Where the Love Gets In

by Tara Heavey

‘There isn’t going to be a party.’

  He felt as if she’d kicked him in the solar plexus. ‘What do you mean, there isn’t?’

  ‘I’m not going to make it to my fortieth birthday. It’s as simple as that.’

  They stared long and hard at each other, their respective breathing audible in the darkened room.

  ‘I won’t have you giving up on me, Sarah. You have to have something to hang on to.’

  ‘No, Aidan. Not any more. It’s time to let go.’

  Her words horrified him. He sat, rooted to the spot, as she lay down again. ‘I’m tired,’ she said. ‘I need you to leave now so I can sleep.’

  ‘But you’ve only just woken up.’

  She didn’t respond, just closed her eyes. He stayed by her side until her breathing had established a rhythm. Then he wandered out to the landing, his eyes adjusting to the relative brightness there. He felt alone and completely unequipped for what he was dealing with. He needed to talk to someone. And the someone he needed to talk to, above every other someone on the planet, was Fiona. He smiled grimly at the irony. Fiona would know what to do. Fiona, with her unflinching ability to tackle situations head-on. Yet she was the one person in the world he couldn’t talk to and that was entirely down to him. He hoped she was doing better than he was. This seemed likely in the circumstances. He knew she was back – Tommy had told him – and that she was working. Which was a sign that she was piecing together the life he had blown apart.

  He was downstairs now, sitting on the couch, his face in his hands. Everywhere there was pain. Everywhere he turned, everywhere he looked. Some of it of his own making. Some of it not. Psychological pain. Physical pain. He didn’t know which was worse. But he knew he couldn’t deal with it all on his own.

  Sarah’s handbag was on the seat beside him. He stared at it for a few seconds before dipping his hand inside. He quickly found what he was looking for: her address book. Small and flowery and tattered. Sarah was a pen-and-paper girl. He searched for names that sounded familiar, then began to make calls.

  Sarah was staring at a rectangular patch of sunlight on her bedroom wall. She wondered at the source, then realized she hadn’t closed her curtains properly. A gap shone through. The patch of light danced with the leaves of the tree outside her window. The breeze picked up and the leaf shadows moved in a frenzy. She even saw a bird. It landed briefly on a twig, then off again, its tiny wings reflected. She had sound effects too. A rustling. She must have left her window open a crack. She watched for as long as she was allowed to – until the delicate filigree of leaves had faded and the sun had gone in.

  There was a knock on her bedroom door. She considered feigning sleep. It would be Aidan, trying to cheer her up again. She was finding it increasingly wearisome. She closed her eyes and turned on her side. She heard the door open, felt the new air enter the room. She was aware of another presence. She felt eyes on her.

  ‘Hello, Sarah.’

  She sat up slowly. ‘Peter?’

  ‘The very same.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I came to see you, of course.’

  ‘Who told you? … Aidan.’

  ‘He’s only looking out for you.’

  ‘Why did he bring you up here? I would have come downstairs to meet you.’

  Peter smiled. ‘He didn’t think you would.’

  She sat up and fluffed the pillows behind her. ‘I would so have come down. Look at me in this ratty old nightgown and not a screed of makeup on me. Honestly. The room is probably all stuffy too. Throw that window wide open, would you, Peter? And you may as well draw the curtains back while you’re at it.’

  Peter obliged and the room was illuminated. He turned back to her and she read the shock on his face. He tried to hide it. But his mask had slipped for a couple of milliseconds. This was exactly why she hadn’t wanted to see her old friends. She had no desire to see herself reflected in their eyes. The horror of what she had become. Dead woman walking.

  His mask back in place, Peter sat on the bed beside her. He took one of her hands in both of his. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m dying.’

  ‘I know that, darling, but Aidan thinks you’re depressed.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you be?’

  ‘Probably, yes.’

  How many more of these ridiculous questions was he planning to ask her? And she couldn’t bear to see the pity in his eyes.

  ‘I brought you some things.’

