Again, Rachel, page 16
Even though they’d split up seven years ago, he and Shiv still had this weird competitive thing. She was an interesting one: quick and clever, always analysing situations to find the money-making angle. Her dark hair was cut in a chic elfin cap – daring, right? Other than that, she was fairly ordinary-looking, but no one noticed because blasts of confidence puffed from her at regular intervals, as if she were a battery-operated air freshener.
For a long time she’d worked for a mid-market fashion chain. When retail began to die, she pivoted to online, setting up a site selling cool children’s clothes. This was hugely successful, so much so that she was now consulting for the Irish fashion board. Next she’d started a business importing mobile saunas and that too was a winner.
According to Quin, she’d put the fear of God in his previous girlfriends. But while I thought she was really kind of mean, she didn’t scare me.
I sat at the table, scrolling emails, stress-eating edamame beans and stealing glances at Quin. Coming face to face with Luke had sent my past crashing into my present and my head was melted. I’d one foot in my old life and another in the now and, as a result, my set-up with Quin seemed slightly … unfamiliar.
‘Quin?’ I asked. ‘Can we talk? For a moment?’
‘Okay.’ With grim energy, he was whisking something in a saucepan.
‘Luke came to my house last night.’
‘What?’ The whisking stopped abruptly. ‘Is he still … I thought he’d gone back?’
‘Still here. He came to complain about Kate and Devin.’
‘Seriously? What’s it to him?’ Then, ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes.’ Well, I would be.
‘… Why didn’t you tell me sooner?’
‘Last night, I was … shocked, I suppose is the word. Then today, work, you know? Quin, it was nothing, though. He rang to apologize this morning.’
‘Oh. Okay …’
Finley wandered in. ‘Any food?’ He opened and closed cupboards until he found a bag of Doritos and began horsing into them.
‘You’d better eat your dinner.’ Quin’s threat sounded half-hearted.
‘Course I’ll eat my dinner.’ Finley grinned through a mouthful of half-crunched crisps and swung from the room.
He was a cheerful kid. Other than eating non-stop and needing new shoes on an almost weekly basis there was very little drama.
Liberty was a trickier proposition. In the time I’d known her, she’d gone from age thirteen to fifteen, two of the toughest years in any woman’s life.
In the beginning, I was introduced as Quin’s ‘friend’. I stayed over only when they were at Shiv’s. But Liberty had cornered me. ‘I’m not stupid. You’re Dad’s girlfriend. And you’re not my mum.’
Trying to sound calm, I had agreed. ‘You already have a mum. You don’t need another one.’
I was pathetic, trying to be all Cool Adult. In my happiest imaginings Liberty and I would have a Movie of the Week relationship where I whispered ways to conceal the crop of angry-looking spots along her jawline or told her not to worry that her torso had had a growth spurt so that her legs looked disproportionately short because it would all come good in the end.
But it hadn’t exactly worked out that way. Although I steered well clear of any disciplinary matters, every couple of weeks there was a meltdown where she flung things, yelling that she hated Quin, she hated me, she hated Shiv, she hated Garrett and that she’d never asked to be born.
I didn’t take it personally. My earlier life had been Tantrum Central: Liberty was a rank amateur compared to Claire and Helen. Being honest, I’d gone the full poltergeist once or twice myself.
‘So what did he expect you to do about Kate and the nephew?’ Quin asked.
‘I don’t really know. Nothing, maybe.’
The doorbell rang and Quin looked harried. ‘That’ll be Shiv. Can we talk about this later?’
‘There’s really nothing to talk about, but sure.’
Shiv and her partner Garrett had arrived with two bottles of alcohol-free wine. Of all the things I loved about Quin, Shiv and her boyfriend, Garrett, were bottom of the list. Brash and flashy, they got excited by rich people and they thought cocaine was glamorous.
Garrett, curly-haired, big and loud, was ‘in property’. He wasn’t my favourite person, and I wasn’t his, but we all kissed hello, because we were middle-class.
Quin took a break from his steamy clattering to assess the alcohol-free wine. ‘And we’re doing this … why?’
‘To cut down on mid-week drinking,’ Shiv said. ‘We still get the experience of wine, without the actual alcohol.’
‘Cool.’ Because this was fashionable, Quin wanted to try it.
‘Rachel would know about that,’ Garrett said. ‘No alcohol mid-week.’
