Something in Common

by Meaney, Roisin

  In the garden she sat on the wooden bench and waited to hear what was coming, her eyes fixed steadily on the cherry tree.

  ‘D’you mind if I sit?’ he asked, and she slid over without replying. He stayed at the opposite end, leaving a good two feet between them. For a minute there was silence, which Sarah determined not to break. He was the one who wanted to talk.

  Finally, he cleared his throat. ‘Sarah,’ he said, and she realised that he was nervous. She kept looking straight ahead, although she was aware that he had turned sideways to face her.

  ‘I just wanted you to know,’ he went on, ‘that I’ve moved out of Noreen’s house.’

  This was so utterly unexpected that she swung her head to look at him.

  ‘We made a mistake – I made a mistake. It should never have happened.’

  She couldn’t believe it. Moved out of Noreen’s house. A mistake. She dropped her gaze, turned away to stare at the bottom of the garden again, trying to take it in.

  ‘I’m so sorry. I know I hurt you badly. I behaved abominably and I will never forgive myself for that.’

  The grass around the tree trunk had grown to almost a foot high. She’d get the clippers to it after dinner. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

  ‘I’m living with my mother. I just thought you should know.’

  Living with Nuala, less than ten minutes down the road.

  He got to his feet. ‘Well, that’s it. That’s all I wanted to say.’

  Sarah looked up at him. ‘You can see yourself out. Leave the children in the kitchen.’

  After he’d gone she sat on, digesting this new turn of events. He’d left Noreen and moved in with his mother. He’d made a mistake – did that mean he’d never actually been in love with Noreen? And if that were the case, where did that leave Neil and Sarah now?

  She stood, smoothing her dress over her thighs. It left them exactly where he’d put them last November: it left them separated. This new development didn’t change a thing. He hadn’t said he still loved Sarah, he hadn’t pleaded with her to take him back. He’d given no sign that he wanted a reconciliation, which was just as well, since she had no intention of allowing him back into her life.

  She’d keep up the driving lessons. She’d show him that she and the children could manage fine without him. She’d say nothing to Christine or her father about this latest development: for now she wanted to keep it to herself, and get used to it.

  Noreen was gone. She was out of their lives, hopefully forever. Neil was alone. That would take some getting used to.

  Helen

  Sarah

  Commiserations on the driving test. If it’s any consolation it took me two attempts – an ex taught me, which didn’t help – but I’m a whiz behind the wheel now. Sending a Blondie CD to cheer you up, in the hope that you’ve got yourself a CD player by now. I love Blondie, which must mean I’m mellowing in my old age. When I was in my twenties I was such a rock chick you wouldn’t believe: Suzi Quatro was the only woman for me.

  Sounds like your kiddie cookbook is taking shape. You might be right about it suiting a series, but I wouldn’t worry about that at this stage – time enough to sort a format when you’ve bagged a publisher. Yes, I said when. I’ve got this feeling that you’re on to a winner here, girl – and I even have someone in mind who might be interested. He’s a publisher – he works for a UK company but he’s based here, sort of their man in Ireland – who often sends me books to review. Let me know when you’re happy to have him look at it and I’ll give him a shout.

  Frank is surviving the cohabitation, which has shot him up in my estimation. Any man who can cope with living with yours truly deserves a medal. He’s talking about us going to Scotland for Christmas, taking a house and inviting Alice and Jackie to join us. Trouble is, he wants my mother to come too, says we can’t leave her on her own. I know, I know, I’m a rotten daughter, but I can’t see us having a merry old time with her there. He’s right though, damn it.

  Brace yourself: the cat died. No idea how old it was, but I’m guessing it had a few years on Rip Van Winkle. Frank, old softie, buried it out the back, planted a rose bush on top of it. Probably bloom like crazy, just to spite me.

  You haven’t mentioned Neil and his hussy in a while. Presume things are unchanged on that front, although it would be nice if one of them had a non-life-threatening accident that laid them up for weeks to get on the other’s nerves. Good on you for moving on, and do stick with the driving – you’ll get there, and you’ll wonder what took you so long.

