Now and Then

by Mary O'Sullivan

  “Can I help?” she asked, as she looked at the stack of laundry I had strewn on the kitchen table.

  “If you feel like doing some folding with me, that would be great.”

  We worked silently side by side for a few minutes, the folded stacks of clothing piling up. I guessed that folding unironed clothing must be painful for Della. She was a fanatic about ironing. Or, more correctly, having someone else iron for her.

  “How is Ben?” she asked.

  I heard a nervous quiver in her voice. I smiled to reassure her.

  “He’s actually better than I’ve seen him for a long time. Pity we don’t have Christmas every month. He’s as excited as the children.”

  Della dropped the towel she had been folding and sat down.

  “Thank God,” she said. “I was so worried after last night.”

  “You mean telling him about your brother George?”

  “Well, yes. It must have been a shock for him. It certainly was for me.”

  I pulled out a chair and sat beside her. I could see her tremble. She was beautifully made-up today, hair perfect, nails freshly manicured, yet I could see the frailty through the veneer.

  “I believed I was doing the right thing by saying nothing to my husband or sons about George’s suicide. It was a burden I was willing to carry for them. You understand that, don’t you, Leah?”

  I nodded. I did. Or I thought I did at that particular moment.

  She bowed her head. “I think of George every day. He showed me the only kindness I knew in that house in Wexford. I always felt I was being disloyal by tacitly agreeing to banish his memory and his name as if he had never existed. Yet, I couldn’t find the words to break the silence.”

  “That’s understandable, Della. You didn’t have a choice when you were young. You can never forgive others if you don’t forgive yourself first.”

  I cringed at my glib trotting out of a thought for the day I had read somewhere. Leah the hypocrite. How was I ever going to forgive myself for not seeing how Ben had been suffering through unemployment and isolation out here in Cowslip Cottage? For thinking he had taken the children from me? That he would harm them.

  Della nodded her head slowly, as if I had spoken sincere words of wisdom instead of the trite hypocrisy I was spouting.

  “You’re right,” she said. “But I should have taken responsibility when I grew up.”

  The clock ticked, the lavender fragrance of the fabric softener I used on the clothes wafted around the kitchen, winter sun shone through the window. A peaceful, domestic scene. How deceptive. Both Della and I were in inner turmoil, prisoners of our secrets.

  “We all have secrets, Della. Things we decide, rightly or wrongly, never to share. And maybe, after all, some things are best left unsaid.”

  “Hugh didn’t leave me with that choice, did he? I do wish he had been more tactful. Not his forte. But once Ben is alright, then we can work through it.”

  I caught her arm and took her over to the window. Outside, in the play area, the children were helping Ben wind a string of lights around the little Christmas tree. Anna was wearing more decorations than the tree and the boys, including Ben, had Santa hats. They were all laughing as Ben placed a star on top of the tree. I saw him pick up the plug for the lights, fit it into the outdoor connection box, and screw the lid down. He headed off in the direction of the back door, the long lead of the connection box in his hand.

  “Come on,” I said to Della, leading her towards the back hall.

  Ben opened the door as we got there. He looked at both of us with concern first, then obviously realised we not at loggerheads.

  “I was just going to call you, Leah,” he said. “Almost time for the switch-on. Great that you’re here for it, Mum.”

  I smiled at Della and raised an eyebrow. She nodded and smiled back. Yes, Ben was happy. Unharmed by the resurrection of Uncle George Roache. Unhaunted by ghosts of his mother’s past or by her need to have kept it all secret.

  Anna yelled. She had spotted her grandmother. We all walked over to the tree and counted down from ten. Dusk was beginning to fall as Ben flicked the switch in the back hall. The little tree twinkled and flashed red and green and blue bursts of colour. Josh and Anna squealed and ran around the tree, while Rob rearranged the lights into a more symmetrical pattern.

  We watched them for a while and then Della turned to me. “I’d best get going,” she said.

  “Why don’t you stay?” I asked.

