Читать книгу The Day I Lost You: A heartfelt, emotion-packed, twist-filled read - Fionnuala Kearney - Страница 11

I think, maybe, I’m losing my mind. Earlier today, I had another conversation with Anna while I was in the shower and she was sitting on the loo. She stayed a while and we talked about what we’d do to cover school holidays over Easter and the summer with Rose. There was no mention of a ski holiday with her work colleagues. In these pretend conversations with my daughter, the word ‘skiing’ is banned.

Now, I’m in the ‘perennial plant’ section at Hardacres, my local garden centre. My basket is laden with bulbs and seeds for the greenhouse and allotment at the back of my garden. Just beyond the anemone bulbs to my left, two women are talking about the article that appeared in this week’s local paper; the one that took three inches of column space to let everyone else know there is still no news. I am rooted to the earth just like the iris in the pot I have in my hand. Whoever these women are, they have no clue how cruel it is for me to stand here, to endure their words; they aren’t to know that my grip on reality is a little fragile today.

‘But there’s no body, that’s the horror.’ Woman number one.

‘That’s the worst, the very worst.’ Second voice.

Number one again. ‘Is there nothing new? Nothing at all? I mean, snow melts, doesn’t it?’

Snow melts, doesn’t it? A question I ask myself daily.

Number two. ‘You’d think they’d have found her by now.’

You’d think.

‘I read somewhere that there’s still two bodies missing.’

I will myself to move. There are still two people missing. Anna Powers and Lawrence Taylor, both twenty-five.

‘I don’t know how that poor mother is still standing.’

Me neither.

I place the iris pot back with the others, lay the basket to one side and walk through one of the many tills without as much as a nasturtium seed on my being.

Leah has decreed that I need a puppy. That’s what she does, my sister. She doesn’t ask – she just does. I can’t disguise the panic I feel when I see the tiny creature craning around my legs in her kitchen. Leah ignores my reticence.

‘You didn’t open the box yesterday, did you?’ she asks.

I shake my head, embarrassed that I actually forgot to open my sister’s gift. The pug has a pee at my ankle.

‘It had the papers in it. The papers for Pug here. She’s a thoroughbred.’

‘You mean she’s a pedigree.’

‘That. See, you’re a perfect dog owner already.’

I frown. ‘I don’t want a dog.’

‘Too late. You’re having her.’

‘Jesus, Leah …’ I slump into a nearby chair. It’s uncomfortable, all angular and pointy – like the kitchen, which is an hommage to black granite and stainless steel. Leah’s home is so contemporary, it’s almost futuristic – no hint of a tatty sofa here. We’re in a large open-plan space that spans the width of the back of her and Gus’s home. It’s zoned. Leah is a ‘zoner’. To my far left is the kitchen; in the middle is the huge refectory dining table and Leah and I are in the ‘chillax’ area. One day I’ll find a way to tell her that there is nothing either relaxing or chilling about these chairs.

‘I know you mean well,’ I say. ‘But the last thing I need in my life is something that pees and shits everywhere.’

‘You need something that needs you. She needs you.’

I’m aghast. Genuinely. I cannot believe that my only sister thinks that the hole I have in my life can be plugged by a pug. A dog for a daughter. I can’t even speak.

She hands me a glass of wine. ‘You need someone or something to give all that unconditional love you’re always harping on about, because you sure as hell don’t give any to me.’

‘I have it all reserved for Rose.’

Leah makes a face. ‘Save a little for Pug.’

‘I’m not taking the dog,’ I say as it lines itself up alongside my ankle again. I resist the urge to kick her gently with my foot.

Leah scoops down and picks Pug up in her hands, dumps her on my lap. A little bit of pee dribbles onto my light denim jeans. ‘Her papers are in your name. It’s done. Sue me.’

Two huge brown eyes look up at me from above a flat black nose. Her brow looks knitted with lines. I pick her up to throw her right back at Leah and Pug licks my hand.

‘She likes you.’ Leah sits opposite me, sips her own glass of wine. ‘She needs you.’

‘She needs someone that’ll clean up after her.’

‘She chose you. From some sort of spiritual doggie place, she came and found you.’

Despite myself, I smile, stroke the dog’s back. ‘She looks like she’s frowning, or she’s about to cry.’

‘She is, she’s perfect for you.’

I laugh. ‘You’ll have to take her whenever I’m away.’

‘You never go anywhere.’

‘That could change.’ In my pretend world, Anna, Rose and I are going to see some of the warmer, snow-free parts of the world together.

