by N. M. Brown
He should have known better.
And Sage. Shit. She had looked so broken when Echo had sneered about his past. He should have just let Echo walk on out when she wanted to. Instead, his good nature made her stay, raising her hackles and causing her to attack. Sage had seemed so… devastated.
And then there was Anna who hadn’t even been present but was such a massive part of the problem. He needed to deal with her soon… Heavens’ above- ‘problem’ and ‘deal,’ he sounded like a mobster, like she was an unruly lacky he needed to fix.
“Fuck,” He whispered to himself, falling on the bare bed.
He had no new bedding, he couldn’t afford it. All his money went to Anna; Anna who was meant to be in Ireland. Anna who was his wife. Anna who he was meant to be with, now and forever, until death do they part and meet in Heaven.
He sunk lower and lower into the mattress, his sorrow and pain slicing his soul open into ribbons. He hadn’t slept in the early evening hours, and he had a few more before he’d awaken for work. He could just rest… just for a bit. He could lay there for a while, hoping for a miracle just around the corner…
◆◆◆
A fresh start, his Ma had insisted. Their Priest, the one who’d taken McQueen back to the lake weeks after his Da went missing, had plead with Ma to stay. She needed satiability. She needed a helping hand and a community behind her, but Ma wouldn’t listen.
She’d packed them up in the back of the car, shoving in anything that would fit and left. McQueen was too young to remember much, and his head was still turning: ‘Where was Da?’ Where were they going? Was Da there? Was he coming with them or meeting them there?’
The next week he was at a new school. HIs old small village school had only a handful of children in his class, with the local post-lady as their teacher and they’d worked on paper books, white boards and everyone knew everyone.
His Ma had moved them to the outskirts of Dublin, and so close to the city meant the number of students in one class rapidly expanded. Lost in a sea of unfriendly, unfamiliar faces, McQueen had retreated in upon himself. He remembered the break times he spent alone and the lunches where he just picked at his sandwich. He’d made them for himself every morning and he was having to use less and less chocolate spread.
His Ma hadn’t been… around much after they’d moved. She’d spend days in bed, or sat on the couch with Shauna, not moving, not helping. He’d asked her one night, just after they’d arrived, if he could have a bath; extra bubbles. His Ma had cheered, saying of course and excitedly pored the lotion into the tub. McQueen remembered being so excited… but then she’d forgotten, and the tub had overflowed, spilling water everywhere.
Ma had been so mad and started to cry screaming that having a bath was stupid, they couldn’t afford it. It was a waste. After that, McQueen learnt to shower on his own, began to make his own food too and whenever his Ma seemed upset, he quietly stayed in his room.
He remembered it had been autumn; the leaves were falling, it was only getting colder and his Ma hadn’t packed any winter gear in their flight from home. Because of that, McQueen stood shivering in the school doorway, watching everyone else enjoy games of tag or football; their loud laughter assaulting his ears. Every morning McQueen dreaded getting up that little more.
Through the winter months, he’d spent the entire time inside and whenever a teacher asked him to go out, he’d snarl, telling them to go away. As more weeks went by, they gave up trying. They must have seen him as he walked home, his shoulders hunched in the cold, his skin deathly pale and thought they’d spare him more chapped lips and blue fingertips.
“I hate the cold.” A sweet voice had spoken up next to him one random day in the week. “I can never get warm again.”
Looking up from holey shoes, McQueen saw a pretty girl with fire red hair. Later he would call her beautiful and stunning, but at such a tender age, pretty was good enough. “Don’t you just hate the cold?” She asked him.
McQueen loved the cold, in fact, the colder the better. He loved the sharp nip on his nose and the way the trees looked whole again, cover in white fluff. He liked throwing snowballs at large brick walls to make patterns, but what he loved most was the warm hot chocolates he got after a long day, and the mountain of whipped cream his Da would give him.
But Da wasn’t here anymore. There were no hot chocolates, or open parks with lots of trees. There was no snow, just grey sludge and even if there was, he couldn’t play in it; he had no coat. Nothing was the same anymore. “Yer, the cold sucks.” He answered kicking his feet.
“I’m Anna.” She introduced herself. “You’re the new kid, right? I heard Bobby. G making fun of your name: Can-of-ice?”
McQueen scowled harder and snap back at her just as he’d done to the bully. “It’s said Canice. Can-iss!! And don’t call me that. Its McQueen. Everyone can call me McQueen.”
But all Anna had done was smile and looked back out to the playground with a sighed. “Ok, Canice. We can be friends because you don’t like that cold and I don’t like the cold. Ok?” She told him and just as like that, she walked out the door letting the cold, harsh wind knock at McQueen’s knees as he stood chattering in his shorts. And just like that, they were.
