Holding

by Graham Norton

  Brid had made some cheese and pickle sandwiches and put them on a plate in the middle of the table. Two empty mugs sat opposite each other. The kettle was boiled but she was waiting for Anthony before she made the tea. She darted around the kitchen like a goldfish in a bowl, wiping a mark on the counter top, tearing up an old envelope, folding a tea towel. Finally she heard her own car drive into the yard. She took deep breaths.

  It had been her intention that when he got back, she would immediately ask him what was wrong. She wanted to unburden him of his secret as soon as possible. She had a small speech prepared in her mind, but when he walked in and threw his cap on the dresser, there was something about him. A twinkle in his eye? A bounce in his step? She couldn’t put her finger on it, but in that moment she knew with complete certainty that this was not an ill man. She switched on the kettle.

  Lunch was eaten in the usual manner, Brid asking a few questions about the farm and letting Anthony know about some parents’ evening up at the school. He mostly communicated in grunts as he scrolled down the screen on his iPad. About half an hour after he had sat down, he wiped his mouth with a bit of paper towel, pushed away from the table and announced, ‘Right.’ This was his signal that lunch was over and he was going back out to work.

  ‘Do you still need my car?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Right. I’ll see you about seven, so.’

  She watched him go to the back door and put his boots on. Out of the kitchen window she saw him stride towards his car in his dirty blue overalls. All through lunch she had been looking at him surreptitiously and asking herself a question: if this man wasn’t ill, what the hell was he doing at the hospital every day? She flung a wet dishcloth into the sink and grabbed her coat off the hook by the door. She was going to follow him.

  Brid had never followed anyone before, but she had seen enough movies to know the basics. Don’t get too close. She saw that he had turned left out of the gates, so she did the same. At the bottom of the hill she just caught a glimpse of his car turning left again. He was heading on to the main Ballytorne road. She felt almost relieved. This was not just the product of her imagination. Whatever he was doing, it wasn’t top dressing. Something was up.

  Keeping her distance, she followed him into Ballytorne. He made his way slowly around the main square and took a right up the side of the hotel. When Brid took the same turning, the car had disappeared. She slowed down before spotting it again – he had pulled into the car park at the back of the hotel and was getting out. There was nothing behind her, so she sat for a moment and watched as he took a bag out of the boot of his car and headed towards the hotel. He didn’t go into the main entrance; instead, he took the metal stairs off to one side.

  Brid drove further up the street and found a parking space. Then she walked back to the car park and went over to the metal steps. A small sign with an arrow pointing upwards said Health Centre. Brid was puzzled. There was nothing up there but the gym. What the hell was going on? She certainly hadn’t noticed him getting any fitter. His small, neat belly was the same size it had been for years.

  Feeling like a spy, she pulled up her collar and went to stand opposite the entrance to the car park, where she could keep an eye on things. There was a bookshop on that side of the street and whenever a car passed by, she endeavoured to look like the sort of woman who had a keen interest in local history or Neven Maguire’s new healthy recipes. Her heart was beating fast, and she had to admit that she was enjoying all this. It was exhilarating and strange.

  She had only been waiting twenty minutes or so when she heard loud footsteps clanging on the metal steps. She sneaked a look over her shoulder. It took her a second to realise it was Anthony. He was transformed. He had changed out of his old overalls into his good navy trousers and the nice blue-and-white-striped shirt she had given him at Christmas. He’d clearly had a shower, and what hair he had left was slicked back. She had to admit that he looked quite good. She hurried back to her car and sat watching in the rear-view mirror as he nosed out of the car park and turned left. She slid low in her seat as he drove past, then rushed to get into gear so that she could continue her pursuit.

  Within a few minutes it was clear that he was heading for the hospital. Brid began to feel uneasy. What if she was wrong and he really was here being treated for something? Not only was he lovely for trying to protect his family, but she was an awful human being for doubting him. She watched him drive to the end of the car park nearest the hospital, while she pulled into a space down by the road. He bought his ticket and put it in the car before setting off towards the back of the hospital.

