The Bright Side (42 page)

Back in the bedroom, I found that I had trouble choosing what to wear. I didn’t have many of my clothes with me and the ones I had suddenly seemed drab and threadbare. After much huffing and puffing, I threw on a pair of jeans and a faded blue T-shirt. When I looked in the mirror, I felt a surge of dread so powerful that my legs wobbled and I had to sit down for a minute. I rested my elbows on my knees and tried to breathe deeply, through my nose
.

When I started work in First Premier, I was quite friendly with a woman called Wendy O’Gara. She suffered from depression and talked about it all the time; I think she found it helpful. We used to have great bitching sessions together. I would complain about people comparing my headaches with ordinary ones and Wendy would complain about them comparing depression with a bad mood. What it was really like, she’d say, was being buried alive. When the depression finally went away, it didn’t feel like cheering up to her – it felt like being dug out. I didn’t really understand what she meant at the time, but I think I got a little taste of it that Wednesday morning. I stayed in my bedroom until eleven thirty, breathing deeply all the while, and gradually I began to feel a little less entombed. Then I went downstairs for breakfast
.

“Jesus!” Melissa said when she caught sight of me in the kitchen
.

I plonked myself down on a stool. “What?
”

“Nothing. You look a bit … awful, that’s all.” “A
bit
awful? But not completely awful, right?
”

“Did you not sleep very well? You’re down very late.” “You could say that.
”

“Chrissy?
”

I shrugged. “The whole thing I suppose.” “It’s to be expected.
”

“Yeah.
”

Niall came tearing down the hall at that point and arrived in the kitchen like Pavarotti arriving on stage. “LAR LAR LAR!” he roared. “LAR LAR LAR!
”

“Niall, please!” Melissa said. “I’ve asked you a hundred times, please keep it down. Please, honey, for me.
”

He walked over to her and looked up into her face “LAR LAR LAR!
”

I tried to remind myself of the sweet little boy at the zoo, but he was suddenly gone from my memory
.

“LAR LAR LAR!
”

“Niall! Please!
”

I hopped off my stool. “I think I’ll go for a walk,” I said
.

Melissa turned to me with a pained look on her face. “I’m sorry, Jackie,” she said. “He’ll calm down in a minute or two. Then again, he might not. This might be one of his singing days. He has them once in a while.
”

“No,
don’t
worry
about
it,
it’s
not
…
I
just
need
some
air.” “But
you’re
only
out
of
bed.
You
haven’t
even
had
any
breakfast
yet.
”

“Five minutes,” I said. “I’ll get something when I come back.
”

In truth, I didn’t just want to get away from the noise; I wanted to get some fags. I smiled at Niall as broadly as I could and slipped away down the hall. Even if I hadn’t gone out then, I probably would have found out about Robert that morning anyway – or later that day, at worst. Someone would have let me know. Still, I should have stayed put. It would have been nice to have had another few hours of partial, as opposed to total misery
.

One evening when the twins were still in primary school, we were sitting around the kitchen table having our tea (we called it “tea” then, like everyone else – it didn’t become “dinner” until a few years later). Gerry was telling me how he’d bumped into an old pal from school who he hadn’t seen in years. Last time Gerry had seen him, he’d had a pony-tail that he’d been cultivating since he was a teenager. Now, not only was the pony-tail gone, he was bald as an egg. Gerry said that he’d almost walked straight past the guy but had done a double-take at the last second. I’d never heard that term before and asked him what he meant; he did a mime. The feeling of delight that coursed through me was the same one I’d experienced when I first heard the words “déjà vu” –
there’s
a
name
for
this!
From then on, every time I saw someone do a double-take or did one of my own, I experienced a fleeting echo of that same delight
.

I
did
the
double-take
to
end
all
double-takes
in
the newsagent’s
that
morning,
just
as
the
assistant
handed
me my
change.
It
was
a
text-book
performance.
I
was
saying thanks
and happened to glance to my
left, to the rack where I’d
spotted
Your
Story
a
few
days
previously.
There
were
bundles
of
newspapers
on
the
floor
at
its
base.
I
saw
Robert’s face
on
the
cover
of
one,
turned
back
to
the
assistant
and then
almost
broke
my
neck
going
back
to
Robert.
But
there was
no
feeling
of
delight,
only
a
violent
lurching
of
the intestines
.

“Jesus Christ!” I screeched as I dived down for a closer look
.

“What?” the assistant said, alarmed. “Is it a rat? Eh, not that we have rats.
”

I didn’t reply. I was too busy taking in the headline: “SOAP STAR’S DRUNKEN SHAME”. The paper – it was
The
Irish
Sun
– shook so badly in my hands that it must have looked as if I was fanning myself. I tried to read the first paragraph, but the letters seemed to be moving around like tiny insects
.

“Are you all right there?” the assistant asked
.

I nodded my head and put the paper down on the counter. “This,” was all I managed to say. I paid and turned towards the door
.

“We haven’t got rats, you know,” she said to my back
.

Outside, I sat down on the shop windowsill and stared at my son’s picture. It was one I’d seen before – his first publicity shot for
The
O’Mahonys
. He’d begrudgingly thrust it at me in his flat one day and rolled his eyes when I said he looked like James Dean. The caption underneath read
Robert O’Connell
plays
bad
boy
Valentine
Reilly
. I took another deep breath – my four hundredth of the morning – and started to read
.

Actor
Robert
O’Connell,
who
plays
Valentine
Reilly
in
the
hit
soap
The O’Mahonys
,
was
in
hot
water
with
his
RTÉ
bosses
last
night after
getting
involved
in
a
vicious
night-club
brawl.
O’Connell, twenty-one,
was
drinking
with
pals
in
trendy
private
night-spot Club
Zed
on
Monday
night
when
the
row
erupted.
The
target
of O’Connell’s
alleged
assault
was
Michael
Rice,
a
twenty-nine-year- old architect, who was
enjoying a night
out with his
girlfriend. Eyewitnesses
reported
that
O’Connell
approached
Rice’s
table
and began
hurling
abuse
for
no
apparent
reason.
A
fight
broke
out
at which
point
night
club
staff
intervened,
but
not
before
Rice
suffered a
broken
nose
and
severe
facial
bruising.
He
is
understood
to
be considering
the
possibility
of
taking
legal
action
against
O’Connell.

The story continued, briefly, on an inside page. There wasn’t much more to tell; it was all background stuff on Robert and snide asides about life imitating art (if you could call
The O’Mahonys
art). I read the whole thing twice, half-imagining that there might be two Robert O’Connells, both of whom played characters called Valentine Reilly in rival soaps of the same name. And who also looked identical
.

When I finished for the second time, I grabbed my mobile from my bag and rang Robert, hoping to get some sensible explanation. There was no answer. When his voicemail kicked in, I said, “Robert, it’s your mother. I saw the paper. I hope you’re all right. Please call me. Please.
”

I hung up and called Gerry. He took a long time to answer. “Jackie?
”

“Yeah. It’s me.” “Are you okay?
”

“You haven’t seen it then.” “Seen what?
”

“
The
Sun
.”

“The newspaper?
”

“No, Gerry, the big fucking yellow thing in the sky.
Yes
, the newspaper.
”

“All right, calm –
”

“Robert’s plastered all over the front of it. He attacked someone in a private club. ‘Soap Star’s Drunken Shame.’
”

“You’re codding me?” “Go out and buy one.
”

“
Attacked
someone? Robert?” “Yes! Club Zed, wherever that is.” “Has he been arrested?
”