by Jackie Walsh
Chapter Thirty-One
I wasn’t expecting to find myself knocking on Bert’s door. But the thought of driving all the way back into the city with my head filled with fear, holding my concentration at gunpoint, is not a good idea. I’ll take a break, call in on Bert and have a coffee, see if that calms me down a bit.
Bert is delighted to see me. His one-sided smile creeps across his pale face as he holds the door open for me to come inside.
‘Has everybody gone?’ I say, looking around the empty room that was filled with mourners a few hours earlier.
‘They have.’
‘Well, that wasn’t too bad.’
‘They had to go. I told them to get out.’
‘And who cleaned up?’ I say, noting the tidiness of the place.
‘I don’t know, I waited upstairs ’til they were gone.’
I laugh, then Bert laughs. He gets some leftover food from the fridge and places it on the table. I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since Jeff’s egg wraps this morning.
‘This is delicious,’ I say, spooning meat pie into my mouth.
‘It is, isn’t it? I think Agnes made it, the witch.’
He laughs again. I keep eating. At the back of my mind I feel the tension swelling up, waiting to burst. Should I tell Bert what’s going on? I better not. He cuts a slice of apple pie for me, hands me the plate, suggesting I put some cream on it. Everything takes longer now, slower steps, slower hand movements, slower smiles.
When we’ve both had our fill from the witches’ cauldron, I help Bert put the stuff away and tell him I have to go. I’m feeling a bit stronger now, ready to take on the journey without crashing into someone on the way. Bert asks me when I’ll be back and I tell him as soon as I’m able.
‘It won’t be Saturday, though. I have to go to a baby shower.’
‘A baby shower?’
‘Joanna’s baby shower.’
‘Oh, right. Hang on a minute.’
Bert walks into a little side room off the kitchen, more like a closet than a room. He reaches up to a shelf that hangs over a work bench and takes down a gift bag. I think Bert has got me gift, but it’s not for me.
‘For Danny,’ he says. ‘For the baby.’
* * *
Grief must be having a strange effect on Bert. Never before has he expressed any kindness towards Danny. In fact, for as long as I can remember both men have harbored an indiscreet dislike for each other, Danny taking every opportunity to give out about Bert and Bert throwing his eyes up to heaven whenever I mention my brother. So this is quite a turn up for the books.
I take the gift and thank him. Tell him how grateful Danny and Joanna are going to be.
Walking to the car I look over at Dad’s house. There’s no sign of life, just the shadowed loneliness of a broken house, a broken home. Dad must be in the pub with his mates.
Struggling to open the dodgy lock on the trunk of my car, I twist and turn the key until eventually it gives way. I place Bert’s gift inside, even though I’m tempted to look in the bag. But I can’t, Bert still has his eye on me through the window; I’ll have to wait until I get home. Driving away, I think about what Danny’s warning about Katie Collins. I wonder if he knows I’m a suspect, that Katie Collins visited Mom in the home. Maybe he’s just playing the big brother, looking out for me. But I don’t think so, not this time.
This time is different. Danny is hiding something.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Danny won’t be at home today, it’s ladies only and boy, do I mean ladies. A gaggle of them are sitting in the kitchen when I arrive, all primped to perfection in pinks, yellow and blues. I’m in black. My hair is tied back into a plait because it’s still wet. Unlike all the other contestants, who must have been sitting in an adjustable chair first thing this morning, I didn’t have time to dry it.
There’s nothing new in the feeling that I don’t belong here. I get it every time I’m forced to attend one of Joanna’s get-togethers. All her shiny friends, with their shiny degrees and even shinier husbands. I never did get it. Joanna seems so much nicer than this lot.
‘Edel from college’, which is how she is routinely introduced by Joanna, is doing an awesome job of everything. There are glasses of bubbly lining the counter with strawberries drowning in each glass, reminding everyone how far they’ve come. The table is covered in trays of tiny little sandwiches and other nibbles. A tower of cupcakes – more pinks, yellows and blues – stands center-stage. Why, I don’t know; none of these bony creatures eat cupcakes. Joanna sits like a ball of wool amongst a stack of needles. But not for long. If I know Joanna, she’ll be back in the gym before the baby has its first nappy change.
