Can Anybody Help Me? Page 4

  Her mother-in-law hadn’t phoned in advance of her visit. Bill, Gerry’s brother, had been expected alright. A builder’s labourer by trade, he had been unemployed for several years now and, anxious to keep busy, had been obsessing about the small jobs that needed to be done in the new house. His plan for the day involved fitting a stair gate, changing the bulb on the cooker and tightening the slightly dodgy handle on the back door, through which he was convinced his beloved niece would escape at any moment, despite the fact she was months away from even putting her feet on the ground.

  ‘Your godfather’s here!’

  Róisín, reclining in her bouncy chair, had looked startled when the doorbell rang and Yvonne grinned at her. They both liked Bill. Five years older than Gerry, he bore a strong resemblance to his brother, although his hair was receding slightly and his frame was stockier. He didn’t have Gerry’s sense of humour either. On a good day, her husband could deliver a biting commentary on life that would make Yvonne’s sides ache with laughter. Bill didn’t have that quick wit. But he didn’t have his brother’s ambitious nature either, which meant he wasn’t permanently plugged into a smartphone and had proved himself an enthusiastic and readily available babysitter since they’d moved to Dublin.

  So Yvonne was looking forward to Bill’s visit. However, when she opened the door, she noticed he didn’t look quite as happy and, as he lent forward to give his niece a clumsy kiss, she could see the tall elegant form of his mother emerging from his battered van and picking her way up the overgrown pathway.

  ‘Sorry. She insisted.’

  Yvonne kept her smile wide.

  ‘No problem. It’s wonderful to see both of you! How are you, Hannah?’

  Her mother-in-law offered her smooth, heavily made-up cheek for a kiss and the citrusy tang of her perfume reminded Yvonne that she hadn’t got round to having a shower that morning. Oh well. Hannah would have to take her as she found her. They were family after all.

  Bill, tool belt firmly in place around his waist, disappeared in the direction of the kitchen as Yvonne handed her squirming daughter over to her grandmother for a kiss.

  ‘Aren’t you a little angel? Oh aren’t you the pet?’

  The little girl obliged with a gummy smile and Yvonne could feel herself relax. Hannah could be tough going sometimes. She’d had to be, her husband had died when Gerry was just five years old and she’d raised the boys on her own while holding down a full-time job. Just thinking about it made Yvonne feel both exhausted and inferior. But since moving to Dublin, Yvonne hadn’t exactly been knocked down in the rush of people dying to make friends with her, and the older woman made herself available for coffee, and the odd lecture, on a twice-weekly basis, if not more. And, most importantly, Hannah adored Róisín. The little girl gurgled like something from a Mothercare commercial every time she called round. Not even babies acted up around Hannah. They wouldn’t dare.

  ‘You look exhausted, Yvonne. Have you been getting enough rest?’

  She hadn’t felt the knife go in, but there it was, resting between her shoulder-blades. Hannah meant well; Yvonne knew she did. But sometimes even a simple enquiry could sound like an accusation, and she had to force herself to keep smiling as she led the way into the large, sunny, cluttered kitchen. Bill was already fiddling with the cooker hood and she pulled out two stools from the counter before putting the kettle on and noticing that there were no clean cups.

  Hannah had noticed too and placed Róisín firmly in her bouncy chair.

  ‘Now, Mummy needs a bit of a hand this morning, doesn’t she? Grandma’s going to do the washing up and make us all a nice cup of coffee.’

  ‘Really Hannah, there’s no need …’

  But her mother-in-law was already gliding across to the sink and rolling up her sleeves.

  ‘You sit down, Yvonne, you’re looking awful peaky. How is Róisín? Any sign of her sleeping through? Gerry said you were up four times on Tuesday … that can’t be good for either of you.’

  Unable to decide which was annoying her most – her mother-in-law’s tone or the fact that her husband had been telling tales, Yvonne decided the best solution was to keep her mouth shut. Please, Róisín, she prayed silently. Cry. Look for a feed, decide you need a cuddle, anything. Rescue me. But the little girl was now happily playing with her toes, and didn’t even look her way.

