A cold sweat broke out on my forehead. What had I done? It had been my idea to come here. I had pushed and pushed until Ben agreed. It was to be a fresh start. Security for the children. A healthy environment. And the children were happy here. But I had been so busy surviving that I had forgotten to check on Ben.
I picked up my phone again. Mags Hoey was my only option. I knew she would not yet be in bed because she would be watching the Late Late Show. I also knew she would not want to be dragged away from her daughter. She answered on the second ring.
“Apologies for ringing so late, Mags, but I am badly stuck for a babysitter for an hour or so. Any possibility you could oblige?”
“Leah! I needed to talk to you anyway. Have you any idea of the terrible things Minnie Curran is saying about you and your salon? She’s going around Paircmoor with her spotty –”
“I can’t deal with that now, Mags. Can you babysit? It’s urgent.”
“Oh, I hate to say no, Leah, but I can’t because of Claire’s condition. She could take a bad turn.”
I heard some mutters, then quite clearly heard Claire tell her mother she was fine and would appreciate a little time to herself.
“Leah? It’s a bad night. I’d be nervous driving out your way. Could you collect me?”
“No, sorry, I can’t. Ben is not here. That’s why I need a babysitter.”
“Oh! He’s away then.”
“No. He’s not. He’s just not at home at the moment. I’d be very grateful, Mags, if you could help me out.”
More mutters before she finally came back.
“Alright. I’ll see you in about fifteen minutes. I must give Claire her medication first.”
Fifteen minutes to lay out supper for Mags, make sure the children were tucked in and to decide where in the name of goodness I was going to start the search for my missing husband.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Walter had noticed Vera’s torchlight and had waited for her on the clifftop. As soon as they were safely down the cliff path, they shone their torches around the strand in an arc. Both were searching for sight of a white T-shirt. They saw nothing but a storm-ravaged beach.
“Big tide,” Walter said, noting a frill of seaweed from the highwater mark along the cliff face. “Nobody could have stayed here when the tide was in.”
“But I’m telling you he never came back up,” Vera said. “Not on the path anyway.”
“There’s no other way.”
“Exactly. Unless he was an expert climber, I suppose – but even if he was –”
“The cave,” Walter said.
They struggled to walk as they faced into the wind, picking their way over stone and rock slippery with seaweed. Vera heard the angry voice of the receding tide and knew the young man would have been powerless against it. At the mouth of the cave she stood for a moment to get her breath back before following Walter inside. He aimed the beam of light into the cavern, to where the roof got lower and the darkness blacker. They began to walk forward, stooping in a crouch as the rock slanted downward.
They both saw him at the same time.
“Too late,” Walter muttered. “Too bloody late.”
The young man was in a sitting position on a rock, his back resting against the cave wall, hands dangling down, feet in a pool left by the outgoing tide. He was as still as the rock which surrounded him. Entombed him.
Walter cautiously pressed his fingers to the man’s neck. He felt a flutter beneath his fingers.
“He has a pulse! Faint but still beating. We must get help. And quick!”
Vera handed her phone to Walter and then took off her coat. She nudged Walter out of the way and knelt beside the young man. He was tall. She reckoned about six foot two. She was a foot smaller. She had to lean him forward in order to wrap the coat around his back. The icy coldness of his body penetrated her fingers as she pulled the warm fabric around him. She lifted his hands and put them resting on his thighs underneath the coat, then moved his feet out of the pool and onto a flat stone she picked off the floor. She remembered reading somewhere that it’s a myth to say most heat is lost through the head but she had no doubt that yet another study would prove that revisionist theory to be false. Trusting her instincts, she took off her hat and pulled it over his hair. Beautiful, thick, dark hair, now drenched and freezing to the touch.
The rock he was on was low and flat with plenty of space. Vera sat beside him. Out near the mouth of the cave she could hear Walter talk to someone on the phone, explaining what had happened, asking for a doctor and ambulance urgently. She put an arm around the young man’s shoulders and drew him in as close to her as possible. She began to hum Brahms’ Lullaby. Just like she used to hum to her children when they were small. She wondered if this man’s mother had sung to him too, wishing him all the best life had to offer her child. Never for a moment thinking he would end up freezing to death in a cave. His T-shirt had Golden Gate Bridge, San Francisco, on the front. Was he a husband? A father? She hummed and rocked the barely alive young man in her arms as she remembered her own babies. How she used to watch their features relax into sleep as she sang to them. How she missed them now as they forged their own life paths!
