For a moment, she says nothing. Then, ‘Didn’t you get on with Granddad?’
‘We weren’t close. Ever.’
‘Did Dad get on with him?’
‘I think Siofra got on with him best,’ Rory says, avoiding a direct no. ‘I think it’s easier for daughters to get on with their fathers.’
‘Unless their fathers are complete plonkers and don’t give a shit about them.’
‘He gives a shit, Jenna.’
‘How do you know?’
‘He told me.’
‘When?’ Not believing.
‘He called over one night, very upset about the way things have turned out between you.’
‘Sure.’
‘The baby was an accident.’
‘That wouldn’t have happened if he’d kept his dick to himself.’
Rory is suddenly embarrassed by the reference to sex.
‘He does love you.’
She seems to have brightened a bit but says, ‘Funny way of showing it.’
‘He might have made a few mistakes.’
‘A few?’
‘But at least he loves you, has time for you. At least you’ve a relationship.’
‘Not any more.’
‘Well, maybe –’
She stands suddenly. ‘I gotta go – get some more beer,’ she jokes.
He smiles at that.
‘Rory?’
‘Yeah?’
‘You’re actually OK.’
‘What, for an uncle?’ He smiles.
‘For someone who ratted on me to my mom.’
He thinks of that night. ‘Those guys are no good.’
‘So why were you with them?’
‘No good from a woman’s point of view. They’re not exactly looking for love.’
‘Neither was I.’
He doesn’t want to ask what she was looking for. And he’s not going to suggest sticking to boys her own age, though that’s exactly what he’d like to do.
‘Anyway. Thanks for listening.’
‘Sure.’
29
Owen has called a ‘family meeting’. Interesting phraseology, Rory thinks, given that their mother’s not invited. Brothers and sister only. In Rory’s apartment. Owen, acting like some kind of master of ceremonies simply because he’s the eldest, tempts Rory to ask for a written agenda. What stops him is the belief that his brother ultimately has their mother’s best interests at heart. The fact that she has been excluded implies that this is about her, about what they are going to do to support her now, or specifically what Owen is going to suggest Rory and Siofra do. Delegation has always been his strong point.
As soon as they’ve settled, Owen stands and clears his throat.
Rory is so close to asking if he should take minutes.
‘I called this meeting,’ Owen begins, ‘because we need to discuss the way we’ve been excluded from the will.’
Rory and Siofra exchange glances. Excluded? They never expected to be included. Everything went to their mother, the way it should have. The will was no surprise to them.
‘There’s nothing to discuss,’ Siofra says.
‘We’re entitled to our share,’ Owen insists.
‘I don’t believe this,’ Siofra says, looking at Rory, as though for back up.
‘He left us nothing.’
Rory is calm. ‘What d’you want to do Owen, contest the will?’ Even he wouldn’t go that far.
‘In a word, yes.’
Siofra stares at him. ‘You’d do that to Mum?’
‘This isn’t about Mum. It’s about what we’re entitled to.’
‘Bullshit,’ she says. ‘Of course it’s about Mum. She’s going through enough without worrying about you grabbing from her. And I like the way you say “we”. Don’t expect us to have anything to do with this.’ She looks at Rory.
It’s as if they’re kids again, each claiming that a silent Rory is on their side, speaking for him, making assumptions.
‘It’s all right for you,’ Owen says to Siofra, ‘you’re not trying to support two families.’
‘No, I wasn’t dumb enough to walk out on a perfectly good one.’ She glares at him.
‘If this is a lecture, Siofra, you can just fuck off.’
‘You got one point six million for your house. Isn’t that enough for you?’
‘Not after it’s been split in two and the mortgage paid off. You try buying a family home and supporting two families in this country with what’s left over.’
‘Some of us are prepared to move to the sticks.’
‘OK, OK,’ Rory says. ‘Calm down.’ They’re reverting to their childhood roles, Rory trying to be peacemaker between his brother and sister.
And as usual, Siofra ignores him. ‘And, anyway, it’s not two families you’re responsible for, Owen, it’s three. Mum looked after us all our lives, now it’s our turn.’
