Alexandra, Gone

14

“I’ve Been Raining”

I’ve been raining I’ve been pouring
there’s a hole in my roof I’ve been ignoring
I’ve been washed up idle and wasted.
I know my luck is going to change
I can almost taste it.
Jack L, Broken Songs

October 2008

After weeks and weeks of doctor visits and referrals, Breda was hospitalized. Two days later her husband, Ben, her son, Eamonn, and her daughter Kate were called into a consultant’s office and told that she had end-stage colon cancer. Ben didn’t understand what the doctor was saying and so he repeated the words a few times, looking at his daughter and son. Kate cried and Eamonn got angry.
“She’s been sick for months. How the hell was this not picked up?” Eamonn said, banging his fist on the table.
“Eamonn, calm down,” Ben said.
The consultant had no answer. “It should have been picked up,” he said.
“Is that all you can say?” Eamonn said.
“I can’t answer for the other doctors you’ve seen. I can only tell you what I’ve found. I will say this: I reviewed your mother’s medical history and only last year she had a clean bill of health, which means the cancer has spread in a very short period of time.”
“How do we fix her?” Ben asked.
“All we can offer is palliative care.”
“Palliative?” Ben said.
“She’s dying, Dad,” Kate said.
“Don’t say that, Kate,” he said.
“How long does she have?” Eamonn asked in a whisper.
“Six to eight weeks,” the consultant said.
“Ah no,” Ben said, “this isn’t happening.”
“I’m very sorry, Mr. Walsh,” the consultant said.
“No.” Ben shook his head. “I can’t have this—we lost our daughter only a year ago—I can’t have this.”
“We will make her as comfortable as possible.”
Ben stood up and walked out into the corridor. He looked for the exit sign that would take him outside. He was halfway down the corridor when he stopped and held himself and sobbed so loud and so hard that a nurse came to assist him. She guided him to a chair and waited with him until his family came to find him.
Ben sat in a big red armchair pulled up close to the bed, and when he wasn’t sleeping he was holding Breda’s hand. His daughter and son took turns badgering him to eat or drink or take a walk or shower or sleep. He said no every time. He washed with antibacterial soap in the disabled bathroom two doors down from his wife’s room, Kate brought clean clothes, and he changed in the toilet cubicle. He ate a sandwich in the chair, and sometimes Frankie and Eamonn arrived with some warm stew. They hadn’t told Breda she was dying, but Ben knew that deep down she was aware of her situation. She didn’t talk much. The medication made her sleep a lot, and the Breda he knew had all but disappeared. So he watched his wife lie still and wondered where her mind was—was she happy or sad, scared or at peace, did she even really know he was there, could she feel his hand, would she come back around and talk to him and did she even want to?
Kate would talk to her, telling her about what was happening and complaining that after an entire summer of rain it was still raining and even for October she couldn’t believe how cold and miserable it was. She told her about the liaison officer’s latest report on Alexandra, and unfortunately there wasn’t much news there: the ring seemed to lead only to a dead end. She talked about Owen’s job and how as a member of the management team he had been forced to let some people go because the company was starting to cut back. She brushed Breda’s hair and put moisturizer on her face and Vaseline on her lips. She washed her nightgowns and made sure that she had water even though she wasn’t awake to drink it, because she would be thirsty when she came back.
Eamonn always stood just inside the door leaning against the wall, watching his mum and waiting for a sign. He was quiet, speaking only when necessary, to answer a question or to ask the doctor or nurse for a status report.
Tom came and went, and it was hard because although Kate was kind and Ben’s attitude to him had softened, Breda had been the only member of the Walsh family never to blame or suspect him in the loss of Alexandra. She maintained his tenuous link with the Walshes, and in her absence he felt like an outsider rather than family, but in deference to her he went anyway.
Things had been slightly awkward between Tom and Jane since the kiss, but when Kate phoned him with Breda’s news, she was the first one he called. Initially she was hesitant; he could hear it in her voice, so he didn’t beat around the bush.
“Breda has cancer,” he said.
“Oh Tom, I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“She’s dying.”
“Oh my God!”
“They say she’s only got six to eight weeks.”
“Oh Tom, that’s awful!”
