Tom walked over to Breda and grabbed her hand, spinning her around 360 degrees. ‘I don’t know. I reckon you have all the moves.’
She laughed as she pushed him away. ‘Get away out of that! Maybe thirty years ago. But I’m nearly sixty now!’
‘Never, you don’t look a day over forty!’ Tom didn’t miss a beat and she beamed. They had formed their mutual appreciation society nearly fifteen years previously, when he’d opened the practice. He would be lost without her.
They both groaned when the doorbell rang. Who on earth was calling at this late hour? They had cleared all appointments and it was now twenty minutes past their closing time.
‘Is it Ben, maybe?’ Breda asked. Sometimes Tom and his solicitor friend had a drink together after work.
‘Not tonight. He’s got a hot date with a new woman called Orla. Right now he’s dousing himself in aftershave.’ He unlocked the front door to a young mother with a young child in her arms, wrapped in a blanket.
‘Siobhan!’ Breda exclaimed, walking towards the woman.
‘I saw the light on. I hoped you were still here,’ Siobhan replied.
‘We were just about to walk out the door,’ Breda answered.
Siobhan’s face clouded with anxiety. ‘I’m worried. Daniel’s chest is really bad. His wheeze has gotten worse.’
Breda looked at Tom, ready to take his lead. Technically they were closed. Surgery hours were explicit on the sign at the front of their office.
‘You did the right thing coming,’ Tom said, shrugging his jacket off. Daniel looked smaller than his four years, his face bleached white.
Breda was unsurprised. Her boss had a big heart. It was one of the reasons she loved him like her own son.
Once they got into Tom’s office, Daniel climbed off his mother’s lap and stood in front of the doctor. Daniel knew the drill – he’d been here so many times before. He lifted his top up before he was asked, so that Dr Tom could listen to his chest.
‘Good man. Big deep breath for me. Hold it. And exhale,’ Tom said. ‘You’re a great fella. Do that again for me.’
Tom took his temperature, which was high, and looked in his ears and throat. ‘His left lung doesn’t sound good. The wheeze is particularly bad there.’
Siobhan wrung her hands back and forth. ‘I knew I should have brought him in earlier today. But Lulu has a bad cold. And I didn’t like to bring her out. She’s been so bad-tempered with it all. Gerard was away working. As soon as he came home, I told him I had to bring Daniel to see you. I rushed here as fast as I could. I’m so sorry …’
Tom put his hand up to stop the apologies. The woman would have a heart attack if she didn’t let herself off the hook. Nothing like a mother’s guilt. Unnecessary in this case. Her children were idolised and well looked after. ‘You were right to come to me.’
An hour spent on Tom’s new nebuliser made Daniel a new boy. Tom walked them both to the door with a prescription in hand. ‘If anything happens during the night that worries you, just go straight to A&E. But I think he’s going to be OK at home with the steroids.’
‘Bye, Dr Tom,’ Daniel said. He looked better already and was walking beside his mam now, holding her hand. Seeing how much improved the little fella was made the late night worth it. He locked up and jumped in his car. With a bit of luck, with traffic on his side, he’d make the supermarket before it closed.
The store announced its imminent closure as Tom raced up the escalators. He grabbed a trolley, ignoring the look of annoyance on the spotty-faced store assistant, who was restocking the baskets and trollies. The last thing he wanted was a last-minute trolley dasher like Tom to delay closure of the store. ‘Sorry, buddy,’ Tom said. ‘Promise I’ll be quick.’
He went straight to the pre-packed meal counter to cut out any procrastination on what to buy or, indeed, cook. Not quite home cooked but marginally better than living in the chipper all weekend. If he was fast he could hit the booze aisle to grab some beer too. It was Friday night, and while he was planning a weekend of little else but a book and maybe a bit of TV, alcohol would play a part, too.
His parents would be horrified if they knew he wasn’t going out this weekend looking for love. They were obsessed with his social activities and he found himself making up events that he’d been to just to satisfy them. Not that he was short of social opportunities. He just didn’t want any of them right now.
