The Blackwater Lightship (4 page)

'So he hasn't told her either?'

'No. He decided, or I don't know if "decided" is the word, to leave it all until the last minute.'

Once again, she was left feeling unable to face the answer to the next question she might ask. She wished she knew Paul better so she could judge whether he had used the phrase 'the last minute' casually or deliberately. She thought about it: everything else he said had been measured and deliberate; he would hardly have used a phrase like 'the last minute' without meaning to.

'Is he dying then?' she asked.

'It will be harder this time.'

'Has he been in hospital long?'

'On and off, but mostly he goes to the clinic'

'My mother told me he was busy.'

'He hasn't been working. Also he's been avoiding seeing you and your mother.'

'What's he been living on?'

'He has money saved, and he's been working on and off.'

'Does Declan have a boyfriend, you know, a partner?'

'No,' Paul said flatly.

'Has he been living alone?'

'No, he's been staying with friends. He's been travelling a bit. He went to Venice at Easter — two of us went with him — but he doesn't have much energy. He went to Paris for a weekend, but he got very sick there.'

'It must have been hard looking after him,' she said.

'No, it's hard now, because he's weaker and he hates being in hospital, but he is the best in the world.'

'And why didn't he tell us?'

They were stopped in traffic on Clanbrassil Street now. Paul glanced at her sharply.

'Because he couldn't face it.'

She realised from the way he spoke that he considered her an outsider, a remote figure who had to be brought into the picture. Declan, she thought, had replaced his family with his friends. She wished he had thought of her as a friend.

They said nothing as they drove along Thomas Street. She still could not figure Paul out — the mixture of the dry, factual tone and the something else, which was softer, more sympathetic. They passed the brewery and then turned left into the hospital grounds. He drove into a car park at the side.

'Does Declan have a doctor he sees all the time, or a consultant?' she asked as they walked towards one of the hospital buildings.

'Yeah, but I don't think she's here today.'

'She?'

'Yeah, Louise. She's the consultant.'

'Does Declan like her?'

'He likes her, she's a good person, but "like" isn't really the word.'

As they "walked into the reception hall she asked him what he did for a living.

'I work for the European Commission,' he said. 'I'm taking time off at the moment.'

This wing of the hospital was old, with high ceilings, shiny walls and echoing corridors. Paul led the "way without indicating how far they were from Declan's room. She did not know at what point he would turn and open a door and she would find Declan. It astonished her that less than an hour ago she was in her own house, undisturbed.

'Sorry, Paul.' She stopped him in the corridor. 'I have to ask you — are we talking about days, or weeks, or months? What are we talking about?'

'I don't know. It's hard to say.'

As they spoke, a young doctor in a white coat with a stethoscope around his neck came up to them.

'This is his sister,' Paul said. The doctor nodded into the distance.

'Don't go in for a while,' he said. He seemed distracted.

Helen looked at her watch; it was two o'clock.

'She has to go at half-three,' Paul said.

'I can always cancel the meeting,' she said.

'Hold on here,' the doctor said. 'I'll go in and look.' He walked down the corridor and quietly opened a door on the right.

'I have a name, you know,' she said to Paul.

'I'm sorry, I should have introduced you properly.'

'What does Declan want to do about my mother?' she asked.

'He wants you to tell her.'

Helen smiled sourly.

'I speak to her on the telephone sometimes, but I don't know exactly where she lives. I mean, I have her address, but I haven't been there. We don't get on.'

'I know all that,' Paul said impatiently. He sounded like someone chairing a meeting.

'And?' she asked.

'He wants you to go and tell her. You can have his car. It's in the car park. I have the keys.'

The doctor came back and beckoned them to come with him. 'He wants you both to go in at the same time,' he said.

The room was darkened but Helen could make out Declan in the bed. His eyes followed her; he smiled. He was thinner than when she had last seen him three or four months before, but he did not look sick.

'Paul,' he said in a hoarse whisper, 'could you open the window and pull the curtains a bit.' He tried to sit up.

