alexandra, gone Read online

  “Lots of things.”

  “Make her stand up, walk her around,” Kurt said from the doorway.

  “Are you sure?” Jane said. “I don’t want to aggravate the wound.”

  “Listen to him, he’s doing Medicine,” Dominic said.

  “Yeah, but to be fair, Dad, I saw it in Almost Famous.” He shrugged. “But honest to God I think it’s the right thing to do.”

  Jane and Dominic lifted Elle out of the bath and walked her into the sitting room. Tom ran outside to guide the ambulance men in from the front. Elle passed out on her second round of the room.

  “Elle, Elle, oh please Elle, wake up!”

  Rose slept through it all.

  Jane went with Elle in the ambulance, and Tom drove Dominic and Kurt to the hospital. Elle was unconscious the whole way.

  “She’ll be all right,” the ambulance man said. “Just a cry for help.”

  Jane nodded numbly.

  Tom, Dominic, and Kurt traveled in absolute silence except for when Tom rang Leslie to tell her where to meet them.

  At the hospital, Elle was taken away and Jane returned to the others.

  “You should all go home,” she said.

  “No way, Mum, I’m staying,” Kurt said.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Dominic said.

  “Me either,” Tom said.

  “She’s going to be fine,” Jane said. “Honestly, you should go home.”

  Leslie appeared, coming in through the door, sniffling and coughing and shaking and looking like she needed a bed herself. Jim was behind her carrying a hot-water bottle that he’d made her hold in the car.

  “Where is she?” she said.

  Jane burst into tears. “If you hadn’t been home!”

  “Not worth thinking about,” Leslie said, hugging her. “I was home—that’s all that matters.”

  They sat in chairs waiting for word of Elle’s condition. Within forty minutes a doctor came out to tell them that she was bandaged, there was no damage to her artery, and her stomach had been pumped. He said he would talk to Jane in the morning about what would happen next. She thanked him, and Kurt hugged her.

  It was after midnight when they all made their way out of the hospital. Tom insisted on driving Dominic, Jane, and Kurt home.

  When Dominic got out of the car, he leaned in the window. “If this has anything to do with me, Janey …”

  “It has nothing to do with you, Dominic.”

  “Okay, good, I’m glad she’s going to be okay,” he said, and he walked up his driveway.

  When Kurt got out of the car, Jane told him she’d follow him in a minute. When they were alone, she thanked Tom for everything and kissed him, and when she pulled away she smiled at him.

  “I really do think you should go away,” she said. “Have adventures for both of us.” She got out of the car and dragged herself up the steps to her house.

  He made it home half an hour later. He fell asleep as soon as he hit the pillow and didn’t wake up until his doorbell rang the next morning. He answered it in his robe. His liaison officer was standing outside, clapping her hands together in an attempt to beat the cold out of them.

  “Trish?”

  Trish nodded, her face saying it all.

  “Where?” he said.

  “In the Dublin Mountains.”

  “When?”

  “Christmas Eve. A man was walking his dog.”

  “And you’re sure?”

  “The dental records match,” she said, and she handed Tom the necklace that Alexandra had always worn, the one he had given her for their first wedding anniversary. It was engraved. ALEX, I LOVE YOU. TOM.

  “How did she …?” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the question.

  “We won’t know for a while yet,” she said gently.

  “Who could have done that to her?” he asked.

  “Tom, I promise we will do everything to find the person or persons responsible.”

  “And if you don’t?” he said quietly.

  “You bury her, you let her go, and you move on,” she said sadly.

  “It’s over.”

  “It’s over.”

  “Oh God,” he cried. “Oh my God, my poor, poor, love!”

  Trish knelt in his hall and took his hand. “She’s safe now,” she said.

  17

  “Apes & Angels”

  The heart runs on hope, my friend, let hope be your horse,

  open the tattered maps once more and let’s set a course,

  gonna fight, gonna fight, gonna fight just to love again.

