There's Been a Little Incident, page 16
‘She is.’
‘The way she tracked down the hostel and this Ned character. She’s a real whizz on the internet.’
John picked up his glass to take another sip but was alarmed to see he had drunk most of his wine in the seconds since the waiter poured it. He put it back on the table.
‘Isn’t this just lovely? I love the way instead of your standard lamps all the lights look more like lanterns. And they do such a great line in greenery. You really feel like you’re outside even when you are tucked up inside. Don’t you? What’s that smell do you think?’
‘Incense.’
Anne was staring at her glass of Pinot Grigio with a glassy look in her eyes. He half wondered if she was drunk. She couldn’t be, could she? This was Anne he was talking about.
‘Sorry, Anne. That smell might not be helping your bug. I never thought. Do you think it’s contagious what you have? Of course you don’t feel like wine. I’m terribly sorry, don’t you be drinking that now. I’ll have the man get a cork for me and I can bring it to my room.’
John looked around for the waiter. The sight alone of the wine might make Anne feel worse but all the same he couldn’t take the bottle to the room. Danny would discover it and it would be gone by morning. He would take it and stash it in one of the ferns.
‘I’m pregnant.’
John was still half looking around for an appropriate fern. He did a double take at the bottle and then at his niece. He nearly laughed, but stopped himself just in time. When he looked up at her, he noticed that her face was pale, and he saw something in her eyes that he had never even seen a glint of before – fear. He wondered what the appropriate way to comfort her was. A hug felt out of character but a pat on the back too typically avuncular. He could do better than that, couldn’t he? He needed to do something because his niece looked like a deer in headlights. She was normally so solid, so steady, so reliable. But here she was, all at sea. He realized that the family poured so much energy into supporting those that couldn’t keep upright that those who could keep themselves together got overlooked. He moved to the edge of the seat.
‘Anne, this is wonderful news and Otis is such a nice young man.’
‘Otis?’
Her pale face looked up at him. Lord. There was no way to get out of this. He would have to tell the truth.
‘Oh Anne, I do apologize but after your friend – Mr Lift – visited, Mike mistakenly called him Otis – you know the elevator company Otis? They make most of the world’s elevators and I got confused. I’m sorry. I am not being very helpful here, am I?’
He got a fright when he heard Anne laugh. Her entire armchair shuddered, and she reached out to hold his hand. It felt bizarrely soft, almost translucent like she had never even been outside. John knew his own hands were rough, so he tried not to squeeze Anne’s pale silk ones too hard. She stared up at him laughing. His heart filled at the sound of it, and he wanted to wrap her in a big blanket.
‘Stairs. His name is Alastair Stairs not Lift. Or Otis.’
Her fair hair had a slightly reddish tint in the bright light. Her skin was as white as could be, but somehow she didn’t look as pale as before. Her cheeks were flushed from laughing and he felt a rush of love for her and a corresponding pain that he hadn’t let her know this before now.
33. ANNE
Dublin, 2005
The number of rules broken in such a short space of time made Anne’s shoulders stiffen and her jaw clench with unparalleled levels of anxiety. Annabelle had arrived at the school gates citing an emergency. She had bundled Anne into the car as if someone had died then inexplicably whisked her to the Shelbourne Hotel for afternoon tea on a Tuesday. She had ordered Champagne for two despite the fact that it was astronomically expensive, and that Anne was three years underage. The maître d’ had given them the best seat in the house, in the bay window looking out over St Stephen’s Green, because Annabelle had explained with a flourish that it was Anne’s sixteenth birthday (it wasn’t).
The day was unnaturally summery for March and the view would have been beautiful except for the stress of seeing Annabelle’s beat-up Toyota pulled right up on the kerb impeding pedestrians. A policeman could approach at any moment. But the threat of the police was nothing compared to the impending wrath of Anne’s mother. What if the school phoned Angela? Annabelle was notorious for giving Molly ‘mental health days’ but if Angela knew that Annabelle had pulled Anne out of school all hell would break loose. A trickle of sweat dripped down her neck into her school shirt. Anne glanced up at her aunt who squealed in delight as a four-tiered silver platter arrived at their table laden down with more food than Anne had eaten in the last month.
