17
“Apes & Angels”
The heart runs on hope, my friend, let hope be your horse,
open the tattered maps once more and let’s set a course,
gonna fight, gonna fight, gonna fight just to love again.
Jack L, Broken Songs
January 2009
When she was stabilized, Elle was moved from the emergency room in St. Vincent’s Hospital to St. Patrick’s Psychiatric Hospital, where she remained as a voluntary patient for three weeks. It was difficult coming to terms with her illness, but it had also been a long time coming. The doctors were kind and reassuring, and for the first time in a long time she felt safe. She would be on medication for the rest of her life, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. In fact, Elle wasn’t sure how she felt about anything. The doctor explained that it might take time to get the cocktail right, but he promised they’d get there in the end. Elle was scared that she wouldn’t be able to paint because she believed absolutely that it was her demons that drove her, inspired her, and elevated her to a place far from the humdrum of normality and numbness. She was told that her talent wouldn’t be affected, but she seriously doubted that and knew if it was affected in even the slightest way she would sacrifice her newfound peace once more. But for now she was okay. She’d talk and she’d listen and she’d take their advice on coping skills, stress management, and goal setting—which she did anyway in the form of writing to the Universe—and she’d swallow what she was given even if it made her feel numb, because for now, numb was good.
Rose was beside herself when she woke the morning of St. Stephen’s Day to find that Elle had tried to do what her father had succeeded in doing so many years before. She cried and shook and instantly aged, and Jane found herself hugging her and calling her “Mum.”
“Don’t cry, Mum.”
“I thought she’d be okay.”
“I know. Me too.”
“But I should have known better.”
“All we can do is our best, Mum.”
“But I didn’t do my best, Janey,” she cried. “I’m so sorry I’ve made such a mess.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay!” her mother shouted. “I shouldn’t have let this go on for years, I shouldn’t have made you responsible for her, and I shouldn’t have told you not to involve doctors because it didn’t focking work! She could have died, Janey. My fault, again my fault!” Rose was trembling and beating her chest.
Jane wasn’t sure if she was in shock, cold, or suffering the DTs.
“Dad wasn’t your fault, Mum.”
“Of course it was. I left him alone and I knew he was in despair, I left him alone because he was in despair, and I left him alone because I was focking sick of it!” Rose was rubbing her hands in an attempt to stop the violent shaking.
Jane had no clue what to say or do—she had never witnessed her mother in such distress, nor had she ever really thought her capable of it.
“When your father died, I was angry and sad and bitter and in such pain, and I left you two girls to fend for yourselves. I know I did and I’m not proud of it, but you, Janey, you took over, you took care of me and your sister, and you did a good job. You’re the strong one, Jane, you’ve always been the strong one. That’s why I pushed you so hard, because we need you, we always have.”
“I thought you were disappointed in me.”
“I’m disappointed in myself—you just remind me of that, that’s all,” Rose said. “I’m sorry, Janey, I am sorry.”
She was sniffling, and Jane felt such an overwhelming warmth for her mother it was unnerving.
“Let’s just be kinder to each other,” Jane said, and Rose nodded.
Jane held her mother tightly, and when Rose composed herself, Jane took a tissue out of her pocket and dried her eyes.
“I hope you haven’t snotted in that,” Rose said, and their tender moment was over.
Elle didn’t have any visitors during her first week in St. Patrick’s, but after that Jane and Rose came most days. At visiting time she’d sit in the glass annex that overlooked a lush garden, and her visitors would join her there. On Rose and Jane’s first visit together, Rose was not behaving like herself, much to Elle’s confusion.
“This is lovely, isn’t it lovely, Jane?” Rose said.
“It’s lovely, Rose.”
“You look fantastic, really beautiful,” Rose said to Elle.
“I look terrible,” Elle said, and she looked at Jane for a hint of what was going on in her mother’s head.
“No, you’re lovely,” Rose said. “Isn’t she, Jane?”