  H x

  Hey there

  I know it’s still months away, but I wanted to mention it in case you two were booking tickets to Ireland for Christmas. Frank has had this corny idea of spending it in Scotland, and was wondering if you and Jackie would join us. He wants to rent a house, so we need to know if you’re interested. He’s threatening to write to you himself. You have been warned.

  Hope all’s well. How’s work? Did you get the new heater? If you spent that cheque on gin I’ll cut you out of the will. I mean it.

  Let us know about Scotland. Could be fun.

  Mum x

  PS Granny will be invited too, so if she says yes, you and J would have to be just pals in her company. At eighty-four, I’m pretty sure the truth would be a bridge too far.

  Dear Alice

  Hope all is well in Cardiff. Frank here, just dropping a line to invite you and Jackie to spend Christmas with your mother and me – and hopefully your grandmother – in Scotland. I thought it might be nice to take a house there for a week or so. I’ve never been to Scotland, and would enjoy seeing it.

  Of course, you may have your own plans, and if that’s the case, no problem, but I know your mother would love to see you both, and so would I. We could pull a few more crackers, and I could make my special eggnog, which nobody can resist.

  Looking forward to your response,

  All the best,

  Frank

  Dear Mum and Frank

  We’d love to come to Scotland, thanks for the invite. Jackie’s been a few times, she says it’s great. Let us know the plans as soon as they’re in place. Presume we’ll make our way to whatever airport you’re flying to, and travel on from there.

  Mum, we bought a heater, and we had enough left over for a bottle of gin! (Joke, just the heater.) Thanks again for the cheque – and the good news is that I’ve got another rise at work, just a fiver extra a week but it all helps.

  Jackie says hi, and asked me to tell Frank that she LOVES eggnog. I foresee some sore heads this Christmas.

  Alice xxx

  PS You make such a lovely couple, har har.

  Sarah

  ‘An older brother of one of Aidan’s pals got one of those Morrison visas for America. He’s moving over in the summer. It’s a great opportunity for him.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘He has an uncle there, or maybe it’s a cousin. They’ll put him up anyway till he finds a job. He did engineering in college, so he’ll probably get something easily enough. I’d hate to see any of mine going to live abroad though – I’m praying they all stay in Ireland. Does that make me really selfish?’

  ‘What? No, of course not.’

  ‘Did I tell you Aidan is saying he’d like to do medicine? I know he’s only thirteen, he’ll probably change his mind a dozen times, but wouldn’t it be great to have a doctor in the family?’

  ‘It would.’

  ‘He was always a good student. I never had any problem getting him to do his homework. Not like the other two: it’s a battle with Tom every night, and Paddy would spend his life daydreaming if I let him.’

  ‘I know.’

  Christine took another custard cream from the plate. ‘So the cookery book is nearly done then.’

  ‘Yes, nearly there.’

  ‘You must be excited.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘And Helen is going to talk to a publisher.’

  ‘So she says.’


  Christine lowered the biscuit into her tea. ‘You don’t sound too excited. Are you all right?’

  Sarah shook her head. ‘Sorry, just tired, that’s all.’

  ‘Are you upset about failing the driving test again?’

  ‘I am a bit – but I didn’t deserve to pass, I was hopeless. I went totally to pieces and forgot everything I’d learnt, just like the first time.’

  ‘Have you applied again?’

  ‘Not yet, but I will. I have to.’

  ‘Good for you. Third time lucky. You know I’ll sit in with you, anytime you want to go for a spin. Or Brian would – he’d probably be better.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘And there’s nothing else?’

  ‘No … I just didn’t sleep very well.’

  Getting a good night’s sleep, which Sarah had always taken for granted, was becoming more and more of a challenge. She fell asleep like she’d always done, but lately she’d begun waking around two or three, and it seemed to take an eternity before she dropped off again.

  Maybe it was getting older, although forty was hardly old. Maybe it had to do with the cookery book, whose title she couldn’t settle on, whose format she still wasn’t sure about. Maybe she was mourning Martina, who had finally left them a few weeks ago.