  She jumped from her car and half walked, half skipped along the wall towards the hospital building. As she rounded the corner at the back, she stopped and threw herself into reverse. Anthony was standing by himself, leaning against the railing alongside the wheelchair ramp. She risked another look. He was still there, picking at his nails. Clearly he hadn’t spotted her. Brid realised how ridiculous she must look hunched against the wall like some overgrown schoolgirl playing hide-and-seek, so she stood up straight and tried to give off the air of someone waiting for a friend or a lift. She heard voices and warily poked her head around the corner once more.

  This time Anthony was not alone. A young nurse with dark hair was standing at the top of the wheelchair ramp. Brid noticed that her uniform was slightly too small, catching her under the arms and pressing her breasts together. The nurse made her way down the ramp and threw herself against Anthony, who wrapped his arms around her and began kissing her in a way he had never once in all their years together kissed Brid. Whatever attention Anthony was getting at the hospital, it certainly wasn’t medical.

  Was Florence deliberately trying to annoy her? It didn’t seem to matter what Evelyn said, her sister had some opinion to add or a fact to correct. The leaves weren’t early this year. Town was no busier than usual. She was such a teacher. Evelyn gripped the handles of the small overnight case on her lap a little tighter and stared out of the car window as the hedges blurred past.

  Abigail was in much better spirits and almost seemed to be looking forward to the surgery. She and Florence chatted happily, but Evelyn sat mute. All she could think about was the silk scarf, and the last time she had seen it, neatly folded on the table up at the farm the day Tommy went missing. She was desperate to ask Abigail how she came to have it; there had to be a good reason why she had kept its existence a secret from her all these years. Evelyn felt she needed in some way to respect that and not bring it up in front of Florence. She sat willing her sister to leave the room till she could bear it no longer.

  ‘Florence, why don’t you go and get us all some tea and I can unpack Abigail’s things?’

  Florence stood up and Evelyn let out a sigh of relief, but then Abigail spoke.

  ‘I’m not allowed anything before the operation.’

  Florence hesitated. ‘Do you want anything?’ she asked Evelyn.

  ‘Oh yes please. A cup of tea would be lovely, thanks.’

  ‘Right, two teas coming up. I’ll be back in a minute.’

  Evelyn smiled and gave a little wave goodbye. The moment her sister had gone out the door, she pulled her chair to the edge of the bed and clutched Abigail’s arm.

  ‘What is it, you silly girl?’

  Evelyn spoke quickly and in a whisper.

  ‘Abigail. I wasn’t snooping. I was just packing the bits and pieces that you needed and I found … I found the old photo albums.’

  ‘Photo albums?’

  ‘Pictures of Mam and Dad.’

  The clouds of confusion passed from Abigail’s face as she realised what her sister was talking about. ‘Oh, the old albums in the bottom drawer. I haven’t looked at them in years. I hid them there to get them away from Florence. After Daddy died she became obsessed with them. It wasn’t healthy. But we should get them out. Maybe frame a few of them.’

  Evelyn said nothing but squeezed Abigail’s arm a little tighter.r />
  ‘What is it?’ she asked uneasily.

  Evelyn swallowed hard. ‘At the bottom of the drawer I found … I found a bit of Tommy’s scarf. The scarf he gave me.’

  Abigail’s face froze. She turned and looked at the wall for a beat, and then back to Evelyn.

  ‘Oh God.’

  Evelyn waited for her to say more, but she remained silent.

  ‘How? How do you have it?’

  ‘Evelyn, I never wanted to upset you. I did see Tommy Burke getting on the bus to Cork. It was Tommy. He gave me the scarf.’

  Evelyn tried to process what she was hearing. Her sister, this woman she had been with every day for the last twenty-five years, had seen Tommy. She had spoken to him and never said anything to her.

