by Tara Heavey
‘Not at the minute. She’s upstairs resting.’
Fiona bustled past him and straight into Sarah’s sitting room. ‘Why don’t you go home and get yourself some dinner? There’s a lasagne in the freezer. I’ll take over here.’ She was unbuttoning her jacket as he followed her in.
‘No. I’m staying.’
‘It’s very good of you, Aidan, but there’s really no need. She could probably do with a woman to talk to. And she might have some medical questions. Did she ring her sister yet?’
‘She hasn’t, no.’
‘Did you ring her?’
‘No, I –’
‘Well, she’s going to need someone looking after her.’
‘She will have someone.’
‘Who?’
‘Me.’
‘You?’ Fiona stared up at him, not taking it in.
‘I’m really sorry, Fiona.’
‘For what? What are you talking about?’
‘I’m going to stay here and look after Sarah. Move in.’
‘But that’s ridiculous. Sure, we hardly know her.’
Aidan looked down at his feet. Though he had known he’d be having this conversation with Fiona ever since he had taken her call, he had not prepared for it. All he could think about was Sarah. And in all the times he had thought about leaving Fiona when he and Sarah were together, he had never imagined how he would tell his wife. He was burning up with shame.
The downward look was all it took. He could sense Fiona becoming dangerously still.
‘Have you been having a … Is there something going on?’
He raised his head and looked her in the eyes. The time for subterfuge was over. ‘Not lately. But there was in the past.’
‘Oh, my God.’ Fiona fell into a chair, covered her face with her hands, bent over at the waist and started rocking. ‘I can’t believe this. I can’t believe this is happening. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God.’
‘Fi, I’m …’ He reached out to touch her arm but she swiped his hand away.
‘Don’t touch me.’
Aidan put it back into his pocket and stood there meekly, allowing his wife’s wrath to find its voice, knowing he would deserve everything that was coming to him.
She stopped rocking, stood up, walked behind the chair and gripped the back, as if to create a barrier between herself and her husband. ‘And to think I sent you over here today. What kind of fucking fool does that make me?’
‘You’re not –’
‘Shut up.’
‘I don’t –’
‘I said shut up,’ she growled, and in the silence that followed, they regarded each other in mutual horror.
‘I can’t believe this,’ she said, and began pacing in circles. ‘All those times. All that time you were acting so strangely. That was it, wasn’t it? You were seeing her.’ She stopped to look at him and he nodded. She paced some more and then stopped in front of him. ‘You’re really staying?’ Her voice was soft now.
‘Yes.’
‘I won’t even have the satisfaction of kicking you out.’
‘I’ll collect the rest of my stuff tomorrow.’
‘The rest of your stuff. You mean you already have some things with you?’
He nodded again.
‘Do you have any idea what you’re doing?’
He didn’t say a word.
‘You’re willing to throw away everything we have for a woman who’s going to be dead in a couple of months?’
‘I love her.’ His words were quiet. Firm. Shocking. He hadn’t expected to say it, but now she knew.
‘I thought you loved me.’
‘I do, Fi. But this is different.’
‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’
He hung his head.
Fiona stepped right up to him and hissed, ‘Do you really think she’d look twice at the likes of you if she wasn’t sick?’ She walked out of the house, then faced him as she stood on the doorstep. ‘You’re really going to stay here?’ She was incredulous.
‘This is something I have to do. I can’t explain it.’
She shuddered and turned on her heel.
Fiona’s sandals click-clacked efficiently along the pavement, as if nothing was wrong with the rest of her. She kept expecting Aidan to follow her, for her own footsteps to be joined by those of her husband, for him to run after her and tell her it had all been a terrible mistake. A sick joke. But that didn’t happen. She walked as fast as her maverick legs could carry her, relieved that she’d brought her car and didn’t have to walk the whole way home, bumping into people who might want to stop for a chat on this pleasant summer’s evening. It happened now.
‘Lovely evening, Dr McDaid.’
