The House On Willow Street

by Cathy Kelly

  “Thank you,” Danae said weakly.

  They stopped at a small pub on the outskirts of Dublin, the sort of place that catered to passing trade and could feed you at any time of day. Mara ordered soup and a sandwich for each of them, even though Danae barely picked at hers.

  “Come on, you need to eat,” said Mara, conscious of how their roles had been entirely reversed.

  “I can’t,” said Danae. “I’m sorry.” She drank her coffee though and nibbled a bit at the tiny biscuit that accompanied the coffee.

  “Afterward we’re going to have something proper to eat,” Mara insisted.

  Mara admired the nursing home gardens when they got there.

  “It’s lovely,” she said appreciatively, “but this place must cost a fortune. Does it? Have you been paying for it all by yourself?”

  “Yes,” said Danae.

  “Wow,” said Mara, resolving not to ask any more questions because she could see it was upsetting for Danae. She wished she could get her hands on this vengeful family who’d been too mean to stump up any cash for Antonio’s care, leaving it to his poor battered wife to pay for everything.

  Inside, it was clear that everyone knew Danae, but they’d never seen her come with anyone else before. They were fascinated by Mara and delighted to be introduced to her, delighted that for once Danae would have some support.

  “Your aunt’s an amazing woman,” every second person said to her. “Incredible. Every month she’s here and she always brings him something—clothes, sweets, chocolates. He has an awful sweet tooth.”

  “She is an amazing woman,” agreed Mara proudly.

  “We have all his stuff ready,” one of the nurses said. “We’re going to miss him, you know, it’s so sad when someone leaves us.”

  Quite a few of the staff were crying and Danae somehow managed to gather the strength to say: “You’ve been so good to him over the years, please, he needs to be in the hospice now. We know you can’t possibly look after him here, not right now, not for the end.”

  “It’s all right,” one of the nurses whispered to Danae, “they’ve been trained in palliative care and understand the need to transfer patients like Antonio.”

  “Right,” nodded Mara.

  The man who was wheeled out in front of her looked ancient, far older than her aunt. Yet he had a shock of shiny dark hair with streaks of gray running through it and the most amazing rich, mahogany eyes. But there was no light in the eyes, no awareness, no recognition. His features were slightly distorted. His mouth sank a little to one side.

  She thought of Danae’s monthly pilgrimages to the man who’d beaten her for years, and vowed that she would make this as easy as she possibly could for her sake.

  “Hello, Antonio,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. “Now, Danae,” she said, putting her arm around her aunt, because it looked as if Danae might collapse on to the floor, her face was drained white. Between the shock and the pain of her ankle, collapse was just around the corner. “Come on.” She put an arm around Danae to help her. “Let’s go. Are we going in the ambulance or in the car?” she inquired.

  “You won’t both be able to go in the ambulance,” said one of the ambulance men.

  “Fine,” said Mara, “then Danae and I will follow in my car.”

  She was making an executive decision on this: there was no way that Danae was leaving her side today. She could sense that some strange masochism would have made Danae opt to travel in the ambulance, watching her husband’s lifeless eyes all the time. No, that was not happening. She firmly and gently steered Danae over to the car, going slowly so as not to hurt Danae’s ankle.

  “I should go in with him,” Danae began to say, as Mara began the process of sorting out cushions for her ankle and a plethora of blankets to lay across her legs.

  “No,” said Mara gently, “you’re coming with me. You should be in a wheelchair yourself with that ankle, you poor darling. It’s your turn to be taken care of now, Danae.” She turned the radio to a news station so there would be constant chatter in the background as they drove to the hospice. Every once in a while, Mara would remark on a news story: “Gosh, that’s very interesting isn’t it?” she’d say, but Danae could only stare blankly out the window.

  The hospice was a beautiful building with lovely grounds for people to walk in. The ambulance had arrived before them and by the time they got there, Antonio had already been installed in his room. A woman with a gentle face and kind eyes led them to an office to complete the final bits of paperwork. “You’ve done most of it, Mrs. Rahill, already,” said the woman. Danae still seemed stuck in her trance, and Mara and the woman exchanged worried glances.

