‘There is somethin’ wrong, isn’t there?’ He leaned forward in the passenger seat, straining against the seatbelt. At that moment, in that position, he looked unnervingly like his father. ‘It’s Damien, isn’t it? He’s at it again!’
Rose shook her head, tried to keep the tears at bay. ‘No, no,’ she protested, ‘Damien’s fine. It’s nothing like that.’
‘Then what is it? Pull over!’
‘I can’t, Brian, that’s a bus lane.’
‘I don’t care! Look – there’s a space there, over on the right. Drive in there.’
Rose parked, the lights of the Liffey shimmering just below them. She turned off the ignition.
‘Now, tell me. If it’s not Damien, then what is it? Has somethin’ happened to you, or to Lisa?’ He clutched at her sleeve, his eyes alarmed.
God, thought Rose, I’m making a right mess of this. ‘No, Brian, it’s okay, truly – there’s nothing wrong with anybody, I promise.’ She fished in the sleeve of her sweater for a handkerchief.
‘Then for Christ’s sake, what is it? Tell me!’
She turned to face him. ‘It’s your dad. He’s here, in Dublin. He came to see me on Thursday evening.’
Brian sat back suddenly. He looked as though someone had just punched him. His five o’clock shadow was starker than ever against his pale skin. ‘Dad?’ he said.
Rose nodded. ‘Yes. I wanted to get you home before I told you. I’m sorry to do it like this.’
‘What does it matter where you tell me? Why didn’t you ring me? Why didn’t you let me know?’ His tone was more incredulous than angry. He struggled to change his position in the passenger seat, but the seatbelt locked, preventing him. He released it abruptly and turned to glare at his mother.
‘And you’d have done what, exactly?’ Rose kept her voice very quiet. ‘Left your party, come home to find your dad already gone? What would have been the point of that?’
‘I don’t know – but I could’ve been here, done something! What . . . why didn’t he . . . When . . . How long is it since I’ve seen him, anyway?’ Now his tone began to grow angry. ‘I stopped countin’ long ago.’ He patted his top pockets furiously, searching for something. ‘Why’s he come back? I mean, he’s not lookin’ to live with us again, is he?’
Rose shook her head. ‘I’m not lookin’ for him to live with us! No, of course he’s not. He’s talking Celtic Tiger opportunities and tying up all the loose ends between the two of us. And he wants to see the three of you.’
‘What sort of loose ends?’
‘Well, we’re only separated, not divorced. It’s probably time to do that now, and settle things properly, legally. But he does want to see the three of you. He’s made that very clear.’
‘Has he now?’ said Brian grimly.
‘Yes, he has. And he was very glad to hear how well you’re doing.’
Brian snorted. ‘He coulda heard that any time he wanted. From eleven to nineteen is a bit of a gap, isn’t it?’
Rose felt weary all over again, her palms clammy, eyes gritty. ‘I know, I know, but he’s here, and he’s still your dad. You need to see him.’
‘Oh, I’ll see him all right. Out of curiosity, if nothin’ else. There’s a couple of things I’d like to ask him.’ Brian rummaged angrily in his jeans pockets now, pulled out cigarettes and a lighter. He raised one hand in his mother’s direction, as though to push away the words she hadn’t spoken. ‘I know you don’t like me smokin’, but I don’t care just now, right?’ He lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply.
Rose saw that his hand was shaking. She tried to smile at him. ‘Smoke away. I think you can have a special dispensation for tonight.’
‘Have you told Lisa?’ He opened the window, blew a long thread of bluish, ghostly smoke out into the night air.
‘Yes.’
‘How did she take it?’
‘She was puzzled, a little bit upset – but she was only six when he left, so I don’t think her memories are anything like yours. It’s very different for each of you.’
‘Does Damien know?’
‘Not yet. And don’t tell him, please. I’ll call him later tonight, invite him over for dinner as soon as he’s free. I want him where I can keep an eye on him, hold onto him for a few hours.’
Rose pulled her hair back from her forehead again. It felt as though it grew too tightly there, too close to the skin: its very presence made her head begin to ache.
