The Betrayal (38 page)

W
hen Rosanna died
, the members of First Affiliation filled the church.
They walked respectfully in the rain behind her coffin as she was laid to rest.
Today, there were no representatives from First Affiliation.
No rain, just bright sunshine as Eleanor headed the small procession making its way towards the open grave.
Her grip was talon-tight on Jake’s arm and those following slowed their footsteps in acknowledgement of her shuffling walk.
She had wept openly throughout the service but, now, she was more in control as she took her place by the edge of Cora’s grave.

After the burial, she mingled at the reception with the mourners, Cora’s widowed sister and her family, a few friends from Cora’s schooldays and from the department in the civil service where she worked until she retired.
They were a small group, just two tables drawn together in an alcove of a suburban pub.
Eleanor’s hand shook, as if affected by a palsy, when the group raised their glasses to toast Cora’s memory.
Since her friend’s death she had shrunk, or so it seemed to Jake, and the effects of her stroke were more pronounced.
He too felt shrunken, caved in, bereft.

He drove her home from the pub.
The young Nigerian woman who had become her carer took one look at Eleanor’s face and gently coaxed her to bed.
Jake drove along the Howth Road towards the city centre and found a parking spot close to the hospital.

Ali was sitting on the edge of the bed when he entered the ward.
He studied her drooping neck, the fall of her hair.
She had been crying again.
Her bruises were even darker than yesterday.
One eye was completely closed and the other, swollen but partially open, revealed the dark brown slit of her pupil when she looked at him.

‘Was it awful?’
she asked.

‘It was a nice send off.’
A platitude but true.
‘How are you?’

She made a rueful moue and pulled her hair back.
‘What do you think?’

He cupped her face and kissed her swollen lips.
‘You heard the doctor.
It’s only superficial.
You’ll be surprised how quickly you’ll recover.’

‘Don’t.’
She shook her head distractedly.
‘I can’t bear it if you minimise what happened.’

‘I’m not minimising…’ Jake stopped, helpless before her grief.
‘I don’t know what to say, Ali.’

‘I know, Dad.
Neither do I.’
The swelling on her ankle had reduced, he noticed, but her right knee, when it peeked through her dressing gown, was still bandaged.
‘Dr Fisher says I can be discharged tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow?’
Jake was shocked.
‘It’s only four days since – ’

‘I know… but, like you said, my injuries are superficial.’
She linked his arm and leaned heavily on him as they walked along the hospital corridor.
He had no idea how she had managed to remain conscious enough to ring the help line that sent the emergency services racing to the scene of the accident.
Primal instincts stronger than terror.
Instincts that allowed her to ignore her injuries and concentrate on the only pain that mattered.

They stopped outside the incubation unit.
As always, when Jake looked at his granddaughter with her tubes and patches, and the tiny cap on her head, he was dazed by the strength of his love.
Her wrinkled monkey face, the thread veins mapping her tiny frame, her fingers, slivers of bone, sinew and muscle, he loved every part of Sara Saunders with a primal and protective passion.

Tears streamed down Ali’s face.
‘How can she ever love me?’
He had to bend close to hear her.
‘I never wanted her and now I can’t imagine an instant when I won’t want her.
Do you think she’ll make it, Dad?
Do you…do you?’
She leaned against him and wailed softly into his neck.
‘They won’t give me any hope… I don’t know what I’ll do if – ’

‘No ifs.’
His confidence was brash and overloud in this place of quietness.
He wondered how they do it as he watched a male doctor bend over a tadpole baby who could rest easily in the palm of his broad hand.

He said goodbye to his granddaughter and to his daughter, who had been pulled from the wreck of Cora’s car in the throes of premature labour.

Apart from an hour here and there, he had not slept since he received that frantic phone call from Eleanor.
His limbs felt heavy as he walked towards his car.
Once inside, he closed his eyes and rested his head against the headrest.
When he awoke a traffic warden was tapping on the window.

‘You’re over your time, sir.’
The warden grinned sympathetically.
‘Long night, was it?’
He jerked his head towards the maternity hospital.

Jake nodded.
‘I dozed off.
I haven’t slept since… sorry… I’ll move on now.’
He rubbed his eyes and yawned, straightened his shoulders and indicated into the traffic.

He drove northwards to another hospital where Brian sat at his mother’s bedside, waiting for Nadine to open her eyes.

D
oor opens
.
Footsteps.
Voices
.

‘I love you, my darling.
I know you can hear me.
Listen to me.
You’re going to get well again.
You’re going to laugh and dance and sing.
I‘m waiting for you.
This time I’m not letting you go.
I want you back in my arms where you’ve always belonged.’

‘Come back to us, Mum.
We’re all here… and Sara… she’s fighting too.
You’ll make each other strong, I know it.’

‘Are my hands too rough, Mum?
Can you feel them on your face?
What’s it like, hiding behind the willows?
Come back to us… we’re waiting for you.’

