Alexandra, Gone (10 page)

“Oh,” she said, and she sighed. “Yes, you did.”

“I was such an asshole.”

“You still are.”

She was smiling, so he knew she was playing with him.

“I regret every day I wasn’t around.”

“Well, at least you got to have a life.”

“I really left you in it,” he admitted. “If I could go back …”

“You’d do exactly the same thing.”

“Don’t say that, Janey.”

“You know, I don’t think Kurt even remembers a time when you weren’t a part of his life.”

“But you do,” Dominic said.

Jane didn’t want to talk about it, so she got busy sweeping the floor.

“For a girl forced out of school, you’ve done an amazing job here,” he said.

“Thanks.”

“And, for the record, I would change it if I could just so I could stop you from naming our kid after a heroin addict with a death wish.”

Jane laughed. “That was unfortunate.”

Jane drove, and Dominic fiddled with the CD player.

“Dido, no. Dixie Chicks, no and no. James Morrison, shoot me. Ray LaMontagne—Jesus, Jane. Jack Lukeman …remember that night?” He grinned.

“Yes, I remember.” She blushed a little and laughed.

Dominic flicked along until he hit track 12. The track kicked off with a bass drum kicking. Dominic and Jane fell into silence, and she drove through the dark streets intermittently lit by fluorescent lights of different shapes and colors. The car was warm, and outside the rain came tumbling down. She turned on the windshield wipers, and Jack L began to sing.

Take me to the edge of town, watch the evening veil come down,

I’ll tell you all my hopes and dreams, hold your tongue ’cos I believe

For me there will be only one, yeah for me there will be only one.

Dominic turned in his seat so that he could watch Jane. She saw him staring from the corner of her eye, and his gaze made her both happy and uncomfortable.

I’ll take you to the silver well, make a wish, I’ll cast a spell

That you’ll remain here by my side, childlike thoughts I cannot hide

For me there will be only one, yeah for me there will be only one.

“Stop staring,” she said.

“Can’t help it. I’m remembering that night.”

“Well, stop remembering.”

“Can’t.”

“You’re married.”

“Memories are allowed.”

“I wish you’d stop.” She was becoming more uncomfortable.

“Sorry,” he said. “Inappropriate.” He turned to face the road.

Until stars come showering down, till the seven seas engulf this town …

Jane turned off the CD player and they drove the rest of the way to her house in silence.

Elle arrived home two days after her exhibition had opened. She walked through the side gate that led to her little cottage at the end of the garden. Her mother was tending to her witch hazels. She called out to Elle, and Elle stopped and turned toward her. Rose stood up slowly and took off her gloves. She pointed to the garden furniture and Elle sat. Rose joined her. They were both wearing heavy coats, but Rose could tell that her daughter had lost a lot of weight.

“Did you have a good time?” Rose asked.

“Brilliant.”

“Jane was worried.”

“Jane worries too much.”

“That’s what I told her. We all need to escape every now and then, don’t we?”

“We do.”

“And you’re happy to be home now?” Rose asked.

Elle laughed a little. “And what about you, Mum?”

“I’m as good as can be expected.”

“And Jane?”

“She’s fine. Dominic’s been sniffing around.”

“Bored with the new wife already,” Elle said, and her mother nodded.

“You know what that means, don’t you?” said Rose. “Poor Janey will no doubt make a fool of herself again.”

“Well, if anyone knows about being a fool, I do,” Elle said.

“Vincent is the fool, and if I ever see him again he’ll be a fool without a penis,” said Rose.

Elle got up. “It’s cold.”

“That’s winter for you.”

“I’m going inside now.”

“Me too.”

Elle walked toward her cottage and took down the
GONE FISHING
sign. Her mother called after her, and she turned to face her.

“Good to have you home.”

Elle smiled at her mother, then entered her home. Rose picked up her garden shears and walked down to the basement and to the promise of a nice glass of hot whiskey. She took a large gulp, and when her eyes filled with tears she wiped them away and finished the glass.
Please don’t frighten me like that again.

When darkness had descended and Jane noticed the light on in Elle’s cottage, she ran through the garden and up the path that led to Elle’s door. She knocked before opening it slowly and creeping inside. Elle was in her sitting room, cuddled up on the sofa, music playing in the background.

Jane sat beside her.

“Hi, Jane.”

“Hi, Elle.”

“How was the opening?”

“We sold the lot.”

“Good. Sorry I didn’t make it.”

“It’s okay. Actually, it made my job a lot easier.”

“Oh good. Did you miss me?”

“I did.”

