Friends Like Us (33 page)

‘I am so sorry,' he said, shaking her hand in both of his. ‘I wish I could do something.'

‘I wish you could too.'

When Steph had taken a moment to compose herself outside of Mr Rose's office, she went to find her mother. In her room, Nuala was sitting up in bed, with Joe sitting on a chair right beside her. He was reading out clues from the
Irish Times
' crossword. It was like their world hadn't changed. Different room, yes, and both looking considerably thinner and paler, but they could have been at home.

Her mother looked up and she and Steph locked eyes, neither saying a word. I love you, thought Steph. I love you and I don't know what I am going to do without you.

Her father stood up. ‘Steph,' he said. ‘Just the woman to help us – our brains aren't as sharp as they used to be, you see. We are stuck on ten-down. Six-seven letters. Beginning with B, ending with D.
A yearning, a loss of love, end of an affair.
'

‘I don't know…' she couldn't think straight. ‘I'd have to have a look.' She took the paper and pretended to be looking at the clue. After a moment, she gave the paper back to her father and went to her mother and took her hand.

‘How are you feeling?' She spoke gently and brought her hand to her lips. Her mother turned their hands around and kissed Steph's. They both had tears in their eyes.

Nuala nodded in Joe's direction. He was bent over the paper, also pretending to be concentrating.

‘You know?' said her mother, clearing her throat. ‘I'm not bad at all. I had some toast, lovely it was, and tea. The girl who brings it round is so kind. Polish,' she explained. ‘She's been keeping the raspberry jam just for me.'

‘That's always been your favourite,' said Joe. ‘Remember that year when we grew so many you made twenty-four jars. Twenty-four!'

‘We were still eating it at Easter.' They both smiled at the memory. ‘Remember, Stephanie?'

‘Is that the year we all became diabetic?' she said, quietly, trying to play along for their sake, trying to do what she always did, encouraged family jollity.

‘Yes, and hyperactive,' said her father. They all tried to laugh. ‘You know what we should do?' he said. ‘Let's buy some raspberries and make jam. There's nothing like home-made. I don't think it is technically cheating if you buy the fruit.'

‘Yes, Joe,' said her mother. ‘What a good idea. Raspberry jam.'

‘As soon as you're home, you can rest and recover and instruct me how to make it. I'll be your dogsbody.'

‘Not my dogsbody. My right hand,' insisted Nuala.

‘I don't mind. I like being your dogsbody. Always have.' He smiled at her, but it was a sad smile, one which told a story which stretched all the way back to that dropped ice cream in Kerry, that hot bank holiday weekend. It was a smile of love and longing, of regret and recognition. He loved her, she loved him.

Nuala met his smile with a look of total understanding. ‘You're my right hand, my partner, and my best friend. Never my dogsbody,' insisted Nuala, holding out her other hand. He put down the paper and came over, taking her hand and kissing it, holding her one small hand in his two old, safe loving hands.

‘Okay so,' he said. ‘Whatever it is. I like being it. We need to get you out of hospital and back home.'

‘Of course, Joe.'

‘And that's not going to be long. Not with doctors like Mr Rose.'

‘No, Joe.'

Who was pretending here? wondered Steph. Was Joe pretending for Nuala and was Nuala pretending for Joe? Did he really believe she would come home again and everything would be alright or was this what they needed to do, in order to deal with this? Was this the way they were going to get through it, by behaving as though this was just a bump in the road and before long they would be dog walking and portrait painting all over again?

‘And the book clubbers won't stop asking after you,' continued Joe, sitting back down in the chair by the window. ‘I met Peggy O'Sullivan in the village yesterday evening. I forgot to tell you. She was asking when you would be getting home. I said should be tomorrow or the day after and she gave me the title of next month's. It's a John Connolly, I think. I wrote it down. It's in here somewhere.' He patted the top pocket of his jacket.

His words were filling this cold and depressing hospital room, with its pink painted walls, its machines and drips, the plastic jug of water on the bedside locker. But his words of love and affection and a lifetime of memories hung in the air above their heads, infusing them all with his spirit.