  When Danae left the room, Mara looked at the woman and said, “Are most people like this?”

  “Yes,” said the woman, “unfortunately. But we will do our best to love and to care for your uncle.”

  He was in a room painted sunflower yellow. It reminded Mara of the sun on a beautiful summer’s day. It was both cozy and yet suitable as a hospital room. When Danae saw him there, already hooked up to various machines and with a drip already inserted to feed him the morphine he needed, she started to cry. Mara made one more executive decision: “Danae why don’t you kiss Antonio goodbye now? Then we can come back in a couple of days and see him. We need to get you home, put that ankle up like the doctor ordered.”

  Danae stared at her, “But, I . . . I should stay.”

  “No,” said Mara firmly, “you shouldn’t stay. You should kiss him goodbye, for now,” she added quickly. “It’s time we went home. We can come back tomorrow, if you want. In the meantime, they have your phone number if they need us.”

  They’d driven a few miles and were on the motorway when Danae said to pull over quickly, she felt sick.

  At the edge of the motorway, she threw up until there was nothing left inside her.

  It was almost over now, but the pain was huge.

  Back in Avalon, Mara made some calls. Belle needed to know so she could comfort Danae. Hell, give her half a chance and Belle would probably drive to Dublin and stick a pickax in Antonio’s chest to help him on his way.

  She needed to phone her parents too. Danae needed all the support she could get.

  Morris cried when she told him. Mara was shocked. She didn’t think she’d ever heard her father cry.

  “It’s been so many years,” he sobbed. “I hate what he’s done to her.”

  Having been upstairs to check on Danae, who appeared to be sleeping, Mara slumped, exhausted, at the kitchen table. The emotion of the day had drained her totally; not her own, but her aunt’s shock, her father’s sadness. She was about to phone Rafe and tell him all about the day when there was a knock on the door.

  Hauling herself to her feet, Mara went over and opened it. There, clad in his uniform of designer jeans, expensive jacket and open-neck shirt, stood Jack.

  “Hey, babe,” he said, moving forward and taking her in his arms.

  Beside her, Lady started to growl.

  “Jack!” she said, stepping back in utter astonishment.

  “Whoa, will that dog attack?” he asked.

  Mara patted Lady affectionately.

  “She might,” she said.

  “Mara, I miss you. I made a stupid mistake,” he began, and moved close again. This time, Lady moved forward, hackles raised.

  “Okay, you need to call the dog off,” said Jack, clearly rattled. “Will she bite?”

  “I don’t know,” said Mara cheerfully. “I’ve never seen her bite anyone, but there’s always a first time.” She stopped patting the dog and fixed him with a glare. “What are you here for, Jack?”

  “To see you. Isn’t that obvious?”

  For a moment, suave Jack was gone to be replaced by vaguely annoyed Jack. It was clear that being kept on the doorstep by a growling dog hadn’t been part of his master plan.

  “I thought you’d be pleased to see me,” he added plaintively.

  “You thought
wrong. For a start, I prefer my friends to phone before they come around. And secondly—oh yes, you’re not my friend any more, are you?”

  “Look, honey—”

  He moved forward, but a warning growl from Lady made him move back.

  “Don’t ‘honey’ me,” said Mara.

  “Mara. Sorry. I was in the neighborhood and I thought I’d drop by.”

  “In the neighborhood?” she asked with interest. “Since when is Avalon in your neighborhood?”

  “Okay, you got me.” He smiled in a way she’d once have thought irresistible.

  Strangely, she was having no difficulty resisting him tonight.

  It was chilly standing outside, but she didn’t want to invite him in. She was dealing with a genuine tragedy here and his visit couldn’t have come at a worse time.

  “Seriously,” she said, “I’m busy, Jack. What do you want? Have you got legal papers hidden somewhere? Are the lawyers begging you to get me to sign them?”