“I’m sorry for setting Vincent’s car on fire, I’m sorry for all of it.”

“I took care of it.”

“I know. You always do.” She sighed. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Jane smiled at her sister. “I’m glad you’re home. You look tired.”

“I’m exhausted.”

Jane took Elle by the hand and lifted her off the sofa; then, arm in arm, they walked to the bedroom, where Jane tucked her sister into bed.

“You fall asleep now, and when you get up I’ll make you your favorite breakfast.”

“I love you, Jane.”

“I love you too, girly girl.” Jane turned out the light and left Elle cuddled up under her duvet.

Jane always called Elle “girly girl” when she was being affectionate. It was a term she’d given Elle when she was a toddler and Jane was a teen. Their father had died suddenly, their mother was on medication, and so Jane had cared for her sister. She’d pick up after her, play with her, feed her, and put her to bed. She’d read her stories and tell her things about their dad.

“Where is he, Janey?”

“He’s in heaven, girly girl.”

“Where’s heaven?”

“Far away up there in the sky.”

“Daddy doesn’t like heights, Janey.” Elle remembered the day their dad had gotten dizzy and fallen from a ladder while trying to retrieve her ball from the eaves.

“It’s okay,” Jane explained. “He likes heaven.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s great.”

“Why is it great?”

“Because God’s there.”

“So?”

“God is really cool. Everybody wants to be with God.”

“I don’t. I’d rather be here with you,” Elle had said.

And Jane had been a mother to her sister since then.

7
“Chocolate Eyes”

Ran out of hope, ran out of faith,

ran out of milk about quarter past eight

I gave up on dreams and regrets,

well, I quit smoking but not cigarettes.

Jack L,
Broken Songs

March 2008

When Elle woke up in Leslie’s house in the country to the sound of birds, strangely they were loud, angry, and without melody. She sat up and rubbed her eyes and looked toward the open window, and sitting on the windowsill were two crows screeching at each other. She got out of bed, stretched, and closed the window, and so engrossed were they in their dispute that her actions went unnoticed.

She could hear Leslie pottering in the kitchen. She had the radio on and was listening to two DJs make a crank call to some unsuspecting dentist. The house was a bungalow, the guest bedroom was next door to the kitchen, and the walls were paper thin, so Elle’s bed might as well have been placed in the center of the kitchen.

She pulled on her dressing gown and joined Leslie, who was kneeling on the counter by the sink and cleaning the window.

Elle poured herself coffee and picked up a croissant from the basket in the center of the table. She nibbled and drank while Leslie filled her in on the plan for the day.

When Leslie’s father died, he had left the house to her mother; when she died, she had left it to her three girls; when Nora died, the house had become Imelda’s and Leslie’s; and when Imelda died, the house had become Leslie’s alone. She had maintained it over the years, and although she traveled to it about every eight weeks, she rarely stayed more than two days because the echoes of a tragic past haunted the place. This was the first time since Imelda’s passing that she had stayed longer than two days, and with Elle for company she was actually enjoying herself. Elle had been working hard on the exhibition since she had returned from her break, and when Leslie mentioned that she had to make a trip to check on her family home, Elle had begged to be allowed to join her, as a change of scenery would inspire and invigorate her. She had been working hard to make up for lost time, and Leslie could see that painting the faces of the Missing was taking a toll on Elle. She seemed to be quietly absorbing their tragedies, and the pain, suffering, hope, and hopelessness imbued in her work was also imbued in her. She was quieter than when they had first met, and she seemed older. All the energy was gone, and in the few months they had known each other Elle had gone from being a playful puppy to an old sleepy girl content to sit on the porch.

As it turned out, the town was playing host to a weeklong traditional music festival, which initially served only to annoy Leslie. But the first night, they walked into town and ate in a restaurant that Leslie hadn’t visited in ten years, and they enjoyed a pleasant time eating pasta, drinking wine, and listening to a young man play piano accompanied by a girl on the violin and a boy on guitar. Neither woman was a fan of traditional music, and this little group was less thud-thumping, toe-tapping, feet-of-flames, old-school Irish and more New Age folk, mellow and enchanting. The music had elevated Elle into a happy place, and since then her mood had continued to lift ever so slowly but noticeably. As part of the festival, every restaurant, bar, park, and street corner was playing host to musicians of all ages, and because their first evening had been such a success, Elle and Leslie had gotten into the spirit of the event and by day three were really enjoying themselves. Leslie’s long self-imposed seclusion and newfound joie de vivre meant that every day there was a great new discovery, or rediscovery, to be made. An old woodland that she had played in as a child was a beautiful place to walk and talk, and the new coffee shop that served take-out hot chocolate to sip and hug as they walked made it even more pleasant. Leslie had forgotten how beautiful her little town was. She’d forgotten the way the sky looked through the trees and how the light hit the water in the evenings and how friendly the people were when she actually engaged with them.

