Ebb and Flow

by Mary O'Sullivan

  “I nearly died.”

  “Yes,” Peter agreed. “You were lucky to survive the accident.”

  “No. Not that. I nearly died this weekend. I almost drowned. The water was rising and rising and I was stranded on a rock.”

  He said nothing. Just sat there waiting for her to go on. Waiting for her to speak her most intimate thoughts. To explain herself. To put sounds to her innermost feelings. To pour out her fears and hopes wrapped up in vowels and consonants. The sounds of suffering. All the pain of the past year, the blackness, the coldness, the terror, the haunting, welled up in her throat. It was a hard, hot lump and it was choking her. She opened her mouth to gulp for air and words came tumbling out.

  “I’ve been unhappy for a long time. I thought I wanted this life. The business, the status, the money. It was what I had worked so hard to get. I couldn’t let myself admit that my life was empty. Pointless. No warmth. No friendships. Just business contacts. No love. Only a business partnership. I worked harder, made more money, became more successful. And pretended more.”

  The lump in Ella’s throat began to hurt. Tears filled her eyes and then spilled over. Peter Sheehan reached into his desk, took out a box of tissues and wordlessly pushed them towards her. She loosened a wad of tissue and dabbed at her eyes but the tears continued to flow and the words to tumble.

  “You were right when you said the answer to my problems lay in what I wasn’t facing. I believed Karen Trevor was haunting me, taking over my life. But it was the opposite way around. I was taking over her death. Using the accident as an excuse not to take responsibility for my future. My only way forward is to admit that I have taken the wrong path. And not just in career choice. Andrew and I have a close bond. We care for each other. But it’s not love. It was a union of ambitions. Not his fault. Not mine. Just a mistake.”

  Sobs wracked Ella’s body now as the lump in her throat dissolved in a flood of scalding tears. Unstoppable, unrelenting, the torrent flowed, carrying with it the flotsam and jetsam of disappointment, fear and failure.

  “I let my parents down. I wasn’t there for them when I should have been. I let Andrew down. I’m not the wife he expected me to be. I let myself down. I’ve been weak and self-indulgent . . .”

  Peter’s hand shot up, palm towards her. “Whoa there! Not so fast, Ella. You seem to have a lot of guilt issues. Let’s break them down. Take them one at a time. Your parents, how did you let them down?”

  Ella grabbed another bunch of tissues and tried to dry her face. The tissue turned into a sodden mass instantly. She mopped again with a fresh bunch. Where were all the tears coming from? From their hiding place, of course. When had she last cried? Really cried with the abandon and relief of a child. It must have been during her first term in boarding school. Before she had become strong and ambitious. Before college, the city, Andrew, her parents’ accident. Peter Sheehan sat still, watching, waiting for her answer. Her words were hiccoughed out, mixed with sobs and gasps for breath.

  “Once I left for college, I rarely went back to Cuanowen to see my parents. I was an only child. They idolised me, yet I didn’t make the time to see them. They died in a plane crash. Together. My last farewell to them was a phone call. I never thanked them. Never really told them how much I loved them.”

  “Did they come to see you much?”

  “No. They did come to visit of course. Every Christmas time. Maybe a summer visit too. But no. They didn’t like the city.”

  “Did they ever tell you that you should visit them more? Were they unhappy not to see you often?”

  Ella stopped twisting the bundle of soggy tissues in her hand. She stared at Peter Sheehan but she was not really seeing him. She was too busy looking back. Remembering little snatches of conversation, cameos of time she had spent with her parents. Gradually a picture emerged of a couple who were very contented to be together and extremely proud of their daughter. She could not recall one, not even one occasion when they had said they were unhappy with Ella or that she should visit them more often. They had never wished her anything but happiness. So why had she tortured herself with guilt? If they had not felt neglected by her, why had she looked back and regretted not visiting them more? It was, of course, because she had needed them more than they needed her. And she had been afraid to admit that need. Until now.

