He's Got to Go

by Sheila O'Flanagan

  The motorway cut through the mountains, twisting through deep gorges and climbing around the contours of the surrounding countryside. Nessa kept her foot near the floor, unconcerned at her speed, not needing to worry about oncoming traffic. She wondered what she’d do when she got to Valencia. Find an all-night bar, maybe. Drink herself stupid. It would be nice to drink herself stupid. She occasionally drank enough to have a bit of a hangover but she never drank enough to collapse in a heap on the floor. Not now anyway, because she was a wife and a mother and she couldn’t afford to collapse in a heap on the floor. When she was younger she used to. Not regularly but sometimes. And she’d do silly things like try to dance on tables or sing rebel songs or smoke big fat cigars just for the heck of it. She used to do lots of silly things. But she didn’t anymore. Maybe that was why Adam didn’t love her. Maybe he wanted someone silly. Maybe xxx Annika was silly. Maybe the Monkstown lady was silly. Maybe they made him laugh. But he laughed at home, didn’t he? He didn’t need her to be silly to laugh at home.

  A shrill sound echoed around the car and caused Nessa to stamp on the brakes again in fright. The Mondeo skidded along the road and she had to fight to keep it on line. God, she thought, as she pulled into the hazard lane, I could’ve been killed. And it frightened her to think that, right now, she really wouldn’t have cared. The shrill sound had come from her mobile phone which was in the bag she’d thrown onto the backseat when she rushed from the villa. She switched on her hazard lights and pulled the bag to her. Maybe it was Adam. Maybe he’d come home and spoken to Jill and maybe he’d decided to ring her and tell her that, yes, he’d been working late and he was utterly exhausted. And she could ask him about his other women and find out about them and if he told her that it was all true and that they really did exist and that he loved them—if he told her that then she could take the car and point it toward the ravine because really and truly she didn’t think she had the strength to carry on anymore.

  The phone stopped ringing. She didn’t know who’d called because the Spanish phone network couldn’t pick up the phone number. So maybe it had been Adam. But maybe it hadn’t. Probably it hadn’t. Adam didn’t give a toss about her. He was too busy with his other women.

  She opened the car door. She knew that opening the car door on a motorway was a silly thing to do but she didn’t care. It was time for her to be silly, wasn’t it? She stood beside the Mondeo and wondered why it had all gone wrong for her. Why she felt so uncertain when once she’d been so sure of everything. Why things hadn’t worked out like she’d always believed they would. She looked at the phone, willing it to ring again, willing it to be Adam. But it remained obstinately silent.

  “Oh, fuck you,” she cried out loud. “I hate you! I really and truly hate you!” She raised her arm and then threw the phone as hard as she could across the motorway and toward the ravine. In the few moments while it was soaring through the air it began to ring again. Then it crunched onto the black asphalt and was silent.

  Nessa stared at it for a moment but, as she was about to run along the motorway and pick it up, a huge, white articulated truck rumbled around the bend and drove over it, crushing it completely.

  Nessa got back into the Mondeo and sat in the driver’s seat. Her hands were shaking. The tears were falling again. She leaned her head against the steering wheel and wished that she’d been the one that had been run over.

  Bree looked at Cate and shook her head.

  “She’s not answering,” she said. “Oh, Catey, I just don’t like to think of her all on her own, in a state, and driving in a country that she doesn’t know.”

  “That’s funny coming from you,” said Cate.

  “What?”

  “You’re the one who always goes on the run whenever you get into a state. Now you’re getting your knickers in a knot because Nessa’s doing exactly the same thing.”

  “I do not go on the run!” cried Bree.

  “Yes you do,” Cate said. “France, Spain, England—”

  “I’m not in a state every time I move,” snapped Bree. “I do it for the excitement.”

  “Or because you’ve broken up with someone and you can’t bear to be around them,” said Cate. “You can’t bear the thought of seeing them again, knowing that it’s over between you.”

