Happy Ever After (5 page)

‘Thank God you survived,’ her mother had said fervently several times since she’d come out of the coma.

‘Thank God nothing,’ she’d wanted to retort. ‘Why did He let me crash in the first place?’

She rolled the little angel in her palm. Lily had told her she’d discovered an angel shop in Finglas, just across from her optician’s, when she’d gone to get a new pair of glasses after accidentally standing on her other pair. ‘Oh Judith, it’s a lovely little shop. I’d love you to see it some time,’ she’d enthused as she’d sat beside Judith’s bed, knitting blankets for children in Africa.

Just even listening to her mother it was hard to believe that Lily was the same woman. Imagine her mother getting two buses from Drumcondra, where they lived, to Finglas. Unheard of. Judith studied her mother intently. Her eyes were bright and animated. Her fingers flew over her needles. She was chatting away about her trip to the library, her walk in the park and the queues for the bus going home in the evening. Sometimes Judith wondered if she was in a different universe. And the tenderness of the little kiss on her forehead that Lily now greeted her with was far from anything she’d ever previously experienced in her relationship with her mother. All the years of hostility and sharp exchanges which had been the fabric of their lives seemed to have gently dissolved and wafted into the ether.

Lily never came to visit without some little treat for her. And always the anxious inquiry: ‘Are you feeling any better, Judith? Is the pain still bad? Will I ask the nurses to give you something?’

It was as if she was rediscovering lost mothering skills that had been buried deep for years and years. And, in spite of her pain and her torment, Judith was content to let her mother’s newfound affection and kindness act as a balm to her own deep unhappiness.

She would never have believed that she would look forward to spending time with her own, once-despised mother. Lily was so joyful that she had come out of her coma that Judith had to try hard to pretend that she was glad to be alive.

She made no such effort with her brother, Tom, and sister, Cecily. Had she not recovered, she would have gone to her maker on bad terms with both of them. She’d rowed with Cecily for being late to collect her mother on the day of the crash and rowed with Tom over their mother’s will. He probably wouldn’t have minded if she’d died, she thought sourly. More for him, when Lily passed on.

Cecily, to give her her due, had been weepily apologetic for her tardiness on the day of the crash and was constantly phoning, asking Judith if she needed anything. Judith just wished she’d leave her alone. She didn’t have the energy to deal with her sister’s guilt. They weren’t close and, after all her years of bitterness about being left to look after their mother, Judith didn’t think they ever would be. Still, it had been a comfort of sorts to know that her younger sister was upset at her near demise. She couldn’t say the same about her brother.

Tom had been all brash and hearty, telling her not to be malingering and that some people would do anything to get out of going to work. Lily had flashed him a filthy, needle-sharp look which had amused Judith in spite of her discomfort. ‘Judith was
critically
ill, Tom. I don’t think you realize how close to death she was,’ she had snapped. ‘Don’t be talking like that.’

‘Ah, just joking, Ma,’ he said gruffly. ‘Get off my back.’

It had been nice, though, having her mother come to her defence. She’d closed her eyes, too tired to pretend to be glad he was there, and it had been a relief when he’d gone. Whatever about having some sort of rapprochement with Cecily, not even a near miss with death would repair her relationship with her only brother, she reflected, with a strange sense of detachment.

She wondered who was running her section at work. She was in charge of a busy wages and salaries department in a big insurance company. It was a demanding job, with no leeway for error. Odd, she felt completely detached about work too. She wondered if Debbie Adams was back from her honeymoon. No doubt she was using her new married name, whatever it was. At least Judith had missed having to view the wedding and honeymoon photos. Photos of the happy couple were the last things she needed to see. What was it about Debbie Adams and her charmed life that made Judith feel an utter failure when she compared it to her own? It was irrational and unreasonable, she knew, but still, she was glad she hadn’t been around for all the wedding talk. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to go back to work. Perhaps she’d end up on disability, she thought idly, as a fly buzzed her. But what would she do with herself? Oh, she’d think about it some other time. She hadn’t the energy for it now. Judith yawned.