  Within seconds Hannah had washed cups, produced a clean tea towel from God knows where, wiped away crumbs Yvonne hadn’t even noticed and was pouring hot water into the cafetière she didn’t use unless they had visitors. She poured Yvonne the first cup, added milk without asking and sat down in front of her own drink with a low, satisfied sigh.

  Yvonne sipped, noting with frustration that the coffee tasted fantastic.

  ‘You’re looking great, Hannah.’

  ‘Oh. Thank you, my dear!’

  Unlike most Irish people, Hannah didn’t shrug off compliments, but accepted them gracefully as if they were her due. They weren’t a rarity. She must have been in her sixties but looked at least ten years younger, and Yvonne had never seen her less than fully made up, or without matching bag and high heels. This morning’s outfit was typical, a pair of grey woollen trousers topped off by a silver silken cardigan, sitting just so over a silk lemon blouse.

  Hannah took another sip from her coffee and gave her blonde, bobbed and newly blow-dried hair a quick, satisfied pat. She didn’t look as if she belonged in a kitchen, Yvonne decided. She should be on a cruise ship, or in the lobby of an elegant hotel, a cigarette in one hand, a G. and T. in the other and a tall silver-haired man standing to attention nearby, ready for refills. She certainly didn’t look like she belonged in the small, slightly scruffy two-bedroom apartment she currently called home.

  Gerry and Bill had grown up in a rambling red-bricked house on Dublin’s Southside, not unlike the one Yvonne was living in now. But like so many others of her generation, her mother-in-law had remortgaged the family home to purchase a number of buy-to-let apartments that were supposed to fund her retirement and, when their value collapsed, had had to sell her beautiful house to make up the shortfall. Home was now a rented two-bedroom flat, with the smaller of the bedrooms, for reasons Yvonne couldn’t understand, occupied by Bill. She herself would rather have lived in a tent than share such a confined space with her mother-in-law, but Bill, being Bill, seemed just to have moved along with events as they occurred.

  A car alarm sounded outside, and Yvonne’s brain jolted awake. Dammit. It was impossible to sleep here during the day. There was too much to do, too much to worry about. Too many thoughts competing for space in her already overcrowded mind. Hannah. Nappies. MyBabba. The Guards. And her foolish, foolish imagination, unable to let things go.

  Things would have been fine if Hannah hadn’t seen the newspaper. The first half of her visit had been quite pleasant really. Hannah had been in great form, giving a breathless and frankly hilarious commentary on the activities of her ladies group and the difficulties that had ensued when Mary Carmody had swallowed a third glass of wine during their annual trip to the National Concert Hall and demanded a phone number from the second bassoon.

  ‘She thinks she’s some sort of expert, you know,’ she’d said, brushing a stray raisin off the counter top and onto the floor.

  ‘Just because her son got onto the music course in Trinity. God Almighty, we all know he failed the second year. I hate those women who ramble on about their kids. Yvonne, you’ll have to stop me if you ever hear me do that!’

  Yvonne, who had endured many conversations on the theme ‘My Sons and Their Wonderful Achievements’, with the frequent addition of the subplot ‘Why No One Appreciates Them Like I Do’, remained silent. Finally, in an attempt to stem the torrent of words, she picked up a newspaper that Gerry had left lying on the counter.

  ‘I see they still don’t know what happened to that woman.’

  Miriam Twohy’s disappearance was still front-page news.

  ‘I was watching so
mething about it on the news last night. Isn’t it dreadful?’

  ‘Hmm.’

  Picking Róisín up from her bouncy chair, Yvonne settled back on the stool and nodded towards the paper again.

  ‘Her family must be so worried. And her little girl …’

  ‘Yes. Well. You can’t say she had no part in it.’

  As the meaning of the comment sunk in, Yvonne could feel her heart starting to race.

  ‘How … I’m sorry, Hannah, what do you mean?’

  ‘I think we all know what happened there.’

  Hannah sat up straighter on the stool and flicked a speck of dust off her grey woollen trousers.

