There once was a man who did tremble
There were words his tongue couldn’t assemble
On bended knee
He made his plea
Of that place he is sentimental
‘I’m loving this!’ Sharon admits. ‘Please let me know when you’re doing this again, I’d love to help. Where to next?’
‘How much time do you have, I thought you said you have a scan today?’
She looks guilty. ‘I made it up. I told my mum that so I could have a few hours off, I’m so tired,’ she says, her eyes glistening.
I hug her.
‘This is the perfect day, really, I know I wasn’t sure about this, Holly, but I’m fully behind you now. There is nothing wrong about doing any of this, and if you need me to tell Gabriel all about it, I will.’
My smile instantly fades at the mention of Gabriel, and I remember all over again that I’ve lost him. I gave him up. ‘It’s too late for that,’ I say, starting the engine.
We travel to Howth Harbour Lighthouse and Martello tower, built in 1817, where Bert proposed to Rita with fish and chips in their hands. The lighthouse caretaker emerges from the small Georgian-style house that is attached to the tower, listens to my story and does me the honour of accepting the letter for Rita. As with the hotel duty manager, and the security guard, I’m discovering that Bert’s story, a human story, is one that these busy people make time to listen to. They don’t divert me, or stonewall me. I’m not going to them with a complaint, I’m not trying to extort them. I’m just asking them to listen and to play their part in somebody’s dying wishes. The kindness of these strangers gives me hope, a faith in humanity: that though sometimes it may feel as though people are shutting down to others, devoid of compassion and empathy, we can still recognise when something is real. We are not altogether numb and unfeeling.
The caretaker takes the envelope containing the limerick:
There once was a fool who got lost
Who was greedy and ignored the cost
I’m sorry my love
From below and above
It’s here I felt your hate truly exhaust
‘I wonder what he did,’ Sharon says, as we walk back along the pier to the car park, eating our own fish and chips.
‘I think we can guess,’ Denise says, her words thick with cynicism.
‘I don’t know what you’re so angry about, you have a perfect husband who adores you and who stayed by your side through everything,’ Sharon snaps. I don’t have the energy to agree, after what Denise has thrown at me already today.
‘I know that,’ Denise says quietly. ‘That’s why he deserves more.’
We are all quietly thoughtful as we travel to our next destination, Sharon pondering the arrival of a baby into an already chaotic life, Denise pondering the demise of her marriage and a future that is not going according to plan. Me about … oh everything.
I park and we get out, looking out at the building Bert has led us to.
‘So this is where Rita forgave Bert,’ I say, looking up.
Our silence is broken as we break the sombre mood to laugh. It’s a hemp shop and tattoo parlour.
‘You never know, they might have gotten high and had his and her tattoos declaring their love,’ Denise suggests.
‘What will I do?’
‘You have to follow protocol,’ Sharon says, holding out her hand for me to lead the way.
I laugh, take a deep breath and enter.
The staff are the easiest of all the spots we’ve been at, they’re moved by the story and excited to play their part, and they even offer to throw in a complimentary tattoo for Rita on her arrival. It’s been a long day, and we’re all quiet, eager to finish. The final destination is a house in Glasnevin.
Sharon reads the limerick.
There once was a woman named Regret
Who had a twin who made her fret
It’s time to say hi
To the anger, goodbye
In this place where they both first met.
‘A woman named Regret,’ Sharon reads. ‘Is it all of us a few months from now?’
‘It’s about Rita,’ I explain, again shaking away the horrifying fear Denise has instilled in me. ‘The home belongs to Rita’s twin sister, where they were born and grew up. They had a falling out when their mother died, something to do with settling the estate. Her sister took everything and they never spoke again, nor do their families.’
‘Money makes people crazy,’ Denise says.
‘I think it’s better if you go in there alone,’ Sharon says.
I agree.
I limp up the pathway in the colourful neat and tidy garden that has been lovingly maintained. I ring the doorbell. It takes a while for the door to be answered and while I’ve only ever met Rita a few times, her sister is indeed the image of her, though harder-looking. She looks at me suspiciously through the glass in the side of the door and I realise that she has no intention of opening the door.
