A Thousand Roads Home

by Carmel Harrington

  Ruth had found a small table at the back of the coffee shop and he sat down, grateful for the seat. He stretched out his right leg, trying to take pressure off the knee that continued to give him trouble.

  Why are you whipping yourself? Making life harder than it needs to be? Why don’t you find a way to live out of the cold? Take better care of yourself.

  He chose to ignore the voice in his head that demanded answers to a question he did not want to examine. Bette Davis rested her head on his ankle and raised her eyes to him in silent plea. She’d spotted the small shortbread biscuit that sat on the saucer his coffee rested on. She’d banked that there would be one.

  ‘Good job I don’t have a sweet tooth,’ Tom said, then broke the biscuit into two small pieces, placing them in the palm of his hand. It took her a nanosecond to lick his palm clean.

  ‘If only all things in life could be solved with the simple pleasure of confectionery,’ Ruth said.

  ‘Ain’t that the truth,’ Tom replied.

  Satisfied that she’d had all the good stuff on offer, Bette Davis settled down for a rest, lying by his feet. He looked down at his chocolate-brown hiking boots, scuffed and worn from many years of walking the roads of Ireland. He’d not noticed their disintegration until this moment. His appearance had been of no matter to him for nearly a decade. Until recently.

  Bette’s new fan, the little girl, came running towards them. Before she had the chance to cuddle Bette, who was waiting with wagging tail, her mother clutched her back into her arms. She made a face to a couple who were seated a few feet in front of them. They watched the drama unfold with interest.

  Their heads nodded in sympathy. While no words were spoken, Tom understood the message that passed between them all.

  Stay away from the dirty old man. The tramp. The beggar.

  His very presence, despite the fact that he had not spoken a word, or caused a single moment of trouble, disturbed them. Offended them.

  Some days his stubborn self would take over and insist that he drink his coffee slower than normal. Just to piss them off. Other days, like now, their presumptions saddened him. Did they ever think that the offence was his to take, not theirs?

  Tom pulled Bette back towards him, away from the child.

  ‘Bye-bye, doggie,’ the little girl said.

  And Tom replied softly, ‘Bye-bye, little one.’

  Ruth had watched the scene silently, taking it all in. She saw embarrassment and anger flash across the doctor’s face.

  ‘Does that happen a lot?’ she asked.

  He shrugged, feeling belligerent. The brightness gone. He finished his coffee in three large gulps.

  ‘So much for taking time to smell the coffee,’ Ruth said.

  He ignored her and used his teaspoon to scoop up the sweet frothy milk that sat at the bottom of his cup; he was not leaving that behind for anyone.

  ‘What would Cathy say if she saw you now?’ Ruth asked.

  He ignored her question.

  ‘She would be upset that you have decided to live your life like this.’

  He threw his teaspoon onto the table, the sound of the clash making Bette jump.

  ‘Whatever happened cannot be so bad that you live on the streets. I can call my housing officer and arrange a meeting for you. She can help you. Find you emergency housing.’

  Tom replied, ‘Leave it alone, Ruth. I am where I want to be.’

  ‘You need to get your knee sorted.’ Ruth pointed to his outstretched leg. ‘I have noticed you limping.’

  ‘It gets stiff sometimes,’ Tom replied.

  The girl from behind the counter came over and picked up his coffee cup, saying, ‘All done?’ She glanced pointedly at the door.

  The inference was plain to see. Get out.

  ‘Another coffee, please,’ Ruth said. ‘For my friend Dr O’Grady. We are in no rush. Are we, Dr O’Grady?’

  The girl scowled but went back to make the drink.

  Tom sat in silence while they waited for his next coffee to arrive. His head swarmed with thoughts all jumbled up into one big knot. Somehow, since DJ and Ruth crashed into his life, everything had changed and become more complicated.

  ‘Cathy would not wish this life for you,’ Ruth continued, refusing to give up. And to his horror he felt tears bite his eyes.

  ‘No. I suspect you are right,’ he replied. ‘But it is how things are, all the same.’ Before Ruth had a chance to pursue this train of thought, he asked her, ‘What is your wish, Ruth? What do you want?’