  “Thank you, Leah, but I have things to do in Dublin. I’d rather go now.”

  “Stay, Della! Stay, Della!” the twins chanted.

  “I’ll be back before Christmas,” she told them. “And remember, be very good because Santa will be watching.”

  At the mention of Santa, Rob gave the same slow, lopsided smile I so loved in his father. But it was too grown up. Too knowing for a five-year-old. I hoped with all my heart I was mistaken, and that Christmas would continue to be magic for him. At least for a few more years.

  The children, and Ben, the big child, said their goodbyes to Della. I heard them start to sing as I walked back into the house with her. She whispered to me that she had things in the car for the children. Christmas presents from Hugh.

  “He asked me to give them to you. Do you want to put them under the tree or keep them until Christmas morning?”

  The tree in the lounge was not yet decorated and, besides, I couldn’t see the twins leaving the parcels unopened until Christmas Day.

  “I’ll go out with you. We’ll hide them in the old shed.”

  Hugh had really pushed the boat out. The boot of Della’s car was packed with gift-wrapped parcels. Three of the boxes were much bigger than the others, all with big red bows tied around them.

  “Tricycles for the twins and a new bike for Rob,” Della said.

  It was amazing how Hugh seemed to know exactly what they wanted. He would be such a great dad someday.

  We carried the parcels, big and small, to the old shed. The walls were crooked, the corrugated-iron roof rusted, but the inside was dry and had plenty of hiding spaces. I put the big boxes into the empty space behind the deckchairs where the tree-stand had been. The other parcels we put into a black refusac and stood it between the lawnmower and the roll of wire mesh Ben had bought when he had the notion to get chickens. I wondered why he had changed his mind. I also wondered why I had never asked him.

  “Safe from little prying eyes now,” I said as I locked the shed and walked Della to her car.

  She sat in, leaving the driver’s door open.

  “Thank you, Leah. For understanding. And for not . . .” She closed her door and let down the window. “Take care of yourself. Make sure you get plenty of rest and that you’re eating well.”

  She started the car and drove off without giving me a chance to answer. So, was she telling me she knew about my pregnancy?

  Ben needed to know. And my doctor did. I must make an appointment to see the GP. Although, I would have to give Ben time to absorb the news of his Uncle George before telling him we would have another mouth to feed. Or not.

  I went out to the back garden to join my little crew of carollers who were now singing their own version of ‘Silent Night’. The lights reflected in their shining eyes, their faces glowed with happiness. I knew mine did too when Ben stood beside me and put his arm around my shoulders as we belted out ‘Jingle Bells’. A crescent moon rose in a clear sky. A new moon. A new start for the Paircmoor Parrishes. All six of us.

  I felt so happy I almost caught Ben’s hand and put it on my tummy. I almost introduced him to his fourth child. Almost.

  I was setting the table for tea when Mags Hoey rang. I answered immediately, thinking there must be trouble in the salon.

  “Hi, Mags. Something wrong?”

  “Leah! Of course not. Tina and me are the A team. Leah’s Salon is buzzing. How is Ben?”

  “Good. He came home from hospital yesterday.”

  “I heard he was a
t the Farmer’s Market with the children this morning. Amazing to think it’s just over a week since he was rushed to hospital.”

  I should have known. Viv Henderson would have had prime view of the market and would have spread the word.

  “Anyway,” Mags said, “I’m ringing about my Pavlova.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. You must have heard about it. It’s my signature dish. I’m making one this evening and thought, now that Ben is home, you might be able to call over to me. I have takings to give you too. You know I don’t like having much cash in my house. Not safe.”

  “I understand,” I said, even though I did not.

  Paircmoor seemed to me the safest place in the world. We often forgot to lock the cars, or even the house, before we went to bed, yet none of our belongings were ever touched. Paircmoor crime was limited to untaxed tractors and the brewing of Gobnait Slevin’s scalp-scalding lotions.

  “I’ll pop over to you, Mags, when the children are in bed. I’m looking forward to some Pavlova!”