“No, she’s right, she looks terrible,” Jane said.
“What’s going on?” Elle asked Jane.
“Rose is scared that if we’re not nice to you, you’ll try to kill yourself again,” Jane said, and she wasn’t laughing.
Jane was angry and Elle knew it. Rose blushed the way her oldest daughter did on most days but not that day.
“You’re angry, Jane. I understand,” Elle said.
“You understand?” Jane said, pointing at Elle. “Oh good, because I understand too! I understand that you were desperate and scared and out of your mind—trust me, after two years dealing with a colicky baby I do understand—but what I don’t understand is you lying to me. I came to you, I asked you if you needed help and told you I would be there to help you, and you lied and lied and lied. You made me doubt myself, and if you had died you would have made me complicit in it.”
“I didn’t mean to, I didn’t want to, everything was so muddled and unreal and I wanted to be okay. I wanted to be kooky, arty Elmore, the genius painter. I wanted it to be okay to suffer for your art and then it wasn’t okay, then the world tipped sideways and I felt like I was barely clinging on. I got tired and all I could focus on was letting go.”
Rose was silent and pale.
Jane shook her head. “If you ever try to kill yourself again, I will follow you into the next world and I will kill you again.” Jane’s tears fell, and she allowed Elle to bear witness to her pain and her broken heart.
“I’m so sorry, Janey.”
“Don’t be sorry. Just don’t do it again.”
Rose took Elle’s hand in hers, and for the first time she noticed her mother tremble.
“We love you, Miss Elmore, whether you’re kooky or crazy or a little bit of both, whether you’re an artist or a cafeteria lady we love you, but Janey’s right. If you ever put us through that again, hell will be a holiday.”
Elle smiled. “Okay, Mum.”
“Okay then,” Rose said. “Now, Jane, let’s get out of this focking kip before I see someone else I know.”
Kurt and Irene visited once a week.
“How’s Medicine going?” Elle asked one day while they ate roast beef sandwiches that Jane had sent in a picnic basket that also included three types of salad dressing and four types of salad, a large bag of lettuce, and three cupcakes.
“Good,” he said. “It’s hard, though.”
“Too hard,” Irene said. “I never see him.”
“You’re seeing me now,” he protested.
“And look where we are! No offense, Elle.”
“None taken,” Elle said.
“The last time we went out was well before Christmas,” Irene complained to Elle. “We’re in college, for God’s sake; we went out more when we were in school.”
“My exams were after Christmas, I’ve just finished them, and I told you we can go anywhere you like tonight,” Kurt said, clearly annoyed at having to repeat himself.
“Yeah, well, I’m not in the mood tonight.”
Kurt raised his hands to heaven. “You see?” he said to Elle.
“Nobody goes out in January, Kurt,” Irene said.
Elle decided to change the subject. “So how’s Nursing, Irene?”
“Hate it,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m thinking about leaving and doing modeling.”
Elle looked at Kurt, who raised his eyes to heaven.
“Modeling?”
“Mum has a friend in London. She says I’ve got great cheekbones and a good attitude.”
“Well, then,” Elle said.
“Still,” Irene said, “I’m not sure I’d like modeling. I might do a beauty course or something. I’m not really sure, so for the minute I’ll stick with Nursing, but I swear I will never make a nurse. People are foul.”
Leslie came every day except the days she had an appointment with her consultant. She would arrive bringing books or chocolates or both.
“You can never read enough or eat enough,” she said.
“You’re too good to me,” Elle said.
“You’re right, I am,” Leslie said, “and as soon as you’re well enough, remind me to give you a kick in the hole.”
“That’s lovely language.”
“Isn’t it? I heard it coming out of the mouth of a ten-year-old as I was making my way over here.”
“Is it possible to be depressed that you’re depressed?” Elle asked.
“I’m sure it is. I know I’d be depressed if I was depressed.”
“I just wish I could look into the sky and make sense of it all,” Elle said.
