Spin the Bottle

by Monica McInerney

  ‘How old would he be? Thirty-four, thirty-five? And is he married? Has he got kids?’

  Lainey laughed at Eva’s interest. ‘I don’t know, I really only saw him for a minute.’

  ‘And has he forgiven you for the accident, do you think?’

  ‘Forgiven and forgotten, he told me. I’ve been absolved of all guilt.’

  ‘Oh, good on him. He always was a lovely fellow.’ Eva’s tone of voice changed then. ‘And are you feeling okay, Lainey? Not about Rohan and the B&B, but about Adam and everything?’

  Please don’t ask me, don’t make me think about it any more than I already am. Thoughts of him had been constantly going round her head, what he might be doing, how he might be feeling… ‘I’m fine, really,’ she said in a bright voice.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really. Now enough about me, tell me about life in Dublin, Evie. Describe everything you can see, the cheeses, the olives, the bread. Have you had a lot of customers so far today? Did Joe get off to college on time this morning?’

  ‘That is the most blatant attempt at a change in subject I have ever heard, Lainey Byrne.’

  It had worked, though. She’d managed to successfully steer the topic away from Adam during their other conversations too. They’d talked every day, sometimes twice a day since then. Eva had been keen to come down, but Lainey had begged a week or so’s grace. ‘Let me make it as habitable as I can, then you can both come down and I’ll spoil you to bits.’

  Making it ‘habitable’ might have been wishful thinking, Lainey thought now, as she stood, hands on hips, looking around the kitchen. Perhaps she’d start with making the house ‘bearable’ and work her way up to ‘habitable’. She decided to abandon the kitchen for the time being and went upstairs to see if things were any better up there.

  They weren’t. She was momentarily depressed by the sight of her aunt’s clothes piled on the beds in the back rooms. She’d emptied the wardrobes the day before, with hopes of finding classic Chanel dresses, Yves St Laurent jackets, pure Irish linen shirts, gorgeous vintage clothing that she could share with Eva. Sadly, her aunt had veered more towards the sensible tweed and trousers approach to clothing. She had also been at least six inches shorter and ten inches wider than Lainey. Off to charity shop heaven for all of them, she’d decided.

  She shut the bedroom doors and turned instead to the job of sorting all the sheets she’d taken out of the linen cupboards. Her aunt might have been short on guests, but there was certainly no shortage of bed linen. Lainey had never seen so many sheets in her life. Perhaps her aunt had planned to open a fancy-dress shop for ghosts. There were enough white sheets to costume a truckload of Caspers. The worst of it was every one of them needed bleaching and washing. They had been lying unused in the cupboards for so long there were crease marks along the folds and a faint musty smell hanging around them.

  They were good quality at least, Lainey guessed, standing in the landing surrounded by a billowing white pile. She had unfolded each of them, shaken them out and now felt like she was standing in the middle of a big white cloud. There were no fitted sheets, she was glad to see, imagining herself trying to fold them so the bumpy edges were tucked away and the sheets lying neatly in the linen cupboard. What was the secret to that? She made herself fall forward and landed with a big soft bump in the middle of them, laughing. Then the laugh died as she got a nose full of mustiness and dust.

  She rang her parents that evening, determined to be upbeat, to put a positive spin on everything. Apart from ringing home the night she arrived in Dublin, she’d put off calling them again. She’d also only managed to send Christine and her other friends in Australia a very brief group email from her laptop computer, holding off until she could package the B&B story in a bright way.

  Her mother was delighted to hear from her. ‘Lainey, love, how are you? We’ve been dying to hear all the news, but of course you’ve probably hardly had time to call, have you, looking after all those guests? How does everything look? We’ve been trying to picture you there.’

  Think of a feral version of Better Homes and Gardens and you’ll be close. ‘Oh, it’s a bit run-down, but Aunt May left some money in the will for some renovations, so I’m thinking about those already.’

  ‘You’ll enjoy doing that, won’t you? That’s right up your alley, getting things organised. So how many people have you had staying so far?’