‘Mum, it’s Sam.
We’ve just flown in.
Samantha’s too choked up to talk.
Please wake up and say hello… do something… anything to let us know you can hear us…’

‘On the criteria of the Glasgow Coma Scale, her coma is too deep to respond to stimuli.
There will be involuntary gestures, spasmodic movements.
I’m afraid you can’t read anything into them.
I’m so sorry – ’

‘What utter nonsense, Doctor.
Ignore him, my dear, and be strong.
It’s possible to come back from the deep.
I should know!’

‘It’s me, Nadine, your father.
I came as soon as I heard.
I should have come more often but work… you know how it is… and you never wanted to know Lilian… why must I keep talking, Jake?
It’s obvious she can’t hear a word I’m saying… oh, my poor child… my poor child… what’s to become of her?’

‘I’m here, Nadine.
All the way from Vancouver to sit with you.
I know you can hear me so listen up.
My wedding is in six months.
I want you there.
Maid of honour.
Understood!’

‘Halcyon days, Nadine.
Do you remember?
Or are your memories lost in the void?
What’s it like?
Dead to the world yet still alive?
Is it peaceful or are you haunted by the wrongs you did?
Goodbye for now.
I’ll be back to see you soon.’

Door closes.
Silence.
Stillness.
How long does a dream last?

A
s the weeks
passed and Jake waited for a sign from Nadine, no matter how slight, to give him hope, he separated his emotions.
He banished pity, grief, rage, helplessness, heartache.
Love, he believed, was the key to her recovery.
And he loved her, not in the old way with its surety and complacency.
Not in the obligatory way of those who ‘work’ at marriage and are rewarded with companionship that fits like a pair of well-worn shoes.
This emotion was so strong he could not name or describe it.
It was as raw as a new beginning, as miraculous as a second chance.
He had no way of knowing if his love could reach her.
He had to depend on memories.
On the years they shared when they became what she once called ‘a hybrid,’ incapable of thinking outside each other’s minds.
Somewhere in that dark terrain she occupied she must understand that this love would see her through.

Brian drove from Dingle every weekend to be with Nadine.
The twins returned to California to finish their semester.
Ali’s bruises slowly disappeared, although she said she still imagined them when she looked in the mirror.
Not that she had much time to gaze at her reflection.
When she was not in the maternity hospital with Sara she was with Nadine.

Jenny was strong and resilient when she flew in from Vancouver to be with Nadine but her composure cracked when she saw the utter stillness that trapped her friend.
Somehow, she told Jake, even though it sounded arrogant, she had hoped her appearance would signal some change, a flicker of recognition, a nod to the past when they became inseparable.
She pushed the sleeve of Nadine’s nightgown over her arm and stared at the faint scars that once formed a grid of pain.
She rested her cheek against the pulse that still throbbed in Nadine’s wrist.

‘I’m convinced she can hear us.’
On the day before she returned to Vancouver she sat with Jake in the small café attached to Mount Veronica.
The clinic specialised in severe brain injury and Nadine had been transferred from the main hospital once her condition stabilised.
‘You mustn’t lose hope.
I want her at my wedding.
The two of you, together.
You have to think positively, Jake.
She’s going to come through this.’

‘I know… I know.’
But what will she be like if she does?
This question haunted him but he was terrified to utter it aloud.

‘Keep her father as far away from her as possible,’ Jenny advised.
‘He was always a tactless fool.
The sooner he goes back to Australia, the better.’

Eoin Keogh had arrived at Sea Aster with two laden suitcases and no set date for departure.
He was no good around illness, he admitted to Jake, especially something as mysterious as the comatose state.
When Nadine was a child he brought her to see Snow White.
Eoin detested that film, all those tweeting birds and little men… hi ho… hi ho… and that awful glass coffin, the rigidity within.

His unwashed clothes spilled over the laundry basket and Jake constantly tripped over his shoes.
A pall of cigarette smoke hung in the air, despite repeated requests that he smoke outside.
His initial shock had changed to resigned acceptance of Nadine’s fate.
He wondered aloud if his first wife’s sudden death was not a better option to a living death.
Clean-cut, that was how Eoin Keogh liked life.
His voice had the carrying resonance Jake remembered.
The realisation that he had always detested his father-in-law sharpened his voice when he warned Eoin never to speak such thoughts aloud in Nadine’s presence.

The band members buoyed him up but he sensed undercurrent of anxiety as the weeks passed and bookings were cancelled.
Anything could happen to Nadine while he was away and unable to reach her bedside, he argued when Mik suggested an overnight concert in Cork.
Anxiety had become Jake’s natural state.
The small ward where Nadine lay had become the centre of his life.
All that went on outside – the traffic and hurrying pedestrians, the watchful traffic warden and wasp-headed cyclists – had an urgency that belonged to another time.

‘You should find a replacement singer for the band,’ he told Mik.
‘I can’t leave Nadine and you can’t keep cancelling bookings.’

‘It’s not that easy,’ Mik protested.
‘You’re the glue that holds Shard together.
If you opt out Feral and Reedy will do the same and that’ll be the end of Shard.
Daryl and Hart have no interest in keeping the band together when the centre’s gone from it.
Think on this, Jake, before you make a final decision.’

