by Cat Hogan
‘Don’t sweat the small stuff, my lady.’
‘You are brilliant – thanks, Scott.’
‘So, did you tell Jen about our meeting? I don’t think she likes me very much, which is a shame.’ Now was the perfect time to have a chat about it – she trusted him after all – he had said he would do something, and he had delivered.
‘Don’t mind her, Scott – she’s the best in the world, but she has a hard time letting her guard down with people. She’s quick to form an opinion of someone if she feels they are in any way threatening to her. If she can’t figure someone out, it makes her nervous.’
‘That’s very strange . . . why would she find me threatening?’
‘Sorry, I didn’t explain that very clearly. She had a really nasty accident as a child – do you know about that?’
‘No – go on, Sal.’
Ah, so here we are now getting to the intimate details of Jen’s life, he thought. Her weak point.
‘OK, but don’t bring it up with her, she hates talking about it. To cut a long story short, she was only a child when she pulled a big pot of boiling soup down on herself. Her mam had left her on her own in the kitchen. Her whole chest is badly scarred. She nearly died, and the burns did irreparable damage to her body. Her mam turned completely obsessive-compulsive over safety, something Jen inherited. She is obsessed with safety in the house with her and Dan.’
Scott was shocked by this. So that’s why in all her pictures on Facebook, even in the summer, she always wore dresses and shirts with really high necks and long sleeves – it had struck him as odd at the time he saw them.
‘The poor girl. That’s frightening. Her poor mother too, living with the guilt of that.’
‘Yeah, Jen was only four when it happened, and her mother never really forgave herself. I think that’s probably why she didn’t have any other kids. Jen went on to college, and the only boyfriend she has had was Will – Danny’s dad.’
‘What a burden for the poor girl to carry!’ He filled Sal’s cup and gestured to her to continue.
‘That’s why I’m so excited about her and Andy getting on so well. There’s certainly chemistry between them, don’t you think?’
‘I think there may well be but, considering Andy’s story, I can’t see him pursuing her.’
Sal was enjoying herself now – it felt like they were conspiring to get Jen and Andy together. She was sure he would want the best for his friend, and Jen deserved a good man in her life.
‘Well, I don’t think we should push anything between them. I could see what you were doing the night of the dinner party. If it’s supposed to happen, let them sort it out themselves. To be honest, after my chat with Andy the other night, I’m not really sure if he’s interested.’
‘We are both protective of our friends here, but I think a gentle nudge in the right direction is no harm,’ Sal said. ‘I also beg to differ about whatever Andy may have told you. Chemistry doesn’t lie, my dear Scott.’ Her tone was playful, but her eyes were serious.
‘Jen is also incredibly protective of you, my dear. She practically told me that if I hurt you in any way she would break my legs. I tried to explain that our relationship moving forward would be a professional one, but she was having none of it. I gave up and came back inside.’
Sal’s face had started to burn, and he wasn’t sure whether it was from embarrassment on the foot of some kind of crush, or if she was angry.
‘I will speak to Jen, Scott. I am very much aware our relationship is nothing other than professional.’ She didn’t sound convincing.
She was the first woman in a long time he had met whose company he simply enjoyed. He didn’t want to bed her, he respected her. She was different to all the women he spent time with in the city. As gifted as she was, she was void of ego, and was comfortable in her own skin. She was also great fun. That said, he couldn’t help but notice how pretty she was.
‘Scott, you’re staring at me. Have I got something on my face?’ She scrubbed at her face with the linen napkin.
He laughed. ‘Sorry for staring, Sal. I was just thinking about how gifted you are. I’m excited for you. It should only take a few weeks to get everything in order.’
‘Enough about me and the other two, Scott. It’s your turn. I know very little about you. Spill the beans – I want to know everything!’
‘The direct approach. I like it. Some would call you nosey, but not me.’ His voice dripped with sarcasm, but his eyes were smiling. ‘What would you like to know?’
‘Oooh, now there’s a question. Hmm, let me see.’ She pondered for a minute, with a real glint of mischief in her eye. ‘Ready? This will be like a rapid-fire round.’
‘Shoot so.’
‘Do you have any brothers or sisters?’
‘Nope.’
‘What’s your favourite colour?’
‘Royal blue.’
‘What’s the last book you read?’
‘Aristotle’s Poetics.’
‘Interesting. Have you ever been in love?’
‘Yes. Twice.’
‘What happened?’
‘One wasn’t good enough for Mother, the other fell in love with someone else.’
‘Would you like to have children one day?’
‘Nope.’
‘Who is your favourite artist?’
‘Apart from you? Jackson Pollock. Last question, Sal. Make it count.’ He was loving the attention, and really enjoying being this honest with someone. It had been a while since a woman had been interested in his life, rather than just his reputation and wallet.
‘Do you believe in Karma?’
‘Absolutely not.’
Sal laughed and excused herself to go to the rest room. It was getting close to the time where she would have to get the bus back to Wexford. What a lovely day it had been!
When she returned, the table had been cleared and the bill settled.
