The Bright Side (60 page)

“I just had a word with Colm,” I said. “He’s worried about you.
”

Melissa sniffed. “I’m fine.
”

“I don’t believe you. I don’t think you’ve been fine for a long time. I told him that I’d upset you by bringing up the subject of Mum and Dad, and … he told me something interesting.
”

She half-turned her face towards me. Her lips twitched but no words emerged. My heart-rate doubled. “He told me because he loves you and he wants to help, Melissa. Bear that in mind.
”

Now she twisted her torso in my direction and then, after grimacing ominously, sat up, curling her legs beneath her
.

“I’m all ears,” she said
.

“Well,” I began, treading carefully, “he says you were very upset when they died … and not just because of the grief.
”

Her face hardened. I tried to take a gulp of air and found that there was suddenly precious little of it in the room
.

“Melissa, have you been feeling guilty about it all this time? Tell me the truth.
”

“Guilty? Guilty about what?” “You tell me.
”

“I don’t what you’re talking about. If any of us should feel guilty, it’s you.
”

“I do feel guilty. You already know that. I’m asking you if you do too.
”

“Maybe
you
didn’t
hear
me,
Jackie:
guilty
about
what
?” “About
the
fact
that
Mum
and
Dad
were
coming
home
from
visiting
you
when
they
were
killed.
”

I was shocked – absolutely
astonished
– at the speed with which she started to cry. It seemed that I had barely made it to the word “killed” before her eyes were red and her cheeks glistening. It was a very quiet and understated breakdown. There was no wailing, no thrashing about. Her expression barely changed. But the flow of tears was remarkable; it was as if a pair of taps had been given a half-turn
.

“What?” she managed to say
.

The word itself was all but inaudible. I lip-read it as much as heard it
.

“Have you been feeling guilty about the fact –
”

“What a thing to say …” she said dreamily. “What a silly thing to say …
”

Her eyelids rolled shut and then open again. She looked as if she’d just been hit over the head with a blunt instrument. “Colm seems to think so,” I said, wincing internally and hoping he would forgive me later. Melissa’s features rippled
.

She looked so
pained
.

“Silly
…”
she
said
again
and
shifted
her
gaze
to
the
floor. I
waited
to
see
if
she
had
anything
to
add.
Apparently,
she had
not.
Thirty
seconds
went
by.
A
minute.
Two.
More.
The
silence
was
merely
tense
at
first.
Then
it
became
excruciating,
then
morbid,
and
finally
almost
comical.
As
the stand-off
dragged
on
and
on,
I
vowed
repeatedly
that
I
would not
be
the
one
to
end
it.
I
wouldn’t
speak
and
I
wouldn’t move.
Not
an
inch.
If
she
thought
I
was
going
to
give
up
just like
that,
she
could
think
again.
I
didn’t
care
if
I
had
to
sit
there
staring
at
her
all
night
long.
There
was
no
way
– “They’d
been
over
a
couple
of
days
before,”
she
said
in
a
low
monotone
.

I almost said, “Who? When?” And then I realised that, without warning and well before I’d expected her to, she had given up the charade. I forced myself over the shock, vowing that I wouldn’t interrupt until she had unburdened herself entirely
.

“And
a
couple
of
days
before
that,”
she
went
on.
“And
a couple
of
days
before
that
again.
It
wasn’t
like
they
hadn’t seen
us
in
ages.
Not
that
there
was
anything
to
see
…
just
a bump.
Maybe
I’d
have
felt
different
afterwards
if
there’d been
a
baby
to
visit.
But
there
wasn’t.
Not
yet.
I
was
full
of myself,
that
was
all.
The
only
woman
in
Ireland
who’d
ever been
pregnant.
Colm
used
to
take
the
piss.
I’d
had
half
the country
round
to
see
it.
Was
I
going
to
start
charging?
All
that. He
said
he
was
going
to
put
a
sign
up
near
the
house.
One
of those
big
fingers
pointing
–
This
Way
To
The
Miraculous
Bump
. Bad
enough
to
have
dragged
them
over
to
see
something
that wasn’t
worth
seeing
and
they’d
already
seen
in
any
case
…
but
I
wouldn’t
let
them
go
when
they
wanted
to.
They arrived
at
about
eight
and
started
trying
to
leave
before
ten.
You
know
what
Dad
was
like.
He
was
fine
to
begin
with
and then
once
he’d
had
a
cup
of
tea
and
a
chat,
he
was
itching
to go.
But
no.
‘We’ll
have
more
tea,’
I
said.
‘Sure
it’s
early
yet. Ah,
you
will.
Go
on,
go
on.’
Mrs
fucking
Doyle
here.
I
don’t think
Mum
was
all
that
keen,
even.
We’d
said
everything
we had
to
say
to
each
other.
But
I
insisted.
And
then,
once
the tea
was
gone,
I
went
and
got
the
scans
out
–
again.
The
scans they’d
already
seen
at
least
twice.
”

She paused for a moment to dry her cheeks. I forced myself to keep quiet and waited for her to start talking again, which she promptly did
.

“It was well after eleven when they left. The bottom line, the inescapable bottom line is that the man who killed them was still in the pub when they wanted to go and was out on the road when I
let
them go. There’s no way round that. I might as well have ploughed into them myself.
”

That was as much as I could take. I cast my promise to myself aside. “Melissa … I’m sure the stupidest thing I can say is that it wasn’t your fault because you know that. You must do. But I can’t think of anything else. Listen to me:
It wasn’t
your
fault
.
”

“You’re right,” she said and almost smiled. “That is a stupid thing to say.
”

“Why?
”

“Because
this
isn’t
about
what
I
know.
It’s
about
what
I feel.
I
know
it
wasn’t
my
fault.
But
I
feel
that
it
was.
And you’re
exactly
the
same
way.
I’ve
made
it
my
business
to
make
sure
you’re
exactly
the
same
way.
”

A couple of seconds floated by before I caught up with what she’d said
.

“You’ve made it your … What did you say?
”

“You heard me. I wanted you to feel like shit about your drunk-driving. I didn’t decide to do it, I swear to God. It just happened. I’ve been thinking about it all week and I know it’s the truth. If
you
felt bad, then maybe
I
wouldn’t … It doesn’t make sense when you say it out loud.
”

“Yes, it does,” I heard myself saying. “Deflection … or projection. Something like that. There’s a word for it.
”