Friends Like Us

by Siân O'Gorman

  ‘That’s the plan.’ She smiled at Rachel. ‘We were trying to make you happy by staying together. That’s the irony.’

  ‘Well, thanks for trying.’

  ‘And failing.’

  ‘Big time!’ said Rachel. ‘If you set out to make things crap, you couldn’t have done any better.’ She pulled a face which made them both laugh.

  Steph put her head in her hands and groaned. ‘It has been crap, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Mu-um!’ Rachel was shocked.

  ‘Sorry. But it has been. I’ve been crap.’

  ‘Not all the time. Just some of it. I admire you, actually.’

  ‘What?’ Steph was shocked. ‘Are you actually saying something nice to me, Rachel Fitzpatrick? Quick, call a photographer. I want to immortalize this moment!’

  ‘Well,’ said Rachel, laughing, ‘I do. You know, keeping it all to yourself. Trying to protect me, keeping everything going.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Thank you for saying that. It means a lot. The most. But I was wrong to do it. It didn’t help you and it didn’t help me… so…’

  Rachel nodded. She unclipped Dingle’s lead and allowed him to chase off, barking madly.

  ‘It’s not going to be the same without her…’ said Rachel in a quiet voice.

  ‘I know.’ Steph took her hand in hers, it felt so good to hold her hand, to have that casual affection between them restored and renewed. ‘I’m going to miss her. So much… so much.’

  ‘Me too.’

  They sat quietly for a while watching Dingle playing with some other dogs. Eventually Rachel spoke. ‘Granddad is going to be the worst though. What’s he going to do? I mean you and me’ve got each other, but he’s got no one.’

  ‘Yes, we’ve got each other.’ Even at this terrible moment Rachel’s words were a comfort to Steph. ‘But he’s got us, hasn’t he?’ she said. ‘We’re going to be there for him. And for each other.’

  ‘Maybe he could live with us?’ said Rachel.

  ‘Maybe.’ Steph had also worried about him. ‘We could ask him.’ Dingle came up and was sniffing around. ‘We’d have to ask Dingle too. Could you cope with that?’

  ‘Definitely.’ Rachel stroked him as he remained stock-still, enjoying the moment. ‘But Granny, poor Granny.’

  Before they set off for home again, Steph took a moment to look towards the mountains again. She realized she had been living in a state of fear for so long, fear of Rick’s rages, fear of anyone knowing she was a failure, fear of being caught shoplifting yet unable to stop, fear of everything crumbling, her whole life. She was going to live by the promise she had made to Nuala, not to be frightened by life. She wasn’t going to live in the shadows anymore.

  And yet here she was facing the worst fear imaginable, facing the death of her own dear mother, but she knew she would survive. She knew she would be okay because of all Nuala had given her. She was strong inside, the rest she could deal with.

  I’ve wasted so much time, she thought. And none of it mattered. It’s just me and Rachel now. We are what matters.

  She looked over at her daughter who was waiting for her and she smiled. Life doesn’t actually frighten me, she thought. Whatever happens, I can cope.

  Back in the kitchen, she and Rachel stood together now, sharing a plate of sandwiches.

  ‘I’m glad you are here, Heart-angel,’ said Steph.

  ‘Me too, Mum.’ Rachel started crying again, which started Steph off again.

  ‘She’s not dead yet,’ said Steph. ‘We can’t be doing this, all this crying.’

  Rachel wiped her eyes with her sleeve. ‘I’ve never done this before, you know someone dying.’

  ‘Neither have I, actually. We’ve been lucky.’

  ‘And now we’re unlucky.’

  ‘No, we’re still lucky. We’ll always be lucky. And we are lucky to have had someone like Nuala in our lives. She doesn’t disappear because she’s dead. We have our memories.’

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Sad. Really sad.’

  ‘Me too.’ They looked at each other, each blurred with tears. ‘And there’s nothing we can do…’

  ‘Except feel sad,’ finished Rachel.

  ‘No…’ said Steph. They smiled at each other despite the sadness.

  ‘But we have each other… don’t we?’

  ‘We do… we have each other.’ Mother and daughter hugged. ‘Oh Rachel,’ whispered Steph. ‘I’m so glad we have each other.’

  ‘Me too, Mum. Me too.’

