“I don’t know – a lot,” Penny admitted.
“What happened to you?”
“I fell.”
“Some fall,” the woman said, unconvinced.
After testing Penny’s responses the nurse determined that she was not critical, and although she had facial lacerations they weren’t considered serious enough to merit her skipping the large queue in the waiting area. Penny returned to her friends and sat down.
“Well?” Adam said.
“I wait.”
“But your face is a mess.”
“Thanks.”
“This is ridiculous,” he said, and stormed across to the reception desk.
Mary, Sam, Ivan and Penny watched him argue a case for his mistress skipping a long queue. The woman behind the window was unmoved. He returned to them, disgusted. “You’d find a better health system in the third world,” he said.
“It’s OK,” Penny said.
“I’ll get coffee,” Mary offered.
“No, you go home,” Adam said. “I’ll stay with Penny. It looks like it’s going to be a long wait.”
“Can I talk to you over here for a minute?” Mary asked him. She stood up and walked towards the door. An old woman in her eighties lying on a trolley was pushed past them by ambulance men. She was complaining that she couldn’t leave the dog at home alone; her weary daughter reminded her that the dog had died in 1987.
“I thought it was your father died in 1987,” the old lady said.
“No, Mother, he died in 1977.”
“Time flies,” the old lady said. “Still, I really do need to get home to the dog.”
Adam smiled at the daughter, who smiled back. Mary punched his arm. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“What do you mean?” he responded in surprise. “I just smiled at her – it looked like she could do with cheering up.”
“Yeah, you’re a real humanitarian. I’m not talking about her, I’m talking about your marriage.”
“I’m not leaving Penny in that state.”
“I’m here,” she said. “It’s late at night and you have a wife to go home to.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“OK,” she said, shrugging her shoulders, “have it your way.”
“Mary –”
“Grow up, Adam,” she said, and went back to the others.
After that they debated whether or not it was a better idea to stay in Cork or go home. Eventually, after much negotiation, Sam, Mary and Ivan decided to leave. Mary felt bad to be contemplating deserting her best friend, but there wasn’t enough room in the waiting area for the actual patients, never mind the people accompanying them. Penny insisted she was fine and happy to be left alone, but Adam insisted on staying: like Margaret Thatcher, he said, he was not for turning. Ivan laughed, but Mary glared at him. He grinned and gave her the fingers. She couldn’t help but smile. Something about an adult giving another that gesture never failed to amuse her.
They left Penny and Adam sitting in the Regional Hospital.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Penny said.
“I’ve already been through this with Mary.” He got up from his chair. “I’m getting us some coffee.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” Penny repeated, but Adam was already halfway down the corridor.
Ivan, Mary and Sam sat in a hotel bar. Ivan and Mary debated their next move while Sam drank a ginger ale. Once her injuries were sorted Ivan suggested moving Penny to a drying-out facility in Dublin. It was well respected and a man he knew, who had been a fall-down-in-the-street drunk, had passed a spell with the lads in there and returned a pillar of the community; he had since acquired a golfing handicap of four. Mary wondered if Penny would agree to go there but Ivan wasn’t to be swayed. “Christ, Mare, she’s just killed one of God’s most majestic creatures and nearly herself! Surely to God she can fall no further,” he said, then finished his pint.
Sam hoped that Ivan was right. He was painfully aware that sometimes it took more than a car crash to hit bottom.
Ivan headed into his hotel room so that he could talk to Norma, who was spending her first night back in Kenmare alone but was happy watching over her sleeping children. He phoned Sienna and left a message on her voicemail since she was most likely asleep – either that or she was pissed off that he was housing his ex-wife.
Sam and Mary stayed in the late-night bar, neither wishing to be alone.
“When we were kids Penny was terrified of the dark,” Mary said.
“Yeah?” Sam encouraged her.
“She was convinced it would swallow her,” she remembered. “She could get in trouble for this,” she added.
“She’ll be fine.”
“You shouldn’t have to deal with it. I’m sorry. I should never have asked you to come.”
“I want to be here.”
“Why?”
“You’re here.”
“Jesus,” she sighed, “some day soon you’ll get sense and then we’ll both be very disappointed.”
“Not a chance.”
“Tart!” She got up. “Goodnight.”
He watched her walk away.
Some time after eight a.m. Penny was finally seen by a doctor. The long wait had sobered her so a surgeon could repair the damage to her face. Three hours later she lay on cold steel under glaring lights and beside buzzing machines. The anaesthetist slipped a needle into her arm, and in her head Phil Collins sang “Against All Odds” on repeat.
When Penny woke her nose had been set, her lip, cheek and forehead were stitched and she had the mother of all hangovers. Her teeth were sharp in her mouth and as she ran her tongue over them she discovered that the four front ones were badly damaged. She dreaded looking in the mirror, having felt the bandages on her cheek and forehead. Her nose felt bigger than her entire head. She cried because she’d remembered Mary and Adam’s gasp at the sight of her and guessed she’d been disfigured. She cried because she had watched a beautiful animal die a slow and terrible death. She cried because she really had wanted to stop drinking but she couldn’t.
