by Lj McEvoy
Thinking it was strategically built there with the church overlooking the different housing estates to remind its minions that this was what Ireland was built on, Lauren felt that domination was now just bricks and mortar as more and more people were choosing rather than fearing. As one of her atheist friends put it, ‘like any dictator or powerful institution, the Catholic Church is leaving behind its beautiful buildings and statues – monuments to a power that was.’
Even though Lauren believed this to be partly true, she also had her own ideals ensuring her children attend weekly services, carrying out the normal traditions of a Catholic family. ‘When they grow up, like me they’ll make their own choice,’ she would argue, ‘to inflict my own opinions on them would be exactly what the Catholic Church and many other faiths did for years.’
Once inside the church Lauren felt like she was watching a play - an act floating above the larger than expected congregation. ‘Yes, I am dreaming, this just doesn’t feel like the real thing’, she thought. After the hour-long service people came forward to shake her hand, their faces passing quickly with everyone reminding her of the past near 11 years, of events both happy and sad she shared with Peter. Well eleven and a half years if you include our brief courtship, Lauren smiled at the memory. Looking around the church ‘I got married in this church, what a happy, exciting day that was’, but then she realised ‘my life is in this church - my own christening, communion, confirmation, marriage and even my children’s christening and now my husband’s funeral - Shite, what a way to sum up your existence!’ It gave her some slight self-assurance that maybe, just maybe her decision for the future was the right one, for herself and more importantly now for her children.
The stream of people was never-ending with some either patting or rubbing the top of Emma and Keith heads. Emma who was getting ever so slightly miffed because people were messing up her hair, held up her hand as high as their chests so they would get the hint. Lauren couldn’t help but smile at the vanity of her seven-year-old daughter, she was becoming so grown up and concerned about her looks already, later this year she’ll be eight, then eighteen then maybe with a family of her own, it truly goes by too quickly.
Somehow the long procession of people finished and as they left the church the early and extremely rare spring sunshine warmed Lauren’s face preparing her for the final goodbye.
The final goodbye, thinking back over the past three months, ‘how many times did you tell Peter to leave and get out of your life?’
The black limousine crunched on the gravel as it drove through the gates of Glasnevin cemetery. Noticing another funeral taking place, the tears, the people packed tightly together, supporting each other. Lauren shuddered looking away from the cortège protectively towards her children.
Pressing a button down to open a window of the limousine, she could hear the leaves on the trees whispering their usual banter. Remembering back to her grandmother’s funeral when Lauren was just a child, her dad reassured her that it was just the whispering of the souls of the people buried there just having a chat to each other so nobody would feel lonely. But Glasnevin graveyard felt very cold and lonely today. ‘Why the hell does a graveyard always feel so cold when the sun is shining,’ her thoughts wandering in every direction as she quickly closed up the limousine’s window.
With Fr. Singleton kindly carrying out his duty to perfection, Lauren watched him knowing it was just another part of his job - he met Peter once when Keith was christened. Then Peter’s brother, now the eldest of the Connolly family told everybody of how he knew Peter both as a brother and a true friend. Lauren recognised some of what he said but then she knew Peter as a husband, an individual and more importantly as a businessman, bitterly thinking – ‘that’s the difference, now I know the difference.’
Looking around the crowd, Lauren suddenly felt the need to see if anyone else knew too immediately spotting a face she didn’t want to be there. ‘Detective Inspector O’Reilly!’ nearly screaming out his name as anger burst from her chest and flushing her cheeks, that bastard knows but is stupidly ignoring it! Feeling certain he would visit her house again before the Inquest, Lauren decided she’d let him know her thoughts then.
Or should she? ‘Will it uncover things best left alone, should I move on and forget. What’s the best plan Lauren, think, what will this do to Peter’s family or our kids if I press O’Reilly to dig deeper.’
‘No!’ she whispered not noticing Emma turn to look up at her.
