This Is How It Ends (15 page)

Bruno started up the engine and Addie waved and the two ladies stood at the gate waving back. As soon as they were around the corner Addie leaned back against her seat and let out a long breath. Her head was spinning, her mind struggling to grasp something that remained just out of sight.

“LOOK AT THOSE TREES!”
he said. “Have you ever seen anything like them?”

The trees were so tall and dense they formed a roof over the road. Driving under them, you had a restful feeling. It was like walking down the central aisle of a great cathedral. A feeling that something bigger was in charge.

Addie hadn’t spoken since they’d pulled away from the house. Bruno didn’t seem to have noticed her silence.

“I never knew this was such gorgeous country,” he was saying, looking hungrily out of the window. “Such land! I don’t know why, but I always imagined it to be more barren.”

Addie looked out across the rolling fields, hot tears pricking her eyes.

She was irritated with him, but she wasn’t even sure why. She was annoyed with herself too. She was writhing with a discomfort that was close to pain. A witch’s brew of teenage emotions, a stubborn vein of petulance wrapping itself tighter and tighter around her heart. The more irritated she became, the more clueless Bruno appeared to be, the more infuriating his delight in the trip.

“Imagine!” he was saying. “My father and your father, they would have traveled these very roads as young men. They would have known this route so well.”

God, he sounded so American.

He had stopped the car at a gap in the hedgerow. He was leaning over the steering wheel, gazing eagerly out across the fields towards the fast-moving river below them.

“How my father would have loved to be here with us,” he said wistfully.

And she felt guilty all of a sudden for grudging him his history. Now that she could see how much it meant to him. But it was different for her. It was difficult and complicated and now here he was, making her feel bad about herself again.

She closed her eyes to conceal the tears that were in danger of slipping down her face. Hot, angry tears, and with them a wave of resentment.

She should have listened to Hugh. There was nothing to be gained from all this. No good would come of it.

She had been happy before he came. She grabbed that thought and tried to hang on to it. As if it were a branch over a swollen river. But it was no use, she had to admit she was lying to herself. OK then, so she hadn’t been happy. She had been safe, at least. She had been secure in her own misery, before he came.

BRUNO WAS SHOCKED
by the gaps in Addie’s knowledge. It was hard not to be shocked. He had asked her about her family, all innocence.

“What part of the country was your mother from?”

A simple enough question, you would have thought. Only Addie didn’t seem to know the answer.

They were wandering around the gravestones in Navan cemetery. They were the only people on foot. The other visitors all seemed to come by car. Turning slowly in at the gates, they would cruise down the pathways, coming to a stop at a particular spot. A minute’s pause, or two minutes, the arm resting on the open car window. Enough time to smoke a cigarette. The next thing they would drive on at a snail’s pace, crawling back out through the open gates and onto the road.

“The drive-by visit,” said Bruno, fascinated. There was something mafioso about it, he thought, something stylish and sinister.

Addie had Lola on the lead, it just didn’t seem right to let her run wild among the graves. She was pulling on Addie’s arm, creeping along the ground like a platypus, her ears scraping against the gravel.

Addie was still puzzling over Bruno’s question.

“I think she was from Wexford. I have an idea they were from somewhere near New Ross. She was an only child. She came to college in Dublin when she left school.”

“But don’t you ever go down there, to New Ross? Don’t you ever visit?”

“I don’t think there’s anyone to visit, as far as I know they’re all dead. My grandparents died before I was born. I think it was New Ross they were from, but I’m not sure. Maybe it was Enniscorthy. Somewhere in Wexford anyway.”

She could see that Bruno was taken aback by her vagueness. He didn’t seem to know what to do with it.

“Where did your parents meet?” He was walking along a row of headstones, leaning in to peer at the names. He was holding his notebook in his hands, studying the directions.

Addie realized she was shocked herself now.

“Do you know, I don’t have a clue. Not a clue. My dad doesn’t really talk about her very much.”

That did seem strange to her. Looking at it through Bruno’s eyes, it seemed positively weird.

“Here we are!” said Bruno triumphantly.

He was standing in front of a large square plot. There was a low iron fence around the perimeter, the fence buckled in places. The plot was covered with threadbare gravel, a rippled layer of refuse-sack plastic peeping through in places. A plain headstone, the surface blurry with moss and lichen. Etched on the stone was a long list of names, it was hard to make them out. Boylans and more Boylans. James and John and another John after him, that was the little baby who died. You could work it out from the dates, he was only two, the poor little mite. There was a Catherine too, could that be her grandmother? But surely she would have been buried with her husband? Addie didn’t know, she didn’t have any of the answers. It did seem strange to her now that she had never been here before.

Bruno was writing in his notebook. He was balancing on the balls of his feet, the notebook resting on one raised knee, meticulously copying down everything that was written on the headstone.

