’re going to love it.” He grinned and winked at her.
She made a face. “I’ll be the one to decide that, short-arse!” She laughed a little. She loved calling Jim names and he didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.
Sunday arrived and Jim picked her up at midday. She got into the car and he was listening to the radio. Jack Lukeman was talking to a DJ about his upcoming shows. “Oh, shit,” she said, “I forgot to post them on the web.”
“Do it later.”
“No, I can’t.” She opened the door. “Wait here – it will only take five minutes.”
“Leslie, I don’t want to be late.”
“Trust me, the garden centre will go on without us.”
Fifteen minutes later Jim appeared in the doorway and he was not happy. “Move,” he said.
“Two seconds,” she said.
“One, two …” he said, and shut her laptop.
“Ah, come on!”
“Get to the car!” he shouted, and pointed.
“Right. Fine. Keep your high heels on.”
They were twenty minutes late. Jim was having a nightmare trying to find a parking space and he kept swearing, which was unlike him, and Leslie was beginning to wonder what the hell he was rushing for. When they finally found a bay he practically ran into the restaurant with Leslie following slowly, mumbling that he was a pain in the arse under her breath.
She saw John first. Beside him his daughter Sarah was eating a burger and opposite them was a woman Leslie didn’t recognize. John glanced up and saw Leslie, then stood up, pushing his chair back. Sarah looked up at her father and followed his eye-line to where Leslie stood.
John was completely grey and his face was so lined it made Gordon Ramsay’s look Botoxed, and even though Sarah was sitting, Leslie could tell she was tall, like her mother, Nora. She had her dark complexion too.
Jim grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the table.
John put his hand out to shake hers and she took it. “It’s lovely to see you, Leslie,” he said.
“Good to see you, John.”
“And you know Sarah,” he said, “although the last time you saw her she was only five.”
“Hi, Leslie,” the teenager said.
“Hi, Sarah.”
“This is my wife, Claire.”
Claire offered her hand and Leslie shook it. “It’s great to finally meet you,” Claire said.
Jim pushed a speechless Leslie onto a chair.
“I hope you don’t mind,” John said. “We were starving so we went ahead and ordered.”
“No,” Leslie said, “not at all.”
Jim went off to get them some food and she was left with Nora’s husband, her daughter and his wife, and she hadn’t a clue what to say.
“I didn’t know that Jim had kept in touch with you,” she said, after a while.
“Yeah,” John said. “Together in the trenches and all that.”
“I suppose,” she said.
“Jim told us about your operation,” Claire said. “Very brave.”
“Thank you.”
“If you think I’m doing what she’s done you’re mad,” Sarah said to her father.
“Sarah!” he warned.
“You’ve been tested?” Leslie asked her niece.
“Not yet,” Sarah said. “Don’t want to know.”
“That’s crazy,” Claire said.
“We keep telling her it’s for her own good,” John said.
“I understand how she feels.” Leslie smiled at her sister’s child, who was a stranger to her.
Sarah smiled back, glad that someone at least had uttered those exact words.
Jim returned with food and Leslie nibbled it and listened to Sarah talk about her life, her hopes and dreams. “Law, definitely law,” she said. “Dad says I could win an argument with Bono on the topic of his choice.”
“Like Nora,” Leslie said.
“Very like Nora,” John agreed.
“If I don’t get law I’m going to repeat until I do get it,” Sarah said.
“Good for you,” Leslie said.
“What do you do?” Sarah asked.
“I’m a webmaster.”
“Cool. What kind of websites?”
“All kinds.”
“Would I know any?”
“A few gyms, a radio station –”
“Which one?”
“It’s a country one that specializes in folk.”
“Oh.”
“Jack Lukeman.”
“The singer?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow, I love him!”
“Really?” Leslie said. “I could take you to a gig if you’d like.”
“Backstage?”
“I’m sure I could arrange something.”
“Can I take my pal?”
“Absolutely.”
“Cool.”
“Is that okay, John?” Leslie asked.
“It’s great,” he said, and he smiled at Jim who was sitting with a big smug grin on his face.
The One I Love Page 21