The Stone House (5 page)

‘Romy, you don't believe that's true.'

‘Just leave me alone. This is my family, my problem! Keep out of it!'

‘OK. Message received loud and clear. But I want to say something, based on my experience. I'm just warning you that you might regret it, that's all.'

She lay beside him fuming at his daring to interfere in her life. Just because they were lovers he had no right to tell her how to live her life and what to do. None!

They lay in silence beside each other. After a few minutes, Greg rolled over on his side and turned his back to her.

‘You have it your way, then.'

She didn't want to get into another argument with him. She just wanted peace and quiet for now and passion and good sex and the feel of his body beside hers later. She liked the nights he stayed over and made the effort to be a part of her life; they could pretend to be a couple. She knew not to expect much, make demands. He had the office, the ongoing acrimonious divorce from Jen, and his kids. She came in somewhere after those three. She had her own life, her own friends and interests and had made room for him, given space to a relationship that might happen if she didn't push too hard.

Greg had been upfront with her, telling her he'd had enough of tears and histrionics and wanted ‘something easy'. Easy – that was sure something she was good at!

Diana had had a go at her too this afternoon in the studio, telling her to take a cab to JFK and buy a flight home immediately. Perhaps she should have listened to her friend, instead of lying here in the dark thinking about her mother, the smell of her skin, and the way she laughed at silly things. Maybe it was only a machine that was keeping the breath in her body now. She remembered the way her mother used to hug and dress her and tickle her until she'd nearly wet her pants. Hot tears scalded her eyes as she lay in bed thinking of her as night slipped to day.

‘I can get a cab,' she insisted.

‘I'll drive you,' offered Greg, pulling on his shirt and tie.

‘What about the office?'

‘What about them? I'm paying enough they can manage without me for an hour or two!'

She felt shaky with relief as he grabbed her bag and toted it downstairs then flung it on the back seat of his car, holding the front passenger door open for her. Awake at 3 a.m. she had gone online and booked a flight to Dublin, almost instantly regretting the impulsive act but determined not to change her mind.

‘Will you make sure that Diana takes the cat?'

‘Yeah, sure.'

‘And you'll notify the landlord to keep an eye on the place.'

‘It's done.'

She fiddled with her purse, nervous as they drove through Manhattan and out towards JFK. Greg, frowning, concentrated on the traffic as they passed through the toll booth. He looked tired. She guessed neither of them had got much sleep and when they yawned in unison he took her hand.

‘You'll sleep on the flight.'

She usually didn't as she ended up in conversations with her fellow passengers or got glued to the in-flight movie or whatever book she was reading, but today was different. Today she wanted to arrive calm and relaxed, in control of her feelings.

‘Ask the hostess for a blanket and pillow,' he suggested, ‘and try a nap.'

She gritted her teeth. She had flown to every continent in the globe, worked in many countries and had clocked up far more air miles than most.

‘What about you?' she asked.

He shrugged, cursing under his breath as an old lady in an ancient Volvo pulled out in front of them. ‘I've too much on today and it's my night for Amy and Jack.'

Romy tried to smile.

He was obsessive about his nights with his kids, over the top doing things with them, bringing them to new places, in a constant quest for fun and entertainment as if that would cover up the massive split in their family. Meeting Greg Anderson had been great, he was fun and loving and good company, but from the beginning he had been quite clear about his level of commitment and his family obligations. Over the past five months Romy had managed to steer clear of letting herself fall totally in love with him, knowing that as
usual her timing was out. She always seemed to meet either the wrong men or the right man at the wrong time! Greg definitely could have been a Mr Right. But she knew, looking at him, that in a few hours' time, wrapped up with his children and involved at work, she and her troubles would disappear from his busy mind.

At the airport he offered to come with her to the Aer Lingus check-in desk.

‘Just drop me off outside,' she said.

Romy had her big backpack, stuffed with clothes and a few essentials, and a small holdall. She always liked to travel light.

