Two Fridays in April

by Roisin Meaney

  The following day, the second last of the term, she watched for Theo at the gate again. He spotted her and came straight over.

  I’ll meet him in the park near the bus station, she said. Nobody she knew lived around there. Just him and you, nobody else.

  Thank you, he said, with what sounded like real sincerity. I know this can’t be—

  Tomorrow, three o’clock, just inside the main gate.

  We’ll be there.

  Walking away, she was already dreading it, already kicking herself for having agreed to it. She didn’t sleep a wink that night, visualising the scene in several different ways, none of them good.

  It’ll be nice to have the holidays, Daphne said at breakfast, in the too-bright voice that was all she seemed to use now. Just half a day to go. Any plans?

  Una wondered what she’d say if she knew the plan for that afternoon. Not really, she replied, spreading peanut butter on toast she didn’t want. Nothing much.

  There was no sign of him at school. She went with Ciara and a few others to a café for lunch afterwards, but it was all she could do to get halfway through the Caesar salad she had ordered.

  You OK? Ciara murmured, when they were queuing up to pay. You’re very quiet.

  I’m fine, Una told her. I didn’t sleep well, I’m just a bit tired – because she had to keep this to herself. Ciara wouldn’t understand, she’d try to talk her out of it; and Una suspected that might be easily done.

  Want to come around later? Ciara asked.

  Yeah, maybe – I’ll give you a shout.

  Ciara hadn’t been to her house since Dad died; none of her friends had. It wasn’t planned, it had just turned out that way. For the first few weeks, of course, she’d wanted nobody around. She’d gone to school like a robot, hovered at the edges of conversations, tried not to look too pathetic.

  After school – before she started returning to the shop – she’d made her way straight home, no more going downtown with Ciara and the others. They were probably just as well pleased not to have her trailing after them, bringing her misery along with her.

  And even when that stage had passed and she began to feel halfway human again, she still found herself reluctant to bring friends home. It wasn’t really Daphne’s fault, she knew that: it was nobody’s fault that they’d ended up living together – it was just the way they’d ended up – but she wished Daphne wouldn’t feel she had to keep pretending that Una meant anything to her. She didn’t want her friends to see that, and pity her.

  Three o’clock took forever to arrive. She passed the time drifting in and out of shops, running a hand across rails of clothes she didn’t want, riffling through magazines she had no intention of buying. At five to three she stood in the bus station, stomach gripped tight with tension, mouth dry.

  She could just not turn up. School was out for the summer – except for his exams, Theo Quirk had officially left. He wouldn’t be back in the autumn; she might never meet him again. If she did she could just blank him, or say she’d been sick. He’d never know.

  She watched the second hand of the big clock above the ticket desk make its jerky way past the numbers. Two minutes to three. She could still walk away, she didn’t have to do this.

  And then she thought again of her father, and she knew it had to be done. She left the station and walked the two hundred metres or so to the park gates.

  And there they were.

  He was small; that was the first surprising thing. He was only about her height, a foot shorter than his son. And he was skinny, not burly like she’d pictured. Just a little man with not much hair in a black jacket and baggy blue jeans, with eyes that were rimmed with red and shadowed beneath, and the same little red scratches on the lower part of his face that Dad used to get when he put a new blade into his razor.

  They were awkward, all three of them. My father Kevin, Theo said, and the man put out a hand – and after a brief hesitation Una took it, and he clasped it tightly. This is Una, Theo told him, as if there could be any doubt about who she was.

  Do you want to get a cup of tea? his father enquired, in a voice that trembled a bit. He seemed to be looking at something over her shoulder, and she said no quickly, still wanting to be anywhere else but there. There was a brief, charged silence before Theo and his father both began to speak, their words crashing into each other until both of them shut up again.

  It was awful. She wished she hadn’t come. Nobody knew what to do, nobody had a clue what to say.

