Dear Vincent (18 page)

I’m home.

AFTER NEARLY FOUR HOURS
I’m in sensory overload. There are so many amazing works: the giant pointillist paintings of Seurat; Degas’ sculpture of the pert-faced ballerina; Rousseau’s haunting snake charmer … they’ll stay with me forever to light the dark.

All the same, we mutually decide to call it quits. We have one more destination in mind before I have to leave. Hand in hand, we stroll beside the river, making our way towards the Eiffel Tower.

‘You know, I think I’m going to head home after this course.’ Johannes’ smile is wide with relief. ‘If I can’t get an apprenticeship, I’ll do some courses at polytech — so
long as they involve actually making things.’

‘How will your mum take it?’

‘Like someone seeing her son off to war.’

I playfully punch his arm. ‘Come on. I’m sure once she sees how other people value what you make she’ll come around. You really have to show your stuff around the galleries. I bet they’d sell.’

‘Only if you take your paintings!’

‘But yours are—’ I’m stopped in my tracks. Above us looms the Eiffel Tower. It’s truly awe-inspiring. We walk right under the centre of its base and gaze up through the lattice-work of woven steel.

‘It’s like a spider-web on steroids!’ Johannes grins. ‘Are you game enough to go up to the top?’

I crane my neck, scared I’ll tip backwards. ‘Do I have a choice?’

He laughs and shakes his head. ‘Don’t worry. If you pass out I promise I’ll do mouth-to-mouth.’

We pay the fee and climb into a crammed glass elevator that hauls us skywards. From the viewing deck the city reveals itself: stone buildings laid out in medieval grids around the river, with strategic roads and parks. We’re nestled in the fraying clouds, the world below reduced. I take photo after photo, soaking in the novelty of this bird’s-eye view. I love the way patterns recur: clouds reborn as freshly fallen snow or froth at sea; fields as chequerboard collages; rivers snaking across the landscape like human veins. Like Gustav Klimt’s mosaic paintings. Give me a canvas and brush!

We’re both fooling around, posing for photos, when Johannes’ cell phone rings.

As he listens he starts to frown. He holds the phone out. ‘It’s for you.’

Dear god, it has to be either Royan or Shanaye. ‘Hello?’

‘Tara darlin’.’
Shanaye
. ‘I’m so sorry to disturb you but Kathleen just rang. She says the doctor’s warned that poor Paddy’s fading fast. She thought you’d want to know.’

Cold sweat breaks out all over me. ‘Did they say how long?’

‘Only a matter of days — if that. I’m so sorry, love.’

‘I’ll ring you back when I’ve had a chance to think.’
What’s there to decide? I have to go.
I’ve been expecting this for years — and yet it’s still a shock. I hand the phone back to Johannes. ‘It’s Dad. Sounds like he’s going to die.’

‘Shit. What do you want to do?’

‘I’ll try to change my tickets and go right back.’

He groans. ‘I don’t believe this.’

‘Life sucks,’ I say. ‘Then sucks some more. I’ve got all my stuff in my bag back at your place. I’d better go and ring the airline now.’

‘Could you fly direct from here?’

I shake my head. ‘I want to see Shanaye and Royan before I go. Anyway, most of my luggage is there.’

We travel down the lift in silence. Walk directly to the metro and arrive back at the apartment in a state of gloom.

I phone through to the airline and they’re helpful once I tell them why. There’s a flight leaving Belfast at ten forty-five tonight; the next is not until tomorrow. I choose tonight. I don’t want Dad dying while Mum’s on her own. Apart from anything else, I’d never hear the end of it.

I call Shanaye and she offers to bring my luggage to the airport so we can say goodbye. The thought of
leaving them so soon is devastating — already they feel more like family than the one at home.

We head off to the airport with an hour and a half to spare. Johannes finds a secluded booth in one of the bars and orders coffees. We sit here with our arms entwined, heads resting cheek to cheek.

‘I’ll be home in a couple of months,’ he says. ‘Meanwhile I promise to find some internet access, somehow, where I’m staying.
You
promise you’ll message every day.’ He reaches over for one of the serviettes and writes a number down. ‘Ring me if he dies — please — or leave a message with Mum.’

