Something Like Love

by Catherine Dunne

  ‘Are you managing to move ahead at all, towards some sort of a settlement?’

  ‘Well, Sam’s been working on figures, so we should be able to put a shape on things pretty soon. I’m meeting him tonight for a drink to discuss it.’

  Sarah raised her eyebrows. ‘Are you, now? You’re getting quite cosy, the two of you. Since when did accountants take their clients out on dates?’

  Rose blenched. ‘Oh – it’s not like that; it’s not a date, not at all . . . I’m just . . .’

  ‘Rose Kelly: I do believe you’re embarrassed. Have I hit a nerve, here?’

  Rose groaned and waved her away. ‘Please, Sarah, don’t. I’m in enough of a mess as it is. I can’t afford any more entanglements. I promised myself I’d have a quiet life once this is over.’

  ‘Two can have a quiet life together, you know? Pete and I do.’ Her tone was mock-serious and she was smiling broadly.

  Rose shook her head. ‘I can’t even think like that. He’s a lovely man . . . but I have to keep my distance. I don’t think I can handle any more complications.’

  ‘Why? You know as well as I do that to be alive is to handle complications and – what’s your word? – entanglements. Stop kidding yourself.’

  ‘I’m not listening to you. I’m not having this conversation.’ Rose stood up, pretending to put her fingers in her ears. ‘I’ll start singing now, like kids do when they don’t want to hear.’

  Sarah switched on her computer monitor and swivelled her chair around to face it. ‘Okay. I’ll be quiet. But remember, you heard it here first.’

  At exactly three o’clock Rose’s mobile rang. She looked quickly at the screen. Relieved, she answered. Sam, not Ben.

  ‘Hi, Sam.’

  ‘Rose, how are you? Have you a minute?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘I’m stuck at Heathrow. The bloody plane is delayed by at least two hours. We were due to take off at four, but now it’s going to be six, at the very earliest. Some mechanical problem.’ He sounded tired, exasperated. ‘I’m not going to make it for this evening, Rose. God knows what time I’ll get home.’

  Rose was glad that Sarah couldn’t see her. She was even happier that Sam couldn’t see her. The delightful anticipation of seeing his name on the screen had just evaporated: she could feel her shoulders, and her face, slump into disappointment. She glanced around her, quickly. No one was watching.

  ‘That’s a pity. Never mind. There’s nothing you can do about it. We’ll catch up soon.’ She tried to stay casual, neutral.

  ‘Rose?’ All the background noise had disappeared, as though Sam had just stepped into somewhere quieter. The connection between them was suddenly clearer, sharper. He might have been standing beside her. ‘I’m sorry about this. I was really looking forward to this evening.’

  His tone was unmistakable. Who was she kidding, indeed.

  ‘Yes. So was I.’ She winced. Shouldn’t have said that.

  ‘Were you?’ His voice was very quiet.

  ‘It can’t be helped,’ she said quickly. ‘I have to go, Sam. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.’

  But he wouldn’t let her go. ‘Are you free tomorrow night?’

  ‘No. We’ve an event at seven o’clock, for a hundred people.’

  ‘Right.’ That was all he said. But Rose could hear all the significance underneath it. The unspoken hovered in the air between them. She decided to stop, before she made things any worse.

  ‘ ’Bye, Sam.’

  ‘ ’Bye, Rose.’

  She hung up. Sarah was right.

  She was going to have to get off the fence, sooner or later.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘WHAT A SIGHT for sore eyes,’ said Damien, grinning at Rose as she came into the kitchen on Saturday morning.

  She jumped. ‘Damien! You startled me. I didn’t hear you come in. What are you doing here?’

  ‘And I’m very glad to see you, too, Mother.’

  ‘Sorry – I didn’t mean it like that.’ Rose pulled out a chair and sat down beside him. She fixed her dressing gown, ran her fingers through her hair. She didn’t need her son to tell her she looked a mess. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’

  ‘Didn’t Lisa tell you?’

  Rose shook her head. ‘No, I haven’t seen her yet. I was working until two o’clock this morning. She and Brian were both in bed when I got home. So, what’s up?’

  ‘I called last night to say I was coming over to collect that stuff from my room. I’ve to work late all next week, so I decided to drop over this morning.’