“The answer to life’s problems isn’t in the sky,” Leslie said. “It’s in Jack Lukeman’s songs.”
Elle smiled. “Really?”
“Absolutely. In fact, ‘It’s Been Raining’ changed my life. Well that, a nosy girl called Deborah, a cat with the shits, a broken lift, and a surgeon.”
“So name the song that will change my life.”
Leslie thought about it for a moment or two.
“Time’s up.”
“No,” Leslie said, batting her away. “Give me a second.” Then she grinned. “‘Universe.’”
“‘Universe,’” Elle said and raised her eyebrows.
Leslie cleared her throat.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to sing it?”
“I’m better than you,” Leslie said. She cleared her throat again and began to sing. “Oh nothing lasts forever …”
“Dun, dun, dun, dun.” Elle sang, imitating the trombone.
Two male patients on their way back from a smoke stopped at the door to enjoy the show..
“You can cry a million rivers …” Leslie sang, and she pointed at Elle, who nodded and got ready to imitate a trombone once more.
“Dun, dun, dun, dun …”
“You can rage it ain’t no sin but it won’t change a thing, ‘cos nothing lasts forever …” Leslie reached out and embraced Elle. “Sing it with me, Elle.”
Together they sang: “There’s a universe inside where the two of us can hide and there’s nothing to be frightened of, a flash of light a raging star don’t you know you’re not alone, ah there’s nothing to be frightened of.”
A nurse stopped beside the two male patients and looked at the two girls singing with arms wrapped around each other, and she smiled before going about her business. The two patients clapped.
“Thank you, thank you, we’re here all week!” Leslie said, and Elle laughed.
They sat silently for a moment or two, then Leslie looked into Elle’s eyes.
“Well? Did it work?” she asked.
“You’re right—I’m cured,” Elle said, and she laughed.
“I hate to say I told you so.” Leslie smiled at her friend. “It’s going to be all right, you know.”
The first chance Jane had after Elle was stabilized, she made her way down toward her mother’s rosebushes and the graves of Jessica, Jimmy, Judy, and Jeffrey. She walked the correct distance between them and started digging. Rose and Kurt appeared from their respective doors and went to the spot where Elle had told Leslie she’d left her final good-byes. Kurt and Rose were silent while Jane dug. When they heard the shovel tapping on the tin, Jane turned to face them, and Rose nodded for her to continue. She cleared the soil from the top and picked up the box and shook it off. She opened it, exposing the three notes folded inside. She set it down on the ground and took a lighter out of her pocket. She looked once more to her mother, and she nodded again. Jane leaned down and set the paper alight. It went out, so she lit it again, and when it looked like it was going to go out again Rose reached into her pocket, pulled out a flask, and sprinkled some booze on it, causing it to reignite and burn until there was nothing left.
“Aren’t you even curious?” Kurt asked as they made their way back to the house.
“No,” Rose and Jane said at exactly the same time.
“I am,” he admitted, “a bit.”
Rose put her arm around her grandson as they walked. “It wasn’t Elle’s time to say good-bye, so let’s just be grateful for that.”
Jane found it hard to get rid of all her anger. The people in St. Patrick’s Hospital told her that this was a perfectly natural reaction, and they attempted to explain her sister’s mental state to her. Jane found it hard to accept that Elle was unwell. She had been so desperate to believe Elle when she had explained away her symptoms, and now she felt so selfish and stupid.
It was her son who got through to her.
“Mum, you do the best you can but you’re not perfect. No one is—except maybe me.”
“She could have died,” Jane said.
“We all could die any day, and not because we want to. Elle is just like the rest of us.”
“Oh yeah, and how’s that?”
“F*cked up,” Kurt said, and Jane laughed for the first time since Elle had tried to kill herself.