I don’t plan on staying long. I’ll wait for the gifts to be opened, then I’m out of here. I’ve too much to do, too much to think about, and I want to finish unpacking the stuff I brought over to Jeff’s.
‘I can’t wait for this baby to be born,’ Joanna says, struggling to stand when I hand her my gift. It’s not actually my gift, I didn’t find the opportunity or the money to get one yet, so I’m giving her Bert’s for today. I’ll explain all when I get the real one. The small gift bag looks a bit miserable beside the mountain of impressively wrapped gifts in the corner of the room.
Joanna kisses me on the cheek. ‘Thanks, Becca.’
Shit. Now I feel guilty. Maybe I should tell her it’s from Bert; that I forgot to get one. But I’m afraid of being judged by her friends: ‘Imagine that, her sister-in-law never got her a gift.’ I can almost hear their acquired accents.
Standing on my own with a half eaten cupcake in my hand, I think about what Danny said about staying away from anything to do with Katie Collins. I’ll have to tell him it’s a bit late for that. Inform him that his sister is a frigging suspect. I wonder how he’ll react. I hope he’ll help me.
The judgment of a young solicitor is being delivered close by. The woman has managed to drop her current profession into the conversation at least twice so far, while discussing how poor Lisa Evans’ husband has left her for Mila. Her audience stand aghast, except for one brave girl who says she’s not surprised. No more bubbly for her.
Another topic of interest seems to be the sudden growth of Janet Jones; apparently she has put on at least two stone since the solicitor last saw her, ‘the poor thing.’
I’m glad she’s not aware of my production. Wanted for murder. That would keep them all here long enough to dip into the tiny sandwiches.
I’m considering making an early exit, faking an urgent phone call or something, when Edel calls for order, clinking a spoon on one of the bubbly glasses. The unwrapping of the gifts is about to commence.
The smell of expensive perfumes crash into one another in the rush to get a seat near Joanna. The resulting concoction would upset even the nose blind. I stand as far away as possible without giving the impression of being disinterested. I didn’t realize these things were so serious, that there’s a protocol to follow.
Please don’t open my gift first, I pray, leaning close to the gap in the open patio door. She doesn’t; Joanna goes straight for the one on top. She rests it on her bump, unwrapping it as if the paper is on loan and has to be returned in perfect condition. When I get a gift, I like to tear at the wrapping paper – it’s half the fun. And Mom knew I loved it, she wrapped all my Christmas gifts separately, no matter how many there were. After ten minutes the room would look like a storm had blown in from Walmart. I loved it.
Three gifts have been unwrapped already to a chorus of oohs and aahs. With my nerves on edge I watch Joanna lifting my gift – Bert’s gift.
‘And this is from…?’ Edel’s eyes search the room like she’s waiting for a final bid at Sotheby’s.
That’s my cue to put my hand in the air, so I do, and everyone turns to look, then nod at me and acknowledge my presence. It’s the most attention I’ve had since I was down the precinct and I find myself equally as uneasy.
Joanna pulls on the ribbon of t
he small rainbow colored bag and takes out something wrapped in tissue paper. When she removes the tissue paper she’s holding a Ziploc bag with something pink inside. Fuck, I should have told Bert it was a boy. Joanna opens the Ziploc and takes out a small pink coat that looks like it was bought at a jumble sale. It’s old and dirty, with a button missing. She tries to hide her embarrassment as she quickly picks up the next gift. But it doesn’t work, doesn’t take their judging eyes off me. I’m going to die here. What the fuck, Bert?
Chapter Thirty-Three
Naturally there were no oohs and aahs for my gift, just a load of gasps and stares.
I can’t stay, fearing they might surround me, tie me to a tree and burn me. This is really bad. Joanna thinks I gave her a dirty old knitted baby coat. Oh God… Danny.