Addie stood at the edge of the grave and studied what was written there, waiting for some emotion to take hold of her, but none did. She could feel nothing. There was nothing she was thinking except that she should be thinking something.

I’ll say a prayer, she thought. She felt an awful fraud, but she had to do something. Hail Mary, she said, going through the words silently in her head. The prayer was over very quickly, she had a feeling she’d missed a bit in the middle. So long since she’d said it. They’d learned it in Irish too, and in French.
Sainte Marie, Mère de Dieu. Priez pour nous, pauvres pècheurs
. She was amazed that she could remember that. She waited a moment or two with her head solemnly bowed, then she moved on along the row. She found she was just as interested in the other headstones as she was in theirs.

She came to the end of the row and found herself standing in front of a small white marble cross. The engraved letters had been filled out in bold black ink.

Phelan
, it said,
Angela. Born Robinstown 27 April 1911. Died 11 May 1989
.

A Life Lived
.

“I love that,” said Addie, and her heart swelled with newfound cheer as she walked on. She repeated the inscription to herself, savoring the poetry of it.

“A life lived.”

THEY DROVE OVER
to Tara, but Addie couldn’t tell Bruno why it was so special. Something about the High Kings, she said.

They climbed the mound.

“You can see thirteen counties from here.” Bruno was reading from his guidebook.

“They all look the same to me,” said Addie. “It’s not exactly the hanging gardens of Babylon, is it?”

And she turned to go back to the car.

They stopped at Bective Abbey on the way back and Addie told him the monks had been banned and had to go into hiding. When, he wanted to know, what century?

“God,” she said. “I don’t have a clue. I don’t remember doing much Irish history in school.”

He was standing behind her, his arms wrapped tightly around her. He was kissing her ear.

“I do remember learning about the wives of Henry the Eighth. We had to learn them all off by heart. The Spanish Inquisition, that kind of stuff. But I don’t remember much of my Irish history.”

The Boyne, she knew there was a Battle of the Boyne. She knew it was a watershed. But standing in a muddy field, looking down at the river’s choppy waters, she couldn’t for the life of her remember why it was so important.

“I know it’s historic, this river. I just can’t remember why.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll google it.”

It was a bit embarrassing all the same. Up until now, she had never thought of herself as an ignorant person.

Lola, untroubled by her own ignorance, was swimming away happily in the historic river.

F
ROM THE VERY BEGINNING
, it has been clear that Lola has a beautiful heart.

The signs are there for everyone to see. It’s in the way she holds her head, so shy and yet so dignified. The way she looks at you, humble and yet still looking for love. It’s in the hopeful swish of her tail. The nonbarking dog, Della’s children call her, because she hardly ever barks.

She’s a rescue dog, a damaged dog. She steers clear of people she doesn’t know, she’s even wary of other animals. If someone she doesn’t know comes along and pets her, she goes to ground. She splays her legs and presses her body down towards the floor and she does this thing with her head as if she’s trying to burrow under a duvet. Sometimes she shakes.

Addie doesn’t have any information about what happened in Lola’s past. She arrived like a refugee, dropping down out of the boot of the rescue lady’s car one summer evening. All she had with her was a battered red collar and a sleeping mat.

“You can change her name if you like,” said the lady, “but it’s probably better not to.”

She warned Addie that Lola might cry during the night. But she didn’t cry, she didn’t make a sound. Of course Addie didn’t sleep a wink. She kept creeping into the kitchen to see if Lola was sleeping. Kept finding herself standing there in the doorway in her nightdress, a pair of shining eyes coming out of the darkness at her.

She’s a nervous creature, Lola. She jumps when she hears a loud noise. All you have to do is drop a saucepan lid on the floor and she’s under the table, peering out from beneath her fringe with frightened eyes. She seems to be waiting for something bad to happen to her.

Addie reckons she was a gundog in her past life. She reckons they got rid of her because she was gun-shy.

“They tie them up,” the vet had said casually. “The ones that are gun-shy. They try to beat it out of them.”

Addie had put her hand up straightaway to stop him. “Please don’t,” she had said, “I can’t bear it.”

But there was no unhearing those words. Once you’d heard them, there was no getting them out of your head again. Addie had this image now, of Lola tied up somewhere, strapped to a fence in a dirty yard with cruel men hovering around her.

At least they didn’t put her down, that’s what Addie tells herself. At least they gave her to the rescue lady, who put her photograph on the Internet, and that’s where Addie found her. As soon as she saw the photograph she knew. It was the way Lola had her head half turned away from the camera, the way she was looking back expectantly. Addie knew this was the right dog for her. It was as if she recognized her from somewhere.

