Pack Up the Moon

by Anna McPartlin

  And Anne gave out to her for abusing her body.

  Oh, Christ, here we go.

  Clo swallowed and smiled. “Speaking of which,” she began, “Em and I were just talking.”

  I couldn’t believe she’d included me in her crusade. I was losing colour while Anne listened to her intently.

  “You’ve really packed on the pounds.”

  Now Anne was starting to lose colour. Clo must have noticed, but carried on regardless.

  “In a really short space of time. It’s just not right.”

  Anne was silent. I was mortified.

  Clo continued. “It’s not like you’re Oprah or anything. You’ve never fluctuated more than half a stone in your life.”

  I was appalled that she had the audacity to bring Oprah into this and in such a negative light.

  Anne looked at me with hurt in her eyes, so I decided to speak before Clo’s version of kindness killed her. I really didn’t know what to say. This whole thing had got out of hand. It felt like an intervention and who the fuck were we to intervene? What did we know? The girl had put on some weight. So what? I wondered what Oprah would say.

  So I asked her if she was unhappy and she answered by bursting into tears. Clo and I sat beside her on the couch. Clo handed her some wine and tissues. Her eyes were puffy and sore.

  “I hate Kerry!” she wailed. “And now apparently I’m a fat pig!”

  “OK, you are fat but you will never be a pig,” Clo said gently as though she had just said something helpful.

  Anne stared at her incredulously. I pretty much mirrored Anne. Years of working in PR had obviously addled Clo’s brain because she didn’t seem to notice our bemusement.

  “And besides, even with the extra pounds you’re still more attractive than some skinny people I know!” Clo added triumphantly.

  Anne looked at me and I looked at Anne and Clo sat looking at us both, grinning like she’d just waved a magic wand. We sat for a few seconds before Anne burst out laughing.

  “You really are the shallowest person I know but I still love you,” she said, nudging Clo, and Clo smiled at her, acknowledging her shallowness and glad to be accepted.

  “Everything’s going to be fine,” I piped up.

  Anne wondered how.

  “You’re going to sit Richard down and tell him that you’re homesick and then you’ll come home,” I said like it was a problem easily solved.

  Living in Kerry was Richard’s dream. He loved residing in a small and beautiful place surrounded by mountains and lakes. He loved the views, the slow pace of life, the people, the quaint bars, the good food and the silence. Kerry gave Richard peace, but Anne was a city girl. She found beauty in architecture, noisy restaurants, city lights, the theatre, museums, Brown Thomas and the Shelbourne. She loved the noise, the people, the queues and even the traffic.

  “Do you know there isn’t one traffic light in the entire town?” she almost cried. “How the hell am I supposed to live like that?”

  We nodded in agreement. It seemed insane. She further argued that her husband would never agree to leave Kerry, adding that she was ready to hang herself.

  “Why not compromise?” I asked. “Why not live in Dublin during the winter and Kerry in the summer?”

  Anne thought about it. “But the summer is only three months of the year.”

  “Exactly,” Clo grinned.

  Anne smiled and added how lovely Kerry was in the summer. “I wouldn’t mind Christmas there either. It’s really nice at Christmas,” she said, brightening as she spoke.

  “Well, there you go then,” I said as though it was decided.

  “More wine?” Clo offered as if to seal the deal.

  Anne’s smile turned to concern. She wasn’t as convinced as us, but then again a problem is always simply resolved when it’s not your own.

  So we drank. We drank to our health, to Clo’s wedding and to Anne’s diet and then we drank some more because for most people in their twenties being heavy is a crime while drinking yourself to death is perfectly acceptable. People are insane.

  Seán picked me up just after eleven. Anne was passed out on the couch with a blanket over her and an empty glass in her hand. Clo tried to take it, but Anne wasn’t letting go.

