A Moment Like This

by Anita Notaro

  I took a deep breath and blurted it all out, closing my eyes when memories of the night before became too strong. As I spoke, it was as if I was reliving everything, frame by frame. Tears poured down my face and I found myself clutching my robe tighter around my neck.

  Karen listened in silence, her mouth hanging open, until I got to the bit where I tried to escape.

  ‘How did you get away from him?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, I kicked him in the … you know, privates, and I bashed his eye, I think, and then he let go and I managed to make a run for it.’

  At this, she gave a thin smile. ‘You should press charges, Toni. You have to. Bastards like that need to be stopped.’

  I shook my head. ‘I just want to go back to Glenvara, Karen, that’s all …’

  ‘You can’t let people like him win, Toni. Think of all the other girls in your position. I’m sure he’s done it to them, and he’ll do it again.’

  ‘And I stand absolutely no chance of working in this industry again if I say anything …’ I snapped back at her. ‘Please, Karen, will you just leave it?’ At that moment, I just didn’t have the strength. The very thought of taking any kind of action made me feel panicky, my stomach churning. I clutched a hand to my throat, which felt constricted and tight.

  Karen looked at me and her features softened. ‘I’m sorry, Toni, I’m pushing you. Look, take your time, and if you want to do anything … well, I’ll support you a hundred per cent.’

  I shook my head. ‘Karen, there were no witnesses, there’s nothing I can do.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, it’s a small industry. Word gets out about these things. But keeping silent … well, it just allows people like Marc Davidson to continue to get away with it.’

  I knew that she was right, that I had to be strong and stand up to him, if not for my sake, for other girls who might fall into the same trap. Just not now, I told myself. Now, I wasn’t strong enough.

  ‘At least you have the consolation that you injured the little shit. Hope he never walks again,’ she muttered.

  I managed a watery smile.

  ‘So, what do you want to do now?’ she asked.

  I knew that she’d judge me, but I took a deep breath and said, ‘I want to go home. Now. This morning.’

  She looked at me and smiled, taking my hand in hers and squeezing it tight. ‘OK, then, we’ll do that.’ And she pulled out her iPhone and began tapping the screen. ‘I’ll put a stop on that magazine photoshoot, it’s not essential, and I’ll rebook our flights …’ she muttered to herself as she got to work.

  I let her do her job and lay back on the pillow, closing my eyes, feeling myself relax. And then I was back in that room, feeling his weight pressing me down. I sat bolt upright in the bed, my forehead clammy.

  ‘OK?’ Karen said.

  ‘OK,’ I answered. Only, of course I wasn’t. I wondered how the last few weeks had come to this. How the euphoria of singing to all those people had been replaced by feelings of depression and terror. I wondered how on earth I’d ended up in a place where people could come across me in a complete state on the street and not ask me a single question – like how I was? Or what had happened? In Glenvara, the entire village would have come to my rescue, and the gardaí would have been called, and I’d have been taken into someone’s home for a nice cup of tea. I needed to get out of this place, I thought, as soon as I possibly could. I needed to get home to Sister Monica and Betty and Bridget and all my friends in Glenvara, and never come back.

  ‘Right, that’s done. We’ll leave at midday.’

  I nodded. ‘Thanks, Karen. Thanks for everything.’

  ‘You’re welcome. I’m sorry this happened to you, Toni. Really sorry. But don’t let it defeat you. You’ll come back stronger, I promise.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘But now, the only thing I can think about is going back to Ireland.’

  29

  AS SOON AS I arrived in Glenvara, I knew I’d done the right thing. As the taxi rolled down the main street, past the post office and the church and the primary school where I’d spent five happy years, I felt my heart lift for the first time in weeks. I was safe at last. The nightmare of the last few days didn’t seem as vivid here. I got out of the taxi, drinking in the soft evening air, and looked around me, at the familiar street with its sweet little houses. My front garden looked surprisingly neat, and I realized that Betty must have been working hard to keep it tidy while I was away. I felt a surge of love and sheer relief. I was home.

