“What?” I asked.
“Tom asked me to marry him,” she replied.
I dropped my washing basket.
She laughed and did a little happy dance. “I said yes.”
I tripped over the washing basket, but managed to hug her without further injury. It turns out they had been sitting at home watching This Life and during an argument as to whether Miles was sexy or a pain in the arse, Tom asked her to be his wife. Just like that. They were going to buy the ring that afternoon. We sat together in the kitchen.
“It’s funny the way things work out, isn’t it?” she asked.
“I suppose,” I said and I knew what she meant.
“For so long I thought the next wedding would be you and John.”
I smiled at her. “Me too,” I said.
“Do you think he would have liked Tom?”
I nodded my head. “Definitely.”
She smiled. “Yeah. Tom would have liked him too.”
She asked me if I still missed him. I told her I did.
“But you wouldn’t change your life now?” she asked.
I told her I didn’t have the power to change anything and that for the first time I understood why and I wouldn’t want to change it – after all, if I did control life and death I’d probably fuck it up.
“This world is a chessboard and we are mere pawns,” I declared with an air of pomposity.
She looked at me blankly.
“We just have to try to enjoy the game,” I attempted to explain.
“Shut up,” she said, putting me back in my place.
I laughed. “OK, but you know what I mean.”
“Nobody knows what you mean when you go off on one,” she smiled. Then, after a while, she said, “It’s good to see you happy.”
“You too,” I smiled.
Everything was going to be alright, at least for a while, and I could live with that. Seán was my future, I was in love and maybe there was a part of me that was in love with him from the first time I met him. I definitely thought he was a ride. I smiled as I remembered. She asked me what I was smiling at so I told her. She agreed he was a ride.
“Life’s funny,” she said sadly.
“Yeah,” I agreed but nothing was going to upset me on the day that my best friend announced she was getting married.
“Tom’s a ride too,” she noted.
“Oh God, I know,” I agreed.
Doreen arrived in with a packet of biscuits. She plonked herself at the kitchen table.
“You’re not going to believe what he’s playing at now,” she said and we both knew she was talking about her husband.
Clo laughed and put on the kettle.
Dor proceeded to tell us he was on a protest march against the felling and selling of trees. Clo noted that maybe he had a point. She’d read somewhere that trees were important. Doreen told us they were Christmas trees.
Clo loved Christmas trees. She thought about it for a minute. “Oh, who cares? Dor, I’m getting married!”
Doreen put her cup of fresh tea down. “You love him?” she asked.
“More than shoes.”
“Does he love you?”
“More than football.”
Doreen finished her interrogation by asking whether he had any interest in the Green Party.
“Not that I know of.”
“Good. All the best of luck to you, love.”
I wondered what Doreen was like when she was in her late twenties. I wondered would Clo and I be sitting together in our sixties complaining about our husbands’ latest schemes or our kids being ungrateful bastards, handing out advice to youngsters living next door and making an assortment of cakes over which any problem could be discussed.
Clo and Doreen left together, Clo to meet her fiancé to pick out a ring, and Doreen to get her husband out of a tree. I returned to laundry and was just about to start ironing when Noel arrived.
“You got a haircut,” I wailed. I had really liked his shaggy hair look.
He just smiled. “I’m meeting with the Bishop tomorrow.”
“You could have worn a hat,” I advised, but he just smiled.
“Not for this,” he said grinning.
He looked older but happier. The lines that had appeared around his eyes over the past year served only to highlight the light that twinkled from within.
“What are you going to say?” I asked with my fingers crossed.
“I’m a priest, Emma,” he said in a tone that suggested a happy resignation.
I don’t mind admitting that my heart felt heavy in my chest. I concealed my disappointment by cleaning the counter. I hadn’t expected it. I thought that his adventures around the globe would have confirmed he didn’t belong to the Church but then again Noel wasn’t me.
“But what about never having a family, love or sex? What about watching other people live their lives but only ever nearly sharing in every experience? What about being alone?” I asked, becoming surprisingly upset by his revelation.
He took my hand. “I’ve experienced a lot of things over the past year. Some of them were great, exciting. Everything was new and a challenge, but I’ve seen things, Em, things that people should never have to see, let alone experience.”
He told me about his trip to the Sudan and in particular a tiny four-year-old boy who was dying of malnutrition. His body was tortured, bones grated on the thin skin that covered them, muscles twisted, belly bloated. He was blind, the gift of the health that he was born with, stolen. This little creature was alone. His mother had died a month previously and my brother found him lying and dying on a dirty camp bed calling for her. When Noel held his hand, tears rolled down his gaunt face. He clung on, desperately afraid to be abandoned once more. He was four years old and he knew he was dying. My brother sang to him. He caressed him and when he went into renal failure, he lay with him in his arms praying out loud and kissing his wet cheek. This little man would never have the life that we took for granted. He would never know the sweetness that life brings. He would only ever experience loss and pain. Why?