Tom was one of those people who always had lots of friends. He was born with charisma. His mother used to say that from the moment he arrived into the world people would stop and stare at him. He would lock his big brown eyes onto theirs and they were putty in his hands. In school kids loved him. His easy-going nature, coupled with a quick wit, made him good company. Children and teachers alike gravitated towards him.
This aura that surrounded him followed him through to university. His best friend, Ben, would watch him sail his way through his classes, making friends and finding new girlfriends without breaking a sweat. Whereas he always had to try harder. And whenever he complained, asking him what his secret was, Tom would answer, ‘I’m a charming fecker, that’s how.’
And he was. People liked him.
But even charmers like him need a chance to recharge batteries every now and then. The savage hours in work were taking their toll.
But, if Tom had finished his day at 6 p.m., as was originally planned, he would never have met Cathy. And that would have been the greatest tragedy. Cathy liked to think that something else governed their destined meet-up that day. Fate. Tom thought it was dumb luck. Either way, it was the start of everything.
In the shadow of the bench, Bette Davis looked up when she felt her master shift to the right. Even though he had his eyes closed, he was smiling. He was happy. He was home.
5
RUTH
Ruth was never late for an appointment. If she made a commitment to be somewhere, you could rely on her. Even with the unscheduled stop for the old man and his dog, Ruth and DJ were waiting outside the front entrance of Parkgate, ready to see the council, five minutes early. At 10.01 a.m., Ruth began to feel agitated.
She willed the door to open, wondering how many steps there were between the door and their scheduled appointment. When the door swung open moments later, she said to the brown-lace-up-loafer man, ‘You are two minutes late.’
‘Not by my watch, missus,’ the man replied, not one bit put out by her comments.
‘Excuse me? Are we in the 1950s? I am neither Mrs, Ms, nor Miss. I am Ruth.’
His bewildered face gave DJ a fit of the giggles.
Ruth and DJ picked up a black sack each, balancing it on top of a suitcase. Then they wheeled them into the hall following the signs for the Central Placement Service. One hundred and two steps. Ruth and DJ placed their bags against a wall on their left, which seemed as good a place as any to leave their worldly goods. Then they settled down to wait. From previous interactions with the council, Ruth expected that to be at least thirty minutes. She came prepared and placed her headphones on, hoping Westlife’s harmonies would block out the hundreds of horror stories she’d read online in support forums about other families who were in the same predicament as her. They were difficult to silence and over the past twenty-four hours had been, lingering inside her head.
I slept in my car for nearly two weeks. Gas thing is, I woke up at three o’clock every morning, at the exact same time. The cold woke me, or the nightmares, maybe both.
Laoise
We left the kids with my mother. She doesn’t have room for us all. But I can’t have them in the hostel. It’s not right. Not for anyone but definitely not for them.
Jude
They can’t find us emergency accommodation. Hotels won’t take our family of six. We’re too big. They want to separate us. But without each other, what’s the point of anything?
Gerry
I gave away all our clothes and possessions, except for one bag each. Not because I didn’t want them any more. But
because I had nowhere to put them.
Ursula
The desperate words of these families kept her awake at night and haunted her during the day.
Plan B was one she could not contemplate. Could she do it? Ask her family for help? Which of them? Her mother, her father or Mark?
Pop, pop, pop.
‘Mam.’ DJ nudged her, unease pinching his face. ‘You’re crying.’
She wiped the tears away, surprised to feel their wetness on her cheeks.
‘Ruth Wilde,’ a voice called out.
They stood up and turned to look at each other. DJ’s head now reached her breastbone. He was getting tall and she surmised that within a few years he would overtake her. But despite his physical appearance, despite the fact that his emotional intelligence was far older than his years, he was just a kid. And she was letting him down. Shame on you, Ruth. Shame, shame, shame.
‘It’s going to be fine, Mam,’ DJ said, sensing her anxiety.
‘Ruth Wilde?’ the voice shouted again.
