Now and Then

by Mary O'Sullivan

  “George?” I whispered.

  Hugh nodded and reached for the glass of whiskey.

  “You want one?” he asked, holding the bottle towards me.

  I needed a drink but, damn it, I was pregnant, wasn’t I? And shocked. I shook my head.

  “The likeness is uncanny,” I said. “That could be Ben standing there. Or Rob – if he was older.”

  “You see? That’s the answer to our questions. Della has buried the memory of her brother and his death so deeply she cannot recall him. By protecting Ben, who in every way seems to be a clone of George Roche, Mum feels she is looking after her brother and saving him from himself.”

  I could not help my derisive laugh. I did not want to be unkind to Hugh but this psychobabble was just giving Della a free pass and not bringing us any nearer the truth.

  “For heaven’s sake, Hugh, she was fourteen years old when she discovered how George had died. Of course she remembers. But obviously she agreed with her parents that it had to be hidden. Just like she tried to deny Ben’s illness when he was in his teens. And now she’s trying to whisk him off again. To brush all unsavoury mental problems under the carpet.”

  Hugh nodded. When he looked at me, I could see the pain in his eyes and I regretted speaking so harshly to him.

  “I think the truth is halfway between both our views, Leah. Yes, Mum’s attitude to mental health is unacceptable but you must allow for the fact that she was indoctrinated at a very young age.”

  “And chose not to change when she became an adult. A mother.”

  “Maybe so. I’ll give you that. But I don’t believe we have a right to judge her. At least not until we speak to her.”

  I felt ashamed. He was right. I was being judgemental. Self-righteous. Della was hurting. She also had a very devious streak.

  I shrugged. “I don’t want to be unfair, Hugh. I know the good side of Della too. The generous woman, the grandmother who loves her grandchildren very deeply. And her sons.”

  “Well, one son anyway. But we know why now, don’t we?”

  “In a way. But I don’t agree that discouraging Ben from getting the help he needs is necessarily loving him. Besides –”

  I stopped speaking suddenly. I had been about to say that, as a mother, I could not understand her favouring one child over the other. That I loved and respected all my children equally. What a hypocrite! I laid my hands on my tummy and felt the barely perceptible bump. The embryo. Our fourth baby. How could I criticise Della when I did not have enough love in my heart for this child?

  “Besides?” Hugh prompted.

  I looked across at him and saw that his hurt was etched on his face. It resonated with my pain. I knew, deep in my gut, that I had more than enough love for my baby. But it was too much struggle. Ben, the salon, the twins soon starting kindergarten, and Rob moving on to senior infants. All money, money, money. But I ached with longing to hold this baby in my arms. To protect and nurture it.

  Tears rose from the well of sadness inside me. They streamed down my face, hot and salty. Through a blur of tears I saw Hugh stand up and come around the table to me. I stood and walked into his open arms. He was as tall as Ben but more solid. Comfortable to lean into. I felt warm and safe in his embrace. Cossetted. Looked after. When I noticed his eyes brim with tears, I knew he needed comforting as much as I did. I reached up and stroked the tense muscles of his shoulders. He pulled me closer. I heard his breath quicken, felt the heat from his body. My body answered the unspoken question by moving even closer to him, by raising my face to his for the kiss we both longed for.

  But, before that happened, over his shoulder my eyes fell on the family photograph. The one of Rob’s first day in Primary School. The smiley, perfect family one. The picture that reminded me of what we were and what we could be again. I stepped back from Hugh, bumping into my chair and almost knocking it over.

  “I’m sorry, Hugh. Sorry, my fault. Just feeling very vulnerable at the moment. Sorry.”

  “Stop apologising, Leah. We’re both a bit all over the place now. Anyway, I don’t normally drink whiskey. My fault.”

  “No. Nobody’s fault. We didn’t do anything wrong, did we? Mutual support when we needed it. Done and dusted now.”

  “Agreed.”

  “We’ll talk in the morning. About Della. And George.”

  “Yes. We’ll do that. Sleep tight, Leah.”

