Friends Like Us

by Siân O'Gorman

  ‘You’re not going, are you?’ A deep, low voice. Charlie!

  ‘I think I’ve got to go… you know, things to do…’

  ‘But you’re here now? Stay for a little bit anyway.’ He was looking at her, intently. Those blue eyes. Jesus. She stopped breathing for what seemed like minutes. She must be officially dead, she thought, and if her lungs didn’t kick in again soon, she might need medical attention. Another of one of life’s little ironies. Was she imagining it? Was it real?

  ‘One for you?’ He offered a glass to Eilis. ‘I hope you like it. The elderflower is from a tree in my mother’s garden. It’s in full bloom now.’

  And… breathe. Great, lungs working. She returned the gaze. She might just stay after all. She realized that she didn’t have a choice in the matter. Her body was preventing her from behaving sensibly.

  ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I’ll have a sip. Just to prove it isn’t poisonous.’ He took a swig from his own glass. ‘No, look, still alive.’

  He gave her a glass. ‘Slainte,’ he said.

  ‘Slainte,’ she returned, feeling as though if she looked into those eyes any longer, she might be rendered to stone. She sipped. It was delicious. She looked up. He was smiling at her. ‘It’s gorgeous,’ she said. ‘So sweet…’

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I can’t quite believe it myself. It just turned out really well. It doesn’t always. Often, the concoctions I make are undrinkable. But this is nice, which is why I brought it round for the gang this evening. I am now fantasizing about becoming a cordial billionaire. Don’t encourage me.’

  She laughed a little too long, a little too hard. But it was intoxicating to talk to him. She felt a bit giddy and light-headed. And totally unlike her usual self. She didn’t laugh like this, or feel like this usually. She normally felt weighted down or serious. This was different. What was it? Happiness?

  ‘Every day is like Saturday now,’ he said. ‘Giving up my nine-to-five was the best thing I ever did. And now I am free to make elderflower cordial and hang around with interesting people.’ He looked at her. ‘I’m not waiting all week for the glories of a weekend. Every day is like Saturday now.’

  ‘That sounds wonderful,’ she said. ‘You’re lucky.’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know about that…’ he said. ‘But sometimes I feel lucky.’ He laughed.

  ‘I’m a coward, though,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t give up my job. However much I wanted to. The thought of it just being me scares me.’ And for a moment, their eyes locked again and she felt that charge between them. It was like she had been electrocuted.

  ‘Really?’ he said, looking serious. ‘Something tells me that there is nothing cowardly about you at all. You have an aura of strength.’

  It was quite the nicest thing anyone had ever said about her and she took a moment to let his words sink in, to enjoy the compliment. Charlie, she realised, was one of life’s listeners and asked questions and nodded along, as if he was actually interested. It was unusual and lovely.

  ‘So why gardening? When did you get the bug?’ he said.

  ‘My first house,’ she said. ‘It had a tiny yard and I began growing things and they grew! It was most surprising.’ He laughed again. And then Eilis told him how gardening kept her sane; being in her little plot, tying up her roses, planting out seedlings was an antidote to the madness of her working life.

  ‘So, you’d prefer to be fighting off black spot and destroying slugs…’ he said.

  ‘No, it’s not that. I love being a doctor,’ she said. ‘I love helping people. Or I did. God, I feel awful saying that. It’s not that I hate helping people, I just don’t want to anymore. Or I want to take a break, I just don’t know. I have become aware…’ she stopped, searching for the right words. ‘I’m just aware of my limits, how little, we mere mortals, us doctors, can do. And once you realize that, it’s terrifying. Like stage fright. Or like you are on a tightrope and you look down and see the drop. You just think I can’t do this. I’m going to fall.’

  I’m babbling now, she thought. Babbling like a mad woman. A nice man asks a few questions, seems to listen intently as if what she had to say mattered, and I open up. What will I tell him next? The details of my menstrual cycle? In spite of herself, she carried on talking.