I’ll have to get to Joanna before she tells him, explain to her that the present was from the old man across the road, probably some family heirloom. But I’m not attempting to fight my way through this angry mob. I’ll ring her later. Right now I need to get out of here.
Without saying anything to Joanna I slip out the patio door. What the hell was Bert thinking in giving them that gift? Is it some old heirloom he’s resurrected and wants to pass on now that everyone is dying? He better have some frigging excuse when I ask him because I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. Poor Joanna, I feel so bad for her. Her only sister-in-law, letting her down in front of all her flawless friends. Will she ever forgive me?
Driving away, I decide to call in to Bert and ask about the coat. I will make out there were more questions of interest than disgusted faces. Regardless of its history, Bert should at least have washed the coat before he passed it on. But I won’t say that, not to an old man who has just buried his wife.
There’s no answer at Bert’s house. I hope he’s okay. Walking back to the car I resolve to invent some heirloom story on his behalf. It’s not like they’re going to check.
* * *
Jeff is out when I get back to the apartment. I vaguely remember him telling me about some gig he was playing tonight. I wish I knew where it was, I could go along, take my mind off my latest fuck-up. On the counter stands a plate of risotto covered in film, with a note, Heat for 3 mins. Jeff is determined to fatten me up.
The first few bites satisfy what little appetite I have, so I dump the rest in the trash and reach for the wine. It’s going to be a long night without Jeff here. Just me, the wine, the fears, the plans. Ringing Joanna’s phone brought no success, each time the same response. ‘I can’t answer right now, please leave a message.’ I hope she’s not ghosting me.
Hours pass, hours spent searching the web, hoping for some small piece of new information about Katie Collins. Anything. My eyes are stinging and there’s still no sign of Jeff. I decide to go to bed. To try to sleep even for a few hours. Putting my phone on silent, just in case Danny rings to moan about the horrible present, I wish I could do the same with my mind. Put it on silent mode, stop hassling me mode, or just switch off.
The next thing I know the sun is creeping in between the crack in the curtains. I’m happy I slept all night, and without the help of any medication. The phone is flashing on the duvet. Shit, someone is calling me. It’s Danny.
‘Danny?’
‘What the hell, Becca? I’ve been ringing you all night. Is that phone ever on?’
‘Sorry, I had it on silent. What’s up?’
‘It’s Joanna. She went into labor when I got back to the house after the baby shower.’
‘Is everything okay?’
‘Great, everything is great… Auntie Becca. You have a beautiful nephew, seven pounds, one ounce.’
‘Oh, that’s fantastic news. How is Joanna?’
‘Tired. She’s sleeping now, so I’m heading home to grab a couple of hours myself.’
‘Can I visit later?’
‘Yes, of course. Liam is dying to meet you.’
Phew. He doesn’t know. Maybe I can keep it like that if I get to Joanna before she tells him. Before she shows him
I wonder if Edith knitted that coat, hoping to put it on her own daughter some day. Maybe over the years she took it out, hugged it, hoped, until time extinguished the dream. Or it could be an heirloom she wished to pass on. Wherever it came from, I don’t understand why Bert gave it to Danny. Surely he knew the condition it was in?
Chapter Thirty-Four
My father is coming down the stairs when I open the door.
‘Congrats, Grandpa.’
The smile on his face brings back memories.
‘Great news, isn’t it?’ he says, running a comb through his wet hair.
‘The best, Dad, the best, and I like the name Liam.’
Dad’s eyes are so bright, it’s like someone switched his power back on. I haven’t seen him this animated since before Mom went to Oakridge.
‘I’m on my way to tell your mom,’ he says. ‘Do you want to come with me?’ Then, before I have a chance to answer, he stops in his tracks. ‘Are you in Mattie’s tonight?’
Now is not the time to spill paint on Dad’s picture by telling him I can’t go back there. Instead I tell him I have worked up hours; that I called in earlier to claim them so I could go and see the baby.
‘So are you coming then?’ he says, whistling as he takes his jacket from the back of a chair.