“So what’s the plan for today?” Elle asked between nibbles.

Leslie turned and smiled at her, took off one of her gloves, and scratched her nose.

“Well,” she said, “I was thinking we’d get in the car and drive to the coast this morning, and we can have lunch at this little pub that Simon and I used to go to—it has the best fish in the country. Then we could get back here around five and eat here or go out, depending on how you feel, and then Mahons is playing host to an interesting-sounding band from Westport.”

“Sounds good. I’ll just get showered and dressed and we can go.”

Leslie nodded, put her glove back on, and resumed cleaning the window.

Elle nibbled on her croissant as she walked back to her room. She picked up her bag and headed down the hall into the bathroom, stripped, and got into the shower, and it was while the water was tapping at her head that she realized that a weight was lifting and she could feel her heart begin to soar.

Having spent a lovely if finger-numbingly cold morning walking along the coastline, Elle and Leslie stopped off at the pub for their fish lunch. Elle ordered the salmon and Leslie a fish platter, and when Elle saw it she was sorry she had ordered the salmon, but there was plenty, and so the women shared the assortment of fish before them and Elle agreed it was the best fish she’d ever tasted. Elle asked Leslie to tell her a little about Simon, and Leslie argued that her relationship with him had been so long ago that it was hard to remember much of it.

“You must remember it!” Elle said.

“There was so much going on back then.” Leslie was referring to the sickness that had completely overtaken her world for so long.

“What did he look like?” Elle said, pushing for an answer.

“He was tall and thin and he had big blue eyes the size of saucers, his hair was sandy and he had freckles.”

“Was he nice?” Elle asked.

“He was very nice. He was bright and kind and he put up with a lot from me.”

“Did he love you?”

Leslie sighed and thought about it for a moment. “Yes,” she said, and she remembered the day eighteen years earlier when she had just turned twenty-two, her sister Nora was dying, and she’d just been diagnosed with the cancer gene.

Simon had been waiting for her when she came out of the doctor’s office. He was pale and his big blue eyes were glassy. She walked up to him and he stood up from the chair he’d been sitting on. She sat down because her legs could no longer carry her and tugged at his hand, and he sat again and faced her and she didn’t have to tell him because her face said it all. He put his face in his hands and wept right there in the middle of the waiting area. Listening to the pain that was so evident in every wail and cry, she knew that she couldn’t put him through watching a slow and painful death. And so right there in hospital chairs she ended their three-year relationship. Even when he attempted to contact her intermittently for six months and although she missed him more than she could say, she was steadfast in her decision, and deep down knew that Simon was grateful.

“I think you’re brave,” Elle said.

“Thanks. Most would say I was stupid.”

“Bravery and stupidity are the same thing. It just depends on the outcome, and it’s not over yet.”

“No, I suppose it isn’t.”

She thought about telling Elle about her plans to have surgery in July, but decided against it because they were having such a lovely day and she didn’t want to think about it too much.
Another time. I’ll tell her another time.
And as she was thinking that, Elle’s face changed and Leslie turned to see what she was staring at. A tall man with curly brown hair and big brown eyes was standing with a blond woman she recognized from somewhere but whom she couldn’t recall in that moment. He was wide-eyed and staring back, obviously uncomfortable and unsure, and Leslie watched Elle maintain eye contact with this man and this man hesitatingly make his way toward her, leaving the blonde at the bar.

“Elle,” he said, and Leslie detected a shudder in his voice.

Elle didn’t have to introduce him. Leslie knew it was the prick who had broken her new friend’s heart.

“Vincent,” Elle said.

“How weird is this?” He raised his hands in the air. “Of all the gin joints in all the towns.”

“Funny old world,” she said. “How’ve you been, Vincent?”

“Good. You?”

“Great,” she said, but it was unconvincing. Neither of them mentioned the car-burning incident and subsequent payoff. The blonde remained at the bar.

“This is Leslie,” Elle said, looking beyond his shoulder at the blonde. “Who’s your friend?”

Vincent turned to the blonde and called her over with a nod of his head. She approached slowly and stood slightly behind him.

“This is Caroline.”

Caroline smiled. She seemed familiar, but Elle couldn’t work out how she knew her face.

