Emily
A man was arrested in relation to Rose Grahame’s death two weeks after I started work at Scott’s Dental. I say a man, but he was more of a boy. Nineteen years old. A ‘frequent flyer’ at the local Magistrates’ Court, according to the prosecutor who oversaw his first appearance. Charged with a host of offences, including Aggravated Vehicle Taking and Failing to Stop and Report an Accident, Kevin McDaid wore a greying shirt with a black tie – probably the only tie he owned, bought for funerals – along with a cheap suit as he stood in the dock. The pictures in the local media showed him trying to hide his face as he was led in handcuffs from the court building to the waiting police van. Remanded in custody. Bail denied. But his solicitor made it clear he would appeal that decision in the High Court. There was every chance he’d be out on the street in days. A young lad who had a penchant for stealing cars, driving them too fast and leaving them abandoned somewhere. He’d never offended on this level before, his solicitor said. ‘Racked with guilt, my client has been unable to sleep and has turned once again to alcohol and drugs.’
He had ‘simply panicked’ when he hit Rose and had driven on in that state of panic. He knew there were people around who could help Rose. He didn’t think he’d hurt her. Not really. Not enough to kill her.
It probably made me a bad person that I sagged with relief at the news. He was admitting it. It had been an accident. I had overreacted thinking it was anything more sinister than that. Maud had been right. Things had been crazy with Ben. That he had got in touch again so close to Rose’s death was nothing more than a coincidence.
Kevin McDaid ‘wouldn’t trouble the court’ his solicitor had said, indicating his client would be pleading guilty to all charges. It should have made things easier. Possibly even make us feel some compassion of sorts for Kevin McDaid. Kevin McDaid, who hadn’t even shaved before his court appearance, if the pictures were anything to go by. His stubble, unlike Cian’s, was the kind that was borne out of laziness and not any kind of a style statement.
Although there was a trace of utter wretchedness about him – in the way he walked, the scuffed trainers on his feet, the panicked look on his face – I couldn’t bring myself to feel sorry for him. Even though I, of all people, knew that people could fuck things up.
He was nineteen. Even if he got a heavy sentence, he would still be out and walking the streets in his early thirties. He would still have all the years Rose didn’t have.
The news of the arrest and of the court appearance saw a dip in mood at Scott’s. It made me feel a little guilty that it had brought me a sense of relief I hadn’t felt in weeks. At least I didn’t have to sneak around trying to see what was happening; everyone in Scott’s was talking about it. Everyone, naturally enough, was obsessed by it. Even Owen took time out from a patient to watch the lunchtime news report, and to shake his head when Kevin McDaid appeared on screen.
‘Isn’t he one of ours?’ Tori had asked, and a room of horrified faces turned to look at her. ‘I think he’s one of our patients – or was. There’s something about him?’
Donna had gone to the office to check our records and came back a few minutes later, ashen-faced. ‘He was a patient here before. Lapsed now. Was here as a child; hasn’t been since he was sixteen.’
Owen walked out of the room, slamming the door so strongly behind him that tea from a cup that had been sitting beside me shook and spilled onto the table. For the rest of the day he went about his work saying only what he needed to and no more. The rest of us walked on egg shells around him, all the while lost in our own thoughts about how the foolish actions of a nineteen-year-old could change the lives of so many.
*
On the day Kevin McDaid was brought before the court, I found myself itching to get on Facebook to try and see how Cian was coping. Was he angry like Owen? Was he a bigger person than many of us? Had he found compassion for his wife’s killer? Did he have a sense of closure? A victory that, bar sentencing, the man who had taken his wife from him was being brought to justice?
I found he hadn’t written much. No letter to Rose. No rant at the judiciary. No angry words aimed at Kevin McDaid. In fact, just four words.
From Darkness Comes Light.
It was the title of his most successful book to date. I hadn’t read it, to be honest. I wasn’t much of a reader. Didn’t have the concentration span for anything more than reading bite-size portions of news and stories. Still I clicked onto Amazon, searched Cian’s name and the book title.
The blurb didn’t enlighten me much. I was able to ascertain, amid the flowery language, that it was a story about redemption, of a flawed detective who found he was losing all he held dear, and who battled to make his life his own again.
