by Tara Heavey
‘The doc thinks I should stay for another week.’
We all nodded sagely.
‘Maybe we could all meet up when you’re back home,’ I ventured. ‘I mean – as soon as you’re feeling up to it.’
She shrugged. ‘Maybe.’
Paul looked at me again. ‘I guess we’ll be going now.’
I nodded. She certainly didn’t seem keen on having us there any more.
‘What’ll you do for the rest of the day?’ It was the first time Chris had spoken.
‘Oh, I have a very full afternoon ahead of me. First an hour of basket-weaving, followed by a spot of finger-painting. Then I have my electric shock therapy to look forward to.’
Chris looked horrified.
‘She’s only joking.’ I dragged her gently away from the bed. Optimism reared its pretty but naïve head. The old Hazel was still in there somewhere.
‘I’ll give you a ring at home in a week or so.’
‘Whatever.’
As we moved away she lay down, presented her back to us and pulled the covers up to her ears.
The collective relief as we left the ward was palpable. Walking considerably faster than we had on the way in, we managed to reach the corridor leading to the exit without further mishap. Just as we were about to reach the light at the end of the tunnel, a chilling scream rang out. I thought it came from the tower. Mrs Rochester! Chris ran the final few yards. It took all my willpower not to run after her.
Fifteen minutes later we were seated in a coffee shop, close to St Catherine’s but mercifully out of sight of the tower. We sipped our lattes as if they contained the elixir of life. Nothing much was said for some time; we were all caught up in our private thoughts. Then Chris spoke.
‘Imagine,’ she said, ‘all along, everyone thought that I was the mad one.’
We didn’t try to deny it.
Right then, Chris seemed to be the sanest person I knew.
Chapter Twenty-one
After what seemed an eternity, the harsh days of winter softened into the sky-blue days of spring. It didn’t take as much effort on Terence’s part to get me tramping the roads of Ballyknock of an evening. In fact, these walks proved to be the perfect antidote to a busy day at the office.
It was the end of March. The clocks were just about to go forward or back or whatever it is they do at that time of year. I luxuriated in the gentle spring sunshine as it bathed my eyelids. It felt like a long-lost friend that had been away on an extended trip, possibly to Australia.
The hedgerows around Ardskeha were studded with wild violets and little, yellow, star-like flowers (what were they? I’d have to look them up) – Easter colours. The Easter bunnies abounded, too; a young rabbit seemed to appear around every bend to torment Terence. Luckily he was too dumb or too slow to catch any of them, although he put up a great show of delirious barking and chasing each time. He probably ignored them when I wasn’t there.
As I ambled contentedly, I was aware of an old, familiar scent intermingling with the usual sweet aroma of fresh cow-pat. An unmistakable green smell.
It was growth. New growth. The countryside was coming alive before my very eyes.
Trees that, a couple of short months ago, had appeared gnarled and close to death, hunched and bent against the wind like ancient folk, were now covered in sticky, lime-green buds. I had never before been so viscerally aware of the changing of the seasons, the renewal of life. The natural world had only been sleeping.
I was happy to let Terence lollop up ahead. A lead seemed mean and unnecessary in the circumstances. I spotted him every so often, excitedly sniffing a rock or a clump of grass and then cocking his leg against it in ecstasy. I was marvelling at his doggy world, filled with a myriad of scents that I was totally unaware of, when I heard the harsh sound of an engine up ahead. At first I thought it was a piece of agricultural machinery in a nearby field – the sound was raucous enough – but it was getting louder all the time, coming closer. Obviously a vehicle of some kind. I shouted several times at Terence to come back, but he studiously ignored me, intent on some new, exciting smell. He continued to stand stock-still in the middle of the road up ahead. The vehicle drew closer and closer. In a panic, I began to run towards him.
‘Terence!’ I yelled.
But I was too late. A red Peugeot careered around the corner and connected with Terence’s vulnerable little body. There was a terrifying yelp and a sickening thud as he was catapulted into the air, to land in a crumpled heap at the side of the road.
