The Carmel Sheehan Story

by Jean Grainger

  ‘You turned Niamh and Sinead against me, and they were only little girls. I could have loved them, I wanted to, but you had to spread your poison like you always do. The kids in the school hate you too, did you know that? Every kid in Birr dreads going into third class because you’re the teacher. What a waste of a life.’

  ‘How dare you!’ Julia screamed, slapping Carmel hard across the face. Carmel was stunned, her face stung, but Julia grabbed her and she lurched forward, sending Julia off balance, causing the other woman to lose her footing on the bit of loose carpet at the top of the stairs. She fell backwards down the stairs, landing in an undignified heap below. She managed to get herself up, as Carmel froze on the top step.

  Once she was upright, she spat, ‘You will pay for this, you mark my words, you illegitimate slut.’ Julia smoothed down her skirt and tried to fix her hair. ‘You should have been left to skivvy for your betters above in Dublin instead of my brother giving you a respectable home, you’ve bad blood in you, no wonder you’re the way you are,’ she hissed.

  ‘Get out, Julia. Just get out.’ Carmel was suddenly resolute and weary of it all.

  Julia’s car sent a spray of gravel as she reversed in temper. Carmel went quietly to her bedroom and packed her bags. There was nothing for her here anymore.

  Chapter 2

  She only had a few Euros in her purse and no bank card, even if she had one she’d have been too terrified to use it. Another wave of panic washed over her, the thousandth such wave since she left Ireland two days ago. The journey over to England had been okay, she had taken the bus and boat as that was the cheapest way to England. She’d never travelled anywhere before, so it was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. Arriving to the reception of Aashna House, with her bag in her hand and no plan, had been the most terrifying moment of her life, but Sharif’s welcome dispelled any fears instantly. He was genuinely thrilled to see her. She assured him that she wanted to work, she wasn’t a freeloader and he smiled.

  ‘Of course you’re not, I never thought you were, but let’s get you settled first, shall we?’ his smile made her melt inside. He took her bag and put it behind the desk at reception.

  ‘Can you get this sent down to 201 please and also have some supplies sent from the kitchen please, Marlena?’ he asked the receptionist.

  When Sharif gave her a tour of the clinic, she glanced sideways as they walked, admiring him. He was wearing a charcoal grey suit and a pale pink shirt under his white coat and Carmel thought he looked amazing.

  ‘I look different in my doctor outfit.’ He grinned, catching her looking at him. When they met in Dublin, he was dressed more casually. He’d joked with Carmel that there was absolutely no clinical reason whatsoever for it but that the residents felt more reassured when Dr Khan appeared in his white coat and hung a stethoscope around his neck.

  There was a variety of other staff too, who stopped to greet Sharif as they wandered round the exquisite house and grounds, and she was struck by how familiar and relaxed they all seemed around him. In her limited experience, doctors were to be revered, along with priests, but they joked with him and it seemed such a happy place, despite the fact that people came here to die. She met Zane, a care assistant, Oscar the Yoga teacher, Ivanka who was an occupational therapist, though Carmel hadn’t the faintest idea what that might be, and a cleaning lady called Ivy, who smoked like a chimney despite Sharif’s admonishments.

  Now that he was back in his own environment, she felt intimidated by his position. She didn’t know anyone who’d been to university except Julia and Bill’s girls, so the idea that someone as highly educated and successful as Sharif would want to associate with her made her feel anxious.

  The main house, the hospice itself, was housed in an old manor house but while it maintained the grand facades of nineteenth-century opulence outside, inside it was transformed into bright airy spaces and cosy, exquisitely decorated private rooms. Each room was different and while the medical technology employed was the most advanced, it was cleverly disguised so each patient’s room felt very homey. She had remarked how it didn’t smell like an institution. Sharif laughed and said every effort was made to use natural products for cleaning so there should be no offensively strong odours of disinfectant, and the cooking was done in a separate building on the grounds. Where possible, patients were encouraged to eat in the large bright glass-ceilinged Atrium, designed for that purpose, but for those unable to, food was brought to them.

  As well as various treatment rooms, there was a large multi-purpose building as well, called Kaivalya, the Sanskrit word for unity, which was used for lectures, concerts, and a variety of social events, and it was often used by local community groups. It overlooked the gardens with the lake in the middle and a fountain. Sharif told her he was happy to have people come in and use it, the small fee they paid helped with the upkeep but more importantly, it made the patients feel part of the outside community. Palliative care, he explained, was as much about mental health as about physical well-being. He’d visited several hospices all around the world before deciding on the format for Aashna House, and there was nowhere like it.

  ‘Of course, I’ve had to beg and borrow for years to get it going but people are kind. Death is a universal reality, so perhaps people feel happy to donate in life with the hope that it is storing some kind of karma for their own inevitable end.’ He chuckled. ‘A kind of insurance policy.’

  ‘Well, a dumb priest never got a parish,’ Carmel remarked and Sharif gave a peal of laughter.

  ‘What?’ she asked, glad she had made him laugh.

