Where the Love Gets In

by Tara Heavey

  Suddenly the guilt that Sarah was accustomed to feeling around Fiona morphed into resentment. She gave the other woman a tight smile. ‘Thanks for the wallet. I’d really better go.’

  ‘Of course, I’m keeping you. Goodbye, Sarah.’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  Sarah walked away, feeling rude, unfriendly, small-minded and petty. She didn’t like herself very much.

  Their marriage was back on track.

  That was good.

  That was what she had wanted.

  Chapter 25

  The only time she didn’t feel lonely was when she was in the sea. That had become her truth. The loneliness had sneaked up on her and taken her by surprise. She had always had so much going on in her life that she’d never been lonely. Even when Mitch had walked out, even when she’d been in the chemo ward – both times when she’d felt desperate and frightened and alone – she had never felt lonely. But now loneliness seemed almost constant. It was in her bones and the only time it seemed to lift was when she was in the water. Maybe it couldn’t swim. She imagined it was her familiar, a cat that padded right up to the shoreline with her, watched her in the water, waited patiently until she was done, then resumed its position as her constant companion once she was on land.

  The water was also where she was most able to ignore what was staring her in the face, the signs she was choosing to pretend weren’t there. But the worry was still sneaking in through the back door, gnawing away at the furthermost reaches of her mind. The nausea. The constant desire to pee. The heartburn. And, most of all, the ongoing, debilitating tiredness, which made it so hard to cope with Maia at times and robbed her of some of the joy of watching her daughter progress. The last time she’d felt like this was almost eight years ago. Denial was the only thing that stopped her spiralling into complete panic so she was clinging to it for dear life and swimming. Swimming a lot.

  As she walked along to the cove one morning she distracted herself by trying to figure out exactly what the dolphin did for people. She came to the conclusion that a large part of it was that when you were with her you forgot about everything else. You were forced into total present-moment awareness, unable to focus on anything but this incredible encounter. And in that experience you got a brief holiday from your thoughts – whatever incessant, obsessive thoughts happened to be driving you mad at that particular time. It wasn’t the only thing but it was part of it. And that was the part Sarah was embracing right now as she forgot everything that had ever gone wrong in her life and entered the water – entered the present moment – with Star.

  She wasn’t the only one in the water that day. There were lots of people. Holidaymakers, most of them. Some had come to see the dolphin. To others she was a magical surprise. There were lots of children flapping around. Sarah estimated her chances of getting near Star today as practically zero. Star always gravitated towards the children when they were there, and that was as it should be.

  Sarah drifted along on her back, some distance away from the hullabaloo. She was gifted with the sun, its beams resting gently on her face. She closed her eyes and revelled. The good thing about floating was that if you didn’t relax you sank. A kind of disciplined relaxation. Which made her think again that she really should try meditation. But something always stopped her.

  She was amazed at the whooshing sensation around her. Amazed because it meant that Star had come to see her when there were so many new friends to make. She lifted her head, lowered her legs and trod water. She could see Star’s dorsal fin a few feet away. She was swimming towards her, slowly enough. Sarah couldn’t see her but she knew she was doing that thing she did, that barely perceptible side to side movement of the head. Then the fin disappeared and Sarah waited to see where she’d resurface. It could be anywhere. But what happened still took her off guard. Star had come up beneath her and tapped her belly with her snout. Had she imagined it? She took a deep breath and put her face under the water. Star was close by, as if watching her. To Sarah’s amazement, she did the same thing again, swam up to her slowly, head wagging from side to side, and gave her stomach a gentle head butt. Then she swam back towards the crowds.

  Sarah watched her tail retreating. Aidan had told her about how dolphins could ‘see’ inside you. It was their ultrasound. Like when you had a scan. Like when you were having a baby.

  Sarah bought a test on the way home because she was no longer able to escape the truth, even under water. She peed on the stick, flushed and adjusted her clothing. Then she washed her hands and picked up the stick again. Nothing was happening. She looked at her watch. Give it another minute. She did. She frowned. It was negative.

