No Way to Say Goodbye - Anna McPartlin [18]
Tom wasn’t a drinker. In fact, he had been a Pioneer of Total Abstinence up until Robert had died. After that he took a drink each year in his memory and when Ben joined Robert he did the same. So, twice a year Tom drank and even then he could only manage three pints before he was helpless.
He stood in front of the plaque, with his hands knotted in prayer. Mary stood back and allowed him his moment.
“Mary,” he said, swaying.
“Tom,” she responded.
“Do you think he ever looks down?” he asked, eyes brimming.
“I know he does,” she said kindly.
“You do?” he said, perking up.
“They all do,” she said, taking his arm and guiding him down the path that would lead him home.
“Do you really believe that?”
“I do.”
“Do you see them?” he asked conspiratorially – he knew about her cryptic dreams.
“No,” she admitted, “but sometimes I feel them around me.”
He nearly stumbled on a root but she caught him in time and steadied him.
“I don’t,” he confessed, and a tear escaped. “I’d love to,” his voice shook, “one last time – just to see them both one last time.” He tried to collect himself.
“You’ll see them again.” She smiled sadly. “I know they’re waiting.”
He wiped a tear from her cheek. She hadn’t even noticed she was crying. “Some say you’re a bit of a weird one,” he said, smiling at her, “but I’ve always thought you were lovely, just lovely.”
She laughed at his honesty.
He squeezed her arm and they walked on together.
It hadn’t been the visit she’d expected: it had been nicer.
Sam enjoyed a late meal courtesy of his reluctant neighbour and then, by the light of a log fire and a small reading lamp, he opened the book that led him to a place called Deptford. There, he basked in magic, murder and intrigue, and he didn’t have to think about the mess he’d made of his life. He didn’t worry about the people he’d trodden on or the lives he’d had a hand in ruining. Most importantly, sitting in the half-light, lost in another man’s world, he didn’t have to address what he’d done and why he’d done it. He could pretend that his life to date had been one long accident and that he was better now. The ghosts that had haunted him were silenced – at least for the time being.
5. Looking down
It had been a long, hard night and, if Mary was right and those who had left this world sometimes looked down from the skies above, they must have seen that respite was necessary. From a distance these five souls would have seemed wretched in their own quiet way, and looking down, they would have wept to see what had become of the children the five had once been: Sam, the American boy who had been so full of promise, now hiding terrible secrets that would hold him hostage, clean or not; Penny, alone and covered with vomit, hugging a bottle instead of the man she had lost to unfulfilled ambition; Ivan, the cheeky chap, a father of two at twenty-four and terribly alone in his thirties; Adam, the boy who had dreamed of being a hero only to mess it all up; and Mary, born unlucky, once luminous but now dulled by pain.
In this world, Mary had been tested more than most, born to a dead mother, her father wailing and traumatized. He hadn’t picked her up for six months but once he did she would be loved like any other child by a doting father. And although she’d felt her mother’s absence, it was mostly in her teenage years, and her auntie Sheila was always on hand to provide the necessary feminine influence. Auntie Sheila was her father’s brother’s wife and Ivan’s mother.
Mary’s teenage life was promising. She had a father who was wrapped around her little finger. She had a best friend in Penny, who shared her life at a boarding-school in Dublin. And when she came