Brian nodded in agreement. ‘Yeah. Sounds like a plan. Don’t want him goin’ off at half-cock. Jesus, I can’t believe it.’ He turned away from her, flicked ash out of the window.
Rose reached out her hand and rubbed her son’s stubbled cheek gently. ‘I haven’t done that to you in a long time.’
‘I’ll let you away with it, just this once.’
They sat in silence for a few moments.
‘It’s kinda hard to take in, isn’t it? I mean, it’s the last thing I’d have expected.’ He crushed the end of his cigarette into the ashtray, turned to look at Rose.
‘You and me, both.’
‘Are you sure you’re all right? You look like the Bride of Dracula.’
‘Thanks a lot. I’ve been better. I feel a bit shocked, a bit unsteady. And I can’t seem to switch my brain off.’
‘Does this mean that he’ll be livin’ in Dublin for good?’
‘I honestly don’t know, Brian. I have so many questions, I don’t know where to begin. As soon as I have any answers, I’ll tell you. I said I’d let him know when I was ready to talk.’
Brian grinned faintly. ‘That could be pretty open-ended.’
Rose smiled back at him. ‘No, I want to do it sooner rather than later . . . I think. Maybe towards the middle of next week. I want it to suit me: I don’t want to be taken by surprise again. And by the way, I’ve disconnected the house phone. Right or wrong, I’m going to leave it like that until I’ve got in touch with Damien. So, if you need me at any time tomorrow, just call my mobile.’
Brian nodded, looking down at the lights of the river. ‘When do I see him? Dad, I mean?’
‘Whenever you want. I’ll get his mobile number, the number of wherever he’s staying, his address, whatever you want. And then you can take it from there.’
‘I am entitled to some answers, amn’t I?’ he asked, suddenly.
‘Of course you are.’ But you may not like what you hear, she thought.
‘His timin’ could have been better. Exams are only a month away.’
‘This is your decision, Brian – you arrange something that makes you feel comfortable.’
‘A ratio of one to ninety-six.’
Rose glanced over at him. ‘Sorry? I’m lost.’
‘I’ve had to wait for him for ninety-six months. I can make him wait for one, can’t I?’
‘Well, yes, I suppose so – if that’s what you want. Can we talk on the move? I don’t want to leave Lisa on her own for too long.’
He nodded. ‘Yeah, sure.’
‘Okay – put on your seatbelt.’ Rose pulled out into the sparse moving traffic. They drove the rest of the way home in silence. I should have waited, she thought anxiously, given him more time to talk. I should have sat there for longer. But what can you do, pulled from one child to the other?
Your best, said her mother’s voice inside her head. Only your best.
At the very least, it was now two children down, one to go. Rose knew that she now needed time and solitude to marshal all her forces for Damien.
‘Lisa?’
She came out of the living room at once, looking quickly from her mother’s face to her brother’s.
‘Did you tell him?’
Rose looked at her daughter in disbelief. ‘Lisa – try the indirect method from time to time. A little tact goes a long way, you know,’ she said, dryly.
Brian grinned at his sister. ‘Yeah, Mum told me. No big deal.’ He shambled his way towards the television, dropping his rucksack on the floor. Rose bit back
the urge to tell him to bring it upstairs, to put his dirty clothes in the laundry basket. It could wait; it could all wait.
‘Tell me about the birthday.’ Lisa threw herself onto the sofa beside her brother. ‘How many were there? Was John’s sister at it? What did she wear?’
Party animal, thought Rose in amusement. I’ve given birth to the ultimate party animal. God help me when she’s old enough actually to be there.
Brian held up both hands in mock surrender. ‘Whoa – steady on! I’ve no idea what she wore—’
‘Liar!’ shrieked Lisa in delight. ‘You fancy her, I know you do!’
Okay, thought Rose. This is as good a time as any. I’m not needed here. ‘Right, you two. I’m going for a bath, and bed. Did you leave on the hot water, Lisa?’
Lisa nodded. ‘Yeah. There should be a full tank.’