**********
The mourner watched Lauren closely, ‘oh yeah you really loved him didn’t you, stupid bitch you can’t even cry not even one crocodile tear. I know you Lauren.’ The mourner smirked bending their head forward, an automatic reaction as the priest recommenced his prayers. Pretending to mutter the prayers, their mind was on previous events, which to their delight now led to this morning, ‘and what are you going to do now Lauren? Try to live your happy, spoilt life now? Is this warning enough?’
The mourner couldn’t disguise the smirk now turning into a grin and their broad shoulders straightened as the emotion suddenly grew to anger – ‘Think you could stop me? Never! Twice you’ve tried before even partially succeeding the first time but now I’ve won, I’m learning and you won’t win the next time either, if you have the guts to try and stop me again. Your deceitful, hidden attempt is now lying in a coffin and soon six feet of mud will hide his secrets.’
The mourner’s head remained bowed but watched Lauren with eyes lifted toward her, the pain created in the forehead with this action was easily ignored. Noticing an angry expression on Lauren’s face the mourner’s eyes followed her glare towards a man in the crowd immediately recognising the policeman she was staring at. The mourner knew their decision not to return to the house afterwards was not one of their better ideas. Maybe they should just for appearances sake, ‘after all one must pay our respects to the bereaved as well as the dead.’
**********
Chapter 3
The day continued as it’s started as if on a cloud Lauren floated through. She watched Peter’s parents, still struggling, still trying to comprehend the events that have unfolded in the past three days. It was too much for Peter’s father, fighting a battle of his own, Lauren could see how the cancer was wreaking havoc with his body as he struggled to sit down and wipe his brow. That slow, painful disease was winning or more to the point Peter Snr. was losing. When the news spread through Dublin that Peter Connolly had died everybody automatically presumed it was Peter Snr. with visitors and phone calls flooding the Connolly’s home. Some even phoning Lauren looking for her husband to offer their condolences.
‘What’s it like to bury your own child,’ she asked herself as she stared at her parents-in-law squeezing the hands of her own children so tightly Keith chugged at her expressing his discomfort with a simple ‘Ouch.’
Finally all were gone except for Lauren’s parents and Peter’s sister and brother-in-law Debbie and Pat. Emma and Keith played outside with their cousins as the adults sat around the large glass dining room table.
Lauren watched as her children played, they were smiling. Did they understand there was something amiss, someone missing? Surely they heard the arguments she and Peter were having, Emma often asked why Daddy was working so late in the office and then leaving for work so early before they got up for school. Lauren would just brush her young daughter aside giving her some menial excuse, guiltily biting her lip at that thought she admitted hardly knowing her children and visa versa, it was like her own young family life repeating itself. ‘Things,’ she determined again, ‘are going to change.’
The group sat there for maybe a half-hour with silence; some small talk then silence again. Sometimes Lauren joined in, but all the while she was watching the children play and thinking. For the past month her track of thought was on the future, rarely on what happened in the past and with the events of the past three days her thinking now changing to a definite line of action. Suddenly she stop
ped watching and turned her body to the assembled around the table sitting silently, awkwardly.
Lauren looked at them individually, searching their faces for what they expected was going to be discussed, ‘my parents think I’m going to mention the Will, well tough shit I’m not,’ she thought lightly to herself.
Scrutinizing each individual, nobody could look her in the eye, with Debbie and Pat she understood it was more awkwardness because of the circumstances of Peter’s death and Debbie often admitted she never felt comfortable being in the same company as Lauren’s mother. With her father it was helplessness in being unable to change the situation he now found his only daughter in. And then there was Patricia, surprised her mother was unable to look at her, ‘why could we never be friends Mam?’ she thought as regret and bitterness enmeshed with the tangle of other emotions inside her.
But Lauren knew this just to be another of her crazy dreams, Patricia always tried to drum into Lauren the need for serious, business-like approach to life but when Lauren was younger she flitted from one idea to another never listening. Their relationship as rebel teenager and mother was highly volatile and unfortunately it continued when Lauren and Peter joined and rescued the logistics business when it was on the verge of bankruptcy. Even though Patricia was still at the helm Lauren often felt there was a constant competition between the two of them. Looking at her mother, her once soft face now had hard lines etched around her eyes and mouth matching the hard line she took in life, her dark grey hair cropped short making her features even sharper, her once olive skin now more tawny. Lauren sadly realised in looks and character that they never had and probably never will have anything in common.
