by Oliver Sands
Breeda. Breeda …
Chapter 35
The mug of sweetened tea in Breeda’s hand had started to shake. She watched as he leaned forward from the side of the bed to gently take it from her clammy grip. Breeda couldn’t help but stare, afraid to move, terrified that this brittle moment might disintegrate, and she’d wake up back on the park bench on Primrose Hill.
‘Dad.’
The word escaped her softly: a simple statement, no hint of question. The clouds from the blackness had been slowly clearing from her brain, and now Breeda felt the room around her solidify, become more real.
He was smiling at her, that old familiar crinkle in the corner of his eye, deeper now. Breeda continued to stare, drinking in every detail of his face. His brow was more deeply etched than she remembered, the eyebrows wild, his hair thinned of its blackness. But the eyes watching her were those from her childhood. And suddenly Breeda was a little girl again, propped up in bed and listening to him read Pinocchio. She’d found him. Mal Looney. Her father. Dad.
Mal leaned forward and took his daughter’s hands in his own. Breeda skirted her thumb over the big knuckles of his manual worker’s hands. These were the same hands that had hoisted her up onto his shoulders for childhood walks along the strand; the same hands that had tossed his special girl imaginary apples; the same hands that had cupped her embattled head just two hours ago.
They sat in silence for a moment, the clatter of a nearby train merging into the other city sounds outside the bedroom window. He continued to watch her, but she suddenly had to look away. If she looked up now she would lose control. He leaned towards her.
‘Who’s the apple of my eye?’
Breeda’s heart caught. Her words arrived in a childlike whisper.
‘I am.’
‘Who?’
‘Me. Bree—’
But she could no longer hold it together. Her face crumpled and her body crumbled into her father’s embrace. She blubbered in his arms as a convulsion ran through her entire body. Mal shushed her and gently stroked her hair.
‘It’s OK, my darlin’. Your old Dad’s here.’
Breeda collapsed deeper into him, allowing herself to drown in his woody scent. A sweet release surged through every cell of her tired body and her tears coursed freely now. Dark blotches spread down her father’s light blue shirt. He cupped the back of her head once more and rocked her gently.
‘Is the t-shirt really that bad?’
Breeda laughed into his shoulder, then pushed him gently away, grateful for the change of tack. He sat back from her and they both looked down at the faded Madness t-shirt which he’d dug out from one of his drawers. She reached for his hand and shook her head.
‘Dad, I have so much to tell you. And there’s so much I want to know.’
A noise interrupted them, and Mal cocked an ear. Breeda heard it too – the sound of Mrs Bennett’s feet on the staircase. Mal rubbed the back of his neck and Breeda noticed a slight clench in his jaw. She patted the back of his hand, sat back against the pillows, and blew her nose into a tissue.
‘Well, ain’t this a lovely vision of happy families.’
The landlady walked across the room and sat Breeda’s laundered clothes on the end of the bed.
‘All washed and dried. I’ve left you a pair of shoes down in the hall too. Nothing fancy, but it’s the best I could do. At short notice.’
Breeda sat up straight against the bed head.
‘Thank you so much, Mrs Bennett. I really do appreciate it. I hadn’t planned—’
Mrs Bennett shoved the window up roughly and the net curtain billowed in.
‘It beats me why you didn’t just say who you were. Could have saved yourself a lot of trouble.’ She smoothed the curtain down, then turned back to Breeda. ‘You nearly gave your poor Dad here a heart attack. Thought you was from Her Majesty’s revenue and customs. Didn’t we, Mal?’
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Bennett. I guess I should—’
The woman had tuned out. She stood flicking the light switch by the door.
‘Mal – that bulb wants replacing. And when you’re ready Trixie needs a walk.’
Mal nodded, a sly wink towards Breeda, daring her to smile. ‘No problem, Mrs B. I’ll get right onto it.’
Turning from the door Mrs Bennett shot Breeda a crafty look.
‘No handbag with you?’