Every day after that, his fire head friend came back every lunch time before running off join the others outside, but without fail she chatted to him. Then, when things warmed up, she would talk to him on the playground, then in the school corridors. The more she talked to him, the more he looked forward to it, until the point he’d seek her out. He expected rejection, but she allowed him to join her friends and he chatted to them too.
Soon he went on play dates, sleepovers and parks, over and over, again and again and he felt… happy. No one bullied him about his name or about being alone, or that his sandwiches looked funny. Anna and her friends were the ‘popular’ kids and so McQueen was one of them too. And it was McQueen. No one called him ‘Can of Ice’ again.
His Ma had brightened too. She started to get up more, tidy the house more. When Shauna was old enough to go to day care, she got a part time job in the local shop which meant McQueen no longer had to save his chocolate spread; he used as much as he wanted. She allowed more bubble baths, and she cooked a big Sunday dinner every week after church, always making Yorkshire puddings the size of McQueen’s head. Home was normal again.
When it was time to go onto high school, McQueen didn’t even sweat it. Everyone in the area went to the same place and he was no different, even ending up in the same class as Anna. Some of their friends moved classes, made new friends or wandered away finding themselves in their growing youth, but Anna - his fire head - was always there.
◆◆◆
“My light.” McQueen whispered to himself into his dark, empty room, picturing her behind closed eyes.
That was what he had called her on their wedding day at the tender age of six-teen; his light that shone with brightness he couldn’t look away from. She had blushed profusely as he gushed in front of their friends and family, but he didn’t care.
She hadn’t diverted from the pastor’s words, but love shone in her eyes through the entire ceremony and he didn’t doubt their happiness for a moment.
However, McQueen's smile soured quickly at the thought of the months following: the angry screams she flung at him, the nights she stayed up crying in his arms, professing how sorry she was and how she didn’t mean it.
He remembered the mood swings and the accusations: she said he was cheating, that he was leaving her, that he hated the way she looked. She would test him, spy on him, follow him when she wasn’t convinced. Over and over he’d consoled her, proved himself to her and every time she sobbed, saying she silly, she was protected. He never told his mates what troubles they were having, or his family. Maybe if he had, things could have changed…
McQueen’s gut didn’t believe that for a second. So, he pushed that niggling thought away and gently pulled his covers over himself. No matter who he
would have told, no matter who he confided in, the events that passed wouldn’t have changed…
◆◆◆
“It’s just a few nights in Dublin.” She laughed at him, slowly moving around their cramped room in their cramped apartment. They’d moved in as newly-weds, excited to make it their home and add beautiful touches. So far, they still lived out of boxes with nothing on the walls, but they were happy.
“I’ll be fine.” She smiled.
“I know you will.” McQueen had replied with a crooked grin, “But we both know it’s not just you I’m worried about.” Anna smiled and tucked her chin against her chest as she placed a loving hand on her belly. It was starting to protrude, and he adored the sight of it.
“I know, I know, but McQueen-Junior will be safe in mummy’s hands.” She said, rubbing soothing circles on her belly.
“That doesn’t mean daddy doesn’t worry.” McQueen joked but grew serious as he saw that round hump; the most cherished sight he’d ever seen… “Please don’t go Anna.” He begged again in a soft whisper, knowing her reaction already.
She stiffened, clenching an old pink top in her hands. It wouldn’t fit over her stomach anymore, but she insisted one day, everything she owned would fit again so they’d kept it all.
“Will you stop asking me that Canice!” She spat calling him by his first name. She was the only one allowed to use it, as over the years she’d wore him down and now, as his wife, he’d wanted something special with her so, Canice stuck. “I want to go. I need to go. Stop trying to take my fun.”
“I’m not trying to Anna. I’m just-,”
“Worried.” She snapped “I know. Over and over you keep saying you’re worried. Well stop it! Stop worrying about the damn child for one moment and think of me.” McQueen swallowed as Anna pointed an accusing finger at him. “You say I need to have fun and I need to go out, but every time I do you flap like a mother hen. You tell me to be carefuf, be safe. Don’t you trust me?”
“You know I do Anna, but-,”
“No! No.” She interrupted, “I love you and I love this baby, but I need to love myself.” She took a breath and let it out. “We went to prom Canice. I wore my stunning green dress and we danced and twirled and were crowned King and Queen. We went to the hotel and we made love.” Tears streamed down Anna’s face and McQueen desperately want to wipe them away, but that would just set her off again. He’d tried before. “We made passionate love and did it over and over. Then three weeks later I told you I was pregnant, and you just fell to your knees and proposed.”
“I know Anna. I was there.” McQueen said softly.
