What Happened to Us?

by Faith Hogan

  ‘Yeah, but not the kind we marry,’ Jim muttered into his pint and Kevin knew it was only because most people settled for what they thought they deserved. Well, the worst was over now. He – or rather they – had told Carrie. It wasn’t even as bad as he’d expected, actually, she’d taken it rather well. He’d been steeling himself for weeks, if he was honest. It wasn’t cowardice, so much as picking his moment. In the end, Valentina picked it for them and he knew it was for the best. No more sneaking around – the stress of all that, while no doubt it had added a risky excitement to the sex – he knew, he’d probably have a heart attack if he kept it up for much longer. Kevin just didn’t have that additional layer to him that subterfuge required, although, he was flattered that Valentina assumed he might and that all this was standard for a man about town like himself.

  ‘Pure and simple, I said it to you years ago. You and Carrie, too young to settle into all that happy families.’ But of course, there was no family, just a partnership that never made it to a marriage. Sometimes, Kevin wondered why they hadn’t married – perhaps Carrie had been waiting for him to ask? Of course, she must have known, after all these years, Kevin would never get around to asking. If they were to marry, it would be down to Carrie to organise it – and, of course, she never had.

  ‘It wasn’t just that,’ Kevin said. He wanted to tell Jim that he’d pursued Valentina, had seduced her and set about staking his claim on the future that was assembling before him. Although, the truth was, they’d fallen into their relationship one night when Valentina had teased him into opening a bottle of red after everyone had left and they’d made ravenous love against the stairs in the restaurant. Red wine always made Kevin tipsy; he just didn’t have the constitution for it. Even now, it was like a dream to Kevin. He was seducing this beautiful woman and he wasn’t entirely sure how he’d managed it, but he could no more halt than the world would stop spinning.

  ‘No, there was no family, but the restaurant that was your baby. It was hers too.’ Jim shook his head, considered his pint of beer. ‘I suppose you’ve thought about what will happen with that?’

  ‘With the restaurant?’ Kevin had thought about it, but not in any concrete way. First he’d had to tell Carrie, now that bit was over, they could make plans, decide what to do for the best.

  ‘I can’t see her walking away from it, and to be fair, you’d be mad to let her.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ Kevin was a little affronted.

  ‘Mate, I’ve known you both a long time, remember, we go back to first-year catering college together. Without Carrie, you’d be like all those other guys. True, you have talent, but let’s face it, Carrie is the brains behind the operation.’

  ‘Hold on, Jim. It’s my food people come for.’

  ‘Yes, and they also go to the Shelbourne for food and to McDonald’s. They go to your restaurant for the experience and that’s everything from the food to the people-watching, to the comfy chairs and even just to have Carrie look after them.’

  ‘Valentina is very good with the customers.’ Kevin might have been insulted if anyone else had said those things, but with Jim, well, he was probably telling the truth.

  ‘She may well be, but she’s not Carrie.’

  ‘God, no, she’s definitely not Carrie.’ Kevin smiled, remembering the way Valentina affected him. She did things slowly, spoke slowly, ate slowly. God, but she took off her clothes slowly. Each and every item hitting the ground, and his pulse began to beat rapidly just thinking about it.

  ‘Stop it, you’re torturing yourself.’ Jim could read his thoughts almost as well as Carrie could. ‘Actually, when I think about it, a Colombian hottie, you’re bloody torturing me as well.’ They sat for a while, looking at the giant TV over the bar, neither of them really following the game, both lost in thoughts of their own. ‘You’ll have to sort something with Carrie, mate.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘There’s no suppose about it. It’s a right mess. There’s the house, the business and then all the other stuff that’s going to get tangled up in the crossfire.’

  ‘What other stuff?’ Kevin didn’t want to hear this, probably it was to be expected, but why couldn’t Jim just be happy for him, well, ideally, if he could be a little jealous too – it wasn’t much to ask, was it?

  ‘Have you forgotten Melissa and Ben’s wedding?’