‘Maybe she doesn’t want looking after,’ Owen suggests.
‘You always did take the easy way out.’ Siofra.
‘Stop,’ Rory says. ‘Will you just stop.’
‘All right for you,’ Owen says turning on Rory. ‘At least he left you something.’
‘A stethoscope,’ Siofra says, dismissing it.
But to Rory it’s more than a stethoscope. It’s a gesture, as if, after all these years, his father has finally given his blessing – it’s all right that he did medicine. The gesture lifted Rory, but saddened him too. Why couldn’t it have been made when his father was alive, when there was still time?
‘He left me nothing,’ Owen continues, ‘not so much as a pair of shoes. Might as well have said, “You’re not my son.”’
Rory’s voice is low. ‘It was just his way of making peace with me.’
‘So why didn’t he make peace with me?’
And it occurs to Rory that maybe that’s what this is all about. Not money. But love. After a lifetime pretending otherwise, maybe Owen really did care what his father thought of him?
‘Oh, get over yourself,’ Siofra is saying. ‘I didn’t get a bloody stethoscope. Do you see me complaining? Whatever his reason for not leaving us anything, it has nothing to do with Mum. So don’t take it out on her.’
‘He was a bastard,’ Owen says.
‘Stop.’ Rory gets up and walks from the room. Behind him he hears Siofra’s voice being raised again and his brother’s after that. Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe it was just a stethoscope. Maybe his father was just being practical. Why would he have changed after all those years?
When he’s up to facing them again, it’s half an hour later.
Siofra is alone. When she looks up, he sees that she’s been crying. ‘How did he turn out like that?’ she asks.
He sits down. ‘He’s under a lot of pressure.’
‘Pressure, my ass. You always make excuses for him. He knows Mum would do anything for him. All he has to do is ask. And yet he talks about contesting the will. Entitlements. He makes me sick.’
‘He won’t do it. He’s upset about the stethoscope, not the money.’
‘Can he contest the will alone?’
‘I don’t know. I presume so.’
‘We have to stop him.’
‘I really don’t think he’ll do it.’
‘You don’t know Kate.’
‘No. And I don’t want to,’ Rory says, understanding, at last, why the meeting wasn’t held at Owen’s.
Rory’s mother says she’s fine, but there’s no food in the fridge. She says she’s grand but there’s no Irish Times on the kitchen table. And she has forgotten to offer him tea. She sits in the chair and pretends.
The house is cold. Rory turns on the heat. The place still feels miserable.
‘Come on. We’re going out,’ he says.
‘I don’t feel up to it.’
‘We’ve a regular date and we’re keeping it.’ He’s glad now that he can say this, because it doesn’t seem like pity.
Her smile is weak, but there.
At the shopping centre, he doesn’t leave her side, and she doesn’t argue. In Marks and Spencer they fill a small basket with food. Siofra has been making up dinners for her, freezing them in batches, to be defrosted daily. Rory works at supplementing that with food that is easy and healthy – soup, smoothies, bread, cheese, ham and yoghurt.
His mother picks up a jar of pickled onions. Then puts it back, remembering that the person who usually eats them is no longer there.
‘What am I going to do without him?’
The house is warm when they return. Rory unpacks the food. When he checks the freezer, he sees all the dinners lined up, untouched. Clearly, he has to call more often, every evening to start with, until he’s sure that she is warm, eating, talking, coping.
He develops a routine, calling in after work, defrosting a meal and eating with her. For almost a week, they say little, Rory taking his lead from her. Then one evening, out of the blue, she starts to speak.
‘How did this happen, Rory? He was fine. Fine.’ She sounds both baffled and distressed. ‘Were there signs, things I should have noticed, warnings I didn’t heed?’ She closes her eyes. ‘I keep thinking back, trying to remember. But I can’t. I can’t remember anything out of the ordinary.’ She looks at Rory, needing answers, reassurance.
