Friends Like Us (37 page)

‘I know, you were so young. It was such a tragedy.'

‘Yeah, it was, it really was. When I look back on that young girl now, aged seventeen and eighteen nursing my mother and doing my exams. I don't know how I did it, I really don't. I would love to give that girl a hug, you know? Take care of her, a bit.'

‘Well, maybe you should.'

‘How?'

‘Be nice to yourself, don't work so hard. Do things you love. Live the life you deserve.'

And suddenly Eilis had tears in her eyes. She turned around and faced into the wind and she spoke quietly.

‘What was that?' said Melissa.

‘Do you think my mother would mind if I did that?'

‘No, I don't think she would mind if you made a few changes in your life. I don't think she'd mind at all.'

‘Thanks Mel.'

‘We have spent our entire lives trying to be perfect, you know that? Doing what others wanted, being the good girls but terrified to go after what we want, what might make us happy. I am going to try not being perfect for a while, and see what happens.'

‘Imperfect?'

‘Exactly.'

‘Imperfectly me,' said Melissa. ‘Yeah, why not. Want to join me?'

‘Why not?'

‘Come on.' Melissa had spotted the ice cream van. ‘We've still got half an hour before the party. Let's buy that lovely eighteen-year-old an ice cream. Isn't that what she'd like?'

‘Yeah,' said Eilis. ‘I think she would.'

It was Nuala's idea to have the party, a get-together of all her friends. ‘I haven't seen anyone for ages… it would be so nice to say hello.'

Or goodbye, thought Steph, wiping away the tears that kept falling these days when it was most inconvenient. She would be buying bread and would notice an iced bun and think of Nuala. Or walking past the flower shop and think of the freesias she loved, or just random memories would crowd her mind and then she'd be off again. Like the time Steph saw a beautiful black velvet party dress in a magazine when she was eight, and Nuala made it for her, with the cream lace collar as well. She wore that dress to every party for years and years.

So they phoned around. No one
couldn't
make it to the hello-goodbye party. All of Nuala and Joe's friends were also happy to pretend that this wasn't the end.

And when Nuala appeared in her flowery dress – bought for her ruby wedding anniversary – it hung off her bony shoulders and Steph, who was standing in the hall of the house with Rachel, felt another surge of emotion. Her mother, her lovely, kind, calm, beautiful mother was leaving her, forever. What does one do in that situation? How do you say goodbye, how do you live without someone you love so much?

‘Will you tie my scarf, Stephanie?' she said. ‘You're always so good at things like that.'

She passed over the pink silk scarf from Rome and Steph went to drape and knot it, but her fingers felt like sausages and she couldn't quite do it. ‘I do love this scarf, Stephanie,' said Nuala. ‘It's so beautiful. Like you.'

Steph didn't respond, she just carried on trying to make the scarf look good. ‘I must have lost my knack,' said Steph. ‘I don't know what's wrong with me.'

Nuala took her hands. ‘Nothing's wrong with you. Nothing at all.' Steph felt the tears begin but she fought them back.

‘Here, I'll do it,' said Rachel. She flipped it over Nuala's shoulders and folded it at the front.

‘You look gorgeous, Mum. What do you think, Rachel?'

Rachel had tears in her eyes. She nodded, unable to speak.

‘Look at us, what a pair,' Steph said and she reached out and took her daughter's hand and the two of them followed Nuala and Joe into the kitchen. Dingle had a ribbon around his collar and a big bow, also tied by Rachel. He wouldn't let Nuala out of his sight, staying close to her ankles, guarding her, as if he knew.

There was a slight tremble about Joe, as though he was desperately trying to contain something. ‘How are you, Dad?' Steph asked.

‘Never better,' he said, with a big smile. It was hard to meet his gaze these days. Steph was scared about what she might see there. ‘It's great to have your mother home where she belongs. And look at all this food – will it all get eaten, I wonder?'

All the food had been delivered by Nuala's friends throughout the morning, plates covered in cling film, Tupperware boxes filled with fairy cakes and millionaire's shortbreads and brownies. There were offerings from the walking group and others from the art class. Sandwiches – all varieties – were piled high. Peggy O'Sullivan had delivered a cheese and tomato quiche – she was famous for her pastry – and there was a tuna pasta salad from Noreen O'Brien. The pièce de résistance was, of course, by Imelda Cunnane, the self-appointed book club leader. She had made a cake in the shape of a book and its iced title was:

Welcome home wonderful friend!