  ‘What did he say?’ she implored. This was no distant memory to her. She felt it all as urgently as if it had happened only days ago.

  ‘He … he wanted you to have it. He said it was his gift to you and that you should have it.’

  ‘Is that all he said?’

  ‘Yes. He wasn’t exactly my favourite person that day, if you recall. I was hardly going to engage him in conversation.’

  ‘But why … why didn’t you give it to me?’

  ‘I thought it was for the best. I wanted you to get over him.’ Abigail reached out and stroked Evelyn’s cheek. ‘I didn’t want you moping around the house holding that scarf like some sort of holy relic.’

  ‘What happened to it? Why is it—’

  ‘Two teas! The finest Ballytorne Hospital has to offer.’

  The three Ross sisters were reunited.

  Brid felt like she was drowning. She stood behind her car, gasping for air. One hand steadied her against the roof of the car and her head was bowed. Every detail of the tarmac was unnaturally vivid. The green of a weed. The yellow of a discarded chewing gum wrapper. The shades of black in the tarmac itself. The material world was making itself so clear just as her inner feelings were collapsing into a jumbled mess. There was rage, but there was also fear. A sort of panic gripped her and she had no idea what she should do next. Part of her wanted to run at Anthony and his nurse like a deranged warrior, screaming and pounding them with her fists till they both lay on the ground in a bleeding, broken heap. But more than that, she wanted her children.

  She stood back from the car, still struggling to get enough air. She couldn’t drive like this. She’d crash. A clanging sound made her look up. It was the rope slapping against the flag pole standing at the entrance to the car park. A blue and white flag announced that this was Ballytorne Hospital. The material flapped carelessly around in the breeze. Stupid fucking flag. What did it have to be so happy about? She put her hands in her hair and pulled hard. She needed to feel something, anything, that she could understand. That bastard. That sanctimonious prick. Judging her. Making her feel like a piece of shit on his shoe and all the time … all the time he was fucking some floozy in a nurse’s uniform. A nurse? Could it be any more tawdry or pathetic? Her husband was Benny fucking Hill.

  She began to walk back towards the hospital. She wasn’t clear in her own mind why, but it felt good to be walking. Her breathing came easier. She was about fifty feet from the corner when she stopped. Were they still there? Was he still rubbing his hands across her? Was his tongue still deep in her mouth? She decided she didn’t want to know and was about to turn back to her car when a figure emerged from behind the wall.

  No. Not her. Anyone but Evelyn Ross. Brid imagined how she must look with her wild hair and dishevelled clothes.

  The moment Evelyn spotted her, she stopped. Her face was wet with tears and in her hand a dirty rag fluttered in the breeze.

  The two women stared at each other, neither of them knowing what to do, both wondering how they had ended up face to face like unwilling time travellers.

  Brid suddenly felt weary. So very tired. She wanted to sink to her knees and sleep. The years. All those years. All that time had passed by, and for what? Here she was once more standing beneath a wide-open sky confronted by Evelyn Ross, and for the second time in her life it appeared that she had lost a husband.

  10

  It felt strange, Mrs Meany sitting at the kitchen table and PJ putting the mug of tea down in front of her. He was embarrassed to admit that he had no idea if she took milk or sugar, so he just nudged the jug and sugar bowl towards her. He glanced at the clock. He’d be here soon.

  After Mrs Meany had shared her story, PJ had promised her that he would try to keep her secret for as long as he could, but he did warn her that if there was ever a trial then it might come out. Mrs Meany had shaken her head. It didn’t matter. And that was the truth. After all those years of secrecy, it seemed so pointless. Fifty years of fear had come to an end in an hour sat in the darkened kitchen. She felt hollow and so light she thought she might float away. After PJ had driven her back to her cottage, she had slipped between the cold sheets of her bed and fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  The next morning she had stepped outside to walk to the Garda barracks as she did every day. She looked left and right as if expecting the world to seem different, but no. She wondered if the people driving past or out walking their dogs could tell that she was utterly changed. She felt transparent without the dark cloud of the past trapped inside her. She prepared breakfast as normal. The left side of the pan was hotter than the right. She had to press the toaster down twice. It seemed her emotional earthquake had not created a single ripple. The world was the same.

