Last Chance Saloon (26 page)

She got plastered that night, so plastered that she felt better. At the club they ended up going to, she danced drunkenly with Dawn and had skittish, overblown fun. She decided she liked Dawn.

Later, as Tara and Thomas came home in the taxi, Thomas was drunk and affectionate, holding her hand and stroking her hair.

‘Why do you love me?’ Tara asked playfully.

‘Who says I love you?’ he challenged, but with a sidelong, crinkle-eyed smile that, in her drunken, hopeful state, Tara took to mean that of course he did.

‘Well, why are you with me, then?’

‘Cos you give me money, of course.’

He laughed, and she swallowed away the sting. This was nice – they were bantering, making gentle fun with each other, the way lovers did. ‘OK,’ she smiled, playing the game, ‘you’re with me because I give you money, so what does that make you?

‘A kept man,’ she elaborated, opening her eyes wide with mock horror. ‘A prostitute, even! So I must be a pimp.’

But he didn’t smile or reply with a light-hearted insult. His face went hard and thoughtful. No more repartee. Oh, God, she thought, why did it always go wrong, why did it always turn nasty? The warm, cosy mood of togetherness went into freefall.

I don’t want to do this any more, Tara thought wearily. After the terrible week, she had no more coping skills left. She was fresh out of endurance, excuses and hope.

Katherine went very still. What was the right answer? ‘A nice one,’ she chanced.

‘A long one?’

Was long desirable? Probably. ‘Ages. Hours.’

‘Good.’ JaneAnn gave a firm nod of her little head.

The doorbell rang and it was Sandro, in his best suit.

‘What are you doing here?’ Katherine asked in surprise.

‘I’m going to eleven o’clock Mass with JaneAnn.’

Katherine burst out laughing, then stopped abruptly when she saw JaneAnn behind her.

‘I’m surprised at you, Katherine Casey, making fun of a young man’s faith.’

‘Sorry,’ Katherine said, humbly.

Sandro recoiled when he saw that Katherine’s normally pristine, tasteful flat had deteriorated even further since the previous evening. It was as if a bomb had exploded. Clothes, shoes, suitcases and bed-linen everywhere. Socks were draped on top of the television, a teacup was upended in a pot plant, the previous night’s wine and whiskey bottles were thrown on the floor, and though the sofa-bed had been folded back into a couch, a huge corner of sheet lolled out of it like a tongue from a slack mouth. From the kitchen came clattering, sizzling and
the smell of food being fried. It’s as if twenty students live here,’ he breathed, surveying the chaos, searching for an orange traffic cone.

‘It is, isn’t it?’ Katherine laughed darkly.

‘But you are always such a Miss Prissy-knickers,’ he protested.

‘What’s the point?’ She lifted her arms, then let them flop to her sides. ‘If I tidy, it’s a shambles again five minutes later.’

‘You are feeling all right?’ He watched her closely.

‘Fine!’ she declared, shrilly. ‘Great. Except, you know,’ she continued, her voice getting thinner and shriller, ‘once in a while it’d be nice to be able to get into my bathroom. There’s always someone in it. And I don’t really mind that JaneAnn used my loofah-mitt to scrub the kitchen floor, or that Timothy cleaned my non-stick frying-pan by scraping off all the black so that it’s not non-stick any more. But what kind of upset me this morning when I finally got into
my
bathroom was that someone – I think it was Milo – used all my Kerastase leave-in conditioner.’

‘Why do you think it was him?’

‘Just look at his hair,’ Katherine screeched. ‘See how bloody shiny it is!’ Her face was a ball of red and she glared at Sandro, daring him to try and talk her down. ‘I’m sorry,’ she wailed, and burst out crying. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry!’ She shuddered with tears. ‘I’m such a selfish brat. How can these things matter when Fintan’s so sick?’

The bell rang again. This time it was Liv, soberly dressed.

‘Don’t tell me,’ Katherine laughed through her tears, ‘you’re going to eleven o’clock Mass with JaneAnn?’

Katherine couldn’t go to Mass, even though she knew it was expected of her. She was just too upset.

‘But surely if you’re upset,’ JaneAnn fretted, ‘Mass is the best place for you.’

Milo didn’t go either, which caused JaneAnn to look sorrowful. But when they all arrived back two hours later, JaneAnn was in top form and even more enamoured of Liv because she knew Father Gilligan personally. ‘You missed a great Mass,’ JaneAnn sang. ‘The sermon was particularly beautiful. About the Prodigal Son. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been away from the Lord, he’ll always welcome you back, no questions asked.’ She looked with heavy emphasis at Milo.

Then Tara arrived and it was time to visit Fintan.

