by Maria Hoey
Jacqueline bowed her head. “You can’t argue with that,” she said. She put her glass down and got to her feet. “I think I’ll go to bed, it’s been a long day. If you hear anything, would you call me, please?”
“Of course, but it’s not him,” said Dot.
In spite of her exhaustion, it took Jacqueline a long time to get to sleep. The long day played itself out on the underside of her eyelids, and on the very verge of sleep she suddenly saw her mother’s face as it had looked in the last days of her life, every peak and trough of the skull visible beneath the paper skin. She opened her eyes against the image, and lay there wide awake once more. Why, she wondered, with the loss of her father so fresh in her mind, was it to her mother’s death her thoughts kept turning? Was she in some way comparing griefs? But the two had been quite different – at least with her mother there had been some warning.
“What does very little time mean?” Jacqueline had wanted to know. “How long exactly has she got – months, weeks …?”
“I’m afraid we are looking at days now.”
Thirteen days; it had taken her thirteen days to die.
They comforted one another that she did not suffer, that stuffed with painkillers as she was she was more often asleep than awake. What suffering there was belonged to those who watched and waited, Gayle, her father, and sometimes Florence McNally. To Jacqueline it felt peculiarly like she was watching a stranger die. Except on the thirteenth day, between her dying and her being dead, there was a moment when her mother opened her eyes and looked directly into Jacqueline’s eyes. Her expression was so compelling that the other two could not fail to see it too.
“I think she wants you, Jacqueline,” said Gayle.
Her father touched her arm, urging her forward. “Go to your mammy, pet.”
Jacqueline, her eyes locked into her mother’s gaze, told herself that this was the moment when things long withheld might be whispered, and still she did not move. She imagined herself moving, she saw herself stepping forward until she stood by her mother’s pillow. She saw herself bending low and then lower still until she was close enough that her lips almost brushed the translucent curve of her mother’s earlobe. And while she was busy imagining, her mother, with one soundless outward breath, gave life and Jacqueline the slip forever.
In the yellow room, Jacqueline sighed aloud into the darkness.
Chapter 49
1976
It is a week to Christmas and the turkey is delivered to the door, still warm. Jacqueline looks away quickly, but not before she sees the dangling neck and the dead eyes.
Daddy comes up behind her. “I’ll take that.”
Last year Gayle helped him to pluck the turkey. Jacqueline remembers watching them spreading old newspapers over the kitchen table. And how Lilly came in while they were in the middle of plucking and held her nose and ran out of the room and they all laughed at her. And how Daddy chased Jacqueline around the house with a turkey claw. He knew how to pull on it so that the claw moved as though it were still attached to a live bird, and Jacqueline laughed and squealed all at the same time and almost made herself sick.
This year, Daddy takes the turkey from the man and hangs it from a nail high on the wall in the shed. Jacqueline sees it when she goes out to get coal for the fire. He plucks it himself without telling anyone.
Sometimes Jacqueline forgets, like on Christmas Eve when she is watching Walt Disney’s Million Dollar Duck and it’s so funny that she laughs out loud. When the film is over, she goes into the kitchen where Gayle is stirring the custard for the Christmas trifle. The sound the spoon makes when it scrapes the bottom of the saucepan makes Jacqueline’s teeth hurt.
Jacqueline’s mother is sitting at the table with one hand wrapped around a cup. She is holding her other hand up close to her eyes, as if she is admiring the stones in her engagement ring, but Jacqueline does not think she is really seeing the ring at all.
The back door opens and Daddy comes in with a pile of logs stacked into a pyramid against his chest – he is holding them steady with his chin.
Jacqueline remembers something she has been meaning to tell him. “Daddy, I think I know now what the thing about the crow and the swan means.”
Daddy stops and looks at her. “What are you talking about, love?”
When he speaks, the log at the top of the pyramid trembles. Daddy lowers his chin to steady it.
