Kate didn’t understand.
‘All I will say is that Hail glorious St Patrick is not quite as good as he seems,’ said Moya bitterly, ‘as he has a propensity to chase every bit of skirt that comes his way.’
Kate was appalled.
‘How do you stick it?’
‘He promises it will never happen again and I put my head in the sand and try to believe him. I’ve got the three kids so what else can I do?’
‘Moya, you don’t have to put up with that.’
‘Maybe someday I won’t!’ replied Moya firmly. ‘Someday I’ll have had enough and I’ll throw him out or take the kids and go!’
Kate looked over at her sister, seeing the torture Patrick was inflicting reflected in her eyes. How had she never guessed?
‘I’m sorry, Moya, I shouldn’t have said anything!’
‘It’s all right. Patrick and I are trying to work it out. Neither of us wants to end up in the divorce courts. He for obvious reasons and me because of the kids and the fact I’m an old-fashioned catholic girl who still believes in marriage.’
‘And what about you, Romy?’ ventured Kate.
‘No-one gives a shit about me.’
‘Come off it!’
‘We do give a shit!’ said Kate, serious. ‘Honest, we do.’
Romy pulled her long legs up under her, not sure where she’d begin.
‘Hey this is like confession!’ she groaned.
Kate reached for her and hugged her. ‘Go on!’
‘Kate, you remember the night of Moya’s wedding and I went to meet Brian . . .’
‘Yeah, you were mad about him. I remember that.’
‘We made love. And I found out I was pregnant when I went back to college.’
She told them the truth about taking the money and going to London, the clinic and the start of the running, of hating herself, of searching for what she’d lost.
‘Why didn’t you come home?’ whispered Moya.
‘I couldn’t. I couldn’t face her knowing what I’d done. I guess I couldn’t face myself.’
She told them the rest: sex and sleeping with boys and men whose names she couldn’t remember, the towns and cities where she’d stayed, moving and searching, not wanting to be found until she’d met Rob and hoped that he would be the one. Cruel California and saying goodbye to Rob. Being in the wrong place on the day in September when planes crashed and the world burned and men threw themselves from buildings and thousands died in New York.
They let her talk and when she’d finished they lay with the sun beating down on them. Romy stretched out with her eyes shut so they couldn’t see her tears.
Afterwards Romy felt drained and looking out at the sea couldn’t resist the sparkling blue water, lapping only yards away.
‘I’m going for a swim!’
‘Don’t be mad!’
Romy didn’t care and ran to the water’s edge peeling off her clothes and flinging them in a pile. She needed to wash it away, feel the water on her. Wading in as far as she could, she gasped as the coldness hit her, then ducked down and floated, bobbing on the waves as they carried her.
‘Come on!’ she yelled.
Moya looked around.
The nearest person was at least a half-mile away. It was too tempting and in a few seconds herself and Kate had joined Romy, screaming as the freezing water hit their bare skin and they splashed around. They raced and pulled each other along in the water by the toes, ducking and diving like they did when they were kids. Getting out, they fell onto the beach laughing, drying themselves off with Kate’s sweater and Romy’s T-shirt, pulling on a bit of clothing as they made a hasty retreat to the house.
Laughing and covered in sand, wet hair streeling, they tramped across the kitchen floor. Vonnie and Maeve were equally amused by their dishevelled appearance.
‘You girls go and dry off upstairs,’ smiled Vonnie, ‘and I’ll make a big pot of tea.’
Kate felt overwhelmed with guilt leaving her mother the next day but she had to get back to Dublin. Molly was missing her and Derry had to get some of his own work completed or he’d miss contract dates, plus the office had been on repeatedly asking about her return to work. Moya had left earlier that morning in the hire car, as she was on a mid-morning flight to London.
‘Romy, are you sure that it won’t be too much for you staying here on your own and minding her?’ pressed Kate, concerned, standing in the hallway with her bag ready to return to the city.