  Ruth answered without missing a beat. ‘To have a home of my own that nobody can take from DJ and me.’

  ‘I would say that’s not too much to ask,’ Tom said.

  ‘You would think so, yet I seem to find it difficult all the same. What about you, Dr O’Grady? What is your wish?’

  Tom knew that the one thing he wanted, nobody could give him. So he said, ‘We’ve met most days for lunch or a chat for a couple of weeks now. And I think we’ve become friends. Right?’

  ‘Yes. That is correct,’ Ruth concurred.

  ‘I wish that you would call me Tom, or Doc if you prefer. But please, not the full title any more.’

  ‘But that is your name. Why would I stop calling you Dr O’Grady?’

  ‘That’s not who I am any more.’

  ‘Yes it is. I think that you have lost yourself out here on your own.’

  He nodded, a tear finally escaping and rolling down his weathered cheek. ‘I am lost,’ he admitted on a whisper.

  ‘It is OK, Dr O’Grady. I will help you find your way back. I promise.’

  And somehow she had done it again. Ruth Wilde had made his day brighter.

  30

  RUTH

  ‘Did you hear the goings-on in number 125 last night?’ Aisling asked when Ruth walked into the kitchen.

  ‘If you mean did I hear the continual banging of a headboard against the wall, then yes,’ Ruth said.

  ‘They were going at it hammer and tongs. The noise of them!’ Aisling said. ‘And I wouldn’t mind, but they have two kids in the room with them. I mean, it’s not right. I can’t even bring myself to think about my parents having sex, never mind be in the same room.’

  ‘Unless you are adopted, your parents did engage in intercourse at least once. And the likelihood of getting pregnant on the first time is less than twenty-five per cent. Which would mean that it’s likely that they have had sex on numerous occasions.’

  ‘All right, all right,’ Aisling said. ‘You’re making my eyes bleed with those images.’

  Aisling sighed, as she glanced down at her body. ‘If we’re talking numbers, I would say the likelihood of me ever having sex is less than five per cent with this monstrosity.’ She wobbled her stomach and laughed. But the sound fell flat and the tears in her eyes confused Ruth. She did not look happy. Why laugh if that was not the case?

  In the short time that Ruth had known Aisling she had brought up the subject of dieting several times. Aisling was fat. Should she agree with her? She bit her lip to refrain from saying the wrong thing. She knew that her bluntness offended people. And since they had moved into The Silver Sands Lodge, Aisling had been kind to Ruth. She did not want to upset her.

  ‘I put two pounds on this week. There’s something wrong with me,’ Aisling moaned, her eyes still on her stomach.

  ‘Then you must go see a doctor,’ Ruth stated. ‘What are your symptoms?’

  Aisling cocked her head on one side, peering closely at Ruth. ‘You’re a curious one. I didn’t mean that I’m ill, I meant that …’ She couldn’t find the words to finish.

  ‘You are not very good at dieting,’ Ruth suggested.

  ‘Yes!’ Aisling laughed. ‘That’s exactly it!’

  Ruth laughed with her, without really understanding what was so funny. But it felt good to laugh.

  ‘I envy you,’ Aisling said.

  This surprised Ruth. She didn’t think she’d elicited that emotion from anyone in her entire life.<
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  ‘You have a lovely figure. I bet there’s not an ounce of fat on you,’ Aisling exclaimed.

  Ruth took a step back in case Aisling decided to investigate that statement.

  ‘What’s your secret?’ Aisling asked.

  ‘I do not have one,’ Ruth shrugged.

  ‘I’ve seen you cooking and I can’t put my finger on what diet you follow. It’s not Atkins, that’s for sure. You pack away ridiculous amounts of potatoes,’ Aisling said.

  ‘It is not a diet; I just keep to my rules,’ Ruth answered.

  ‘Maybe I should keep to your rules, too. What are they?’

  ‘I only eat white food. Mostly. I like white food,’ Ruth said.

  ‘Don’t we all,’ Aisling answered, pointing to her stomach. ‘Carbs are like my abusive husband. I keep taking them back no matter how much hardship they put my poor body through.’

