Guilty

by Siobhan MacDonald

  Luke explained that he and Alison had both agreed on the urgency of extricating Nina from the relationship. In fact, Alison had given up an entire evening to discuss a plan to send their only child away. Luke couldn’t help but feel that Alison’s motivation in removing Nina was less about their daughter’s welfare than Alison’s new career. As he sat now in the green upholstered chair, it pained him to recall their conversation with Nina.

  ‘But this is crazy,’ she protested. ‘I’m eighteen.’ She looked up from her cornflakes, incredulous. ‘I’m an adult. You can’t go around telling me what to do. You can’t pack me off like a forced rendition. I’ve done nothing wrong.’

  It was slowly sinking in that her mother was deadly serious.

  ‘Tell her, Dad.’ Nina pointed at Luke with her spoon.

  Luke let Alison do the talking. ‘You’re still my daughter, sweetie, and while you’re under my roof, I can and I will tell you what to do. You’re going away until you get this scum out of your system.’

  ‘I’ll see whoever I want.’ Nina shoved the bowl of cornflakes away. ‘I’m not six years old any more. You can’t lock me away like Grandpa did at Crow Hall, under the stairs with the ghost of Marigold Piper.’ Local legend had it that in times gone by a young child had disappeared near Crow Hall and that her ghost roamed about the house at night. ‘You can’t hide me away like it’s the fucking eighteenth century!’ She sprang up from her chair.

  ‘Make no mistake, Nina. It is happening. It’s all arranged.’

  ‘What a pity the Magdalene Laundries are all gone,’ Nina said. ‘You could have told the nuns to keep a hold of me, make sure I never got out. Make sure I never tell about your’s and Grandpa’s secrets.’

  Alison’s face went dark. ‘I think you’re losing the run of yourself, Nina.’

  ‘Really? All those times when you were in a huddle in Crow Hall? You think I didn’t listen? I had no one to play with in that house. What else was I going to do?’

  ‘It’s decided.’ Alison wasn’t budging. ‘You’re going. When you see sense you can come back and knuckle down to college. Your dad and I have discussed this.’

  Nina glared at Luke accusingly.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re siding with her. I can’t believe you’re actually making me do this.’

  She turned back to Alison.

  ‘And as for you, you’re a fucking control freak.’

  She picked up her bowl of cornflakes and launched it against the kitchen wall. The bowl cracked and soggy cornflakes slid down the pristine paintwork.

  ‘Not cool, Nina,’ said Alison calmly.

  Early the following morning, Nina bent to cuddle Duffy. She straightened up, walked right past Luke, and proceeded through the front door with her suitcase. She got into Alison’s car without ever turning around.

  Luke went to the front door with the dog. He watched as Alison slipped into the driver’s seat and applied mascara in the rear-view mirror. Reversing towards the door, she wound down her window.

  ‘Get on to Sly, will you, Luke? He was supposed to do a few jobs around the house. And while he’s at it, ask him to touch up the kitchen wall.’

  Sly Hegarty did a host of odd-jobs for Cornelius as well as working in the scrapyard. He also did general maintenance and looked after the garden at the Glasshouse.

  The gates opened and Alison drove off. Duffy gave a plaintive whimper. Luke felt like part of him had wrenched away. Nina had to go, he told himself. It was for the best. Things were getting messy. He would get on with things here at home and busy himself at work. There was no shortage of that and he had a paper on prosthetic valves to make some headway on.

  Nina would get over this guy with distance and time. This would all blow over. And in years to come she would thank them for what they’d done. With a little luck it wouldn’t be that long until she was home again.

  ‘I hear how much Nina’s going has upset you,’ said Terence. He was at the office window again. The car alarm was wailing. ‘It’s a textbook conflict, you and Nina.’ He checked in on Luke over his shoulder. ‘You’re bound to miss her.’

  ‘I do. It’s mostly me and the dog.’

  The wailing stopped. Brushing against the rubber plant, Terence sat back down, crossing his legs. He made church steeples with his hands.

  ‘Tell me more about Nina,’ he said. ‘The arrival of children changes every marriage.’