As if she could read Lauren’s mind Patricia broached the unwanted subject surrounding the group, her steel blue eyes piercing into Laurens for the first time that day, ‘Is the Will sorted Lauren? That is if there is an actual Will. And are you returning to work next week?’ The company Patricia knew couldn’t handle being short two members of the management - one maybe, so she decided to kill both her queries in two short sharp questions.
‘No, I won’t be returning,’ was the curt response, ‘I’ll discuss that with you and Dad another day,’ Lauren ignored the question about the Will.
‘The time for business talk is not now Patricia,’ Lauren’s dad quickly intercepted the way the conversation was leading. Gerard always knew when to cut a subject short particularly when it was an unwanted conversation between Lauren and Patricia. ‘Lauren has a lot to handle over the next few days and weeks.’ Turning to his daughter, ‘you take as much time as you want my love,’ Gerard said softly.
Patricia glared at her husband, two against one; it was always the bloody same why couldn’t he take his wife’s side for once. She could see how he was looking at his daughter with sympathy and love - they are so alike both are superficial and childish. Okay so Gerard has some business sense but the soft-hearted idiot can never say no, now he hides himself away in the warehouse, running around as if he knew what he was doing. ‘How many times did I drag him from the pub after he and his so-called friends drank the profits, that is before Peter and I stepped in,’ she always proudly ascribed the survival of the logistics company to both herself and Peter - Lauren tagged along for the excitement. At least that’s what she sharply told people whenever they had the nerve to praise Lauren’s work to her face.
‘Right then I think it’s time we should leave, are you ready Gerard?’ quickly she rose from her chair and left the table, Patricia hated waiting for nothing to happen and knew her question of the Will would not be answered.
‘Do you want us to go love?’ Gerard searched Lauren’s face for a negative answer; hope was teetering from every line on his face.
‘I’m sorry Dad but I need to talk to Debbie and Pat,’ Lauren watched his reaction knowing it would be of disappointment. ‘Christ don’t do this to me now Dad, I feel guilty enough as it is,’ Lauren’s shoulders slumped despairingly. Her mind was made up and, just in case she cowardly changed her mind, once Lauren informed someone of her decisions it was rare for her to back down. But she couldn’t do anything without Debbie and Pat’s help. ‘Please Dad,’ placing her hand on his she pleaded hoping he would understand now and of her decision for the future.
Reluctantly he rose from the chair noticing that Patricia was already wearing her coat and holding his on her arm. ‘Has she no feelings for her daughter?’ With one angry look he let Patricia read his opinion of her abrupt action. Turning once more to Lauren, his face softened wanting to say something but in the end he just shrugged, walked towards her kissing her cheek, ‘Take care, my laurel,’ he whispered.
Lauren head jerked up surprised at those words; he rarely said them to her nowadays. ‘It’s as if he knows,’ she thought.
With her parents gone Lauren then turned to Debbie and Pat observing the surprised look on their faces, she let out a nervous half chuckle. How helpful they’ve been in the past three days, of course they were in mourning too for the loss of Peter but as usual they were there when Lauren needed them most. They were always reliable and solid, taking care of Emma and Keith after school and whenever she and Peter were working late.
‘The kids see more of Debbie and Pat than they do of us,’ was Lauren’s regular complaint to Peter, bitterly remembering how he would respond with the usual shrug, ‘That’s life, love.’ A realisation suddenly dawned on her, how her decision would affect their lives too. Emma and Keith were so much a part of their life and that of their own children.
‘On with it then,’ she told herself, ‘and for God’s sake you’ve got to try to make it sound optimistic!’ Adjusting herself in her chair again she commenced, ‘I’ve made a decision,’ she stalled, was she going to say the right thing but then a sudden surge of energy gave her the courage, ‘as soon as things are sorted here we’re leaving for France. For good, I mean, permanently.’
