Jane groaned. “Just go to the car.”
They got to the church on time. Jane sat in the back, but Rose walked halfway up the aisle because she didn’t want a pillar blocking her view. Elle joined Leslie and Jane. Elle and Jane’s relationship was still a little strained. Although Jane had forgiven her, Elle wasn’t sure why, and Jane had decided not to explain her reasoning. Instead she had merely said that blood was thicker than water and that if Elle wanted her to represent her artwork she would, as long as she promised not to set it on fire again.
“I promise,” Elle had said.
“Why did you do it?” Jane had asked.
“It wasn’t good.”
“You didn’t have to burn it, Elle.”
Elle stayed quiet for a while. “Do you really forgive me, Janey?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Don’t you want to hear an explanation?”
“No.”
“I’m really sorry.”
“I know.”
Jane had left then because she felt awkward and still angry, and she needed to talk to Dr. Griffin before she spoke to her sister openly and honestly. And since she’d spoken to Dr. Griffin she’d been biding her time, delaying the inevitable. Jane wasn’t ready to face the possibility that Elle had a problem, so how could Elle do so?
They sat quietly, waiting for the church to fill and the Mass to begin. In the front pew Ben Walsh was on the outside; beside him was Kate, her arm linked in his. Next in line was Eamonn, then his wife, Frankie, Kate’s husband, Owen, and Tom at the end. There was little or no talking among the main mourners.
Rose made her way back to where her daughters and Leslie were sitting.
“Push in,” she said.
“What are you doing?” Jane whispered.
“It’s no fun on your own,” she said.
Elle grinned and pushed in.
“Push in a bit farther,” Rose demanded so that her view would be uninterrupted.
They all pushed in for Rose. She sat down and looked around.
“You’d think for such a Holy Joe she’d have a few more to her funeral,” Rose said.
“Mum,” Elle said, “don’t be such a cow.”
“Sorry, darling.”
The priest came out and everyone stood, bar Rose. “You won’t catch me standing for one of those arrogant church bastards,” she whispered under her breath.
For the next forty minutes the priest talked and read the same old passages from the Bible that they always read when a person dies; they said prayers, knelt, stood, sat, knelt, stood, sat, and knelt, stood, and sat some more. Leslie, Elle, and Jane got up and queued to receive Holy Communion. Rose sat where she was. “You won’t catch me taking Communion from one of those arrogant church bastards,” she whispered under her breath. After Communion and before the priest gave the last blessing, he invited Breda’s family to come up to the altar and talk about her. Ben couldn’t find it in himself to speak; it was all he could do to stand. Eamonn walked to the altar and took a second or two to compose himself.
“This is the good bit,” Rose said.
Leslie, Elle, and Jane ignored her.
Eamonn cleared his throat. “I’d like to thank everyone for coming here today. My mother would have been really pleased with the turnout.”
Rose looked around with a face that suggested that maybe Breda would be impressed, but she certainly wasn’t.
“My mother was a good person. She was kind, caring, giving, friendly, happy most of the time. She wasn’t jealous or boastful, she wasn’t selfish, and she wasn’t hurtful. She believed in God. She believed in prayer, and she came here nearly every day of her life until recently. Most of you know we lost Alexandra in June 2007. My mother believed that God would save her. She believed that He would bring her home. ‘She’s still with us, Eamonn,’ she’d say. ‘She’ll be home any day, any day now. God will deliver her from evil.’ When God didn’t deliver her from evil, my mother got so sad and so sick that it made me angry about all that time she’d wasted here, on her knees. But then I thought, what if God couldn’t deliver Alexandra because Alexandra was already gone? What if the pain and suffering of my mother’s loss were so great that instead of delivering Alexandra from evil He delivered my mother instead? Who knows what’s real and what isn’t? My mother took comfort in believing in a God that could hear her. I may not be the most religious of people, but today of all days and for her sake I’d like to think He did. Thank you.”
Elle was crying, and Jane squeezed her hand. “That was lovely,” Elle said.
Leslie was silent but nodded in agreement. Rose blew her nose.
Jane, Leslie, and Elle joined the queue to sympathize with the family.
Jane sympathized with Owen, then Frankie and Eamonn.
“That was really lovely,” she said.
“Thanks. I hope she would have liked it,” Eamonn said.
“She would have loved it.”
Eamonn hugged her. “Every time I see you I think of Alexandra. I miss her, Janey.”
“I know you do, Eamonn,” Jane said, and her eyes filled. “I miss her too.”
She moved on to Kate, who hugged her and thanked her for coming, and then to Ben, whose blue eyes were swimming. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Walsh.”
“Thanks, Jane.”
She reached Tom and shook his hand, but he drew her into a hug, and they held each other so tightly that Kate and Frankie both noticed. Frankie smiled at them. Jane pulled back.
“I’ll see you at the graveyard,” she said, and he nodded.
Elle and Leslie were following and shaking hands, and Kate reminded Ben that Elle was the girl who had painted all the pictures of the Missing and that Leslie was behind the Missing Alexandra website.
