by Shari Low
‘But Colm…’
‘Shauna, stop treating me like I’m fucking dying,’ he blurted and I felt myself physically recoil, like my face had been slapped. This wasn’t the old Colm. The old Colm didn’t yell. He didn’t rage at me. There was a time when I knew his every gesture, every feeling and reaction, but no longer. Sometimes I felt like this tumour was already starting to take him away, bit by bit.
I opened my mouth, but there were no words.
In front of me, Colm exhaled, his two hands going to his hips, head down. It was a few seconds before he lifted it again. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his whole body sagging with whatever combination of emotions were in play.
‘It’s okay, you’re just…’ I was planning to go with ‘tired’ but I didn’t get a chance to finish.
‘It’s not okay. Christ, I’m a prick sometimes.’
Two choices – honesty or conciliatory humour. As always, I went with the latter. ‘Yes, you are indeed,’ I told him. ‘Thankfully, I have high tolerance levels in the world of prickdom.’
That made him smile.
‘C’mere,’ I said, climbing on to the bed and reaching for him. He took me up on it, moving his suitcase to one side to clear a space. He didn’t speak until our heads were on the pillow, faces inches apart, arms and legs entwined.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m not deliberately mollycoddling you.’ I phrased it differently from him, unwilling to use the ‘d’ word.
‘I know,’ he said, that tidal wave of anger now settled to a moment of mild disconcertedness on a rippling sea. ‘It’s me. It’s just so… Fuck, I hate this, Shauna.’
‘I know. Can we talk about it?’
‘What is there to talk about? It is what it is. Talking about it changes nothing.’
Just when I hoped he was opening up, the cell door slammed shut. I’d read all this stuff about how this kind of event in life pulls people together, bonds them. I didn’t feel very bonded right now. I loved him, more than words, but this tumour had infected the connection between us and it was eating it away, so that no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t reach him. We still laughed, still hugged, still kissed, still said ‘I love you’ ten times a day, but it all felt so surface, like it wasn’t permeating the soul.
I wanted to tell him I was struggling, wanted to wail and rant about the unfairness of it all, but all that would achieve was bringing him down, reminding him what was ahead of him. I couldn’t do it.
But weeks, months, of acting this way and I felt… Oh God, the boulder in my chest was back, cutting off my airwaves, making it impossible to block out the emotions that were winding around my heart like wild triffids attacking a tree, choking the life out of it with every second that passed. I had to say something. It had to be now. I tried to keep my voice even, controlled.
‘I know, but Colm, I feel like we’re losing each other. I feel like I’m fighting my battle and you’re fighting yours, but we’re not doing it together, taking strength from each other.’ I hoped I was making sense and knew I only had a few more moments before all my breath was gone. ‘I miss you. I miss what we had. We were always a team, and now, when it’s harder than it’s ever been, you won’t talk, so I feel like I’m doing it on my own and so are you. We need to change this.’
As I said those last words, I watched his expression darken. ‘Change it how? Isn’t that the point? I can’t fucking change this. None of it.’ The waves of anger were back. He climbed off the bed, continued throwing things into the case, making it clear that as far as he was concerned, the conversation was over.
I already regretted saying anything. I should just have kept quiet, carried on doing what I was doing, just being in the background, allowing him to play everything out his way.
‘Colm, I’m sorry, I…’
He wasn’t listening.
‘You don’t always get to be the hero, okay?’ he raged. ‘You don’t always get to be the one that fixes things, that steps in and sorts everything out and solves all the problems.’
I couldn’t understand what he was saying. None of it was making sense.
‘What are you talking about?’ I gasped, struggling for air.