  As soon as I put down the phone, I began to regret having made the arrangement. Because Mags had been so helpful to me since Ben’s ‘incident’, I felt I had to go when she asked, but Ben was just out of hospital. The poison inside me bubbled again, bringing with it the thought that maybe I was afraid to leave the children alone with him. Angry with myself, I went to the lounge where Ben and the children were decorating the big tree. Even from the hallway, I could get the scent of the freshly cut tree and hear the children’s laughter. There was Christmas music playing in the background and Ben was humming along as he put decorations on the treetop. He sensed me watching from the doorway and turned towards me. He looked at ease, content, as the children were too. I would have been happy too, if I had not felt so guilty. So disloyal. I pushed the awful feelings back into their hiding place and smiled.

  “Mags Hoey has just been on the phone, Ben. She wants me to pop in to see her tonight. She has cash for me. And Pavlova.”

  Ben grinned. “Doesn’t get any better, does it? Money and meringue.”

  “It’s okay with you so? I won’t go until the kids are in bed and I won’t stay long.”

  The smile left Ben’s face. He looked at me, a puzzled frown on his forehead.

  “Of course it’s okay. Since when do you have to ask permission?”

  “Well, you’re just out of hospital.”

  “Yes, thank goodness. And I intend never having to go back there again. You seem very uptight, Leah. Go to see Mags. Have a chat. Relax. Stop taking all the worries of the world on your shoulders. Just bring some Pavlova home for me.”

  Josh grabbed my hand then and pulled me over to the tree to admire the decorating he had done. Anna, draped in the skirt of the Christmas tree stand and wearing a little drummer boy decoration in her hair, insisted that I admire each of her decorations individually. Rob was absorbed in his job of helping sort out the tangled lights while Ben was humming as he worked. Happy.

  He was so right in his observation. The only tension in the room was in my head.

  I went back to the kitchen to finish getting tea, making potato cakes, emptying the dishwasher, sweeping the floor, keeping so busy that I did not have time to think. Time to feel guilty.

  ***

  Mags enveloped me in a warm embrace as I stood on her doorstep. She looked very well. So full of vitality. At least I had no worry that running the salon was too much for her. She seemed to be thriving on it.

  “Come in, come in, you skinny little thing,” she said. “Sit down at the table there. I’m going to put extra cream on your Pavlova. You need meat on your bones.”

  “How’s Claire?”

  “She’s fine. Doing a bit of romancing now. About time for her. She’s so finicky.”

  As I sat at the table she prattled on, telling me about the week’s events in the salon. Judging by the size of the bundle of cash she handed me, the best thing that ever happened to Leah’s Salon was the disaster, turned opportunity, of Minnie Curran’s scalded scalp. Or maybe the attraction was curiosity about Ben’s dramatic rescue from the cave. A topic of conversation and speculation, according to Mags. Whatever the reason, customers were pouring into the salon.

  “Here, before I forget . . .” Mags said, handing me a folded sheet of paper. “Tina made that out. It’s the list of products we need to re-order. You can do that from home now, if you’d prefer not to go in.”

  “I’m very grateful to you, Mags. And to Tina too. I couldn’t have coped without you both.”

  “Don’t be daft. Of course you would. You’re one of life’s copers, Leah.”

  “You think so? But I’m not, Mags. I’m not. I’m . . .”

  I had to stop talking because tears choked my words. I allowed them to because I felt secure with Mags. My surrogate mother. Also because I could no longer accommodate the sheer volume of fear, guilt and unhappiness inside me.

  “I should be happy now, Mags. Relieved that Ben is home and in such good form. That the children are happy and healthy. That the salon is doing so well. But I’m not. I’m anticipating disaster at every turn. I’m afraid. What’s wrong with me, Mags?”

  She placed the two plates she had been carrying on the table, sat beside me, and put her arms around me. The tears and fearful words kept pouring out of me.

