‘I am worried that the memories of this difficult time will be the ones that stay with DJ. The good ones will be squashed out of his brain by the mess we are in here.’
‘He’ll remember the happy times,’ Tom said.
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Because every night I lose myself in my happy memories,’ Tom replied.
‘Do you ever think about the bad stuff too?’ Ruth asked.
He shook his head. ‘Not if I can help it.’
‘Sometimes all I can think about is the bad stuff,’ Ruth said.
He thought about that for a moment, taking a sip of his coffee to buy time. ‘I think that by remembering it all, the odd time, you can see how far you’ve come. The trick is not to get lost in the bad stuff. Don’t let it become the dominant voice in your head.’
As if bidden by their conversation, one of the bad memories came to visit Tom. The thundering silence when Cathy was lost in her private hell. Unable to speak. Unable to connect with anyone. He pushed it aside, refusing to let it take root. Some things were best left in the past and right now, he wanted to enjoy the present, with Ruth.
26
TOM
DJ visited Tom and Bette as soon as his homework was finished, bringing two new friends with him. Cormac and Anna from the Lodge. They were all charmed with Bette and the feeling was mutual. They sat and chatted for a few minutes, then disappeared off to play on the swings in Fairview Park.
‘Hey, Doc.’
Tom looked up and saw a couple of the volunteers who helped the homeless heading his way. Whenever he faced the bad in this world, he thought of those who gave up their time every night, for no reason other than to help others.
‘Soup? Or a sandwich?’ they offered. He wasn’t hungry but he took both all the same. He’d learned over the years that it was better to accept food when it was offered and keep it until he was hungry. ‘Do you want to come back to the shelter? We’re heading in soon, so we can give you a lift.’
‘No, thanks. I’m exactly where I want to be,’ Tom told them.
‘All right, mate. We’ll be back tomorrow. Sleep well.’
They walked on, scouring the park as they looked for more of the invisible. Those who most people ignored and walked past.
The evening soon changed to night, and the park changed, too. Trees cast dark shadows on the ground and every sound seemed electrified as it bounced around the near-empty place. It had been a big day. Lunch with Ruth, then DJ and his friends. A good day. Yesterday, for the first time in years, he had welcomed the day, waiting to see what it unfolded. He sensed that it had surprises for him, like it used to. Back then. With Cathy. He set up his bed, climbed into his sleeping bag, and closed his eyes to the now.
18 October, a date of significance for Tom and Cathy. The day they met, Tom’s proposal, their wedding day.
‘Happy Anniversary,’ Tom said, and they swapped cards with hearts and flowers on the front.
‘No baby talk today,’ Cathy promised. It was her attempt to bring back normal. ‘Or tonight when we go out for dinner.’
Just before Tom saw his last patient before lunch, Cathy called him. ‘Come upstairs. Now. Please.’
Tom didn’t ask why, he simply jumped up, shouting to Breda, ‘Back as soon as possible.’
Ever unflappable, Breda told him to go on up, that she would keep the last patient in their waiting room happy with tea, if need be.
He ran upstairs taking two steps at a time, calling out Cathy’s name. His heart hammered in his chest and he found himself crossing his fingers on both hands behind his back, in the way he had done as a young boy, when he made a wish. There had been something in her voice. He was sure he’d heard a tremor in it when she called. It was not one of upset, it was one of excitement.
Please let me be right. Please.
She was standing in the centre of the living room, her back to him. And when she heard him approach she turned around slowly, keeping her arms behind her. His eyes searched her face and he knew without the need of any words of confirmation from her.
‘I’m breaking my promise not to talk babies today.’
He held his breath.
‘You see, it appears you were right all along,’ she whispered.
‘I usually am,’ Tom replied. He took a step closer.
‘I’m especially glad you’re right about this.’ Her eyes danced with joy and she held up three pregnancy tests. ‘I would have done more, but I ran out of pee.’
Tom laughed. Or maybe he cried. Probably both. He knew that he would never again feel joy like they were experiencing in their flat right now. They had done it. They were going to have a family of their own.
