Chapter 25
THE PHONE CALL
Becca
I don’t even have to think about it. ‘Yes, I do. Of course I do.’
‘But you don’t want to live with him?’ Her tone is curious, not judgemental.
‘It’s not that I don’t want to live with him.
In a lot of ways, this isn’t even about him.
I don’t know if I want to live with anyone,’ I tell her.
‘I’ve been on my own a long time. I’ve gotten used to it, and to my own ways.
My own quirks and my own routines. Being able to unapologetically be me when I’m inside my own four walls.
You know, the me that wanders around in my favourite battered leggings and one of the twins’ oversized hoodies.
The me that is very particular indeed about how the dishwasher should be stacked.
Or the me that likes to have a disco in the shower, or the me that becomes feral when my hormones are acting the maggot. ’
Laura looks at me and shrugs. ‘I suppose you have to think about what it is you want more. The bathroom discos or the man you love? Or that, and I feel slightly nauseous even saying this because he is my brother, he might want to join you in the shower disco? Have you ever considered that he might actually like the slightly more manic, less groomed side of you?’
‘It’s a risk and I don’t like risks. We all have our insecurities, rational and irrational,’ I say, giving her a sad smile.
‘What if Conal sees that side of me and doesn’t like it?
What if he leaves, like Simon did? What if…
if it all goes wrong, and I end up losing myself again, and him…
and you?’ I look away, knowing if I look her in the eye now, I will start to cry.
‘Like I didn’t think Niamh and I were pushing you away or excluding you, but clearly you feel that way and I’m so sorry that you do.
I’m actually mortified that you do. I can try better and do better. ’
My friend smiles at me. The kind of soft, sad smile that speaks of a lack of confidence in herself, which breaks my heart and makes me feel guilty for my selfishness.
She takes my hand and squeezes it. ‘I suppose we are both just complete messes when all is said and done.’
‘Total,’ I say as my stupid nervous system fails me and I start to cry anyway. ‘And it doesn’t always make sense.’
‘I’m sure somehow the menopause is to blame for it all,’ she says with a sniff, and I know that she is crying too.
‘No doubt about it,’ I say. ‘I thought they said when you reached midlife you no longer gave a flying you-know-what about everything?’
‘You’re forty-seven, Becks. You can say the proper bad words, you know.’ Laura gives a small laugh. ‘It can be very freeing to embrace the fuck out of so-called bad words. Who says they are bad anyway? They are just words. They have as much, or as little, power as we give them.’
‘Yes, miss,’ I say. ‘I’m just trying to cut down on them in case I swear in front of Clara.’
‘She can’t speak yet,’ Laura says. ‘She’s not going to repeat you. She’s still tiny.’
‘Perhaps – but that baby is clearly a genius and who knows, she could start talking any day and I don’t want the first words out of her mouth to be telling someone to “away and shite” or worse.’
We both smile, enjoying the brief respite from the very serious conversation we’ve been having to just enjoy a little bit of banter.
‘But yes,’ I say eventually. ‘I didn’t think we were supposed to become more paranoid and less confident.’
‘I think maybe society messes us up,’ Laura says.
‘It’s the patriarchy. Tells us we lose our use when we are older and past the childbearing years.
We start to lose what the patriarchy tells us is beautiful, to grow into our older, glorious bodies, and while we should be able to fully embrace that, we’re made to feel like it’s a bad thing instead. ’
‘It feels a bit like a bad thing,’ I say.
‘Cos of the patriarchy!’ she says, making a gesture that screams ‘Ta-da’. ‘Maybe you need to look at studying some feminist theories as well.’
‘I think I will leave that to you. You seem to have found your passion.’
‘I think I have,’ she says. ‘I feel more like me, the real me, than I ever have before. And that’s amazing, but it’s scary. I’m only a couple of days in and I feel like I am waking up to the me I was always supposed to be. Does that make me sound like a complete wanker?’
‘Not only does it not make you sound like a wanker, it makes you sound absolutely bloody amazing,’ I tell her, and I mean it and am delighted for her, until her words really start to sink in.
‘Can I ask you a question? If you feel like you are finally waking up and getting to know your true self – can you let me know what it is she wants in life? You said you feel a disconnect?’
Shrugging her shoulders, she takes a deep breath. ‘She’s not sure, if truth be told. I’m still exploring that part of myself. I just can’t help but feel as if a big change is coming and things that seemed to fit before don’t seem to fit any more.’
‘What kind of things?’
