The Space Between Us

by Anna McPartlin

  He had to work out what to do. Say something or say nothing? He decided to say nothing and just let it play out, but while he was doing so he’d tighten his grip on Lily. He wasn’t going to let her slip away, not because of things that bitch Eve might be saying or doing. If he confronted her directly it could lead to an ugly discussion or a fight that he didn’t want or need. Instead he’d make sure she was as busy as possible on her days off and keep a close eye on her when she was working.

  Declan was unable to handle complex emotion. When sad, confused or troubled, his feelings usually developed into all-consuming anger. That was what had driven him to make his wife suck him off in such a disrespectful and brutal way the night before he’d left for London. Like his dad, Declan lashed out when he was hurt. You did this to us, Lily. But afterwards, lying alone in their bed, he had felt sick, sad, worried and sorry. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll bring back something nice, Lily. He tossed and turned all night because Eve was back and Lily was pulling away. Oh, God, don’t take her from me!

  When he returned home from London he rang her more often, and when she was in work he made more visits to her ward. He watched her try to hide her panic. Just tell me, Lily. He stood smiling as she squirmed, pretending he had no idea how his impromptu visits affected her. This is killing you so just tell me, Lily. On two occasions he had watched her sit in some cosy corner sharing cake with Clooney. He was far enough away to remain unseen but close enough to bear witness to the tenderness between them. That was when the anger and bitterness resurfaced. You fucking slut. When Declan was angry he became unreasonable and mean.

  ‘You’re getting fat,’ he said, that evening.

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  He looked her up and down and sighed, then walked out of the room, leaving her to wonder what he was playing at.

  On the weeks that she was home he’d fill every moment of every day with important jobs he needed doing, and when he ran out of things for her to do he’d offer her assistance to neighbours, like Rachel Lennon when she needed someone to look after Nancy, who was still recuperating from her eye surgery. I’ll just keep her busy until that bitch and her brother are out of our lives.

  ‘You told her what?’ Lily had screamed.

  ‘I told her you’d take Nancy Monday to Wednesday while she helps settle her mother into a care home,’ he said calmly.

  ‘You had no right.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. The kid needs to be minded, you’re home and Rachel was desperate.’

  ‘Rachel hasn’t bothered her arse speaking to me since the day I checked on Nancy in the hospital,’ Lily said, seething.

  Declan dismissed her, delighted that his encounter with Rachel Lennon over the recycling bins had paid off. Let’s see you go for your walks now.

  When he had time off, he’d return home, even if it was only for an hour. He’d check her phone for calls. He’d read her texts. He even went through the dirty-clothes hamper and checked her knickers to find traces of sexual excitement. He was single-minded in his mission. He would determine if Lily was cheating with her new best friend Clooney, and if she was, he’d destroy her.

  The day Eve had watched Lily bump into Declan in the car park, he had seen her flirt with Clooney outside Eve’s door. She had been too busy laughing to notice him.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘My car.’

  ‘Where are you going in your car?’

  ‘I’m getting my lunch, which I left in the boot, if that’s OK with you.’

  ‘Since when do you bring in your own lunch?’

  ‘Since my account is running low and I married a mean bastard.’ Lily had begun to walk away and Declan grabbed her arm.

  ‘What do you mean you’ve run out of money? Who did you spend it on?’ he said.

  She had spent it on Eve and now she was sorry she’d mentioned it. She had pulled her arm away. ‘I don’t ask you what you do with your millions and you’ve no business asking me what I do with my pittance,’ she said, and went to her car.

  He had stood frozen, not sure whether he should follow her and throttle her or take deep breaths and move away. He chose the latter option. He fixed himself, checked for wrinkles in his suit and walked inside, unaware that he, too, was being watched.

  Lily was suffering a personal crisis. While on the one hand she was enjoying every moment she spent with Eve and Clooney, on the other something inside her had snapped. She was in flux, unable to see a way forward but sure there was no way back. The more crazily Declan behaved, the easier he made it for her to disengage. Every day that passed, every job he gave her, every cruel word he spoke chipped away at the pity and understanding that had kept her by his side all those years. Scott was a young adult, and at twelve Daisy was old enough to understand. Wasn’t she? If she and Declan split up it would be hard on them, but if she stayed she might lose her mind. Which is worse: divorced sane parents or married crazy ones? She wished she could have carried on until Daisy turned eighteen but she couldn’t. It was all too much. She couldn’t play her part in the charade any more. She was suffering from severe anxiety, so much so that Adam had prescribed medication. She had made him promise not to tell anyone.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he’d asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t tell me “nothing” and then ask me to prescribe.’

  ‘I’m going through some things with Declan,’ she said.

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I can’t sleep.’