Not everyone is cut out to be a mother, Ruth. That’s what her mother had said. Had she been right all along?
Eight steps till she reached the counter, and with each one Ruth vowed to make this right for DJ. But as she walked, she looked around the small waiting room that was now almost full. She felt the eyes of the room follow her, judging her, questioning her story. She wrung her hands. Ruth felt blinded by an imaginary spotlight, one that was focused on her inadequacies.
Shame. Shame. Shame.
She wanted to run. Run, leaving behind her suitcases and black sacks. Leaving behind her shame. DJ moved a step closer to her and she felt the warmth of his hand on her back, steadying her. She was not alone. For her son, she summoned every ounce of strength and she focused on the job at hand.
They each took a seat side by side in front of the clerical officer. Ruth looked at the desk in front of her and saw a photograph of a family, taken at a child’s First Holy Communion. Mum, dad and two smiling kids, one of them dressed in white. The woman in the photograph beamed and her hands rested on the shoulders of her two children. She had a kind face and she was a mother. That had to be a good sign. Because right now this stranger in front of them held their fate in her hands.
DJ’s hands covered hers as Ruth began popping her knuckles one by one. She unflexed her hands reluctantly. If I just get through this interview, I can go home and be myself in private … The thought hung unfinished in her mind. She no longer had a home to go to. She forced herself to look up at the woman in front of her and silently begged her to help them. The woman’s eyes were locked on her computer screen and she hit the keyboard a few times, before looking up at them both and smiling.
‘Good morning! I’m Gillian. Nippy out there today, isn’t it? My car nearly skidded on black ice when I left our estate. Put the heart across me!’ She spoke fast, her smile bright and honest, reaching her eyes. Ruth had not been expecting a summary of Gillian’s journey to work and was thrown by it. She had rehearsed what to say all morning and this had not been part of any scenario. So she ignored Gillian and repeated her rehearsed statement in one long breathless sentence.
‘I have a job I always pay my rent on time but our landlord has evicted us as he is selling our flat I have tried everything in my power to find another home for us but there is nothing in my price range we have nowhere to go we are homeless I have a job that I am going to lose if I do not have a home and I have a son who needs a home.’
‘It’s OK,’ Gillian interrupted. ‘Breathe.’
‘I am breathing. I would be dead if I were not.’
Gillian could not work out if Ruth was joking or not. She decided that she was. ‘Good one! Well, don’t worry, I’m going to help you. OK?’
Ruth nodded, looking closely at the woman in front of them whose face only showed sympathy and kindness. She could not see her shoes and that disappointed her. She guessed she was a black-mid-heel-court type of woman. She decided she could trust her.
‘Do we get a house with a garden?’ DJ asked.
‘I can’t guarantee that, I’m afraid. But I’m going to do my best to make sure you have somewhere to go today, until we find you something more permanent. And we need to ensure that you don’t lose your job, Ruth. Let me just double-check that your information on file is still correct.’
‘I cannot lose my job I have worked very hard not to lose this job.’
‘I’m sure you have. You work from home as an online customer advisor?’
Ruth nodded.
‘Your annual salary is 18,000 euro.’
Another nod.
‘You are a single mother. You have one child – DJ, who is aged ten. You do not receive maintenance from his father. All correct?’
Three nods in a row. Ruth felt like one of those nodding dogs in the back of a car.
‘And there’s no family you can call on for help? Somewhere you can stay until your name comes up on the housing list?’
Her family. What would this woman think if she knew the truth about her mother?
‘I have no family support,’ Ruth confirmed. She felt DJ’s eyes on her and looked towards him. She knew what he was thinking. Why? She wished she had an answer to that.
‘I’m going to make a few calls to find emergency accommodation close to DJ’s school. But I must stress that I can’t guarantee that. It’s been a busy month – hell, it’s been a busy year,’ Gillian said.
‘It’s OK if I miss school for a bit,’ DJ said helpfully.
Gillian laughed at this, but stopped when she realised Ruth wasn’t joining in. She was such an odd woman, so serious.
