by Jackie Walsh
Chapter Thirty-Eight
I’m standing across from Tara’s apartment building, my feet hurting from the constant pounding of streets in high-heeled boots.
My mother commented on how well I looked when she saw me leaving the house earlier. I was glad to hear the compliment. There are so few around at the minute.
Mam will see this as a sign that things are getting better. Faye is beginning to look after herself, take pride in her appearance. Mam doesn’t know I’m contriving to meet the love of my life. The man Tara Moore robbed me of.
My hair is tied in a loose ponytail pulled to one side and hanging down over my shoulder. It’s all the rage. As is the two-tone colour. The red I dyed my hair earlier in the year has grown out and is now only visible on the bottom half of my hair but it looks deliberate, it looks cool. I think Andriu will like it. He always said I had a funky way with fashion. That was before I could afford to buy new clothes whenever I wanted. I had to make things look their best, adding a bow here or a belt there and it helped that Tara and I wore the same size. We could borrow one another’s clothes. Like sisters but without the rows. My own sister never shared her clothes with me. I remember borrowing a denim shirt once from her wardrobe to go to a party and she threw a fit when she found out, resulting in her locking her bedroom door every time she left. Like I was some sort of thief. She need not have worried. There was nothing else in there that interested me.
Having make-up on my face all day feels heavy, like I’m wearing a mask because I don’t usually wear make-up at the clinic. The black jacket covering my silver, silk shirt, looks effortless over my tight grey jeans but none of this is stalking gear. I’m freezing, standing here in the dark looking up at a cascade of balconies jutting out from this tall, boring-looking building and wondering which one is hers. Which balcony does Tara Moore drink her coffee on in the morning? Which balcony does she fuck her boyfriend on at night?
The lights are beginning to flicker on in quite a few of these boxes. People are arriving home from their comfortable offices, with their communal toilets and brightly coloured chill-out areas. The apartment block is in the middle of a hub of major financial companies so I imagine the rent is pretty high. Tara’s boyfriend is probably paying for it.
I’ll have to make my move soon. I’ll have to confront her. I wonder what she’d look like dangling from one of those balconies.
Pulling my jacket across my chest does little to keep the cold out. I make my way across the road where I pass the pub on the corner of the building and get motivated by the smell of beer oozing out from the doorway. Not yet Faye. Not yet.
There are five entrances that I can see to this apartment block but I remember the one Tara stood outside in the photo when she was bragging about her ‘moving in’ on Facebook. Block B was written above the entrance door in big red letters. It angered me to think of her lording it up in her penthouse suite with some man while I had been reduced to my single bed in my parents’ house in Howth. How did that happen? Why did she get all the luck?
I push on the door of the building as I answer my own question aloud. ‘She took it, Faye, she just took it.’ Then I stare at the letterbox wall inside the foyer with about a hundred different letterboxes and names and wonder where to begin.
A thought suddenly enters my head. What if her name isn’t on any of them? Just the name of her wonderful Australian boyfriend who she thinks she’s marrying next week? What the hell was his name?
I scan the names and numbers and I finally come across Tara’s name. She’s staying in apartment 431. She’s on the fourth floor. I hope she’s alone.
I look at the first name on the box. Lucas Jones. If he’s with her, I’ll have to abandon my plan and just play nice. I’ll say I was passing and thought I’d pop in to see how she’s doing. She might wonder how I know she lives here but I’ll tell her I asked at the coffee shop.
The elevator door is about to close when someone pushes on the entrance door and two girls rush in out of the cold. They’re a lot more prepared for the weather than I am. Hats, scarves, gloves. A strong smell of perfume fills the small space as one of the girls presses the button that I was just about to. Fourth floor.
The lift moves. My heart begins to thump. I’m nervous and excited all at once. It’s about time I confronted her. After all I did for Tara Moore. She’s about to find out how ungrateful I am that she spoiled my future by sleeping with my one true love, Andriu.
The elevator opens and the two women step out in front of me. I’m tracing the direction of the apartment numbers when I notice them knocking on a door further down. They’re visitors too. Visitors with prosecco.