Nuala Sheridan

Kick off was at two and it was three minutes to now.

‘We're on tea-making duty, okay?' Steph said to Rachel, as the doorbell rang heralding the first guest. And then they spent the afternoon boiling the kettle and pouring cup after cup. Hot drops and fresh cups were the order of the day and the two didn't stop from either washing-up or searching for mugs and refilling the milk jugs.

‘Dad was right,' said Steph. ‘It
is
like Downton Abbey in this house.'

The noise from the living room was tremendous with all the chatter. Parlourmaids Rachel and Steph handed around cake and sandwiches, which were then balanced on the edge of saucers, while ‘Moonlight Serenade' from Joe's collection rose from the record player. And there was Nuala, sitting on an armchair, looking, tired and washed out, and stroking the ears of Dingle, who was curled up on her lap. It was a wake for the living.

Eilis and Melissa were there, being brilliant and chatting to all of Nuala's friends. They were passing around the quiches and sandwiches and the wizened cocktail sausages that someone had bought and the brilliant pineapple and cheese stuck into an orange that someone else had made unironically.

Earlier, that day, before the party, Steph and Rachel had taken Dingle for a walk on Killiney Hill and they began talking – about Nuala and about themselves, what they had both been through and how they had felt.

They were sitting on a bench looking towards Wicklow.

‘You and Dad… did you
ever
love each other?' The question was so direct, it was one you couldn't deflect. Rachel seemed fearless these days as though she had tired of the shilly-shallying and life was for getting on with.

‘Yes, we did,' said Steph. ‘But not enough. We were so young. I was only twenty-one when I met him. But he tried and I tried and because we had you and we both loved you so much we stayed when maybe we shouldn't have. Does that make any kind of sense?'

Rachel nodded. ‘I think so.'

‘I am sorry that instead of taking action, I let everything go this far.'

‘But what are you going to do?'

‘We're going to separate, but Dad understands that I can't really do anything while Mam… while Mam is so sick. We will though, and you and I will stay in the house…'

‘But we'll be happier,' said Rachel. ‘Hopefully.'

‘That's the plan.' She smiled at Rachel. ‘We were trying to make you happy by staying together. That's the irony.'

‘Well, thanks for trying.'

‘And failing.'

‘Big time!' said Rachel. ‘If you set out to make things crap, you couldn't have done any better.' She pulled a face which made them both laugh.

Steph put her head in her hands and groaned. ‘It has been crap, hasn't it?'

‘Mu-um!' Rachel was shocked.

‘Sorry. But it has been. I've been crap.'

‘Not all the time. Just some of it. I admire you, actually.'

‘What?' Steph was shocked. ‘Are you actually saying something nice to me, Rachel Fitzpatrick? Quick, call a photographer. I want to immortalize this moment!'

‘Well,' said Rachel, laughing, ‘I do. You know, keeping it all to yourself. Trying to protect me, keeping everything going.'

‘Thank you,' she said. ‘Thank you for saying that. It means a lot. The most. But I was wrong to do it. It didn't help you and it didn't help me… so…'

Rachel nodded. She unclipped Dingle's lead and allowed him to chase off, barking madly.

‘It's not going to be the same without her…' said Rachel in a quiet voice.

‘I know.' Steph took her hand in hers, it felt so good to hold her hand, to have that casual affection between them restored and renewed. ‘I'm going to miss her. So much… so much.'

‘Me too.'

They sat quietly for a while watching Dingle playing with some other dogs. Eventually Rachel spoke. ‘Granddad is going to be the worst though. What's he going to do? I mean you and me've got each other, but he's got no one.'

‘Yes, we've got each other.' Even at this terrible moment Rachel's words were a comfort to Steph. ‘But he's got us, hasn't he?' she said. ‘We're going to be there for him. And for each other.'

‘Maybe he could live with us?' said Rachel.

‘Maybe.' Steph had also worried about him. ‘We could ask him.' Dingle came up and was sniffing around. ‘We'd have to ask Dingle too. Could you cope with that?'

