Do You Want What I Want?

by Denise Deegan

  He summarizes, mainly for himself. ‘Concentrate on the patient, what they need to know, how to make it easier for them…’ If nothing else, it’s a start, somewhere to work from.

  ‘You should read Elizabeth Kubler Ross,’ she says.

  ‘On Death and Dying? I’ve read it. I know the principles.’

  ‘Read it again. After what you’ve been through, it might mean more now. Her books have got me this far. She’s my saviour.’

  ‘How are you?’ he asks.

  She laughs. ‘Well, you’ve probably gathered, along with everyone else, that I could drink less… When you’re my age and alone in a country that isn’t your own and something like this happens, it hits you hard. You don’t have anyone. Your friends have their own lives, their families. You think about death and the fact that you have no one to pass anything on to. I’m not talking money, I’m talking wisdom, the little things you learn along the way… mostly when it’s too late…’ She smiles.

  This makes so much sense to him.

  ‘I may get through this,’ she continues, ‘I may not. It’s the not knowing that’s hard.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You do. I can hear it in your voice. And you should use that. Just like I use how I feel on stage.’ When their session is finished, Rory’s preconceptions of Samantha have been blown out of the water. Feeling a real fondness towards her, he does something very unusual for him, he hugs a woman other than Louise.

  ‘Let’s go AWOL,’ he says, remembering a restaurant he passed the previous day.

  Next morning, walking out into the corridor, Rory sees Orla’s door open. He is about to call out but something stops him. She is glancing back into the room, talking to someone. He hears Morel’s voice and ducks back into his. He has seen this so many times, at so many medical conferences, whirlwind attractions, passionate affairs, regardless of personal situations. He has never been tempted. Life is complicated enough. But Orla! Orla’s an angel. Isn’t she?

  In the conference room, Morel moves places to sit beside her. They’re behaving like the young lovers perched at the bar every night. It’s like a light has been switched on in Orla, adding colour to her skin, life to her eyes, lightness to her movements. She seems younger. Happier.

  When they break for coffee, Rory doesn’t hang around. In the bar, Gerry produces a perfect cappuccino and Rory wonders why he never thought of doing this before. He drinks in silence, enjoying the barman’s easy presence as he goes about his business, drying glasses. No talk. No psychobabble, no analysis. Just perfect, perfect silence. Until Rory’s peace is disturbed by a ‘Hey!’

  He turns.

  Orla. Damn.

  He forces a smile.

  ‘Have you been avoiding me?’ Her voice is jokey.

  ‘Coffee’s better here.’ He nods to his cup.

  She sits up beside him.

  ‘Cappuccino?’ he asks.

  ‘Thanks.’

  He orders it.

  ‘You don’t approve, do you?’ she asks, quietly.

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘You know what.’

  ‘It’s none of my business.’

  ‘I can’t explain it, Rory.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to.’

  They’re quiet. Her cappuccino arrives. She talks into it. ‘I never thought I’d feel like this again, being so attracted to someone. I never thought anyone would be attracted to me. It’s mad, I know, but I feel young again. Alive. I want to be with him all the time, hear what he has to say, tell him things.’

  It reminds Rory of Owen’s reasons for leaving his marriage. He wonders if humans really are cut out to stay faithful to one partner all their lives. Or if Owen was right – the marriage really was ‘dead in the water’.

  ‘He has a wife and kids but I don’t feel guilty. And I don’t know why.’

  Rory can’t help her there.

  ‘This course has been so intense. In so many ways. But it’s been good for me, Rory. For the first time in a long, long time, I’m doing what I want. I’m having fun, staying up late, drinking too much, and I don’t care. I’ve got to know people I’d never have otherwise met, I’ve allowed myself to let go, be attracted to people I get on with, people who make me laugh.’

  He’d noticed.

  ‘I’ve started to remember who I am, or at least who I was before I became a wife, mother, ex-wife, before I became defined by other people.’