His lips brushed hers as they kissed goodbye. He tasted of coffee and toast and she lingered for a few minutes enjoying the physical pleasure of his mouth on hers as the airport security man came to move him along.

‘I'm going!' he yelled at the uniformed figure as she grabbed her things and jumped out of the car. ‘Have a safe trip and I hope your mom's going to be OK.'

‘Thanks, Greg.'

She knew he meant it, for underneath it all he was a thoughtful, old-fashioned, rather decent type of guy. Saying goodbye to him she wondered if their relationship would even manage to survive the separation of her return trip to Ireland, as she pushed her way through the busy terminal building.

KATE DOZED UNEASILY
in the hospital waiting room, frightened to let herself sleep, her muscles tense as she waited for news of her mother's condition. She was woken by the arrival of her older sister, who stood for a second staring at her, awkward and tense, both of them unsure how to react, before flinging themselves into each other's arms and clinging together. Kate was comforted by the smell of her sister's expensive perfume and face creams and familiar lemon-scented shampoo.

‘How is she?' asked Moya.

‘She's on a ventilator to help her breathe and her condition is unstable.'

‘Oh, God! I don't believe it. I only talked to her about five days ago, stupid things, rabbiting on about the kids and she seemed so well.'

‘She was. They think it's a sudden massive haemorrhage to her brain or a stroke. They'll do more tests in the morning to see.'

‘Can I go and see her?'

‘Come on, the nurse is down at the nurses' station, she'll take you in to her.'

The staff nurse led the two of them through the hush of the intensive care unit to their mother's bed. Moya was anxious.

‘God, she looks so different. Mammy, it's Moya, I'm here.'

Kate tried to control herself, surprised by the intense relief she felt knowing that her sister was beside her.

‘She's unconscious and there is some oedema present but she has had some sedation,' explained the nurse.

‘Will she pull through this?' questioned Moya, touching her mother's arm.

‘Your mother is critically ill at present and is being supported. It would be wrong of me to try to guess the outcome. Dr Healy will be here in the morning and he should be able to give you a better assessment of her condition.'

‘God! Look at her, Kate, hooked up to machines and monitors. She'd hate it!'

‘It's keeping her alive, Moya, helping her.'

‘I can't believe it – collapsed in the garden! If Vonnie hadn't found her what would we have done? I feel so guilty living so far away.'

‘Well you're here now,' sighed Kate. ‘That's all that matters.'

‘When you phoned we were at a big dinner party. Very important for Patrick.'

Kate bit her lip. Her sister's life was very different from hers, busy with her children, her pet project – the gallery she helped out in – and a constant round of dinner parties, supper parties and balls – all part of
the social scene that being the wife of a senior partner in the corporate finance section of a large accountancy firm involved.

‘Patrick was being utterly stupid about me leaving, but I managed to get a seat on the last London flight into Dublin. The poor man on the Hertz desk in the airport must have thought I was a lunatic as I flung my Visa card at him getting the rental car! Then I drove like a crazy person.'

‘Thanks.'

‘Is Romy coming home?'

‘I doubt it.'

‘She's so screwed up! Imagine not coming to see your mother.'

The hours crawled by. They took it in turns to sleep, the hospital stirring as porters, cleaners and nurses began another shift. Dr Healy was vague and pessimistic, waiting for the results of tests. Aunt Vonnie returned in the morning and insisted they eat something and have a sleep in the relations' room.

‘Your mother's not going to get any better by one of you collapsing with exhaustion.'

Kate yawned; her eyes were sore and she was stiff from sitting still, doing nothing, watching her mother lying silent surrounded by the whooshing of machines, the nurse constantly checking her monitor. Minutes and hours meant nothing in this time-frozen world.

‘You two go and have a hot drink and something to eat,' urged their aunt. ‘I'll stay here in the waiting room.'