  Acerbic, contrary Martina, who’d squeezed her hand when she’d gone into early labour with Stephen, who’d told her fiercely that she was going to be fine as they’d waited for Dan to come with the van. Martina, who’d gone on clipping the hedges Charlie had begun to tame, who’d scoffed at the notion of a cookery book for children. Martina, who’d died as she’d lived, all alone, in the middle of the night.

  ‘Look,’ Sarah said, ‘there’s something I want to tell you.’

  Because of course she knew what was keeping her awake, and maybe sharing it would help, after all.

  Christine frowned. ‘I hate when someone says that. It’s usually something bad.’

  ‘No, this isn’t bad – at least … it’s not bad, and it’s not good. It’s just something that happened, that’s all.’

  ‘Go on.’

  A beat passed. A bird flew with a soft thump into the window before swerving away again.

  ‘It’s Neil,’ Sarah said.

  Christine’s eyes narrowed immediately. ‘What’s he done now?’

  ‘It didn’t work out between him and … her. He’s back living with his mother.’

  ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘A couple of months ago.’

  Christine looked at her in disbelief. ‘A couple of months ago? When did you find out?’

  ‘He told me when it happened,’ Sarah said, ‘but I didn’t—’

  ‘Hang on – you’ve known about this ages, and you said nothing?’

  ‘Christine,’ Sarah said sharply, ‘it was our business, mine and Neil’s. I didn’t have to tell anyone. I didn’t have to tell you now, but I chose to.’

  Christine clamped her mouth closed. For a handful of seconds there was a tense silence. From the garden Sarah heard Martha calling, ‘My turn.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Christine said then, ‘you’re right. It’s none of my business. It’s just that I don’t want to see you getting hurt again.’

  ‘I won’t get hurt,’ Sarah replied. ‘He hasn’t – we’re not getting back together, that’s not the issue. It makes things easier, that’s all, for the children, I mean. He’s closer, and they get to see Nuala when he takes them at the weekend. And she’s out of the picture, hopefully for good.’

  Christine picked biscuit crumbs from the plate. ‘Did he tell you what happened?’

  ‘He just said he’d made a mistake.’

  ‘Have you told Dad?’

  ‘No. I will.’

  Another short silence.

  ‘More tea?’ Christine asked.

  ‘No thanks.’ Sarah stood and unhooked her bag from the back of the chair. ‘We should be going, we’ll be late.’ They were meeting her father in town to do the weekly shop.

  ‘Sarah, don’t take him back,’ Christine said quickly. ‘If he asks, I mean. Say no, OK?’

  Sarah slung her bag over her shoulder. ‘Of course I’ll say no. I told you, it hasn’t come up. There’s no question of us getting back together.’

  ‘Good … You sure I can’t drive you into town? It’s no bother.’

  ‘No need, we’re fine. Thanks.’

  They walked the ten minutes to the bus stop and waited with a stout elderly woman in a cream coat, who nodded at Sarah and smiled at the children, and a teenage girl, whose headphones beat out a tinny rhythm that her left foot copied. Sarah sat on the narrow wooden seat, Martha on her lap, and rolled the buggy to and fro as she replayed her conversation with Christine.

  So adamant her sister had been: Don’t take him back, she’d said. As if Sarah had a choice, as if Neil had asked to come back.

  Why hadn’t he asked? If he and Noreen had been a mistake, why didn’t that mean that he still loved Sarah? Why wasn’t he begging her to forgive him? Why didn’t he want to try again?

  Because that was the crux, wasn’t it? That was what had her tossing and turning at night. He’d left the woman who had broken up his marriage, but he hadn’t even hinted at reconciliation with his wife. No wonder she was having trouble sleeping.

  ‘Here comes the bus,’ Martha said, and Sarah got to her feet with relief.

  Helen

  ‘Six days and five nights,’ Helen said. ‘We’re leaving the day before Christmas Eve and coming home on the twenty-eighth. We’re flying to Glasgow and picking up a car there.’

  ‘And the house is – where did you say?’

  ‘Troon, a small town just a few miles away.’