  “To answer your question, Peter, no. They never said I was a bad daughter. Never made any demands on my time. They gave me what they believed would arm me for life. Education and independence. And then they got on with their own lives and allowed me to do the same.”

  “So why are you guilty?”

  Ella smiled, conscious of how gross a mess she looked at this stage. Even her waterproof mascara must be running in muddy streaks down her face.

  “I’m not. I’m regretful. I know I should have gone to see them more often. They would have liked that. It would have made me a stronger person too. I probably didn’t want to compare my relationship to theirs.”

  “Aah! Your marriage.”

  The lump in her throat began to grow again. Hotter, harder this time. Ella fought the urge to swallow it, to allow it back into its hiding place. To wallow in darkness behind the spectre of Karen Trevor. She opened her mouth to speak but no sound emerged. It took huge effort, both physical and mental to push the first word out.

  “Affair.”

  Peter Sheehan did not react. He sat, watching cat-like with those green eyes. Sleek and powerful like a tiger. Or a cheetah. Prepared to pounce but willing to wait.

  “Andrew is having an affair,” Ella said more strongly this time. “And the saddest part is that I’ve told myself I’m jealous. But I’m not. I’m disappointed. Furious that he’s lying to me. But not jealous. What does that mean?”

  “What do you think?”

  Annoyed, Ella sat up straighter and leaned towards Peter Sheehan. “I see. The psychiatrist game now, is it?”

  “Psychologist.”

  “Whatever! I’m not a procedure. A theory. I need your input, not a series of questions throwing my problems back on me. I’ve carried them alone for too long. Do you realise that a worry is heavy, that sadness has weight? I can’t do this on my own.”

  Ella heard the anger in her own voice and realised she was transferring blame unfairly onto Peter Sheehan. Another cop-out.

  “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. The truth is Andrew and I have been together since we were freshmen in college. We have become a habit. Our business, Ford Auctioneers, is our child. We created it, nurtured it and have watched it grow. But that’s not enough any more. For either of us.”

  “Have you spoken to Andrew?”

  Ella shook her head. “Not yet. But I will.”

  “What about the marriage counselling I spoke about? Would you like me to give you some contact numbers?”

  Ella stood and tried to gather any bit of pride she had left together.

  “I’ve gone through hell to get to this stage of honesty, Peter. I don’t need anybody else to tell me about my marriage. It’s easy. Andrew and I don’t love each other. Not in the way my parents did. Not in the ’til death us do part way. That’s what I have to face. Alone. I won’t be hiding behind Karen Trevor any more.”

  Peter nodded and a slow smile spread across his face. His eyes crinkled at the corners and years seemed to fall away as his white teeth flashed. He looked very young.

  “I’m waiting for you to fire me again, Ella.”

  She responded to the twinkle in his eye and laughed too. The sound startled her at first. It was a genuine chuckle, full of warmth and enjoyment. Another visitor from her past.

  “You’re fired! Your job is done. The rest I must handle myself. But thank you.”

  “You don’t have to be alone. I’m always here for you, in my professional capacity or . . .”

  Or what? He was still sitting in his cat-like pose, ready to react. It would be nice to feel there was someone to talk to. Somebody on her side. Even if it was only her psychologi
st.

  “May I ring you?” he asked.

  “Yes. Please do,” Ella answered before picking up her bag and making straight for the bathroom.

  When she looked in the mirror she was horrified. Her mascara had indeed run and her eyes, nose and cheeks were red and puffy. It took her fifteen minutes to repair the damage to her make-up. Then she picked up her bag and, chin up, went to try to repair the damage to her life. And this time, she was not going to hide behind any spectres, real or imagined.

  Chapter 25

  Frau Henner’s home was as solid and practical as the woman herself. There were no unnecessary frills and flounces. Set on the rocky slopes of the Mönchsberg Mountain, it overlooked the roofs and spires of the old town of Salzburg. The house was warm, clean and functional. Sharon loved being here. She liked the safe feeling of the heavy Germanic furniture which somehow seemed to fit perfectly into the compact rooms. It was now, as it had been since she had met Frieda, her refuge.