  ‘Most doctors don’t allow themselves to look down, to see the drop,’ she said. ‘But I did and now… now I don’t even trust myself anymore.’ She could almost feel her voice beginning to break. Why do I always make a show of myself? I’m going to be blubbing in a moment. Don’t be nice to me, she was thinking, don’t be nice or I will be a bawling mess. She took a slurp of the elderflower cordial.

  ‘Compassion fatigue,’ he said. ‘That’s what it’s called, isn’t it? God, you doctors are amazing. Jesus. What you guys do. Dealing with all that, day in day out. No wonder you’re tired of it.’

  ‘I am,’ she was nodding now, grateful he understood. Being tired of caring was something that you couldn’t tell other people, certainly not other doctors. She had never admitted this to anyone, not even Rob. ‘I am tired of it. Oh I don’t know.’

  ‘I know it won’t solve your problem,’ he said, passing the plate to her. ‘But have one of these,’ he said. ‘A cheese straw. To go with the cordial. It’s the best I can do at short notice. Sorry.’

  ‘They’ll help, I’m sure’ she said, taking one. ‘Did you make these as well?’

  ‘From a packet,’ he said. ‘Cheese straws might be a bit of a stretch for me.’

  ‘They’re delicious.’ She held out her glass. They clinked.

  ‘And here’s to you,’ he said. ‘Here’s to you being brave… doctors and nurses. I take my hat off to you.’

  They looked at each other. It was a look of recognition, deep recognition, a connection as though he was really seeing her. She had no other way of describing it. Strangely, she thought she was going to cry, she could feel this surge of emotion spread across her body. She had found someone who understood her, and it felt amazing. Whatever happened, this was enough. She was happy knowing one person on the planet was like her. After a lifetime of feeling like an outcast, she knew she wasn’t alone.

  ‘Fruit trees, people.’ Kate was standing up in front of the rather motley crew, tapping the bucket again with the trowel. ‘How to grow fruit trees…’

  And then, as she moved to sit down, Charlie whispered in her ear: ‘Join us in the pub afterwards. Gogginses, across the road. We all go. It’s become quite a tradition.’

  She sat down, and tried to listen to the talk but her mind was pounding with so many thoughts. Mainly of Charlie. She kept glancing at him. The straight nose, the hair curling over his ear, the way he tried to get comfortable on the small metal chair.

  Once, he looked around and caught her eye and smiled at her. It was the sweetest smile she had ever seen. Am I fantasizing? Am I projecting? She smiled idiotically back. Stop being such a fool, she thought. And stop being such a coward and deal with your life. I’m not going to the pub, she thought. No way.

  No, I am going, just for one. I’m driving so I won’t stay long. I’ll just be sociable for once.

  No, I’ll go home. Nice early night. And it was decided. She wasn’t going. She was almost disappointed with how grown-up and sensible she was, but it was the right thing to do.

  But as soon as the talk was over, she found herself walking with the others to the pub across the road. I’m just a pawn, she thought, a pawn in an evil game my body is playing with me. Surely this proves I’m not normal? I have no control over my body. But for once, she didn’t care. She was going to the pub. Caution was being thrown to the wind.

  But in the pub, Charlie was talking to Pauline and Rosemary and some of the others. He had waved at her, but she found herself cornered by George, probably the nicest man in the whole wide world but who had a tendency to go on a bit. And we all have that problem sometimes, thought Eilis, thinking of her recent babbling, so I can’t complain.

  ‘So that must have
been in ’85 or ’86,’ George was saying. ‘And it wasn’t the first time. And not the last, I can tell you. You see it gets hold of you, and destroys everything in its path. It’s not letting go. Once it gets its claws into you, you may as well give up.’ He shook his head, caught up in his terrifying memories.

  ‘That’s awful, George,’ said Eilis, feeling his pain.

  ‘I nearly lost everything, I did,’ he said, emotion in his voice. ‘Nothing was untouched by it. I must have sweated for months and months. In the end, I had to use chemicals. It was the only way.’

  For a moment, Eilis allowed herself to imagine George, who must have been in his eighties, as an Arnold Schwarzenegger-type, muscles and napalm. He took a sip of his half-pint.

  ‘So, George,’ she said. ‘Did the chemical warfare work?’