I decide to go, even though I hate visiting Mom when Dad’s there. Watching his face change to match the wretchedness of her situation is pure agony, no one in their right mind would willingly put themselves through it. His eyebrows descend, as if trying to stop his eyes from seeing her. His lips clench, his face turns grey. He transforms into some sort of misery machine. It eases after a while, after he has said his first hellos and holds her hand. But it’s not pretty to watch. Today might be better, with the news of the new arrival. I’m praying it is, that he manages to inject his reaction with some joy.
He doesn’t. My father is turning to stone in front of me; in fact, it’s the worst I have ever seen him. We manage to get as far as Mom’s room when he stops abruptly.
‘I can’t go in,’ he says, turning his face away. I don’t know what to do. What do I say? He’s going to cry, please don’t fucking cry.
‘Don’t cry, Dad,’ I say taking his hand in mine. ‘Please don’t cry.’ But before I know it, I’m crying too.
‘I’m sorry, Becca.’
He’s a blubbering mess, both of us are, standing here outside Mom’s door.
‘I thought… I thought I’d be able, Becca… but…’
‘It’s okay Dad, I’ll go in. I’ll tell her.’
‘It’s just I always imagined this day would be different. Our first grandchild… We often spoke about it.’
‘It’s okay, Dad.’
‘Actually,’ he says, finding a smile amongst the sniffles, ‘we thought it would be you.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes. We were waiting for it ever since you turned sixteen, if I’m being truthful.’
‘Well, thanks a lot,’ I say, forcing a chuckle. I don’t blame them. I was a bit wild in my early days. ‘Dad, do you want to go down to the coffee shop first? Relax a bit before we go in?’
He smiles. ‘You’re a good girl, Becca. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
‘Thanks, Dad. I love you.’
‘Okay, let’s do this,’ he says, taking my hand. ‘Let’s go in and tell your Mom she’s a grandmother.’
* * *
It didn’t get any worse. My dad settled, and even got excited when Mom smiled. She smiled when he told her the name, but it was just a coincidence. At least, I think it was. It’s hard to know anything anymore.
The smell of mass-produced powder soup wafts through the building, announcing mealtime. Dad stands to leave. ‘Goodbye, grandma,’ he says.
Mom stares ahead like she’s looking into a field, searching for a particular blade of grass that isn’t there. I wish she knew what was happening; she would have been so happy to inter
fere with how Joanna was raising Liam.
My father’s demeanor changes the moment we step out through the doors.
‘Time to meet Liam,’ he says, inhaling the fresh air.
I feel like Florence Nightingale, but Dad’s insisting we go to meet Liam straight away. His sad visit is over, his joyful one is ahead. I don’t agree; facing Joanna is going to be a bit weird for me. I’m hoping the pain of birth and arrival of her new baby may have erased her memory of yesterday.
Lovely little Liam doesn’t look like anyone in particular but I am aware it’s my duty as a visitor to point out some similarities, so I fake a few, all the time avoiding looking directly at Joanna. Dad’s happiness seeps out through every breath he takes, swooning at Liam until the nurse tells us visiting time has ended.
As we’re leaving, I walk down the corridor with Dad, then pretend I’ve left my phone behind. Joanna is lifting Liam in her arms when I walk back into the ward.
‘I’m so sorry about yesterday, Joanna. I didn’t know that was going to happen.’
Joanna doesn’t seem to give a goddamn shit about yesterday. She has moved on, got herself a baby.
But I continue, telling her about the gift, the dirty pink coat, explaining that it had been given to me by Bert and how I had forgotten my own present. I’m still rambling on about how Bert had it in his family for years and wanted to pass it on to someone, that he was probably confused with grief, when she turns and smiles at me.
‘It’s okay, Becca. And don’t worry, I won’t tell Danny.’
Chapter Thirty-Five
Liam smells like chocolate. Not the actual cocoa, but the comfort. There’s a tuft of dark hair at the top of his head, his skin is the pink of strawberry marshmallows. His eyes are closed. Joanna is trusting me to hold her baby while she makes the supper. I offered to make it. Joanna should be resting. But no, Joanna insisted she make the supper. Nothing will make her relinquish control. Not even giving birth to a baby.