“Thank you, girls, thank you so much.”
They both nodded and told them how sorry they were.
It was odd, but all three women, Jane, Elle, and Leslie, felt like they weren’t just at Breda’s funeral but at Alexandra’s too. They discussed it in the car on the way to the graveyard. Leslie was the first to bring it up, but the two others were quick to agree. Rose congratulated herself for being the only one who had worked out that the woman was dead a long time ago.
“We’re not saying she’s dead, Rose,” Jane said.
“Oh fine, Janey. The funeral felt like it was for both Alexandra and Breda, and yet you’re not saying you think she’s dead. Are you in the habit of burying the living?”
At the graveyard, they followed the crowd to the plot that would be Breda’s final resting place. As they walked in line, the heavens opened and heavy rain fell, drenching them all in seconds.
“Oh for fock sake!” Rose said, and Jane nudged her.
They walked from grave to grave under a dark and forbidding sky.
Eamonn stood over his mother’s grave, soaked to the skin, and told the crowd that was gathering around him and his family that his father had chosen the casket his mother would rest in, Kate had chosen the flowers, he’d chosen the readings, and the music would be chosen by Alexandra.
“She loved Jack Lukeman, and this is one of her favorite songs. I know my mother would like it, and it seems appropriate. It’s called ‘Rooftop Lullaby.’” He nodded at Owen, who pressed Play on the CD player, and everybody stood in silence. Eamonn dropped his head and stared at the coffin in the ground.
Mother, is there something in the sky?
Something up there that they hide,
a jewel for me and you,
apple trees with falling fruit.
Kate held an umbrella over her father’s head.
Oh Daughter, now I don’t know
but I believe that it’s beauty beyond words,
it’s like a tune that I can’t sing
but I’ve heard it sung by birds.
It’s a rooftop lullaby
falling from the sky
sends us to sleep tonight.
It’s the apple in your eye
keeps you
as sweet as pie
dreaming through the night.
Kate’s husband, Owen, held his umbrella over hers.
Oh Father, now won’t you tell me if you know
where does half the moon go
when it’s not up in the sky
it disappears before my eyes.
Ben Walsh stood in silence, looking into the middle distance, unable to bring himself to look at the box that held his wife beneath him.
Oh my son, why does morning break each day
why do people pass away?
The rain continued to fall on the people gathered in the graveyard and on the people outside walking by and trying to get on with their day. It fell in the cities and the suburbs. It fell by the coast, and it fell on the mountains and under a dark sky, under dead foliage, and in a forgotten part of the Dublin mountains the rain fell so heavily that the earth slid and moved, and under that dark sky and dead foliage and in that forgotten part of Dublin’s mountains, a black high-heel boot poked through.
Oh it’s the mystery in truth
it’s the innocence in youth
or a rooftop lullaby
falling from the sky
sends us to sleep tonight,
it’s the apple in your eye
keeps you as sweet as pie
dreaming through the night.
16
“Crazy”
Life’s a little mystery waiting to be solved,
questions they come pouring down with a little pinch of salt,
forever poised to conquer, forever poised to fall
but every time I close my eyes I hear these voices call.
Jack L, Metropolis Blue
December 2008
Leslie had successfully avoided Jim for a month when eventually, through his tenacity and refusal to take no for an answer, she gave in. They walked mostly in silence, engaging in some small talk, and when they found a little bench by the bandstand they sat and watched a young band play to a small group of their teenage friends. Jim told her that he had gone home and felt very stupid the night he had given her Imelda’s letter. He further explained that it had not been his intention to suggest that the only reason he was in Leslie’s life was that his dead wife had asked him to be. Jim hadn’t considered for a moment that Leslie would jump to that conclusion, but having read the letter many times since, he felt a bit of a fool for not having considered the possibility. His intention had been to show Leslie how brave she was and how proud her sister would have been to see her not only surviving but living. He wanted her to know how happy seeing her surviving and living made him. He wanted her to know that he cared for her.
“But you don’t love me,” Leslie said quietly.
“I think that I do,” he said.
“But …” Leslie said, sensing the word was coming.
“But you’ve just gone through a massive life-changing operation.”
“It’s been five months.”
“That’s no time.”
“You think I’m using you,” she said.
“No,” he said, “I would never think that.”
“You think that we could never have anything because you belong to Imelda.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I let Imelda go a long time ago.”
“But you never remarried.”
“The relationships I had didn’t work out because of age, distance, incompatibility, and a million and one other reasons that had nothing to do with Imelda.”
“Do you think you could really love me?” Leslie asked.
“I do,” he said.
“So?”
“So I’m scared. Are you really ready for love?”
“I am,” she said.
“Don’t just say that, think about it.”
“I have.”
“Please, think about it again.”
“Why?”
“Because I survived losing one Sheehan. I don’t think I could survive losing two.”
