Pieces of My Heart

by Sinéad Moriarty

  ‘I’m in a clinic with anorexia and OCD. I don’t think I’m doing such a great job.’

  ‘Emily, most people with abusive alcoholic fathers would be in loony bins. You’re doing great.’

  ‘I’m tired. I’m really, really tired. I just don’t want to fight any more.’

  ‘You need a good night’s sleep. Ask Denise to give you a strong sleeping tablet and I bet everything will look less depressing in the morning.’

  Emily smiled. ‘Maybe you’re right. Thanks, Alison, you’re a really good friend.’

  ‘Sleep well. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘You see, Mum,’ Ali sobbed, ‘that’s when I realized how lucky I am. I only have to deal with food. Emily has to deal with OCD and self-harming. I think that maybe if I can show Emily there is life after the clinic, it’ll inspire her to get better too.’

  As sorry as I felt for Emily, I really wished Ali would stop worrying about her. Ali needed to focus on her own problems. I chose my words very carefully. ‘That’s great, Ali. I’m sure you getting better will inspire all the girls. It’ll make us very happy, too.’

  ‘I know, so that’s why I asked Denise to get me the ice cream. But it was so hard to eat it, Mum. I really had to fight to put every bit in my mouth, but I did it!’

  ‘Good for you. Did it taste nice?’

  ‘Amazing! I’d forgotten how much I loved it.’

  I did a silent dance. ‘That’s brilliant, Ali. You’re taking back control of your life.’

  ‘In one way I feel like I’ve taken control, but in another really scary way I feel like I’m losing it.’

  ‘Well, Mary said it would be an uphill battle. So this is your first big victory and that’s always the hardest one. From now on it should get easier. I’m so proud of you, Ali. This is a real breakthrough.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum. I’d better go.’

  ‘Sleep well.’

  When Paul came in from work I told him the good news. ‘You’re telling me that Ali ate a spoonful of low-fat ice cream?’

  ‘Yes, isn’t that brilliant?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Ava, but I find it hard to jump around cheering about this. It’s not exactly a Big Mac.’

  ‘It’s a start. And the fact that she asked for it is actually a huge deal, so get excited because Denise thinks this is a big breakthrough. And Mary rang – she said that Ali had written a very strong letter to anorexia and this was also a big step forward. So we have lots to be happy about.’

  ‘I’ll have to take your word for it.’

  ‘The only fly in the ointment is her friend Emily.’

  ‘What’s up with her?’

  ‘She’s going backwards – she’s on bed-rest again, and Ali seems hell-bent on saving her. She needs her energy for her own recovery.’

  ‘Typical Ali, always trying to look after everyone else. Isn’t that what landed her in there in the first place? That, and me forcing her to do medicine and you not listening to her properly.’

  ‘Well, I nearly bit my bloody tongue in half tonight with all the listening. There were so many times I wanted to interrupt her and tell her not to be so bloody ridiculous trying to save other people, but I didn’t. Mary would have been very proud of me. But it was very hard.’

  ‘Well done. I don’t have a medal handy, will a kiss do?’

  ‘A kiss would do just fine,’ I said. He leant across and delivered it.

  ‘And you’ll be pleased to hear I’ve done some homework of my own.’

  ‘What homework?’

  ‘Mary said we should all write letters to anorexia, so I wrote mine today.’

  Paul pulled a piece of paper out of his coat pocket and handed it to me. ‘It’s a bit rough, I need to work on it, but … well, see for yourself.’

  Listen closely, dickhead,

  You are a bully and a coward. You hide in my daughter’s head, messing with her mind. But I am stronger than you, louder than you, and I love my daughter more than anything in the world. I will crush you like the piece of shit you are. I will drown you out until you are nothing but a distant memory. You won’t win this battle. It is my role in life to protect my family. You won’t destroy my girl, so fuck off and leave her alone.

  Paul

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. ‘It’s perfect. Don’t change a single word.’

