He's Got to Go

by Sheila O'Flanagan

  “Right now I can’t even bear the sight of you.”

  “I’ve done nothing wrong!” she cried. “I’ve wrestled with the whole abortion issue on my own and made a decision and loads of people would say that I’ve made the right decision even though having the abortion might be a right decision too, but I’ve made a good decision and now you’re telling me you hate me?”

  “I don’t hate you,” he said. “But I don’t think I love you anymore either.”

  “I’m going to have a baby!” she sobbed. “Your baby.”

  “I’ll support the baby,” said Finn. “You’re right, Cate. I hate the idea of a baby at this time in my career. But it’s happened and I’m prepared to accept responsibility for it. Once a test has been done, of course. Because it’s hard for me to be entirely convinced that it’s mine. But I’m not prepared to accept that you wouldn’t tell me and that you decided to get rid of it without telling me either.”

  “But I didn’t get rid of it!”

  “That’s really not the point, is it?” asked Finn.

  “What is the point?” she demanded. “If I’ve done what’s supposed to be the right thing then what is the point?”

  “I’ll leave that up to you to work out,” he told her. “And I’ll carry your cases to the car for you.”

  23

  Scorpio October 24th—November 22nd

  Determined and strong-willed, awkward and arrogant.

  Bree sat astride the Yamaha R6. She leaned forward and patted the cat’s-eye headlights then sat up straight again and looked around in case anyone had seen her. Not everyone would understand how she felt about patting a motorbike. But she’d missed it. A day had never passed before that she hadn’t, at some stage, ridden a bike. For a couple of days after the accident she’d wondered whether or not she’d have the strength to ride it again. It might have a lightweight aluminum chassis but it still needed a bit of muscle to keep it upright. And, for those few days, Bree had wondered whether or not she had any muscle left. But she felt strong today. She turned the key and was comforted by the growl of the engine as it sprung into life. She eased her way onto Marlborough Road, testing her ability to control the machine and enjoying the feel of it responding to her. She rode it easily and confidently but didn’t take it out of her comfort zone. She wasn’t ready to test herself to her limits yet because she knew that, right now, her limits were a lot less than they used to be.

  She turned onto the dual carriageway that led to Michael’s house. Declan had brought him home yesterday and she’d promised to visit him today. She was looking forward to seeing him again. She hadn’t visited him in the hospital because she hadn’t wanted to see him propped up in bed and eating himself up with guilt over the whole thing. At home, she thought, things would be different.

  She parked the bike in the driveway and rang the bell. She heard scuffling sounds inside the house and then the door was opened by an attractive, dark-haired girl who, Bree assumed, was Michael’s eighteen-year-old sister, Marta. Marta was wearing a tight-fitting pair of blue jeans, a plain white T-shirt and flat navy-blue shoes. She was also perfectly made-up. She reminded Bree of Cate.

  “Hello,” said Bree. “I’m here to see Michael.”

  Marta looked at her with her dark brown eyes. “Sure,” she said. “You’re the girlfriend, aren’t you? Come on in.”

  Bree followed her into the living room where Michael sat on the sofa, his leg in plaster stretched out along it.

  “Hi, there.” Bree kissed him on the cheek. “How’re you doing?”

  He was still pale, she noticed, and his face was a kaleidoscope of colored bruises.

  “How d’you think?” he asked.

  She grimaced. “You look a bit better.”

  He laughed shortly. “I think I’m getting worse.”

  “Only because of the bruises,” she told him. “They’ll fade. And I told you, the girls will love the scars.”

  “And how are you?” asked Michael. “You look great.”

  “Thanks.” She’d gone to a lot of trouble to look great. She’d used the makeup that she’d bought for the night of their date to hide the shadows that were still under her eyes and to add color to her cheeks. “I’m much better. I can ride the bike again, although I won’t be going back to the garage until later this week. I’m still a little shaky from time to time. But it was great coming out here.”

  “You were lucky,” said Marta. “The doctor said that Michael could have died.”

