by Alison Walsh
Rosie looks at me then with those lovely eyes, which are so bright and trusting, and she breaks into a gummy grin. It’s as if she’s talking to me, as if she wants me to save her.
And I know now that that’s what I have to do.
14
It seemed ironic, June thought, that when she’d spent her entire life trying to escape who she was, she only realised too late what it meant to her. Only when she’d wrecked what she valued most did she even see how little care she’d given it. There was nothing to do now, she knew, but to try to start again.
Gerry had moved out that night, when she’d come back from Monasterard. She hadn’t asked him to leave – if anything, it should have been the other way around, but that was Gerry. He was a good man: she’d known that from the moment she’d set eyes on him, that afternoon in the Shelbourne. She’d been able to see beyond the bluster, the snobbery, the tendency to be a windbag, to the man with the good heart who would do anything for his family. Which is why it wasn’t fair to blame him – the fault was all hers. There was something wrong with her, not with Gerry.
He wasn’t looking for revenge because of what she’d done; he wasn’t even angry, although he should have been. He was hurt, and that was far worse. When he’d intercepted her at the top of the stairs, he’d just held her mobile phone out to her, bottom lip trembling, like a lost little boy.
‘Oh.’ That was all she could think to say. ‘Oh.’ She had no idea she’d left the phone behind. She didn’t have to look at the texts, with their silly emoticons, their misspellings. She knew what they said, and now so did Gerry.
‘I won’t read them out,’ he’d said gently. ‘They don’t really bear being read out loud.’
If he’d ranted and raved, it would have been easier – if he’d yelled about the vows they’d taken and did they mean nothing to her, or banished her to the holiday home like Susie’s husband Frank had done when he’d found out about Jao, the instructor, and they’d all had to go rushing down to Rosslare to drink wine and listen to her sob her heart out and feel smug that it wasn’t them. Instead, he’d just looked at her sadly. ‘I blame myself,’ he’d said. ‘If I’d been around more … been less caught up with my job, with this stupid board meeting …’
She’d grown angry then. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Gerry, why on earth are you trying to blame yourself? I’m the one who –’ She hadn’t finished her sentence. The phone lay between them, all the little emoticons that Dave liked to use – the devil’s horns, the endless smiley faces. She didn’t even think to ask herself why she hadn’t deleted them. Maybe she’d wanted Gerry to find them, or was that just too obvious?
‘Is it serious?’ he’d asked.
‘Yes,’ she’d answered.
She hadn’t meant it like that, she thought now as she drove through town. She’d meant ‘serious’ in the sense that wrecking your whole life was serious, managing to lose your husband and family in one week was serious. She was driving him to his mother’s now, a week after the family conference, the two of them wordless as they drove through the grey streets, the people huddled in the early winter wind, darting along the pavement, muffled in scarves and jackets. She pulled up in front of the smart flat on Mespil Road, with its view of the posh bit of the canal, full of barges and pristine swans, suppressing the shiver of revulsion which always gripped her whenever she slipped into her mother-in-law’s orbit. She’d be only too delighted to have her only son back in her lair.
She turned to him then, wondering why he wasn’t getting out of the car, to see tears streaming down his face. ‘Junie, let’s not do this, please. I can’t manage without you, you know that.’ After everything she’d done, she could hardly bear it, but she knew that they had to be strong now – that they – she – couldn’t just go home and pretend that nothing had happened.
‘Is it because we haven’t taken Charlie out for a walk for a while?’ He looked at her hopefully, as if a slight lull in the bedroom department might have set her on a course of complete self-destruction.
‘Oh, God, no.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s not that, believe it or not.’
‘Look, it’s the stress … this new guy at the station – Aidan keeps going on about what a find he is and I’m fighting for my life here, Junie.’ Gerry sniffed. ‘They don’t want old farts like me.’
‘Oh, Gerry.’ June leaned over and dabbed at his tears with a tissue. ‘I had no idea it had got this bad. Why on earth didn’t you tell me? We’ve always been able to tell each other things.’
‘Not recently,’ Gerry said dryly.
