The Woman at 72 Derry Lane

by Carmel Harrington

  ‘It’s so hard, isn’t it?’ Stella whispered and Rea nodded silently.

  Each time she thought about leaving, panic would set in at the mammoth undertaking it would be. There was so much to consider. She had no money, nowhere to go, no family to turn to. And somewhere over the last year, with all the constant put-downs, the emotional torture and physical abuse, she had forgotten who she was. And she wasn’t sure she could leave until she worked that out again.

  Her head felt dizzy just thinking about it all. But as her dad used to say, the only way to eat an elephant is one bite at a time. So she was taking little mouthfuls every day.

  ‘I have done something useful, though – I’ve made a list!’ Stella said, pulling a journal out of her bag. ‘Or rather a load of questions, that, as yet, I don’t have all the answers to.’

  ‘But it’s a start. You can work out all that in time.’

  Stella smiled, encouraged by Rea and her confidence in her. She felt empowered, just knowing that there was someone on her side.

  ‘Right, read them out to me,’ Rea said.

  Stella opened up the journal and read, ‘Where will I go?’

  ‘I’d say come here, but it might be a little too close to himself,’ Rea said. ‘You said you had family in France?’

  ‘Yes, down south. We’ve lost touch a bit, as they’ve got a young family. They are busy with kids, you know how it is, and I’ve not been great at keeping in touch.’

  ‘But they’d be happy to have you stay with them, surely?’

  ‘Oh yes. Open arms. But first things first, I need to find my passport. He has it locked away somewhere.’

  ‘You can always apply for another one. Say you’ve lost it.’

  ‘Good thinking. I’ll do that tomorrow. I’m not seeing in another Christmas with him. I can’t start another year pretending that it’s okay to be with someone who I don’t love. All his bullshit expensive gifts can’t make up for the fact that he’s a …’

  ‘Dickhead!’ They both finished, laughing.

  Rea looked wistful as she said, ‘Christmas should be about family and love. This kitchen has had many happy Christmas mornings. Me cooking breakfast, George lighting the fires, and the kids begging to open more presents from under the tree.’

  ‘Sounds a lot like the Christmases of my childhood too,’ Stella said.

  ‘It’s more than likely just going to be me here this year. So I don’t think I’ll be having much fuss at all,’ Rea replied.

  ‘There’s no way your children can come home here? Your husband?’ Stella asked gently.

  ‘They’ve all gone and I can’t see that changing. But let’s not digress and get maudlin. You are in the right of it. Get out straight away. Don’t spend another day with that man, you don’t have to. Right, what’s next on the list?’

  ‘Do I sneak away or tell him I’m leaving? This one I keep changing my mind over. One minute I’m imagining conversations with killer lines, as I let him have, it, telling him how I feel about it. But then …’

  ‘Then you remember what it’s like to be at the receiving end of that temper of his,’ Rea said. ‘Listen to me, pet. Write to him. Tell him how you feel when you are safe and sound many miles away. Better still, let your solicitor do the talking for you.’

  ‘Funny you should say that, because that’s what I’ve written next. Look. Find a solicitor. Start divorce proceedings.’

  ‘Anyone in mind?’

  Stella shook her head. ‘No. We have a solicitor who handles everything for both of us. I can’t go to him, for obvious reasons.’

  ‘Our family solicitor is good. I’ll give him a ring for you, set up an appointment. He’s on the Strand Road. You can go see him and get some advice,’ Rea said, jumping up to grab her phone.

  ‘He never leaves that office. Any time good or bad?’

  ‘Mid-morning to early afternoon, any day. Once he’s in work I can slip over to see him.’

  Rea dialled the number and within a few minutes had an appointment booked for Stella for the following week.

  ‘Having that appointment booked will put a wiggle on me to get this next item sorted. She read out, “Where’s my money?” He handles all our finances. I’ve looked at home and can’t find a single statement. They must all go to the office.’

  ‘Are you registered for that online banking? I use it all the time,’ Rea asked.