‘I told you. We’ll be fine. Anyway, I’m not on my own. There’s the nurses and Aunt Vonnie and Dr Deegan and Mary Costigan across the way plus all Mum’s friends.’
‘Sure?’
‘I’m sure. I wouldn’t do it otherwise. And I promise, any change and I’ll phone you immediately.’
‘You have the numbers.’
‘Mobile, office and home. They’re on the noticeboard and in Mum’s phone number book.’
Kate took a deep breath. Her mother was as comfortable as they could make her, home where she wanted to be.
‘Romy, thanks so much. I don’t know what Moya and I would have done if you weren’t here.’
‘Shssh. She’s my mother too. Of course I want to be here.’
Romy watched the black car turn in the driveway and disappear on to the Rossmore Road, suddenly feeling the enormous responsibility for caring for her mother during the last days of her life.
Maeve Dillon lay dozing, her tight twisted features now relaxed, curled up amongst the pillows and duvet. She looked younger, her hair brushed off her face, eyes shut, peaceful. Romy picked up some mugs and dirty plates and brought them to the kitchen to wash. For the first time she really felt she was home as she flicked the radio on down low and pushed open the kitchen door, Jinx her mother’s cat pushing past her.
‘Poor old thing, you’re being ignored and you don’t like it,’ she murmured, stroking the black coat.
Romy had always loved this kitchen, considered it the heart of the house, the place her mother could always be found: washing up, peeling vegetables, baking, stuffing chicken and turkeys and mixing gravy in the big brown jug to pour over the roasts of lamb and beef, sending them to get a snip of parsley or herbs from the garden. The high days of summer her mother lost herself in the garden, out there from early morning till late at night. Picnics on the beach and plates of salad and pots of new potatoes and warm brown bread from the oven were their staple. She still found it hard to believe that her mother would never work in this kitchen again, turn on the gas cooker, pull plates from the racks and forage in the fridge for ingredients to create a meal for her family. It was weird that she was now the mistress of this kitchen and all it contained. Petting the cat, she made herself a cup of tea and slipped back to sit near her mother. Moya and Kate thought they had landed her with the tough job of caring for a dying woman, not realizing she was the one who needed this most, the time to make amends for the mess she’d made in the past and try to make up the years lost by spending this precious time with her mother, the one person who had always unconditionally loved her.
Dr Deegan had looked in briefly on his way home, checking her mother’s pulse and blood pressure, looking at the skin on her back and heels and listening to her chest.
‘You’re doing great, Maeve,’ he said, gently pulling her nightdress back down and patting her hand. Her mother had always had a huge regard for the local GP and Romy was relieved that he was looking after her now near the end instead of some junior hospital doctor on shift that her mother didn’t know.
‘Eating and drinking and sleeping OK?’ he enquired.
‘Fine.’
‘And what about you?’
‘I’m fine too.’ She smiled.
‘Well you know where I am if you need me, and you have my mobile.’
Her mother was tired and content to lie back against the pillows as Romy went through the first of the photo albums she’d found, kissing the top of Maeve’s head when she saw the first photo of hers
elf taken a few days after she came home from the hospital, her mother radiant.
‘I’m like a monkey wrapped in that pink blanket,’ she joked, surprised when her mother touched her shoulder and made an attempt to say ‘My monkey.’
God, she’d been so wild as a child, temper tantrums, stroppy, always up to mischief and breaking things. A tomboy, the dog Lucky at her heels, always looking for attention – or was that after Sean had been born? There were reams of photographs: birthdays, Christmas, holidays, on the rides in Tramore, starting school, communion, confirmation, winning the fancy dress competition when she’d dressed up as Humpty Dumpty, playing on the beach in their togs. She hesitated when she came to the one, taken by Moya, of her parents bringing Sean home from hospital. Her father in his suit, her mother’s hair curling around her face as she nervously held the small baby in the blue blanket towards the cameras, Sean’s eyes tightly shut.