‘I knew my boys could swim!’ Tom said as he grabbed Cathy and he danced her around the room. Their laughter filled the air, their flat swelled with happiness.
‘We are literally dancing for joy,’ Cathy said.
‘You have really excelled this year at the whole anniversary present giving,’ Tom said.
‘This is your early Christmas present, too!’ Cathy joked.
‘You need never buy me another gift again. Nothing could ever beat this, my darling,’ Tom said.
Wait and see.
They did just that and look!
When Tom went back downstairs he ran into the waiting room, unable to help himself. He stood in the middle of the square room, with a big goofy grin on his face. Breda followed him into the room, standing beside him.
‘Are you OK? Is Cathy OK?’ she asked.
‘I’m going to be a daddy!’ he screamed, and she laughed with him.
‘Luckiest day of my life, this day,’ Tom said.
Breda was crying and he pulled her in for a tight hug.
‘Lucky, lucky baby, having you and Cathy as parents.’
Tom wasn’t sure how he managed to get through the rest of the day. He would find himself daydreaming about the possibilities of their future. Would they have a boy or a girl? He didn’t care. Either way, he would spend every day of his life working at being the best possible father he could be.
When his last patient walked out of the surgery, Tom sat down in his office and for a moment, felt a rush of overwhelming fear paralyse him. His wife, his beautiful wife, was pregnant. As a doctor he had seen so many complications that being pregnant caused. The thought of her health being compromised in any way scared him.
‘I’ll lock up. You go on up,’ Breda said, walking into the room. Then taking in his face, she walked over and sat down on a chair opposite him. ‘Oh, you got there quickly.’
‘Got where?’
‘To the “Oh no, I’m terrified” stage! It took my husband a little longer.’
‘That obvious?’
‘The unflappable Mr Cool finally flaps,’ Breda teased.
‘Most children are loved even before their arrival, right?’ Tom asked.
‘Yes. Thankfully, in the main that’s true.’
‘I know it’s unfair to say that this child is wanted any more than anyone else’s. But it feels like that to me.’ His eyes filled with tears and he shook his head to stop them.
‘You’ve been dreaming about this day for a long time,’ Breda said. ‘It’s no wonder you are so emotional.’
‘I’ve wanted to be a father long before I ever managed to persuade Cathy to be my wife. I can’t believe it’s finally going to happen. I’m scared I’ll mess it up.’
‘Listen, Tom, no father or mother knows what the hell they are doing when they become a parent. You just make it up as you go along and do the best you can. You and Cathy are far better placed than most parents. You’re a doctor, Cathy is a social-care worker. Between you both, I have no doubt you’ll do beautifully.’
Tom relaxed with each word Breda spoke. It was going to be OK.
‘I have so much to do. I need to buy a house. And my car is totally unsuitable and unsafe for a baby.’ He glanced out the surgery window and took a look at the battered old Volkswagen he’d own
ed since university. It was held together with rust and dirt, but he loved it and up to now had refused to change it.
‘Maybe. But that can wait. Your wife, however, will be upstairs wondering where you are. You need to get ready for your anniversary meal.’
He stood up and kissed Breda lightly on her cheek. ‘I’d be lost without you.’
‘I know. You can be a right eejit sometimes.’
‘Good job I’m a charming fecker …’ he answered with a laugh then he ran upstairs to Cathy.
He found her lying on the couch fast asleep, a magazine on her lap, opened on a page showing a mother cuddling her baby.
First trimester tiredness. A rush of tenderness overcame him. His darling, beloved Cathy. Carrying their child. He needed to cop the fuck on. He had a job to do now. He had to protect them both. Pulling a throw from the chair beside him, he gently laid it over his wife.
27
RUTH
Now
Ruth and DJ had finally cracked the commute. By leaving thirty minutes earlier they got a quieter set of buses to the school. And like everything for Ruth, once she had time to adjust she just got on with it. She began running home each day, too, unless it was raining heavily, doing the same in reverse when she went to collect DJ. It saved money, plus Ruth loved to run. It helped her ease some of her fears and anger about the situation she was in as she pounded the footpaths.
