Together Forever

by Siân O'Gorman

  ‘How were the roads?’

  ‘Grand… clear enough. It’s just nice to be back in West Cork.’

  ‘Spent much time here have ye?’

  ‘A little bit,’ I said. ‘My grandmother was from here.’

  ‘Was she now? What was her name?’

  ‘Rosaleen. Rosaleen Thomas.’

  The woman gasped. ‘Well, well, well. I used to know. Rosie Thomas. She was a friend of my older sister. Went to school together. We lived outside of the town and had to take the bus in every day.’

  ‘Really? What was she like?’

  ‘I’ve never seen someone so pretty in my entire life. She had her hair just so, even back then. Used to wrap it in papers overnight. She went to Dublin, as far as I knew, but none of us heard anything else from her, not after her parents passed on. She always said she wanted to act, be in films, and whenever I went to the cinema in Bantry I’d stay to the end of the credits, just wondering if I’d see her name.’

  ‘She didn’t make it to Hollywood.’

  ‘Now, that’s a shame. She should have done. Beautiful she was. With the personality to match. Actually…’ She was studying Rosie. ‘You’ve got the look of her. Same shaped face, eyes. If you hadn’t told me who you were I would have sworn it was Rosaleen Thomas, back to see us. Ah!’ She smiled at the memory. ‘Too big for West Cork, she was. Now, we’ve all sorts down here. Actors, producers. We’ve more festivals and arty goings-on than you can shake a stick at. But then, the only thing we had going on was either fish or farming. And Rosaleen didn’t want either. She was that talented, she was. She used to make up dances when we were waiting for the bus. And act out scenes. Shakespeare was her favourite.’

  ‘She used to do that for me, too.’

  ‘How is she? Is she still with us?’

  ‘She died. A long time ago. She was only sixty-two.’ Ten years younger than Nora I thought. ‘Cancer. If it was today, they probably would have been able to help her.’ I refused to let the words get stuck in my throat like they always did.

  ‘Well, weren’t you lucky to have her all the same? Now, there’s the paper, just in. Evening edition, if you would like to have a look. More scandal. The usual gossip.’

  ‘Do you have WI-FI here?’ said Rosie.

  ‘We’re meant to,’ said the woman. ‘They say we have it. But it’s never materialised. If indeed such a thing can materialise. Patchy at best.’

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ said Rosie, resigned to life in the sticks and waving her phone around.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The next morning, as we sat down to a breakfast of porridge and tea in our B&B, I glanced at the Sunday papers.

  Michael was on the front page. The headline was;

  F**K ME FOGGY. POLITICIAN IN LOVE ROMP

  I snatched the paper quickly and scanned the words. ‘Michael Fogarty admits to affair with his secretary.’ And there, in the bottom of the front paper, was a picture of me, outside our house, taken yesterday as we’d got in the car to head down to West Cork. I looked about fifty, hair all over the place. On the other side of the paper was a picture of Lucy looking splendid, as she always did, smiley and happy.

  ‘What’s wrong, Mum?’

  ‘Nothing.’ I quickly panicked and tried to hide the paper.

  ‘Mum, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

  While we’d been in West Cork, miles and miles from home, the whole nation had been reading about Lucy and Foggy. Lucy and Foggy. Jesus Christ. I was not surprised but now here it was, in black and white and capital letters. And asterisks.

  ‘Rosie, I’ve just read something… now this is what happens when you have a parent in public office…’ I began but she snatched the paper from me. I thought of the piles of papers in all the shops and newsagents of the land, thousands of papers with that headline reaching as far as the eye could see.

  Rosie stared at the page, her brain trying to make sense of the headline and the words. ‘Dad?’ she said and then, turning to me, eyes wide. ‘Lucy?’

  ‘I don’t think it’s Dad they are talking about,’ I said quickly, helplessly, ‘it must be someone else.’

  ‘Mum, this is Dad. Michael Fogarty. He’s Foggy. That’s him. And he’s having an affair. With Lucy!’

  ‘It’s all a mistake, you know how newspapers make things up. Fake news!’ My ridiculous and unconvincing smile was stuck to my face and I wondered would I always have to look like this. But Rosie was now reading the paper, scanning it for details.