“I can’t believe it.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I thought you were f*cking sick of listening to people say f*cking sorry,” he said in jest, and all the tension that had built up that night dissolved.
“Let’s just leave it at that, shall we?”
“I’d love to.”
“What can I do for Breda?”
“Absolutely nothing.”
“God, Tom, I really am so sorry to hear that.”
“I know, I know you’re fond of her.”
“Poor Mr. Walsh!”
“Are you going to call Ben ‘Mr. Walsh’ till the day you die?”
“Probably.” She sighed. “How’s Eamonn?”
“Annoyed.”
“Nothing new there, then.”
“For once I don’t blame him.”
“I wish I could do something for her,” she said.
“Me too.”
They agreed to meet for coffee the next day. Jane put down the phone, and Kurt was standing behind her when she turned.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“I’d like to ask you the same thing.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Dad says he’s not welcome here anymore. What the hell?”
“He’s not, and you don’t want to know,” she said, walking from the sitting room to the kitchen.
“I really do,” he said, following her.
“Do you want coffee?”
“Yes.” He sat down.
She boiled the kettle and scooped the coffee into the percolator and stood at the counter, tapping her fingers on it. Kurt waited at the table with his hands in his hair.
“Mum?” he said when the kettle was just about boiled.
“It’s complicated.”
“I’m not twelve.”
She poured the water into the percolator, put the top on, and grabbed two cups. She placed the percolator and cups on the table and sat. Kurt leaned back on his chair, opened the fridge door, and grabbed the milk.
“Well?” he said.
“He slept with Elle,” she said.
“Elle, your sister, my aunt?” he said, pointing to her and then to himself.
“Yes.”
“What the f*ck?”
“Language, Kurt.”
“No, seriously, Mum, what the f*ck?” Kurt stood up and paced. “Why? Jesus, they don’t even like each other that much.”
“I don’t know.”
“When?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters.”
“Your birthday party.”
“Oh man!” He sat down. “No wonder Dad’s been acting strange.”
“I’m sorry, Kurt, but I don’t want to see him again.”
“I know you love him, Mum,” Kurt said.
Jane blushed so red she was embarrassed by her embarrassment. Her eyes filled and stung.
“I’m really sorry, Mum.”
“Thanks,” Jane said, and she pulled herself together.
“What about Elle?” He hadn’t seen her in well over a week, but that didn’t mean a thing as she often disappeared for that long and longer.
“She’s not welcome here either.”
“But she lives down the back of the garden.”
“And that’s where she can stay.”
“Okay. What about me?”
“I don’t understand the question.”
“I hate what they did to you, but he’s my dad.”
“And I don’t expect you to take sides,” Jane said. “You’re an adult now. You’re starting college next week. You can still have a great relationship with your dad, just one that doesn’t involve me.”
“Okay, but I promise I’m going to give him such shit for this.”
“I appreciate that.” Jane smiled at her son. “If you throw in a kick in the nuts I’d appreciate that too.”
Kurt practiced swinging his leg. “Consider it done. And, Mum, he isn’t good enough for you.”
Jane’s eyes filled up again. “Thanks, son.”
Kurt left the kitchen, and Jane sighed and thought to herself that even if she was about to turn thirty-seven and she was alone, at least she had Kurt, for a while anyway.
She walked to the sink and poured the coffee that they hadn’t touched down the drain, and when Elle appeared and stared at her through her kitchen window, Jane ducked.
Jesus, Jane, get a grip.
She stood up and left the room.
Elle deeply regretted her actions with Dominic. As soon as they were caught, their affair was over. There was no discussion, no debate, and no good-bye. After Jane vacated Elle’s room, they sat in the bed in silence, allowing her words to sink in. They both knew Jane well enough to hear in her voice the hurt and damage they’d caused, and they both knew her well enough to know that she was serious when she said she was done with them. They both had realized that in that moment their happy family was no more. Jane was the glue that held them all together, and the glue had become unstuck. Elle got out of bed and got dressed, and Dominic followed suit. She walked into her sitting room, closed the door, and cuddled up on the sofa with her favorite blanket, and he left without a word. Since then she had kept out of Jane’s way because after sleeping with the love of Jane’s life, adhering to her request to stay away was the least she could do.
