No Kiss Goodbye (25 page)

The pain that has all this time confined itself in a foggy vapour circling around the back of my mind now solidifies in torturing pain. An ache in my heart pulls me to the ground like a powerful magnet. I can’t pull against it. I don’t want to. I want to embrace the hurt. The hurt makes me feel human. I’ve hidden from the pain for so long it’s emotionally empowering to grieve. The raw heartache attacks all my senses until I’m stripped bare of all thoughts. Grief is the predator, and I surrender myself a willing victim.

A deep moaning sound catches my attention. It echoes all around me until I can hear nothing else. There’s no music playing from the radio in the corner. No cars drive by on the usually the busy road. No children play happily on the street below. The world, for me, has frozen. Nothing exists now except for the hollow cry. I look at Mark. His eyes are closed and his body sways back and forth like a fragile leaf blowing in the wind. I know he can hear the cries, too. He rocks faster and harder as the howling grows louder. I hear the unbearable pain behind the cry. I know that pain. I know it, and I hate it. I put my hands over my ears. I want to scream, ‘Shut up!’ I want to tell whoever cries so loud that I can’t hear myself think, and that I’m grieving, too. I want to tell them that their tears will not erase the pain – nothing will.

Finally, when I can’t take it any longer, I shout out. But no sound comes out. No more sound can come out of me; I’m already using my voice. The horrible, heart-wrenching screams are coming from me. They’re involuntary and unstoppable. It’s the sound of my heart begging to rewind time. Begging for one more cosy cuddle before bedtime. Begging for one more day in the park. Begging for just one more kiss good night. Begging to go back to that last morning when I dropped Lorcan at school and run a million miles in the other direction.

‘Please,’ I cry, looking towards the sky. ‘Please, give him back to us. I’m so sorry for what I’ve done, so sorry; but I don’t deserve this.’

~~~

I rub my sleepy eyes, bordering on delirious. I’m not at home in the comfort of my own house. I’m lying in a contorted heap on the cold tiles of a restaurant bathroom. Ava has disappeared, and I’m alone and cold. My head is pounding, and I feel like I’m going to vomit.
What the fuck was in the pills Mark gave me?
My mouth foams and shaking my head makes it worse. Memories bubble in my mind like a pot boiling over on the stove. Images spill over the edge and tell me the cruellest story. 

I try so hard to put the lid back on the pot and stuff the memories once again into the unsearched archives of my bewildered brain. But I can’t find any mental hiding spots. I remember everything, and Mark is right…I truly wish my only worry was my husband trying to kill me because he’s having an affair. How easy that would be to deal with in comparison.

I find my way back to the table. Everyone has finished dessert, and they’re polishing off some coffee. A bowl of melted ice cream waits in my place.

‘Jesus, Laura, what were you doing in there?’ Adam says. ‘God help whoever has to use the loo after you. Maybe stay away from the lasagne next time, yeah.’

‘Lorcan,’ I say, my lips dry and barely able to form the syllables of the name. ‘How could I forget, Mark. How could I?’

Mark stands up and helps me to my seat. The lines of his face soften and years instantly melt away from his tired expression. ‘You remember now, Laura. That’s all that matters. You remember now.’

My eyes plead with Mark to tell me everything will be okay. But there’s still no sparkle in his once bright eyes, and I know he’s just as broken as I am. No one can say anything now. It’s all just words and none can ever make this right.

I stare monotonously out the penthouse window. The imposing large buildings and busy crowds of New York’s streets don’t intimidate me anymore. Nothing scares me now, not since I remember who I am. I’m a successful entrepreneur who chose love over my career. I lived in New York for eight years, building my textile company. I sold up, making a hefty profit, and invested the money into getting Mark’s hardware store off the ground back in Dublin. I’m a mother who put the love of my baby above all else. I’m not a frumpy old housewife stuck in a rut. I embraced the rut with open arms, threw in a leather recliner and an HD television, and sat back to admire my handiwork. I was happiness personified. But a jealous grim reaper had bulldozed my lavish rut and left me to sieve through the pieces of dirt and clay to find any remains of happiness with which to rebuild my life.

Mark approaches me silently from behind and kisses my neck. He startles me, and I jump a little before enjoying his soft lips against my skin.

‘You ready, honey?’ he asks.

I exhale roughly and turn around to press my lips against his. I feel safe at that moment. I’ve finally found who I am and I actually like her. Going home to Ireland will rock my emotional boat once more, and I’m not sure if I will sink under the pressure or not.

‘Can’t we stay here?’ I plead with one last attempt to change Mark’s mind.

It’s been over a week since my memory returned, and I’ve spent almost every minute of every day since then begging Mark to rip up the plane tickets.

His answer is always the same. ‘You know we can’t. Our lives are in Ireland now. We have to go home. You know that.’

‘I do know it, but knowing it and actually accepting it are two totally different things and I’m struggling with the latter.’

Mark’s smile lightens his whole body.

‘But we threw up our lives here to move to Ireland in the first place. Let’s do the same again. Let’s forget about our crappy existence in Dublin and come back here. It’ll be so much better. I promise.’

