Something Like Love Page 9

  ‘His injuries are only partly consistent with a fall, Mrs Holden. My guess is that his eye, as they say, came in contact with someone else’s fist in the nightclub. There was probably some girl involved – there usually is. You may want to follow that up with the Guards yourself. The notes here indicate that he lurched forward and then down the steps. I suspect that he was pushed. But you’ll never get any proof. See no evil, hear no evil.’

  ‘How long will you keep him here?’

  ‘Probably just for tonight. He’s stable. We gave him painkillers earlier this morning, and he’ll need to keep taking those. You can take him home tomorrow, if you like. Would you like me to have a word with him?’

  Rose felt a small tug of hope. ‘About his drinking?’

  ‘Yes. There are some signs of damage to his liver – very minor signs as yet, but nonetheless, a cause for concern.’

  ‘Can you frighten the living daylights out of him?’

  Doctor Keane smiled. ‘I suspect he’s already done that to himself. By all accounts, he was a very quiet and contrite young man in the early hours of this morning. My guess is that he’s already started to process the slippery slope he’s found himself on, and has discovered that it’s not to his liking. I’ll encourage him to keep thinking that way.’

  ‘When do young people finally grow up?’ Rose asked suddenly. ‘I was married, working and keeping house at his age. Not that I want him doing all of that,’ she added hurriedly. ‘I was far too young: I know that now. But these kids are so different from my generation, my experience, that I feel like a stranger, someone from another country trying to learn a new language.’

  ‘You’re not alone. You’ll be glad to know that the American Psychiatric Association has recently decided that the official end of adolescence – in young Western men, in particular – is now thirty-four.’ Dr Keane stood up, smiled briskly and closed Damien’s file. ‘You’ve a good way to go yet.’

  Rose shook hands with her. ‘That’s if I last that long. God Almighty, I’ve got two others at home. I won’t be out of this mire until I’m seventy, at this rate. What a prospect – I’ll be able to retire, my kids will be off my hands and I get to relax at seventy? Life’s a bitch.’

  Dr Keane laughed. ‘Don’t worry, it gets easier. Is Damien the eldest?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The oldest one tends to blaze a trail. May I ask if there’s a Mr Holden?’

  ‘Mr Holden deserted us. He walked out on all of us six – almost seven – years ago now. He and Damien never got on. I’ve often wondered if that’s what part of this rebellion is all about. Mind you, I’m the one who stayed and I get to deal with all the fallout.’

  ‘It was ever thus. That may be part of the explanation. But make him work that one out for himself. Don’t give him any answers; make him find his own. Anyway, it helps me to know that bit of the jigsaw before I talk to him.’

  ‘Thanks, Dr Keane. It’s been good talking to you.’

  ‘Look after yourself, Mrs Holden. Don’t forget – you have a life, too. Get yourself some space, and above all, don’t blame yourself. And don’t allow your son to blame you, either. Guilt is a wasted emotion.’

  Rose walked back down the corridor, the doctor’s words having stirred a nugget of something significant inside her mind, something that would become a thought to give her comfort, later, whenever she managed to form it.

  She’d figure out whatever it was, whenever she found the time, away from all these smells of sterility and mortality.

  Rose sat down again by Damien’s bedside and sent Lisa off in search of tea.

  Moments later, he started to stir, opened one bloodied eye and looked up at the ceiling, groaning. Rose waited. She knew that he would sense her presence eventually. She wanted him to be the one to make the first move. Her whole being strained towards him. She longed to cradle his head in her hands, to kiss his pale forehead, to whisper, ‘My lovely boy, I’m here, I’m here.’

  She resisted, some older, wiser, grimmer part of her making her sit still and silent. Perhaps it’s tribal memory, she thought. All those mothers before her clamouring to make themselves heard: Be strong! Be silent! Have the courage to wait!

  Slowly, he turned his head towards her. Her hands had already begun to tremble; a light film of sweat developed above her upper lip. God, kids were hard work.

  ‘Ma?’

  The voice was his own again, the tenderness tentative, but unmistakable. He reached out one searching, bandaged hand towards her. She took it, unable to speak, filled with sorrow, hope, all the impotence of furious love.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ma. For everything. I’m going to make it right, I promise.’ And he wound his arm around her neck, pulling her gently towards him.

