by Laura Elliot
‘See what I mean?’
The only thing you see is her cunt. I want to scream the word at him, batter him with obscenities.
‘How long have you been together?’ I don’t want an answer yet I have to know.
‘Not long.’
‘That’s not an answer. Tell me the truth.’
‘Let me into the car and we’ll talk.’
‘No. I want the truth. Were you seeing her when I found her business card?’
‘Not then. Later. After we moved into Sea Aster.’
‘How often has she been there?’
‘Tonight was the first time. Honestly, Nadine, I never meant to hurt – ’
‘I don’t believe you.’ The thought of them together is unendurable. ‘Go away from me… go away.’ I fumble for the automatic window switch and he draws his hands back as the glass slides upwards.
When I start the engine he runs to the front of my car. Our clashing headlights distort his features. His lips move but the sound can’t reach me. When he thumps the bonnet, demanding that I listen, I keep my hand on the horn and rev the engine. I want to reduce him to pulp, to traces of DNA, nothing less.
I don’t notice the squad car until it pulls in behind me. Doors open. Two guards in uniform and hi-vis jackets approach. One of the guards speaks to Jake. The second one knocks sharply on my window.
‘Are you the owner of this vehicle?’ she asks.
My mouth is dry, my throat ticklish. She waits impassively while I cough and try to gain some control over my breathing.
‘Yes, Guard. It’s my car.’ Finally, I’m able to speak.
‘Were you the sole occupant tonight?’
‘Yes.’
I can’t stop staring at the wart on her chin. A fine clump of hairs grow from its centre. Has she never heard of electrolysis? Doesn’t she care that potential criminals will stare? I’ve a wild desire to laugh. It’s safer than keening. I avert my eyes from the offending wart and concentrate on her face. She has a thin, straight mouth that suggests a low level of tolerance for demented drivers. I display my driving licence and her torch forms an arc as it sweeps over the tax disc. The registration plate is checked, as are the tyres and exhaust. If she asks me to walk a straight line I’ll stagger and probably have to be breathalysed.
‘A car answering this description almost caused an accident under the back estuary bridge.’ She returns to the window. ‘We also had a report about a similar car driving in an erratic manner along Coast Road.’ She turns the pages of her notebook and squints at her handwriting. ‘And, just now, you blatantly disturbed the peace by blowing your horn after hours.’
‘I’m sorry, Guard. I’d no idea I was breaking the speed limit.’
‘What is the speed limit through Malahide Village?’
‘Fifty kilometres, I think.’
‘You shouldn’t think. You should know.’ She removes a breathalyser kit from the squad car and orders me to blow into it.
‘Zero.’ She sounds dubious as she checks the reading for the second time
Jake is receiving the same grilling from the other guard. How ridiculous he looks in his boxer shorts. His feet are bare. I hope the pebbles cut his flesh to the bone.
The guard can’t find anything wrong with my car. She delivers a lecture on dangerous driving that could not only end my life but those who are unfortunate enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Like my mother, innocently driving home from the supermarket and finding herself face-to-face with that truck driver. My tears blind me. She removes a box of tissues from the squad car and hands it to me, waits until I blow my nose before continuing to lecture me.
‘You’ve disturbed the peace, broken the speed limit and driven dangerously through a bridge that only allows one-way traffic. You’ll be hearing from us again, Nadine.’
How dare she call me by my first name? I understand why Eleanor berated that young doctor for patronising her. But what should this guard call me? Mrs Saunders? No, never again will I use that name.
Jake is free to go, no charges pending, no breathalyser. My hope that he drank at least a bottle of wine tonight and is put away for life is thwarted. This is a domestic incident and the police are already losing interest.
‘You’re in an extremely distressed state.’ The guard’s voice softens a little. ‘I suggest you lock your car and allow your husband to drive you home.’
‘I have no home.’ I grind out the words. ‘It’s been violated. I’d prefer to spend the night in handcuffs than go back there again.’