  Peter got up and retrieved a bag he’d left by the door. It was useful for him, she supposed, to have something else to focus on. He sat down again and took out the first item. ‘A box of chocolates to tempt your tastebuds, my dear.’

  ‘My favourites. Thank you.’ She placed them on her bedside table. Maybe Aidan would eat them.

  ‘And a bouquet of flowers for the patient.’ He pulled out a posy in yellows and purples.

  ‘Lovely. I’ll get Aidan to put them in some water.’

  ‘And these are from Jessica.’ He handed her a stack of books.

  ‘Jessica’s sending me gifts? I guess she doesn’t hate me any more. No longer perceives me as a threat.’

  ‘Jessica never hated you.’

  Sarah shot him an arch look.

  ‘She just wants to help, Sarah. We all do. If you’ll only let us.’

  ‘Who’s “all”? Who else knows?’

  ‘Pretty much everyone. Brace yourself for some visitors.’

  Sarah leaned her head back on the pillow. The very thought of visitors exhausted her. She picked up the books and began to read out the titles. ‘The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying. Jesus, is she trying to finish me off altogether? Tell her she needn’t bother.’

  Peter kept his counsel as she went through the books. They were all spiritual in nature, a few about death.

  She placed them on the table next to the chocolates. ‘Tell her thank you very much. She’s made my day.’

  ‘You don’t really mean that.’ He was teasing her now.

  ‘Oh, I absolutely do. I didn’t think it was possible for me to feel more depressed but she’s just proved me wrong. Congratulations, Jessica.’

  ‘But surely seeing my handsome face has cheered you up no end.’

  ‘Not your face. Your cravat, maybe. Did you get dressed in the dark?’

  ‘I did, as it happens. I didn’t want to wake Jess. And I wanted to get down to you as soon as I could.’

  ‘In case I popped my clogs in the meantime?’

  ‘Sarah, Sarah, now you’re being unfair.’

  She knew she was. But it was better than being depressed.

  There was another knock at the door and Aidan popped his head in. His stubble was growing back. She liked the effect, but it hurt her when he kissed her – her skin had been so sensitive lately.

  ‘Just wanted to see if anyone would like some tea. Or coffee.’

  ‘Come in here, Aidan Ryan. I have a bone to pick with you.’

  Aidan stood sheepishly in the doorway.

  ‘What do you mean by showing Peter directly up to my room? A woman has her pride, you know.’

  ‘I thought it would be a nice surprise for you.’

  ‘You did all right. I’ll have tea. Two sugars.’

  ‘Peter?’

  ‘Tea would be lovely.’

  ‘Let’s have it downstairs,’ said Sarah, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. ‘I’ve had enough of being an invalid for one day.’

  The two men vacated the room to give her space to get dressed. They descended the stairs, one after the other, and regrouped in the kitchen. Aidan turned to Peter, just in time to see the other man’s face collapse.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ he said, staring out of the window, trying to compose himself.

  ‘I’ll get you that cup of tea,’ said Aidan. He had to walk around Peter, who stood stock still, the thumb and middle finger of his left hand pressed to the corners of his eyes. ‘You should be pleased,’ said Aidan. ‘This is the first t
ime she’s been up in three days. And me calling you without telling her and showing you up to her room has really pissed her off. Which is good too. It’s invigorated her. I’d much rather see her angry than depressed.’

  Peter didn’t reply. Because he couldn’t. Aidan came up to him and gave him a manly pat on the shoulder. ‘It’s good that you came.’

  Peter nodded, his eyes still squeezed shut. ‘I have to get out of the house for a few minutes. Go for a walk or something. I don’t want her seeing me like this.’

  ‘Of course. If you go out the front door, turn left and walk for about five minutes, you’ll come to a cove.’

  Peter moved towards the door. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘I won’t be long.’

  ‘Take your time. We’re not going anywhere.’

  Peter walked like a man in a trance, his only thought his destination. All others were held in abeyance until then. He found the cove without any trouble and stepped gratefully off the street. There were a few swimmers at one end. He went to the other where he positioned himself between two giant rocks and sobbed himself dry.

