8. Louise

Clara was wearing her soft gloves with no seams, so I was allowed to hold her hand. I loved holding her hand and her hugs. I wondered how long they would last. Would she push me away during puberty, like most kids? There were no rules with kids, each one was different, and it was the same with children who had autism spectrum disorder. It made me think about Colin because that was the first thing he had taught me when I went to see him about Clara: every child is different. He was the best child psychologist in the country and had been hugely helpful to me and Clara.

Falling for him had not been part of my plan, but I had. We’d had three wonderful years together, but then he got an offer he couldn’t refuse to do a PhD at Harvard. He was hesitant to go, but I made him. I would never stop someone taking up a dream opportunity. The long-distance thing just didn’t work, as I knew it wouldn’t, no matter what he said. We fizzled out. No drama, no histrionics, it just slowly fizzled. He had since met someone and seemed happy. We remained friends and I knew I could call him anytime for advice about Clara, which was a pretty good outcome.

I had always been practical about relationships, I’d never believed I’d fall madly in love and spend the rest of my life with someone. It wasn’t what I wanted. I liked my own company. I liked my own space. I liked having control over my life. Sure, I liked having someone to have sex with, go to the theatre with, walks, drinks, dinner … but I didn’t need it. Julie could never be on her own and Sophie, although she had been alone for a few years, had hated it. They needed love and partnership – Mum had been the same – but I didn’t. Even after two years of dating I had said no when Colin had suggested moving in together. It would be far too messy if we broke up and I didn’t want Clara getting used to someone, only for them one day to leave. As it turned out, I had made the right decision.

‘Mummy?’

‘Yes, sweetheart.’

‘Why do people say that dead people go to Heaven and live on clouds and become angels and all that when it’s not true?’

‘I think they just want to think happy thoughts about the people who have died.’

‘But why don’t they just say the truth? I saw the coffin go into the ground, so I know that’s where Granny is.’

She had a point. The whole Heaven, afterlife, angel thing was just to make us, the left behind, feel better. But the cold fact that my mother was lying in a coffin underground was hard to think about.

‘Yes, Clara, you’re right. That is where Granny is. Do you miss her?’

Clara hadn’t talked much about Mum and I was worried she was internalizing her grief. She barely mentioned her and hadn’t cried, which I knew was not unusual for a child with her disorder. But she’d had a few momentous meltdowns that I knew were related to her trying to cope with the loss. I wanted to try to get her to talk about how she was feeling.

Clara said nothing and we walked on.

‘I liked watching movies with her. I liked reading my bird books with her. I liked her egg-and-soldiers teas. I liked her hugs. I liked her laugh. I liked her being around.’

I squeezed her hand gently. ‘Me too. Mum did the best egg-and-soldiers.’

Clara pulled her hand away and tucked it into her cardigan pocket.

‘What happens if you die?’ she asked. ‘Who will mind me?’

I stopped walking. ‘Oh, Clara, I’m not going to die.’

‘Everyone dies, Mummy.’

‘Well, yes, they do, but I won’t die for a very long time. Please don’t worry about that. I’m super-healthy.’

‘Healthy people die too,’ she said, looking at her feet. ‘Billy’s dad was healthy, but he got hit by a truck on his bicycle.’

Billy was a boy who lived three doors down from us. His poor dad had been killed cycling home from work last year.

‘That’s true, but I don’t cycle because I think it’s dangerous. I promise you, Clara, Mummy is not going to die.’

‘You can’t promise that.’ She stopped walking. Crossing her hands over her chest, she announced, ‘I don’t want to go to school. I want to go home.’

Oh, no. I had a meeting at nine that I could not be late for. She had refused to go to school on two days last week and I’d had to get Gavin to help me. But once his baby arrived, he wouldn’t be available for last-minute SOS calls. I wished for the umpteenth time that Christelle hadn’t gone travelling. Still, I had to manage this, now and going forward. Clara needed to go to school, have structure in her life and get used to being with other people. It was a small school and they were so kind to her, very accommodating of her needs. I had to get her into class. I kept my voice soft but firm.

‘Clara, Miss Rogers is waiting for you. I have to go to work. There is no one to mind you at home. Gavin will pick you up at two forty-five p.m. We talked about this, and you promised you’d go to school every day this week.’