  Then she sobbed. She didn’t know if she could believe those words, if this was the start of yet another nightmare journey, if she would be locking her door against him in another month’s time – but for now, none of that mattered. She buried her face in her son’s warmth, the soft, baby-smelling space between neck and shoulder, filled with a desperate longing to make things different.

  ‘It’s all right, Ma – I love you. I’m so sorry for everything.’

  She pulled back from him, unwilling to be the easy target, ready to blaze out again in anger, in grief, in all the frustration of thwarted love.

  But, even as she searched for clues, her son inhabited his own eyes again. He was, despite his grazed and swollen face, more recognizable than at any other time in the past three years.

  ‘Can I come home, just for a while?’ he asked, eyes filling.

  ‘Are you going to behave yourself?’ she said, trying to be fierce, eyes overflowing despite herself.

  He nodded and she hugged him close, knowing exactly what she might be letting herself in for. But he was young. He deserved just one more chance.

  And she was his mother, after all . . .

  Someone tapped on the bathroom door, sharply.

  ‘Mum, are you okay?’

  Rose started. The bath water had cooled and the skin on her fingers had wrinkled. How long had she been lying there?

  ‘I’m fine, Brian.’

  ‘You’ve been in there ages. Can I use the bathroom before I go to bed?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll be out in a minute.’

  Hurriedly, Rose pulled the bath sheet off the radiator and wrapped herself in its warmth. She was shocked to find that it was after midnight. She met Brian on the landing.

  ‘At least you’ve got a bit of pink in your cheeks,’ he grinned at her. ‘I was afraid you’d fallen asleep.’

  She kissed him. ‘Thanks for looking out for me. Sleep tight.’

  ‘Yeah. You too.’

  She slid between cool sheets. Sleep, she thought. Let me check out, just for a while.

  Chapter Four

  IMMEDIATELY AFTER an early breakfast the following morning, Rose made her way to Ben’s old desk in what had once been his office. She ran her hands over the scratched wooden surface, remembered how many times she had polished it in a previous existence. She pulled her address book out from under a pile of cookery books, and leafed through the well-thumbed pages until she found the number she wanted.

  ‘Pauline? It’s Rose Kelly. Sorry about the unearthly hour, but I know you’re an early bird. Have you a minute?’

  ‘Of course, Rose. How are you? Everything all right?’

  Rose smiled at the question. How could she even begin to reply?

  ‘Oh, I’ve been better. Ben is back.’

  There was a moment’s silence.

  ‘I see . . . Okay . . . I have a free slot tomorrow afternoon – someone’s just cancelled. Three o’clock suit you?’

  ‘Three’s perfect. Thanks, Pauline. See you then.’

  She walked out into the hallway.

  ‘Lisa? I can give you a lift to school if you’re ready now!’

  ‘Coming!’ Lisa jumped down the last three steps and grabbed her schoolbag off the floor in the h
allway.

  ‘Let’s go. It’s not too early for you to go in, is it?’

  ‘No – I was just about to ask you for a lift. I forgot that I’d told Alison and Carly I’d meet them there. We’re working on our book project.’

  ‘Did you make your lunch last night?’ Rose searched in her handbag for the keys to the van, at the same time crumpling up old supermarket receipts, notes to herself, sweet wrappers – why did she keep on stuffing the same old rubbish back in again? She had learned a long time ago that cleaning out a handbag was a ritual, one which had to take place in tranquillity, at regular intervals. Spontaneous or disorderly throwing out meant that the one necessary receipt, the one essential phone number would go missing, necessitating hours of fruitless rummaging.

  ‘Yeah, I’ve a sandwich and a banana in my schoolbag. Here, Mum – catch.’ Lisa found the keys on the hall table and tossed them over to her mother.

  ‘Good girl. Thanks.’ Rose followed Lisa out of the front door and into the van.

  ‘I thought you said you weren’t working today?’ Lisa pulled down the visor above her seat and scrutinized her face inch by inch in the small mirror.

