Alexandra, Gone (23 page)

In fact she felt good, especially when she caught the eye of a few locals, and one particular waiter attempted to chat her up every time Jim left the table.

She enjoyed Jim’s company, they had fun together, it was easy and freeing, they talked when they had something to say and other times they just relaxed in silence. Leslie’s mood had improved one hundred percent, she felt better, she looked better, the hormones were obviously kicking in, and a confidence she hadn’t known she had was coming to the fore. Jim called it “survivor’s confidence.” She liked that. She liked Jim, and he was more than family. Leslie Sheehan was falling in love.

14
“I’ve Been Raining”

I’ve been raining I’ve been pouring

there’s a hole in my roof I’ve been ignoring

I’ve been washed up idle and wasted.

I know my luck is going to change

I can almost taste it.

Jack L,
Broken Songs

October 2008

After weeks and weeks of doctor visits and referrals, Breda was hospitalized. Two days later her husband, Ben, her son, Eamonn, and her daughter Kate were called into a consultant’s office and told that she had end-stage colon cancer. Ben didn’t understand what the doctor was saying and so he repeated the words a few times, looking at his daughter and son. Kate cried and Eamonn got angry.

“She’s been sick for months. How the hell was this not picked up?” Eamonn said, banging his fist on the table.

“Eamonn, calm down,” Ben said.

The consultant had no answer. “It should have been picked up,” he said.

“Is that all you can say?” Eamonn said.

“I can’t answer for the other doctors you’ve seen. I can only tell you what I’ve found. I will say this: I reviewed your mother’s medical history and only last year she had a clean bill of health, which means the cancer has spread in a very short period of time.”

“How do we fix her?” Ben asked.

“All we can offer is palliative care.”

“Palliative?” Ben said.

“She’s dying, Dad,” Kate said.

“Don’t say that, Kate,” he said.

“How long does she have?” Eamonn asked in a whisper.

“Six to eight weeks,” the consultant said.

“Ah no,” Ben said, “this isn’t happening.”

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Walsh,” the consultant said.

“No.” Ben shook his head. “I can’t have this—we lost our daughter only a year ago—I can’t have this.”

“We will make her as comfortable as possible.”

Ben stood up and walked out into the corridor. He looked for the exit sign that would take him outside. He was halfway down the corridor when he stopped and held himself and sobbed so loud and so hard that a nurse came to assist him. She guided him to a chair and waited with him until his family came to find him.

Ben sat in a big red armchair pulled up close to the bed, and when he wasn’t sleeping he was holding Breda’s hand. His daughter and son took turns badgering him to eat or drink or take a walk or shower or sleep. He said no every time. He washed with antibacterial soap in the disabled bathroom two doors down from his wife’s room, Kate brought clean clothes, and he changed in the toilet cubicle. He ate a sandwich in the chair, and sometimes Frankie and Eamonn arrived with some warm stew. They hadn’t told Breda she was dying, but Ben knew that deep down she was aware of her situation. She didn’t talk much. The medication made her sleep a lot, and the Breda he knew had all but disappeared. So he watched his wife lie still and wondered where her mind was—was she happy or sad, scared or at peace, did she even really know he was there, could she feel his hand, would she come back around and talk to him and did she even want to?

Kate would talk to her, telling her about what was happening and complaining that after an entire summer of rain it was still raining and even for October she couldn’t believe how cold and miserable it was. She told her about the liaison officer’s latest report on Alexandra, and unfortunately there wasn’t much news there: the ring seemed to lead only to a dead end. She talked about Owen’s job and how as a member of the management team he had been forced to let some people go because the company was starting to cut back. She brushed Breda’s hair and put moisturizer on her face and Vaseline on her lips. She washed her nightgowns and made sure that she had water even though she wasn’t awake to drink it, because she would be thirsty when she came back.

Eamonn always stood just inside the door leaning against the wall, watching his mum and waiting for a sign. He was quiet, speaking only when necessary, to answer a question or to ask the doctor or nurse for a status report.

Tom came and went, and it was hard because although Kate was kind and Ben’s attitude to him had softened, Breda had been the only member of the Walsh family never to blame or suspect him in the loss of Alexandra. She maintained his tenuous link with the Walshes, and in her absence he felt like an outsider rather than family, but in deference to her he went anyway.

