He's Got to Go

by Sheila O'Flanagan

  She shifted her gaze from the enhanced body and looked farther along the beach to where a family had just arrived and were staking out a plot. There were four of them—a good-looking father (a very good-looking father, she amended as he peeled off his T-shirt), a pretty, slightly plump mother, a small child and a baby. The parents were arguing happily about where to put the parasol while the mother was making sure that the older of the two children wore a sun hat. The baby—a girl, Cate guessed, because of her pink cotton top—was sitting on a towel waving a bright yellow plastic spade in the air. Cate wondered how old she was. One? Two? She had absolutely no idea where kids were concerned. None whatsoever. She was going to be a hopeless mother, she knew she was. She wouldn’t be able to pick up her child as confidently as the Spanish mother. She wouldn’t be able to hold it casually in one arm while helping someone to do something else at the same time. She’d panic if it squirmed like the little girl was squirming. The father said something to the mother and she laughed. Then he kissed her.

  Cate bit her lip. That was the way it was supposed to be. Happy families. Like the books told you and the movies told you and the TV documentaries told you it could be. Like it had been for her and for Bree and for Nessa. Miriam had done all right. How was it that her daughters hadn’t?

  Cate had fulfilled her promise to Miriam and had gone to Galway the previous weekend. Miriam had hugged her tightly and told her that she loved her and had then proceeded to try to build her up, as she put it, by placing mountains of food in front of her at every available opportunity. Cate, in her new permanently hungry state, had eaten it all. Louis had told her gruffly that he wished things hadn’t turned out like this but that he knew that Cate was a wonderful daughter and would be a wonderful mother. Cate was grateful to her parents for not judging her and grateful that Miriam didn’t question her too much about her split with Finn. She knew that her mother desperately wanted to know everything and she knew that she’d tell her one day. But not just yet.

  She lay down and closed her eyes, not wanting to watch the Spanish family anymore. She wanted to forget them, forget everything and sleep. She used to enjoy sleeping under the sun but it was years since she’d gone on a holiday like this. Finn didn’t like sun holidays, he was too impatient to sit on a beach for more than half an hour and too curious about what was going on around him to allow himself to fall asleep. So, although he liked warm places, he liked plenty of activity to keep him occupied too. Cate had been happy to go along with his interests because she also enjoyed being busy. Their holiday to the Caribbean had been a scuba holiday where they’d spent every day diving in the warm, blue tropical waters; in Mexico they’d explored the ruined Aztec cities; in Egypt they’d spent their time visiting the temples and the pyramids. She couldn’t remember ever taking her towel to the beach and falling asleep with Finn. But it hadn’t mattered. They’d been together.

  She wondered what he was doing now. Preparing for his evening radio show, she supposed. Looking through the news of the day and deciding what stories to concentrate on. Talking to his researchers and his producer. Doing what he’d always wanted to do.

  She slid her hand gently across her stomach. He was doing those things while she was doing something she’d never thought she’d do. She swallowed hard. A tear rolled from her closed eye and plopped gently onto the towel.

  I should have told him, she thought. I should have shared it with him and asked him what he wanted me to do. It wasn’t really my decision to make. Not without talking to him first. I might have had the best of reasons but I still should’ve told him.

  Even so, his reaction had been horrible. He could have listened to her, given her the time to explain. He should have understood. It wasn’t all her fault. He could have cut her a little slack. He was a fucking talk show host, for God’s sake! He was supposed to have empathy and understanding. He was supposed to be sensitive and caring. Why could he be sensitive and caring about other people but not about her? Why was it easier to show understanding toward perfect strangers than people you were supposed to love?

  Bree was watching the family too. She’d whistled under her breath when the father had taken off his white T-shirt and revealed a six-pack body and she’d given him eight out of ten. She’d had to deduct two marks because of his married state. Otherwise, she thought, as she watched him kiss his wife, he was the kind of bloke she’d always gone for—dark, rugged, very attractive. Like Michael, in some ways, only more masculine than Michael. Michael had been almost too chiseled in his good looks; this guy’s face was less symmetrical, more hardened. They were a good family unit. He was, Bree reckoned, in his late twenties, early thirties. She was about the same. They had shared experiences together. They’d grown up with the same music, the same books, the same movies. He’d never turn to her when one of those TV retrospectives were showing and say, “Gosh, I remember when that song was in the charts,” or mutter that he recalled platform shoes the first time around or make her feel like a kid because he’d left school before she was even born. But that’s what it would be like with Declan Morrissey.

  She wished she could stop thinking about him. She couldn’t understand why she wasn’t able to forget about him and put everything to do with him out of her mind completely. But the night in her flat seemed to be etched in her brain and she wasn’t able to erase it. She hadn’t told anyone else about it, nor had she tried to contact him again. She truly wished that he hadn’t made her suddenly start to think of him as a man with whom she might actually be able to have a relationship. Part of the reason they got on so well was because she hadn’t thought of him like that at all. She hadn’t been extra nice to him or extra flirty or extra anything that she normally thought she should be with men whom she regarded as potential boyfriend material. She’d just been ordinary and herself and she’d seen him in the same way as she saw the guys she worked with at the garage. He wasn’t a man that she could contemplate getting involved with. Really he wasn’t. It might be fun for a time but it’d never work out. And she didn’t want to get involved with Declan if it wasn’t going to work.