‘We have no car to sleep in. Or friends’ houses to sofa surf. Please help us. I do not want my son to sleep on a bench. Please,’ Ruth said.
Pop, pop, pop.
Gillian leaned in and said, with utmost sincerity, ‘I told you that I would help. And that’s what I plan to do. Try not to worry.’
Twenty minutes later, Gillian looked up from her computer screen and said, ‘I’ve pulled some strings and found you a room in a hotel. It’s a little bit away from DJ’s school, which I know was a priority for you both location-wise, but it’s all I have at the moment. Like I said earlier, it’s been a hard year for many people,’ Gillian said.
‘Thank you. We will take it,’ Ruth said, breathless with relief. She wanted to dance with joy. No park bench for them. They would be safe.
‘I’ll keep the pressure on for you, to try and get your house. You’ve been on the waiting list for a long time. Your turn has to come soon,’ Gillian promised.
‘What’s the name of the hotel?’ DJ asked.
‘The Silver Sands Lodge. It’s small. Really a guest-house or, as Erica, the owner, likes to say, a boutique hotel. We’ve housed a number of our families there over the past couple of years. I think you’ll be comfortable. It’s all booked with Erica, who is expecting you. You mentioned you have no car?’
‘No. I sold our car a few years ago to pay for a deposit on the flat we’ve just been evicted from,’ Ruth replied. She scribbled down Erica’s name and hotel details into her notebook. Fairview. She did not know the area, but knew it was close to the city centre.
‘Just as well maybe. The Silver Sands Lodge does not allow social housing residents to park in their car park,’ Gillian said.
‘That makes no sense. A car park is for cars.’
‘It’s small, so they prefer to keep the spaces there for their paying guests. You understand.’
Ruth did not understand, but thought she’d better keep quiet in case the room was taken from her as quickly as it had been offered.
Gillian turned to DJ, who was listening to their exchange with eyes wide. ‘My priority is to get you that garden, DJ. I promise I’ll do my best.’
DJ’s face was alight with excitement. ‘I’ve never stayed in a hotel before! This is going to be so cool. Our first holiday!’
Gillian looked at him, pity turning her kind face sad. Sh
e had visited too many families squashed into one hotel room, with little privacy and no comforts to make themselves a home. Gillian wished she had the power to stop that harsh reality sinking in for DJ. He wasn’t much older than her own kids. Glancing at the photograph of her beaming family, snapped at home, she realised how lucky they were, to live the life they did. And when she got home, she would tell them so.
6
RUTH
Then
Ruth slipped a navy sleep mask over her eyes, smiling in satisfaction when her brother, Mark’s, small kitchen disappeared into darkness. Armed with her bowl of chopped fruit, she moved eight steps to the small dining-room table, which sat at the edge of the open-plan kitchen and living room. She had considered eating standing up, against the sink. But the thought was fleeting. One, her lower back ached and she needed the welcome relief of sitting. Two, more importantly, the sink was not the correct place to eat.
Ruth liked to do the correct thing. Follow the rules.
‘Sorry, little baby. Be patient,’ she whispered.
A third kick under her ribcage made her jump and elicited a loud bellowing laugh. ‘Not afraid to look for what you want, that’s my fierce little one.’ In delight, she rubbed her round tummy.
The baby responded by kicking her once again, its target the top of her pelvis. She lowered the bowl onto the table, ignoring the stabbing pain, then sat down. The relief was immediate. She felt her body celebrating the respite from hauling around the additional weight she now carried on her slight frame.
Reward for her efforts was immediate when Ruth popped a large slice of mango into her mouth. The sweet, tangy juice spilled from the soft flesh in an explosion that set her taste buds alight. She laughed out loud again as her jubilant baby began a victory dance, its craving for bright-orange mango fruit quenched. ‘If there is a sweeter taste, then I do not know it,’ she whispered to an empty room. But her little one answered, with another sharp kick to her ribs.
‘I will always do all in my power to give you what you want, little one,’ Ruth whispered to her unborn child.
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