Things had been slightly awkward between Tom and Jane since the kiss, but when Kate phoned him with Breda’s news, she was the first one he called. Initially she was hesitant; he could hear it in her voice, so he didn’t beat around the bush.

“Breda has cancer,” he said.

“Oh Tom, I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“She’s dying.”

“Oh my God!”

“They say she’s only got six to eight weeks.”

“Oh Tom, that’s awful!”

“I can’t believe it.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I thought you were fucking sick of listening to people say fucking sorry,” he said in jest, and all the tension that had built up that night dissolved.

“Let’s just leave it at that, shall we?”

“I’d love to.”

“What can I do for Breda?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

“God, Tom, I really am so sorry to hear that.”

“I know, I know you’re fond of her.”

“Poor Mr. Walsh!”

“Are you going to call Ben ‘Mr. Walsh’ till the day you die?”

“Probably.” She sighed. “How’s Eamonn?”

“Annoyed.”

“Nothing new there, then.”

“For once I don’t blame him.”

“I wish I could do something for her,” she said.

“Me too.”

They agreed to meet for coffee the next day. Jane put down the phone, and Kurt was standing behind her when she turned.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“I’d like to ask you the same thing.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Dad says he’s not welcome here anymore. What the hell?”

“He’s not, and you don’t want to know,” she said, walking from the sitting room to the kitchen.

“I really do,” he said, following her.

“Do you want coffee?”

“Yes.” He sat down.

She boiled the kettle and scooped the coffee into the percolator and stood at the counter, tapping her fingers on it. Kurt waited at the table with his hands in his hair.

“Mum?” he said when the kettle was just about boiled.

“It’s complicated.”

“I’m not twelve.”

She poured the water into the percolator, put the top on, and grabbed two cups. She placed the percolator and cups on the table and sat. Kurt leaned back on his chair, opened the fridge door, and grabbed the milk.

“Well?” he said.

“He slept with Elle,” she said.

“Elle, your sister, my aunt?” he said, pointing to her and then to himself.

“Yes.”

“What the fuck?”

“Language, Kurt.”

“No, seriously, Mum, what the fuck?” Kurt stood up and paced. “Why? Jesus, they don’t even like each other that much.”

“I don’t know.”

“When?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters.”

“Your birthday party.”

“Oh man!” He sat down. “No wonder Dad’s been acting strange.”

“I’m sorry, Kurt, but I don’t want to see him again.”

“I know you love him, Mum,” Kurt said.

Jane blushed so red she was embarrassed by her embarrassment. Her eyes filled and stung.

“I’m really sorry, Mum.”

“Thanks,” Jane said, and she pulled herself together.

“What about Elle?” He hadn’t seen her in well over a week, but that didn’t mean a thing as she often disappeared for that long and longer.

“She’s not welcome here either.”

“But she lives down the back of the garden.”

“And that’s where she can stay.”

“Okay. What about me?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

“I hate what they did to you, but he’s my dad.”

“And I don’t expect you to take sides,” Jane said. “You’re an adult now. You’re starting college next week. You can still have a great relationship with your dad, just one that doesn’t involve me.”

“Okay, but I promise I’m going to give him such shit for this.”

“I appreciate that.” Jane smiled at her son. “If you throw in a kick in the nuts I’d appreciate that too.”

Kurt practiced swinging his leg. “Consider it done. And, Mum, he isn’t good enough for you.”

Jane’s eyes filled up again. “Thanks, son.”

Kurt left the kitchen, and Jane sighed and thought to herself that even if she was about to turn thirty-seven and she was alone, at least she had Kurt, for a while anyway.

She walked to the sink and poured the coffee that they hadn’t touched down the drain, and when Elle appeared and stared at her through her kitchen window, Jane ducked.

Jesus, Jane, get a grip.

She stood up and left the room.

