When the Time Comes

by Adele O'Neill

  ‘Thanks, love. Everything is going to be okay.’ Dad raises his hand to my shoulder sensing that I’m about to interrupt him. ‘There is no time for what-ifs,’ his statement is a follow on from a conversation we had the night before and every night before that, for that matter. What if they don’t believe him? What if he goes to prison? What if Josh never forgives him? What if, what if, what if… ‘Abbie, love,’ he wraps his arm around my shoulder and the scent of Obsession, the aftershave I bought him for Christmas, drifts up my nose. I hold my breath, holding the scent of him there as though it might be the last time. ‘No matter what happens, you will be fine, your brother will be fine,’ he raises his eyebrows reassuringly at Josh. ‘We will all be fine, whatever happens.’ He places his hand on Josh’s shoulder drawing him closer and when Josh doesn’t shrug it away he squeezes his arm, his eyes glazed with tears. ‘We’ll deal with it, okay? All of us together.’

  I wish Dad and Josh would just get back to how they used to be. I wish that the only things they argued about were whether or not PSG were mad to pay £168 million for Neymar or whether or not Johnny Sexton’s pace, power and deft footwork make him an even better rugby player than Ronan O’Gara ever was. Arguing over everything that’s gone wrong is not going to help anyone. What happened can’t be changed. It can’t be undone and it shouldn’t be a reason for them never to talk again.

  ‘Just like we dealt with it when Mum—’ Dad coughs to disguise the quiver in his voice and blinks discreetly to hide the tears in his eyes. ‘When mum passed away,’ he says.

  ‘Okay,’ I mutter.

  ‘Life is like this, love, one minute it’s fantastic, then the next it’s awful and I know we’ve…’ he reaches to push my hair back from my eyes, before he lifts his head to look Josh in the eyes. I can feel Josh stiffen beside me. ‘You’ve both had more than your fair share of awful, and I’m really, really sorry for that, I truly am,’ he shifts his weight awkwardly.

  Last night, after we had cleaned up Josh’s mess, Dad said that had he known two years ago what he knows now, he wouldn’t have left. He would have stayed and supported Mum and he would have been a better dad to me and Josh. If only. If only we could turn back the clock, go back to when it was just me, Josh, Mum and Dad living blissfully in number 26 Oakley Drive. It was perfect then, a perfect life before affairs, illnesses, anger and death. The memories of before play on a sequence in my mind, it’s the type of montage that, had the production team at Disney films produced it for their latest blockbuster, the director would have told them to edit it a little more so that it wasn’t so cheesy. If only.

  ‘Right then,’ Josh hops from foot to foot and clears his throat. ‘We should be getting in,’ he says and nods towards the people that have just entered into the lobby. I follow his eyes. It’s Alex, Tony and Louise.

  ‘Lift or steps?’ Josh asks, eager to move away. He’s never been a great talker and he’s even worse now.

  ‘We should say hello,’ I say, anxious that we don’t seem rude. I’ve never had a problem with Alex before all this so I shouldn’t now and the only reason Josh doesn’t really talk to her is because any time he’s been in her company before, Dad has been there. It’s not that he doesn’t actually like her, at least I don’t think it is. He doesn’t object so I wave at them and they come over.

  ‘Morning.’ Dad smiles at Alex and then extends his hand to shake Kelly’s before he nods at Louise. It’s a little tense between Alex and Dad, but friendly all the same. Dad says that they haven’t broken up exactly, but that she doesn’t live at the apartment anymore. She moved into Louise’s house when Louise lost the baby and I think she just never moved back out. That was nearly a year ago now. I haven’t really seen her much since everything happened and I don’t think Dad has either.

  ‘Morning, Liam,’ Louise says back with a cautious smile on her face for him. It’s as though she’s holding back, reserving judgement until the trial is over before she lets her guard back down around Dad. She looks at me then and smiles more genuinely. ‘Morning, Abbie,’ she pats my arm warmly and extends her hand to Josh. Josh flicks his hair back from his eyes and shakes her hand awkwardly and then when Kelly follows suit, he shakes his hand too.

  ‘How are we doing,’ Kelly says, not looking for an answer. Ever since Dad was charged last year Kelly’s name has been mentioned a few times around the house because he’s involved with Dad’s case. I think it’s a good sign; if Kelly thought dad was guilty I don’t think he’d be working on his defence.