‘Well, I had a bag. But it was stolen when I was in the park.’
Mrs Bennett seemed to take this in and looked from Breeda to Mal and then back again.
‘So you’ve no money, then?’
Mal dropped his eyes and sighed. Breeda dropped hers too, embarrassed on behalf of the woman and her clumsy insinuations.
‘Dad, I left my credit card at a pub. Will you come with me to get it?’
In the background Mrs Bennett withdrew, her victory postponed, and stomped back down the stairs. Mal looked up at Breeda, the crinkle back in the corner of his eyes.
‘Course I will, love. I can even buy my grown-up daughter a grown-up drink to celebrate. You get dressed and I’ll wait for you downstairs.’
Mrs Bennett’s voice carried up from the hallway, ‘Malachy, Trixie. Walkies.’
Breeda and her father looked at each other wide-eyed and collapsed in silent shakes of laughter.
Twenty minutes later Breeda found herself strolling down the street, her arm linked proudly through her Dad’s, and Trixie straining ahead of them on her lead. On Regent’s Park Road Breeda caught their reflection in the window of a Real Estate Agents. She leaned her head into his shoulder and let her feet fall in step with his. None of what had come before this mattered in the slightest now. This moment, right here and now, had made it all worthwhile. Even the silliness with Nora could be forgotten. Breeda had her prize, a new chapter was beginning, and each step they took now was putting fresh words on the page. She filled her lungs and felt nothing but love for the world.
Outside a shop Trixie had stopped to say hello to another dog. The owner walked out to untie him and Breeda couldn’t help herself.
‘Hello, Benji!’
The dog cocked its head at her, as did the owner, and Breeda beamed back her best smile.
Inside the pub a few locals were dotted around. It was a different place in the midday light, the one constant being the girl with blue hair. Spotting Breeda she smiled and fetched the credit card from the shelf.
‘Forget something?’
‘Thanks a million. I’d forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on.’
Mal had taken Trixie down to the low table in front of the fire. The bar woman’s gaze followed him for a moment, before she leaned forward, and touched Breeda gently on the forearm.
‘You were a bit upset last night. Everything alright?’
Breeda leaned forward too and patted her hand.
‘Let’s just say it’s better than alright now.’
The bar woman gave Breeda a warm smile, which faltered slightly as Mal approached. She cleared her throat and picked some empty glasses off the bar.
‘Well, what can I get you good folk?’
‘I’d like to buy my girl her first drink.’
‘Dad, it’s hardly my first drink.’
‘Shush. You know what I mean. What’s your poison?’
‘I’ll have a white wine please. Pinot Grigio.’ Breeda could see the bar woman’s mouth open but cut her off. ‘Better make it a small one, thanks.’
‘And a JD and coke. Double please.’
As the girl turned to fetch the drinks Mal patted the pockets in his leather jacket.
‘Oh, I’m a pillock.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I left my bloody wallet at home. Listen, I’ll just pop home and get it.’
‘Dad, go and sit down. It’s not a problem.’
That smile again. He did have something of a lovable rogue about him.
‘I’ll pay you back later. And here I was wanting to buy my lovely daughter a drink.’
Sitting by the glowing coals of the fire Breeda relaxed as the words flowed easily between herself and her father. She ordered another round of drinks, ignoring her empty stomach, and marveled at how easy it already was between them. She learned of his arthritis – his hands destroyed after years of bricklaying – and his plans to finally sell his building business. She told him how she’d packed in her corporate job so she could spend precious time with Margaret. He hadn’t known of Margaret’s passing, and he’d sat distracted by the fire for a moment, before they raised their glasses to her memory. Feeling the mood becoming too serious, Breeda changed the topic to the waste-of-skin also known as Brian O’Dowd. As she spoke his name his image was invoked, and now Breeda could picture him strutting into Heeley’s Bar back home, with Alex-from-the-Boston-Office following on his heels. She turned to glance at her father and choked back a laugh – the similarity was uncanny - even down to the leather jacket and the glass of JD and coke. She couldn’t wait to tell Oona about her not-so-subtle daddy issues.
