A Thousand Roads Home

by Carmel Harrington

  ‘You are one funny lady,’ Aisling said.

  Ruth’s arms flapped, but this time in delight.

  ‘Well, I for one am delighted you told us a bit more about you,’ Ava said.

  ‘Me, too,’ Aisling agreed. ‘And who cares if you say the wrong thing every now and then? Friends don’t mind about that.’

  Friends.

  ‘Yeah. Let’s stick together, right?’ Ava said. ‘We’ll get through this bullshit situation together. I have to tell you ladies, you’ve been such a tonic to me lately. I was so low only a few months ago, but now I feel like I’ve got people who are on my side. Who’ve got my back. It’s getting me through this nightmare, it really is.’

  Stick together. ‘I never had friends before,’ Ruth whispered.

  ‘Never? Not even in school?’ Ava asked.

  Ruth shook her head. ‘People do not like others who are different. My mother told me that. In my experience she was right about that.’

  ‘You are less different than you believe or have been told before,’ Aisling said. ‘For goodness’ sake, we’ve loads in common.’

  ‘We are all homeless, for a start,’ Ava said.

  ‘And you and me both failed epically at school sports. Right?’ Aisling asked.

  ‘True,’ Ruth confirmed.

  ‘I was bleeding brilliant,’ Ava told them.

  ‘Show off.’ Aisling shoved her good-naturedly.

  ‘And let’s never forget that we’re all beautiful,’ Ava said. ‘Here, come here, you beauts. Let’s do a selfie.’

  ‘I have never done one of those before,’ Ruth said.

  ‘A selfie virgin in Dublin? Jeepers! Didn’t think they existed!’ Ava exclaimed. She manoeuvred them into the perfect position and snapped. ‘I’ll insta that later. #besties. #mytribe.’

  ‘Tag me,’ Aisling said. ‘And there’s another thing we have in common, Ruth. You and I are both single mums.’

  ‘Where is DJ’s father?’ Ava asked. ‘If you don’t mind me asking.’

  ‘I wish I knew,’ Ruth replied.

  ‘What was he like?’ Aisling asked.

  ‘Funny. Kind. Good. Strong. We were soul mates.’

  Ava and Aisling looked at Ruth in sympathy. She had it bad.

  ‘I met him on the day that I was supposed to meet my soul mate.’ She told them the story of the ice cream and the fortune-telling machine.

  ‘That’s so romantic,’ Aisling said.

  ‘My world in Wexford was jam-packed with Seans and Jacks. I never met a Dean before until he walked into me with his shiny black shoes,’ Ruth said.

  ‘You like that name?’ Ava asked.

  Ruth nodded. ‘My number-one favourite book is Odd Thomas, written by Dean Koontz. I have read it two hundred and thirty-one times so far.’

  ‘Wow,’ Aisling and Ava said in unison.

  ‘Was he gorgeous then, this Dean?’ Aisling asked.

  Ruth scrunched her nose up and said, ‘He was short with a round face. He had scrawny legs.’

  ‘You’re not selling him very well,’ Ava remarked.

  ‘I had never been kissed until I met him.’

  ‘My first time was with Don McIntyre in the back of his car,’ Aisling said, shuddering. ‘I cannot for the life of me work out why I ever agreed to that. Worst five minutes of my life.’

  They all had a giggle at that.

  ‘He had long eyelashes,’ Ruth said. ‘When he was asleep, they rested on his round cheeks like two caterpillars.’

  ‘Aw, that sounds so romantic. Was he a great ride?’ Aisling asked.

  ‘The first time was not as good as I hoped it would be. But by the time we got to six times, it was most excellent.’

  Aisling spluttered, then said, ‘Oh, I do love you, Ruth.’

  ‘So what happened then? Did you split up when he found out about DJ?’ Ava asked.

  Ruth shook her head. ‘The last words he said to me was that he loved me and would see me the next weekend. I am still waiting for that to come.’

  Aisling and Ava moved closer to Ruth, who was now standing on the gravel path, lost in her memory. Aisling touched Ruth’s arm gently and Ava stood shoulder to shoulder with her. Ruth did not mind. In fact she liked it very much.

