How to Fall in Love (32 page)

He picked up the banana, which had become a gun.

‘This
is
my home.’ He pulled the trigger.

I woke up, his words ringing in my ears. My heart was pounding in my chest, Adam was no longer beneath me, he was beside me in bed, the clock read four a.m. I sat up, hot and sticky from the dream, panic and dread twisting through my body at the memory of what had happened. I reached for the notepad beside the bed and wrote,
Had to go. Will explain. See you later.

I pondered adding a
X
, but decided against it. I didn’t want to come across as too attached, too presumptuous. By then I had wasted enough time and didn’t have time to ponder it any more. I would be back before he woke up, hopefully. I got out of bed, threw on some clothes, and I was soon in reception waiting for a taxi. Twenty minutes later I was at the hospital.

I burst into the ward and, from the look on my face, security knew to let me through. Thankfully, Angela was on duty.

‘Christine, what’s wrong?’

‘It was my fault,’ I said, tears coming to my eyes.

‘It’s not your fault, I told you that.’

‘I have to tell him. I remember now. I have to say sorry.’ I tried to push past Angela, but she held me back.

‘Now you’re not going anywhere until you calm down, do you hear me?’ Her voice was firm. A nurse stepped out from the station to see if everything was okay and, not wanting to make a scene, I immediately forced myself to calm down.

I sat at Simon’s bedside, fidgeting. He had been taken off the life-support unit while I was in Tipperary, but he was still in intensive care. He was breathing unassisted though he still hadn’t opened his eyes or fully regained consciousness. My fingers trembled as the words I uttered on the night of his shooting – which I’d forgotten, had somehow blocked out – came reverberating around my head, taunting me, blaming me, pointing the finger at me accusingly.

‘Simon, I’m here to apologise. I’ve remembered what I said. You probably remembered all along and wanted to scream it at me, but now I know,’ I sniffled. ‘You had put the gun down. You let me call the guards. You looked different, relieved, and then I was so relieved, so happy to have prevented you from shooting yourself, but I didn’t know what to do. It was probably only five seconds, but it felt so long. I was afraid you would pick up the gun again.’ I squeezed my eyes shut, the tears rolled down my cheeks and I put myself back in the room from over a month ago. ‘“Well done, Simon,”’ I repeated. ‘“The guards are on their way. They’re going to bring you home, to your wife and girls.” And you suddenly looked different. It was because of what I’d said, wasn’t it?
Home.
I said go
home
, but you’d spent the entire time telling me this was your home, the one you’d been forced to leave. I did listen to you, Simon, I completely understood, I
… slipped up, at the end. I made a mistake and I’m sorry.’

I wanted to take his hand but felt any contact would be an intrusion. I wasn’t a friend, I wasn’t family, I was the woman who had failed to save him from himself.

‘It would be wrong of me, selfish of me to suggest that there was a reason for you doing what you did, that any good at all could possibly have come from what you’ve done, but when I lost you I became so desperate to never make the same mistake again that I went beyond, have been going way beyond, in my efforts to save another man’s life. And if I hadn’t failed with you, then I may not have succeeded with him. I want you to know that.’ I thought of Adam and the night we had shared together and I smiled briefly.

I sat with him in a long silence. Suddenly there was a loud beeping from a machine beside the bed. I froze at first and then jumped up. At the same time Angela came rushing into the room, and jumped into action.

‘I was only talking to him,’ I said, panicked. ‘What did I do?’

‘You didn’t do anything,’ she said quickly. She rushed to the door, fired a list of orders to another nurse on duty, then looked at me. ‘You didn’t do anything. Stop blaming yourself. I’m glad you were with him. Now go.’

The room became a flurry of activity and I left.

Simon Conway was pronounced dead that night.

24

How to Wallow in Your Despair in One Easy Way

I arrived back at the Morrison Hotel suite at five thirty a.m., exhausted and completely drained. I wanted to climb back into bed beside Adam’s warm strong body, feel secure, have him recharge me with love and joy, belief and goodness again. This was what I’d expected to do, but when I walked into the suite, he was already up.

The sight of him made me smile and my heart lift, seeing him medicine enough for me, but then I saw the look on his face as I walked into the room and my smile disappeared. Warning bells rang. I knew regret when I saw it, I’d been looking at it in the mirror every day since I married Barry. I readied myself, steeled my heart, built up my wall around myself in preparation for the attack. The ice queen defences were engaged.

