alexandra, gone Page 11

  “This is a joke,” he said to Jane. “Where the fuck is she?”

  “Freddie,” Jane said, “you’re not Herb Ritts. Take photos, hand them in to the media desks, and shut up.”

  “That’s my girl!” Dominic said from over Jane’s shoulder. He was on his third glass of wine and was thoroughly enjoying his night.

  Freddie stormed off and started to push a TV presenter and a rugby player together, pointing at them and shouting for them to move this way and that. They complied, and he moved on and pushed three blond socialites back against a wall. Jane made a mental note never to use him again.

  Dominic put his arm around her, “Nice event,” he said. “Good wine, good food, good music, and who could have guessed Metallica would work so well sandwiched in between Beethoven and Bach?”

  “It’s Rachmaninoff and Chopin.”

  He nodded and leaned in to whisper in her ear, “And who could have guessed Metallica would work so well sandwiched in between Rachmaninoff and Chopin? You say tomato—”

  “Get off!” She pushed him away playfully.

  Leslie appeared with Jim, and Jane made the introductions.

  Jane had filled Dominic in on Alexandra’s extraordinary disappearance and what they were doing to find her as they were driving to the gallery. He had been really shocked to hear the news—he had been friends with her before he had gotten Jane pregnant and dumped her at a disco, but after that Alexandra hadn’t had any time for him even if Jane had. The last time he’d seen her had been just before she moved to Cork to go to college. His son had been two months old and he hadn’t seen him yet. She had pushed a picture of Kurt onto his chest and told him to look at it. She had told him it was his son and he should be ashamed. He still had the photo, and he had been ashamed, but still it would be another four years before he’d have the courage to knock on Jane’s door to visit with his child.

  Dominic smiled at Leslie and told her that she was doing a really good thing in helping to find Alexandra. “She was a great girl,” he said.

  Later, when all the people had gone and Dominic and Jane were alone, he helped her clear tables and box up the unused glasses.

  “I missed so much,” he said out of nowhere.

  “So much of what?” Jane asked, too tired to try to work out what was going on in his head.

  “Of Kurt.”

  “Oh,” she said, and she sighed. “Yes, you did.”

  “I was such an asshole.”

  “You still are.”

  She was smiling, so he knew she was playing with him.

  “I regret every day I wasn’t around.”

  “Well, at least you got to have a life.”

  “I really left you in it,” he admitted. “If I could go back …”

  “You’d do exactly the same thing.”

  “Don’t say that, Janey.”

  “You know, I don’t think Kurt even remembers a time when you weren’t a part of his life.”

  “But you do,” Dominic said.

  Jane didn’t want to talk about it, so she got busy sweeping the floor.

  “For a girl forced out of school, you’ve done an amazing job here,” he said.

  “Thanks.”

  “And, for the record, I would change it if I could just so I could stop you from naming our kid after a heroin addict with a death wish.”

  Jane laughed. “That was unfortunate.”

  Jane drove, and Dominic fiddled with the CD player.

  “Dido, no. Dixie Chicks, no and no. James Morrison, shoot me. Ray LaMontagne—Jesus, Jane. Jack Lukeman …remember that night?” He grinned.

  “Yes, I remember.” She blushed a little and laughed.

  Dominic flicked along until he hit track 12. The track kicked off with a bass drum kicking. Dominic and Jane fell into silence, and she drove through the dark streets intermittently lit by fluorescent lights of different shapes and colors. The car was warm, and outside the rain came tumbling down. She turned on the windshield wipers, and Jack L began to sing.

  Take me to the edge of town, watch the evening veil come down,

  I’ll tell you all my hopes and dreams, hold your tongue ’cos I believe

  For me there will be only one, yeah for me there will be only one.

  Dominic turned in his seat so that he could watch Jane. She saw him staring from the corner of her eye, and his gaze made her both happy and uncomfortable.

  I’ll take you to the silver well, make a wish, I’ll cast a spell

  That you’ll remain here by my side, childlike thoughts I cannot hide

  For me there will be only one, yeah for me there will be only one.

  “Stop staring,” she said.

  “Can’t help it. I’m remembering that night.”

  “Well, stop remembering.”

  “Can’t.”

  “You’re married.”

  “Memories are allowed.”

  “I wish you’d stop.” She was becoming more uncomfortable.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Inappropriate.” He turned to face the road.

  Until stars come showering down, till the seven seas engulf this town …

  Jane turned off the CD player and they drove the rest of the way to her house in silence.

  Elle arrived home two days after her exhibition had opened. She walked through the side gate that led to her little cottage at the end of the garden. Her mother was tending to her witch hazels. She called out to Elle, and Elle stopped and turned toward her. Rose stood up slowly and took off her gloves. She pointed to the garden furniture and Elle sat. Rose joined her. They were both wearing heavy coats, but Rose could tell that her daughter had lost a lot of weight.

  “Did you have a good time?” Rose asked.

  “Brilliant.”

  “Jane was worried.”

  “Jane worries too much.”