  Although why not? she asked herself, as she picked at the sky-blue varnish that Cate had insisted on putting on her toenails the previous night. She’d gone out with loads of blokes in the past when she’d known it wasn’t going to work, just to have some fun. And, mostly, it had been fun. So why shouldn’t she have a bit of fun with Declan if that was what she wanted? She knew the answer to that already. Because he was too bloody old and because he was her ex-boyfriend’s father. She tore at another piece of varnish. She was losing it completely if she could even contemplate the idea of a relationship with her ex-boyfriend’s father. Not to mention the added complication of his two protective daughters.

  She glanced around her. Cate was stretched out on her towel, eyes closed. Nessa had wandered down to the water’s edge and was letting the sea wash over her toes. Oh hell, thought Bree, as she lay down on her towel too. I’m just not going to think about it anymore. I haven’t got the mental strength to think about it anymore.

  Nessa walked back up the beach to where Cate and Bree were now both lying with closed eyes. She sat on her red and white striped towel and buried her toes in the warm sand. The mother of the two Spanish children had bought them ice creams. The older girl (about three, Nessa guessed) was licking hers delicately, turning the cone around and around so that she caught all of the colored candy sprinkles on her tongue. The baby (eighteen months, she thought) was mashing hers into her mouth so that her whole face was covered in ice cream and sprinkles. Nessa bit her lip. She was an adorable little baby, with her tuft of almost black hair, her dark, dark eyes and her little gold bangle (also covered in melting ice cream) on her arm. Nessa ached. Would it have been different, she wondered, if there’d been another child? Would Adam stick his tongue down other women’s throats if he had a brood of kids at home?

  She sighed and leaned her head against her knees. She wished she knew what she wanted from her life no
w. What she wanted from Adam. What was going to happen to them in the future. She wished that there really was a way to predict it. She hated not knowing. She really did.

  They left the beach at half past six and drove back to the villa. The huge puddle outside the house had been dried by the sun of the last few days and now resembled a parched and cracked desert gulch. Instead of spraying mud in all directions when the car stopped, it now sent up a cloud of dust. The sisters took their gear out of the boot and went inside.

  They’d decided on a night in tonight and had bought meat and vegetables and Spanish tortillas at the supermarket as well as some bottles of wine. Nessa sat on the verandah and sipped a glass of Faustino while Bree had a shower and Cate pottered around the villa. Nessa took her mobile out of her bag, got up and stood in the middle of the garden to get a decent signal. She’d called home every evening about this time and Adam had always answered, asking her if she was enjoying herself, telling her that everything was going well and reminding her that he’d pick her up at the airport on Sunday. Then she’d talk to Jill who’d chatter about her day at school, recount the row she’d had with Dorothy, ask her if she was having fun with Bree and Cate and then tell her that she missed her.

  Nessa missed Jill too. But it was nice to have some time to herself.

  “Hi, this is the Riley family. We can’t take your call right now but leave your name and we’ll ring you back.”

  Jill had recorded the message (had insisted on recording the message) at the beginning of the summer. Nessa frowned and wondered why they were out.

  “It’s me,” she said to the recording. “Checking in as usual. Are you there?” But nobody picked up the phone to answer her. She could feel her heart beat faster as she tried to think of where they might be. They knew she phoned every evening. They wouldn’t have gone out, would they? She held on for a little longer, reminding herself that Adam could have been late getting home, that a few moments delay in the office could have had him stuck in traffic and fuming.

  She ended the call and dialed Adam’s mobile number instead. But all she got was his recorded message too.

  “Hi,” she said lightly. “Where are you? I rang home and got the machine. Give me a shout.”

  Nothing awful would have happened, she told herself as she put the phone on the table in front of her. They might have forgotten to switch off the machine at home and be watching TV and not heard it ring. She didn’t always have to assume the worst.

  But Adam hadn’t rung even by the time Cate and Bree had finished their showers and had joined her on the verandah.

  “Don’t be silly,” said Cate when Nessa told her that nobody was home. “Adam might have brought her to the movies or something to keep her amused. He’s never had to look after her for a whole week on his own before. He’s probably running out of conversation!”

  Nessa hadn’t thought of it like that before. She conceded that Cate could have a point and then went in to have her shower.

  Bree poured herself a glass of wine from the open bottle and looked at Cate inquiringly.

  “Yes please,” said Cate. “While the earth mother is out of eye-shot! I can’t enjoy a glass of wine when she’s looking at me disapprovingly and I’m gasping for something other than fizzy water.”

  Bree grinned and filled Cate’s glass.

  “I know that I shouldn’t.” Cate sipped the wine appreciatively and put the glass back on the table. “But an occasional glass can’t do any harm.”

  “If it keeps you calm it’s probably doing you some good,” said Bree. “Though it’s been very handy having you on the dry in the evenings, Catey. Means we haven’t had to worry about a designated driver.”