‘You’ve been crying,’ he said.

I looked at my reflection in the hall mirror and I was a mess. The clothes I’d thrown on were a mismatch, my hair hadn’t been brushed, I wasn’t wearing make-up, my nose was red, my skin blotchy. I didn’t exactly look a sight to win him over. I was about to tell him about Simon when it began.

It began with a look and I knew, I knew it before he even said the words, immediately feeling like a piece of filth who had taken advantage of a sick man, and I wanted the moment to be over already so I could collect my bag and do the walk of shame back to Clontarf. Had I learned nothing from the Simon Conway experience? What had I done to Adam? He looked a mess; had I undone all the good work he had done on himself, made him confused and disgusted with himself, disoriented enough to send him straight back to the bridge beneath our window? How could I leave him now? In this state? Even when he asked me to leave?

‘It’s not
… we shouldn’t have
… I shouldn’t have
…’ he tried to start it off. ‘I take full responsibility,’ he said finally. ‘I’m sorry, Christine. I shouldn’t have
… come to you last night.’

‘No, I should have known better,’ I swallowed, my voice husky, sounding as if it’d had to travel a great distance. ‘You have Maria, the big party, big day and exciting news to share with the world about your job, so don’t worry,’ I helped him say the words, ‘Let’s forget what happened. And please,’ I placed a hand on my chest and my voice cracked, ‘forgive me. I apologise from the bottom of my heart for being too
…’
Damaging? Needy? Selfishly looking after my own needs when I should have been thinking of his?
Where was I to start?

He looked sad.

‘It was wrong.’ I tried to keep my chin up, but how could I? I felt so awkward. ‘Sorry,’ I whispered, moving quickly to the bedroom. ‘I don’t want to leave you in case
…’

‘I’m fine,’ he said. He was drained, exhausted, but I believed him. My being there wouldn’t help anything now. I would have to risk leaving him alone.

‘I’ll see you later?’ he asked. ‘At the party?’

I froze. ‘You still want me to come?’

‘Of course.’

‘Adam, you don’t have to—’

‘I want you to be there,’ he said firmly, and I nodded, hoping now that Maria would complete the picture so that he wouldn’t need my presence as he thought he might.

I did well to last until I’d arrived in my flat to break down in tears.

I hid in bed in the flat, ignored the phone, the door and the world while I covered my head with the duvet and wished I could take it all back. But the problem was, I couldn’t even wish for that properly because last night had been so good, so incredible, something I had never experienced before, more than just good sex. Adam had been tender and loving, but I’d felt a connection, he’d been so confident and assured as if he knew it were the right thing. There was no hesitation, no tentative kisses or touches. And if at any stage I felt a tiny flutter of doubt, one look in his eyes, one kiss was enough to know that it was the right and most natural thing in the world. It wasn’t like any one-night stand I’d ever had, it was tender, we’d made love, like our history had made it really mean something and silent promises were being made for the future. Or else Adam was just that good and I was an absolute mug.

I had been ignoring my phone and door, but that wasn’t to say anybody had bothered to call me. I knew this because I’d checked. I had the phone with me under the duvet and as I was consciously ignoring it I had to keep checking to see who it was I was ignoring. Nobody. But it was Saturday morning and most people were in bed or enjoying family time and weren’t bothering to text. Not even Adam. It was the first time in two weeks that I wasn’t with him and I missed him terribly, I felt a hole in my life.

The doorbell rang.

My heart lifted at the thought of Adam at the door, heart in his hands, or even better, his heart on a lily pad, offering it to me. But deep down I knew it would not be Adam at the door.

The doorbell rang again, which, when I thought about it, was unusual. Nobody knew I lived there, apart from family and close friends. Most of my friends were busy with their new young families or were hungover in bed. Unless it was Amelia. I knew she’d picked up on my sadness last night over the phone and I wouldn’t have been surprised if she was there with two coffees in her hand, a bag full of cupcakes, ready to help lift me. She had been known to do it in the past. The doorbell rang again and, warming to the idea of coffee and sympathy, I threw off the covers, not caring how I looked, and dragged myself to the door. I pulled open the door, expecting to see my shoulder to cry on and instead was faced with Barry.