  She had thought that a positive result would be the worst possible outcome. She had thought wrong. Negative was even more negative. She had time to go to the doctor before Maia came home. Instead she chose to vacuum the house from top to bottom, tidying as she went. She knew she wouldn’t have the energy afterwards. And if she could at least get her house in order, it would be some defence against the chaos that was threatening beneath. She wouldn’t be overwhelmed. She refused to be. She looked at her watch again. Too late to go to the doctor’s now. She’d have to leave it. Maia would be home soon and that was more important. That was her priority.

  That night she lay awake, staring unseeingly into the darkness, her two hands clamped against her belly, holding down the rising tide of panic. This proved a full-time job. She couldn’t let go for one single solitary second or it would all come flooding through and she would drown.

  In the morning she was still holding on. Just about. She knew she had to go to the doctor. But not Fiona. God, no. She’d go to the other woman doctor in the surgery. What was her name? It didn’t matter. She’d find out when she got there. She watched Maia nibble the cereal on her spoon. She didn’t have the heart or the stomach to eat anything herself. She got them both ready and left the house.

  The morning was cold. At least, it seemed so to Sarah, whose bones felt so exposed and vulnerable to every stray breeze. Maia tiptoed along beside her. The surgery was quiet, just one old woman and herself: it seemed that most of the bugs had left town for the summer. She and the old woman were the same. Sarah felt that instinctively. The woman stared into space, as if unaware of or uninterested in their presence. She was in another realm, past caring. Sarah knew how that felt.

  She spoke to the receptionist – Betty or Beth, something beginning with B. Could she see the doctor who wasn’t Fiona? She didn’t put it like that. No, she couldn’t. It was Fiona who was on duty today. Sarah nodded vaguely, easily defeated, and sat down again. The old woman went in. Sarah sat there. Maia played with her piece of string. The old woman came out. Sarah was called. Maia played with the string. It was all part of a dream. Fiona was part of the dream. Her words couldn’t break through.

  ‘What can I do for you today?’

  Sarah felt her own words, buzzing outside her head.

  ‘Pop up there on the couch.’

  ‘Pop’. Doctors were forever wanting you to pop up onto things.

  Fiona palpated her belly. Sarah stared at the hairline cracks in the ceiling. Then at the frown lines on Fiona’s forehead as her hands travelled back over Sarah’s belly, feeling again, kneading again. Sarah was a piece of dough. Ready to be rolled out.

  ‘You can get up now.’

  Sarah sat on the edge of the couch, her legs dangling childishly. Her head had righted itself but her thoughts stayed jumbled. She looked at Fiona.

  Fiona’s worried, she thought dispassionately. Poor Fiona.

  ‘I can feel a mass in your abdomen. You need to get it checked out right away.’

  A mass. Sarah thought of a priest at an altar. Lifting up his hands as he preached to a congregation of tiny people in her stomach.

  ‘There are tests I could do, but it’s much better if you go directly to a gynaecologist. I’m going to give you a referral letter.’ Fiona was writing furiously on a piece of notepaper. She stopped as abruptly as she�
��d started. ‘Fuck it. I’ll ring her.’

  Sarah slipped silently off the couch and into her chair like a blob. Maia was under the couch, fascinated by its workings. Fiona dialled, her legs coiled around themselves, her jaw tense.

  ‘Dr Patel’s secretary, please.’ She looked at Sarah and smiled tightly. ‘Oh, hello, Fiona McDaid here. I’d like an immediate appointment, please, for one of my patients.’

  Sarah registered the garbled sounds at the other end.

  ‘Yes, it is.’ Fiona sounded so reassuring. No wonder Aidan had married her.

  ‘Oh, yes. That would be wonderful, thank you.’ Fiona put down the phone, wrote something and handed it to Sarah. ‘She’ll see you tomorrow morning.’

  Another night like last night. Sarah folded the paper without looking at it and put it into her wallet, like a receipt.

  ‘She’s excellent, this woman. One of the best.’

  Sarah failed to do her part to fill the silence.

  ‘It could be nothing,’ said Fiona.