‘It could. Gus and I will have Pug when you go away if you take Pug home tonight.’

I have no room in my life, pretend or otherwise, for a dog. But I still find myself nodding, thinking Rose will love her. ‘Okay,’ I tell her, and Pug seals the deal with a small, runny shit on my lap.

Gus has prepared the most fabulous birthday meal twenty-four hours later than originally planned. I apologize for cancelling the night before as I sit down, wearing a pair of Leah’s clean jeans, to a sharing platter of melted cheese and artisan bread dipped in sweet balsamic to start. An ex-chef, Gus now runs a successful recruitment consultancy for the catering industry from an office upstairs.

‘So,’ Gus says. ‘We’re going up to Windermere to see your parents tomorrow. Why don’t you come?’

‘Can’t,’ I dip a piece of garlic bread in the cheesy remnants. ‘I have a dog to mind. She’s too young to drive to the Lake District. She gets car-sick.’

‘You’re coming.’ Leah’s eyebrows are arched and her head is shaking. ‘Mum is insisting. You’re ignoring her calls. Please come. Life won’t be worth living if I arrive without you.’

‘Can’t. The drive’s too much for Pug.’

‘I collected Pug from a breeder in Portsmouth for you. She was fine all the way back in the car. Perfectly happy.’

‘You did? Portsmouth? When?’

‘I took your birthday off. Fully intended taking you with me for the day but you fucked off and left me at the school gate. So, I drove there on my own.’

Shit. My face winces an apology. ‘How long are you staying up there for?’

‘Leave at seven thirty tomorrow morning, four hours twenty up, lunch and a quick walk, then same back. Gus is driving. Portsmouth and back was enough to knacker me. Pug will love it.’

I nod, know when I’m beaten, begin to steel myself immediately for my mother’s food and sympathy, for my father’s fragile stares.

‘You have to let them care, Jess.’ Leah reads my mind. ‘They’re grieving too,’ she adds.

Gus is searing the steaks on a hot plate. He turns them over, making zigzag patterns on the flesh. To his right, he stirs a pot of home-made mushroom sauce. Even the sizzle and scent of such lovely food don’t whet my appetite but I will, for his sake, force myself to eat. Pug is asleep at my feet.

‘How’s Theo doing?’ Leah is mashing potatoes with what looks like a half-pound of butter. Fine for her because she won’t eat them. Not so good for my already screaming arteries.

‘He’s okay, busy … Finn starts secondary school in September. Can you believe that?’

‘Yes, but how is he? Theo. How is he doing?’

I know a loaded question when I hear one and turn to look at my sister.

‘Why?’ I arch my eyebrows at her and at the plate of food that Gus has just presented me with. It has the most enormous doorstep of a steak and a mountain of creamy, oozing, buttery mash. There is a serving dish laden with carrots, squash and swede, a celebration of orange vegetables, in the centre of the table.

‘Enjoy, birthday girl!’ he beams.

I smile my thanks.

‘Why, Leah?’ I repeat. ‘You know something I don’t?’ I slice through the steak with the serrated knife.

‘You know what chambers are like. The place is rife with rumours.’

There are times I forget that Leah, as a senior practice manager for a firm of barristers, moves in the same circles as Harriet. I feel immediate colour rush to my cheeks.

‘Ahh,’ she says, seeing my discomfort, ‘so it’s not rumour then?’

I sigh loudly. ‘What have you heard?’

‘That Harriet’s shagging her boss, Roland. That that’s why she left Theo.’

I frown, try to chew my food so I won’t have to confirm or deny anything. Leah’s delicate kick in my shins reminds me I won’t get away with that.

‘Ouch, do not kick me.’

‘Speak. Now.’ She points the sharp end of her knife at me.

‘Ladies, ladies …’ Gus shakes his head. ‘Eat up!’ He looks in my direction. ‘Jess, you need to eat, you’re fading away. And Leah, stop gossiping.’

‘Yes, Leah. Stop gossiping.’ I play with the steak on my plate. ‘Thank you for this, Gus. I’m sorry again that I cancelled last night.’

Gus places his fork on his plate and squeezes my forearm with his hand. ‘Forget about it. I’ve told you – no harm done and you’re here now.’ My hand gives his a reassuring tap. He releases me and lifts his wine glass, tilts it in my direction and smiles. His silent toast to me is all that is needed.

‘Harriet?’ Leah persists as Gus turns his head fully to glare at her.

‘I have no idea if Harriet is shagging anyone,’ I reply.

‘If it’s true, I suppose that means they’re over?’