“Nice to meet you,” Caroline said nervously. “I love your work.”

“Thanks,” Elle said. “Do I know you?”

“I’m an actress.”

Elle nodded. “Of course you are,” she said, and she looked at Vincent and shook her head. She remembered where she’d seen her before. It had been at one of her own exhibitions. The photographer had made them stand together for a press shot. That exhibition had been just before China.

Vincent attempted to disguise a gulp by clearing his throat. “We should go,” he said to Caroline, who seemed more than happy to move on.

“You should have gone a long time ago,” Elle said.

Vincent nodded and grabbed Caroline’s arm and escorted her out of the lovely pub that served the best fish in Ireland before they’d even had a chance to look at the menu.

Leslie looked at Elle, who seemed lost in thought.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m more than okay,” Elle said, and she sighed and grinned a little.

“You are?”

“He was screwing her all that time.”

“And that’s okay?”

Elle nodded. “It must be, because I can’t seem to make myself care.”

Leslie smiled at her young friend and squeezed her hand, and Elle’s heart soared just a little higher.

Rose had been throwing up all week. She was steadfast in her refusal to seek medical attention, but eventually when Jane witnessed her doubled over in severe pain holding her stomach and throwing up in her kitchen wastebasket, she’d had enough of her mother’s stubbornness and made the call to their family GP. Jane was flying out to London for the Jack Lukeman gig that evening.

Dr. Griffin arrived at ten as promised and a very grateful Jane, knowing he hated making house calls, especially to her mother, met him on the steps of her home. Together they made their way to the basement apartment.

“How’s she behaving?” he asked.

“Same as ever.”

“Still experiencing mood swings?”

“Dr. Griffin, what you call her mood swings, we call her personality.”

Jane smiled, but Dr. Griffin just shook his head. He’d been the Moore family’s practitioner for well over thirty years, and he really cared for the girls and Kurt, but Rose Moore was his worst nightmare. Jane opened the door, and he braced himself and followed her inside.

Rose was in the sitting room, asleep on the chair. Jane and Dr. Griffin looked at each other, both silently acknowledging that it was time to wake the beast.

Jane approached gingerly. She slowly and gently laid her hand on her mother’s arm and shook it ever so slightly. “Rose.”

Rose stirred a little; Jane backed off.

Rose’s eyes opened, and she focused on her daughter and the doctor. “What?”

“Rose, I’m here to give you a checkup,” Dr. Griffin said.

“Did I ask you to come?”

“No,” he said before sighing audibly.

“Well, then.”

“Rose, you are sick,” Jane said in her most forceful tone, “and I’m not going to let you rot down here, so let the doctor examine you.”

“How charming of you, Jane, but you are forgetting about a little thing called free will, and if I am rotting and I wish to continue doing so, that is my business and my business alone.”

“Don’t make me hold you down, old woman,” said Jane.

“You can try.”

Jane seemed serious, but so did her mother, and despite her age and illness, Dr. Griffin was sure that she’d put up a good fight.

“Okay, ladies,” he said, holding his hand in the air. “Rose, please just let me examine you. I won’t take longer than three minutes.”

“You have two,” she said.

A minute later, Dr. Griffin was pressing on Rose’s stomach and she was trying not to scream, but one press too many and she couldn’t help but grab his ear and drag him off her. He called out, and Jane extricated his ear from her mother’s closed claw. He stumbled back, rubbing his reddened and bruised earlobe.

Rose then grabbed Jane’s hand and squeezed it as hard as she could and pulled her in close. “Don’t you dare bring that man in here without my permission again!” she hissed. Tears sprang into Jane’s eyes. Rose let go and Jane backed away, rubbing her hand much like Dr. Griffin had his ear.

Dr. Griffin packed up his bag before turning to Rose. “Your stomach is inflamed, and that’s what’s causing the pain and vomiting. I’ve no doubt you are suffering from recurrent diarrhea and possible pancreatitis. And I know for sure that however uncomfortable you are now, it will only get worse.”

“Well, thank you for your medical opinion, Dr. Griffin. You know where the door is.”

“Stop drinking, Rose,” Dr. Griffin said. “If you don’t, you will die.”

“I’m an old woman, Doctor. It would be incredibly focking odd if I didn’t die. Don’t you think?”

Rose loved to curse. She loved to pepper the word “fuck” into her sentences when she deemed it appropriate. However, her accent ensured that it sounded like she was saying “fock,” “focker,” “focking,” or “focked.” She liked that it meant she was devilish enough to curse but not coarse enough for it to be instantly recognizable.