  ‘You’re just like Dolly, so funny. She had the funniest sayings as well…she cracked me up and so do you.’

  Just like when they met in Dublin, her Irishisms seemed to cause him no end of hilarity and Carmel basked in his admiration.

  As they walked through the gardens in the early spring sunshine, there was an outdoor Yoga class going on, people of varying physical ability saluting the sun. The accommodation section was mainly for resident staff, and some patients who, while ill and in need of medical support, wanted to live out as much as possible of their time independently. There was also a family support section, where family members of very ill people could stay, cook a meal, or watch TV. It really was a remarkable place.

  ‘I don’t know what I was expecting, but it’s nothing like I imagined,’ Carmel admitted as they sipped coffee in the restaurant.

  ‘I know. I think people expect candles and hushed voices and a smell of boiled cabbage when they think of hospices. To be fair, very few are like that, but I do like to think Aashna is one of a kind. It’s been my whole life’s work. This place means the world to me.’

  After the tour, he opened the door to a lovely apartment.

  ‘This is yours for as long as you want it,’ he said, handing her the keys.

  ‘But I can’t…’ she began. She had no money for rent and this place must cost a fortune.

  ‘Carmel, I thought I’d never see you again. And now, here you are. Please, let me do this, for you and for Dolly.’

  The two-bedroomed apartment was the loveliest living space she’d ever seen and Sharif assured her that she wasn’t inconveniencing anyone by being there. There was a bright sunny master bedroom with a double bed and fitted wardrobes and even a bathroom off it, with a huge shower and a deep Jacuzzi bath. The second bedroom was smaller but really cosy and decorated so nicely, the whole place was like something she’d seen on those makeover programmes on TV. In awe, she wandered round touching surfaces, the lovely French doors opening onto a courtyard full of plants and shrubs, the glittering black marble worktops, the entertainment unit on one wall, which held the largest TV she’d ever seen. The living area was open plan, with a kitchen, a sitting room with a big squashy leather sofa, and a dining table with four chairs. It was gorgeous, all creams and whites and a few splashes of colour here and there in rugs and prints.

  Carmel had never in her whole life had a place of
her own. She’d taken Sharif when they were in Dublin to see Trinity House, just to see it from the outside, and she had to admit that it looked quite dreary and forbidding. When she saw the dismay on his face, that she had spent half of her life there, she’d tried to convince him that it wasn’t that bad, not in comparison to some of the stuff you hear about children who grew up in the care of the Catholic Church in Ireland, but she knew he was horrified. Despite her best efforts to make it sound less Orphan Annie, she knew her life story was pathetic, a life not lived, just endured year after year, with no hopes, plans, or dreams. She tried to explain to him that she didn’t feel so hopeless when she was in Trinity House, it just was what it was, and she knew no better. Some kids got parents, and dogs and holidays and big extended families and others didn’t, and she was one of the ones that didn’t. She didn’t feel self-pitying about it; it was how things were. Wishing for different was like wishing for a white blackbird.

  When he came to find her in Ireland, he assumed that she had been adopted. Sharif explained to her how Dolly had come back to get her, years before when she was still a baby but Carmel wasn’t given back. Nobody ever explained why she wasn’t adopted, she just wasn’t, but for some reason, Dolly was told she had been, and that contact would be impossible. Carmel told Sharif how she wished so hard as a child to be picked by some family, taken home and loved like their own. It happened on TV but it never seemed to be an option for her. As the years went on, the prospect became less and less likely. Other children left the home to go to families but nobody ever showed the slightest interest in Carmel.

  The reality of her new situation as she wandered around her new home crashed over her like an icy wave. Panic threatened to engulf her. She’d only ever lived in two places, Trinity House and with Bill in County Offaly. What on earth had she been thinking? Leaving everything she ever knew to just up sticks and land over here in England with a total stranger. She was worried that people would look at her askance, wondering why the very eligible Dr Khan, who could have anyone he wanted, who owned and ran Aashna House, was showing a woman with no obvious skills around, and moving her into this amazing apartment.

  As he showed her around, his bleeper went. He read it and apologized.

  ‘I’m sorry, a patient needs me. Can I leave you here to settle in? I’ll come and find you when I’m free. Please feel free to wander around.’

  ‘Of…of course…sure.’ She tried not to panic.

  He went to the door and then turned back, standing in front of her, his hands on her shoulders.

  ‘I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you. Please don’t worry, everything is going to be fine now.’ He kissed her cheek and was gone.

  She sat down and tried to focus on her breathing. Calm, she told herself, just try to be calm. In and out, in and out. Gradually, her heartbeat returned to normal.

  She looked out on the large lawn in front of the apartment block, filled with patients and their families on such a sunny day. The residents, all of whom were terminally ill, were not all in bed as she imagined they would be. Sharif explained how the ethos of Aashna was that people should suck the marrow out of life, enjoy it, experience new things as much as they were able, and not just sit around waiting to die. Most were busy with various activities, painting, even brewing beer, and those that were very ill were in bright rooms that looked nothing like hospital wards.