  Jack L, Broken Songs

  January 2009

  When she was stabilized, Elle was moved from the emergency room in St. Vincent’s Hospital to St. Patrick’s Psychiatric Hospital, where she remained as a voluntary patient for three weeks. It was difficult coming to terms with her illness, but it had also been a long time coming. The doctors were kind and reassuring, and for the first time in a long time she felt safe. She would be on medication for the rest of her life, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. In fact, Elle wasn’t sure how she felt about anything. The doctor explained that it might take time to get the cocktail right, but he promised they’d get there in the end. Elle was scared that she wouldn’t be able to paint because she believed absolutely that it was her demons that drove her, inspired her, and elevated her to a place far from the humdrum of normality and numbness. She was told that her talent wouldn’t be affected, but she seriously doubted that and knew if it was affected in even the slightest way she would sacrifice her newfound peace once more. But for now she was okay. She’d talk and she’d listen and she’d take their advice on coping skills, stress management, and goal setting—which she did anyway in the form of writing to the Universe—and she’d swallow what she was given even if it made her feel numb, because for now, numb was good.

  Rose was beside herself when she woke the morning of St. Stephen’s Day to find that Elle had tried to do what her father had succeeded in doing so many years before. She cried and shook and instantly aged, and Jane found herself hugging her and calling her “Mum.”

  “Don’t cry, Mum.”

  “I thought she’d be okay.”

  “I know. Me too.”

  “But I should have known better.”

  “All we can do is our best, Mum.”

  “But I didn’t do my best, Janey,” she cried. “I’m so sorry I’ve made such a mess.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay!” her mother shouted. “I shouldn’t have let this go on for years, I shouldn’t have made you responsible for her, and I shouldn’t have told you not to involve doctors because it didn’t focking work! She could have died, Janey. My fault, again my fault!” Rose was trembling and beating her chest.

  Jane wasn’t sure if she was in shock, cold, or suffering the DTs.

  “Dad wasn’t your fault, Mum.”

  “Of course it was. I left him alone and I knew he was in despair, I left him alone because he was in despair, and I left him alone because I was focking sick of it!” Rose was rubbing her hands in an attempt to stop the violent shaking.

  Jane had no clue what to say or do—she had never witnessed her mother in such distress, nor had she ever really thought her capable of it.

  “When your father died, I was angry and sad and bitter and in such pain, and I left you two girls to fend for yourselves. I know I did and I’m not proud of it, but you, Janey, you took over, you took care of me and your sister, and you did a good job. You’re the strong one, Jane, you’ve always been the strong one. That’s why I pushed you so hard, because we need you, we always have.”

  “I thought you were disappointed in me.”

  “I’m disappointed in myself—you just remind me of that, that’s all,” Rose said. “I’m sorry, Janey, I am sorry.”

  She was sniffling, and Jane felt such an overwhelming warmth for her mother it was unnerving.

  “Let’s just be kinder to ea
ch other,” Jane said, and Rose nodded.

  Jane held her mother tightly, and when Rose composed herself, Jane took a tissue out of her pocket and dried her eyes.

  “I hope you haven’t snotted in that,” Rose said, and their tender moment was over.

  Elle didn’t have any visitors during her first week in St. Patrick’s, but after that Jane and Rose came most days. At visiting time she’d sit in the glass annex that overlooked a lush garden, and her visitors would join her there. On Rose and Jane’s first visit together, Rose was not behaving like herself, much to Elle’s confusion.

  “This is lovely, isn’t it lovely, Jane?” Rose said.

  “It’s lovely, Rose.”

  “You look fantastic, really beautiful,” Rose said to Elle.

  “I look terrible,” Elle said, and she looked at Jane for a hint of what was going on in her mother’s head.

  “No, you’re lovely,” Rose said. “Isn’t she, Jane?”

  “No, she’s right, she looks terrible,” Jane said.

  “What’s going on?” Elle asked Jane.

  “Rose is scared that if we’re not nice to you, you’ll try to kill yourself again,” Jane said, and she wasn’t laughing.