  Sarah got up. She had told lies to Fiona. It was only fitting that Fiona should now tell lies to her.

  They walked home slowly along the pier. They came to the bollard where she’d first met Aidan. Sarah sat down and watched the midday sun. She stared directly into it. Inadvisedly. As if she didn’t need her eyes any more. Then she watched Maia playing on the sand. Round and round her daughter spun, her arms outstretched, her face tilted skyward. The sun spinning around on her axis. Sarah wanted to join her, wanted to be her. Wanted to be anyone but herself. To shed her skin. Shed her body. Maybe she was about to.

  Stage four. Was that better or worse than stage one? It was the same with third-degree burns. She could never remember if they were better or worse than first degree. These were the irrelevancies that were crowding her mind, crowding out the thought that she was going to have to think. There was no mistaking, however, the look on the consultant’s face.

  ‘I’m so sorry. I’m sure the tests will confirm my diagnosis.’

  How many times a week did she have to say that? Extend her sympathy, part professional, part human. That was what she’d do. She’d focus on the other woman for a while. How difficult for her to have to impart such dreadful news.

  Sarah found she was developing goose pimples all over her skin. Her peripheral vision seemed to have vanished and only a tunnel remained. She felt it was good that she was sitting down. The consultant sat down beside her. Put a white, sterile arm about her shoulder. She’d been so busy concentrating on her breast that she’d forgotten all about her ovaries. Had never given them a second thought. Presumed they were just sitting there doing what ovaries did best. Not rotting themselves and her other organs.

  ‘Is there someone I can call for you?’

  Sarah shook her head, then said, ‘No. A taxi.’

  The woman nodded and made the call. She had beautiful caramel skin and thick, shiny black hair in a long rope down her back.

  When she’d finished, Sarah spoke, her voice sounding very far away. ‘How long?’

  ‘No time at all. There’s one waiting outside.’

  ‘No. How long?’

  ‘Oh. Not long, Sarah. You really should have someone with you.’

  ‘I’m all right. How long?’

  ‘A couple of months. Probably less.’

  ‘Okay.’ She got up.

  ‘I’ll walk out with you.’

  ‘There’s no need.’

  ‘I don’t think you should be on your own.’

  ‘I’m used to it.’

  Sarah walked out of the office on unknown legs, following the signs to the exit. The consultant shadowed her at a discreet distance. After watching her get into the taxi and being driven away, she went back to her office and rang Fiona McDaid.

  Chapter 26

  Aidan’s mobile rang as he was getting out of the shower. He’d just been for a swim and he was feeling fine. The phone slipped out of his hand on its third ring. It skidded across the tiles. He chased and retrieved, feeling like Rufus. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Aidan, love, it’s me.’

  ‘Fi.’

  ‘I need you to do something for me.’

  ‘What’s wrong? You sound funny.’

  ‘Oh, Aidan, I’ve just heard the most terrible news.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s Sarah Dillon.’

  His blood stopped flowing, just for a second. ‘What about her?’

  ‘She’s got stage-four ovarian cancer.’

  The seconds ticked by.

  ‘Is that …’

  ‘Terminal. Yes. She has only months to live. Weeks, maybe. Poor Sarah. Did she ever speak to you about her family?’ She paused. ‘Aidan!’

  ‘Sorry. She has a sister in the States.’

  ‘Right. That’s not much good to us. Look, I need you to go directly to her house. She’s on her way back in a taxi as we speak. Just be there when she gets home, won’t you? If she sends you away, so be it. But just so she has someone. I’d go myself but I’ve got back-to-back patients for the rest of the day. I’ll call in later. Are you still there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’ll do it, then?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thanks, love. I’ll call you in a while. See how you got on.’

  Aidan moved around the bedroom like a man in a trance. He got dressed. Then he packed a small bag. He knew he wouldn’t be coming back.

  The taxi man kept staring at her. Was it because he recognized her or because she looked as strange as she felt? She didn’t think she was crying. She touched her cheeks to make sure. No. Completely dry. Maybe she was talking to herself. She kept saying the same words over and over in her head. She might have said them aloud without realizing. I’m dying. I’m dying. Did it make it any more real?