  Bree bit her lip. “I thought we were both dead,” she confessed. “I was terrified.”

  “You shouldn’t have encouraged him,” said Marta disapprovingly.

  “I didn’t!” Bree protested. “He said it himself. He was showing off.”

  Marta didn’t look convinced. She plumped up the cushion behind Michael then sat down opposite him again. Bree wished that she’d go away. This wasn’t what she’d had in mind for her reunion with Michael. She’d expected to hold him to her and tell him that she loved him and she’d expected him to finally give her the kiss she’d been waiting for. But his sister was sitting there like a chaperone and her presence was severely cramping Bree’s style.

  “Hello there!” The door opened and Bree was relieved to see Declan even though he would cramp her style too.

  “Hi,” she said warmly. “Nice to see you again. Sorry about falling asleep on you before.”

  Declan’s glance flickered between Bree and Michael and then he smiled at her. “No problem. You were obviously exhausted. You got here OK? No trouble on the bike?”

  She shook her head. “Easier than I thought. But I’ll be taking it slow for the next while.”

  “When did you fall asleep on Dad?” Marta frowned at Bree.

  “He called to my flat with some muffins,” Bree explained. “After the accident. But I fell asleep and he had to let himself out.”

  “You never told me that, Dad,” said Michael accusingly.

  “It wasn’t important,” said Declan.

  “Your dad was trying to bribe me into not charging you with dangerous driving,” Bree told him.

  “Dad!”

  “I wasn’t trying to bribe her,” said Declan hastily. “Michael, you nearly killed the girl. I was worried.”

  “She looks OK to me,” said Marta.

  Bree shifted uncomfortably in the chair.

  “Would you like some coffee?” Declan broke the silence that had descended on them.

  “Yes please,” said Bree.

  “I’ll make it.” Marta stood up. “Sit down, Dad. You’ve had a hard time lately.”

  “Thanks.” Declan sat in the armchair vacated by his daughter. “Or am I in the way?”

  More than in the way, thought Bree. He’d clearly annoyed both Marta and Michael who certainly seemed to be unhappy with him visiting her in her flat to make sure she was OK and not in a litigious frame of mind.

  She turned to her boyfriend. “What’s on the agenda for next week, Michael?”

  “Sitting here,” he said. “Watching daytime TV.”

  “Oh, don’t be like that,” she said lightly. “I’m sure there are plenty of things to do.”

  “Like this?” He indicated his arm and his leg. “I don’t think so.”

  She frowned. This was hard work. She’d expected that Michael would be pleased to see her but clearly he wasn’t. And he was in a black mood which, she supposed, she should have expected. After all, there had been days when her mood had been pretty black too. And Michael’s injuries were much greater than hers.

  “How’s your sister?” Declan seemed oblivious to the uneasy atmosphere.

  “Which one?” asked Bree.

  “I was thinking of the firebrand,” said Declan. “But the torcher too, I suppose.”

  Michael looked at them both enquiringly.

  “Your father calls my eldest sister the firebrand,” Bree told him, “because she attacked him in the hospital. And my other sister nearly set my flat on fire which is
why he calls her the torcher.”

  “He seems to know your family a lot better than I do.”

  “You were lucky not to meet the firebrand,” said Declan. “Injured or not, she’d have attacked you.”

  “They’re great,” Bree told Declan. And that’s a lie, she suddenly realized. Given that Nessa has just hired me to spy on her husband and Cate is probably recovering from her abortion at the moment. My God, she thought, we’re ordinary people. How can these things be happening to ordinary people? Other people’s lives just plodded along—why didn’t theirs? She blinked as she looked at Declan. He was an ordinary person too but he’d lived through the death of his wife and his son’s accident. Awful things did happen to ordinary people. It was just that, for the Driscolls, they all seemed to be happening at once.

  “Give Nessa my regards,” said Declan. “Maybe one day I’ll get to meet the other one.”

  “You never know.” Bree smiled at him but wished he’d go away.