  40

  TOM

  The day started off wet so Tom spent the morning in the public library. He had been avoiding Ruth and DJ. After Ruth gave him new clothes, his initial joy and gratitude for her kind gesture gave way to something else. Panic. Fear. And when he tried to find Cathy and Mikey in his dreams, they refused to co-operate. Instead, his mind was full of Ruth and DJ, and he did not like that. He felt angry – irrational, he knew – at them both. His life was perfectly fine before they came crashing into it.

  But the more he kept away, the harder it was for him to find peace in his dreams, like he usually did. And he realised that he missed Ruth and DJ. He missed their chats, their company, their care.

  So this morning, it was most serendipitous when he found Jackie Lynam, the librarian knee-deep in a stock check. Part of which involved the culling of books to make way for the new books on the block. A plan formed. A way to make it up to Ruth for disappearing.

  To Ruth’s surprise, when she made her way out of the hotel to meet Tom for their usual lunch, she found him hovering by the side entrance. With four large boxes of books at his feet.

  ‘What on earth …?’ Ruth exclaimed.

  ‘I have books for the Library,’ Tom said. He’d pleaded his case with his librarian friend, who had happily agreed to donate books.

  ‘Where have you been? I waited for you for every day for seven days at your bench. DJ went looking for you every afternoon and evening. And you just turn up here with books?’

  Tom shrugged.

  ‘I asked you a question. Do not be rude,’ Ruth said.

  ‘That’s rich coming from someone who spends her life being rude!’ Tom exclaimed.

  ‘I have Autism!’ Ruth said.

  ‘That’s a reason, not an excuse,’ Tom batted back. Why was he being so mean to Ruth? She had showed him only kindness. He was guilty. And he was doing what most did when they felt that. Attack. He felt a flush of shame. She deserved better. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I was worried I had offended you. Did I?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘No! Look, Ruth, I just took off for a bit because I was feeling sorry for myself. Stuff on my mind about Cathy.’ He did not know how to explain to Ruth how he felt because it did not make any sense to him.

  ‘Do you want to tell me about it?’

  ‘Not really. Don’t be mad at me. Please. I am sorry for worrying you.’ Tom realised that now he was back it mattered a great deal what this woman thought about him.

  ‘I accept your apology, Dr O’Grady.’ Ruth’s face broke into a smile as she took in the boxes of books on the ground. ‘How on earth did you get them all over here from the library?’

  ‘My librarian friend, Jackie, gave me a lift.’

  Together they carried the boxes into the Library, in two trips. It took nearly three hundred steps. Unfortunately Erica decided to call into the Library at the very moment they laid the last boxes down. Her surprise at seeing a dog was doubled when she saw Tom holding onto the end of his leash.

  ‘Get out!’ she squealed.

  Despite Ruth’s hasty explanation, Erica was indignant and could not be swayed. ‘We have standards at The Silver Sands Lodge!’

  ‘This is Dr Tom O’Grady. He is my friend,’ Ruth said.

  ‘I do not care if he’s Mickey Mouse, he has no business being in my hotel. Out!’

  Tom knew that people were afraid of rough sleepers. They assumed they were addicted to something or had a mental illness. And of course some were dangerous. But most who chose to live on the fringes of society were just people who were broken in some way. People like Erica preferred to walk on by someone they saw huddled on the ground. Ignore the invisible and then maybe they will go away. Someone else’s problem. Most days Tom accepted t
his. Not today.

  ‘You know, earlier today I was in Pearse Street Library. And they had a table near the counter with books all covered in brown paper. Written on each book were just three words to describe the hidden book. No title. No author. Just three descriptive words.

  ‘I thought that was such a great idea, because normally, based solely on a cover, people decide whether a book is or is not for them. As a result, so many great books are overlooked. Wouldn’t life be so much better if people took the time to open a book up, no matter how it looked on the outside?’

  Tom was not the type of person who made speeches. But he was doing lots of things that he would not normally do recently.

  ‘Everybody has a story,’ Ruth said to Erica, who looked bemused by Tom’s outburst. ‘You might be surprised to hear Dr O’Grady’s.’