And Rory is relieved. Relieved that she is finally talking. Because now, at least, he knows what to say, what she needs to hear. ‘Mum, there’s nothing you could have done. If there were signs, Dad would have picked up on them himself. He was a good doctor. He’d have taken care of himself.’ It’s a shock to find himself talking of his father in the past tense.
‘I can’t believe he’s gone,’ she says, eyes wide. ‘One minute he was there, wondering if we should get the gutters cleaned, the next he was gone. Gone. I keep turning to tell him things and he’s not there.’
They lived together almost fifty years, Rory thinks. His absence must be like losing a limb. ‘Would you like me to move in for a while?’
She looks at him, hopeful, but then shuts that down. ‘No.’ Her voice is firm. ‘No, Rory. I need to learn to fend for myself.’
That’s when he really starts to worry. His father did everything for the two of them. Made the decisions. Drove. Handled the finances. How will she cope? How will she even get her shopping done? She can’t drive. As well as losing her husband, these are very practical issues she has to worry about now. It’s ironic, he thinks, how one of her roles as a parent was to teach her kids independence. Now, at sixty-five, it’s her turn to learn. And their turn to teach her.
At work, stroke patients remind Rory of his father. He finds himself spending an unnecessary amount of time with them. In the majority of cases, there isn’t much more he can do. And that frustrates him. Maybe he should get involved in research, clinical trials…
He has swapped his stethoscope in favour of his father’s tattered one. He likes the feel of it round his neck. Considers it lucky. A nurse borrows it, once, shortly before he goes off duty. He’s pulling up outside his mother’s house when he remembers it. He turns the car around and doesn’t relax until he has it back. He tells himself he should be more careful with it. Wonders if he shouldn’t use it every day. But then, something tells him his father wanted him to.
30
Late in July, Orla calls Rory one evening, sounding shaky. She asks him to come over. Jenna has been giving trouble, kicked out of summer camp because of disruption and mitching. It has taken its toll on Orla, who has been looking increasingly tired and pale. Rory, worried that she’s not coping, has once again suggested getting Owen involved. But she won’t have it. Rory can’t understand this. He’ll find out eventually. Wouldn’t it be easier if she were the one to tell him? Rory puts down the phone, thinking that whatever’s happened now, the situation has suddenly become a lot worse.
Orla shows him into the sitting room, closes the door and sits on the edge of the couch.
‘What is it?’ he asks, concerned, and taking the seat opposite.
‘I’m in trouble, Rory.’
He could tell that by looking at her. ‘What happened? What has she done this time?’
‘Nothing.’ Her head drops. When she lifts it again, she says, ‘It’s not Jenna. It’s me.’ She pauses, then looks right into his eyes. ‘I’m pregnant.’
‘Pregnant?’ A picture of her naked and on top of him flashes into his mind. But then he visualizes Morel walking from her bedroom. And hopes…
‘I’m eight weeks gone,’ she says, her eyes full of meaning.
Morel is out of the picture. Rory’s mouth is suddenly dry. He doesn’t suppose it’s a mistake?
‘I’ve tried three separate tests, all positive.’
He thought he was here to talk about Jenna.
‘I can’t believe…’ Orla says, ‘our one time… It’s just so typical. Murphy’s Bloody Law. It was created for me. They should rename it.’
This is not how Rory imagined it would be, hearing he was going to be a father. It was meant to be anticipated, planned, looked forward to. Not a mistake. ‘When is it due?’ he finally manages.
She covers her face with her hands. ‘I can’t think about that.’
Good. Because he’s not sure he can either.
‘What am I going to do?’ Her eyes look wild. He’s never seen her so distressed.
He gets up and goes to her. ‘You mean, what are we going to do. We’re in this together, Orla.’
It’s as if she doesn’t hear him. ‘What do I tell Jenna? Who do I say the father is? You know what she’s like about Owen having a second family.’
Rory hadn’t thought of that.
‘Both her parents will have new families now, who’ll have time for her? That’s the way she’ll see it.’
‘I’m sure if we talked to her, explained…’ He’s not sure of anything. He just wants to stop her worrying.