  ‘Oh, Christ.’ Kevin had completely forgotten Melissa and Ben’s wedding. It was all planned, and as best friends of the bride and groom, Kevin and Carrie were asked to be maid of honour and best man. ‘That’ll be a bloody nightmare.’

  ‘Ah well, fun and games,’ Jim said, draining his pint. He nodded to the barman. ‘Must be off, back to the old ball and chain,’ he looked at his watch, ‘getting late for you too, Romeo.’ He slapped Kevin hard on the back. He took up his newspaper and headed into the night winds; leaving Kevin for another half-hour before he was due at the restaurant for the evening rush.

  It was a mess. It was a right bloody mess, but he had no choice. He and Carrie were finished. He was in love with Valentina now and there was no going back. Not even for The Sea Pear.

  God, The Sea Pear. They’d named the restaurant together. Had they been in love then? He thought they were, but it was nothing like with Valentina. Now, it seemed their restaurant would outlive whatever had drawn them together all those years ago. A favourite celebrity haunt, Carrie had furnished it with a mixture of classic modern cleanliness accented with the occasional antique worn down to just the right degree of easy charm. They had opened up when Dublin was crawling towards some kind of financial stability. While other haunts were closing their doors, The Sea Pear whispered a note of optimism amongst the set who never really felt the economic crash. They managed to get a pretty premises on Finch Street, close enough to Temple Bar for ambience, but far enough away to distance itself from the madding crowd. The building itself was perfect, set back from the neighbours on either side, it had a grandeur about it far beyond its size. With three small steps rising to its fanlight door and original carriage lamps either side, Carrie had made the most of the original facade without swamping it out with decorations it didn’t need. Instead she kept things simple, the red brick was washed down each spring and, when the weather allowed, she set up bistro tables on the patch of grass outside. Since the city began to turn towards booming times again, the properties around them became packed with professional offices. These days, they were surrounded by financial services, solicitors and advertising companies who closed their doors at five each evening, even if their employees did not go home until much later. All but the shabby pub across the road had filled with young and wealthy customers only happy to wine and dine in one of the city’s top eateries. Yes, The Sea Pear was a great success all right. They’d have to sort it out.

  He would tell Carrie tonight that perhaps tomorrow, if it suited, he’d pop round to pick up some clothes. He needed clothes and he needed to clear a few things out of the house. The house was in both their names. He hadn’t told Valentina that. He wasn’t sure why, but he had a feeling it could cause a row and it was enough to be in the bad books with Carrie for now.

  And Jim was right, he hadn’t thought about Ben and Melissa either. He’d been in primary school with Ben. There was no way he could miss out on his wedding. They’d gone on holidays together, their first foreign trips as a couple were with Melissa and Ben. Perhaps Carrie wouldn’t want to go? That would be great; Kevin was getting a warm feeling thinking about it. Carrie probably wouldn’t want to go. They were holding it in one of the most splendid locations. Coole Castle had four hundred years of history and a pastry chef who could whip up desserts that were lighter than clouds, just west of Sligo town. Valentina would love it. Carrie had booked them a room for two nights, yonks ago. Well, there was no way she’d want to go now and no point letting the booking go to waste, right?

  Right.

  Kevin got up from his stool. Cleared his throat, half coughing to draw attention to the
fact that he was leaving, he pulled his jacket from the hook on the wall beside him. The barman at the far end of the counter didn’t notice he was finished. Kevin tried to grab his attention. He liked to feel he had the gratitude of the staff for spending time in their establishment. When there was no salute, he stuffed his arms into his jacket and headed out into the icy evening air.

  Maybe Carrie would be happy to keep the house and pull out of The Sea Pear. Maybe. She hadn’t said a word either way yet, so Kevin knew he might be able to talk her round. He could always talk Carrie round.