“Jesus! You’ll get pneumonia, Vera!”
Walter whipped off his big heavy jacket, draped it around her and pulled up the hood.
“Did you get a doctor?” she asked.
Walter huffed. She recognised the sound as his angry huff.
“It’s a bloody joke! Cutbacks, cutbacks! Do you realise there’s just one doctor on call to cover all this area? He’s at the other end of the county now. Not his fault. He’s just one man, but someone is to blame for the downgrade in service. It’s as if lives outside the city don’t matter anymore!”
“What about an ambulance?” she asked before he could continue his rant.
“Yes, they’re sending an ambulance as soon as possible, whatever that means. Just as well we can depend on our neighbours. I called the Careys. Tim and his lads are getting ready to come down now. They’re bringing a fold-up sunbed to act as a stretcher.”
“Are you sure it’s right to move him? We might do more harm than good.”
“You’re right, Vera. Moving him is risky. We’ll have to be as gentle as possible. His pulse is steady now but a jolt could change that.”
“Why risk it so? Isn’t it better to wait for the paramedics?”
“He’s not going to make it if we don’t get him warmed up soon. The ambulance will be at the very least three quarters of an hour. This man hasn’t got that much time.”
She nodded, knowing better than to argue with Walter and his years of attending first-aid courses.
“Go up and get a coat for yourself,” she ordered.
He ignored her as he found a space on the rock on the other side of the young man in the white T-shirt. He put his arm around the young man’s shoulders. His hand found Vera’s and their fingers intertwined as naturally as their lives had for the past fifty years. They cradled the young man between them.
It seemed to take forever to settle Mags Hoey into Cowslip Cottage. She kept interrupting with questions as I was trying to tell her about the children and what to do in the unlikely event that they woke up.
“Oh! That table lamp, Leah. Where did you get it? I’ve been looking for one just like it for ages.”
“I brought it with me from Dublin. Now, if the children wake, tell them I’m gone to get cornflakes in the garage shop.”
“Don’t you know the garage is closed at this hour? What are you going to do about Minnie Curran?”
Ugh! As if I didn’t realise the bloody garage was closed. And I didn’t give a damn about Minnie. I gave up trying to tell Mags about the children. I steered her towards the sitting room and turned on the TV for her. As soon as she had the remote control in her hand, she stopped asking questions. I put the baby monitor on the arm of her chair.
“Right, Mags, I’m going now. I shouldn’t be too long. Ring me if th
ere are any problems.”
I was answered by a grunt and a dismissive wave of the hand.
Outside I shivered against the cold blast of wind and rain as I ran to my car. I stopped at the end of the driveway and thought about where I was going to start the search. Two choices here: go left into the village or right along the coast road. I couldn’t see why Ben would have gone right. It wasn’t a night for heading to the seaside. Without a coat. I quickly turned left.
I stopped when I came to the bendy bridge, as the children called the stretch of road that forded the river near the site of the old workhouse. I grabbed the torch I always carried in the glovebox and got out. Flicking on the light, I shone it over the wall, down into the cascading water below. Swollen by rain, the usually gentle stream had become an angry monster. My hands shook at the realisation that Ben had been very upset when he left home. My eyes raked the shadows for any signs that my husband had been here. That he had stood where I was now and decided to climb down to the maelstrom below.
I shone my light on the banks. I remembered he was wearing a white T-shirt his mother had brought him from San Francisco, the Golden Gate Bridge emblazoned on the front. I had never liked it but was glad now that he had been wearing something easily seen in the dark. There was nothing below but the frothing water rushing from the hilltops. As I got back into the car I fancied I heard the cries of the workhouse ghosts carried on the shrieking wind. I shook off the silly thought of the restless dead and headed for the village.
