alexandra, gone

by Anna McPartlin

  Jane sat in the room, touching her sister’s hand every few minutes, until she returned to a normal temperature. She turned off the electric blanket and the light and then made her way to the kitchen.

  Through the intercom she heard Rose calling.

  “Jane, Jane, Jane! It’s your mother!”

  Jane put her hands over her ears, and if she hadn’t been scared of frightening her son for the second time that morning, she would have screamed until her voice was gone.

  9

  “No Goodbyes”

  I love you now as I loved you then

  but it’s time to save our prayers,

  it’s time to say amen.

  Jack L, Metropolis Blue

  May 2008

  Breda went to Mass every day and had done so for well over thirty years. Every morning she would wake at seven; she’d wash, dress, and drink a cup of tea; and then she would put on her hat and coat and walk a mile down the road to her local church in time for the eight o’clock service. Over the years she had noticed the church becoming emptier and emptier. The young people had all but disappeared and all that was left were a handful of old men and women, most of whom were waiting patiently for the Lord to call them home.

  Breda was early, so she knelt and put her hands together and looked up at the statue of Jesus hanging on the cross. She said an Our Father and then some Hail Marys and a Glory Be after that. The church was empty. Her knees were hurting her and she felt tired and cold. She leaned on the pew and pulled herself into a sitting position, then joined her hands again and waited for the priest and the few last souls seeking solace or saving to join her.

  “Dear God,” she said, “I look at Your son on the cross, I see the nails in His hands and feet, the thorns on His head, the blood in His eyes, the wound in His side, and I’d trade places with Him in an instant if You would just give me my Alexandra back. This burden is too great and I can’t carry on much longer. I’m begging You as your servant, have pity on me. Show her the way home. I’m leaving now.” She got up and bowed before the altar. “I won’t be back tomorrow or the next day or the day after that. The day she comes home, that’s when You’ll see me here again.” She walked out of the church, and although bargaining with or indeed threatening the Lord was slightly unnerving, Breda felt that He had left her with no choice.

  Kurt woke up to Jane, Rose, Elle, and Irene singing “Happy Birthday” at the end of his bed. He grinned because his grandmother was wearing a party hat with 18 written on it, and Elle was draped in a banner that read 18, LEGAL, AND PISSED ALREADY. Irene was bouncing up and down and blowing on a horn. His mum was standing in between them holding a cake with candles blazing and, of course, she was fighting tears. She always cried at every birthday and every milestone, so it was only a matter of time. He smiled, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and sat up.

  Jane made her way around the bed. “Blow,” she said.

  Kurt blew out the candles in one go. Elle, Rose, and Irene clapped.

  Jane leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Eighteen,” she said, and she burst into tears.

  A big breakfast of steak and chips awaited him when he was showered and dressed. He sat wearing his birthday hat, munching on his favorite food while his mother, aunt, gran, and girlfriend fussed around him. Jane made Rose and Elle some toast while they sat at the table with the birthday boy.

  Rose was the first to slide a present across the table. He looked at the envelope and grinned.

  “So far I like it,” he said, and he opened it. Eighteen one-hundred-euro notes fell out. “This is too much.”

  She tapped his hand. “It’s enough to take you and Irene on a sun holiday after your exams.”

  “No way,” he said.

  “Oh my God!” said Irene.

  “Apparently it’s a rite of passage,” Rose said.

  “Mum?” he said, waiting for her to veto the trip.

  “I’ve heard that Greece is pretty special,” she said.

  “No way!” he said.

  “Oh my God!” Irene said again.

  He leaped up from his seat and dragged his grandmother off her chair and hugged her, and she held him tight for a few moments before letting go.

  “You’re such a good boy,” she said.

  Irene jumped up and down on the spot, saying, “Thank you, thank you!” over and over again.

  Elle was next. She walked into the hall and came back in with a large box wrapped in red paper. Kurt tore at the wrapping. He opened the box and lifted out a helmet.

  “A helmet?” he said, and Elle grinned and turned to Jane, who sighed and pointed to the garden.

  Kurt stood up and looked out the window and saw his dad straddling a motorbike. Dominic grinned and waved. Kurt looked at his mother. “No way!” he said, shaking his head.

  “Please, I’m begging you to be careful!” Jane said.

  “No way!” Kurt shouted, and the back door was open and he was standing beside his dad in two seconds flat.

  Dominic handed him the keys and they hugged, and Dominic pointed to his mother and told him that the bike was from both of them, and Kurt ran back in the back door and hugged Jane. She burst into tears again, but this time it wasn’t a result of oversentimentality but instead disbelief that Dominic had managed to talk her into buying her baby boy a death trap. Elle handed him the helmet. He hugged her and ran back out to his dad. Together they examined every inch of the bike.

  “A Suzuki Bandit 600!” Kurt said. “Holy crap, a Suzuki Bandit 600!”

  Jane closed the door and left them to it. Rose kissed her on the cheek.

  “What was that for?” Jane asked, a little taken aback.

  “Bravery. You’re learning to let go, and that’s good.”

