No Way to Say Goodbye

by Anna McPartlin

  “I’m really going to miss you.” He smiled.

  “I’m really going to miss you too.”

  Interrupted conversation followed as they talked about this and that while she served drinks and swapped pleasantries with other locals. Adam told her about the restaurant at which he’d secured a management position, the legal wrangling involved in selling the hotel, and the place his wife had found for them to live. It wasn’t all that bad: the restaurant was an award-winner and there were some excellent schools. Mary had told him about her new neighbour and was pleased when Adam enjoyed her report of the tourist-bashing incident.

  It was after ten when Tin Fitz and Roy Rice plonked themselves on the bar stools at either side of Adam.

  “Adam,” Tin said.

  “Tin,” Adam responded.

  Tin sniffed. “Caught rotten.”

  “I suppose so,” Adam agreed.

  “You’ll have a drink,” Roy said, and Adam nodded.

  Roy ordered three pints from Mary and within moments the three men were immersed in a conversation about Kerry’s chances of winning the All Ireland hurling final.

  A few hours later, when last orders were finally served, Mary joined the three lads at the counter.

  “Mary, have you decided to marry me yet?” Tin asked, grinning.

  “I hadn’t heard you’d divorced,” she said.

  “I haven’t but I’ve a big bed. I’m sure Nora would make room.”

  “That’s some image,” Roy said, and laughed to himself.

  “I’ve always believed two wives were better than one,” Tin said, and nudged Adam. “It’d sort out a lot of hassles.”

  Adam refused to be drawn.

  “What’s that called?” Tin said to Roy.

  “Polygamy,” Roy said, and drained his glass.

  “How you fixed for a bit of polygamy?” Tin winked at Mary.

  “I’d rather gnaw through my own foot, thanks, Tin,” Mary said.

  Adam and Roy laughed while Tin shook his head. “All right – if you feel that strongly I’ll get rid of Nora.”

  Later, when the bar was cleared out, Adam and Mary sat drinking coffee and reminiscing.

  “Remember the night on the boat?” he asked.

  They had been on the boat hundreds of times but she knew which night he was referring to. Of course she remembered. “The water was like glass. I still can’t believe Uncle Pete didn’t catch us or that we didn’t crash,” she said, grinning.

  “Crash? Ivan could drive that thing in his sleep even at sixteen!” Adam was laughing. “Penny and I were hot and heavy that night.”

  “I threw a bottle of water on you to cool you down.”

  “And night swimming!” he lamented.

  She smiled widely at the memory of her first skinny-dip. Ivan had been embarrassed to take off his trunks in front of his cousin but he’d been with a girl called Bridget and she was definitely one to see in the nip so he’d agreed, based on a borderline system. Then, under cover of darkness, the six of them had spread out with only the moonlight to guide them to their partner.

  “Robert was the first to jump in.” Adam sighed, remembering his long-dead friend.

  “Robert was always the first,” Mary said, remembering her first love with all the warmth a fond memory could bring.

  “He wanted to be an engineer.”

  Mary nodded. “Yeah, and to play guitar for Bon Jovi.” They laughed, remembering their friend’s youthful passions.

  “Do you miss him?” he asked.

  Mary was taken aback. “Not really,” she answered honestly. “Mostly he’s a stranger, a kid I knew a long time ago, but on nights like this one, when we talk and reminisce, I do – but it’s fleeting and not real. We were just teenagers finding our way… It’s likely we wouldn’t be together now if he was alive.”

  “Like me and Penny,” he said sadly.

  “No, not at all like you and Penny.”

  “How long will it take her to forget me?” he asked, looking into the dregs of his mug.

  “A long time.”

  “It’s killing me,” he said.

  “I know.” There was nothing else to say.

  Mary got home just after one. Mr Monkels was extremely put out that he had been outside for the entire evening, even though he had been well fed and there was a shed with a deluxe quilted dog bed at the end of the garden. He articulated his feelings with various forms of sustained groaning. He was not impressed with his owner’s timekeeping and was determined that she should be aware of it. Mary gave him a bar of chocolate to shut him up. This was the act of a bad mother, dogs being intolerant of chocolate, but he loved it and she only gave it to him on a very special occasion or as a response to guilt.