She arrived at the school gates a few minutes early today. A personal best, she realised with satisfaction. Ruth leaned against one of the walls that surrounded the school and took a number of deep breaths. She was fit; years of running barely caused her to break a sweat. But the breaths were needed to steady herself before she entered what felt like the gates of hell.
Very little had changed at the school gates since she was a child. Back then when she walked through them she entered into a world of mean girls and boys. They made fun of her and sniggered behind her back and even to her face. And, unfortunately, mean girls and boys often grew up to be mean mums and dads. She looked around the school yard for potential monsters lurking in dark corners, ready to intimidate those who were a bit different. As is often the way with monsters, once you think about them they materialise. Striding towards her was Denise Donnelly, the chair of the parents’ council. Complete with a clipboard in hand.
Denise flicked her long shiny hair and smiled, displaying a row of straight, white, veneered teeth. ‘Good afternoon, Ruth. Aren’t those sunglasses just darling?’
Ruth pulled at her sweatshirt and smoothed down her short hair, which hadn’t been brushed yet today, feeling Denise’s eyes burn their way up and down her body.
‘Will you be joining us for our AGM next week?’ Denise asked.
Ruth could think of a dozen reasons why the answer to that question was no. Where was DJ?
‘It’s so disappointing, the lack of civic duty in a large percentage of our parents. This school is our school. And it is up to us parents to ensure that it is run to our satisfaction. I always think serving on a committee is such a worthwhile thing to do, isn’t it? I like to give back, where I can,’ Denise boasted, clearly delighted with her selflessness.
Ruth became a nodding dog and looked around her to see if there was any hope of salvation from another parent. She didn’t have any friends here, but there were one or two mothers who at least gave her the time of day. She waved at Siobhan, one such parent. But when Siobhan spotted the Queen Bee Denise, she scurried away to the other side of the playground. Coward.
‘I’ll add your name down as a yes,’ Denise said, scribbling something onto the clipboard.
The bell rang out and children began to march out of their classrooms. First came the senior infants and the first class, in single rows, their large school bags pulling their shoulders down, hats and scarves wrapping them up warm.
‘Aren’t they so cute at that age?’ Denise asked. They watched a little girl with long curly hair in bunches skip into the arms of her mother. ‘That’s Susan Walsh’s little one. Do you know her?’
Ruth shook her head.
‘Well, between you and me they’ve been having lots of problems at home. As I said to Susan, there is no shame in your marriage ending in …’ She looked around her, from left to right, before mouthing the final damning word, ‘… divorce.’
What an utter bitch. Had she said that out loud? No. Denise was still fake smiling.
Denise shouted out, ‘Mary, Sinead!’ to two women passing by. They ran over to join her and all three bounced up and down with excitement.
‘That was such a great night,’ Mary or Sinead said. Ruth could not tell who was who.
‘The best,’ Denise agreed.
‘Were you busy on Friday night? I didn’t see you there,’ Mary or Sinead asked Ruth.
Ruth thought about the previous Friday night, sitting on her hotel bed with DJ, watching Ryan Tubridy do his thing on The Late Late Show.
‘No, I was not busy,’ Ruth said.
‘It was the annual school mammies’ night out! Did you not get an invite?’ Denise asked in mock shock. The Queen Bee knew how to sting with style – Ruth had to give her credit for that. She had been coming to this school gate for five years now and was comfortable that she was not part of any of the cliques. Yet despite this, the snub hurt her, as it was intended to.
Thank goodness, there’s DJ.
‘Hello,’ Ruth said. Her heart flipped when she saw him. Who cared about these wagons at the school gate when she had him?
‘Mam, Mr O’Dowd wants to talk to you,’ DJ said.
Denise, Mary and Sinead inched a little closer, practically salivating at the potential drama that might unfold.
Ruth asked, ‘Did something happen today?’
DJ shrugged.