  ‘Right then,’ Louise clears her throat, ‘we’ll go ahead in,’ she suggests, filling the uncomfortable silence that has descended between us all, and they turn to walk away. Alex lingers for a moment longer, her eyes looking directly at Dad.

  ‘How are you doing?’ her words are careful but her expression is warm.

  ‘Okay,’ Dad says. I can tell by the way he looks at her that he wants to hold her, wrap her up in his arms, but he doesn’t. He must miss her, he must want to be back with her in the life that they once shared.

  ‘Okay, see you guys inside.’ She turns to smile at us. ‘You know I’m always around.’ She raises her eyebrows kindly. ‘Text me anytime if you need anything, won’t you?’ she says.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I say and glance at Josh expecting him to scowl at me, but he doesn’t and Alex hurries across the foyer to catch up with Kelly and Louise on the stairs.

  ‘Right then, we’ll get the lift.’ Josh says, as we nod our goodbyes to Dad. He waits until the lift doors close on both of us before he speaks again. ‘Well, that was awkward.’

  ‘I know, but I think she’s nice.’

  ‘I never said she wasn’t nice, I just never liked the idea that Dad cheated on Mum, that’s all.’ We stand in silence for a moment before he continues. ‘But whatever happens, Abs, we will be okay, no matter what happens.’ The doors open and shut on the next floor and when no one gets in he continues. ‘And I know you’re worried that Dad will end up in jail and you won’t be allowed to stay at home, but I’m eighteen now, so technically old enough to be your guardian, so they won’t be able to put you into care or whatever it is they think they can do.’

  ‘I’m not,’ I say.

  ‘But, just so you know, if it does happen – I’ll be in charge.’ His smile is sad, the joke bittersweet and the effort that he’s making to distract me and cheer me up not going unnoticed. ‘I’ll probably send you to boarding school though, just letting you know.’

  ‘Shut up, Josh,’ I swipe at him from the side, grateful for the distraction his lame jokes provide.

  ‘But seriously though, Abs.’ He begins, this time his face a little more serious. My real name, the name my mother only ever called me when I was in trouble is Abigail, named after her mother, the grandmother that I never knew. She died when my mum was still young, but ever since I can remember, I’ve only ever been called Abbie. Josh is the only one that calls me Abs. ‘Don’t be worrying, you know what Mum would say if she caught us worrying like this, don’t you?’ He scrunches up his face playfully, emphasising the word us. I love it when he does that, aligns himself with me, makes me feel that I’m not the only one feeling like I do. He’s always had my back.

  ‘What, that worrying is a waste of time that solves nothing,’ I reel off one of Mum’s sayings in her sing-song voice knowing that’s exactly what Josh intends to do as well.

  ‘And,’ he raises his voice an octave trying to do the same. ‘Worrying is like walking around with an umbrella waiting for it to rain,’ he lifts an imaginary umbrella over his head, presses the imaginary button and waits until the invisible umbrella folds out before he steps under it, dragging me with him. When Josh smiles, he looks so like Dad.

  ‘And that you can’t go back and change the beginning of your story, but you can stop what you’re doing and change the end,’ I offer quickly as the lift bings and the doors glide open on our floor.

  ‘That sounds like her alright,’ Josh whispers as we step through the doors.
There’s a wistfulness in his eyes. He misses her so much, we both do. We turn to the right and follow two others with walking in that direction and confirm by the signs that we are going the right way. ‘She’d also say that all that matters at the end of the day is that we look after each other, unconditionally,’ he pauses just outside the courtroom doors. ‘And,’ he shoves me gently from the shoulder, ‘that you’ve to clean my bedroom for the next year, you know… to build up your life skills and that.’

  ‘Yes, Josh, just like one of Mum’s philosophies alright. I hit him a sly dig and follow him to our seats, my eyes searching for the bench where Dad will be put.

  ‘And, in any case, no matter what happens, Dad will still be coming home with us today,’ he murmurs.

  ‘I know,’ I say. None of us are entirely certain how things are going to go, but William said, given the witnesses and evidence that is expected to be presented, he expects the trial to run for about two weeks. He also added that anything can happen and that that timeline is only a guideline, so even if worse comes to worst, Dad would still be able to come home with us at least ten more times. Mum always said that when we’re told something can’t be fixed we’re not to believe it and look for another way. That’s where having strength comes in, to be told there’s no hope and to have hope anyway.

  An unpleasant hush descends in the courtroom, the defence and prosecution take their seats and the remaining court attendants close the doors as Dad is lead towards the stand. The silence really makes me uneasy.

