Locked Out of Heaven

by Shirley Benton

  Chapter 50

  31 December 1994 (continued)

  “What happened between you and . . . him?” Terry asked when we went back to his flat above the pub after the interminable wedding reception.

  I couldn’t say anything, Diary. I tried to open my mouth and explain, but I just couldn’t find the words.

  “Let me make this easy for you. When did it happen, or how long has it been going on?”

  I swallowed, then eventually said, “Last night,” in a tone so low that I barely heard my own words. “Just last night.”

  Terry said nothing. It was worse than if he’d hurled the abuse at me that I knew I deserved. Then, eventually, he picked up a vase and hurled it across the room before walking out into the night, looking at me as if I were a complete stranger to him.

  I had no idea where to go. I didn’t want to stay in Terry’s flat – married or not, it didn’t feel like my home. I couldn’t listen to everything Susie would have to say if I went back to hers and Dad’s place. Cliff’s place was out of bounds for obvious reasons and as for Sammy . . . was there really anything I could say to her that would change the fact that I’d messed her brother around?

  I sat in darkness for hours until the front door eventually opened.

  “Don’t say anything,” Terry said when he walked in. “Let me speak.”

  I nodded. I had no idea where this was headed.

  “We have two options. We either go our separate ways right now, or we try to find a way to make this work. I don’t know how I feel about you after what you’ve done to me, but there’s one thing and one thing only that has me here. You still showed up and married me.”

  I opened my mouth to tell him why – he deserved to know the truth – but he held up a hand.

  “No, Holly. You say one word and I’m walking out of here and out of your life forever. Surely you have enough decency to let me speak.”

  I looked down at my hands.

  “I knew he was after you when I met him. Guys like that . . . they wait until a girl is vulnerable and then they strike. It’s low, it’s disgusting, but that’s how some men are. What I’m asking myself is if I’m going to let him, some jumped-up nobody from the bog, ruin my marriage and have me in the divorce courts before I’m twenty. I don’t let other people control me like that.”

  “But, Terry, he didn’t force me to do anything I didn’t want to do . . .”

  “You were plastered! What sort of scumbag comes on to a girl on her hen night?”

  “He didn’t, Terry. I went after him. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth.”

  Terry’s nostrils flared. I thought he was absolutely going to lose it. Instead, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply for a few moments.

  “Okay, it’s done. You got him out of your system. Let that be an end to it. Have you packed everything for the honeymoon?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “The weather in Miami is very good at this time of year. Pack accordingly.”

  I didn’t go on the honeymoon, Diary. How could I when our marriage was such a sham? This year has been such a disaster. My life is such a disaster.

  Happy fucking New Year.

  That was where my diary ended, even though I’d written so infrequently that there was plenty of space left despite the year ending. I hadn’t even taken any notice of the page dates, just writing from January onwards, even though I started the diary in March. I remembered only too vividly why the entries stopped there. I remembered the deep vortex of apathy that followed the wedding and how writing the diary seemed pointless any more. Everything seemed pointless.

  I went to college and did what I had to do, but when I came home I switched off mentally. I was subconsciously trying to push Terry away, to force him to leave me. He didn’t. He wouldn’t. The further I fell, the more he tried to pull me out.

  Sammy wouldn’t have anything to do with me after the wedding. She broke it off with Cliff and he blamed me. As for Damo . . . well, as you’d expect, he never got in touch with me again. I managed to get away from Terry for long enough a few weeks after the wedding to call over to see Damo in Princes’ Palace, where I’d hoped I’d have a chance to explain my actions to him, but Cliff told me Damo had moved out and hadn’t left his new address. It seemed Damo and Cliff had fallen out over the whole mess, too.

  It was a long time later, when Cliff and I were finally talking again, that I found out exactly what had happened when Susie went outside. Cliff said that he’d anticipated everything that would happen – that I’d tell Susie the wedding was off, she’d go ape and she’d railroad me into going through with it. Although Sammy had been furious at me, she’d calmed down once Cliff had convinced her about how dominating Susie could be and she became determined to stop the wedding. Sammy had blazed into the church with the intention of marching up to Terry and telling him that I couldn’t marry him before pulling me out of the church. But as soon as Susie saw Sammy charging in, she ran out to do some damage limitation.

  Susie physically restrained Sammy from coming into the church. Cliff said the whole thing was on the verge of getting violent by the time Sammy eventually accepted she wasn’t going to be able to get past Susie. By the time Damo arrived, incredulous that I hadn’t come back to him, I was married.

  After two months of hell, I went home to my husband one day after college and resolved to try to work things out. I forced myself to go through the motions of what I imagined was typical married life. It didn’t work. Inside, a bit more of me died every day. Then, three months into our marriage, I discovered I was one month pregnant. While I was initially horrified, the pregnancy gradually drew me back and gave me a reason to live again.

  I continued with college right up until my due date and Hayley was born in the summer. The following September, I returned to college and Terry paid for childcare. With time, I made the best of the situation and tried to be grateful to Terry for all he was doing for me. As the years went on, we trudged along and pretended we were happy. What else could we do?

