Cathy Kelly 3-book Bundle (60 page)

‘Ingrid, look at me, please.’

She managed to focus enough to see her assistant Gloria kneeling in front of her. Gloria was so efficient, she’d sort all this out. David wasn’t dead. That was a crazy idea. Nobody who was as full of life as David could possibly be dead.

‘You’ll phone him, won’t you?’ she asked Gloria. ‘Deal with this mess. I don’t know what’s wrong with Stacey, you see.’

Gloria was not one of life’s touchy-feely people. She didn’t hug people hello or kiss their cheeks twice or three times. But now, she took Ingrid’s hands in hers and held on tightly, comfortingly. ‘Ingrid, there’s no mess, no mistake. We’ve spoken to Stacey. The ambulance men are there now and there’s nothing they can do. They don’t know what happened, probably a heart attack.’

It was like letting a glass drop on her kitchen floor: instantly, it would shatter noisily sending shards everywhere. Gloria’s words made it past the hope that Ingrid had constructed in her mind.
It was going to be fine, David couldn’t be gone…
That hope smashed.

David was not coming back. She would never see him again.

Ingrid held on to Gloria’s hands for comfort, but there was none. She couldn’t cry. Instead, she closed her eyes and swayed rhythmically back and forth, keening silently. Nobody in Ingrid’s office said a word. There was nothing they could say.

When Gloria had cleared everyone out, she pushed another cup of tea over to Ingrid.

‘Please drink some of this one,’ she said. ‘You’re in shock.’

Obediently, Ingrid picked it up and drank. She usually liked sweet tea but this tasted metallic and strange. She grimaced.

‘Keep drinking,’ Gloria said.

‘It’s awful.’

‘Shock,’ Gloria replied.

‘Shock makes tea taste horrible?’

‘Shock makes everything horrible. Ingrid, we have a few things to do. What do you want to do first? I mean, we have to tell the children–’

The organising part of Ingrid’s mind flexed into motion, like a well-exercised muscle that had been honed over years of work. It was a relief to feel it, a relief to move away from the absolute pain of knowing that David was dead. ‘The children, I have to tell them. And David’s aunt, and my sisters. The children…I can reach Molly so easily, but Ethan, it’s going to be harder to find him.’

It was as if her mind was protecting her by making her think of other people: if she had to focus on her beloved children and what their father’s death meant to them, then she didn’t need to focus on how awful it was for her.

‘I’ll phone Molly, then, shall I?’ Gloria was ready to do it. ‘Or do you want to tell one of her friends first, so there’s someone with her?’

Ingrid wanted to hold up her hand to halt it all, because if Gloria made that call, then it would be true.

‘No, she needs to know now, she’d want that,’ Ingrid said bleakly. ‘I should tell her in person.’

The idea of telling Molly was shattering. Ingrid buried her face in her hands for a few moments, trying to calm herself.

‘Ingrid, you’re not in any state to go to Molly’s office. Phone her,’ said Gloria. ‘Perhaps there’s someone there you can tell first, who can bring her here…?’

Ingrid shook her head. ‘It has to be Natalie–Molly’s best friend. She works in Kenny’s, in the café.’

If Ingrid herself couldn’t be with Molly, then Natalie would be the next best thing.

‘Should I phone her first?’

‘No. Molly first.’

She let Gloria scroll down through her numbers to find Molly’s and click ‘dial’.

She took the phone from Gloria and thought of all the things only a parent was supposed to do. Take your child to their first day at school, comfort them when they were teased, hug them when they had their hearts broken. Telling them their father was dead shouldn’t be on the list.

‘Hi, Mum, how are you?’ Molly’s voice was happy and Ingrid winced.

‘Molly, love–’ she began.

‘Mum. What’s wrong? You sound strange.’

‘It’s your dad,’ Ingrid said. ‘We think it was a heart attack.’

‘What–How is he?’

Ingrid covered her eyes with her hand. ‘He’s dead, my love. I’m so sorry.’

Natalie had burned herself on the coffee machine’s milk frother again.

‘Bloody machine,’ she said, reaching up into the first-aid cabinet to get the burn spray. She’d done exactly the same thing last week and steam burns were so painful.

‘I think that thing doesn’t like you,’ said Hugh, the café manager, who’d rushed up to see if everything was all right. ‘I could hit it next time I pass.’