  ‘Mr Buckley,’ Dad’s standing now, the clerk is standing with him with a Bible in her hand. ‘You are charged with one count of possession of a illegal substance to inflict harm, one count of murder in the first degree.’

  ‘What plea do you enter?’

  ‘Not guilty.’ Dad says.

  2.

  Three Days Before Jenny Died

  It was after four on Thursday by the time the delivery Jenny had been expecting arrived. The driver, a jolly man with the tail of his short-sleeved shirt sticking out over his belt and a sweaty brow, hopped out of his lorry and made his way around the back. Jenny watched him from the living room window as he dabbed the sweaty dribbles with the back of his hand. He opened the back doors and stood lapping up the late afternoon breeze as he waited for the hydraulic ramp of the lorry to rise. Seconds later, Sarah pulled up behind him, locked her car, clicked past him in her heels, and took pencil skirt-sized strides to let herself into Jenny’s house with her own key.

  ‘Sarah Barry,’ Jenny wagged her finger at her best friend. ‘There was absolutely no need for you to leave work early, I would have been able to handle it on my own, for God’s sake.’

  ‘It’s fine, I can catch up on paperwork when I get home.’ Being the principal solicitor in her own firm had its privileges and keeping her own hours was one of them. ‘And besides, I wanted to be here just in case Mrs Doyle came out to see what was going on.’ Sarah knew how private Jenny was and how much she hated the idea that her entire life – from her husband leaving her to her terminal diagnosis – had become a topic of conversation for her nosy neighbours especially Mrs Doyle from across the way.

  ‘No sign of her yet,’ Jenny grinned. ‘But you’re right, she’ll be over here with her signature head tilt and pity casserole if she realises what’s going on.’

  ‘It would be hard to miss, in fairness.’

  Jenny reached for the curtain and shifted it back so that Sarah could see. The delivery lorry had ‘Medical and Hospital Equipment’ emblazoned on the side. ‘So much for dignity,’ Jenny sniffed.

  ‘Don’t mind her, it’s a bed, that’s all, we all have to sleep somewhere.’ Sarah said, her brow knitted in concern. ‘Anyway, are you tired or are you rationing?’ she smiled and dipped down to peck Jenny on the cheek and tapped the arm of the wheelchair that she was sitting in as she did.

  ‘A little of both,’ the answer was exactly as Sarah had expected it to be. Jenny had been using the wheelchair more often these days, especially when the kids weren’t in the house. She found that if she conserved her energy in the daytime she wasn’t as jaded by the time they got home. That way she could be on her feet for longer in the evenings and family life would at least appear to be a little more normal.

  ‘Well,’ Sarah continued, ‘I’m just here because I like to organise,’ she smiled sorrowfully looking around the chaotic room. It had been stripped of anything that had identified it as a living room and the accumulated boxes and piles of clothes made it resemble the back room of an Oxfam shop. It would take a fair bit of imagination and a lot of energy to transform it into a bedroom that Jenny would be comfortable in.

  The IKEA storage system that had been fitted into the alcoves on either side of the fireplace had gone some way to marking the change, but it was the delivery of the medical bed that was going to be the most significant, which was the real reason Sarah had come. The bed wasn’t just a convenience that Jenny had chosen to have, but a necessity as her deterioration continued and a realisation of a future that she wasn’t yet ready to embrace descended upon her.

  Sarah studied the expression on Jenny’s face. ‘You’re sure this is what you want… moving in here to the front room?’ she lowered her voice, wary of her words floating out of the open sash window, over the postage stamp front lawn and into earshot of the delivery guy outside who had just fumbled for his phone to make a call.

  ‘I am,’ Jenny answered, a nostalgic expression on her face.

  ‘It’s just that I hate the idea of it… of Liam moving back in and you being reduced to sleeping in here, that’s all.’ Sarah played with strands of her hair that had fallen from the neat chignon at the back of her head.

  ‘Look, Sarah,’ Jenny glanced towards the hallway anxiously. It was a conversation she had had with her friend many times before. ‘This bloody disease is reducing me to sleeping in here. It’s the MND’s fault, not Liam’s.’ Jenny glared at her, lowering her voice and paused to wipe away a rogue tear that had escaped down her cheek. ‘Whether Liam was moving back in here or not, I’m getting to a point where I can’t manage the bloody stairs on my own any more, and I’ll be damned if I have to ask my seventeen-year-old son to carry me to bed ever again.’ Jenny’s voice finished in a whisper, the emotion of the memory enough to make tears well up in her eyes. Her immobility at the time in question had only been temporary and had been brought on by a mix-up in her medication, but it had given Jenny a brief glimpse into a future that was lying in wait, and it frightened her.

