Alexandra, Gone (26 page)

“This is the good bit,” Rose said.

Leslie, Elle, and Jane ignored her.

Eamonn cleared his throat. “I’d like to thank everyone for coming here today. My mother would have been really pleased with the turnout.”

Rose looked around with a face that suggested that maybe Breda would be impressed, but
she
certainly wasn’t.

“My mother was a good person. She was kind, caring, giving, friendly, happy most of the time. She wasn’t jealous or boastful, she wasn’t selfish, and she wasn’t hurtful. She believed in God. She believed in prayer, and she came here nearly every day of her life until recently. Most of you know we lost Alexandra in June 2007. My mother believed that God would save her. She believed that He would bring her home. ‘She’s still with us, Eamonn,’ she’d say. ‘She’ll be home any day, any day now. God will deliver her from evil.’ When God didn’t deliver her from evil, my mother got so sad and so sick that it made me angry about all that time she’d wasted here, on her knees. But then I thought, what if God couldn’t deliver Alexandra because Alexandra was already gone? What if the pain and suffering of my mother’s loss were so great that instead of delivering Alexandra from evil He delivered my mother instead? Who knows what’s real and what isn’t? My mother took comfort in believing in a God that could hear her. I may not be the most religious of people, but today of all days and for her sake I’d like to think He did. Thank you.”

Elle was crying, and Jane squeezed her hand. “That was lovely,” Elle said.

Leslie was silent but nodded in agreement. Rose blew her nose.

Jane, Leslie, and Elle joined the queue to sympathize with the family.

Jane sympathized with Owen, then Frankie and Eamonn.

“That was really lovely,” she said.

“Thanks. I hope she would have liked it,” Eamonn said.

“She would have loved it.”

Eamonn hugged her. “Every time I see you I think of Alexandra. I miss her, Janey.”

“I know you do, Eamonn,” Jane said, and her eyes filled. “I miss her too.”

She moved on to Kate, who hugged her and thanked her for coming, and then to Ben, whose blue eyes were swimming. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Walsh.”

“Thanks, Jane.”

She reached Tom and shook his hand, but he drew her into a hug, and they held each other so tightly that Kate and Frankie both noticed. Frankie smiled at them. Jane pulled back.

“I’ll see you at the graveyard,” she said, and he nodded.

Elle and Leslie were following and shaking hands, and Kate reminded Ben that Elle was the girl who had painted all the pictures of the Missing and that Leslie was behind the Missing Alexandra website.

“Thank you, girls, thank you so much.”

They both nodded and told them how sorry they were.

It was odd, but all three women, Jane, Elle, and Leslie, felt like they weren’t just at Breda’s funeral but at Alexandra’s too. They discussed it in the car on the way to the graveyard. Leslie was the first to bring it up, but the two others were quick to agree. Rose congratulated herself for being the only one who had worked out that the woman was dead a long time ago.

“We’re not saying she’s dead, Rose,” Jane said.

“Oh fine, Janey. The funeral felt like it was for both Alexandra and Breda, and yet you’re not saying you think she’s dead. Are you in the habit of burying the living?”

At the graveyard, they followed the crowd to the plot that would be Breda’s final resting place. As they walked in line, the heavens opened and heavy rain fell, drenching them all in seconds.

“Oh for fock sake!” Rose said, and Jane nudged her.

They walked from grave to grave under a dark and forbidding sky.

Eamonn stood over his mother’s grave, soaked to the skin, and told the crowd that was gathering around him and his family that his father had chosen the casket his mother would rest in, Kate had chosen the flowers, he’d chosen the readings, and the music would be chosen by Alexandra.

“She loved Jack Lukeman, and this is one of her favorite songs. I know my mother would like it, and it seems appropriate. It’s called ‘Rooftop Lullaby.’” He nodded at Owen, who pressed Play on the CD player, and everybody stood in silence. Eamonn dropped his head and stared at the coffin in the ground.

Mother, is there something in the sky?

Something up there that they hide,

a jewel for me and you,

apple trees with falling fruit.

Kate held an umbrella over her father’s head.