‘Good girl. Brian, there’s some cold meat and potato salad in the fridge. Help yourself. If you decide to have one of your troughs of cereal, make sure there’s enough milk left for the morning. That’s all, folks. I’m gone.’
Lisa reached up and kissed her. Brian grabbed her hand. ‘You okay, Mum?’
She bent down and kissed the top of his head. ‘I’m fine. Oh, my God – your hair is revolting! What on earth are you using?’
He shrugged, looking embarrassed. ‘I forgot my gel. Ciara said that a mixture of sugar and beer would make a good substitute . . .’
‘See?’ Lisa shrieked in delight. ‘I told you you fancied her!’
Rose didn’t wait for his denials. ‘Right, I’m off. Lisa, bed by ten. Brian – you know the drill.’
She left before either had the chance to argue.
Once upstairs, she switched on the light in her bedroom and closed the door quietly behind her. She searched in her handbag for her mobile, becoming convinced that she must have lost it: one after the other, the different compartments of her bag yielded nothing other than notes to herself, change, purses, keys, glasses, at least half a dozen pens. Finally, exasperated, she upended the bag, spilling all its contents onto her bed. The first thing she saw was her mobile phone lying there, all silver and innocent. She grinned to herself. It was the same every time.
She’d joked lately with the Spice of Lifers about hanging her belongings around her neck so that her things could no longer manage to mislay themselves while she wasn’t looking.
‘Think about it,’ she’d said to Sarah. ‘A new line in jewellery – all very tasteful, of course, but chunky and practical. Look at all the time women would save: no more rummaging for reading glasses or seeing glasses; no more swearing at the missing car keys. And no more reaching the top of the stairs wondering what the hell you’d come up for in the first place. It’d be a winner.’
Sarah had laughed at her, but Rose wagged an admonitory finger and growled: ‘Give it twenty years and you’ll thank me, my girl, mark my words. I’ll call my new range “Fun-ctionals” – what do you think?’
I’d be my own best customer, Rose thought now, bringing Damien’s number up on the screen.
‘Hiya, Ma.’ He answered at once.
Rose closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the familiar tentacles of anxiety loosen suddenly, allowing a watery sense of relief to take their place. It was the same every time she called: she never knew what would greet her. For now, he sounded normal. And that was all she wanted. No great gifts, no great achievements, just the everyday blessings of the safe, the healthy, the ordinary.
‘Hello, love. All okay with you?’
‘Yeah, great. Just watching a DVD with Kev an’ Andy. You okay?’
‘Yes. I’ve just collected Brian from the station. I’m off to bed early, so I wanted to catch you now. Would you be able to join us for dinner tomorrow night? I know it’s short notice, but I’d love to see you. You haven’t been in a while.’ Rose winced. That sounded very much like a guilt trip. What the hell, she didn’t care. Whatever worked, whatever got him here, under her roof, safe – all was fair in love.
He hesitated. ‘I’ve . . . somethin’ on tomorrow. How about Tuesday?’
Rose swallowed her disappointment. He spoke again quickly, before she had time to reply.
‘It’s all good stuff, Ma – nothin’ to worry about. I’ll tell you when I see you. I’ll be there at exactly six o’clock on Tuesday, okay?’
Nothing to worry about? Rose smiled to herself. If only he knew.
‘Tuesday’s fine, love, just fine. I’ll look forward to seeing you then. Go back to your DVD – tell Kev and Andy I was asking for them.’
‘Night, Ma. Take care of yourself.’
‘You too. Love you lots.’
‘Yeah – me too.’
Rose hung up. Right. So she’d have to wait until Tuesday.
She went out onto the landing and listened for sounds from downstairs. She could hear the banter between Brian and Lisa, could hear Ciara’s name being mentioned, and the bass rumblings of Brian’s denials. She stepped into the bathroom and closed the door quietly behind her.
They’re fine, she thought, as she emptied a full bottle of bubble bath under the running water. Both of them.
They’re really fine.
Sometime later, Lisa tapped on the bathroom door. ‘Night, Mum.’
‘Night, love. Sleep tight: don’t let the bugs bite.’ Rose sang out the refrain of her daughter’s childhood.