  “Oh, shut up.” Bree looked at her in disgust. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I break up with blokes when I find out that they’re weirdos. You’re the one who went to England because you couldn’t face up to telling your boyfriend that you were up the spout.”

  “Thank you for that caringly bitchy comment,” said Cate coldly.

  “Well, honestly, Cate, you said you loved him. If you loved him you could’ve told him.”

  “I explained,” said Cate tightly. “I told you why I couldn’t say anything.”

  “Bullshit,” said Bree. “You couldn’t face being pregnant and you couldn’t face him and then, in the end, you couldn’t even face having an abortion!”

  “How can you say all that? I thought you understood—you said you understood…” She put her hand to her temple. “You don’t see it at all, do you? You’ve never loved anyone because you never go out with the kind of blokes you could fall in love with. In case they wanted something more than you could give them. That’s why you pick weirdos. And you don’t understand what it’s like to love someone and lose them.”

  “Of course I do,” said Bree flatly. “I lost Michael, didn’t I?”

  They sat side by side on the verandah without saying anything. Cate pulled at pieces of popcorn and threw them into the garden without eating them. Bree chewed at the fingernail on her little finger until it was short and jagged.

  “I’m sorry,” she said to Cate eventually.

  “Forget it.”

  “We’re always apologizing to each other, aren’t we?” said Bree. “Do the three of us deliberately say things to hurt each other?”

  “I’ve never deliberately said anything to hurt you or Nessa,” said Cate.

  “You called Michael a toy boy.”

  “For God’s sake.” Cate glanced at her. “You described him as a toy boy to me one night. You were the one who said he was young but sexy.”

  “He’s only four years younger than me,” said Bree. “Not so much a toy boy.”

  “Clearly his mental age was younger still,” Cate said. “Showing off like he did. Nearly killing you. Scaring the life out of us.”

  Bree sighed deeply. “How did you know you were in love with Finn?” she asked. “How did you decide that he was the one?”

  “I just did.” Cate got up, leaned against the balustrade and stared unseeingly at the tubs of potted plants. “We met and I went back to his apartment and I was with him and everything seemed just perfect.” She looked up at Bree and smiled faintly. “I wasn’t totally stupid. I hardly knew him, after all. I’d been ‘in love’ before. Then I moved in with him and—oh, I don’t know, Bree—it was different to anyone else. We didn’t need to go out all the time. We didn’t need to hop into bed all the time. We enjoyed each other’s company even when we weren’t being lovers.”

  “I’ve never been friends with any of my boyfriends,” said Bree. “I’m with them for the excitement not the friendship.”

  “But you have lots of male friends,” Cate told her. “You work in a bloody garage, don’t you? The ideal stomping ground.”

  “That’s different,” said Bree dismissively. “I don’t see any of my colleagues as potential boyfriends. Even Dave, who’s nice and who asked me out…” She shook her head. “It should be different, shouldn’t it? Loving someone and liking them.”

  “I think you have to like someone before you can love them,” said Cate. “I liked Finn when I first met him. Then I fancied him. Then I loved him.”

  “I like Michael’s father,” said Bree abruptly.

  “What?” Cate looked at her questioningly.

  “Michael’s father,” said Bree. “His name’s Declan.
I like him.”

  “Yes, well, I didn’t mean you have to go out with every man you like,” said Cate dismissively.

  “He likes me too.”

  “And?”

  “He called around to the flat a few times while I was laid up,” said Bree. “He brought cookies and muffins.”

  “I know.” Cate nodded her head. “You told me before. You said he was checking up to see if you were all right because he was terrified you’d sue Michael. You said the muffins were a ploy to soften you up.”

  “He called around when you were signing the lease on your apartment,” Bree said. “I didn’t tell you about that.”

  “And?”

  “And he told me that—that he liked me.”

  “Liked you?” Cate’s finely arched eyebrows almost disappeared into her hairline.

  “He wanted to go out with me.”

  “Oh, come on, Bree!” Cate stared at her. “He’s a married man with three kids! And he must be in his fifties!”

