Pack Up the Moon

by Anna McPartlin

  “Good,” I sighed. “Am I going to die?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Oh God, I don’t want to die!”

  Walls sprang up either side of us and soon they were alive with images of our past. I found myself focusing on the night we first kissed. John squeezed my hand as we watched our younger selves, all tongue and teeth.

  “We really didn’t have a clue.” He said smiling.

  Not today. I can’t die today.

  I nodded absentmindedly and we moved along to view a different phase of our lives, stopping to take it in as an art critic would an interesting painting. It was the day we finished the Leaving Cert. We were standing under a tree near the basketball court. We were laughing and I was jumping excitedly. Then we were kissing and making a much better job of it. Fellow students were moving and talking excitedly around us and yet we were alone in one another.

  I turned around to see John focused on the wall behind me. I looked back at my wall to watch us kissing under the tree near the basketball court and John returned to my side.

  “That one lasts a while,” he grinned and took my hand.

  “I can’t die,” I said calmly.

  “You still have time,” he repeated.

  “Did you have time?” I asked.

  “No,” he admitted and then he turned me towards the wall.

  I watched myself lying in my own blood while the doctor attempted to shock my heart out of flat line. I watched Seán’s face aging and felt his heart burning while he sat still with his head hung low like he had the night we lost John. I saw my parents desperate and desolate. I saw Clo clinging to Tom, silent but begging me to come back.

  I want to.

  I saw you less than an hour old, lying alone, already forgotten.

  “I can’t leave her,” I said and John seemed sad.

  And then I heard my brother’s voice while on his knees in the middle of some desert:

  “Our Father, Who art in Heaven,

  Hallowed be Thy Name,

  Thy Kingdom come.

  Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.

  Give us this day our daily bread.

  And forgive us our trespasses,

  As we forgive those who trespass against us.

  And lead us not into temptation,

  But deliver us from evil. Amen.”

  “Noel?” I called out but I couldn’t see him.

  I could see the doctor charging up the defibrillator paddles.

  I turned away and John was gone.

  “John?” I called out, panicked.

  He appeared in the distance.

  “Where are you going?”

  He winked and pointed into the distance. “Emerald City!” he laughed.

  “But I need you!” I cried out with one eye on the wall. The damn paddles seemed to take an eternity to charge.

  “Not anymore,” he said.

  “I love you!” I called out.

  “You always will,” he laughed and he was gone.

  “Clear!” the doctor shouted and I heard the beep, beep, beep and then nothing.

  * * *

  When I woke you were nearly twenty-four hours old. I’d missed your first day. I cried for many reasons but mostly because of that. I promised I’d never miss another but then those kinds of promises are impossible to keep. Seán, your dad, found it difficult to let either of us go. He rested you in one arm while holding my hand.

  “I couldn’t have lost you,” he kept saying.

  “I wouldn’t be lost,” I told him.

  The truth is I could have died and who knows why I didn’t. Maybe it wasn’t my time; maybe John had a word with a Wizard or God heard Noel’s earnest prayer. Maybe it was just blind luck. Either way I’m still here. Sometimes I think about John and I smile. I’m happy he got to name you and even your dad admits Joanne is a far better name then Bindy.

  Chapter 26

  In the Now

  I can’t believe it’s been five years since you were born and it’s weird to try to think of this world without you. A lot has changed in these past years and more has remained the same. We moved out of our little townhouse a year after your birth. Seán got a promotion and had his second novel published, so we could afford to move by the sea. I’ve never lived by the sea before and I wouldn’t live without it again. There’s something about it. I’m not sure what it is. Maybe it’s its vastness or depth or the ever-changing colours and the comforting sound of the waves lapping on the beach, ever constant whether it be on a melancholic cold morning or a busy sunny day. I guess when it comes down to it, the sea is as close as we get to another world here on Earth and I like that.

  I still work as a teacher and every now and then I have the pleasure of teaching a student like Declan. Speaking of whom, I hadn’t seen him in four years and then out of the blue last week he appeared as a VJ on MTV. I couldn’t believe it and at the same time it seemed that he was at last fulfilling his own destiny. It makes me smile to think of the boy with the big heart making his way in the world. It also makes me feel old and at thirty-three that’s just not right.