  “That’s what I told her. We all need to escape every now and then, don’t we?”

  “We do.”

  “And you’re happy to be home now?” Rose asked.

  Elle laughed a little. “And what about you, Mum?”

  “I’m as good as can be expected.”

  “And Jane?”

  “She’s fine. Dominic’s been sniffing around.”

  “Bored with the new wife already,” Elle said, and her mother nodded.

  “You know what that means, don’t you?” said Rose. “Poor Janey will no doubt make a fool of herself again.”

  “Well, if anyone knows about being a fool, I do,” Elle said.

  “Vincent is the fool, and if I ever see him again he’ll be a fool without a penis,” said Rose.

  Elle got up. “It’s cold.”

  “That’s winter for you.”

  “I’m going inside now.”

  “Me too.”

  Elle walked toward her cottage and took down the GONE FISHING sign. Her mother called after her, and she turned to face her.

  “Good to have you home.”

  Elle smiled at her mother, then entered her home. Rose picked up her garden shears and walked down to the basement and to the promise of a nice glass of hot whiskey. She took a large gulp, and when her eyes filled with tears she wiped them away and finished the glass. Please don’t frighten me like that again.

  When darkness had descended and Jane noticed the light on in Elle’s cottage, she ran through the garden and up the path that led to Elle’s door. She knocked before opening it slowly and creeping inside. Elle was in her sitting room, cuddled up on the sofa, music playing in the background.

  Jane sat beside her.

  “Hi, Jane.”

  “Hi, Elle.”

  “How was the opening?”

  “We sold the lot.”

  “Good. Sorry I didn’t make it.”

  “It’s okay. Actually, it made my job a lot easier.”

  “Oh good. Did you miss me?”

  “I did.”

  “I’m sorry for setting Vincent’s car on fire, I’m sorry for all of it.”


  “I took care of it.”

  “I know. You always do.” She sighed. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Jane smiled at her sister. “I’m glad you’re home. You look tired.”

  “I’m exhausted.”

  Jane took Elle by the hand and lifted her off the sofa; then, arm in arm, they walked to the bedroom, where Jane tucked her sister into bed.

  “You fall asleep now, and when you get up I’ll make you your favorite breakfast.”

  “I love you, Jane.”

  “I love you too, girly girl.” Jane turned out the light and left Elle cuddled up under her duvet.

  Jane always called Elle “girly girl” when she was being affectionate. It was a term she’d given Elle when she was a toddler and Jane was a teen. Their father had died suddenly, their mother was on medication, and so Jane had cared for her sister. She’d pick up after her, play with her, feed her, and put her to bed. She’d read her stories and tell her things about their dad.

  “Where is he, Janey?”

  “He’s in heaven, girly girl.”

  “Where’s heaven?”

  “Far away up there in the sky.”

  “Daddy doesn’t like heights, Janey.” Elle remembered the day their dad had gotten dizzy and fallen from a ladder while trying to retrieve her ball from the eaves.

  “It’s okay,” Jane explained. “He likes heaven.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s great.”

  “Why is it great?”

  “Because God’s there.”

  “So?”

  “God is really cool. Everybody wants to be with God.”

  “I don’t. I’d rather be here with you,” Elle had said.

  And Jane had been a mother to her sister since then.

  7

  “Chocolate Eyes”

  Ran out of hope, ran out of faith,

  ran out of milk about quarter past eight

  I gave up on dreams and regrets,

  well, I quit smoking but not cigarettes.

  Jack L, Broken Songs

  March 2008

  When Elle woke up in Leslie’s house in the country to the sound of birds, strangely they were loud, angry, and without melody. She sat up and rubbed her eyes and looked toward the open window, and sitting on the windowsill were two crows screeching at each other. She got out of bed, stretched, and closed the window, and so engrossed were they in their dispute that her actions went unnoticed.

  She could hear Leslie pottering in the kitchen. She had the radio on and was listening to two DJs make a crank call to some unsuspecting dentist. The house was a bungalow, the guest bedroom was next door to the kitchen, and the walls were paper thin, so Elle’s bed might as well have been placed in the center of the kitchen.

  She pulled on her dressing gown and joined Leslie, who was kneeling on the counter by the sink and cleaning the window.

  Elle poured herself coffee and picked up a croissant from the basket in the center of the table. She nibbled and drank while Leslie filled her in on the plan for the day.

  When Leslie’s father died, he had left the house to her mother; when she died, she had left it to her three girls; when Nora died, the house had become Imelda’s and Leslie’s; and when Imelda died, the house had become Leslie’s alone. She had maintained it over the years, and although she traveled to it about every eight weeks, she rarely stayed more than two days because the echoes of a tragic past haunted the place. This was the first time since Imelda’s passing that she had stayed longer than two days, and with Elle for company she was actually enjoying herself. Elle had been working hard on the exhibition since she had returned from her break, and when Leslie mentioned that she had to make a trip to check on her family home, Elle had begged to be allowed to join her, as a change of scenery would inspire and invigorate her. She had been working hard to make up for lost time, and Leslie could see that painting the faces of the Missing was taking a toll on Elle. She seemed to be quietly absorbing their tragedies, and the pain, suffering, hope, and hopelessness imbued in her work was also imbued in her. She was quieter than when they had first met, and she seemed older. All the energy was gone, and in the few months they had known each other Elle had gone from being a playful puppy to an old sleepy girl content to sit on the porch.