  ‘And Alice will be there, with her friend.’

  Her friend. ‘Yes, they’re getting the train up from Cardiff and meeting us at the airport. So what do you think? Will you join us?’

  Their second Christmas without Helen’s father, and Frank adamant that her mother had to accompany them to Scotland, and Helen knowing he was right. But far from being grateful for having been included in their plans, her mother seemed dubious about joining them.

  ‘You wouldn’t want me along, cramping your style.’

  Helen tamped down a flick of irritation. ‘What style?’ she asked. ‘It’s just a few days away, and it happens to be over Christmas, that’s all. You’d be cramping nothing – and you’d be miserable here on your own.’

  Her mother ran a finger along a fold line in the immaculate linen tablecloth that was sent to the dry cleaners once a week, whether it needed it or not. Helen felt like shaking her. If she was waiting to be told they really would love if she came, she was in for a long wait.

  ‘Is there central heating?’

  Helen had no idea. ‘Of course there is. Frank would have checked all that out.’

  ‘Because I’m sure it would be colder than here.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that.’ Jesus, you’d think they were going to Outer Mongolia instead of a few days in bloody Scotland, an hour away on a plane. ‘Frank is booking the flights tomorrow, so you need to make up your mind.’

  ‘Well … if you’re sure I wouldn’t be in the way.’

  Helen got to her feet: duty done. ‘I’m sure,’ she said, pulling on her coat. ‘We’ll book you in so.’

  ‘Let me know what it costs. I’ll pay my own way.’

  ‘I know you will.’ She fished her car keys from her bag.

  ‘And I’d like to take you all out to dinner on Christmas Day. My treat.’

  ‘Fine. That’d be nice.’ Let her foot the bill for dinner for six if it kept her happy. ‘Well, I’ll be off then.’

  Her mother didn’t move. ‘Helen,’ she said, ‘wait for a minute. Can you?’

  Helen, surprised, looked back.

  Her mother’s face gave nothing away. ‘Are you in a rush?’

  ‘Not really.’ What now? Helen lowered hersel
f into the seat she’d just vacated. ‘Was there something else?’

  Her mother didn’t respond right away. Her hands were clasped loosely on the tablecloth, the nails painted the same shell pink as ever, defying the swollen finger joints, the puckered skin crisscrossed with dark purple veins on the backs of her hands. Eighty-four since May.

  ‘Can I tell you something?’ she asked finally, her eyes meeting Helen’s across the table. ‘Something I think … needs to be explained.’

  She seemed nervous. Nothing overt; a pinching around the mouth, a brittleness to the words. Helen lowered her bag to the floor. ‘What is it?’

  Her mother moistened her lips, the fingers of her topmost hand tapping softly onto the back of the other. ‘Your father and I were married for nine years before you came along,’ she began.

  ‘I know that.’

  She raised a hand slightly, let it drop again. ‘Just let me … we’d given up expecting babies, and then you came along … and when you were born there were complications … I was very sick, I nearly died.’ Tap, tap, tap, went her fingers. ‘The priest anointed me.’

  Helen hadn’t known that. She remained silent, waiting for whatever was to come.

  Her mother pressed her lips together, her tapping fingers finding and twirling the thin gold bands of her wedding and engagement rings, round and round they went; joints too swollen, surely, for them to come off easily now.

  ‘And then they told us … that there would be no more children. They … they removed my womb, they said they had to—’

  She broke off, mouth squeezed shut again. Helen sat unmoving.

  ‘And … your father was so disappointed, he always wanted a son, and I’d hoped so much—’ She broke off, drew in a steadying breath, gaze dropping to study her hands.

  Helen watched dispassionately. She’d disappointed them by being a girl. Her only crime, something beyond her control.

  ‘You see,’ her mother went on, raising her eyes again to find Helen’s, ‘there was another baby.’

  The words didn’t register right away. Helen looked at her blankly for several seconds.

  ‘You were a twin. You had a brother, but …’ She trailed off, shook her head slowly, lips trembling. She fished a handkerchief from her sleeve and blew her nose.