She set her face in smile mode and quickened her pace as her patient slowed down, probably preparing for a speech about her bunions. It was all she could do to stop herself breaking into a run. Just one more corner and her car would be in sight. She rifled in her bag for her keys, praying she wouldn’t meet anyone else, her entire being focused on getting to her car. Made it. Her Renault was now in sight. She was close enough to click the locks open.
‘Fiona!’
Somebody called her name from across the square. She raised a hand in salute, without turning to see who it was. She all but lunged at her car and bundled herself into the driver’s seat, her mask slipping rapidly. She couldn’t let it go just yet – she was still in public and it was broad daylight. This should be happening on a dark November night. The person, whoever it was she had snubbed, would get over it. They’d soon find out the reason for her odd behaviour anyway. Soon the whole town would know.
Fiona reversed the car in a dangerous arc, blessed that no one was behind her, and sped off in the direction of home. Her breathing became ragged now. She forced herself to slow it down, the doctor in her overtaking the patient. It was good in a way to have something to focus on, something as fundamental as her breath. It stopped her thinking. There were two sets of traffic-lights between where she was and where she wanted to be – her own front door – and both were red. She drummed her fingers on the steering-wheel. ‘Come on, come on.’
There was one car in front, between her and the lights. They turned green. The other car failed to react straight away.
‘Come on!’ she screamed, a whisker away from blasting the other driver out of it with her horn. Not a good idea. A neighbour.
The car moved off and she trailed its snail’s pace. Until home. Oh, thank God. She could feel this terrible thing building up inside her and soon it would be impossible to contain. Tommy was out, staying at a friend’s house. Thank God. Thank God. Thank God. She repeated this as she walked up to the front door. She opened it. Closed it behind her. Leaned her back against it. And screamed until there was no breath left in her body. There was nobody to hear her, only Rufus, who pricked up his ears and wondered when Aidan would be back to take him out for his walk.
Chapter 27
It was the middle of the night. Aidan woke up and didn’t know where he was. He’d been having a dream. The sea levels were rising. He was with Fiona and the kids, except the kids were still small. They were all going to drown. He remembered where he was and sat up in the dark. He groped around on the bedside table and found a glass of water. He took a couple of deep gulps as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The first thing he noticed was the lack of rhythmic breathing. Then he saw that one half of the bed was empty. As his eyes adjusted further, he discerned a dark shape at the window. Sarah was seated on the windowsill, partially obscured by the curtains. Aidan positioned himself on the edge of the bed closest to her. He was still fully clothed. He felt like shit. But that was irrelevant. He wanted to say something. How are you? How are you doing? Something like that. But the words seemed hopelessly inappropriate and inadequate. Instead, he stood up briefly, stroked the side of her arm and sat down again.
Sarah didn’t move. She didn’t speak either. Not for a long while. Then she said: ‘What are you doing h
ere, Aidan?’
He looked through the darkness at her. Unsure. Trying to make out her features. ‘Just being here with you.’
‘I know that. But why aren’t you at home?’
‘Because you need me more.’
‘What did you tell Fiona?’
‘That I’ll be staying here.’
‘As my nurse?’
‘No, as your …’ He trailed off. And for the first time it occurred to him that she might not want him.
‘Did you tell her about us?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, Aidan.’
He couldn’t see, but he had the impression that she’d covered her face with her hands. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘What do you mean, “what’s wrong”? You know what’s wrong. You’ve only gone and ruined your life.’
‘I don’t see it that way.’
‘Well, you should.’
They were quiet for a while. Sarah seemed numb. He grasped for the right words. ‘You need me.’ It was the best he could come up with.
‘So does your wife.’
‘Not as much as you do.’
‘I’m going to be fine.’
‘But, Sarah …’
‘I’m going to get a second opinion and I’m going to continue taking my supplements and I’m going to completely change my diet. Nothing but organic fruit and vegetables from now on.’