  40

  I went to work early the next day to make up for all the time I’d been missing lately. I wanted to ring Helen, about the sweet-sixteen Moulin Rouge-themed bonanza that we had coming up. Paddy Collins’s daughter, Annabelle, was turning sixteen and having the party to end all parties. Paddy was estimated to be worth more than two hundred million euros and the party had an open chequebook policy.

  ‘Any ideas on Moulin Rouge-themed food, Helen?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ve come up with a few. For the canapés I was thinking mini-croissants stuffed with cheeses and hams, crackers in the shape of the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe, mini quiches, crab claws, Brie and cranberry croque monsieur, tomato tarte Tatin and baked Camembert with focaccia croûtons.’

  ‘That sounds fantastic – especially tomato tarte Tatin. Brilliant.’

  ‘They look really good and taste even better – the onion relish gives them a lovely flavour. Now for dinner we’re starting with foie gras –’

  ‘Foie gras for teenagers is such a waste,’ I said.

  ‘I couldn’t agree more, but you said it’s what the Collinses ordered.’

  ‘You’re right. It just seems so completely over the top. Anyway, sorry for interrupting, go on.’

  ‘For the main course, the kids get the choice of either beef fillet with tomato polenta and Armagnac sauce or fillet of pan-fried turbot with pepper and fennel purée on basil butter.’

  ‘My mouth is watering just thinking about it. Dare I ask about dessert?’

  ‘We’re going to have chocolate cigars, chocolate high-heeled shoes, shortbread can-can girls with chocolate feathers, bodice-shaped sponge cakes with silver-icing laces and little white chocolate gift boxes with red fondant bows.’

  ‘Wow, Helen! That sounds incredible. How about the cake? Are you going to be able to make a three-foot replica of the Moulin Rouge as requested by the charming Annabelle?’

  ‘I’m still working on that. It’s going to be expensive.’

  ‘ “Money no object”, to quote Paddy Collins directly.’

  ‘They should clone him.’

  ‘If only all our clients were like that.’

  ‘Who are you giving out about?’ Sally asked, as she came in and took her coat off.

  ‘I’m not giving out. I’m saying what a dream client Paddy Collins is. I’m just reminding Helen that his pockets are deep so she doesn’t have to worry about her budget.’

  ‘Be as creative as you like, Helen. This is your chance to really go all out,’ Sally shouted over my shoulder. Helen laughed.

  ‘I’ll let you go, Helen. Thanks so much.’ I hung up.

  ‘You’re in early,’ Sally commented.

  ‘Feeling guilty for being out so much lately.’

  ‘Hey, you know I don’t mind. How are things?’

  ‘I’m almost afraid to say it but I think she’s turned a corner. She ate a scoop of ice cream last night and she sounded stronger than before.’

  ‘Oh, that’s wonderful. Good old Ali.’

  ‘Hopefully it’s a turning-point. Anyway, that’s enough about Ali. I ear-bashed you about her for over an hour yesterday. Tell me about Simon. Tell me how in love you are and how romantic it all is. Go on, make me sick.’

  ‘Well, things are going really well, apart from the certifiable ex-wife. We had to get a barring order for her because she’s still coming to my apartment every night to tell my neighbours that I’m the Scarlet Woman. Mrs O’Brien next door, who has never been particularly nice to me, actually threw holy water over me last week when I was leaving for work to cleanse me of my sins. Simon got doused as well, even though I explained to her that he was a
Quaker and therefore a waste of her good water.’

  ‘Do you think it scared him off?’

  ‘He thought it was hilarious. That’s the thing about Simon, it’s all so easy. After years of bad relationships and crappy dates, I’ve finally met someone who just fits. I used to worry that because I’d been living on my own for so long I’d become set in my ways but I love sharing my apartment with him. I love having his clothes in my wardrobe and his shaving things in my bathroom. I love having another body in my bed, even though he does hog the duvet. It hasn’t been the really difficult adjustment that I expected. It’s been easy.’

  ‘Oh, Sally, it sounds perfect.’