“You know, the crow and the swan, in Shakespeare? Do you not remember, Daddy?” Jacqueline begins to recite:
“The crow may bathe his cold black wings in mire
And unperceived fly with the –”
“Coal-black wings,” says Daddy, “not cold.”
Jacqueline smiles because Daddy has not forgotten Shakespeare. “I know what it means,” she says. “It means that if someone does a lot of bad things and then they do one more bad thing, no-one notices …”
Daddy starts walking again.
“… but if a person is good most of the time and hardly ever does anything wrong, and they make just one mistake, then everyone notices, everyone sees …”
When Daddy passes her, Jacqueline’s hand brushes against his jacket and she can feel as well as smell the cold of the outdoors on him.
Jacqueline calls after him, “But that isn’t really fair, Daddy, is it?”
Daddy does not answer and Gayle stops stirring and looks up from the pot. “Why are you quoting Shakespeare at him?” she says.
Jacqueline follows Daddy into the hall and watches him pushing the sitting-room door open with his foot. The door swings shut behind him. Jacqueline stays in the hall listening to the logs tumbling into the box beside the fire. When Daddy comes out, he walks past her without saying anything and goes upstairs.
When she goes back into the kitchen, Jacqueline’s mother is still staring at her hand and Gayle is still stirring the custard.
It is Christmas Day, but hung upside down and gutted like the turkey.
Daddy has whiskey even before his breakfast and Jacqueline’s mother will not get out of bed. She hides under the blankets with nothing showing above the bedclothes only the hair on the top of her head.
“It’s not fair on the girls, Stella,” says Daddy. “We have to at least try to make an effort.”
He has another whiskey while he is watching them opening their presents and Jacqueline tries not to look at the ones still under the tree, the ones with Lilly’s name on them.
Gayle makes Daddy open a present. He pulls out a soap on a rope and looks at it and says, “That’s grand. I’ll smell like a garden with that, love.”
“We can do this, girls,” says Daddy in the kitchen and they help him get the dinner ready.
Gayle makes the stuffing and Jacqueline whips the cream for the trifle.
Daddy says, “I’ll go up and see if your mammy is getting dressed.”
When he comes down his eyes are red.
Jacqueline looks at Gayle but Gayle just smiles and smiles.
At the dinner, Daddy says, “You did a smashing job, girls.”
“Dark meat or light meat, Daddy?” says Gayle and when Daddy pokes at the food on his plate she says, “Eat your food, Daddy,” and Jacqueline thinks she sounds just like their mother.
Daddy blinks at Gayle and tries to smile. He lifts his fork to his mouth and he chews and Jacqueline watches the tears streaming down his face.
In the afternoon, Daddy drinks wine, then port, then Guinness, then Jameson.
“Daddy, would you not go for a little sleep?” says Gayle.
Daddy says, “Ah, I’m sound as a trout here, pet.”
Gayle puts on Top of the Pops and she and Jacqueline watch Legs and Co doing a stupid dance and then Johnny Mathis sings “When a Child is Born”.
In the evening, Jacqueline’s mother comes downstairs wearing a blue cardigan buttoned up wrong. She says she will have a cup of tea and a piece of Christmas pudding but nothing else. They all watch The Morecambe and Wise Christmas Show and when
it is over Jacqueline’s mother says she is going back to bed.
Chapter 50
Afterwards
Today is Lilly’s anniversary – the thought came into Jacqueline’s head before she even opened her eyes. Her second thought was: Magpie. She sat up, threw back the duvet, crossed to the window and drew the curtains. It was still raining heavily and the sea and the sky were an indistinguishable blur of grey. As she turned away from the gloom, she saw the envelope on the floor. It lay just inside the door as though it had been pushed under from the other side. Jacqueline picked it up and stared at her Christian name. It had been printed in careful capitals. Then she tore open the envelope and drew out a folded sheet of paper. Something drifted to the floor. She looked down at what appeared to be a photograph. It had fallen face down and had the curled appearance of something much fingered. When she had finished reading the brief note, she bent down and picked up the photograph and carried it across to the bed. She read what had been scrawled in pencil on the back, then she turned it over slowly.
