‘She’ll think you’re calling her a cow,’ Louise warns.
‘Nah,’ he says, looking mischievous.
‘Mark, don’t,’ says Lesley.
The woman glances across. Mark slowly raises the card. Then he moves it up and down. The woman lowers her shades, takes a closer look. Her appalled expression makes everyone laugh – everyone except Rory who is thinking about death. The woman turns to the driver next to her. Within seconds, he is leaning forward, glaring into their car.
‘Shit,’ says Mark, ducking his head back. ‘It’s Mulcahy.’ A consultant oncologist at St Paul’s, known for his lack of humour. And love of his wife. ‘Drive, Lesley. Drive.’
‘God, he’s for the birds,’ Louise laughs, as she and Rory watch the other couple drive off.
‘Mmm.’ Rory starts to walk towards the apartment.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ she asks. ‘Don’t tell me you didn’t think that was funny?’
‘Yeah, it was funny.’
‘You don’t sound like it was.’
He wishes she’d leave it. ‘OK, so, no. I didn’t think it was particularly funny. I don’t know why everything has to be a joke with him.’
‘Come on, Rory. That’s just the kind of thing you’d do.’
‘No, I wouldn’t.’
‘Not any more,’ she says.
He looks at her. And silence falls between them. He wants to say that maybe life’s too short to waste on practical jokes, but that would only prove her point. Clearly, he has lost his sense of humour.
Last time Owen asked to meet Rory for a drink was well over a year ago, when he scrounged a pair of rugby tickets from him for someone influential at work. Rory, wondering what he wants now, suggests his local. Let Owen come to him.
He’s already there and halfway through a pint when Rory arrives. Owen stops a passing bar-boy and looks at Rory. ‘What are you having?’
‘Coke,’ Rory says, followed quickly by, ‘Can’t stay long.’
When they’re alone again, Owen says, ‘So, you heard what we got for the house?’
Rory nods. ‘You did well.’
Owen seems pleased with himself, as though the result is down to him. ‘The auction was a real blood bath.’
‘I didn’t know you’d gone to it.’
‘Had to keep an eye on those estate agents.’ He takes a long drink. Puts his glass down. ‘So,’ he says, his voice light, chatty, ‘Jenna tells me you’ve been helping Orla look for a place.’
Something tells Rory to be wary. ‘That’s right.’ The previous day, they’d gone viewing again, a different experience when you know you’ve enough money, when you can look at places and really imagine yourself living there. Even Jason forgot to be angry with Rory, chatting about his mother and the fact that he’d be seeing her twice a week. Only Jenna was glum. Nowhere they saw was right for her. And Rory guessed why – she simply does not want to move.
‘Mind if I ask why?’ Owen says.
‘Nope.’ Rory’s not going to tell him it’s none of his business, which it clearly isn’t, but he’s going to at least let him work for the info.
‘Then, why?’ Owen sounds annoyed at having to ask.
‘Why not?’ is delivered with a shrug.
‘I’m not sure it’s a good idea.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘It looks like you’re taking sides.’
‘Is that what you think?’
‘Not me. Jenna.’
‘She said that?’
‘No, but I know she’s thinking it.’
‘You’re that in tune with her.’
Owen ignores the sarcasm. ‘Look, can I ask you brother-to-brother to not get involved?’
‘In what?’
‘My family.’
Rory is tempted to laugh. His family? ‘Can I ask you something – because I really want to understand here – did you just forget the good times or did you want better times?’
There is an edge to Owen’s voice when he says, ‘Is that a question or an accusation?’
Rory acts innocent. ‘I just want to understand. I mean, if Orla was a wagon, or boring, or unfaithful, or you didn’t get on, I might get it. But…’
‘You’ve no idea what marriage is like.’ Owen makes it sound like mild torture. ‘Waking every day to the same thing, no surprises, asking yourself, is this it?, for the rest of your life.’
Rory says nothing.
