He's Got to Go

by Sheila O'Flanagan

  “OK, these definitely help the mood,” she told him.

  “Good.” He smiled.

  “Did you bake them yourself?”

  He nodded.

  “God, but you’d be some woman’s dream.” Bree sighed. “Rich, attractive, can cook…” She blushed as she realized what she was saying but he simply smiled at her again.

  “I’m a nightmare according to my children,” he said. “Work too hard, perfectionist, living in my own world…”

  “Michael was supposed to collect your daughters today,” remembered Bree.

  “I’m picking them up later,” he told her. “And dropping in to the hospital with them on the way back.”

  “Did you tell them?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No need. Better to bring them to see him. I hate phoning anyone with bad news.”

  She chuckled. “As a lawyer I’d have thought that was another occupational hazard.”

  “True,” he said. “But I don’t like it all the same.”

  She sipped her coffee and ate the cookie. She realized that she was starving. It was a pity, she thought, that Cate hadn’t managed to heat up the bread. It would have staved off the hunger pangs. She didn’t have any food in the flat. She reached out and took another cookie.

  “These are gorgeous,” she told Declan.

  “So they all tell me.” He nodded.

  “They’re so fresh.”

  “I did them this morning.”

  She looked at him quizzically.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” he told her. “I was worried about Michael and about you and baking helps. So I made cookies.” He shrugged. “I got into the habit when my wife was sick.”

  “Michael told me a little about her,” said Bree cautiously. “It must have been hard.”

  “Hard because I realized that I’d spent so much time at work when I could have been with her before she got ill,” said Declan. “But it’s easy to berate yourself afterward. It didn’t seem bad at the time even though we sometimes argued about it.”

  “And you’re still a workaholic now?”

  He sighed. “I need it now. It’s a reason for going on, isn’t it?”

  “But you have the children.”

  “Michael’s twenty-one,” said Declan. “The girls are in their teens. They have their own lives now.”

  “So have you,” said Bree. “And it doesn’t have to be all work and no play.” She saw a shadow pass across his face and she bit her lip. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

  “Monica used to say that to me. I told her there was plenty of time for both. I was wrong. I lost her.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “And I nearly lost Michael too. It scared me.”

  She wanted to put her arms around him but she didn’t. Instead she looked at him, eyes full of sympathy. “But you didn’t lose Michael,” she said. “And everything’s turned out OK.”

  “Yes.” He smiled at her. “I guess it has.”

  20

  Uranus in Capricorn

  A careful thinker with occasional lapses.

  They got into a routine the following week. Nessa and Jill called over to Bree in the mornings, bringing food and newspapers while Cate (accompanied once by Finn) dropped over in the evenings. Bree felt that there was a competition going on between Nessa and Cate to see which sister could be the most attentive and the most caring. She thought that it was utterly ridiculous for Cate, who looked pale and miserable, to spend any time at the flat but she insisted on coming anyway. Bree was worried about her sister and wondered whether or not Finn had noticed how awful she looked. But all Finn talked about while he was there was his radio show and his TV show and Bree suddenly realized why Cate was so paranoid about the baby and the effect it would have on their lives. All she talked about the night Finn came over were the radio and TV shows too. When she came on her own, she talked about everything except her pregnancy and Bree didn’t have the nerve to bring the subject up again herself.

  Nessa’s visits were different. Since Jill was with her, Nessa kept up a stream of inconsequential conversation which drove Bree nuts while Jill skipped around the flat looking for things to do and complaining that Bree didn’t have any decent videos she could watch.

  Bree was lucky, Jill told her on the Thursday following the accident, that the crash had happened when it did, another week and Jill would be back at school, Nessa back at work and—said Jill—there’d be no one to help Bree get around. And then Jill took the crutches and practiced hopping around the overgrown garden behind the flat.

  Nessa and Bree sat on the rickety wooden bench in the shade of a cherry blossom tree and watched her.