  Inside, on the double-page spread in the paper was another photo of me, this one taken outside the school, looking wild-eyed and crazed on the day the protest began. The caption was ‘Wife Tobitha is again at the centre of another unusual domestic drama.’ All sane people would understand entirely why Michael would have chosen the serene and lovely Lucy the Marvel. Lucy the Mistress.

  ‘Tobitha!’ Rosie almost laughed.

  ‘Shhhh!’ I hissed. We were already drawing attention to ourselves with our increasing hysteria. ‘Let’s go back to our room.’

  Gathering up the papers, we both ran up the stairs to our room and laid the papers on the bed.

  ‘Another unusual domestic drama. Oh my God.’ We looked at each other in shock and awe, my right hand gripping Rosie’s elbow while we devoured the paper. Poor Rosie, this was all she needed. So much for a magical, healing trip to West Cork. How could Michael do this to you? I thought, looking at Rosie. For God’s sake. Hadn’t she enough going on without her father being plastered over all the tabloids. I didn’t care about me, I realised. Michael and Lucy could do what they wanted and, in some weird way, I was glad for them, but Rosie was still a child. How could he do this to her?

  ‘Mum… I can’t… I can…’

  ‘Okay, just breathe,’ I commanded. ‘Just focus on breathing. All this is a shock. That’s it, just breathe. Don’t worry. It’s all going to be fine.’

  Her hands were clenched, her eyes closed.

  ‘Come on,’ I urged, ‘come on, it’s okay…’

  Finally, she opened her eyes. ‘I’m all right, I’m all right…’

  ‘Breathe into it, isn’t that what they said. Don’t try and run from it.’

  Eventually she lifted her head. ‘Mum, this is actually worse than me ruining my entire future by not doing the Leaving Cert. It’s a sex scandal. The headline is F asterisk-asterisk K Me Foggy. We are now Fuck Me Foggy’s family, we are the Fuck Me Foggy family…’

  ‘The Fuck Me Foggy family… oh please not the Fuck Me Foggy family.’ And maybe there was something in the West Cork air, but we began to laugh, the horror and the hysterics causing us to lose control of ourselves, for the second time that day. Doubled over and becoming helpless every time the other one repeated the immortal phrase ‘the Fuck Me Foggy Family’.

  ‘Oh Rosie…’ I had managed to draw breaths. ‘I’m so sorry…’

  ‘They called you Tobitha.’ She pointed again to the picture of me and it started the two of us off again. ‘Tobitha!’

  Eventually, exhausted from laughing, we began to sober up, reality setting in, we now had to face our new notoriety as the Fuck Me Foggy Family.

  ‘Miss Byrne would say that it’s about how you handle situations,’ said Rosie, looking carefully at the photographs, reading bits of the paper out. ‘You can panic and become hysterical or…’

  ‘Which we just did…’ I said. ‘You know we can never show our faces here in Schull again… We have now successfully made ourselves persona non-grata in Rosaleen’s home county…’

  ‘We should channel our inner Rosaleens. What would she do?’

  ‘Get on with it, I suppose. That’s what she did. In all my years knowing her, she never complained, never moaned. She just seemed happy, inside and out, you know? She would have handled it with aplomb.’

  ‘I like that word.’

  ‘I’ve never used it before. But it’s exactly the right word for her. Aplomb.’

  ‘Well, then let’s handle this wit
h aplomb. Whatever it means exactly.’

  ‘She was just a handler of things, always unfazed. A glider through life’s crises. We’re from a long line of great women, you and I,’ I said. ‘Let’s live up to our legacy.’

  ‘Mum, I’ve often thought that I am more a Thomas than a Fogarty,’ she said. ‘Don’t tell Dad because he’s always said I’m a Fogarty, but I’ve always felt like a Thomas, like you and Grandma… and Rosaleen.’

  ‘Well, perhaps you’re the best of both of us,’ I said. ‘You’re a chip off both blocks.’ She linked her arm through mine and leaned into me. ‘But maybe you are just yourself, the wonderful Rosie.’

  She was quiet for a moment. ‘It makes a kind of sense, though,’ she said, thoughtfully, ‘doesn’t it?’

  ‘What does?’

  ‘Dad and Lucy…’

  I nodded in agreement. ‘I hate to say this, but they are perfect for each other. Much better than him and me… I hope that’s not too upsetting for you.’