  ‘Let’s go and join the madding crowd.’ They went and sat on the two arms of Nuala’s chair. Nuala held both their hands in hers.

  ‘My girls,’ she said. ‘My girls.’

  Steph remembered a Christmas Eve when there was a power cut. Joe wasn’t home yet and Nuala had padded around the whole house in the pitch-dark, feeling for candles. She must have lit fifteen candles in the sitting room that evening and pulled Steph into her, covered with a rug, and she told her stories of when she was a small girl growing up in Kerry: there were tales of haystack climbing, of picking blackberries, of her little dog Georgie. Steph had forgotten all about the night of power-cut but memories came back to her so distinctly. It had been a magical night, tucked up with her mother. If she closed her eyes, she could still remember what she felt like, under her mother’s arm, the scratchiness of the blanket, the flickering of the candles and hearing her voice telling all those stories. She knew for certain, then and there, she had the best mother a little girl could ever have.

  Imelda Cunnane was standing up, ominously wielding a large knife.

  ‘Time for speeches now. I’ll begin.’ She looked around the room. ‘Now, I think it was fifteen years ago we began the Dalkey-Killiney Book Club.’ The book club members gave a cheer. ‘The club is more than a book club, of course. We pride ourselves on always reading the books, which, I’m told some rival book clubs don’t.’

  There were cheers from the room.

  ‘However,’ Imelda continued, ‘there was one time when none of us could read the book – and if memory serves me right, it was Nuala’s choice that week. Can you remember what it was, Nuala?’

  Everyone looked over at Nuala who was laughing and nodding. ‘I thought we should broaden our horizons,’ she said.

  The whole room was silent as she spoke.

  ‘And what was it?’

  ‘Ulysses,’ said Nuala. ‘It was over a thousand pages. None of us got through it.’

  ‘And so,’ continued Imelda. ‘We have Nuala to thank for derailing the book club.’ She paused for the generous laughter. ‘But seriously, though, apart from that one misjudged choice, she has been the most wonderful friend to all of us. I know I speak for each member of the book club – and I am sure I speak for everyone in the room – when I say our lives…’ her voice faltered and Imelda paused, eyes wide, mouth set, determined not to cry, ‘…would not be as warm without the friendship of Nuala. Once a month, to sit down with Nuala and talk about books and life, has been a great pleasure in my life over the last fifteen years.’

  She stopped again, unable to speak. ‘Welcome home, Nuala. We are looking forward to many more years of reading again.’ Her voice broke, but everyone seemed determined to pretend that she wasn’t dying, that the party was not to say goodbye.

  There were ‘hear-hears’ from the room and teacups were lifted in the direction of Nuala.

  The room was full of people who sensed this was a family on the brink of loss. Love was about to change immutably into something else. None of the Sheridan family would ever be the same again, without Nuala. Steph would be motherless, Rachel would not have a grandmother and Joe? How would he be able to live and breathe? Despite the smiles and the chatter, there was the sense of a community bracing itself to help this family through this trauma, the trauma that they were teetering towards.

  ‘Speech, Nuala, speech!’ someone said.

  Nuala was getting slowly to her feet, leaning on Steph’s arm, Ding
le jumping to the ground.

  ‘Thank you, everyone, thank you for coming. I am not one for making speeches, but it is such a lovely thing to come home from hospital and see the faces of my friends. I feel blessed to know you all. Thank you from Joe and myself for this lovely party and food. You are all so kind. I do want to say something to Joe, here, for being my best friend since the day we met. He has been the most wonderful companion in my life…’ Joe was standing there, leaning at the doorway, tears in his eyes. ‘Thank you Joe.’

  ‘It’s not over yet, Nuala,’ he said. His throat was dry and his voice croaky, but he was trying to laugh. ‘We’ve still got a few years left in us.’

  ‘Of course, we have, Joe,’ said Nuala. The room was silent apart from a gulp from Imelda, tears rolling down her face. Around the room, hands were surreptitiously wiping eyes.

  ‘And my daughter and granddaughter, Stephanie and Rachel. They are the stars in my life.’

  ‘We should do this annually, Mum,’ said Steph. ‘You know, it’s the only time you say nice things about us!’ Everyone laughed, but Steph and Nuala fixed in each other’s gaze. I love you, I’ll miss you.