She missed Jane in her life instantly. Jane was one of the very few people she talked to every day, and Jane was the one who took care of her when she was sick, when she was well, when she didn’t want her to, and when she needed her to. Jane was Elle’s world, and without Jane Elle’s world was incredibly empty. Four days after Kurt’s party, Jane sent Elle a business letter ceasing their working arrangement, withdrawing as Elle’s agent, and providing her with names of other agents and galleries she could work with. Elle was devastated. Jane knew that she was a ditz with business, and so ceasing their working relationship was the final straw and it meant that Jane was absolutely adamant that she wanted nothing more to do with her. For the first time in her life, Elle had done something so bad that there was no coming back from it. Jane had been forgiving her all her life, but Elle had crossed the line.
Leslie arrived at her cottage to go for a planned walk in a nearby park. Leslie asked if she should nip up to the main house to ask Jane if she wished to join them, and Elle broke into tears.
“What happened?” Leslie said, hands on hips.
“She found us together.”
“Oh no. You cannot be serious.”
“At Kurt’s birthday, here in my bedroom.”
“Oh Elle, you stupid, stupid girl!”
“I know, I know I’m stupid. I’m an idiot, a selfish little liar, twisted in the head.” She was banging her head with her fist hard, so hard that Leslie had to grab her hand and hold it tight.
“Okay,” she said. “Calm down and sit down and stop banging your head.”
Elle sat and wrung her hands. “I’ve really hurt her, Leslie. I’ve really hurt her.”
“She’ll get over it. It might not be today or tomorrow, but I promise she will get over it.”
“She hates me.”
“Well, now she needs to, so let her.”
“But I can’t cope on my own.”
“You’re twenty-six. In two months you’re going to be twenty-seven. You are old enough and capable enough to take care of yourself.”
Elle shook her head. “Not without Jane.”
“Yes, without Jane,” Leslie said in her strictest voice. “It’s time for you to find your own way because, Elle, if you think living in the back of your sister’s garden is a permanent arrangement, you’re wrong. Things change—if anyone knows that, I do.”
“Let’s walk.” Elle got up from her chair, desperate to change her scenery and the subject.
“Okay.” Leslie put on her coat.
Elle walked to the door and stood outside waiting for Leslie.
“Elle,” Leslie said.
“Yeah?”
“Your coat.”
Elle looked at herself and realized she was standing outside in the cold in a T-shirt.
“Oh,” she said, and she took her coat from Leslie and put it on. “Let’s go,” she said.
Leslie pulled the door shut and wondered whether Elle would truly be lost without Jane.
The first night Elle had slept with Dominic, she had gone home and into her studio and started painting. The theme was sin, and she used a lot of reds and blacks and purples, and there was a girl succumbing to a man with the devil in his eyes. She liked it, and so as the month and her affair carried on, she painted more like it. She hadn’t shown them to Jane before the letter, and afterward she wasn’t sure what she would do or where she would go, and so she just kept painting. Lori called her two days before the Ken Browne exhibition in Albert’s Gallery and asked her if she would be attending.
“I’m barred,” she said.
“Don’t be an ass. Your sister owns the place.”
“She barred me.”
“For what?”
“For sleeping with Kurt’s dad.”
“Christ, Elle, what are you like?”
“A whore, a slut, a selfish, twisted little bitch.”
“It was a rhetorical question,” Lori said, “and besides, you have to come. I’m hearing a lot of good things about this guy, and you know Jane is all business—she won’t make a scene, not in the gallery.”
“Okay,” Elle said, “I’ll go.”
She decided to go for two reasons, the first being that she had heard that Ken Browne was an artist worth watching and the second being that she hoped that Jane would see how sorry she was and find it in her heart to forgive her.
On the evening of the exhibition, she met Lori in a pub down the road from the gallery and they had a drink to calm their nerves.
“This is actually quite exciting,” Lori said. “There’s a whole new edge to the event.”
