Now and Then

by Mary O'Sullivan

  “Why did you do that?”

  “You said the big bang last night was a cup Dad dropped. I wanted to see it. But the flower thing Ellen made is in the broken box. Not a cup.”

  He wriggled a bit on my knee so that he was looking directly into my face. Challenging me.

  “You said a lie.”

  So I had. Many lies. All about mommies and daddies playing silly games and daddies tripping over fallen branches in the dark of night. I looked into my son’s eyes and saw the confusion there. The hurt. How could I explain to him that the knowing of unfiltered truth was too heavy a load for a five-year-old? As it was, at that moment, for me also. It was beginning to wash over me in waves. Icy splashes of truth. I saw now that since we had moved to Paircmoor, Ben had been quiet, uncommunicative, even sullen. While I had jumped on the work/home treadmill, I had forgotten to look behind me to see how Ben was doing. My fault. My fault.

  I put my arms around Rob. He cuddled into me, his face cradled against my neck. I felt the wispy puffs of his warm breath and remembered the first moment I had held him in my arms. My new-born, skin to skin, heart to heart, soul to soul. A bond never to be broken. Not even by the lies I must now tell him.

  “I made a mistake, Rob. That’s different to telling a lie. But I’m sorry you’re upset.”

  “Is Dad very sore?”

  “Yes, his chest is but the doctors are giving him medicine to make it better.”

  “So who will mind us while Dad is in hospital?”

  “I will,” I said.

  Rob gave me a tight squeeze and then ran off to join the twins, leaving me to contemplate the enormity of what I had just promised him. My ‘suppose’ line of thinking took over. Suppose Ben took a long time to recover. Suppose he would never again be fit to either look after the children or to work. Suppose I could not get someone to run the salon for me. Suppose the salon had to close and Ben was an invalid and we had to subsist on social welfare.

  The only thing I knew for certain was that I would always do the best for my children.

  All of them.

  And that was another decision made.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  By the time Mags returned to Cowslip Cottage, I had managed to get the children and myself washed, dressed and fed. That was the easy part. Keeping their minds off worrying about their father was the challenge. Just as I was about to put on their coats to take them for a walk, Mags arrived in the door, followed by her daughter.

  “How are you feeling, Claire?” I asked, surprised to see her here. “How is your back?”

  “Just a little uncomfortable,” she said. “Nowhere near as serious an injury as my mom probably told you.”

  Both Mags and Claire laughed then. I watched mother and daughter exchange glances. Their deep understanding and acceptance of each other was apparent.

  I looked at Anna, my mini-me, her tongue between her teeth as she sat on the kitchen floor, concentrating on pulling on her wellington boots. I had a surreal moment. A speeding by of twenty, twenty-five years. All the problems of today, unemployment, illness, smashed vases, money difficulties, would be over. Anna would be settled into her career, the boys off living the lives they had chosen for themselves, Ben and me moving towards comfortable old age. And then, in one magic moment, Anna and I would laugh and exchange glances of complete acceptance and understanding.

  “I’m so sorry to hear about Ben’s accident,” Claire said. “How is he today?”

  I smiled at her, comforted by my glimpse into the future. Ben would be fine. He would recover and flourish. With my help. He must. How else could I ever have my precious moment of understanding between grown-up Anna and ageing me?

  “He’s through the worst now, Claire.”

  “Him fell over a tree and hurted his chest,” Anna piped up without lifting her head from her boot task.

  “He did,” Mags said. “But he’s getting better now.”

  It was my turn to look at Mags. I saw the same doubt in her eyes as I felt in my heart. And then the questions began to whirl around in my head again. Why, why, why had Ben climbed down onto the strand when the tide was rushing in?

  “I hope you don’t mind Claire coming along,” Mags said. “I thought I would bring the little ones out for a walk to get a bit of fresh air. I’d need help to keep a proper eye on them.”

  “And on me!” Claire added.