‘No, you’re right,’ June agreed, blushing beet red. ‘Gerry, I—’
He held up a hand. ‘No, please, Junie. It makes it worse if you explain. I keep telling myself that it was completely meaningless. Just … bodies and stuff. Please don’t tell me otherwise.’
June shook her head and felt tears springing to her eyes. Tears that she didn’t need to stem, to wipe away and pretend that they’d never happened. She cried for herself and Gerry and for the awful things she’d said to her siblings and for lying and keeping secrets and being a bad mother – everything. And when she finished, she gave her nose a good, loud blow, a honk, and herself and Gerry managed to giggle, like schoolchildren.
‘I’m sorry, Gerry.’
‘I know you are, love. But I’m hurt, and my ego has taken a battering.’
‘And you don’t trust me any more,’ June said.
He didn’t say anything in reply, just shook his head. He didn’t need to say anything.
‘I’m going now, love. Mummy will be wondering what I’m doing out here.’ He nodded in the direction of his mother’s place and they both looked up to her third-floor flat to see her looking out the window. Oh, Christ, June thought – what would that cow make of it? She’d be jubilant. She’d always thought June had no class.
‘Gerry, before you go, can I tell you something?’
He turned around. ‘Of course, Junie, anything.’
She was about to tell him then, to ‘spill’ as India would put it, but instead she shook her head. ‘It’s nothing. I’m sorry.’
‘Junie, are you sure you don’t want to tell me?’ He was gentle. ‘Don’t you think not talking is what got us into this mess in the first place?’
‘Among other things,’ June said grimly. She took a deep breath and let the words come out. ‘I’ve been writing to my mother for years, and I told nobody about it.’
He’d looked puzzled for a few minutes, his forehead creased into a frown. ‘Your mother? But she’s dead, or as good as,’ he’d added.
She could have taken offence, but June knew what he meant. As far as Gerry was concerned, Mammy was dead. She’d been gone for years when they’d met and her name had only been mentioned once in all the years they’d been together. Just once. The woman who’d taught her everything, and she’d mentioned her name once. June had felt a wave of shame wash over her. It didn’t matter what Mammy had done. She didn’t deserve that, to be wiped out like that.
June had shaken her head. ‘She’s not dead, Gerry.’
‘Oh.’ He’d shifted slightly in the seat, absorbing the information.
‘That’s right. She’s been living … overseas, and … ehm, she’s written to me now and again over the years.’
‘And you kept it to yourself,’ he said wryly. ‘How well I know you, Junie.’
‘I did,’ she admitted.
‘Why?’
‘I’ve thought about that a lot over the past few weeks and I don’t know. I thought I was protecting the rest of them, or maybe I just wanted Mammy to myself … maybe that was it. Is that really so wrong, Gerry? I mean, it affected me too, her leaving, and no one ever gave me any credit,’ she said.
He reached over and patted her gently on the hand. ‘It’s OK, love, it’ll be OK.’
‘Gerry?’
‘Yes, love?’
‘Why are you being so nice to me?’
Gerry shrugged. ‘Look, I know tha
t I might not have listened much in the past. I suppose that life has been pretty comfortable for me. I’ve just sailed on through without a single obstacle and I forget sometimes that it hasn’t been like that for everyone else. Well, I suppose I’m getting my comeuppance now. I have no idea what to do with myself, do you know that?’ He shook his head. ‘No idea at all.’ He gave a heavy sigh then and blew his nose loudly into a crumpled hankie, which he’d pulled out of his jacket pocket. His eyes were red-rimmed and his face creased with disappointment and June thought she’d never loved him more. But she didn’t deserve him. She just didn’t.
There was a long pause before he said, ‘You know, if it’s any consolation to you, I need to do some thinking too, Junie. I know, it’d be a first,’ he smiled, ‘but there’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?’
‘There is,’ June agreed sadly.
‘And you’ll triumph in the end, I know you will. You’re stronger than you look, you know.’
‘Thanks, Gerry. It’s good of you to say it.’