  Jane sat down at the table. “Yeah, I suppose it is. Of course if he kills or maims himself I’ll hate myself forever.”

  “You won’t be alone,” Rose said, and she made her way back to her basement apartment.

  Elle and Jane went outside and sat on the steps and watched Kurt take off down the road as Dominic waved him off. Dominic turned and smiled at Jane. She returned his smile before getting up and going inside. Elle walked to where Dominic stood watching his son disappear down the road.

  “What did you do to Jane?” she asked him.

  “I married someone else,” he said.

  “She’s finished loving you.”

  “She is.”

  “It had to happen sometime.”

  “Yes, it did,” he said. “It’s truly amazing she loved me at all.”

  “Yeah, well, the Moore women aren’t the brightest when it comes to love,” Elle said, and she walked to the gate that took her through the garden and to her little cottage.

  Dominic found Jane loading the washing machine.

  “Big day,” he said.

  “It is.”

  “Our son is a man.”

  “And still just a boy.”

  He sat at the table and turned his chair to face her. “Is that why you forgave me so easily? Because you knew I was still just a boy?”

  “I forgave you because if someone had given me a way out, I would have taken it,” she said.

  “You’re the best person I know,” he said.

  “Please don’t try and sweet-talk me, because it’s not fair,” she said, sitting down on the floor.

  “I’m not and I know. I know. I’ve been really selfish.”

  “I let you think I was fine with being friends.”

  “But I knew better,” he said. “And I feel like a prick.”

  “Well, feeling like a prick isn’t exactly unfamiliar territory for you.”

  “No. It isn’t. What are we going to do, Janey?”

  “Well, we’re going to be parents to a pretty cool kid, you’re going to work on your marriage, and I’m going to get a life.”

  “You’re the best person I know,” he said again. “You’re kind and selfless and cool and funny and sometimes weird and dangerous and I really, real
ly wish I loved you the way you loved me.”

  “I know you do,” she said.

  “And I will never cross the line again.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  “But I don’t want to lose your friendship.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Let’s just take it one day at a time.”

  He left soon after, and Jane closed her eyes and felt the pain pulse through her. It’s over.

  Because Kurt’s eighteenth birthday fell only a few weeks before his Leaving Certificate exams, he agreed that he’d defer his party until afterward, and so when he returned from his bike ride, he grabbed his books, told his mum that he loved her, and went to school.

  Elle went back to bed for a few hours and then met Leslie in the underwear department in Arnotts. She had promised to help her pick out sexy underwear for a date with the Ball-less Wonder, which was what Elle had christened Mark.

  “What are we looking for?” Elle said.

  “Something sexy.”

  “Well, obviously something sexy. You don’t want to look like his mother—he has enough problems getting a stiffy as it is.”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I need to hear, thanks so much.”

  “All right, how about racy red?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m not a racy-red person.”

  “Well, what are you?” Elle asked.

  “I’m a sports bra and shorts person.”

  “Well, that’s just not sexy, Leslie.”

  “Which is why I’ve brought you.”

  “Fine, then, you have to listen to me and do what I say or I’m going home.”

  “Fine,” Leslie said, “but if you make me look like a hooker I’m leaving.”

  Having argued, debated, reflected, and conceded, Leslie finally purchased a black lace set. The bra was padded and lifted her in all the right places, and the pants were shorts as opposed to the G-string Elle had initially suggested.

  She bought Elle lunch to celebrate.

  Elle was surprised that Leslie was rushing into a relationship with a man who was recovering from cancer and so was interested to hear her reasoning. Leslie admitted that she was worried she was making a big mistake, but she felt a level of comfort with Mark that she hadn’t felt with another man in a very long time.

  “What about Jim?” Elle asked.

  “Jim is my sister’s husband.”

  “Was her husband. Your sister died a long time ago.”

  “And?”

  “And he’s a very nice man and he cares about you. He’s a little on the short side, but you must admit those dimples are to die for.”

  “You’re sick,” Leslie said.

  “I am not.”

  “He’s my—”

  Elle put her finger against Leslie’s lips. “He’s your friend, that’s all.”

  Leslie saw it differently, and when Elle saw that she was becoming increasingly uncomfortable she returned to the subject of Mark.

  “Why the rush?” Elle asked.

  “I’ve known him three weeks.”

  “Exactly.”

  “You sleep with people you’ve met in restrooms, for God’s sake!”

  “Don’t make me sorry for sharing my adventures with you. Besides, we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you, a woman who hasn’t had sex with anything that wasn’t battery operated for eighteen years.”

  “So?” Leslie said.

  “So, I’m curious as to what the rush is.”

  “I’m having surgery on the first of July.”

  “What kind of surgery?”

  “A prophylactic bilateral mastectomy and laparoscopic hysterectomy.”

  “A what and what?”

  Leslie explained the procedures to an open-mouthed Elle.

  “How long have you known about this?” Elle asked.

  “Pretty much since we met.”

  “Why are you only mentioning it now?”

  “It didn’t come up.”