‘We can do that if you insist,’ she snaps. I must have imagined the softening. ‘But an easier option would be to take a taxi to your intended destination. Do not under any circumstances attempt to drive this vehicle tonight.’
I lock my car and hail an approaching taxi. The driver, seeing the squad car, indicates and brakes.
‘Where to?’ he asks when I collapse into the back seat.
‘Stoneybatter.’ I close my eyes and shut out the tableau, Jake, the two guards, my abandoned car, the last wrecked vestiges of my marriage.
‘Were you driving over the limit?’ The driver meets my gaze in the rear-view mirror. What must I look like, flushed, my hair wild, my face blotched from weeping?
‘I was driving over the limit of my tolerance,’ I reply. ‘Not to be recommended.’
Donal, my kind, quiet uncle, is the most uncurious man I know. He doesn’t question why his niece should phone him late at night and request a spare bed. He’s waiting for me when I arrive in Stoneybatter, the fare ready for the taxi driver, a pot of tea brewing. He carries the tray into his small living room where two large porcelain dogs sit like sentinels on either side of the fireplace. When I stop shivering and the tea has cooled in my hands, he suggests I try to sleep.
Donal is a train enthusiast and his spare bedroom is a model railway concourse. He apologises for the lack of space as he leads me around the tracks and trains covering the floor. This room enchanted me when I was a child. I switch on the concourse and watch the trains chugging, hooting and whistling through junctions and level crossings. Their frenetic activity hypnotises me into a childlike trance and, eventually, when their journey is complete, I fall asleep.
CHAPTER 29
JAKE
What a scene that was. Worthy of their finest battles. It was a long time since he had heard Nadine shriek like that. Like she was riding into battle with a scream on her lips and the knowledge that the making up that followed would be memorable. Not this time, though. This time they knew there would be no reconciliation, no tumbled passion, no shocked, rueful apologies. He even feared, at one stage, that she would carry out her threat and run him over.
A taxi was emerging from the gates of Sea Aster when he returned. He pulled in sharply to let it pass. A glimpse of blonde, her head held erect and away from him.
Her note was pinned to the wooden rim of the chervil mirror.
Jake – I don’t share. You’ve known that from the beginning yet you lied to me about your wife. You may be separated from her but you’re the most married man I know. For that reason I’m ending our relationship.
Don’t contact me again.
What else had he expected? Being with Karin Moylan was to play on thin ice, the chill and the thrill.
She had been holding the keys to his van when he ran back to the apartment to collect them and follow Nadine. He heard the crunch of gravel under the tyres as she drove away.
‘Let her go,’ Karin said, her face blazing. ‘Your marriage is over… unless you’ve been lying to me from the start.’
‘Give them to me.’ He resisted the urge to lunge at her, wrench them from her grasp.
‘What will you do if you catch up with her?’ she demanded. ‘Do you honestly think she’s going to listen? Give her time to cool down. Then we’ll explain.’
‘We?’ He hated her in that instant, the plump swell of her lip, her accusatory blue stare. ‘This is something I do by
myself.’
She let the keys fall from her hand to the floor and walked away when he picked them up.
He parked the van and limped into the kitchen. His footprints left blood on the tiles. Gashed and grazed, his feet throbbed from the pebbles on Coast Road. The water turned red when he soaked them in the bath. He must have looked a sight in his bare feet and boxers. Not that anyone was laughing. He dried his feet and found bandages in the medicine cabinet.
The house stirred with night sounds, creaking floorboards, the gurgle of rusting pipes, and a flapping sound, as if a sail was snapping against its mast. Nadine had mentioned that her bedroom shutter was loose and he had promised to fix it. How long ago was that? A month, at least. When he could no longer stand the repetitive noise he walked around to her apartment. The lights were still on, the front door unlocked. He entered her bedroom and pushed up the window, reached towards the shutter and secured it against the wall. The clasp was loose, as Nadine had said, and would only hold for a while before it slipped again. Tomorrow he would fix it properly. Her overnight bag was open, clothes spilling across the bed. He picked up a paperback on the bedside locker. Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates.