The phone by her bed rang. It was Lily.

‘Is there anything you’d like when I come in this afternoon, Judith?’ her mother inquired.

‘No, Ma, not a thing, thanks.’

‘And how are you today? Is the pain any easier?’

‘Yes, Ma, a little,’ she fibbed.

‘That’s good, Judith, that’s very good. I’m praying night and day for you.’ Lily sounded so earnest. And Judith could see her, mother-of-pearl rosary in her hands, sitting in her favourite high-backed chair in her sitting room, praying as the beads slipped through her thin, bony fingers, or with her hairnet on, kneeling beside her bed in her floral winceyette nightdress, face furrowed in deep concentration as she prayed earnestly to the Almighty and the plethora of saints whom Lily had great faith in.

‘Thanks, Ma, I’ll see you later then,’ Judith managed before hanging up.

‘I’m praying night and day for you,’ her mother had said. For some reason, it touched her in some deep, hard, closed-off place in the depths of her.

Two big tears rolled down her cheeks. And then it was a waterfall, as Judith cried her eyes out, wondering what was to become of her.

Lily Baxter stirred a spoonful of sugar into her cup of tea, took a mini Jaffa cake out of the biscuit tin, placed it on the side of her saucer and carried it into her small front parlour. She turned on the little transistor radio she kept on the table beside her armchair. The sound of Dean Martin singing ‘That’s Amore’ filled the room, and she smiled. She and her beloved husband, Ted, had danced to that tune on their wedding day, many years ago. It was their song. It was strange; since Judith had had her accident and Lily had been living in the house on her own, she had felt her late husband’s presence very strongly. Maybe he had got Ronan Collins to play that song on his radio programme today especially, to help her keep her chin up, she thought, firm in the belief that the dead had little ways of sending messages of love just when they were needed.

And she did need to keep her chin up. She was very worried about Judith. Her daughter was in turmoil, not just physical pain but emotional turmoil. It was as though this accident was just one blow too many. Sometimes, Lily felt her daughter was sorry to have survived it.

Don’t think like that, she said sternly to herself as the familiar flutters of fear and anxiety began their dreaded waltz. She could not go back to her old ways and give into the panic attacks and heart-stopping, stomach-knotting apprehensions that had dogged her all her life. She was strong now, she told herself, as she sipped her hot, sweet tea slowly and nibbled on the Jaffa cake. A measure of calm returned. She had amazed herself and her family with her behaviour since Judith’s accident.

She’d come up trumps, she thought, giving herself a mental pat on the back. She hadn’t fallen to pieces as everyone had expected her to do. She hadn’t gone to stay with Cecily, her younger daughter, because she was afraid of living on her own. No, she’d stayed in her own home and slept in her own bed and ventured out in the world again. She, who had depended on Judith to do her shopping, take her to mass and drive her thither and yon, was now going into the Spar supermarket in Drumcondra. She’d even taken two buses over to Finglas village to go to her optician’s when she’d broken her glasses. That had been a great day for her, even though her heart had been thumping at having to make the journey. When she’d got to Finglas, she’d relaxed. Her parents had once lived near the big church, and it was familiar territory. She’d pottered in and out of the shops and couldn’t believe she was out by herself on a little jaunt.

By now, she was an old hand at travelling to the hospital and hopped on the bus at the end of the road with increasing confidence every afternoon on her visit to her daughter.

So, there was no need for her to feel fluttery, Lily assured herself as she caught sight of Mr Ryan, one of her elderly neighbours, walking slowly down the street, pain etched on his face as he concentrated on each step, leaning heavily on his stick and stopping to rest every so often. He wasn’t that much older than she was, mid-seventies, but he was crucified by breathing difficulties and arthritis.

She was so lucky, she reflected, taking another sip of tea. She could walk sprightly, her breathing was fine and, apart from the cataract, which was now sorted after her little operation, she was hale and hearty. If she were like Mr Ryan she’d have been in a sorry state indeed and would have to have thrown herself on the mercy of Tom, her son, who rarely made an effort to see her, and Cecily, her youngest daughter, to whom she was simply a nuisance.

