“It’s good,” she said.
“You can come back here anytime.”
“Thanks, Jane. I know you don’t get on with my mum but she’s not half as bad as you think.”
“I’m sure you’re right.”
“She doesn’t make a good first impression.”
Or a second, Jane thought.
“She was painfully shy up to her early twenties so sometimes when she’s nervous she overcompensates. She was really upset when we got back from the airport.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She thinks everyone is laughing at her. She feels foolish. She was married to my dad for twenty-five years, he meets someone on-line and she’s a laughing-stock. It’s hard for her.”
“She’s not a laughing-stock.”
“I wish she believed that.”
“She’ll recover.”
“What makes you think so?”
“Because people do.”
“I hope so,” Irene said. “I hate seeing her so sad. That guy might have been a user but at least he was a distraction.”
“I really like you, Irene.”
“I really like you too, Jane, but next time you meet my mum, go easy on her.”
“Promise.”
“And Elle?”
“I’ll hold her back.”
Music played from eight onwards, people started to arrive around nine, the caterers served drinks to anyone with a passable fake ID and the kids were going through canapés like there was no tomorrow. Jane was dressed and ready to join the guests but she waited for her son and his dad. They arrived just before ten. The place was full, lights were flashing and the music was rocking. Kurt jigged down the steps into his back garden where his friends were sitting around drinking and having a ball. The group of his closest pals all howled when he approached and they bent over with arms stretched in honour of his excellent party. He played it cool, kissing his girlfriend and slapping the boys’ hands. Jane watched from the kitchen window with Dominic over her shoulder.
“You’ve done a pretty good job there,” he said.
“Despite myself.”
“You’re always so hard on yourself.”
“He’s special, isn’t he?”
“I think so.”
“My heart is full,” she said.
Tom appeared behind Dominic with a large boxed present and Jane spotted his reflection in the glass. “Tom!” she said, and turned to him. “Thanks for coming.”
“Wouldn’t have missed it.”
She walked over to him and hugged him. “You didn’t need to bring a present.”
“Yeah, well, I hope he likes it,” Tom said, while maintaining eye contact with Dominic.
“I’m Dominic.” He offered his hand.
“Tom.” Tom took and shook it.
“I was really sorry to hear about Alexandra,” Dominic said, putting his arm around Jane. “She was a good friend to us.”
“She was a good friend to me – she hated you,” Jane said.
Tom laughed.
“Only towards the end,” Dominic said.
“No,” Jane said, shaking her head, “way before that – she thought you were a vain, stuck-up brat.”
“I’m leaving now,” Dominic said. “It was nice to meet you, Tom.”
“You too.”
Tom turned and smiled at Jane, and Dominic noticed a look in her eye that had once been reserved for him. He walked out of the house into the garden and said hello to a few of Kurt’s friends. Once he had made sure the caterers were happy and all was well, he snuck down to Elle’s cottage and knocked on her door.
Tom and Jane mingled with Kurt’s friends and when she asked him to dance he was horrified and she made fun of him until he agreed. Two minutes on the floor and she knew it had been a bad idea. They sat and watched Kurt and Irene dance wildly around with their hands in the air.
“It seems like a lifetime ago,” he said.
“For me it was a lifetime, Kurt’s lifetime.”
“Alexandra was so desperate for a baby. We tried everything. I wanted to just skip it all and adopt but she was determined to have her own. She wanted to feel life inside her.”
“Yeah, well, it was a long time ago but I hated the sickness, the constipation – my God, no one tells you about that – the gas, the heartburn, the backache, the pressure on your bladder … oh, the piles, and did I mention the heartburn?”
“Yes,” he said, laughing. “You paint such a beautiful picture.”
“I don’t remember enjoying one bit of my pregnancy, and if I’m honest, the first year or two of Kurt’s life were from hell but after that something inside me clicked. It took its time but when it did I could never go back to a time without him, you know?”
“No,” he said, “but I’d like to experience that some day.”
Alexandra had been missing for sixty-four weeks and three days and it was the first time that Tom expressed a wish for the future … a future in which he envisaged himself with Jane and not his wife. The thought was momentary but profound.
Jane wasn’t living inside Tom’s head so she didn’t perceive the juggernaut of emotion that had borne down on him with that statement or the accompanying vision and he hid it well.
“I just don’t know if I could do it again,” she said, staring at her son, hanging his arm around a friend. “My God, I have no idea how I did it the first time.”
“You’re a great mother, despite forgetting him outside a shop when he was a baby and threatening to beat up his bully.”
“And don’t forget breaking my toe when I was kicking down his door – that was an especially proud moment.”
“How could I? The image will last a lifetime.”
The clock turned to midnight and the caterer approached Jane and asked her to step outside. Dominic was standing there, with a cake the size of a shopping centre.
Elle was lighting the eighteen candles. The lighter had run out and she kept shaking it and cursing. “We should have got the one and the eight. Eighteen actual candles are so naff.”