  He looked embarrassed. “Sorry about that, honey.”

  “Stop with the ‘honey,’” she hissed. “I am not your honey. I have a name, use it. And if you want to talk, you may phone me. Not,” she added, “that I’m likely to pick up. We are not friends and next time you’re in my neighborhood, don’t feel free to drop in.”

  “I only want to talk,” he said.

  At that moment, Mara thought about all the things going on in her new life: about Danae, and all she was going through right now, and about Rafe, whom she wanted to talk to because he’d understand how hard today had been. He had the kindness to care about Danae, and he loved Mara enough to want to help her through this.

  Suddenly, she smiled. Rafe loved her. She was sure of it. Properly sure. Not sure in the way she’d been with Jack, because there had been no surety there.

  Deep down, she’d known all along that Jack’s affection was a fickle thing. She’d danced around the issue, trying to be whatever he wanted her to be. She’d have tried to be a Ferrari, if only she’d known that’s what he wanted. And that kind of love wasn’t love at all.

  Rafe loved her for herself, crazy clothes and all.

  “Jack, is there any other reason you’re here?” she asked.

  “Well, to see you and to . . .” He paused, lost for words. Usually he liked to have his answers prepared in advance, but it had never occurred to him that she’d question his motives. “I thought you’d be pleased to see me.”

  Mara wrapped the cardigan she was wearing tighter around her.

  “I’ve a lot going on, Jack, so now’s not a good time.”

  “But—”

  “And I’m in love with someone else,” she added, “so goodbye,” she said firmly.

  If she never saw Jack again, she wouldn’t care.

  With the door shut, she knelt down and hugged Lady closely.

  “Thank you, girl,” she said. “You’re a darling. I think you need a chewy treat to say thanks for your protection. And what’s more . . .” she went to the cupboard where Danae kept the dog food and treats “. . . I am going to phone Rafe and tell him I love him. Good idea?”

  Lady’s beautiful face seemed to be smiling up at her.

  “I knew you’d think so.” Mara smiled.

  When the phone call came, Danae wasn’t surprised.

  It was the hospice.

  “He’s had a bad night and we think perhaps you should come up.”

  “Of course,” said Danae, as if she was a wife like any other, wanting to be with her beloved husband in his last few hours on earth. She hung up and called Mara at work.

  “Mara, it’s Antonio. He’s dying.”

  “It’s fine,” said Mara calmly. “Everything’s going to be fine. This day had to come. Leave everything to me.”

  While Danae got her things, Mara made some high-speed phone calls.

  First, she phoned Cashel to say she couldn’t work.

  “Someone close to Danae is dying and I have to drive her to the hospice. I’m really sorry, but it’s important, otherwise I wouldn’t—”

  “Not a problem,” said Cashel. “Go, do whatever you have to do.”

  Next, she rang Rafe to tell him where she’d be.

  “Tell me if you need anything—anything at all,” he said. “Love you, and love to Danae too.”

  Then she phoned Belle, followed by her parents. Her last call was to Cici in Galway.

  Ever since she’d told Cici about Rafe, she’d been demanding to see him: “He sounds dreamy,” said Cici. “I have nothing to report on the man front. I think I’m going to give up on it, become a nun. There must be another way . . . Maybe I should emigrate! What country is it where there are far more men than women? China? China, that’s where I’ll go.”

  “No, Cici, don’t go to China. Come and see me instead. If you spend a weekend with me and Danae, you’ll get to meet Rafe. And you never know who else you might meet—Avalon’s that kind of place. There’s certain crazy magic in the air.”

  And so they’d arranged that Cici would come to Avalon that weekend.

  “We may have to change it to next weekend, sorry,” Mara told her friend on the phone.

  “That’s okay. You take care, you hear? Just don’t let any of the gorgeous men leave town till I get there,” Cici said.

  As they set off for Dublin, Danae was silent. There was a knot of tightness about her chest.

  “I know I’m not going to see him alive again,” she said. “I don’t know how, but I know it.”

