Duffy and Son, page 14
‘Is that it?’ I asked her. ‘Are we all up to date?’
She shook her head and tossed aside the tissue she’d been balling up in her right hand. An old habit. ‘No. No, there’s more.’
‘Go on.’
‘During this depression, she noticed that she was getting forgetful. She thought it was another symptom, that was all, like loss of appetite or not sleeping well. But it didn’t improve when she started to feel more like herself. It got worse, in fact.’
It was obvious where this was going. But I didn’t interrupt.
‘There was a deli near her apartment. A little old man ran it. She used to go in there all the time and always had a nice chat with him. One day she went in and realized she had no idea what his name was. It wasn’t like it was on the tip of her tongue, she said. It was gone. That frightened her and she went to the doctor. They did tests. She has Alzheimer’s.’
I didn’t know what to say so I went with the obvious. ‘How long has she got?’
‘Years, but probably not many.’
I folded my arms in front of me on the kitchen table. It had been hard to tell what Eleanor was thinking as she told me all this. Sometimes she’d sounded sympathetic. Sometimes she’d sounded contemptuous. Sometimes she’d sounded like she was mad at me. I looked at her intently now, trying to get a clue. She gazed back, face completely blank, like a woman looking out of a bus window.
‘How did she sound?’ I asked.
Eleanor shrugged. ‘I can barely remember what she sounded like before. There’s a bit of England in her voice, I did notice that. More than a bit, actually.’
‘No, I mean did she sound … ill?’
‘Nope. It’s still early. Still at the “occasionally forgetting stuff” stage. Tends to misplace things, she said. And she’s lost her balance once or twice. But you wouldn’t know anything was wrong just talking to her.’
‘She wants to meet you, she said?’
‘Yep.’
‘And?’
Another shrug. ‘I don’t know. That’d be a big step, wouldn’t it?’
‘Because if you’re asking for my permission–’
‘I’m not asking for your permission.’ She scowled at me, her face reddening with amazing speed.
‘Well, don’t get testy. You said, when you arrived, that you weren’t going to tell me but you changed your mind and I thought maybe you–’
‘I changed my mind about notifying you. Messages and a call is one thing, but she seems serious about getting into our lives, so I thought you should know. Whatever happens.’
‘When you say, our lives …’
‘What?’
‘Well, what about Jim? Or has she forgotten she has two children?’ As soon as the words were out, I flinched and felt my stomach roll over. ‘Oh! I didn’t mean forgotten because of the Al–’
‘I know.’
‘It was a bad choice of words! I meant–’
‘I know, Jesus! She did mention Jim, of course she did. Wanted to know all about him. I think she contacted me because she found me. My stupid Facebook account’s in my maiden name. Jim’s not on any social media. You know what he’s like.’
‘She could have got in touch with me easiest of all,’ I sniffed. ‘All she had to do was write to the house.’ I let Eleanor squirm for a moment before I put her out of her misery. ‘That was a joke. I know it’s not me she’s curious about. Did she even mention my name?’
‘She asked about you, yes. I gave her the gist.’
That ‘gist’ was a kindness. It implied that my life was an incident-packed rollercoaster and no one could hope to describe the whole adventure in all its vast richness. All you could do was take a stab at a big-picture summary. In reality, I guessed she’d said something like, Retired from the shop, never met anyone new, still lives in the same house. I imagined Una sneering.
‘What did she say about Jim?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘About the fact that he took over the shop and never, y’know … Still lives here. With me.’
Eleanor made a noise with her lips. ‘She didn’t say much.’
That seemed to kill the conversation stone-dead for a while. We worked on our cups of tea, staring at different walls. I could imagine what Una was thinking. Bad enough that she’d married a useless prick. Now her son was following the same tedious path. Two old bachelors, stuck in a grey little town.
‘I’m surprised you haven’t thrown it out there yet,’ Eleanor said then.
‘What?’
‘Your theory. About all this.’
‘I have a theory, do I?’
‘I’d say you do, yeah. I know I do.’
‘Go on, then.’
She shook her head, slowly, deliberately. ‘I think it’s your place more than mine.’
I allowed a dramatic pause. ‘Your mother doesn’t give a fuck about us, Eleanor. Any of us. She’s popped up after all this time because she’s going to need full-time care and she has no one else to turn to.’