  “Coffee.” Marta walked into the room carrying a tray. She poured out a cup for Michael, then Declan and finally Bree. “Would you like some cake?” she asked.

  “What have you been baking?” Bree asked Declan.

  “This is from Spain,” said Marta. “From my family.”

  “Lovely,” said Bree hastily. “Thanks.”

  It was an uncomfortable afternoon. Michael’s mood didn’t improve even when Marta said that she was going to her room for a while and when Declan eventually left the two of them alone. Michael’s answers to her questions were monosyllabic and she felt sure that he’d prefer to be on his own.

  “Have I said something?” she asked finally. “Or done something?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “To upset you,” she told him.

  “No,” he said. “I’m just tired. It’s been a hard time for me. And for my family.”

  “I know they all got a shock,” said Bree. “Everybody did. But you have to move on. It’s not as though anyone died, Michael. Things could have been worse.”

  “I’ve lived through things being worse. So don’t tell me what I have to do now,” said Michael tersely.

  “OK,” said Bree. “I won’t. I’m sorry.”

  He yawned and closed his eyes.

  “Will I go?” she asked. “Are you tired?”

  “Yes,” he told her. “I think I need a bit of sleep.”

  “I’ll be off then,” she said. “I’ll call you.”

  “Sure,” he said.

  Why is it, she thought as she got ready to leave, that the things we look forward to are so often such a disappointment? I had great expectations of today. I thought it would be a romantic reunion. I thought he’d tell me he loved me. I was a bloody fool.

  She let herself out of the house and got on the bike. Declan appeared at the doorway before she started it.

  “You’re leaving?”

  “Obviously.”

  “Everything OK?” he asked.

  “Michael’s tired,” she told him shortly.

  “Coming home was hard for him,” said Declan. “He’s just realized how long it’s going to take before he’s fully fit again.”

  Bree nodded. “I understand.”

  “It’s nothing to do with you,” Declan assured her. “He likes you a lot.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Call out again,” said Declan. “He’ll be in better form.”

  “You think so?” Bree looked at him hopefully.

  “Absolutely,” said Declan. “Oh, and this is for you.” He walked to the bike and handed her a brown paper bag. She peeped inside.

  “Cookies!”

  “To keep your strength up,” he told her.

  “Thanks, Declan.” She put the bag inside her leather jacket.

  He laughed. “Nobody would believe that beneath all that gear lies a packet of chocolate chip cookies.”

  She grinned at him. “But they’d believe that they won’t last very long.”

  She opened her eyes wide in surprise as she saw Cate’s car parked outside the flat. Surely her sister wasn’t calling around to see how she was, not when she’d just gone through a trauma of her own. She eased the bike behind the car and got off. Getting off was still difficult, she was afraid to put her full weight on one foot.

  Cate’s head was resting against the driver’s window. Bree tapped it gently and Cate jumped in fright. She pressed the button and the electric window slid open.

  “What are you doing here?” asked Bree. “Are you all right?”

  But she knew that Cate couldn’t possibly be all right. Her face was blotched and mascara tracks ran down her cheeks. Her eyes were red. Her lips without lipstick. She didn’t look like Cate.

  “I will be,” croaked Cate.

  “What the hell happened?” Bree asked anxiously. “Did they botch the operation, Cate? Did something go wrong?”

  Cate moistened her lips and shook her head.

  “What then?”

  “Finn threw me out.”

  Bree opened the car door. Cate stumbled as she got out and blinked in the evening sun.

  “What do you mean he threw you out?” demanded Bree. “Why did he throw you out? What happened?”

  “Can I come in?” asked Cate. “I don’t want to talk about it here.”

  “God, yes, of course. Sorry.”

  Cate went around to the back of the car and opened the boot. She took out the red Delsey suitcase and a smaller cabin bag.

  Bree watched in disbelief as she carried them up the steps to the house.

  “So, tell me,” she ordered when they were inside the flat. “Tell me why you’re here, Cate. Did Finn freak out about the abortion? Is that it? He didn’t really throw you out did he? Couldn’t you stay with him anymore?”