‘Yes, well … if it’ll bring us back to each other sooner, Junie, I’ll say anything at all, you know that.’ And then he’d leaned towards her and given her a gentle peck on the cheek. ‘I’ll be over to see the girls on Sunday, OK?’
She’d left him on the pavement outside his mother’s, two suitcases beside him, waving, a lost soul. She thought her heart would break.
She texted Dave that night. ‘Meet me at the Shelbourne, 6.30, Friday.’ She didn’t bother asking if that suited him, or if he might be at home with his family on a Friday night. He had a wife and two children – she’d seen photos of them on his desk, and he’d hastily turned them face down. And had she cared? Not really. She’d been so hell bent on getting what she wanted – whatever that was – that she didn’t stop to think about anyone else. How could she have been so selfish – imagine if it were India and Georgia? And then she flushed when the next thought came.
It was the least she could do now to let him go with a bit of style, a bit of dignity.
His reply was typical, full of exclamation marks, and June had tutted as she’d deleted it. She’d need all of her strength to see this through.
She insisted they meet in the tea rooms, and as soon as she walked in, feet squishing over the heavy cream carpet, the drapes framing the windows with their lovely views of St Stephen’s Green, she knew that it was a mistake. Dave was sitting in the corner, in one of those stiff wing-back chairs, in a suit and tie. She’d never once seen him out of overalls and he looked as if he were being strangled by his collar, pulling and tugging at it, eyes flicking nervously to one side. When he saw her, he jumped up, like an excitable schoolboy. June flushed a deep red. Sit down, for God’s sake, she thought as she walked towards him. She’d dressed as if for a business meeting, in a dove grey wool suit. It was Chanel and she’d told Gerry not to buy it for her, that it was too expensive, but he’d insisted. Now, she was glad she had the suit of armour, could pretend that she was just another well-heeled professional chatting to a client.
As she came towards him, he grabbed her hand and attempted to kiss her full on the lips.
‘Not here,’ she hissed.
He flinched and sat back down again. She took up the menu and, on cue, so did he, looking at the selection of pastries and petits fours as if he’d never seen such a thing in his life. ‘Any chance of a pint?’ His top lip was sweating.
‘They don’t serve alcohol here,’ June said briefly.
‘Oh. Right.’ He looked around the room. ‘This is very you, June, very classy. You always did have your eye on this kind of lifestyle, didn’t you?’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ June said. ‘Will I order tea?’
There was a long silence before Dave put the menu down. ‘You haven’t invited me here for a little tea party, have you, June?’
June shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just … Gerry … Gerry knows.’
Dave stopped dead, his blue eyes wide with alarm. ‘How?’
‘He saw texts.’
‘Oh, fuckin’ brilliant.’ Dave ran a hand through his hair. ‘Why the fuck didn’t you delete them? What’s he going to do? Will he tell Majella or will I have to – Jesus, I’m fucked. She’ll hack my balls off.’ He looked around the room as if contemplating escape.
‘He will do nothing,’ June said quietly. ‘He’s been very good about it. He’s forgiven me.’ And she looked at Dave primly.
Dave sat back in the overstuffed seat then, an expression on his face that she’d never seen before. ‘Well, aren’t you the lucky one, June, to have such an understanding husband.’
‘Yes, I suppose I am—’ June began, but Dave interrupted, leaning forward in the chair, waving a finger.
‘Do you know something, you’re just a prick tease, June, thinking that you can just walk into my life after twenty-five years and get me all riled up again and then just tell me to fuck off. You know what your problem is – you’re a user and you’re a snob. You’ve always thought you were too good for people like me – but everyone knows that the O’Connors are just trash. That sister of yours who doesn’t belong to anyone in particular – who the fuck knows who the daddy is there, eh? And that father of yours, prick out all over the town until he wasn’t capable of it any more. Jesus Christ.’ His voice had been growing louder and louder and a group of nuns, who were gathered at the next table, turned around, anxious looks on their faces underneath their navy blue veils. June wanted to kneel down and beg for absolution, beg them to ask God to forgive her.
Then the nice Russian manager was standing beside them. ‘Sir? Madam? Is there a problem?’
