Again, Rachel, page 23
Just as I had started to wonder if this would be the year it stayed winter forever, strange white things began to push up from the frozen soil. My snowdrops!
‘But how?’ I asked Nola. ‘They’re such tiny delicate things.’
‘Delicate?’ she asked. ‘Them? They’ve petals like blades. It’s how they shove their way out of the dark into the light. Oh, they might look fragile, but they’re well able to survive.’
I’d frowned. ‘Are you metaphoring me?’
‘So what if I am?’
Not long afterwards, the crocuses appeared, pretty and startlingly vivid, then the daffodils, in their exuberant bursts of yellows. Everywhere were fresh shoots of green, shocking against the January pallor – and I was ‘in’. A gardener. On-board for wherever it took me.
My hands in the soil, helping living things to grow from almost nothing, did something good for me. Working in silence and solitude, caught up in concentration and care, was the closest thing to meditation I’d found. I could lose hours to it.
When, inevitably, flowers died off, I felt it deeply, but after the first couple of years, acceptance crept in. Everything had its moment, its time to be alive, and then it stepped aside to make room for fresh life.
‘Hey!’ Claire, followed by Kate, had come into the garden. ‘Rachel. C’mon!’
‘C’mon, what?’
‘Dresses,’ Kate said. ‘For Granny’s party. Mum’s ordered lots for me to try on.’
Immediately I abandoned my tools. Following the pair of them up the stairs to Kate’s bedroom, I said, ‘I can’t hang around too long, I’m going to a meeting.’
‘Good woman …’ Claire was never interested in that part of my life.
I stopped dead at the sight of several cardboard boxes on Kate’s floor. ‘Claire … Did you order all of Net-a-Porter?’
‘Nearly. Okay, let’s go!’ Gleefully, Claire produced a high-necked, sequined mini-dress and swung it at Kate. ‘Try that. With these …’ She rummaged through one of the bigger parcels, emerging with a shoebox. ‘… flatforms!’
Kate complied, then stood before the mirror. I was biased and I knew it but with her long legs, shiny hair and clear, fresh skin, she was gorgeous.
‘I don’t think so,’ she decided.
‘You’re wrong!’ I exclaimed.
‘It’s too …’ She shrugged. ‘Shiny? I’m not a sequins person.’
‘Try it with these trainers.’ Claire produced another shoebox.
‘Better,’ Kate concluded, once she’d put them on. ‘But still not me.’
‘No worries.’ Claire was undaunted. ‘Try this.’
‘This’ was a corset dress in pale pink. ‘Burberry,’ Claire said.
But once she was zipped into it, Kate shook her head, ‘It looks … medicinal.’
‘Then take it off.’
I had to hand it to Claire. There were no attempts to persuade Kate to change her mind. She just moved on to the next option – which was a black organza cape dress.
‘God almighty,’ I gasped. ‘That’s so beautiful.’
And it suited Kate. Unlike the previous two dresses, this was quietly thrilling.
‘How much is this one?’ Kate asked. ‘Is it a million euro?’
‘Who cares!’
‘Ah, Mum!’
‘Listen, I’ve to go,’ I said.
‘Rachel, stay!’
But I couldn’t. Tonight was a special night: Nola’s anniversary. She was twenty-seven years clean.
I drove like the clappers and got there just in time.
At the end of the meeting, an elaborately decorated cake, bearing twenty-seven candles, was placed before her. After we sang Happy Birthday, she blew the candles out. It took a while.
‘Lord save us!’ Laughing, she put a hand on her chest. ‘You need strong lungs for twenty-seven of them.’
‘Twenty-seven years.’ The boy beside me stared at Nola. ‘That’s literally unbelievable. I’m sixty-four days.’
‘Sixty-four days is amazing.’ I was so eager to encourage him. ‘We all have to start somewhere. And for any addict to get through twenty-four hours without using is miraculous.’
His eyes lit with interest. ‘Seriously?’
‘Of course. When you think of how hard it was – well, if you were anything like me – to just do a single evening without taking anything, sixty-four days is a triumph.’
‘How long are you …’
Nola had appeared at my side. She slid her hand into mine.