‘He was so small,’ she said softly, as her mother’s finger touched the picture. There were another five or six pictures of her little brother, eyes open staring out at life, smiling with tiny dimples, trying to grab someone’s hair in his fist. The very last photo in the album was taken a few days later on her first day at the convent’s secondary school, Moya, Kate and herself dressed in their identical uniforms, grinning in the morning sun as her mother captured them on camera, that moment frozen before everything changed.
There were too many memories.
‘The night nurse will be here in a few minutes to get you settled, Mammy,’ she babbled. Trying to compose herself, she closed the leatherbound album over and put it away.
Chapter Thirty-eight
THE STONE HOUSE settled into a routine centred around the care of Maeve. Brigid Reilly the nurse arrived about ten o’clock every morning, Romy helping if needed as the nurse washed and changed her mother and administered a range of drugs. Brigid monitored her patient’s condition daily, informing Romy over a cup of tea before she left as to how well her mother was doing.
‘She’s eaten so little for the past three days,’ worried Romy. ‘Just a bit of scrambled egg or mashed potato or yoghurt.’
‘Is she having any difficulty swallowing? Stroke patients often develop a compromised swallow.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What about drinking? She’s still taking a lot of fluids, I presume.’
‘Yeah, tea and milk and juice and water.’
‘It’s very important she drinks enough, especially with all the medication she’s on.’
Moya phoned every day around midday to check how things were going and to say hello to her mother. Romy mentioned the nurse’s concern about her eating and drinking and the fact that her mother was now sleeping longer and longer. ‘Kate’s coming down at the weekend so at least she’ll be here,’ she told her.
During the day many of her mother’s friends dropped in, some only staying a few minutes, others sitting quietly beside her.
‘Romy’s all grown up now,’ joked Mrs Grace, one of her old teachers, who played bridge with her mother. ‘I’m sure your coming home has made Maeve so happy. She used to tell us about your travels but I know she missed you terribly.’
The ladies from the Garden Club came and with the french windows opened carried pots and planters over to the doorway for her mother to see, admiring her climbing roses and spreading sweet pea.
‘Green fingers, you’ve always had them, Maeve. You put the rest of us to shame. You just had to fling things into the soil and they took!’
Romy knew that even though her mother was weak, these visits pleased her.
Insured to drive her mother’s Volkswagen Polo, Romy drove into Rossmore to buy a few groceries while Mrs Grace was there.
The sky was overcast, and it was threatening rain as she pulled into a space outside the supermarket. The small town had changed a lot over the years, with a proliferation of holiday homes and apartments; luckily most were on the outskirts of Rossmore and didn’t take away from the quaint charm of the place. The hotels overlooking the front were still the same though some could do with a lick of paint. The newsagent’s and the post office were still there, and O’Sullivan’s, where she’d worked for two summers, had expanded, the window filled with crystal and silver and pine photo frames, expensive designer pottery and ceramics. The ice-cream machine beside the door had gone.
Further up the street were the bookies and McHugh’s pub where her father drank. Lavelle’s looked great, the restaurant and bakery painted a buttery cream colour with pine windows and a black awning that flapped in the wind with the signature word Lavelle’s. Sheila O’Grady must be proud of the fine business she’d built up over the years. Romy stopped and studied that evening’s menu. She’d heard from Moya that the eldest girl Deirdre also worked there, while young Tony was involved in the bakery, which supplied hotels and restaurants all over the South-East.
Romy, embarrassed when she realized that Sheila had spotted her, waved back.
She needed to get some chicken in the butcher’s, then bread, pasta, and a few other items in the large Spar. She stopped outside her father’s old office: it made her feel sad, a big Closing Down Sale sign in the window. Boxes everywhere. The antique business that had set up there was relocating. She peered in through the dusty window and blind. Smartened up like Lavelle’s it could be nice.
Rossmore itself seemed smaller than she remembered, but walking along streets up by the school where she’d chased and raced in her uniform brought back reams of memories.