There was a rushing sound in my ears. After being glued to the spot for a few interminable seconds, I began to run again, but this time I seemed to be running in slow motion, each leg weighing a tonne, feeling like I was trapped in one of those bad dreams where you’re being chased by a monster and your legs betray you by refusing to work properly.
As I reached the scene of the accident, Johnny Power emerged from the driver’s seat and ran over to where Terence lay.
‘This your dog?’
The only response he got was incoherent babbling. But it told him everything he needed to know.
‘You should have had him on a lead.’
I felt a surge of fury. ‘And you shouldn’t have been driving like a bloody lunatic!’ It came out as a screech.
He looked at me in alarm, then took off his jacket. ‘He’s still alive, anyhow. We’ll take him to Mattie. He’ll know what to do.’
I looked down fearfully at Terence. He was alive, all right – for the time being. His bewildered eye stared skywards, like that of a dying fish on a trawler.
I looked on uselessly as Johnny wrapped Terence tenderly in his anorak and placed him on the back seat.
‘Get in beside him and I’ll drop ye down to the surgery.’
In a slightly less maniacal fashion – although this difference would not have been discernible to the untrained eye – Johnny drove back down the hill to the village. In the surgery, he masterfully bypassed the queue, Terence in his arms, a distressed me in tow.
‘Sorry, lads,’ he said by way of explanation, ‘but you can see he’s in a bad way.’ The motley collection of cat, gerbil and budgie owners nodded their heads in concerned unison.
Johnny marched straight through a door marked ‘Surgery’, and I followed him. Matt was inside, finishing up with his last patient. He didn’t appear at all surprised by our impromptu appearance.
‘Put him down here.’ He gestured to an examination table. ‘Gently does it.’
He began to poke and prod at Terence’s limp body.
‘Hmmm ... lost a lot of blood.’
I noticed with horror a rapidly expanding dark stain on Johnny’s anorak.
‘Can you make him better, please?’ I sobbed.
The two men turned to look at me, somewhat embarrassed by my tears. I was too far gone to care.
‘I’m going to have to operate. Do you have pet insurance?’
I shook my head. I’d never even heard of it.
‘Don’t worry about the cost. I’ll look after it,’ said Johnny.
As the kindly veterinary nurse led me gently out of the room, I heard Matt say, ‘Jesus, Da. Not another one.’
The next forty-eight hours were crucial. Isn’t that what they always say? They were nightmarish, in any case. I was amazed at how tightly and how quickly that scruffy little creature with the lopsided ears and crooked arse had wrapped himself around my heart. The thought of Terence experiencing distress or pain was unbearable to me.
But somebody up there had been looking down on us. A few days later he was well enough to come home, sporting a large bald spot on his side, in the centre of which was a scar. Around his neck was one of those ridiculous-looking upside-down-lampshade contraptions, meant to prevent him from pulling at his stitches. He also wore a bewildered expression and carried with him a prescription for plenty of TLC.
He went to the kitchen, whimpered pathetically and circled three times before settling onto his cushion in the corner
and promptly falling asleep. Slinky – who normally regarded him with the disdain that her naturally superior species reserves for canines – crept up to the sleeping Terence, sniffed delicately at his stitches, licked them a few times, and then curled up beside him and fell asleep herself, all the while purring loudly. I took the opportunity to pop down to the supermarket.
Paul had a theory that you could tell a lot about a person by the contents of his shopping basket: whether or not he’s a keen cook, for instance, or how healthy his lifestyle is. That was why I was concerned to find that I’d bought one bottle of vodka, one packet of chocolate biscuits and five cans of gourmet dog food. I knew what impression this must have given my fellow shoppers: that I was a sad, lonely, alcoholic spinster, with an eating disorder and only an animal to keep me company.
As I drove home, I had a vision of myself as an old woman. My hair was still long, but now it was pure grey and straggly. I was unmarried and childless, with fifty cats – all descendants of Slinky. My neighbours shunned me, and their kids called me ‘the mad old cat woman’ and performed knick-knacks on my door. I was still living in Power’s Cottage.