‘DJ, is there something you want to tell me?’
‘He’s a dickhead,’ DJ said.
She heard the women behind them gasp.
‘Not helpful,’ Ruth said. ‘Come on.’
‘Hope everything is OK,’ Denise said, following her as they moved towards the school.
Ruth stopped and said, ‘Would you like me to ask Mr O’Dowd to have the meeting out here so that you do not miss anything to gossip about later on?’
‘You try to be friendly and you get this!’ Denise said in shock.
‘Don’t mind her,’ Mary or Sinead said, and they closed ranks, throwing daggers at Ruth with their eyes.
Utter wagons.
Imagine the torture of spending a whole evening with them.
Ruth and DJ walked to DJ’s classroom, passing a small cloakroom, pegs now empty of coats and bags.
And suddenly Ruth was a child again, waiting in her classroom for the other kids to put their coats on.
‘It’s better this way, Ruth. You can do yours on your own when they have gone outside. And we’ll all avoid any unpleasantness,’ her teacher, Mrs O’Leary, said.
‘Mam?’ DJ asked and she shook the memory away as she knocked on the grey classroom door.
‘Come in, Mrs Wilde,’ Mr O’Dowd said.
Did he call her that on purpose? ‘It’s just Ruth. I am not married,’ Ruth answered. She looked down at DJ, who was kicking her surreptitiously. He mouthed, ‘Told you. Dickhead.’
‘Take a seat.’ Mr O’Dowd gestured towards a kid’s-sized chair that sat in front of his desk. He swivelled towards her in his normal-sized, leather, lording-it-over-you chair.
‘Is everything OK at home?’ Mr O’Dowd asked, leaning in towards her.
‘Everything is fine,’ Ruth said.
‘DJ has been late several times over the past month,’ he pointed out.
‘He has been on time every day this week,’ Ruth countered.
‘Even so, his timekeeping is an issue. Plus his homework is leaving a lot to be desired.’
Ruth looked at DJ, who was staring at the floor, a scowl on his face.
‘What is the issue with his homework?’ Ruth asked.
Mr O’Dowd pulled op
en an exercise book of DJ’s and said, ‘Look at this work from earlier this year.’
Ruth smiled as she read his short story about a cat who got lost in the woods. His writing was so neat and she felt pride swell up inside of her. ‘He worked very hard on that piece.’
‘And it showed,’ Mr O’Dowd replied. ‘But look at this piece he handed in on Wednesday.’ He flicked through the pages, stopping on two pages that bore no resemblance to DJ’s earlier work.
‘That is DJ’s handwriting?’ Ruth asked, trying to decipher the scrawl in front of her.
‘Yes.’
She scanned the words that were scattered with spelling mistakes. His writing was unrecognisable as from the same person as the earlier work, with pencil stubs all over the page.
‘You can see the difference,’ Mr O’Dowd stated.
Ruth nodded. The evidence was irrefutable. But there were extenuating circumstances. She once again looked at DJ, who continued to ignore the situation unfolding and was staring at the floor in an uncanny resemblance to Ruth.
‘So once again I’ll ask, is there something going on at home, Ms Wilde.’
Does he really need to emphasis the ‘Ms’ like that? ‘Everything is fine at home,’ Ruth stated again. Maybe DJ was right.
‘It’s just I feel that DJ is not making the progress he should be. He seems tired all the time. I would hate him to continue this trend of moving backwards rather than forwards,’ Mr O’Dowd continued.
Was it just the trick of the lights or did he look exactly like her fifth-class teacher, Mrs O’Leary? Ruth is moving backwards, rather than forwards. She had said the very same thing to her parents at the annual parent–teacher meeting. Memories of another time, of another school came rushing back to her. The isolation she felt at being told she must sit on her own every day.
‘Ms Wilde?’ Mr O’Dowd said once again.
Ruth looked up and saw concern on Mr O’Dowd’s face.
She pulled at her hands, frantically.
Pop, pop, pop.
‘Are you OK? Would you like a glass of water?’
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