Alexandra was buried on a Sunday morning. The church was packed to the rafters. Tom stood at the top of the church, and next to him was Alexandra’s father, her brother and his wife, and her sister and her husband. The priest spoke warmly of Alexandra, her mother, Breda, and the entire Walsh family. He spoke warmly of Tom and his fight to find her. He hoped that Tom could now find peace, as he had no doubt that Alexandra had.
When Leslie told the Jack Lukeman camp that Alexandra had been found, he offered to sing at her funeral. The family was blown away by his kind gesture, and so he sang Breda Walsh’s favorite hymns for the girl who had died on the way to pick up tickets for his show. Tom got up and spoke about his wife—how they had met, how they had fallen in love, the reasons he had loved her, the reasons he would always love her. He spoke about their plans and dreams and disappointments. He spoke about her sense of humor, and he ended it reading from the last note Alexandra ever wrote to him.
“Alexandra always had the last word in our house, so I think it’s only right that she gets the last word today.
“Tom,
“When you are shopping can you pick up the following:
Bread
Milk x 2
Water x 4
Spaghetti
Mince (Lean! Make sure it’s lean and not the stuff they call lean and charge half price, because it’s not lean. I want lean cut right in front of you and I don’t care how much it costs.)”
The crowd laughed a little, and Tom read on.
“Tin of tomatoes
Basil
A clove of garlic
Wine, if you don’t still have a case or two in the office, and make sure it’s not Shiraz. I’m really sick of Shiraz.
“If you want dessert pick something up.
“I’m meeting Sherri for a quick drink at 5. She has the Jack Lukeman tickets so I took money from the kitty to pay for them. I’m taking a ticket for you so if you don’t want to go, text me. I’ll be home around 6:30. Your aunt called. She’s thinking about coming to Dublin next weekend. Try and talk her out of it. I’m exhausted and can’t handle running around after her for 48 hours straight. Your aunt is on cocaine. I’m not messing. An intervention is needed.”
Again the crowd laughed a little and smiled at the words from a girl who couldn’t be boring even writing a shopping list.
“Oh, and dishwashing liquid. And will you please call someone to get the dishwasher fixed?
“OK see you later.
“Love you,
“Alexandra
“P.S. When somebody close to you dies, move seats.
God, I love Jimmy Carr.”
The crowd laughed and then they clapped, and Tom looked down to where Jane was sitting beside Leslie, and she nodded and smiled because he’d done her old friend proud.
Tom led the mourners to the graveside, and Jim held Leslie and Jane held on to Elle, who had been allowed out of the hospital to say her own good-bye. Rose stood to the side with Kurt and Irene. Alexandra’s family bowed their heads in grief and gratitude that the worst of their suffering was over. Whatever the police investigation might uncover, Alexandra was safe now. The priest anointed the coffin and said his prayers; Jack sang as they lowered her into the ground. When everyone had gone, Tom was left alone staring at the mound of fresh flowers covering his wife, who had been dead well over a year. Jane let the others go to the car and joined him. She slipped her hand in his, and he squeezed it.
“The inquest will take at least a year,” he said. “I don’t even know if I can bear to hear the details.”
“She’s at peace now,” she said. “That’s what matters.”
“I hope so,” he said. “I’m going to go on that trip.”
“Good.”
“You’re sure you won’t come?” He turned to look at her.
“This is something you have to do on your own.”
“Too soon.”
“Too soon.”
And together they walked away from Alexandra’s grave and to the waiting cars. Tom stopped and turned to look at the grave one last time.
‘If somebody close to you dies, move seats,’ you said. So that’s what I’ll do. I love you.
March 15, 2009
Dear Tom,
As you know, the postmortem revealed that Alexandra died of asphyxiation. What it didn’t reveal was that she was a fighter, but you already knew that. Our forensics team found skin cells under her nails, and although this DNA is not currently in our database we believe that it is only a matter of time before we find the person responsible for her death, and when we do, Alexandra will help us put that individual away.
