No Goodbye (2 page)

The whole house is in a state of chaos and calamity, and yet Mum is gone less than twenty-four hours. I don’t believe anyone got enough sleep last night, and we all look it. Dad’s got bags under his eyes and Lucy’s look sort of red and weepy.

Conor and Lucy are having a massive fight on the landing, over a pair of navy socks. Lucy wins the tug-o’-war.

Then Conor begins to whine, ‘My tracksuit top and my socks are missing!’ expecting somebody else to go searching for them.

Our hot press is like a tumble-dryer in mid-spin, everything is all over the place. Anything Mum ironed last week will be all creased and crumpled by now, and it’s every man for himself as we pull out the clothes we need.

‘The wash basket is full,’ I say, staring at Lucy.

‘So!’ she says.

‘Well,
someone
had better do some washing!’

‘SOMEONE! Well, which someone did you have
in mind?’ she replies sarcastically.

‘You, of course! Lucy, come on, you must have watched Mum often enough to know what to do!’

‘I’ve watched her for twelve years, I admit,’ she snaps, ‘but you’ve watched for over fourteen years, so you should
really
know!’

‘Stop fighting, you two!’ says Dad. He grabs the big wash basket and empties it out on the floor. ‘Now, sort them into piles,’ he orders. ‘Coloureds and whites, I suppose,’ he adds a little uncertainly.

Grace just stands there, naked, watching us all.

‘Gracey! Go and get dressed!’ I yell at her.

She looks at me with big, sad, blue eyes, and doesn’t budge.

‘Go easy on her, Greg. She’s had a rough night. She doesn’t understand what’s going on, and she’s scared,’ whispers Lucy. ‘I’ll get her dressed in a few minutes, but she needs to have a bath first.’

Apparently when Lucy eventually went back up to bed last night, she discovered Grace had had an accident and peed all over herself, and then clambered into Lucy’s bed and was upset because Lucy wasn’t there.

The stink off those wet sheets!

‘Greg! Put those sheets and pyjamas of Grace’s down in the washing machine and turn it on!’ orders Dad.

‘I will not,’ I say. ‘I’m not going into school smelling of that! Anyway, I’m not sure how to use the machine.’

Dad’s got his good suit on, so he can’t do it, and Conor has disappeared off to the loo.

‘Leave them! I’ll do it,’ offers Lucy resignedly, ‘but Grace is going to have her bath first!’

Grace climbs into a bath full of pink bubbles that Lucy has run for her, and is busy washing her Barbie doll’s hair.

‘Dad! You stand and watch her,’ orders Lucy, as Dad tries to slink off downstairs to read the paper in peace. He stands over the bath watching Grace until Lucy is ready to dry and dress her.

When he comes downstairs I don’t bother telling him about the damp patch on the sleeve of his suit where Grace splashed him. I’m sure he’ll notice it soon enough.

Now, Grace won’t eat her breakfast. Two bowls of Rice Krispies lie on the table in front of her.

‘Too much milk,’ she complains. ‘Too soggy.’

Dad looks as if he could shake her. ‘Come on, pet,’ he pleads, ‘be a good girl and eat up.’

Grace shakes her head and sticks out her bottom lip. ‘No! No! No!’ she screams. ‘I want Mummy to do it!’

Lucy arrives dressed in her school uniform and takes in the situation at once.

‘Ah! Goldilocks!’ she says softly, while pouring out a fresh bowl and sprinkling sugar on the top. ‘This bowl of porridge is too hot!’ says Lucy dramatically. ‘This bowl of porridge is too salty! … And this little bowl of porridge is,’ she pours the milk on as quick as lightning and shoves it under Grace’s nose, ‘just perfect.’

Grace plunges in her spoon and gobbles it all up. Dad and I are stunned by this twelve-year-old psychologist. Lucy nibbles at the corner of her crusty brown bread nonchalantly.

Conor is sullen and quiet. He eats a bowl of cereal and avoids looking at anyone.

Dad is trying to make turkey-roll sandwiches for us all. He forgets the lettuce and has to open them all and stick a bit of green in before packing them again in the lunchboxes.

The postman comes and Conor runs out to bring in the letters. Just two bills. Nothing else. Nothing from Mum.

‘I’m taking Grace to school today,’ announces Dad, ‘and Gran will collect her later and come back here for the rest of the day and cook dinner for us all.’

‘That’s just great!’ mutters Conor. Gran is always on at him.

‘She’s helping us out, Conor, so be nice to her,’ Dad warns. ‘I’ll have to ask Deirdre to help as well. We can’t expect Gran to be here every day.’ Deirdre lives across the road. She has a small baby of her own, and she sometimes minds Grace if Mum has to go somewhere.