‘Then you meet someone who notices you, gets you. Fancies you. And she’s gorgeous. Makes you laugh. She doesn’t ask you to empty the goddamn dishwasher. She doesn’t care if you haven’t put the bin out. She wants you, for you… Let me tell you something, Rory. Marriage kills passion. After twenty years, we were dead in the water.’
‘But you still had so much. Couldn’t you have revived the passion, worked at it, gone out more, gone away together? I don’t know.’
‘Rory. It’s over. Forget it.’
Rory can’t believe it. Owen is dismissing everything he had, as if it’s the easiest thing to do. The quick solution. How long does he think the passion will last? Rory eyes his brother, taking in the new clothes, new hair, new attitude and sees that it’s not just passion he’s chasing, but youth. Rory wants to shout at him. This woman won’t make you younger. You’ll age at the same rate, die at the same time. And in the meantime, you’ve blown your family apart. ‘Have you forgotten how happy you were when Jenna was born?’
‘What’s Jenna got to do with this?’ Owen snaps. ‘I’ve left my marriage, not my daughter.’
‘Jenna sees you every second weekend, at your girlfriend’s place. Her home has been sold.’
‘She’s OK about that.’
‘D’you think? Does she seem happy to you, Owen, honestly?’
‘Don’t lecture me.’
‘Not everyone gets the chance at what you had.’
Owen slams down his glass. ‘And you’re Mr Fucking Wonderful, right?’
‘I don’t think I’d have sold their home from under them.’
Owen speaks very quickly now. ‘I’ve been very fair about that. Most men would’ve sold up straight away. Most men would’ve done everything they could to pay out as little as possible, and, God knows, if Kate got her way…’ He stops. ‘Look, Rory, I know you think I’m a shit…’ he pauses. ‘But I’m entitled by law to sell the house.’
Trust the trade union man to know his entitlements. ‘And you’re entitled to walk out on your marriage, too. Doesn’t make it right.’
Owen looks like he’s going to hit him. ‘You sanctimonious…’ He stands.
‘Oh, sit down.’ The dismissive tone Rory uses with his older brother is a first. It takes them both by surprise.
Owen sits. But recovers quickly, leaning across the table, face tight, finger pointing in warning. ‘I’ve asked you nicely. Now I’m telling you. Stay away from my family.’
Rory is incredulous. ‘If you really cared about them, you’d be glad I was helping.’
‘Are you or are you not going to butt out?’
It would be the easiest thing. Rory knows it. ‘Owen, you left. Don’t you think it’s you who should butt out?’ Now it’s his turn to stand. ‘Thanks for the drink.’ He doesn’t look back.
What kind of person leaves the woman he loved all his life and then tries to sabotage what little help she’s getting to carry on with hers? Maybe Siofra was right – maybe their brother has always suited himself. Rory was just too busy hero-worshipping him to notice. If he’s ever lucky enough to have a family, he won’t throw it away.
The following Friday Orla rings to cancel their plans to view property, even though one of the houses they were supposed to visit for a second time has potential.
‘Jason’s mum has OD’d again.’
‘Is she OK?’ As in, alive.
‘In hospital. He’s devastated, Rory. Not talking. Not crying. Just staring at the telly sucking his thumb. I feel so guilty. There I was, all along, telling him she was getting be
tter and he’d be going home soon.’
‘They told you to say that, to prepare him. How were you to know?’
Silence.
‘How much does Jason know about what happened?’
‘The social worker said we should be honest.’
‘Do you think that’s wise?’
‘Right now, no. I’ve never seen him like this. Even the dog knows something’s up. He won’t leave his side.’
‘Want me to come over?’ Rory asks, not exactly sure how he could help, but feeling he should offer.
‘I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.’
Driving over, Rory tries to remember how close he was to his mother at the age of eight. He has a memory of coming home from Bambi with Tom, and clinging to her, aware for the first time in his life, of the possibility that he might some day lose her. She was the most important person in his world then and he loved her. As the youngest, it’d often been just the two of them, especially when Siofra started school. He always remembers her voice as soft, but her laugh loud. It seemed to him that she was the easiest person in the world to make laugh. She had laughed when he told her so. Their love was physical back then; she was the source of all his hugs. She would sit him on her lap and read about Setanta, Cu Chulainn, The Children of Lir. The Selfish Giant made her cry. Which is why he asked her to read it over and over. When had their relationship changed?