Aidan didn’t reply – he couldn’t. He was struck dumb by the unexpected level of her denial. Was it possible? Hadn’t Fiona said …? ‘But stage four. That’s …’
‘Oh, my God. You think I’m going to die, don’t you?’ And with that she burst into a fit of loud and uncontrollable sobs.
Aidan lifted her off the windowsill and onto the bed beside him. The moon was still behind the darkest cloud. He couldn’t see her face properly, not even at this close proximity. Her sobs stopped as abruptly as they had started. She was sniffing loudly and wiping her cheeks with her hands. ‘Miracles happen all the time, you know.’
‘I know.’
‘You hear about these things, don’t you?’
‘You do.’
She leaned heavily against him and he sensed her relax. ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ she said.
‘Me too.’
Tommy had found his mother in the kitchen. The scene was unprecedented: the upper half of her body was sprawled across the table, her face obscured by her hair, her arms lying loose above her head. And a bottle of vodka standing upright. One third full. No glass. Tommy felt the hairs do something strange at the back of his neck.
‘Mam.’ He shook her shoulder gently. Fiona started and mumbled something incoherent. Then she kind of rolled herself up and blinked blearily. Tommy watched in horror as she wiped the drool from the side of her mouth, and saw her own horror as she registered what she was doing. She sat upright and looked around. Her face was all creased and the light was clearly hurting her eyes. ‘What’s wrong, Mam?’
Fiona rubbed her face.
‘Has something happened?’
‘Ask your father.’ She scraped back the chair and plodded out of the room.
Tommy knew his father wasn’t there. His car was missing from the driveway and, besides, he could feel his absence in the house. He picked up the phone and dialled Aidan’s mobile number. Probably switched off. Nothing new there. Aidan hated mobiles and had to be forced to carry one. Where would he be at this hour of the morning? It was barely eight. Maybe down on the beach. But that wouldn’t explain the missing car.
Tommy heard the shower being switched on upstairs. God knew, she could do with one. He would have thought he’d be delighted to catch his mother in such a condition – she was always going on at him about the dangers of alcohol. But the reality was something different altogether. Scary. He felt as if his whole world had shifted on its axis. He tried his father’s phone again.
Aidan stretched out his body as best he could. He seemed to have kinks and cricks in every joint. He had slept fitfully and awkwardly, cradling Sarah. He thought longingly of the bathroom at home. Sarah had only a crude shower attachment in hers.
His thoughts turning to other matters, he rooted around in his pocket for his phone and switched it on. His jacket was draped over the back of the chair, covering Sarah’s discarded clothes. One missed call. Home. He felt a twisting sensation in his gut. He put the phone back into his pocket. Sarah was still asleep. Still in the foetal position that his contorted arm had been trying to support. She’d been sleeping a lot since her visit to the consultant. Her body’s reaction to the shock, Aidan thought. Maybe she just didn’t want to be awake. He lowered himself back down and turned over to look at her. She was wearing a blue and green oversized checked shirt. Possibly the long-lost property of a long-lost boyfriend. He felt a ridiculous pang of jealousy. It wasn’t as if she was likely to leave him for somebody else. He, Aidan Ryan, would be the last man in her life. She had saved the last dance for him. The last dance by default.
It was twenty-four hours – less – since the universe had turned itself inside out. Since the impossible had become possible and the unthinkable thinkable. But not sayable. Not yet. Not out loud. His phone rang. He looked anxiously for a few seconds at his vibrating pocket before fishing it out. Home. Wherever that was. He braced himself before pressing the green button. Fiona deserved an answer. Not to mention the opportunity to abuse him.
‘Hello.’
‘Dad, where are you?’
Tommy. His stomach back-flipped. This was even worse. ‘Tom. How are you doing? I just stayed overnight at a friend’s house.’
‘I thought that might be it.’ His voice sounded relieved. ‘Too much to drink?’
‘Something like that.’
‘You’re not the only one. Mam’s had a skinful. She’s in a right state.’ Tommy paused, clearly waiting for a reaction. He didn’t get one. ‘Has something happened?’ And his tone was worried once more.