‘Let’s hope not.’ As I speak the words aloud, I’m not sure I mean them. In the many years I’ve known Theo, Harriet has always been pleasant, always been polite, but she tolerates more than likes me. I’ve sat at her dinner table; we spent last Christmas together, all of us: me, Anna and Rose. She constantly says the ‘right thing’ to me, but more often than not it has a ring of insincerity to it – except maybe after Anna’s accident. She did write me a lovely letter then. My face flushes guiltily as I tell myself off for thinking badly of her, and at the same time hand Pug her first illicit mouthful of steak.

It’s 11.50 p.m. and I’ve texted Theo’s mobile to let him know I’m standing outside his front door. Moments later he opens it, rubs sleep from his eyes.

‘Jess? It’s late … Bloody hell, is that a dog in your hand?’

‘It’s ten to twelve. Happy Valentine’s Day and yes, I’m carrying a dog. Say hi to Pug. Apparently I need a recipient for all my unconditional love.’

‘Valentine’s Day … Really?’ He scratches his head above his right ear, just along the line where his hair changes from black to grey, stifles a yawn. ‘And there are always conditions in love,’ he says.

‘When did you become such a cynic?’ I shiver. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me in?’

He holds the door open for me to pass under his arm. ‘Go through. I’ll put the kettle on,’ he says.

I cross Harriet’s threshold close to midnight. As I’m doing it, I know I wouldn’t be if she were still here.

‘I’m sorry for getting you up.’ I look around the huge kitchen as we listen to the beginning hum of the kettle. ‘Have you changed something in here? It looks different.’

‘Just a coat of paint. I did it last week.’

‘Looks good.’ I can imagine him, up a stepladder every evening, the news channel on full blast on the television, trying hard to keep busy. ‘There’s something I want to say.’

He’s dangling a couple of tea bags in two mugs, one in each hand. ‘Hmmm?’ he says.

‘I was at Leah’s earlier, finally got around to eating the birthday dinner Gus planned – anyway, she asked me about you and I realized that I’ve been too immersed in my own life to …’ Pug is pacing Theo’s quarry tiles, picks a spot in the corner near the Aga and squats. I’m there immediately with some kitchen paper from a roll on the worktop. ‘Sorry.’

He hands me a cup of strong, black tea, just the way I like it.

‘Where was I? Oh, I was trying to say I don’t think I’ve been here for you.’

‘Jess, you had Anna to deal with. Have Anna to deal with. Harriet and I—’

I shake my head. ‘It’s not a competition. Friends help each other. I haven’t been around for you. That’s all I wanted to say, so, I’ll finish this cup of tea and be on my way with Pug.’

I stare at him over the rim of the mug. We have an unusual friendship; have done since that day he first came to the surgery as a visiting locum and drove into the back of my car. The memory of a much less self-assured, younger Theo comes to mind. A memory of him being on duty in A&E the night a teenage Anna drank too much and needed her stomach pumped; a memory of a colleague’s drunken laughter over our ‘friendship’ one Christmas. But that’s what it was and always has been: a deep, loving friendship. He’s what I would have in a girlfriend, except he’s a guy. I’m what he would have in a guy-friend, what he has with his real guy-friends. It’s simple, uncomplicated, and works for us.

And right now he looks tired. Dark shadows circle his green eyes, both of which follow the only sound in the room – Pug padding across the tiled floor, sniffing out new territory. Theo takes a seat at the circular kitchen table, kicks out a chair opposite him. ‘Sit. You’re here now, take your time. Let’s talk.’

I plonk myself down on the chair, one eye on the roaming dog. ‘You must miss her.’ It’s a statement more than a question and he shrugs.

‘I miss the woman I thought I knew,’ he says. ‘I miss her being around; having someone to share things with. I miss her being here for Finn.’

‘Doug left me when Anna was the same age. It’s tough for them. All they want is their mum and dad together.’

‘I knew the relationship had changed, but I thought it was just a phase and that we’d get back on track with time. I never thought …’ He hesitates. ‘I suppose whatever I thought about her leaving me, I never thought she’d walk away from Finn. Yet it’s the best thing she could have done for him – leave him here in his home, at his school, with his father. Out of the whole scenario, that’s both the best and shittiest thing she’s done.’ He laces his hands behind his neck. ‘Anyway …’

I bite my tongue. I haven’t been able to understand her being able to leave Finn either, but the facts are it happens, and no one – not a soul – questioned Doug leaving Anna in the same manner. If I’m honest, part of me admires Harriet’s strength to do it, and another part of me is beyond angry that she could willingly walk away from her child when I’ve probably had mine stolen from me.