The clock shows eight-thirty. I’ll be late for the school bus. Grabbing my bag and lunchbox I race to the stop. Through the steamed-up windows I see Barry and Don and Niall. I pretend not to notice them and sit on a spare seat in the front and take out a book. If I get through today I’ll be okay.

Granny came over to mind me again today.

She tried to make me happy and bought me an ice-cream cone on the way home from school.

We played five games of snakes and ladders, and I won three of them.

We made brown bread, and some buns. Then she had a little nap when she finished reading the paper.

I want Mummy to come back now, right now! I just want my own Mummy.

Mummy and Daddy have separated. Daddy told me about it. He said it means that Mummy is gone away for a little while. It’s because they are always fighting.

Mummy still loves me and Lucy and Conor and Greg, but she just doesn’t love Daddy as much anymore.

Conor says she has gone away to think about it and to decide what’s best for us all.

I wish Daddy had gone and Mummy had stayed to mind me.

By the time I get home from school, the late afternoon sun is slanting into the kitchen where my grandmother is busy slicing vegetables. I don’t know what our family would do without Gran, she’s always ready to come around when we need her.

I bite into a chunk of raw carrot.

‘Well, Greg! How are you doing?’ she gives me a tragic look. ‘This is a terrible thing to do … I don’t know what’s come over Vanessa. I had no idea … We’ve been through so much together, good times and bad times, ups and downs, the four of you being born, starting school … You know, your Mum was very good to me when your poor Grandad was sick and dying. Why couldn’t she have talked to me? Maybe I could have helped.’

Normally, Mum and Gran are really close, and when Mum went into hospital to have Grace, years ago, Gran came and stayed here and took over, and afterwards she used to come over a lot because Mum got that kind of baby depression thing. Dad always
said it was Gran that got Mum smiling and back on her feet again.

‘Your Mum is devoted to all of you. Why would she go off to London like this, leaving a good home and a lovely family? I just don’t understand it. Poor Chris is in a state of shock!’

Gran’s round face is flushed with annoyance and exertion and puzzlement as she chops away, decimating the carrots into tiny thin strips.

‘All marriages have their rough patches, Greg, you know, that’s nothing unusual. I know Chris has his faults, but you just don’t throw away years …’

I stare at the table. I can’t stop the tears coming in my eyes. I wish she’d stop getting us both upset, talking about Mum like this. It’s not going to do any good.

Gran lifts her grey-blonde permed head to look at me, then wipes her hands on her apron and surprises me with a hug, warm and comforting and smelling of cologne.

‘Don’t mind me, Greg! I’m sorry for going on. This is probably just a storm that will blow over. Your mother will realise what she’s missing, and come back home in a day or two.’

‘Gran, I’ve a load of homework to do,’ I tell her.

‘Okay, Greg. I’ll give you a shout when the dinner is ready.’

It’s a relief to escape upstairs. My bedroom is cluttered and small. Dad set up a desk for studying. Above it are shelves with all my books and tapes. I change out of my uniform and sit down and spread out my books. What the hell do I care about the state of France during the Revolution when my whole life and home are falling apart! Then a terrible thought crosses my mind: Gran might have to come and live with us and I might have to give up this room and share with Conor!

Dad is late as usual, so the four of us end up having dinner with Gran. The beef casserole is just great and there’s a large tray of crispy roast potatoes to go with it.

Conor stares at Gran with narrow, jealous eyes when she sits down in Mum’s chair. Lucy keeps staring at the back door as if any minute now Mum will walk in and catch her eating – she actually feels guilty!

My stomach is rumbling and Gran is delighted when I wolf down a huge plate of dinner.

‘Going hungry never helped solve a problem,’ she rambles on, cutting up another potato for Grace. ‘I suppose I’d better put your Dad’s dinner in the oven to keep it warm,’ she adds.

‘Mummy always has to do that!’ puts in Grace, ‘and she gives out about it too.’

It’s almost eight when we hear the car door slam in the driveway. We’re all watching TV. Dad appears in and nods to us all before heading into the kitchen with Gran. He doesn’t come back for ages. Obviously he’s getting a talking to. My grandmother is a lady with lots of opinions and she’s not shy about sharing them all. I’d better rescue him.

‘Hiya, Greg!’ he says when I come into the kitchen. ‘How was school? Everything okay?’

Gran leaves us alone.

‘Fine, Dad. We’ve a rugby match on Saturday.’