Revolutionary Road was one of the last films they watched together. The tedium of the suburbs and April Wheeler’s frantic efforts to escape it. Nadine loved it. He had been bored, just as April Wheeler had been bored by her tedious lifestyle. Death was a great solver of insolvable problems. Nadine could have been killed tonight. His skin crawled with delayed shock as he thought about her reckless drive along the estuary.
He had a sudden urge to check drawers, open presses and rummage through her clothes. Who was this woman who had turned his life upside down by demanding a perfect divorce? He thought her knew her, understood her impulses, her moods. She used to say they had formed into a hybrid. She was wrong and he was adrift on that mistake. He replaced the book on the bedside locker and left the room.
She did not return to Sea Aster until the following evening. An hour after she entered her apartment she rang and said she wanted to talk. They sat in her kitchen, no coffee, no wine – a formal meeting to decide their futures.
‘I don’t want to discuss what happened,’ she said. ‘Nor do I want excuses for the lies you’ve told me. It’s in the past, like our marriage. I’m going to Alaska with Stuart. I made that decision when I realised the extent of your betrayal. That’s why I called last night. I wanted to tell you I was leaving Sea Aster. You can contact me through email if you want to discuss the children. Contact me through my solicitor Marion Norman should any legal issues arise about the company or our divorce. I don’t know what my future holds right now. My only certainty is that I’ll never forgive you for bringing her here.’
‘I never meant to hurt you – ’
‘Then don’t insult me with platitudes.’
‘Why won’t you give me a chance to explain?’
‘You’ll just lie, as you’ve been doing all along.’
‘Would you have understood if I told you? I wanted to… many times. You were her best friend once. But you’ve never talked about her. Why is that, Nadine? What did she do to you that was so awful… or was it something you did to her?’
‘Why don’t you ask her next time she’s lying naked beside you?’
‘There won’t be a next time. It’s over.’
‘So are we, Jake.’ Her bottom lip whitened as she tugged at it with her teeth.
‘Why do you hate her?’
‘I don’t hate her. All I ever wanted to do was forget her.’
‘Why?’
She lifted her shoulders and released a shuddery breath. ‘She made my life hell. But she wasn’t responsible for how I dealt with it. That was something I did all by myself.’
PART FOUR
CHAPTER 30
NADINE
I’m cocooned in ice. That’s how I feel when I stand on the deck of Eyebright and look outwards towards the glittering walls. They seem unbreakable until a deep fissure sends an icy shoulder cascading into the sea. At times I want to pinch myself. Is this really happening? Whales surfacing in a torrent of water? Sea lions basking on rocks? Magnificent white cruise liners reducing our boat to toy-like proportions?
Daveth Carew, the owner of Eyebright, is perfectly at ease among the shimmering ice sculptures. He looks older than his forty-five years, his skin tanned and seamed around the eyes from squinting at new horizons. He specialises in tours for small groups who prefer a more intimate cruise than the ones offered by those massive floating cities. Eyebright caters for eight people. It’s spacious with just the three of us on board and easy to manoeuvre. My duties are light, the boat easy to maintain. I email and Skype the family when we dock at night. I’ve had no contact with Jake.
Eleanor rings one morning, nighttime at home, and asks why I ran away from my children? I suspect she’s had a glass or more of wine.
‘Jake won’t tell me anything about you,’ she says. ‘I’ve absolutely no idea what you’re doing.’
‘What’s there to tell?’ I reply. ‘One iceberg is much the same as another.’
‘An interesting observation, Nadine, but quite untrue. Even snowflakes have unique characteristics. This man Daveth… you’re not –’
‘No. We’re not. Goodbye Eleanor.’
Ali phones regularly and talks about Barnstormers, the drama group she joined. Cutting edge, she says. Avant garde and experimental. The artistic director is amazing. She mentions Mark Brewer too many times for objectivity and shrieks in denial when I ask if he has stolen her heart.
‘It’s nothing like that, Mum,’ she insists. Mark Brewer is simply an inspirational director who understands the interior of her soul and how she must use it for dramatic effect.