  As it turned out, the town was playing host to a weeklong traditional music festival, which initially served only to annoy Leslie. But the first night, they walked into town and ate in a restaurant that Leslie hadn’t visited in ten years, and they enjoyed a pleasant time eating pasta, drinking wine, and listening to a young man play piano accompanied by a girl on the violin and a boy on guitar. Neither woman was a fan of traditional music, and this little group was less thud-thumping, toe-tapping, feet-of-flames, old-school Irish and more New Age folk, mellow and enchanting. The music had elevated Elle into a happy place, and since then her mood had continued to lift ever so slowly but noticeably. As part of the festival, every restaurant, bar, park, and street corner was playing host to musicians of all ages, and because their first evening had been such a success, Elle and Leslie had gotten into the spirit of the event and by day three were really enjoying themselves. Leslie’s long self-imposed seclusion and newfound joie de vivre meant that every day there was a great new discovery, or rediscovery, to be made. An old woodland that she had played in as a child was a beautiful place to walk and talk, and the new coffee shop that served take-out hot chocolate to sip and hug as they walked made it even more pleasant. Leslie had forgotten how beautiful her little town was. She’d forgotten the way the sky looked through the trees and how the light hit the water in the evenings and how friendly the people were when she actually engaged with them.

  “So what’s the plan for today?” Elle asked between nibbles.

  Leslie turned and smiled at her, took off one of her gloves, and scratched her nose.

  “Well,” she said, “I was thinking we’d get in the car and drive to the coast this morning, and we can have lunch at this little pub that Simon and I used to go to—it has the best fish in the country. Then we could get back here around five and eat here or go out, depending on how you feel, and then Mahons is playing host to an interesting-sounding band from Westport.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll just get showered and dressed and we can go.”

  Leslie nodded, put her glove back on, and resumed cleaning the window.

  Elle nibbled on her croissant as she walked back to her room. She picked up her bag and headed down the hall into the bathroom, stripped, and got into the shower, and it was while the water was tapping at her head that she realized that a weight was lifting and she could feel her heart begin to soar.

  Having spent a lovely if finger-numbingly cold morning walking along the coastline, Elle and Leslie stopped off at the pub for their fish lunch. Elle ordered the salmon and Leslie a fish platter, and when Elle saw it she was sorry she had ordered the salmon, but there was plenty, and so the women shared the assortment of fish before them and Elle agreed it was the best fish she’d ever tasted. Elle asked Leslie to tell her a little about Simon, and Leslie argued that her relationship with him had been so long ago that it was hard to remember much of it.

  “You must remember it!” Elle said.

  “There was so much going on back then.” Leslie was referring to the sickness that had completely overtaken her world for so long.

  “What did he look like?” Elle said, pushing for an answer.

  “He was tall and thin and he had big blue eyes the size of saucers, his hair was sandy and he had freckles.”

  “Was he nice?” Elle asked.

  “He was very nice. He was bright and kind and he put up with a lot from me.”

  “Did he love you?”

  Leslie sighed and thought about it for a moment. “Yes,” she said, and she remembered the day eighteen years earlier when she had just turned twenty-two, her sister Nora was dying, and she’d just been diagnosed with the cancer gene.

  Simon had been waiting
for her when she came out of the doctor’s office. He was pale and his big blue eyes were glassy. She walked up to him and he stood up from the chair he’d been sitting on. She sat down because her legs could no longer carry her and tugged at his hand, and he sat again and faced her and she didn’t have to tell him because her face said it all. He put his face in his hands and wept right there in the middle of the waiting area. Listening to the pain that was so evident in every wail and cry, she knew that she couldn’t put him through watching a slow and painful death. And so right there in hospital chairs she ended their three-year relationship. Even when he attempted to contact her intermittently for six months and although she missed him more than she could say, she was steadfast in her decision, and deep down knew that Simon was grateful.

  “I think you’re brave,” Elle said.

  “Thanks. Most would say I was stupid.”

  “Bravery and stupidity are the same thing. It just depends on the outcome, and it’s not over yet.”

  “No, I suppose it isn’t.”

  She thought about telling Elle about her plans to have surgery in July, but decided against it because they were having such a lovely day and she didn’t want to think about it too much. Another time. I’ll tell her another time. And as she was thinking that, Elle’s face changed and Leslie turned to see what she was staring at. A tall man with curly brown hair and big brown eyes was standing with a blond woman she recognized from somewhere but whom she couldn’t recall in that moment. He was wide-eyed and staring back, obviously uncomfortable and unsure, and Leslie watched Elle maintain eye contact with this man and this man hesitatingly make his way toward her, leaving the blonde at the bar.