‘Your mother is looking much better, isn't she, Steph?' Joe was on a roll. ‘Soon get you out of here, won't we Nuala? Although the nurses are so kind. Especially Jana. She even brings an extra cup of tea for me.'

Steph hadn't spoken yet. She just couldn't get her words straight, or her thoughts in order, or wasn't quite sure this false optimism was the right course of action. ‘That's nice, Dad,' she managed. She was still holding her mother's hand. It felt cold and papery. It wasn't the hand of the woman who used to carry her around, who would push her on swings, the hand that would stir the Christmas pudding and lug a giant turkey to the table, the hand that would gently press a plaster onto Steph's grazed knee, the one that brushed and plaited Steph's hair every morning before school. The hand that picked the sweet peas for Steph's wedding bouquet. The hand that dropped the ice cream on that day in Dingle, all those years ago, the day Nuala and Joe met.

Steph suddenly thought of their dog. ‘Who's looking after Dingle?' she said.

‘He's with Dearbh from across the road,' said Joe. ‘Her children love little Dingle. Now, he's one who'll be glad to get you home.'

Nuala smiled and nodded. ‘I'm a little fed up of hospitals,' she admitted, with a little laugh, that to Steph felt forced and not like her mother's usual easy, warm chuckles. ‘And have a proper pot of tea from my special cup.'

‘And bring Dingle for a walk on the hill.'

Nuala nodded. ‘I would love that,' she said. ‘With all my heart.' She looked at her husband. ‘Joe, would you mind going to the shop downstairs and getting some of those mint things. I'm running low.'

‘Of course, love. Anything else? Stephanie?'

‘No, I'm fine, dad.'

They waited until he had left the room.

‘Mum…' Steph let out a wail. The room blurred as her eyes filled with tears. ‘Mr Rose said… Mr Rose told me…'

Her mother nodded.

‘Is it true? Do you believe him?' Steph hoped her mother would say it was all rubbish and the man was a fool and she was feeling so much better and it was all wrong or a dream, or a nightmare, and that all would be well and they should just go home again. But she didn't.

‘I'm sorry, Stephanie,' she said. ‘I've known for a week now and I needed some time to take it all in, get used to it. And then I asked Mr Rose to tell you. He offered, actually, says it's the best way to deliver the news. From a third party, apparently, not as shocking.'

‘I don't think there's really a way of making it less shocking,' said Steph.

‘I know,' said Nuala. ‘I'm sorry.'

But hearing it from Nuala made it real, somehow. She hadn't totally believed it before, not completely, but the fact that her mother told her, the one person who had never lied, had never played games, someone who had only ever had her best interests at heart was saying it, meant that it was real. She let out a cry of pain, a yowl of anguish. Steph stood up and went to the window, so Nuala wouldn't see her face and the tears streaming down her face.

‘Now, loveen,' said Nuala, trying to sit up. ‘Now my sweet, lovely child. There's something important…'

There was no hiding. Steph turned around and went back to sit beside her mother. ‘Yes, Mam?' she said softly, looking into her mother's beautiful face.

‘Will you promise me something? And Rachel too?'

Steph nodded, wiping her eyes. ‘What is it?'

‘Get yourself checked. Please. I didn't and maybe… maybe I wouldn't be here now if I had. Promise me.'

Steph began to sob. ‘I can't bear the thought of losing you,' she said. ‘You not… you not being here.'

‘Promise me though. You haven't promised.'

‘I promise,' cried Steph. ‘Oh Mam.'

‘I can't bear not to be with you too,' said Nuala, wiping her own eyes. ‘I will miss you so much. And Rachel. The two of you. My angels.'

‘So don't go!' She realized that she was like a child, desperate for her mother. Steph tried to wipe away the tears with her sleeve and they smiled at each other, the saddest smile they had ever shared.

‘Here. My last tissue.' Nuala gently patted it around Steph's eyes. ‘My darling girl,' she said softly.

‘I'm sorry, Mum.'

‘For what?'

‘For being such a mess.'

‘What do you mean?' Nuala looked utterly bewildered.

‘For being such a failure. Crap marriage, no career, useless parent.' Immediately she felt awful burdening and worrying her mother, something she had never done, and now of all times. She wished she could unsay what she'd said but she was also desperate to tell her mother how she was really feeling, how much she wished things had been different.