‘Months?’ The boy asked. ‘Years?’ Mischievously, he said, ‘You’re not going to tell me you’re twenty-seven years as well.’
Oh. I took a breath. ‘It’s a long time but I don’t count it that way. All that matters is today. And I’m clean today.’
‘Does that mean you don’t get an anniversary cake?’ He seemed disappointed for me.
‘Haha, no cake.’
‘I want a cake.’ He said it with conviction.
‘Do you, pet?’ Nola seemed delighted by him. Although she was that way about most people. ‘You’d better keep coming and keep staying clean, so. And when you’re one year, we’ll get you a fabulous cake.’
36
I’d blocked off Tuesday afternoon’s group to focus on Trassa. ‘How are you?’ I asked her.
‘I’m –’ Then she clutched her stomach and sobbed for what felt like several minutes. The hand-to-hand medieval-fire-putting-out with the tissues started up.
‘I’ve been remembering things,’ she eventually managed. ‘I pawned my engagement ring. It had belonged to Seamus Senior’s grandmother and it was worth something. Michael found out, he was raging, he gave me the money to buy it back but I … you know, spent it. That’s why he won’t talk to me.’
Another storm of tears began. ‘It’s gone now. Long gone. And I feel …’ She choked. ‘Like my heart is broken.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it was beautiful. It was the only good thing I’d ever owned. And it meant something, when Seamus put it on my finger, I was glad of it. And I gave it … awaaaay.’
‘Did you enjoy what you did with the money?’
Suspiciously, she watched me through watery eyes. ‘What do you mean?’
‘The bet you placed, you enjoyed it?’ Gently, I said, ‘It’s not a trick question, Trassa.’
‘I did.’ Almost apologetically, she said, ‘There’s nothing in the whole earthly world like it. When the longing comes on me, I get filled up with … it feels like sparkles, shiny things. Life feels like a Christmas tree.’ Even remembering the emotion was making her smile. ‘You know on a Saturday night, when your daddy and the lads are gone drinking and it’s just you and your mam at home. She’s got sweets for the two of you and you watch a film together on the telly? That’s the feeling. It makes me happy.’
She broke down in fresh sobs. ‘I miss my mother. I miss her so much.’
Half the room had lumps in their throats or tears in their eyes, myself included.
‘Since she went,’ Trassa gasped, ‘since she left us, I haven’t ever felt safe. She was the only person I ever felt all right with. Now I’m always on my guard.’
‘What age were you when she died?’
‘Thirteen.’
‘And when you got married?’
‘Seventeen. I went from one lot of men to another.’
‘Your first child – Michael – was born when, exactly? How soon after you got married?’
After a short hesitation she said, ‘Four months.’
‘Trassa?’ I tried to sound light. ‘Is there any reason you didn’t name your first son Seamus Junior?’
Every one of my cells was on high alert, desperate to read Trassa’s cues. This was her gig. If she wanted, we would shut this down immediately. Or we could save it for a one-to-one. But we couldn’t magic it away.
‘Seamus Junior is your second son?’ I asked. ‘Named for your husband, Seamus Senior?’
She nodded.
Our eyes were locked in an intense exchange of trust and responsibility.
‘Trassa.’ My voice was almost a whisper. ‘Who is Michael?’
After a long, long silence, in which the world held its breath, she said, ‘My father.’
Immediately I stood and ended the session. Subdued and silent, the other six trooped out, while Trassa and I went to a private room.
‘I was showing at two and a half months. I made sure everyone could see. I was walking around the town, this great … big …’ Trassa stuttered out the words. ‘… cry for notice. I’m sure everyone knew – there were no secrets, there still aren’t, but nothing was said.’
‘While she was alive your mother protected you?’
‘He terrorized her too but she did what she could. After she died, it was a free-for-all.’
‘Does your husband know?’
‘He never said a word. But if I gave the child my father’s name, I hoped he might … Because he knows I hated the man. But, no. And nobody ever asked me. Not one. Until you.’
‘Were there no women in your life? A teacher? Aunts? Friends?’
‘My teachers were nuns. I tried telling the girls at school, but … it’s hard to describe. It was no good because nothing could be done. Going to the guards? I’d have got the blame.