‘Tara, yahoo, only one week to go!’ Their hands are waving in the air and they disappear behind the door.
Blood is pulsing in my neck. That was close.
The heat in the building is making me sweat. I am wiping it from the back of my neck when the second elevator door opens and out walks a tall, handsome, blond-haired man in a pair of jeans and a big parka jacket. He’s noticed me looking lost.
‘You looking for someone?’ he says, in a full-blown Australian accent. That must be him. Tara’s fiancé. I can’t find my voice. So I shake my head, my eyes glued to his gleaming smile as he nods then walks towards their apartment.
Shit. Lucas Jones has seen me. He didn’t seem to recognise me, though. Which is good. Tara has probably never shown him any photos of me with her. Her life before Lucas Jones is well buried along with all its secrets. Or so she thinks. I could stop him, call him back and say, ‘Do you know what your wife-to-be did?’
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Then
To the rest of the world it’s just another Saturday night. To me, it’s the night I’m about to witness Tara Moore help her mother leave this world. I’m nervous. I’ve done as much research as possible but I have no experience in this field. I would much rather be listening to Lana Del Ray on stage at Electric Picnic but I promised Tara I would be by her side to help in any way possible. As well as being completely devastated to be saying goodbye to her mother tonight, Tara is also nervous because even with a potion of relaxants to prevent her mother throwing up the Nembutal, there could be complications that could lead to a lot of pain.
When we first researched the process, Tara didn’t want me involved. She thought it was too big an ask. Besides the damage it could do to my career if we were found out, the emotional weight would be a heavy burden to carry. I told her I was going in with my eyes wide open and I could look after myself. That it would be far too dangerous to implement the procedure without medical experience on hand to help if needed. I told her she had to think of her mam. Eventually she agreed it would be safer for her mother to have me here, just in case I was needed to bring her emergency relief. Tara will be the one to inject the morphine if things go badly but under my direct instruction. Tara’s afraid if she is found out and it was discovered that I was here, I’ll be implicated and my career would come to an end. But I’m already implicated. I know about it and I’m about to let it happen. I’m hoping we don’t get caught.
Squeezing Tara’s hand, I take a deep breath and lead her into the room where her mother is waiting. I’m immediately struck by how calm Roisin is and how beautiful and relaxed the room feels. I didn’t know what to expect. Fear, maybe tears, but Tara’s mam smiles at me and immediately I feel at ease. Roisin looks younger than she did last week when we sat by her bed discussing the final plan. I smile back at her, realising it’s not that she looks younger; it’s that she looks peaceful. Roisin is at peace with her decision.
To my left the silver-grey curtains are open. It was still bright when we arrived home from the festival but now the darkness is closing in, casting an evening shadow across the room onto Roisin’s bed.
At the far side of the bed, Tara’s dad is sitting, a broken man holding his wife’s hand. He looks up at me briefly and nods. I can tell he’s glad to see me here. I might not be fully qualified but I’m the close
st thing he has to a medical expert and I’m glad to be able to ease his fears. I wish I could ease his pain. It’s leaking out through every pore in his body. The man looks about ten years older than he did last month. It’s clear this is all too much for him. But he’s here, by his wife’s side when she needs him most.
Last week, when finalising the plans, we went through every possible scenario. I had researched the dosage needed and the consequences of something going wrong. I played no part in securing the Nembutal. That was all Tara’s doing and I was pretty impressed she actually managed to get it.
Roisin wanted a few candles and a Beatles CD playing low in the background. The wall facing the bed is a maze of Roisin’s past.
A photo of a very young Tara hangs beside a photo of Roisin and Niall on their wedding day. There are other old black and white photographs – Roisin’s own parents and family, I presume. I’m not about to ask.
Among the scattered memorabilia are tickets to gigs, holiday photos, pieces of ornaments, a football jersey, a pair of ballet pumps, a sheet of music and a menu from some restaurant. A whole life pinned to a wall. I cast my eye over the evidence of Roisin’s existence and I wonder what my wall will look like. Will I have a wedding photo? Will Andriu be in it?
