No Way to Say Goodbye (22 page)

“Well, that and a photography course in NYU.” She sighed. “It would have been good.”

“You could still do it.”

“Yeah, right,” she scoffed. “I’d fit in beautifully.”

“You would.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“And I was ignoring your sarcasm.”

“What about you? Why didn’t you follow your dream?” she asked.

“How do you know I didn’t?” he asked.

“Do you play guitar for a living?”

“No.”

“Well, then…”

“You’re so sure that’s what I wanted?”

“I am.”

They were quiet for a moment. Then Mary asked, “Sam. What did you do?”

“I told you I was in management.”

“Management of what?”

“Management of people.”

“OK, don’t tell me. But, whether you like it or not, you can’t remain a mystery for ever.”

“Just give me some time,” he said.

Their night ended on her wall. They sat looking out onto a low tide of black water lit by sparse street-lights and uninhabited stranded boats.

“I’ve made so many mistakes,” Sam said, taking Mary by surprise.

“We all make mistakes.”

“Not like me.”

“We all make mistakes,” she repeated.

He said nothing.

“Are you free tomorrow?” she asked.

“For what?”

“If you can be mysterious, so can I.”

*

Penny had spent two weeks locked indoors. She was working on her own assignments, picking up the slack from the Cork correspondent and investing the rest of her time on personal research. She had told Mary she wouldn’t be around for a few weeks and Mary didn’t question it – after all, she was often busy. All the same, her friend must have wondered what kept her off the phone. No matter how busy Penny had been before, she’d always made time for a quick chat, but Penny knew that, over the past while, she and her best pal had been drifting. This was her own fault – after Adam had left she had pushed Mary away. She wasn’t sure why and she missed her but sometimes, despite the loneliness, it was easier to be alone. In those two weeks she spent more time working than drinking, managing to hand in her assignments on time and with little need for correction.

Each evening she would sit at her computer on Google. It was incredible how many times Sam’s name came up. It was easy to find out he was in A&R. It was easy to trace the companies he’d worked for, and to find out how many famous acts he’d discovered. The relationship he had with Mia was not so simple to determine. Penny knew he had discovered and groomed her, but that picture suggested there had been more to it. But Google wasn’t telling. Mia’s relationship with Sam had never been made public so Penny was forced to dig a little deeper.

She started at the beginning. She spoke to Dave, the songwriter in Sam’s second band Limbs, and he filled her in on Sam’s arrogance and his propensity for violence. He spilled his bitterness, deriding Sam’s contempt for the band’s direction. Penny would later quote him in her article and yet, for the sake of credibility, she chose not to mention that Dave Lindman, formerly of Limbs, was working as a distributor for a large toy company, never having made it in the music business.

In something approaching a miracle, Sophia Sheffer picked up the phone at the first ring. Since she’d lost her record deal at the hands of a vindictive Sam, she had fallen on hard times. However, she was slowly recovering and recently had scored a hit with
The Rocky Horror Show
on Broadway. She laid the blame for her failure as a recording artist at Sam’s feet. She could have recovered her sales, given the chance – at least that was what she believed. That she hadn’t been able to get another record deal since she’d been dropped or write any good new material to catch the eye of a hit-making producer was glossed over. Instead Sophia was determined that Penny would paint her as Sam Sullivan’s unfortunate victim. After all, she had left him for a promising record deal and as soon as he became head of A&R at her company she had been dropped. It was an easy link to make, although further research revealed that Sophia was only one of ten acts dumped that year, and of those acts she had achieved the second lowest sales. Penny spoke to Joe Merrigan, Sam’s first A&R boss, who gave her his daughter Frankie’s phone number. They both made compelling interviewees, Joe’s disgust at his right-hand man’s defection and Frankie’s heartbreak still evident after so many years. The obviously fragile-minded woman’s attempt on her own life would make for gripping reading.

After much finagling Penny managed to speak to Leland on the pretext of having information about Sam that he would find interesting.

As it turned out it was Leland who gave away Sam’s relationship with Mia but only after Penny took a calculated risk. “I think he’d really like to go back,” she lied.