For a long time she sat and stared at the two smiling faces. When she looked up she was aware for the first time of a chill in the yellow room. She dropped the photograph and the letter onto the bed and got to her feet again.
After she had showered and dressed and pulled on the old grey cardigan, she put on her jacket and picked up her bag. She was about to leave the room when she went back, picked up the note from the bed and stuffed it into the pocket of her jacket.
Despite the rain, the front door was open. Jacqueline stood for a moment and watched the dance of raindrops on the flagstone path. Then she went to the kitchen where Dot was cooking kippers and eggs.
Jimmy, who was sitting at the table swinging his legs and eating cereal, looked up and greeted her with, “Hello, Jacky Lean.”
Dot spun round. “No news,” she said, “and there’s been nothing on the radio, or the internet. At least nothing more than we already know.”
“Right,” said Jacqueline. “Hello, Jimmy, I see you’ve got your glasses fixed.” She pulled the note from her pocket and showed it to Dot. “I found this under my door – any idea where it came from?”
“It was on the doormat when I came down this morning,” said Dot. “Is anything wrong, has something happened?”
“No, nothing’s wrong, nothing’s happened.” Her fingers closed on the note and scrunched it into a ball which she shoved back into the cardigan pocket.
“You look a bit peaky,” said Dot. “Will you have some proper breakfast?”
“No, thanks. I’m going to head down to Toby’s and take a look around.”
“I’d go with you,” said Dot, “but someone –” she nodded in Jimmy’s direction, “forgot to come home again last night.”
Jacqueline took Gayle’s umbrella from the stand in the hall, but the wind almost whipped it from her hands as she hurried down the hill.
Toby’s was even more jammed than usual and the smell of rain competed with the aroma of fish. The waitress who had served Jacqueline and Dot their lunch was working and when asked, said Magpie had not been in since the day before yesterday. Jacqueline left the café and headed for the promenade. She walked the length of it, putting her head in at every café and restaurant. Afterwards she carefully negotiated the slipway, and stood on the beach looking left and right. The sand felt fudgy underfoot but there was no-one on the beach except one man and his dog.
Jacqueline made her way back into the town but the bars were not yet open and there was no sign of Magpie in any of the cafés. She gave up, bought herself a bottle of water and started up the hill. The wind was in her face now and she folded away the umbrella before it took off and took her with it.
At the turn for Cliff Walk, she hesitated. She was wet through and sweating uncomfortably under the bulk of the wool cardigan and her rain jacket. Surely in this weather he wouldn’t – or would he? She decided it was worth a try and set off on the steep climb, her body curved into the high wind.
Crossing the park, she spotted the huddled figure in the bandstand and knew with certainty that it was Magpie.
Climbing the steps, she stood and looked down on the blue-black hair, slick from the rain, and muttered involuntarily under her breath: “You absolute gobshite!”
“Who are you calling a gobshite?” Magpie lifted his head like a heavy thing, and his eyes opened a crack as he peered up at her.
“You’re drunk,” said Jacqueline.
Magpie dropped his head again. “You have marvellous powers of observation.”
“Here, have some of this.” Jacqueline hunkered down and held out the bottle of water.
Magpie studied it without moving then heaved himself to a sitting position and reached out to take it. His fingers brushed Jacqueline’s – they felt cold and calloused.
“You’re frozen,” she said. “And do you know that people thought you were dead? A man’s body was found in that bandstand where we ate the fish and chips yesterday.”
“I have no people,” said Magpie.
Jacqueline looked at him, slumped over the bottle. She opened her mouth then shut it again. He’s hopeless, she thought, shipwrecked, washed up here, best leave him to it. She got to her feet and turned to go. Shoving her hands into the pocket of her jacket, her fingers touched the balled-up note. She pulled it out and turned back to Magpie.
“Did you leave this for me?”
Magpie looked up and stared at the crumpled paper blankly.