The Junior Bs are not the best team, but we’re getting there. Once we practice and keep in good shape, there’s always a chance of getting picked for the A team. Last year Barry’s brother played in the semi-finals and finals when one of the A guys got a
burst appendix. One man’s bad luck is another man’s good luck.

‘How was your day, Dad?’ I ask.

He shrugs his shoulders, takes off his jacket and flings it on the chair. ‘Four chemists and a creamery, a surgery and two racing stables – the usual!’

Being a medical rep for a pharmaceutical company means Dad has to travel a lot. At the moment he’s hawking the latest veterinary products. He sounds and looks tired out. It must be hell driving around trying to sell stuff with this kind of turmoil going on.

Grace won’t go to bed for Gran, so Lucy is trying to coax her.

Conor is stuck with his homework. Usually Mum helps him and listens to his spellings. Dad does his best to give a hand, but he doesn’t do it properly and Conor ends up flinging the book at him.

‘Highly strung! Just like his mother,’ mutters Gran. ‘Chris, I have to go,’ she says at last, ‘I promised Marjorie I’d call over to finalise plans for our art group’s annual trip.’ She’s busy buttoning up her jacket, then she fixes a silk scarf around her neck.

‘Maybe I should cancel the trip?’ She looks anxiously at Dad.

‘Mum! Don’t even think of it! We’ll manage. Thanks for coming. I don’t know what we’d all do without you,’ Dad says.

‘It’s the least I could do.’ She fusses, gives him a hug and says, ‘I’ll be round again tomorrow, but don’t forget, Chris, Friday is my Meals On Wheels day, and I can’t let the old people down.’

Dad nods, gives her a peck on the cheek and waves her off as she gets into her old Renault 4. Now it’s just the five of us.

Mrs O’Malley, my teacher, is talking to the class about Newgrange. We’re going to go on our school tour there. She has photocopied pages with lists of things to look out for and Carrie is busy giving them out.

I just feel awful today. I can hardly hear what Mrs O’Malley’s saying. There’s a tickly lump in my throat, and my eyes keep filling up with tears. I can’t help crying. I try to let my hair fall over my face a bit so nobody will see, and I kind of lean my face on my hand so I look like I’m really concentrating. I need to blow my nose.

Brenda, who sits next to me, is staring ahead. It’s funny, but when you think of someone, they suddenly feel it, and she turns around to me, then reaches into her schoolbag and passes me a small packet of tissues. She always has a supply, as her hayfever starts around this time of year. I dab my eyes and blow my nose quietly.

Jill swings around and notices me. ‘What’s wrong?’ she whispers.

I close my eyes and don’t answer. I didn’t tell anyone yesterday. But today I just can’t keep up the pretence that everything’s normal.

Mrs O’Malley stops talking, looks down towards us and then decides to continue.

It’s so hard to think about school things and visiting ancient burial sites when all I keep thinking about is home, and Mum and Dad, and what’s going
to happen. How long does a trial separation go on, and what happens then? Huge tears push their way out and I make this strange gulping sound when I try to swallow.

Brenda is talking to me. ‘Lucy! Lucy!’

Mrs O’Malley stops. ‘Brenda Brophy! What’s going on down there?’

‘It’s Lucy, Miss. She’s crying.’

‘What’s the matter?’ the teacher asks, all concerned now. ‘Lucy Dolphin, are you feeling all right?’

I’m afraid to say even one tiny word, because if I do, I know I’ll end up bawling like a big cry-baby.

Brenda seems to understand. ‘She’s not feeling well, Miss!’ she lies. ‘Maybe she might get sick.’

Mrs O’Malley squints down towards me. Like all teachers, she just hates it when someone throws up in the classroom, and they have to clean it up and open all the windows and get disinfectant to get rid of the smell.

‘Then take her out, Brenda, quickly now, take her down to the infirmary.’

Brenda pushes back her chair and stands up and manages to get me out the classroom door. All the others are watching me.

Brenda walks beside me down the wide sunny corridor. She’s waiting for me to tell her what’s going on, but at the moment I just feel too miserable to talk.

The infirmary is really just a small little room with a kind of couch-bed in it and a blanket and pillows, and two armchairs. The teachers also use it for storing wall charts for class work. There’s a big first-aid poster stuck on the wall telling you what to do in emergencies, like choking, or falling, or getting stung.

One of the second-class girls is already there, sitting on a chair with a woolly hat on her head. I remember getting that hat on when I was younger – it’s a special knitted blue beehive hat with flaps for people with sore ears. It’s meant to keep your ears warm and make you feel better. Sister Catherine is reading the girl a story. She looks up questioningly when she spots Brenda and me.

‘Mrs O’Malley sent us down,’ explains Brenda. ‘Lucy isn’t well. She’s upset.’

