Don't Worry, Life Is Easy

by Agnes Martin-Lugand

  “What’s wrong? Is it Abby?”

  “Your job, today. Is it important?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I heard you talking to Abby the other night. Answer me, and quickly, before I change my mind.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “What time does Declan finish school?”

  “Three-thirty.”

  “I’ll go get him; go to work. Will you give me your keys?”

  “Come in for two minutes.”

  “No.”

  He took his bunch of keys from his pocket and handed them to me.

  “See you later.”

  “Wait,” he said, taking hold of my arm.

  We stared at each other for a long time.

  “Thank you.”

  “No problem.”

  I whistled for Postman Pat and headed to the beach with him. Five minutes later, I heard Edward’s jeep speeding off. I threw a stick for the dog and didn’t look back.

  Three-thirty came too fast. I’d skipped lunch for fear of throwing up. I’d only opened the door to Edward’s cottage to get the dog in, putting off going back into that house. I smoked a cigarette as I walked to the school, calling myself all sorts of names. How could I have come up with such an idea? The last I’d heard, I couldn’t bear to see children; they frightened me, petrified me, reminded me of Clara. Edward had asked nothing of me and I owed him nothing. Why had I wanted to help him, do him a favor? Of course he was still important to me, he always would be, that was an indisputable fact, but to go from there to endangering my peace of mind! Was I suddenly becoming voyeuristic over this little boy, his relationship with his father, his sadness, his mourning—perhaps not so different from my own? He’d lost his mother; I’d lost my daughter. I threw my cigarette butt away a few yards from the school. It was horrific; radiant mothers with baby carriages waiting for their older children.

  Some of them recognized me from when I’d lived there, and I aroused the same curiosity as before; they looked at me, whispering to each other. I felt like saying: “I’m back, ladies!” Then the bell rang and they disappeared. A flood of children rushed out of the classrooms. It might have been Clara running out, laughing, except that Clara didn’t wear a uniform like these little Irish children, who ran all over the place looking for their mothers. Memories ate up my insides; I could hear her calling me: “Mommy, mommy, there you are!” I pictured her looking all sloppy, her hair a mess, bits of paint on her hands and face; I could smell her child’s sweaty smell, hear her chirping…

  “Diane, Diane, there you are!”

  I was brutally brought back to reality when Declan saw me.

  “My teacher told me you’d been coming to get me, this is so great!”

  “Do you want me to carry your schoolbag?”

  “Daddy never carries it.”

  Why wasn’t I surprised?

  “Well, I will.”

  He got it off his shoulder and handed it to me. We were leaving the playground when he grabbed my hand and said goodbye to his friends.

  He looked so proud. On the way to the cottage, he didn’t say anything, undoubtedly waiting for me to start the conversation. I took responsibility; it wasn’t his fault; I’d gotten in this situation all by myself. I had to take responsibility, regardless of the consequences.

  “So, how was school?”

  His face lit up with joy and he enthusiastically launched into what had happened that day. He kept talking as we went inside the house. He threw down his coat—just as messy as his father—and ran into the living room. He started playing with his dog, chattering the whole time. He didn’t notice that I’d stopped before entering the room. I was returning to this cottage, to my intimacy with Edward. In less than a few seconds, I took in two important changes: gone were the disgusting ashtrays full of cigarette butts and gone was the photo of Megan on the beach. And yet, it was impossible to imagine that a child lived here: there were no toys, no sign of felt-tip pens. I didn’t need proof, it was totally obvious: Edward had no idea what his son needed. I felt bad for both of them. I took off my jacket and hung it on the coat rack in the hall. I went behind the kitchen counter, the place I’d seen Edward stand so many times.

  “Declan, would you like a snack?”

  “Oh, yes!”

  Without much hope, I look around in the cupboards to find the ideal snack, thinking I might have spoken too soon. I was being mean. I was able to make him some hot chocolate and give him some cookies. I watched him as he wolfed them down, fighting against seeing that other image. Declan was sitting on a high stool in his father’s kitchen; Clara would have been on the barstool in the bookstore. I tried to reassure myself that their resemblance ended there. Declan no longer had his mother while Clara still had hers. Hers, a mother who was giving a snack to another child, a child who meant nothing to her.

  “Do you want to go down to the beach?”

  “With Postman Pat?”

  “Of course. Do you have any homework?”

  He frowned.

  “You do your homework and then we’ll go, OK?”

  He nodded. I went and got his schoolbag before sitting down next to him at the counter. He was in the class that was the equivalent of our kindergarten; I should be able to manage. Clara didn’t live long enough to do any homework. I leafed through his notebook: he had to read and understand one page of a book. I would have to be careful of my accent. I put the book between us and he started reading. His attention and concentration astounded me; Clara wouldn’t have been so well behaved. When we were done, I asked him to go and change his clothes, of course, before going out. He jumped down from his stool and stared at me.

  “Do you need any help?”

  “No.”

  “Is there a problem?”

  He shook his head and disappeared upstairs.