Elle just hoped that Jane would be okay with her turning up. They waited until they knew the gallery would be busy. Jane was rushing around and the artist was talking to patrons and friends, every now and then stopping to have his photo taken. Lori spotted someone she knew and ran off to talk to him, leaving Elle standing alone. She walked over to a painting and stood in front of it for a long time. It was so beautiful it made her want to cry. She stared at the color on canvas, the deep browns, the burnt orange, the translucent white against the brightest blue, and what she saw was scorched earth, and she could feel the heat, and under the brightest blue sky in her mind’s eye she saw a beginning of all things.
The woman beside her was just as taken by the painting. For her it didn’t evoke the dawn of creation, but it did match her couch.
Elle moved on to the next and then the next, and every painting spoke to her and told her its story. They were celestial, brave, and beautiful. She could hear each voice individually calling to her from the canvas. This is real art. The one that had made her want to cry called out, This is talent. This has heart and soul. You’ll never paint like this. You’ll never evoke the emotions these paintings evoke. You are a pretender and soon you’ll be found out. Without Jane you are just a jumped-up cartoonist.
“Shut up,” she said.
The woman beside her looked her up and down.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” she said, and she walked away.
Jane appeared behind her. “Go home, Elle,” she said.
“Please, can we talk?”
“I’m working, and even if I wasn’t I have nothing to say to you and there is nothing that you can say.”
Elle left, and Lori didn’t notice because she was too busy bowing before Ken Browne.
Elle went home. She walked into her studio and dragged all her finished paintings into the garden. “You’re shit,” she said. “You’re shit, shit, shit! It’s all shit!”
She piled them high and doused them in whiskey, then lit a match and threw it, and the lot went up in flames. She stood watching.
The flames and smoke alerted Kurt and Rose at the same time. Kurt saw his aunt standing far too close to the fire and ran out into the garden and pulled Elle away from the flames.
“Your work! What are you doing to your beautiful work?”
“It’s ugly,” she said. “It’s all so f*cking ugly.”
Rose grabbed her garden hose and trailed it to where she could point it and douse the flames. Elle watched her put the fire out while being held back by Kurt. When Rose finished and there was only smoldering wood left, she turned to her grandson.
“Put Elle to bed and then come and tell me what the hell is going on around here.”
Kurt nodded and took Elle into her cottage. Rose made her way to her basement apartment and waited for Kurt to make sense of Elle’s latest episode.
The day after Ken Browne’s exhibition, Rose Moore walked up the steps from her basement to the main house and used her key to get inside. Jane was vacuuming the landing upstairs and stopped when she saw Rose. It wasn’t feeding time, and there was no special reason for Rose to be out of her chair and up in the main house, so Jane was concerned.
“What’s wrong?” she said.
Rather than shout up the stairs, Rose ignored her daughter and walked to the kitchen. Jane parked the vacuum, came downstairs, and followed her in.
“What’s wrong?” she repeated.
Rose sat down on one of Jane’s kitchen chairs with a groan. “Well, seeing as you asked, you are.”
“I’m wrong?”
“Yes,” Rose said, “you are.”
“About what, Rose?” Jane said in a tone that suggested she wasn’t in the mood for her mother’s madness.
“You know what your sister’s like. She acts before she thinks—she’s impetuous, highly charged, a slave to her emotions—and that’s what makes her so special.”
“Sleeping with the father of your sister’s child is not special. It’s cruel.”
“Because of what, Jane? Because you love Dominic? Do you honestly for one moment think that your love for Dominic was real?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Bullshit,” Rose said. “Dominic was just the best time you ever had, that’s all.”
“And whose fault is that?” Jane shouted.
“Oh here we go again! I’m the bad mother who stole your future. I’m the one who made you have a baby and then I made you raise him. You’re just a victim of my bad decisions.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to—you’ve said it all before. And maybe if I had my time again I would have considered getting that abortion and maybe I wouldn’t. And, yes, I am a bad mother. There, I said it. Are you happy now?”
Jane didn’t know what to say. She was shell-shocked, so she said nothing.
“I should have been more supportive. I regret that. I did punish you, Jane. I punished you because I was so angry at all that potential lost. I should have helped you more. Especially that time when—”
“Don’t say it,” Jane said, and then she sat silently because Rose’s apology had taken the wind out of her sails.
“Do you remember when you stopped calling me ‘Mum’?” Rose said.
“The day we received Principal Reynolds’s letter and you told me I couldn’t go back to school.”