Sister Catherine peers at me anxiously, and reaches to a shelf for a white plastic bowl, which she hands me.

‘Brenda, you may go back to class now. Thank you, I’ll look after Lucy.’

Brenda nods. ‘See you later, Lucy!’ she calls back to me as she heads off.

Sister Catherine shoves a thermometer into my mouth. I already know it’s going to read normal. She takes it out and glances at the silver line. ‘No fever anyway! Would you like me to phone your mother, Lucy?’

‘No!’ I shake my head. ‘She’s out,’ I tell her. It’s only a half-lie.

‘Well, maybe if you have a rest there for a while, you may feel a bit better soon!’ She’s trying to be tactful and doesn’t ask why my eyes are all red and weepy. She potters around and lets me be.

The other girl looks ghastly pale, and after about twenty minutes her mother arrives to collect her.

It’s breaktime and Sister Catherine goes to join the rest of the staff for a cup of tea. I am to ring the little brass handbell if I need her.

Brenda and Jill knock on the door, and see that I’m on my own.

‘The coast is clear,’ Jill laughs. ‘Is it okay for us to come in?’

I wish they had gone out into the yard with the rest of the class and left me alone.

‘Did you get sick?’ asks Jill. Honestly, she’s a real curiosity box, even if she is one of my best friends.

‘No.’

‘That’s good anyway,’ says Brenda, moving over and sitting on the edge of the couch. ‘Is your Mum coming to get you?’

‘No! She’s out … she’s not around!’

‘Oh!’

‘Actually …’ I make up my mind to tell them, ‘… she’s gone away.’ I hate bottling things up, keeping secrets. ‘My Mum has left my Dad, left all of us. They’ve split up!’

They are both totally silent and I can tell they haven’t a clue what to say to me.

‘When did she go?’ asks Brenda.

Tuesday. She left a letter. It’s a sort of trial separation,’ I explain.

‘How long is she gone for?’ asks Jill.

‘I don’t know. My Dad won’t say!’

‘Does she have a boyfriend? Has she met someone
else?’ Jill asks.

It’s weird, but I hadn’t even thought of that. I shake my head. ‘No, definitely not.’

‘Are they going to get a divorce?’ Brenda’s voice is full of concern.

‘No, Brenda! I don’t think so! Look, I just don’ t know yet. All I know at the moment is that my Mum is not at home, and that none of us is sure what the hell is going to happen.’ I’m almost shouting at them.

‘No wonder you were crying,’ Brenda says softly. ‘You must miss her so much!’

I close my eyes because I feel like crying again.

Brenda puts her arm round my shoulder. ‘It’s all right, Luce! Jill and I understand, don’t we, Jill?’

Jill is standing there, twirling a piece of her hair round her finger, not sure what to make of it all. Her Mum and Dad never have rows or fights.

‘It happens to lots of people,’ Brenda tries to reassure me. ‘Sure my Mum and Dad are always on at each other. Look at Orla, her parents separated when she was a baby, and you know about Caitriona, her Dad is living down in Wicklow with his new girlfriend.’

‘Yeah!’ adds Jill, ‘and don’t forget Carrie, the new
girl!’ We all know about Carrie and her Mum moving back to Ireland, and her Dad who still lives in New Jersey, with his new wife and Carrie’s two little half-brothers. She’s always telling us stories about her life in America, and the house and the school and the friends that she had to leave behind when her Mum and Dad got divorced.

I hope that doesn’t happen to me.

‘Listen, Lucy! We’re your friends. Whatever happens with your parents, we’re your best buddies!’ Brenda is looking right at me. She is my best friend in the whole world. Her face is freckled, she has blue-grey eyes and her brown hair is tied back in a ponytail. Next year, she has to get ‘train-tracks’ on her teeth, as her top ones stick out too much. Eventually I’ll be pretty, she keeps saying, but I like her just the way she is.

‘Yes,’ Jill agrees, ‘we’ll be around,’ she offers hesitantly. Sometimes Jill is so self-centred, all she worries about is being top of the class and getting high marks. Already she’s obsessed with going to college. Brenda and I are always trying to get her to relax about school.

‘Thanks,’ I mumble.

They both give me a sort of a hug, and we cling together, with me sniffling and both of them nearly crying too.

Sister Catherine walks in. ‘What’s going on, girls? What are the two of you doing down here when class is due to start?’

I blush. It’s my fault. ‘I’m feeling a lot better, Sister, and they came down to take me back to class.’

‘Are you sure, Lucy?’

‘Yes, Sister. Honestly! I feel a whole lot better now!’