  ‘Not really… well, it’s weird, but I’m starting to realise that in my life what’s weird is normal and what’s normal is weird.’

  ‘But that’s what normal is. It’s weird. There’s no such thing as normal. We tie ourselves in knots trying to be normal when we should just accept the weird.’

  ‘You’re weird,’ she said.

  ‘I know. Have been all my life.’

  ‘Mum, why did you marry Dad?’ she said. ‘Did it have anything to do with losing the baby?’

  ‘I liked him. I still do. He’s a nice person, a good person. And I admired him being in politics, even if I didn’t always share his point of view, because he was actually trying to effect change, to do something and I liked that… and…’

  ‘And what?’

  ‘He seemed so normal…’ I laughed at how like Rosie I sounded. I too used to want an idea of normal.

  ‘But now he’s weird, like the rest of us.’

  ‘Something like that,’ I said. ‘But it was a year after I’d had the miscarriage and I thought, that he was going to be good for me. And he was. Because then I had my second chance. I had you.’

  She nodded.

  ‘I wish Rosaleen had been around when Jake… when Jake finished with me,’ she said, tears in her eyes now. ‘She might have helped me deal with it, you know? With her aplomb. In a way, and I don’t want to blame him, but that was what started it all off. I was kind of starting to panic at the end of last year in school, knowing that I was falling behind and all I could see was the whole of the following year looming ahead… but then when he told me he didn’t want to see me anymore, I kind of took it as a reason, an excuse, really, not to handle things, not to carry on, to sink into myself. Not to be…’ She searched for the word. My lovely girl. I had her hand in mine, gripping it, following her words. ‘Not to be aplomby.’ Tears fell down her face.

  ‘I’m sure that even Rosaleen wasn’t like that all the time. None of us are perfect, but let’s not beat ourselves up, okay? Just promise me you won’t give yourself a hard time, all right? Just be nice to yourself, say nice things to yourself. Please?’

  She nodded. ‘That’s what Miss Byrne says.’

  ‘So you’ll do it? Promise me?’

  ‘Promise.’

  ‘Rosie, everything’s going to be okay, okay?’ I said, taking both her hands. ‘And I’m absolutely fine. We’ll all sort this out and I promise you I am not hurt or unhappy. Lucy is a good person and they are a good team. Better than your father and me.’

  ‘You’re not angry at Dad. And at Lucy?’

  I shook my head. ‘No… not at all. Pleased, really. For him. And Lucy. I’m glad for them.’

  ‘Mum, that’s weird.’

  ‘Well, I’m weird.’ I smiled at her. ‘For the first time in my life I am embracing my inner weirdness. You see, the thing is I don’t mind. You are the one I am worried about here. But I think Dad might have found his soulmate in Lucy and that’s a good thing…’

  ‘I can’t imagine Dad having a soulmate,’ she said. ‘He’s not really the soulmatey type of person.’

  ‘Your parents still can have the capacity to surprise you,’ I laughed. ‘I know my mother is still surprising me.’

  ‘Mum, I was thinking. About Red.’

  ‘Red?’ Why was she bringing him into all this?

  ‘What did he say when it all happened? Was he upset?’

  ‘I didn’t tell him.’

  ‘What?’

  I should have done, but I couldn’t. It meant… we didn’t see each other for all that time.’

  ‘And he still doesn’t know?’ Her eyes were wide open. She was learning far too much about the lives of grown-ups today.

  ‘No. I’m going to tell him. I think he deserves to know. He didn’t understand why I just stopped contact…’

  ‘And why did you?’

  ‘I didn’t know what to say… I suppose… I suppose I was depressed.’

  She was silent for a moment and then she said, ‘I get it. That makes sense.’ She reached for my hand, her comforting me.

  Both our phones rang.

  ‘We’ve got a signal!’ shouted Rosie, finally delighted about something. ‘The WIFI has materialised!’

  It was Michael on her phone.

  *

  Rosie nodded and cried throughout the whole conversation. I felt furious with Michael for upsetting Rosie like this. If you were going to have an affair, surely there were better ways of announcing it to the world than in the front pages of newspapers. Making a speech at Celia’s party would have been preferable.