‘It’s always you. When we were setting up the company, you were the one whose income facilitated that. We couldn’t get pregnant, you kept on trying everything until it happened. When Annie died, you took care of everything. And now. Do you think I don’t know the problems this has caused? I know how bad the money situation must be, but you just keep on swooping in, fixing things, taking control and solving the problems I’m causing. Me, Shauna!’ He was properly yelling now. ‘I’m causing the problems and I know that. I can’t drive, so I can’t even pick up Beth. I can’t plan stuff for the future. I can’t take you out because you’re always working. And there’s not a fucking thing I can do about it except watch you keep it all going, stepping in to sort out my failings. Do you know how hard it is to watch you do that? And you act like it’s all a fucking breeze.’
Something inside me snapped. ‘A breeze? Hard to watch me? Are you kidding me?’ Blind, white hot fury, months of suppressed frustration and pure, raw, visceral grief took over. ‘I’m screaming on the inside every sodding minute of every day! There isn’t a moment since we found out about the tumour that I haven’t had a knife in my gut, slowly twisting, ripping out my insides, but I knew that didn’t matter. All that mattered was keeping everything going, making sure you had everything you wanted, playing it out your way! I wanted to keep a happy home for Beth and to do what I could to help you, so I just put a smile on my face and did it. But don’t you fucking dare say it’s a breeze, because every single day I have to stop myself from screaming at the unfairness of it and begging you to help me deal with what’s happening. I’m not playing the hero. Do you want to know the truth, Colm?’
He didn’t reply, his face red with fury.
‘The truth is that you don’t get to do this. You don’t get to refuse to open up to me, to demand it’s played out your way and then resent me when I go along with it. You don’t get to feel so bloody sorry for yourself that you can’t see that you are breaking me in the process. You don’t get to do this to us.’
‘Yes I do! Because it’s happening to me, Shauna! Not us! Me! I’m the one who’s sitting here counting the days until I die!’
Tears blinding me, I staggered out of the room, scared of what I’d say if I stayed. No more. I couldn’t do it any more.
But… did I really have a choice?
I was almost past Beth’s room when I heard a murmur, so I backtracked and went inside, fearful that our shouts had woken her. Damn, how had I let it get so out of control?
Opening the door, I saw she was still sleeping, but restless, her beautiful face shadowed by a frown. In an instant all the rage dissipated, the pressure cooker had opened, and all that was left inside was pure, sodden grief. My legs buckled so I held on to the wall, let it guide me to the bed, to my girl. I slipped in beside her once again, my face immersed in her blonde curls and I stayed there, until her hair was soaked with tears, until my love for her soothed me.
I heard a car horn outside, then the banging of the door, and only later when it was dark, and everything was completely still, did my thoughts clear enough for me to realize that he hadn’t come to say goodnight to Beth.
On any other night that wouldn’t be a problem.
But tonight that seemed like the biggest hurt of all, because something inside me understood what was really happening here. He was detaching himself from us. Letting go.
Or perhaps he was already gone.
32
2009
The Funeral
The room was packed with people, yet the volume was a low murmur, with the occasional sob, the occasional laugh, coming from different groups. Shauna was speaking to a gathering of elderly ladies, attempting to smile, but even from here I could see that her eyes were dead.
Dan wandered over and stood next to me. ‘How is she doing?�
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‘I don’t know,’ I answered honestly. ‘It’s like she’s going through the motions, saying the right things, doing what’s expected, but it’s almost…’ I searched for the word, ‘… robotic. It’s like she’s still in shock.’
Dan shook his head mournfully. ‘She probably is. To have to do what she did and then for it to be…’
He didn’t finish. Didn’t have to. Shauna had fought to keep Annie alive and the post-mortem had shown that it was all pointless. A massive stroke. Death was instant. Nothing Shauna could have done would have saved her. Knowing that didn’t stop her from blaming herself though.
‘I don’t know how to help her. To be honest, I’m not much good at this kind of stuff. Nothing I want to say sounds right.’
Dan shook his head. ‘Then I hope you’re a quick learner, because I think she’s going to struggle. She told Lulu she can’t contemplate a world without Annie. She’s heartbroken.’