His story hurt deep inside. It made me remember how good we have it. Even when we lose we often win. What about him? When would he win? Noel had sat with him for two days. He performed the last rites and then the child had died in his arms and Noel swore he was smiling. It seems my brother’s presence was all it took. His nickname was Bassa and he wanted to be a doctor when he grew up. Noel stopped talking, tears streaming down his face. I was speechless and I could feel my cheeks burn.
“He’s my family, Em.”
I sat there choking on sorrow for the boy I never knew and for my brother who watched him die.
“You’re going back.”
My heavy heart was beginning to crack.
“I’m going back,” he nodded.
“You could be an aid worker.”
“I’m a priest.”
We both cried, but then we both knew he was doing the right thing and, although my heart hurt and my ears buzzed, I felt so proud to know him. I held him in my arms.
“I love you.”
“I love you too, Em.”
That was the end of that conversation.
* * *
A week later I was in town shopping with Clo. We were looking for an outfit for her engagement party.
“Does my arse look big in this?” Clo asked for the fourteenth time.
“You’re a size ten. How could your arse look big in anything?” I replied for the fourteenth time.
My feet were killing me and I wasn’t in the mood for shopping. Eventually she picked out a black dress, which looked remarkably similar to the eight black dresses she already had in her wardrobe. I mentioned this, but my comments weren’t appreciated.
“Emma, you haven’t a clue,” she said while marching to the counter.
I was too hungry to argue. Shoes were bought and we were ready to get some food. I was practically crawling and Clo was ratty. We had just ordered when her mobile rang. It was Tom�
�s work number. She answered but it wasn’t Tom. I watched her smile fade and the colour drain from her face. Tom had collapsed and had been taken to James’s Hospital by ambulance. We left the restaurant without a word. We got to the car with very few words.
“He’ll be fine,” I said, terrified I was wrong.
“I know,” she said, her words hollow.
Neither of us believed it. She drove insanely and I didn’t complain. We ran into the hospital, almost landing on the information desk. Clo’s father had died of a heart attack and standing at that information desk I knew that she was silently convincing herself that Tom was now doing the same thing. Her body shook, she was wringing her hands and when she attempted to speak to the nurse her voice had left her. I held her tight, terrified, waiting for the pain. She cleared her throat and enquired about her fiancé. The woman smiled at her and checked her computer. Clo closed her eyes, but mine were fixed on the woman and her computer. She looked up at us still smiling.
“He’s in surgery, dear,” she said happily.
Surgery was good. Surgery meant he wasn’t dead. Her father hadn’t made it to surgery. John hadn’t made it to surgery. This was good news and we both felt it. Clo sighed. Tom wasn’t dead and then we both registered that there was still time for that. People die in surgery, and what terrible thing could be wrong with him? Clo went white again and I think I joined her.
“Is it his heart?” she asked, already crying in anticipation of this stranger’s answer. Her tears were burning her eyes and she was holding my hand so tight, fractures were possible. The woman looked at her screen again.
“No,” she smiled. “Suspected appendix, dear.”
The word appendix sank in. We both looked at one another.
“Suspected appendix?” Clo asked, colour returning.
“Yes, dear. He shouldn’t be too long,” the woman confirmed, her smile fixed.
“Suspected appendix,” I repeated to ensure we weren’t sharing in a happy hallucination.
“Appendix,” Clo confirmed smiling and then we were laughing a little hysterically and we kept laughing. Clo was leaning on me with her knees close together looking like she needed a pee and I was wiping tears from my face and trying not to snort.
The woman’s smile faded. Obviously, she thought that we were lunatics. This made the situation funnier. I needed to pee. Clo had a pain in her face and, fearing that we were very close to being escorted out of the hospital, Clo regained some composure.
“I’m sorry,” she said to the woman, “but would you mind telling us where the ladies’ is?”
Then we burst out laughing again and she suggested rather coldly that we should consider leaving the premises until we’d composed ourselves.
So there we were sitting in Clo’s car outside the hospital. When we eventually calmed down Clo turned to me.
“Do you think he’ll be out of surgery yet?” she asked.
I looked at my watch. “I think it’s only a twenty-minute operation.”
She got serious. “Jesus, Em, what am I going to do?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“He’ll be back in his room soon and we’re barred.”
“No, we’re not. The woman merely asked us to compose ourselves.”
“We looked like assholes in there. Appendix is serious. I didn’t mean to laugh – I was just so relieved it wasn’t his heart.”
“And I was glad he wasn’t run over by anything,” I admitted.
“Do you think he’ll be OK?” she asked suddenly, paling a little.
“Were you OK when you had your appendix out?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she admitted.
“Was I?” I asked.
“Well, you moaned a lot as I recall but then you were always a bloody moan as a teenager,” she grinned.
“Well then, they caught it in time, they’re operating. He’ll be fine.”
“His brother Rupert is in there,” she said before noticing I was picking lint from my trousers. “Stop it!”
“Sorry,” I said, knotting my hands in my lap. “You wanna go in?”
“Not yet. I can’t stand Rupert,” she admitted.
“Oh yeah?” I asked, interested. She hadn’t mentioned him before.
“Bloody know it all,” she mumbled.