Dave jumped up, his knees crashing off the low coffee table. The look on his face was wild. ‘There’s no problem … Svetlana,’ he muttered, looking at her name badge. ‘We won’t be ordering tea after all.’ Then, louder, ‘June, try keeping your knickers on in future.’ And with that, he was gone, head high, striding across the room.
‘I’ll just get my coat,’ June said quietly, gathering her bags and exiting the room with as much dignity as she could muster.
When she got home, the house was empty, as it generally was these days. She went to the fridge and opened it, then closed it again. She’d find nothing there. At least, nothing that would make her feel any better. She sat down at the kitchen table, drumming her fingers on the expensive surface. Gerry had had it imported from Sweden and it was birch, a lovely blonde shade that felt cool under her touch. She laid her cheek down on it and closed her eyes. She was getting a headache, a pain right above her left eyebrow that throbbed and ached.
It’s finally happened, she thought. I’m alone. The one thing I was afraid of – it happened anyway, and it was all my doing. I have no one to blame but myself.
There was only one thing left to do and it would take all of her strength to do it, but she knew that it would set them all free. And even if the others never knew she’d done it, she’d know. And she’d understand that, for once in her life, she’d done the right thing.
She sighed and went upstairs to the bedroom, to her dressing table and took out the lovely Smythson notepaper. She was running low and knew that the next time she’d be opting for Basildon Bond. She didn’t have the nerve to ask Gerry to fork out for more. It seemed appropriate, somehow, for the next phase in her life. She sat down, put a fresh sheet in front of her and lifted her pen to write. ‘Dear Mammy …’
She was distracted then by a presence behind her. She turned to see Georgia standing at the door in a pair of grey jogging pants and a black T-shirt that said ‘Queen Bee’ on it. She couldn’t help it, the flicker of impatience she felt when she saw her there. It wasn’t fair, she knew, after everything the girls had gone through, but she wanted to get this done, without interruption, so that she could put the whole awful thing behind her.
Maybe if I just ignore her, she thought, turning back to her task, and then, after a few minutes, ‘You’re hovering,’ over her shoulder.
> ‘Sorry, Mum. It’s just … I need to talk to you.’ Georgia’s voice wasn’t her usual confident boom but a little, childlike wobble.
June swivelled the chair around until she was facing her daughter. ‘Look, love, I know it hasn’t been easy—’
Georgia waved her away with a hand, a look of impatience on her face. ‘It’s not that. It’s India. She’s done something bad.’
India? June shook her head for a minute. ‘I don’t understand.’ ‘India’ and ‘bad’, the two words just didn’t go together. India was a good girl. She’d never given June a day’s trouble. She’d studied for all her exams and never went out to social nights lathered in fake tan and wearing nothing but a bandage, like some of those girls she saw hanging around outside Wes. Georgia, on the other hand …
Georgia gave a half-smile, as if to say, ‘I know. You thought it’d be me.’ And then her eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh, Mum,’ she blurted and ran towards June, hurling herself into her arms, where she gave a little wail of distress. June put her arms around her daughter, around her solid little back, and said, ‘It’s all right, shush, shush,’ into Georgia’s hair, thinking as she did how long it had been since she’d done that, given either of her girls a real hug.
June pulled her daughter onto her knee, giving her a squeeze. ‘That’s my girl. See? You’re not too old to sit on my knee, are you?’
‘No, Mum.’ Georgia’s sobs had died down a little and she leaned her lovely dark curls against June’s shoulders and hiccupped gently.
‘Georgia, tell me what the matter is.’
Georgia took a deep breath. ‘There are photos of India online.’
‘Right,’ June said cautiously. ‘Well, she has an account. She showed me once – there were kittens on it and Leinster rugby players.’
Georgia rolled her eyes to heaven. ‘For God’s sake.’ And she got up from June’s knee and walked out of the kitchen before sticking her head back around the door. ‘Wait there for a minute.’ June could hear her thump up the stairs to her bedroom, and then thump back down again, her determined steps, a little terrier. She was holding her iPad, which she put on the table between them. She tapped in a password and logged on to India’s profile.