‘I was a girl of seventeen, no boyfriend. I was around the town, not hiding that I was expecting, hoping that someone would … All that happened was my father and Seamus’s father cooked up a scheme – Seamus Higgins, with the asthma and the weak heart, married the stupid slut in the family way. But it could have been worse,’ she said. ‘Seamus is decent. But sick, always sick.’
I nodded, afraid to say anything, in case I got it wrong.
‘Rachel, though!’ Trassa’s tone had lifted. ‘Now that we know what my “root cause” is, can I go back to the scratch cards?’
My heart sank. ‘Oh Trassa. I’m so sorry for what you went through. And we’ll do everything to find the specialized help you need and deserve. But you’re still an addict, nothing can change that. After what you went through, it’s understandable that you’d seek escape. But I’m sorry, Trassa.’
‘You mean, after all I’ve told you, I still have to stop?’
‘You know you have to.’
She stared at me, stared and stared. And then she bawled.
37
This probably wasn’t the best night to be meeting Luke. Even though I’d been given the tools to protect myself from my poor patients’ pain, how could you not be affected by Trassa’s ordeal?
But I’d done all I could for now – the evening nursing staff were on high alert and a consultant therapist, who specialized in sexual abuse, was with her.
When I arrived at Quin’s, he was banging around in his bathroom, his back to me. From a shelf he grabbed a bottle of Lutens 5 O’Clock and slapped on a generous handful.
‘I love that smell,’ I said.
‘Oh?’ In the mirror, his eyes met mine. ‘Should I –’ He reached for the bottle once more and I yelped, ‘That’s enough!’
Obviously I wanted Luke to be impressed with my good-looking, fragrant boyfriend but at no point could it appear that he’d made an effort.
Quin turned, then he exclaimed, ‘You look great!’
My lunch hour had been spent getting my hair blow-dried into shiny, beachy waves in the tiny hairdresser’s in the village. (It was always the luck of the draw whether you got the young, savvy gay man or the older woman in thrall to her heated rollers. Fortune had favoured me today.) Then in a speedy post-work in-and-out I’d gone home to change into a deceptively casual shirt-dress and low-cut ankle boots.
Quin inspected my knees. ‘I’m guessing your ex-husband is a leg man?’
I winced. ‘This isn’t the 1970s. But yes,’ because I’d promised I’d never lie to Quin about Luke, ‘he used to like my legs. I’m not trying to …’ I waved my hands. ‘… win him back or any of that bullshit. But I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t want to look good.’
‘I’m a leg man too, you know.’
‘You can look at my legs any time you like.’
‘Can I, though …? When did I last see you in a dress?’
I pulled him close and hissed, ‘Shut. Up.’
Then we both dissolved into laughter that was slightly manic.
At the noisy, crowded restaurant, Luke and Kallie hadn’t arrived yet. Quin and I had just taken our seats when I felt him flinch. ‘For fuck’s sake,’ he muttered. ‘What a terrible day to have eyes.’
I followed his gaze: Luke was at the top of the steps. He’d just removed his jacket, revealing a white T-shirt and black leather jeans, which were carelessly tucked into motorbike boots.
Quin had also gone big on tonight’s look. Wearing black twill track pants from Z (Zegna’s ‘affordable’ diffusion) and what had been described in GQ as a ‘power hoodie’, he was sleek, understated cool.
But Luke Costello in leather was unbeatable. A power move, if ever I saw one.
Luke and Kallie were handing over helmets to the coat-man. They must have come on a bike, so Luke’s leathers had a practical function. All the same, I felt slightly sick, wondering why I’d agreed to this terrible, terrible idea.
Luke spotted me and indicated us to Kallie. With his hand on her hip, he steered her down the stairs, the muscles at the front of his thighs flexing with each step he descended.
Quin stood up, stepped forward, then – I wasn’t imagining it – stretched himself a little taller, made his chest a little wider – and shook Luke’s hand. ‘I’m Quin. Good to meet you, man. Sorry to hear about your mum. It’s a hard loss.’
‘Thanks,’ Luke muttered. He nodded at me. ‘Rachel.’