  ‘It came back again,’ he said, his eyes taking on a hardness, a determination. ‘And this time, it could tell I meant business.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  He looked around, making sure no one was listening.

  ‘Fire,’ he said. ‘I burnt the little bugger.’

  ‘Wow, that’s serious.’ She was impressed. ‘Did it work?’

  ‘Too right it did. Haven’t had a problem with Japanese knotweed since. My Maureen called me Sam for years afterwards. You know, Fireman Sam. It did make us laugh. Fireman George,’ he chuckled.

  Eilis glanced over at Charlie and caught him looking back. He held up a hand to wave and beckoned her to join them. But she felt foolish and silly, hankering after someone who was effectively a stranger. She should go home.

  She said goodbye to George, wishing him well in his one-man campaign to rid the planet of Japanese knotweed and slipped out, not even looking back at Charlie. Life isn’t meant to be fun and games and fancying people and thinking about their hands and what is underneath their shirts… she stopped herself again, vowing to stay clear of the garden shop.

  Anyway, it was only weeks to go until she and Rob were going to Greece, returning to the place they went to last year. Good food, sunshine, the Aegean. Last year had worked well; they had got into a routine where Rob would run in the early morning while Eilis went to the market and then they spent the days reading, sunning themselves and eating. R&R would make a very nice changed from A&E, even if she had the feeling she might have a better time with Charlie than with Rob.

  She drove away from O’Malley’s Garden and didn’t look back.

  30

  Steph

  Steph was at home, looking at the Sean McSweeney painting Mrs Long had given her on her last day working at the gallery, before she, pregnant and fuelled by the self-belief of youth, married Rick. Steph loved the painting so much when it hung in the gallery and had stood for ages and ages staring at it, and soaking it up that, eventually, Mrs Long said she couldn’t stand her ‘mooning’ anymore and presented it to her when Steph brought her the last cup of Lapsang she would every make for her.

  She cried when she opened it. The sea was glinting in the background, a field of yellow lilies to the fore. It was a painting which expressed freedom, or a shimmering and wonderful world. And that’s how everything seemed in those days, excitement just to be alive. Looking at it now, the shimmering light of the Sligo bogs, the sea beyond, she was reminded how reckless and careless she had been with her freedom.

  Mrs Long didn’t come to the wedding. She was on her annual pilgrimage to Florence which Steph was relieved about. At least, she wouldn’t have Mrs Long and her disapproving eyebrows watch her walk up the aisle.

  ‘All right?’ whispered Joe. They were standing at the back of the church, on her wedding day, everyone craning to get a look at her in that ridiculous dress.

  ‘Yes, Dad…’

  ‘You know,’ he spoke, urgently, ‘are you sure? Because if you aren’t, we can just walk away.’ He smiled gently, his eyes reaching hers, locking in. This was her last chance. She could, she knew, just walk away. She could… But she didn’t.

  Once they were married, the hints she had about Rick became real. When Rachel was about two, Rick said something to her and she didn’t answer. She remembered it so clearly because Rachel had a cough and couldn’t sleep and Steph had been to the doctor’s. And then Rick asked her a question and Steph didn’t really hear him, she was so busy thinking about Rachel. She had heard him but it hadn’t registered he had spoken. It was so hard to explain, but whatever it was, she hadn’t answered him.

  ‘Steph!’ The shout made her jump. ‘You never fucking listen, do you!’ He had been drinking a glass of whiskey and he threw it full whack against the wall. It splashed over everything, including Steph, and bits of glass ricocheted through the air. It was a miracle that she wasn’t hurt.

  ‘Now,’ he said. ‘Now, look what you made me do. Listen,’ he hissed. ‘Just listen in future.’

  He poured himself another glass and walked out, leaving Steph to clear everything up with shaking hands, before rushing in to see if Rachel was alright. And the next day, the excuses: tired, stressed at work, bit too much to drink.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ she said. ‘Totally fine. Don’t worry.’ But inside she was thinking he was mad. People didn’t behave like that, did they? And yet it carried on. There could be months and months between an episode, even years, but then there it would be.

  And he was still doing it. She had never got used to it. The shaking never got any less.