  ‘Right. Well, then; you can put on the kettle and make your mother a cup of tea. Make yourself useful.’

  He pointed to the teapot on the table. ‘I already have – freshly brewed, just for you. I heard you getting up. The middle floorboard in your bedroom still creaks, just like it always did.’

  Rose yawned. ‘Sorry – I’m getting too old for these late nights. What time is it anyway?’

  ‘Half ten.’

  Rose looked at him in surprise. ‘Is it really? I slept longer than I thought.’

  Damien filled her cup. ‘You’re working too hard,’ he said quietly.

  She reached for the milk. ‘That’s for another day. Don’t fight with me this early in the morning, Damien. I’m not awake yet.’

  He smiled at her. ‘I’ve no intention of fighting with you at all. I still have the scars from the last time.’

  She looked at him now. He made her remember that other life, the one that was receding more and more rapidly every day. Sometimes, in moments such as this, she caught a glimpse of it as it slipped from underneath her fingers, sped past her mind’s eye like a shutter closing on a camera. All over, she thought now, all done. Nothing left but the tidy-up. ‘I never thought we’d ever be able to joke about those days; do you know that?’

  He nodded. ‘I know. Neither did I. And maybe we’ll be able to joke about these ones too, someday soon. Mind you, I have to say that I already find Lisa’s little outburst hugely entertaining.’ He glanced over at her, not even trying to conceal a smile.

  ‘Yes, well, just remember what I asked you.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be all grave and fraternal. By the way, I called Dad.’ Damien poured more tea into his cup, stirred it thoughtfully. ‘I spoke to him yesterday evening.’

  ‘How did it go?’

  He shrugged. ‘Quite cold, I thought. But I gave him the benefit of the doubt. I thought he might still be smarting after Lisa.’

  He stopped. Rose didn’t press him.

  ‘I’ve agreed to meet him tomorrow afternoon, for coffee. He suggested the bar in the Westbury. I thought “The Joy of Coffee” would be safer.’

  Rose rested her hand on his. ‘I’m glad. Two wise decisions for the price of one.’

  ‘I’m not looking for anything from him, you know? I’ll meet him because you want me to. I’ve every intention of saying my piece – maybe not like Lisa, but I’m saying it anyway.’ He sipped at his tea. ‘I’m not pretending that he’s to blame for everything I did.’ He looked at her, quickly. ‘I’ve learned enough to know that I’m responsible for myself. But by the same token, he was responsible for himself. And what he did to us was shitty; cowardly, selfish and shitty. I’ve every intention of telling him that.’

  ‘I’m not arguing with you. Even your dad said that the other day, when Lisa let him have both barrels. “She’s entitled,” he said, and he let her have her rant.’

  ‘Well, mine might be a bit different. I’ve no intention of even raising my voice. And if I feel that I’m not getting anywhere, I’m walking out. One chance, that’s all he gets. Just the one.’

  ‘That’s all I’m asking, Damien. And as I keep telling you, I’m asking it for your sake, not for his.’

  He nodded. ‘Yeah, well, I still don’t believe that you’re right about that. I have no sense of lacking a father in my life. But I’ll do it because you want me to.’ He drained his cup. ‘And you have to accept that I might
not tell you what happens.’

  Rose nodded. ‘I’m fine with that. It’s your business. You don’t owe me anything.’

  He looked at her curiously. ‘What a strange thing to say.’

  She smiled. ‘I mean it. Go figure it out.’

  He stood up from the table. ‘Another day’s work, as you’d say yourself. Right, I’m off. I’m going upstairs to collect my stuff and then I’m gone. I’ll talk to you over the next few days, anyway, okay?’

  ‘Fine. Good luck. Now, I’m going for a shower before anyone else sees me like this.’

  He grinned. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t tell on you.’

  Lisa knocked on the bathroom door. ‘Mum? Phone call for you.’

  Rose pulled open the door, exasperated, wrapping a towel around her wet hair. ‘What? What did you say?’

  ‘Call on your mobile. You left it in the kitchen.’

  ‘Okay – thanks. Who is it?’

  Lisa shrugged. ‘Dunno.’