  That was funny. Ruth liked Aisling and found herself looking forward to coming to the kitchen, hoping she or Kian would be there.

  ‘Do you have any other rules?’ Aisling asked.

  ‘Foods must never touch each other. I do not find it acceptable when food groups collide.’

  Aisling sighed. ‘So that would mean no massaman curry? That’s my favourite. Have you tried the Thai place down the road? So good.’

  Ruth shuddered. ‘I would rather chop my hand off than eat a curry or stew.’

  Seeing the look on Ruth’s face, Aisling believed her. ‘Well, maybe I should try your rules, see if I can lose some weight that way. Because something has to give. Other than my bloody pants. This morning, the button popped on my jeggings. Jeggings, for goodness’ sake! Made of Lycra. With give. Lots of it. And still my lardy arse and fat stomach broke them. That’s a talent.’

  ‘Just buy a bigger size,’ Ruth said.

  Aisling laughed at that and shook her head. ‘You’re a gas ticket. Sure I can’t keep on buying a bigger size. No. It’s time for action.’

  ‘I run,’ Ruth said. ‘You should run, too.’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t do that. The state of me!’ Aisling said. ‘I’d love to be one of those people who get a high from exercise. Take my sister, she’s on her fifty-first Park Run. Do you do those?’

  Ruth shook her head. ‘I like to run on my own. I run on the way back from DJ’s school most days. I can show you how, if you want.’

  ‘Can I think about it? I wasn’t much good at sport in school,’ Aisling said.

  ‘Neither was I,’ Ruth said. In fact, school and the sports programme they ran there caused only trauma for her. Her parents and teachers were all adamant that she should try out for everything – basketball, football, camogie – and all had led to humiliation. Her co-ordination, or lack of it, resulted in her spending more time on the ground than on her feet. For years, as a direct result of the trauma of that time, she avoided any kind of physical activity.

  ‘I was always the last person chosen when teams were being picked,’ Aisling said. ‘Not that I blame them as I was the slowest. But still, would have been nice to be picked first just once.’

  ‘Schools and I do not seem to mix well,’ Ruth said.

  ‘Oh, I hear you. There are so many cliques at Anna’s school. I’m forever in FOMO mode.’

  ‘FOMO?’

  ‘Fear of missing out.’

  ‘I think I miss out on plenty at DJ’s school but I give zero fucks,’ Ruth said.

  Aisling roared with laughter. ‘Oh, I love you! Seriously, I need to be more like you. If only I could find some of your dedication and go running every day like you. I’d be too busy for any FOMOing!’

  Ruth looked at her in surprise. Aisling seemed to be genuinely in awe of her. This was a new experience for Ruth. She was used to being the butt of people’s jokes, rather than a source of inspiration. It felt good.

  ‘I shall be running in the morning at nine o’clock, as it’s Saturday. You should come with me. Wear runners and bring a bottle of water,’ Ruth said.

  This was moving a bit fast for Aisling, who started to get nervous. ‘I get tired walking to the end of the corridor. My joints are in bits. I’m not sure my knees are up to it.’

  Ruth nodded. ‘The force on our knees when we walk is approximately one and a half times our weight. And if there is an incline involved, the pressure is even greater, up to two to three times your weight. So if you are 200 pounds, the weight on your knees is 300 pounds. You weigh more than that.’

  ‘You don’t mince your words, do you?’ Aisling said, trying to decide if she should be insulted or not. She continued, ‘I’m beginning to get a handle on you. You say what’s on your mind, good, bad or indifferent. Right? There’s a lot to be said for it. I don’t know about the running, but let’s hang out again some time. OK?

  Ruth asked, ‘Can you define what you mean by that? What would be involved in the hanging out?’

  Aisling said, ‘We could have lunch together some day when the kids are in school. Or go for a walk. You can build me up for a jog! Better still, we can walk and talk with a coffee in hand.’

  Ruth shook her head, ‘Too many choices. Just say one. Please.’

  Aisling replied, ‘OK. Coffee and a walk tomorrow at 11 a.m. Let’s meet here.’

  ‘That would be most acceptable,’ Ruth said, and when she walked out she began to hum ‘When You’re Looking Like That’, her absolute favourite happy song.