  Lainey tried to buy some time. ‘So far?’

  ‘Yes, since you’ve been there.’

  ‘Um, none, actually.’

  ‘None at all? What’s wrong with the place?’ Her mother was as blunt on the phone as she was in real life.

  ‘I think it’s a really quiet time for tourists,’ Lainey said, ignoring the memory of the B&B down the road that she’d passed that day, the one with the full car park. ‘It’s perfect really, gives me the chance to get the inside all spick-and-span before the peak season.’ Business tip number 50 in a continuing series: Always sound optimistic. Never let the client know you’re worried. Be like a duck, serene on top, paddling like hell underneath. And change the subject as quickly as you can. ‘So, how are you all? How’s Rex, more importantly?’

  ‘Rex?’ Mrs Byrne made a derisive sound. ‘You’ve spoilt that cat so much he’s convinced he’s a small furry human, I’m sure of it. He gave me such a look last night when I tried to put him outside after dinner. If he’d been able to talk he would have been swearing, no question about it.’

  ‘You put him outside? Ma, Rex is an indoor cat. He hates being outside.’

  ‘So I discovered. He’s got very sharp claws, hasn’t he? Hold on, Lainey, I’m just walking into your father’s room.’ She lowered her voice. ‘You’re in luck, he’s awake for once.’

  The phone was passed across. ‘How are you, Lainey?’

  ‘I’m great, Dad. I’ve visited Tara, said farewell to May from all of us.’

  ‘Thank you, love. And everything’s all right, is it? The weather’s not too bad?’

  Her father had never been great on the phone. Once he got on to the weather you knew he was trying to finish the call as quickly as he could. What could she expect, though? A cosy heart-to-heart about how he was really feeling, his worries for the future, how the accident had not only taken his health but somehow sapped his life spirit? She’d probably get such a shock she’d throw down the phone in surprise. No, she’d stick with the weather herself for the time being. ‘Not too bad, Dad. A little greyer than I’d like, but they’re promising some good weather next week. And it means I don’t have to worry about watering the garden, at least.’ She was surprised to hear herself give a hearty laugh. ‘And what about you? How are you?’

  A few minutes later Lainey was wishing she hadn’t asked. Her father hadn’t had a good few days, it seemed, with an old pain getting worse and a new pain developing and no good sleep at all. She tried to be patient, stopping herself from saying aloud, ‘I’ll get the money for you as soon as I can, I promise, but it is going to take a year.’ She interrupted. ‘No news from the insurance company since you sent them that last letter, I suppose?’

  ‘Not a word. But they’re only in a rush when they want something from me, not when I want something from them. I tell you, Lainey…’ She was almost glad when her mother took the phone back and said goodbye.

  ‘No change here, love, you might have guessed,’ Mrs Byrne said in a whisper. ‘I’m in the kitchen now, out of his hearing.’

  ‘He’s been bad?’

  ‘Oh, no, it’s been the House of Fun here. He’s driving me up the walls, since you ask.’

  Lainey got the feeling of panic again. The same one she’d got in the coffee shop at the shopping centre that night. ‘Ma, you’re not going to leave him though, are you? I know a year seems a long time, but think of how much easier it’ll be when we’re able to sell this place and get the money for him. Honestly, it won’t be long, I’ll be back before you know it.’ Who was she trying to convince, herself or her mother
? ‘So tell me some more news? How are the boys? Any big news from them?’

  ‘You have only been gone a few days. No, they’re all fine, I think.’

  Of course they were fine. Life in Melbourne went on as normal, while she was trapped in the Castle of Housework. ‘Well, I’d better go, in case someone is trying to ring and make a booking.’ She was surprised her nose didn’t suddenly grow six inches, Pinocchio-style.

  ‘Goodbye for now, then, love. And thanks again.’

  ‘It’s my pleasure, honestly. I’m really enjoying it.’ She could almost hear a stretching noise as her nose grew even longer.