  Rose took the phone from her, making a mental note to tell her later that not all calls were equally urgent. Teenagers were wedded to their mobiles; parents had other priorities.

  ‘Hello? Rose here.’

  ‘Rose? I hope I’m not disturbing you. It’s Sam.’

  ‘Sam! Good morning. No, no, you’re fine. You’re not disturbing me at all. How are you?’

  ‘Good. Look, I’m really sorry about Thursday – didn’t get in until almost nine o’clock. The best-laid plans, as they say.’

  ‘That’s okay – nothing you could do about it,’ said Rose, easily. She knew what was coming, had already decided what her answer would be.

  ‘I have the preliminary figures ready, and next week looks to be a bit crowded. Would it be possible to meet this afternoon, do you think?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rose, at once. ‘It would indeed.’

  ‘Great! I was hoping you’d say that.’

  She could hear relief, enthusiasm, just a little caution in his tone.

  ‘Where would suit you?’

  ‘I think our Thursday arrangement was just fine,’ said Rose. ‘But perhaps even a little earlier? Everywhere gets so crowded on a Saturday night.’

  ‘Okay, yes, that’s fine – say four o’clock, upstairs in Neary’s?’

  ‘Four o’clock it is. See you then, Sam. Thanks for calling.’

  ‘See you, Rose. Bye for now.’

  She slipped the mobile into the pocket of her dressing gown and went back downstairs. Lisa was eating breakfast, flicking through Heat magazine. ‘Morning, Lisa.’ She stooped to kiss the top of her daughter’s head. ‘Did you have a good night?’

  Lisa nodded, her mouth full of cornflakes. She gestured for her mother to wait. Rose grinned. Another battle won: don’t speak with your mouth full.

  ‘Yeah, Alison and Carly came over, we watched two DVDs. I made popcorn.’

  ‘Anybody call?’

  ‘Just Damien.’

  ‘What time did Brian get home?’

  ‘He was here when I got in from school.’

  ‘Did he go out again?’ asked Rose casually.

  ‘No, he was here all night, in his room. He asked us to keep the noise down, said he was studying.’

  Rose nodded, satisfied. ‘I’ve to go out this afternoon. I don’t know what time I’ll be back. I’m meeting a friend for a drink. Have you plans?’

  ‘Yeah, we’re babysitting Carly’s little nephew, Jonathan. Her sister-in-law will drive the two of us home, but it could be about one o’clock. They’re going to somebody’s birthday party.’

  ‘That’s fine. You can text me later – doesn’t matter what time. I want to know when you’re on your way home.’

  Lisa nodded. ‘I know, Mum. It’s the usual routine. You don’t have to tell me every time. Anyway, Brian’ll be here, too. John is coming over to study with him tonight. He’s going to stay over in Damien’s old room.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll talk to him later, then.’

  Lisa continued to turn the pages of her magazine. Rose caught a glimpse of the usual celebrities, the Pitts, the Anistons, the Spears of that other, vacuous world that seemed to hold her daughter in thrall. Lisa spoke, without lifting her eyes from the page. ‘I’ve decided to give Dad a ring tomorrow. I’ve already sent him a text.’

  Rose looked at her in surprise. ‘Good. I’m glad you did that. Did he answer?’

  ‘Yep. More or less straight away. Said he’d be delighted to see me again. That was all. I talked to Brian. He thought it was the right thing to do.’ She turned another page nonchalantly.

  It didn’t fool Rose for a moment.

  She smiled over at her. ‘Well. Good for you, for both of you. I’m sure it’ll all go well this time. Do you know when?’

  Lisa shook her head. ‘No. He said to text him when I was ready. That he’d come and collect me here.’

  Rose thought quickly. ‘I think neutral territory would be best, Lisa. Why don’t you choose somewhere in town and meet him there? That means you’re free to come and go as you please.’

  ‘Yeah, all right. Are you finished in the bathroom?’ She stood up, closing the magazine.

  ‘Yes. Off you go. I left clean towels on the radiator.’

  ‘Thanks. See you later, Mum.’

  Rose climbed the stairs to her bedroom. She closed the door and sat on the edge of her bed. The sense she had had earlier, of her old black-and-white life passing swiftly out of the frame, returned to her again now.

