City Girl (40 page)

Thirty

Caroline never thought that things could get worse but as long as she lived she would never forget picking up the morning paper and reading the details of Devlin’s
accident. This couldn’t be happening! It had to be a nightmare. Her fingers shaking, she rang Lydia, although she knew that she and Devlin were estranged. The other woman told her that Devlin
was in a coma and that Kate and Lynn were dead. Caroline sat stunned and motionless and then with a determined set to her mouth she dressed and went to the nearest off-licence. Since her drinking
had got worse, Richard kept the drinks in the house under lock and key. Caroline didn’t care who saw her in the off-licence or who saw her with her brown-bagged purchases. Let the whole lot
of them be damned. She couldn’t care less, she was going to get plastered. Pissed out of her skull. If Richard wanted to go to the function in the yacht club he would have to go without
her.

Richard arrived home that evening to find her in the horrors. ‘Jesus Christ, Caroline, I’m going to get you committed,’ he yelled in desperation.

‘I don’t care!’ she sobbed. ‘Oh Devlin. Poor poor Devlin!’

‘What the hell is wrong with her?’ snapped Richard as he started to make black coffee.

‘She moved to Wexford and her aunt’s car crashed and the baby’s dead,’ Caroline moaned, rocking backwards and forwards on the sofa.

‘How do you know all this? Have you been seeing her after what I told you?’ Richard roared in outrage, as he surveyed the mess of the lounge and the empty bottles beside her.

Drunk, not caring what he would do to her, Caroline laughed hysterically as she informed her horrified husband that she had visited Devlin in Ballymun once a week for the ten months she had been
living there, and that she had phoned Wexford twice weekly since Devlin had moved and had, in fact, only been speaking to her two days before.

‘And don’t take that tone with me,’ she screamed at him. ‘Don’t forget I’ve seen you with your underpants down and I’m not impressed.’

Richard was so shocked by his drunken screaming virago of a wife that he was speechless. Contemptuously she lifted the bottle of vodka to her lips and took a long drunken swig. When he moved to
take it from her she glared at him in such wild fury that he stepped back.

‘Fuck off, Richard,’ she cursed him viciously before putting the bottle to her lips again. In a misty haze she saw him lift the telephone and dial a number.

Was he going to get her committed? What the hell did she care? And anyway, he wouldn’t have the nerve. The scandal it would cause among their set would be horrific for him, he who was so
almighty concerned about his image. He was talking now. It was an effort for Caroline to concentrate on what he was saying.

‘Charles! For God’s sake, get over here fast, I need your help,’ she heard her husband pleading on the phone.

Huh! Charles. She should have known Richard couldn’t even take a pee without consulting poor old Charles. Caroline started to laugh and then she started to sob and it was in this state
that Charles found her as he arrived at their apartment sometime later.

‘Ah Charles! welcome,’ she slurred from her half-sitting position on the floor. She’d fallen off the sofa.

Richard looked on helplessly. ‘I can’t do anything with her.’

‘Have a drink, Charlie,’ she invited kindly, trying to focus on the other man’s face.

‘Well, maybe one,’ the older man said gently as his fingers loosened her fingers that were clutching the neck of the vodka bottle in a vice-like grip. He smelt of tobacco and tweeds
as he knelt over her and for a moment, despite her drunkenness, Caroline was reminded of her father, the father who had forgotten about her when her mother died. She began to cry again.

‘Oh for God’s sake, don’t start off again,’ her husband said in mortified desperation.

‘Shush Richard! You didn’t hit her again, did you?’ Charles said anxiously.

Richard reddened. ‘No!’

‘He hits me and he won’t make love to me. Nobody loves me, Charles. Why? Devlin was the only one and she’s dying and I’m so frightened. Charles, why am I like this?
What’s wrong with me?’ It was all rushing out of her in a torrent of words that wouldn’t stop.

‘I wish I was dead,’ she sobbed wildly. ‘I think I’ve got AIDS and what does he care?’ She pointed a shaking finger at her husband. ‘He doesn’t give a
fucking damn. I slept with a man in London and he didn’t give a shit. What kind of a rotten bastard of a husband have I got? All he cares about is making money.’

Richard was deathly pale, horrified by the gutter language his wife was using.

‘It’s all right, Caroline. You’ll be all right now,’ Charles was soothing her as he tried to help her to her feet.