‘I want to go home. It’s too noisy in school.’

‘I’ll talk to Miss Rogers and see if you can go to the library for a bit. You can read your bird book until you feel ready for class.’

‘As long as I want?’

‘Yes,’ I lied.

Miss Rogers would have to work on getting her out of the library. If I didn’t go soon, I’d be late, and this meeting had taken ages to set up. I’d been schmoozing the potential client for months. If they signed with us, it would be worth millions to the firm. I needed to bring home this deal. Since Mum’s death, I hadn’t been on my A-game. My concentration was awful. Where I used to read a document and be able almost to quote it back verbatim, I was now struggling to find basic words for things. It could be grief, could be peri-menopause, but whatever it was, it was driving me crazy.

I managed to get Clara to the door of the school and handed her over to Miss Rogers, who agreed that she could go to the library for ‘a bit’.

‘How long is a bit?’ Clara asked.

Not waiting to hear the answer, I backed out of the school as fast as my legs could carry me and hopped into a taxi.

The meeting went well. I was flying along, firing on all cylinders until the client, R. B. James, was signing the documents. Ronald James pulled out a silver Montblanc pen. It was the same model I had bought Mum for her birthday years ago and the one she proudly used to do the crossword every day. Whenever I called into the house it would be sitting on the little side table beside her favourite chair. I could see her getting Clara to write the letters down on the crossword. It was something they’d enjoyed doing together. Emotion welled up. Jesus, not now. I squashed it back down. Focus, Louise.

‘We’re delighted to welcome you to Price Jackson and I can promise you that our structured finance and … and …’

I could not for the life of me remember the word for securitization, which, considering I was head of the securitization department at Price Jackson, was not a good look. Oh, my God, what was wrong with me? Mum’s face swam before my eyes. I began to sweat. Ronald James was frowning at me. I could feel sweat pooling under my arms and I was wearing a dove-grey silk blouse. I clamped my arms to my sides as I floundered around. This was not me. Louise Devlin did not forget words. Louise Devlin was a boss bitch. Louise Devlin did not forget the name of her own bloody department. But, right now, Louise Devlin was about to bawl her eyes out.

‘What I mean to say is that … the team here … has enjoyed a pre-eminent reputation in arranging … uhm, in arranging …’

‘Structured finance transactions,’ Ian, my right-hand man, jumped in.

‘Yes, exactly.’

‘Are you all right?’ Ronald looked at me.

‘Absolutely,’ I said, as confidently as I could. ‘Right then, let’s have a glass of champagne to celebrate.’

‘I’ll get that sorted,’ Ian offered.

‘Not at all, I have a special bottle in my office for the occasion.’

I left the boardroom as quickly as I could and rushed to my office.

Jenny looked up as I sprinted past her. She followed me in and closed the door.

‘What’s up?’

‘I’m … I’m … it’s just … my mum …’ I began to sob.

‘Aww, Louise, you had a memory about her, didn’t you? They catch you when you least expect it.’

Jenny was one of those rare people who knew what you wanted, needed and were feeling before you did. I’d never had a secretary like her. She was incredible and I paid her over the odds to keep her.

She handed me a tissue.

‘I just miss her, and so does Clara, but she can’t express it and … uh, uh, Mum was so good with Clara. It’s a big gap in her life and she’s all confused and I don’t know how to help her. I think Mum would have known what to do, but I can’t ask her because she’s gone. I’m so worried about Clara, and the one person who loved her as much as I do is gone.’

Jenny rubbed my back. ‘Don’t forget that your mum was there to help you and Clara when you most needed it. Her bond with Clara helped her so much. That will always stand to Clara. You’re doing your best, Louise. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You never give yourself a break.’

Jenny handed me a glass of water. I took a sip, wiped my eyes and stood up. I had to get it together. Ronald was waiting for me upstairs.

‘Help me, Jenny. I have to go back up with a bottle of champagne and celebrate the deal. I have to show him I’m on top of my game and not a bloody mess.’

Jenny grabbed her make-up bag and began to patch up my face. Then she looked at my blouse. ‘Right, take that off and put mine on.’ She whipped her shirt off and handed it to me. She then gave me deodorant from her own bag.