  ‘And my granddaughter,’ said Nuala. ‘She’s the cherry on my cake.’

  And then Nuala looked over at Joe and, for a moment, the whole room watched as these two people, who had been in love for over four decades looked at each other, as though there was no one else. It sent a shiver down Steph’s spine.

  ‘My Joe,’ Nuala managed eventually. ‘My Joe.’

  And Joe stood there looking at her, not able to move and it was Imelda who broke the tension.

  ‘I have my knife,’ she said. ‘Cake time?’ She began slicing the book and doling out portions onto paper plates.

  Steph with the pot, refilling Nuala’s cup, who was sitting in the armchair, with Peggy O’Sullivan on one side and Kitty Kenny on the other side. ‘How are you doing, Mam?’

  ‘It’s been a lovely party,’ she said. ‘Thanks for all your hard work.’

  ‘You tired?’

  ‘A bit,’ Nuala admitted, looking like she was ready to fall down, ‘but having everyone here is wonderful.’

  ‘We’ll do it next year, Nuala,’ said Peggy.

  ‘Only if you make your quiche again. You always did make such good pastry, Peggy. I can never get it that light. What’s your secret?’

  Peggy smiled enigmatically.

  ‘Go on, I’ll bring it to my grave,’ said Nuala, winking at Peggy and Kate.

  ‘Mam!’

  Nuala laughed. ‘Allow me, Stephanie. It’s all right. The girls here know me by now, don’t you?’ Peggy and Kitty nodded.

  ‘Well,’ said Peggy, ‘I’ll tell you. It’s bought. I’ve been buying it for years!’

  ‘What?’ Kitty looked aghast. ‘But you won that competition last year at the ICA. Your pastry got a first.’

  Nuala had begun to laugh. She couldn’t stop. ‘I don’t believe it. Fraud! All these years we’ve been eating bought pastry.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ Peggy looked a little ashamed. ‘I didn’t begin to lie, it just happened. Next thing I know I am famous for my pastry – I couldn’t tell everyone then.’

  ‘But the ICA,’ said Kitty, ‘they have rules.’

  ‘Rules are meant to be broken – and at our age, if we can’t break a few of them, what is the point in living?’

  41

  Melissa

  A few weeks later, Melissa and her mother were sitting in the lounge of Killiney Castle, pot of tea for two in front of them.

  They looked at each other, nervously, Mary clutching the handles of her bag tightly, Melissa trying to concentrate on pouring out the tea from a pot which wasn’t designed to pour.

  They were waiting to meet Tara Rose, aka Frankie, estranged daughter and sister. Frankie and Mary had spoken on the phone twice and they had arranged to meet, here, now. Mary had asked Melissa to come as moral support and Melissa knew that if she didn’t come she would go mad in the wondering and thinking about Frankie. She had to be there.

  ‘I haven’t had a drink in two weeks,’ said Mary, suddenly.

  ‘Really, Mam?’ said Melissa, cautiously. A fortnight was definitely the longest Mary had ever managed before, not that she had ever tried particularly hard. ‘That’s good.’

  Mary nodded.

  ‘And how are the meetings going? Helpful?’

  ‘Difficult.’

  ‘But you will keep going, won’t you? You promised.’

  ‘I promise, Melissa,’ said Mary. ‘I promise.’

  ‘Mam, I know it’s not easy, I know it must be difficult. But you’ve got to do the meetings.’

  ‘I will,’ she said, taking the cup, it rattling on the saucer. Melissa noticed she looked worse, not better. At least, she thought, let’s just get this crazy meeting over with. And let’s see what this is like. She couldn’t imagine that Frankie was going to be normal in anyway. She hoped that this reunion would not just be a harbinger of the usual chaos and doom and set Mary on a backwards trajectory.

  Luckily, Melissa was developing her own support group. As well as Eilis and Steph, she now had a therapist on speed-dial. You had to be prepared these days, she decided. No one can do life totally alone, she thought. I need support. And I need to change.

  ‘So, what did Frankie sound like?’ Melissa was trying to be calm. ‘Did she sound nice?’

  ‘Very nice, yes,’ said Mary.

  ‘And what did she say?’ Melissa could feel her hackles rising at the lack of basic information. Keep calm, she told herself. Keep calm. She reminded herself where the door was. Being with her mother was like being on a plane. You always had to know where the emergency exits were. You never knew when you might have to escape. Mary sensed her frustration.