“No,” Rose said, “that was the day you decided to call me ‘Rose,’ but long after that you’d let ‘Mum’ slip once or even twice a day. It used to amuse me because every time you said the M word you’d almost kick yourself.” She stopped talking, but Jane knew she wasn’t finished. Rose moved in her chair and tapped the table twice. “The day you stopped calling me ‘Mum’ was the day you walked into the police station with Kurt in your arms and asked if they would take either him or you because if they didn’t you’d kill him.”
“Stop it,” Jane said. “You promised we’d never talk about it.”
“They took him, and you went hysterical so they took you to the hospital and the doctors sedated you.”
“I don’t want to talk about it!” Jane shouted.
“Social Services was called, and when they asked me if we had any history of depression in the family, I said no.”
“So what? I was just so tired, his colic was so bad for so long, and he wouldn’t stop crying!”
“I lied,” Rose said. “My daughter was sedated and my grandson was in the care of social workers and all I could think about was making sure no one found out.”
“Found out what?”
“About your dad.”
“What about my dad?”
“Oh Janey, he was so clever—just as you are! Did you know that he was one of the country’s top mathematicians? He had such a great mind. Sometimes he was so happy, the life and soul of every party and everyone loved him, and sometimes he was so sad that he found moving his head hard.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“He didn’t have a heart attack, Janey,” Rose said. “He hanged himself.”
“No.”
“He hanged himself with your jump rope.”
“No. You’re lying.”
“People didn’t talk about it in those days; it just wasn’t something you talked about,” Rose said, pale and tired. “I blamed you and Elle.” She laughed a bitter laugh. “For the longest time I told myself if you hadn’t left the bloody jump rope out he would never have left us and you were the oldest so you should have known better. Of course that was madness because it wasn’t your fault—you were just a little girl.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I’m telling you because I can’t keep making the same mistakes over and over again.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You got your dad’s brain. Elle got his temperament.”
“What are you saying, Rose?” Jane said angrily.
“I’m saying that when I look at my youngest daughter, I see her father,” Rose said, and tears ran down her face. “I’m saying that you have to forgive her, care for her, protect her from the world and herself the way I should have protected your dad.”
Jane stood up and put her hands on her head. “There is nothing wrong with Elle.”
Rose stood up and wiped her face with her sleeve. She straightened and took a moment to collect her thoughts. “It’s a lot to take in,” she said. “I’ll leave it with you.”
She walked out, leaving her older daughter both astonished and utterly devastated.
Two weeks had passed since they had returned from their holiday, and Leslie decided to tell Jim how she felt. She would have sought advice from either Jane or Elle, but as they were both locked in combat she decided that honesty was the best policy and if Jim was going to shoot her down it was best he do it before she fell too hard. She put on a cute little vest top and matching briefs that Elle had helped her pick out and then slipped on a pretty black cowlneck jersey dress and some heels. She applied makeup and fixed her pixie haircut. She put on some music and poured wine, and at seven thirty on the dot her doorbell rang.
Jim brought flowers and she accepted them gratefully. He complimented her on the smell coming from the oven, and she didn’t tell him that it was premade lamb tagine that she was simply heating up.
She handed him a glass of wine, and he sat at the table while she served the food.
“You look nice tonight,” he said.
“Thanks,” she said. “I bought the dress yesterday.”
“It suits you.”
She put his plate of food in front of him and a plate in front of herself, and she sat.
“Eat up,” she said.
“No need to ask twice. I’m starving.”
They ate in silence.
“Is there something wrong?” he said.
“No, why do you ask?”
“Well, usually you are carrying on about something or someone.”
“That’s not true,” she said, “and anyway, you’ve been here five minutes and you haven’t mentioned one single article you’ve read today.”
“Well, now that you mention it, I was reading the details of the government bank-guarantee scheme earlier. I tell you, Leslie, people just don’t realize how close this country came to bankruptcy a few weeks ago. The good times are officially over.”
“Don’t say that! I’ve only just started to leave the apartment,” she said, and he laughed.
“Well, right about now I think your apartment is the best place to be,” he said, and she smiled.
She’d forgotten to buy dessert, so they enjoyed coffee on the sofa. She was wondering when and how she’d break the news of her love for him when he put his coffee down and reached into his jacket pocket.