I sighed. ‘She was all the family Shauna had. You can’t count those two.’ I nodded over to the other side of the room, where Shauna’s mother was talking to Lulu, while her dad was in deep conversation with Rosie. It was good of the girls to step in and support her. They always did. Took the heat off me.
I’d tried, but the truth was that some people knew what to do in situations like this and some didn’t. Seemed like whatever I did it was wrong. If I tried to cheer her up, she snapped at me. If I gave her space, she simply stopped speaking to me.
I just didn’t know what to do. And if one more person told me it would get better in time, I may well resort to violence.
I saw her excuse herself from the group and quietly move away, heading through a heavy oak door to the foyer of the golf club. The venue had been Shauna’s dad’s choice, and he’d chosen to come here, despite Shauna’s objections that Annie hated this place. ‘Full of jumped-up tossers with an overinflated opinion of themselves. A bit like you, son,’ she’d say to Jeff. She’d add a wink on to the end to soften the blow, but everyone knew she meant it. In all the time I’d known Annie, she’d never backed down, never shirked the truth or turned her back on anyone who needed help. Shauna was a lot like her.
‘Back in a minute,’ I told Dan, then headed out after Shauna. Through the door, I looked left to the reception area and right to the corridor that led to another bar. Shauna was nowhere to be seen. I opted for left. I crossed the foyer, and headed to the entrance, two heavy, mahogany antique doors befitting a grand old building like this. I pushed one open, stepped out, the green grass of the practice area directly in front of me. I’d been here before, setting off on my annual round of golf with my wife’s father. The irony was that for a shit parent, he was great company. Full of the chat and hilarious anecdotes. Full of the charm if there were ladies present. I couldn’t work the guy out at all. Funny guy, crap father, Shauna always said, and she was absolutely right.
There was no sign of her and was about to go back inside when I spotted the long bench off to the left, where the golfers stopped to make their final preparations before going on to the first tee. There were two people on it, their backs to me, facing off into the distance. I didn’t need to see their faces to know who it was.
Shauna. Vincent.
Fair play to the guy, he’d been great. He’d told me what happened that night and I was so grateful that he was with Shauna, that she hadn’t gone through that on her own. Since then, he’d called, dropped by, been there for her, and yes, I was well aware that some of those tasks should have been mine, but Vince seemed to do it so much better.
Like now. I could see Shauna’s shoulders move, shudder, and I guessed she was sobbing. Vincent put his arm around her and her head fell on his shoulder. That was it. No talking, no drama, just a quiet moment of solace.
I considered going over, but what would that achieve? Vincent was doing a great job of comforting her. Like I said, he did it so much better than me.
If nothing else, I knew my limitations, knew when I didn’t have what someone needed. Coping with the death of a loved one rated pretty high on that scale. I didn’t do death. I couldn’t. A searing memory made an attempt to surface, and I pushed it back down. I wouldn’t go there, wouldn’t be one of those people who constantly relived the past, killing themselves with a million small cuts. No. Not today. Not ever.
So I backed up, slipped through the door and headed back inside, thankful to Vincent for taking my place.
33
2016
Going Back In Time
The cab driver was prattling on but I had absolutely no idea what he was saying. I’d zoned out before my arse hit the leather of the seats, grateful that he’d come early and got me out of there.
Fuck. Where had that all come from? One minute I was packing and the next we were screaming at each other and I was saying…
I can’t even remember what I was saying, but I knew it hurt her. I could see it on her face, in the way she backed away. Disgust. That’s what I saw. Maybe pity. Whatever it was, I couldn’t deal with it, so I was out of there. Glad to be away and just for one night I didn’t have to watch her clear up, worn out, trying to pretend she was fine while looking like she’d rather be anywhere else but there. Well, me too.
My phone buzzed to signal an incoming text and I was tempted to ignore it. If it was Shauna, I didn’t want to get into it again. I just wanted to be normal. Colm. Not the husband with the brain tumour. Or the guy who was relying on his wife to pay the bills. Just me.