  Cate told her. Even as she said the words she couldn’t quite believe what had happened. She couldn’t believe that Finn had been so angry with her. She couldn’t believe that he didn’t understand. She couldn’t believe that, somehow, she’d managed to throw it all away.

  “I’ll get somewhere else,” said Cate shakily. “I won’t stay here for long. I just need some time to get my head together.”

  “Take as much time as you like,” said Bree, while secretly wondering how long it would take before she and Cate would kill each other. And how they were going to manage the sleeping arrangements. Cate seemed to have forgotten that she only had one double bed.

  “I mean, I did the right thing,” said Cate. “Everyone will say that I did the right thing but he threw me out anyway.”

  “Don’t worry about it right now,” said Bree.

  “And Nessa—I thought of going to Nessa but she has her own problems and anyway she’d be so moralistic and everything…”

  “Don’t worry about Nessa either,” said Bree.

  “You’re really kind.” Cate pushed some papers out of the way and laid her head on the rosewood table. “You’re a good baby sister.”

  “Thanks,” said Bree. She took off her leather jacket and took out the brown paper bag. “Would you like a slightly squashed chocolate chip cookie?”

  Cate shook her head. Bree went into the kitchen and put on the kettle. She washed the cups which had accumulated in the sink in the last couple of days and dropped tea bags into two of them. She’d become a tea junkie lately, consuming it by the gallon. She was sure it was as bad for her as coffee in large quantities but she’d found it helped her to relax. And she’d needed to be relaxed when she was stuck in the flat unable to move.

  “He’s not worth crying over,” she said as she brought the mugs of steaming tea and set them on the table and saw Cate’s shoulders shake. “Come on, Catey, have some tea. You’ll feel better.”

  “Why do people always say that?” Cate raised her head. “You don’t feel better.”

  “Have some anyway,” coaxed Bree.

  Cate pulled the yellow mug toward her and sipped the tea.

  “D’you want me to torture him for
you?”

  They exchanged small smiles. Bree had been a tormentor in her youth, managing to annoy and irritate and sometimes scare her older sisters by threatening to torture them. Her methods varied but were always effective. Like the time she’d hacked off Nessa’s fringe while she was asleep because Nessa had reneged on a promise to bring her to the cinema, or the day she’d put a matchbox full of spiders in Cate’s bed because Cate had accused her of being a scaredy cat over something trivial.

  “I just feel such a fool!” Cate sniffed. “I knew already, you see.”

  “Knew what?” asked Bree.

  “That he didn’t really love me anymore.”

  “How can you say that?” asked her sister. “You were engaged, Cate!”

  “But I asked him,” said Cate. “I shouldn’t have asked him. It was stupid. I knew his career was more important than anything but I was afraid of losing him and I asked him to marry me only he never really wanted to.”

  “That’s nonsense!” cried Bree. “If he didn’t want to marry you then he wouldn’t have said yes.”

  “But it was good PR,” said Cate. “Even you and Nessa thought it was good PR.”

  “Cate, you’ve got to remember that you’ve hurt him,” said Bree after a moment’s silence. “You didn’t tell him something very important. You lied to him. That doesn’t mean he didn’t love you.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” said Cate abruptly. “I’ll just unpack my stuff if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure.” Bree didn’t know what to say. She was so accustomed to seeing Cate in control of everything that this new, unhappy version of her sister was someone she couldn’t quite relate to yet. She watched as Cate hung her clothes in the tiny wardrobe and wondered again how long it would actually take her to find somewhere else to live. She was welcome to be here, of course she was, but they were simply too different to get on for any length of time. Bree knew that the soft brown suit that Cate was sliding onto a hanger was expensive—it shouted Brown Thomas designer boutiques at her. Bree’s clothes were practical and oil-stained. She dreaded to think of how Cate would react to an oil slick on her Karen Millen.

  “Would you like to go to the pub?” asked Bree. “We could have a couple of drinks, take your mind off it.”