  PJ explained that he would need to tell Detective Superintendent Dunne what she had revealed and he’d probably want to ask her a few questions. They’d also want to take a sample of her DNA so that they could find out if the remains were those of Tommy Burke. She nodded. Whatever happened over the next few days, she knew she had relinquished control. Things would unfold; she felt very calm.

  Sitting with her tea, though, everything felt unfamiliar. This was where she worked, but now she was here as somebody else. A woman helping the guards with their enquiries. PJ saw her differently too. The night before, he had watched her slight frame get out of his car and walk down the path at the side of her cottage, and he had felt ashamed. So much for his enquiring mind. He realised that he had known almost nothing about Mrs Meany before that evening. Discovering what she had gone through and what she had lived with for all those years made him admire her as much as it made him sad.

  When Linus arrived, PJ had to admit he was impressed with how he handled Mrs Meany. He could be quite brusque and businesslike in interviews, but this time he lowered his voice and only took occasional notes. Mrs Meany didn’t have much to add to her tale of the night before. She explained how she had gone to work for Father Mulcahy because it became too difficult to be around the baby. Watching Mrs Burke pick him up when he was crying, or handing her the bottle to feed him when she longed to reach out and hold him herself was all too much for her. She left the farm and, without ever deciding to, walked away from life as well. She had tried it and it hadn’t agreed with her. The years that followed were lived as a sort of penance for her one monumental mistake.

  Listening to her speak, PJ began to understand what a torment her life must have been. To see Tommy holding Mrs Burke’s hand, to watch him grow into a man, trying not to stare at him in mass. All those years of not being allowed to be the only thing she actually was: somebody’s mother. He felt the urge to give her a hug, but of course he didn’t. He just sat on the far side of the room watching this familiar woman turning into someone he didn’t recognise at all.

  When Linus was finished, he fetched a small plastic pack out of his briefcase and explained that he was going to take a sample of DNA. He put on some thin rubber gloves and took a swab from inside Mrs Meany’s mouth. She sat passively with her mouth open. It reminded her of taking communion.

  PJ showed Linus to the door.

  ‘Why do you think she’s telling us all this now?’ the superintendent asked.

  ‘I don’t really kn
ow. The baby? She can’t know who the other body is, but she knew exactly who the child was, so I suppose she felt it was her duty to help.’

  ‘I’m not saying I don’t, but do you think we can believe her?’

  PJ was taken aback. It hadn’t crossed his mind that Mrs Meany was lying.

  ‘Definitely. There’d be no reason for her to lie. Not about this.’

  ‘Right.’ Linus held up his sample kit. ‘Well I’ll put this in and then we wait.’

  Brid and Evelyn’s agony had ended when Florence appeared round the corner of the hospital.

  ‘Mrs Riordan!’ she had called cheerfully, and Evelyn had simply followed her away. Brid decided not to move. If she turned to go back to her car, it looked as if she was following the Ross women, and if she went forward, she might have to confront the nurse situation. She waited until she heard an engine starting up, and then turned to watch the sisters’ car pulling out into the street.

  Back in her own car, she considered her options. Leave him? Kick him out? Forgive him? Ignore the whole thing? She had dreamed of change for so long, but not like this. She glanced at her watch. The kids. It was time to pick them up. She smoothed her hair down in the rear-view mirror, plastered on a calm smile and turned the key in the ignition.

  Evelyn was sitting in her room. The oil-stained material was draped across the end of her bed. She had been holding it against her cheek and stroking it, but then she had caught a glimpse of her reflection in the wardrobe door mirror and realised how foolish she looked. She reached out and traced the outline of a rose with her forefinger.