‘I’m going to see my parents tomorrow.’ I change the subject, glancing at my watch. ‘Today, later this morning.’

‘You’re ready to see them?’ he asks, acknowledging the fact that I’ve managed to avoid visiting for more than ten weeks.

‘Leah and Gus are going for the day tomorrow. It’s a lot to do in one day, but they’ve talked me into going. They’re right. Mum is constantly phoning, tries her best, and she already has her hands full looking after Dad.’ I stop to draw breath. ‘Look, I just really wanted to say thank you for being there for me and to let you know I’m here for you too.’

‘Don’t worry about me. You have enough on your mind.’

My eyes rest on old school drawings pinned to the notice board next to the fridge. Frayed and yellowing, Finn’s earliest artwork, they’re years old and they make me think of Rose and how much I’ve missed her. Since Anna’s accident, I have had Rose to look after pretty much full time, apart from the days that Sean has had her for odd weekends. Having her fill my life helps me avoid thinking. Thinking about Anna, wondering where she is; wondering if I will ever have the closure of burying her; wondering if someday she’ll phone me from a bar in Brazil and explain that she’s alive and kicking – that becoming a mother at nineteen was just too much for her and that she just had to get away.

‘I should go,’ I say. ‘It’s late, sorry for the midnight call.’ I bend down and pick Pug up. Theo stands and we walk to the door together. ‘Just tell me one thing.’ I narrow my eyes under the hallway light. ‘Are you all right?’

He laughs. ‘I’m not sure what’s brought this on, but I’m fine. Really.’

‘Your wife of twelve years left you. I remember the hole that leaves. I’m sorry it took me a while to say that.’ I attempt a weak smile, kiss his cheek. ‘I choose to believe that Anna’s alive and it keeps my lungs working. You have to find your way forward too.’

Theo says nothing, just nods and hugs me before I leave.

As soon as I get home, enter my own kitchen, the first thing I see is the red light of the answer machine. I place Pug on the tatty sofa at the far end of the room, go back to the car and retrieve all the puppy paraphernalia that Leah had also bought. There’s a bed-like thing; I set it up in the warmest part of the room and transfer the dog to the centre of it. I press the red light and hear Doug’s low voice.

‘Jess, it’s me. It’s Saturday night. Can you give me a call when you get back, doesn’t matter what time it is?’

My stomach churns as I dial his number.

‘It’s me.’

‘Hi, I tried your mobile earlier but your phone kept ringing out.’

‘I was at Leah’s – it’s an awful signal there.’ My mobile service provider seems to be the only one with no mast in earshot of Leah’s.

‘Anyway—’

Pug starts to howl.

‘Is that a dog?’ Doug asks.

‘It is. Say hi to Pug.’

‘Right.’

‘Leah’s idea, not mine.’ Pug’s sound rises to a steep crescendo. ‘It’s late, Doug.’

‘Yes. I—’

‘Oh, for crying out loud, Doug, spit it out,’ I say, instantly thinking of Anna. I had spent a whole month after the accident hoping she was spitting her way to safety. Some Discovery Channel thing I’d seen once upon a time …

‘They’ve found a body,’ he replies. ‘It’s the boy, Lawrence.’

I say nothing. I can’t. His first words have made my stomach contract. His second sentence fills me with instant relief, then pain, and then Gus’s wonderful food threatens to reappear. Words will not form. Sounds will not sound.

‘Jess?’

‘I’m here.’ I force the syllables together.

‘I thought you should know. I was going to go over to France again but, I don’t know, Carol says there’s not much point, not if they’re sure.’

She’s right.

‘It’s so late. Maybe too late to digest this. Call me tomorrow?’ he says.

I look at the clock. It is tomorrow. ‘Do you sleep, Doug?’ Words I hadn’t expected to say, form themselves of their own accord.

‘Not really. Not well. Not any more,’ he replies.

‘Me neither. Thanks for letting me know. I’ll call you later.’

Just as I hang up the phone, Pug howls again. She crosses the room to my feet and I’d swear she’s crying.

Two hours later, the dog is still baying. I am sitting at my kitchen table with my head in my hands, cursing Leah. Anna and I seem to have a glass of vodka together, and as I pop another pill, I consider, just for a brief second, crushing one into Pug’s milk.

At 3.16, Pug is Valium-free and silent. I am talking to myself, aware in the blackness of the night that Anna is not really here and I am tonight, apart from this dog, very much alone.