God had been good to her. She was managing on her own, even if it was this late in her life that she had come to the realization that she was perfectly capable of looking after herself.

Lily gave a sigh that came from the depths of her as guilt cloaked her. She had ruined Judith’s life, of that there was no doubt. By her clinging so leechlike to her daughter, Judith had had no chance of forging a life of her own and was now a bitter, discontented, fifty-year-old woman with not much to look forward to.

Lily had to do something about it. She was going to explore the possibilities of raising a loan from the bank using her house as collateral so that Judith could buy a place of her own. Her daughter knew nothing of these plans, nor did her other two children, who wouldn’t be at all happy. Lily knew that Tom was expecting a share of the proceeds of the house when she died, but he could expect. The house was left to Judith, and that was that. But she could live for another ten years. Her parents had lived well into their eighties. She could easily do the same, and Judith needed something to live for now.

She watched Mr Ryan, bent like an S hook, pause at her railings. The poor man was in a sorry state; she should offer to do the odd little bit of shopping for him when she was getting her own messages – milk, bread and the like. It wouldn’t kill her. All her neighbours had been kindness itself when they’d heard about Judith, had offered her lifts if she needed them, and told her to call them any time, night or day. Even though she and Judith kept to themselves, it had been heartening the way the neighbours on the street had rallied around her in her hour of need.

It was time for her to do a good deed or two herself. Better late than never, Lily thought wryly. A line of St Francis’s famous prayer came into her head: ‘For it is by self-forgetting that one finds.’ It had been sung on
Hymns of Praise
the previous Sunday, and it had really struck a chord with her for some reason. It almost described what was happening in her life.

Lily had never said that particular prayer. It made her feel guilty. Too much was expected from one. And she felt she wouldn’t be able to live up to it.
She
had wanted to be the comforted one, not the comforter, the consoled, not the consoler, the understood one, not the one doing the understanding. What was so awful about wanting that? It was only human, and she was far, far, from being a saint.

And yet, she reflected, here she was, doing her best to understand Judith, doing her best to comfort and console her, praying for her recovery night and day. Planning ways to help her when she came out of hospital. For the first time in her life, she was putting someone else’s needs before her own. And, in doing these things, she was finding a strength she never knew she had in her.

‘
It is by self-forgetting that one finds . . .
’

So, that’s what it meant, Lily thought with a sudden sense of illumination. While she was helping Judith, she was finding her own courage and strength. She’d never looked at it like that before. Lily’s angular face broke into a smile. There was so much to learn from life but, today, she’d discovered a profound truth that would help her put one foot in front of the other in the days to come. And there were going to be stormy days ahead when Tom found out that she was going to assist Judith financially. He would object, she knew that. But he could object all he liked, her mind was not for changing. Judith needed her as once Lily had needed Judith, and she would stand firm for her.

Lily turned off her radio and reached down to the little shelf under the tabletop and found her prayer missal. She knew she had St Francis’s prayer on a memorial card for one of her aunts. She found it and took a deep breath. It was not a prayer to be said lightly. Much would be expected, but much help would be given if she said it with the right intention.

‘Lord,’ Lily said, in a voice that quavered only slightly, ‘make me a channel of your peace . . .’

‘Welcome back, Mrs Kinsella.’ Sally Ford grinned as Caitriona Slater gave Debbie a hug and Ciara Williams plonked a cup of coffee on her desk and said, ‘Photos!’

Debbie glanced over at Judith Baxter’s office, half-expecting her boss to emerge and send them scattering back to their various desks. It was such a relief coming into work knowing that she wouldn’t be here. It made her first day back from her honeymoon so much easier. She smiled around at her friends and colleagues and was delighted with the warmth of her welcome. If it weren’t for Bitchy Baxter always on her case, work would be much more enjoyable.

‘Who’s in charge while Judith’s out? Have we time to look at the photos?’ asked Debbie, logging on to her computer, sliding her photo disk in and producing a big box of handmade American chocolates from her tote bag.