She nodded, just as slowly, just as deliberately. We heard the front door open. Jim was back.
The three of us went out for lunch, to a hotel. I supposed we’d talk about Una and nothing else, but it wasn’t like that at all. Jim had been brought up to speed before we left the house and neither he nor Eleanor seemed keen to stay on the subject after that. We didn’t so much as mention her name on the short car journey. That was devoted to Eleanor marvelling – marvelling – at Jim’s new look. She really couldn’t get over it and made such a fuss that I felt guilty about my own tepid reaction. When we arrived at the hotel, Jim headed straight for the Gents. As soon as he’d gone, Eleanor grabbed my arm.
‘He’s so different,’ she gasped.
‘Yeah, he used to have hair,’ I said. ‘Now he doesn’t.’
‘Can you not see it? He’s completely different. It’s like he’s got a whole new head. His face looks different. He’s dressed better. And he’s getting exercise. Jim!’
He was wearing a new shirt, now that she mentioned it. A nice one, for a change. ‘Maybe.’
‘Definitely. You can’t see it because you’re too close. He’s a new man.’
‘Even if that’s true, he’s a new man without a girlfriend who still lives at home with his father.’
‘Nothing to report there, then?’
I wished I’d kept my mouth shut. It wasn’t a topic I was keen to discuss. I couldn’t shake the feeling that boosting Jim’s love life was just one more thing I’d failed at. It wasn’t that I’d run out of good ideas – I’d never had any in the first place. Frank had come up with dancing lessons. The head-shaving thing had dropped in my lap and, besides, was by no means a ‘good idea’.
‘No,’ I said. ‘Come on, let’s get a table. He’ll find us.’
The hotel, an old one not far outside town, had recently had its first makeover in forever. Everywhere you looked was chrome and glass. We all hated the new look. They’d finally dragged the place out of the 1970s, we agreed, but only as far as the 1980s. We tried to outdo each other in the bitchiness of our reviews. Jim, fair play to him, won the day with, ‘It looks like somewhere Olivia Newton-John would have made a video.’ A waiter appeared promptly enough, at least, and when he’d left us alone again, we fell into comfortable silence. I knew we’d break it with more talk about Una. It felt like the topic had been quietly baking and now it was time to take it out of the oven. Sure enough, Jim spoke up.
‘So, tell us,’ he said to Eleanor. ‘What were you like on the phone? With herself.’
‘What do you mean, what was I like?’
‘I mean, were you snippy, were you chatty? What was, y’know, your attitude?’
‘I would say I was cautious. Not rude, I don’t think, though God knows I had every right to be.’
‘I’m pretty sure I would have been rude as fuck,’ Jim replied. ‘Then again, I’m not sure I would have got on the phone with her in the first place.’
‘Are you having a go?’ Eleanor snapped.
‘Oh my God, no, I’m not having a go, I’m saying it must have been weird.’
‘It was,’ she said in a milder tone. ‘Extremely.’
‘Why do you think she’s popped up after all this time?’ I asked Jim. He was taking a sip of water at the time. The glass froze at his lips. His eyes met mine, and his eyebrows slowly rose. He lowered the glass. ‘Is it not blindingly obvious to you?’
Eleanor and I exchanged a glance. ‘A theory has been aired,’ she said carefully.
‘She’s on her way out,’ Jim said with a shrug. ‘She’s hoping we’re dopey enough to forgive everything and be her nurses. Duh.’
I felt a quick flush of shame. What did it say about us that this was our automatic conclusion? Were we bad people? I chased the feeling away. Not a peep out of her for twenty-odd years, not so much as a postcard until she found herself alone and seriously ill? No. Our conclusion was automatic because it was the only one that made sense.
‘I think that’s more or less right,’ Eleanor said. ‘But I don’t think she’s hoping for nurses, plural. I think she has just the one in mind.’ She looked at me. I looked back.
‘Come on,’ Jim snorted. ‘Dad’s stupid, but he’s not that stupid.’
This didn’t raise a smile from Eleanor. And it didn’t raise a smile from me. The two of us kept looking at each other. We might have kept it up for minutes if a waiter hadn’t appeared at my shoulder, asking who was having the prawns.