‘Did I ever tell you about the time Molly’s buggy broke at a drinks party in the Shelbourne bar? I was working on a play starring a young Liam Neeson. Now, this was before he shot to fame as Michael Collins of course but wasn’t he just divine in that, could you cope with how gorgeous he was?’
Anne didn’t know where to start. She could cope. She could absolutely cope but luckily it was a rhetorical question.
‘I had organized a babysitter but of course that had fallen through at the last minute, so I brought Mol in in her old buggy. We weren’t in the door a wet second before the buggy gives way, I mean completely collapses right at the foot of the director. Liam of course was lovely about it, but the director was one of those types – you know the kind – who genuinely wish that children were not a feature of human life? You know, they go around pretending there is basically no such thing and lose their minds if confronted with the reality? NOW of course I would tell him WHERE TO GO but at that time, I was still in that phase of my life where I was still trying to please everyone, you know, that godawful delusional state?’
Anne’s heart was racing. She could barely process a word her aunt was saying but knew there was something wrong with the last bit. Pleasing people was the only way to get through life unscathed. That was about the only thing Anne knew for sure. You kept your head down and caused no trouble. Annabelle paused to take a sip of Champagne but waved a cucumber sandwich around in her other hand like a conductor’s baton so as not to lose momentum.
Around them, Anne could sense middle-class ladies in cardigans struggle not to eavesdrop. Usually this would send Anne spiralling with embarrassment but with Annabelle she knew it was inevitable. Even if Annabelle wasn’t a minor celebrity, you’d think she was. Her auburn hair cascaded in rich thick arcs over her shoulders. Her green eyes sat under powerful eyebrows, darker than her hair. She was all percussion – large rings tapped her glass, bangles clanked each other, and multiple necklaces bounced on her remarkably tanned chest. The cardigans weren’t staring because Annabelle was loud, they were staring because she was hypnotic.
‘So I’m there trying to keep Mol from climbing up the director’s legs, Liam is trying to put the banjaxed buggy back together and then two gentlemen approach us from the bar. Now, you think Liam Neeson in Michael Collins is a hunk?’
This time Annabelle did pause but it seemed more for effect, so Anne didn’t have time to clear up the misunderstanding that she was somehow obsessed with a middle-aged actor she only knew from History class when the teacher put Michael Collins on for the tenth time.
‘Well, let’s just say Liam and I looked up to see two American men who could only be described as DIVINE. Honestly, if Liam were here now, he’d say the same. One looked like Robert Redford and the other that doctor off ER, not the bald one, the other one.’
‘Dr Ross?’
‘Dr Ross! That’s the one! Good woman, Anne. Exactly that.’
Annabelle beamed at Anne like Anne had just completed a cryptic maths theorem. Even though Anne knew that the excessive praise was just Annabelle being Annabelle, she let herself bathe in the prideful glow. She basked in being so close to such a bright light. Today for some inexplicable reason, Anne was the centre of Annabelle’s focus and it was exhilarating.
‘So they turn to us—’
Annabelle launched into an impression of what seemed like a cowboy from Texas.
‘Mam, we can’t help but notice that your stroller is a Maclaren Superdreamer pushchair model 400?’
The cardigans around them had stopped pretending not to listen. Annabelle must have realized this because she generously turned in her chair so the entire room could hear.
‘Well, it turns out, aren’t the gentlemen here to attend the WORLD GLOBAL FORUM of Maclaren pushchairs?’
Several cardigans murmured in excitement and one lady clapped.
‘So Robert Redford kneels down and Dr Ross rolls up his sleeves and another man – this one is less good-looking – think the other doctor in ER – the bald one – gets out a screwdriver and they start fastening the buggy back together and talking about how sorry they are because the Maclaren is a superior make and we shouldn’t have to experience this. In a jiffy the buggy is as good as new, Molly is squealing with delight, crawling all over the director who is dumbstruck, and Liam is up at the bar ordering a round of whiskeys for us all.’