  I left quickly, knowing the children were in safe hands. I needed so desperately to see Ben, to touch him, to let him know I loved him enough to fix whatever was so wrong in our lives.

  The four-bed Intensive Care unit was an oasis of calm. Silent except for the rhythmic sounds of the monitors. The cyber nurses. Ben’s colour was better, his sleep more natural in comparison to his comatose state last night. He was still on oxygen but most of the tangle of wires and tubes had been removed. The raised back of his bed supported him in a half lying, half sitting position. I wanted to hold his hand, but he seemed so peaceful I didn’t want to disturb him. Instead, I sat beside him, realising I had not really looked at him for a long time, finding new lines on the familiar face. There were a few white hairs too that I, a hairdresser, had not noticed. That I, a wife, had failed to see.

  I started as someone softly called my name. I turned to see Doctor Nyhan standing behind me. I wondered for a moment if she had gone home at all.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs Parrish. I hope you got some rest.”

  I nodded and smiled at her.

  “How is he doing?”

  “Ben’s condition is much improved today, as you can see. His tests are going well so far. I’m just waiting on a few more results. If they are as I expect, then we’ll move him from Intensive Care into a general ward.”

  “His heart,” I asked. “Will it be permanently damaged?”

  “As I told you, results are looking good but it’s early days. He’ll need follow-up with a cardiologist. I’m referring him on.”

  “So when can we expect to have him home?”

  She hesitated. One second, two, three. She glanced from me to Ben and back again. “Depends,” she said.

  “Depends on what?”

  I saw conflict in her eyes. In her hesitation to answer.

  I heard a murmur and turned back towards Ben. He was staring at me, his forehead wrinkled in a deep frown, his eyes narrowed. It was as if he didn’t recognise me. I moved closer, leaned over him.

  “It’s Leah,” I said, reaching for his hand. “How are you, sleepy-head?”

  He pulled his hand abruptly away from me and turned his head. As if he was afraid of me. Or hated me. I sat back, devastated by the rejection.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. “Is his memory affected? Is he brain damaged?”

  When Dr Nyhan didn’t answer, I turned to see that she had left, as silently as she had come, taking with her the answers to my questions.

  Even though her flight from San Francisco landed twenty minutes early in Dublin, Della Parrish felt time had slowed down to an unbearable crawl. She needed to be with her son now, this very instant, but she had yet to travel from Dublin to Paircmoor.

  She got a taxi from the airport to her home in Howth, taking just minutes to find her car keys and load her unpacked cases into the boot. She ran back to turn on the alarm and lock up. As she gave a last glance around the house, her eyes fell on the family portrait which took pride of place in the hall. It had been taken just a month before Gavin died. Five years ago. In it he looked handsome, strong, healthy, standing beside her and their two sons. No hint that a rogue artery was about to burst and that she was soon to become a widow. He had died on the floor of the office he loved more than anything or anyone else. Without saying goodbye. Without resolving his issues with Ben.

  Della quickly keyed in the code and closed the door. Nothing mattered now more than reaching Ben. To protect him from himself. And from his past.

  “Your husband will sleep for a while yet, Leah,” the nurse said. “Why don’t you take a break for
yourself?”

  I was not sure he was really sleeping. His head was still turned away from me. So I continued to sit by his bedside as nurses came and went, checking monitors and making notes in his charts. I whispered to him occasionally. Things, like how much I loved him and that the children missed him. There was no response. I sat so long listening to the busy sounds of medical equipment and watching the rise and fall of his chest that I began to feel sleepy. What I most wanted was for Ben to turn towards me and tell me what had happened. And why.

  I stood. I needed coffee, fresh air and to phone about the children. I told Ben I would be back soon. He either didn’t hear or didn’t care.

  As I pushed open the exit door of Intensive Care to leave, I spotted Della coming down the corridor. A young nurse was scurrying to keep up with her.

  “Leah! How is he? I’ve just learned he had a heart attack. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She was level with me, the nurse breathless in her wake.