  ‘I saw her brother on the television saying they have no clue what happened to her. My eye they don’t! She’s picked up some fella and gone off with him; sure isn’t that always the way?’

  Yvonne could feel the skin at the base of her hairline tighten and her cheeks flame. From out in the hall, a stair gate rattled and a loud banging began.

  ‘I don’t think that’s very fair, Hannah …’

  ‘Ah, fair my eye. What business had she going out anyway and her child at home. These unmarried mothers’ – Hannah spat out the old-fashioned phrase – ‘gallivanting around the town instead of at home looking after their mistakes.’

  Yvonne tried to keep her voice calm.

  ‘I don’t think any of us knows …’

  But her mother-in-law was on a roll.

  ‘I’ll tell you something: she only got what was coming to her.’

  A small voice told Yvonne to leave it. But a louder one, bolstered by three cups of coffee and no sleep won the argument.

  ‘That’s a fucking awful thing to say!’

  One carefully painted eyebrow rose to Hannah’s hairline.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  The baby was silent. Even the banging from the hall had faded. Yvonne knew she was heading towards a dangerous destination. But she was too angry to care.

  ‘She was a lovely person. She’s not the type that would just abandon her baby!’

  Hannah took a long, slow sip from her coffee, and then placed the cup back down on the counter.

  ‘My dear woman. It’s not like you knew the girl. I’ve been around a lot longer than you and I know the type …’

  ‘I do know her!’

  Yvonne’s rage had spilled over and she pushed back her stool.

  ‘I do know her! She’s a wonderful person, she loves her baby and there’s no way she’d just go off like that! She’s been a fantastic friend to me and …’ She was weeping now, her breath coming in gasps and her shoulders shuddering. ‘Don’t you talk about her like that, don’t you dare …’

  Róisín was crying now too, frightened by the sudden change in atmosphere.

  ‘Just leave, okay? Just go … I don’t want to see you …’

  She sank back against the kitchen counter and buried her face in the baby’s neck. The scent of ammonia mixed with something far stronger wafted up towards her. Hannah had smelled it too and snatched Róisín out of her arms, striding towards the kitchen door without a backwards glance. She didn’t need to speak, the set of her grey silken shoulders told Yvonne all she needed to know about her mother-in-law’s opinion of her parenting skills. Alone, Yvonne buried her face in her hands. Tears were almost a relief against her gritty eyelids.

  Suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to see Bill jabbing a piece of kitchen roll awkwardly in her direction.

  ‘Don’t mind that one,’ he muttered, a blush creeping up his cheekbones.

  Yvonne gave a watery smile. ‘I’ve really gone and done it now, haven’t I? Jesus, I’m sorry, Bill. Your mother … she just pressed the wrong buttons this morning.’

  ‘Ah, it wouldn’t be the first time.’ Bill smiled, and then looked at her more closely. ‘There’s something else though, isn’t there? It’s not just the oul wan is annoying you?’

  ‘No.’ Yvonne blew her nose noisily and then dissolved into tears again. ‘I’ve been really stupid.’

  She thought for a moment, and then sighed. The humiliation of earlier was still too raw, she had been hoping not to think about it again. But given her extreme reaction to Hannah’s comments, it was clearly still close to the surface. She took a deep breath. ‘You know the woman who’s gone missing? From Ballyawlann?’

  Her brother-in-law shook his head, slowly.

  ‘Sorry, no. Is she a friend of yours?’

  Yvonne gave a watery smile. She’d forgotten Bill didn’t listen to the news. As quickly as possible, she told him about the story she’d seen on television and in the newspaper. The woman had been missing now for over a week, and her family said they had no idea what had happened to her. Her baby was still with her grandparents and according to the latest reports neither her credit cards nor her passport had been used.

  ‘I kind of think I know her …’

  ‘Oh, yeah?’

  ‘You know I go on this website? Netmammy? I might have mentioned it before …’ Keeping it as simple as she could, Yvonne explained the concept of parenting forums. Unlike his brother, Bill was too polite to slag the concept off, but she could see he didn’t really understand it.