“I’m ready. I’m ready for you. If you’ll have me?” she said, and he smiled, showing his dimples, and he kissed her right there on a bench in front of ten teenagers nodding to the worst rock band in the free world.
It was Christmas week, which was always Elle’s favorite time of year. She loved walking among the hordes of shoppers and the dancing lights and beautiful window displays. She liked the big twinkling trees and the faux snow and the cold crisp air that reddened her nose.
She’d felt strangely content since she’d spoken with Jane after Breda’s funeral. Jane had driven them home, and when her mother had gone to bed for a nap, having nearly drunk the Walshes out of house and home, Jane had made her way down to Elle’s cottage and they had sat and talked. Jane told Elle about their father and what he had done, and contrary to Jane’s reaction, Elle’s was considered and calm because to Elle, her father’s actions made perfect sense.
Then Jane approached Elle about her own mental well-being.
“You think that there’s something wrong with me?” Elle said, and she laughed.
“I don’t know,” Jane admitted, “but when I think about things you’ve done, I worry.”
“Like what?”
“You disappear for weeks without a word.”
“I’m in my late twenties, I live in my sister’s backyard, I’m an artist who requires inspiration, and sometimes I just need to get away.”
“You sleep around with God knows who—it’s not safe.”
“That makes me a slut, not insane.”
“You nearly froze to death in the bath.”
“Because I was stoned out of my mind.”
“You burned out Vincent’s car.”
“I remember you saying you would have done the same thing at the time.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t mean it. What about the time you rescued all those dogs from pounds around Dublin and you couldn’t care for them?”
“Okay, I was pretty overzealous, but I dare you to go into one of those places and not want to save all the dogs.”
“You give away too much money.”
“Because I have it and I don’t need it.”
“You don’t have that much, and in case you hadn’t noticed, the world has changed in the last year. Money isn’t falling from the sky anymore.”
“Okay,” Elle said, “I’ll be more careful.”
“You burned your beautiful work.”
“It wasn’t good. I just couldn’t look at it anymore.”
“What about China?”
“Ah Jane, it was an accident.”
“Vincent swears it wasn’t.”
“Vincent is a liar.”
“He said you could not have missed seeing that car.”
“Jane, I was upset, I was crying, it was raining, I didn’t see the car. I need glasses, not psychiatric care.”
Jane stayed silent and thought about everything her sister made light of.
“I’m just a dick. I’ll change. I’ll grow up,” Elle promised.
“Are you sure there’s nothing you’re not telling me? Because, Elle, sometimes you look so sad.”
“We all get sad.”
“I know but …”
“But I’m fine.”
“You’ll come to me if that changes?”
“Absolutely,” Elle said, and she saluted Jane.
“Okay.”
And since that conversation Jane and Elle had been on really good terms. The incident with Dominic was all but forgotten, and Elle felt a strange lightness, like a weary passenger who knows her journey will soon end.
Elle made her way through town buying the best and most expensive presents she could find. In Brown Thomas she bought a sound system for Kurt that cost over three grand. She went into Weir and bought her sister a pair of diamond earrings valued at five grand. She bought her mother a necklace that cost four grand. She bought Leslie the most beautiful silk dress and had it boxed and paid for it to be delivered on Christmas Eve. She bought Tom an antique desk because
it was the kind of thing she thought he’d like, and even though her sister didn’t know and he didn’t know if they were a couple or if they weren’t, they would be someday. She even bought Dominic something. It was a set of golf clubs and a bag. They were far superior to the ones he’d been using since his twenties, and she figured now that his bank was being bailed out by the government and he was facing possible redundancy he’d have plenty of time to golf.
Leslie was waiting for her in the restaurant. They hugged warmly and sat. Once they had ordered, Leslie updated Elle on her love life.
“I told you so,” Elle said.
“Nobody likes the ‘told-you-so’ person.”
“So when is he moving in?” Elle asked, knowing it would irk Leslie.
“About a quarter past never,” Leslie said. “Living together? For God’s sake, Elle!” She shuffled in her seat. “We haven’t even slept together yet.”
“You are joking?”
“We’re taking it slowly.”
“Yeah, but Leslie, there’s moving slowly and then there’s going back in time.”
“It’s a big deal for me.”
“I know.”
She sighed. “I still feel …‘ugly’ is the wrong word …”
“Mangled?”
“No.”
“Butchered?”
“No, but thanks for bringing that up.”
“Unfeminine?”
“Yes,” Leslie said, “unfeminine.”
“Well,” Elle said, “you are sitting here beautifully made up, with your copper pixie hair perfectly coiffed; you’ve got your fingernails and toenails manicured and painted; you’re wearing a sexy Jersey dress to the knee that shows off your great legs, which are finished off perfectly by a pair of black high heels. When I met you over a year ago, you were a human condom in bad shoes. Trust me when I say that you are far more feminine now than you were then.”
Leslie smiled, because Elle was right. They were halfway through their main course when Leslie told Elle that she and Jim were thinking about going to Florida for Christmas.
“What do you think?” she asked.
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