‘Bert sent me.’
She unlocks the door.
‘What do they want this time? My blood?’ she grunts, leaving the door open a little and shuffling back inside the house. I step inside and follow her into the TV room.
A TV guide is open on the coffee table, a biro has circled the chosen shows of the day. She slowly sits down in a worn armchair, face twisting with agony as she leans on her cane.
‘Can I help?’ I move closer to her.
‘No,’ she snaps.
She takes a moment to catch her breath, pulls her cardigan closed. ‘Hip replacement,’ she says, and eyes my boot. ‘What happened to you?’
‘A taxi hit me when I was cycling.’
‘They think they own the roads. Are you a lawyer?’ she barks.
‘No, definitely not.’
‘What then? What do they want from me?’
I retrieve the letter from my bag and hand it to her. ‘Bert wanted me to give you this. But it’s not for you to open. He wanted me to leave it with you for Rita to collect.’
She eyes it warily, as though it’s a bomb, refusing to take it. ‘Tell him I said he can keep it. I haven’t seen her for years. Bert knows that. I don’t know what he’s playing at. Sick games. Sick people, my sister and her husband.’
‘Bert passed away earlier today.’
The anger disappears from her face and her mouth opens in a silent ‘oh’. ‘I heard a while back that he was in hospital. What happened?’
‘Emphysema.’
She shakes her head. ‘He smoked forty fags a day. I told him, Bert, those bastards will kill you, but he never listened,’ she says angrily. ‘God rest his soul,’ she adds quietly, blessing herself.
‘I’d been spending time with him before he passed. He wanted to leave some letters for Rita, in places of importance.’
‘Trying to right his wrongs, is he? Well, isn’t that a fine thing when he’s dead? He doesn’t have to face it himself. She won’t come here,’ she says, the anger returning. ‘Haven’t spoken to her for seven years. Not without it being through a lawyer or nasty letter she’d send. I have them all, you can read them if you want, that’ll tell you who the real monster is.’
‘I’m not here to take sides,’ I say gently. ‘I don’t know what happened and I’m not judging. He asked me to deliver this to you and I promised him I would.’
‘Well, I’ll tell you what happened. And unlike them, I’ll tell you the truth. I spent every day with our mother when she was sick, brought her to every hospital appointment, bathed her, nursed her, moved in with her to care for her, and they all thought I was doing it to get the house.’ She raises her voice as though it was me who accused her. ‘What kind of sick people would think that? People who only want the house themselves, that’s who. Money, it was all about money to them. I moved in here because the care worker Rita organised was stealing from Mammy. Stole her toilet roll! Have you ever heard the likes of it? Paid for helping an old woman and you steal her toilet roll?! A
nd I save us all the money by doing it myself and I’m the thief?’ She points her finger at me, poking the air to send home every point. ‘They painted me as a con artist, a thief. Spread nasty rumours that the likes of everyone around here was talking about. Can you imagine? I never made Mammy change her will. Never. That was all her own doing. They make it sound like I held her hand and forced her to write. Rita and Bert were fine, Mammy knew I needed it. She left it to me. I couldn’t change that.’ She sits back, recharging for her next outburst. ‘Then when they found out? Ah Lord be God, World War Three broke out. All of a sudden I was a monster. They wanted to make me sell the house. Thought they deserved half of the money. Sent solicitor’s letters and all kinds of scare tactics. And for what? So they could go on more holidays? Buy a new car? Pay college fees to bail out their drug addict son who failed all his exams? Oh so high and mighty, everyone knows what that boy was like, but Rita, no, she’d pretend everything was perfect, better than everyone else. She was always like that.’ She looks into the distance, her teeth gritted with anger. ‘Mammy left this house to me and I had nothing to do with putting that in her head.’
‘I don’t doubt that,’ I say, wondering how to extract myself from this.