‘Or ever,’ Shiv added.
‘That’s me!’ I smiled gamely. ‘No fun!’
(Once, when he was very drunk, Garrett had confided how worried he and Shiv had got when they realized I was sticking around. ‘We love going to France. For the wine? We used to go with Quin and Elin.’ (Elin had been the girlfriend before me.) ‘Not going to happen now, is it? Q-Dog’s mad about you.’)
‘I’m wondering’, Shiv admitted, ‘if this, the alcohol-free wine, might become a thing …’
That was Shiv very much on-brand – what people earned and how they could be persuaded to spend it seemed to occupy about nine-tenths of her brain.
The third time we’d met, she’d quizzed me on my finances: ‘Do you get a bonus? No? Wow.’ ‘Could you make more in private practice?’ ‘You could? So why don’t you do that?’ Questions that became ever more personal until I found the courage to say, ‘That’s enough about me. How much do you earn, Shiv?’
She’d given me a long stare, followed by a short laugh and a nod. ‘You’ll do.’
Shiv looked around Quin’s kitchen and asked, ‘Where’s Liberty?’
‘In her room, crying.’ Finley supplied. ‘She’s on her period, she says.’
Garrett muttered, ‘Jesus Christ …’
If Claire had been there, she’d have squared up to him and said, through gritted teeth, ‘Fifty per cent of the population experience it every month for thirty years, it’s as natural as breathing, get over yourself.’ Sadly, I wasn’t Claire.
‘I’d better go up to her.’ Shiv left the room.
Quin resumed his clattering at the stove and Garrett and I eyed each other.
‘How’s work, Rachel? The junkies behaving themselves? Cool, cool.’
He and Shiv were baffled by my job – they thought I was a do-gooder.
‘Why don’t you open the fake wine?’ I suggested. Gratefully he dived onto the job.
Shiv had returned, trailing Liberty, who looked pale and very young. Also, as her lower half still hadn’t caught up with the growth spurt her torso had enjoyed, she looked as if she’d been sawn in half and reassembled with the wrong legs. My heart went out to her.
‘Dinner’s ready,’ Quin said, and there was a rush to the table.
‘What is it?’ Shiv examined the artfully presented platter.
‘Pasta with burnt aubergine, pomegranate and tahini cream. Ottolenghi.’
‘Ottolenghi!’ Shiv was impressed, then irritated that she’d shown it. ‘Here, have some fake wine. Rachel? Fake wine?’
‘No thanks.’
‘Why not?’ Quin asked. ‘It’s got no alcohol.’
Trying to hide my embarrassment, I said, ‘Not recommended for me to replicate the drinking experience.’
And he knew it. Usually he was cool about me not drinking or taking drugs; the few times he’d given me the baleful Captain Buzzkill eyes tended to coincide with the presence of Shiv and Garrett.
Or maybe tonight it was because I’d hurt him by taking too long to tell him about Luke’s visit?
‘Oh?’ He shrugged. ‘Okay.’
Garrett swirled the pale yellow liquid and sipped it thoughtfully. ‘You know, it’s not bad.’
‘Tastes like the real thing,’ Quin agreed. ‘So, cheers!’
They clinked glasses.
I’d give it forty minutes.
Finley began to shovel food into his mouth, then mumbled, sounding surprised, ‘This is really good.’
Finley would eat anything, but it was genuinely great.
‘Bit ambitious for a weeknight, though.’ Shiv pointed her fork at Quin.
‘That so?’ Quin looked amused.
‘You really did all of this prep just before we arrived?’ Her stare was bold, as she watched him.
He smiled some more, skimmed his glance away, then slid it back to her. ‘Did some of it last night.’
‘Hah!’ Shiv was delighted. ‘Knew it!’
Everyone kept ploughing into the food until literally everything was eaten. As soon as the kids left the table Quin set down his glass with an air of surrender. ‘The pretend wine isn’t doing it for me.’
Garrett exhaled. ‘Thank God someone said it.’
‘Usually, two glasses in,’ Quin said. ‘I feel good, but right now life still feels …’
‘… too real. Totally.’ Shiv turned appraising eyes on me. ‘Must be how it is for Rachel all of the time.’
Once again I summoned my game smile. Sometimes I wondered about the energy I expended making drinkers feel okay about the fact that I didn’t drink. With all of that effort, I could have sailed around Ireland in a crate.