  * * *

  Anne and Richard have a place the size of a small country pretty close by. It’s nice having Anne so close. She dotes on you and spoils you beyond anything that could be determined as reasonable. Richard discovered rally-racing a few years ago much to Anne’s utter disgust, but you know Richard – he will not be deterred. He’s attempting to race across some desert in the middle of some kip left of nowhere next summer. Poor Anne. The good news is that after five years on a waiting list they have at last received confirmation that in less than a month they will have the baby that they dreamed of. She’s Chinese, she’s three months and her name is Ming. There has been pretty intensive debate as to whether or not they should keep her name or change it. Richard has come down heavily on the side of a change due to his fear that his daughter will be known as “Minger” all through school. Anne is afraid that they will be stripping her of her identity. Clo is with Richard; rather lose one’s heritage than face the nickname Minger. I tend to agree, but we’ll see. Either way little Ming is going to have to come to terms with a lot in this world but she’ll be loved and that’s what important. You should see Richard – he’s like a little kid. He’s been working on Ming’s nursery for over a year and he’s made a total arse of it. Anne appears to despair but behind it all she can’t hide her smile. You’ve already made her promise that her baby girl won’t affect your relationship. There are no flies on you.

  * * *

  Clodagh and Tom went through a hard time a few years ago. His company was keeping him way too busy to be deemed healthy even for a career-orientated woman like Clo. Tom’s long hours meant he and his wife would soon become strangers. To add insult to injury the fruits of his labour were not worth the massive effort. His competitors were undercutting him, staff was too costly and the taxman was crucifying him. They were fighting more and having sex less. He was tired all the time; she spent most of her time alone. It was a bad time, so bad Clo had considered leaving. She was devastated, but after many a negotiation she found their position to be in deadlock. He needed to put in the hours to keep the business afloat and she needed the husband he didn’t have time to be. On the night she packed her bags he came home in time to stop her. Her drastic action frightened him and he admitted that marriage had made him complacent. They talked the whole night through. Tom wound up the business and within a month a job offer that he could not afford to turn down took them to London. The relocation package alone made sense and Clo had always wanted to taste life in a big city. She moved over without a job but her days as the supportive housewife were always going to be short-lived. Four months after moving she was working for a PR company in London. She’s still there and loves it. She says she prefers Dublin for a laugh but London for shoes and shoes win. I miss her. It’s not like we don’t talk on the phone or e-mail one another most days, but distance is hard. I get to see her more than you
’d think though. Thank Christ for the low-cost airline. Anne and I get over there every couple of months and she comes home as much. She’s still a career girl at heart and has no intention of having any kids or “danglers”, as she would put it.

  You don’t really know Clo – she’s just some strange adult that passes through every now and then, but I hope that some day you will and then you’ll love her as much as I do.

  * * *

  Doreen died last spring. She suffered a heart attack while sitting upstairs on the 16A bus. She was on her way to a peace march with her husband. She was reviewing the route with a map and a compass while her husband laughed at her industry. She nudged him and he said she smiled like she knew something everyone else didn’t. Then she slumped on his shoulder. It was a day before her sixty-fifth birthday. Sixty-five seems young these days but Doreen felt old. She had aged in the past few years. Maybe I noticed because since we moved I didn’t get to see her as often or maybe it was just her time to be old. She had lived a good and, in her own opinion, a long life and that was good enough for her. I like to think she knew. I like to think that an angel whispered in her ear and told her to come home. I miss her voice and look forward to hearing it again. Her wake was incredible. Her family had planned a surprise party and despite her death the party went ahead as planned. It was the send-off to end all send-offs. There were memories, music, laughter, dancing and song. We celebrated her life and sent her on her way. It was pure Doreen and exactly what she would have wanted, us living it up and her sitting back and enjoying the view.

  * * *

  Noel, well, what can I tell you about your Uncle Noel? He came home within a week of your birth and six months later he did leave the priesthood. The first time he met his son was on a Sunday in a park. Laura brought him there on the pretext of duck-feeding. They would bump into one another as though by accident. There was to be no build-up. Noel would just slip into his child’s life slowly and carefully. Of course, your grandmother took to her bed when told of Noel’s paternity and career change. She emerged after a week of sulking and found, despite what the neighbours would say, Noel’s new status was the one she had dreamed of all along. Dad was cool about it but that’s just him – your granddad is cool. I asked Noel once what was it like to meet his son for the first time. He remembered the ducks and Laura leaning over a little boy who was giggling and as he got closer the little boy looked around and he saw his face and something inside clicked. He smiled at the memory and I knew what he meant.