As soon as Tara walked through the hospital doors, she was running on empty. She was wrecked, wrung dry from all the emotion, fed up of her clothes and hair reeking of the ferrousy hospital smell, worn out from sitting on the hard visitors’ chairs and it was a real struggle to do without cigarettes for hours on end. She hadn’t managed to knit any of Thomas’s jumper or go to the gym all week, her work was suffering and she couldn’t stop eating. She yearned for a night at home, alone, watching soaps and speaking to no one. She flicked a glance at Katherine and saw that she’d just hit an identical wall.

‘It’s queer,’ JaneAnn articulated everyone’s feelings. ‘It’s like it’s only five minutes since we were last here. Last night’s sleep might as well not have happened.’

‘Groundhog day.’ Tara laughed wearily.

‘This is only our…’ Liv counted on her fingers ‘… fifth day doing this.’

‘I know,’ Milo finished for her. ‘It feels like the millionth.’

‘But maybe he’ll be coming home tomorrow,’ JaneAnn suggested hopefully.

‘Maybe,’ the others agreed, and for once they weren’t trying to fool themselves. If Fintan got the all-clear on his tests, he could have his lymph glands treated as an outpatient.

And, as luck would have it, he was better that day than he’d been in a while. Though the lump on his neck was still in evidence, he wasn’t so listless or yellow-looking, and he was managing to eat and keep food down. The mood eddied and rose. Everything was going to be all right.

‘When’s Thomas coming to visit me?’ he mischievously asked Tara.

‘I don’t know.’ She blushed. ‘He’s very busy, you know, with his work and his football…’

‘Tell him I’d like to see him.’ Fintan grinned. ‘I think it would help me get better.’

‘I’ll try.’

‘Ask him to do it for you,’ Fintan urged. ‘The woman he loves.’

‘OK,’ Tara promised, embarrassed and confused. Of course she’d asked Thomas to come with her to the hospital, or even to meet the O’Gradys, but he’d stubbornly refused to. ‘I’ll not be a hypocrite,’ he’d said, and that was that.

And what was Fintan up to? He hated Thomas.

Tara’s thoughts were interrupted by a loud, ‘Hi there!’ and she looked up to see Fintan’s friends Frederick, Claude and Geraint swoop excitedly into the room, weighed down with goodies. Everyone budged up to make room. But a short while later Harry and Didier arrived. And then Butch and Javier.

Fintan constantly had so many visitors that they often overflowed into the corridor outside, where conversations were lively, spirits were high and networking was in operation. Already someone called Davy, a friend of Javier’s, had slept
with Harry’s friend Jimbob, whom he’d met at the door of Fintan’s ward.

‘Ward seventeen,’ Fintan was amused, ‘where love stories begin.’ He joked that some of his friends were coming to the hospital and not even bothering to visit him, so attractive was the party atmosphere in the corridor. In fact, he went so far as to suggest that some of the people coming didn’t actually know him.

Eventually, to make a bit of room, Liv, Tara and Katherine repaired to the day room where Liv opened up a line of inquiry that she’d been keen to pursue for some time. ‘Timothy is married, isn’t he?’ she asked, oh-so-casually.

‘Yes.’

‘And Ambrose is married? And Jerome?’

‘Yes.’

‘So why isn’t Milo? Is he gay too?’

‘No,’ Tara said. ‘But he was disappointed by a girl once.’

‘Disappointed?’ Liv exclaimed. ‘What on earth do you mean? Is that another of your strange Irish euphemisms?’

‘It means dumped,’ Katherine explained. ‘He was engaged to be married to Eleanor Devine, they had what we’d call an “understanding”, and she did a runner.’

‘Why?’

‘She didn’t want to be a farmer’s wife. She went to San Francisco and became a conceptual artist.’

‘What did she look like?’ Liv sounded slightly choked. ‘Ugly? Fat?’

‘Good-looking, I suppose,’ Katherine said.

‘
How
good-looking?’ Liv pounced. ‘On a scale of one to ten?’

‘Five.’

‘Four, three even.’ Tara nudged Katherine. ‘Tell us, Liv, why are you so interested anyway?’

‘He’s six foot two,’ Liv said, dreamily, ‘built like a fridge-freezer, has long, black, shiny hair…’

Katherine stiffened at the mention of shiny hair.

‘… navy-blue eyes and a beautiful smile.’ Liv came out of her reverie. ‘No reason, really…’ and they all laughed.

‘You’re not serious, though?’ Tara asked.

‘Of course I am.’

‘But,’ Tara said, uncomfortably, ‘but you’re Swedish, you’re stylish, you’re an interior designer, he’s… Well, he’s Milo O’Grady.’

‘He wears dungarees,’ Katherine threw in her twopence-worth.

‘He’s never heard of Tricia Guild.’