  31

  TOM

  Tom spent the afternoon hovering outside the squat that Sheila and Bobby lived in, hoping she might come out and he could try to talk some sense into her. Hours passed and there was no sign of anyone coming or going, until a gang of lads arrived, around five. They spotted Tom and paused to give him the stink eye. Then one of them swaggered his way over to Tom.

  ‘You that doc?’ he said.

  Tom nodded. He took a guess, correctly as it happened. ‘And you’re that Bobby.’

  They sized each other up.

  ‘We don’t need you or your kind around here. Fuck the fuck off,’ Bobby said.

  ‘I just wanted to check that Sheila was OK,’ Tom said.

  ‘The first time I ask nicely. The next …’ Bobby looked behind him and nodded. Two lads walked towards Tom.

  Tom held his hands up and said, ‘I’ll leave. But tell Sheila I’ll be in the usual spot if she needs me.’

  He was still fretting about her and her unborn baby when he settled down to sleep later that night. Bobby’s pupils were so dilated, they were big black dots in his eyes. What if she went into labour in that squat, with only him to help her? Oh, Cathy, what a mess. He closed his eyes and remembered another baby, another time …

  Mikey came into the world screaming with defiance and attitude.

  ‘A bruiser, like his father,’ Tom said with pride to Cathy who, despite her herculean efforts in labour, was as jubilant as he was at the arrival of their little man.

  Tom had found the past couple of hours particularly difficult. Not that he was in any way comparing his discomfort to his wife’s, but as a doctor he knew too much. Every monitor, every check-up made him nervous. What was this baby doing to Cathy? Why was her blood pressure so high? Why wasn’t labour progressing quicker? Of course Tom had kept all of his worries to himself. Instead he quizzed his new colleague, Annemarie, who’d begun working alongside him a few months back. He fretted and he made bargains with God that involved a delivery from a stork of a perfectly formed, healthy baby, with no pain or suffering for Cathy.

  In the end it all went perfectly to plan. And Cathy took every pain in her stride, remaining focused on one thing only – the safe delivery of their child. Tom realised with acute clarity that this woman was a thousand times stronger than he would ever be.

  When Mikey was placed on Cathy’s chest, skin to skin, Cathy’s face changed. Tom felt privileged to witness it. He had felt pride in his life many times – when he graduated from medical school, when he watched his bride walk down the aisle towards him and their new life, the first time his
medical intervention resulted in a saved life. But this moment, in that small labour suite that smelled of blood and sweat, was the proudest of all.

  They settled into their new normal very quickly. Weeks became months and Tom and Cathy continued to be besotted with their life. They had listened to friends bemoan the state of their marriages once kids came along. It wasn’t like that for them. Instead, it was as if Mikey solidified the love they had for each other.

  Of course Tom and Cathy fought the odd time. They could go weeks, months sometimes, without so much as a cross word, then something small would trigger one of them off. Tom knew that he could be a grumpy sod sometimes. He liked a bit of a barney. Felt good to let off some steam, shout a bit.

  Cathy would say, ‘Don’t be a dick. It doesn’t suit you.’

  Tom would in turn make her remember that he was indeed a charming fecker.

  And so, their lives went by in a happy flash.

  Until they didn’t any more.

  He opened his eyes and blinked back tears. He felt … anger? No. His rage was long gone. Disappointed. Yes, that was how he felt. Disappointed in himself. In Cathy. In how their life had ended up, him on this bench, with only his memories and nothing else. Before he could allow the darkness to overcome him, Bette Davis barked and ran up the footpath to greet DJ and his two pals from the hotel, Cormac and Anna. And a thought jumped into his head that surprised him. If he wasn’t on this bench, then maybe he would not have met Ruth and DJ again. Curious, that.

  32

  RUTH

  Since she broke her promise and told Mr O’Dowd about their housing situation, Ruth and DJ had managed to maintain a somewhat uneasy truce. But it was tenuous and the slightest thing seemed to set them at each other’s throats. This morning DJ pulled on his school tracksuit bottoms, which the previous day were clean but were now covered in thick mud from his arse to his knee.

  ‘What on earth happened?’ Ruth asked.