  That night she woke suddenly to find the room dark around her. Her first thought was fear, finding herself in a strange bedroom, unfamiliar furniture around her, the door and windows not where she expected them to be. Half awake, she instinctively felt for Adam’s warm body beside her, wanting to fold her own body up against his, tuck herself into his shape, slide her hand around his waist. It took her a moment to realise she was in bed alone, in a strange house, out in the countryside on the other side of the world from Adam. She forced herself not to think of him. It was jetlag, that was all. She was still on Melbourne time. It always took her a week or so to adjust properly. Sometimes it was a shame that air travel was so quick, she thought. Your body could arrive on the other side of the world within twenty-four hours, too fast for your mind sometimes. Her brain was still somewhere over Asia, wondering what on earth was going on, leaping from thought to thought, each more unsettling than the last.

  As she thought about her call home that night, she started worrying about her parents, her mother threatening to leave, her father spending day after day in bed. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, like a child, but it didn’t work. Like a horror film unfolding in her mind, she started thinking about the day of her father’s accident. For months after it happened, the memory had been lying in wait for her each morning when she woke, was there each night as she tried to sleep, like some film on a pause button. It started again now, step by step, beginning with the phone call from her mother, the panicked sound in her voice, as she told Lainey to hurry to the hospital, to come as quickly as she could. A few key words kept appearing in Lainey’s mind, as though they were engraved in big letters on her memory. Accident at work. Spinal damage. Loss of blood. Life-threatening.

  She remembered the rushed trip to the hospital from her office, driving through the city streets, running through the hospital doors, feeling as though everyone else around her was moving in slow motion. Her father had been in the operating theatre when she arrived, her mother and Brendan sitting hand-inhand in the waiting room outside. Declan had arrived just minutes after her. Their father had been moved to the intensive-care ward by the time they were able to contact Hugh. Lainey remembered thinking how young Hugh had looked when he finally arrived, his hair spiky, bleached blond at that time. He’d looked like a round-faced chick, she’d thought. She’d pulled him to her in a big hug and he hadn’t stopped her.

  A knot of them had gathered outside the intensive-care ward, her mother, Declan, Brendan and two of their father’s workmates. The two men were still in deep shock. One of the men kept describing the accident, how their father had been standing in the middle of the site, signalling for the crane to lower a concrete slab. How it had suddenly begun to slip from its chains, started to fall, as though it was in slow motion, though of course it had been just seconds. Over and over he had said that Gerry hadn’t had a chance to get out of the way, that they thought he was dead, even as they somehow dragged the slab off him. Lainey had listened intently to the story each time, her eyes fixed on the man. As he had spoken, she had been aware of so many other things at the same time – the smell of the hospital, the voices of nurses and doctors, the ringing of telephones, the sitting in the ward corridor, the waiting…

  ‘Stop it,’ she said aloud now, forcing herself not to go any further down that thought path. She made herself concentrate on the good things. He had pulled through. He had eventually come home from hospital. And he would walk again, without that horrible frame, just as soon as all the insurance money came through and all the proper treatment could start. Their family would get through this. It could have been so much worse, after all.

  It worked, the positive thoughts calming her as usual. They reminded her too why she was here in this B&B, and stopped her from feeling sorry for herself. It was all going to work out perfectly well, wasn’t it? She just had to get moving on it.

  She sat up and looked out of the window. Dawn was breaking, the dim light of the winter sun revealing a low, morning mist. The warm bedclothes tempted her again and she slid back under the covers so that only her nose and eyes were peeping out. She lay there, listening to the noises around her. There was a low, rumbling sort of sound, the water in the pipes leading to the central heating radiators. A quiet patter of rain against the window. Lainey took a hand out from under the bedclothes and tested the air temperature. Cold but not freezing. She huffed, and was pleased to see she couldn’t see her own breath. In Melbourne she’d be hearing muted traffic noises, the occasional rumble of the trams on Bridge Road, early morning shouts from the rowing instructor on the Yarra River flowing beside her apartment building, urging his charges on. Adam had said once he was tempted to find out where that man lived and wake him up one morning with shouts from his front lawn, see how he liked it.