He had cancelled a tour of the Netherlands at Jake’s behest, apart from one overnight booking.
The concert in Amsterdam was a prestigious event and one that Shard could not afford to miss, he said when he called to Sea Aster one evening.

Ali came into the kitchen and overheard the conversation.
‘Mik’s right,’ she said when the manager left.
‘The band will keep you focused.
We need to bring some normality back to our lives.
Otherwise, we’re going to go crazy and that won’t help anyone, Mum least of all.
She’d be the first to tell you to go.
It’s only for one night.
Me and Eoin will manage until you get back.’

She had Eleanor’s steel, that same gritty determination.
Sometimes he heard her at night, the creak on the seventh step as she went downstairs to the breakfast room where the heat of the day still lingered.
He followed her once to see if she wanted to talk, and found her curled in one of the armchairs.
He thought she was crying but she had been dry-eyed when she assured him she was okay, just sleepless and waiting for morning when she could return to the hospital to watch over her baby.
A night away.
What could happen in that time?
Nothing.
This fact added to his grief and to his slow but gradual acceptance that this was their new normality.

He called to see Nadine that afternoon.
He talked to her about Sara, still fragile as glass but growing stronger all the time.
He played her favourite Van Morrison and Tom Waits discs and, on Jenny’s advice, Ice T.
It made no difference yet Jake was convinced that somewhere in the inner reaches of her consciousness, sound filtered and stirred memories.

Imelda was on duty.
He was on first name terms with the nurses.
Apart from Imelda, he enjoyed their company during the hours he spent in the ward but Imelda’s voice irritated him, especially the high-pitched intonation she used when she spoke to Nadine.

‘How are you,
Nadine
?
Looking as lovely as ever, I see.’
She straightened the bed cover and asked Jake to lower the music.
‘Jake is here,
Nadine
.
You’re such a lucky girl, all those visitors coming to see you.
Her friend Jessica was in again, Jake.
And Madge… a very bossy woman but her son’s a hunk.
I think he has his eye on Ali.
What do you think,
Nadine
?
Let me see your arm.
I need to take some blood.
They don’t call me Vampira for nothing… ha… ha.’

A band practice was arranged after Jake agreed to do the Amsterdam concert.
They met in the basement of the Raison D’être studios where Shard had been practicing since the fire in the barn and worked on a song Jake had written before the accident.
He felt no affinity to the lyrics or the melody yet it came alive as they experimented with it, each member building up the layers of harmony.

When band practice was over they crossed the Ha’penny Bridge and entered Julia’s Tavern.
The manager leaned over the bar and slapped a sympathetic hand on Jake’s shoulder.
‘How are you, mate?
Silly question… but you know what I mean?’

‘It’s tough.
But I’m managing.’

‘Any improvement?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Jesus, but that’s a hard one to fathom.’
He poured a measure of whiskey and pressed the glass into Jake’s hand.
‘Compliments of the house.
The slot’s still here on Sunday afternoons whenever you’re ready to come back.’

Jake downed the whiskey and ordered a double measure, knocked it back with the same ferocity.

‘Take your time, man,’ said Hart.
‘I’m driving you home tonight.’

The Shard van was parked along the quays.
Green circles of light dazzled the Liffey as Hart and Reedy supported him over the Ha’penny Bridge.
In the passenger seat Jake fumbled with the safety belt until Hart took it from him and fastened it.
Street lamps lunged towards him.
High towers of spangled glass swayed from side to side.
Even when he closed his eyes he could see them.
He must have translucent eyelids.
He shouted at Hart to stop and opened the door in time to throw up over the kerb.
He lay back against the seat, his eyes swimming.

Next morning he was unable to remember leaving the pub or anything about the journey home.
His last memory was of tossing back a shot and laughing at something Feral said about Maggie.
Something bitchy about how she never cleaned the kitchen counter after she made a sandwich and how, when Feral complained, she was accused of being a nagging wife.
It seemed hilarious, two wives bitching about breadcrumbs, that he laughed himself into a blackout and ended up in bed, his clothes placed neatly over a chair?
Who had undressed him?
He was too hung-over to feel ashamed.
Plenty of time for that later.

H
e winced
with shock when he glimpsed his reflection.
His skin looked as if it had been stretched on a rack then suddenly released.
When had he last suffered such a hangover?
The binge culture had passed him by.
He was too busy changing nappies and mixing feed formula when his peers were seeking alcoholic obliteration.

He felt slightly revived after the shower, although his eyes still appeared to have developed cataracts overnight.
His notebook was open on the bedside locker.
He kept it nearby at night in case an idea for a song came to him, a wisp that would be gone by morning unless he wrote it down.
Last night he had written, or tried to write, another song.
Some of the lyrics actually made sense.
How had he functioned in that unconscious state?
He imagined Nadine groping through that same dark void, lost in a tunnel with no light to beckon her onwards.