I tuck the serviette into my bag. ‘I’ll be fine.’

‘You’d better bloody be.’

My flight is called and he bundles me into his arms.

‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘I’ll never, ever forget this. These have been the best two days of my entire life.’

‘Me too.’ He kisses me and when he pulls away his eyes are red. ‘Good luck with your dad,’ he says. ‘And mum.’

I don’t have the strength to drag this out. I grab my backpack and hurry off, then sit in a surreal daze for the entire flight.

AT BELFAST AIRPORT, ROYAN
and Shanaye and all four kids are waiting with my luggage. I shout us all a cup of tea and then withdraw a few hundred pounds from my savings.

I press the notes into Shanaye’s hand. ‘Take this. As
it is, I owe you guys for the rest of my life.’

‘You owe us nothing. We’ve been so happy to have you here.’

‘I hope you know I’m coming back. When I’m finished studying I’m going to paint my way around the whole of Ireland!’

‘Now that’s a grand idea!’ Uncle Royan winks. ‘And bring that nice romantic boy!’

Helen tugs at my hand. ‘Will your daddy go up to live with Jesus?’

Shanaye rolls her eyes. ‘Her daddy will finally have some peace, my love.’

‘Like our Van?’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Just like our Van.’

They call my flight and we all start to cry at once. I never thought I’d feel so close to them this fast. I hug them one by one and promise to keep in touch. As I’m about to walk away Uncle Royan pulls an envelope from his pocket.

‘This is for Paddy, Tara darlin’. Lay it to rest with him. And tell Kathleen we send our love.’

‘I love you guys.’

‘I know, sweetheart. We love you too.’

I walk through the boarding gate, bawling like a kid. It’s not until I’m settled in my seat that I take out the envelope and look inside. It’s a photo of Dad and Royan with their older brother Billy. Dad’s maybe thirteen or fourteen. Arms slung around each other, the three McCluskys grin into the camera like they own the world.

On the first leg of the journey, after a quick switch at Heathrow, I sleep — only waking to eat the meals and use the loo. We disembark at Los Angeles for nearly
two hours, shut inside a holding pen like sheep, before the final slog. With nothing else to distract me I try to process the last two weeks. I’m not sure how to broach it all with Mum, whether she’ll even talk to me. I’m guessing she’ll be defensive; must know Shanaye and Royan were bound to talk.

What trips me up each time I plan potential conversations with her is not her blatant abuse of Van — I think I understand that now to some extent. But why all the shit she flings at me? The lack of any warmth? Hell, for the last five years I doubt we’ve had one decent conversation. I’m terrified to set myself up for more upset.

By the time we land I’m so het up I have to muster all my willpower not to push aside the other passengers and bolt. Instead I put myself on auto-pilot, shuffling forward when the person in front of me moves and trying not to think how much I want to run the hell away.

I haul my bag off the carousel and walk through the arrivals gate. I’m trying to decide whether to catch a bus or blow more of my savings on a taxi when I hear my name.

Weird
. I didn’t tell anyone …

Someone edges out of the crowd and makes his way towards me. Brendon.

‘Tara! Your mother asked me to pick you up.’ His smile is sheepish. Presumably Shanaye or Royan phoned. It’s a miracle she thought to send him — unless, of course, it’s meant to creep me out.

All the same, I’m grateful. He takes my bag off me and leads me to his car. I’m about to climb in the back but pull myself up.
Come on. Time to start acting like a grown-up.

‘How’s Dad?’ I ask.

‘They’ve taken him off everything. It’s only a matter of time.’

‘What? Hours? Days? Weeks?’

‘I’m guessing only hours or another day. It’s good you came back now.’

‘How’s Mum?’

‘Wearing herself out. Refusing to leave him except to work.’ I have to hand it to him, he sounds genuinely concerned.

Guilt stabs me in the chest. The money I gave Shanaye might’ve bought Mum a bit of time off work. ‘Can she take paid leave?’

‘She’s only owed two more days. She took a whole lot off last week.’

Guilt on guilt.
I should’ve been here to help
. And now I’ve blown the funeral fund, I’ll have to fork out the rest my savings to pay the bill. Welcome home, Tara. Back to all the same bloody problems.