‘Look, Tom, something has happened. I can’t talk about it over the phone. I need to meet up with you this morning.’
‘What is it?’
‘You need to give me about an hour.’ He glanced at Sarah’s sleeping form, thought about Maia in the next room. ‘Meet me on the beach. At our spot.’
‘Dad, you’re freaking me out.’
‘Don’t worry, Tom. It’s going to be all right. Your mother, is she in a very bad way?’
‘Well, she’s hung-over. Although she could still be rat-arsed. She’s after getting through almost an entire bottle of vodka. Mam never drinks that, sure she doesn’t.’
She didn’t. Then again, it wasn’t every day she heard that her husband was leaving her for a dying woman.
In an effort to bring some sense of normality to the situation, Tommy turned on the radio. A familiar programme, familiar voices. Then he opened the fridge door and did his customary ten-second stare. Eggs, he thought. Scrambled eggs. Everything would seem more normal after breakfast.
After a mammoth feed, Tommy went upstairs nervously. His parents’ bedroom door was closed. He was tempted to bypass it, go straight to his room, grab his wetsuit and his board, catch some waves before he met his dad. But some innate decency propelled him forward. He rapped gingerly on the door. ‘Mam.’
No reply. He knocked louder. Called out louder: ‘Mam.’
Still nothing. Feeling slightly panicked, he edged the door ever so slightly open. He could see his mother. She was sitting on the floor, facing him, propped up against the bed. She seemed hardly to notice him. She was wearing her dressing-gown and staring directly ahead.
‘Mam.’
He entered the room. Not knowing what else to do – this kind of thing falling right outside his usual remit – he sat on the floor beside her, folding his long body into a more manageable size, extending one leg outward, clasping his other knee with both hands. It was weird, being bigger than your own mother, though the fact remained that this compact little woman still had infinite power over him. He glanced anxiou
sly at the side of her face. She was horribly pale and her features were kind of pinched. As if everything had shrunk and fallen in on itself. He realized with some consternation that she’d been crying. Mam never cried.
‘Are you sick, Mam?’
‘I’m not sick, no.’
‘What is it, then?’
She turned to him. ‘You haven’t spoken to your father, then?’
Why did she keep saying ‘your father’? What was wrong with ‘Dad’?
‘I have. Just for a minute on the phone. He wouldn’t tell me what was wrong either. I’m meeting him in a while.’
She looked straight ahead again and paused for a few seconds before speaking. ‘He’s left me, Tom.’
The words reverberated meaninglessly in Tommy’s head. What did she mean, left her? He was only staying with a friend. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean he’s left me. Our marriage. Our home.’
‘But … left? Where? Where’s he gone?’
‘He’s moved in with Sarah Dillon.’
Sarah Dillon? The actress? The words now felt as if they were in his chest – his hollow chest – knocking around inside. ‘I don’t believe it. Why would he do that? Sarah Dillon? It doesn’t make any sense.’
‘He says he loves her.’
Tommy thought he was going to be sick. This was way too adult for him. Too real. Then, compounding everything, his mother started to cry. His mother! Right in front of him. He had an overwhelming urge to run out of the room, but his limbs failed to respond. It was as if he was frozen by the horror of it all. His mother seemed embarrassed to be crying in front of him too. She hid her face in her hand and the noises she made were stifled. They weren’t full-blown sobs, although Tommy felt they would have been had he not been there. Feeling himself in completely unknown territory, he placed a hand tentatively on his mother’s shoulder. Judging by the way she instantly leaned against him, he’d done the right thing. Her crying intensified, though. That wasn’t good.
They sat like that for quite a long time, Fiona and Tommy, mother and son, their roles reversed for the very first time. Never before had Tommy had to look after her. A small part of him rose to the occasion and became an adult that day. The rest of him remained downright terrified. Who was going to look after him now? Who was left to turn to? He spoke gently, once his mother’s sobs had subsided: ‘Can I get you anything?’ It was what one said in such situations.