  Sharon finished the hot chocolate Frieda had made for her and laid her head back against the headrest of the big leather chair. She would love to close her eyes and sleep. For just ten minutes. A little oblivion. A Jason-free, decision-free oasis.

  “Well,” Frieda said, “what are you going to do? You know you can’t go on like this any more. It’s not right. Not fair on –”

  “I know! I know!” Sharon cut in impatiently and immediately regretted her brusqueness. She smiled an apology at Frieda. They understood each other well enough to preclude the need for words. Sharon’s hand went automatically now to her throat and lay protectively over the area Jason had bruised. Frieda saw the movement and immediately tried to push her advantage home.

  “You see! He nearly killed you. Are you going to wait for him to find out? What do you think he’ll do then? Pat you on the head?”

  “Yes, I do believe he would. With a hammer.”

  “So! Are you just going to wait for that to happen?”

  “Of course not. But it’s not as simple as I thought it would be.”

  “Divorce him. How complicated is that?”

  Sharon did close her eyes now but it was not to grab some badly needed rest. It was to review her situation, yet again. Everything swam around in her head making her feel dizzy and nauseous. She opened her eyes to find herself under the stern gaze of the woman who had become the only constant support in a life that was crumbling apart.

  “You haven’t told me everything, have you?” Frieda asked.

  Sharon bowed her head. She was ashamed to meet the questioning grey eyes. Ashamed to admit that she had been so misguided, so stupid as to marry a man like Jason Laide. Ashamed of the secret she had kept for the past few days. Ashamed to share what she had found in the safe in Junkergasse. Frieda leaned down towards her now and laid her strong hand on her shoulder.

  “It’s the envelopes, isn’t it, Sharon? The ones you asked me to keep here.”

  Sharon nodded. “Papers, photos, videos. Filth, blackmail, dirt!” Relieved now to get at least one of her guilty secrets off her mind Sharon continued more vehemently. “He’s evil, Frieda. I knew when I married him that he was a rough diamond. There was a time when I thought that quality attractive. But I never knew he was so unspeakably bad. Never knew what he was storing in the safe in Junkergasse. What you now have hidden in your attic. No wonder he was angry with me. That little stash must be worth a fortune to him.”

  “He’s blackmailing people?”

  “Yes. He seems to have something on almost everyone. Affairs, visits to brothels, evidence of bribe taking, stacks of IOUs. He has people from every walk of life under his control. Even a pornographic video of a leading supermodel when she was little more than a child. He’s vile! I can’t believe I helped him. How could I have been so naïve? I couldn’t have been, could I? I must have known these things he was asking me to stash for him were at the very least illegal.”

  “You had other things on your mind,” Frieda said calmly. “Besides, it could be to your advantage now. This stack of blackmail material will give you a lever. Something to fight him with.”

  “No. I can’t do that!” Sharon said quickly. “That would make me as twisted as him. I’m going to give these things back to the people he is torturing. I must break the stranglehold he has over their lives. Try to make amends for my part in it.”

  Frieda walked across the room and slowly eased herself into an armchair opposite Sharon. She folded her hands together on her lap. Chair and woman blended to become a unit. Restful. Strong. Sharon smiled at her.

  “You’re going to lecture me now, aren’t you?”

  “I’m going to try to advise you,” Frieda replied quietly. “Of course you must free those people your husband has treated so badly but you must protect yourself first. Have you decided to stay here when you have divorced him?”

  “I can’t, can I?”

  “He’ll track you down wherever you go, especially when he knows everything.”

  “No! Never! He can’t know. He must never know.”

  Levering herself up from the depths of her comfortable chair, Frieda came and stooped down in front of Sharon.

  “He has a right to know, Sharon. Besides, if you tell him yourself, he loses some of his power. You can’t spend your life running away.”

  “But he won’t give me a divorce if he knows. He’ll take control. Exert his evil influence . . .”

  Frieda stood up abruptly. “Get your coat. We’re going to the hospital. You need treatment for that bruise on your throat. You need evidence. I’m your witness to domestic violence. And the collection of blackmail material in my attic is your insurance. Now get yourself ready and come on.”