Natalie grinned at him. Hugh, according to everyone else in the café, fancied her and was always hovering around her, big hang-dog eyes staring with longing. Natalie didn’t believe a word of it. Hugh was interested in films and so was she: that was all. And his big love was sci-fi television shows. He’d been to three conventions in the past year already and was booked for a whole week for the Science Fest in Killarney in April. He swore he didn’t dress up, but Natalie didn’t entirely believe him. Hugh reminded her of the kids she used to go to Special Education with: sweet, vulnerable, and used to being laughed at.

‘Will I spray the sore bit for you?’ Hugh asked solicitously.

Natalie’s grin faltered a little. ‘Er, no, thanks,’ she said. ‘It’s best to do it yourself, don’t you think?’

‘Natalie!’ roared Siobhain. ‘Phone call for you in the office.’

Natalie sprayed another blast of burn spray on her hand before looking at Hugh to see his expression. He didn’t look irritated at this interruption into the working day, the way he might if another member of staff had a phone call. In fact, he still looked slightly dopey as he gazed at her. Natalie shoved the first-aid kit away, smiled and rushed off to the office. Everyone was right: Hugh did fancy her. She had a sudden mental vision of Hugh in a
Star Trek
outfit and shuddered. She needed to mention that she had a date coming up with a gorgeous man named Rory. It was best to let him down gently, because he was sweet.

‘Hello?’

‘Is that Natalie?’

‘Yes, who’s this?’ Natalie examined the steam burn. She was tired, that was why she’d burned herself. She’d been up late working and even though Michelle, chief barista, was of the opinion that any muppet could operate the coffee machines, Natalie knew that staring into space with exhaustion while you made cappuccino was a sure-fire way to disaster.

‘…Molly’s father…Ingrid would love you to go to her. Talk to someone in the director’s office, they’ll organise a cab for you…’

‘What?’ Natalie hadn’t been paying attention.

‘Molly’s father, David Kenny, is dead, Natalie. I work for her mother and she wondered if you could go to Molly. She’s very upset.’

‘Oh my God,’ said Natalie. ‘I don’t believe it.’

‘None of us do, but unfortunately it’s true.’

Shock made people confused, Ingrid knew this. She’d read about the physical effects on the body and how the stress hormone,
cortisol, flooded the nervous system and had an instant impact, raising the heart rate and blood pressure. Like so many things she knew, Ingrid had read about it in a dispassionate, removed way for a piece on the negative effects of stress on human beings.

She remembered interviewing a politician who’d been widowed a year previously when his wife died after a long battle with cancer. At the time, Ingrid had agonised over her questions, wanting to ask the right ones, wanting to understand his pain without making it worse for the sake of her interview. She’d thought she’d done it.

‘You must miss her a great deal,’ she’d said, half-question, half-statement. Enough of a question for a professional politician to answer. That, coupled with Ingrid’s own empathy and charisma as she leaned towards him, had the desired effect. No offence had been taken, no frisson that she’d gone too far into a private grief.

‘I do,’ the politician had said quietly. ‘She was with me all my adult life and now she’s gone. It’s fine when I’m out of the house, but when I step back inside my own front door–’

Ingrid had let the pause last, waiting him out. In television, the pauses were often what made the best moments.

‘–it’s like she’s only just gone. I can almost believe she’s going to come out of the kitchen to greet me.’

The memory of that electric television moment was like a slap in the face as Ingrid stood behind Gloria in the hall and heard the dogs scrabbling around behind the kitchen door, trying to get to her.

Ingrid had thought she’d been as gentle as possible with that man on her show but now, in her own cold hall with her own husband dead, she felt the politician’s naked pain again and wanted to phone him and apologise.

I know now,
she’d have said.
I understand. I didn’t before, but I do now. I’m sorry I asked you all that.

He’d been in absolute agony and she hadn’t understood.

It was as if the world was divided into two camps: those
in pain and those not, and the ones in pain could recognise it in each other’s hollow-eyed and numb faces. In the right camp, you knew the people there understood. But among the untouched, the ones who hadn’t lost everything, then you were utterly isolated. If she rang that politician up, he’d understand and he might tell her what to do next.

‘Right,’ said Gloria, dropping Ingrid’s keys on to the hall table.

Once you were widowed, you weren’t allowed to open your own door. Gloria had taken her house keys and opened the door for her, as well as turning off the alarm.