They fell into silence for a moment. A log crackled and drew Breeda’s attention back to the fire.
‘Dad, I never knew …’
The words arrived unprompted, in the quiet of the pub, and he looked at her, waiting.
‘They told me you’d drowned. They said you were dead.’ Breeda shook her head at her own words, but the absurdity clung on. ‘For years they lied to me. I found out, just last week, that you didn’t die back then, all because of an eighteenth birthday card.’ She turned and saw the ageing in his face now, the cost of Nora’s lies carved in his skin. How much could a man forgive, she wondered. She sat back from the fire, aware that a different type of heat was beginning to burn her face now. ‘I never received it, Dad. Nora never passed it on.’
A mask settled over his features. He was withdrawing, from right in front of her, and she felt as if she was going to lose him all over again. Reaching over she pulled his hand towards her.
‘Dad, it’s OK. We found each other, in the end, yeah?’
‘I figured you hated me, just thought you wanted nothing to do with your old man.’ He snorted, and now it was his turn to shake his head. ‘Christ. Good old Nora.’
‘I know, Dad. I know.’ Breeda rubbed the back of his hand again, annoyed with herself for stumbling them both into this place already. But it was out now, and she’d started, so she was going to finish.
‘Dad, I know why you were forced to leave Dunry.’
He raised an eyebrow but held his tongue.
‘The other woman.’ Breeda felt embarrassed by her turn of phrase and looked down at the burning coals.
Mal sat back in his chair and rubbed the back of his neck. She turned to look at him again, a sudden need to witness his expression.
‘I went to visit her last week. I went to see Mona Sneddon.’
A softening came over his features at the mention of the name. Breeda imagined his relief, having his adult daughter accept his shortcomings so ungrudgingly. His little indiscretion – his and Mona’s peccadillo – was no longer a dirty secret to be hidden from his daughter.
‘How is Mona?’
‘Not great, to be honest. You knew about the dementia?’ Breeda drained her glass.
‘Yeah. She was due to pay me a visit. Unlikely now though.’
Breeda sat up straight.
‘Dad, why don’t you come home with me?’
‘You what?’ He drained his whiskey and pushed the glass away.
‘Come home with me, for a visit. You can see Mona, I can show you around Carrickross. You can meet my friends.’
The idea took hold of Breeda, the cogs of her brain running at full speed. He’d come back for a quick visit, and she’d make him love it, and he’d end up staying. She’d use the last of her savings to rent the little two-bedroom apartment above the wine shop. Mister Sheridan might give her a few extra shifts, and in the meantime, she’d apply for that project management role in Letterkenny. She found herself nodding at him, her eyebrows raised expectantly.
The blue-haired girl had come to clear their glasses. She nodded to the empties and Breeda nodded back, before adding, ‘Make them large ones please.’
‘Right you are.’ The barmaid flicked her tea towel over her shoulder and went to fetch the drinks.
‘Go on, Dad. I want to show you off to everyone! And we have so much catching up to do. And anyway …’
He was shaking his head, but he stopped at Breeda’s hesitation, and his smile faded. ‘And anyway what?’
Breeda examined her chipped nail polish. ‘Well, I just don’t think your Mrs Bennett is thrilled to have me here. I get the impression I’m in the way.’
‘Oh, to hell with Mrs B. She’s a little possessive, that’s all. But in fairness, my life is here. Going back there … there’s just too many unhappy memories.’ He leaned towards her, and quickly grabbed her hands in his. ‘There’s great memories, too, of course.’
She found a smile and hoped the tears would stay away. How naive she’d been to think that the act of tracking him down would be a swift solution for their years of forced separation. Breeda kept her eyes on the table as the two fresh drinks arrived. The girl went back to finish pouring a Guinness, and Trixie resettled her drowsy head on her front legs.
‘I hate her so much.’ Breeda could taste something metallic and blood-like on her tongue.