  “One minute we were living the dream in Dublin, the next Ben was made redundant. One minute my mother was crocheting cot blankets for the twins, the next she was dead. One minute Ben was looking after the children, the next he was smashing a vase and running out the door into a storm. What the hell, Mags? How can I ever trust life again? Or trust Ben?”

  Mags got up and went over to her counter. She opened a drawer, took out a box of tissues and put them on the table in front of me. I grabbed a bundle and began to mop my face, thankful that at least I hadn’t been wearing mascara. Not even waterproof would have survived my tsunami of tears.

  Mags patted me on the back. “Cry as much as you need to, Leah. It’s unhealthy to keep it all inside. You’ll feel better for getting it off your chest.”

  She was wrong there. Had I really said out loud that I could not trust Ben? That made me feel worse. Mags knew about Ben and Ellen Riggs. I assumed everyone in Paircmoor had heard the rumours. She probably thought my trust issues were about him being faithful. But they went a lot deeper than that. He had hidden his teenage suicide attempts from me. Also a three-month stay in a mental health facility. He had learned well from Della.

  “We’ve just discovered that an uncle of Ben’s committed suicide when he was fourteen years old. First we heard of it. It was never spoken about.”

  “That would have been some time ago?”

  “The nineteen forties.”

  “Then, of course it wasn’t spoken about. Neither was sex, pregnancy or homosexuality. Different times, Leah. Why is the information about Ben’s uncle upsetting you now? Do you think there’s a link to what happened to Ben last week? On the beach, I mean.”

  Of course there was a link. George had obviously suffered from depression and so did Ben. But that’s where the similarities ended. Ben’s suicide attempts were classic cries for help. George’s suicide was a rejection of help. I smiled at Mags.

  “Vera and Walter Sanquest put my mind at rest on that score. They found him sheltering in the back of the cave, trying to escape the tide. What he did that night was foolhardy, and even stupid, but he didn’t intend ending his life. He’s paid a big price though.”

  “So did you.”

  Mags pushed one of the plates, loaded with a massive slice of Pavlova, in front of me.

  “Start on that while I pour your coffee. You need a sugar hit.”

  I didn’t need sugar, but what I did need was Mags to care enough to fuss over me, to hold me while I cried.

  But I began to eat her delicious Pavlova, heaped with fruit, smothered in cream and drizzled with a rich butterscotch sauce.

  “This is just divine,” I told her, and I
didn’t object when she placed a second slice on my plate.

  “I suppose you’ll be thinking of coming back to the salon now that Ben’s home?” she said.

  I wondered if I had misjudged. Again. Was she finding the extra responsibility too much?

  “I was hoping to take a few days next week at home. If that would be alright with you and Tina?”

  “Of course it is. I told you we’re managing fine. And Ben will have to ease himself back into the school run and all that routine. You do know the Presidential election is Tuesday and voting is in the National School – so Rob will have a day off.”

  “Yes. I’ve been told. I need to get a bit of organising for Christmas done too. Hopefully we’ll be very busy in the salon in the run-up to the holidays.”

  Mags smiled. “See! Better already! You’re looking forward. Taking control. My Pavlova never fails.”

  She handed me a carefully wrapped plate.

  “This is a Pavlova for Ben. I hope he likes it and that it gives him a lift too.”

  I hugged her, knowing that if she had served up bread and butter, it would have a positive effect. Mags’ caring imbued everything she did with warmth. It gave me the courage to face back home to Cowslip Cottage, and to whatever twists and turns of fate awaited me.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Sunday 5th December 2010

  Ben had been delighted next morning when I told him I was going to take a few more days off work. It was a treat to sit down to Sunday lunch that day without having to worry about organising the coming week’s housework. I had made our favourite dinner, roast pork and apple sauce with roast potato and roast veg drizzled with honey. As flavoursome as it was calorific.

  “Am I going to school tomorrow?” Rob asked.

  “You are,” I told him, “but you have a day off on Tuesday.”

  “No! I don’t want to miss more school!”

  “Everyone will, Rob, because the school will be closed. Adults will be going in there to say who they would like to be their new President.”