  ‘No, not yet. But I will. I’ve bought a pay-as-you-go phone.’ Stella pulled it from her bag. ‘I’m going to leave it here with you, if that’s okay. This means I can safely make and take calls, without any mistakes of someone ringing home or to Matt’s office.’

  ‘Good thinking,’ Rea said, impressed with how much Stella had done already.

  ‘I need to work out how divorcing Matt affects my family home. It’s rented out and it’s important to me that he doesn’t get his hands on it.’

  ‘Well, that’s where a good solicitor will come in handy. Selfishly, I’d love you to stay as my neighbour. Now that we’ve become friends, it’s such a pity that you’re going to leave. Can’t we tell him to bugger off instead?’ Rea smiled.

  Stella laughed again, but said, ‘That house has never been more than a concrete prison to me, Rea. You know, over the past week, coming here, I feel more at home than I ever have over there. He’s welcome to next door. He can rot in it.’

  ‘Thatta girl. That’s the kind of fighting spirit I like to see. Where is your parents’ house, by the way?’

  Stella was chuffed with the praise. It had been a long time since she ever considered herself to be a fighter. ‘Out in Rathmines. I’m thinking it might be time to sell up and take the proceeds to start again. A new beginning. House prices are beginning to rise again.’

  ‘No harm to get the house valued. Call an estate agent,’ Rea advised.

  She looked at Stella, looking through her notebook, her face scrunched up, going over her list, making sure she’d not forgotten anything.

  ‘You said you didn’t have all the answers. Seems to me that you are underestimating yourself,’ Rea murmured. ‘Look, we’re forgetting our coffee. Drink up!’

  Stella took a sip then read the next question out to her, ‘What will I bring with me?’

  ‘If you have anything special that you want to store here, away from him, I’ve a room upstairs full of crap I’ve accumulated. A bit more won’t harm it!’ Rea chuckled.

  ‘When I go, I’ve no intention of ever coming back. I think most of my things over there I don’t want or need.’

  She scribbled down ‘memory box’ and underlined it. If she could only bring one thing, it would be that. Stella’s head thumped as she considered all she had to do.

  ‘My mother would be so disappointed in me,’ Stella whispered. ‘I’ve made such a mess of my life.’

  ‘We all make mistakes, it’s recognising that and learning from them that’s the most important thing.’

  They sat side by side at the kitchen table, munching biscotti and drinking coffee, each lost in their own thoughts.

  ‘Can I ask you something, Rea?’

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘I’ve never seen you leave your house. Walk outside. Are you okay?’

  Rea looked at her and saw only concern in the young woman’s face. No judgement, just an interest in her well-being. It had been a long time since she felt the care of anyone. She hesitated before she answered. It was difficult to share something so personal with anyone. Would she understand? Stella nodded encouragingly and Rea felt something give, as she whispered, ‘I suffer from agoraphobia.’

  ‘Oh.’ Stella had read something about this before. Or was it a documentary she’d seen. The poor woman, how awful for her.

  ‘It’s an anxiety disorder. This house is my safe zone. When I’m in here, I’m fine. But when I leave, extreme anxiety develops. I don’t cope very well outside.’

  ‘Oh, that must be horrendous for you,’ Stella said. Rea watched her closely and once again saw no judgement, ju
st sympathy.

  ‘Yes, I won’t lie, it’s difficult. Public places are filled with dangers and hazards for me. It’s so hard to explain, but my fear when I leave home becomes so overwhelming that I can’t breathe.’

  ‘Tell me about it, Rea. I’d like to try to understand.’

  It had been a long time since anyone asked her how she felt. What it was like for her. ‘When it first happened, about eight years ago, I thought I was having a heart attack. I had trouble breathing and a pressure on my chest that made my breath so shallow. George brought me to the hospital and after a litany of tests, they confirmed that I was suffering from anxiety.’

  ‘What did they suggest you should do?’

  ‘Well-meaning doctors and friends, family too, all thought that I could get better by just snapping out of it. They’d say to me, “what’s the big deal about going outside? You’ll be safe with me.” And then frustrated when I couldn’t just walk out, they would say things like, “you must be so bored, at home all the time.” I’ve heard it all. But when your body feels like it is under attack, you go into fight-or-flight mode.’ Rea pointed to her windows. ‘Out there, I start to sweat. My fingers shake and my legs turn to jelly. It’s the most weird sensation, the sounds of the world disappear, become muffled, and then it all starts to spin, with me in the middle of a whirlpool, going around and around, battered and bruised, from the onslaught.’