  The first person I rang when I got in the door was Sister Monica. I just wanted to hear her comforting voice. She’d been like a mother to me all those years ago, and I suppose I needed her again, now that Mum was no longer here. If the last few weeks had proved anything to me, it was that I couldn’t manage alone. I’d thought I could, that I was a big girl, as Mum used to say, but I wasn’t. I was still Miss Mouse, and I’d learned that in the most painful way.

  ‘Hello?’ As soon as I heard her voice, I felt a jolt. Because I realized I really wanted to speak to Mum. To tell her what had happened to me in London, and to have her give me a hug and tell me it’d all be all right and that we’d tackle it together. I’ve let you down, Mum, I thought. And I couldn’t possibly tell Sister Monica what had really happened, no matter how close we were. I just knew she wouldn’t understand. She was a nun, for goodness’ sake.

  ‘Antonia,’ Sister Monica exclaimed. ‘I thought you were too famous altogether to be ringing me.’

  I managed a laugh. ‘I’m sorry, Sister. It’s just been so crazy for the past few weeks. I’ve hardly had a moment—’

  ‘Ah, sure, will you stop?’ she interrupted me. ‘I’m only teasing you. How’s life in the fast lane? Tell me everything. I’m starved of any excitement in this place.’ I felt like laughing. Sister Monica was always complaining about the convent – how boring and crotchety all the other nuns were: ‘Old bags, like myself,’ she’d joke – but I knew she loved it, that she was truly happy there with all the ‘girls’ around her.

  I managed to make it all sound just as she’d expect. Glamorous, fun. I told her about the Stadium and how it felt singing in front of thousands of people, and about the after-show party. ‘Alicia Mayhew came up and congratulated me. Can you imagine? Me? And she said she wanted us to work together.’ I laughed.

  ‘Don’t knock yourself, pet. With your talent, people will be queueing up to collaborate with you, or whatever it is they call it,’ she said.

  ‘Thanks, Sister,’ I said. In truth, until that moment, I’d forgotten all about Alicia’s offer. I suppose I should have done something about it, but I had no idea how to do so, and doubted she’d be asking me again any time soon. And even the thought of going back to see her made me feel physically sick.

  ‘You sound a bit … low-key, Antonia …’ Sister Monica’s tone was gently enquiring, the way it always was when she was trying to draw me out.

  ‘It’s nothing, Sister, it’s just been a really hectic few weeks.’

  There was a long pause. ‘Is there anything else?’

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘Antonia, I understand that it’s a tough world, the one you’ve chosen,’ she said. ‘It can take its toll. Don’t be afraid to ask for help and support if you need it.’

  Sometimes it felt as if I’d done nothing but ask for help and support, I thought. And the one time I hadn’t, look what had happened. ‘Thanks, Sister, if I need help, you’ll be the first I’ll ask. I promise.’

  ‘Good. I hope so, pet. You can always talk to me, you know that.’

  I thanked her and put down the phone and wondered, not for the first time, if she was psychic. If she had an instinct for knowing when I was upset or down. But then, I supposed, after Mum, she knew me better than anyone.

  I was ashamed of it, after everything everyone had done for me, but for the next week, I hid away in my house. I don’t think anyone even suspected I was there, because I was careful not to venture outside, waiting unti
l it was dark and then driving to Arklow for milk and groceries, even though it was half an hour away. It was somewhere no one would know me, and that was what mattered. It was daft, I knew, but I just couldn’t face my friends, not yet. I was still getting texts from everyone, asking me how I was, and how life was in the big smoke. If only they knew, I thought. That I’m not in the big smoke at all. I’m here, at home, hiding from them.

  And I was hiding from someone else, too. I hadn’t called Niall since that night in London. And he hadn’t called me. I’d told myself that it was better that way, and that I had to take Karen’s advice about not letting anything get in the way of my singing. What a joke that seemed now! And yet, I couldn’t call him. I had no idea what I’d say. How I’d tell him about Marc Davidson and what he’d done to me.

  In the end, it was something Mum used to say that changed things for me. I was passing the time at home tidying up her bureau, which I hadn’t had the time to do since she’d died. I was filing all the letters and cards she’d received into a box folder, when I came across a photo of her and me. It must have been not long after I was adopted, because I looked about seven. We were on a visit to the zoo and we were standing side by side, huge ice-cream cones in our hands. I remembered that I’d been terrified of the elephants that day, and she’d tickled me under the chin and asked, ‘Are you a man or a mouse, Antonia?’