  “That’s the kind of thing you bring up.”

  “Well, I’m sorry,” Leslie said. “This friendship thing is still new to me.”

  “You’re forgiven. But only because you’re having your tits lopped off.”

  “Charming!” Leslie said, and she laughed a little.

  Following Leslie’s admission, it was clear to Elle why she was in such a rush to have sex with an actual man, and a ball-less one at that. She wanted to experience it with all her bits just one last time. Elle wished her friend good luck and told her she would expect her call the very next day with full details. Leslie had no intention of providing her with anything like the full details, but she agreed just so Elle would let her go home. She had much to do before Mark arrived.

  An hour before he was due, the house was clean and she was washed, dressed, and looking good, even if she thought so herself. She had thought about cooking, but she wasn’t a cook and so it seemed like a much better idea to just order in when he came. That way he could pick what he wanted and there would be no chance of him enduring a bad meal.

  Jim phoned half an hour before Mark was due.

  “Well?” he said.

  “Well what?”

  “Are you excited?”

  “None of your business,” she said, beginning to regret telling him about Mark at all. “Go away.”

  “Ah, come on, I’m sitting alone watching a DVD about two homeless drug addicts.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Do you think I should play music or is that really corny?”

  “No, it’s not corny—definitely play music. What have you got?”

  “Lots of stuff.”

  “Okay, what do you feel like listening to?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Think.”

  “I can’t, I’m too nervous.”

  “Okay, go over to your CD rack, close your eyes, and pick something.”

  “I don’t have a CD rack. I buy all my music online.”

  “What do you do that for?”

  “Because I no longer live in the year 1983,” she said.

  “Fine. So close your eyes and click on a song or do whatever it is you do to listen to music.”

  “Okay. Can I go now?”

  “Yes,” he said. “And, Leslie?”

  “What?”

  “Enjoy yourself.”

  “Thanks.”

  She hung up the phone and went over to her computer and clicked onto her media player. She closed her eyes and dragged the mouse along the various tracks listed, stopped, and clicked, and Alanis Morissette’s “In Praise of the Vulnerable Man” started to play. Apt.

  She sat holding her cat and waited for Mark to come.

  Tom opened the door and found Trish, his liaison officer, standing outside. The house call was unscheduled, and so his heart started to race and his palms were instantly damp. If he’d allowed himself to, he would have begun to shake.

  “Calm down, we haven’t found her,” she warned.

  He followed her to the sitting room. They sat.

  “Crimeline is going to do a reconstruction.”

  “Okay,” he said. “It looks like Alexandra has captured the media’s imagination. Finally.”

  “Finally.” She nodded. “It’s good news, Tom.”

  “I know.”

  “You should thank your friends. Without them …”

  “She’d just be a number.”

  “Never just a number,” she said, “but media interest always helps—just keeping her face out there helps.”

  She left soon after, and Tom picked up the phone and called Jane. He told her the good news, and they agreed to an impromptu celebration even though Elle and Leslie were unavailable. He offered to cook and she agreed to bring the wine, and so at eight fifteen she knocked on his door.

  It was the first time Jane had visited Tom in his home, and it felt so strange being greeted by pictures of the adult Alexandra, the woman she didn’t know. In the sitting ro
om there were photos of their wedding day. Alexandra had made a beautiful bride, even in the shot when she stuck out her tongue at the photographer. Tom poured wine and they clinked glasses as it was customary to do. He thanked her once again and told her how grateful he was, and she told him to shut up and that he was boring her. It was true that media interest in the disappearance of Alexandra Kavanagh had increased considerably since their little exhibition, but they were a long way from finding her.

  Tom once again put all his hopes in the one basket.

  “This will work,” he said.

  “Please don’t get too excited. It’s only a reconstruction. It’s good news but that’s all.”

  “I know.”

  “You’re contradicting yourself.”

  “I don’t care. I’m happy.”

  The exhibition had been a great success insofar as the critics were happy, Alexandra’s plight and the plight of many others had been given a little time in the spotlight, and they had made some money for the charity.

  Originally Elle had put the painting of Alexandra aside for Tom or Alexandra’s family pending Tom’s decision, but only five of the twelve paintings had sold and a buyer had offered a great deal of money for Alexandra. Now Jane found herself in the uncomfortable position of having to approach Tom on the matter. If the money had been going into the Moore family business, there was no way she would have sold Alexandra, but because the sales were in aid of charity she felt obliged to earn as much money as possible. It had been a shock to her that the paintings failed to sell out, because Elle had been a surefire seller for a long time. Jane had begun to notice a slowdown in sales with some of her other artists, but she had put it down to various reasons and now she was wondering whether or not a change was going to come. This concerned her because while she had banked her money and scrimped and saved, her little sister had gone through money like there was no tomorrow.

  Over dinner she broached the subject of the painting with Tom.

  “Definitely sell it,” he said.

  “Oh great. I’m so glad you feel that way.”

  “To be honest, it’s a bit of a relief. It was just too sad.”

  “I understand,” she said.