‘Come on now, pet, let’s get you to bed for a while and we’ll talk about it when you feel better.’ Caroline swayed on her feet, supported by his arm.

‘You know something? I didn’t like you. But you’re kind,’ she whispered before passing out.

Later she woke, undressed to her underwear and in her bed. Her head was throbbing, her mouth dry and tasting vile. Painfully turning her head, she saw that Richard’s bed was unslept in and
that it was twelve thirty by her alarm clock. She wondered wearily if Richard and Charles had gone to the yacht club do. As memories of the evening came back she blushed scarlet in her darkened
room. How could she face Charles Stokes again? Richard would murder her, and she really couldn’t blame him. She had disgraced him in front of the man he most admired. It was strange how kind
Charles had been. How wrong she had been to think of him as cold and unfriendly. He had been most comforting and human, unlike her own husband.

She was bursting to go to the loo, so she slowly edged her way out of bed and made her way to the bathroom. When she was finished she looked at herself in the mirror. God! What a sight! Her
eyes, red and dazed, were sunk deep into her pale face, which was framed by lack-lustre fronds of black hair. She looked like a zombie out of a horror movie. Licking her parched lips, Caroline
decided to fill a jug of iced water and drink as much of it as she could. It might help her dehydration. As she walked past the lounge on her way to the kitchen she saw a low shaft of light and
heard the murmur of voices. The door was ajar and she decided that now was as good a time as any to apologize to Richard and Charles for her behaviour. She drew her wrap tighter around her and in
barefoot silence she slipped into the room.

She’d often heard people saying that time stood still and never understood what it meant until she stood there frozen to the spot at the sight that met her eyes. Her husband was lying
cradled in his friend’s arms and was, with the most exquisite tenderness, caressing Charles’s face, an expression of such love on his face that Caroline almost cried out in pain. She
would have died a thousand deaths to have her husband look at her like that even once. She heard him say softly, ‘I love you, Charles. I always will. You were right – I should never
have married Caroline. I’ve ruined her life as well as my own. I’ve turned her into a drunkard because I can’t give her what she wants. I’ve treated her dreadfully.
I’ve treated you dreadfully. What the hell am I going to do?’

‘Oh God Almighty!’

Caroline turned and ran from the room, not even seeing the expressions of shocked dismay on their faces. So that was it! What a stupid blind fool she had been all along, so desperate to be
married that she had ignored the many tell-tale little signals that Richard had unknowingly given her. His reluctance, indeed distaste for physical contact. His intense dependence on Charles. She
had thought they were good friends because of their legal business together. How wrong she had been!

It was obvious why Richard had married her. In his profession respectability was everything. To be homosexual in Ireland was nothing to shout from the roof tops. She had heard of the
queer-bashing that went on. Even her own brothers were so hostile and intolerant of gays. Poofs! Faggots! Pansys! Nancy Boys! That’s what they called them. And she was married to one.

She had to leave this place. She had to get away. Devlin! Yes! she’d go and stay with Devlin. Suddenly Caroline remembered that Devlin was lying critically ill in hospital. ‘Oh
Christ, what will I do?’ she moaned, reaching the bedroom. Stumbling into the bathroom she located her Valium and shoved a handful of tablets into her mouth but couldn’t keep them down
and started to retch.

God, she couldn’t even commit suicide properly. She dragged herself into the bedroom and pulled out a drawer full of delicate expensive underwear and found a Baby Power kept for
emergencies. Shaking and sweating she uncapped the whiskey. Her heart was pounding in her ears and she could hear nothing else. Was this all a horrible drink-induced nightmare?

You can’t run away from it. It’s happening to you. Face up to it, her mind cried out and she knew the more she ran away from the truth the harder it would be to face it. Caroline had
made a career out of running away from the truth. And look where it had got her.

She was a drunk married to a wife-beating homosexual in a nightmare of a marriage. Where could she go? Who could she turn to? Oh God! she just wanted to die.

Again she swallowed a handful of Valium and this time the tablets stayed down, washed by a mouthful of whiskey. Shivering violently, Caroline got into bed just as Charles knocked quietly on the
door and came into her room.

‘Caroline, I . . . ’ His gaze fell on the empty whiskey bottle and the tablet jar.