“I have something I thought you might like to see.”
“Oh,” she said and put her coffee on the floor. “What is it?” She didn’t notice her cat shove her face into the coffee, lick her lips, and turn on her heel, raising her tail high in the air. She was focusing on Jim digging in his pocket.
“Here it is,” he said.
“What is it?”
He smoothed it out and handed it to her. “It’s a letter from Imelda.”
“Imelda. My dead sister Imelda?”
“One and the same.”
“To me?” she said, pointing at herself.
“No, to me, but it’s about you. Go on—read it.”
She opened the letter, and part of her wanted to read it and part of her didn’t and she was totally thrown. Why did he bring this tonight? She began to silently read it.
Dear Jim,
It’s time to talk about Leslie. We both know she’s stubborn and cut off, and we both know why. When I’m gone you’ll be all she has left in this world and I know it’s a big ask, but please look out for her …
She looked up at Jim. “What is this?”
“Just read it,” he said.
We’ve talked about you remarrying, and you know I want you to find someone to love and to love you. I want you to have a great new life that doesn’t include overcrowded hospitals, dismissive doctors, overworked nurses, and cancer. I want you to find someone strong and healthy, someone you can go on an adventure with, someone you can make love to, someone who doesn’t cause you anguish and pain. Every time I see your face it hurts because for the first time I see that in loving you I’ve been selfish and I understand why Leslie is the way she is …
“I’m not that person anymore,” Leslie said. “I’m trying to change. Why are you bringing me back in time like this?”
“Just read on,” he said.
Leslie is a better person than me. I know you’re probably guffawing at that as you read, but it’s true. She’s watched her entire family die of cancer, and when we were both diagnosed with the dodgy gene after Nora’s death she made the decision not to cause pain to others the way Nora caused pain to John and Sarah and I’m causing pain to you …
“She’s praising me, but I was so stupid, so wasteful,” Leslie said. “She was right. I was wrong.”
Before cancer she was smart and funny, kind and caring, and she still is to me. Without her care I wouldn’t have coped. I know sometimes she calls you names, but trust me, she knows you’re not a monkey, so when she calls you an ass picker, ignore it and be kind …
Leslie laughed. “I’d forgotten I used to call you an ass picker.”
“And I’ve tried to,” he said, and he smiled.
I thought she was being defeatist. I thought that we’d suffered enough as a family and that we’d both survive. So I made plans and fell in love and for a while we had a great life but then that dodgy gene kicked in. Now I see you look almost as ill as I feel, and I realize that my sister Leslie knew exactly what she was doing when she broke up with Simon and all but closed off. I watched her disappear from her own life. I thought she was insane back then, but it makes sense now. She put the pain of others before her own. She watched John and Sarah suffer after Nora, and she’ll watch you suffering after me, and although she pretends not to like you, she does, and it will hurt her and it will also confirm for her that she is right to remain alone, waiting for a diagnosis that may never come …
Suddenly Leslie felt the tide of sadness returning. “She always knew me better than I knew myself,” she said.
I’m her last family and friend, she hasn’t even let herself get to know her niece, and so when I’m gone she’ll have no one and that haunts me. Please go and live your life but all that I ask is that every now and again, no matter how rude or uninviting she may seem, call her, talk to her, be her friend even if she fails to be yours, because she has been there for me, for Mum, for Dad and Nora, and I can’t stand the idea that after everything she’s been through she should live or die alone …
Leslie put her hand to her mouth and looked from the letter to Jim and back to the letter. She shook her head. “This is why you’re nice to me. It’s because Imelda asked you to be. You don’t have any feelings for me. You have feelings for her. I’m so stupid.”
Jim looked confused. “I just found the letter. I thought you’d like to know how your sister felt about you, that’s all.”
“Well, now I know,” she said, “and I’m actually quite tired, so if you wouldn’t mind I’d like to say good night.”
“We were having a nice time,” he said, startled and dismayed. “I shouldn’t have given you the letter.”
“No,” she said, “I’m really glad you did. It’s cleared something up for me, so thanks and good night.”
Jim was standing outside Leslie’s apartment with the door slammed in his face before he had time to work out what had happened, and only when he was halfway home did the realization dawn that Leslie had totally misread his intentions.
