Is this my punishment? Perhaps divine intervention from a higher level, stopping me from making a huge mistake. The thing is, it didn’t feel like a mistake earlier. It felt good.
I look at my husband and wonder what would he think if he knew that when he called me this evening, I was in a bar with another man. And that five minutes before that, I had made my mind up that I wasn’t coming home tonight.
OLLY
Evie. I catch a sob in my throat before it escapes. Even so, Jamie hears it and looks at me, his little nose scrunched up in worry. I smile to cover it up. He’s scared enough without worrying about me as well. I glance at Mae, but she’s looking out of the small window, lost in her own worry and pain. Should I go over to her? I chicken out and decide maybe later.
MAE
My mind races. I cannot understand how Evie could end up in such a state. I peek up at Olly again, as that same irrationality that won’t stop plaguing me jumps up and hits me in the face. Shouldn’t my perfect house-husband have known that something was wrong? I want to scream at him again, ‘Why didn’t you see this coming, Olly?’
I know his answer to that baseless accusation would be, ‘What about you, Mae, where were you? Why didn’t you see this?’ And the weight of my shame makes me hang my head low. The blame sits on both of our shoulders. Somehow or other we’ve let our daughter down.
OLLY
That bloody perfume cloys at me now and memories batter me, determined to be heard. Mam was only thirty-three when she died, younger than I am now. I look at Mae and contemplate a world where my wife dies. As my chest tightens in panic, I look back at Pops and wonder how he ever managed to smile after he lost my mam, his love.
Evie and Jamie. I have my answer. My children. Of course Pops smiled for me, his son. He had no choice but to keep trucking on. We don’t have a choice, as parents. We keep going no matter what curve ball kicks us in the bollocks.
I resist the urge to grab my father to hug him and cry for our loss. Instead I reach over and pat his knee. I am alarmed at how bony and frail it feels. The cancer is eating him up and I know that he must be in pain sitting here in this room for hours on end. But he won’t go home, he won’t rest in bed, so I know that there is no point in asking him to leave. He’s stubborn, but I suppose I am too. I glance at Jamie. Like grandfather, like father, like son.
MAE
‘You need to get that sorted,’ Pops says. He misses nothing and has noticed me wincing from back pain again. I nod and refrain from biting back, when on earth would I have time? My life is a blur of early mornings and late nights at school. If I’m not at work doing my principal duties, I’m at home marking papers or setting assignments. Whilst simultaneously trying hard to fit in some quality time with a family who don’t seem to need me any more. Self-pity, now there’s an ugly trait that has joined forces with irrational jealousy. What have I become this past year? I used to be a happy, self-assured woman.
My mind keeps going back to that brief flash I caught of Evie when I arrived at the hospital. Her complexion the colour of unspoilt snow. Perfect, unblemished. Still. Too still.
I can feel Olly’s eyes boring into me, but I avoid making eye contact with him.
‘Do you need anything?’ I fuss over Pops instead, noticing he is very pale. ‘A hot drink?’
‘I’m good. Don’t be worrying about me. It won’t be long now, I’m sure. They’ll be in soon to confirm she’ll be fine. She’s a strong one, our Evie.’
I hope he’s right. I know that I must find a way to make this better. Please, give me the chance to make this better. Don’t let her die. A sob escapes again, so I lower my head, allowing my hair to hide my face. I think I hear Olly whisper my name, but I’m not sure. The realisation that I yearn to feel his strong arms around me confounds me. Most of the time I want to stab him with a fork, slap him, shout at him – anything to get a reaction, get noticed. But right now, I want him to murmur reassurances that everything will be alright.
Yet, I don’t look up or move towards my husband. I stay on my own, back aching, sitting on a cold, bloody plastic chair. It’s most likely one of the most uncomfortable chairs in the room. I realise that there’s a whole month of therapy in that choice right there.
OLLY
I look around the small family room we’re camped in, typical of the kind of waiting room that you find scattered around hospitals all over Ireland. Shades of magnolia with faded pictures of landscape scenes framed on the nondescript walls. Despite their best efforts, they fail to brighten up the tired room. There’s a small cream-leather sofa that has seen better days pressed against the back wall. A potpourri of tears and coffee stains embedded into the fabric.
Jamie is sitting upon it, cross-legged, with his iPad Mini. But, for once, the usual tip-tap of his hand, as he battles his way towards the next level of Candy Crush, is still. He looks scared.
Mae is still at last. Since her arrival, she’s paced the room like a caged lion. She’s cried, she’s shouted at me once or twice, then she’s paced the room some more. Pops sighs loudly with dissatisfaction and then throws in a loud ‘arra’ for good measure. He’s letting us know that he can see what we’re doing to each other and he doesn’t approve one bit. I decide to ignore that for now and move over to the couch so that I can pull Jamie in tight to me. At seven he’s almost at that age where he doesn’t need cuddles any more. Not in public, anyhow – but today is an extreme circumstance and he relaxes into my arms.
I can hear his heart hammering away through his shirt. He catches his breath in jagged succession as he tries to stem the tears that are threatening to escape.
‘It’s going to be okay, dude,’ I whisper. He looks up at me, doubt making his eyes dark and I reiterate the statement with authority. Somehow or other I need to make my words come true.
About the Author
Irish Times bestseller Carmel Harrington is from County Wexford, where she lives with her husband and two children, Amelia and Nate. She credits the idyllic setting as a constant source of inspiration to her.
Carmel has won several international awards, including Kindle Book of the Year and Romantic eBook of the Year, and her fourth novel, The Things I Should Have Told You, was nominated for a Bord Gáis Energy Irish Book Award in 2016. Her page-turning novels are published worldwide and have been translated into eight languages.
Carmel is a regular on Irish television as a panellist on TV3’s Elaine show and is Chair of the Wexford Literary Festival, which she co-founded. She is also a popular motivational speaker at events in Ireland, the UK and the US.
www.facebook.com/happymrsh/
@HappyMrsH
www.carmelharrington.com
Also by Carmel Harrington
Beyond Grace’s Rainbow
The Life You Left
Every Time a Bell Rings
The Things I Should Have Told You
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The Woman at 72 Derry Lane Page 33