  “It’s taking longer than I thought,” said Bree. “When I was talking to the doctor he did say that I needed a week before I’d start to feel confident again but it’s almost a week now and still hurts a lot. I rang Christy on Monday and told him that I’d be back next week but I don’t think so.” She sighed. “And I’m getting bloody bored sitting here.”

  “I’m doing my best to entertain you,” said Nessa.

  “Sorry.” Bree looked at her apologetically. “I know. And I appreciate you coming over every day, I really do. It’s just—I’m not a sitting at home kind of person.”

  “And I am?” asked Nessa.

  “Of course not,” said Bree impatiently. “You’re so damn touchy all the time, Nessa.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You are,” insisted Bree. “And Cate is as bad.”

  She watched Nessa carefully as she mentioned their sister’s name. She hadn’t said anything about Cate since they’d all been together in the flat after she’d come home from hospital.

  “I can’t talk about Cate,” said Nessa. “She’s shallow and selfish and she’s a fool.”

  “Maybe she’s being foolish,” said Bree. “But she’s not shallow, Nessa. And she’s not selfish.”

  “Oh, come on!” Nessa looked at her impatiently. “How more selfish could she possibly be? She hasn’t taken Finn’s feelings into account at all. She’s only thinking about herself and her job. Her job! Bree, what sort of girl is she that a job could matter more to her than having a child of her own?”

  “I don’t think it’s just the job,” said Bree. “I think it’s that Cate is afraid of turning into you.”

  “Well, thanks very much!” Nessa’s fury was barely contained. “I’ve done my best for both of you. I’ve looked after you. I’ve cared about you. Because I’m the eldest and that’s what we do! And what’s the thanks I get? That Cate doesn’t want to be like me! I suppose you don’t either. I suppose you’re fed up with me and Jill coming here every day just to make sure you’re OK.”

  “Nessa, you jump to conclusions all the time,” said Bree impatiently. “All I meant was that Cate has different objectives in life. She’s not comfortable with the idea that Finn is the main earner in their house. She doesn’t think that he’d respect her if she wasn’t as ambitious as him. She was devastated by his new job because she knew that she’d never be able to match up to it. So she starting working harder and harder just to keep up with him. And now she’s pregnant and she knows that he doesn’t want kids.” Bree shrugged. “I’m not saying that I agree with her. I just see where she’s coming from.”

  Nessa plucked at a long blade of grass and twirled it around between her fingers. She was silent as she watched Jill discard Bree’s crutches and dance through the garden. Then she tore the grass into little pieces.

  “Maybe she’s right,” she said finally. “But doing what Finn wants—what she thinks Finn wants—isn’t necessarily the right thing, is it?”

  “She thinks it is,” said Bree.

  “But if her main reason is because of Finn…” Nessa bit her lip. “Oh, Bree, I did loads of things because of Adam and look where I am!”

  “Any developments?” Bree was delighted to be able to change the subject.

  “I checked detective agencies in the Golden Pages,” admitted Nessa. �
�I even rang one up. They specialized in marital investigations. But I don’t want to be a marital investigation, Bree! I want things to be OK.”

  “You don’t think they will be?”

  “How do I know?” Nessa sighed and scattered the torn pieces of grass onto the ground. “I haven’t had time to think about it this week really.”

  “Next week,” promised Bree. “If I’m back on my feet next week, I’ll do it for you. Then you won’t have to go to a detective agency.”

  “It just seems…” Nessa plucked at another blade of grass. “It seems like something someone else would do. Not like real life at all. I can’t believe I’m even contemplating this.”

  “You have to know for sure,” said Bree. “You can’t carry on until you know.”

  As soon as Nessa and Jill left for the day, Bree rang Michael at the hospital. He was improving every day, he told her. He’d be out by the end of the week. He was looking forward to seeing her again. He missed her. She told him that she missed him too. She wished she was mobile enough to be able to visit him instead of having to sit around the flat all day. She was sick of the sight of the flat.