‘They all turned their backs on me. Even the kids, my own nieces and nephews, think I’m the devil. Don’t speak to mine either. Cousins who adored each other,’ she says, shaking her head angrily. ‘Ripped the family apart, Bert and Rita. I’ll never forgive them. Mammy wanted me here. Her mind was as clear as crystal when she did what she did. You can’t blame the dead. A dying wish is a dying wish.’
I find my moment. I place the envelope down on the opened TV guide where I know it will be seen. ‘And this is Bert’s.’
I get into the car with a long sigh, relieved to be out of there, feeling her words ringing in my ears. You can’t blame the dead.
‘What took you so long?’ Denise asks.
‘I’m exhausted after that. There is some bad blood there.’
‘Do you think Bert’s letter will work?’
‘I have no idea,’ I say, rubbing my eyes tiredly. ‘I hope so.’
It’s 6 p.m., it’s been a full long day, a fruitful day but a draining one. Going on somebody else’s personal journey has brought us back into our own, has made us contemplative, and reflective of our own lives.
‘I don’t suppose she’ll let me use her toilet,’ Sharon says.
I laugh. ‘I dare you to try.’
‘I’ll wait,’ she says, moving around uncomfortably in the back. ‘There’s one more envelope left, the first one.’
‘Yes,’ I say, concerned, unsure how I’m going to pull this one off.
‘Do you give it directly to Rita?’ Sharon asks.
‘Yeah, kind of,’ I say, shrugging it off.
‘So not exactly,’ Sharon says, not letting it go. ‘Where do you put the first letter, Holly?’
I clear my throat, nervously. ‘Bert wanted the first letter in his hands, for Rita to find.’
Sharon’s eyes widen. ‘In the coffin?’
Denise cracks up so much, she’s doubled over in the back seat.
‘How are you going to pull that off?’ Sharon asks.
‘What are you going to do?’ Denise asks, wiping the tears of laughter from the corners of her leaking eyes. ‘Crack open the coffin at the funeral?’
‘I don’t know, I hadn’t quite ironed that one out with Bert, but I suppose I’ll go to the funeral parlour, so that he has it in his hands when he arrives at the house.’
‘They won’t let you near him, you’re not family!’ Sharon says, and Denise continues laughing until she’s red in the face.
‘I’ll tell them it’s under his instruction. It’s what Bert wanted.’
‘Unless you have written instructions from Bert or his family, there’s no way they’re going to let a random stranger put a letter in a dead man’s hands. Holly, honestly, you’ve some ground rules to iron out before you continue with this.’
‘I know,’ I say quietly, chewing my fingernails. ‘He’s having a wake. He’ll be laid out in his house for a few days. I’ll ask for a moment alone with him and I’ll place it in his hands.’
‘You were lucky with the security guard, the hotel and the hemp shop, but I don’t think a funeral parlour is going to allow you to place a letter with unknown contents in a dead man’s hands.’
‘OK, Sharon! I get it!’
The girls are quiet. I think they have accepted this plan but out of nowhere Sharon snorts and the two of them dissolve into convulsions again.
I roll my eyes, agitated, not finding this or their laughter at all funny.
I’d laugh along with them but I can’t get to their place. This is serious for me.
Seven years ago Gerry set me on a path of new adventure, seven years later his actions are continuing me on my adventure.
Life has roots, and death, death grows them too.
28
‘Oh! Excuse me!’ I say with surprise, backing away from the stockroom and reversing to the shop. ‘Ciara,’ I hiss, finding her cleaning the mirror in the changing room. ‘There’s a man on his knees in the stockroom.’
‘You’re always on your knees in the stockroom.’
‘Not praying, I’m not.’
‘That’s Fazeel, our new volunteer – he started today. He’s going to cover security. He has to pray five times a day, so don’t be in there at dawn, noon, afternoon, sunset or night.’
‘Three of those times are not an issue for me, but it’s neither dawn nor noon at the moment.’ I look at my watch.