‘Hey,’ is all he says to Jason when he sits beside him on the floor. He doesn’t expect an answer. And doesn’t get one. He makes no attempt at conversation, just keeps him company. Programmes start and end, start and end. At last, it is Jason who turns to him.
‘Did you bring the ball?’
Days later, Orla asks a favour of Rory.
He laughs. ‘You’ve got the wrong man.’
‘Your relationship with Jason means a lot to him.’
Relationship seems too strong a word. Rory has a lot of time for the kid, but doubts that the feeling is mutual.
‘You’re the first person to show an interest in him without being paid to.’
That stalls him.
‘He’s lost his mum – again.’
‘I know, but what do I know about kids?’
‘You don’t have to be a parent to know about kids. You’re good with him. Great with him. The one person who got him out of himself.’
‘But –’
‘In my line of work, I talk to psychologists all the time, read the literature. All the experts agree, boys over six need a male influence.’
‘I know, but a mentor? It sounds so formal.’ Mentors set a good example.
‘All you’d have to do is show up every so often and kick a ball around with him.’
‘I do that anyway.’
‘Maybe take him to the odd movie.’
Rory’s best times with Tom were at the movies, the one place he could go and pretend to be someone else – brave, adventurous, always victorious. To his father, movies were frivolous. To Rory, they were an alternative reality. He thinks of Tom and realizes, for the first time, that he grew up with a ‘mentor’. Words like that weren’t used then. Nothing was official. But that didn’t mean people like Tom went unappreciated. Rory loved him more than his own father. He may well have saved Rory’s sanity.
‘So, it wouldn’t be an official thing?’
‘No, no.’
Rory hesitates. ‘But what about when he has to eventually go home?’
Orla smiles. ‘So, you’re considering it. Great.’ What Rory doesn’t know is that she is doing this for him as much as the boy.
‘You’re taking him out every Saturday?’ is Louise’s reaction.
‘I thought I would, yeah. You’ll be at work, won’t you?’
‘Yes,’ she says, quietly.
‘Well, then. I’ll pop into the hospital a bit earlier than usual so the morning’s not gone, then I’ll bring him out for a while, catch a movie or something, throw a ball around. Spend a bit of time with him.’
‘How much time?’
Rory wonders what her problem is. ‘I don’t know. A few hours. You’ll be at work. I thought I’d do something useful.’
‘You’re a doctor. You do something useful every day.’
His voice is flat. ‘I get paid.’
‘So does Orla, to mind Jason. I don’t understand why you have to get involved.’
And he can’t understand what’s wrong with her. She never interferes with his plans. He is about to point that out, but given the tension between them lately, he tries, instead, to be patient. He explains about mentoring, about what the psychologists say.
‘So you mean Orla won’t be with you?’
‘No. It’s man time.’ He puffs out his chest to make her laugh.
‘But you won’t be able to meet me for lunch?’
‘Of course I will.’ He thinks for a moment, then adds, ‘I’ll just have to bring him sometimes, if that’s OK. Not always. I just don’t want him to feel I’m rushing him back. I’d like him to think I’m enjoying my time with him, not doing him a favour. He’s a bit sensitive at the moment. His mum –’
‘I know,’ she says, as though she does understand but would prefer not to.
11
Four months later
The consultant’s office is like countless others Rory has been in over the years. Spacious. Bright. Comfortable. Antique furniture. Reference books. The kind of place where he’d normally feel at home. But not now. Sitting on the other side of a large mahogany desk, he is concentrating on the expression of the AIDS consultant, a blonde woman in her forties, and trying to pre-empt the result. He tries to imagine how he looks when breaking bad news to patients. Does he put on a poker face, or does his expression give a hint of what is to come? He can’t think. Can’t concentrate. She is leaning forward. Handing him the test results. And he is no longer looking at her. Rather, he is staring down at the paper that will dictate his future. She starts to talk, but he shuts out her voice, concentrating only on the written words, underlining them with a finger as he reads. He does so twice.