  Of course it wasn’t all roses – having to admit that he’d ate the apple to the bishop and a room full of clergy wasn’t a laugh. Leaving behind his life and his vocation was no picnic either. He was lost for a while. He was forced to move home and Mom said it was like dealing with a bloody teenager. He and Laura were rocky for a while but spending days in the park or at the movies or in the garden with his son made up for most of it. They got back on track a few years ago and Noel Junior was soon joined by Gina, who at two years old is your archenemy while Jamie, her twin brother, has become your unconditional slave.

  Noel went back to college too and now works as a social worker. The money’s crap, but then money was never an issue for my brother.

  * * *

  Last night Seán was holding my hand and I turned to examine his familiar face. He has aged in the past few years. All his boyishness has left him. Instead I was staring at a rugged handsome man. Little lines are appearing around his eyes and each with a little story to tell. His five o’clock shadow makes him look dangerous but his eyes remain forever the same. Sometimes I lose myself in him, his strength, his calm and his humour.

  He smiled at me and pushed my hair out of my face. “The first time I saw you I fell in love with you,” he said.

  “The first time you saw me you didn’t even notice me,” I grinned, remembering John trying to catch his attention in the Buttery bar, desperate to introduce his girlfriend to his new best friend. “You were too busy chatting up some blonde medical student.” I remembered her clearly.

  “That wasn’t the first time,” he whispered which shut me up instantly. “It was in the Arts Block a few days before that night.”

  I turned and faced him, attempted to lean on my elbow, missed and hit myself in the face.

  He laughed as I fixed myself. “I was drinking coffee sitting by the wall opposite the library. I saw you coming up the steps. You were carrying books piled on one another. Your hair was in your face, but I swear the light behind you made your green eyes glow. You were stunning and it was obvious that you didn’t have a clue about that. I could tell by the way you held yourself. Beautiful women usually have an air of arrogance, but you didn’t have that. Of course two seconds later you tripped and dropped your books all over the place. I wanted to help you, but I couldn’t move. You picked them up and got up, slowly mumbling to yourself. You were standing when they fell again. You blushed until you were purple.” He was laughing.

  I hit him playfully, urging him to go on.

  “You gave up after that. You just sat amongst the books and lit up a cigarette. Then you put your Walkman on and sang alone, totally unaware of anyone or anything around you and I was in love.”

  “Wow! I didn’t know that,” I admitted, remembering the terrible humiliation that he spoke of, and the embarrassing way I used to forget that just because the general public couldn’t hear my Walkman didn’t mean they couldn’t hear me.

  “Such a klutz!” he laughed into my ear.

  “I’m not a klutz,” I argued.

  “Emma, you punched yourself in the face less than two minutes ago.”

  I didn’t argue again. “I hated every girl you ever dated. I even hated Clo for a second or two,” I admitted without guilt.

  “I know,” he grinned.

  “I love you,” I said.

  “You couldn’t help yourself,” he smiled and I, remembering John, nodded.

  “No, I couldn’t.”

  “Till death do us part!” he noted triumphantly.

  “And beyond,” I mumbled.

  * * *

  You were appearing in your first school play earlier tonight. Five years old and already you think you’re Halle Berry. You were so cute as the Virgin Mary. Seán caught it all on camera and no doubt I’m going to have to listen to an endless stream of latest editing techniques this weekend. You forgot your line, my heart stopped but you just burst into the chorus of Outkast’s “Caroline”. I’m not sure that the Virgin Mary ever sang about someone’s shit not stinking, but you made it work. You took a bow and received a standing ovation. It was the best school play I’d been to and I’ve been to them all. Maybe you’ll be the next Halle Berry after all. You went to bed full of orange juice and biscuits.