  ‘I’m not working. I’ve just got a lot to do, so I decided to get going early. Put on your seatbelt, sweetheart.’

  ‘Did you ring Damien last night?’ Lisa clicked her belt into place. She readjusted the mirror and immediately started to apply lip gloss. The whole car filled with the smell of sweet, synthetic fruit.

  ‘Are you sure it’s okay to wear that into school?’

  Lisa nodded. ‘Yes, Mother.’ Her tone was weary. ‘Lip gloss is allowed.’ She put the cover back on the pink tube and turned to Rose. ‘Well, did you? Did you ring him?’

  ‘I did. He’s something on this evening, so he’ll be eating with us tomorrow night instead.’

  ‘Cool. So I guess it’ll be homemade lasagne for dinner, then?’

  Rose smiled at her daughter. ‘Got it in one. Any objections?’

  She shook her head. ‘Nope. Can we have fajitas tonight?’

  ‘Sure. How can you think about food so soon after breakfast?’ Rose teased her.

  ‘Look who’s talkin’ – you do it all the time.’

  ‘Only because I have to make it!’

  ‘I’m a growing girl; you said so yourself. Are you telling Damien tomorrow night? About Dad?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rose. She glanced over at her daughter. But she seemed to be fine. More than fine for a Monday morning. Maybe this was all going to be a lot less difficult than Rose had feared. Perhaps she’d underestimated her children’s resilience, their ability to handle an uncertain future. So far, both Lisa and Brian had been surprisingly adult. ‘Keep that news under your hat, just for today. All right?’

  Lisa looked guilty. ‘I’ve already told Carly . . .’ She looked at her mother, her expression tentative: half abashed, half questioning. ‘And Alison.’

  Rose sighed. ‘Well, just leave it at that, okay? I don’t want Damien hearing about this from anyone but me – all right?’

  Lisa nodded. ‘Yeah, but I don’t think he’ll be talking to either of them, do you?’

  Rose laughed. ‘I think they might be just a little bit on the young side for your big brother! But you know what I mean.’ She pulled up outside the school gate. ‘Off you go, now. Have a good day.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum. See ya later – bye!’

  Brian was walking down the driveway just as Rose arrived home. She rolled down her window and waited for him to reach her.

  ‘Want a lift to college?’

  He looked at her in amazement. ‘Have you totally lost it? It’d take you hours at this time of the morning!’

  She shrugged. ‘We could talk along the way.’

  ‘Mum – I’m fine, really.’ He settled his rucksack more firmly on his shoulders. ‘It all came a bit out of left field last night, but I’ve had time to get used to the idea. Don’t be worryin’. I’ll see Dad when I’m ready.’

  Don’t be worryin’. That word again. ‘Okay. I’m glad you’re fine.’

  ‘Is Damien comin’ tonight or tomorrow?’

  ‘Tomorrow, about six.’

  ‘Do you want me to be here when he comes?’

  ‘Do you want to be?’ She smiled at him.

  ‘I don’t really care, one way or the other. There’s a gang goin’ to the cinema straight after lectures, so I’d prefer to do that, if it’s okay with you.’

  ‘That’s perfectly okay with me. Will you be home for dinner this evening?’

  ‘Depends on what it is,’ he grinned at her.

  ‘Your sister has just requested Mexican.’

  ‘Yep, I’ll be home. See ya later, Mum. Mind yourself.’

  ‘You too. ‘Bye now.’ She watched his tall, confident progress down the driveway, and smiled into the rearview mirror.

  She locked the van and made her way towards the front door. As an afterthought, she opened up the garage door, moved Brian’s bike out of the way and folded the clothes horse against the wall. She caught sight of Lisa’s tattered old runners, nestling in a pink bucket in the corner, a fluorescent yellow spade standing guard nearby. All the charms of childhood. It made her smile.

  She drove the van in, parking carefully in the tight space, then eased herself out the door, trying not to get her jeans dirty. Then she closed the garage door and locked it.

  No harm, she thought. Just in case.

