‘I felt like I was last on everyone’s list. But I don’t know if that could have been avoided – we didn’t have enough money to do everything that all of us wanted.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He looks woebegone. ‘Is that what you liked about Josh? Him taking you to Serbia and all?’
‘He treated me like I was special. If you gave me the special treatment, I’d have just thought it was to persuade me to have sex with you.’
But then again, when Josh had given me the special treatment, it was for the same reason, wasn’t it? If we’d been deluded enough to try to build an actual life together, the incendiary sexual shenanigans would have died a speedy death.
‘Maybe if we’d had these conversations a couple of years ago, things wouldn’t be the way they are today.’
‘But we didn’t. And they are.’
115
Friday, 14 April
All the time I move in lockstep with my predictable routine – Crazy Ex-Girlfriend with Hugh on Monday nights, London on Tuesdays and Wednesday, Dublin the rest of the week, Derry or Petra on the weekends.
Work stays marginally too frantic to be coped with and generates income that’s just slightly too modest to quieten my chronic financial anxiety.
Mum’s EverDry campaign keeps me busy right up to Easter. After Alastair got her head back in the game, she’s been on message. For a couple of weeks in late March and early April, she seemed to be everywhere – in every paper, on every light-entertainment show. Admittedly much of the coverage was slightly patronizing, but who cares? Publicity is publicity.
As we finish up work on Good Friday, there’s an air of completion: a successful campaign coming to a satisfying close.
Mrs EverDry drops in and gives Tim, Alastair, Thamy and me Maltesers Easter eggs. In a giddy holiday mood, I wrestle mine out of the box, peel off the tinfoil, hit it a sharp crack with my phone and eat a giant chunk.
‘I’ll have what she’s having,’ Alastair says, and attacks his own. Moments later, Thamy does the same.
Tim stares disdainfully.
‘Go on,’ Alastair mocks. ‘Eat yours.’
‘It’s not Easter Sunday yet.’
‘Go crazy,’ Thamy says.
‘At least try,’ I say.
High from sugar, we keep at him until he succumbs. Frankly, I’ve never seen him so unwound: his tie loosened, his hair mussed, chocolate around his mouth.
Alastair and I are in fits. ‘Tim, you look like the nun from the chocolate helpline on Father Ted!’
The worry is that this will snap Tim out of his relaxed state. Instead he tells us to knock off work.
‘You’re not our boss,’ Alastair says.
‘But he is mine.’ Thamy is scarpering before Tim rescinds his order. ‘Man says I can leave. Happy Easter, y’all.’
‘Go,’ Tim says. ‘Amy, Alastair, go. Have a nice Easter. Get some rest.’
My plan is to sleep an unholy amount. But first Robert’s ashes have to be scattered.
Easter Saturday is a blue, blustery day, as we tramp up Howth Head. It’s where Robert walked his dog every morning and evening. He loved it here. The urn is carried by John, the eldest of the Durrants, who has come from Sweden with his husband Rolf and their son Krister.
Clustered behind that photogenic trio are Brendan, Nita and their three girls.
Next is me, flanked by Kiara and Sofie. And behind us, Hugh is walking with Carl, Noah, the Boy Wonder, and Chizo, who’s yelling instructions at all of us.
Neeve didn’t show and right now I hate her.
The worst part was down in the car park when, as time ticked on without any sign of her zippy little Audi, it became obvious that she wasn’t coming.
‘No Neevey?’ Hugh asked me.
‘Doesn’t look like it.’
‘Ah, well …’ He looked unbearably bleak.
‘Hugh.’ My throat felt swollen and sore. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s okay,’ he said.
But it wasn’t okay. It was a rejection of Robert, who’d filled her biological grandfather’s empty shoes, and an even bigger kick in the face to Hugh, who’d loved her and cared for her for so many years.
‘Stop walking,’ Chizo yells. ‘This is a good spot.’
Obediently the cavalcade comes to a halt.
‘So line up,’ she instructs. ‘Take a scoop of ashes, have your moment, and just before you scatter, look at me. Photo op.’
