Chapter Nine

“poppy, did you call me?” Elizabeth called out from under the mound

of carpet samples piled onto her desk later that day.

“No, again, ” came the dull, bored reply. “And please refrain from disturbing me, as I’m about to order two thousand pots of white magnolia

paint for our future projects. May as well be organized and plan ahead for the next twenty years,” she muttered, then grumbled loudly enough for

Elizabeth to hear. “Because it’s not as if we’re about to change our ideas anytime soon.”

“Oh, OK.” Elizabeth smiled, giving in. “You can order another color

in too.”

Poppy almost fell off her chair with excitement.

“Order a few hundred pots of beige as well, while you’re at it. Barley, it’s called.”

“Ha ha,” Poppy said drily.

Ivan raised his eyebrows at Elizabeth. “Elizabeth, Elizabeth,” he sang,

“did you just make a funny? I think you did.” He stared directly at her, elbows on the desk. He sighed, blowing the loose strands of her hair as he did so.

Elizabeth froze, moved her eye sockets from left to right suspiciously, and then continued working.

“Oh, see how she treats me?” Ivan said dramatically, holding his hand

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to his forehead and pretending to faint onto a black leather chaise longue in the corner of the room. “It’s like I’m not even here,” he declared. He put his feet up and stared at the ceiling. “Forget about being at a principal’s office, this is like being at a shrink’s.” He stared at the cracks in the ceiling.

“You see, doc, it all started when Elizabeth kept ignoring me,” he said loudly into the room. “It just made me feel so unloved, so alone, so very, very alone. It’s like I don’t exist. Like I’m nothing, ” he exaggerated. “My life is a mess.” He pretended to cry. “It’s all Elizabeth’s fault.” He stopped and watched her for a while, matching carpets with fabrics and paint charts, and when he spoke again, his voice became soft. “But it is her fault that she can’t see me because she’s just too afraid to believe. Isn’t that right, Elizabeth?”

“What?” Elizabeth shouted again.

“What do you mean, what?” shouted an irritated Poppy back. “I didn’t

say anything!”

“You called me.”

“No, I didn’t, you’re hearing voices again and please stop humming

that bloody song!” Poppy shrieked.

“What song?” Elizabeth frowned.

“Whatever that thing is that you’ve been humming all morning. It’s driving me insane. ”

“Thank you very much!” Ivan announced, standing up and taking a

dramatic bow before plonking his body back down onto the chaise longue.

“I invented that song. Andrew Lloyd Webber, eat your heart out.”

Elizabeth continued working. She started humming again, then imme-

diately stopped herself.

“You see, Poppy,” Ivan called into the other room, “I think Elizabeth

can hear me.” He crossed his hands across his chest and twiddled his

thumbs. “I think she can hear me very well. Isn’t that right, Elizabeth?”

“Christ almighty.” Elizabeth dropped the samples onto her desk.

“Becca, is that you saying my name?”

“No.” Becca’s voice was barely audible.

Elizabeth’s face turned red and she felt flustered and embarrassed at

looking a fool in front of her employees. Trying to assert control again, she called out sternly, “Becca can you get me a coffee from Joe’s?”

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“Oh, by the way,” Ivan sang, enjoying himself, “don’t forget to tell her to take one of the mugs over with her. Joe will be pleased.”

“Oh.” Elizabeth snapped her fingers as though she’d just remembered

something. “You might as well bring one of these with you.” She handed

Becca a coffee mug. “Joe will be,” she paused and looked confused,

“pleased.”

“Oh, she can hear me, all right.” Ivan laughed. “That self-commanding

mind of hers just won’t allow her to admit it. Everything is black-and-white to her.” Then he added, “And beige. But I’m going to shake things up a bit around here and we are going to have some fun. Ever done that before, Elizabeth? Had fun?” His eyes danced with mischief.