I stare out the side window, trying to gather myself before I have to face her.

Brendon drops me at the entrance of the hospital, then drives away.
Thank god
. I tote my bag up in the lifts and find Dad’s ward. He’s been shifted to a room all on his own. I stand across the corridor and peek in through the open door. Mum’s washing him: wiping his face and neck, then working down his chest. He’s unrecognisable. Looks like one of those saints they used to show us pictures of at school, supposedly intact despite hundreds of years. Waxen skin, jutting cheekbones, hollow cheeks, hawkish nose.

Once more I’m struck by how loving Mum is. She’s talking to him, soothing him. At least I understand this
now, even factoring in Brendon: Dad saved her, simple as that. Brought her here so she could have a chance to start again.

I brace myself and walk into the room. Feel the tension winding up inside, aware how greasy and crumpled I am after the flight. ‘Hey Mum.’

She jerks away from Dad, her arms flying out in my direction. But then she pulls them back.
Don’t react
. I walk right up to her and close mine around her anyway. She stiffens, but when I don’t let go she slowly wilts. Actually squeezes back before she drops away.

‘How are you?’ I pull a chair over and sit down next to her.

‘Fine.’ A flush creeps up her neck. She doesn’t meet my eye.

‘Uncle Royan and Shanaye send their love.’

‘They rang.’

I’m blushing too. I don’t know what they’ve told her about me. ‘They’re very nice. They made me feel really welcome. And the kids.’ Her silence freaks me out. ‘How’s Dad?’ I still too scared to look at him up close — too tired to cope with more than one overwhelming emotion at a time.

‘So-so. I don’t think it’ll be very long.’ She reaches over to adjust his blanket.

I have to say something.
Do it now.
‘They told me everything, Mum.’ Her hand shoots to her chest. Lips compress. ‘Why didn’t you ever say something? It might’ve helped.’ My heart’s a clattering castanet.

Mum twirls her wedding ring. Still won’t glance at me. ‘Why do you have to turn everything into a bloody drama? What’s the good of looking back?’

‘It would’ve helped me, Mum. And Van.’

Her eyes meet mine, transmitting disbelief. ‘Helped? Look what your sister did when she found out.’

‘Still, I’m guessing, like me, it broke her heart. For you, Mum. For what you’ve had to endure.’ The stoniness she’s trying to maintain is cracking round the edges, her chin wobbling with the strain. ‘She didn’t kill herself from shame. She died from lack of love. The people she loved the most rejected her — saw her as Devil’s spawn.’ The phrase comes out of nowhere and I see it slam into Mum. But she has to hear. For Van.

Mum stalks around the bed to place Dad in between us and I’m forced to look at him.
God
. If it wasn’t for the gurgling in his throat, I’d swear he was already dead.

‘You don’t understand,’ Mum spits out. ‘I fought to keep her, when everyone insisted I adopt her out. But it got so’s your father couldn’t see her without reliving all the shame. And the more I tried to protect her from his anger, the worse he got. It didn’t help she looked so much like me. When she hit puberty he couldn’t handle it. He’d see her with a boy and he’d have flashbacks. He blamed himself for not fetching Daddy McClusky in time — and for not realising Billy was going to take his life. Everything gets so jumbled up inside.’ I’ve never seen her look so old. Her skin is grey.

‘But why send Van away after Dad’s stroke? And then refuse to bring her back? That’s what did her in.’

‘I’m not bealin’ Wonder Woman, Tara. I simply couldn’t cope.’ She knuckles her eyes, leaving them puffy and red. ‘Look, after I had you I sunk real low. I used to think I’d have a class career, but with two kids to help support I had to face the facts. Your father bullied
me along but when he had the stroke everything caved in. All I did was eat, work, sleep, tend to Paddy, pay the bills and fight over that bastard house. Day in; day out. I sent her hoping Royan and Shanaye could give her what I lacked. I couldn’t bring her home — I was in no state to put things right. Don’t think I don’t know her death was all my fault. I wake up every morning so brutally angry and resentful it poisons everything I do. It’s only since Paddy’s been in this time that I’ve had a chance to see to it. They’ve got me taking pills.’