17
‘Fuck off,’ Frank said when I told him the news. It was a phrase that he put to an astonishing variety of uses. In this case, it was an expression of surprise. We were in the pub, a few nights after Eleanor’s visit. There was some golf competition on the telly. An Irishman was doing well. Every so often, as I gave Frank the full story, a roar or a groan would go up from our fellow patrons. One of them was timed with exquisitely bad taste: just as I said the words ‘Alzheimer’s disease’ a putt went in and the whole pub cheered in delight.
‘I never thought I’d see the day,’ Frank sighed when I was finished.
‘Me neither.’
‘Bloody hell.’
‘I know.’
‘Fuck me.’
‘Yep.’
‘Jesus Chr–’
‘All right, Frank, you can stop being amazed now. I agree with you. It’s an unexpected development.’
I was impatient. His input would likely be horrific, but it would be honest. I wanted to hear it. He mulled it over for a minute, staring into his pint.
‘You’re dreading all this, I bet,’ he said then.
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Well, we know where it’s going to wind up, don’t we? Eleanor’s already spoken to her and she’s going to meet her.’
‘She didn’t say that. She’s thinking about it.’
‘Come on. She’ll do it. She’s curious. And who can blame her? Once she replies to that first message, let alone agrees to a phone call, it’s inevitable, whatever she might think of her mother. Back to you, though. Listen, I don’t want to be offensive–’
‘Christ!’
‘What?’
‘I’ve never heard you issue a warning. This is going to be good.’
‘All right, lookit. My point is, Eleanor’s going to meet her, then maybe Jim will start to wonder, and the next thing you know, Una will be here. In Monaghan. At your very door, maybe. Her old door. Even if you don’t want to meet her, she’s going to hear all about you and you’re going to hear all about her. And, well … comparisons are going to be made, aren’t they?’
‘Comparisons?’
‘Comparisons. She’s been off in London having relationships and jobs and yet more affairs and by all accounts living the high life, while you’ve been, y’know, not.’
I drank half my pint in three tremendous gulps. ‘Wow. Stabbed in the front by my best friend.’
‘Ah, Eugene, I–’
‘It’s all right. This has all occurred to me. Repeatedly. She’s the cool one. I get it.’
‘I wouldn’t say cool. She was only in London in the first place because she walked out on her husband and kids. There’s nothing cool about it. Dramatic, maybe.’
I nodded glumly. ‘Yep.’
‘But sure, your life has had plenty of drama too! Repeatedly cheated on, abandoned, left to raise two kids all on–’
He stopped with a strangled gurgle, having copped on that his attempt to find a bright side amounted to pointing out that all my dramas were, at heart, Una’s dramas.
I cleared my throat. ‘Anyway, what do you make of this: the general opinion seems to be that Una showing up and Una having a serious illness aren’t … unrelated. She hasn’t suddenly taken an interest in us. She’s realized she’s going to need help.’
Frank chewed on it for a moment. ‘Well, not necessarily.’
‘Come on. You think it’s just a coincidence?’
‘No, but it doesn’t have to be that she expects you to take care of her. It’s bound to make you reflect on things, news like that. Maybe she wants to clear the air before she … goes.’
‘Clear the air? It’s not like we fell out over where to go on holidays, Frank.’
‘I know.’
‘Jesus.’
‘I didn’t mean clear the air as in make everything all right again, I meant it more like, whaddayacallit, settle up the accounts.’
‘Holy shit! You think she’s entitled to some sort of pay–’
‘Why are you being a bollocks, Eugene? Maybe I haven’t picked exactly the right words, but you know fine well what I mean.’
He had me there. Of course I knew what he meant. There was every chance that Una didn’t expect anything at all from us. Maybe she really was looking for some sort of closure while she could still process it.
‘Sorry,’ I mumbled. ‘Yeah, I know what you mean.’
‘And that’d be worse, wouldn’t it? If she had the nerve to show up after all this time expecting you to look after her, you could tell her to fuck off. You’d be perfectly entitled. But if she just wants to talk. Whole other ball game. How could you say no to that? Despite everything? The simple wish of a dying woman?’
Vintage Frank. Nail on the head. No comfort whatsoever. ‘Yep.’
‘So, what’s the plan?’
‘Don’t have one.’
He rotated his pint on its beer mat. ‘This comparison business.’