  And then Theo’s father cleared his throat, and this time he looked her in the eye, and she made herself look back. I wanted to say thank you – haltingly, voice still unsteady – for giving me this chance, to tell you … how sorry I am for what happened, sorrier than I can say. Not a day goes by, not one single day, that I don’t … think about it, and wish I had … called in sick that day, or been put on a different route, or—

  He stopped, his face reddening, and for a few appalling seconds Una thought he was going to cry. Instead he turned his head aside and cleared his throat again a couple of times, and rubbed a hand hard to and fro across his mouth. Una was rooted to the spot, unable to speak or move. Theo stood stock-still, looking off to the side: for all the help he was, he might as well not have been there.

  Eventually his father turned back to her, still clearly struggling to compose himself. He drew air in, puffed it out. I didn’t know your dad, he said then, his voice more controlled, quieter and lower, but I know he must have been a good man because of what you’re doing now. He paused. I don’t blame you if you hate me, and I’m sure this is the last thing you wanted to do, but you did it. Another cough. You must have been brought up right, and that would be down to him. I’m so very sorry I took him away from you, and I thank you with all my heart for letting me tell you that.

  He was sincere; it was obvious from his face and his voice. The accident had damaged him too. He had taken a man’s life without meaning to – what must that have done to him? For the first time, Una found herself feeling a trace of sympathy for him. It had happened, it was terrible, and he felt responsible.

  And then she spoke, without thinking about it. It was my fault, she said – and they both looked at her in astonishment.

  And after that the words just tumbled out, as if she’d been waiting for just that day to say them. I know he was knocked down, but it was my fault because he was riding a bike he was giving me. He was cycling it home to give it to me, and it was too small for him, that’s why it happened, his foot must have slipped or something, he wasn’t used to it, it wasn’t his own bike, it would never have happened if he’d been on his own bike, he was a brilliant cyclist, it was all my fault—

  She broke off, horrified that she’d said them out loud, the words that had been burning inside her since he’d died. She became aware that tears had started spilling from her eyes and were running down her face. She dug in her pockets but Theo’s father was there before her, shoving a giant hanky into her hands.

  She pressed it to her face, not caring how clean it was, and held it there, cried bitterly into it for what felt like ages. Hating that they were witnessing this, but totally unable to do anything about it.

  She couldn’t look at them then. She thrust the hanky back and Theo’s father took it. Anyway, she said miserably, her eyes on his rather battered brown shoes. Her cheeks stung, her throat throbbed, her eyelashes flicked wetly against her hot skin when she blinked. So much for making him feel better.

  Now you mustn’t think like that, he said quietly. That’s the last thing you should be thinking. A cat ran out, you know that. It wasn’t your fault, no way was it your fault.

  All she could do, still powerless to look at him, was shake her head silently. The cat he could have handled on his own bike.

  Look, he said then, almost briskly, we don’t live far from here. Why don’t you come home with us and have your tea? I know my wife would like to meet you too.

  His wife? She lifted her head slowly then a
nd blinked at him. She glanced at Theo, whose shoulders were hunched, hands thrust deep into his pockets. The second time she’d cried buckets in his presence – bet he was glad now he’d asked her to meet his dad. Bet he couldn’t wait for this to be over.

  No, she said uncertainly, I should be—

  We’re not five minutes from here, Theo’s father said. Just a cuppa then, just till you feel a bit better. We’d be honoured to do that for you.

  He wasn’t the monster she’d imagined him to be: he was a lot different from that. A cup of tea with him wouldn’t kill her. And she’d said it all, there was nothing more she could say to embarrass herself.

  With tears threatening again she gave a quick nod, and he picked up her rucksack and began to walk from the park. She followed silently, falling into step with Theo, grateful that neither of them tried to make conversation with her.

  The short walk had an unreal quality about it. What was she doing? She tried to imagine Daphne’s face, and Mo’s, if they knew. They’d be horrified, they’d think she’d lost her mind.

  But her father would understand and approve: she was sure of this, and the thought made her feel marginally better. She walked on, past terraced houses that faced a small scrubby green where runny-nosed boys scampered after a football, next to a lone horse that pulled at the grass and ignored them.