Quin was on his feet and opening a bottle of real wine. Gratefully the three drinkers gulped it down.
‘That’s more like it,’ Garrett gasped. He’d drained his glass. ‘Making up for lost time.’
‘We’ll try again with the other stuff,’ Shiv said. ‘But not tonight. And seriously, the dinner was great. Especially with it being vegetarian.’
‘Vegan,’ Quin said.
‘All of it?’
‘Yeah. Plant-based living. That’s me.’ Then, ‘Except for the times I’d prefer a rare steak –’
‘Me too.’
‘– but got to get with the programme, right?’
‘Right!’
They grinned at each other and, glad to see Quin in better form, I asked, with affection, ‘Why did you two ever split up?’
‘Because he was sleeping with my best friend’s sister.’
I knew that. It hadn’t been a real question.
‘You started it,’ Quin replied. ‘Sneaking off for long, flirty lunchtimes with your boss’s boss!’
They both laughed loudly and for a small, very scary, moment I wondered what I was doing with these people.
‘Are you going to meet him again?’ Quin asked. ‘Do you want to?’
I didn’t know. For the first time in a long time, I knew where to find Luke. I could corner him and all the conversations I’d had with him in my head I could have for real.
‘No … but … it might be a good idea if we talked out some of the bitterness. Look at you and Shiv, you get on great.’
‘Yeah, we’re friends, because there’s nothing left, no love.’
‘There’s no love between Luke and me either.’
The wound still hurt, but it was a shadow of what it once had been. ‘Maybe this is a chance to tidy up a painful part of my past? But I’m not going after him to try to make it happen.’
‘Okay.’ Suddenly he looked very tired. ‘Just keep me posted. And now I really need some sleep.’ He turned on his side and I hooked my arm around him, pulling myself tight against his back. In no time, he was snoring softly but even though I was absolutely exhausted, my head kept racing.
I couldn’t let Luke undermine the life I’d rebuilt. That moment earlier when I’d wondered what I was doing with Quin and the others? There couldn’t be a repeat of that.
Yes, Quin had flaws – so did I, so did everyone. No one on earth was perfect. Maybe even the Dalai Lama left the light on all night in the bathroom, keeping the fan running, even though he’d been repeatedly asked to turn it off when he’d finished cleaning his teeth.
It was absolutely okay to have moments when you thought, This person is a bit of an arse. It was normal. Quin wasn’t a perfect person – but Luke hadn’t been either. It had taken a long time to realize that, because I’d idealized everything about him. Which was why his behaviour at the end had seemed so unexpected and terrible.
When I finally got to sleep, it was probably no surprise that I dreamt about Luke and Yara. She was in his arms. His eyes were closed, his lips were pressed against her forehead and he was holding her with unbearable tenderness.
He was the first to notice me. His eyes opened and, silenced by shock, he stared straight into my soul.
Then, still in his arms, she turned to me and smiled.
24
Ah, for God’s sake! Patch Dooley had promised he’d be here at 9.15 a.m., it was now ten twenty-five, there was still no sign and no one was answering his phone.
Murdo was holding the fort for me in group, but I hadn’t expected to be so late. Just then, an old-looking, low-to-the-ground, brown Merc turned into the drive and bumped towards the house. Something about its energy told me it had no tax, no insurance, no suspension and had failed its last five NCTs. Dennis’s brother, I’d stake my life on it.
The car swung itself in, straddling two parking spots, then the driver’s door opened, releasing a cacophony of high-pitched barks, which ceased abruptly when the door slammed shut again.
I went to reception and moments later Patch burst in. He was a second Dennis – the same ill-kempt saunter, the same hail-fellow-well-met likeability, the same bang of low-level lawlessness.
Bright eyes met mine. ‘Rachel?’ His greying curls bounced. ‘I’m late and you’re hopping with me! Blame the bagel fella. Drove a hard bargain. But to make it up to you, didn’t I get you one!’
‘Got me what?’
‘A pup. A bitch. Fine size. On the back seat – will we take a look?’
What? ‘Ah, no …’ His chaotic energy was affecting me. ‘But will the pups be okay in the car?’
He grinned. ‘Be grand! There’s a window open! They’ll probably scutter all over the place but nothing worse than goes on in that car on a Saturday night!’
