No Way to Say Goodbye (9 page)

Adam returned to an empty house in time to take a call from his frosty wife. The phone rang and silence ensued because there was nothing left to say. His head hurt – it was so full of obligation and desire, love and hate, bitterness and regret. He, a winner, was in a no-win situation. His children or his lover? With no room for manoeuvre he had to do the right thing, which meant losing everything. He would miss his home, Kenmare, his parents and friends, but mostly he would miss the girl in the blue shoes, who had stolen his heart when he was eleven. When he fell asleep he dreamed of her.

6. Meeting the people

Sam woke early. He was hungry, having merely staved off starvation with his reticent neighbour’s scraps. Yet he was slow to leave his new home to venture forth into the town he had travelled so far to explore. He picked up the book that had fallen to the floor when he had dropped off to sleep. He meant to read a few pages only but he lost himself in another man’s imagination. It wasn’t unusual that he found himself comfortable in make-believe, and some would have said that, as a seasoned heroin-user, fantasy was a state to which he was well accustomed.

Next door, considering the previous night’s heartache, it was surprising that Mary’s morning had started so full of promise. She had awoken from a blissful sleep. Her son’s anniversary was behind her and the giant invisible weight had lifted from her mind. She felt bright, breezy and full of vigour. She’d even danced in the shower while Dolly Parton belted out “Nine To Five” and Mr Monkels head-butted the glass door. Dolly was one of his favourites although her bluegrass stuff made him whine.

Mary didn’t have to be in the bar until midday so she pottered around the house. She cleaned the kitchen, drank coffee and spoke with Penny on the phone.

Penny told her about Adam’s bombshell.

“She knows?” said Mary, aghast.

“I’ve no idea how she found out. Still, after five years, I suppose it was about time.”

“It’s a miracle you got away with it for so long. God help her.”

“God help her?”

“He did marry her, Penny.”

“Yes, he did.”

“Finding out your husband has been having an affair must be a nightmare,” Mary added.

“To be honest, I always thought she knew, at least on some level.”

“Just be glad she’s not on your doorstep causing murder,” Mary said, relieved that Penny’s adversary could comport herself with such dignity in the face of her husband’s betrayal.

“Why would she? She’s won. They’re moving to Cork,” Penny said angrily.

“What?” Mary immediately began to fret. She really did hate change.

“The hotel’s going up for sale. She’s already found a house she likes, the stupid bitch.”

“He’s leaving us? Unbelievable!” Mary said, screwing up her face, as she always did when she was puzzled, upset or embarrassed. In this case her wrinkled forehead indicated distress.

“At least we had one last dance.”

Mary could almost hear a tear rolling down her cheek. “I’m so sorry, Penn.”

“You’ll miss him too,” Penny said, and she was right.

Mary would miss him. They had all been friends for so long. “Why don’t you come into the bar tonight?” she said.

Penny wasn’t sure, saying she wasn’t feeling so well. “I’ll probably stay in and keep my head down.”

“Well, the offer’s there if you change your mind.”

“Cheers, Mare.”

Mary hung up, feeling sad for Penny and Adam and for herself. She would miss her friend. Adam was impulsive to Ivan’s dependable. He was funny, sharp and often the centre of attention. “Born with charm” was how her dad had once described him, and indeed he was charming, but he was also terribly unhappy and she worried for him. Moving to Cork was possibly the worst plan ever. He wouldn’t want to leave his home, his friends and, most of all, Penny, the girl he had fallen in love with while she was sitting on a wall.
Oh, my God, was Adam the boy in the hood?
Poor Penny and poor Adam. Of course they were in the wrong – Adam’s wife was the victim in all of this – but Adam’s wife wasn’t Mary’s friend.

Later she sent a text to Adam, asking to meet him during her break. He responded instantly, agreeing to rendezvous at seven.

Another hour passed and, even though he was surely about to discover who had killed Boy Staunton, the ferocity with which Sam’s insides burned proved too great to ignore. He put the book onto his bedside table and went to the shower. He washed and shaved in minutes, got dressed, grabbed his neighbour’s dish and left his new home.