Mark places his hands firmly on my shoulders and presses hard. ‘Stop this, Laura. Don’t make promises you can’t keep. We are going home and that’s final. Okay?’

‘
Can we at least stay another few days,’ I plead. I smirk to myself as I think of a plan. We could stay another few days. A few days would turn into a week. A week would turn into a month, and when a month turned into a year, we would be back to our happy lives here in the city. I cross my fingers behind my back and pray that Mark agrees.

‘We don’t have anywhere to stay. Adam moves into our apartment tomorrow, and Nigel needs his space back. He must be sick of the sight of us at this stage.’

‘We could stay in a hotel,’ I suggest passively. ‘Just for a few days, Mark. Please?’

‘We are going home
TODAY
,’ Mark says firmly. ‘Our flight leaves in four hours, so now is a good time to start your goodbyes.’

‘Fine,’ I snap tossing my body away from Mark. ‘But I’m not talking to you on the plane.’

‘Fine by me,’ Mark says unable to hide his smirk. ‘I need some sleep, anyway.’

Three cups of coffee later it’s time to leave.

‘I’ll miss you,’ I whisper to Ava as we stand beside the front door of the penthouse.

‘I’ll miss you, too.’ She smiles. ‘But I’ll be home in a few weeks to pack up my stuff and organise shipping etcetera.’

Tears smudge in the corner of my eyes. My ears clearly hear what she says, but somehow on the way to my brain, the words jumble around and I end up with ‘Goodbye, I’ll never see you again.’

‘See ya,’ Adam says placing two fingers on his forehead and saluting me sheepishly. That I heard with no confusion. My reply is the simple repetition of the same two words. But I know if he hugged me, I’d grab on tightly and say another tearful goodbye.

Nigel appears from his bedroom and passes me a folded piece of white paper.

I open it and try hard to read the almost illegible words scribbled in blue ink.

‘It’s Sam’s address. Apparently, he’s been asking his foster mum about the nice lady who helped him, and I thought you might like to write to him.’

I carefully refold the page and place it safely behind my credit card in my wallet. I then put the wallet into the secret zipped pouch at the back of my bag where I keep all my important stuff like my passport and lip balm.

‘Thank you,’ I say as I throw my arms tightly around Nigel’s neck. ‘Thank you so much.’

Nigel still isn’t good with displaying emotion, and I feel him tense straight away. I quickly release my grip.

‘Come on,’ he suggests, pulling a small bunch of keys from his pocket. ‘We need to get going.’

‘You’re driving?’ Mark asks.

‘Is it Tony’s day off?’ I ask, feeling foolish when everyone frowns at me.

What? Okay, so maybe it’s Tony’s day off. Jeez, no need for the dagger stares.

Mark looks uncomfortable, and I wonder if Nigel’s driving skills are something I should be concerned about.

‘I’m not a complete idiot, you know,’ Nigel scowls. ‘I can manage to press the gas and turn the wheel at the same time.’

‘Sorry. You’re right. I didn’t mean to be rude. Thanks again for the lift.’ Mark’s cheeks flush.

‘You’re welcome,’ Nigel says. He throws the keys high in the air and spins around comically on the spot. I guess the idea is to look cool and catch the keys once they come back down, but they never do. They land inside the fancy, crystal light shade above us.

Mark and I try not to laugh.

‘It’s not funny,’ Nigel spits, jumping up and down on the spot trying hopelessly to reach the light shade with his fingertips.

He stretches his tall frame to the max and comes close to reaching them a couple of times.

‘You’ll burn yourself,’ Mark warns.

‘I don’t care,’ Nigel snaps, his words laced with a dull panic. The strange behaviour is completely adverse to Nigel’s usually dignified demeanour.

‘We can get a taxi,’ I suggest hoping to calm the situation.

Nigel ignores my suggestion.

‘I can drop you at the airport instead,’ Adam offers looking at his watch.

‘Thanks,’ Mark says.

Nigel continues to jump on the spot.

‘It’s okay, man. Adam is driving now,’ Mark says, grabbing Nigel by the arms trying to get his attention.

But Nigel continues to ignore everyone. He pushes his weight firmly against the ground and uses the pressure built up in his legs to push himself impressively into the air.

Mark staggers back grasping his nose and groaning loudly. His face has accidently met with the full force of Nigel’s moving elbow. Blood trickles between Mark’s shaking fingers, and I rush to grab hold of him before he falls over.

I help a very shaky Mark sit on the couch, and Adam races into the kitchen in search of a tea towel and some ice. He arrives back a few seconds later with a packet of frozen, organic green beans and a flimsy dishcloth.

‘It’s all I could find,’ he admits sheepishly.

‘It’ll do fine,’ I say as I wrapped the frozen vegetables in the cloth and offer the pack to soothe Mark’s throbbing nose. He accepts the homemade ice pack gratefully. He tilts his head back and lets the cold ease the pain. Ava sits beside Mark and sympathetically rubs his back. Adam makes some light-hearted jokes about how Mark could enter a
Shrek-lookalike
competition and win.

‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ I say as I walk back into the hall to confront Nigel. I’m disappointed he hasn’t bothered to apologise to Mark or even check if he’s okay.

Nigel has changed his tactics and is now attacking the light shade with the end of the sweeping brush. He’s acting even more crazily than I usually do.

‘Can’t you get someone from maintenance to come get the keys for you,’ I ask.

‘Those guys take all day,’ he barks.

‘So? They’ll be here by evening. You don’t need the car before then, do you?’

‘I don’t care about the stupid car,’ Nigel snaps angrily.

‘Really? Look at yourself. You’re freaking out over silly old car keys.’

‘Shut up,’ Nigel shouts.

He swings the brush hard, and for a second, I think he’s going to hit me. I’m wrong. It isn’t me who bears the brunt of his temper. It’s the light shade. It shatters into millions of tiny crystal pieces that fall from the ceiling like little drops of sharp rain. They dust over my hair and clothes and pinch at the exposed skin of my face and hands. Nigel’s cheek bleeds where a piece of the crystal has caught his face, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He’s smiling happily as he bends down and picks up the keys that have fallen to the ground. He sits in the spot among the dust and shattered glass. I’m about to warn him that he will hurt himself, but I decide against it. I don’t stand any chance of gaining his attention anyway.

His eyes are transfixed on the colourful keyring that he runs his finger across. It looks like a homemade, yellow sun with a disproportionate smiley face stuck in front, possibly fashioned with bake-in-the-oven clay of some sort. It’s simple and obviously the masterpiece of a child. Nigel clearly adores the little charm.

‘Can I see?’ I ask reaching out my hand and hoping he will share with me.

‘Sure,’ he replies and places the bundle of keys into my hand.

He’s calm now, back to his normal dignified self. I realise the keys don’t concern him; it’s the key ring he was worried about.

‘Be careful,’ he suggests. ‘They’re hot.’

The bright light has heated the steel of the keys enough for them to sting to the touch. I don’t care. I want to hold them. I want to examine the little sun that meant enough to Nigel to turn him into a quivering mess at the prospect of losing it.

‘It’s very cute,’ I say pointing to the smudgy black eyes and wobbly, curvy, red line that makes a smile.

‘Thanks,’ he says.

‘Is it special?’ I ask, careful not to attach any tone to my words. I don’t want to upset him by appearing to have any impression, positive or not, about the key ring. At least, not until I know how he feels about the little craft himself.

‘Yes. It’s very special.’ Nigel is close to tears.

I don’t know what to do. He never shows emotion. I like Nigel, I do. But sometimes I really suspect he’s made of stone. For something to move him this much, it must mean the world to him.

‘Someone very special gave it to me. That person isn’t in my life anymore, so I keep this to remind me of them every day.’

Wow.
When Nigel dips into the pool of emotion, he really dives in headfirst. I wasn’t prepared for a heartbreaking revelation. I decide not to ask any questions. If there’s anything more Nigel wants to add, then he can, in his own time. If not, then maybe it’s lightened his load just to share that small piece of information with me.

After a long time, the silence becomes uncomfortable. I give Nigel back his keys and help him to his feet.

‘You okay?’ I ask, knowing the honest answer is no.

‘Yes. Of course,’ he replies.

He calmly dusts off the last of the shattered glass from his clothes and looks at his watch. ‘Oh dear, we need to get a move on. You’ll miss your flight.’

I nod. I know that’s the last time we will speak of the key ring. That’s okay; Nigel wasn’t the sharing sort. But at least now I know he does possess emotion, even if showing them is still a battle.

‘Good Lord, man, your face looks terrible,’ Nigel says apologetically.

Mark’s two blackening eyes and raw red nose are glowing like a beacon. He cups his face with his hand as we walk down to the car park and slide into the car.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Nigel admits.

‘It looks worse than it feels,’ Mark lies as he tried to minimise his painful blinking.

‘I hope they still recognise your passport photo,’ Adam jokes.

Ava laughs. So do I. Mark tries to laugh, but his giggles shake his head and he ends up yelping in distress instead.

I find myself cruelly wishing that Nigel had hit Mark a little harder. Maybe a few more bruises and Mark would have been too dishevelled to travel. If we only had a couple more days, I know I could convince Mark to stay.

At the airport, Ava, Adam, and Nigel walk with us as far as they can until security won’t let them go any further. We huddle together like wild animals sheltering from a storm and say our goodbyes for the millionth time.

‘Come with us?’ Mark suggests hugging his old friend.

‘No. I want to, but I can’t,’ Nigel replies.

Similar to the energy I’m putting into convincing Mark to stay in New York, Mark is pleading with Nigel to agree to come to Ireland with us. I don’t mind either way. Nigel seems lonely sometimes; maybe a holiday would be good for him.

‘There’s nothing there for me anymore. Too much water under the bridge. It’s much better if I just stay here.’

‘That’s not true, and you know it,’ Mark insists.

‘Leave it, Mark, please,’ Nigel asks softly. ‘I’ve made my decision.’

Mark shakes Nigel’s hand. I can see he’s disappointed, but he respects Nigel’s choice and doesn’t ask again.