Oh Daughter, now I don’t know

but I believe that it’s beauty beyond words,

it’s like a tune that I can’t sing

but I’ve heard it sung by birds.

It’s a rooftop lullaby

falling from the sky

sends us to sleep tonight.

It’s the apple in your eye

keeps you as sweet as pie

dreaming through the night.

Kate’s husband, Owen, held his umbrella over hers.

Oh Father, now won’t you tell me if you know

where does half the moon go

when it’s not up in the sky

it disappears before my eyes.

Ben Walsh stood in silence, looking into the middle distance, unable to bring himself to look at the box that held his wife beneath him.

Oh my son, why does morning break each day

why do people pass away?

The rain continued to fall on the people gathered in the graveyard and on the people outside walking by and trying to get on with their day. It fell in the cities and the suburbs. It fell by the coast, and it fell on the mountains and under a dark sky, under dead foliage, and in a forgotten part of the Dublin mountains the rain fell so heavily that the earth slid and moved, and under that dark sky and dead foliage and in that forgotten part of Dublin’s mountains, a black high-heel boot poked through.

Oh it’s the mystery in truth

it’s the innocence in youth

or a rooftop lullaby

falling from the sky

sends us to sleep tonight,

it’s the apple in your eye

keeps you as sweet as pie

dreaming through the night.

16
“Crazy”

Life’s a little mystery waiting to be solved,

questions they come pouring down with a little pinch of salt,

forever poised to conquer, forever poised to fall

but every time I close my eyes I hear these voices call.

Jack L,
Metropolis Blue

December 2008

Leslie had successfully avoided Jim for a month when eventually, through his tenacity and refusal to take no for an answer, she gave in. They walked mostly in silence, engaging in some small talk, and when they found a little bench by the bandstand they sat and watched a young band play to a small group of their teenage friends. Jim told her that he had gone home and felt very stupid the night he had given her Imelda’s letter. He further explained that it had not been his intention to suggest that the only reason he was in Leslie’s life was that his dead wife had asked him to be. Jim hadn’t considered for a moment that Leslie would jump to that conclusion, but having read the letter many times since, he felt a bit of a fool for not having considered the possibility. His intention had been to show Leslie how brave she was and how proud her sister would have been to see her not only surviving but living. He wanted her to know how happy seeing her surviving and living made him. He wanted her to know that he cared for her.

“But you don’t love me,” Leslie said quietly.

“I think that I do,” he said.

“But …” Leslie said, sensing the word was coming.

“But you’ve just gone through a massive life-changing operation.”

“It’s been five months.”

“That’s no time.”

“You think I’m using you,” she said.

“No,” he said, “I would never think that.”

“You think that we could never have anything because you belong to Imelda.”

“No.” He shook his head. “I let Imelda go a long time ago.”

“But you never remarried.”

“The relationships I had didn’t work out because of age, distance, incompatibility, and a million and one other reasons that had nothing to do with Imelda.”

“Do you think you could really love me?” Leslie asked.

“I do,” he said.

“So?”

“So I’m scared. Are you really ready for love?”

“I am,” she said.

“Don’t just say that, think about it.”

“I have.”

“Please, think about it again.”

“Why?”

“Because I survived losing one Sheehan. I don’t think I could survive losing two.”

“I’m ready. I’m ready for you. If you’ll have me?” she said, and he smiled, showing his dimples, and he kissed her right there on a bench in front of ten teenagers nodding to the worst rock band in the free world.

It was Christmas week, which was always Elle’s favorite time of year. She loved walking among the hordes of shoppers and the dancing lights and beautiful window displays. She liked the big twinkling trees and the faux snow and the cold crisp air that reddened her nose.

She’d felt strangely content since she’d spoken with Jane after Breda’s funeral. Jane had driven them home, and when her mother had gone to bed for a nap, having nearly drunk the Walshes out of house and home, Jane had made her way down to Elle’s cottage and they had sat and talked. Jane told Elle about their father and what he had done, and contrary to Jane’s reaction, Elle’s was considered and calm because to Elle, her father’s actions made perfect sense.

Then Jane approached Elle about her own mental well-being.