  The light was on next door and when she went into the back garden to retrieve Mr Monkels’s bowl, she could hear Billie Holiday singing in her neighbour’s kitchen. She stopped to enjoy “April In Paris”.

  Next door Sam was sitting, book in hand, having resumed his journey to Deptford and beyond. He didn’t worry about the cut above his eye or ponder on his new life in a small south Kerry town. He didn’t worry about those he’d left behind. He didn’t think about anything. By one a.m. he had long ago left Kenmare.

  8. Sunday, bloody Sunday

  It was Sunday and Ivan was having lunch with his parents, his twin brothers Séamus and Barry, Séamus’s wife Vicky, their four-year-old twins Beth and Bonnie, Barry’s boyfriend Steven and their puppy, Pluto. He was accustomed now to attending his mother’s lunches alone. He still found it hard. The friendly noise made it harder to go home to silence. He missed the familiar sounds of a full house and envied his older brother but, having said that, it was obvious that Séamus was at the end of his tether.

  “Beth! Bonnie! Leave the dog alone!” Séamus shouted. Neither child heard him, so busy were they in trying to capture Pluto, who had managed to squeeze himself behind the TV.

  Steven was beside himself: “Pluto! Daddy’s here!”

  The girls were reaching in as far as their little arms allowed them and Pluto was squealing, waiting for Steven to save him. Steven, in haste to get to his pup, tripped over one of the girls’ Disney Princesses nearly knocking himself out on the edge of the coffee-table. Barry, seeing his partner crumpled on the floor, dropped his cup of coffee and slipped on it in his haste to get to his boyfriend. Séamus helped his brother up, still roaring at the girls who were still determined to catch the dog. Ivan attended to Steven while his mother attended to Barry. Séamus stormed out of the room with a little girl under each arm, calling to his wife, who yelled that she was in the bathroom. Well used to blocking out sound, Ivan’s father snoozed in his chair.

  At the table Steven insisted on eating lunch with Pluto attached to his chest in a dog knapsack. Bonnie and Beth were strapped into their chairs, both a little too old for high-chairs but a little too hyperactive not to be tied down. Séamus and Barry talked about the Cork v. Kerry game. Steven, Ivan’s mother and Vicky complained to one another about the price of cashmere, then discussed Greece as an all-round holiday destination. Bonnie and Beth threw food at each other while Ivan and his dad silently enjoyed their meal.

  Ivan’s mother had always known Barry was a little different from her other sons, and even his love of the GAA hadn’t encouraged her to look forward to grandchildren. The first indication that he might not marry had come when he was four. She would often find him asleep in her wardrobe with a face full of lipstick and wrapped in one of her dresses. At six he broke his leg while walking in a pair of her heels. His dad had taken him to the emergency room and told the doctor he had fallen from a tree but Barry had cheerfully corrected him. During his teenage years he had thrown himself into sport and his mother worried that he was doing so to escape himself. His other brothers, Séamus, Ivan and even the youngest, Fintan, were all sluts, each week a different girl, but not Barry. His father pretended that this was because he was studious and a consummate sportsman. She wasn’t sure how t
o tackle her son’s ambiguous sexuality but after long consideration she thought it best to allow him to discover himself. She sat back and waited, but made sure he knew that he lived in a house of tolerance and acceptance.

  Barry came out at a Sunday lunch during his last year in college. His mother was relieved and kissed her son, ruffled his hair and told him his boyfriends would always be welcome in her house. His father was a little pale but resigned – after all, his wife had been preparing him for this over many years. He put his arm around his son, patted him on the back and said, “Never mind.” Ivan and Fintan didn’t seem to care either way. Ivan was preoccupied about how he should tell his parents he’d got his girlfriend pregnant, and Fintan was working out how to dump his latest, who was a great kisser but had a flatulence problem.

