Authors: Joanne Clancy
They were out in Cork, at their favourite restaurant, Chez Jacques, enjoying a divine meal. It was time for dessert. Niall adored desserts, especially cheesecake. He had an insatiable sweet tooth. Hope had never known anyone to devour so much chocolate and sweet food and still not gain a pound! The waiter brought them the dessert menu and Hope studied it intently. Hope always looked but rarely let a dessert past her lips. She tried to absorb the taste simply by looking. Actually, her way of tasting the flavours was by kissing Niall; that was the best diet, in her opinion; no calories but oh so delicious!
Anyway, the waiter asked them what they wanted and Niall ordered chocolate profiteroles; his favourite.
“And for you, madam
, what would you like?” the waiter asked, standing by with his notebook, pencil poised to take her order.
“Oh, no, nothing for me, thank you,” she laughed. “I try not to eat desserts.”
Niall watched her closely. “Well, if you
were
eating dessert, what would you choose?” he asked, a wicked glint in his eye.
“I'd have to have the chocolate brownies with warm chocolate sauce,” she answered without any hesitation.
“I see,” Niall winked at
the waiter as he handed him their
menus.
The waiter disappeared for a while and returned with a mountain of chocolate profiteroles and the chocolate brownies. He laid the plates carefully on the table in front of them and Niall immediately began to tuck in.
“This is like torture!
” Hope cried, staring longingly at her dessert, inhaling the heady scent that wafted towards her.
“It doesn't have to be torture,” Niall grinned, in between mouthfuls of his dessert. “Why don't you
just take a teeny tiny spoonful?
” he suggested.
“I really shouldn't,” but she picked up a spoon anyway and began to nibble at the luxuriously thick, decadent chocolate dessert. She closed her eyes and sank into the pleasurable taste.
She decided to start allowing herself to enjoy small bites of delicious food from then on. She thought she could get away with it because of what she was secretively doing to counteract the excess calories. She was taking laxative capsules that contained aloe vera and flaxseed oil but many other harmful ingredients too. The capsules were very potent and she was taking them every day. The pills took everything out of her. She would feel drained and weak afterwards and it would often take her a few hours to recover. The positive side for her was that she immediately felt lighter but in her ridiculous head she assumed that meant she was losing weight, which she wasn't; she was messing up her stomach and digestive system.
Niall noticed her prolonged disappearances to the bathroom; particularly after a meal. He didn't say anything for a long while, but after one particular episode she seemed very lethargic.
“Is everything alright with you, Hope?” he asked her, studying her face. His expression was full of concern.
“I'm fine, absolutely fine. It's just this medication I'm taking. It makes me feel a little ill sometimes,” she replied, with a dismissive wave of her hand.
“What sort of medicine?” he persisted.
So she explained to him how it had all started. She'd started taking the medication innocently enough. Occasionally, with her hectic lifestyle, she suffered with constipation and after some research online she'd discovered that an aloe vera juice drink helped to alleviate the problem. However, the juice had to be refrigerated, which wasn't always practical as she was usually away from home from early morning until late at night. When an acting colleague had suggested she try using laxatives, she'd jumped at them.
Niall listened in silence as she told him everything. “Laxatives are extremely dangerous,” he said eventually. “It explains why you seem so drained lately.”
He tried not to nag her but instead he began to research laxatives and their side-effects on the internet. He printed out his findings and gently talked to her about what the implications might be and of the potential dangers of taking the pills on a long-term basis. He'd talk a little about it, then he'd change the subject and then, very casually he'd mention it again. Not once did he demand that she stop taking them; he simply guided her away from the problem. Niall was a skilled strategist; something of course at which he'd had plenty of practice.
Niall's advice began to sink in and Hope decided to go to her doctor for help. The doctor explained that what she was doing was both dangerous and futile. He explained that, since the calories had already been absorbed by her body, all that the laxatives were doing was taking away the nutrients; which was the main reason she felt so drained. He also told her that taking laxatives on a long-term basis can lead to kidney failure, irregular heartbeats and even worse; a heart attack! Taking them, could in fact be fatal. The doctor suggested that she gradually wean herself off the pills by substituting a natural fibre in their place, which she did immediately. Thanks to Niall, she began a n
ew, cleaner, healthier regimen and she would be forever grateful to him for that. She had so many happy, beautiful memories of him. They’d shared so much love and now she was having his baby and she had no idea where he was.
Nobody knew where he was. The last piece of information she knew for certain was that he was in Japan at the time the tsunami struck, but she had no idea if he was dead or alive. The day she found out about the tsunami she and her mother had flown to Japan and searched for him. They'd spent weeks there; searching every hospital, every shelter, asking anyone who'd speak to them if they'd seen him. They printed posters and hung them everywhere, but it was no good. Nobody knew anything.
Eventually, they'd returned home and waited. She had nightmares of him having amnesia and not remembering where he was or who he was or what had happened. It killed her to imagine how alone he would be feeling without her. Would he remember her even if she could find him?
She would never forget that fateful day in March for as long as she lived when the devastating news and horrendous pictures filtered through. There were news flashes on the television and radio networks and amateur footage of the killer wave on the internet as it wreaked its devastating destruction, wiping out homes and entire villages.