  Things could never stay the same: she knew that. Not as they used to be before Ben left, not even as they used to be after Ben left. The future was now set to become something very different. She had the strongest sense of the next part of her life belonging somewhere else.

  After all, now she was no longer a mother to three small children: Damien had flown the coop, his wings growing stronger all the time. Brian was only half likely to settle into home again after his summer of freedom in Paris, and Lisa was able to handle more and more independence all the time. Soon even her youngest wouldn’t need her mothering any more, not in the traditional, needy sense.

  Daughter, sister, wife, mother, carer, caterer, survivor.

  All done, all past, all over.

  It was time for Rose, now.

  She pulled her black jeans out of the wardrobe, and her new silk blouse. She took two handfuls of bottles and jars off her bedside locker and rummaged in the drawer of her dressing table for a new tube of foundation. Then she sat regarding herself in the old-fashioned, three-way mirror. It was only midday. Plenty of time for a face pack, a bit of a manicure, some careful make-up.

  There were some arts a woman just never forgot.

  It was very pleasant, Rose decided, to be sitting in a quiet bar on a Saturday afternoon, with a pleasant breeze billowing the net curtains beside you. Were there really people who led lives like this all the time? she wondered – sipping chilled white wine, reading the newspaper, no sense of push or hurry tugging at their sleeves?

  She watched two young people at the bar: university students coming up to final exams, to judge by their conversation. Must be nice, she thought. That would be a good life, an interesting sort of life.

  ‘Rose, I’m sorry I’m late. Taxi never turned up.’ Sam pushed his way along the upholstered seat beside her. She thought he looked almost nervous, on the verge of shyness.

  ‘You’re hardly late, Sam – I’ve only just arrived myself.’

  He grinned, suddenly looking more relaxed. ‘Good. I hate hanging around waiting for people. Don’t expect anyone to do it for me.’ He placed a leather folder on the seat beside him. ‘Well, what would you like to drink?’

  ‘I think I’ll have a glass of white wine. I can’t remember the last time I sat in a bar at this time of the afternoon – but I’m getting to like it. I’ve decided it’s the start of the new me.’ She smiled at him, looking him right in the eye.

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he went up to the bar and returned a few minutes later with their
drinks. When he sat, he placed his large hands carefully on the table in front of him. Rose had watched him as he’d walked to the bar. She liked the solid way he moved, the way he held his body. She liked the air of substance he brought with him. Now he turned towards her, poured wine into her glass, and spoke quietly.

  ‘So. Did you retrieve the offending documents from the kitchen bin that night, as we discussed?’

  She grinned. ‘I did indeed. I have them in my bag. And you were right. Ben has done a lot of the legwork. Judging by the contents of that brown envelope, my home – sorry, our house – is worth at least a million euro and change.’

  Sam nodded. ‘I’m impressed. Your portion of that should put a very decent new roof over your head.’ He raised his glass. ‘Here’s to you.’

  There was a small, charged silence.

  Rose took a deep breath. Okay, Katie, Claire, Sarah: better late than never. I’m going for it. Something daft, remember?

  ‘Sam, I wanted to ask you if—’

  He raised one hand in the air. ‘Stop, Rose. Stop right there, please. I can’t do this any more.’ He put down his glass, ran both hands through his unruly hair. It was a gesture she had become very familiar with over the past year.

  She stopped and looked at him in astonishment. How had he known what she was going to ask? His eyes are really very brown, she thought suddenly, so much warmer than blue.

  ‘Do what, Sam?’

  ‘Be your friend,’ he said bluntly. ‘I’m not going to put this off any longer,’ he said, shaking his head and trying his best to smile at her. ‘When you said that you’d meet me today, I was determined not to let the opportunity go. I have to talk to you – I’ve been putting it off for far too long.’

  She looked at him, half afraid, half hopeful. ‘Go on,’ she said quietly.

  He sighed. ‘I’ve been wanting to ask you out for months – ever since I first met you. I’ve spent – I’ve wasted – almost a year waiting for the right moment.’ He shrugged, helpless. ‘There never seemed to be a right time. When I met you first, you were up to your ears in financial problems. I didn’t want you to think I was taking advantage of your difficulties, didn’t want to cloud our professional relationship.’