  She was lost in thought, and still staring at the painting when she heard Rachel coming downstairs. It was time to tell her about Nuala, she couldn’t keep it from her any longer. She had been dreading telling her but she wanted to at least not keep this a secret, however painful it was, however much she wanted to protect Rachel. Full disclosure was the only way. She’d already let Rachel down enough.

  ‘Good morning, sweetheart. Would you like some juice? I’ve got pancakes.’

  ‘Not hungry,’ said Rachel.

  ‘Eat something, though. Please? Look, I’ve got those nice muffin things you like.’

  ‘Don’t bother, mum, I’m not hungry.’ Rachel looked angrily at her mother. Things were still strained after Rachel caught her reading her diary. Steph had tried to apologize again but Rachel was still angry, the violation of her privacy was going to take a long time to get over.

  ‘Come on, you’ve got time. We’ll just have something together. There’s something I want to talk to you about…’

  ‘No.’ Rachel swung around, ready to leave.

  ‘Don’t leave. Please don’t leave,’ Steph begged her. ‘Let’s not be like this.’ She reached out to her, grabbing Rachel’s shoulder, in an attempt to pull her back. Rachel grabbed her hand and pushed it away, almost disgusted. ‘I need to talk to you.’ Steph stopped. ‘There’s no right way of telling you this but… gran… she’s ill. Cancer. Cervical. I thought you should know.’

  Rachel stopped, eyes horrified, staring at her mother.

  ‘Of course I should know!’ Rachel screamed at her. ‘Or were you thinking of not telling me, like I am some non-person who doesn’t deserve to be told things and all you stupid adults just keep fucking up their lives and expect me to deal with it.’ And then she began to cry. ‘Is she… is she dying?’

  Steph hesitated. Nuala and Rachel had always been so close. ‘I hope not,’ she said simply. ‘She’s in really good hands and everyone is incredibly positive.’

  Rachel headed to the front door.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Away from you!’ Rachel shouted.

  She could never get it right. She wished that Rachel would turn to her for comfort, would talk to her. They were both going to have to face this together. Instead Rachel turned to her grandparents.

  An hour later, she received a text from Joe

  Just to let you know that Rachel is with us. She’s going to have a bite to eat and I’ll drop her back later.

  And when Rachel got home, she stayed in her room, refusing to come out. Steph knew she had to give her time.


  In the end, Steph, needing fresh air and space to think, went out for a late-night walk, something she often did on her own, fresh summer air, the quiet of an evening when all the other people were at home, watching television, making dinner and spending time with their families. What went wrong here, thought Steph. Who’s to blame? She knew she had to shoulder much of the blame, she was guilty of so many things. And she and Rick hadn’t ever been right but they had brought Rachel into this mess and kept her there. Had that been fair? And now with Nuala so ill, she was threatened with the loss of the one person who Steph relied on, the one person who was always there unchanging, steady and loving. Without her, the world was a far lonelier place.

  When she got home, she saw that Rachel’s light was off, her curtains closed, but Rick appeared, eyes glittering, from his study, looking, Steph realised, worse for wear, and immediately she felt the cold-blooded fear. Wrong place, wrong time. If she had come home earlier, or even later, he might not have caught her.

  ‘Steph?’ he said.

  She looked away and didn’t answer. She had suddenly enough. Don’t speak to me again, she thought, don’t you speak to me again. She turned to face him, furious.

  ‘Don’t ignore me.’

  ‘I wasn’t… I…’ Leave me alone, she thought. Just leave me alone.

  ‘So,’ he said. ‘We should talk about Rome.’ He was goading her, she knew it. He wanted an argument. He wanted to let off steam. ‘What happened… what you did.’ He laughed in her face.

  ‘What did I do?’ she said, taking the bait, now riled.

  ‘You made a show of yourself and a show of me,’ he said. She could smell his breath. ‘Do you want to apologize?’

  ‘No.’ She knew she had been dragged into this argument and now wanted to get out. She didn’t have the strength to get into this, with him, at this moment in her life. She wanted out. From everything. She looked down, not knowing what to do. Maybe she should just beg forgiveness and maybe, maybe, he would move on.