‘Now listen to me, Stephanie.' For a moment, her mother's old fire and energy was back in her eyes. ‘You have been the joy of my life. When I held you in my arms that first time in the maternity hospital and I looked into that little face, I knew that you would bring me such happiness.' She lifted Steph's face up with her small hand. ‘And you have. Every single day. You have been my greatest source of pride. Don't ever think you are a failure,' she admonished. ‘And don't let anyone tell you otherwise. And, as for Rachel, well! The cherry on my cake.'

‘But…'

‘No buts. The two of you make my heart leap with happiness every morning. I don't care how highfalutin that sounds, it's the truth. You and Joe, Stephanie, and now Rachel are what have made my life so wonderful.' She smiled at Steph. ‘Thank
you
Steph, for what
you
have given me.'

They both fell silent, and held hands, neither wanting to let go.

‘I'm scared, Mam. I can't do this without you.' Steph felt her heart was breaking. She couldn't believe after all the conversations, a lifetime of communicating with her mother, they were now talking about the end. She never imagined that they would have to stop.

‘You can. I know you can. Okay?'

Steph nodded.

‘Promise me something else.' Nuala was looking deep in Steph's eyes, her hand had lost its fragility and her grip was urgent. ‘Don't let life frighten you.'

‘Will you promise
me
something?' said Steph, who was now using the hem of her skirt to soak up her tears. ‘Will you be there with me? Will you be there, somewhere, waiting for me?'

‘Always.'

Joe bustled in the door and Steph went to the window while her mother planted a big smile on her face.

‘I found it, Nuala,' he said. ‘Your book, for the book club. The John Connolly. They had it in the shop downstairs, by the newspapers. That is good news, isn't it? You better get reading. You've never missed a book club yet… and I've worked out the crossword. It came to me while I was in the lift. Broken-hearted. Broken-hearted is the answer.'

His voice and his hands trembled as he placed the book on the table.

Melissa decided to go to Nora and Walter's fortieth. She had to see Cormac and Erica for herself. She wanted to wish him well and say a sort of goodbye, for herself if nothing else. She knew he needed space, but she would go, have one drink and wish him bon voyage as he sailed away out of her life.

She was walking up towards Nora and Walter's house, and was just crossing St Stephen's Green, when she saw Rob, with a group of guys. She hadn't seen Eilis for a few weeks, as they'd been away, in Greece.

‘Rob!' she shouted, waving madly. ‘Rob!' But he didn't turn round. She squinted. She was sure it was him. ‘Rob!' she screamed again. People were starting to look at the mad woman who was screeching after a man who obviously, and quite sensibly, wanted nothing to do with her. ‘Rob!' she tried one more time.

It can't have been him, she thought. But seeing his doppelganger made her think of Eilis, she promised herself that she would check in with her the next day.

Planting herself on the doormat of Nora and Walter's, bottle in one hand, big smile on face, she was ready to charm and be charmed.

Someone (tall and Teutonic) gave her a glass of Riesling before she had even taken off her coat and Nora proffered a plate. ‘Have one of these… pumpernickel… made by Walter… pretty good, if you pretend it's not actually meant to be bread.'

Melissa took a slice which was spread with goat's cheese and just as she bit into it, Axel whacked her with something hard and plastic. She pretended not to wince while carrying on talking to Nora.

‘Delicious. Not quite white-sliced, but delicious all the same,' she said.

‘You know, you and I are philistines, don't you?' laughed Nora. ‘In the eyes of Cormac and Walter, anyway. I secretly prefer sliced white to sourdough or this pumpernickel.'

And there was Cormac. In the corner, in a huddle of people. Melissa was struck how Cormac was always the most handsome man in the room and the only man she ever wanted to talk to.

And then she noticed the woman standing next to him. How had she missed her? She was practically the most beautiful women she had ever seen in real life. Tall with glossy long brown hair, she was laughing at something Cormac had said and showing the kind of teeth only seen in toothpaste ads, and she had a body which wasn't fuelled on crisps and chocolate.