  ‘I’m dying.’ This time she did say it out loud, as a kind of experiment. The man’s eyes widened in alarm and snapped away from hers. She laughed, ever so slightly. Then she stopped. She looked out of the window. Everything seemed different. Even the sky had a surreal orange tinge. A sense of foreboding was everywhere, lurking behind every tree, every crowd, behind every smile. Her body began to shake. Oh, God. An incredible fear overcame her. There was nowhere to hide. No escape. Then the feeling went away. Because the thought was impossible to comprehend. At least she wouldn’t need chemo. She laughed at her own black humour. Wouldn’t need it because there wasn’t any point.

  The taxi-driver was asking for directions now. She told him where to go as if she was normal – as if everything was the same as it had been when she had left the house that morning. Suddenly they were outside her home and there was Aidan. What was he doing? He shouldn’t be there. He was paying the taxi man, talking to him, opening her door, unstrapping her seatbelt, holding out his hand to her. She wasn’t surprised to see him. Although he shouldn’t be there. It was like being in a dream. You were living in a house, except it wasn’t your house. You were living with a man, except he wasn’t your husband. Somehow he had her key and he was opening her door. He had his other arm around her waist and she kind of fell against him. He half carried her over the threshold and into the sitting room where he deposited her on the couch. Sarah automatically curled her legs up beneath her. Aidan crouched in front of her, his eyes level with hers, his hands on either side of her legs. ‘What do you need?’ he said.

  ‘Whiskey.’

  ‘Whiskey. Right.’ He got up decisively and began to search the house for a bottle. Sarah wanted to call out and tell him it was in the press above the fridge, but she couldn’t find her voice. He discovered it in due course and brought her a shot in a wholly unsuitable glass. He handed it to her and sat beside her on the floor. ‘Get that down you, girl.’ He rubbed her calf as she drank. ‘Is Maia with Bridget?’

  She nodded.

  When she’d finished the whiskey, he took the glass from her and stood it on a side table. Then he got up on the couch and wrapped his arms around her as tight as they would go.
/>   Sarah slept for a good two hours. Even the doorbell didn’t wake her. Aidan gently disentangled his limbs from hers and got up to answer it, straightening out the kinks in his body as he went. It was Bridget and Maia. Bridget turned her surprise into a tactful smile. Maia, who hadn’t seen him in a good month, walked right past him as if he were a constant feature in the house.

  ‘Look, Bridget …’ he started. He kept his voice quiet. He knew her, of course, had done since she was a kid. Just like he knew everyone in this town. ‘Sarah got some bad news today.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘So she might need you to mind Maia more than usual over the next few weeks. How are you fixed?’

  ‘Yeah. That should be all right. Is there anything I can do?

  Bridget craned her neck past him into the hall, as if trying to garner a clue.

  ‘We’re grand for now, thanks. I’ll be in touch.’

  He closed the door on her surprised face. She was doubtless wondering what it had to do with him.

  Back inside, he found Maia attempting to wake her mother, shaking her by the shoulder. He watched Sarah come to, the glazed expression overtaken by the automatic delight at seeing her daughter. Maia was clutching something in her hand. She thrust it at Sarah. It was a single buttercup.

  ‘Fower, Mama.’

  Sarah sat forward. ‘Did you just call me “Mama”?’

  ‘Mama.’

  ‘Oh, good girl, good girl.’ She laughed and tried to hug her, but Maia stood rigid. And that was when the first tears fell.

  Aidan rocked Sarah well into the evening. It must be evening by now, he thought. He couldn’t see the clock from where he was lying and he didn’t want to move for fear of disturbing her. But the time was getting closer. Several messages had beeped onto his phone. He hadn’t got up to check them. Eventually Sarah went to lie down on her bed for a while. Aidan sat downstairs staring into space.

  The bell rang. Aidan got up to answer the door. His wife stood in front of him. ‘So you are still here. The boys said you hadn’t taken the boat out. Is she in a bad way?’