  *

  Jane Marchant wasn’t sure, as she looked out of her sitting room window, if there was a movement in the street outside or not. It was dark, but the light dusting of sleet brightened the city and the streetlights – tall mock-Georgian beamers – cast their glow so there were no shadows. It wasn’t the lighting that was the problem, Jane was sure of that, nor was it her view, and there was absolutely nothing wrong with her eyesight. No, the problem on nights like these, and most days too if she was honest, lay somewhere altogether deeper.

  Once, when she was younger, they’d have blamed her nerves – they were probably right. Things hadn’t been the same since that awful night fifteen years ago, when she had lost her soul mate. Jane shivered, she was not cold, but it didn’t do any good to think of things that upset her at this hour of the night. She turned from the window, pinching the heavy velveteen curtains in a hard bunch at their centre. She could stand there all night, if she let herself; it was a rabbit’s hole lined with insecurity and carpeted with fear. She’d only just managed to get out of it once, and she was not going there again.

  On the mantle, the carriage clock struck out midnight. She sighed, over halfway to daylight; it was what she’d always thought. The clock reminded her of Manus. It was a gift from his mother on their wedding day. Jane loved that clock, it was probably the most precious thing Theresa Marchant had had to her name. A family heirloom, really, brought over from France after the Great War, by her brother. It was a measure of the family. The only thing Theresa had had of any great value and she gave it freely to her daughter-in-law. Jane knew she’d been lucky, Manus had taken after his mother and their lives together had been happy and content, until that awful night.

  The clock struck its final chime, a soft peal that echoed from so many years before. She wiped her eyes, sentimental old fool, it was all she was, but since there was no one to see, it probably didn’t matter very much, she told herself.

  Jane made her way down through the bar one last time before she went to bed. She did this every night, walked through the old building in near darkness, checking doors, rattling locks, securing everything as if it might make some difference. Sometimes she stood, listening to the silence and let the many satisfied years roll past her. And they had been content, she and Manus here in The Marchant Inn. It had been a joyful home and a thriving business, once. They’d been happily married and run this bar together. She never imagined he’d leave her so unexpectedly, so violently, fifteen years ago. These days, she lived between two rooms and opened the bar up in the afternoons, and only then for a few hours, to pretend to herself at least that she was still in business. Of course, the smart young people who worked on Finch Street now rarely darkened her door, but the old regulars turned up to drink bottled beer or tea and share stories of times that would never come again.

  There was a time, when she wondered, if they’d had a family, how things might have turned out differently. It made no difference now, one miscarriage and a botched-up job of setting her straight wasn’t something they could do much about afterwards. Manus had just been happy she’d survived. When she’d realised the truth of it, Jane sank into such a darkened place she feared she’d never find the path back home again. So now she never thought of how things might have been. She’d learned a long time ago that thinking like that didn’t make things better and so she buried that sadness long before Manus had been interred in that too large plot beside his mother. The main thing was not to think too often how much she looked forward to joining them in their peaceful place.

  The cold floor beneath her feet made her shiver; drawing her from those gloomy thoughts once more. At her neck, she wore a pendant. They’d given it to her a few years earlier, a lovely woman who called on people like herself, old people, vulnerable people, who were mostly forgotten about in this speeding city. The pendant had an alarm button attached to it and although she’d only used it once – and then by accident – it gave her a kind of refuge, as if she carried some bit of courage about her neck.

  Jane stood at the door for a moment; across the road, that fancy restaurant was just closing up for the night. The lights dimming and then extinguished, there was the sound of an alarm, cutting across the silence of the empty street and then that pretty waitress standing on the path outside. The girl, foreign, by the looks of her, wore an impatience about her like a shawl, as though she couldn’t get away quickly enough. Jane had seen her hanging about on her smoking break and she sucked ferociously on her cigarettes with the same irritation. Next, him, the owner – he was a right sour piece, not like his partner. No, Jane never liked the look of him at all, and from the carry-on she’d seen with that foreign girl, her instincts had been right from the start. Jane wondered if she should mention something next time Carrie called across for a cup of tea. Knowing what to do for the best; that was the problem. Her mother-in-law would have advised, the least said, the soonest mended.