‘You’re what!’ they both chorused.
‘Oops, I’m sorry have I surprised you,’ Lauren piquantly replied.
Chapter 4
Nearly six months later Paul Morris, an Irish Junior Minister for Agriculture checked himself in the long wardrobe mirror, casually adjusting his tie once more he sneakily turned his wrist so he could eye his watch again, his meeting was in an hour but the minutes were crawling. Stupidly wondering if the rumours were true he quickly corrected himself, ‘of course they’re bloody true, these leaks don’t happen for the fun of it, and why else would you be having a private meeting with An Taoiseach.’
‘A slight Cabinet reshuffle,’ his advisors informed him, ‘and you’re heading for the Department for Justice.’ But under what role, he knew the existing Minister, although old, was excellent and in perfect health to his knowledge and as he was only a Junior Minister, the trainee or thanks for your support slot as it was known in some circles, was it just a side step? The rumour bent towards him actually getting the top job but how and more importantly why?
Proudly studying his reflection ‘not bad for 38 years,’ he stated aloud, still lean with no evidence of the extraordinary large meals he enjoyed and with thanks to his twice-weekly workout. His fair hair was beginning to slightly thin, ‘it’s bound to happen when it’s in the family,’ again he comfortably spoke aloud to himself as he brushed his fingers through it. The smooth, tanned features were now showing a few signs of his high-pressured job but he didn’t mind that, it’s been such a long time since he embraced this feeling of contentment, of satisfaction and now this promotion - the icing on the cake, his elation now getting the better of him. He checked himself, ‘get a grip Paul, keep that face hidden, maturity and confidence is needed for when the news is out otherwise they’ll tear you apart.’
Paul softly smiled as another person’s image appeared in the long mirror behind him, ‘Like the new hair cut Mr. Minister for Justice?’ the reflection asked confidently.
Paul laughed, ‘Yep, I told before it would suit you, more modern,’ but then he changed to a
more serious tone, ‘but please you know I hate to presume things so…’
‘Paul,’ his friend laughingly interrupted, ‘you’re the new Minister for Justice, make no bones about it. And you always presume things, for Christ’s sake don’t deny you’re thinking the same way as me. The icing on the cake?’
Paul assuredly smiled back at his friend thinking, how you know me so well and how I love you for that alone.
As Paul walked across the courtyard of the Irish Parliament buildings, Dail Eireann - the other TDs, even those in opposition were not holding back from congratulating him. An elder of the TD hierarchy came across to him, ‘one of the youngest, if not the youngest to be promoted to such a position. How times are a changing,’ he delighted, ‘do us proud son!’ warmly shaking Paul’s hand.
Straightening himself as he approached An Taoiseach’s outer office, Ireland’s equivalent to a Prime Minister or US President, Paul calmed himself as he casually strolled to the junior secretary.
‘I’ll inform An Taoiseach’s assistant you’re here, please take a seat,’ she smiled, secretly admiring the tall, good-looking politician standing in front of her, nearly all the young office women in Dail Eireann at one time or another had fantasies about this guy. His height and build were just perfect and his eyes – Ohh those smiling, dark-sea blue eyes, would I love to swim in there! Dreamily staring at her switchboard she automatically pressed the key with the top of her pen.
Five minutes later he was shown through to the office, An Taoiseach was sitting behind his overly large and intimidating dark oak desk working on his laptop he ignored Paul entering the room. The desk was unusually cleared of all papers and files, except for one large brown folder. About six or seven inches thick it was bulging at the seams; some CDs and two USB keys lay beside it.
Noting it but not paying too much attention to it, instead Paul’s eyes wandered around the room, yet another interior designer or architect was paid a fortune to decorate this office. ‘Why?’ he wondered, ‘did every new Taoiseach feel the need to wipe away their predecessor’s existence by changing the colour scheme and layout when they moved in.’ The only reminders were the old official photographs lining one wall, deliberately placed so visitors would have their backs to them upon entering.