Once I’d ascertained Tom’s exact co-ordinates from the frosty woman at the desk, and having at least an hour to wait before Tom got out of recovery, we headed to the canteen, ordered unwanted bacon and cabbage and waited for Seán.
We waited for over half an hour. Our dishes were long cleared away. Our coffee was cold. We had that uncomfortable feeling that sitting at an empty table when there are fifty people with trays looking for a seat brings. Eventually a blue haired, bandy-legged arthritic old lady stood over us roaring to her friend in the queue.
“I can’t go on, Delores, my knees have given up!”
We took the hint and stood outside, drinking stale take-away coffee amongst a group of smokers, one of whom was nice enough to offer us a cigarette each.
“No, thanks, we’re off cigarettes,” Clo admitted a little sadly.
Fifteen minutes and two smokes later Seán arrived. Tom had at last been moved to the third floor.
His brother Rupert was sitting by his bedside. “Where the hell were you?”
I instantly didn’t like him.
Tom was attached to a drip, dribbling and in a drug-induced haze, but he smiled when he saw Clo.
She leaned over and kissed him while pointedly ignoring his brother. “I’m really sorry – you were already in surgery by the time we got here.”
He smiled and nodded.
The brother looked at her disbelievingly. “You work only ten minutes from the hospital.”
He had a kickable face.
She just smiled and responded calmly. “Well, we’re here now.”
“Better late than never,” he mumbled.
“Why don’t you shut up?” Clo suggested while still smiling. Tom giggled although it wasn’t apparent whether he found Clo funny or whether he was seeing pink elephants pole-dancing.
His brother remained unimpressed. “He could have died, you know.”
Clodagh smirked. “He’s fine.”
“Appendix is potentially life-threatening and no laughing matter,” Rupert snarled.
Clo’s smile faded. “Oh shove it up your arse, Rupert,” she said and Tom laughed.
He was with us after all.
Chapter 21
A Hen, a Whisper and Silver Linings
The wedding was less then three months away and I was meeting with Anne and Clo to go shopping for wedding lingerie. Anne had insisted on flying to Dublin for the event, afraid that her distance would mean missing out on the smallest of things. She was desperately lonely and everyone bar her husband knew it. Post Christmas had been particularly difficult for her, but knowing this did not make seeing her any less shocking. She had put on over three stone and it looked like someone had taken a bicycle pump and used it to blow her up. I couldn’t believe it. Clo was silent, a rarity in itself. We both composed ourselves and greeted her a little too enthusiastically if truth were known.
She sat and grabbed the menu. “I’m starving,” she said and I prayed Clo would remain silent.
She did and unfortunately so did I, for a long two minutes.
“I think I’ll have the steak and chips, chicken wings on the side and can I see the dessert menu now?” Anne went on as if everything was normal.
I regained my speech. “The steak is great,” I said.
“What?” Clo queried absentmindedly while still focused on her growing friend.
I repeated that the steak was great.
“Right,” she said, staring.
This wasn’t going well.
Anne looked away and called a waiter. Clo and I looked at one another. She had mentioned nothing about weight gain on her numerous calls to us both and it was a shock.
Later we were in Brown
Thomas looking at underwear. Anne wandered over to the shoes and Clo took the opportunity to discuss her size with me.
“Christ, Anne’s got big,” she said, followed by, “Did you see what she managed to eat?”
She had ended up sucking down steak and chips, chicken wings, a slice of double fudge cake, a muffin and two Snack bars. I agreed this wasn’t like her but argued against bringing it up.
Clo was adamant. “There is obviously a big problem – excuse the pun. As her friends, it’s our job find out what the hell is going on, sort it and put her on a diet so that she can fit into the bloody bridesmaid dress!”
“I knew we bought those dresses too early,” I said shaking my head.
“You are joking. We’ve all been pretty much the same size for the last five years!” Her hands were in the air and she was beginning to sweat.
It was a good argument and I agreed our friend’s sudden weight gain was puzzling and ill-timed, but added that if she wanted our help she’d ask for it and so far Anne was acting like there wasn’t a problem. We could always return the dresses – and maybe she was happy with her new size and it was only other people’s small-mindedness that would be the cause of her unhappiness.
Clo looked at me and said, “I love you, Em, but sometimes you talk out of your arse.”
I informed her that it was a fact as I’d seen it on Oprah. She laughed and made some smart comment about Oprah.
“Excuse me, Clo,” I began snottily, “Oprah Winfrey has done more for women, fat people, skinny people and minorities in America and the world than most politicians, presidents and royals since the beginning of time. Furthermore I believe that when she makes a point it’s based on medical and documented fact as opposed to relying on the old adage that agreeing with anything outside your realm of experience means talking through your arse.”
Clo looked at me and smiled. “Em, you’re right and maybe Oprah’s right, but something’s going on and I’m going to find out what.”
At least I got her to agree to wait until we were back at her place and I remember promising myself that I’d get pissed.
We got back and it was late. My feet were swollen, Clo had a headache and Anne was hungry, again. I opened a bottle of wine and handed Clo a glass, which she used to wash down a couple of headache tablets.
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