“I wouldn’t have that junkie back if he was the last A&R guy left with ears,” Leland drawled. Of course he didn’t mean it. Leland would have taken Sam back in an instant even though he hated the asshole: Leland knew that money talked and a guy like Sam, as fucked up as he was, was money in the bank.

Junkie. He was a junkie? What kind of junkie? Play it cool. Play it cool.

“He’s clean now and he misses Mia,” she ventured.

“So?” Leland said.

“I think he wants her back,” Penny said, as though she knew what she was talking about.

Leland laughed. “Forget it. He’ll never get her back. He had four years to do the right thing. He blew it.”

“You’re so sure?”
Oh, my God, this is gold!

“Listen, honey, I know you’re from some small town in some small country and he’s your neighbour and your friend and you’re trying to help ’cause you think you know this guy but you don’t. Nobody knows him. Not Mia, not me and certainly not you.”

“So he was a coke addict. All he wants is another chance.” She needed to confirm what kind of junkie he was so she made a guess, knowing she was about to be hung up on.

“Coke.” He laughed. “Is that what he told you?”

“Yeah, and I have no reason to doubt him,” she said, injecting enough hurt into her voice to elicit the truth.

“Ha! Try heroin. The guy’s a loser and my advice to you is to stay clear.”

“So you’re telling me that Mia Johnson had a long-term relationship with a heroin addict?” she said, with glee.

“Excuse me?” he said, clearly alarmed by the change in her tone.

“You’re right – I am from a small town in a small country, but it looks like I’m going to be the one to break Mia’s sordid love story. Maybe you could pass on my number just in case she wants to comment. After all, these revelations can have a life of their own. If he was a junkie, maybe she was too. Maybe she drove him to drugs – or was she the angel who saved him?”

“You’re swimming out of your depth,” Leland warned.

“But I’m not the one sinking,” she said, and hung up. She poured herself a glass of vodka with a shaking hand and pondered as to whether or not she would hear from the lady herself.

The sun was out and Sam had taken to playing his guitar in the back garden. He had woken with the idea for a melody that refused to go away so instead of fighting it he spent the morning working out the chords and, like the Pointer Sisters many years before, losing himself in music.

Mary popped up from behind the wall, scaring the crap out of him. “Nice song,” she said. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“‘Nothing’. I like it. It has a nice ring to it.”

He laughed her off.

“Are you ready?” she asked. “For my surprise trip?”

He put the guitar down. “I’ll meet you out front.”

Once in the car they drove across the bridge and eight kilometres down a narrow, winding road. When they got out, they had to walk through a rain-soaked field of grazing cows. She refused to give him any indication of where they were or what they were doing until they reached what could only be described as the burned-out shell of a stone hut that housed two donkeys.

She stopped and took a photo.

“Well?” he said.

“This was your granny’s family home.” She smiled.

“You’re kidding me?” he said, his voice laced with awe.

“Of course, it’s buggered now, but I found an old map in the library and this article about the fire. I’m sorry about that.” She nudged the map into his hand.

He was still staring at the remnants of his grandmother’s house. “How did you know where to look?” he asked.

“You mentioned your granny’s maiden name to Ivan who mentioned it to me. I spoke to my dad, who spoke to Jerry Letter, whose ancient ex-neighbour Dick Dogs had known your grandmother’s brother David. I researched the rest in the local library.”

“I didn’t think there would be anything left,” he said.

“I was pretty surprised myself,” she admitted. “And look over here!” She walked towards a stand of tall trees.

He followed, wide-eyed.

“Someone thought to put up a plaque. It must have been your grand-uncle Tim, seeing as he was the only one to survive.”

Sam read it.

AT THIS PLACE CALLED HOME SIOBHÁN AND COLM BRESLIN, MOTHER AND FATHER TO FIVE, REST WITH THEIR SONS VINCENT, JACKIE AND DAVID. THEY WILL BE FOR EVER MISSED BY TIM AND LENA.

A lot of text followed but it was in Gaelic.

“Lena was my grandmother’s name,” he said. “Can you translate?”