Moya and Kate went downstairs to the hospital's
small canteen while the consultant and nurses checked their mother. As she sat opposite Moya at the small table, surrounded by hospital staff and visitors, over two mugs of creamy coffee and a toasted bacon sandwich, Kate realized that, despite being sisters, they had little to say to each other. She asked about her niece and nephews, avoiding any mention of her brother-in-law. Enthusing about Molly's new crèche and how well she had settled in, she suspected Moya disapproved of her working full time and being a single mother.

Despite looking tired, with grey shadows under her eyes, her sister still managed to look beautiful, with her black, shoulder-length hair, and her dark smoky eyes like two smudges in the porcelain face. Her trim figure was encased in simple black trousers and a matching polo-neck. Kate swallowed a pang of envy as she watched two or three of the senior doctors stare over in her sister's direction; Moya was barely aware of the attention.

‘Kate, are you listening to me?'

‘Sorry, I can't even think at the moment.'

‘I was just saying how long do you think Mammy will be like this?'

Kate shrugged. She had absolutely no idea and the medical team were very noncommittal every time she tried to talk to them.

‘I can't stand it, seeing her the way she is. I just want her to be well and back to normal again.'

Kate felt like shaking her! Moya always wanted everything to be perfect, hated things not to be right, to be messy, broken.

‘You realize if Mammy survives this, she might never
be right. She's already paralysed, we've no idea what damage the haemorrhage has done.'

‘Oh God, you are such a pessimist!'

‘Moya, I'm not arguing with you, d'ye hear. Our mother is fighting for her life, that's what we've got to think of now. The rest we'll cope with later.'

Kate could feel every muscle in her body clenched tight with anxiety. Moya only meant her best, she knew that deep down, it was just her own stupid animosity that kicked in whenever they were around each other.

‘We'd better get back down,' she suggested, ignoring her sister's calm, unflinching gaze.

The corridors were busy with visitors and staff, and they both quickened their step as they approached St Michael's intensive care ward.

‘I know you hadn't been expecting your sister to arrive,' smiled Nurse Kelly, approaching them, ‘but she's in with your mother now.'

For a second they stood together, silent, almost at one with their thoughts.

‘She's just flown in and is jet-lagged, but at least she's here.'

‘Thank God,' murmured Moya.

It's like the return of the flipping Prodigal! thought Kate, bracing herself to see her younger sister.

Romy stood beside the high narrow bed with its chemical smell and tubes and monitors, trying to quell her feelings of nausea and panic, as she stared at the figure of her mother. It was worse than she had imagined.

‘She's unconscious,' explained the young nurse, ‘and quite heavily sedated.'

This old woman lying as if deeply asleep, her hairline grey, her skin more lined, her eyes closed, was so changed from what she remembered. Her mother had never seemed old, never seemed frail before.

‘Mammy, it's Romy. I've come home to you.'

No response. It wasn't as she'd imagined, like the scenario she had replayed in her head over and over again. There was no big wave of emotion, no torrent, just the sense of recognition and deep, deep regret.

‘Mammy,' she said, kissing the cool forehead.

Kate and Moya stared at their sister, taking in the tall rangy figure in the denim jeans and white embroidered shirt, strawberry blond hair tumbling to her shoulders as she leaned over their mother. The last time they had seen her she had been pale and washed-out looking, eyes lined with black kohl, with heavy white make-up and dark lipstick, a lanky Goth kid with wild unwashed hair that she wore with an awful headband. Desperate and secretive, she had lied and tricked the two of them to get money out of them to run away. Now she was different, thought Kate. She was beautiful, stunning! Not in the same way as Moya, who was a classic beauty, but Romy was striking. She had a look of her own, her skin glowing, her long body lean and tanned, her hair glossy and wild. Heavy silver earrings dangled from her ears, and one wrist and most of her fingers were covered in unusual pieces of silverwork. No wedding or diamond ring visible. She looked up at them both, blue eyes apprehensive as they approached.

‘Romy, you're all grown up!' Moya blurted out. ‘I can't believe it.'

‘About time,' murmured Romy, awkward. ‘
You
haven't changed, Moya. You'd never believe you have three kids.'