  ‘And you’re not eating.’ He had looked at her thin frail body.

  ‘Scraps here and there. It’s hard to eat when your heart feels like it might explode.’

  ‘Is there anything I can do?’

  ‘You can prescribe and not say anything.’

  He had written on his notepad and Lily had taken the two pieces of paper he handed her. He’d prescribed a week’s supply of anti-depressants, and had scribbled down the name and phone number of a counsellor. ‘She’s very good,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said.

  When the prescription had been filled, she’d binned the counsellor’s name and didn’t think about her again. It would take one hell of a counsellor to sort my problems out.

  When she was away from work it was almost harder to keep going. She missed her daily chats with Eve – even if her friend did push her to the limit.

  Eve would look her up and down. ‘Something’s wrong.’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong.’

  ‘Not stupid.’

  ‘Not wise either.’

  Or:

  ‘You look tired,’ Eve would say.

  ‘I am tired.’

  ‘Is the fact that you’re unhappy keeping you awake?’

  ‘Mind your own business.’

  Or on one occasion:

  ‘Share my sandwich with me,’ Eve said.

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘So you’ll only eat cake with Clooney?’ Eve had raised an eyebrow and grinned.

  ‘It’s not like that,’ Lily said.

  ‘Something’s going on with you.’

  ‘Eve. Please.’

  ‘OK, OK,’ Eve said, holding up her good hand, ‘always in your own time, Lily B.’

  ‘I’m Lily D.’

  ‘Not to me.’

  When she was at home she veered between snapping at Daisy and trying to make it up to her.

  ‘Mum, can you find my black coat?’

  ‘You’re big enough and bold enough to look for it yourself,’ she said. She was cleaning the toilet.

  ‘Mum, will you listen to me play?’ she said as Lily was leaving to go to the dry cleaner.

  ‘Not now, Daisy.’

  ‘Mum, when you’ve stopped vomiting can you make my breakfast?’ she said, standing over her mother who was leaning on the toilet bowl.

  ‘Leave me alone!’ Lily screamed, and returned to vomiting the meagre contents of her stomach.

  There were days when the child didn’t even get a sent
ence out before she was dismissed.

  ‘Mum.’

  ‘Go away, Daisy.’

  ‘But, Mum!’

  ‘I mean it. Whatever it is, deal with it.’

  The once attentive, patient, loving mother was turning into someone Daisy didn’t recognize or even like very much. Where’s my mum gone? Daisy didn’t cry but her confused face was heartbreaking, and a remorseful Lily would attempt to make it up to her with gifts of her favourite sugary doughnuts, unwanted hugs and apologies. I’m turning into Declan.

  Doing the various jobs kept her busy, and minding Nancy was an added complication to already stressful and busy days. Nancy was a dote but she liked to talk and rarely took a breath. Lily found it hard to cope with her while she was doing the washing, shopping, scrubbing and vacuuming.

  ‘Lily, ma wha na ma wha na na.’

  ‘What?’ Lily shouted over the vacuum.

  ‘Lily, ma wha na ma wha na na.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Ma, wha, na ma wha na na.’

  Lily turned off the vacuum cleaner. ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve seen Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest three times.’

  ‘OK.’ She turned the vacuum back on.

  ‘Mah, Lily, it’s man na na na.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s man man na na na.’

  She turned off the vacuum cleaner again.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s not scary.’

  ‘Nancy.’

  ‘Yes, Lily?’

  ‘Can you leave me alone for approximately ten minutes?’ she asked, through gritted teeth.

  ‘OK,’ Nancy said, ‘and then we can do my eye drops.’

  ‘Fine.’

  It was after she had taken care of Nancy for three days, and somehow managed to do the laundry list of new jobs her husband had heaped upon her, that Nancy appeared one morning when Lily was in the garden.

  ‘Hi, Lily.’

  ‘Hi, Nancy, how’s your eye?’

  ‘Better.’

  ‘It looks good. I bet it’s nice to have the patch off.’

  ‘It is. I miss it sometimes. What are you doing?’

  ‘Gardening.’

  ‘Why don’t you come to my house for coffee, cakes and a chat?’ Nancy said.

  ‘I’m really busy, but thanks, Nancy.’

  ‘But all the women are there.’

  ‘What women?’

  ‘The neighbours. Mum’s made lots of cakes.’

  Lily was stopped in her tracks. Rachel Lennon had used her to mind her daughter for three days, then invited the entire neighbourhood to a coffee morning and excluded her. In the past she would have been hurt but she would have put on a happy face and said nothing. Not any more. In her mind she pictured a scene straight out of Desperate Housewives. She’d rip off the dusty green apron she wore for gardening and march over to the Lennons’ like a woman possessed. She’d make a grand entrance and say something smart, cutting and witty before telling Rachel to shine up her bloody buttons with Brasso. She’d embarrass Rachel Lennon in front of all the neighbours before making a grand exit.