Kallie, in a handkerchief-hemmed floaty dress, was looking deliciously Stevie Nicks. ‘Hi, hi, hi!’ Her blue eyes were a-sparkle as she launched herself at me, then Quin, for a hug.
‘You smell gooood,’ she declared at Quin, all flirty approval. Then, ‘Cool place, guys. Good pick. Should we sit? We should sit!’
She pulled me into the chair opposite her.
‘Great dress,’ I said.
‘Zara! Today. I know!’ Then, ‘Whoops!’ She swooped on the wine glasses in my place setting and plucked them out. ‘Excuse me.’ She’d grabbed a passing waiter. ‘Can you take these away?’ Her voice was stern. ‘My friend cannot have any alcohol.’
‘That’s okay,’ I said.
‘Don’t they trigger you?’
I laughed. ‘No.’
‘Oh, I just thought – No, okay, all good.’
Quin unzipped his power hoodie, then pulled it off to reveal a close-fitting T-shirt, which hugged his defined arms and pecs. Fair play, I thought. Nice countermove from the Quinster: I see your leather-clad thighs and I raise you quietly impressive biceps.
I slid him a sideways glance and signalled, Nice one.
With the tiniest smirk, he replied, Got your back, babes.
‘Drinks?’ The waiter who had removed the glasses was back.
‘Fizzy water for me,’ I said.
‘That’s right,’ he deadpanned, ‘I believe you cannot have any alcohol.’
He expected me to smile but I’d have felt bad – Kallie meant well.
‘Water for me too,’ Kallie said and Luke gave her a startled look. ‘No wine, Kal?’
‘No.’ She flashed some urgent message with her eyes, then I understood.
‘Kallie, don’t let me stop you. I don’t even notice. And Quin will be drinking, so go for it.’
‘You’re sure? I don’t want to be inappropriate.’
‘You’re not.’
‘But don’t you worry?’ She was asking Quin. ‘That Rachel will relapse?’
‘Rachel is the strongest person I know.’ His voice had a slight edge. ‘Besides, I don’t own her.’
‘So you guys aren’t serious?’
‘We’re serious,’ I jumped in, then rattled off, ‘Together almost two years. Moving in with each other soon.’ And I shouldn’t have said that. ‘How about you two?’
‘Sixteen months.’ She twinkled at me. ‘Separate living spaces at this time. Luke is so independent. But hey, you know that.’
Well, I knew now. I just wished I’d known before we got married.
‘It’s our actual anniversary in a week,’ Quin said. ‘The following weekend I’m taking Rachel to Barcelona –’
‘That’s Spain, right?’ Kallie asked.
‘Nah, Barcelona, Texas.’ There was Quin being a teeny bit of a dick again. Not that I minded. Not entirely. ‘Sorry, joking – yes, it’s Spain. I’ve hired out the entire Sagrada Familia – you know, Gaudí’s church? I’m gonna propose to Rachel there –’
‘Whu-ut? Congratulat–’
‘No. No. It’s a joke!’ Quin was flustered. Embarrassed. ‘Rachel and I –’ Desperately he signalled to me across the table. ‘We joke about –’
‘– marriage proposals in “obvious” places,’ I explained.
At Kallie’s blank face, Quin said, ‘Top of the Eiffel Tower? Flying over the Grand Canyon in a helicopter …’
A pall of mortification lay on us all, then in a plummy, newscaster voice, Quin announced, ‘And that is why private jokes should remain private. Sorry, Kallie.’
‘Hey, that’s okay.’ Her smile was genuine.
For a short while, the discussion of the menu generated the pretence of a free-flowing conversation. But as soon as we’d ordered – and we were all keen to skip the starter, clearly no one wanted this night to be prolonged – it hit a wall. Kallie and Quin had to do most of the heavy lifting.
Luke, sitting diagonally opposite me, let nothing slip – but his mother had died less than two weeks ago, I could hardly expect him to be chatting away happily. Meanwhile, I was dizzy from successive waves of disbelief. Me, Luke and our new partners, out for a civilized dinner – how had this happened?
His hands were fiddling with the salt cellar. Three of his fingers sported silverware but there was no wedding ring. I remembered exactly when he’d taken it off.