  On the beach, I just was happy to watch him run around with the dog. I never stopped interrogating myself. How was it that I could take care of this child without breaking down? Was I trying to forgive myself for having left Edward over a year ago through his son? Maybe I could do it because I was leaving in a few days and there would be no consequences in my life? That way I could remain detached from him.

  Having no idea when Edward would be getting home, I asked Declan if he wanted to have a shower when we got into the house. He went upstairs without a fight, without asking anything. I waited for about fifteen minutes before going upstairs. This hallway, this bathroom… I knocked on the door.

  “Everything OK?”

  “I do it by myself with daddy.”

  He was a little man who had no choice but to manage by himself, without expecting anything from anyone.

  “Am I allowed to go into your room?”

  “Yes.”

  I smiled sadly when I looked around. Edward had made an effort: there were toys—a racetrack, a train, some Lego, some soft toys thrown here and there on the unmade bed. But the walls were cold, with no decoration. His clothes were half put away in a dresser whose drawers were partly open, the rest still in suitcases. But seeing an armchair in the corner of the room stopped me in my tracks. Declan came in, his pajama top on backwards and his hair still wet.

  “Don’t move,” I said.

  I went to get his towel. He was waiting for me in the middle of the room, grinning from ear to ear and looking slightly shy. I rubbed his hair dry and put his top on the right way round. His beautiful eyes tried to send me a message that I refused to try to understand.

  “You’re perfect now.”

  He put his arms around my waist, pressed his face against me and hugged me tight. I could barely breathe; I looked into space and kept my arms down at my sides. Suddenly, he let go of me and went to play with his toy cars, laughing and making up stories, rejuvenated by a new feeling of joy.

  “I’m going to leave you for five minutes; I’m going outside to have a cigarette.”

  “Like daddy,” he replied, without taking any more notice of me.
r />   I ran down the stairs, grabbed my ciggies, and went outside. I lit my cigarette and called Olivier.

  “I’m happy to hear your voice,” I said as soon as he’d answered.

  “Me too, are you OK? You sound very tired.”

  Pointless to worry him by explaining what I was doing.

  “Tell me how you are, what’s happening at the bookstore, in Paris, with Felix.”

  He spoke enthusiastically. Little by little, he led me back to my home, to my life. He kept my demons at bay by giving me some air. I missed the bookstore and the emotional stability it had given me. Olivier’s gentleness, his calming simplicity… My breathing space didn’t last long; Declan had gone into the living room and was looking for me, visibly upset.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “I can’t wait for you to come back, Diane.”

  “Me too. Lots of love.”

  I went back inside. Declan smiled at me, relieved.

  “Can I watch TV, please?”

  “If you like.”

  “When will daddy get home?”

  “I don’t know. Do you want to call him?”

  “No!”

  “If you want to, you shouldn’t be afraid. Daddy will understand…”

  “No, I want to watch TV.”

  He was an expert at finding his cartoons. Given the time, I decided to make him supper. I cooked to the sound of his laughter, with Postman Pat at my feet who was waiting for me to drop something he could eat. When I caught myself smiling, I told myself once more that I wasn’t really the one doing this.

  Three-quarters of an hour later, we’d finished eating—I’d joined Declan—the dishes were done, it was nearly nine o’clock, and there was still no sign of Edward. Declan was on the couch, watching cartoons.

  “You’re going to have to go to bed,” I told him.

  He looked upset.

  “Ah…”

  He dragged himself away from the cushions and obediently turned off the television. All the happiness seemed to have drained from his face; he seemed to have withdrawn into himself.

  “I’ll come up to your room with you.”

  He nodded. When we got upstairs, he went and brushed his teeth without me having to ask him. I put on the bedside lamp and smoothed out his comforter. When he came in, he got down on all fours and looked for something under his bed. He came out with a big scarf. It wasn’t hard to guess whom it had belonged to. Then he got into bed.

  “Shall I leave the light on?”

  “Yes,” he replied, very quietly.

  “Sleep tight.”

  I hadn’t taken two steps when I heard him sobbing.

  “Stay with me.”

  Exactly what terrified me. I started by kneeling next to his bed, near his head; he looked out from under the covers and his face was distorted with sadness; he clutched his mother’s scarf to him, his wide eyes were full of tears, as if distraught by pain and how much he missed her. I reached toward him, gently, watching him to judge if I was doing the right thing; I stroked his hair. As soon as I touched him, he closed his eyes, then opened them again, begging me to do something to ease his suffering. I asked myself one question. Just one. A forbidden question: what would I have done if he were Clara? In my mind, I begged my daughter to forgive this betrayal; it was with her that I should have been doing this. Do what I had refused to do with her little dead body, tell her that everything was going to be all right, that she’d be fine, that I’d always be there for her. I stretched out alongside Declan and held him tight, breathing in how he smelled, so like a child. He snuggled against me, clung onto me and cried. For a long time, without stopping. He wanted his mother, was calling for her.

  “There, there…” I whispered.

  And then I heard a sound coming from my mouth, a sound I hadn’t heard in a very long time: a little lullaby I used to sing to Clara when she had a nightmare. My voice did not quiver, even though tears fell freely down my face. We were both crying for the same loss. We were in the same place, an abyss where we suffered because we missed someone so much. Little by little, Declan’s sobbing subsided.