  ‘Honestly, Ava, it kind of is and I can’t believe it myself. I keep waiting for something awful to happen. Simon rings when he says he’s going to – what guy ever does that? We never run out of things to talk about and I don’t feel I have to hold my stomach in when I’m walking around in my underwear. I’ve never not done that, even after three years with Jeremy. He makes me feel so good about myself – he’s constantly telling me I’m wonderful and sexy and witty.’

  ‘Stop! This is too much. It’s like Love Story or something!’

  ‘I know – and it’s happening to me, which is so weird. I never, ever thought it would. There is just one teeny thing that bothers me, though.’

  ‘Thank God for that. What is it?’

  ‘His hair.’

  ‘It does look a bit strange,’ I agreed.

  ‘I know it’s really shallow – I finally meet this amazing man and here I am obsessing about his hair. But I can’t help it. The more I looked at it, the more it looked like a really bad wig. It was really beginning to bug me so last night after a few glasses of wine I just blurted it out.’

  ‘Oh, God. What did you say? What did he say?’

  Sally explained that she had asked him straight out …

  ‘What’s the deal with your hair?’

  He bristled. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Simon, but it looks really weird. I swore I wouldn’t ask, because it doesn’t matter – it makes no difference to the way I feel about you. But I just don’t see how you could have been born like that.’

  ‘I wasn’t.’

  ‘Is it a wig?’

  ‘No, it’s a transplant.’

  Sally spluttered her wine back into the glass. ‘What?’

  He sighed. ‘My hair started to fall out about two years ago. Maura freaked. She said I looked old and ugly and she didn’t want to be with a bald man.’

  ‘The shallow cow,’ Sally said, trying to deflect attention from her own criticism of his mop.

  ‘She kept going on about it. She said she couldn’t stand seeing me looking so old with my receding hairline. She said I shouldn’t let myself go, there were options, men didn’t have to be bald any more, there were treatments available and on and on. Eventually I gave in and went for a consultation with this hair specialist.’

  ‘What did he say?’ Sally asked, although judging by the barnet Simon had, he must have proposed sticking a raccoon on his head.

  ‘He suggested a transplant.’

  ‘How many did you have?’

  ‘Hilarious. Just one.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, it was a big one.’

  ‘You don’t say.’

  ‘Is it that bad?’

  ‘No, it’s just very full and springy.’

  ‘I know it looks like a rug, but apparently it’ll calm down over time.’

  ‘When did you get it done?’

  ‘About eight months ago, right around the time my wife was shagging someone else.’

  ‘She’s a piece of work.’

  ‘And it was bloody painful.’

  ‘What do they do? Where does the hair come from? Is it real or animal hair?’

  ‘Jesus – does it look like animal hair?’

  ‘No!’ she lied. ‘It doesn’t. I just thought I read something about it somewhere …’

  ‘They take hair from the back of your head that is genetically resistant to going bald and transplant it to the balding area.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘They trim the hair at the back that they’re taking out and then they give you a local anaesthetic in that area and then they cut it out.’

  ‘That sounds excruciating.’

  ‘And then they sew it into the front of your head where you’re going bald. And then you have bloody scabs for a week or so.’

  ‘I think I’m going to be sick.’

  ‘And after all that pain the bitch had an affair.’

  ‘Are you happy with the transplant?’

  ‘It’s ridiculous. The clinic I went to was a joke. I’ve seen guys with good transplants and they don’t look like this.’

  ‘Why don’t you get it cut really short? I think it’d look great.’

  ‘Do you? To be honest, Maura really knocked my confidence and I don’t know what to do. I feel like a total gobshite for having gone ahead with it. I look back now and think how could I have been so stupid? But when someone keeps going on and on at you, sometimes it’s easier to give in.’

  ‘Just so you know, I have no problem with baldness. So, if all your hair does eventually fall out, I won’t start shagging someone else. But I would like to take you to my hairdresser to get it cut tomorrow.’

  ‘Be honest, what does it look like?’

  ‘Do you remember Davy Crockett’s raccoon-fur hat?’ Sally started giggling.

  ‘You cow,’ Simon said, wrestling her to the ground. ‘Take that back.’

  ‘WHORE, SLAPPER, PROSTITUTE.’