  Clo and I said our goodbyes and Seán escorted me to the car. When we got home, he made me a coffee and ran a bath. I lay in it for the longest time just thinking. Seán brought in a refill. He sat on the floor by the bath the way John used to do. He offered to wash my back the way John used to do. He took care of me the way John used to do and I realised that I was happy, truly content. I was twenty-eight and living in rented accommodation. I was a teacher on a bullshit wage. I had a car that broke down once a month and a cat that made Roseanne Barr appear stable. But as Seán towel-dried my hair I was at peace.

  Later in bed we turned into one another and I told him of Anne’s unhappiness and subsequent weight gain.

  “I’d move to the moon for you,” he said.

  I laughed. “I take it that’s the moon or nowhere?” I said.

  “Obviously,” he replied grinning.

  He kissed me and it still felt like the first time. We had run out of condoms, but we made love anyway and afterwards I lay in the dark smiling.

  * * *

  Anne returned to Kerry the next day. She was hungover, but determined. Richard picked her up from the airport. He turned up with flowers and she told him they needed to talk. What ensued was a blazing row during which the flowers were severely damaged. Anne wanted to go back to Dublin. Richard wanted to stay in Kerry. She argued homesickness. He argued his distaste for Dublin. He argued she hadn’t made an effort to fit into the Kerry lifestyle. He had made a lot of friends, but she refused to socialise. He further argued that after a year they had made a new life for themselves there. He pointed out the obvious: they had a home, they were trying for children and she had agreed to move to the country. She disputed that it was more difficult for her to make friends, but when challenged she couldn’t give a reason why. She pointed out that they still had an apartment in Dublin and plenty of money to buy a house. It was also apparent to her that so far they had been unsuccessful at getting pregnant and besides there were perfectly good schools in Dublin anyway. They screamed and roared. He, disappointed because she was giving up so quickly, she, disappointed because her husband was either completely blind to her pain or didn’t care. Richard was used to getting his way and Anne was used to giving it to him but she couldn’t do that anymore.

  At four in the morning, she packed her clothes and drove to Dublin. Richard woke on the couch to find his wife gone and a note with the word “Choose” written on it.

  * * *

  It was two weeks since Anne had walked out on Richard. In that time she had dropped an entire dress size, which Clo unhelpfully described as a silver lining. I was worried. She had gone from overeating to not being able to hold down soup. She set up home in their Dublin apartment, which was a penthouse and nicer than my bloody house, but it didn’t stop me from wondering if Anne felt like she was slumming it. Each day she waited for Richard to call, but he didn’t and she was devastated. She’d ring me sobbing so loudly her pain was impossible to ignore.

  “I left and he doesn’t care!” she’d wail.

  I tried to be positive, but the evidence was weighing in favour of her statement.

  “He’s a selfish bastard!” she’d roar.

  I sympathised while being careful not to agree, afraid that if and when they got back together she’d hold it against me. Women can be funny like that.

  “Where is he, Emma?” she’d cry plaintively.

  Good question.

  “Why can’t he just meet me halfway?”

  Better question.

  “Does he even love me?”

  Scary question.

  I wanted her to stay with Seán and me, but she didn’t want to leave the apartment just in case he called. She sounded really depressed and it frightened me.


  One night I tried to call her. She didn’t pick up. She hadn’t left the apartment in two weeks and she had been very down during the day. She could have been out, but deep down something told me she wasn’t. I called again. No answer. I was getting very nervous. Something was wrong. I could feel it – that terrible dread was creeping into my bones. I got into the car, but of course it wouldn’t start and Seán was out so I called a cab, but nothing was available for over an hour. That was too long. There was no direct bus so I went to Doreen.

  Doreen had been a nurse. I told her to bring her medical bag. We reached Anne within half an hour after my first unanswered call. There was no answer at the main door so we entered the building with a pizza deliveryman. He didn’t notice us follow him in and, if he did, thankfully he didn’t care. We took the lift to the top floor and I rang the bell. Nothing.

  “Emma, this is ridiculous – she’s probably with her parents,” Doreen said, leaning on the wall.

  I rang the bell again and pressed my ear against the door.