  I remembered that I’d thought it was the funniest thing: ‘I’m not a man, Mum,’ I’d said, and she’d given me a huge bear hug because it was the first time I’d called her ‘Mum’.

  And I had to ask myself that now, kneeling down on the living-room floor, a pile of cards in my hand. ‘Are you a man or a mouse, Antonia?’ I said it out loud, feeling the sound of the words on my lips. And I found myself giggling, just like I had with Mum all those years ago. And I knew that I didn’t want to be a mouse. Not any more.

  So I picked up the phone to Maurice Prendergast. When I punched in his mobile number, I kept asking myself what on earth I was doing. I mean, why him, why another music-industry professional? You’d think I’d have had enough of them. But there was something about Maurice, he was solid, like Dad. And anyway, it was too late. Before I could disconnect, he’d answered.

  ‘Toni! Good to hear from you.’ He was brisk, crisp, businesslike, and immediately, I relaxed, because I knew I’d done the right thing. I’d trusted my instincts and had been proved right. He was tough, but he was a pro. ‘How was London?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, that’s just what I wanted to talk to you about,’ I began. Careful, Antonia, no blubbing over him, I thought. ‘I’d love to meet up with you, if I could. I’d really welcome your advice about a few things.’ I was careful not to go into detail on the phone. I needed to see him face to face.

  There wasn’t a moment’s hesitation in response, just, ‘Sure, let me check my diary.’ Followed by, ‘Saturday is the only day I can do … breakfast, say seven thirty?’ And he mentioned a little café in the city centre, which did a roaring trade in fried breakfasts. Who would have thought that Maurice Prendergast would have meetings there?

  I didn’t dare joke about him not having a lie-in on Saturday morning, just responded in an equally businesslike manner. ‘Perfect, and thanks, Mr Prendergast.’

  When he responded, he sounded amused. ‘Call me Maurice.’

  ‘Right. Maurice. See you then.’

  I drove up to Dublin early that Saturday morning, when the mist was still swirling around the Sugar Loaf Mountain, the fields a deep shade of winter grey and brown. And I realized how much I loved the countryside here, the beautiful hills and woods, the sea, everything. I felt at peace here. I didn’t fit in in London – and not just because of that … man. I just felt like a fish out of water. And even though singing made me feel happy, truly happy, I wasn’t sure I could live that life. That was why I needed to see Maurice Prendergast, to see if there was another way of doing things. Something that would let me do what I loved, but not end up a burnt-out wreck in the process.

  For the first time in weeks, as I passed through the thick wooded hills of the Glen of the Downs, I was exactly where I wanted to be. There was only one thing missing, but I couldn’t do anything about that. Not yet anyway.

  ‘It’s my local.’ Maurice Prendergast smiled as he stood up to greet me. He was sitting at a corner table, his mobile and a scattered bundle of paper spread out before him. He looked older than on stage, his sandy hair sprinkled with grey, his dark-purple shirt wrinkled.

  ‘I like the food here, and they leave me alone. Isn’t that right, Anto?’ He smiled at the young man behind the counter, who was frying eggs and sausages.

  ‘That’s right, Mr Maurice.’ Anto smiled back. ‘Anything for you.’

  ‘Do they know who you are?’ I asked.

  He shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter. Who cares who I am? I only manage singers. It’s no big deal.’

  ‘Some of the biggest singers in the business,’ I ventured.

  ‘True, but I like them to have the limelight. Not me. I’m more comfortable here, with my rashers and sausages.’ He smiled again. ‘Like the “do”.’ He nodded at my hair.

  ‘Thanks. I’m trying out a new look.’

  ‘Well, it works.’ He nodded approvingly. ‘Anyway, I’m glad you came to see me. I thought you’d got carried away by all the offers in London.’

  I froze. I opened my mouth to say something about how fantastic it had all been, but nothing came out. And then suddenly I felt the tears spring to my eyes. Don’t cry, Toni, for God’s sake. Don’t cry.