  Stella reached over and gently took her hand. ‘I understand more than you might realise. I know what it’s like to feel that scared. Fear has had a grip on me for my entire adult life.’

  Stella met Rea’s eyes and held them. ‘I don’t think we are that different. Our worlds are small. And we are both prisoners, one way or the other.’

  Rea nodded and realised something. Normally when she spoke about her agoraphobia, on those rare occasions where she had no choice but to answer questions, she felt ashamed, like she was letting the world down, owed it an explanation. But with this young woman, she felt none of that. Just a kinship of someone who understood.

  ‘It’s easier than one might think to build a world that does not extend beyond a front and back door. These four walls are my border.’

  ‘The only difference between you and me is that I have a prison guard who dictates to me when I can or cannot leave my house. I might get to go out, the odd time, but all my privileges come with a price,’ Stella said.

  ‘Life and people have moved on for both of us, it seems,’ Rea said. ‘And we are left behind.’

  ‘But we can fight back, can’t we?’

  ‘Yes,’ Rea said, although she didn’t believe it for herself. But she wanted, more than anything, to see Stella leave that man, get away and start afresh.

  Stella looked at Rea, who had found her way into her heart after such a short space of time. Someone who, right now, she trusted more than anyone else on this planet. ‘Maybe we can both find a way to push those borders out. Together.’

  Chapter 20

  STELLA

  Hair by Charlie, Dublin, 2014

  ‘Good morning,’ Matt smiled at the receptionist as he stood behind Stella, helping her to remove her jacket.

  ‘Stella Greene, I have an appointment with Charlie,’ Stella said and the receptionist beamed at them both.

  ‘Of course, Mrs Greene. Take a seat. He will be right with you.’

  ‘You go on, Matt, have a coffee and read the paper,’ Stella said to him. ‘You’ll be bored silly waiting for me to finish.’

  He looked around the beautiful salon, smiling and nodding as he caught the eyes of the customers and staff. He pointed to a woman who was having her hair set in rollers and said, ‘You know, I think you’re right. I better leave here pronto. Because a man’s head could be turned with pretty ladies like this one!’

  Everyone laughed and the lady beamed at the compliment, ‘Go away out of that! I’m old enough to be your mother!’

  ‘Never! My older sister, at the very most.’ He turned to the receptionist then and said dramatically, ‘My wife will have me broke. I don’t know, you women and your need to beautify yourself all the time! Goodness knows, she’s perfect just as she is! Am I right?’

  ‘Most certainly! Your wife is a beautiful woman,’ the old lady piped in, eager to get in on the fun. ‘The perfect couple.’

  ‘Oh he’s lovely, your husband,’ the receptionist said to Stella, giggling.

  Stella smiled brightly and said, ‘Oh, you have no idea. Now off you go, get your coffee and let me have a gossip with these lovely ladies.’

  Matt kissed her forehead and disappeared out the door, but not before looking through the salon window one last time.

  ‘He can’t get enough of you! And he’s so romantic, the way he always helps you take your jacket off and on. Such a gentleman.’ The receptionist giggled again, ‘does he have a brother?’

  ‘Oh, I’m afraid Matt is a one-off,’ Stella replied, then smiled in relief when her stylist, Charlie, arrived over. Six feet four, tanned, tattooed, chiseled and wearing a tight white t-shirt, his custom skinny jeans and high heels. Today, his hair was blonde. She never knew what colour it would be. Mascara made his already impossibly long dark lashes stand out, resplendent on his tanned face.

  ‘Hello beautiful,’ Stella said.

  He kissed her on her cheek, smiling warmly. ‘Good to see you. Come on, let’s get your colour started.’

  ‘Quite the charmer, your husband,’ Charlie remarked. ‘He works the room, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Sometimes the words said by the mouth are not the thoughts heard by the heart,’ Stella answered bluntly.