He swung his legs off the chaise longue and jumped upright. He sat on

the edge of Elizabeth’s desk and glanced at the printouts of the online information about imaginary friends. He tutted and shook his head. “No, you don’t believe all that gobbledygook, do you, Lizzie? Can I call you Lizzie?”

Elizabeth’s face flinched.

“Oh,” Ivan said gently, “you don’t like being called Lizzie, do you?”

Elizabeth swallowed softly.

He lay across the desk on top of all the carpet samples and rested his

head on his hand. “Well, I’ve got news for you.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’m real. And I’m not going anywhere until you open those eyes properly and see me.”

Elizabeth stopped fiddling with the paint charts and raised her eyes

slowly. She looked around her office and then settled on staring straight ahead of her. For some reason, she felt calm, calmer than she had felt in a very long time. She was stuck in a trance, staring at nothing but unable to blink or look away, feeling surrounded by warmth and security.

Suddenly the door to her office sprang open, so quickly and forcefully

that it caused the handle to crash against the wall. Elizabeth and Ivan jolted in fright.

“Oooh, well excuse me for interrupting the lovebirds,” Saoirse cackled

from the door.

Ivan jumped off the desk.

Elizabeth, mystified by that statement but accustomed to being mystified 78

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by Saoirse, immediately started to tidy her desk, a natural panicked reflex to her at the unannounced arrival of her younger sister. She smoothed down her jacket and pushed her palms over her hair.

“Oh, don’t tidy up on my account.” Saoirse waved her hand dismis-

sively, chewing quickly on a piece of gum. “You’re such a fusspot, you

know, just chill. ” Her eyes moved up and down as she examined the area beside Elizabeth’s desk suspiciously. “So, aren’t you going to introduce me?”

Elizabeth examined her sister through narrow eyes. Saoirse made her

nervous with her neurotic behavior and sporadic tantrums. Alcohol or no alcohol, Saoirse had always been the same—difficult. In fact, Elizabeth could hardly tell when she was drunk or not. Saoirse had never found herself, she had never grown into a personality or learned about who she was, what she wanted, what made her happy, or where she wanted to go in life. She still didn’t know. She was a concoction of personalities never allowed to develop.

Elizabeth wondered who her sister could be if she ever managed to stop

drinking. She feared it would only be one problem less on a list of many.

It was so rare that Elizabeth could get Saoirse on her own in a room to talk to her. Sitting down with Saoirse was like trying to catch a butterfly in a jar. They were so beautiful to look at, brightened up a room, but never settled on anything for long enough to be caught. Elizabeth was forever chasing and when she did manage to catch her sister, Saoirse would all the time be flutter-ing her wings in panic, wanting to get away from her sister’s company.

When she did have Saoirse’s company, she tried so hard to be under-

standing, to treat her with the sympathy and empathy she deserved. Elizabeth had tried to learn all about how to deal with Saoirse and her drinking problem when she had sought professional help. She wanted advice from as many places as possible in order to help her sister. She needed to know the elusive magical words to say to Saoirse on the rare times that she visited. So even when Saoirse mistreated Elizabeth, she remained supportive and kind, because she was afraid to lose her for good, afraid of how much further out of control Saoirse might spiral. Besides, she felt she had a duty to look out for her. But mostly it was because she was tired of seeing all the beautiful butterflies in her life fly away.

“Introduce you to whom?” Elizabeth replied gently.

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“Oh, stop with that patronizing tone. If you don’t want to introduce

me, then that’s fine.” She turned to the empty seat. “She’s ashamed of me, you see. She thinks I let her good name down. You know how the neighbors like to talk.” She laughed bitterly. “Or maybe she’s afraid I’ll chase you away. Happened to the other one, you see. He—”

“OK, OK, Saoirse.” Elizabeth interrupted her playacting. Saoirse al-

ways tried to get a rise out of her; bringing up her past was one of those things designed to hurt her. “Look, I’m glad you dropped by because

there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Saoirse’s knee bounced up and down. Her jaw chomped on the gum.