He’d seen the fear in Anna’s eyes when she’d told him, and he knew he’d do anything to make that fear go away. He’d gone to church many times after that night, asking for God forgiveness. He knew he should have waited until his wedding night and bed only his wife, but they’d spiked the punch so much, and Anna had looked so stunning… When she’d told him she was pregnant, he felt the world start to crash around him and he wondered if this was God’s punishment. It took him only a second to fall to one knee and ask for her hand.
“And when I asked you, you said yes. A thousand times yes.”
“I knew I wouldn’t be alone with you at my side.” Anna was smiling again and then she laughed, shaking her head. “And then we were wed’ so our child would come into a complete family. I was in my dream dress that showed my slim body, you were in your tux. We were married so quickly.”
Walking over, Anna slipped onto the bed and sat beside McQueen. “We moved so fast, and I love my life, but I need this. I need my hen party. I need to have my fun before everything changes.”
McQueen looked at her, worry still filling his heart as she kissed him; a quick peck on his cheek. Then she kissed him again, this time on his lips and he felt the warm bump of her belly push into his side. “Ok.” He complied, pushing down his paranoia. “Have… fun.” And he forced a smile. For her, he would force anything if she was happy.
“Thank you.” She rewarded him with another kiss, smiling sweetly before returning to pack her bag. “And besides I’m not alone. I’ll have Betty and the girls there. This is my hen party weekend. We’ll have fun, a few mocktails and a dance or two. Don’t worry. I won’t be too naughty.” She winked over her shoulder.
And for those few nights, McQueen hadn’t slept. He’d tossed and turned, feeling her cold empty side of the bed. He went to church every morning and prayed for her safety and the safety of his child, also thanking the Lord repeatedly for his understanding, that he no longer thought his fatherhood a punishment, but instead a gift. Yet despite all this, it didn’t stop the phone call at midnight, nor the stagnant pool of worry that flare to life in his gut.
“Is this-… Canice McQueen?” A female voice had asked down the phone when he’d answered.
“Yes.” McQueen held his breath.
“Hello Mr. McQueen. I’m calling from Dublin Memorial Hospital in Dublin. It’s with regards to your wife.”
McQueen's stomached dropped and he’d bubbled out all his questions at once: what was wrong with Anna? Where was she? Was she ok? What had happened? But, the Nurse wouldn’t give information down the phone and just explained he had to make his way to the hospital as soon as possible.
He made it two hours later, still in his sleep shirt and yesterday’s jeans. He was sure his shoes were odd too becuase the Nurses looked at him with pity. “My name is Canice McQueen. I’m here to see my wife.” He spoke in out of breath as he approached the cold, sterile Reception desk. He knew. He already knew.
The nurse pointed him in the right direction and the Doctor met him outside the room where Anna lay asleep. She had her back to him, her red hair curled up on her head and his heart clenched with the hope she was ok, that she was healthy and so was their baby…
“Mr. McQueen, thank you for getting here so quickly. I know that couldn’t have been easy.”
McQueen didn’t even look at the woman’s face, just nodded and asked the question that had been burning up his lungs for the past two hours. “What happened Doctor?”
Looking into the room too, the Doctor didn’t even need to look at her clip board, as if she’d been preparing herself by remembering at the notes just for this moment. “I’m not aware of the finer details; but I do know your wife was feeling unwell in the early evening and left her friends to lie down in her hotel room. She went to take a bath - too relax - where she fell asleep. Luckily, the water wasn’t very deep, or your wife could have drowned.”
McQueen begged the Doc to hurry up. The details didn’t matter, he just needed to know. To confirm.
“When she awoke an hour later, she was bathing in blood, her genital region inflamed and in a serious amount of pain. She called her friends who came to help and who then called the ambulance.” The Doctor clasped her hands in front of her, the universal move by all doctors when they were about to give bad news and McQueen felt sick. “It was confirmed on arrival that your wife had a miscarriage. We gave her some drugs for the pain and tried everything we could, but we were unable to save the fetus. I am terribly sorry Mr. McQueen. I can offer some good grief counsel-…”
Whatever the Doctor had said next though was blurred out by the high pitched ringing in McQueen’s ears. His knees had buckled, and he hit the ground hard, sending vibrations up every bone in his body. He was numb, head-to-toe and continued to be for years.
He didn’t remember the days after, the weeks or months; they had all just blurred.
Three years later, he’d passed his Police training and worked the Dublin streets.
Two years later he was a Detective.
Within a month of his promotion, he was transferred to Rippling and Anna had refused to come with him. She was happy in Ireland, her friends where in Ireland and so was their family. She argued with him over and over about staying but he hadn’t heard any of it. He’d been a coward and run away. As he thought about it now, he still couldn’t say why he’d left. H
e knew he’d never recovered from what had happened, and he’d known his duty as a husband and yet still he’d left.