“You think that there’s something wrong with me?” Elle said, and she laughed.

“I don’t know,” Jane admitted, “but when I think about things you’ve done, I worry.”

“Like what?”

“You disappear for weeks without a word.”

“I’m in my late twenties, I live in my sister’s backyard, I’m an artist who requires inspiration, and sometimes I just need to get away.”

“You sleep around with God knows who—it’s not safe.”

“That makes me a slut, not insane.”

“You nearly froze to death in the bath.”

“Because I was stoned out of my mind.”

“You burned out Vincent’s car.”

“I remember you saying you would have done the same thing at the time.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean it. What about the time you rescued all those dogs from pounds around Dublin and you couldn’t care for them?”

“Okay, I was pretty overzealous, but I dare you to go into one of those places and not want to save all the dogs.”

“You give away too much money.”

“Because I have it and I don’t need it.”

“You don’t have that much, and in case you hadn’t noticed, the world has changed in the last year. Money isn’t falling from the sky anymore.”

“Okay,” Elle said, “I’ll be more careful.”

“You burned your beautiful work.”

“It wasn’t good. I just couldn’t look at it anymore.”

“What about China?”

“Ah Jane, it was an accident.”

“Vincent swears it wasn’t.”

“Vincent is a liar.”

“He said you could not have missed seeing that car.”

“Jane, I was upset, I was crying, it was raining, I didn’t see the car. I need glasses, not psychiatric care.”

Jane stayed silent and thought about everything her sister made light of.

“I’m just a dick. I’ll change. I’ll grow up,” Elle promised.

“Are you sure there’s nothing you’re not telling me? Because, Elle, sometimes you look so sad.”

“We all get sad.”

“I know but …”

“But I’m fine.”

“You’ll come to me if that changes?”

“Absolutely,” Elle said, and she saluted Jane.

“Okay.”

And since that conversation Jane and Elle had been on really good terms. The incident with Dominic was all but forgotten, and Elle felt a strange lightness, like a weary passenger who knows her journey will soon end.

Elle made her way through town buying the best and most expensive presents she could find. In Brown Thomas she bought a sound system for Kurt that cost over three grand. She went into Weir and bought her sister a pair of diamond earrings valued at five grand. She bought her mother a necklace that cost four grand. She bought Leslie the most beautiful silk dress and had it boxed and paid for it to be delivered on Christmas Eve. She bought Tom an antique desk because it was the kind of thing she thought he’d like, and even though her sister didn’t know and he didn’t know if they were a couple or if they weren’t, they would be someday. She even bought Dominic something. It was a set of golf clubs and a bag. They were far superior to the ones he’d been using since his twenties, and she figured now that his bank was being bailed out by the government and he was facing possible redundancy he’d have plenty of time to golf.

Leslie was waiting for her in the restaurant. They hugged warmly and sat. Once they had ordered, Leslie updated Elle on her love life.

“I told you so,” Elle said.

“Nobody likes the ‘told-you-so’ person.”

“So when is he moving in?” Elle asked, knowing it would irk Leslie.

“About a quarter past never,” Leslie said. “Living together? For God’s sake, Elle!” She shuffled in her seat. “We haven’t even slept together yet.”

“You are joking?”

“We’re taking it slowly.”

“Yeah, but Leslie, there’s moving slowly and then there’s going back in time.”

“It’s a big deal for me.”

“I know.”

She sighed. “I still feel …‘ugly’ is the wrong word …”

“Mangled?”

“No.”

“Butchered?”

“No, but thanks for bringing that up.”

“Unfeminine?”

“Yes,” Leslie said, “unfeminine.”

“Well,” Elle said, “you are sitting here beautifully made up, with your copper pixie hair perfectly coiffed; you’ve got your fingernails and toenails manicured and painted; you’re wearing a sexy Jersey dress to the knee that shows off your great legs, which are finished off perfectly by a pair of black high heels. When I met you over a year ago, you were a human condom in bad shoes. Trust me when I say that you are far more feminine now than you were then.”