“I want to see him blow out eighteen candles,” Jane said. She grabbed the lighter from Elle and shook it hard. She got a few more lit, then began lighting one from another.
“My back is breaking,” Dominic said.
When all eighteen candles were lit Elle signalled to the DJ. He played “Happy Birthday” while Dominic and Jane walked in holding the cake. Kurt was left standing alone in the middle of the dance-floor as all his friends abandoned him. He covered his face and then blew out his candles. Everybody clapped, then Jane and Dominic took the cake to the side where the caterer started to cut it.
“This is where we decipher who’s drunk and who’s stoned,” Dominic said. “Cake-eaters, stoned, non-cake eaters, pissed.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said.
“You’re such a square, Janey,” Elle said, gorging cake. “Yum,” she said, and giggled.
After midnight everything got a little crazy. Jane was surrounded by sixty drunken teenagers and was feeling a little worse for wear herself. Tom was on his fifth whiskey, and even though there was plenty of food he wouldn’t touch any of it.
“Do you want to get some air?” she asked, when the tent was so hot there was steam coming off the teenagers’ heads.
“Yes, please.”
They walked outside into the cool night.
“Oh, that’s better,” he said. “You know, I’d love a coffee.”
“I’d love a cup of tea,” she admitted, “but I haven’t seen Elle in a while so first I just want to make sure she’s okay.”
“You mean you’re checking up on her.”
“Did you see how much wine she was pouring down her neck? It was like looking at Rose.”
“Where is Rose?”
“Her pal’s house. She doesn’t like groups of teenagers – she says they bring out the devil in one another.”
“Right,” Tom said, and headed up to the house to put the k
ettle on.
Jane could see Elle’s light was on so she walked into the cottage. The kitchen was empty, as was the sitting room. She called out to her and heard movement coming from the bedroom. To make sure Elle wasn’t getting sick she opened the door and saw Dominic attempt to cover his face with the duvet. Elle just sat there as though Dominic wasn’t in the bed beside her, hiding when he’d already been seen.
“Hi, Janey,” Elle said.
“I don’t believe it.”
Dominic took the duvet away from his face. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t mind, do you, Janey?” Elle said. “You’re over him, you’ve moved on.”
“Shut up, Elle.”
“Jane, look –”
“Shut up, Dominic.”
“Janey, relax!” Elle said.
“I’m finished with both of you,” Jane said, “completely and utterly finished.”
“What does that mean?” Elle said.
“It means you’re on your own.”
She closed the door and walked out of the cottage, through the garden, past all the drunken teenagers, two of whom were puking into her mother’s rose bushes and one who was taking a pee on the graves of Elle’s dead gerbils, Jeffrey, Jessica, Judy and Jimmy. She walked into her kitchen where Tom was waiting with fresh coffee and tea. He was surprised when she slammed the door. She covered her face, sniffed and sat down.
“What happened?” Tom asked.
“Dominic and my sister happened.”
“They were together?”
“Yes, Tom, they were together in bed post coitus.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Everybody is always sorry. Don’t you get pissed off with people being sorry?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Me too. I am so fucking sick of being sorry, feeling sorry and having people feel sorry for me.”
“Me too.”
“Dominic is an arsehole. He can’t help it, I’ve always known and I’ve always put up with it. But Elle, it’s not her. Elle may be a lot of things but she has always been kind, never cruel, and this is cruel – she doesn’t even like him.”
“Drink some tea.”
“I don’t fucking want any fucking tea.”
“That’s two fuckings in the space of three seconds. I think you need some tea.”
“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.”
“It’s okay. You’re just upset.”
“I don’t love him.”
“I know.”
“I just don’t understand why Elle would do that.”
“I don’t know what to tell you.”
“I’m finished with her. I’ve picked up after her since she was a kid. I’ve put her ahead of me every step of the way. I didn’t ask for much – in fact I don’t remember ever asking for or wanting anything – but Dominic! She knew what she was doing. So I’m finished with her.”
Tom handed her the tea. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”
She shook her head. “No, I won’t.”
“It’s going to be fine,” he said.
“How could she do that?” she said.
And it was then that she burst into tears and sobbed and rattled in Tom’s arms until she was empty, and when she stopped crying he kissed her and it took her aback, especially as he was in such close proximity and she had puffy eyes, tear-burned cheeks and suspected her nose was running. It felt really nice so she kissed him and then they were kissing each other for a minute or two or ten, and then he pulled away and under his breath he said he was sorry.
“Yeah,” she said, and sniffled a little, “of course you are.”
He got up and walked out of the kitchen and out of her house, leaving Jane alone and staring out at her son and his pals having a ball. She walked into her bedroom, locked the door, laid her head on her pillow and cried into it until it caused her actual physical pain to continue. Where the hell did it all go wrong?
Two days after Kurt’s party Leslie returned home from holiday. She was tanned and relaxed and even happy. Despite being sore, tired, itchy and sometimes emotional she’d had the time of her life. They had lain on the beach, and while she’d slept under the sun her body and mind had healed themselves. They drank wine in the evenings, ate beautiful food while looking at beautiful scenery and, armed with the clothes carefully chosen by Elle, she didn’t feel odd or weird or freakish once.