  Maurice had the grace not to press me further, pretending to examine his menu for a few minutes. ‘I’m going to have the works,’ he announced. ‘Sausage, bacon, egg, mushrooms, and fried bread, because it’s Saturday and I deserve it.’ He grinned. ‘Now, what about you, Toni? You look undernourished, wan.’ He eyed me sharply.

  I took this as a signal that I was supposed to order the works too, even though I wasn’t sure I could stomach them. ‘Ehm, maybe some poached egg?’

  ‘You know, girls often make the mistake of starving themselves in this business, thinking that they have to look slim and perfect, but they need stamina.’ He was waving his fork now, and I realized that he was really quite eccentric. I was warming to him more and more.

  ‘I know. I’m not on a diet. It’s just the stress of the last few weeks. I normally have a great appetite.’

  ‘Good. Keep it that way,’ he said, leaning back in his seat as a huge plate of fried food was placed before him. He speared a portion of sausage on his fork. There were a few moments of silence while he chewed, and I sipped my tea – which had been offered to me by the kind young man behind the counter without me even having to ask.

  ‘So, what happened in London?’

  I looked up at him sharply. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, something clearly went wrong there.’ He looked at me kindly over the top of his glasses. ‘Tell Uncle Maurice.’

  I looked down at my breakfast and suddenly lost my appetite. I didn’t know where to start.

  ‘You know, it’s a small business, Toni. I hear all kinds of things. So why don’t you tell me, and we’ll see if we can sort it out, eh?’

  I swallowed. Surely he didn’t know about Marc Davidson? I looked at him for any sign that he did, but he just gazed back at me steadily.

  ‘Karen rang me,’ he said finally. ‘She didn’t go into detail, but she told me there were a couple of … incidents.’

  I nodded silently.

  ‘You look scared.’ He was studying my face.

  I nodded again, and the next thing I knew, I was telling him about Niall and Damien in the nightclub. ‘I couldn’t believe it, how Niall just … lost it,’ I finished.

  He rolled his eyes to heaven. ‘That Damien is a little scut. He’s always looking for trouble. That’s why I don’t manage him. He’s far too much hassle.’ He smiled. ‘Now you, on the other hand … but I don’t think you’re this down because your boyf
riend socked that eejit in a nightclub, are you?’

  I shook my head. ‘No.’

  ‘So?’ His tone was gently enquiring, and after a moment’s hesitation, I took a deep breath.

  ‘Do you know Marc Davidson?’

  He leaned back in his seat and put his knife and fork down on his plate. ‘Ah.’

  ‘He invited me to his flat for a party and …’ I began.

  Maurice raised his fork in warning. ‘And I know exactly what happened next.’

  ‘You do?’ I said. Maybe Karen had told him, I thought, wishing that she hadn’t, and that she’d kept her promise not to tell another soul.

  ‘I do. Because he’s done it to every single girl starting out in the industry. I’m sorry, Toni. If I’d known, there’s no way I’d have let you go anywhere near that little shit.’

  ‘Oh.’ I felt better and a fool at the same time. ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘Of course you didn’t. And I can tell you, I’ll be having a word with whoever arranged the meeting. They should know better at this stage.’

  I winced, and he continued. ‘You blame yourself.’

  ‘Yes,’ I managed. ‘If I hadn’t been so naïve …’

  ‘Don’t, Toni.’ His voice was softer now, and he patted my hand. I wasn’t sure how to react until he said, ‘It’s OK. I’m married. Six kids, would you believe it? And I’m fifty-nine in February.’

  I breathed a sigh of relief. ‘You hardly look a day over forty,’ I joked.

  ‘Cheeky girl.’ He smiled.

  ‘Thanks for not telling me to put it all behind me,’ I said. ‘And for listening. I feel a little better, believe it or not.’

  ‘Good, I’m glad to hear it. I’ve daughters of your age, Toni, and if Davidson tried it on with any of them, I’d chop his nuts off.’ He mimed a karate chop, and I felt like laughing out loud for the first time in three weeks.

  ‘Well, ehm, I sort of did that myself,’ I said, not looking Maurice in the eye.

  ‘You didn’t!’ He snorted with laughter. ‘Toni, you surprise me more every time we meet.’