  I retired to my room to finish this journal. I started it on your second birthday because it was on that day, standing in sunlight surrounded by friends, balloons, toys, treats and you aged two twirling around until dizzy and puking, that I realised I could have missed it. I could have missed knowing you and being there for you and there is nothing that I or anybody else could have done about it. It was then that I decided to tell you some things about the past and about what I’ve learned in this life just in case in the future I’m not around. You could treat this as a kind of reference book. More often than not it will be a reference book on what not to do but that’s OK. I gave it to Clo to see what she thought because maybe some of it was a little sexy for a mother to tell her daughter. She didn’t think it was too sexy but then again Clo thinks I’m about as sexual as a green runner bean or an old lady eating grapes. She told me I should have it published, like anyone is going to be interested. I told her she was insane.

  “You’re insane,” she retorted.

  “You,” I said.

  “You,” she replied.

  “You,” I reiterated.

  “You,” she reiterated.

  We went on like that for quite some time. I only mention it because it merely goes to show that
adults can often act like children when they think no one is watching.

  Anne had already read it. She’d been reading it on and off for over a year now. Every few months I’d hand over the latest instalment and she’d read it over a coffee and a few Digestives, laughing or crying, and then together we’d reminisce about the way we were and are. Although she enjoyed trotting down Memory Lane, it concerned her that maybe I was writing some sort of obituary but that’s not what this is about. Maybe I’ll live to a grand old age and if I do I’ll be there and you won’t need these words but maybe I won’t and if so this journal is a little insurance and to that end I just want to end up by imparting the little wisdom I’ve gleamed to date.

  I’m old enough and I’ve watched too many sitcoms to know that I don’t know everything. I can’t live your life for you. I can’t even protect you as much as I’d wish to. You have to go out into the world and live your own life. You have to follow your heart and make your own mistakes of which you will make many, because everyone makes mistakes and nobody is perfect. Not even that kid with the golden hair and the beauty-queen eyes that will sit opposite you on the bus when you’re feeling like some old dog left out in the rain or that boy who every boy wants to be and every girl wants to be with or even the genius being primed to be the next Bill Gates. They will all know pain and hurt and rejection, but they’ll also know love and laughter and joy just like you. My life can only ever be a lesson to me. So this is just a heads-up on the four key things that my life has taught me thus far.

  After night comes day.

  After death comes life.

  Even at your darkest time look around because you are never really alone.

  You are loved.

  THE END

  Acknowledgements

  My love and thanks to Mary and Kevin Flood for always being there. To my friends: Fergus (Jergilious) Egan for the best times I’ve ever had in a kitchen and teaching me how to write; Enda Barron for being the Darth to my Vader; Tracy (feel the weight of tha’) Kennedy for your infectious laugh; Joanne Costello and John Goodman without whom no holiday would be complete; Lucy Walsh for always knowing what to do; Darren Walsh for being the funniest man in Ireland. To Edel Simpson for recognising when I’m talking through my ass, Noel Simpson for his kindness, Valerie (Hallie) Kerins because she has to be mentioned at least twice, Graham & Bernice Darcy for your support and ideas, Angela (Dorian Grey) Delaney for your divine taste and one-liners, Martin Clancy for all the answers and Trish Clancy for making Martin happy. To those who’ve stuck it out since our teens: Leonie Kerins for perfecting the waddle walk to the dance floor; Dermot Kerins for New Year’s Eve 1996; Clifton Moore for always seeing the best in me; Gareth Tierney for sharing my taste in the nerdy stuff. Stephane Duclot for being French. The McPartlins, especially Don and Terry, for their support. To my family, the O’Shea’s: Maime and T, who define the term “role model”, Denis for your enthusiasm and warmth, Lisa for your goodness and dirty grin, Siobhan for your splendid and filthy mind, Paul for finding Siobhan, Brenda for being the giddiest person I know, Mark for putting up with the giddiest person I know, Caroline and Ger for being adventurers, Aisling (Bing-a-ling) otherwise know as Xena (Buffy loves you), Dave for taking care of me in NZ. To the kids, Daniel, Nicole, David and my godson Conor – I love you all. To Claire McSwiney, Paudie McSwiney and all the McSwiney clan. Aisling Cronin, I miss you. To David Constantine for your humour. To my workmates David Jenkins, Kevin O’Connor, Suzanne Daly, Sophie Morley and all at Chubb Insurance. Everyone at Poolbeg, including Kieran, all the girls and especially Gaye Shortland for her patience and insight and Paula Campbell for being my champion. Finally my husband Donal for everything.