  Sally couldn’t believe it. They had had Maura barred from coming within a hundred yards of her apartment. She looked out of the window and there she was, across the green, with a megaphone.

  ‘Right. That’s it.’ Sally stormed out of the door.

  She strode across the green and grabbed the megaphone from Maura’s hands. Digging her finger into the woman’s chest, she hissed, ‘Now, you listen to me, you fruitcake. I’ve had enough of you shouting abuse at me. You screwed around while you were married to him and you ruined your marriage so stop blaming me. If you want to shout at someone I suggest you look in the mirror. And by the way what the hell were you thinking with the hair transplant? It looks ridiculous.’

  ‘It’s a lot better than it was. He looked terrible with a receding hairline.’

  ‘Give me bald any day.’

  ‘I want him back.’

  ‘He’s not available. Listen closely, Loopy-Lu, I’ve waited forty-three long, lonely years to meet someone like Simon and nothing – least of all you and your mad ranting – is going to persuade me to give him up. So why don’t you give your vocal cords a rest? If you think you’re scaring me off, you’re sadly mistaken. Let me put it in terms you can relate to. I’ll have myself transplanted onto him if I have to. This one is a keeper, so piss off and find someone else to torment.’

  ‘Way to go, Sally.’ I was impressed with my friend’s feistiness. ‘Did she leave?’

  ‘Damn right she did. She scurried off back to her car with her megaphone and I went back to my boyfriend with the big hair.’ We roared laughing.

  41

  The next evening Paul came home early from work again for dinner. When we finished eating, Charlie left to drive Nadia to work and Sarah and Bobby went upstairs to rehearse their play. We lingered over a glass of wine in the kitchen.

  ‘How was Ali today when you spoke to her?’ Paul asked.

  ‘Good – she really seems to be trying to eat more and she says she wants to get better so she can get off bed-rest and come home. She seems to have turned a corner and she’s actually talking to me for the first time in ages.’

  ‘That’s a bonus.’

  ‘Makes a nice change from the one-sided phone calls and monosyllabic answers.’

  ‘How’s her friend getting on?’

  ‘I don’t think Emily’s doing too well. Ali said she’s still
on bed-rest, isn’t eating and seems very down.’

  ‘Poor kid – the dad must be some arsehole to have turned her into such a basket case.’

  ‘Apparently he was a very abusive drunk. I think Ali appreciates you more now.’

  ‘Alleluia. Maybe I’ll be forgiven for forcing her to do medicine.’

  ‘Paul, you need to let that go.’

  ‘I know and I will. It just threw me. I thought I was encouraging her and she says I was pressurizing her. It’s made me second-guess everything I say to her now and to Sarah too. Take tonight, for instance, when Sarah was talking about wanting to be an actress. I wanted to tell her to cop on and focus on having a real career but I stopped myself in case I damaged her or something.’

  ‘We both need to censor ourselves for a while, until things settle down. Only positive comments and lots of listening without opinions or judgement.’

  ‘That can be easier said than done. I’ve seen Sarah act and Hollywood will not be waiting for her with open arms.’

  ‘I know, but the play has been a great distraction for her. She’s very upset about Ali and sometimes she feels overshadowed by Ali’s academic success. This is a really big deal for her and she wants to prove to us that she has talent.’

  ‘Sure we’ve seen most of the play already and it’s a shambles,’ Paul said.

  ‘That’s a bit harsh.’

  ‘Ava, Shakespeare is regarded as the greatest writer of the English language and they have taken his most famous and tragic play and turned it into a French farce.’

  ‘It’s not a farce. It’s just different and a bit over-the-top. But I think it shows initiative and creativity to translate the text into modern teenage-speak.’

  ‘The “teenage-speak”, as you call it, does my head in.’

  ‘All teenagers go through phases of talking strangely or in code or made-up languages.’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘Didn’t you? When I was in school we made up a language where you left all the vowels out. It was fun actually.’

  ‘It sounds like a riot.’

  ‘There’s no need to be sarcastic. What did you do when you were a teenager?’