  Erica mulled over what she had just heard. Doctor, indeed. A likely story. She arched her back and said in her most authoritative voice, ‘The Silver Sands Lodge Library is for residents only.’

  Tom thought about arguing some more. But he didn’t want to get Ruth into trouble. So he left without any further comment. There was a time that he was a respected member of society and now everywhere he went he was sent on his way, like a bad smell. And despite Ruth’s comments, he smelled bloody good, if he said so himself. He pulled his collar up, to protect himself from the strong winds blowing from the Atlantic, then made his way into the city, to Aungier Street. It used to take him a little under an hour to do this walk, but old age had slowed him down. It was closer to two hours now. Just before he reached Summerhill Parade, he noticed a bundle of cardboard boxes next to Sackville Gardens. He walked a little closer to check it out and saw a young man huddled under a box, which he had made his makeshift home for the night. He opened his eyes in alarm when he saw Tom peering down at him.

  ‘What you want?’ His words were slurred. He’d been drinking.

  ‘Not a thing,’ Tom replied, taking a step back. ‘It’s going to be a cold one tonight. You might be better off heading into one of the shelters.’

  ‘’S fine here …’ The man rolled over and turned his back on Tom.

  Tom placed his rucksack on the ground and reached in to pull out his sleeping bag. Without a word, he gently placed it over the man’s slumped body, then picked up his rucksack and continued walking.

  ‘Hey, mister!’

  Tom turned round to look back at the man who was now on his feet.

  ‘Thanks.’

  Tom nodded and continued on his way to the shelter. It was crowded because the temperatures had dropped. Bones and Lash were there. Lash was having a go at some poor schmuck who accused him of stealing his shoes. Which he most likely did, because he was light-fingered. They all knew that.

  Tom had a restless night and not once could he find his way to Cathy and Mikey in his dreams. Part of the problem was the noise in the hostel. But that wasn’t the only issue. His mind was full of Ruth and DJ: worrying about them and their situation one minute, then grinning like an idiot as he remembered their earlier conversations and what it felt like to have real friends. He wanted the day to begin again so that he could see them.

  And then irritation would come a-knocking. He preferred being on his own, reliant on nobody. It was better that way. Maybe he should move on from the park. Break the ties that were beginning to form with them both. Before someone got hurt. Him.

  But the following morning he found himself walking towards his bench with purpose. He wanted to see if the kid had made up with his mam yet. He was a loose cannon with all the worries of the world on his little shoulders. Tom wanted to have another chat with him, make him see that his life wasn’t so bad.

  But something caught his eye that made Tom stop in his tracks and forget all about DJ and Ruth for a moment.

  What the hell is that?

  Tom made his way towards a box that sat on top of his bench.

  Fyffe bananas?

  He scanned the park, but it was empty, bar him and Bette Davis. The hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention when he heard a whimper. It was coming from the box.

  ‘Bloody hell, Bette,’ Tom said. ‘Stay here, girl.’ The box made another whimper. That’s a baby’s cry. His heart hammering, Tom broke into a run, throwing his rucksack to the ground. He fumbled with the lid, all the time praying the child inside was OK.

  Oh sweet Jesus. The poor little mite. Nestled, naked, in a blanket was a newborn. Only a few hours old by Tom’s reckoning. Pink in colour: that was good. Tom pulled the baby in close to his heart and held it there, whispering over and over, ‘It’s OK, it’s OK, it’s OK …’

  But it was anything but OK. Someone had left a baby on a park bench. In November, for goodness’ sake. The child could have perished in the cold! Who would do such a thing?

  Sheila. Of course! Oh, you silly girl, what have you done?

  He stood up and scanned the park once again. Then called out her name into the wind. ‘Sheila! Sheila, are you there? Let me help you, Sheila, please.’

  She must be terrified, maybe she needed medical attention. Think, Tom.

  He felt eyes on him, or at least fancied he did. He did a three-sixty turn and scanned the area once again. Was she out there watching him? He didn’t believe that she would leave the baby and not make sure that Tom was here to take care of it. He thought he saw a shadow move from under the oak trees on the other side of the park. He held the baby close and broke into a run, again calling, ‘Sheila’ over and over.

  But there was no one there. If the girl had been there, she was now gone.