  Carrie dropped in to see Jane every so often, not enough to interfere, but she’d taped her mobile number to the wall beside the phone, just in case. Not like that man of hers, he’d never so much as set foot across the threshold of the bar. Now, there was a man who’d landed on his feet, even if he’d never know it. Jane watched as he fiddled with the lock, balancing under his arm a bag that surely held the day’s takings. He grumbled and then gave the door a push, checking to see all was locked up safely. There was something strangely final about seeing just the two of them walk home for the evening. It was unusual that Carrie was not there, but then, everyone deserved a night off.

  She sighed and turned from the door back into the empty bar, its memorabilia a persistent reminder of happier times that seemed to fade a little more gently away from her with each passing moment. Photographs of Manus lined the walls all about her, but it was funny, these days, they made her feel as if he was further away from her than ever.

  ‘Goodnight, my sweet,’ she said as she climbed the narrow stairs that led up to the flat above. It had been her home for over fifty years. She knew every inch of this old place, the creaking floorboards, the rattling panes of glass and the verbose piping that rattled in the otherwise silent night. Perhaps her mind was full of memories or maybe just a lingering uneasiness about that foreign girl across the road, but Jane managed somehow to stumble on that final, slightly higher stair. She heard the soft thud, thud of her body, light and fragile, hitting off each carpeted step. It was with a sickening crunch that she reached the cold floor and it seemed as though she’d been tumbling for an age.

  She wasn’t sure how long she lay there, but when she woke, her body shivered, cold and sore, there was no picking herself up. She was old enough, and maybe just about wise enough, to know she didn’t have the strength. Instead, she fidgeted about until she found the alarm pendant that had lodged beneath her. Freeing it with an almighty tug, she pressed her thumb down hard, praying that tonight someone would come to her rescue.

  *

  Luke Gibson wasn’t sure what brought his father to this place. True enough, they’d gravitated back to Dublin often over the years, but it wasn’t as if they had family here or any kind of stake in the city. Truthfully, he should probably just buy a sensible little house somewhere quiet, settle there and count his blessings. He could understand his father’s wanderlust was beginning to abate. But Ballyglen? A nursing home? Really, it was like giving up and Conn Gibson had never been a man to give up.

  It was almo
st two o’clock in the morning and Luke couldn’t sleep. He pulled on his jeans, shook himself into the big wax jacket that hung on his bedroom door. He slunk out of the bed and breakfast; it was hard to resist walking on newly fallen snow and the little dog still played on his mind. He was like Luke, no different, drifting, maybe searching. He turned the corner and came back to the street where he’d seen him last. Certain he’d disappeared down a lane, Luke had followed him, but he’d only ended up half scaring some poor woman to death. He smiled now as he remembered the surprised look on her face when he handed her the key that was glinting so close to her feet. Still, there was no sign of the little dog and in weather like this… well, he didn’t like to think of the small chap out and about in the snow.

  Outside the old pub, an ambulance throbbed blue light about the buildings and the melting slush. Luke stood in that uncomfortable place between watcher and voyeur. In the end, he walked past, just catching sight of an old woman being wheeled helplessly from her home. Her eyes were dark and penetrated him with the kind of fear that held him up. He considered walking over, to see if there was anything he could do for the old dear, but of course, what did he know of her or she of him? They were strangers, nameless and unconnected in a city of anonymity. Instead, he stood for a moment, did something he hadn’t done in years – he offered up a prayer that he might see her again, well and soon.

  The sound of the paramedics, securing their patient and getting ready to set off for the nearest emergency ward made Luke shiver. Finally, the younger, burlier of the two, locked up the pub, standing back for a moment, perhaps checking that all the lights inside were switched off. He rattled the door with an irrevocability that made Luke wonder if they thought she might not be coming back. Strangely, that notion filled him with unreasonable loneliness that made him pull his collar closer and decide that tomorrow he was going to drop into that pub and enquire how the old lady was.