‘Come on, Sal, I’ll walk you over to the bus terminal. I’ll leave the car where it is – the walk will be quicker than driving and it’s not far.’
They strolled down the length of Grafton Street in the May sun. Scott, being a gentleman, carried her cumbersome portfolio, and she was free to people-watch. She was always amazed at the volume of people on the street, and the amount of tourists. A group had gathered beside the statue of the iconic Molly Malone. She overheard the tour guide telling the tourists that Molly and her wheelbarrow would be leaving the spot where she had stood since 1988, to make way for improvements in the rail service. She would be kept in storage until 2017. The street was alive with activity and the smell of diesel and flowers filled her nostrils. A couple of paces up the street, the smell was replaced with fresh coffee and the daily specials on the restaurant menus. How she wanted to move here! The harbour was lovely, but it was lacking in the bustle that inspired her.
The terminal was crazy busy as usual, and she held tight to her little handbag. Pickpocketing was rife here – it was a universal rule in transport terminals all over the world. The victim oblivious of a crime until the driver demanded payment.
Scott handed her back her work, and gave her a big hug. ‘I would have dropped you down to Wexford, you know – I meant it when I offered earlier.’
‘You have done more than enough for one day. Thank you so much, Scott. I like the bus anyway – gives me plenty of time to daydream.’
He stood and waited for her to board, and she waved at him from the window as the bus snaked into the evening traffic.
She settled back in the chair and closed her eyes. She would convince Jen how lovely he was, get her and Andy together, and they would all have a great summer together. She rummaged around her bag for a pen and a notebook, and jotted down a few ideas.
It really had been a wonderful day, but what Jen had said to Scott about their ‘relationship’ really tormented her. She would speak to her about that when she saw her.
Chapter 16
Scott had just turned the key in hi
s front door when the phone rang. His bladder screamed at him to ignore it which he did and went straight into the bathroom. He was tired from the excitement of the day, and was looking forward to a takeaway and crap Friday night TV. He discarded his shoes and sat on the couch with a bundle of takeaway menus. The phone rang again. Grabbing his suit jacket from the back of the couch, he fished in the pocket and pulled out the source of his annoyance. The screen read ‘Cherry House’. The nursing home. His heart skipped a beat, and he hoped he was mistaken.
‘Hello?’
‘Hello, Scott. This is Dermot, from Cherry House.’
He could hear the solemn tone in the caller’s voice, and it made him uneasy. ‘Hi, Dermot. How can I help you?’
‘Scott, I’m afraid the news isn’t good. Can you come here this evening?’
‘I can be there within the hour. Is Arthur sick? Has he had another fall?’
‘Scott, I’m so sorry. Mr Jenkins died an hour ago.’
The news knocked the wind straight out of Scott.
‘Is there someone there with you, Scott, or can I call someone for you?’
‘What do you mean, he died? He was fine when we spoke yesterday.’
‘We believe he had a heart attack, Scott. We can talk face to face when you get here. I’m so sorry.’
‘I’ll be there in twenty minutes.’ Scott hung up without saying goodbye.
He hadn’t got as far as turning the television on, and the quiet in the room made him dizzy. It had to be a mistake – he had only been with him yesterday. During his last visit, the nurse had mentioned something about him not feeling well, but he had been in good spirits, lucid for most of it. On autopilot now, he put on his shoes, got his coat, and made his way to the car.
Dermot was waiting for him when he got to reception. The chaplain was present, as was Arthur’s favourite nurse. She looked as though she had been crying, and this struck him as odd. The chaplain shook his hand, and they began the pilgrimage to room 17B. Scott was sweating, and his hands had begun to shake. He didn’t want to go inside, but he would have to. Dermot was speaking in hushed tones to him, and he could barely hear him over the sounds of life on the corridor, the sounds he had become so familiar with.
The chaplain opened the door softly, as though he were afraid of waking someone. The blinds were drawn against the evening sun, and the room was bathed in a soft peachy glow. Scott stood inside the door, his back pressed to the wall, and his eyes eventually made their way from the foot of the bed to Arthur.
There he was. Just like he was asleep. The Racing Post and his Liquorice Allsorts from yesterday were nowhere in sight. A lifetime of memories flashed through Scott’s head at that moment, and the first of his tears began to fall. He didn’t remember getting to the side of the bed – everything was so surreal.
The blanket was tucked up under Arthur’s chin, and his fingers were interlocked over the blanket, grasping a rosary beads.
Dermot assured him he had gone quickly and peacefully. His history of high blood pressure and a previous small heart attack, combined with his age, meant that this could have happened at any time. They had taken care of him in his final moments, and the priest had been present when he died. This soothed Scott – he couldn’t give a shit about God and religion, but Arthur had been a man of faith. ‘God is good,’ he would say. ‘God is good.’
They told him to take as long as he needed. All the arrangements were in place with the funeral director, and they would be here in a while to take Arthur to the funeral home. Scott asked why he wouldn’t have to have a post mortem, and they talked about Arthur’s General Practitioner signing off on the cause of death, based on the medical history. The words, aimed at him, bounced off the walls. All he was thinking about was that this was the first time he had ever seen Arthur’s hands so spotless.