  “Doreen, listen,” I said urgently, sure that I had heard something or someone.

  Doreen pressed her ear against the door and then looked at me. “The TV?” she questioned while repositioning her ear.

  Now we were both listening intently. A man passed us and stopped.

  “Can I help you?” he said.

  “No, thanks,” I said nonchalantly, attempting to appear normal.

  “I’m the caretaker so if there’s a problem?”

  “Yes, actually we’d like to get in. Do you have a key?” Doreen asked with authority like she owned the place.

  The man smiled at her audacity. “Yes, I do have a key, but I can’t just give it out, you understand.”

  I had returned to pressing my ear against the door. “Shush,” I said hurriedly. “I can hear something. It’s her. I can hear her.”

  I could hear the word “help” being called out faintly. Doreen went back to listening. The man approached and looked for space so that he too could listen.

  Doreen was becoming impatient. “Listen, there’s a young woman in there and we think that she may need help. So you run along and get the key and if we’re wrong we’ll apologise and bid you goodnight, but, if we’re right, you’ll be a hero.”

  The caretaker contemplated this for a moment. “Give me a minute,” he said and left.

  By the time he returned we were both full sure that we could hear her calling out and I was screaming that everything would be fine to a wooden door. He let us in and followed. The sitting-room was empty and the TV was on. The kitchen was clear and so was the bedroom. I made my way down the hall and to the bathroom with Doreen and the stranger following tentatively behind.

  I tried the door. It was locked.

  “Anne!” I called out.

  “Em!” a small voice called out from behind the door.

  “Anne, let me in!”

  “I can’t!” she cried.

  “Why not?” I asked, looking at the two others behind.

  “I’ve pulled my back out! I can’t move.”

  I pushed at the door.

  “Stop!” she cried out. “I’m naked!”

  “Jesus,” mumbled the caretaker. I guess he was expecting a quiet night and a naked injured woman certainly wasn’t on his “to do” list.

  “Calm down, love. We have the caretaker. He’ll take care of the door,” Doreen said, while gesturing to the caretaker.

  “Doreen?” Anne whined.

  “Yes, it’s me, love. Everything will be fine.”

  “I’m naked,” Anne reminded us.

  “It will be fine. I’ll cover his – what’s your name?” She looked at the caretaker.

  “Jim.”

  “I’ll cover Jim’s eyes when he removes the door.”

  Jim looked nervous. I could hear Anne mumbling something about God. Jim disappeared to find his tools. Doreen and I kept Anne talking. It appears that she hadn’t eaten all day and the likelihood was that she had fainted in the shower. One minute she was standing under hot water, the next she woke up on the floor unable to move. I tried to calm her, but she wasn’t having any of it and I could understand: an accident is bad enough; a naked accident was like pouring salt into the wound.

  Doreen remained upbeat. “Sure isn’t it something you can tell your grandkids?” She was smiling at me, sure that her words would bring comfort, but I knew better and when Anne started to cry so did she.

  Jim returned and began unscrewing the hinges.

  “Why don’t you just kick it down,” I asked.

  “You want me to kick down a solid mahogany door?” His voice was laced with the smallest hint of sarcasm.

  “Well, yeah,” I replied.

  Anne screamed that he was not to kick down the door. She did not need a door landing on top of her or indeed a handyman on top of a door landing on her. Doreen reminded her to be calm. With only one hinge to go I insisted on taking over. He complied a little too willingly and I wondered if he was gay. With the last hinge removed, I alerted my naked friend that I was about to enter.

  “Wait!” she screamed.

  We all stood motionless.

  “Jim?” she called out.

  “Yeah?” he said hesitantly.

  “You can go now. Thanks for your help,” she said from the floor.

  “Right then,” he smiled and almost ran out the door.

  Doreen sighed. “Men. Bloody useless.”

  I pulled the door over and saw poor Anne arse up and face down.

  “You could park a bike,” Doreen laughed.