  ‘She lives in Howth and has a boy and girl. Caleb and Cara. Those are nice names, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yes…?’

  ‘I… I don’t know what else to say, Melissa.’

  ‘And she won’t mind me being here?’

  ‘You’re her sister. She says she’s looking forward to meeting you.’

  ‘Sister.’ Melissa tired out the word for size. Sister, that magical word. A sister. Her childhood dream. We’re quite a pair, thought Melissa. Poor Frankie, what disappointments we’re going to be.

  Melissa had just put a large shortbread biscuit in her mouth when she realized her mother was standing up to greet a woman in front of them, smiling.

  Frankie.

  ‘Come on,’ the stranger was saying, ‘we should have a hug. It’s not every day you meet your mother.’

  Melissa had never seen that before: her mother, in the embrace of another. She almost said: See Mum, not so difficult after all. But she managed to keep her mouth shut. She really didn’t want to frighten Frankie away.

  Although Melissa had expected this woman to be a stranger, she looked just like them. Or specifically, just like Mary, except younger and lighter, brighter. This is what Mam would have looked like if she hadn’t been so unhappy, if her tragedy hadn’t enveloped her, if she hadn’t begun drinking so heavily.

  ‘And you must be Melissa? It’s so lovely to meet you.’

  They stood there, looking at each other for a moment.

  ‘Hug?’ said Frankie.

  They laughed.

  ‘Why not?’

  Frankie may have been the cut of her mother, but there was a warmth and friendliness that Mary might have had if the circumstances had been different. Frankie was relaxed and was now ordering a fresh pot of tea. How could she be so laid-back when all this was so scary for all of them? But she appeared totally together, smiling, making eye contact. She looked happy.

  Oh, wait a minute, not so happy. Frankie’s eyes were full of tears.

  ‘Are you okay?’ said Melissa.

  Frankie was wrestling with a packet of tissues.

  ‘I knew I would need these… it’s just, you know, just a little overwhelming to meet you both. I’ve waited for forty
-five years for this.’

  ‘It’s just seeing you both here… all I’ve missed out. A mother… and a sister.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Melissa, taking her hand. ‘Me too.’ She smiled at Frankie. ‘Your family… your adopted family. Was it happy?’ Mary was listening to every word that Frankie said, but there was something in her eyes when Melissa spoke. What was it? Pride?

  ‘It was normal,’ said Frankie. ‘We were normally happy. She’s been a wonderful mother to me, but I always wondered, you know, about you.’ She spoke to Mary, who was still dabbing at her eyes. ‘And a sister, too! Well, that has been a shock,’ she said turning to Melissa. ‘A very nice, amazing, shock. I never imagined it, you. I never thought…’

  ‘It’s a shock for me too,’ said Melissa, feeling shy all of a sudden. ‘A good one.’ Maybe curveballs which life sometimes lobbed in your direction could be nice ones.

  Mary was looking at her long-lost daughter. ‘Your hair,’ she said. ‘It’s so dark.’

  ‘For some reason, I’m not going grey – yet. Was it the same for you?’

  ‘I think so… I don’t really remember.’

  ‘Yes, you didn’t go grey for ages, Mum,’ said Melissa, prompting her. ‘And then it went grey overnight, practically.’ She smiled at Frankie. ‘It’s all over for me though, I think. I’m like Gandalf under my hair dye.’

  Frankie laughed.

  ‘My beard’s pretty Gandalfy too,’ said Melissa.

  Frankie laughed again.

  ‘Tell us about Caleb and Cara,’ said Mary. ‘Melissa wants to know all about them. And I do as well,’ she said. Melissa realised that her mum was trying to make an effort.

  ‘I have photos.’ Frankie delved in her bag and produced pictures of two lovely-looking children, smiling for the camera. Frankie had brought other photographs, too; of her as a child, of her with her mam and dad, riding a pony, graduating, her wedding day and millions more of Caleb and Cara.

  Mary’s eyes filled with tears. ‘You’ve had a wonderful life,’ she said.

  Frankie laughed. ‘These are just the highlights. I didn’t photograph the ebbs. Or is it the flows? And I didn’t choose any photos of me with double chins and a big red face. Or my awkward years. Which lasted some decades.’