Leslie lay in bed with her cat and read the last piece of the letter.
I know I say it all the time and in all my little notes and letters about this and that, but time is running out and I need you to know that it’s been a privilege to be your wife. And although I feel selfish for all the pain I’ve caused you, I know I’ve brought happiness too, so hang on to that and forgive me because even knowing what I know now I’d love and marry you again. I suppose Leslie would say I was a selfish truffle-sniffler, but I can die with that.
Yours,
Imelda
Leslie let the letter drop from her hand and closed her eyes. I’m such a fool. Jim has no real interest in me. And why would he want me, anyway? I’m half a woman. I’m such a silly, silly fool.
Tom opened the door and was surprised to see Jane, red-eyed and tearful.
“Are you alone?” she said.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you to take me to bed,” she said.
“Jane, I think you need to—”
“Are we friends?”
“You know we are.”
“So please do what I ask and take me to bed.”
He nodded and led her upstairs, and he kissed her mouth and took off her coat, and he took off his shirt and unbuttoned her blouse and kissed her neck, and when his face was wet from her tears he took her over to the bed and sat her down. He handed her a pillow to hug and asked her what was wrong. Jane told him about the time when Kurt was fourteen months old and hadn’t stopped crying in a week and everything she did hadn’t worked and she thought she was losing her mind and she hated him with a real palpable, seething hatred and thought about killing him more than once, she was so tired. Even when her eyes were black and she was zombielike and skin and bone, not once did her mother relieve her. Not once did she pick up the baby and tell her that it was okay and that she’d take care of the child while Jane got some much-needed sleep. Not once did she offer to babysit so that Jane could go out with her friends, and not once did she tell her that everything was going to be all right.
Jane told Tom about that day she had walked into the police station with her son in her arms.
“I wouldn’t have hurt him,” she said. “I just needed someone to help me.”
“Ah Jane,” he said, and he took her in his arms.
He lay down on his bed, and she lay on his chest, and she told him about what Rose had said about her dad and Elle.
“I should have known Dad didn’t have a heart attack. I’m so stupid.”
“You couldn’t have.”
“And Elle—Rose has always been so protective of her, it used to drive me insane. I made one mistake and she punished me for years. Elle messes up time and time again and Rose always finds a way of making what she’s done seem normal and okay when all the time she knew it wasn’t and I should have known. How could I have been so blind?”
“Because Elle seems perfectly fine. If you ask me, she’s just a little selfish and a little spoiled.”
“No,” Jane said. “She disappears for weeks and weeks. She’s so exuberant sometimes and then other times she’s so pensive, so sad.”
“We all get like that—it’s called life.”
“Then there was China.”
“What about China?”
“She was in Hong Kong with her boyfriend. They were in some club and they had a big fight. He told her he wanted their relationship to end, that he wasn’t happy anymore and that it was over. He was flying home the next day. Right after that there was an accident. Elle was hit by a car and ended up in a coma for two days. By the time I got there she’d woken up, but she’d broken her left leg and arm. She was fine, but it scared the life out of us. Vincent, that was her boyfriend, he was sitting by her bed and so attentive I thought they were still love’s young dream, but one day when we were getting coffee he told me about their fight and said that she jumped out in front of the car on purpose.”
“And you didn’t believe him.”
“She swore she didn’t see the car.”
“So you believed her.”
Jane nodded. “Who jumps in front of cars?” She was crying again. “I should have known. After all, her father hanged himself with jump rope, and me, well, Jesus, I threatened to kill my own child.”
“You were just crying out for help.”
“And what was she doing?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
She raised her head and looked at him. “How does it feel not to be the most messed-up person in the room?”
“Pretty good.” He smiled at her and wiped away a stray tear.
“Well, that’s something, then,” she said, and he leaned in and kissed her, and they made love twice before they fell into a sound sleep.
images
Elle answered her front door expecting it to be her mother, who had been up and down to her cottage harassing her since Jane had stopped talking to her.
Jane was standing there, pulling her coat in close to her chest.
“Can we talk?” she said.
“Yes, please.”
Jane closed the door behind her, and for the first time in her life she had no idea what she was going to say to her sister.