  He thinks he prefers the Orla who was defined by other people. She was safer.

  ‘You’re not saying much.’

  ‘I’m glad for you, Orla. Honestly. But you don’t need my approval.’

  ‘I’m not looking for it,’ she says, her tone changing. ‘I just wanted to tell you. I wanted you to understand.’

  ‘Be careful, that’s all. I’ve seen guys like…’

  ‘I can look after myself.’

  Morel comes into the bar.

  Orla’s face lights up.

  ‘They’re starting up again,’ Morel says.

  Orla hops up and goes to him.

  Rory watches them leave, wondering if they’d agreed she would come and talk to him, like a child that needed to be placated.

  That afternoon, in their pairs, unsupervised, Morel is all buddy-buddy. He asks Rory what he thinks of the tutor who does the warm-up sessions.

  Rory is non-committal. ‘Big feet.’

  Morel looks over at her. ‘Jesus, you’re right. They’re enormous.’ Then as an afterthought, ‘of course, you know what that means?’

  Rory knows what it’s supposed to mean – for men.

  ‘Big flaps,’ Morel says.

  It takes Rory a second. Then he laughs – at the sheer schoolboy humour.

  ‘I’ll tell Orla,’ he warns, jokingly.

  Morel laughs.

  Rory waits for him to stop, then looks straight at him. ‘Don’t mess her around, OK?’

  ‘I’ve no intention of messing her around.’

  Rory knows that whether or not Morel means to, he already is.

  18

  In the bar that evening, Samantha and Rory are talking about the things they’d like to do before they die. It is not a morbid exchange, just practical, the conversational equivalent of going through a to-do list. When they come to the subject of children, the tone changes.

  ‘It’s too late for me now,’ Samantha says, regret creeping into her voice.

  Up at the bar, Orla laughs at something Morel has said. Samantha and Rory automatically look up.

  ‘What about fostering?’ he says. ‘Orla had this great kid, fantastic little fellow, natural rugby player. He was learning chess.’ Rory, who didn’t get a chance to see Jason before leaving for Cambridge, wonders how he is doing. ‘A survivor,’ he says, for himself.

  ‘You said, she “had” him. Where did he go?’

  ‘Back to his mother.’ Rory is surprised by the emotion he feels.

  ‘That would be my problem,’ she says, ‘giving a child back. I’m not sure I could.’

  ‘It is hard. But not all have to go back. Some need permanent homes. I think you just sign up for long-term fostering. Orla didn’t mind either way.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be suitable though, would I?’

  Rory curses his stupidity. How could he have brought up fostering given Samantha’s prognosis? Why didn’t he think before opening his mouth?

  He is about to apologize when she says, ‘I’m a bit long in the tooth.’

  ‘No. No. I wouldn’t think so. The rules are nowhere near as strict as they are for adoption. Orla’s separated and she’d no problem.’

  ‘It’s something I’ve never considered,’ she says, sounding like she might yet. ‘It would give me something to aim for, look forward to.’ She reaches out and squeezes his hand. ‘Thank you, Rory. You’ve given me something to keep me going – through this.’

  If he’d thought about her illness before he’d spoken, he never would have.

  Rory wakes the next day, knowing what to do a
bout Liz. It is a gut feeling and before he starts to question it, he picks up the phone. He stands, having heard somewhere that it makes you sound more authoritative.

  ‘Sorry for taking so long to get back,’ he says.

  ‘It’s OK.’

  He senses her eagerness. Is deliberately firm when he says, ‘I’ve made my decision.’

  Silence at the other end.

  ‘I’m sorry, Liz.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ She sounds impatient. ‘If it’s a no, say it’s a no.’

  He pauses, knowing what he’s doing to her, and regretting it. ‘It’s a no. I’m sorry. I’ve given it a lot of thought. I can’t do it.’

  ‘Why not?’ There is desperation in her voice.

  It’s important to him to get this right. ‘Because it takes two people to make a baby –’

  ‘What?’ she interrupts before he can finish. ‘Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think that’s why I asked you? What are you talking about?’