‘Definitely.' Rachel stroked him as he remained stock-still, enjoying the moment. ‘But Granny, poor Granny.'

Before they set off for home again, Steph took a moment to look towards the mountains again. She realized she had been living in a state of fear for so long, fear of Rick's rages, fear of anyone knowing she was a failure, fear of being caught shoplifting yet unable to stop, fear of everything crumbling, her whole life. She was going to live by the promise she had made to Nuala, not to be frightened by life. She wasn't going to live in the shadows anymore.

And yet here she was facing the worst fear imaginable, facing the death of her own dear mother, but she knew she would survive. She knew she would be okay because of all Nuala had given her. She was strong inside, the rest she could deal with.

I've wasted so much time, she thought. And none of it mattered. It's just me and Rachel now. We are what matters.

She looked over at her daughter who was waiting for her and she smiled. Life doesn't actually frighten me, she thought. Whatever happens, I can cope.

Back in the kitchen, she and Rachel stood together now, sharing a plate of sandwiches.

‘I'm glad you are here, Heart-angel,' said Steph.

‘Me too, Mum.' Rachel started crying again, which started Steph off again.

‘She's not dead yet,' said Steph. ‘We can't be doing this, all this crying.'

Rachel wiped her eyes with her sleeve. ‘I've never done this before, you know someone dying.'

‘Neither have I, actually. We've been lucky.'

‘And now we're unlucky.'

‘No, we're still lucky. We'll always be lucky. And we are lucky to have had someone like Nuala in our lives. She doesn't disappear because she's dead. We have our memories.'

‘How are you feeling?'

‘Sad. Really sad.'

‘Me too.' They looked at each other, each blurred with tears. ‘And there's nothing we can do…'

‘Except feel sad,' finished Rachel.

‘No…' said Steph. They smiled at each other despite the sadness.

‘But we have each other… don't we?'

‘We do… we have each other.' Mother and daughter hugged. ‘Oh Rachel,' whispered Steph. ‘I'm so glad we have each other.'

‘Me too, Mum. Me too.'

‘Let's go and join the madding crowd.' They went and sat on the two arms of Nuala's chair. Nuala held both their hands in hers.

‘My girls,' she said. ‘My girls.'

Steph remembered a Christmas Eve when there was a power cut. Joe wasn't home yet and Nuala had padded around the whole house in the pitch-dark, feeling for candles. She must have lit fifteen candles in the sitting room that evening and pulled Steph into her, covered with a rug, and she told her stories of when she was a small girl growing up in Kerry: there were tales of haystack climbing, of picking blackberries, of her little dog Georgie. Steph had forgotten all about the night of power-cut but memories came back to her so distinctly. It had been a magical night, tucked up with her mother. If she closed her eyes, she could still remember what she felt like, under her mother's arm, the scratchiness of the blanket, the flickering of the candles and hearing her voice telling all those stories. She knew for certain, then and there, she had the best mother a little girl could ever have.

Imelda Cunnane was standing up, ominously wielding a large knife.

‘Time for speeches now. I'll begin.' She looked around the room. ‘Now, I think it was fifteen years ago we began the Dalkey-Killiney Book Club.' The book club members gave a cheer. ‘The club is more than a book club, of course. We pride ourselves on always
reading
the books, which, I'm told some rival book clubs don't.'

There were cheers from the room.

‘However,' Imelda continued, ‘there was one time when none of us could read the book – and if memory serves me right, it was Nuala's choice that week. Can you remember what it was, Nuala?'

Everyone looked over at Nuala who was laughing and nodding. ‘I thought we should broaden our horizons,' she said.

The whole room was silent as she spoke.

‘And what was it?'

‘
Ulysses
,' said Nuala. ‘It was over a thousand pages. None of us got through it.'

‘And so,' continued Imelda. ‘We have Nuala to thank for derailing the book club.' She paused for the generous laughter. ‘But seriously, though, apart from that one misjudged choice, she has been the most wonderful friend to all of us. I know I speak for each member of the book club – and I am sure I speak for everyone in the room – when I say our lives…' her voice faltered and Imelda paused, eyes wide, mouth set, determined not to cry, ‘…would not be as warm without the friendship of Nuala. Once a month, to sit down with Nuala and talk about books and life, has been a great pleasure in my life over the last fifteen years.'