“I’ll never let anything bad happen to you again.” That’s what Addie whispers to Lola last thing at night as she crouches down beside her on the bedroom floor and fiddles with her crimpy ears. She smooths down Lola’s spiky fringe and she kisses her in the hollow dip on top of her velvety head.

The gentlest dog, the most ladylike of dogs, Lola understands personal space. She respects boundaries. An affectionate dog, she nudges Addie’s elbow with her nose when she wants to be petted. A clever dog, she lies in the patch of sun under the window. When the sun moves, she moves. And she never cries. Not when she gets whole branches of thornbush caught in her tail, not even when glass gets lodged in the pad of her paw.

Three months Addie has had Lola, she arrived at the end of July. But it didn’t take three months, it didn’t take three days, to get the measure of her. One look at her and you can tell, she’s good through and through. She’s good and loyal and true.

If only it were so easy to read a human being.

“CAN WE BRING LOLA
to the blessing of the pets?”

It was Elsa on the phone. She was ringing from Della’s mobile so at first Addie thought it was Della ringing her.

“When’s the blessing of the pets?”

“On Sunday. Mum says will you come for lunch here afterwards.”

“Put your mum on to me.”

There was a muffled transfer and the next thing Della was on the line.

“I’m driving so I can’t talk for long.”

“Is she for real, the blessing of the pets?”

“Oh, they’re desperate to get people in. They even have a blessing of the Christmas presents. Anything to draw a crowd. We’re bringing the fish, but we think Lola should come too.”

“Are you sure it’s OK to bring a dog?”

“Last year someone brought a horse.”

“Fair enough. And lunch?”

“…we thought we’d give you lunch afterwards. Wait a minute, there’s a Guard, I’m putting the phone down…”

“Lunch would be lovely,” said Addie with an air of resignation, talking into the phone even as it lay in Della’s lap. Bruno would be delighted, he was all for meeting them.

“One other thing,” Della said, when she came back on.

Addie could hear the kids fighting in the background. “Would you shut up!” roared Della. “I’m trying to drive
and
have a conversation on the phone.”

Silence.

“The hospital has completed its inquiry,” said Della. “Simon heard it on the grapevine in there. The word is, it’s not pretty.”

“Oh Jesus. Does Hugh know?”

“I suppose he must know, they must have told him.”

“He didn’t mention anything to you?”

“No.”

Instantly Addie felt bad. She felt that she should have known. Maybe if she had been spending more time with him, maybe then he would have told her. But she’d been spending all her evenings with Bruno. She’d been dropping his dinner up to him, leaving him to eat it alone.

“I’ll talk to him,” said Addie. “I’ll sound him out.”

“DO YOU WANT THE
good news or the bad news?” That’s what she said to Della when she phoned her back later that night.

She had put Bruno off for the night. She had explained to him, she’d been all apologies.

“I’ve been neglecting him,” she said. “I think he’s in a huff. He’s a very jealous old boy.”

“That’s OK,” Bruno replied. “I’ll wash my hair or something.”

So then Addie felt guilty about Bruno. You couldn’t win. For one crazy moment she thought about inviting him but she ruled it out again straightaway.

She went alone, her bag of ingredients with her. She made a cheese soufflé to butter him up. His favorite meal, she had learned to cook it as a birthday present for him once. It’s the only complicated thing she has ever learned to cook. She produces it whenever he’s in need of cheering up, it’s something of a tradition between them.

They ate it at the kitchen table with a green salad and a bottle of Bordeaux. Hugh drank his wine through a straw, but he insisted on managing his food by himself. It was pathetic, watching him trying to grasp the fork between the ends of his fingers. It took him an eternity to get each forkful to his mouth. The soufflé must have been stone cold by the time he got to the end of it.

“You wouldn’t get it in a restaurant.” That’s what he always said when she made him cheese soufflé. “You wouldn’t get it in the Shelbourne.”

Only after they’d opened the second bottle of wine did she succeed in getting him around to talking about the case.

“Do you have any idea when it will be?” She was all innocence.

“Oh, sometime in the New Year,” he said. “The wheels of justice turn very slowly. But you’re not to be worrying about that now.” He was at his very sweetest, the soufflé had done the trick. “I have every confidence that we’ll win.

“They’re just looking for someone to blame,” he said. “They can’t bring her back so they want someone to blame. I wouldn’t mind, but I did my damnedest to save the bloody woman.”

“Who’s they?”

“The parents.”

“I thought it was the husband taking the case.”

“Yes, but it’s the father pushing it, he’s the driving force. He’s a taxi driver.”

As if that explained everything.

“Money. That’s what it all comes down to. That’s what this whole bloody business is about, getting as much money as possible out of the insurance company. The more claims they throw in, the more they stand to gain.”

He was quite forthcoming. He talked about it at length, right through the second bottle.