But that was ridiculous. I’d be back in Dublin in four months’ time – back to the vibrancy and the hectic social whirl of my former existence. I had already passed the halfway point in my time of incarceration in the Irish countryside. It was downhill all the way from now on. I had another, altogether more pleasant vision, this time of myself (in present times) on a high nelly bicycle with a basket attached to the handlebars. The basket overflowed with fragrant wild flowers. I wore a long summer dress and open-toed sandals. My hair fanned out behind me and the cool breeze caressed my tanned face as I freewheeled down the hills of Ardskeha.
My pleasant reverie was interrupted by the realisation that a car was looming up ahead. I felt immediate irritation. It was a particularly narrow strip of road; I knew from experience that, if the driver of the other car failed to pull in sufficiently, my beautiful baby’s paintwork would be badly scratched by the scrub growing in the ditch. It was a jeep; good – that meant the driver had no excuse not to pull in good and far.
Except he didn’t. With great annoyance, I registered the angry scraping noise as the branches made lethal contact with my left wing. As I drew alongside the jeep, I prepared to give the driver a dirty look at the very least. But my anger immediately dissipated when I saw that it was Matt, local hero and saviour of dogs. We lowered our windows simultaneously.
‘How’s it going?’ he called.
‘Good, thanks. How are you?’
‘Great form. I’ve just been up at Power’s Cottage. I was in the area, and I thought I’d call in and see how Terence was doing.’
‘Sorry we missed you.’
‘I can come back with you now, if you like.’
‘Well – okay, then.’
An excuse to refuse him had been on the tip of my tongue, but I could see that would have been churlish. It was nice of him to take the trouble of calling in on Terence. And, apart from the fact that I owed him the hospitality, it would do me good to have the company. I’d been spending far too much time on my own lately; if I wasn’t careful, I’d end up a bona fide recluse and my fantasy of being a wild-haired old crone would come true. Besides, if I didn’t invite him back (although, come to think of it, he’d invited himself), I’d only end up eating all the biscuits by myself.
Matt executed a highly illegal U-turn on a hairpin bend and followed me back home. Once inside, he made a beeline for Terence, who was still curled up in the corner, looking woebegone. When he saw Matt, however, he began to thump his tail feebly against the floor and rolled onto his back to have his tummy tickled. Even Slinky – who normally fled when a stranger came into the house – stayed in her curled-up position beside Terence and purred like a motorbike when Matt rubbed her head.
I made Matt a mug of tea and he sat back on the couch, crossed his legs casually and smiled at me. I smiled back.
‘I really can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for Terence.’
‘My pleasure.’
‘I heard you stayed up all night with him after the operation.’
He shrugged. ‘It was the least I could do. I couldn’t let another animal be sacrificed on the altar of my father’s Peugeot.’
‘Does he send a lot of business your way, then?’
‘Like you wouldn’t believe. The man’s lethal once he gets behind the wheel of that rust-bucket.’
I settled back comfortably in the armchair, tucking one foot up beneath me. ‘Anyway, I just wanted to let you know how grateful I am.’
‘Really? How grateful would that be, then?’ He was still leaning back on the sofa, his body totally relaxed, his eyes intent.
I frowned. ‘Very grateful, of course.’
‘Grateful enough to come to the races with me next week?’
‘What?’
‘You heard.’
‘But ... No – I’m sorry, next week isn’t good for me.’
The cheek of him! What did he think I was – some sort of prostitute who paid for services rendered with sexual favours? What did that make Terence? My pimp?
‘Ah, come on. You must get lonely up here on your own all the time.’
‘No,’ I lied. I could hear the temperature of my voice drop by several degrees. ‘And I don’t need your pity, either.’
‘Who said anything about pity? I’m merely trying to extend the hand of friendship.’
Yeah, right. I was willing to bet that wasn’t all he wanted to extend.
‘Look, Matt ... no offence, but I’d feel weird going out with you, after being with Jack.’
The mere mention of his name made me blush deeply, and it occurred to me that maybe Matt knew all the intimate and embarrassing details of our last night together – although that didn’t compute: he’d hardly have asked me out if he were aware of the full horror of my thighs.