I clicked to buy it, wondering if Cian and I were more kindred spirits than I had ever thought before; if he would understand, in a way few could, that flawed people can find the light again.
When I asked the girls at work a bit more about Rose and Cian, being so very careful to make sure I didn’t reveal just how much I had gleaned about them from my hours on the internet, Tori told me they had been the most in love couple she had ever set eyes on.
‘He would come and pick her up from work each day. He used to tell me he couldn’t wait a minute more to see her. And that wee baby of theirs? Well you combine the genetics of that pair and you get a baby that could be a model. Rose was such a good mum to him too. She doted on him.’
I wondered what that was like, to have someone come to collect you from work because they just could not bear to be away from you for five more minutes? Oh, to have someone love me like that and mean it.
So when I read Cian’s posts on Facebook, when I thought of a man who feared losing it all more than anything in the world, I thought of Tori’s words – the dreamy look that came across her face when she spoke of him – and I thought how unjust it was that someone with so much love to give had been left with this gaping hole in his life?
On occasion, when I closed my eyes at night in my bed, I allowed myself to picture his face. Allowed myself to think he was saying those love-filled words to me. That he would look at me with such an intensity that I would fear my breath would catch in my throat forever. That maybe he would kiss me, the roughness of his stubble rubbing against my chin and my face so that when he pulled away I would feel that I had been thoroughly kissed. I tried to not allow myself to think about that very much because it felt a little wrong.
But sometimes, in the darkness of my bedroom at night, it felt very, very right.
*
It was an unusually quiet Tuesday morning when the door of Scott’s Dental Practice opened and a man pushing a buggy edged his way in backwards out of the rain.
I was at the reception desk dealing with patients, beside Tori who was answering the phones. I looked up when the door opened, an instinctual reaction to the gust of cuttingly cold air that rushed in and made me shiver where I sat. Fat droplets of rain ran from the man’s coat to the non-slip mat underneath his feet. His hair was matted to his head and his jeans bore a tide mark from where they had soaked up the moisture from the ground. He brushed the excess water from the top of the rain cover on the buggy, sending it splashing onto the street below before he turned around and closed the door behind him.
I knew him immediately. Even though he was soaked and tired-looking. Even though his face was thinner than it had been before, more drawn.
Cian Grahame. I felt myself suck in the air around me, my hands tense, my brain screaming at me not to welcome him by name. To fight the urge to run up to him and hug him and tell him I was so, so sorry for his loss. That I found his letters to her moving and genuine and heartbreaking. That I had started to read his book, that I felt enchanted by the lyrical language, by the sense that he knew me, that he was talking about me in his fluid prose. I held my breath as he walked towards me. I peeked over the top of the desk to see a sleeping toddler lying back in his buggy and then I raised my head to look at Cian, directly into his eyes. I prepared myself to welcome him in the most professional way possible. He didn’t know who I was and I, as far as everyone knew, did not know him.
I was just about to speak when I heard a gasp from Tori beside me.
‘Cian!’ she cried out, the two patients sitting in the waiting area looking up at the commotion. She jumped from her seat and moved out from behind the desk at lightning speed and threw herself at him, pulling him into a giant hug. He took a step back, but she followed him, not letting go of her grip. He let her hug him, his arms limp at his side before she pulled back and glanced down at the buggy, tapping on the rain cover and cooing loudly at the baby inside.
‘Oh Cian, it’s so lovely to see you here! And Jack too.’ Stunned from his slumber, Jack blinked at her through the prisms of raindrops. I watched him rub his eyes with chubby fists as Tori whipped the rain cover off and lifted him out of his pram and into her arms. He started to cry, but Tori, oblivious to being the cause for the child’s distress, just pulled him close to her and kissed the top of his head, telling him it was okay. Cian stood watching the scene, not interjecting. He looked worn out. I fought the urge to reach out to him and offer to help him in whatever way I could.
Tori continued to coo at Jack while Cian spoke, his voice soft and low. ‘I know Rose was intending to register Jack here so I wanted to do what she wanted. His first teeth are well through so it’s time to start doing things, isn’t it? I thought I would bring him here for a check. Sure, he knows you all anyway.’