For the past few days Roisin lay in this bed amongst her past and now she is about to say goodbye to it. I can tell by her relaxed gaze, her stillness, her comforting eyes, that she is not afraid. Roisin is ready. Tara is trembling with fear.
‘It will be okay, Tara,’ I whisper in her ear, gently squeezing her arm. She needs to know that what she is about to do is right. That I’m with her. Her father is with her. And most of all, her mother needs her to do this.
Tara is shaking. A dose of tablets rattle in the plastic cup as she hands it to her mother. Roisin takes the cup from her and with Tara’s help, lifts it to her mouth. She swallows the pills down with some water.
Then Tara prepares the Nembutal. I’m watching over her, making sure she’s doing it right. Cloaking her with confidence. Her face is white. I try to imagine what it must be like to give someone you love the one thing you don’t want to give them. How strong that love must be. But it’s impossible to imagine without a true understanding. Without wearing Tara’s shoes.
I am in awe of my friend, her strength, her composure. The fact that she isn’t crying or begging her mother to change her mind. This is one single moment in time. No past. No future belongs here.
When the dosage is ready I move away from the bed to a chair against the wall. I am just an observer. This is not my mother. This is not my pain and yet I can feel it seeping into me, tugging at my heart, teasing my strength. Don’t cry, I say to myself. Don’t spoil it for Roisin.
When Tara hands her mother the cup, the final dose, ‘Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band’ starts playing from the speakers, hoping we enjoy the show. I’m thinking ‘Let It Be’ or ‘Hey Jude Don’t Be Afraid’ might be more appropriate but no one else is blinking an eye at it. Maybe they can’t even hear it. Or maybe it’s exactly what Roisin wants.
* * *
Then we wait. Tara’s dad clutching one hand, Tara stroking the other. Nothing is said. Nothing needs to be said. The love, the loss, the sadness and the gratitude is so intense I can almost touch it.
It takes less than an hour before the last breath heaves its way out of Roisin’s lungs and with it, relief. Everything has gone to plan. There was no vomiting, no pain. No excruciating release. Roisin smiled, then closed her eyes.
Tara kisses her mother’s forehead, tears rolling gently from her eyes. I’m almost paralysed with sadness for her but this was the plan. It’s what Roisin had insisted on. Nobody is to be in the room when the nurse arrives the next morning to find her. Roisin wants it to appear like she has done it all herself. That no one else was involved.
I walk over to Tara’s side and wrap my arms around her, coaxing her away. Tara lets go of her mother’s hand for the last time.
Chapter Forty
I’m leaning against the cold steel, the number 431 pressed against my face. I’m listening to the fun unfold behind this large wooden door when my phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s Mam, I know it is. No one else ever calls anymore. Not even my brother, because apparently he’s fed up listening to my sarcastic bullshit. When I’m ready to talk like a normal person, he says, he’ll speak to me. Huh, normal. What’s normal?
Ignoring the phone, I walk away from the door and back to the elevator. I’m pressing the button for the ground floor when it occurs to me that Andriu might arrive at the apartment for drinks. Tara said she was meeting him in a pub later but I know now she says a lot of things that aren’t true. Like when she told me Andriu was staying in Horgan’s Hotel. Now I don’t know whether to believe her. Still, my mind indulges in the possibility that I could bump into him at any minute.
The excitement lifts my mood. I check my reflection in the silver panel of the elevator door and remember my mother’s words. You look lovely, Faye. Which reminds me: I’d better ring her back. She’ll be worried. I told her I’d be home for dinner. Chicken arrabbiata no doubt. It’s the same every Friday. I happened to mention that I liked it when we were in a restaurant once, long before all this crap started, and my mother remembered.
Mam had never cooked Italian before then, except for maybe spaghetti bolognese or heating a pizza. But when I had to move back in to the house, she found a recipe in some Jamie Oliver book and now she cooks chicken arrabbiata for me every week. I think she’s trying to tell me she loves me without using words.