  “He’s forty-five,” said Bree. “He’s a widower. His wife died of cancer.”

  Cate swallowed. “Well, of course, I’m sorry for him—it must have been terrible,” she said. “But you can’t possibly be thinking of going out with him. That’s sick.”

  “Why?”

  “Because—because—oh, look, it just is! The man’s clearly a perv. Who in their right mind would even consider going out with his son’s girlfriend? Ugh, Bree, don’t tell me he was fancying you while you were seeing Michael. That is absolutely gross!”

  “That’s what I thought at first,” said Bree. “I kind of said as much to him. And I told him to leave.” She chewed at the remains of her fingernail again. “But I can’t stop thinking about him.”

  “Probably in horror,” said Cate.

  Bree shook her head. “No, Catey, I really like him. I find him attractive, though I never really considered it when I was going out with Michael. But Declan’s a good-looking man. And when I’m talking to him I feel like I’m talking to an old friend.”

  “I wish I hadn’t said anything about having to be friends,” muttered Cate. “I’ve clearly set you off on the wrong track altogether.”

  “I don’t know,” said Bree. “I’ve been wondering these last couple of days whether or not I should do anything about it.”

  “Oh, Bree.” Cate sighed. “I don’t know if you should or not but whatever problems you’ve had with toy boys and strange blokes that you end up leaving the country over, don’t you think you’re going to have even worse ones with a forty-five-year-old widower who happens to be the father of a bloke you went out with?” She shrugged. “I mean, wouldn’t you be better off waiting for Mr. Right?”

  “Mr. Right?” Bree’s tone was sardonic.

  “Mr. Nearer-Your-Own-Age, Same-Interests—you know what I mean!” cried Cate.

  “I know what you mean,” said Bree. “I’m just not so sure that that’s the Mr. Right I’m looking for.”

  “I’d be surprised if Declan was,” said Cate.

  “So would I,” Bree agreed. “But nobody else has been either.”

  Nessa was still shaking as she took the next exit off the motorway, too terrified to stay on it anymore. She fumbled in her bag for the toll and handed it to the girl in the booth. She was conscious that her eyes were red and puffy and that her cheeks were probably red and puffy too. But the girl simply took the money and waved her through. Nessa didn’t take any notice of where she was driving. She followed the road aimlessly until suddenly she was at the outskirts of a town. There were signs for the town center and the sea. She followed the signs for the sea.

  Five minutes later she parked in front of a picture-postcard bay. Despite the darkness she could make out the silhouette of high cliffs around a crescent shaped beach, which was lined by colored lights and a row of bars and restaurants. Very few of the restaurants were still open and, although there were some people in the bars, it all seemed very quiet. She got out of the car and shivered as a cool breeze wafted in from the sea. She pulled her light cotton top more tightly around her.

  She walked to the water’s edge and took off her shoes. Although the water was cold it was refreshing. She sat down on the damp sand and allowed it to lap at her feet. Occasional bursts of laughter floated from the bars. It seemed strange to hear laughter. It was hard to believe that other people were happy. I don’t want to live like this, she thought miserably. I don’t want to live a lie with him. She leaned her head on her knees as she realized that she was already living a lie. That she’d been living a lie without knowing it. And that, to keep her family together, she’d have to keep doing it.

  “It’s one o’clock in the morning,” said Bree. “Where the hell can she be?”

  “One of the bars in town?” suggested Cate. “She might have gone for a walk, then decided to have something to eat.”

  “Cate, she’s distraught!” cried Bree. “She’d hardly go for something to eat if she was distraught.”

  “Maybe it’s worn off by now.” Cate dipped a tortilla chip in chilli salsa. “We were too upset to eat earlier but hunger kicked in and we had those cheese and crackers a while ago. Perhaps it’s the same with her.”

  “Nessa’s devastated, not just upset,” said Bree. “It’s not going to ‘wear off’ after a drive in the car, for God’s sake! I knew we shouldn’t have left her on her own.”