At that he turned to look at me. He narrowed his eyes, looked me up and down as if trying to place me.
‘Hi,’ I said softly. ‘I’m Emily. I’m very sorry for your loss.’
I extended my hand to his, but his arms remained by his side. He just looked at me, his eyes vacant, and I grew wildly uncomfortable.
‘When did you start here?’ he asked, blinking at me.
‘A month ago, something like that,’ I answered.
‘You’re her replacement then?’ he said, his voice sad but I couldn’t help but notice a new tension in his jaw. ‘Owen didn’t waste much time, did he?’
I blushed, blinked. Didn’t know what to say. ‘I’m sure it wasn’t like that. I’ve heard Rose was irreplaceable,’ I offered.
‘Clearly not,’ he said, any softness gone from his voice.
I couldn’t find any words. I just stood and looked at him and then to Tori, hoping to catch her eye, but she was lost cooing over Jack who had stopped his crying and was looking around him, taking in the sight that must have been so familiar to him at one time.
I felt awkward. The blush that had started at the back of my neck turning into a slight sweat. I felt stupid. Self-conscious. Unwanted. Angry too – if I’m honest – at his response. Still he looked at me, his gaze filled with disdain. I tried to jolt myself into action, remember I was here to be professional.
‘You wanted to register your son?’ I muttered.
‘Is Donna here?’ he answered. ‘Or Owen himself? Or would he not come and talk to me, the husband of one of his most beloved employees?’ His voice dripped with scorn.
‘They’re with a patient just now, but I’m sure they would be happy to see you. In the meantime, I can help you with the paperwork you need to do?’ I offered a small smile, which wasn’t returned.
‘I know how to fill in a registration form,’ he said, as I attached one to a clipboard and handed it to him with a Scott’s Dental pen.
He stalked to the seating area. The two waiting patients gawked at him, having given up the pretence of looking at their phones to watch the scene unfolding before them. Tori, who was now singing ‘Humpty Dumpty’ to Jack, was lost in her own happy world. Clearly, she never really thought about how tragic it was when all the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put Humpty together again.
To my shame I felt tears prick at my eyes and a lump form at the back of my throat. I realised my hands were clenched as a wave of anxiety threatened to buckle me. This was not the Cian I had come to know from his Facebook posts. This was not the man I had felt so sorry for. He was mean and cruel and I suddenly felt like the outsider again. How could he not be the person he let the world believe he was? Then again, Ben had turned out to be someone, something, I never could have dreamed possible.
When I heard the surgery door open and saw Donna walking out, leading a patient to reception, I sagged with relief. She could deal with him now. She could listen to his aggression about how Owen had the audacity to replace his dead wife, the dead wife who, the cruel part of me wanted to tell him, clearly wasn’t even one bit fit for work. I needed some air. I watched as Donna caught sight of Tori with Jack, how she looked at the waiting area where Cian sat with his head bowed over the form, scowling in anger. I watched as she turned back to me as if to give herself a chance to take in what she was seeing and I nodded.
‘I need my break, Donna,’ I said. ‘I’m feeling a bit faint,’ I lied, walking straight through the door to the staff kitchen and locker room before she had the chance to stop me.
I pulled my bag from my locker, rummaged through it until I found the strip of anti-anxiety pills that would bring me a little calm, and pressed two out into my hand. Running water from the cooler, I threw the pills back and gulped the water to wash them down and then sat on a chair, under the beatific picture of Rose, trying to still my hands from shaking.
I don’t think I ever thought I would actually come face-to-face with him. Of course, I knew he was a real person but he had taken on a different kind of status in my mind. He was my romantic lead. The man who wrote beautiful, heartbreaking, impassioned letters to his late wife. Not this gruff, wan-looking man with his steely eyes looking at me like I was a piece of shit he had just wiped off his shoe. Not this man who was angry at me just because I existed. Because I stood in the spot his wife once did. I knew he was grieving. I wasn’t stupid. I know grief makes you say and do things that perhaps you probably wouldn’t normally, but I hadn’t deserved for him to dismiss me in that manner.