They’re definitely in a relationship.
‘Dad sounds weird when he rings,’ she says.
‘Weird as in?’ I ask.
‘Like he’s trying to walk through quicksand.’
‘That’s an interesting metaphor but I can assure you that your father is on dry land and in no danger of sinking.’
Brian rings to tell me that Shard have finally got their act together and have set a date for their comeback gig. He’s curious but reluctant to probe too deeply as to why I’m staring at whales instead of selling double page spreads for Lustrous. The twins continue to run around tracks and concentrate on improving their personal best. They were born self-contained and focused. No reason for them to change simply because their mother has run away from home and their father is snatching back his dream. I’ll visit them in California when my Alaskan adventure is over.
This evening we’ve anchored in a small, sheltered slip in Funter Bay. I serve dinner on deck. Daveth eats with relish, king crab legs and halibut but Stuart is unable to finish his meal. His complexion has a waxy sheen that worries me. I’ve been uneasy about his health since the trip started. Initially, I put his bouts of nausea down to seasickness. I, too, hung over the side of Eyebright on a few occasions before I found my sea legs. Any questions I ask about his health are batted away.
We’re finishing our meal when the water surges off shore and a pod of whales surfaces. I grab my binoculars. Stuart steadies his camera. We watch their tails fanning the air before they sink again into the heaving sea. This sight invigorates him, as if he draws strength from the sheer bulk of these enormous mammals. His colour is better but he staggers when he stands to go to his cabin. He steadies himself and makes his way downstairs. I allow him time to undress then tap on his door. He’s sitting up in bed, examining the photos in his viewfinder.
‘How are you feeling?’ I sit on the edge of his bunk and take his hand in mine. Without his bulky jumpers he looks so much thinner.
‘I’m good,’ he replies.
‘Are you ill, Stuart?’
‘Just a bit tired. Don’t fuss, Nadine. I wouldn’t have undertaken this trip if I couldn’t cope with it.’ He checks the viewfinder again and shows me the photographs he’s
taken since the trip started. I understand that it’s his way of avoiding any further discussion about his health. I respect his decision and hold back on the anxious questions.
I make my way to the deck where Daveth is relaxing with a drink.
‘Come and sit for a while.’ He hands me a bottle of beer. ‘I could do with some company.’
A boat pulls into a nearby slip. Figures stand motionless on deck, sculpted against the serried backdrop of pines. Like me, Daveth is worried that Stuart is finding the trip too arduous. We’ve two more weeks at sea before we move into the lodge he’s rented.
‘Stuart says you’ve been doing these tours since you were a teenager,’ I raise the bottle and take a tentative sip. The beer is gassy but not unpleasant.
‘On and off,’ he says. ‘I worked initially for one of the ship builders. I built Eyebright after I married and have been organising these tours ever since.’
‘Does your wife ever come with you?’
‘Not anymore.’ He remains silent for a while. I wait until he’s ready to speak. Time seems slower here and silence is an easy companion. ‘Olga died three years ago,’ he eventually says.
‘I’m so sorry, Daveth. I’d no idea.’
‘Why should you?’ He drains the bottle and rubs his hand across his mouth. ‘I usually keep my personal and business life separate.’
‘Thank you for telling me.’ It’s almost midnight and the sky is still bright. Boats clang and clatter together, like they’re conversing port to starboard. I’ve seen her photograph in the galley and had assumed she was waiting at home for his return. A sprinkling of freckles, tanned skin, windblown brown hair, Olga Carew must have loved the outdoors.
‘We knew our time together was limited,’ he adds. That kind of knowledge concentrates the mind. We made every moment count.’
‘You must have wonderful memories of her.’
The wind is stronger now and adds an unearthly keen as it blows through the riggings. I think about banshees, how they are supposed to haunt certain families at the time of death. Anything seems possible in this raddled, icy terrain. I wonder if he has children. I suspect not or I would have seen their photos somewhere on the boat.