‘How? How can I explain? What can I say? She’s my daughter, your niece. She’s sixteen.’
‘There has to be a solution,’ he says, unable to think of one. ‘There’s always a solution… we’ll find one.’
She looks at him as if he’s out of touch with reality.
Back at the apartment, Rory tries to absorb the news. He tells himself that this is what he wanted, a baby. He just has to get used to the circumstances. Some circumstances, though. He and his brother’s ex-wife. That’s going to upset a lot of people, all of them family. A problem for him, but an even bigger one for Orla. What will she do about Jenna? What can she do? He’s going to be more than a little uncomfortable himself, looking his niece in the eye. Not to mention Owen. He sighs, gets up and relieves the fridge of a beer. Out on the balcony, he cracks it open and takes a long drink.
‘That’s right,’ he can hear his father say, ‘solve everything with a drink.’ His father. He would be disgusted with Rory. Or maybe relieved. He always did say that Rory would mess up. Now he has. He thinks of his mum. What will she make of this? If nothing else, it’ll give her another focus. And that can’t be bad. Rory wonders if she might even be happy at the thought of another grandchild, a new life to look forward to – once she gets over the shock.
Rory works out the dates. February.
He rechecks.
His child is due to be born in the same month as his father. One life ending, another starting. It really hits him then, in a positive way. He’s going to be a dad. No need to strive towards it any more. It is happening. He can get on with life, get over Louise, concentrate on the baby. And Orla. He’ll help in whatever way he can. What does she need from him? Why didn’t he ask? Should they consider getting married? Would that help? He’s not in love with Orla, but marriage might be best for the child and that is a priority. He wants to do this right. But maybe Orla wouldn’t want to marry him. She’d have to divorce Owen. Which would upset Jenna. But this whole thing will upset Jenna. There’s no way around that. There is so much to think about.
Orla shouldn’t give up on her dream of bec
oming a counsellor. But then, who’d look after the baby?
They need to sit down, talk this through.
One thing, though, he’s going to make clear from the start: they’re in this together. She is not alone.
The following day, Owen contacts Rory, wanting to meet for lunch. Rory’s first reaction is one of panic. Does he know? He tells himself to calm down. If Owen knew, he wouldn’t be on the phone suggesting lunch; he’d be over here punching his lights out. This must be about their father’s will. Why, then, isn’t Siofra included? Is Owen trying to get him on his side? If so, he’s wasting his time.
Rory tells him he’s working. But Owen will not be put off. He’ll drop by the hospital, he says. They can eat at the canteen.
They meet at the hospital entrance. Owen, in a dark grey suit, looks all business.
‘I don’t have long,’ Rory says, already starting to walk towards the canteen.
‘Neither do I,’ says his brother, keeping pace.
An uneasy silence falls between them. Until Owen’s phone rings. And he takes the call. Which pisses Rory off. Couldn’t he have just turned it off? He expects Rory to drop everything, but it’s business as usual for him.
‘What do you mean, is she with me? Of course she’s not with me.’ Owen has stopped dead in the middle of the corridor. ‘Are you telling me you don’t know where she is?’
Rory knows instinctively that he’s talking to Orla about Jenna. He watches as, hand at the back of his neck, Owen starts to pace back and forth while listening to what must be a long explanation. Concerned, Rory wants to grab the phone. But he gets a grip, and tries to make do with waiting on every word his brother utters.
‘Where have you checked?’ Owen asks. There is a pause while he listens. ‘What about Mum’s?’ Another pause. ‘Your parents?’ Brief silence. ‘What about her old friends?’ His voice is very quiet when he says, ‘Have you called the police?’ Another long pause. Then loudly, ‘Why’re you only calling me now?’ His eyes meet Rory’s. There’s panic in them. ‘OK, OK,’ he says into the phone. ‘Let’s not waste any more time talking. What do you want me to do? Where can I look? Jesus, Orla, where can she be?’ After a few seconds, he hangs up.
Do You Want What I Want? Page 23