  She spent the rest of the day watching TV and reading the magazines that Declan had brought over. By the time Cate arrived later that evening she was extremely bored. Both Nessa and Cate now had keys to the flat so that they could call in to her without ringing the doorbell and dragging her down the stairs. Cate rapped at the door to the flat and pushed it open.

  “Hi.” Bree dropped Bikers Monthly onto the table.

  “How’re you doing?” asked Cate.

  “Fed up,” said Bree. “It’s not my thing, doing nothing all day.”

  “I can imagine.” Cate took a six-pack of Miller out of the bag she’d brought with her. “Want a beer?”

  “Love one,” said Bree.

  Cate handed her a beer and reached for the bottle opener on the shelf beside her. She gave it to Bree then took a small bottle of sparkling Ballygowan from the bag.

  “Why are you doing that?” asked Bree.

  “What?”

  “Drinking water?”

  Cate shrugged. “I’m driving.”

  “One beer wouldn’t harm you.”

  “After what happened to you, I’m being careful.”

  “It never bothered you before.”

  “Shut up, Bree.”

  “I could understand the water drinking if it was because of your pregnancy,” continued Bree. “That’d make sense. But if you’re going to have an abortion it doesn’t matter, does it.”

  “I said shut up.”

  “Have you told Finn?”

  “Bree!” Cate’s voice was dangerous. “Leave it alone, will you? You’re worse than that bitch Nessa.”

  “She said what she felt,” Bree told her. “Maybe she should’ve kept quiet. But you really shouldn’t hold it against her.”

  “Listen,” said Cate. “She’s going to hold this against me forever. Every time she looks at me she’s going to think that I’m a murderer. I know she is. She just doesn’t understand.”

  “You should tell Finn.” Bree drank some beer, enjoying the feeling of cool liquid on the back of her throat. It had been another hot, sultry day and the flat was airless despite the fact that she’d opened all the windows.

  “I know I should tell Finn,” said Cate. “But that makes it all much more complicated. It’s easier if I do it myself. What he doesn’t know won’t upset him.”

  “Would he be upset?”

  “Bree, give it a rest, will you?” Cate stood up. “It’s bad enough having had to listen to Nessa without you starting at me too.”

  “I’m not,” protested Bree. “I just want you to see all sides of it. I don’t want you to do something when you haven’t thought it all through.”

  “You think I haven’t spent my whole fucking life thinking about it since I found out?” demanded Cate. “I think of nothing else, Bree. Nothing! So don’t tell me I’m not thinking things through. Don’t!”

  Bree said nothing. She wanted to put her arms around her sister but she was practically stuck in the chair and would’ve needed Cate to pull her out. Which wouldn’t exactly make it a spontaneous hug.

  “His show’s starting next week, isn’t it?” she asked eventually.

  Cate nodded.

  “Is he nervous?”

  She nodded again. “Petrified,” she said. “But excited too. It’s really, really important to him, Bree. The most important thing ever.”

  “I understand,” said Bree.

  “So that’s why I’m going to London tomorrow,” said Cate. “I’m getting it done on Saturday morning, I’m coming home on Sunday and I’ll be ready for his show on Friday and for his new drivetime slot on the radio on Monday too.”

  “And you’re never going to tell him?”

  “I couldn’t, could I?” She looked at Bree.

  “I guess not.”

  “I’m doing the right thing.” Cate looked out of the window and spoke with her back to her sister. “I know I am.”

  It was after nine o’clock and almost dark when Cate left. Despite the continuing heat of the late summer, the days were getting shorter. Bree wondered whether or not she’d stay in Ireland for the winter. Irish winters were drab and damp and dreary. She wanted to be somewhere light and airy. Maybe she should go to the States. It was a while since she’d been but she liked America. She liked the wide roads and the sense of space and the feeling that you could lose yourself there if that was what you wanted.

  Michael had talked about going to the States too. She wondered if he meant it. If they would go together. When you were nearly killed with someone it made the connection stronger; it had to.