‘You didn’t . . . Jesus, Caroline! How many tablets did you take?’

She gave a half-laugh, half-sob. ‘What do you care anyway? Wouldn’t it suit the two of you down to the ground?’ Her voice was slurred and she felt very tired. Her eyes began to
droop.

‘Richard! Richard!’ Caroline was vaguely aware of the frantic note in Charles’s voice as the older man yelled for her husband. He was shaking her, slapping her cheeks when
Richard arrived.

‘Get an ambulance quick! She’s overdosed.’

Why wouldn’t they leave her alone? All she wanted to do was sleep . . . She was having a nightmare. A weird terrifying dream of naked men hurling abuse at her as she lay trapped and
drowning in a huge vodka bottle. ‘Help me,’ she tried to scream but the words wouldn’t come. Strange men were around her, men in blue, then harsh bright lights and men in white
coats who were putting tubes down her neck and trying to suffocate her.

Thirty-one

Caroline opened her eyes and saw Charles, grey-faced and haggard, peering at her anxiously.

‘It’s all right, Caroline. You’re all right now, you’re in hospital,’ he assured her.

Flashes of memory came drifting back and, closing her eyes, she felt the sting of bitter tears.

‘Please don’t cry!’ The misery in his voice made her feel even worse. She wanted to hate him but she couldn’t. Her tears were for him as much as herself. What a sad
triangle they made. She, Richard and this wretched man at her bedside. Trust her! Other men had affairs with women. Her husband was in love with a man. Who else would it happen to but her? Drained,
emotionally and physically, she lay in her hospital bed weeping.

Charles tentatively took her hand, half afraid she would snatch it back. But she didn’t. She felt strangely comforted by the warm handclasp. She was vaguely aware of Richard arriving, felt
her other hand being held and opened her eyes briefly to meet her husband’s troubled stare. ‘I’m sorry, Caroline!’

He looked awful. His face was ashen, his eyes red-rimmed as though he had been crying. Despite herself she felt sorry for him. In some ways Richard was such a little boy.

‘I’m sorry too,’ she murmured before drifting off to sleep. For the next week or so Caroline slept, heavily sedated. Richard had had her transferred to a private hospital where
she had been tested for AIDS and other venereal diseases after her episode in London. All tests had proved negative. She was also drying out and being weaned off Valium. It was the most painful,
frightening lonely time of her life and yet it marked a turning point for Caroline as she confronted reality for the first time.

It was so true what Doctor Cole had said. She had never depended on herself at all. There had been food, then Devlin, then Richard, then alcohol and Valium. Only she could change the pattern of
her life and though the thought frightened her, Caroline knew she had been through the mill and come out of it a stronger and more determined person.

It wasn’t easy. She craved alcohol badly and begged Richard and Charles to bring some on their visits. She trembled and shook as her system was cleared of its impurities but she found
herself for the first time beginning really to get to know her husband as he tried in his own way to help her with her battle.

At first she had been bitter and almost abusive. ‘Why did you do it to me, Richard? Do you know what torment I’ve put myself through? Thinking that I was a complete failure as a
woman, thinking that it was my fault that you weren’t sexually attracted to me. Oh, you bastard, you lying bastard. I don’t hate you because you’re gay. I hate you because you
lied to me! You used me, Richard, in the worst possible way.’

Her husband had sat with his head in his hands listening to her in silence. ‘Do you want me to go?’ he said eventually. Caroline looked at him. Now that she had verbalized the hurt,
the pain, the grief, she felt drained. She couldn’t sustain the hate; she just wasn’t that kind of person. To tell the truth she couldn’t help feeling sorry for her husband. In
her own way she loved him despite what he had done to her. Materially he had given her everything she wanted and more. Maybe he
had
felt something for her.

‘I’d better go,’ he said dully.

‘Would you get me just a tiny drop of vodka?’ Her voice showed her desperation.

‘Caroline, I can’t.’ He was miserable. ‘You’ve got to stay off it. For your own sake.’

‘I know . . . I know,’ she muttered dry-mouthed. ‘It’s hard.’

He took her hand and squeezed it. ‘Don’t think about it. Try and think about something nice . . . ’ Caroline gave a small laugh. ‘I just can’t think of anything
nice right now!’ But she lay back on her pillows and drifted into sleep still holding his hand.