  Cate sighed. “OK, I’m a bit worried about her myself, Bree. But there’s nothing we can do at the moment.”

  “We can look for her,” said Bree.

  “How?” Carey asked. “She took the damned car.”

  Bree took out her phone and pressed Nessa’s number. “I wish she’d turn the bloody thing on,” she said as she got Nessa’s message minder which told Bree that Nessa was on holiday and to leave a message.

  “Maybe she doesn’t want to talk to anyone,” said Cate.

  “Fine,” said Bree. “But she still could’ve told us that she was going off to commune with nature. Surely she’d know that we’d worry.”

  “Nothing’s happened to her,” said Cate. “She’s not stupid, Bree.”

  “Sometimes I wonder,” retorted Bree. “I’d like to think that I’d know before anyone else if my husband was bonking a selection box of other women.”

  “She may not be stupid but she blocks out things she doesn’t want to know about,” said Cate. “Remember when we were kids and she wouldn’t ever watch a film with a sad ending?”

  Bree sighed. “She’s having to face up to things with a bang now I suppose.”

  “Which is why she needs a bit of time and space,” said Cate. “If she came back now we’d be asking her if she was all right and fussing over her and everything. Maybe she doesn’t want that yet.”

  “If she came back now I’d hit her over the head.” Bree rubbed her forehead. “Oh, Cate, if something’s happened to her…”

  “Nothing has happened to her,” said Cate firmly. She put her arms around her sister and pulled her close. “Nothing has happened to her, she’s perfectly all right and she’ll be back eventually. Then you can hit her over the head if you want.”

  “Thanks.” Bree’s voice was muffled. “I’ll tell her you said that.”

  “Fine by me,” said Cate. “I’ll hit her over the head too.”

  The sea was ink-black and warmer than she’d expected once she got used to it. She floated out of her depth and looked up at the sky, crammed with thousands upon thousands of stars. You never really got to see stars in the sky at home anymore, she thought regretfully. The lights of the city meant that all but the brightest were difficult to see. She remembered, as a child, Louis pointing out different constellations to her and telling her that she was made out of the same stuff that was in the stars and the planets. She’d felt close to them then, almost part of them, and later, when she was older and when she started reading horoscopes, she told herself that she was made of star stuff and that was why they might influence her life. But in the end t
hey simply told her that things were hard to figure out and they’d never even hinted that Adam was cheating on her. She closed her eyes and blocked out the stars.

  It was peaceful here. She felt almost content, bobbing up and down with the waves, listening to the sound of the waves breaking on the shore. She could drift here forever. Nobody would miss her if she didn’t come back. Who would care? Not Adam, clearly. He had plenty of other fish to fry. He’d probably be relieved that he didn’t have to spend his days concocting lies to tell her. Jill would miss her, of course. Terribly at first. But only temporarily. Jill was her own person already. She would grow up and make her own decisions and live her own life. In the end, everyone had to make their own decisions. Everyone was on their own. As she was now. She could lie here and allow the water to eventually take her out to sea and, in the end, what difference would it make to anyone? And she wouldn’t have to face the humiliation of going home and confronting Adam about his girlfriends. She desperately didn’t want to have to confront Adam about his girlfriends. She wanted to sleep. That was all. Just sleep.

  “I can’t stand this much longer.” Bree paced anxiously around the verandah and peered out at the road. “She wouldn’t have stayed out this late without contacting us. Her phone is switched off. There’s something wrong.”

  Cate chewed at her bottom lip. She thought that there must be something wrong too but she didn’t want to make Bree any more worried than she already was. She’d never realized that Bree got so anxious about things before.

  “Even if something has happened to her, there’s very little we can do,” she said eventually.

  “Christ, Cate, how can you say that?” Bree stared at her. “Maybe she got as far as the end of the road and plowed into the palm tree. Maybe she’s lying concussed a mere ten-minute walk away! She could be bleeding to death—and if only we’d looked for her sooner we’d have saved her life.”