‘Okay, you look better now. A bit red around the eyes, but if you put your glasses on, they’ll hide it.’

‘Now I need to find a bottle of champagne.’

‘I’ll ask Aisling. I know she bought a case for Ivan last week.’

Jenny was back within seconds with a bottle of champagne. ‘You’re a life-saver.’

‘You’re welcome. And, Louise, it’s normal to grieve. You have to let it out or it’ll drown you.’

But how could I let it out? I had a daughter to look after, a very busy job that paid the bills, and a widowed father to mind. I didn’t have time for grief. I had to keep the show on the road. I was all Clara had. She needed me to be a good mother, provider and supporter. Falling apart was just not an option.

When I got home at seven, Gavin met me at the front door. ‘I wanted to tell you something before Clara sees you,’ he whispered.

‘What?’

‘She came home from school, and when we were having our snack, she asked me about her dad, who he was, if I knew his name. She’s never asked me anything like that before.’

Damnit. ‘This is only the second time it’s come up,’ I told him. ‘She asked me a little while ago. I was hoping she’d forget about it. What did you say?’

‘I said she had to talk to you.’

‘Okay, thanks, Gavin.’

‘I’ve got to fly. Shania wants a hot red curry tonight. She’s got mad cravings for spicy food.’

‘Go and look after her. Thanks for helping me out.’

I put my bag down on the hall table and went to Clara’s room. Her door was closed and I could hear ‘Fernando’ playing. Mum had introduced her to ABBA and Clara had become obsessed. ‘Fernando’ was Mum’s favourite ABBA song. I swallowed the lump forming in my throat and knocked gently. ‘It’s Mummy.’ I opened the door.

Clara was sitting on her bed, wrapped in her favourite blanket, Luna asleep beside her. Clara had her lights turned down low, the way she liked them. She looked younger than her almost ten years, young and fragile. She was humming to the song. I sat on the edge of her bed and let the song finish.

‘How was school?’

Looking down, she rubbed the corner of the blanket. ‘Why don’t I have a daddy?’ she asked. ‘Everyone else does, except Billy, whose daddy died.’

‘Well, you do have a daddy. We just don’t know where he is.’

‘I know you said you don’t know him, but how can you not know him? Jude said everyone knows who their daddy is.’

To hell with Jude. I’d had a long day and I didn’t need this.

‘I told you, sweetheart. I met your daddy in Italy and we had one lovely, romantic night together and then I came back to Ireland. I had no idea that you would be conceived that night. It was a total surprise, an amazing and incredible surprise.’

‘I said that, and Jude said you must be a slut to be with my daddy for only one night and not know where he is. What’s a slut? What does it mean?’

The little prick. I’d be having a word with Miss Rogers first thing in the morning.

‘First of all, “slut” is a really horrible word and Jude should never have used it. Second, you mustn’t worry about what other people say. The important thing is that you have a mummy who adores you and aunties and uncles and cousins and a granddad who all love you so much.’

Clara looked up at me. ‘I know that, Mummy, but I want to find my daddy. He’s my daddy and he might want to find me too because I’m his little girl. And I think we could find him because Christelle found Uncle Harry after a long time. It’s the same.’

‘No, it’s not the same,’ I said gently. ‘Christelle’s mummy knew Uncle Harry’s name. I’m so sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t know your daddy’s name.’

‘I bet if you tried really hard, you could remember. You’re so clever and you always fix problems. I bet my daddy would be happy to know about the incredible surprise that happened.’

How was I going to get out of this? It was a drunken one-night stand and I could barely remember the sex, never mind his name. I was not proud of myself. It was a very out-of-character mistake, but I’d got my precious Clara from it, so I had no regrets.

‘Darling, there are some things even I can’t fix, but I love you more than enough for ten mummies and daddies. Now, will we watch Casablanca ?’

Clara pushed me away. ‘I want you to find my daddy.’ She pressed play on her phone as ‘Fernando’ filled the air and she closed her eyes. ‘Go away, Mummy. I want to be on my own.’

I left her room, locked myself into the bathroom, buried my face in a towel and wept. I cried for my lost mother, my confused child and because I knew Clara would not let go of this request … ever.