“I can. I had to look it up. I was always rubbish at Irish.” She read the transcription: “‘May God grant you always a sunbeam to warm you…’”

He joined in: “‘… a moonbeam to charm you, a sheltering angel so nothing can harm you, laughter to cheer you, faithful friends near you. And whenever you pray, Heaven to hear you.’” He smiled. “It was a blessing my grandmother’s father used to whisper to her each night before she fell asleep.”

“A family blessing. That makes sense.” She nodded as though something had clicked into place. “It’s a bit of a weird prayer for the dead.” She snapped a photograph.

“I can’t believe you did this,” he said, touched by all the trouble she’d gone to.

“Me neither. Usually I’m pretty lazy.”

Later, walking to the car, he told her the story of how his great-grandparents and their three eldest sons had perished in a fire a year after his grandmother’s father had waved goodbye to her. Tim had returned from a dance to find his family dead and his home destroyed. He’d left the town within weeks of the funerals. It was only when he’d died of pneumonia and his wife, a Cavan woman, had written to his grandmother that she had discovered the truth about the rest of her family. It turned out that for the six years after his parents’ and brothers’ deaths Tim had written to her in their names pretending all was well.

“My God,” Mary had said, a little overwhelmed. “Why?”

“My grandmother used to say that her brother had thought it best to carry the pain of two.”

When they got to the car, she said, “Let’s open a bottle of wine when we get home.”

“You celebrating?”

“No, but I think it’s only fair to raise a glass to Tim.”

“I’d like that.”

17. I hate to say I told you so

Ivan went straight home as Sienna had promised she’d call in at the end of her shift. The place was a mess and he wanted to clear up before she arrived. He did it using the hiding and stuffing system he had perfected as a teenager. As long as Sienna didn’t open any cupboard, she’d believe him to be a neater, and therefore better, soul than he was. He spent a maximum of two minutes dusting and banged the large rug against the back wall rather than hoovering. Mrs O’Connor of the O’Connor Murphys would be annoyed by his shoddy efforts to maintain her high standard of cleanliness in her two-week absence. Although she would chastise him, much as his mother had done many years before, he was most definitely looking forward to her return.

He was sitting by the window, reading the paper and listening to Dave Fanning debate the hundred greatest rock stars on 2FM. A hot tea, an interesting article and ACDC’s “Thunderstruck” suggested that a good night lay ahead. The phone rang as Brian Johnson was beginning the second verse.
Ah, Christ!

He was surprised to hear his ex-wife on the line. Her tone was decidedly frost-free.

“Do you have a minute?”

“Of course,” he said, a little alarmed – perhaps she was about to discuss his budding relationship with Sienna and, if so, a part of him prepared to be annoyed. After all, what right had she to talk to him about his relationships?

“The kids had such a good time this Easter,” she said.

Here we go
. But her voice sounded more relaxed than it had in months. She almost sounded like his wife.

“Justy’s cheeks are still rosy. I’d forgotten what that looked like.”

He found himself smiling. “She ate me out of house and home.”

“She’d live on your mother’s brown bread alone,” she said, with warmth. “And Chris can’t stop talking about that salmon he caught with you.”

“It was a big one.”

“I’m glad you’ve met someone,” she said.

“Thanks,” he replied.

“I’m really sorry about everything.”

“Right,” he said, which was stupid but he’d been unprepared for kindness.

She laughed, knowing him well. “I wish you both the best.”

“Thanks,” he said, but something in her tone made him consider asking if anything was wrong.

“I have to go,” she said suddenly.

“Are you OK?” he asked, but she was gone.

It was a minute before he replaced the receiver. The conversation resonated as it was the first light one he’d had with his wife since she’d walked out on him, but he’d found it a little disturbing.
What the hell is going on over there?

Sienna arrived a little after nine. They settled together on the sofa.

“What’s on?” she asked.

“Me.”

“I was talking about TV,” she said, and blew her nose.

“I was talking about me.”

“Will you still want to be with me when the first thing you don’t want to do is jump me?”

“I can’t see that happening.”

Sienna punched him playfully. “It will.”

“And I will,” he said, which was a smoother response than she had anticipated.