The door shut behind him, and they were alone. He found the courage to place his hand on top of Arthur’s head. The cool skin and the tinge of blue in his face made him feel ill. Everything was happening too fast. He couldn’t wrap his head around it all. Yes, he was old, and had a good ‘innings’ as they would say about an old man, but he was the closest thing to a grandfather Scott had. He loved him.
Arthur had always been there, as advisor, disciplinarian and friend. Filling the void of his absent parents most weekends. This all flooded into his mind as he stood beside him. He spoke out loud to him, and willed him to respond.
A gentle knock came to the door, and two solemn men entered with Dermot. He introduced them as the funeral directors, who had come to take him. Before he invited him to his office, Dermot, on behalf of a number of residents, asked if they could come and say their goodbyes. Scott nodded his assent, afraid to speak.
He was met by several people outside the door of 17B, Arthur’s friends and fellow residents. They shook his hand, telling him how sorry they were for his loss, and how Arthur would be missed.
In his office, Dermot advised him of procedures. Scott had been surprised at how savvy Arthur had been. Long before the dementia had set in, he had insisted Scott would have enduring power of attorney. ‘God is good, but I’m an old man,’ he said. ‘I have made my will, with my solicitor, and now I want this to be done.’ And it was done. Everything had been in order and legally Scott, the son he never had, would look after things for him.
Scott realised he would have to get in touch with the solicitor, and let her know Arthur was gone.
Arthur’s belongings sat on the passenger seat of the car. He would have to get his affairs in order, and sort out his cottage. He couldn’t think straight, his head was swimming. He needed to hear a friendly voice, someone to comfort him and tell him things would be OK. He needed to break the news to someone.
Andy, he would ring Andy.
Chapter 17
‘Mam! Where’s my rucksack?’
Jen stood in the hall and shook her head. She would have been quicker going upstairs and doing it herself.
‘It’s in your bedroom on the bottom shelf! Make sure you pack your toothbrush this time! Hurry up, the picnic is packed, we’re leaving soon.’
‘Where’s my socks? I can’t feckin’ find any.’
‘Danny Harper, you watch your language, mister, or I’ll ring your dad and cancel your sleepover.’
‘He gets that word from you, you know.’
As usual, she hadn’t heard him come in. For a big guy, he moved around like a ballerino.
‘Hey, Andy. How are you? How is Scott?’
‘Ah, he’s pretty gutted to be honest. We went for a meal and a few pints after the funeral. Sal was there as well.’
Andy looked tired. He had left the harbour to head out fishing, and then got the call from Scott. He turned the Mary Rose around, and got dropped off. The boys would cope without him for one trip. He left Fran in charge, and knew everything would be in safe hands.
‘Was she? I’m surprised she didn’t mention anything about heading up. It was all last minute, I guess.’ A thought crossed through her mind, and she let it go. Another thought came to her then and hesitantly she spoke. ‘Andy, Danny and I are heading up to Raven’s Wood for a picnic. You know what I’m like when it comes to portion control. Packed way too much for just the two of us! Do you want to come?’ She knew she was blushing.
‘You know what, Jen? That sounds lovely. Do I have time to change?’
‘Of course, rock on. I was about to make a quick cuppa anyway.’
He took the stairs in twos, and Jen skipped into the kitchen to pack extra crockery. This could be fun, she thought, and it will make a nice change having a strong man carry the picnic basket. She thought about those big strong arms of his, and how good they had felt wrapped around her the other night.
‘Let’s just see what happens.’ She spoke out loud, and Butch answered her with a bark.
Less than an hour later, they had arrived at the woods, and what a glorious day it was for a picnic! A number of families had had the same idea, and were pulling picnic b
askets and camping stoves from their cars.
Danny and Butch were ahead. Butch didn’t mind the leash too much, but clearly wanted to be running free, chasing the dandelion clocks that floated in the air.
‘Jen! How long do you expect we’ll be out here? You’ve packed more food than I would for a week on the trawler. It weighs a ton.’
‘Nearly there. Come on, Andy, don’t be such a wuss. I didn’t moan like that when I’ve had to carry the basket halfway up a mountain. We’re on the flat here, almost, for goodness’ sake.’
‘Why I oughta!’
They both laughed at the catchphrase, and followed Danny and Butch off the main walk, down a dirt track through the woods. They rounded a corner into a clearing. Jen knew this place like the back of her hand. She and Danny loved to come here for ‘pick-a-nics’ as he used to call them. They always came to the same spot, and they always found it to be unoccupied.
‘We’re here.’
It was beautiful. A slope down the wooded hill opened out onto a valley about the size of a football pitch. The other side sloped back up and, through the top of the trees, a distant mountain could be seen. Jen always felt like Julie Andrews when she stood in the middle of the clearing. Resisting the urge to do the iconic twirl, she set about getting the picnic organised.