Anxiously I turn to Hugh. ‘Should I?’
‘Of course.’ He’s fierce. ‘You’re part of this family!’
John goes first, he scoops a small amount of the ashes. ‘Thanks, Dad, for being a great dad. I’m glad you’re out of pain.’ Then he releases the specks into the wind.
Nita goes next. ‘Thanks, Robert,’ she says. ‘For raising four great sons and for welcoming me into the Durrants.’
One by one, we all say our goodbyes.
‘Thanks, Granddad,’ Sofie says, ‘for showing me how to drill a hole and for making Dad so kind.’
Now it’s my turn. In my head I say, Thank you, Robert, you were such a nice man. Thank you for being so good to all three of my girls, and even though it’s over, thank you for Hugh. He’s kind because you showed him how to be. And I let the ashes blow into the breeze.
‘Okay!’ Chizo claps her hands. ‘Let’s go!’
The private dining room at Maldive is suspended on stilts over the sea. The long table is covered with snowy-white linen, glinting silverware and light-reflecting crystal. Beautiful – unfunereal – flower arrangements are distributed throughout the room.
Chizo, a master at these things, discreetly disposes of Neeve’s place-card and commandeers a handy waiter to vanish her cutlery. ‘Lil bitch has fucked with my seating plan,’ she whispers hoarsely into my ear.
We take our seats and I’m between Chizo and Kiara. Opposite me is Rolf, and beside him is Hugh. I wish he wasn’t. Looking directly at him still hurts me.
I turn my attention to the set menu, there are vegetarian and vegan options, the meat is all organic and locally sourced, the vegetables direct from the garden here.
‘This looks wonderful.’ Rolf surveys the menu. Very polite, the Swedes.
‘Mmm, yes, delicious.’ To my distress, tears start to trickle down my face.
‘Amy?’ Hugh sounds concerned. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Fine.’ Except I seem to be crying. Crying quite a lot.
‘But –’
‘You heard her. She’s fine.’ Chizo presses a tissue into my hand. This is an order to cease and desist with all tears.
But it’s way beyond my control.
‘Why are you crying?’ Chizo whispers.
Because Robert is dead. Because I loved Hugh and he loved me but it’s all ruined. Because this was my family and now it isn’t. Because something went wrong and maybe I made it happen. Because everything is losable. Because pain is inevitable. Because being human is unbearable.
‘I’m pre-menstrual,’ I manage.
‘Not today you’re not. Cop on, Amy.’
A lot of work has gone into this lunch, I know that, and it’s costing plenty. It’s been styled to perfection and people are expected to display grief but only in a dignified way: some sad smiles, and if there really must be tears, they must be discreet and quiet, none of this ugly, heaving, gaspy stuff.
‘Stop crying,’ Chizo hisses.
And I try so hard because I am shit-scared of her. ‘I can’t.’
‘So go to the Ladies room.’
‘Okay,’ I choke. ‘Scuse me.’
Once the door of the Ladies has shut behind me, my crying really gathers force. Oh, Christ, and here’s Chizo.
‘Get a hold of yourself! Today isn’t about you. Leave. Go home. Get a taxi. Don’t drive.’
‘’Kay.’
Hugh is hovering outside the Ladies. ‘Oh, Hugh!’ I fling myself against him and he wraps himself around me and I convulse into his chest.
‘I know, babe, I know.’
I look up at him. ‘You do, don’t you?’
‘Of course.’ He’s crying too, and our tears are being shed for a lot more than the loss of Robert.
‘I’ll drive you home,’ he says.
Gratitude makes me weak.
‘What?’ Chizo says. ‘No way. You can’t leave.’
She’s right.
‘Stay,’ I tell him. ‘Please. I’m fine.’
‘You’re not fine.’
‘You have to stay.’ Chizo snaps her fingers and, as if she’s conjured her from the air, Kiara materializes, followed by Sofie.
‘Take your mother home,’ Chizo commands.