Lisa giggled. ‘You’re sad, Mum, d’you know that?’
‘Absolutely,’ Rose said. ‘May I always be. See you in the morning.’
She could almost hear Lisa grin.
Rose lay back, allowing the warm bath water to soothe her. She smiled as she remembered how the bathroom had once been her refuge, in the early days after Ben left. She remembered hiding behind the sound of water, the comforting blanket of steam. Back then, it was the only place her children hadn’t come looking for their mother. Some things never change, she thought.
She closed her eyes, sliding further under the hot water. There would be more emotion to come for Brian and Lisa in the coming days, no doubt about it, but for now they were better than she could have hoped.
What was it Damien had just said? Nothing to worry about. What a malignant little word, worry. Persistent, paralysing, pernicious. It was the one constant of parenthood, she thought. Membership of the Worry Club was handed out to all parents, particularly mothers, along with the cutting of their children’s umbilical cords. It must be the largest organization in the world. Lifetime benefits accrued: grey hair, shortages of cash, the multifaceted terrors of the night.
And Damien had brought with him more than his fair share of those. Even now, Rose could vividly recall his face on the morning, well over a year ago, when she’d finally managed to corner him in the kitchen. She’d been determined to confront him, to block yet another one of his sneaky, shuffling exits. She had finally had to admit to herself that she could no longer handle her own son, no longer shield her younger children from the ugliness he brought home with him almost every night.
‘I want you to leave, Damien.’ She had said this very quietly.
He’d just looked at her without speaking.
She had continued to unload the dishwasher, standing by the sink, looking out over the winter garden. She very deliberately wiped the pools of water off the bases of the mugs, concentrating on the tea-towel in her hands.
‘You can stay until after Christmas, but I want you gone by the New Year. There’s plenty of casual work around, if you don’t want a proper job, and if you can afford to drink yourself into a stupor on a nightly basis, you can afford to live somewhere else.’
She waited, begging the silent air for some reply.
‘Fine.’ He scraped the chair loudly away from the table, his face set in an expression she knew so well from another, past life.
‘Do you want to know why?’
He was standing, not flinching, staring her down.
‘You’re not only damaging yourself, you’re hurting your brother and
sister and you’ve broken my heart. You have a drinking problem, Damien. Get help for it and we’ll talk again. Until then, I don’t want you upsetting the whole household.’
‘Are you finished?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said quietly then, her voice close to breaking. ‘I am most certainly finished, more than finished.’
‘I don’t have a problem. You’re the one with the problem. I’m twenty-three years of age, for fuck’s sake, I’m entitled to go out with the lads at Christmas and have a good time. Just because you don’t have a life.’
Rose closed the door of the dishwasher very carefully. ‘It’s not just Christmas, Damien. It’s Fridays, or Wednesdays, or then again, maybe Monday afternoons – it’s been any time and every time, just getting worse and worse over the past couple of years. You scraped through college by the skin of your teeth, you’ve never been able to hold down a job, you can’t even get up before midday. You have a problem. Deal with it and I’ll help you. Otherwise, you’ll have to find somewhere else to live in January.’ She faced him then, leaning against the counter top, glad that there was something solid at her back.
‘I don’t want your fuckin’ charity,’ he hissed. ‘If you want me to go, I go now.’
Rose drew a long, slow breath. She moved away from the window, hung the tea-towel over the back of one of the kitchen chairs and rested her hands on the table.
‘Then go.’
He left the kitchen at once, not even bothering to slam the door behind him.
There were scuffling noises from upstairs, cupboard doors banged. She could hear him speaking loudly on his mobile. And then he was gone, front door swinging wide open behind him, wind and rain lashing into the hallway in the wake of his departure.
‘Happy fuckin’ Christmas!’
She heard the shout as he walked angrily, stiffly, down the driveway.
Slowly she made her way to the front door and closed it quietly behind him. She caught a glimpse of him as he crossed the road to the bus stop, hair wild, rucksack like a monkey clinging to his back.
He’s no coat on, she thought. He’ll catch his death.
Then she returned to the kitchen table, put her head down, and wept.
Something Like Love Page 7