  And there it was. The time had come. ‘You two are like teeth in a zip.’ That’s what Alison said. If he did a persuasive job, he might be able to get Terence to understand. Terence might be able to see things from Luke’s point of view. He might not judge too harshly.

  Luke had gone through it all again in his head. He knew he was taking a risk by even talking. How could he be sure Terence wouldn’t go straight to the police? That was the crux of it. He couldn’t be sure. The outcome was uncertain. All he could do was make a calculated guess. Which he had. He’d thought it through.

  Terence must have heard countless confessions in his former life as a priest. He must have winced, recoiled and shuddered at things that he had heard. All Luke could hope was that the seal of the confessional was so ingrained that the therapist was unlikely to rush with tattle-tales to the police. He could only hope that old habits die hard.

  Luke opened his mouth to speak, but it was difficult to know where to start. The early days of his marriage, perhaps? Yes, that was as good a place as any. That was probably where the story of Nina started. Clearing his throat, and hoping that he wasn’t making a terrible mistake, he began.

  ‘Before I talk about Nina …’ he paused, ‘you need to understand a bit about myself and Alison. About what it was like in the beginning.’

  In the Beginning

  The short Kilimanjaro trip doubled as their honeymoon just as Alison had planned. Before Kilimanjaro was the wedding. Luke recalled being on call right up until the night before, driving down from Dublin, not arriving at the lough until shy of midnight.

  ‘Sixteen years ago, Alison and I were busy with our careers. It was a hectic time …’ Luke hesitated, still unsure. He circled his thumbs.

  ‘Go ahead,’ Terence coaxed, pointing his steepled hands in Luke’s direction.

  Luke closed his eyes and cast his mind back. He’d been looking forward to the day. The reception was to be in a large white marquee on the front lawn at Crow Hall. His share of the wedding-guest list was small: his sister Wendy, Aunt Christine, another widowed aunt, and a handful of pals from school and university. Unlike the Thompsons whose share ran from senators, politicians and police, to the CEOs of children’s charities. Luke assumed many of the unfamiliar faces wandering through the house and gardens belonged to the hunting set and people of influence in the county.

  Alison was disappointed that only one of her friends from school could make the wedding. Nicola Mitchell. If Alison’s schoolfriends were anything like Nicola, Luke was relieved they couldn’t make it. Alison had described Nicola as a ‘gas woman’. In Luke’s opinion the woman was brash and attention-seeking. Several times during the ceremony she roared ‘hear hear’, standing to toast them with her naggin of vodka decorated with a white ribbon.

  ‘It was an odd sort of day, to be honest,’ Luke confessed.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Terence.

  ‘Well, I pretty much felt like a guest at my own wedding.’

  It was the first time in years Luke had thought about that day. He remembered Cornelius’s speech. That memory made him squirm. He remembered the nervous feeling as his father-in-law stood to speak.

  ‘Esteemed friends,’ boomed Cornelius, ‘you see before you here today a proud father. I’m sure Alison’s dear departed mother, Marguerite, is also looking down with pride. Alison is a credit to us both. I’m sure you’ll all agree I schooled her well.’ There followed murmurs of approval. ‘And now the bold Luke Forde has gone and hitched his wagon to my star.’

  Cornelius droned on, thanking any dignitaries for coming, n
aming them all individually. Luke felt superfluous to proceedings. Cornelius thanked the local caterers before turning any further attention on him. And then, what Cornelius delivered in supposed compliment proved to be acutely embarrassing.

  Cornelius gave a detailed account of Luke’s résumé. Someone had filled him in on Luke’s career and had told him that Luke had been the top-performing student in his year. Luke sat, mortified, wanting the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

  It was Alison’s turn to be embarrassed when Cornelius spoke of continuing the Thompson line. She turned to Luke and winced. Quite how that was supposed to work, Luke couldn’t fathom. Any children from their marriage would bear the Forde name. As the speech rambled on, it began to feel like a political manifesto more than a blessing for Luke and Alison’s life together.