  ‘So have you met this one, then? Or …’

  ‘You post messages … and people answer them. And you do kind of get to know them in a way. It’s silly really … but they’re all mothers. They give advice and stuff. It’s friendly …’

  ‘Sounds nice.’

  Cooing sounds were coming from upstairs and Yvonne took a deep breath before continuing.

  ‘Well, I’m mates with this woman, MyBabba is her name, I mean it’s not her real name; I don’t know what she’s actually called. I know little bits about her. You pick stuff up, from what people say. I mean I know she’s from Dublin and she has a little girl who’s twenty months old. Réaltín. She adores her. She’s separated from the little girl’s dad … anyway basically I had this stupid idea that she might be her. The woman who’s missing. She hasn’t been online in days and both their daughters are called Réaltín … Anyway.’

  She bit her lip and could feel the flush spreading across her cheekbones. ‘I rang the police earlier when Ro was asleep. To tell them …’

  ‘Ah.’ Bill smiled. ‘I’m only half following ya. And I’m guessing the guard was the same.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Yvonne took another gulp from her rapidly cooling coffee, her hairline prickling with embarrassment as she remembered the tone of incredulity in the young guard’s voice.

  ‘They said it on the TV … anyone with information should contact … well you know yourself. They gave a number and that. And I thought it might be useful for them to know she hadn’t been online, if it was her I mean, you know, just to say that that was out of character for her … Anyway.’

  ‘They thought you were off your rocker.’

  ‘Kinda, yeah.’ Yvonne gave a weak smile. It was sort of funny when you thought about it. She’d spent ten minutes on the phone to the policeman trying to explain the concept of thread titles and personal messages. She might as well have been speaking fluent Greek. And although the officer had been polite, she knew he was dying to get her off the phone and probably make a joke of her to his mates as well.

  ‘Well, sure, you did what you felt was right. No harm done. No need to get upset anyway.’

  ‘No …’

  But the kindness in his voice brought the tears to the surface again. It had just been such a shitty day. Róisín had roared half the night and Gerry had slept in the spare room. At 5 a.m., staring blearily into the darkness, ringing the police, or the guards as they called them here, had seemed like the right thing to do.

  But when she had actually made the call, it was as if she were standing outside herself, listening to a silly hysterical woman who was manufacturing drama.

  ‘Ah, here. Yvonne.’ She hadn’t realised until Bill pushed another tissue into her hand that the tears were flowing freely again.

 
She could hear his mother’s steps on the stairs accompanied by the happy burbling of a freshly changed and sleepy baby.

  Hannah entered the kitchen and saw that Yvonne was weeping.

  ‘I’m guessing Madam here didn’t sleep much last night.’

  Yvonne blew her nose and shook her head.

  ‘Not a wink. I think she’s teething. I gave her some homeopathic granules, but they didn’t do any good.’

  Her mother-in-law sniffed.

  ‘A good dose of Calpol, that’s what the child needs.’

  Her tone was softer than before and Yvonne grabbed the lifeline.

  ‘You’re right, Hannah. I should have got some yesterday. I’ll remember the next time.’

  Hannah’s face brightened.

  ‘I could pick you up a bottle, if you like? In fact, why don’t we bring the baby for a walk, let you get your head down?’

  For a moment, Yvonne considered arguing. If the baby were teething, the last thing she needed was a blast of cold air. But she was so very tired.

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘Lovely. You can come with me, Bill; we’ll call to the shop on the way back.’

  Bill gave his hammer a rueful glance, but didn’t argue. With Hannah, that was often the safest thing to do.

  Drifting …

  Ignoring the housework, Yvonne had headed straight to bed as soon as they had left. Too tired even to get undressed, she had simply climbed straight under the covers. She hadn’t watched the three of them walk away. That would have been too difficult. People were always telling her she spent too much time with Róisín. Hannah, Gerry, even Veronica the public health nurse – who called around once a week – seemed to delight in telling her she needed to ‘get out more’.

  Almost everyone seemed to think there was something unnatural about the amount of time she and her baby spent together. Hannah continually offered to babysit and the nurse wanted her to join a mother and baby group in the local community hall.