“Why?”
“Because of a promise I made a long time ago.”
“Okay, I will.”
On the walk to the gallery they talked about relationships and Jim told Leslie about the women who had been in his life after Imelda. There was Mary, a librarian from Meath. She was a fan of musicals, the works of Shakespeare and, according to Jim, was passive aggressive. They’d lasted eight months, but it was only a year after Imelda and although Mary was a great cook and looked like a slightly chunkier and seriously paler Sophia Loren his heart hadn’t been in it. Then there had been Angela. She was funny, smart, attractive and kind. She also had a psycho ex-husband and four kids under the age of ten so, after he’d been punched in the face on the street and warned to leave her alone or he’d be joining his wife in the ground, he decided he needed space. She and the kids moved to the UK a month later and he hadn’t heard from her since. Then had come the Russian woman he had told her about on their first phone call. “I really thought we might have a future,” he said. “So, what about you?”
Leslie laughed as he followed her across the street.
“Well?” he said.
“No one.”
“No one! In ten years there has been no one?”
“Eighteen years, but who’s counting?”
“Simon was your last relationship?” Jim was aghast and wasn’t too shy to reveal his astonishment. He slowed his pace and took her arm. “I know nuns that get more action than you.”
“That’s funny because my hairdresser knew some Trappist monks with better haircuts. Coming up short against religious orders seems to be the theme of the day.”
“I like your hair,” he said.
She smiled. “Thanks.”
They entered the gallery and were met by Jane, who was surprisingly calm and collected despite her sister’s absence. Leslie introduced her to Jim and they shook hands and Jane complimented Leslie on looking stunning, which embarrassed her, and then she insisted they have a glass of wine and some savoury snacks. The place was packed with people and a lot were crowded around the paintings so they decided to wait until the herd thinned. They sipped wine and chatted in the corner. Jane was playing host and doing a lovely job. She was polite and pleasant to the three critics who came and she made time for all five collectors who had been supporters of Elle since the beginning of her career. She made excuses for Elle and no one seemed to mind particularly, apart from the photographer who was clearly off his face on cocaine and annoyed that he hadn’t been informed of Elle’s absence, even though plenty of other minor celebrities were there and ready to pose for him.
“This is a joke,” he said to Jane. “Where the fuck is she?”
“Freddie,” Jane said, “you’re not Herb Ritts. Take photos, hand them in to the media desks and shut up.”
“That’s my girl!” Dominic said, from over Jane’s shoulder. He was on his third glass of wine and thoroughly enjoying his night.
Freddie stormed off and started to push a TV presenter and a rugby player together, pointing at them and shouting for them to move this way and that. They complied. He moved on and pushed three blonde socialites back against a wall. Jane made a mental note never to use him again.
Dominic put his arm around her. “Nice event,” he said. “Good wine, good food, good music – and who could have guessed Metallica would work so well sandwiched between Beethoven and Bach?”
“It’s Rachmaninov and Chopin.”
He nodded and whispered in her ear, “And who could guess Metallica would work so well sandwiched between Rachmaninov and Chopin? ‘You say tomato …’”
“Get off!” She pushed him away playfully.
Leslie appeared with Jim, and Jane made the introductions.
Jane had filled Dominic in on Alexandra’s extraordinary disappearance and what they were doing to find her as they were driving to the gallery. He had been really shocked to hear the news – he had been friends with her before he’d got Jane pregnant and dumped her at a disco. After that Alexandra hadn’t had any time for him even if Jane did. The last time he’d seen her was just before she moved to Cork to go to college. His son was two months old and he hadn’t seen him yet. She’d pushed a picture of Kurt into his chest and told him to look at it. She’d told him it was
his son and he should be ashamed. He still had the photo and he had been ashamed but, still, it would be nearly four years before he’d have the courage to knock on Jane’s door to visit his child.
Dominic smiled at Leslie and told her she was doing a really good thing in helping to find Alexandra. “She was a great girl,” he said.
Later, when all the people had gone and Dominic and Jane were alone, he helped her clear the tables and box up the unused glasses.
“I missed so much,” he said, out of nowhere.
“So much of what?” Jane asked, too tired to try to work out what was going on in his head.
“Of Kurt.”
“Oh,” she said, and sighed. “Yes, you did.”
“I was such an arsehole.”
“You still are.”
She was smiling so he knew she was playing with him.
“I regret every day I wasn’t around.”
“Well, at least you got to have a life.”
“I really left you in it,” he admitted. “If I could go back …”
“You’d do exactly the same thing.”
“Don’t say that, Janey.”
“You know, I don’t think Kurt even remembers a time when you weren’t a part of his life.”
“But you do,” Dominic said.
Jane didn’t want to talk about it so she got busy brushing the floor.
“For a girl forced out of school you’ve done an amazing job here,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“And, for the record, I would change it if I could just so I could stop you calling our kid after a heroin addict with a death wish.”
Jane laughed. “That was unfortunate.”
She locked up and Dominic followed her to the car. They got in, and as Jane drove, Dominic fiddled with the CD player. “Dido, no … Dixie Chicks, no and no … James Morrison, shoot me … Ray LaMontagne, Jesus, Jane – Jack Lukeman … Remember that night?” He grinned.
“Yes, I remember.” She blushed a little and laughed.
Dominic flicked along until he hit track twelve. It began with a bass drum kicking. Dominic and Jane fell into silence and she drove through the dark streets intermittently lit by fluorescent lights of different shapes and colours. The car was warm and outside the rain came tumbling down. She turned the windscreen wipers on and Jack L began to sing.