‘I don’t see what Jack’s got to do with it. He fecked off to the States, didn’t he? I wouldn’t feel any loyalty to him if I were you.’
‘It’s not a question of loyalty. It’s a question of ... of morality.’ I alighted on the word triumphantly.
Matt gave a small laugh and settled even more comfortably into the sofa. ‘Is that all?’
‘Yes. That’s all,’ I said coldly. He uncrossed his legs and began munching a chocolate biscuit. He didn’t seem perturbed in the slightest. If I’d been him, I’d have been cringing with embarrassment; in fact, I would have been out the door minutes ago. To add insult to injury, the traitorous Slinky leapt up onto his lap and proceeded to make a little nest for herself. It had taken me a fortnight to get her to sit on my knee. He was like St Francis of Assisi – although, as far as I knew, St Francis hadn’t had a reputation as a womaniser.
Maybe I was being a little unfair.
‘Look, Matt, I’m not trying to be a bitch here. It’s just that – two brothers ... it just seems a little sick to me. And then there’s Chris.’
He looked at me blankly.
‘Chris,’ I said. ‘You know, Christiana. Small, blonde, bonkers – that night in Power’s....’
‘Oh, Christiana!’ he exclaimed, the penny dropping. ‘Why didn’t you say so in the first place?’
‘My name’s Elena, by the way.’
He grinned. ‘I know your name. And I promise I’ll still remember it next week when we come back from the races.’
I looked at him disdainfully, I hoped, but by now he was staring off into the middle distance and chomping on another biscuit.
‘How is Chris, anyway?’
‘Why? Do you miss her?’
‘Does she miss me?’
‘I doubt she even remembers your name.’
He laughed, drained his mug and leaned forward, his hands clasped loosely between his knees, a discommoded Slinky mewing in disapproval.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘if it makes you feel any better, I can state categorically, as my Granny Mary is
my witness –’ He gestured to the great lady above the fireplace. ‘– that, if you come to the races with me, it won’t be a date.’
‘No strings attached?’
‘There’ll be no sex on the cards whatsoever. I give you my word. Even if you beg for it.’
I couldn’t help laughing at that. I was won over.
‘Oh, all right, then – since you put it like that ... I’d love to go to the races with you.’
Matt fell back into his seat as if exhausted. ‘Jaysus. I had no idea lawyers were such hard work.’
He got up to leave, taking one more biscuit for the road. ‘I’ve got to go and see a man about a cow. You keep a good eye on Terence, and give the surgery a ring if you have any concerns. I’d hate to think I’d missed a good night’s sleep for nothing.’
He paused at the front door. ‘I suppose a goodbye kiss is out of the question?’
‘Get out,’ I laughed.
When his jeep was no more than a tiny dark-green dot at the bottom of the hill, I closed the door and went back inside.
Incorrigible.
Still, I didn’t feel quite so lonely any more. The crone fantasy now seemed a distant memory, and I was speeding down the hill on my bike again.
Chapter Twenty-two
It was a pet day.
I’d never been to the races before. Did I have to wear a hat? I researched the matter extensively by asking Patricia, fount of all knowledge on things local.
‘A hat is optional, lovey. It’s nice to wear one, but they still let you in if you don’t. And it doesn’t have to be too formal, either; you don’t need to look as if you’re going to a wedding.’
I took the information as gospel. Tyrone had been right: there was nothing – but nothing – that Patricia didn’t know about local custom, and it came in very handy on the most unexpected occasions.
My millinery choice was made considerably easier by the fact that I only had one hat. It was a wide-brimmed, floppy straw affair, very Pimms and lemonade on the lawn. I usually just plonked it on my head when I was sunning myself in the garden; but I had a long, pink, raw-silk scarf that I could tie around it in a floppy bow, which would be perfect on this occasion. Since the day was so gorgeous, I decided to wear with it a long, pink summer dress, which was getting its first outing of the year, and strappy sandals with two-inch heels – quite high for me. I tied my hair back into a loose ponytail at the nape of my neck and applied light make-up. I was as pleased as I could be with the result.