  Sharon put her hand on Frieda’s strong arm. “I’ll go to the hospital with you. But I must, must, free those people Jason has been blackmailing. I had a part to play in that too. I’ll never rest until I’ve tried to right that wrong. Will you help me?”

  Frieda smiled and hauled Sharon out of the chair. “You’re a very stubborn woman. You should be worrying about yourself now, not other people. But of course I’ll help you any way I can. Now come on to the hospital. No more delaying.”

  Obediently, Sharon put on her coat, picked up her bag and allowed Frau Henner to lead her north to the Landeskrankenhaus Hospital.

  They did not notice O’Shaughnessy as he tailed them, discreetly taking photos.

  * * *

  Andrew swept a stack of paperwork aside and propped his elbows on his desk. He could not concentrate. The threat of Jason Laide’s words this morning had been quickly followed by a phone call from Gary Cox. A strident Gary Cox whom Andrew had never encountered before. The implication was that the Cox brothers’ continued association with Ford Auctioneers depended on their getting the Ballyhaven site. Hobson’s choice.

  Cox’s threat was clear. A huge drop in turnover for Andrew and Ella. Jason Laide’s threat was murkier and more terrifying. What in the hell was he hinting at? He knew about Maxine obviously, but how did he intend using the information? By telling Ella?

  Andrew dropped his head onto his hands as he thought of his wife. He must talk to her this evening, but which Ella would she be by then? The one who was in a perpetual fog, eyes glazed, withdrawn, out of touch with reality or the person who went scurrying around the place, making questionable deals and having accidents? Or maybe the different Ella he had seen briefly this morning, bright-eyed and smiling. Until Jason Laide had made his veiled threats. Then she had been the fleeing Ella, running away from reality, from life.

  A knock on the office door startled him. He straightened up and ran his hands through his hair just as one of the girls from the front office came in. She was carrying a large white envelope.

  “A courier dropped this in for you, Andrew. It’s marked for your attention so I don’t know what it’s about.”

  The girl placed the envelope on Andrew’s desk and stood there. Some instinct told Andrew that he needed privacy before opening the delivery.
<
br />   “That’s fine, thank you,” he said to the girl, giving the impression it was something he had been expecting to be delivered.

  It was. His hands shook as he tore open the flap. The shaking spread to his body as he drew out the photograph. It was in colour and very clear even though it had been taken at night, as he and Maxine had slept in the guest room of his home, naked, entwined, sated. He picked up the envelope and shook it, then ripped it flat open just to be sure. There was no note. He grabbed the internal phone and buzzed the front desk.

  “Who delivered that envelope?”

  “A courier. He wore a helmet and leathers so he was obviously a bike courier. He didn’t have a delivery docket though. Is there a problem, Andrew?”

  “No, none at all,” Andrew lied and then put down the phone.

  Fuck! Laide was really prepared to play hardball. And it wasn’t just Andrew’s reputation at risk. Maxine’s career could suffer too. And what would this do to Ella? Damn Jason Laide!

  The door opened again. Andrew grabbed the photo and quickly flipped it upside down. Ella stood in the open doorway, her eyes puffy, her nose slightly red but her shoulders thrown back and her chin held high.

  “More secrets, Andrew?”

  “Just sorting through some stuff here,” he answered as casually as possible. “Time for a spring clean, I think.”

  Picking up the photo, picture side turned into his body, he walked over to the shredder and watched until the last millimetre had been drawn into the churning blades. When he looked up, Ella was still standing at the door, her gaze steady.

  “I agree, Andrew. It’s time for a spring clean. Why don’t we go some place we can talk? We can’t keep putting it off for ever.”

  Andrew looked at the woman who had shared his bed, his business, his life for so long. For the first time he felt not just regret but a deep sadness at the thought of a future without her by his side. He nodded his head slowly.

  “You’re right, Ella. We must talk. Where?”

  “How about the Ballyhaven site? It’s quiet and private there. And we still own it.”