  She was right. I had expected Anne to be lying flat not bent over and on her knees. It was a bloody awkward position and I wondered how she’d managed it.

  “Yes, thank you, Doreen,” Anne noted, not amused.

  I covered her with a bath towel and then followed Doreen’s instructions and we lifted her to her feet. She was still bent forward and Doreen worried that it was a slipped disc.

  We called an ambulance when it became perfectly apparent that Anne was going nowhere in a sitting position. I dressed Anne while Doreen gave the operator directions. While we waited Doreen interrogated Anne as to the cause of her accident.

  “OK, so you were dizzy. You hadn’t eaten. When did you eat last?”

  “Yesterday – maybe the day before.” Anne looked like she was going to be sick but maybe that was because she was bent forward.

  “You must be starving,” said Doreen. “Why don’t I make a sandwich for the ambulance?”

  Anne’s sideways glance said it all, but Doreen carefully wiped the hair from Anne’s face and spoke gently to her. “I know you’re stressed and I know you’re having a bad time but, love, you have to eat – otherwise you end up naked on the floor.”

  Anne mumbled something about a yoghurt in the fridge. I spoon-fed her and we waited. Over an hour later the ambulance men arrived.

  Doreen was agitated and didn’t mind letting it show. “It’s a bloody disgrace,” she kept mumbling as the ambulance men lifted Anne into the ambulance. “Is this what we pay our taxes for?” she asked the young man who was busy trying to inject a muscle relaxant into Anne’s back.

  He tried to ignore her, but she repeated the query until he was forced to answer her. “Sorry, missus,” he said.

  This seemed to suffice. I thanked her and told her I’d let her know how we got on in the morning.

  “No problem, love. See you in the morning for a coffee.”

  And then we were on our way to the hospital. The injection meant that Anne could lie flat, but it was obvious she was still in pain.

  In the hospital at last and behind a curtain I stood holding Anne’s hand. She was crying and my heart was bleeding for her. I thought about calling Richard, but then I was afraid that it would only make things worse. When the doctor arrived I was given a respite so I called Seán and he commiserated and told me to leave Richard to him. When I returned Anne was drowsy.

  “I’ve given
her something to help her sleep,” the doctor said kindly.

  “Thanks,” I said automatically, realising suddenly that I could do with some sleep. “Is she going to be OK?” I asked as he was leaving.

  “Fine, although it looks like she’s torn a muscle. It’s sore but a week’s rest should do the trick.”

  “A week,” I repeated just to be sure.

  “Maybe two.” He winked and left.

  “Easy for you to say, mate.”

  I left Anne asleep in a private room. It was after two a.m. when I got home. I fell into bed and Seán cuddled me close to him.

  “Did you talk to Richard?” I asked.

  “He was out. I left a message.”

  “Jesus!”

  “Don’t worry, he’ll be here,” he said confidently.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “She’s starving herself,” I said guiltily.

  “She’ll be OK.”

  “Do you think it’s ’cos Clo and I called her fat?”

  “It probably didn’t help.” He sighed. “But her real problem is in her marriage.”

  “Still, I’m going to kill Clo.”

  And then I was asleep.

  * * *

  The next morning Doreen kept her word and in so doing woke me at the crack of dawn. We drank coffee together and she appeared happy with the doctor’s diagnosis.

  “A torn muscle is much better than a slipped disc,” she noted before digging into a slice of toast.

  “I suppose so,” I said, not really knowing much about either ailment. “I just hope that everything will be OK between Anne and Richard.”

  “It’ll be fine,” she said. “Nothing like an accident to remind people what life’s about.”

  I thought about her statement for a moment and then agreed.

  “And what about you?” she asked from nowhere.

  I wasn’t sure what she was getting at.

  “Well, Miss Psychic. If you hadn’t insisted that there was a problem and that we hightail it over there, she’d probably still be lying on the floor arse up.”

  I hadn’t thought about that. “Jesus,” I said.

  “Jesus indeed,” she agreed.

  “What’s that all about?” I asked.