  Charlie looked at her in the mirror, questions in his eyes. She closed her eyes, therefore closing the conversation. They had a great system. He knew that sometimes she didn’t want to talk. Once she closed her eyes, like now, he would leave her be. His hands were gentle and the rhythm of him placing strips of foil around strands of her hair, then applying the colour, were strangely hypnotic.

  A menu of drinks was placed in front of her and she chose a glass of cranberry juice. She could have had wine, like the two ladies beside her, who giggled as they had their hair blow-dried and gossiped about their forthcoming night out. Stella wondered what it would be like to be someone like them. Didn’t matter though, because she had never been someone like that.

  ‘How are you?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘I’m very well. How are you?’

  ‘Grabbing the divil by the tail. You know me.’

  ‘Are you still seeing that guy, the bouncer from The Liquor Rooms?’

  ‘No, he and I didn’t work out. But I’ve met the most delicious man, a solicitor from Donegal. The things he pulls from his briefcase is nobody’s business!’

  ‘You’re a man-whore,’ Stella laughed.

  ‘And your point is?’ Charlie laughed in response.

  Then he stopped, his eyes locked on the back of her neck. ‘What happened here? This looks nasty. It wasn’t here when you called in for your weekly blow-dry last Friday.’

  Stella had no idea what he meant.

  ‘There’s a bruise on the back of your neck. It looks painful.’ Concern etched every chiseled line on his face.

  ‘I’m fine, I promise you. You know how clumsy I am. Always picking up new bruises.’

  ‘Clumsy is a word I’d never use to describe you, my lovely,’ he said, looking at her, with suspicion clouding his face. ‘But you certainly seem to bruise a lot.’

  ‘Oh, trust me, I am. Ask Matt what I did with a carton of milk this morning! One minute it was in my hand, the next it was all over our cream marfil tiles.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘Yes. I do.’ And to reiterate this, she closed her eyes again. Subject closed, Charlie.

  They kept their conversation to the minimum for the next hour. But it wasn’t lost on Stella that Charlie dismissed the services of the usual apprentice who washed hair and led her to the sinks himself. He folded a large, soft towel and placed it on the edge o
f the basin, where her neck would rest.

  This kindness was nearly the undoing of Stella. She grabbed his hand and squeezed her thanks, unable to speak. He then went to work, gently shampooing her hair.

  ‘I’m going to give you a Charlie special.’

  ‘Steady,’ Stella joked, finding her voice. ‘I didn’t think you were that way inclined.’

  ‘If I was going to turn for anyone, it would be you, my lovely. You are going to have one of my scalp massages. Legendary these are. And only taken out in extreme cases. Now close your eyes and relax.’

  He started to massage different pressure points on her head and neck, careful to avoid the bruised area. He seemed to be combining different techniques of massaging strokes. One minute he applied pressure with just the fingertips, then he varied the amount of pressure. He also changed the direction every few minutes from clockwise to anticlockwise. And for the first time in months, Stella began to feel relaxed.

  ‘Oh Charlie, that was amazing,’ she breathed.

  ‘Exactly what my fella said to me last night,’ he said, winking at her. ‘Seriously, you need to take better care of yourself. That neck of yours, aside from the bruise, is knotted with tension.’

  ‘I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Am I cutting your hair today?’ he asked.

  ‘Just a trim, Matt likes it this length,’ Stella replied.

  ‘Unlike our ditzy receptionist, I’m not interested in what your husband wants. What about you? What length do you like it?’ Charlie asked.

  She smiled and replied, ‘I like it just fine. But you never know, one day I might surprise you and get it all chopped off.’

  ‘As long as I’m the one to do it, I’ll be happy.’

  Stella looked at him in the mirror for a moment. ‘Do you ever do house calls?’

  ‘Only for special people. You need me?’

  ‘My next-door neighbour, Rea, is an absolute darling and has been doing me favours. She doesn’t go outside any more – she suffers from agoraphobia. I’d love to surprise her with a house call from you.’

  ‘Never goes outside!’ Charlie looked horrified at the prospect.