Paircmoor would have been swallowed up by the dark night except for the lights shining from the pub. It was one of those traditional places with a grocery shop in the front and the bar at the rear of the building. I had been there several times to get a few last-minute groceries on my way home after work but never to have a drink. I parked and looked towards the lit-up building. It would be unlikely that Ben would be drinking here. Especially since his wallet was at home. But he could have money in his pocket and somebody could have given him a lift in. I pulled up the hood of my coat and got out of the car. I could see, through the display of tinned beans and washing powder in the window, that the grocery shop was empty but even over the howl of the gale I heard the faint sound of traditional Irish music coming from the bar. I hesitated for just a second. To hell with what anyone thought of me. I needed to find my husband.
I pushed the door open. An overhead bell clanged and a young woman appeared through a beaded curtain and stood behind the counter.
“Shop or bar?” she asked.
“Actually, I’m looking for my husband. Ben Parrish. He’s tall, dark-haired. Wearing a white T-shirt. Have you seen him tonight?”
“I know who he is. He has twins. And a little boy named Rob. My son is in Rob’s class. You’re the hairdresser, aren’t you?”
“That’s right. Is he by any chance in the bar?”
“I’ll check for you.”
I breathed a sigh of relief that I didn’t have to face into the crowd of revellers. The volume of music rose as the girl opened the door into the bar and faded as it shut behind her. I tapped my foot impatiently as I waited, wondering how she was explaining my missing husband to people or if she was just going around peering into faces, or checking for white T-shirts.
The music blared again as the door opened. But it was not the young woman who appeared. Viv Henderson stood before me, complete with her free French plait. I should have remembered that the Hendersons owned the pub. Of course they did.
“So you’re looking for your husband,” she said. “I’m sorry. He’s not here. I believe he’s wearing a T-shirt? Not very appropriate clothing for this weather.”
“He was out for a run,” I said, hating the fact that I felt obliged to make up an excuse. “I’m worried he may have had an accident.”
“Oh dear! It’s not your day, is it, what with the incident with Minnie Curran’s hair and now a missing husband.”
Bitch! Despite an urge to thump Lady Paircmoor, I somehow managed to hold my temper in check.
“Thank you for your help, Viv. I’d better keep on searching.”
I turned and dashed outside as quickly as possible, kicking the front tyre of the car with temper before getting in. The childish gesture helped. I drove the length and breadth of the village, crawling along and peering into doorways and the dark lanes that ran from the street to the backs of the buildings. That search did not take long and yielded nothing.
I knew Ben did not have a key to the salon, but I headed there anyway. It was cloaked in darkness. I got out of the car, unlocked the door and flicked on the lights. No Ben. He had not smashed a window to gain entry or broken in the back door. The salon was cold and somehow threatening without the buzz of dryers and customer chat. I shivered, suddenly feeling that tremor of fear usually referred to as somebody walking over your grave. I shrugged. I wanted to be cremated and have my ashes scattered over the sea. Good luck to whoever was trying to walk over my grave. I locked up and went back to my car.
Where to now? It was after eleven o’clock. Three hours missing. Should I contact the gardaí, convince them Ben would not be gone this long unless there was something wrong? And there, as I sat in my car outside the dark salon, the realisation dawned. There was something wrong with Ben. In fact, everything was wrong in his life. He was undoubtedly hit hard by Ellen’s departure. That had been the trigger, but not the main cause of his looking for an escape. Truth was he hated the cottage, Paircmoor, our new rural way of life. He assumed I loved it. That I was living the dream. He was so wrong. I accepted it because it was what fate had handed us. Dublin, the big house, the social life, the status, the generous income. That’s what I had loved. Pointless regretting what was over and done with.
I started the car again and faced back towards Cowslip Cottage, intending to drop in and check with Mags that the children were still asleep and safe. Or maybe not. She would want to go as soon as she saw me.
I guessed by that stage that I should have driven in the other direction when I left the cottage. Towards the sea. I had read that upset people are attracted to water. To rivers, lakes or the ocean.
I pressed my foot on the accelerator and sped towards the coast road.
***
“Easy now! Easy! Lay him down gently,” said Walter. “Vera, get me the big scissors.”