“Colm brought the car back to me on Friday and he told me they’d ar-

rested you. This is serious, Saoirse. You have to be really careful between now and the hearing. It’s on in only a few weeks and if you do anything . . .

else, well, it will affect your punishment.”

Saoirse rolled her eyes. “Elizabeth, relax! What are they going to do?

Lock me up for years for driving two minutes down the road in my own sister’s car? They can’t take away my license because I don’t have one and if they prevent me from ever getting one I don’t care, because I don’t want one. All they’ll do is give me a few weeks of some community-help bullshit, probably helping a few old ladies cross the road or something. It’ll be fine.”

She blew a bubble and it smacked against her chapped lips.

Elizabeth’s eyes widened with disbelief. “Saoirse, you didn’t borrow my car. You took it without my permission and you don’t have a license. Come on.” Her voice gave in. “You’re not stupid, you know well that’s wrong.”

Elizabeth paused and tried to compose herself. This time she would

succeed in talking her ’round. But even though it was the same situation every time, Saoirse continued to be in denial. Elizabeth swallowed hard.

“Look,” Saoirse said, getting angry, “I’m twenty-three years old and

I’m doing exactly the same thing that everyone else my age is doing—going out and having fun.” Her tone turned nasty. “Well, just because you had no life at my age, it doesn’t mean that I can’t have one.” Her wings were flutter-ing wildly like she was trapped in a jar and was running out of air.

That’s because I was busy raising you, Elizabeth thought angrily. And obviously doing a terrible job ofit too.

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“Are you going to sit here and listen to our entire conversation or

what?” Saoirse said rudely to the chaise longue.

Elizabeth frowned and cleared her throat. “Please, Saoirse,” Elizabeth

said softly, “please listen to me. They really mean it this time. Just . . . just relax a bit with the, eh . . .” She paused. “With the drinking, OK?”

“Oh, shut up about that.” Saoirse’s anger was growing and her face

twisted. “Shut up, shut up, shut up, I’m fed up listening to you.” She stood up. “My drinking’s fine. It’s you who’s got the problem, thinking you’re fucking perfect.” She opened the door and shouted so that everyone could hear. “Oh, and you.” She nodded at the chaise longue. “I don’t think you’ll be hanging around for long. They all leave eventually, isn’t that right, Lizzie? ” She spat out the name.

Elizabeth’s eyes glistened with angry tears.

Saoirse banged the door loudly behind her. She had forced the lid

open and was free to fly away once again. The noise of the door slam shuddered through Elizabeth’s body. The office was so silent even the fly that had been buzzing around stopped to settle on the light fitting. A moment later, there was a feeble knock on the door.

“What?” she snapped.

“It’s, eh, Becca,” came the quiet reply. “With your coffee?”

Elizabeth smoothed back her hair and dabbed her eyes. “Come in.”

As Becca was leaving the room, Elizabeth spotted Saoirse marching

back through the reception area.

“Oh, by the way, I forgot to ask you for a loan of a few quid.” Her voice was gentler. It always was when she wanted something.

Elizabeth’s heart sank. “How much?”

Saoirse shrugged her shoulders. “Fifty.”

Elizabeth rooted in her bag. “I tried calling the B&B a few times over the weekend to see if you were OK. Are you still staying there?”

Saoirse nodded.

She rooted out fifty euro and paused before handing it over. “What’s

it for?”

“Drugs, Elizabeth, lots and lots of drugs,” Saoirse said smartly.

Elizabeth’s shoulders dropped. “I just meant—”

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“Groceries, you know, bread, milk, toilet paper. That kind of thing.”

She swiped the crisp note out of Elizabeth’s hand. “Not all of us wipe our asses on silk, you know.” She lifted a swatch of material from the desk and tossed it at her.

The door banged shut behind her and Elizabeth watched the black

piece of silk effortlessly drift to the white carpet.

She knew what it felt like to fall.

Date: 2015-04-20; view: 367