‘Yeah?’
‘I’ll tell you one thing you could do to make it a bit more … well, to even things out a bit.’
‘I’m all ears.’
‘You could ask that woman out.’
‘What woman?’ I had the balls to say.
He laughed and prolonged my agony by taking a drink. ‘The one from the charity thing. The one you got all annoyed about when I paid her a compliment. The one you were all moo-eyed over. That one. Ye fucking chancer.’
He had me. ‘Annie,’ I said.
‘Annie. Elegant Annie.’
All of my teenage jealousy had melted away. It was a thrill now to hear him use that word. I enjoyed the feeling for a few seconds. And then it, too, melted away.
‘She’s an attractive woman, for sure, but good God, I’m not going to ask her out. That’s crazy talk.’
‘Why not?’
‘Be reasonable, Frank.’
‘That’s not an answer.’
‘Well, okay, for a start, the last time I asked a woman out was 1971. You can’t go around trying to get a girlfriend at my stage of life. It’s ridiculous. Especially when there’s such a big age difference.’
‘She’s not that much younger, is she? I’d say she’s getting on for sixty.’
‘Ah, no. God, no way. Early fifties would be my guess. You only got that one look at her in a dark pub.’
That gave him pause for a moment, but it didn’t give him stop. ‘Still. Let’s say fifteen years. Sure that’s nothing. It’s not May to December. It’s more like late-August to December.’
I shook my head. ‘Won’t happen. Can’t happen.’
‘Why? You’re old, you’re not dead.’
‘Touching words, as ever. What about you? Have you ever thought about–’
‘We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you.’
‘Well, why not? It’s been ten years since Bernie–’
‘Stop distracting, for fuck’s sake. I don’t know how I’d react if I met a woman I liked, but it doesn’t matter because I haven’t. You have.’
I mulled it over for a few seconds. ‘That’d be a piss-poor reason for asking someone out, wouldn’t it? My estranged wife has shown up and I don’t want to look like a lonely oul gobshite who’s wasted his life, so would you like to go to the pictures sometime?’
Frank stared at me and shook his head in disbelief. ‘For fuck’s sake, man. I didn’t mean you should ask her because Una’s back. I was only trying to give you a little push, which you need, on account of your general uselessness.’
‘Lovely. That’s a lovely thing to–’
‘And, for the love of Christ, if you do ask her out, don’t suggest the “pictures”. You might as well tell her how impressed you are with these new talkies they have now.’
‘I won’t be telling her anything about anything, because it ain’t happening.’
‘Grand, so,’ he said. ‘Pint?’
I nodded and off he went to the bar. This sort of thing happened fairly often with Frank. One minute he’d be trying to convince you of something like his life depended on it, and the next, he’d drop the subject with no hint of a warning. Sometimes it was a tactic. He’d start up again at a later hour or date, armed with fresh arguments. Sometimes it seemed to be genuine boredom. Usually, I was somewhere between not bothered and completely delighted with these sudden cancellations. Not this time. As I watched him fish through his wallet at the bar, I realized I was trying to think of ways to get him back on to the topic as quickly as possible.
18
For a man who definitely wasn’t going to ask Annie out, I sure spent a lot of time over the next few days wondering what I’d suggest if I asked Annie out. Idle mental chatter, I told myself. No harm in thinking a few thoughts. In any event, I quickly ruled out any kind of activity. It’d be hard enough trying to make sure I didn’t say anything stupid, I wouldn’t want to add complications. Also, I couldn’t think of any activities. A nice dinner in a decent restaurant, that’d be the chap to go for, if I was going for it, which I wasn’t. When I was younger, Monaghan’s idea of a decent restaurant was a chip shop that had seats in it. There were options now. I did a search on my phone – just out of curiosity – and saw recommendations for several places I’d never even heard of. The best reviews seemed to be for an Indian called The Golden Tiger. That was a brutal name, I thought. It sounded like a grotty take-away. I pictured threadbare carpet and sticky plastic tablecloths. But the pictures on its website – I looked at its website, for the laugh – showed a large, beautifully decorated room, all cream and beige under tasteful lighting. I tried to imagine myself sitting in there with Annie. On a date. It was impossible. I lowered my sights and tried to imagine myself doing the actual asking. That was impossible too.