  The memory made her smile.

  By nine o’clock she was in full housekeeper mode again, carrying loads of wood into the kitchen, her hands protected from splinters by bright-orange oven mitts. No wonder her aunt hadn’t needed Chanel dresses, she’d realised. There wasn’t time to dress up with all this housework to be done. Lainey’s usual wardrobe of designer skirts and dresses hadn’t seen the light of day since she’d arrived, having been swapped for jeans and warm jumpers. The most makeup she’d worn was lip gloss. She hadn’t bothered with hair mousse or blow-drying either, just running her fingers through her short dark hair after her shower each morning and leaving it at that. Businesswoman Barbie had turned into Rural Barbie.

  She was glad she was so busy, relieved to be able to distract herself with all this physical work. All morning her head had kept filling with images of Adam, especially the look in his eyes the morning she’d broken up with him. But not just the painful memories. She kept being surprised by thoughts of him, telling her a story, making her laugh. The notes he would leave her, written in flowery language one day, worthy of Shakespeare, or comically business-like the next, set out in memo style.

  It felt odd, unsettling, to even have the time to think about him like this. Her life was usually so crammed, every minute filled with activity, she didn’t often have the luxury to think things over. She set herself goals, she reached them, then it was on to the next project. Occasionally at work there was a brief period of review, looking over what she’d done, picking any faults, making decisions about how to do things better, more efficiently, next time. She applied the same principles to her personal life. But now, with no work to do, no projects to think about and no clients to meet, there were vacancies in her thinking schedule and thoughts of Adam were filling them all.

  She pictured his slightly crooked smile. His dark-brown eyes. His hats. She thought about the soft skin at the back of his neck, where she had liked to kiss him. He always smelt beautiful, clean and fresh, from either the soap or aftershave he used. She recalled little things about him – the way he was ticklish on his left side, but not his right. His habit of wearing odd-coloured socks. The feel of his skin, even the little raised scars here and there on his hands, caused from burns and cuts in the kitchen. His enthusiasm for food, for music, everything from pop songs to classical symphonies…

  It was no good. She had to stop herself from thinking about him. She had made her decision. There was no going back. Kim’s words about taking him for granted suddenly came into her mind. But she hadn’t, had she? She’d just taken him as he was, as he had taken he
r, in the only way they could have fitted into each other’s life. Come live with me and be my love. She touched the bracelet on her arm. She’d hesitated that morning, then slipped it on again, without thinking too much why. She felt a tightness in her chest, the one that used to signify an imminent asthma attack and just as often these days meant she was feeling panicked. That things weren’t under her control any more. It was a horrible feeling.

  She had just finished washing the kitchen windows the next day when she noticed the calendar stuck to the side of the fridge. It took her a moment to realise it was still turned to the date May died. On the square for January 22 May had written ‘protest/shopping centre’. What would she have done that morning? Lainey wondered. Fed the chickens, perhaps, then got dressed, got into her car, driven towards the shopping centre, maybe even helped set up the table for the petitions against the new road, with no inkling that she was about to die, that any mess she had left behind would be found by someone else, any dishes she hadn’t washed would have to be washed by someone else. That her will stating that a member of the Byrne family had to come and live here for a year before they could sell the place was about to be activated. What if she hadn’t really meant that will to be her final one? God knows she had written dozens of other variations. It had been too late to change her mind, though. According to Mr Fogarty, one minute May had been alive, urging someone to sign the petition, and the next minute her heart stopped, no chance of revival, even if there had been a doctor nearby.

  ‘I’m sorry, May,’ Lainey whispered now. She’d been having the occasional one-sided conversation with her aunt, mostly in exasperation at the filthy cupboards and lack of guests. But seeing the calendar had softened her heart again, reminded her that May had been on her own here. Perhaps it was as well she’d died at the shopping centre. If the heart attack had happened at home, it could have been days before she was found. That would have been far sadder.