  “Don’t be silly,” said Mara. “We’ll get there in time.”

  But she wondered if it wouldn’t be better if Danae was right. Surely being there with him when he died would only bring her more pain.

  They’d only gone a quarter of the way when Danae’s phone rang again. She and Mara looked at each other; they both knew what the news would be.

  “I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, Mrs. Rahill, but your husband passed away fifteen minutes ago. It was very peaceful. Very peaceful.”

  “Oh God,” said Danae, and the grief and guilt engulfed her again.

  “Are you on the way to see him?”

  Mara swiftly pulled over to the side of the road and took the phone from her aunt.

  “Hello,” she said, “this is Mara, Danae’s niece—we met the other day. My aunt is actually incredibly upset right now. I think it would be better for her if we went home and came back to see him at the funeral. I don’t think she’s able for this. I’m afraid it might send her over the edge.”

  “No.”

  Danae was shaking her head, but Mara held firm:

  “That’s the best thing,” she said, then to the person at the other end of the phone: “I’ll call back in a little while to discuss funeral arrangements. I really think that’s the best thing. I simply do not want to distress my aunt even more.” She took a risk. “My uncle has been very ill for the past eighteen years. It’s put a terrible strain on my aunt. I think we’d better wait for the funeral.” She hung up.

  “No! Why did you do that?” cried Danae. “I have to go and see him.”

  Mara put down the phone and took both of her aunt’s hands in hers.

  “No, Danae,” she said, looking into her eyes, “I really don’t think you need to do this to yourself. Do you?”

  In her heart, Mara felt certain that if Danae saw Antonio’s body it would only serve to remind her that she was the one who had put him in a nursing home. Knowing Danae, she wouldn’t stop to think about all the pain he’d caused her.

  Finally, Danae nodded. “You’re right, Mara,” she said slowly. “How come you’re so wise?” she said wryly.

  “You’re teaching me,” Mara said, and hugged her.

  They turned around and drove back to Avalon, where Danae went slowly out with Lady into the garden. She sat heavily on the wooden seat near the henhouse and grieved with her beloved Lady by her side. Mara took to the phone again and phoned her parents.

  “We need to organize the funeral
and tell Antonio’s relatives. Not that there’s been any sign of them at the hospice, even though we made sure they were informed. Can you handle some of that, Dad?”

  “Of course,” said Morris. “Count on me.”

  Then Mara was sitting at the table, wondering how to compose a suitable death notice for the newspapers. Deeply beloved by his dear wife somehow didn’t quite work.

  She rang home again: “Dad,” she said, “you’d be better at this than me. Will you take care of the funeral stuff and I’ll try to mind Danae?”

  Two days later, the first part of the funeral of Danae’s husband took place. She wanted to go to the funeral home where his body lay resting before it was brought to the church in the evening. The following day, his funeral Mass would be followed by his burial.

  “What should we do, Dad?” said Mara to her father. He, Elsie, Stephen, Rafe and Belle all stood there, dressed in black like soldiers guarding Danae.

  “We’ve got to let her say goodbye to him, if that’s what she wants.”

  Belle stepped in. “We’ll all go with her for moral support,” she said firmly.

  So it was that Danae was being supported by her brother on one side and her niece on the other when she walked into the viewing room in the undertaker’s, where Antonio lay in an open coffin. It was strange, Danae thought, that he looked different now. Peaceful in death and like the man he had once been. The man who knew how to smile and laugh. It was as if the brain injury he’d suffered and the many nights of violent rage that had transformed his face into an ugly mask had been wiped clean after his death.

  His hands were folded in prayer, mother-of-pearl rosary beads around them. She knew his mother, Rosa, had given the beads to him when he was in the nursing home. Maybe Rosa would be waiting in heaven, or whatever was out there, for her son. Danae hoped he’d tell her what had really happened that night. Tell her that he’d tried to kill Danae, so Rosa would know the truth, finally.

  And those hands—they looked so peaceful, but how often had they punched her and hit her and been wrapped around her throat, threatening to end her life?