  ‘Yes, Nancy, I’d love to come. Thank you,’ she said, dropping her shovel and walking towards the Lennons’ house. Behind her, Nancy was talking about the Dolans’ dog – it was some sort of YouTube star.

  ‘He wears a hat and makes a bumping sound. It’s very funny.’

  The door was on the latch. Lily walked into the kitchen, which led to the garden where most of the women were sitting, including Rachel. They were chatting and laughing, but when they saw her they stopped. Rachel stood up and sheepishly greeted her. ‘Lily? How are you?’

  They weren’t drinking coffee although there was some made – they were quaffing wine before noon. They looked at her as though she was some sort of alien.

  She gazed around at them. She had helped all of them in one way or another over the years, and they were all there enjoying themselves, having deliberately excluded her. She didn’t feel smart or pithy any more. The hurt was overwhelming. I bent over backwards to be friends with you people. She tried to speak but words wouldn’t come. What have I ever done to any of you? There was no witty line. Instead her eyes filled with tears and she stood in the middle of the Lennons’ garden crying while the neighbours silently watched her.

  Amy Fitzpatrick, a bleached-blonde Botox-riddled woman, was pressing her glass to her lips as though it was the only thing preventing her from commenting or maybe even laughing. She was forty-five years old, skinny and haggard, despite her beautician’s attempts to make her look otherwise. She looked like she hadn’t eaten since the mid-eighties and Lily had long suspected she was bulimic. She dressed in the same clothes as her twenty-year-old daughter and years of overdoing it on the tanning bed had left her with dark crêpy skin. She was as mean as a snake and had argued or battled with everyone there, yet she had been invited.

  Naomi Smith, in her mid-thirties, had once been svelte and glamorous. She still knew how to dress but she’d let herself go as soon as she’d become pregnant with the first of her five children. She had a faceful of cake. She didn’t know whether to chew or swallow so instead she let it melt in her mouth. She was still beautiful but her size, her investment in her children, and her husband’s haunted look suggested her lady garden was closed for business. When she wasn’t eating, cooking or baking she was droning on about her kids. She was the woman everyone avoided on a day like this when they wanted to get pissed yet she was still invited.

  Sofia Harris was wearing sunglasses, looking at the floor and wrapping a napkin around her fingers tightly. She was tense and nervous at the best of times. In her late forties, she was the mother of IVF twins she found hard to manage. One of the babies had been born with a heart problem and she had spent the first two years of her little girl’s life in and out of hospital. The twins were five, and the child was fine now but needed to be monitored. As a result Sofia was hyper-vigilant. She often leaned on Lily when things were tough and, as the only one actually drinking coffee at the coffee morning, she had the grace to be embarrassed. Sofia liked Lily and had often stood up for her with the other ladies but they had all agreed Lily wasn’t a girl’s girl and probably wouldn’t come even if she was invited.

  There were others, some smirking, some grimacing, some just staring in a kind of mild shock, a few Lily didn’t know. Rachel’s expression had changed: from registering surprise, it now showed discomfort.

  ‘I think you should go,’ Rachel said, and she was right.

  Lily had no business there: she was an intruder, a crying one at that. Eve was right. You are jealous bitches. She found her feet and started to walk away but before she did she managed two words: ‘No more.’

  She left the women speechless. There wasn’t a word said or a sound made as she walked through the Lennons’ house to the front door. It was as though she’d left the women frozen in that painful moment. She met Nancy coming out of the toilet.

  ‘’Bye, Nancy.’

  ‘’Bye, Lily.’

  Lily ruffled her hair. ‘Be nice to your brother.’

  ‘OK.’

  Not sleeping was the worst part of ‘the snap’, watching darkness turn to light, hearing the alarm go off and putting her two feet on the floor with that dreadful burning sensation in her eyes, a heavy head and a palpitating heart. Some days the only thing she ate was half a slice of cake or a muffin with Clooney. He had a calming, relaxing effect on her – he was like the human equivalent of lavender. He noticed her weight loss and the circles around her eyes, as did Eve. She challenged her numerous times but Lily tried to sidestep her questions.

  ‘Are you trying to make me look fat?’ Eve had said jokingly, the first time she noticed Lily’s rail-thin physique.

  ‘Ha-ha.’

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Same ol’, same ol’,’ Lily said, in the sing-song voice she used when she was trying to avoid confrontation.

  ‘You don’t eat when you’re stre
ssed,’ Eve said. ‘You lost over a stone before the Intercert exams and Mrs Connolly thought you were anorexic. Turns out you were just a big fat worry-wart swot.’