  He walked back to the bench, Bette Davis trailing after him, and sat down, clutching the baby. ‘Now what am I going to do with you, little one?’

  He walked out of the park to the phone box down the street and called the emergency services. He had no choice. This little baby was on its own now and needed medical attention, a bottle, a cot in the warmth. He returned to his bench to wait for the paramedics and the gardaí.

  Oh, Cathy, what a bloody mess.

  He tried to work out what his wife would do if she were here. She’d look for Sheila and make sure she was OK. That’s what. Once the baby was safe, he’d find her. The infant began to whimper again. So he rocked her back and forth in his arms, singing a lullaby that he once sang every day to his own little boy.

  Somewhere over the rainbow way up high …

  And the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true.

  The words came back to him as if it were yesterday that he last sang them. And as he sang the last line with tears in his eyes, he heard sirens make their presence known. The noise of them brought him to a place that he could not hide from. That was the problem with memories, they were unpredictable. No matter how hard you tried to push them away, hide them in a corner of your mind, they came back to bite. He looked down at the little one in his arms and only saw Mikey. And his heart splintered once more.

  How many times can a heart break? Agony, fresh and raw, sliced through him.

  He didn’t hear the paramedics until they were upon him, in a flash of luminous yellow and green.

  ‘Sir, you found a baby?’ One of the two paramedics spoke. He reached over to take the baby, but Tom held on. He couldn’t let go. Not to this baby.

  Tom looked at him, tears steaming down his face.

  ‘I’m Declan Cunningham. And that boyo over there is Steve Holloway. We’re paramedics. You called about this baby you found, sir.’ Declan took a seat beside Tom on the bench.

  ‘I found her in this box,’ Tom said, remembering himself. ‘A quare kind of banana …’ He nodded to the Fyffe’s banana logo that was stamped on the brown lid. Declan and Steve laughed, for a moment.

  ‘Any idea where the mother is?’ Steve asked, looking around the park.

  ‘No,’ Tom replied. He looked down at the child in his arms and made a promise. I’ll find your mama, I promise.

  ‘Can I take a look at the baby?’ Declan asked, and Tom handed h
er over. He looked down at his empty arms. All gone.

  ‘The guards will be here shortly to take a statement. All right, bud?’ Steve said.

  Tom expected as much. ‘Where will you bring the baby?’

  ‘The Rotunda,’ Steve answered.

  ‘Well, this little one seems remarkably healthy despite her entrance into the world,’ Declan declared, wrapping a silver-foil blanket around her to keep her warm. ‘Even so, we need to get her to hospital.’

  Before they left, Steve laid a hand on Tom’s arm. ‘The baby was lucky it was you who found her. You did good, buddy.’

  The guards arrived moments later and Tom made his statement. There wasn’t much to tell. Once they moved on, Tom took several steadying breaths. He didn’t have time to sit here feeling sorry for himself. Bones. Find Bones and then he would find Sheila.

  It didn’t take long to locate Bones. He was sleeping off the previous night’s cider in his usual spot, down by the waterfront, alongside Lash. Tom found them under a cover of brown cardboard boxes. A bark from Bette stirred them.

  ‘I need you to help me find Sheila. She’s had the baby. And I’m worried about her,’ Tom said.

  Bones sat up without a word. He kicked Lash and told him to take care of his things, then made his way back to the town. Tom had to practically run to keep up with him. They went to the squat and Tom asked Bones to go in and make sure Bobby was not around. He did not want to come face to face with that fella.

  ‘She’s in there. Asleep, by the looks of it,’ Bones said. Then he grabbed Tom’s arm. ‘Don’t be here when Bobby comes back. He’s gunning for you. Mouthing off about you sticking your nose in. I don’t trust him, Doc. He’s off his head most of the time and is a loose wire. Watch yourself.’

  Tom nodded, then followed Bones along the side of the house. Sheila was in the front upstairs bedroom cradling a pink babygro in her arms. Asleep, as Bones said. Then he saw it and the blood drained from his body, making his knees buckle. There was a needle sticking out of her left arm.

  ‘Ah, Sheila, no.’ Tom kneeled down beside the girl and felt for a pulse.