  I quickly turned my back on him, checked on the children, then went to my bedroom. Our bedroom. Mine and Ben’s. I lay there, listening to Hugh’s footsteps as he left the kitchen, went to the bathroom, then the click of the lock as he closed the door of Rob’s room. I pictured him lying in Rob’s bed, wearing only boxers, probably silk, his strong arms and muscled chest, bare. I longed to be there with him. To finish what we had almost begun. It was a while before I could fall asleep.

  The guilt, Leah Parrish. Oh, the guilt!

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Friday 3rd December 2010

  I meant to be up early the following morning. To get, as my mother used to say, a hold on the day. Maybe do some spring cleaning, floor polishing, ironing, baking. Anything that would keep me from thinking about the events of last night. Anything to make me forget how good it felt to be in Hugh’s arms. Anything to erase the guilt and the dread of having to face him this morning.

  The children were already in the kitchen by the time I went in there. I got out a pot and began making their porridge.

  “Uncle Hugh asleep, Mom,” Josh announced. “He making snores. Like this.” He snorted while the other two laughed.

  “Shh! Don’t wake Uncle Hugh,” I said. “He’s very tired after his big drive yesterday.”

  “How much longer before I can go back to school?” Rob asked.

  “When Daddy home again,” Anna said.

  “I didn’t ask you, monkey face,” Rob said. “I was talking to Mom.”

  Disappointed by Rob’s nastiness to his sister, I quickly turned around from the cooker. Anna’s eyes were brimming with tears. I should have expected this row. It had been waiting to happen since the children’s routine had been so disrupted. I went to the table and sat beside Rob.

  “Rob, you must apologise to Anna. That was not a nice way to talk to her.”

  He reluctantly muttered an apology but I could see how upset Anna was. Her big brother was her hero and his criticism hurt her.

  “I know we’re all missing Dad so we must help each other,” I told them. “That means not calling each other names.”

  “We have to say names, don’t we?” Rob said. “How else could we call someone?”

  “Don’t be doing the smarty,” I told him. “You know I meant we must not use bad names.”

  He nodded agreement. Rob as a five-year-old kept me on my toes with his logic and his sometimes alternative ways of looking at life. I was suddenly struck by the idea that his teens might be a very challenging time for all of us. I reached out my hand and ruffled his hair, loving him for his seriousness and his innate kindness. He tossed his head, not liking to have his hair messed. I smiled at him.

  “You’ll be back in school next week, Rob. Either Monday or Tuesday. I’ll do some homework with you after breakfast so that you can keep up with the class.”

  “It’s okay, Uncle Hugh did my reader with me and he showed me some very cool maths. And coding. Computer coding. I think that’s what I’ll do when I grow up. Like Uncle Hugh.”

  The mention of Hugh started Josh doing his snoring act again and sent the three of them into fits of laughter. Josh could end up on the stage. Or in film.

  “Oh, shit!” I said as the smell of burn filled the kitchen.

  I ran to the cooker and removed the pot of charred porridge. Even with the pot scraped out and soaking, the extractor on and a window open, the place still reeked of burn. I suddenly realised the twins were having great fun chorusing ‘Oh, shit!’ while Rob laughed at them.

  “Everything alright here?”

  I turned from
the sink to see Hugh standing in the doorway. He was barefoot, wearing jeans and a shirt. The shirt was unbuttoned, obviously hastily thrown on. Pot scrub in one hand and burned pot in the other, I couldn’t help staring at his chest. Just as I had imagined it. Pecs like his did not come without a lot of hard work. Lucky Piper, getting to snuggle up to him every night.

  “Leah! Are you okay?”

  I jumped guiltily. Lust and burnt porridge made very inappropriate bedfellows.

  “Yes, Hugh. Fine, thank you. Just a burned pot and a few squabbles. The usual morning routine.”

  I was aware that he was staring at me, a frown on his forehead. I wondered if he regretted our closeness of last night. Or felt guilty, like I did. He must have, because he began to button his shirt.

  “How about you make coffee,” he said. “And I’ll do some eggs.”

  I nodded, glad not to have to start over making porridge.

  “Who’s for scrambled eggs and toast?” he asked.