‘He said he slept it out this morning,’ she says, shrugging. ‘It’ll only be for a few minutes each time. His wife had cancer, he wants to help out.’ She eyes the bicycle I’ve brought through the shop to store in the stockroom. ‘Did you cycle to work?’
‘No I just thought it would be a pretty accessory.’
‘You’re not supposed to be cycling.’
‘They said I could exercise with the boot. And I really missed it.’ I mock cry. ‘Anyway, it’s great we have a new volunteer because I need to take a few hours off today.’ I scrunch my face up and wait for her to holler.
‘Again?’
‘I know. I’m sorry I’ve been asking a lot of you for the past few weeks.’
‘Months,’ she says firmly. ‘And that’s fine, because I’m your sister and I can tolerate your little meltdown mid-life crisis, but seriously Holly, what is it this time?’
‘Bert, a member of the PS, I Love You Club died, and I need to attend his wake. I have to deliver the final letter. Or rather, technically, the first letter.’
Her eyes widen. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I’m telling you now.’
‘I should have known something was up, you’ve been so quiet the past few days.’
‘Actually, that’s because Gabriel and I broke up.’ I squeeze my eyes shut again and brace myself for impact.
She slumps in the armchair by the dressing room and tears fill her eyes. ‘I knew this would happen. This is my fault. It’s because of the club, isn’t it? He couldn’t deal with it? It’s because of the podcast, I shouldn’t have asked you. Things in your life were going just fine until I opened this can of worms.’
‘Ciara,’ I smile, going to her and kneeling down before her. Typical Ciara that I’m consoling her after my own break-up. ‘We didn’t break up because of the podcast, it had nothing to do with that. We had other problems, which may have been highlighted because of it. It was my decision. As for the club, you played a part in making something wonderful happen. I’m helping people in a way that I was helped. It’s a gift. Come with me today, and you’ll see. And to be honest, I could do with an accomplice, because what I have to do isn’t going to be easy.’
‘Mathew!’ Ciara calls and Mathew appears in the shop. ‘Holly and I have to go out for a few hours, can you take over out here?’ She makes her way over to him and kisses him passionately.
‘I thought you just hired someone,’ he says, wiping his mouth.
‘Yes, but he’s praying.’
Mathew watches us leave, confused, and I throw him an apologetic look.
Joy, Paul and Ginika are waiting at Bert’s for me. I introduce them to Ciara, she greets them as though they are royalty and they all look at me, nervous and expectant.
‘Rita hasn’t found the letter,’ Joy whispers.
‘I know. I haven’t had a chance to deliver it yet.’
‘Oh goodness,’ Joy says, worriedly, fidgeting.
‘Hello,’ Rita says, coming from the kitchen to the hallway to greet yet another visitor. ‘You’re very kind for coming over.’ She’s dressed in a black shift dress, a black cardigan with a St Bridget’s Cross brooch. She takes my hand. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name. I’m seeing so many people today.’
‘Holly, and this is my sister Ciara. I’m very sorry for your loss, Rita.’
‘Thank you, both. These are Bert’s book club friends,’ she introduces me to Joy, Ginika and Paul. ‘This is, was,’ she corrects herself. ‘Bert’s reflexologist.’
Ginika’s eyes widen and I see one of her rare smiles form on her lips. She has to turn away and bury her face in Jewel’s fluffy crown to hide her smile.
‘Oh, how interesting,’ Paul says, face lighting up. ‘Where do you practise?’
I throw him a warning look and he smiles sweetly. They’re all enjoying this. Their little secret.
‘I was sent from the hospital.’
‘The hospital? Which hospital?’ Paul asks, following along as Rita leads me to the living room. Ciara trails behind.
‘Bert’s hospital,’ I reply, throwing him a look over my shoulder. He chuckles.
‘Actually, Rita, I was hoping I could have a moment with Bert, if possible,’ I ask awkwardly.
If she is unnerved by the foot doctor’s request, she doesn’t show it. She opens the door and I’m faced with thirty people crammed into the small living room surrounding the open casket in the centre. All eyes turn to me and Ciara.
Postscript Page 18