  “Are you a mother, Diane?” he asked me, hiccoughing.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because you do the same things my mother did…”

  Children have a sixth sense when it comes to finding a weakness. This little boy proved that my actions, my words were imbued, branded by motherhood, by the person I used to be, whether I liked it or not.

  “I used to be a mother…”

  “Why used to?”

  “My little girl, Clara… she went away like your mother.”

  “Do you think they’re together?”

  “Maybe.”

  “My mommy will be kind to her, so don’t worry.”

  I hugged him close and rocked him, crying silently.

  “Can you sing the song again?”

  I sang. He breathed more easily.

  An hour went by before I heard the front door open. Edward called out to me; I didn’t reply for fear of waking Declan, who was still in my arms; I hadn’t let go of him for a second. Edward climbed the stairs four at a time and froze when he got to the doorway of his son’s room. He leaned onto the doorframe for support, clenched his fists, looked towards the heavens, clearly wishing to flee the scene. He, too, was suffering in this situation. I understood why the armchair was in the room; he must have slept there, to watch over Declan. I gave him a look that ordered him to be quiet. In his sleep, Declan struggled slightly when I let go of him. I placed his mother’s scarf as close to his face as I could, and stopped myself from kissing his forehead. I’d done enough. I walked out past Edward, who looked exhausted. He followed me downstairs. I put on my jacket and opened the front door. I was walking away when he decided to speak.

  “I’m really sorry I got back so late. I should have spared you that.”

  “I have to go.”

  “Thank you for taking care of Declan.”

  I gestured it was nothing, still with my back to him.

  “Diane, look at me.”

  “No.”

  He gently took my arm, turned me around, and saw that my face was covered in tears.

  “What happened? What’s wrong?”

  He was about to take my face in his strong hands when I quickly pulled away.

  “Don’t touch me… please. Nothing’s wrong, nothing happened. Declan was adorable.”

  I ran to my car and drove as fast as I could to Jack and Abby’s. I spent a long time in floods of tears over the steering wheel. Children brought too much suffering, too much pain, whether they were living or dead. Declan’s pain was unbearable to me; I so wanted to be able to help him, but it was more than I could manage, and I refused to betray Clara. She would think I was abandoning her again. I’d abandoned her when I let her go in the car, I’d abandoned her when I hadn’t said goodbye, I couldn’t abandon her by playing at being a mother to Declan, or any other child. I had no right.

  When I went into the living room, I found Abby, in her bathrobe, sitting in a rocking chair in front of the fire. She gestured for me to come closer. I staggered over to her, collapsed to the ground and put my head on her knees. She stroked my hair as I stared at the flames.

  “I want my daughter, Abby.”

  “I know… you’re so brave. I’m sure you did Declan a lot of good.”

  “He’s in so much pain.”

  “Like you.”

  Several minutes passed.

  “What about you? How did it go at the doctor’s?”

  “I’m tired. I’m slowly fading away.”

  I hugged her knees more tightly.

  “No, not you… You don’t have the right to leave us.”

  “It’s natural that I go, Diane. And I’ll watch over all of them. Put your mind at rest. Have a cry now; you’ll feel better.”

  I decided to spend the next day with Abby and Jack. I felt the need to focus on the main reason for my trip to Mulranny a
nd not think about Declan and his father. The days were speeding by; my time with Abby was coming to an end. Judith was arriving in less than twenty-four hours, then it would be over. Abby was tired by the day before, so we spent the whole day at home. In the late afternoon, Jack went for a walk on the beach. He couldn’t spend an entire day locked in the house; the call of the fresh air was stronger than anything.

  We were both settled in the living room with a cup of tea.

  “What are your plans?” she asked me.

  “Oh… I don’t really know… I think I’ll just keep going the way I have. I like it in my bookstore; I own it now…”

  “And what about your fiancé?

  She smiled at me.

  “Olivier isn’t my fiancé, Abby.”

  “Ah, young people today! Are you happy with him? Is he good to you, at least?”

  “I couldn’t have found anyone kinder or more considerate.”

  “That’s a good thing… I hope that Edward will find the same happiness as you…”

  She stared straight at me. I knew what she was thinking, and I refused to have that conversation.

  “Please, Abby…”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t make myself a nuisance. But we worry so much about him and Declan. Edward suffered a great deal when he lost his mother, and also by the horrible way my brother, his father, behaved… When I see him today… I know what he’ll do to make sure he doesn’t make the same mistakes: he’ll put his son before himself.”

  “He’s strong; I’m sure he’ll cope…”

  Her attachment to Edward and Judith was as deep as if she were their real mother. There was a question I was dying to ask her.

  “Is it because you were taking care of them that you and Jack never had any children?”

  “No… it was so long ago, and yet…”

  She gazed out into the distance, overwhelmed by a wave of sadness.

  “We lost two babies. I never had the chance to spend any time with them, but I understand your suffering over your little girl…”

  Tears came to my eyes.