I step out of the elevator, my feet no longer sore. I’m looking all around the hallway but Andriu isn’t here. With my flimsy jacket pulled once more across my chest, I leave the building and walk to the far side of the street. The only thing I can do now is wait. Then I will follow them to whatever pub they go to. I will definitely bump into Andriu if I do that.
I wonder what he looks like now. Has he still got that silly hairstyle where the top is twice as long as the rest of his hair and drops down over his face like a black mantilla? His sideways grin always made me blush when it was accompanied by a subtle wink. That meant he was thinking about the love we had made the night before. Or the love he planned to be making that same night once we had left whoever’s company we were stuck with.
Andriu was always in T-shirts and jeans. Even when going to work, which surprised me because he was management. But he said suits and ties were for old people and his company didn’t insist on them. They were up and coming, more like Google.
I remember buying him a shirt and tie once, hoping he’d wear them to my Christmas party at the hospital but he didn’t.
The only time I saw him in a suit and tie was when his father died and he looked really handsome in it. I remember him standing at the doorway explaining once again that he didn’t want me to go to the funeral with him because I had exams coming up. I wanted to go. I wanted to meet his family. I had only ever heard stories about them – his sisters, his mom, his older brother who lived in the States. I wanted to be there to comfort Andriu when he succumbed to the loss. He hadn’t cried since hearing about his father’s sudden death, trying to stay strong for everyone else, but I knew when it came to the church and the graveyard he would be devastated. He would need me to hold him… but no. He insisted he’d be okay and refused to take me away from my studies.
My exams were still a few weeks away but Andriu was thoughtful like that. He wanted me to do my best. Taking a deep breath, I let the icy air travel deep into my lungs and blow out a white cloud of smoke. I wonder if Andriu will wink at me tonight?
The phone beeps, dragging me out of the trance I’ve fallen into. It’s Mam again. This time I answer. I tell her that I’m doing great. I’m having a lovely time with my friend. I hold my hand over the phone briefly and pretend to be laughing with someone before telling her I have to go and that I’ll be home later. She stutters, which means she’s nervous. Mam doesn’t know whether to believe me
or not. I try to reassure her that everything is fine and ask her to leave my dinner in the microwave in case I’m still hungry when I get home. I know she won’t relax now until the key turns in the lock. Mam treats me just like she did before I left home to go to college. She forgets I’m a woman of the world now. That I can look after myself. There’s nothing I can do to ease her anxiety. I have to live my life. I have to wait for Andriu.
Over an hour has passed and I’m still standing here. With the river Liffey flowing behind me, I lean against the wall. It would be so easy to lean back and fall in if I wanted to. I don’t want to though. I want to meet Andriu.
It’s difficult to hear the water moving because of the noisy traffic but when there’s a lull and I concentrate I can hear it. It’s rhythm. The sound of the earth breathing.
Another hour passes. The cold air doesn’t seem to bother me so much anymore but the lights flashing on the premises opposite do. Reilly’s Bar. I really could do with a drink… but what if I miss him? What if Andriu arrives when I’m in there? I take one last glance over at the entrance to the apartment block where I see no new activity, then I step away from the Liffey wall.
I’ll have one. Just the one.
Chapter Forty-One
Tara
‘Will you miss us?’
Emily is half drunk and we’re not even in the pub yet. She and Amy have polished off a bottle of prosecco and now they’re opening a second bottle.
It was Amy’s idea to meet here at my apartment before we went to the pub. She said it might be our last opportunity to say goodbye to the place where we spent so much time laughing, crying, solving the problems of the world, while sitting on the balcony drinking gin. I wanted to say no, but I couldn’t because I knew she was right. We did spend a lot of time on that balcony watching people passing by and making some very inappropriate comments about them. It’s just that I’ve lost a lot of the romance for this place in the last few weeks with all that’s going on. It’s hard to convince yourself you’re going to miss a place you can’t wait to leave.