  ‘Jesus Christ.’ He blew his nose noisily, the sound obscured by the waves as they collided with the rocks. He felt marginally better. At least he’d be composed when he got back.

  He’d been dreading seeing Sarah. Turned out his dread was right on the mark. Peter was a kind man, but not the best at dealing with harsh realities. He had led quite a cosseted life, he knew. Of course, his dear parents had died, but they’d both had the good grace to do so suddenly and conveniently, his father instantly of a heart-attack and his mother seven months later in her sleep. None of this hanging around and reminding everyone of their own mortality.

  Sarah’s appearance had shaken him deeply. He doubted he would have recognized her on the street. Where was the laughing, vibrant girl he’d known and loved? He’d seen glimpses. Like when she’d made fun of his cravat. That was the old Sarah. But her golden skin was now almost lilac – the blue veins shockingly visible. And her hand when he’d held it – a collection of bones encased in a fragment of skin. The bump under the covers that represented the rest of her body had been barely visible. And her legs when she had swung them out of the bed – that was the worst.

  He took a few deep breaths and made his way back towards the house, confident he’d be able to keep his composure. Nice place, he reflected, as he walked through the town. Not a bad place to spend your last days.

  Aidan let him in and the two men nodded wordlessly at one another. Sarah was sitting at the kitchen table, her two hands clasping an enormous mug from which steam was rising. Peter guessed it was being used as an agent of heat as much as anything else. Sarah was dressed for January, layer upon layer of wool. She looked up as he entered, her face a series of hollows.

  ‘Ah,’ he said breezily. ‘The lady has arisen.’

  ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘Down to the cove. I took the opportunity to look around while you were getting ready.’

  ‘I thought it was me you came to see.’

  ‘It was, my dear.’ He sat beside her and gave her hand a little squeeze. This tetchiness was new. Aidan placed a mug in front of him. ‘Tell me, how is young Miss Maia?’

  Her expression softened and opened out as she told him about her daughter and the progress she had made. ‘Will you keep coming to see her?’ she said, anxiety creasing her forehead. ‘She’s at school right now but it would be good if you could visit her from time to time.’

  ‘I will.’ Peter looked down at his mug.

  Sarah’s expression brightened. ‘Aidan, did you know that Peter and I were together for three whole years?’

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ said Aidan. ‘Maybe you could give me some advice on how to handle her.’

  ‘I always found it best to keep her on a very short leash.’

  Sarah laughed. ‘The cheek of you two.’ But she looked fondly from one to the other. Her two favourite men. ‘You know, it seems so strange now,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe that we were ever together in that way.’

  ‘It doesn’t seem strange to me.’

  ‘Does it not? I mean, being here with you now, you seem so much more like a …’

  ‘Father figure?’

  ‘Well. Yes.’

  ‘Well, I am terribly old.’

  ‘I used to worry about that when we were together. That if we ended up getting married or something, you’d die so much earlier than me and I’d be left on my own. Funny that.’

  Peter looked down at his tea. He didn’t think it was funny at all.

  Chapter 44

  It seemed to be working. The almost constant influx of visitors from Dublin had brought Sarah back to her old self. She would hold court in her bedroom or downstairs, impossibly stylish and smiling broadly. She’d even bought some new clothes from the local boutique. She tried them on happily in front of the full-length bedroom mirror, avoiding her half-naked reflection, only looking at herself when she was dressed. Aidan lay on the bed and evaluated each outfit. He took random photos of her as she posed like a fashion model. Their mutual favourite was a long floral dress. The skirt reached her ankles, the sleeves were long enough to cover her knife-like elbows, while the crimson base colour lent her complexion some much-needed warmth. She twirled in front of the glass and examined herself from every angle. ‘Not bad,’ she said. Then her expression altered. ‘I want to be laid out in this dress.’

  Aidan didn’t say anything.

  ‘Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  She nodded, apparently satisfied, and went back to admiring the dress in the mirror. ‘It was even on sale,’ she said. ‘Make sure everyone knows it was a bargain.’