‘And you’ve never heard of liver fluke. How could it work?’

‘He’s a man of the land.’ Liv had a glint in her eyes. ‘Creating new life, with his hands, reaping and sowing. What could be more worthy than that?’

‘A brain surgeon,’ Katherine suggested.

‘A social worker,’ Tara said.

‘An accountant.’

‘A shoe designer.’

‘He works with his hands. His big, strong, sexy hands. Can’t you see how beautiful he is?’

‘No,’ Tara said bluntly.

‘Liv, you’re upset,’ Katherine soothed. ‘None of us are ourselves at the moment. And surely you haven’t forgotten about your beloved Lars?’

‘That prick,’ Liv replied, vaguely. Then she caught sight of her behaviour, and it was her turn to moan in shame, ‘How
could I? How could I think about a man at a time like this? I hate myself.’

‘Don’t,’ Tara comforted her. ‘Please don’t. It’s a very weird time and if it’s any consolation I’ve been worried about myself and Thomas and I’ve been
mortified
. It seems so unworthy!’

Katherine felt a burden roll away from her. ‘Thank God you said that, Tara. This week I’ve found myself concerned about things besides Fintan too, and I thought there must be something wrong with me for being so selfish. I’ve hated myself.’

‘Did you really?
I’ve
hated
myself
,’ Tara exclaimed.

‘I’m so glad you said that. I’ve hated myself also,’ Liv threw in.

They smiled in sheepish relief at each other, their shameful secrets out in the open, the liberation making them feel weightless.

‘Either we’re a trio of evil bitches,’ Tara announced, ‘or else we’re really normal.’

‘Poor Fintan, though,’ Katherine said. ‘How must he
feel?
How
would
you feel if you thought you had only a short time to live? I keep trying to put myself in his head.’

‘Me too,’ said Tara.

‘Me too,’ said Liv.

‘Just imagine that you only have six months left to live,’ Tara challenged. ‘That you’d be dead before next May.’

‘Go on,’ she urged, as both Katherine and Liv looked at her, slightly shocked.

Feeling foolish, Katherine closed her eyes. What
would
it be like? she forced herself to wonder. This would be her last Christmas. There wouldn’t ever be another summer for her. One hundred and eighty days, instead of the thousands and
thousands she’d always assumed were rolling out ahead of her, forming a chain of years, pulling her into old age.

To her surprise, something altered. A single day, unthrilling by virtue of its sheer availability, valueless because there were so many others, loomed at her in close-up and blossomed so that every nuance seemed sweet and precious. As priceless as a diamond, from waking up with morning expectation, to winding down in evening light. She had a frantic need to fill it, to use it wisely, to do all the desirable things, the truly important things.

Never mind being responsible, she wouldn’t be around to reap the rewards. More importantly, never mind being
careful
, she wouldn’t be around to deal with the consequences. She felt almost panicky as she thought of all the things she wanted to do in her six months – it’d have to be the miracle of the loaves and fishes if she was to fit everything in.

Her rules and barricades appeared stifling to her. Crazy, even. She wanted to immerse herself fully in life. Experience everything. Have fun. Lots and lots of fun. Have sex. With Joe Roth. Christ Almighty! Terrified, she snapped her eyes open. Tara and Liv were looking at her.

‘Scary, isn’t it?’ Tara breathed out with a shudder. ‘I’ll tell you one thing. If I had six months left to live I wouldn’t worry about trying to get Thomas to marry me so that I wouldn’t be lonely in my old age. Because I wouldn’t have an old age to be lonely in!’

‘What would you do?’ Katherine asked eagerly, keen to stop thinking about herself.

‘I’d dump Lars and make my move on Milo,’ Liv said.

‘But you’re going to do that anyway,’ Tara said. ‘You don’t need to be dying. Now, me, I’d have a fling.’

‘With who?’

‘I don’t know. Someone I think is gorgeous, someone who thinks
I’m
gorgeous! One of those mad, breathless, sexy affairs, where you never get out of bed, where you wake in the middle of the night because you fancy each other so much.’ She shivered in pleasure.

‘You mean it’s not like that all the time with you and Thomas?’ Katherine asked, drily.

‘You know that once you’re past the three-month mark you hardly ever have sex,’ Tara said. ‘And don’t look at me like that. I love Thomas, this is just pretend.’

‘You’ve as good as told us that you don’t even fancy him.’

‘I did not! I only said that if things were… Look, it’s not real, it’s only imaginary!’

‘You’re right,’ Katherine reminded them. ‘We don’t have only six months to live, we’re not going to die, this discussion is stupid and maudlin.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ Tara cried. ‘I was just thinking, what if I left him, went off and had my mad fling with someone else, and then I didn’t die? I’d feel like such an eejit!’