It had been a slow and terrifying journey from the cave up to Cliff House, all the time stopping to check that the young man was still breathing.
Walter removed the drenched shoes and socks as soon as Tim Carey and his sons laid the makeshift stretcher near the kitchen stove. Vera handed him the scissors.
“Ring the emergency services again,” Walter told Tim. “Find out how far away the ambulance is. Lads, turn on all the outside lights so that there’s no delay finding us. Vera, get some dry blankets then fill a couple of hot-water bottles.”
All the while he was talking, Walter was cutting away the sodden clothing and peeling it off. The feet and hands were white, the body having sent blood supply from the limbs to protect the vital organs. Walter remembered this from his classes and that he must get the wet clothes off and warm layers over the frozen body as quickly as possible. He also knew that if this young man did not get oxygen and a warm drip soon, it would be too late.
“ETA for ambulance ten minutes,” Tim said. “They want to know if you have a name for the patient.”
Vera picked up the now destroyed pair of jeans and searched the pockets. There was some loose change but no ID.
Just as Vera and Walter finished wrapping the young man in blankets, they heard the sound of a siren. They looked at each other and breathed a sigh of relief.
“I wonder if he meant for this to happen,” Vera whispered.
Walter shrugged and then went to open the door for the ambulance crew.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I slowed down passing Cowslip Cottage. Peering through the trees on the avenue, I could see a light from the lounge window. The rest of the house was in
darkness. A sign that the children were still asleep. No point in disturbing either them or Mags.
On the coast road I speeded up. One of the reasons we had chosen Paircmoor in the beginning was its proximity to the sea. When I say we, that really means me. Ben had been preoccupied at the time with applying for jobs. All day, every day, handing out his CV, posting it, emailing it. Even eventually applying for a job as a labourer. He didn’t get it. He left me with all the packing while he dealt with the bank. He and Della together. Hammering out a deal so that we could pay off our mortgage and buy again. Downsized. Rural. A doer-upper. Buzz words to hide the fact that we bought Cowslip Cottage because it was what we could afford. Just about. With Della’s help.
I came to the part of the road where the trees formed a tunnel. Beautiful when sunlight shone through the leaves and dappled the roadway. Threatening now as wind howled, rain lashed and branches lurched towards the car in the squalls. I looked ahead and saw no end in sight.
I was tempted to go back but the road was too narrow to turn. Besides, I was never comfortable reversing the car unless I really had to. That reluctance stemmed back to my provisional licence days when I had backed into a brand-new top-of-the-range BMW in a multi-storey car park in town. Unfortunately, the owner had been sitting in his car. When I heard the bang and saw the man clutching his neck, I knew there was only one way things were going to end up. He screwed my insurance company for every last halfpenny and made me very wary of reversing ever since. But I would have to find a place to do a U-turn soon. Ben would never have walked this far. Not without a coat. Not in this storm. Not in any weather.
I felt tears well. I don’t know whether they were for Ben or for me. All I can say is that when I blinked the tears away, the tunnel was still stretching into the distance with no end in sight. That was until my vision was filled with the lights of an oncoming vehicle which had blue lights flashing. An ambulance, speeding, taking up the width of the narrow road, leaving no space for me to pass. No one can say for certain how they would react in an emergency, but I smiled. For some reason the irony of being killed by a speeding ambulance amused me. That didn’t stop me from pressing with all my might on the brake. The car began to slow. But not enough. The ambulance was nearer now. My car aquaplaned on the wet road. I tried to remember what to do in these circumstances. Should I steer into the skid or was that on ice? I heard branches scrape against the passenger side of the car as it hugged the ditch. Time slowed as the car did a 180-degree turn, facing me back towards Paircmoor. I wondered who would look after the children if I died here and Ben was never found. Their grandmother. Della. And mould them to her liking. My engine had stopped running and my car had stopped moving. The wail of a siren was loud in my ears. I was right in the path of the ambulance bearing down on me with speed. I braced myself against my seat, squeezed my eyes shut, and waited for the collision. Nothing more to do except pray and I had long since forgotten how to do that.
Now and Then Page 7