Just as she is about to respond, my dashboard display lights up with notification of an incoming call from Saul.
No doubt he is about to inform me of another pigeon attack, or it will be his pal, Wigan, on the other end of the line wanting to say hello while the two of them have once again skipped the library for the pub instead.
‘I don’t have to answer that,’ I say, reaching out to hit the reject call button.
I want Laura to know that she is important too.
If she has been feeling neglected then I am keen to make her feel less so.
I certainly don’t want to prioritise whatever drunken shenanigans son number one has been up to over Laura’s big life awakening.
I tap the screen and turn my attention back to her.
My dash display lights up again as an automated voice starts reading out a message from WhatsApp. ‘Mum, call me. It’s Granny!’
Sweet Lord, I think, what has my mother been up to now? Another TikTok gone viral? I dread to think. I can definitely wait to see whatever it is. A heist in Dunnes Stores? A new dance trend? ‘The Derry Mammy Shuffle’ perhaps?
‘I’ll call him later,’ I tell Laura. ‘Look, I love you, even if I’m not always brilliant at showing it. And if you’re going through something then I’m here for you, no doubt about it.’
My phone bursts into life again. Saul. Again.
‘I think you better answer it,’ Laura says. ‘He seems keen to speak to you.’
The wee voice that lives in the back of women’s heads – the one that is adept at making you feel guilty about absolutely everything just in case – agrees with Laura.
‘I’m not strictly responsible for whatever comes out of this young’un’s mouth right now, okay? Technically he’s an adult,’ I say as I connect the call.
‘Saul, what has she been up to now? More TikTok nonsense?’ I say, a smile on my face.
‘No. Mum. It’s not that.’ Every single molecule in my body freezes.
I cease to be able to breathe. My blood is surging through my veins with a mega dose of adrenaline because in those five words, I know, instantly, that something is wrong.
I don’t dare move, or think, or blink. I will my body to just stay in this stasis because the moment that comes next could change everything.
I have been here before. I know how this ends.
I’ve been waiting for this call every single day since Daddy died, knowing that its arrival one day was a certainty.
‘Saul, it’s Laura. What’s up?’ My friend speaks where I cannot. She reaches her hand and places it on top of mine, the warmth of her skin providing me with the comfort of knowing I am not alone.
I hear my son inhale, and the subsequent crack in his voice when he starts to speak. ‘I was FaceTiming Granny.’
The part of my brain that focuses on the wrong thing all the time as a form of distraction startles at the thought of my mother – of Roisin Burnside – FaceTiming anyone.
Then again, she has embraced the TikTok era so I suppose anything is possible.
I feel a squeeze of my hand and look up and Laura’s face is stricken.
I know that Saul is still talking and he’s upset.
I can hear that he is crying and it all seems a little absurd.
Why would he be crying because his granny was FaceTiming him?
Except, I know, don’t I, that this is not what he is upset about.
I know already something awful has happened.
I just don’t want to hear it, or acknowledge it.
I want to drive away from here and keep on driving to somewhere – I don’t know where.
But my hands are shaking now; even with Laura’s hand on mine I can still feel that it is shaking, and I have to remind myself to breathe.
Everything comes into focus again as Laura squeezes tighter, forcing me to be present, and I hear Saul say that an ambulance is on its way and he didn’t know what else to do and he…
and he… Laura is talking to him now, not that I am listening.
This time I am driving. I’m driving towards my mother’s house with my brain zigzagging between a chorus of ‘Oh dear God, no’ and Whitney Houston.
How is it that an hour ago, I was singing and dancing and having a great time and my biggest problem was that my boyfriend – the sweetest, warmest, most loving man – wants us to move in together?
What a fucking dick was I? And yes, I’m using the bad ‘F’ word because this is a bad ‘F’ word moment.
We stop at a roundabout and I am watching as one car after another circles from the right-hand side, halting my progress. My leg is shaking so violently that I stall the car, swear, then stall it again.
‘Pull over as soon as you can,’ Laura says.
‘I don’t have time to pull over!’ I know I am biting back and my voice is angry and I don’t mean it to be because I’m not angry at Laura. I’m angry at the world.
‘Pull over, Becca, before we have an accident.’ It isn’t a request this time but an order, and without thinking I do exactly as I am told.
‘Swap seats with me. I’ll drive,’ she says, and again I do as I’m told because my brain is still singing Whitney Houston while imagining the worst scene that is awaiting me.
My hands don’t stop shaking, not even when I pull in and put on the handbrake. I’m not sure they will ever stop shaking again.