It was just after nine when Adam made his way to his own front door. He wasn’t sure what he would say to his wife. At least the kids were at school. Maybe he’d be lucky and she’d be out. Maybe she hadn’t noticed he’d been out all night. She was often asleep when he got home from the restaurant, and on delivery days he’d be up and out of the house before the alarm rang. He was too tired for an argument. He hoped that the separate lives they’d been living since his arrival to Cork would work in his favour.
Unfortunately for him this was not to be. As soon as he opened the door he saw suitcases packed at the foot of the stairs. Alina was on the upstairs landing. She made her way downstairs to meet him in the hall.
“Are you going somewhere?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “You are.”
“Alina!”
“I don’t want to hear it, Adam.”
“Alina –”
“Leave.”
“No.”
“Leave.”
“I can explain.”
“I don’t care.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“You were out all night, Adam.”
“I know, but –”
“You were with her,” she said.
“Yes, but it’s not what you think.”
She walked away from him and into the kitchen.
He followed her. “She was in trouble. She needed me.”
Alina fought the urge to shove his head through the glass patio door. “Our marriage is over,” she said.
“Just like that?” He was shocked.
“You’ve got your wish, Adam. You’re free.”
“And the kids?”
“They’ve settled in Cork. We’re happy here. We’ll stay and you can go back to Kenmare. You win.”
“I never wanted this.”
“Yes, Adam, you did.”
“Why now?”
“B
ecause I can’t stop hating you. I wanted to for the kids’ sake but I can’t. I look at you and I want to gut you. It’s not healthy.” A tear rolled down her face. “I really do hate you.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Go home,” she said. “Go on – get out.”
He stood there trying to process what she’d said.
“Get out!” Alina roared, angered by his failure even to pretend to fight for her, but he didn’t move. She ran at him.
“Get out of my house!” She shoved him into the hallway. She opened the front door and threw his suitcases into the garden. He followed them and turned to her.
“When the kids ask why their dad doesn’t live here any more, I’m going to tell them,” she said. “There’ve been enough lies in this house.”
The door slammed, and Adam was alone.
What have I done?
Mary, Sam and Ivan were halfway through breakfast when Adam arrived with his suitcases. He dropped them by the table and sat in beside Sam, facing Mary and Ivan.
“What’s this?” Ivan asked.
“She threw me out.”
“About time,” Mary said.
“OK, rub it in.”
“Maybe if one of us had said something a little earlier, your marriage wouldn’t be in such a bloody mess and Penny wouldn’t be an alcoholic.”
“That’s all I need! First my wife and now you! Anyone else want to jump into the ring?”
“She’s right,” Ivan said. “It was only a matter of time before it all ended in misery.”
“Jesus.” Adam sighed. “Have you anything to say?” he asked Sam.
“Your friends have summed the situation up perfectly.”
“I’ve been a selfish arsehole,” Adam realized.
“Yes, you have,” Mary agreed.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and began to cry.
Mary escorted Adam to her room so that he could compose himself in private. While he took a shower she called the hospital to check on Penny. She was told that if there were no complications she’d be discharged the next day. She ordered some breakfast for Adam, which arrived just after he emerged from the bathroom.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Are you all right?” she asked. All trace of animosity had disappeared.
“I’m fine,” he said. “I’ll let things settle and call the kids tomorrow – or do you think tomorrow is too soon?” For the first time in his life Adam seemed unsure.
“I think tomorrow would be fine.”
“OK.”
Ivan had phoned his friend who had been to the drying-out facility in Dublin. Now he had a contact name and number. He made the call and Lorraine Ryan explained that they would be happy to admit his friend but only if she was a willing patient. He told her he’d ring her back. An hour later he met up with the others in the hotel lobby.
“Do you think she’ll agree?” he said worriedly.
“I’ll talk to her,” Adam said.
“She needs to hear it from all of you,” Sam said.
“He’s right,” Mary said.
“OK, so today we go home and tomorrow we come back and talk to her,” Ivan said.
“I’ll stay here,” Adam said. “She’ll be awake later.”
“Are you going to tell her about Alina?” Mary asked.
“No,” he said, “this isn’t about me. It’s about Penny.”
“At last he sees the light,” Ivan said.
Adam agreed to phone them that night with an update and, all going well, they agreed to meet back at the hotel the next morning. Adam walked them to the door and Mary hugged him, assuring him that everything would be all right. It’s a little late for that, he thought.
Garda Sheehan was on Mary’s doorstep just in time for afternoon tea. She made a pot and put out some sandwiches. He patted his belly and mentioned that he shouldn’t indulge, but of course he did. He was munching his third before he brought up the subject of Penny’s car. He took out a pen and notepad. “And you’re sure she left it here?” he asked, referring to the brief details with which she had provided him over the phone.