She'd started to panic when
she'd tried calling Niall's telephone number over and over again and there was no answer. The phone lines were dead, destroyed by the tsunami. She began to scour the internet for information and felt sick as she scrolled through reports of a ten metre wave destroying the town where Niall was staying. Fearing the worst, she cried constantly and was unable to eat or sleep for days. There were many messages being exchanged on Twitter and Facebook about what was happening out there. Survivors were giving their accounts to the media who descen
ded on the place within hours.
Not knowing was unbearable. She needed to know, at least then she could grieve, but there was no sight or sound or trace of Niall.
Eventually, she drifted off into a fitful slumber, dreaming of her husband as she so often did lately. She dreamt of when he'd taken her for a ride on his motorbike. She'd wrapped her legs closely around his and pressed her body against him. They'd taken off at top speed. There was an exhilarating feeling of energy, excitement and closeness tingling through her entire body. The wind was in her face and
she was leaning into him; like
they were one being. It was an am
azing, incredible day, as if a
new life
was opening for both of them and t
hey could both feel it.
He'd taken her to his favourite pub for lunch and they'd ordered fish and chips with two huge glasses of refreshing orange juice. She couldn't eat much, just a few chips, because of the butterflies of excitement in her stomach. She couldn't stop gazing at him, staring into his eyes
, getting lost in his deep
baby blues. He didn't eat much either;
he must have been nervous too.
Eventually, they left their meal and wandered outside for a walk. The sun was shining and the flowers and grass smelled so fresh. They walked and talked. She loved talking to him. He was the best listener and made her laugh all the time. They lay on the grass, under the warm sun. He leaned close to her and she welcomed his embrace with open arms. They were lost in each other's arm
s for almost an hour. It was
gentle, passionate and beautiful, the longest kiss she'd ever known. They'd opened and closed their eyes but they'd never left the sanctuary of each other's arms and that kiss. Hope never could describe the
ecsta
sy of that moment. Lying there in the grass with the sun coming through the branches of the trees; dappling their cheeks with warmth, hearing the sound of the wind rustling the leaves, listening to the distant voices of children playing
, it was perfect
. She felt such a sense of peace and happiness.
She woke up smiling and for the briefest of moments believed that she was lying in the grass with her beloved once again, but then
the harshness of
her reality came flooding back and she remembered. He was gone, maybe gone forever.
Chantale burst into her daughter's bedroom, making Hope almost jump out of her skin.
“I think you need to see this, darling.” Her face was ashen and she was visibly shaking. Hope had never seen her mother in such a state.
A terrible shiver of dread ran through
her. “Mama, please
tell me,” she said, struggling out of bed.
“I can't, you have to see for yourself.” Her mother reached out her hand to her daughter and helped her to the living room.
The laptop was positioned on the kitchen counter where it had been for the past few months. It stayed on day and night as Hope and Chantale constantly searched for any news on Niall and information on the tsunami. Even now, there were reports of survivors being found all these months later. Hope prayed that somehow, someday Niall would be among those survivors.
“What is it mother?” Hope asked, beginning to lose her patience. She had enough on her mind without having to deal with her mother's amateur dramatics.
“You need to watch
th
is.” Chantale pulled out a chair
for her daughter and turned the computer towards her. There was a Youtube video paused on the screen in front of her. Chantale pressed play and wrapped her arms around Hope as they watched.
A woman who Hope had never seen before was holding a photograph and asking if anyone knew anything about her missing husband. She explained that he'd been lost in the Japanese tsunami and that she and her daughter had survived but that they hadn't heard anything about him since.
The video lasted less than three minutes and at the end the woman gave her contact details.
Hope stared at the screen, not quite believing her eyes.
Who was the woman? Who was that man? Was it Niall? Could it possibly be him?
Her mind raced;
a whirl of thoughts, hopes and possibilities. She replayed the video over and over again, pausing every time on the photograph of the man who looked so like her husband. She knew
it was Niall, she just knew it!
A terrible feeling of dread spread throughout her body and then an incredible anger overcame her.
“That's my Niall!” she shouted. “How dare that woman say
that
he's her husband. I'm calling the police.”
“Why don't we call the phone number on the video?” Ch
antale suggested doubtfully. “It might
be a case of mistaken identity. After all, she said her husband's name is Conor Darcy.”
“I don't care! I know it's Niall!” Hope cried. “I'm calling the police and they can deal with her, whoever she is.” She ran to the phone and dialled the number of her local police station.
“Another day almost done,” Isabel Murray glanced at the clock, counting down the minutes until she was relieved of her shift and could finally head home. It had been a long, uneventful day at the police station and Isabel was happy that it was almost at an end. She was still wrecked tired after the antics of the weekend. Cork had played host to hundreds of international music stars at its annual summer festival and of course the police had had to deal with a tiresome litany o
f minor public order offences; p
eople drinking too much, urinating in the streets and picking ridiculous fights with each other. Isabel longed for an exciting case to get her teeth stuck into, but that was unlikely to happen any time soon. Cork wasn't exactly the crime capital of Ireland.
“Cork City police station. How may I help you this evening?” Isabel prided herself on making an effort to sound pleasant on the telephone, unlike many of her colleagues who answered it curtly, as though the ring had disturbed then from far more important business. It was a throw-back to the days she used to work in customer service during her summer holidays from university. The customer service manager had drilled into them the importance of first impressions, even over the phone, and somehow the training had stuck with her. “It never hurts to be polite,” as her mother always said.