He looked more surprised to see me than I did him, despite the fact he’d rang the bell four times.

‘I didn’t think you’d be here,’ he said, looking me up and down.

I wrapped my cardigan tighter around my body.

‘Then why did you keep ringing the bell?’

‘I don’t know. I came all this way.’ He shrugged. He looked me up and down again, clearly unimpressed with my appearance. ‘You look terrible.’

‘That’s because I feel terrible.’

‘Well, that’s what you get,’ he said childishly.

I rolled my eyes. ‘What’s in the box?’

‘A few of your things.’

It looked more like a pathetic excuse to come over and harass me. Chargers from phones I’d long ago thrown out, headphones, empty CD cases.

‘I knew you’d want this,’ he said, clearing away the junk on the top and revealing my mother’s jewellery box.

I immediately burst into tears, my hands flying to my face. He was taken aback, not knowing what to do. It had previously been his job to comfort me, it had been mine to let him, to
want
him to, but we stood there like two strangers – except two strangers would be kinder, as I cried and he watched me.

‘Thank you,’ I sniffed, trying to compose myself. I took the box from him and he stood there, uncomfortable, not knowing what to do with his fidgeting hands and no barrier for him to hide behind. He shoved his hands in his pockets.

‘I also wanted to say—’ he began.

‘No, Barry, please no,’ I said weakly, ‘Because I honestly don’t think I can take any more of what you have to say. I’m sorry, you know, I’m
really
sorry, sorrier than you can ever possibly
imagine, that I hurt you. What I did was awful, but I couldn’t
make
myself love you like you deserve to be loved. We weren’t right for each other, Barry. I don’t know how else to say sorry, I don’t know what else I could have done. Stayed? And let us both be utterly miserable? Jesus …’ I wiped my stinging eyes roughly. ‘I know I’m in the wrong here, Barry, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Okay?’

He swallowed, was silent for a while and I braced myself for another of the most hurtful things he could think of to say to me. ‘I wanted to say I was sorry,’ he mumbled.

That took me by surprise.

‘For what exactly?’ I said, the anger rising, even though I was trying to suppress it. ‘For smashing Julie’s car? For cleaning out our joint account? Or for insulting my friends? Because I know I hurt
you
,
Barry, but I didn’t go and drag other people into it.’

He looked away. All the sorry seemed to have gone out of him. ‘No, not for that,’ he said angrily. ‘I’m not sorry for any of that.’

I couldn’t believe his cheek. He composed himself.

‘I’m sorry for the voicemail. I shouldn’t have said what I said. It was wrong.’

My heart hammered, he could only mean one voicemail, the one I hadn’t heard, the one Adam had heard and deleted.

‘Which one, Barry? There were an awful lot of them.’

He swallowed. ‘The one about your mother, okay? I shouldn’t have said it. I wanted to hurt you in the deepest way possible. I know that’s your biggest fear so
…’

He left a silence and I tried to figure it out. After an awkward pause I got it and realised I’d known it the entire time. Sometimes you can know something and not know it at the same time.

‘You said I’d kill myself like Mum did,’ I said, my voice trembling.

He had the decency to look ashamed. ‘I wanted to hurt you.’

‘Well, that would have done it,’ I said sadly, thinking of Adam listening to the message. So he knew that my mother had killed herself, that in my deepest, darkest moments when everyone told me how alike me and my mother were I’d secretly worried we were too alike. A secret I’d shared with my husband and which had come back to haunt me even at a time when I knew I was not like my mother in that way. My mother had suffered from severe depression all of her life. She had been in and out of clinics and therapy since she was a teenager. Finally, unable to beat the demons in her head, she had taken her life when I was four years old. She had been a thinker, a worrier, a poet. And of all the thoughts and poems she had written throughout her life as she tried to figure out her puzzling head there was one which I had clung to and made my own: the one I had read at the funerals of Amelia’s mother and Adam’s father.

I had always known, even as a child, how my mother had left the world. By the time I was a teenager, people were constantly telling me how like her I was, and it made me afraid. I came to dread the words, ‘You are so like your mother.’ Then, as I became an adult and learned about myself, I realised I was not my mother, that I could make different choices to the ones my mother had made.