  Séamus had been the most put out by his twin’s revelation. Barry had joked that his brother’s storming out of the kitchen suggested he thought that maybe Barry had tried to have his way with him in the womb. His mother had attempted a laugh before asking him to follow his brother and to have a quiet word. It turned out that Séamus was upset because what had been so obvious to his mother had not been obvious to him. He had always thought they had a special bond and that he knew all there was to know about his twin and suddenly Barry was a stranger. After that, their relationship had changed a little. They had always referred to each other as twins, but now they were merely brothers.

  Over the years, most revelations had taken place at Sunday lunch – Barry’s coming out; Ivan’s impending fatherhood a mere two Sundays later. Ivan had not been met with the same understanding as his brother – in fact, his mother had threatened to have him shot and his father had had to hold her back while shouting at his son to run for it. A few months later it was Ivan and Norma’s engagement, a much more sedate affair, with congratulations and champagne – initially his mother had worried that he was moving too fast but by dessert Norma had won her over. A few years later Séamus’s engagement to Vicky became yet another announcement over the Sunday lunch table. Ivan’s wife’s infidelity was imparted over a salmon starter, the separation a few Sundays later. Fintan’s decision to move to New Zealand to start a bungee-jumping business had been the most recent.

  But on this Sunday, aside from Barry and Steven nearly knocking themselves out, the twins being terrors and Pluto’s nervous disposition, all was going well. Until Ivan’s mother advised them that she had an announcement to make. Everyone fell silent and braced themselves.

  “I’m pregnant,” she said.

  Barry nearly choked, Ivan went red and Séamus stood up. Vicky looked confused and Steven seemed impressed.

  Ivan’s mother laughed and his dad joined in.

  “Only joking.”

  Séamus sat down. “Very funny, Mother. You nearly gave me a heart-attack.”

  Her face changed a little. “It’s funny you should say that.” She wasn’t joking any more. She squeezed her husband’s arm. “Your father had a mild heart-attack last Monday.” Everyone stared blankly at her.

  “Everything’s fine. They only kept him for two nights in Cork. He’ll have to go back for tests and maybe a little operation. It’s nothing serious but of course he’ll have to change his diet.” She looked at her husband. “His cholesterol is off the chart but I won’t go into that.” She smiled at him and he grinned sheepishly at her, then at his kids, who remained blank. Steven was shifting in his seat, appearing embarrassed.

  Barry spoke: “Dad had a heart-attack.”

  “Yes,” his mother confirmed.

  “And you didn’t think to call one of us?”

  “No.”

  “I cannot believe –”

  Barry’s father put up a hand, silencing him. “I told your mother not to say anything. I didn’t want a fuss. It wasn’t serious – I was never at death’s door. The only reason we’re telling you is that I may have a genetic heart condition.” He stopped, as though he’d said enough.

  His kids and their partners stared at him, waiting for the punchline. He picked up his fork and continued to eat.

  Their mother took control. “It involves thickening of the valves. A good diet can be preventive but you should all get checked out. You’re young men so it shouldn’t be a problem, but it’s better to know.” She sat back in her chair.

  Vicky looked at her husband with concern. Steven looked at Barry with the same concern. Even the twins were silenced. Ivan stared at his plate. His mother leaned over and squeezed his hand. “It’ll be fine,” she said to the table.

  Afterwards the others made their way into the sitting room. Ivan insisted on helping his mother in the kitchen. She allowed him to, knowing that he hated being in the crowded sitting room alone to be reminded of the family that had left him. Halfway through drying up, he sat up on the counter. “Wow, a separation and a possible heart condition all in the space of a year. I must be on a roll.”

  She laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous!” She scrubbed hardened potato from a sudsy plate.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re not going to have a heart problem,” she told him. “You and Fintan take after me. It’s Barry and Séamus who won’t be able to eat a fry for the next forty years.”

  Ivan laughed – he couldn’t help it. His mother wasn’t a doctor, yet he knew that if she said he had nothing to worry about, it was the truth.