  ‘Okay, okay, I’m just saying, ever since you bought the bloody place,’ Sarah paused trying to find the right words to say. ‘You’ve hated this room and now you’re going to be sleeping in the bloody thing.’

  ‘I know,’ Jenny waved her hands around the room with a defeated expression on her face. ‘Look at it like this, at least now the room will finally be used for something other than a place to put the Christmas tree up,’ she smiled.

  ‘I suppose.’ Sarah answered. ‘And you’ve had a chance to do a clear-out that Marie Kondo would be delighted with.’

  ‘Yes, but most importantly, the kids will have their dad. And that’s what it’s all for.’

  ‘I’m just worried that being in here will make you unhappy, especially with him up there, back in your marital bed.’ It had been Sarah who had sat with Jenny in her darkest days and she resented the fact that Liam got to swan back in and take up exactly where he left off as though he had done nothing wrong, as though he hadn’t completely shattered Jenny’s heart when he left her.

  ‘Sarah,’ Jenny warned, a half-smile on her face. She had heard the argument before but it was her decision to make and she had made it in the interest of the children; it wasn’t up for further debate.

  ‘Jennifer Buckley,’ the delivery guy peered around the door that Sarah had left ajar.

  ‘Yes,’ Sarah said answering for Jenny. ‘Come in.’

  ‘Perfect, right house so, just a little bit of assembly and then I’
ll be out of your hair, ladies.’ He stood to the side with his trolley at his hand waiting for them to leave. Sarah pushed Jenny out of the living room, across the tiled hall and through to the bright kitchen at the back of the house. She sat Jenny at the kitchen table while she made two mugs of coffee and brought them over.

  ‘Can I do anything for you… I could help you onto the sofa if you’d be more comfortable?’ Sarah offered.

  ‘No thanks, I’m fine here.’ As much as Jenny would have loved to flop on the sofa and shift the weight from her backside while languishing in the softness of the velvet cushions, she didn’t dare. She had been in the chair for a couple of hours and even though she didn’t feel wet she could never be sure there weren’t any leaks. Such were the practicalities of her condition.

  ‘I can sort you out if that’s what you’re worried about.’ There wasn’t much about the disease’s hardships that Jenny and Sarah hadn’t shared.

  ‘Have your coffee first, maybe I’ll need your help then.’ Jenny sighed. She had a carer in the morning to assist with personal care and a carer in the evening too, but in between she had to rely on her own abilities and with the exertions of the past couple of days, her normal energy levels were diminished which meant normal, mundane tasks like changing clothes seemed a step too far. In these instances she relied on assistance from Sarah.

  ‘Seriously, Jen, how are you doing?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘Well, other than the overwhelming sadness, anxiety and guilt about how my children are going to cope when I’m gone, I’m doing fine.’ She held her breath, filling her lungs trying to hold back the torrent of tears that threatened to fall. Sarah had been her rock, the one person upon whom she could rely, and it would have been almost impossible to keep up her implacable façade. ‘You see now,’ she sniffled and dabbed her eyes, ‘you’re going to make me cry.’

  ‘Well, cry then.’ Sarah scanned the lines of worry on Jenny’s face and retrieved a box of tissues from the shelf before she sat back at the table beside her. She would have scooped her into a hug, but she knew Jenny wouldn’t have wanted that – sympathy and Jenny didn’t mix well, she knew from experience that at times like this all Jenny would appreciate was practical help, a firm voice. The hug could come later when she’d composed herself. ‘Because if anyone’s entitled to cry, it’s you.’ Sarah handed her a tissue and waited until Jenny’s sobs lessened a little, using the time to calm her breathing. It was hard not to get upset when she saw the pain and regret etched on her friend’s face. ‘What you are dealing with is awful and devastating and the hardest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do.’ She pulled a tissue for herself expecting her own tears to begin to fall. ‘And if you need to cry, you should bloody well cry, it’s just me and you.’ Tears began to drop down Sarah’s cheeks and had Jenny’s hand not cramped and frozen in the shape of a claw, she would have reached to Sarah’s face to wipe them away.