I sipped from my glass of water and wondered whether it was worth going outside for a quick smoke. Remembering the sheets of rain battering against the glass front of the practice, I decided against it. Besides, I was really trying to cut down – the cool and beautiful girls of Scott’s Dental didn’t smoke. Two of them vaped but that was different, of course. That didn’t leave a funk of stinky smoke on their clothes. It didn’t turn their professionally whitened teeth yellow.
I was just about to put my bag back in my locker and return to work when the door to the staff kitchen opened and Donna shooed Cian in in front of her.
‘Emily, could you put on a cup of tea for Cian here? Just while Owen and I finish with our next patient.’
I wanted to scream, No! I wanted to say could they not find someone – anyone – else to do it instead of me, but I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t throw a strop. It wasn’t befitting of someone in a white uniform with perfectly preened hair and a silver name badge. So I smiled and said yes, and set about my task without making eye contact with him. I heard Donna tell Cian she and Owen wouldn’t be long, and that the girls were having a wonderful time seeing baby Jack again and maybe a cup of tea would help him settle his nerves. Then she left, all soothing tones and hushed voice, leaving me wishing the kettle would explode and kill me outright and save me having to talk to Cian again.
‘Her picture,’ he said. I’m not sure if he was talking to me, or the room, or no one. I kept my back to him, setting out a cup and dropping a tea bag into it while waiting for the kettle to boil. I should offer him a biscuit too, I supposed. I lifted down the tin from the cupboard and took the lid off.
‘I’m sorry for before,’ he said to my back and I felt myself tense up. I walked to the fridge and took out the milk.
‘I … well … it’s been very hard even coming here. I didn’t know if it was the right thing. I don’t think I know what the right thing is anymore. Rose, she did all these things, you know. Dentists. Doctors. Childminders. And music with mammy classes. No one wants to see the sad widower come along with a grouchy toddler.’
I turned to face him then.
‘So I’m left to try and do all this and I don’t really know what I’m doing. I thought coming here might make me feel closer to her. That was stupid of me, I realise that now. I mean, Jesus, it’s just one more place she isn’t anymore, isn’t it? And I saw you, and you know, the world is moving on without her. Everyone else, they’ve cried their tears and worn their black clothes and, even here, they closed their doors on the day of her funeral, but life goes on, doesn’t it? Even the man who was driving the car – did you know the High Court let him out on bail? He’s walking the streets like he never hurt anyone in his life. And it’s only me, stuck in this fucking mess.’
He was swearing but his words weren’t angry. They were sad and his eyes had filled with tears. My earlier hurt evaporated.
‘It can’t have been easy, coming here,’ I said hesitantly. ‘People haven’t really moved on if that’s any consolation – everyone talks about her all the time, you know? They miss her.’
He put his head in his hands, running his fingers through his still wet hair. ‘I didn’t mean to come here and make a tit of myself. Rose would kill me if she could see me now,’ he said.
‘I’m sure she would understand,’ I offered. ‘Milk and sugar?’
He looked up at me as I poured the boiling water into his mug. He looked so wretched I had to fight the urge to put down the kettle, walk across the room and just hold him. He looked like he desperately needed to be held. To be comforted.
‘I’m sorry this happened,’ I offered.
‘Thanks,’ he said, sniffing, and I handed him a piece of kitchen paper to blow his nose with. ‘And no milk but two sugars. Rose used to give out about that. Working here and all.’ He forced a watery smile, which melted my heart even more as I spooned the sugar into the mug and stirred it.
‘Even Owen takes sugar in his tea,’ I said smiling, and offered him the cup.
‘I thought he would be sweet enough,’ Cian said, sipping from his cup.
I laughed at the remark. But he didn’t laugh with me. He just rubbed the stubble on his chin and sighed, before taking another sip of his tea. ‘You make a good cuppa,’ he said.
‘One of my few skills,’ I muttered, blushing, offering him the biscuit tin. He reached in and I noticed not only the glint of his wedding ring, but the solid strength of his hands. I sat the tin on the table, moved back across the room. A safe distance.