‘This is one hundred per cent accurate?’
She nods. ‘I wish the news were as good for all my patients.’
Rory tries to adjust. He had walked in there, expecting the worst. Can he really trust that after four months of limbo, this is really over? Could the horizon that had shifted so abruptly, simply have slipped back into place? And suddenly, it’s as if something that has been constricting his chest has snapped free, like an elastic band. He must ring Louise. Yes, Louise, that’s how he moves forward from here. She hadn’t wanted him to get the results today, Friday the thirteenth, but he couldn’t wait a whole weekend knowing they were back.
Outside, he takes his wallet from his back pocket, pulls out the prayer to St Anthony, kisses it, then throws it into the nearest bin. When the nine-week novena ended, he hadn’t gone back. But neither had he been able to discard the prayer. Now he is free. He has been given his miracle. The deal is done.
Louise’s line is busy. So he drives to her.
When she sees his face, she drops the rose stem she has been cutting and rushes to him. ‘You’re OK. Thank God. You’re OK. It’s over.’
He pulls her to him and kisses her full on the mouth. She is crying.
Lolita, Louise’s Filipino assistant, clears her throat.
Rory ignores her.
Louise pulls back. ‘Lolita. You can finish up here, right?’
‘Sure.’
‘Great, thanks.’ To Rory, she says, ‘Come on. Let’s celebrate.’
For the first time in four months, Rory wakes up hungry. He stretches and turns in the gargantuan bed to face Louise, savouring the feel of crisp Egyptian cotton sheets against his naked skin. Some night! They hadn’t planned to stay in the hotel, just dine and down champagne. But when, mid-way through his monkfish with white asparagus and smoked bacon, red wine sauce and pomme mousseline, Louise had slid her stockinged foot up the inside of his thigh, the apart
ment might as well have been on another planet. After four months of press-ups, cold showers and furious jerking-off, getting to the bedroom was a test of restraint so great that had it not been for that elderly American couple in the lift, he would have (happily) failed.
Louise opens her eyes. Smiles lazily. ‘Worth the wait.’
He hooches towards her until their noses meet. They lie, eye-to-eye.
‘Let’s get married,’ he says. He has no idea where this has come from, but is shocked to realize he means it.
Louise is very still.
‘Let’s get married and make babies, lots and lots of babies.’
The smile that creeps across her face is deliberate. If it makes him laugh, he is joking.
He laughs.
She hits him on the arm and moves back from him in mock horror. ‘You messer!’
He loses his smile. ‘I’m not messing.’ He raises himself onto an elbow. ‘We should do it, Lou. Just do it.’
She sits up, slowly, carefully, as if sudden movement might damage something, the status quo. She reaches for her top and puts it on. She frowns at him. ‘What’s brought this on?’
‘You make it sound like a disease.’ And he is hurt. He might be as surprised as she is, but he did just ask her to marry him.
‘You’ve practically ignored me for the past four months and now you want to marry me?’
‘I haven’t ignored you.’ Has he?
She raises her eyebrows. ‘The only person you seemed to have any time for was Orla.’
‘That’s not true.’ Is it?
‘So why did you only seem to perk up when she called or when you’d been over there?’
‘Come on, Louise. That’s not fair.’ But he wonders if maybe it is.
‘I’ve tried to understand,’ she says. ‘I’ve told myself that it’s all down to this thing that’s been hanging over us. I’ve been patient. I’ve waited. And it’s over now. And that’s great. But we need to get back to the way we were. Not rush into something neither of us really wants.’
Who says he doesn’t want it?
‘You’re relieved. I am too. It’s so, so great. But let’s not get carried away. Last night was amazing, better than amazing, but marriage; you don’t want that life any more than I do. This is just a reaction.’
Do You Want What I Want? Page 8