  Then I saw the CCTV, when everything changed irrevocably, and now here I was, as uncertain about my life now as I’d been eighteen years previously.

  Chapter 51

  When I walked into the sitting room a few days later after my session with Moya, James’ daughter, the smoke was thicker than usual. Looking back, that said it all really.

  I didn’t suspect anything at first. The kids were at Terry’s and Susie always smoked in the house when they were away. Willie was out in the kitchen clattering various objects, making tea no doubt, and Susie was blowing smoke rings as she reclined her feet on a pouffe. So far, so normal. The new post-cancer diagnosis normal, that is.

  “Billy Crystal’s home,” she yelled to Willie before tittering.

  She often used to call me Billy Crystal, after the actor, back when I was working, but people only got it about half of the time. Not everyone was a fan of Billy’s work in Analyse This and Analyse That, it seemed.

  Dad stopped clattering for a few seconds but didn’t respond. She turned her attention to me.

  “What, no dutiful laugh? I haven’t used that gag in a while. Might as well dust it off and use it a bit more while I can. Laughter is the best medicine, after all – unless you have cancer, then it’s chemo, they keep telling me – but a laugh might do the two of you some good.”

  I sat down. I didn’t know what to say to Susie any more, so I was mostly saying nothing these days.

  I heard the sound of Dad’s slow footsteps coming from the kitchen. He stopped on the threshold of the sitting room, looking at Mum, waiting for her to speak. When she didn’t, he came in and sat down.

  “Tell her,” he said.

  “Tell her what? It’s nothing she doesn’t know already.”

  “Tell her,” he said, more firmly this time despite a distinct fall in his expression.

  In fact, his face was starting to crumble. His lips were jittering downwards, his jaw sagged heavily and he looked more ti
red than I’d ever seen him.

  “Holly, I’m dying. Not exactly a newsflash – I’ve been saying it for a while now—”

  “She was given six months today if she doesn’t take the treatment,” Willie said. He didn’t look up from his hands. “Tell her.”

  “Tell her what? You’ve just told her.”

  “Jesus Christ!” I leaped up, covered my mouth with my hand and shook my head before walking slowly to the other side of the room.

  When I got there, I twirled round to look at Mum. Physically, she looked great, a fact that just served to make the situation worse. She must have got dolled up to see the doctor, probably a subconscious trick to convince herself all was okay.

  “Oh, God, I don’t believe it . . .” I said eventually.

  “What is this, The Abbey Theatre? Less of the drama, Holly, please. It’s going to happen one way or the other.”

  “So we’ll all pretend we’re fine with it, is that it?” Willie looked up and stared at Susie.

  Mum shrugged. “Well, I’m fine with it. I’ve known since I got the news that I was on the way out. It’s why I’ve given up housework. You’ve known it too, and don’t pretend otherwise. You haven’t said a word to me about not doing a scrap of work around here. I’d prefer if you were nagging me about separating the colours from the whites, though, than doing that big puppy-dog face now.

  “The best thing you can do now is make my last few months as comfortable as possible. And on that note, I’ve decided I’m going to start taking sugar in my tea, so you could get that for me like a good man. The diet stops now. Bear that in mind when you’re choosing a coffin.”

  Willie and I could only stare at her. Her speech done, she picked up the remote and started browsing through the Sky menu. Her face brightened.

  “Well, would you look at that! Analyse This is on in ten minutes. What are the odds?”

  She picked up a Viscount biscuit and popped it into her mouth, barely chewing before swallowing it and grabbing another. Willie and I just stared at each other uselessly. The same stupid thought kept running around my head: soon, the Viscounts wouldn’t be on the shopping list any more. Of all the things I could have thought at that moment, that, for some inane reason, brought everything home to me the most.

  I only just made it to the bathroom upstairs before vomiting. And through the paper-thin floor, I could hear Susie tutting.

  “And I’m the one who’s supposed to be sick. Willie, the sugar when you’re ready there, please.”

  Chapter 52

  Terry’s Big Day Out

  (No, not that kind of a day out!)

  Terry Kenyon has found love again. After a rough year in which he lost his house, his businesses and his wife, Kenyon (37) has been spotted out and about with up-and-coming model Brittany Stokes (21) on many occasions since Christmas. Our photographer snapped them at the Leopardstown races yesterday (right). Stokes placing a bet wasn’t the only type of flutter going on . . .

  The picture on the right in that day’s Daily Times showed Brittany Stokes looking up at Terry coquettishly. Presumably, there had been some eyelash fluttering going on too when the picture was taken. What the hell? After all this talk, he’d been sniffing around someone else since Christmas? I didn’t care who he took up with, but why was he trying to play me, too? And to do it when Susie was so sick! What sort of an excuse for a man was the father of my children?

  My phone rang. I rolled my eyes. It was probably Terry ringing to fill me with talk of how the paper was full of lies.

  Incoming call: Damo.

  Oh. I picked up the phone.

  “Hi, Damo.”

  “How are you?”

  “I’m okay.” I hadn’t told Sammy and Damo what was happening with Susie yet. Telling them would make it real. “And you?”