Leslie smiled, because Elle was right. They were halfway through their main course when Leslie told Elle that she and Jim were thinking about going to Florida for Christmas.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“I think that you should do what makes you happy.”

“Then I think I should go.”

“I think that’s brilliant,” Elle said. “I’m so happy for you, and I’m proud of you. You’re a fighter, Leslie. Not all of us are.”

After lunch, briefly, if only for a second, Leslie thought about Elle’s demeanor, and it dawned on her that she seemed altered—calmer, more considered, happier, resigned even. But then Jim waved at her from across the street and she forgot all about Elle.

At home, Elle took great care to ensure that her presents were wrapped perfectly. She took time writing the cards, as she wanted everyone she loved to know how much she loved them.

She put them under the tree that Jane had made Kurt carry in from the car. Elle had pulled out her box of decorations, and she and Jane went through them. Jane held up the papier-máché angel that she had made when she was ten.

“I can’t believe you still have this,” she said.

“I love it,” Elle said, taking it from her.

“It’s horrible.”

“It’s lovely. It’s just too broken—it keeps falling off the tree.”

“So throw it out,” Kurt said.

“No,” Elle said and placed it carefully back into the box.

Rose knocked on the door, and before Elle yelled “Come in!” she was sitting on a chair directing Kurt where to put the figurine of Joseph that Elle always insisted on hanging on the tree.

“Kurt, put him a bit higher than that—after all, he put up with an awful lot.”

Kurt wasn’t looking forward to Christmas Day. He was back with Irene, and she was determined they spend Christmas with her mother. Kurt had promised his girlfriend that he would make more time for her during crisis talks a week earlier, and so he couldn’t back out of her mother’s invitation to Christmas lunch without being accused of welching on their agreed terms.

“Just dump her,” Rose said with her usual tact.

“I love her, Gran. I don’t want to lose her.” Then he added with an ironic twist of his mouth, “At least not until I’m over second year.”

Jane laughed. “That’s your idea of love?”

“You know what I mean,” he said, placing a bauble on the tree.

“No,” Jane said, “I don’t.”

“Yeah, well, Mum, when it comes to love you’re hardly the greatest example.”

“Thank you, son, happy Christmas.”

Elle looked around at her family, her mother sitting on the chair sipping from a mug pretending it was tea, her sister and her nephew engaging in some good-natured sniping. Her little cottage was lit up and full of Christmas cheer. Elle felt content. When they left, she went into her bedroom for a nap, and when she closed her eyes she saw her father hanging from the rafters of his home office by Jane’s jump rope and under him she saw herself sitting on the floor playing with her dolls. She looked up to watch him swing, and when he stopped she tipped him so that he’d swing again. She had been seeing this image since Jane had told her about their dad, and every time she was alone, eyes open or closed, she saw the same image. In her head she heard him crying and gasping and struggling, gurgling and dying.

I’m sorry, Dad, I should have known, but I know what to do now. You won’t be alone anymore. I’m so sorry you waited so long. I’ll see you soon.

Then she fell asleep.

Since their sleeping together that one time, Tom and Jane’s relationship had not been defined and neither of them was in a particular rush to do so. They didn’t talk about having sex, and both of them were able to put it to the back of their minds so that they could still be friends. Jane and Tom behaved as if that night had never happened. It was Frankie who broached the subject with Tom one day when she met him accidentally in the fruit section of the local supermarket they shared.

“It was nice of Jane to come to Breda’s funeral,” she said.

“She was fond of her,” he said.

“She’s fonder of you than Breda.”

“Oh Frankie, please don’t.”

“You like each other,” Frankie said, “and that’s a good thing.”

“And what about Alexandra?”

“Let’s get coffee,” she said.

They dropped their baskets and went to the coffee shop next door. When they were sitting with coffee in hand, Frankie made the point to her brother-in-law that she had long been dying to make.

“You need to move on.”

“Easy for you to say,” he said.

“It’s not easy for any one of us to say. We all loved Alexandra. But Tom, it’s been a year and a half, you know the statistics, and you know what the liaison officer has said time and time again.”

“People are found all the time,” he said, but it was without the conviction with which he had once spoken.