A nurse came in and took his temperature and wrote it on a chart and then left. Helen noticed a dark, ugly bruise on the side of Declan's nose. He began to speak to Paul as though she was not there.

'So what do you think of her?'

'Your sister? She would have made a great reverend mother,' Paul laughed.

Helen remained motionless and silent. She tried to smile and forced herself to remember how hard this must be for Declan. She wanted to strangle Paul.

'She's nice, though,' Paul added.

'Hellie,' Declan said. 'Will you deal with the old lady?'

'Do you want to see her?'

'Yes.'

'When?'

'As soon as she can. And will you tell Granny as well?' He closed his eyes.

'You should meet my granny, Paul,' he said. 'She's the one would put manners on you. She's a real paint remover.'

'It won't be a problem, I'll drive out to Granny's as well,' Helen said. 'I'll make sure it's not a problem. Hugh and the boys are in Donegal.'

'I know,' Declan said.

'How do you know?'

'A friend of mine was at your party last night.'

'Who?'

'Seamus Fleming. He knows Hugh.'

'What does he look like?'

'Tall and skinny. Gorgeous eyes. He flirts,' Paul interjected.

'Does he play the guitar?'

'Yeah,' Declan said.

'Is he gay?' she asked.

'As the driven snow,' Declan said. Paul laughed. Declan closed his eyes and lay back and said nothing.

Helen knitted her brow in exasperation. No one spoke for a while. Declan seemed to be asleep but then he opened his eyes. 'Do you want anything?' she asked him.

'Do you mean Lucozade or grapes? No, I don't want anything.'

'This is a real shock, Declan,' she said.

He closed his eyes again and did not reply. Paul put his finger to his lips, signalling to her to say nothing more. They stared at each other across the bed.

'Hellie, I'm sorry about everything,' Declan said, his eyes still closed.

•          •          •

Before they left the hospital, they spoke to the doctor again. Helen noticed how friendly Paul was with him and how familiar. The doctor told them that the consultant — he too called her Louise — would be there all the next day, and she 'would see Helen and her mother at any time.

'I have to keep convincing myself, Helen said when they got outside, 'that this is really happening. You're all so matter-of-fact about it, but the truth is that he is dying in there and I have to go and tell my mother.'

'No one is being matter-of-fact,' Paul said coldly.

He walked with her to the car park in front of the new hospital. He opened Declan's car — a battered white Mazda — and handed her the keys. 'Have you driven one of these before?' he asked.

'I'll be OK, I'm sure,' she said.

'I'll be here most of the day tomorrow,' he said, 'but here's my home number anyway, I have it written down for you. Also, it seems to me that they don't really need to have him in hospital. He has to have a line put back in and that will be done early tomorrow morning, I imagine. But after that they probably won't do anything else with him, just monitor him. It's really easy to get into hospital, but really hard to convince them to let you out. If you and your mother told Louise that you wanted to take him out, even for a day, then she would listen to you.'

'The main thing tomorrow is my mother,' Helen said.

'No, hold on,' Paul said. 'The main thing is Declan, not your mother. He gets depressed in that hospital room, so it's not just a small detail. It's a priority.'

'Thanks for the correction,' she said.

She got into the car and closed the door, pulling down the window so she could still talk to him. 'I'm really grateful to you for everything,' she said. She tried to sound as though she meant it, regretting the hostility in her earlier tone.

'Yeah,' he said and looked away. He was about to say something and then stopped himself. He looked at her, his expression almost hostile. 'I'll see you,' he said.

She started the car and drove out of the hospital grounds and into the city centre. She found a parking space in Marlborough Street, took her briefcase from the car, put money in the meter and made her way to the reception desk of the Department of Education.