  The street they turned onto after a minute or two housed a scatter of shops – among them the charity shop where Mo was to start volunteering a few months later. Theo’s father turned up a lane that led off the street and Una halted, feeling for the first time a touch of fear. Where exactly were they taking her?

  It’s just around the corner, Theo said, we always go in the back way – and she walked on with him. She’d come this far, she’d take her chances. Not much choice anyway, with Theo’s father carrying her bag – how would she explain its absence to Daphne if she turned tail and ran now?

  They walked down the lane that swung around behind the street, backing onto a line of low redbrick houses on the other side, each with a little yard to the rear. Halfway up the lane Theo’s father opened a gate, and immediately a dog set up a furious barking.

  Una stopped again – was she about to be attacked? – but beside her Theo said, It’s OK, it’s only Dolly. She wouldn’t harm a flea.

  His father had caught the dog by its collar and was beckoning Una in. I won’t let her near you, he said, shush, Dolly – and Una entered the little yard and walked past the dog that strained to leap at her. Shush, Theo’s father repeated, more firmly. Theo, he said, open the door.

  But before Theo could get to it the back door of the house was flung open by a very round little woman – as round as her husband was spare – who was wiping her hands on a blue apron and smiling broadly at Una, as if she’d been expecting her.

  Introductions were made. The woman was called Judy. Una offered a hand to be shaken – and instead found herself enfolded in the woman’s arms, pressed to her very ample chest and held there. She hadn’t hugged anyone, or been hugged, since her father’s funeral, when so many people had clasped her in an embrace that the gesture had eventually become utterly meaningless, each one over almost before it had begun, as if it was something that had to be got out of the way as quickly as possible.

  This was different, this was comforting. She was gently rocked, the woman’s hand cradling the back of her head. Thank you, pet, she whispered, thank you.

  And even though they’d only just met, there was nothing forced or awkward about it. You could tell by the unselfconscious way the woman did it that she was well used to hugging people. You could tell that putting her arms around someone came very naturally to her.

  Now, she said, loosening her hold but still with a warm hand encircling Una’s waist, leading her into a small kitchen that smelt delectably of fresh-baked bread, you’ll have tea and a scone. They’re just made. It wasn’t a question. Kevin, pull out that chair. Theo, get the milk. Do you need to wash your hands before you sit down, love?

  The bathroom at the top of the stairs was tiny. It didn’t have a bath, just a shower with a flowery plastic curtain around it. On the windowsill sat a handle-less cup that held a clutch of brightly coloured toothbrushes, like a bunch of flowers, and a crumpled tube of toothpaste without a lid, and next to it a can of shaving foam and a razor, and a curve of pink soap sitting in a small puddle in a little white dish.

  Una’s face was a mess, all blotchy cheeks and swollen eyes. She splashed it with cold water a few times, ran fingers through her messed-up hair, scrutinised herself in the little spotted mirror above the basin. No better, but it would have to do.

  She made her way down the narrow stairs and back into the kitchen, feeling horribly self-conscious: what was she doing there? Theo and his father were already at the table. Sit, Theo’s mother ordered, pouring tea, and Una sat beside Theo, who immediately placed a scone from a dish on the table onto her plate.

  Blackberry jam, he said, indicating the pot on the table from which he was ladling a large spoonful onto his own scone. His father, who sat across the way nursing a mug of tea, nodded encouragingly at her. Help yourself, he said.

  She had the sensation that this wasn’t really happening – but she was also, she realised, incredibly hungry. She split the scone, releasing curls of steam. She spread butter that immediately melted into each half, and topped it with jam. She took a bite – and it was like the best thing she’d ever tasted.

  Warm, sweet, light, buttery, the tartness of the jam a wonderful contrast. Mmm, she said involuntarily – and immediately felt herself reddening, but nobody seemed to notice.