“I rang her from the road. She said she’d drop it over. Mine is in the garage and she was going to Dublin anyway,” she said, lying through her teeth.
“So you never actually saw it?”
“No. It was gone when I got home. I was waiting for the AA for ever.”
“And you’re sure she left it here?”
“I’m sure.”
“Did she phone you and tell you she’d left it?”
“No.”
“Then if you didn’t see it, how do you know she left it?”
Crap, I should have said yes. “My neighbour saw it.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place?”
After that Sam was summoned into Mary’s home to answer the charge that he had witnessed Penny’s car parked outside.
“What time?” Garda Sheehan asked.
Sam pretended to think for a minute. “Six or seven.”
“Mary, you said you rang Penny around six, didn’t you?” Garda Sheehan said, referring to his notes.
“It must have been seven, then.” Sam smiled.
“Right,” he said, scribbling. His phone rang and he excused himself to take the call, leaving Mary and Sam alone.
“Do you think he believes us?” Mary whispered.
Sam shrugged. He didn’t want to panic Mary but guilt was written all over her face.
Garda Sheehan returned. “Did I mention that the car’s been found? It was reported as crashed on the mountain.”
“No, you didn’t. Is it damaged?” Sam said.
“Any casualties?” Mary chimed in.
“A red deer,” Garda Sheehan said, “and, yes, the car is a write-off.”
“Right,” Sam said.
“Well,” Garda Sheehan pocketed his notebook, “it looks like we’re all done here.”
“OK, then,” Mary said, smiling.
Garda Sheehan made his way to the front door. “One last thing.”
“Yes?” Mary said.
“It would appear that Penny didn’t make it to Dublin last night,” he said, reminding her of Columbo just before he revealed a poisonous plot.
“No?” she said, her heart racing.
“No. It appears she only got as far as the Regional Hospital in Cork.”
“Right,” Mary said, nodding in a way that suggested she knew the game was up.
“She could have killed someone.”
“I know.”
“She was drunk?”
Mary nodded again.
“I should arrest you for aiding and abetting. Not to mention attempting to take me for a fool.”
“Sorry.”
“Is she going to get help?”
“Yes.”
“You see that she does,” he said.
“I will,” she said. “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me, Mary. I don’t know what I’m going to do about this yet,” he warned her.
“OK.” She opened the front door.
“And, Mary?”
“Yes?”
“You really are a pathetic liar.”
“I know that too.”
He left.
She sat on the sofa, where Sam joined her. “I’m not sure what happened there,” he said. “Did we get away with it or not?”
“Yes and no.”
“It’s been a hell of a week.”
Sam was tired. He hadn’t slept well in the hotel and he was weary of drama. He made his way to the door.
“Sam!”
“Yeah?” he replied.
“Will you come with me tomorrow?”
“I doubt Penny would be happy about that.”
“I know what she did to you but she didn’t mean it. She’s not like that when she’s well.”
“I’m sure you’re right but I don’t belong there.”
“It’s an intervention. Isn’t that the correct term?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, who better to intervene than someone who knows what they’re talking about?”
He was silent for a moment or two. His head hurt. He really needed to sleep. “I’ll do it.”
He was gone before she could thank him.
24. Clean up, clean out
Sam, Mary and Ivan were waiting in Adam’s hotel room when Adam opened the door to usher in a bandaged Penny. She surveyed those in front of her and knew there could be only one reason for the meeting. Feeling weak, she sat on a chair against the wall, facing the jury of her peers.
Adam gave her two painkillers and a glass of water.
“D Day,” she said. Her friends remained silent.
“We’re going to get you some help,” Adam said, but she chose to ignore him in favour of concentrating on Sam.
“Is this how rehab happened for you, Sam? Oh, no, I forgot. You were brought in on a stretcher.”
“Penny,” Mary growled.
“It’s OK,” he said to Mary. “You’re right. I went in on my back and, if memory serves, I was also strapped down. You want to go in like that, I’m sure it can be arranged.”
“Fuck you!” she spat. Her hands had been trembling all morning. She felt sick and badly needed a drink.
“Do you know why you don’t like me, Penny?” he asked.
“Enlighten me.”
“You look at me and see yourself.”
“Bullshit!” she said, touching the bandage on her forehead.
“I’m an addict and you are too.” He leaned towards her so that she was forced to look at him. “I know how hard it is. I know the agony of saying no. I know that if you don’t you’ll die.” He pitied her with every ounce of him.
Tears rolled down her face, which she tried to hide with trembling hands. “I don’t think I can do it,” she whispered.
“I know you can,” he said.
“I don’t want to be like this any more.”
“You don’t have to be.”
Penny and Adam found themselves on the ten thirty a.m. train to Dublin. They sat in the dining section, Adam tucking into a full Irish breakfast and Penny playing with the foil wrapping of her painkillers. She had been silent since she had said her goodbyes at the hotel. Mary had cried and Penny had felt like an arsehole, remembering the stupid document in which she had spurted venom at the very people who were helping her.
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