  I checked my phone for messages. I had fifteen missed calls and texts messages. Clodagh had texted repeatedly.

  The first one had been sent in response to mine from earlier.

  Am alone in house with just a bar of Milka and a bottle of Baileys. All well.

  But then her texts were charged with increasing panic as the news of the scandal spread.

  Just seen papers. Call me.

  Michael the Ken doll of politics? Surely some mistake!!!!!!

  And:

  Are you all right? Am now worried. Where are you? Get thee to a fecking signal.

  And, there was a text from Red.

  Let me know if you are all right.

  For a moment, here is West Cork, I’d been beguiled by its magic. The cherry tree, the Sheep’s Head, Finty’s ramshackle caravan... but real life and all its dramas was waiting for both of us back in Dublin. We had to return and deal with it all. I could see why people ran off to West Cork, there was a sense that reality was suspended. But ours had to be faced. We’d go back to Dublin tonight and work out what to do.

  Eventually, Rosie waved the phone at me. ‘Dad wants to talk to you,’ she said, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

  ‘I am so sorry.’ He sounded like he’d been crying. ‘I am so, so sorry. I don’t know what to say and I wish I could deny everything, but I can’t...’ He stopped suddenly. ‘Those feckers. This is what it was like for Diana, hunted by the paparazzi…’

  ‘Michael,’ I cut into to his ridiculousness. ‘It’s not the end of the world. We’ll just make sure that Rosie is all right. The rest we can sort out.’ I didn’t feel furious any longer, just irritated and exasperated. My marriage had ended not by a dignified, mutual parting. A grown-up shaking of the hand, but in a tabloid exposé. It was a mess.

  But what would happen and where would Michael and Lucy live? Would we be like one of those happy blended families, all sitting around the Christmas table, laughing away, Celia gazing at us all fondly, all mater familias? Oh God, Celia. What would Celia say?

  ‘I just want to say how terrible I feel about this. I am so sorry. I have been such a coward and done it all so badly. I am sorry...’ He began to cry.

  ‘It’s all right.’

  ‘It’s such a terrible thing I’ve done, I mean, you must be so hurt and Rosie...’ He cried even more now at the thought of what he had done to his daughter. ‘I’ve been so awful…’
>
  ‘It’s fine, Michael. I’m pleased for you.’ I’m free, I was thinking. I was now free to do anything I wanted. Released from marriage to Michael. I should be thanking him. And Lucy.

  ‘But Tabitha, I want to say, I never meant to hurt you. I really didn’t.’

  ‘I know, Michael, and you haven’t hurt me.’

  ‘It’s such a betrayal, such an immoral thing to do…’ He almost sounded disappointed as though his sex scandal wasn’t quite as explosive as some other politician’s. If you were going to be embroiled within one, you may as well make it a good one, as his mentor Bill Clinton might or might not advise.

  ‘Michael, it’s Rosie who is important here. It doesn’t matter what you get up to…’

  ‘But my bill for standards in public life!’ he wailed. ‘It’s going to be voted next week. Europe is relying on me.’

  ‘Well, you should have thought about that before you started shagging Lucy.’

  ‘There!’ He sounded triumphant. ‘You are angry and hurt!’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ I insisted. ‘Just irritated that all you care about it the SIPL thing. You’re at the centre of a sex scandal. … What about Rosie? Have you given her one moment’s thought?’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes, of course,’ he said, dismissing me. ‘But you know the worst thing is …’

  ‘What? Pestilence, plague, a swarm of locusts?’

  ‘Well, I mean, one of the worst things’ he said. ‘I mean, up there with the worst things…’

  ‘Go on, what is it?’

  ‘There’s a misprint in the order of business for the parliament. It says that the bill on Monday, the one that the whole of the parliament will be voting on, well, it says it’s for… it’s for standards of pubic lice.’

  I began to laugh.

  ‘It’s not funny,’ he said sulkily.

  ‘Are you coming home? We’re going to get on the road now.’

  ‘Yes, we’re taking the next flight home. I mean, I am taking the first flight home.’

  There was something about Michael I was going to miss, but I twisted off my wedding ring and massaged the deep indentation, eighteen years I’d worn that ring but I slipped it into my purse. Even my finger looked relieved.