  Jane was angry and Elle knew it. Rose blushed the way her oldest daughter did on most days but not that day.

  “You’re angry, Jane. I understand,” Elle said.

  “You understand?” Jane said, pointing at Elle. “Oh good, because I understand too! I understand that you were desperate and scared and out of your mind—trust me, after two years dealing with a colicky baby I do understand—but what I don’t understand is you lying to me. I came to you, I asked you if you needed help and told you I would be there to help you, and you lied and lied and lied. You made me doubt myself, and if you had died you would have made me complicit in it.”

  “I didn’t mean to, I didn’t want to, everything was so muddled and unreal and I wanted to be okay. I wanted to be kooky, arty Elmore, the genius painter. I wanted it to be okay to suffer for your art and then it wasn’t okay, then the world tipped sideways and I felt like I was barely clinging on. I got tired and all I could focus on was letting go.”

  Rose was silent and pale.

  Jane shook her head. “If you ever try to kill yourself again, I will follow you into the next world and I will kill you again.” Jane’s tears fell, and she allowed Elle to bear witness to her pain and her broken heart.

  “I’m so sorry, Janey.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Just don’t do it again.”

  Rose took Elle’s hand in hers, and for the first time she noticed her mother tremble.

  “We love you, Miss Elmore, whether you’re kooky or crazy or a little bit of both, whether you’re an artist or a cafeteria lady we love you, but Janey’s right. If you ever put us through that again, hell will be a holiday.”

  Elle smiled. “Okay, Mum.”

  “Okay then,” Rose said. “Now, Jane, let’s get out of this focking kip before I see someone else I know.”

  Kurt and Irene visited once a week.

  “How’s Medicine going?” Elle asked one day while they ate roast beef sandwiches that Jane had sent in a picnic basket that also included three types of salad dressing and four types of salad, a large bag of lettuce, and three cupcakes.

  “Good,” he said. “It’s hard, though.”

  “Too hard,” Irene said. “I never see him.”

  “You’re seeing me now,” he protested.

  “And look where we are! No offense, Elle.”

  “None taken,” Elle said.

  “The last time we went out was well before Christmas,” Irene complained to Elle. “We’re in college, for God’s sake; we went out more when we were in school.”

  “My exams were after Christmas, I’ve just finished them, and I told you we can go anywhere you like tonight,” Kurt said, clearly annoyed at having to repeat himself.

  “Yeah, well, I’m not in the mood tonight.”

  Kurt raised his hands to heaven. “You see?” he said to Elle.

  “Nobody goes out in January, Kurt,” Irene said.

  Elle decided to change the subject. “So how’s Nursing, Irene?”

  “Hate it,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m thinking about leaving and doing modeling.”

  Elle looked at Kurt, who raised his eyes to heaven.

  “Modeling?”

  “Mum has a friend in London. She says I’ve got great cheekbones and a good attitude.”

  “Well, then,” Elle said.

  “Still,” Irene said, “I’m not sure I’d like modeling. I might do a beauty course or something. I’m not really sure, so for the minute I’ll stick with Nursing, but I swear I will never make a nurse. People are foul.”

  Leslie came every day except the days she had an appointment with her consultant. She would arrive bringing books or chocolates or both.

  “You can never read enough or eat enough,” she said.

  “You’re too good to me,” Elle said.

  “You’re right, I am,” Leslie said, “and as soon as you’re well enough, remind me to give you a kick in the hole.”

  “That’s lovely language.”

  “Isn’t it? I heard it coming out of the mouth of a ten-year-old as I was making my way over here.”

  “Is it possible to be depressed that you’re depressed?” Elle asked.

  “I’m sure it is. I know I’d be depressed if I was depressed.”

  “I just wish I could look into the sky and make sense of it all,” Elle said.

  “The answer to life’s problems isn’t in the sky,” Leslie said. “It’s in Jack Lukeman’s songs.”

  Elle smiled. “Really?”

  “Absolutely. In fact, ‘It’s Been Raining’ changed my life. Well that, a nosy girl called Deborah, a cat with the shits, a broken lift, and a surgeon.”