It had just begun to drizzle, and she pulled up her hood and zipped her jacket, head down. Putting the groceries in the car, she spotted a black Range Rover across the road from her. The tall figure in the black leather jacket was immediately recognizable. Brian O’Grady slowed down to let a woman with a baby in a buggy cross. Shit! She didn’t know if he’d seen her or not. Her aunt had mentioned about him being back working in the area. She felt like getting in the car and high-tailing it to the airport but, taking a breath, calmed herself and drove home.
Seeing Brian O’Grady had upset her more than she could ever have imagined, his very presence at such close proximity disturbing her. Romy, upset and restless, knew she couldn’t run any more.
She had pulled up the chair beside her mother’s bed that night and told her the truth about the abortion.
‘It’s no excuse but I was scared. Terrified, too young to know what I was doing. Daddy and you and I – we were all upset! We said things, things we didn’t mean.’
Her mother tried to say something, agitated, but the words just wouldn’t come.
‘I lied to you about not knowing who the father was. It was Brian O’Grady. I loved him so much. We were always together. I was so screwed up and sick and scared. Brian had another girlfriend. I wouldn’t listen to you about keeping the baby and just went to a clinic in Fulham and had an abortion. I couldn’t think straight.’
‘It’s in the past,’ said her mother slowly, the words clear.
‘You were right all along. You told me that I would regret it, but I didn’t listen to you and I let those doctors there get rid of my baby.’
Her mother’s eyes welled with tears.
‘I’m a fucking walking disaster. I got rid of my own baby even though you said you’d help me!’
She leaned along the bed beside her mother.
‘I was relieved . . . the baby was gone. But it was the worst feeling in the world. I don’t know how you got through it after Sean, Mammy. I don’t know how you did it! I had to get away so I went to France. I kept moving. The further away I went, the harder it was to come back. I kept thinking, I’m seeing the world, but I was just running, running away. It wasn’t you or Dad or anything I was getting away from – it was just me . . . I couldn’t face me!’
Maeve reached for her daughter with her good arm and Romy buried her head on her chest as her mother comforted her like she did when she was small and bold and wild. Romy knew that she was forgiven.
; Kate and Molly arrived late on Friday evening. Romy was enchanted to finally get to see her little niece.
‘She’s a beauty, Kate.’
‘Unlike her mother,’ teased her sister.
‘No,’ gulped Romy, mortified. ‘Molly’s cute and clever and you’d run away with her.’
‘I know what you mean. Some days I just can’t believe she’s mine!’
Romy stifled a pang of jealousy.
‘I suppose I envy you,’ she said truthfully. ‘You’ve got your career and you have Molly. You are stronger and braver than me and have your beautiful daughter to show for it.’
‘Listen, Romy, you were just a scared kid. Time will change things, just wait and see! Some day you’ll have another child.’
‘I’m not sure that’s ever going to happen,’ said Romy bitterly. ‘Not sure I deserve it!’
Kate squeezed her sister’s hand, realizing just how fortunate she really was. She couldn’t imagine her life without the curly-haired bundle of mischief hopping up and down in front of them demanding to see Granny.
‘Does she understand about Mum?’
‘She knows Granny’s very sick and tired and she’s got to be good for the next two days. That’s about as much as most three-year-olds can take in. Derry had to work. He’s up in Belfast so I had to bring her.’
‘And am I glad you did.’ Romy smiled, pulling Molly up on her lap and kissing and hugging her.
‘Can I see Granny now?’ asked Molly, jumping down.
‘Of course.’ Her mother smiled as she led her to the dining room.
‘Granny’s bedroom’s upstairs,’ Molly reminded her.
‘Well since she got sick, we got our cousins to bring Granny’s big bed down here so she won’t be all alone upstairs.’
Romy had a lump in her throat as she watched Molly march over to her granny’s bed and stand there for a minute assessing the situation. Unperturbed by the change in her grandmother’s appearance, Molly had simply kicked off her shoes and clambered up in her denim skirt and bright yellow T-shirt onto the bed, pulling back the quilt so she was lying beside her granny. Pulling open her ladybird handbag, she began to take out two drawings to show her.
The Stone House Page 26