  Aren’t they good? Theo’s mother said, settling herself beside her husband, reaching for the milk jug. Nobody can resist my scones. I add a bit of cream; that’s the secret.

  Una noticed that Theo’s father wasn’t eating very much of his, just cutting it into tiny pieces, most of which still sat in front of him. Nobody remarked on this, although the other two must have seen it. She wondered if he’d become as thin as he was now in the two months since the accident. Maybe before that he’d eaten plenty of scones.

  The mother did most of the talking, and while her remarks were addressed mainly to their visitor, to Una’s relief they didn’t demand much in the way of a response. She told Una about Theo’s Leaving Cert exams. He’s hoping to get enough points for catering college. He loves to cook, don’t you, pet? And he’s very good at it – you should taste his spaghetti Bolognese.

  She spoke about a week in a cousin’s mobile home in Wexford that the family was planning in August. They let us have it every year. It’s right on the beach, although I get a desperate heat rash if I sit in the sun for too long. Not like Kevin, he goes brown as a nut. I tell him he must have some African blood in him.

  She talked about Theo’s sister Charlotte’s wedding, scheduled for the following April. They’ve had the hotel booked since Christmas, imagine. She and Brian grew up together – he’s from just over the road, beyond the green you would have passed. Not that he was her only boyfriend, mind you. But I always thought they’d end up getting married, and wasn’t I right? He’s a nice lad, we’re very happy.

  It was constant flowing monologue – half of it delivered through a mouthful of scone – and designed, Una suspected, to put her at her ease. The few direct questions she was asked were the kind that didn’t need more than one-word answers – Are those beautiful curls natural? I always wanted curls as a girl … Were you ever in Gorey? It’s a nice little spot, I must say, and piles of lovely beaches nearby … Don’t some weddings go on a bit long, though? I sometimes think they’d be better if they were half the length.

  Have another one, she urged, when Una finished her scone, go on, they’re only small – so Una had another. Theo was on his third, while his father across the table from her still played with his first. He caught her eye a few times, and each time he gave her a small, encouraging smile. She decided she liked him. Who would have imagined it?

&
nbsp; Eventually she pushed back her chair and rose. I’d better be getting home, she said – and immediately Theo’s mother got up too. Theo, you’ll walk her back, she said, but Una said hastily, No, no, there’s no need – what on earth would they talk about? – and thankfully the offer wasn’t pressed.

  I’ll see you out, Theo’s mother said instead, and opened the door into the hall. We’ll go out the front, she said. I can’t believe Kevin brought you in the back.

  Oops, Kevin said, smiling weakly at Una. Sounds like I’m in the doghouse again. He shook hands with her. Thanks for coming, he said. It means the world, it really does. Drop in and see us some other time, if you want.

  OK, she said – but she doubted they’d meet again. She was glad she’d done it, but making a habit of it would be too weird. She turned to Theo. Good luck with the exams, she said, and he thanked her. He was OK.

  She picked up her rucksack and followed Theo’s mother out through the hall to the front door, which led straight onto the path, like Mo’s house.

  She got another hug on the doorstep. You can’t know how much good you’ve done for us, coming here today, Judy whispered. I know it’ll help Kevin no end. Your daddy would be so proud of you. The first time she’d made any mention of him – and the words were as welcome to Una as the warm feel of the woman’s arms around her.

  They drew apart. Judy’s eyes as they met Una’s were sparkling. Would you come back to see us? she asked. Next week, maybe, would you come for your tea? What about Wednesday? It’s shepherd’s pie night.

  And Una looked at her round, anxious face and imagined sitting at that table again, eating what she guessed would be a tasty shepherd’s pie. And she thought of the alternative: having dinner with Daphne, both of them going along with the façade that all was well.

  If she came she’d have to lie to Daphne, say she was going to a friend’s house. Shouldn’t be too hard – Daphne was hardly going to check up.

  Yes, she said, OK – and a time was set for her return. And walking home, she realised that she wanted to go back, that she was looking forward to it.