  “He’s good, Della. I didn’t want to worry you more than necessary. Who told you?”

  “Never mind. I just want to see him now.”

  I saw the distressed look on the young nurse’s face and knew Della had somehow got the information from her. She was good at that.

  “Just one visitor at a time,” the nurse said. “And, Mrs Parrish, Mrs Leah Parrish is the next of kin. So . . .”

  She let the ‘so’ hang in the air. As if I had a choice.

  “I was just about to go for a cup of coffee,” I said. “You go ahead, Della. But be warned, he’s not himself. He may not talk to you.”

  She had gone inside before I had even finished the sentence. She made a beeline for Ben’s bed. I watched as she sat in the chair still warm from me, as she gently laid a hand on his forehead, as he turned towards her, as she wrapped her arms around him.

  His body shook with sobs while she cradled him. They looked like an animated version of Michelangelo’s Pietà, where the suffering and grief of mother and son were released from the confines of marble, to live and breathe and cry in the Intensive Care Ward. They were a unit. Complete in their sharing of a very private moment.

  I turned and walked away.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  I had smoked in my late teens. It had been the cool thing to do at that time, and Leah Scally, as I was then, was always one of the cool people. I soon gave up because I could not afford cigarettes on my trainee stylist pay. I had never since regretted my decision. That is until I found myself standing outside the hospital where my husband lay recovering – or not – from his pelting by wind and wave. I watched a group of smokers huddled beside the No Smoking on Campus sign. I envied their camaraderie, their cosiness inside the protective cloud of smoke. My yearning for a nicotine hit was so strong I had to rush past in case I found myself begging for a cigarette.

  I walked through the car park and onto the main street. I did my weekly grocery shop in the mall on the outskirts and rarely came into the centre, so the area was not familiar to me. As I looked up and down, I saw that a right turn would bring me towards a park. I headed in that direction. It would have been a beautiful space had it not been strewn with litter. A bugbear of mine. Sweet wrappers, plastic bottles, even a disposable nappy beside a laurel hedge. I saw a wooden seat at the far end. It was under the branches of an oak, bare now. I sat and imagined for a moment how beautiful it would be in spring, resplendent in fresh foliage.

  My call to Mags was short and sweet. Yes, the children were fine. They were having fun. I heard them laughing. A carefree, happy sound. I realised this was something I had not heard for a while. But then, how would I know how often they laughed?

  “Ben’s mother is with him now,” I told her. “I’ll hop back in to see him again and then I’ll be home.”

  “No rush, Leah. Take as much time as you need.”

  The thanks I gave her before I cut the call seemed so inadequate. How could I ever have thought her to be disobliging and unreliable? I squirmed on the seat, feeling now that the laths were damp and cold. Or maybe my discomfort had far more to do with the level of my misjudgement about everything. And everyone. Even Ben. Especially Ben. There had been real anger in his eyes when he had looked at me. And real rejection as he had turned his face away. Why? Yes, it was very difficult for him to be unemployed. He had fallen far from the heady Dublin days. But then, goddamn it, so had I. Except I did not have the time or energy for self-pity. And Della, making everything worse by pandering to him.

  There I went again. Judging. Misjudging.

  I got up and walked onto the street. I was conscious of a wet patch from the seat on the back of my coat. Anyone walking behind me would probably think I peed my pants. A very minor humiliation after what I had been through in the past few days.

  As I approached the hospital gates, I had to wait at the pedestrian crossing for the lights to change. The last in the string of cars to pass looked familiar. When it came level with me I saw that Viv Henderson was behind the wheel. Sitting beside her in the passenger seat was Minnie Curran, wearing a scarf over her hair and a frown on her face. Either they did not see me or else decided to ignore me. They headed for the Accident and Emergency Department. Of course. Why not? Minnie would need all the evidence she could get in order to maximise her claim against me. Viv would advise her well.