  “Don’t mind me. Did you get the Daily Times today?”

  “Yep. Terry looks like he needs a hair transplant in it, so that was a cheering sight.”

  “You’re better off without him, Holly.”

  “I know. You’re very good to ring.”

  “I just thought I’d warn you about it in case you ended up hearing it from someone else and you were caught on the hop. Forewarned is forearmed.”

  “If I was armed, Terry would be quaking in his boots right now. He was over here recently begging me to get back with him. There wasn’t a word out of him about another woman. He can say what he wants about me, but I was honest with him. I told him about . . . well, us – on our wedding day. I clearly told him he was my second choice. If you don’t have honesty, you have nothing. Not that we really had anything anyway other than a shared life and family, when it comes down to it . . .”

  “Was he really?”

  “What?”

  “Your second choice.”

  I blushed and thanked God I was on the phone so that Damo wouldn’t see it.

  “Of course he was. It was always you, Damo.”

  A never-ending silence followed. I held my breath while I waited for Damo’s reply.

  Say something, say something.

  “Holly, come over. Now.”

  I hung up. Oh, I was coming all right.

  This was it. The Austin Powers moment Sammy had slagged me off about. At last there would be no talking and circling around each other, just gay abandon. I congratulated myself on having put on a matching bra and knickers this morning, but then I’d done that every day for the last while. Just in case.

  The drive to Damo’s zipped by in a blur of delicious anticipation. This couldn’t have come at a better time. I hadn’t expected it to be now, but what better time, really? I couldn’t wait to forget about everything that had happened for just a little while and enjoy what was ahead. I’d wanted this for so long and it was finally, finally about to happen. I couldn’t quite believe it.

  I tailgated another driver into the underground car park of Damo’s apartment complex and took the lift to his floor. This wasn’t a day for huffing and puffing my way up the stairs. I giggled to myself at the thought of what Sammy would say if I’d mentioned the words huffing and puffing in this context. God, she was going to be happy when she heard about this!

  Damo looked nervous when he answered the door. He stood behind it, only his head visible as he pulled it back. As soon as I entered, he shoved the door shut and attempted to walk down the corridor.

  “Not so fast.” I tried to pull him to me.

  He resisted.

  “Oh, Holly, no. I can’t.”

  “But . . . why? I thought . . .”

  “Follow me,” he said.

  It quickly became apparent that he was making his way to the bedroom.

  “I have to show you something.”

  I followed, confused and more than a little embarrassed.

  The first thing I noticed in the room was the sumptuous bed, all bedecked with pillows and throws and bolsters. And was I dreaming, or was it . . . an extreme ultra bed? Then my eyes drifted to the wall behind the headboard. There were posters. Lots of them. The ones with big print seemed to be of the inspirational variety – words like acceptance and serenity and hope popped out at me.

  I walked forwards to look at them, both to give myself something to do and because something about the posters didn’t sit well with me. Damo was standing awkwardly at the other side of the room and didn’t seem to have a notion of approaching me. The posters looked too familiar, even though I was sure I hadn’t seen them before.

  Then I noticed a book on Damo’s beside locker and suddenly the role of the posters clicked into place in horrifying clarity. I felt a whooshing sensation throughout my entire body. Something jumped out of my chest and travelled through my blood, my limbs, flooding my system with the poison of what I’d just seen. I felt like someone had just taken out a giant children’s six-piece jigsaw and was slotting the pieces into place right before my eyes.

  “Holly,” he said as I picked up the book, “that’s why.”

  Chapter 53


  There was nobody I could tell. Damo wanted to talk to Sammy about it himself. As for Susie, there would be no sympathy coming from those parts. She’d be thrilled to hear I’d got away from the man who turned out to be an alcoholic – and would no doubt take all the credit.

  How many times had I come across books relating to The Twelve Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous over the years of my career? I’d never have visualised a copy of it in Damo’s hands, but as I knew more than most, addiction had no respect for anyone. The good wholesome types were just as susceptible to it as anyone else.

  I walked around the house cleaning, going through the motions on autopilot while my mind whirled round and round, replaying the conversation that had taken place in Damo’s room. He told me the whole story from start to finish. He’d been doing well in his job, rising through the ranks and earning good money, but Karen wasn’t happy in Ireland and they agreed to move to Scotland.

  Damo took a five-year career break to keep his options open. He found it hard to get a good job in Scotland and the recession hit not long after they moved there, so any jobs he did get were temporary ones. Karen had secured a position as an accountant in a big prestigious firm before they’d moved over and they’d bought a house not long after. Within months, Karen was the one paying the mortgage and bills.

  Damo found himself with nothing to do during the day and to break it up, he started to go to the pub in the afternoon – he’d always been fond of a pint. He’d do a pub crawl – it started with three different pubs a day, a pint a pub – to kill the time. It wasn’t long before the daily pub crawl started to incorporate a higher number of pubs – and Karen started questioning where Damo’s limited money was going to. As time went on, Damo grew less and less concerned about getting a job, and the rows increased.