  She was trying to make light of the situation, he knew. But he still couldn’t handle it, her talking this way.

  The other day, when she had been putting on makeup in preparation for one of her visitors, she had asked him if he thought it was in bad taste. Like putting makeup on a corpse. He hadn’t replied to that, had merely left the room. He concentrated these days on minding the visitors, getting them drinks, on keeping Maia happily in her routine, on making sure Sarah’s every whim was catered for. In other words, attending to everyone’s needs but his own.

  He was touched by Sarah’s visitors, although many of them were rather eccentric for his taste. He found little common ground with them. But they were kind and they buoyed her up. One woman played the harp for Sarah while she dozed. Another gave her a full manicure and pedicure. Someone else massaged her aching bones. And there was no end to the gifts.

  Her buoyancy sometimes extended into their absence and he would make the most of these times with little trips into town. Today they were going to the market, hand in hand, three in a row.

  ‘Are you trying to tempt me into eating again?’

  ‘I might be.’

  ‘But I have no appetite.’

  ‘That’s no excuse. You have to try.’

  She smiled at him and walked on. They had reached the first stalls. Sarah lingered at the soaps.

  ‘Food, woman,’ Aidan urged. ‘Forget about soap.’ If he couldn’t tempt her here, he couldn’t tempt her anywhere. He bought her a selection of mini baklavas. She nibbled at one like a chipmunk. He put his arm around her and they pressed on to the pies, the preserves – the fruit stall. He was looking around, taking it all in, when he realized that Sarah had stopped walking. He looked down at her, then at what she was looking at. Or, rather, who. A few feet ahead, as if frozen in time, was Fiona. All three stood in horrified silence. Then Fiona fled.

  ‘Go after her,’ said Sarah.

  ‘I can’t leave you alone in the middle of the market.’

  ‘She shouldn’t be left alone either.’

  ‘Okay. Let me take you home first.’

  And so it was that Aidan deposited his mistress at home and went to talk to his wife.

  Fiona stood in her kitchen and cursed herself. She had rehe
arsed so many times what she would say if she bumped into them. How she would be. So proud, so strong. So dignified. She would not hare off in the other direction like a frightened animal. Like a coward. She was no coward but she had never faced anything like this before. And never in her wildest dreams had she thought she would have to.

  She began to make tea. It was the calming ritual she was after rather than the beverage. When it was ready, she sat down at the table and laced her fingers around the mug. Her fingers were still trembling. She clasped it tighter and willed them to stop. She was stronger than this. Better than this. Better than the two of them put together. She wouldn’t allow them to do this to her – wouldn’t let them best her. You can’t control what happens to you but you can control your reaction. She repeated the words several times, like a mantra. She had read them in a book that Yvonne had given her. She didn’t usually go in for all that self-help crap but, these days, she needed all the help she could get.

  Her fingers had steadied a little. That was good. You couldn’t be a doctor with shaky hands. And then she noticed that she hadn’t cried. Tears hadn’t occurred to her body or her mind. And that, she thought, was a victory of sorts. Her emotions had been visceral, the shock of being confronted with what she knew was reality: Aidan with his arm around Sarah. There was nothing like being slapped in the face with it.

  But something else had been equally shocking: Sarah Dillon’s appearance. She hadn’t seen the woman since the day she’d found the lump. And since that time Fiona had been going through such turmoil herself, such a maelstrom of emotions, that she hadn’t stopped to think – really think – about how close Sarah would be to death by now. She was knocking on its very door by the look of her.

  Fiona stopped herself wondering what would happen after Sarah was gone and concentrated instead on the image that was still so strongly at the forefront of her mind: Sarah with Aidan’s arm around her; Sarah with her arm around Maia.

  There were footsteps on the deck outside. She straightened her back and prepared her smile for Tommy. When Aidan walked in, it was everything she could do to stop herself collapsing into a heap. On the inside, that was. On the outside, she held herself perfectly straight, her face – she hoped – impassive. ‘What are you doing here?’