Mary found her jacket and picked up her handbag, which signalled to Mr Monkels that it was time for a furry kiss. He walked in step. She opened the french windows into the back garden. “In or out, Mr M?” she asked.

He took a step outside and faced her.

She bent down. “Good choice.” Then she kissed his face, rubbing her cheek against his before he turned towards the bird table to resume the battle he had begun earlier that morning.

Sam’s intention was to leave the bowl outside Mary’s front door, as directed the previous night. He certainly wasn’t in the mood to be scowled at. The sky was a vibrant blue and the day was unexpectedly sunny, in contrast to the rain that had washed him into this small, curious place. The light danced on the water – now a clear colour approaching a pale blue or a deep green, depending on which angle you viewed it from. Sea air filled his lungs, clearing his tired mind. Overhead a seagull squawked a greeting – or told him to eff off. He grinned to himself. If it had flown in from New York harbour the sentiment was definitely the latter.

He opened the gate to his neighbour’s house slowly, attempting to avoid the squeak it had made the previous night, afraid it might herald his presence. He put the bowl on the step and turned away, then back: a bowl on the middle of a step might be stood on, resulting in a visit to an emergency room. He bent down to move it next to the large flowerpot that contained a hardy-looking red-leafed plant and a deep-blue pottery hedgehog. It was the hedgehog that caught his eye, and delayed him in standing upright.

He didn’t hear the door open and his neighbour didn’t see the man stooped over her step so she walked straight into him – his face embedded itself in her crotch – unbalancing him. Her initial shock gave way to horror when he clutched at her arse. Beating him about the head with her handbag was her only option and she did so with gusto. A strange man’s face in her crotch will provoke that kind of reaction in a woman.

In Sam’s defence, he hadn’t planned the assault and her handbag had buckles.

“Get off, you frigging perv!” she roared.

“Your bowl!” He pointed with one hand, while protecting his face with the other.

She gave him one last clout and the onslaught ended. Unfortunately that one drew blood.

“
Aaaah!
” he yelled.

Mary took a moment to survey the damage she’d inflicted. “Oh!”
Frigging buckle.

“What?” Sam said urgently – as with most men, any minor injury was tantamount to the end of the world.

“Your eye is bleeding. It must have caught on the buckle.”

Sam took his hand off his face. It was red, the blood pooling in his palm. He heard her sigh – a frustrated sigh. She really did have a nerve.

Mary was embarrassed at having gone one step too far, yet his reaction to a tiny cut was amusing, even endearing. “I have a first-aid kit,” she said.

He would have told her to shove it but he had always been squeamish around blood, which had proved a handicap when he was a heroin addict. Of course, the promise of liquid Nirvana had enabled him to get over it, but now he was clean, his weak stomach and wobbling legs had made a surprising return.

Unsteadily he followed her inside and she indicated that he should sit at the kitchen table. He closed his eyes, his hand tight against the cut just over his eye. He could hear her shoving pots and pans about and then she was standing over him. “You have to move your hand,” she advised.

Eyes closed, he was almost sure he could hear a grin in her voice. He was slow to comply.

“It’s a tiny cut. You’re not going to lose an eye here.”

Easy for you to say, you bag-wielding lunatic!
He lowered his hand and his good eye opened in time to see her approach him with a cotton-wool bud.

She held his head, arching it back. “This will sting a little,” she warned, and he braced himself.

It wasn’t that bad. She was surprisingly gentle. Using another bud she applied antiseptic cream and then a small plaster covered the even smaller cut. “There, all done!” she said.

“I guess I should thank you,” Sam said, still a little shocked at sustaining a head injury so soon into his trip. It wasn’t hard to detect a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“Don’t bother,” she said, brushing herself down.

He got up, sensing she wanted him gone – he was only too happy to oblige.

“Sorry,” he heard himself mumble, as he walked quickly to the door.

She followed and once outside she attempted to reciprocate his apology, conceding that it had all been a misunderstanding and that, in all probability, he wasn’t a pervert. Still, it was clear to him she was not entirely convinced.

(In fact, he was so desperate to prove his innocence she almost felt sorry for him but she wasn’t about to let him know that. She’d had way too many foreign neighbours – the best of friends one day and the next gone for ever – and didn’t need the hassle, so she allowed him to think she wasn’t convinced of his virtue.
That should keep him at bay.
)

She was getting into her car when he realized she would know where he could get a decent lunch. She rolled down the window. “Everywhere is good,” she said, and drove off.