‘Nora?’
She nodded and wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. There weren’t supposed to be tears now. He turned his glass slowly on the table.
‘Old Nora has a lot to answer for, alright. All those wasted years …’
Breeda could picture Nora’s beady little eyes now and remembered the easy lies she had spread to get her boys to threaten Mal onto the ferry that night, painting him as a wife-beater and a kiddie-fiddler. She pictured the uptight, pious hypocrite, and remembered her as she lay broken on her hallway floor. Remembered her as she lay surrounded by the scattered pages of the life insurance policy.
Breeda took a liberal swig of wine and stared into the flames. Something hot inside her was growing engorged. It needed a good lancing.
‘Dad, I think there’s something you should know about Nora Cullen.’
Chapter 36
Ginger stretched along the back doorstep and submitted the furry arc of her belly to the morning sun. Sitting beside her, Breeda leaned against the whitewashed wall and tilted her face to the cloudless blue above. She cradled the phone to her ear.
‘And he’s upstairs?’
‘He is.’
‘Wow, Bree. You don’t do things by half.’
Oona’s laugh came down the line and conjured up an easy smile to Breeda’s face. She looked down to the bay and watched a kite surfer scud effortlessly across the water.
‘So how does six o’clock sound? We’ll have some champers, then eat at seven?’
‘Sounds great. Anyone else coming?’
‘Just you and Dougie, me, my dad…’ Breeda emphasized the last word and heard Oona laugh again. ‘And I’m thinking of asking Aidan as well…’
There was a slight pause on the line.
‘So Mal knows he has a son?’
‘He does now.’ Breeda had let it slip to Mal – two days before – at their lunchtime drinking session in London. At the time, with the glow of wine in her empty belly, Breeda had felt her tongue slip out of neutral and had taken on the role of champion of the truth, raking up everyone
else’s dirt for them. By that night, after a day of boozing, her father had agreed to come back with her to Ireland for a quick visit. Malachy Looney had a daughter and a son.
‘Well, I feel like I should film the whole thing, just in case it goes tits up.’
‘Ah, thanks Oona. I’ve missed your supportive chats. Ever think of becoming a therapist?’
‘That’s a great idea! Listen, I have to go and drop the kids to school.’
‘Okay, Love. Bring nothing but yourselves. See you at six.’
Breeda brought the phone back inside and glanced around the bare kitchen. She’d been awake since just after six, a buzz of excitement in her brain coaxing her to get up and get cracking. Before talking to Oona she had spent a few hours updating her resume for the project management role in Letterkenny. Her finger had hesitated over the Submit button on the website, and she had found herself getting up from the chair again and again, looking out towards the mountain, and fussing over the cat, trying not to think of her disappearing guest house dream. But after one final lingering look out the window she had forced herself back to the laptop, hit the Submit button, then slammed the laptop shut.
She flicked on the kettle, walked along the hallway, and listened. There was still no sign of life upstairs. Mal would be wrecked after yesterday’s mammoth drive. Cracking open the front door she looked out to the driveway. His white van was still parked as they’d left it the night before.
Looney & Sons - Builders
When she’s seen it for the first time, parked on his street in London, she’d laughed, and had wondered aloud who these sons were.
Better for business, he’d told her. People like a family man, he’d said.
The previous morning Breeda had sat in the passenger seat of the van, trying her best to ignore the filthy looks of Mrs Bennett. The landlady had been standing at her yellow front door, with her arms folded and a simmering grimace. Mal had gone in for a peck on the cheek, but Mrs B was having none of it, and had slammed the door in his face. Breeda had felt a twinge of guilt at the time, but a steadily increasing wave of excitement had replaced it. And even with the length of the journey - five hours to Holyhead, the ferry crossing to Dublin, then four hours drive up to Donegal – she’d felt herself becoming more and more animated with each kilometer they ticked off. By the time they’d reached the main road into Carrickross that night she couldn’t help herself from leaning over and blasting the horn.