  Cate snorted. “Totally unfair! Here I am on my first girls on tour holiday in years and I end up being behind the wheel the whole time.”

  “It’s been fun so far, hasn’t it?” asked Bree. “I was afraid we’d fight all the time but we haven’t.”

  “When we got over the first day without killing each other it was downhill all the way,” said Cate.

  Bree laughed. The two of them sat in companionable silence, their feet propped up on the whitewashed balustrade in front of them, as they watched the sun slide behind the purple-tipped mountains.

  “Has he rung back yet?” Nessa walked out onto the verandah wrapped in a bath towel.

  “No,” said Bree. “But there’s no need to get into a state about it, Nessa.”

  “It’s getting late,” Nessa said. “It’s eight o’clock.”

  “Only seven at home,” Cate reminded her. “Why do you fuss so much, Nessa?”

  “I worry about them.”

  “I bet you anything he’ll ring soon,” said Bree.

  “Oh, OK.” Nessa went back inside to get dressed. Bree and Cate exchanged looks.

  “Where d’you think he is?” asked Cate.

  “Clearly he’s gone out and left Jill with someone,” replied Bree.

  “Gone out with one of his floozies?”

  Bree giggled then looked serious again. “Probably.”

  “Oh, Bree—we have to tell her,” said Cate. “We can’t keep it a secret.”

  “I know that we should,” said Bree. “But she’s having such a good time. And she says that she believes him about the Annika woman.”

  “That’s because she doesn’t know about the other one.”

  “I know,” said Bree again. “It’s just that telling her will be such a nightmare.”

  “And if we don’t?”

  Bree sighed. “I wish I knew what the best thing to do was. I really do.”

  Nessa reappeared a moment later, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. “I’m going to start cooking dinner,” she said. “Call me if he phones.”

  Cate and Bree nodded.

  “He’d better phone soon or she’ll have a heart attack,” said Cate.

  “He’d better phone soon or I’ll have a heart attack,” muttered Bree.

  It was twenty minutes later before Nessa’s mobile rang. She was out to the verandah and down the garden before either Cate or Bree could call her.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Hi, Mum!” Jill’s voice was clear and pleased. “Are you having a good time?”

  “Of course I am,” said Nessa. “How are you? Where were you earlier when I rang?”

  “I was in Nicolette’s,” said Jill. “And then when I got home me and Ruth couldn’t find your phone number.”

  “Where’s Dad?” asked Nessa.

  “He had to go out,” said Jill. “He told me to tell you. A ’zecutive meeting.”

  “Oh,” said Nessa.

  “But Ruth will be here until he comes home,” Jill informed her.

  “Can I talk to Ruth?” asked Nessa.

  “Sure.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Riley,” said Ruth. “Are you having a great holiday?”

  “Yes thanks, Ruth,” said Nessa. “Where’s Adam tonight?”

  “I don’t know,” said Ruth. “He rang me last night and asked if I could babysit Jill. He said he’d be working late.”

  “I see,” said Nessa.

  “So I picked her up from Mrs. Slater’s.”

  “Great,” said Nessa. “Thanks very much.”

  “It’s OK,” Ruth told her. “I’m saving up for a new pair of leather trousers. Mr. Riley’s paying me double tonight. ’Cos I had to collect Jill and let myself in and everything.”

  “Right,” said Nessa. “Have you picked out the trousers yet?”

  Ruth laughed. “I saw them in the Omni Centre in Santry. They’re really great.”

  “Can I have another word with Jill?”

  She heard the phone being passed over again.

  “Do what Ruth tells you,” she said. “Go to bed when you’re told. You have school in the morning.”

  “I know,” said Jill. “Dad’s so narky about getting everything ready in the mornings! But he puts out the breakfast stuff the night before.”

  “Does he?”
/>   “Yes,” said Jill. “He says that one good thing about you being away is that he has to have breakfast every morning to put in the time until I go to school. He says it’s a healthy option for him.”

  “Fair enough,” said Nessa.

  “I love you,” said Jill.

  “I love you too.”

  “See you soon. Take care.”

  “G’night,” said Jill and hung up.

  Nessa walked slowly back to the verandah and put the phone on the table.

  “Everything OK?” asked Cate.

  “Yes. Fine.”

  “Sure?” asked Bree.

  “Adam had to work late,” said Nessa. “He arranged for the babysitter to pick up Jill from her friend’s house and bring her home.”

  “At least he arranged something,” said Cate.

  “Jill says he had to go to an executive meeting.”

  “I hate meetings,” said Cate feelingly. “Especially after-hours ones.”

  Nessa looked at both of her sisters. “Do you think he’s at a meeting?” she asked. “Or do you think he’s—you know?”

  “Maybe we’re not the best people to answer that,” said Bree uncomfortably.

  “Why?” asked Nessa. “You followed him for me, Bree. And I bet you’ve talked about it between yourselves. So what d’you think?”

  “Would you like a glass of wine?” Cate lifted the bottle.

  “D’you think I need one?”

  “Actually, maybe.” Cate filled Nessa’s glass and glanced at Bree.

  “I know you told me not to,” said Bree cautiously. “But I followed Adam again.”