  I followed in the direction Viv had taken, wondering if I should go into A&E and ask Minnie how she was. Or should I stay away? Not admit liability for her scalded scalp. Hadn’t Tina said it was not my fault? My legs were shaking. I looked ahead to A&E and saw Viv and Minnie go in the door. I could imagine the triage nurse taking notes as Minnie told her in graphic detail how her local hairdresser had burned her scalp through negligence and incompetence. Tears of frustration sprang to my eyes. What had I done to deserve all this shit? I worked hard, looked after my family, I didn’t steal or deal drugs. I had never broken the law or been deliberately unkind to anybody. So why was fate being so cruel to me?

  I turned and walked towards the main reception area. I could access Intensive Care from there without having to risk meeting Viv Henderson and Minnie. I was reaching the limits of my strength and confidence. I must, somehow, get through all this. Get Ben home and fit again, deal with the salon and Minnie Curran’s accident, or injury, or attempted murder. Whatever charge she and Viv Henderson cooked up. Look after the children. Cope with Della. Pay for the groceries, the heating and electricity, clothing, shoes, toys. No time at all for shaking legs and teary eyes.

  I took a deep breath and then headed in to see Ben.

  When I got back to Intensive Care, it was as if I had never been away. Della was still leaning over her son and Ben was turned towards her. As I got nearer I could see that his shoulders were no longer shaking. At least the crying had stopped. Their heads were close. They were whispering. I felt as if I should apologise for intruding. I sat on the side of the bed.

  “You must be exhausted from travelling, Della,” I said. “Why don’t you take a break?”

  “Oh no! I came here to be of some help to you both. You go home to the children, Leah. I’ll stay with Ben.”

  I looked to Ben for support. He was turned towards me now, but not meeting my gaze. It obviously suited him well to have his mother fawning all over him. Being a child. And that was exactly what I longed for at that moment. To be four years old, sitting on Mam’s knee, breathing in the scent of her Eau de Cologne, basking in her warmth, and the sense of security and belonging I had been too young at that age to recognise as love. I understood Ben’s need for his mother. However, I wished he could find a little of the same need for me.

  The nurse assigned to Ben’s care approached.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “One visitor at a time in ICU, please.”

  “My daughter-in-law is just leaving,” Della said. “Isn’t that right, Leah?”

  I debated about having a stand-up fight with her. Grabbing her by the scruff of the neck and frogmarching her out the doo
r. My sympathy of last night had been wasted on her.

  “I need to speak with the doctor,” I said. “I’ll wait.”

  “Doctor Nyhan? I’ve already spoken with her,” Della said.

  I stood, kissed Ben on the forehead without saying a word. I did not trust myself to speak without crying or cursing. His lips moved as if to say something but then he just shook his head.

  “Tell the children I’ll be out to Paircmoor to see them some time tomorrow, “Della said.

  I waved wordlessly in her direction. I had assumed she would be staying in Cowslip Cottage. I had no idea now what her plans were. Probably booked into the best hotel this town had to offer. Or maybe she would spend the night by Ben’s bedside. Whatever their plans, Della and Ben, it was clear I was not part of them.

  On the way out I left instructions at the nurses’ station that Ben’s medical condition must not be discussed with anyone but me. His wife. His next of kin. The mother of his children. The woman who apparently had driven him to clamber down a cliff path, in a storm, onto a tide-lashed beach.

  I drove home quickly. I needed to know I still had a place in my children’s lives.

  The trees on the avenue to Cowslip Cottage dipped and swayed in the rising wind. I parked beside Ben’s jeep, thankful that at least I knew where he now was. Rain started as soon as I put my foot on the ground. I made a dash to the front door. It opened before I had a chance to put my key in the lock. Claire Hoey stood there, the little troupe of children around her. My children. I stooped down and opened my arms to them.

  “I hope you were all good for Claire and Mags.”

  “They’re the best,” Claire said, as the twins ran into my arms and Rob came to stand beside me.