  “So name the song that will change my life.”

  Leslie thought about it for a moment or two.

  “Time’s up.”

  “No,” Leslie said, batting her away. “Give me a second.” Then she grinned. “‘Universe.’”

  “‘Universe,’” Elle said and raised her eyebrows.

  Leslie cleared her throat.

  “Don’t tell me you’re going to sing it?”

  “I’m better than you,” Leslie said. She cleared her throat again and began to sing. “Oh nothing lasts forever …”

  “Dun, dun, dun, dun.” Elle sang, imitating the trombone.

  Two male patients on their way back from a smoke stopped at the door to enjoy the show..

  “You can cry a million rivers …” Leslie sang, and she pointed at Elle, who nodded and got ready to imitate a trombone once more.

  “Dun, dun, dun, dun …”

  “You can rage it ain’t no sin but it won’t change a thing, ‘cos nothing lasts forever …” Leslie reached out and embraced Elle. “Sing it with me, Elle.”

  Together they sang: “There’s a universe inside where the two of us can hide and there’s nothing to be frightened of, a flash of light a raging star don’t you know you’re not alone, ah there’s nothing to be frightened of.”

  A nurse stopped beside the two male patients and looked at the two girls singing with arms wrapped around each other, and she smiled before going about her business. The two patients clapped.

  “Thank you, thank you, we’re here all week!” Leslie said, and Elle laughed.

  They sat silently for a moment or two, then Leslie looked into Elle’s eyes.

  “Well? Did it work?” she asked.

  “You’re right—I’m cured,” Elle said, and she laughed.

  “I hate to say I told you so.” Leslie smiled at her friend. “It’s going to be all right, you know.”

  The first chance Jane had after Elle was stabilized, she made her way down toward her mother’s rosebushes and the graves of Jessica, Jimmy, Judy, and Jeffrey. She walked the correct distance between them and started digging. Rose and Kurt appeare
d from their respective doors and went to the spot where Elle had told Leslie she’d left her final good-byes. Kurt and Rose were silent while Jane dug. When they heard the shovel tapping on the tin, Jane turned to face them, and Rose nodded for her to continue. She cleared the soil from the top and picked up the box and shook it off. She opened it, exposing the three notes folded inside. She set it down on the ground and took a lighter out of her pocket. She looked once more to her mother, and she nodded again. Jane leaned down and set the paper alight. It went out, so she lit it again, and when it looked like it was going to go out again Rose reached into her pocket, pulled out a flask, and sprinkled some booze on it, causing it to reignite and burn until there was nothing left.

  “Aren’t you even curious?” Kurt asked as they made their way back to the house.

  “No,” Rose and Jane said at exactly the same time.

  “I am,” he admitted, “a bit.”

  Rose put her arm around her grandson as they walked. “It wasn’t Elle’s time to say good-bye, so let’s just be grateful for that.”

  Jane found it hard to get rid of all her anger. The people in St. Patrick’s Hospital told her that this was a perfectly natural reaction, and they attempted to explain her sister’s mental state to her. Jane found it hard to accept that Elle was unwell. She had been so desperate to believe Elle when she had explained away her symptoms, and now she felt so selfish and stupid.

  It was her son who got through to her.

  “Mum, you do the best you can but you’re not perfect. No one is—except maybe me.”

  “She could have died,” Jane said.

  “We all could die any day, and not because we want to. Elle is just like the rest of us.”

  “Oh yeah, and how’s that?”

  “Fucked up,” Kurt said, and Jane laughed for the first time since Elle had tried to kill herself.

  Alexandra was buried on a Sunday morning. The church was packed to the rafters. Tom stood at the top of the church, and next to him was Alexandra’s father, her brother and his wife, and her sister and her husband. The priest spoke warmly of Alexandra, her mother, Breda, and the entire Walsh family. He spoke warmly of Tom and his fight to find her. He hoped that Tom could now find peace, as he had no doubt that Alexandra had.