  ‘You’ve caught me out. Mrs Connolly was right.’

  ‘It’s him, isn’t it?’

  ‘No,’ Lily said firmly.

  ‘You’re a liar,’ Eve said, and Lily walked out.

  Clooney attempted to approach her in a gentler fashion. They were sitting together in the conservatory. Lily was so tired and so suffocated by her husband’s tightening of the reins that she had become a little careless about being seen sharing coffee and cake with him. He broke the slice in two and handed her a piece. She smiled, looked at it and sighed. She ate it slowly and tried not to gag. She was constantly on the verge of tears. Her happy façade was crumbling. Clooney watched her hand shake and, instead of questioning her, pulled her gently into his arms. He kissed the top of her head and told her to go to sleep. She laid her head on his lap and there she slept for twenty minutes.

  9. The rocky path to freedom

  Sunday, 29 July 1990

  Lil,

  Hate to say I told you so but Colm was always going to try it on with you. No matter what you said or did he was after you from the start. I could smell it from the page. Just read that back and it looks weird but you know what I mean. As for Ellen and her Spanish cookie, I hate girls like that. The minute they get serious with a boy they disappear. Gina’s older sister Helen is like that – she not only ditches her friends, she ditches her family. Gina told me on the QT so don’t say anything but Helen’s last boyfriend beat her up really badly and locked her in the house, and when her dad went over to sort him out she took the boyfriend’s side. WHAT A MENTAL CASE. Anyway, he ended up leaving her and now she’s at home but Gina says she’s like a ghost. She doesn’t really do or say much, she just lies around the house. I said she should be checked for a brain injury because I read something about it in a magazine. She said she was checked again and again. Don’t say anything but she spent some time in the nuthouse after she tried to kill herself when he left. The poor girl, she must be a sadomasochist.

  Well, at least you have Clooney and his friends, and Colm will get over it, so don’t worry about him. Tell my brother I said hi and the house is quiet without him. It’s amazing to have the bathroom pretty much to myself. Dad is gone so early in the morning and it means I can relax in the shower. I can’t wait to live on my own. Having said that, I’m going to be in college accommodation sharing with a bunch of God knows who for a couple of years, which will probably be worse than sharing a bathroom with Dad and Clooney – at least they’re both really clean. London is getting closer and I’m nervous. I’ve been sewing up a storm. Gina asked me to make her a dress for her sister’s (not the nutter, can’t remember her name, the one who’s ancient) kid’s Confirmation. She bought some beautiful material. I made her a cream mid-length dress and she loves it and it really does suit her. I’m really happy with it but other than that I’m in pretty bad humour. Ben’s stupid grandmother had a stupid stroke and she lives in stupid Cavan. He’s been there since Monday evening. She’s ninety-two and apparently she’s on the way out so the family have to stay there until she pops her clogs. She’s been breathing her last for seven days now and I wish she’d just hurry up and die. I know it sounds harsh but she’s managed ninety-two years on this planet and I’m with her grandson one month and she decides to die and worse than that die slowly in CAVAN. If she was doing it down the road at least I could still see him. I really miss him. I miss him so much my bones hurt and I feel like crying all the time. I know. SAP. I keep thinking about the way he looks, smells and feels. I have a T-shirt of his that he left here last week. He was wearing it under a jumper and he forgot to put it on after we had the most amazing sex (more on that when I see you). Anyway, I put it in a drawer and every now and then I take it out and sniff it. Next thing I’ll be put into a nuthouse like Helen. Every day that goes by and his grandmother doesn’t die is another day I don’t get to see Ben, and the worst of it is even if she does die today right at this minute I still won’t see him until at least Wednesday because of the stupid funeral. He phoned me last night and I asked him if he could say goodbye and come home and then go down when she dies, which I think is a very reasonable request, but he said absolutely no way was he leaving his mother. We had a bit of a fight then because I’m not sensitive enough. I told him he knows who I am and I am what I am. I’m not going to pretend that the death of a ninety-two-year-old woman he doesn’t really know is sad, especially as she’s been demented for years, which means even if she did once know him she wouldn’t remember him, and probably doesn’t even know or care that he’s there. ARRRGH!!!! It’s so frustrating. He said his mother is really upset and when I asked why he hung up the phone. He did call me back later but he was really pissed off with me even though I apologized. He said I could be very cold. I said I preferred the word practical. He said I can call it what I want but it worried him. I said there was no need to worry – I’m not going to turn into a psycho and kill his family, although I could see myself putting a pillow over his granny’s face. Does that make me evil or expedient? Anyway, it was our first fight and afterwards when he rang back for the third time he said he was sorry and he knew I was odd when he fell for me and he loved me and I told him I loved him too on the stupid phone.