Anne turned in the Venetian chair as the entire front room of the Shelbourne erupted into applause. Middle-aged women in pale pink and cream smiled from ear-to-ear. One woman was waving her hankie in the air like she was in Trafalgar Square on VE Day. Annabelle lowered her voice and winked at Anne as her fingers hovered between a scone and another sandwich.
‘Well, that got quite out of hand.’
Suddenly as the women turned back to their tables, Anne was filled with a note of panic. The elaborate afternoon tea; the sun spilling into the Lord Mayor’s Lounge; all Annabelle’s energy focused on her; the light, happy feeling that was filling her; she didn’t deserve it. It wasn’t hers to have. What would Molly think? Even though she was down the country on some retreat she might be annoyed she’d missed out. Although that wasn’t probable; Molly was a lot of things but jealous wasn’t one of them. A worse thought struck Anne – maybe Annabelle did think it was Anne’s birthday and Anne was accepting this very expensive tea under false pretences.
‘Annabelle, do you mind me asking why you brought me here today?’
‘Good question.’
Annabelle answered without looking up. She was having a difficult time deciding between the scone and the sandwich. In the end she put the sandwich directly into her mouth and the scone on her plate. She cut it in half and put an excessive amount of butter and jam on each side. She looked around for the waiter, pointing towards the jam, her mouth just about working off the sandwich.
‘I was just worried that you did actually think it was my birthday and maybe I was accepting this tea under false pretences.’
‘Your birthday is December 30th, my darling girl.’
Anne couldn’t help but be touched that Annabelle knew her birthday.
‘Do you ever miss your dad?’
Anne froze in the giant Venetian chair. All her senses heightened, and she could feel each tiny muscle from her toes to her scalp tighten. It was like Annabelle had dropped a bomb and it took Anne several seconds to check her body and realize that she hadn’t been hit, that she had survived the mention of Gus. It took her another minute to realize that there was no one near her who would be affected by the bomb who she would have to pick up and put back together.
‘People have good parts and bad parts to them, Anne. And just because they do bad things it doesn’t make them all bad. So if you miss your dad or you hate your dad or you want to talk about your dad or you never ever want to talk about your dad, those things are all equally valid, but it must be hard to have to pretend he never existed.’
Anne knew from her face that Annabelle didn’t need a response. She started pouring the neglected tea into the most beautiful china cups with a gold trim. The tea was a translucent copper. Anne took the cup Annabelle offered her and felt instant comfort just from holding it in her hands.
‘This tea is just to say, I love you, Anne.’
Anne was surprised to find Annabelle staring directly at her. She had no idea what to say back. She was completely overwhelmed. She couldn’t remember a time in her life when she had been singled out like this. It didn’t feel natural. Anne played a supporting role. She rowed in. She kept her head down. Annabelle smiled and seemed to forgive Anne when she responded by casting her eyes down and sipping her tea. Maybe Annabelle knew that it was the only way Anne could stop the tears that had welled up from seeping out. The tea was exceptional. Lapsang souchong. Anne made a mental note to check if Crazy Prices had it. With a flurry of courage she reached up for a slice of lemon drizzle cake and hoped that at home, her mother wasn’t calling the Guards.
34. ANNE
Phuket, April 18th 2019
‘I couldn’t get us out today, but by god, by the time I was through with the poor devil on the other end of the line, we were on a flight tomorrow.’
Anne woke from a nap on the couch to find Uncle John pacing the living space of her suite. He grabbed a bag and started to stuff things in it. The bag happened to be B’s and every item John packed was hotel property. He placed plastic-wrapped flip-flops on top of a robe that had Shangri-La clearly sown on it in gold thread.
‘We will say that Helen is traumatized.’
Anne wondered what John was talking about.
‘We’ll say that she is insisting that I return home at once after my health episode and that you have kindly offered to accompany me. Then if anyone else offers to come too I will SHUT THEM DOWN.’