  Rose made her way into the kitchen, making a mental note to pick up the dry-cleaning, take the clothes off the line, make time to go to the bank. She was just beginning to scribble her tasks for the day into one of the many notebooks she carried with her, when her mobile rang. It began to vibrate, the sound shuddering along the surface of the wooden table, and turned itself gently in her direction, a technological genie sensing the presence of its owner. She pulled it towards her and glanced at the screen.

  Sarah’s name popped up. Relieved, Rose answered. ‘Hi, Sarah. Thanks for getting back to me.’

  ‘No problem. Is everything all right, Rose? Your message sounded worried.’

  ‘Well, I am worried, and upset and angry. My missing husband landed back on my doorstep last Thursday night.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘Yep. How about that for a good start to my weekend off?’

  ‘After all these years? Jesus, Rose.’

  ‘Eight, to be precise.’

  ‘What does he want?’

  Rose grinned, despite herself. ‘Aren’t we a suspicious bunch – that’s what everyone asks. In a nutshell, to draw a legal line under our separation, and to see his kids.’

  ‘I see.’ Sarah’s tone was wary.

  ‘Anyway, I’ll talk to you when I see you, but I need a favour.’

  ‘Shoot. Anything we can do, anything at all.’

  ‘I’ve a meeting with my solicitor tomorrow afternoon at three. I know we’re going to be under pressure with Friday’s party, but—’

  Sarah cut across her. ‘Consider it done. Take all the time you need. We’ll manage.’

  ‘Thanks, Sarah. I really appreciate it. Don’t forget, Betty and Angela should be back this morning at about ten: keep them as busy as you like. I’ll come in tomorrow, as usual – I can’t even remember if I’ve anything on before Friday; my brain’s addled. Either way, I’ll have to go about two.’

  ‘It’s not a problem, Rose. Take the whole day if you want. It’ll give me an excuse to light a fire under everyone. No harm, every so often.’

  ‘Well, work could be a good distraction, to be honest. Anyway, the next couple of days are pretty full, but I’ll play it by ear.’

  ‘Good luck, then. Shout if there’s anything you want. And don’t worry – we’ll tick over without you. Just do what you have to do.’

  ‘Thanks again, Sarah. See you in the morning.’

  Rose hung up thoughtfully.

  Just do what you have to do.

  And what is that? she wondered. What is it I have to do? I wish
I knew.

  She finished writing in her notebook and stood up briskly. No matter what else, housework had to get done. Then dinner must be made and money must be lodged to the bank. That was this morning looked after.

  The twin pillars of being a domestic goddess: make the bread, manage the dough.

  On an afterthought, Rose added a further item to her list: Ring Sam. Start looking for advice.

  That was enough for now.

  Rose folded the dry clothes carefully and left them on the bed in the spare bedroom. Thus folded, they needed less ironing. It had been one way of coaxing Damien, in the early days, then Brian, and now Lisa to do that chore for themselves: that, and the permission to play music as loud as anyone wanted, as long as nobody disturbed the neighbours.

  ‘How the mighty have fallen,’ she’d once observed to Jane, some years back. They’d been sitting in Rose’s kitchen over their customary glass of wine on a Friday night. ‘To think that I used to iron knickers and socks. Now the stuff is pulled out of the tumble dryer, or off the line, a quick smooth, a quick fold and, as often as not, that’s it. Nobody bothers any more with the finer details.’

  Jane had laughed at her. ‘Your secret is safe with me. I promise never to tell anyone that you used to iron socks!’

  Still, Rose reflected now, even though the domestic routine had been reduced to a mere holding mechanism, it was still extraordinary how long it all took. Shopping, cooking, cleaning: even the barest essentials demanded extra, energetic hours from an already crammed week. There were many times when she missed that leisurely aspect of her old life; times when she longed to do all of the old necessities at a slower, more thorough, more measured pace. She missed the homemaking; now everything she did seemed, at best, like caretaking. At worst, it had all the hallmarks of staying ahead of the posse, keeping your head above water.

  Well, she thought now, at least I still have a home. Better make sure I take care of that. She scooped the dirty laundry out of the basket on the landing and made her way downstairs. She filled the washing machine, keeping a weather eye on the darkening sky outside her kitchen window. Should she risk the clothes line this afternoon, or just go with the tumble dryer?