On a personal note, I just want to say that I’m so sorry for your loss. I’ve never said that out loud and I wanted to. Although I didn’t ever meet your wife, through you I came to know and care for her. Trust that no matter how long it takes, we will keep looking and we will get justice for you, for her, and for her family.
Now remember what I said—live your life, you’ve lost enough.
Sincerest regards,
Trish Lowe
Patricia Lowe
Family Liaison Officer
Clontarf Garda Station
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: You’re not going to believe what I’m doing
Aug. 20 (3 days ago)
Tom,
It’s only been 8 months and it feels like a lifetime has passed since I drove you to the airport. It’s been fantastic to keep up with all your adventures through the blog that Leslie set up. Good old Leslie. As you know, she and Jim are engaged, but did you know that she’s opting for a breast reconstruction? Probably not. I only heard it through Elle, and she wasn’t supposed to say anything. Anyway, I’m delighted for her. How’s India? The last time you blogged you had the trots. I hope the situation has resolved itself and you are no longer a slave to your bottom half. Anyway, I’m writing to tell you that I applied to study Medicine as a mature student and I got in!!!!! I know it sounds insane, but the gallery isn’t doing a lot of business at the moment and, let’s face it, the way things are going we’ll probably have to shut our doors in a few months. Elle isn’t ready to paint yet, and when she does I think it’s healthier for her to work with someone else. I’ve told her and she agrees. I have money saved, and, besides, I know I’d love doing Medicine. I’m so excited. I’m going to be starting in the College of Surgeons in October, which I’m very relieved about, because Kurt would have had a fit if I joined him at Trinity.
Elle is well. She’s taking some time off and she’s reading a lot about her condition. She’s looking at alternative therapies and Christ knows what else. I swear if she read that painting your ass red and dancing the conga helped she’d do it, but so far so good. She’s working with her doctors and she seems happy. I don’t really know anymore. I just have to trust that she’ll be okay. Maybe when I’m a doctor I can find a cure. I’d put in one of those smiley faces in that people do to suggest they are joking, but I’ve forgotten how to.
Anyway, I just wanted to tell you my news.
I miss you.
Jane X
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: You’re not going to believe what I’ve just done
Aug. 21 (2 days ago)
Jane,
I am so proud of you. I think it’s amazing and brave and I know that you can do it because you have proved you are capable of so much. I also know that you will make a fantastic doctor because you’re kind and caring, and even when those around you are driving you up the wall (how is Rose, by the way?) you have the patience of a saint. I wish you all the luck in the world, but I know you don’t need it.
I left India yesterday. My head and my ass had an argument, and my ass won. I wished I could have stayed on, but honestly the water was killing me. I’m en route to Kenya and I can’t wait. I have an old pal living there. He’s part of a construction team building houses, so I’m thinking about sticking around there for a while and working with him. It will be good to get my hands dirty again. I hear the Neil Mellon Township Trust is looking for volunteers to build homes in South Africa in March, so I’m going to head that way and give them a hand although I think I have to get sponsorship. Tell you what—if you come out, I’ll sponsor you and you can sponsor me. Think about it, ten days can change not just their lives but yours too.
I really miss you too and look forward to the day I see you again.
Tom X
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: I don’t believe you!
Aug. 22 (1 day ago)
Jane,
I just got an e-mail from Tom congratulating me on getting new tits!!!!! I can’t believe you told him.
Mortified!
Leslie
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: I don’t believe you!
10:20 P.M. (3 hours ago)
See Leslie’s mail. I think I just landed you in it!!!! Sorry.
Jane
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
cc: [email protected]
Subject: I don’t believe you!
1:20 P.M. (1 hour ago)
No problem. These days I blame everything on the medication.
Elle
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: I don’t believe you!
1:21 P.M.
Elle,
You just cc’d me, so now I know your dirty little tricks!
Leslie
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: I don’t believe you!
1:21 P.M.
L,
You see, I would never have done that if I wasn’t on medication!
xE