Uncle John shot his arm out in a karate chop like he would physically attack any member of his family who volunteered to accompany him home. He sat down on an armchair across from her.
‘I might have to put on a bit of a show. Feign heart pain and weakness so you mustn’t get a fright, OK?’
Anne attempted to sit up, but the sleepy sensation was nice. She tried to remember the longest conversation she’d ever had with John one-on-one before this but could only remember him congratulating her for never wearing leggings, which he thought were a scourge on society. Now he jumped from one topic to another, animatedly finding new problems he could solve.
‘Of course, we’ll have to be completely on our guard at this dinner tonight. There will be all manner of hurdles. For instance, shellfish – what if B makes shellfish? I will jump in of course and eat yours but doesn’t everybody know you are mad for full fat Coke and, well, that’s out for sure.’
Anne struggled not to laugh.
‘Why?’
‘The caffeine, Anne.’
John sat down in the armchair opposite her, rustling in his pocket for his mini-notebook.
‘Some of these things I am more worried about than others, but I’ll start with the most dangerous. Soft cheeses, undercooked meat, raw eggs, organ meat, caffeine – that’s you, Anne – high-mercury fish, raw fish – look, will we just say no fish to be safe, Anne?’
Uncle John looked up from the list that he’d clearly found online, his pen hovering over the word fish, anxious to cross it off. His eyebrows were furrowed, like the question of the fish was the final detail in the negotiation of the Treaty of Versailles. His face was red, and his hairline had an overall sheen even in the air-conditioned hotel. Given his age, his hair should really be fully grey by now but large clumps of it were still dark brown.
He was wearing an old pair of loafers that he used to stock in his shop, replacing his own every alternate spring for the last thirty years. Anne could picture him wearing them on the beach in West Cork in the 1990s. One of those summers, walking barefoot up the lane, Bobby had stood on a thorn on the way home from the beach. Uncle John had carried him home on his back, then performed surgery on the thorn. He had sourced a needle and sterilized it, first with a flame then in some Poitín he’d found in the house. They had all stood around him, mesmerized as he warmed the area around the thorn in a makeshift footbath and eased it out with the needle. He wasn’t any of their dads. He was all their dads. She couldn’t let him leave without finding Molly. He needed to bring her home. Saving her, saving all of them, was who he was.
‘You can’t leave Thailand, Uncle John. What about Molly? Danny can come with me if you are worried, or Bobby.’
John sat back into the armchair and let out a sigh. The silence made Anne worry that he had given up hope; that the prospect of a trip up to some remote ashram, if they ever discovered where, was too much for him. But he couldn’t give up; he was the family hero. He couldn’t be broken because then the family would be broken. Anne would be fine on her own, she always had been.
‘You are just as much my niece as Molly is, Anne. Just because you cause no trouble doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to be taken care of.’
Her instinct was to continue to fight him. To tell him she was fine. That Molly needed him more. But something in her desisted. A safe feeling came over her and she embraced it. Uncle John seemed to lose his franticness.
‘Besides, Lady V has transformed into Jessica Fletcher and Danny has gone native. Bobby even seems to be working through whatever issue he has with poor B. They will be fine without us.’
‘Thanks, Uncle John, but do we have to go back so suddenly? I will still be pregnant at home.’
She would need to find a way to communicate the development without saying the word. It felt so heavy, so final. She knew you couldn’t be a little bit pregnant but that’s how she felt – a tiny bit pregnant. One of these moments, it would hit her and she would have a meltdown. She – Anne Black – was pregnant. Pregnant, unmarried and the father was a slight English accountant who talked incessantly and whom she had only known for a matter of weeks. Unlikely didn’t cover it. Unfathomable. Impossible. Only true a little bit. Only a small bit pregnant.
Suddenly it hit her that when she got back she would have her mother to contend with. That’s when she’d really need John’s help. Hopefully he’d intervene to ward off a séance with a bishop or a marathon set of novenas or whatever unmarried mothers had to do these days to appease fanatical Catholics. The thought of it exhausted her. Anne would really rather nap in the Shangri-La than be told she was going to hell.