  There was a chorus of “me, me, me” from the children. I raised an eyebrow, knowing that they would probably have turned up their noses if I had asked.

  And of course they cleared their plates, as I did too.

  “What’s the secret to your perfect scrambled eggs?” I asked.

  He grinned at me. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret anymore, would it? I’ll just tell you it involves magic.”

  “There’s no such thing as magic,” Rob said. “It’s just a trick.”

  I wished, not for the first time, that he was more child and less analytical adult.

  “Of course there’s magic,” I said. “How else could a tiny seed grow into a massive tree, or butterflies have beautiful patterns on their wings? We live in a very, very magic world.”

  “I agree with your mom,” Hugh said. “There is magic. But I agree with Rob too, because there are tricks. Like this.”

  He took a coin from his jeans pocket and after some deft hand movements and a stream of patter, the coin appeared behind Josh’s ear. Magic! The kitchen rang with the children’s hearty laughter.

  “Something my dad taught me,” Hugh said to me.

  I nodded, smiling.

  On that morning, watching my children smiling, their eyes shining, hearing their laughter, I did indeed believe in magic. And just to confirm it, a burst of winter sunshine broke through the clouds, bathing the kitchen in an ethereal light. I looked across at Hugh. His eyes told me he felt it too. The magic of that special moment in time.

  They were leaving Ben’s room as Della walked up the corridor. A train of medics, all following in the tracks of the man she assumed to be the head consultant. He had that air of authority about him. Doctor Nyhan, one step behind the great man, nodded to Della as she passed by.

  Della tapped on her son’s door, then walked in, nervous now that something else had happened to Ben. He wasn’t in the room. Then she heard the most extraordinary of sounds. Through the closed door of the bathroom, she heard the gush of water, presumably the shower, and the deep tones of Ben’s voice as he sang ‘You Raise Me Up’.

  She sat on the side of his bed and smiled as she listened to the full-throated, if not very tuneful, singing from the bathroom. That was the sound of a happy man. A man with a future. A man with a successful life ahead.

  When the gush of water and the singing stopped, Della tapped on the bathroom door.

  “Ben! Mum here. Make sure you’re decent when you come out.”

  “Hi, Mum! Be with you in a minute.”

  He was fully dressed when he came into the bedroom. Smiling. Definitely thin, but he seemed more energetic.

  “You’re looking well,” Della said. “When I saw all the doctors leave your room, I was worried something had happened to you.”

  “Something did happen, Mum. I’m cleared for going home. Isn’t that great news?”

  Della stood up from the bed and walked across the room to get the visitor’s chair. The task gave her time to think. To frame her words in such a way that Ben did not fly into one of his tantrums. She placed the chair beside his bed and watched as he began to take clothes from his wardrobe.

  “Terrific news, Ben. Are you free to go now?”

  “No. I must wait for a prescription. But they shouldn’t be too long. I’ll ring Leah now to come and collect me.”

  “Don’t do that. You’ll ruin the surprise. I’ll drive you to the cottage.”

  Ben turned to look at her, a frown on his forehead. Then he nodded.

  “Yeah. Maybe you’re right. I’ll just turn up.”

  He took his travel bag from the wardrobe and began packing. As he went from bedroom to bathroom and back, Della waited her chance to broach the topic she must discuss with him. She had already spoken to her solicitor in Dublin that morning and everything was in hand for sorting all the legal and tax implications of signing the house in Howth over to Ben. The tenants in the quayside apartment had received their notice to quit, so her new pied-à-terre was on track too. Everything was in place except Ben’s acceptance of the offer. She cleared her throat.

  “Ben, stop fussing around and sit down for a moment. We need to talk.”

  He took the children’s drawings and his phone from the top of his locker. He looked at his phone for a moment, thought about turning it on, decided against it and put it into the front pocket of his bag with the drawings. He turned to face his mother.

  “If this is about Howth, I will discuss it with Leah. We’ll make the decision together.”

  “Of course. I accept that. And I’m not trying to pressure you into making a decision. I just wanted to know what you thought of the idea in principle. Is it something you would consider? If Leah agrees.”