Elle deeply regretted her actions with Dominic. As soon as they were caught, their affair was over. There was no discussion, no debate, and no good-bye. After Jane vacated Elle’s room, they sat in the bed in silence, allowing her words to sink in. They both knew Jane well enough to hear in her voice the hurt and damage they’d caused, and they both knew her well enough to know that she was serious when she said she was done with them. They both had realized that in that moment their happy family was no more. Jane was the glue that held them all together, and the glue had become unstuck. Elle got out of bed and got dressed, and Dominic followed suit. She walked into her sitting room, closed the door, and cuddled up on the sofa with her favorite blanket, and he left without a word. Since then she had kept out of Jane’s way because after sleeping with the love of Jane’s life, adhering to her request to stay away was the least she could do.

She missed Jane in her life instantly. Jane was one of the very few people she talked to every day, and Jane was the one who took care of her when she was sick, when she was well, when she didn’t want her to, and when she needed her to. Jane was Elle’s world, and without Jane Elle’s world was incredibly empty. Four days after Kurt’s party, Jane sent Elle a business letter ceasing their working arrangement, withdrawing as Elle’s agent, and providing her with names of other agents and galleries she could work with. Elle was devastated. Jane knew that she was a ditz with business, and so ceasing their working relationship was the final straw and it meant that Jane was absolutely adamant that she wanted nothing more to do with her. For the first time in her life, Elle had done something so bad that there was no coming back from it. Jane had been forgiving her all her life, but Elle had crossed the line.

Leslie arrived at her cottage to go for a planned walk in a nearby park. Leslie asked if she should nip up to the main house to ask Jane if she wished to join them, and Elle broke into tears.

“What happened?” Leslie said, hands on hips.

“She found us together.”

“Oh no. You cannot be serious.”

“At Kurt’s birthday, here in my bedroom.”

“Oh Elle, you stupid, stupid girl!”

“I know, I know I’m stupid. I’m an idiot, a selfish little liar, twisted in the head.” She was banging her head with her fist hard, so hard that Leslie had to grab her hand and hold it tight.

“Okay,” she said. “Calm down and sit down and stop banging your head.”

Elle sat and wrung her hands. “I’ve really hurt her, Leslie. I’ve really hurt her.”

“She’ll get over it. It might not be today or tomorrow, but I promise she will get over it.”

“She hates me.”

“Well, now she needs to, so let her.”

“But I can’t cope on my own.”

“You’re twenty-six. In two months you’re going to be twenty-seven. You are old enough and capable enough to take care of yourself.”

Elle shook her head. “Not without Jane.”

“Yes, without Jane,” Leslie said in her strictest voice. “It’s time for you to find your own way because, Elle, if you think living in the back of your sister’s garden is a permanent arrangement, you’re wrong. Things change—if anyone knows that, I do.”

“Let’s walk.” Elle got up from her chair, desperate to change her scenery and the subject.

“Okay.” Leslie put on her coat.

Elle walked to the door and stood outside waiting for Leslie.

“Elle,” Leslie said.

“Yeah?”

“Your coat.”

Elle looked at herself and realized she was standing outside in the cold in a T-shirt.

“Oh,” she said, and she took her coat from Leslie and put it on. “Let’s go,” she said.

Leslie pulled the door shut and wondered whether Elle would truly be lost without Jane.

The first night Elle had slept with Dominic, she had gone home and into her studio and started painting. The theme was sin, and she used a lot of reds and blacks and purples, and there was a girl succumbing to a man with the devil in his eyes. She liked it, and so as the month and her affair carried on, she painted more like it. She hadn’t shown them to Jane before the letter, and afterward she wasn’t sure what she would do or where she would go, and so she just kept painting. Lori called her two days before the Ken Browne exhibition in Albert’s Gallery and asked her if she would be attending.

“I’m barred,” she said.

“Don’t be an ass. Your sister owns the place.”

“She barred me.”

“For what?”

“For sleeping with Kurt’s dad.”

“Christ, Elle, what are you like?”

“A whore, a slut, a selfish, twisted little bitch.”

“It was a rhetorical question,” Lori said, “and besides, you have to come. I’m hearing a lot of good things about this guy, and you know Jane is all business—she won’t make a scene, not in the gallery.”

“Okay,” Elle said, “I’ll go.”

She decided to go for two reasons, the first being that she had heard that Ken Browne was an artist worth watching and the second being that she hoped that Jane would see how sorry she was and find it in her heart to forgive her.