“
Take me to the edge of town
,
watch the evening veil come down
,
I’ll tell you all my hopes and dreams
,
hold your tongue ’cos I believe
For me there will be only one
,
yeah for me there will be only one
.”
Dominic turned in his seat so that he could watch her. She saw him staring from the corner of her eye and his gaze made her both happy and uncomfortable.
“
I’ll take you to the silver well
,
make a wish, I’ll cast a spell
That you’ll remain here by my side
,
childlike thoughts I cannot hide
For me there will be only one
,
yeah for me there will be only one.
”
“Stop staring,” she said.
“Can’t help it. I’m remembering that night.”
“Well, stop remembering.”
“Can’t.”
“You’re married.”
“Memories are allowed.”
“I wish you’d stop.” She was becoming more uncomfortable.
“Sorry,” he said. “Unfair.” He turned to face the road.
“‘Until stars come showering down, till the seven seas engulf this town …’”
Jane turned off the CD player and they drove the rest of the way to her house in silence.
Elle arrived home two days after her exhibition had opened. She got out of the taxi, paid the man and walked through the side gate that led to her little cottage at the end of the garden. Her mother was tending her witch hazels. She called to Elle, and Elle stopped and turned towards her. Rose stood up slowly and took off her gloves. She pointed to the garden furniture and Elle sat. Rose joined her. They were both wearing heavy coats but Rose could tell that her daughter had lost a lot of weight.
“Did you have a good time?” Rose asked.
“Brilliant.”
“Jane was worried.”
“Jane worries too much.”
“That’s what I told her. We all need to escape every now and then, don’t we?”
“We do.”
“And you’re happy to be home now?” Rose asked.
Elle laughed a little. “And what about you, Mum?”
“I’m as good as can be expected.”
“And Jane?”
“She’s fine. Dominic’s been sniffing around.”
“Bored with the new wife already,” Elle said, and her mother nodded.
“You know what that means, don’t you?” said Rose. “Poor Janey will no doubt make a fool of herself again.”
“Well, if anyone knows about being a fool, I do,” Elle said.
“Vincent is the fool and if I ever see him again he’ll be a fool without a penis,” said Rose.
Elle got up. “It’s cold.”
“That’s winter for you.”
“I’m going inside now.”
“Me too.”
Elle walked towards the front door of her cottage and took down the “Gone Fishing” sign. Her mother called after her and she turned to face her.
“Good to have you home,” Rose said.
Elle smiled at her, turned the key in the door and entered her cottage. Rose picked up her garden shears and walked down to the basement and to the promise of a nice glass of hot whiskey. She took a large gulp and when her eyes filled with tears she wiped them away and finished the glass.
Please don’t frighten me like that again
.
*
When darkness had descended and Jane noticed the light on in Elle’s cottage, she ran through the garden and up the path that led to the door. She knocked before opening it slowly and creeping inside. Elle was in her sitting room, cuddled up on the sofa, music playing in the background. Jane sat beside her.
“Hi, Jane.”
“Hi, Elle.”
“How was the opening?”
“We sold the lot.”
“Good. Sorry I didn’t make it.”
“It’s okay. Actually, it made my job a lot easier.”
“Oh, good. Did you miss me?”
“I did.”
“I’m sorry for setting Vincent’s car on fire. I’m sorry for all of it.”
“I took care of it.”
“I know. You always do.” She sighed. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Jane smiled at her sister. “I’m glad you’re home. You look tired.”
“I’m exhausted.”
Jane took Elle by the hand and lifted her off the sofa. Then, arm in arm, they walked to the bedroom where Jane tucked her sister into bed. “You fall asleep now and when you get up I’ll make you your favourite breakfast.”
“I love you, Jane.”
“I love you too, girly girl.” Jane turned out the light and left Elle under her duvet.
Jane always called Elle “girly girl” when she was being affectionate. It was a term she’d given Elle when she was a toddler and Jane was a teen. Their father had died suddenly,
their mother was on medication so Jane had cared for her sister. She’d pick up after her, play with her, feed her and put her to bed. She’d read her stories and tell her things about their dad.
“Where is he, Janey?”
“He’s in heaven, girly girl.”
“Where’s heaven?”
“Far away up there in the sky.”
“Daddy doesn’t like heights, Janey.” Elle had remembered the day her dad had got dizzy and fallen from a ladder while trying to retrieve her ball from the eaves.
“It’s okay,” Jane explained. “He likes heaven.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s great.”
“Why is it great?”
“Because God’s there.”
“So?”
“God is really cool. Everybody wants to be with God.”
“I don’t. I’d rather be here with you,” Elle had said.
And Jane had been a mother to her sister since then.
Chapter 7
Chocolate Eyes
Ran out of hope, ran out of faith
,
ran out of milk about quarter past eight
I gave up on dreams and regrets
,
well I quit smoking but not cigarettes
.
Jack L,
Broken Songs
March 2008
When Elle woke up in Leslie’s house in the country to the sound of birds, they were strangely loud, angry and without melody. She sat up, rubbed her eyes and looked towards the window, which was open. Two crows were on the sill, screeching at one another. She got out of bed, stretched and closed the window. So engrossed were they in their dispute that her action went unnoticed.
She could hear Leslie pottering in the kitchen. She had the radio on and was listening to two DJs make a crank call to some unsuspecting dentist. The house was a bungalow. The guest bedroom’s walls were paper thin so Elle’s bed might as well have been in the centre of the kitchen.
She pulled on her dressing-gown and joined Leslie, who was kneeling on the counter by the sink and cleaning the window. Elle poured herself a coffee and picked up a croissant from the basket in the centre of the table.