  Ben sighed and sat down, for what he hoped was the last time, in the chair beside the window.

  “I know what that house is worth, Mum, even in recessionary times, and you’re gifting it to me. Very generous. But how come you seem quite comfortable with cutting Hugh out of his inheritance? Talking of principles, that doesn’t seem very principled to me.”

  Della leaned forward in her chair and tried to make eye contact with Ben. He continued to stare out the window, deliberately not engaging with her.

  “You’re being unfair, Ben. You should know I wouldn’t overlook Hugh. He will get the equivalent in other assets and investments. I told you, your father left me well provided for. He would want me to do this.”

  Ben shrugged and finally turned to face her.

  “Would he? Do you really believe that? He’d probably say, like he always did, that I’m a dreamer. That I need a good kick up the backside to get me going. Remember that?”

  Della nodded. Gavin had been an insensitive clod at times. Especially when it came to the way he spoke to Ben. And the cavalier way he conducted his extramarital affairs as if his wife didn’t either know or care.

  “Yes, I remember, Ben. He meant well. Sometimes he lacked understanding.”

  Ben laughed. A mirthless sound. “He’s had his way now. I got a really good kick up the arse as I sat in the cave, the tide rushing in to get me. I don’t ever want to go back there again, Mum. There will have to be changes.”

  He stood up and came to stand in front of his mother. He took her hands in his.

  “Mum, I do appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I know it has cost you more than money. You’ve devoted a big chunk of your life to looking out for me. I love you for that. But –”

  “But you want to take control of your own life. Right?”

  He nodded. Della smiled at him. She felt like singing ‘You Raise Me Up’ with abandon herself. She had heard Ben say that there would have to be changes. That could only mean he intended leaving Paircmoor behind to move back to Dublin. The fact that he said he needed to control his own life was a guarantee that he didn’t want Leah to call the shots anymore. And nobody knew better than Della how stubborn her youngest son could be when he made his mind up. He had proved that by marrying Leah in the first place.


  She closed her eyes for a moment and pictured the children running around the garden in Howth, Ben yachting in the harbour when he had downtime from what would be his very successful architecture practice. Keeping the Parrish name alive and respected into the future.

  Ben tugged on her hands. “Come on, Mum. They’ll be a while getting my paperwork sorted. Let’s go to the cafeteria for coffee and cake. My treat.”

  Della’s step was light as she and her son walked to the hospital cafeteria. Ben was, at last, becoming the man she had always known he could be.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  I rang Ben. My husband’s phone was, as usual, turned off. I brought the children into the hall and dressed them in their coats, hats and wellies. The morning was cold but the winter sunshine still shone. A run in the garden would burn off some of their excess energy. I put on my own coat and pulled on my boots. The garden was big, two acres. The wildness of it made it an exciting place for the children but not somewhere they could be allowed to play unsupervised.

  I heard Hugh walk into the hall from the kitchen. The children set up a chorus, asking him to come out and play with them. I smiled at him. The more I got to know him, the luckier I thought Piper was to be married to him.

  “Do you mind if I borrow one of Ben’s jackets and a pair of boots?” he asked. “I left San Francisco in such a rush I forgot about how damp and cold Irish winters can be.”

  “Help yourself,” I said, showing him where the coats and boots were kept.

  “Uncle Hugh,” Rob said. “We’re growing a big Christmas tree, and Dad’s going to put loads of lights on it. I’ll show you.”

  “For Santa,” Anna said.

  I smiled as I watched the four of them walk ahead of me into the garden. The tree the children were so excited about was only about three feet tall, but it would look nice decked out in fairy lights for Christmas.

  The sound of a car driving up the avenue distracted me. As soon as I saw the stickers on the car, I realised who was calling. And why. There was to be a Presidential election on the following Tuesday. I had forgotten all about it. It didn’t make any difference to us, since we had not yet got around to registering in the Paircmoor electoral area, so we would not be entitled to vote here. The car pulled up beside me and a woman with a bundle of leaflets in her hand got out the passenger door. I recognised her from seeing her around the village but had never spoken to her before.