•          •          •

She was early and she sat there waiting. If Hugh were here now, she knew, he would make her go home. She wished he were waiting out in the car for her and were coming to Wexford with her. He would probably be in Donegal by now, settling the boys into his mother's house. She would phone him before she left. Her mind kept skipping as she thought about him and the boys and the meeting she was about to attend, and she found that each time she could not focus on what the trouble was, it was like a dark shadow in a dream, and then it became real and sharp — Declan, the hospital, her mother. Mostly, when she worried or was concerned, it was about things which could be solved or would pass, but this was something new for her — and that was why, she believed, her mind kept avoiding it — something that would not go away, that could only get worse. She would do anything, she realised, to wish it away.

When some other school principals arrived, a porter came to take them upstairs.

'The Minister is here,' the porter said, 'and he wants to be introduced to you all before the meeting.'

A year earlier, the Minister had come to open the new science laboratories in Helen's school, and he had stayed afterwards for more than an hour in her office, asking questions, listening carefully.

When Helen walked into the room, she saw a few civil servants whom she recognised, including one with whom she had constant problems. Now, because of the Minister's imminent arrival, they were all polite and cowed. They shook hands and made small talk until the Minister came in.

'The Minister says he's met all of you at some time or another, but I'm going to introduce you all nonetheless.' John Oakley, the most senior civil servant, spoke.

The Minister greeted each person introduced and then politely asked them to take a seat. He remained standing.

'You're all welcome here,' he began. 'I know you're busy and I know you're going on holidays and we're all grateful to you for coming in today. These meetings are informal. However, there will be a report at the end and John Oakley here is going to write it and it will be done by Christmas. We've asked you to come here specifically because each of your schools has excelled in a certain area, areas which are particularly weak in other schools. The ones which come most to mind are absenteeism, in both teachers and pupils — Helen O'Doherty here has the lowest absentee rate or sick-leave rate for pupils or teachers anywhere; European languages — Sister here has been getting extraordinary results, especially in the spoken languages, and girls doing well in physics and higher maths, and George Fitzmaurice's school in Clonmel has excelled in that. These are just a few of the areas, and we want to know how it's done and apply it elsewhere. If you want to submit written reports, by all means do so, but please come to a few of these informal meetings between now and Christmas. And, as I think you know, if you have any particular concerns or problems, come to me with them, either directly or through John Oakley, our door is always open. That's all I'm going to say now. Thank you all, and I'll leave you to it.'

The Minister smiled at them and spoke briefly to one of the civil servants. On the way out of the room, he caught Helen's eye.

'I've been meaning to talk to you,' he said. 'I think you told me the day I was out at the school that you were from Enniscorthy and your father was a teacher too. But I heard more about you when I was down there at the Mercy Convent and the nuns said that one of their past pupils was a school principal in Dublin and that your maiden name was Breen and that your father was Michael Breen. I knew your father well. We were both on the committee, the very first one, of the Irish Branch of the Association of European Teachers.'

'My father is dead twenty years,' Helen said. 'I didn't think you'd remember him.'

'It was a great loss, Helen,' the Minister said. 'You know, you might be too young to remember this about him, but he was brilliant and dedicated, one of the very best. He'd be very proud of you now, Helen.'

The Minister's tone was so personal and confidential, so unreserved, that Helen wanted to say something else to him, talk to him more, but he squeezed her hand and moved away and was soon talking to one of the other principals.

Helen waited until the Minister had left and then approached John Oakley.

'I have to go,' she said. 'I can't stay. I'll send you in a report and I'll be in touch.'

'Even if you could stay for half an hour,' he said.

'I can't.'

'Was it something the Minister said?' he asked suspiciously.

'I have to go to Wexford,' she said. 'I'll be in touch.'

As she walked down the corridor, she began to cry. A civil servant coming out of a doorway with a bunch of files looked at her, astonished. She walked down the stairs to the lobby and went out to the car. She sat there until she felt composed and then drove home to Ballinteer through the evening traffic.

•          •          •

By seven o'clock she was on the road to Wexford. Hugh, when she phoned him, had wanted to drive back down to Dublin; the boys, he said, had already forgotten he existed, they were so taken up with their cousins and the strand and their granny's house. He offered to get into the car immediately and come down, but Helen said no, she would go to Wexford on her own and phone him the next day.