Christ.
‘It’s the Dooley Cab.’ He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘You know Dennis and meself run a taxi firm? Well, you’re looking at it!’
‘Do you need anything? Tea? Bathroom? To go over things again?’
‘Divil a bit. I’m grand.’
‘Remember, Dennis will probably try to make you feel guilty –’
‘Lookit, don’t worry. Let’s go.’
I ushered Patch in and watched Dennis closely. Gratifyingly, his mouth fell open and his face was stamped with shock. But the shock quickly shifted to wonder and he leapt up, hurling himself at his brother. ‘Did they ketch you as well?’ he bellowed, the very picture of happiness. ‘Are you an “alcoholic” too?’
‘What do you take me for!’ Laughing, Patch thrust his hand into Dennis’s. ‘They’ll never ketch me!’ He tapped the side of his head. ‘Up here for thinking.’
Together they pointed at their feet, ‘Down there for dancing!’
Oh no. No, no, no.
Murdo was staring at me and I turned away, shamed by his shock.
‘Are you here to get me out?’ Dennis demanded of Patch. ‘In time for St Patrick’s Day on Saturday!’
‘The great escape!’ Patch agreed. ‘Thelma and Louise! We’ll cut the roof off the Merc!’
‘Dennis.’ I was desperately trying to restore calm. ‘Return to your seat. Patch, please sit here. Dennis! Dennis.’ I cleared my throat. ‘Dennis. Can you tell us who this visitor is?’
‘He’s my brother!’
‘We didn’t need to be told.’ Ella was charmed and starry-eyed.
‘Patch. Patch, hello.’ Reluctantly, everyone settled, then I carried on. ‘You know that your brother is here because he’s an alcoholic. Dennis says he’s not an alcoholic. So can you give us some examples when you’ve been worried about his drinking.’ We’d been through all of this on the phone on Monday. ‘His daughter Abigail says there’s been a lot of drunk-driving.’
‘Well …’ Patch looked thoughtful. ‘I wouldn’t exactly call it “drunk”.’
‘And I wouldn’t exactly call it “driving”!’ Dennis finished.
The room erupted with hilarity.
I’d got this so wrong.
I persevered a while longer but Patch was way too wily for me. All his visit had done was strengthen Dennis’s conviction that he shouldn’t be here. After twenty minutes, I ended things.
As I walked Patch out, he asked, ‘Was I any help?’
‘No,’ I said.
‘Do you want that bitch?’
‘No.’
‘Well, g’luck, so.’
‘Bye.’ I didn’t tell him to drive safely.
I hoped he didn’t. I hoped he drove into the canal and lost his licence.
As tears of rage and shame gathered behind my eyes, I stomped back inside to ring Juliet Dooley. She needed to get herself and her daughters in here sharpish and this time I wouldn’t let myself be fobbed off.
Under normal circumstances, I was good at my job. Like, skilled at reading people, knowing when to go easy and knowing when to go in for the kill. But in the week since all the Luke stuff had kicked off, things had been – what was the phrase? – sub-optimal. My sleep had been more broken than usual and I was just … disrupted.
I mean, seriously – what kind of half-decent counsellor would have taken a chance on Patch Dooley? The moment he’d swanned up here with his carload of bagels, I should have shown him the door.
There was only one person responsible for this debacle and it was me. But I didn’t like that feeling, so instead I decided to blame Luke.
It was his fault that my decision-making abilities were off. If Dennis Dooley didn’t get sober, if he drank his way into an early grave, leaving behind a devastated widow and two fatherless daughters, Luke Costello was to blame.
Would this lunchtime ever end?
For once, I was entirely caught up on my work. My caseload was always heavy and my obsessive tendencies probably didn’t help – I usually researched my patients so thoroughly that I could have gone undercover and lived as them. But I’d emailed and called every relevant friend, colleague or family member of my charges. In addition, I was up to date on all the new drops on the many, many online stores I liked. I’d ordered new secateurs with cheery pink handles. I’d visited ‘my’ Chanel bag and wondered what exactly I’d have to sell in order to afford it. Then I’d looked up articles on living with a single kidney and come to the conclusion that selling one of mine might be a mistake. In short, I’d run out of ways to distract myself so it was probably no surprise that I flashed back six years to that terrible Thursday afternoon when I’d realized Luke was going to leave me.