  Her mobile rang and startled her. She looked around for it, she’d forgotten where she’d left it. The flat was beginning to get messy again despite her best efforts to keep it as tidy as Cate had left it for her.

  The phone was under the stack of magazines. There was no caller ID for whoever was ringing her.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello Bree. It’s me. Declan Morrissey. Michael’s father.”

  “I only know one Declan Morrissey,” she said.

  He laughed. “Sorry. Look, I’m outside your front door at the moment. Can I come in?”

  “Is something the matter?” she asked anxiously.

  “Of course not,” he said. “I just wanted to check on you, that’s all.”

  “Check on me?”

  “See how you were doing, that sort of thing.”

  “I’m doing great,” she said.

  “That’s good,” said Declan. “Can I come in anyway? Or are you busy?”

  “No.” She giggled. “I’m bored out of my mind. I’d love you to come up.” She ended the call and eased herself down the stairs.

  “Hello,” she said as she opened the front door to let him in.

  “Hi there.” He smiled at her. “Let’s have a look at you.”

  “Not in this light,” she told him. “A single bulb in a hallway like this wouldn’t do anything for me. Come on up.”

  She went up the stairs as fast as she could but progress was still slow. He followed her into the flat and put a brown paper bag on the table.

  “More cookies?” she looked at him hopefully.

  “Muffins,” he told her. “And some chocolate fudge.”

  “Oh my God!” She peered into the bag. “It was almost worth it for this.”

  He laughed. “I hope not.”

  “Maybe not quite.” She took out a piece of chocolate fudge. “But it’s a close run thing.”

  “Will I make some coffee?” asked Declan.

  “Feel free.”

  She listened as he clattered mugs in the kitchen. She suspected that he was probably doing this because he was still unconvinced that she wouldn’t try to take a legal action against Michael but she was perfectly prepared to allow him to try and soften her up with gifts of chocolate fudge.

  “So you’
re recovering?” Declan put a mug of coffee in front of her.

  “Oh, yes,” she told him. “More slowly than I thought, but getting better every day. I won’t be back at work on Monday as I’d hoped but maybe by Wednesday.”

  “Are you OK for money?” asked Declan. “Is it costing you, being out of work?”

  The money question again. She smiled. “I’d be making more if I was working, of course I would, but I’m fine.”

  “Because Michael told me that you’d only get paid by Social Welfare or something and I don’t want to think that you’re losing out.”

  “I’m fine,” she repeated.

  “I know you said you weren’t going to take an action and I trust you but—”

  “Declan, please.” She looked at him in exasperation. “I’m not doing anything about it. I don’t want to. I’m alive. I’m glad to be alive. I’ll recover and I’ll get back to work. I don’t need money because of what’s happened. I don’t want money because of what’s happened. I hate the way people try to bring everything down to money when there are more important things to worry about.”

  He shook his head. “In ten years’ time you might think differently.”

  “Who cares about how I might think in ten years’ time?” she demanded. “Right now, I know what I think. And I definitely don’t want to have this discussion again.”

  “Will you allow me to give you something?” he asked. “Because you have lost out.”

  “You’ve given me magazines and chocs and cookies and muffins,” she told him. “That’s more than enough for any girl.”

  “Be serious,” said Declan.

  “I am being serious.”

  He heaved a sigh. “I want to be fair to you. And to Michael.”

  “I know,” she told him. “And I appreciate that. But I really don’t want to have this conversation with you again.”

  “OK,” he said.

  “Good.” She took a muffin out of the bag. “But don’t stop sending the food parcels. I really do love the food parcels!”

  “I’ve never met anyone like you before,” said Declan.

  She grinned at him. “That’s what Michael says too.”

  “You’re so easy-going,” said Declan. “I’m either surrounded by fiery women who absolutely love making a drama out of a crisis or battling my fellow barristers and making a drama out of a crisis myself. Nothing seems to bother you.”