  “Thanks, Mam,” he said, leaping off the counter like a teenager. He gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  “You’ll get checked, though?” she asked, and he nodded. He walked to the door.

  “Tell me this,” she said, “who’s your new lunch mate?”

  He was confused.

  “The American,” she said.

  “Oh, Sam!”

  “Tell my niece her auntie Sheila likes the cut of her new neighbour.” She winked.

  Ivan grinned. “Will do.”

  “Tell her to come and visit, and sure if she likes she can bring him along.”

  Ivan left the room laughing.

  By five he was on the water and in the company of the American the whole town seemed to be talking about. Sam wasn’t much of a fisherman but he was a quick study and Ivan enjoyed guiding him. The sea was crystal clear and the mackerel were biting so it was shaping up to be a pleasant evening. They had been fishing for more than an hour when Sam broached the topic of his standoffish neighbour and commented on her unfavourably. Ivan let him speak, then mentioned that the woman he was dismissing was his own cousin and best friend.

  “You’re kidding me?” Sam said.

  “I’m not,” Ivan replied, and laughed heartily, thoroughly enjoying his new friend’s discomfort. It was then he had offered him two pieces of valuable information. One: a warning never to speak ill of a local unless he was absolutely sure there was no connection between the person to be spoken of and the person being spoken to. And two: the reason why his cousin was as she was.

  Ivan spoke of how he’d watched Mary beat the unbeatable, surviving a devastating crash to go on to give birth to her dead boyfriend’s son, and then he had told him where his neighbour’s little boy had died. The tale was devastating. A beautiful child broken and a mother’s screams. She had held him in her arms knowing that death was instant and that no doctor could bring him back. Others had stood around, silently bearing witness to her agony while clinging to their own children, covering their small faces from the horror before them. As a storyteller Ivan could transport his listener to another time and place. Sam felt a lump in his throat and sat quietly, feeling pretty guilty for judging the unfortunate woman.

  Ivan was silent for a while and Sam didn’t know what to say so he concentrated on the water. After a few minutes, the pole bobbed and then he felt strain. Ivan returned to the present to help him hook the smallest fish he’d seen in a long while. They laughed and threw it back. Then they shared a flask of coffee and shot the breeze about nothing in particular.

  But Sam wanted to hear more about Mary and about what had h
appened in the aftermath of such tragedy. Ivan didn’t seem to mind returning to it.

  “Well, we thought we’d lost her,” he said, scratching out the sea salt lodged in his hair. “We thought there was no coming back.” He nodded, affirming it. “Her mother she could get over – sure she’d never known anything different. Robert, well, he was just a boy – ’twas hard on us all but we knew she’d recover. But after Ben ’twas different and no one was sure if she’d ever be right again.”

  “But she was,” Sam found himself interjecting.

  His new friend smiled. “After a long time, she came back to us,” he said.

  “But not the same?”

  “No,” Ivan said, a little sadly, “not the same.” He put down his pole to pour some more coffee into his cup.

  “How long has it been?” Sam asked.

  “Six years this week.”

  “Holy shit!” Sam breathed.

  “Yeah. It’s always a bad time for her but it’s over now and summer’s around the corner.”

  Sam’s pole bobbed, the line tightened and so did his grip. This would not be a small fish.

  Later that evening when Ivan had docked the boat outside Sam’s, Sam had wandered past it and made his way to the wood. He walked until he came across the plaque that bore his neighbour’s child’s name; a sodden teddy bear and wilting flowers lay beneath it. He had no idea why he felt he had to sit by a stranger’s memorial but recently he hadn’t had much reason for anything.

  That night Ivan went home and phoned his kids. Chris was out playing soccer with some new pals but Justine was there and she seemed to be in a lighter humour than when they had last spoken.

  “How’s school?” he began, predictably.

  “Jenny Thompson’s dog got run over!” She seemed quite excited.

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” he said.

  “I’m not!”

  “You’re not?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “The first time I went to her house he bit me and, anyway, he only broke a leg.” She spoke as though she’d been waiting for him to get his comeuppance.