Eventually I looked. Not Shauna. Jess.
Hey Colm, can the boys come hang at your house this weekend? Sorry to spring this on you but bit of a situation here and would appreciate your help.
I had to read it twice. Bizarre. In all the years we’d been co-parenting, the only time I could ever remember Jess asking for help was when she was ill – once with flu, another time with a broken leg after falling off Joe’s bike, and the third occasion, in hospital having her appendix removed. And they were 19 now, so it wasn’t as if they needed looking after.
I checked my watch. I’d already booked the taxi for way too early in case traffic was bad, and he’d turned up fifteen minutes before time. We hadn’t hit a single jam so we were ahead of schedule. Sit at Euston for at least half an hour before the nine p.m. train, or do a quick detour to check on Jess, see my boys and be bang on time for the later train at 9.40 p.m.? No contest. I’d do anything to wipe away the bad taste of what had just happened with Shauna.
‘Change of plan, mate,’ I told the driver, before giving him Jess’s address. After she’d married Steve, they’d moved from Notting Hill to a swanky house overlooking Regent’s Park, which was practically on the way to Euston
I let the taxi go at the gate, hoping Jess or Steve would give me a lift the rest of the way later.
Jess answered the door and I saw immediately I was right. Definitely ill. Her eyes were swollen and red, bloodshot too. Her skin was pale and her hair, usually shiny and straight, was pulled up into a riot of curls on top of her head. For a moment she looked nineteen again, the age she’d been when we met – no make-up, messy hair, always giggling. But that was before we got married, had the boys, before we lost… before we lost it all.
‘Colm, what are you doing here?’ her voice was thick and hoarse.
‘Okay, so this isn’t a line but I was, literally, passing when I got your text, so I thought I’d stop by, check everything was okay, see the boys.’
‘They’re not here,’ she said, so quietly I strained to hear. Even I couldn’t fail to miss the fact that my arrival was unwelcome though.
This wasn’t turning out quite as I’d expected. Typical. The one time I decide to be spontaneous and check on someone else’s well-being, this happens. Life was much simpler when I adhered to the more familiar territory of being a self-centred prick.
Awkward. ‘Okay, well I’ll just go and…’ I wasn’t sure what came next. I was standing on the doorstep like a pillock with my overnight bag and in possession of no
plan whatsoever. I could just flag a cab. There was sure to be one passing any minute.
‘Do you want to come in?’
Or I could just go in and have a cup of tea and scrounge a lift to the station off Steve, as per my original plan.
‘Okay,’ I replied.
I followed her to the kitchen, where she flicked the kettle on and took two cups from the cupboard. No sign of Steve. Bugger. I’d have a quick cuppa and phone a cab.
‘So when did this come on you then?’
‘When did what come on me?’ she asked, spooning sugar into my cup. Too late I remembered her track record on hot beverages and wished I’d asked for a soft drink.
‘The flu. How long have you been sick for?’
The spoon paused in mid-air and, bizarrely, she began to laugh, the kind of laugh that builds until its close to hysterics and there are tears running down your face – just like the ones she was wiping away now.
‘Jesus, Colm, you really are frigging hopeless.’
‘Why? What have I done?’ Och, bollocks, what now? I couldn’t do anything right today.
She composed herself enough to hand over my cup and I placed it on the table in front of me. I’d psyche myself up to drink it in a minute.
‘I’m not sick, it’s just been a bit of a tough week and today it got the better of me and I’ve spent most of it alternating between organizing stuff and indulging in some serious weeping. Don’t judge me. You know I’ve always been a crier.’
That was true. It was the biggest difference between Jess and Shauna. Jess would blub at the slightest thing, while Shauna only spilled a tear under extreme circumstances. The only time I remember her truly breaking her heart was when Annie died. I wasn’t sure she’d ever get over that, but of course, the days and weeks moved on and she did – although, only after Beth was born did the red-rimmed eyes finally become a thing of the past.