  She moved tentatively to the sofa in her very own apartment, the sun streaming through the glass doors but was afraid to relax, full sure someone would appear any moment and demand to know who on earth she thought she was. The glass-topped table had a vase of yellow crocuses on it and Carmel tried to imagine a future where she would cook in her little kitchen and she would have friends sit at the table and eat a meal as her guests. She’d have to find a few friends first, she reminded herself ruefully.

  There was a large glass and enamel mirror over the fireplace and she stood to assess the woman looking back at her. She thought she looked every one of her forty years, crow’s feet radiated from her big blue eyes. The reflection confirmed what she suspected, that her dark shoulder-length hair made her look like a ghost. The stress of the last few weeks had caused her to lose weight and her spare tyre had just melted away. In fact, she thought she looked kind of gaunt. She was naturally blonde but she had allowed Julia to convince her to dye it dark last year. She could hear her sharp voice in her head, ‘Less conspicuous, the dark. Blonde can look very trashy, a nice brown colour to hide the grays, that’s much better.’ She hated it the moment she saw it, but to go against Julia once she’d issued a decree took more strength than she ever possessed.

  She wondered what was happening back in Birr. She was afraid to look at her phone.

  She thought back to the conversation with Sharif earlier in the hospice café. The whole sorry tale of the confrontations with Julia and Bill came out in a torrent and she was mortified when the tears started up again. He reached over the table and held both her hands, not caring who saw them.

  ‘Carmel, let me tell you something. In the early days when I was setting up Aashna House, everyone said I was mad, the place was costing too much, the furnishings and facilities were so top-end I’d never make my money back. They said that people wouldn’t be able to afford to live there and I’d bankrupt myself. Dolly used to ask me, “What would you do if the fear was gone?” It is a great question to ask yourself because once we remove the element of fear from our decisions, then we find our true heart’s desire. Fear takes us over if we let it, allowing people to only live half of the life they choose, or sometimes none of it because they are crippled by terror and what ifs. So, all over the world, people are staying in terrible marriages, awful jobs, living places they don’t want to live because they are afraid of what will happen if they take a leap of faith, they are afraid of their own instinct, they lack trust in themselves. The old Carmel was like that, but you know who wasn’t? Your mother, Dolly. She wasn’t afraid of anyone or anything. She tried lots of things, never backed down when she knew she was right, and she would want this for you. A new start, a chance to live your life on your terms, not somebody else’s. I know she’s gone, and it’s so sad that you’ve never met her, but in a way, you have. Through me. So, let her into your life, let her guide you. I’ve never met anyone I’ve been so attracted to as you, Carmel, maybe it’s because of Dolly or something, I don’t know, but I’m offering you a no strings escape. If something works out between us, then wonderful, but if it doesn’t, well, then, that’s as it may be. The offer is not subject to you and I having a relationship; the offer stands alone. You’ve done the hardest part, leaving that place, those people. It will be easy from now on.’

  Though the words sounded stupid, she heard herself say, ‘But he is my husband, I took a vow…’

  ‘Carmel, you are never going back to Bill. Not because I say so, obviously, but because there is nothing to go back to. He doesn’t love you; you tried your best but you don’t love him. You told me yourself, you were just a housekeeper. But let’s just speculate for a moment, just say you hate it here, you don’t want me or Aashna or any of it, you leave here and get a job and then would you be any worse off? Of course not, in fact, you’d still be much better off. You’d earn your own money, you’d have your own place, where you could just watch TV or have friends over or cook or whatever you want. So really, this feels like a huge leap, I know it does, but it’s not, not in any real way.’

  Her reverie was interrupted by Zane giving her a wave as he passed the window. He was funny and spoke with a real East End London accent when she met him earlier. He was so stylish, with his skinny jeans and skin-tight shirt showing off his well-toned body. His hair was shaved on both sides and sporting a full afro on the top and as Sharif introduced them she tried not to stare. It was the first conversation she’d ever had with a black person and he certainly was exotic. He would have looked like a mysterious tropical bird in Birr but over here, he was just part of the wonderfully colourf
ul tapestry of life.

  Everything in England was so different. The faces of the people for a start. The bus station at Waterloo was like a sensory assault, the costumes, hairstyles, the myriad of skin colours of the people. Sure, in Ireland there were more and more immigrants, but nothing like the huge crossroads of the entire world she experienced as she tried to find the right bus to get her to Aashna. Sharif had laughed when he caught her gazing in amazement at a group of Hasidic Jews having a loud argument in the garden as they passed. One of them was in a wheelchair but several others were crowded around him, clearly in disagreement over something. She’d never seen anyone like them with their long black coats and tall hats, their hair in plaits hanging from their temples.

  She waved back and smiled. Maybe everything was going to be okay.

  Her phone beeped. With trembling hands, she opened it.

  It was from Niamh, Bill’s daughter.

  ‘Carmel, what the hell do you think you are doing? Dad is devastated. I can’t believe U R being so selfish after all we’ve done for you. N’

  The next text was from his other daughter, Niamh’s twin Sinead, who had always been the nicer of the two, though Carmel never really got close to either girl despite her very best efforts.