“She was the size of a house. I don’t know how they can object to me mentioning that. It’s not as if it’s a matter of debate, it was on her chart, for God’s sake. Clinically obese. It contributed to her death, the obesity. If she hadn’t been so bloody fat, she wouldn’t have died. I warned her about that, I told her she should lose some weight first, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She wanted the operation over and done with in time for some damn family wedding.
You
try operating on somebody with more blubber than a whale, you can’t even find their bloody gallbladder.”

A shadow of doubt passed over Addie. She felt it moving silently across her world like a cloud.

“But you didn’t put it like that.”

He was coiled in his Carver chair like a big snake. There was menace in the way he unfurled himself.

“Pardon me?”

Addie was wincing.

“Tell me you didn’t say that to the family.”

“Of course not, what kind of a person do you take me for?”

So then she felt bad for doubting him. If his own daughter didn’t believe him, who else would?

She leaned across and poured out the last of the wine. She thought maybe they were over the worst of it. But still Hugh kept talking.

“Naturally the hospital are running for cover. They seem to be seizing the opportunity to put me out to pasture. Nothing more than what you would expect. They seem to have signed up some of the younger members of staff to do their dirty work for them. All to be expected, I’m afraid, my dear. They love nothing better than to kick a man when he’s down.”

He was frightening her. The whole thing was taking on new proportions, like a sinister shadow moving across a wall.

She was beginning to regret having asked about it at all. But she couldn’t stop now.

“What do you mean?” she said. The words wobbled as they came out of her.

He answered her with gusto, his voice rolling along with a musical flourish.

“Oh, from what I hear they’ve cooked up a complaint against me. A little conspiracy. This is what they do, they put their heads together and they come up with a story to protect themselves.”

He held up his bandaged hands in front of him like a boxer.

“It’s unfortunate, this business. The fact that I’m not there to fight my corner, it’s very unfortunate.”

Addie stared at him in horror, her mind struggling to take in what he was saying.

“This could be the big one,” he was saying, his eyes sharp and gleaming behind his glasses. “This could be my last stand.”

AS SOON AS SHE
got back down to the basement, she rang Della.

“I was only joking,” she said. “There is no good news. There’s an accusation of bullying against him.”

“What! On top of the negligence thing?”

“Apparently. It surfaced during the inquiry, according to Hugh. They went around interviewing everyone who was there that day and apparently one of the junior doctors has accused Hugh of bullying him. The nurses are backing it up. Hugh says it’s all a conspiracy to get rid of him.”

“Oh, sweet Jesus.”

“I know, it’s ridiculous!”

“Well, hang on a minute, is it?”

“Of course it is! He’s direct, he doesn’t mince his words. But that’s not a crime, is it?”

“Addie, you know what he’s like. He says the first thing that comes into his head. He says nasty things. He can be cruel, you know he can.”

“But he doesn’t mean it. When he says those things, he doesn’t mean them.”

“It doesn’t matter whether he means them or not, you’re not allowed to behave like that anymore.”

“The family are seeking aggravated damages,” said Addie in a voice that wasn’t much more than a whimper. “The family of the woman who died. They’re saying he frightened them. They’re saying he lost his temper and they were afraid he was going to get violent.”

“I can just picture it.” Della’s voice was hard and thin.

“Oh, Della.” Addie was whispering into the phone now. “You don’t think Dad could be a baddie, do you?”

Della paused before answering, which said it all.

“I think he’s old-style, Ad. And these days, that means you’re a baddie. People expect a good bedside manner, they expect sensitivity. They expect you to adhere to best practice. They should expect it, for God’s sake.”

“I know, Dell, but he’s a good doctor. You know he’s a good doctor.”

“It’s not enough to be a good doctor. You have to be a good person too.”

“But he is a good person.”

“You and I know that, Ad. But not everyone else does. And you have to admit, all appearances are to the contrary.”

AFTER ADDIE HUNG UP
the phone she padded into the bathroom to brush her teeth, the silence of the flat swirling around her.

The conversation with Della was running wild in her head. She had no control over it. It was trying to rearrange itself in her mind, snippets of her voice and Della’s voice fighting to get out on top.

In her head, she was trying to fight back. She was trying to butt in with a defense. But opening up beneath her was a loss of faith so huge and so terrifying that it was making her physically sick.

All her life Addie had held unwaveringly to the belief that Hugh was a good person, refusing to contemplate the alternative. She had taken his part against the world. She had shaped her whole worldview with Hugh at the center of it. Now she felt like a fool.

She climbed into bed, turning over onto her side and curling up into a ball. She felt like she was huddled on a ledge halfway down a steep cliff. If she moved an inch she would fall into the void. She was rigid with fear. She didn’t know how she was going to get through the night.