  He takes a deep breath. ‘You asked me to be a sperm donor. But if you get pregnant, I become a child donor.’

  ‘That is the point.’

  ‘I’m not going to donate any child I’m lucky enough to have. If I’m going to be a father, I want to be a father, twenty-four/seven.’

  ‘You could do that. I’ve said that to you.’

  ‘I’m in a relationship, Liz.’

  ‘So end it.’

  ‘What?’ he laughs.

  ‘We could start over.’ He should have suspected this all along.

  ‘Liz. I’m not doing this.’

  There is a long silence. Then, ‘You always were a coward.’

  ‘Goodbye, Liz. I hope you get what you want.’

  The line goes dead.

  Rory sits heavily onto the bed and drops back, extending his arms out on either side. ‘Thank God that’s over,’ he says aloud. Lying flat on his back, looking up at the ceiling, he smiles. He has done it, trusted his gut, made a decision and seen it through. It feels good.

  There is no such thing as accidents; everything happens for a reason. One of Bingley’s hobbyhorses. One Rory had scoffed at. But now, after five consecutive days of being asked ‘why?’, of being pushed up against a wall and faced with the realities of his life, he is beginning to see possibilities that never occurred to him before. Maybe he put off settling down for so long because he is afraid of becoming his father. Maybe Louise doesn’t want to become her mother. Maybe she’s afraid that if she becomes pregnant, Rory will leave, just like her father left. And maybe even Rory’s father has a reason for being the way he is. Rory remembers one of the many stories Tom told him as a kid, a story that had somehow become buried under the silt of life’s memories. When Rory’s father was a boy, he went swimming in a local river he had been warned was dangerous. He got into trouble. A teenager jumped in to rescue him, and drowned. What if Rory’s father never got over that? What if he truly believed that the safest thing for his children was not to take risks, not to have adventures, not to be impetuous? Could religion be a lifelong attempt at forgiveness? Or maybe Rory is over-analysing. He is punch-drunk on questions and interpretation. Only the night before, Samantha had confronted him with a scenario he is now beginning to consider potentially valid – which is worrying.

  ‘Maybe you wanted to be jabbed by that syringe.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous! Why would I want to risk my life?’

  ‘To change it.’

  ‘Come on!’

  ‘Why didn’t you throw him the bag?’

  ‘I didn’t think. I trusted that he’d take it.’

  ‘You trusted him?’

  ‘It was what he wanted. I was giving it to him.’

  ‘It has changed your life, though, hasn’t it?’

  ‘But I didn’t know it needed to be changed.’

  ‘Maybe subconsciously…’

  It would take a massive leap of faith to believe that he risked his life in order to change it. He’s not sure he’s ready for that.

  Two days before the course is due to end, Rory decides it’s time to go home. He’s got what he came for. Knows what he wants. He has made another decision. And needs to talk to Louise.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re going,’ Orla says. ‘Wasn’t the course helpful at all?’

  ‘It’s because it was so helpful that I can go. I’ve learnt what I came to learn.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Oh. Lots of stuff. Too much to go into.’ He smiles. ‘Will you survive without me?’

  Her expression changes to one of worry. ‘You won’t say anything, will you, when you get back?’

  He winks. ‘What happens on the course stays on the course.’ He is suddenly optimistic, relieved to have made the decisions he has and eager to get home to see them through. He feels like he does on a run when he turns a corner and the wind is behind him. He has momentum.

  ‘Be careful,’ he says.

  She smiles. ‘Always.’

  Louise is at the airport waiting for him, dressed in tracksuit and runners, which is unlike her. She’s pale and tired-looking. When they hug, she doesn’t squeeze as he does. There is something different about her.

  ‘How’s your cold?’ he asks, as they walk to the car.

  ‘Cold? Oh, yeah, fine.’

  ‘You look worn out.’

  ‘I’m OK.’ Her smile is bigger now, reassuring.