“Everywhere is good,” he repeated. “Thanks a lot, lady.”

Sam decided to walk. He reckoned town was ten minutes on foot and, as he was still a little light-headed, he deemed it better not to risk driving – this in a man who, one night six months previously, had driven from Boston to New York having pushed five hundred bucks’ worth of heroin into his system that day. He was halfway to town when it struck him that he cared about his welfare now, which reminded him that he had indeed come a long way.
I hope it lasts.

He reached the top of the town and looked down at the sloping street that led to a church with a steeple. The sky above was a deeper navy than that over the water and yet it seemed as bright. Stratus clouds passed quickly above him towards the sea. Below, everywhere was busy with cars beeping and people waving as they popped into and out of the colourful shops.

While Sam sauntered through his new world, Mary parked half a street away in her father’s yard and entered the kitchen to be met by Pierre, who was in foul form, having borne the brunt of Jessie’s frustration.

“Oh, that woman!” was his greeting, and Jessie wasn’t far behind.

“I heard that,” she said, red with anger. “Arse-crack!” she bellowed, following him to the storeroom at full speed. It was a term Jessie used at least three times a day.

Mary went into the dining room where her dad was behind the bar. “Have they been like this long?” she asked, laughing.

“All morning – they’re like feckin’ caricatures,” he said. “Are you OK?”

“Thanks for the flowers, Dad. He would have liked them.”

“You’re both welcome.” He patted his daughter’s back. They had been through hell over the years but as long as she was OK he would be.

The place was busy enough, and within seconds of her arrival Ivan was sitting up at the bar ordering his usual seafood salad. “Don’t you ever want to eat something else?” Mary asked.

“No,” he said. “What about you? I hear you’re meeting Adam for a drink. Is there something I should know?” He was chuckling.

“Shut up.” She grinned, then became serious. “I can’t believe he’s leaving.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he said, playing with the redundant menu.

“Penny says he’s definitely going. He’s got a job managing some restaurant in Cork and they’re selling the hotel.”

Sam was too hungry to survey the many restaurants and planned to eat in the first he found. He didn’t have to walk too far. The menu was plastered on the front door and it looked good. Better still, the aroma coming from inside could only be described as mouth-watering. The place looked homely – pottery and luscious plants filling the window and ornate furniture bedecking the entrance. Once inside, he wasn’t disappointed. Faces and events from another era lined the walls, mingled with a few paintings. The dark wooden tables and red velvet sofas suggested warmth and, even on a bright day, the burning candles didn’t seem out of place. He melted into his chair, having already decided to start with the crab salad and to follow with the house omelette. Someone had left a newspaper on the seat. He began to read what he thought would be local Irish news but which turned out to be international, with much criticism of the Iraq war. He put it down just in time to see his basher neighbour behind the little bar. “You’re kidding me,” he mumbled.

“Crap!” Mary disappeared.

Ivan bent over the bar and looked at her crouching on the floor. “What are you doing?” he asked, intrigued.

“Frigging American,” she mumbled. “Of all the frigging places. I have to go.” She stood up again and disappeared into the kitchen.

Ivan glanced around and spotted the blond boy.
Interesting.
He refilled his coffee cup, then went over to Sam’s booth. “Excuse me?” Ivan said. “You’re on your own?”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed.

“Not from around here?” Ivan noted.

“New York.”

“Ah,” Ivan nodded, “you’re the new fella by the pier who Jerry Sullivan nicknamed ‘Uncle’?”

“Yeah?” Sam shook his head, amazed.

Ivan laughed. “I bumped into Mossy first thing.”

“I don’t know Mossy.”

Ivan grinned. “You will.”

“Man, this is one small town.”

“You’ve no idea,” Ivan said.

A fat woman in her fifties took their orders. To say she wasn’t in a good humour was an understatement. When Ivan made a joke she smacked him over the head with her order book. Ivan had laughed but Sam was unwilling to risk further injury at the hands of a crazy Kerrywoman.