  ‘Interesting man, your father-in-law,’ Wendy remarked afterwards.

  Cornelius seemed to find Luke’s sister, Wendy, equally curious. He gawked darkly at her as she sat a table away, her arm around her girlfriend at the time. Later, when the music started, Cornelius slung an arm around Luke’s shoulders. The two men were standing on the marquee dancefloor and watching as Alison did the macarena with the flower girls.

  ‘Welcome to the family, Luke,’ Cornelius said. ‘You’re one of us from today.’

  ‘You’re stuck with me now.’ Luke grinned.

  Cornelius’s expression changed. ‘Listen here, lad, don’t misunderstand when I say this.’ He lowered his voice. ‘We’re tight here at Crow Hall. The thing is, the way it is, lad …’ he paused to puff on his cigar, ‘if you’re not with us, you’re against us.’ He didn’t look at Luke but continued to survey the dancefloor.

  Luke blinked, searching for a response. In the end he said nothing. It seemed a strange wedding blessing. His new father-inlaw now turned to him. ‘And Luke, I expect you’ll look after my daughter,’ he said. ‘I’ve taken very good care of Alison up to now. You’ll do exactly the same.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Cornelius made a smacking sound with his cigar.

  ‘Mmm.’ He looked at Luke. ‘She said you’d fit in nicely,’ he said, puffing. ‘That you were suitable. I guess we’ll have to see.’

  Luke found the words unnerving. Suitable for what? It was his wedding night and he should be celebrating. Though not a fan of dancing, he left Cornelius and made off into the thick of the dancefloor.

  Despite the mention of children in Cornelius’s speech, Luke couldn’t recall having any discussion with Alison about a family of their own. There never seemed the need. Alison’s interest in children was implicit in all she said and did. Just like most couples, Luke assumed they’d get around to having them at some stage, at some point in the future, when the time was right.

  From the outset, Alison had supported Luke, often to the detriment of her own career. My turn will come, she’d say. It was Alison who’d encouraged Luke to take up the post in Edinburgh when it looked like promotion wouldn’t happen speedily at home. There’s no point in hanging around here, she’d said. It was she who organised the flats, the drinks parties, and the beer and chilli nights to break the ice with new colleagues.

  Outside salaried fundraising, Alison volunteered on fundraisers with colleagues’ wives. And when Luke got a posting to Great Ormond Street, she moved from Edinburgh to London without complaint. She set aside friendships she’d made, sidelining her own ambitions so his might flourish. Plans for children were always somewhere in the future.

  All that changed when Cornelius had his heart attack. Alison was in tears. Luke remembered how strange it looked to see her like that. He’d never seen her cry before. Upset about her father, she fretted about the running of Crow Hall.

  Spotting a vacancy for a senior reg position in the new cardiac surgery unit in St Matthew’s University Hospital, Alison suggested Luke put himself forward for the job. How fortuitous, she said. A job in Ireland, close to County Clare and Crow Hall. An indication that the economic climate had changed, she said. They should take it as their cue to return and progress Luke’s career back in Ireland. Once home at Crow Hall she could help Cornelius back to health and oversee things until he got better.

  Luke was cautiously optimistic about his chances of getting the position. At the same time, he had to manage his wife’s expectations. Of course he would get the job, she declared. She looked at him, bemused. He knew some day her unerring faith in him would lead to disappointment. But not on this occasion. Luck was in his favour. Luke was delighted when, after the interview process, he was offered the job. Of course you were, said Alison. I never doubted you, she said. Alison headed back to County Clare and Crow Hall. Luke followed a number of weeks later, having finished his notice period.

  He felt uncomfortable moving into Crow Hall, however temporary the sojourn might prove. He put the unnamed feeling of unease down to the transition between countries, jobs and houses. The truth was he disliked being a guest in another man’s home, even if that man was his father-in-law. He accepted that Alison wanted to be with her father to oversee his recovery, however, and she had suffered upheaval enough at Luke’s hands. He would put up with the transient discomfort to see her happy.