“It’s a note from Dawn,” said Jacqueline. “There was a photograph with it. I’m assuming you remember who Dawn is?”
Magpie gave her a look before nodding slowly. “She came back looking for you. She felt bad. I told her you’d already gone so she wrote that down and asked me to give it to you. She had a whole bunch of photos with her. She made me look at every last one of them – her brother as a kid, on his own, with her, standing on his bloody head … and one of him the way he looks now.”
“How does he look now?” asked Jacqueline.
“A lot of oily hair and a bit of a gut,” said Magpie.
Jacqueline closed her eyes on an image of beautiful Luca run to fat. Opening them again she said, “Thank you for bringing the note to me – it was very good of you. I assume you know what’s in it?”
Magpie nodded.
“Right,” said Jacqueline. “Look, are you going to be okay?”
“Sound, not a bother on me,” said Magpie.
Jacqueline sighed. “Do you want to know why I called you a gobshite just now? It was because, in spite of what you say, you actually do have people, even if you don’t want them.”
Magpie said nothing. He had taken the lid off the water bottle and was twiddling it between a finger and thumb.
“When was the last time you spoke to any of your family?” said Jacqueline. “Do they even know where you are, or if you’re alive or dead? Your brother, you said you had a brother – don’t you think he wonders where you are? And, for all you know, maybe your sister does too. What happened to you and your nephew and those men was an accident. People soften, they learn to forgive.”
Magpie’s head jerked up. “Is that so?”
He put the top back on the bottle and set it down on the wooden floor next to him. He patted his pockets, drew out his cigarettes and matches and lit up. “Who’d have thought it, Jacqueline? You still believe in happy endings.”
Jacqueline thought about the contents of the note in her pocket. “Not for everyone,” she said, “but I like to think it’s possible.” She looked out at the slanting rain. “Look, I know you like dossing in bandstands, but I’m wet and I’m hungry and I want to go home now. Only I can’t go until you do.” Home, she thought, I called it home. “So I’m staying here until you come with me. Now come on, Dot’s there too, waiting to hear if you’re alright, because like a fool she’s been worrying about you too.”
For a moment they held one another’s gaze.
“You’re a very bossy woman,” said
Magpie, “but anything for a quiet life. Just give me a minute till I smoke this.”
Jacqueline waited.
When he had flung the butt away, he got slowly to his feet. She thought he looked supremely unstable so she gave him the umbrella to use as a walking stick and, side by side, her hands ready to steady him if he stumbled, they made their slow way back to Sea Holly Villa.
Dot Candy made much of Magpie, taking his sodden greatcoat and sending him upstairs to shower and change into dry clothes. While he was gone she started breakfast. Jacqueline hung her own jacket on a hook behind the back door, first slipping the note from the pocket into her bag. The kitchen filled with the smell of sausage and bacon. Jacqueline refused the offer of food and made herself some tea.
Magpie reappeared looking unlike himself in a too-tight check shirt and half-mast combat trousers that exposed a length of hairy calves. Jacqueline wondered if the clothes had belonged to Martin.
As Dot served him his food, she suddenly exclaimed, “Would you believe it, the rain has stopped.”
She walked to the door and opened it to look out. Oscar streaked in past her, arched his back, rubbed his wet backside against Jacqueline’s legs and mewed.
“Get out, Oscar!” said Dot. “You don’t live here!”
“You don’t really like cats, do you, Dot?” said Jacqueline.
“Not really,” said Dot.
Jacqueline met Magpie’s eye and he laughed out loud.
“What?” said Dot.
“Nothing,” said Magpie and Jacqueline in perfect time.
Still smiling slightly, Jacqueline went to the sink and rinsed her cup. “I’m going upstairs to change out of these wet clothes,” she said.
Once in her room, the first thing she did was to pull the note from her bag and read it again slowly:
I am sorry about your sister. I hope no harm came to her. But Luca does not know where she is now. He is happy and married to a girl he met in France. This is a picture of them on their wedding day.