For a minute we said nothing. I tried to find something to say that wouldn’t make me sound like a complete eejit, but my tongue was tied. Every time something did enter my head it related to something I probably shouldn’t have known about, something I had gleaned from my evenings reading his posts to Rose on Facebook.
‘Your little boy is gorgeous,’ I offered eventually.
He smiled again. ‘He’s what’s keeping me going right now. I think I’d have given up without him. He’s such a great little boy. So loving. So funny. He gets all his goodness from Rose, of course.’
‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ I said, thinking that the goodness – the love for his son – was oozing right out of him.
‘Oh it’s true,’ Cian said. ‘It’s like he got all her best bits – her temperament, her smarts, her beautiful blue eyes. At times when I look at him, he pulls a face or something and it’s like looking right at her. It’s the nicest thing in the world and a kick in the teeth at the same time.’
‘It must be hard, I’m sorry. I can’t think of anything to say that will make a difference. It’s just rubbish.’
‘Yes,’ he said, shaking his head slightly. ‘It’s just rubbish. But Jack, he’s good. He’s the good in all of this.’
‘I’m sure you’re a great dad. He’s lucky to have you,’ I said.
‘Thank you,’ Cian replied, but he seemed lost in his own thoughts all the same. He put the chocolate biscuit he had selected back in the tin and his cup on the table. I had a feeling he was going to say something more but the door opened and in walked Donna and Owen, the latter holding baby Jack who whooped with delight on seeing his father and threw himself forward, arms wide, towards Cian who pulled him into a hug and kissed the top of his head.
‘Cian,’ Owen said. ‘We didn’t expect to see you.’
‘I just thought I’d register Jack here. I know Rose intended to so it seemed the right thing to do.’
‘Well, I think that’s lovely,’ Donna said. ‘And of course, we’re always happy to see this little fella.’
‘But if it would upset you and Jack to come here, maybe another dentist would be a better option?’ Owen said, a serious tone to his voice.
I watched as Cian lifted the same chocolate biscuit he had put back in the tin just a few minutes before and handed it to his son.
‘Everything upsets us at the minute at one level or another, Owen. If we stopped doing things just because they brought back memories of Rose, we’d never do anything. Not even wake up. She’s everywhere. It’s good for Jack to be around things that can remind him of her. God knows he won’t remember her, not in any real sense – he’s much too young. So I’ll do what it takes to keep her in his life for as long as possible.’
I couldn’t quite pinpoint what exactly felt strange about how Cian spoke to Owen but something was off. Was it his tone? The look on his face? The way he barely blinked as they spoke? All of a sudden I felt as if I was watching something I shouldn’t be.
I took the first opportunity I could to slip out of the kitchen and back behind the reception desk to continue with my filing.
Not five minutes later, Donna followed Cian and Jack out of the kitchen and through the waiting area, telling him everyone was just struggling to deal with the loss of Rose and his visit had been a bit of a surprise.
‘You’re part of the family here,’ she said, as Cian strapped Jack back into his buggy. ‘And this wee man will always be our lucky mascot.’
Donna crouched down and tickled Jack, who squirmed and giggled back at her. I thought of how he smiled at his mother that day, as she sang to him in the lift. Neither of them knowing what was about to happen.
Cian thanked Donna and they hugged briefly. I tried not to stare, or to think what it would be like if I had his arms around me. ‘We’ll see you for this young fella’s first check-up then? In two weeks?’
‘Yes,’ Cian nodded, pulling up the collar of his still sodden coat before opening the door and stepping back out into the pouring rain. I looked on as Donna watched him push the buggy away from the practice and towards the main street. As she turned on her heel to walk back to the desk, I put my head down and tried to look as if the only thing I was concentrating on was my work.
‘It was nice to see him,’ Tori said.
‘Yes,’ Donna said. ‘Look, girls, could you make sure Jack sees Sarah and not Owen the day of his appointment?’
‘Are you sure?’ Tori asked, and I looked over to them. Sarah, an old school dentist in her late fifties, worked with us part-time, and normally she didn’t work with the younger children.
‘Yes,’ Donna said. ‘I’m sure.’
Again, I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but something was off about the whole situation.