  ‘You know, Luke, I no longer feel immortal or that our lives are infinite,’ she said one evening in the kitchen at Crow Hall. It had once been the great hall with an open, cavernous fireplace. A range cooker now sat in the recess. The rest of the staff had gone home for the night. Cornelius was sleeping with a rug on his lap next to a crackling fire in the damp drawing room at the front of the house. ‘Dad’s heart attack has made me think.’

  ‘Maybe it’s time we thought about children of our own?’ he put it to her. It seemed natural in the circumstances to think about the next generation. At times such as these, the instinct for survival made its presence felt.

  That’s when Alison told him. That night in the kitchen in Crow Hall. For the briefest of moments, he wondered if he’d misheard. It was so unexpected, so shocking, that he’d stared at her, dazed and wordless.

  Marfan syndrome.

  ‘What’s Marfan syndrome?’ Terence asked. He looked lost.

  The query confirmed Luke’s suspicion that Terence was not from a medical background. His title had likely come from a doctorate in psychology.

  ‘Can you elaborate?’ Terence asked.

  Luke obliged. ‘Marfan syndrome is a disease of the connective tissue affecting the heart and the skeletal frame.’

  ‘That sounds serious.’

  ‘It can be,’ Luke explained. ‘Marfan sufferers often have mitral valve damage and enlarged diameters of the aorta.’ He tried to simplify the explanation. ‘This can sometimes lead to aortic rupture and cardiac arrest.’

  ‘Not good.’

  ‘Not the best, no,’ Luke agreed. ‘Some patients have aortic root replacement to reduce the possibility of that occurring. But that all depends on the diameter of the aorta, and whether the aorta is considered to be under pressure.’

  Terence’s eyes glazed over. ‘And your wife Alison has this … this syndrome?’

  Luke wondered how much of this Terence was following. There was little point in burdening him with medical jargon. He’d try to put it as simply as possible.

  ‘Yes, she does,’ he replied. ‘Marfan syndrome requires lifestyle changes. And it does of course have some far-reaching consequences.’

  His mouth was dry and his tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth.

  Terence noted his discomfort. ‘Can I get you another glass of water?’ He poured without waiting for a reply.

  Luke reached for the glass. The air in the office was dry, heavy and a fraction too warm. Unlike the damp chill that had gripped him in the lower back that night in the kitchen in Crow Hall.

  Raymond Grogan

  Luke gripped the wooden table to steady himself. His thumbs were squeezing white against the oak. He knew by Alison’s expression that she was deadly serious. She didn’t do preamble. She didn’t tread
softly towards unpleasantness. She locked horns with it. She was looking at him, following his expression, gauging his reaction. Observing the effect of her words as they struck home.

  ‘Are you telling me …’ he had to be absolutely sure.

  ‘Yes,’ she confirmed.

  Christ.

  Sitting there, the seconds ticking by, he felt a fool. A prize idiot. How had he not noticed? Or even suspected? How could he have overlooked, in the one human being he was closest to, what was obvious now? As he sat, dumb and paralysed, he realised the signs had been there all along. He specialised in cardiothoracic surgery and yet he’d missed it. The old adage was surely true. Love was blind and lovers could not see.

  He tried to rationalise his blindness. This striking, vivacious woman had swept him into her orbit, fooling him with her drive and energy. And yet he knew he’d have spotted the syndrome if Alison had been an ordinary patient. He’d never before experienced such an acute sense of failure.

  In the high-ceilinged, oak-beamed kitchen, he scrutinised Alison as if for the first time, examining her as if she were an exhibit in a natural history museum. She waited, appreciating he needed time. She remained still and silent, allowing him to go through an internal checklist. He took in her long face, shifting his scrutiny to her long thin arms, moving to her long slim legs, travelling up again, fastening his eyes on those prominent crowded teeth. His gaze dropped to her stockinged feet. He’d never noticed before how flat her feet were. All the outward markers of Marfan syndrome. None of these peculiarities were life-threatening or remarkable in themselves. But it was what they’d pointed to that concerned Luke most. The effects of Marfan syndrome on Alison’s heart.