In fact, she’d felt good, especially when she caught the eye of a few locals and one particular waiter attempted to chat her up every time Jim left the table.
She’d enjoyed Jim’s company – they had fun together, it was easy and freeing; they talked when they had something to say and other times they just relaxed in silence. Leslie’s mood had improved one hundred per cent: she felt better, she looked better, the hormones were obviously kicking in and a confidence she hadn’t known she had was coming to the fore. Jim called it survivor’s confidence. She liked that. She liked Jim and he was more than family. Leslie Sheehan was falling in love.
Chapter 14
I’ve Been Raining
I’ve been raining I’ve been pouring,
there’s a hole in my roof I’ve been ignoring,
I’ve been washed up idle and wasted.
I know my luck is going to change,
I can almost taste it.
Jack L, Broken Songs
October 2008
After weeks and weeks of doctor visits and referrals, Breda was hospitalized. Two days later her husband Ben, her son Eamonn and daughter Kate were called into a consultant’s office and told she had end-stage colon cancer. Ben didn’t understand what the doctor was saying so he repeated the words a few times, looking at his daughter and son. Kate cried and Eamonn got angry. “She’s been sick for months. How the hell was this not picked up?” he said, banging his fist on the table.
“Eamonn, calm down,” Ben said.
The consultant had no answer. “It should have been picked up,” he said.
“Is that all you can say?” Eamonn said.
“I can’t answer for the other doctors you’ve seen. I can only tell you what I’ve found. I will say this. I reviewed your mother’s medical history and only last year she had a clean bill of health, which means the cancer has spread in a very short period of time.”
“How do we fix her?” Ben asked.
“All we can offer is palliative care.”
“Palliative?” Ben said.
“She’s dying, Dad,” Kate said.
“Don’t say that, Kate,” he said.
“How long does she have?” Eamonn asked, in a whisper.
“Six to eight weeks,” the consultant said.
“Ah, no,” Ben said, “this isn’t happening.”
“I’m very sorry, Mr Walsh,” the consultant said.
“No,” Ben said, shaking his head, “I can’t have this – we only lost our daughter a year ago. I can’t have this.”
“We will make her as comfortable as possible.”
Ben stood up and walked to the door. He opened it and went out into the corridor. When he got there he looked for the exit sign that would take him outside. He was halfway down the corridor when he stopped, held himself and sobbed so loud and so hard that a nurse came to assist him. She guided him to a chair and waited with him until his family came to find him.
Ben sat in a big red armchair pulled up close to the bed. When he wasn’t sleeping he was holding Breda’s hand. His daughter and son took turns in badgering him to eat or drink, take a walk, shower or sleep. He said no every time. He washed with antibacterial soap in the disabled bathroom two doors down from his wife’s room. Kate brought clean clothes and he changed in the toilet cubicle. He ate a sandwich in the chair and sometimes Frankie and Eamonn arrived with some warm stew. They hadn’t told Breda she was dying, but Ben knew that, deep down, she was all too aware of her situation. She didn’t talk much: the medication made her sleep a lot and the Breda he knew had all but disappeared. So he watched his wife lie st
ill and he wondered where her mind was. Was she happy or sad, scared or at peace? Did she even really know he was there? Could she feel his hand? Would she come around and talk to him – did she even want to?
Kate would talk to her, telling her about what was happening and complaining that after an entire summer of rain it was still raining – even for October she couldn’t believe how cold and miserable it was. She told her about the liaison officer’s latest report on Alexandra and unfortunately there wasn’t much news there: the ring seemed to lead only to a dead end. She talked about Owen’s job and how, as a member of the management team, he had been forced to let some people go because the company was starting to cut back. She brushed Breda’s hair, put moisturizer on her face and Vaseline on her lips. She washed her nightgowns and made sure that she had water, even though she wasn’t awake to drink it, because she would be thirsty when she came back.
Eamonn always stood just inside the door, leaning against the wall, watching his mum and waiting for a sign. He was quiet, only speaking when he had to answer a question or ask the doctor or nurse for a status report.
Tom came and went, and it was hard for him because, although Kate was kind and Ben’s attitude to him had softened, Breda had been the only member of the Walsh family never to blame or suspect him in the loss of Alexandra. She maintained his tenuous link with the Walshes and, in her absence, he felt like an outsider rather than family but in deference to her he went anyway.
Things had been slightly awkward between Tom and Jane since the kiss but after Kate phoned him with the news about Breda she was the first one he called. Initially she was hesitant: he could hear it in her voice so he didn’t beat around the bush.
“Breda has cancer,” he said.
“Oh, Tom, I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“She’s dying.”
“Oh, my God!”
“They say she’s only got six to eight weeks.”
“Oh, Tom, that’s awful!”
“I can’t believe it.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I thought you were fucking sick listening to people say sorry,” he said in jest, and all the tension that had built up that night dissolved.
The One I Love Page 23