‘Right,’ Gloria said again. ‘Tea–we could make tea. A nice cup would help.’

Decision made, she walked towards the kitchen, opened the door and unleashed two delighted dogs who at once began leaping up with excitement.

Seeing their eager dogginess made Ingrid want to weep. She’d left them this morning and everything had been fine, normal. She was married to David, she was happy. Now she was a widow. David was gone for ever. How had it all happened so quickly?

‘Are you all right?’ asked Gloria, putting a hand on Ingrid’s shoulder. ‘Sorry,’ she said, self-editing. ‘Stupid question. Of course you’re not all right, how could you be?’

Ingrid managed to think about the question. All right? She’d never be all right again.

Molly hadn’t cried at all when Natalie arrived to pick her up. She was just sitting, frozen, at her desk with an untouched cup of tea in front of her. One colleague sat with her and Natalie could see the woman’s relief when she arrived.

‘She’s not taking it well, poor love,’ the woman said. ‘It’s terrible when it’s a sudden death. No chance to say goodbye.’

Out of the corner of her eye, Natalie could see Molly’s face crumple at these words.

‘Absolutely,’ she said, and dragged Molly and her bag out the door and into the waiting taxi. By the time they’d cleared the next set of traffic lights, Molly was crying so hard she was shaking.

‘If only I’d known, Natalie,’ she sobbed, ‘I’d have phoned him and told him I loved him. But you know what? I can’t remember the last time I said it. How bad is that? He’s gone and I can’t even remember the last time I said I loved him. What if he was thinking about that? You know he worried about me. And I’d told him I never wanted to work in the store again, Natalie. It upset him, I know it did. Ethan has no interest and Dad would have loved it if I was interested, but I couldn’t fake it, you know. And all the chances are gone now to tell him I’d have done it for him, that I loved him…’

Natalie hugged her and let the words pour out. She could say nothing that would help but her heart ached for her friend.

And in the midst of the sympathy, there was one glimmer of a thought in her head, a thought so selfish that she felt bad for even thinking it: David was a wonderful father and it was a tragedy she’d lost him, but at least Molly had known her father. Natalie had never known her mother. Was that worse than sudden death, the not-knowing? Or was it easier that way? You couldn’t miss what you hadn’t known. Could you?

Some staff felt that the store should close for the rest of the day.

‘As a tribute.’

‘David wouldn’t want Kenny’s shut!’ said someone else. ‘He lived and breathed this place. He’d want the doors open and the customers piling in.’

‘Poor Ingrid,’ said another voice.

Everyone nodded. They all liked Ingrid, although some of the younger staff didn’t know her that well. She’d been around more when the kids were younger, taking them in to see their dad.

‘God help Molly and Ethan,’ sobbed Lena, who was almost
inconsolable. ‘I can’t believe he’s gone, so what must they be feeling?’

Charlie sat on the roof with Shotsy while Shotsy smoked and cried. She’d known David far longer than Charlie. He’d hired her when she was young and, along with Lena, he had been a mentor for her.

‘It’s wrong that someone like David can die, just like that, no warning,’ Shotsy said, stubbing out one cigarette and reaching for another.

Charlie agreed. There was something strangely shocking about David Kenny dying. As if he was so vital and alive that he couldn’t be subject to the same illnesses as ordinary people.

He was a stalwart in life: the boss, the person who calmly ran everything, their father-figure. His death opened up a great black hole of doubt: if David could die, then
anybody
could die.

‘It makes you think about your own parents,’ said Shotsy, who had a ninety-year-old mother who lived alone and put the heart crossways in the whole family when she talked blithely about going out the garden on icy mornings to feed the birds. ‘Family is so precious. It’s only when they’re gone that you realise what you had.’

‘I know,’ said Charlie automatically.

But David’s death hadn’t made her think of her mother or father, the way it made Shotsy think of her mother. It made Charlie think of Brendan and Mikey. If anything happened to them, she’d want to die herself. There would be no point to the rest of her life.

If, on the other hand, her mother died…the thought reeled off.

She’d cope. Was it unnatural for a daughter to think that way?

Yes, it was wrong not to feel more. She was wrong, bad. Charlie wished she adored her mother the way Iseult did, but
there was a special bond between them, as if they shared some great secret. Charlie felt that if she shared the secret, perhaps she too could share that love.