  They get to her car. He offers to drive. She tells him she’s fine.

  Heading towards the city, she is unusually quiet.

  ‘So do you want the scandal?’ he asks.

  She gives him an expectant look.

  ‘Orla met some guy. Married.’

  Her eyes widen. ‘Really?’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Who was he?’ she asks, returning her eyes to the road.

  ‘Some writer I never heard of. Paul Morel.’

  ‘Paul Morel? He’s pretty good. Paul Morel! Wow!’

  ‘He’s an OK guy.’

  She throws him a look. ‘How can he be? He’s playing around.’

  Rory stifles a sigh. Looks out the window. They drive in silence, until they cross the toll bridge to the south side of the city, when he decides to try again. ‘What d’you want to do tonight?’ he asks, wanting to stay in but giving her the option.

  ‘I’m kind of tired. I wouldn’t mind an early night.’

  Which makes Rory think of sex. They’ve been apart almost a week, and, for him, it’s been a week of watching other people getting together. He runs his hand up her thigh.

  She seems to tense.

  He looks at her. What’s wrong now? She knows that Orla is with someone else. What has he done now?

  When they get back to the apartment, Louise kisses him on the cheek, tells him she’s glad he’s home, then in the next breath asks if he’d mind if she lay down. She’s not feeling the best.

  He’s disappointed but also concerned. ‘I hope it’s not flu. Do you have a temperature, headache?’

  ‘No. I’m just wiped out.’

  ‘Do you feel hot or cold?’

  ‘Cold,’ she says, then smiles. ‘As usual.’

  ‘Want me to lie down with you?’ They could chat.

  ‘No, thanks. I’m OK. I just need sleep.’ She kisses him again and looks guilty. ‘I’m sorry. I know you’re just home.’

  ‘S’OK. I’ll just sit out here and contemplate my navel.’

  She smiles.

  When she’s gone, he puts on the kettle, opens his case and takes out the hot-water bottle he bought her. When he brings it to her, filled, she’s already in bed. Her reaction to a simple hot-water bottle is bizarre. At first she looks genuinely touched, then her eyes fill.

  ‘I love you,’ she says.

  ‘I love you too.’ He feels her forehead, baffled as to why such a simple present would get such a reaction. She doesn’t have a temperature. Course or no course, he will never understand women.

  The next morning, having convinced h
er not to go to work, he makes breakfast in bed. She seems in better form, not so shattered. He gets in beside her and chats about the course, characters he met, things he learned. He’s not dumb enough to share his revelations about her, as if he’s some sort of expert analysing her life, her motivations. But he does want her to know that she can trust him, that no matter what, he will never leave her. He’s not like her father. And she’s not like her mother. They will be OK. It’s going to be different for them. He is solid, reliable and can be trusted to make the right decisions about their relationship. To prove this, he will tell her about Liz. What was offered. And turned down.

  At first she says nothing, just stares at him. Her first words are spoken very slowly. ‘When did this happen?’

  Not wanting to admit that it was weeks ago, he hedges. ‘Before the course.’

  ‘And you’re only telling me now?’

  ‘But I am telling you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why what?’

  ‘Why are you telling me?’

  ‘Because I want you to know that you can trust me. Because we’ve no secrets.’

  ‘It was a secret until now.’

  ‘Only because I wasn’t sure how to tell you.’

  ‘The truth usually works for me.’

  ‘Which is why I’m giving it to you now.’

  ‘You were considering it, weren’t you? That’s why you didn’t tell me, because you hadn’t decided.’

  He should have known she’d react like this. ‘I didn’t do it – even though you don’t want kids and I want to stay with you. I didn’t do it. Isn’t that what matters? That and the fact that I’m being open with you?’

  ‘You’re only being open because you decided not to go ahead. And you want me to feel guilty about not wanting a baby. To put me under pressure.’

  ‘My God. I just wanted to show you how important you are to me. I don’t want anyone else’s baby, only yours.’