When Ruth and DJ walked away on the hunt for a whipped cone ice cream, Tom sat down on the monument in Redmond Square to gather his thoughts before he went to see his friend. As is sometimes the way, when you think of someone, you somehow magic them up in front of you. Because striding his way with a tray of coffee in hand was Ben. His friend. Time stood still as he moved closer and Tom felt the years fall away. Ben glanced in his direction, frowned, then swerved in a large unnecessary arc to avoid contact.
Disappointment crushed Tom. Ben hadn’t recognised him. But then Tom put himself in Ben’s shoes. Every face tells a story. What did his say to Ben? Red skin, weathered from sun and frost, older than his sixty-one years and unworthy of pause or recognition. That’s what it said. He was one of the invisible.
You chose this life. You walked away from all who know you. You did that. This is on you.
Cathy’s voice, nagging him in his head again. This truth prickled him, made him uncomfortable. He had spent years only remembering certain parts of his past, but now he knew he had to remember everything. Including the day he left Wexford.
Tom looked at their super-king bed, which he’d shared with Cathy for two decades. They would start out every night in each other’s arms and remain there all night. Even on the odd occasion they fought, the following morning they’d find themselves back together again, close, in a tangled mess of arms and legs. That bed represented love.
Not any more. Now all he saw was anger and pain.
He could no longer sleep in it. It was their bed. Not his. His sister suggested he change all the bed linen. He took the carefully co-ordinated sheets and pillow shams off the bed and replaced them with deliberately mismatched sets. He threw the cushions in the hot press and slammed the door shut.
When he sank his tired body into it, no matter the colour of the bed linen, it was still wrong. He was besmirching the memory of Cathy by changing her design choices. So he got up and stripped the bed bare, replacing the linen with Cathy’s choice. He couldn’t get it back the way it was meant to be. Her way. She never let him forget that.
‘Are you happy now?’ he asked the empty room, broken.
The walls began to shimmer and move. They were closing in on him. He picked up the small scratchy jumper pillow and rubbed it against his cheek. He packed a rucksack with some essentials, placing the pillow into it. He closed the door softly on their bedroom and walked downstairs to the kitchen. He checked the fridge. An empty milk carton, half a block of cheddar cheese, hardened and discoloured, a pear, a tub of cherry tomatoes and six cans of Heineken. He threw the contents into a black sack and placed that in the bin outside, which was waiting for collection later that day. He began to walk into Wexford town.
‘Hey, Tom, how are you, mate?’
It was Ben. His friend reached out and patted Tom’s shoulder, awkwardly, but none the less in kindness.
‘Hello.’ Tom found his voice, then went to move on.
‘I almost didn’t recognise you.’ Ben gestured towards Tom’s face.
Tom rubbed his newly grown beard. ‘Shaving hasn’t been top of my list lately. Didn’t seem much point to it.’
Ben nodded. He understood.
They stood in awkward silence for a moment. Tom had got used to these uncomfortable moments. No one knew what to say to him. And in truth there was nothing anyone could say that could help take away his pain.
‘How have you been?’ Ben asked, then looked stricken as he continued, babbling, ‘Stupid question, sorry.’
Tom felt both sorry for him and irritated by him in equal measures. This here, this awkward sympathy that he seemed to evoke whenever he came close to someone who knew him and his story, was intolerable. It was one of the reasons why he wanted to leave.
‘It’s just … we all worry about you,’ Ben ended.
‘I know,’ Tom answered, and he worked hard to find a smile to reassure the man.
‘You off somewhere?’ Ben asked, nodding towards his rucksack.
Tom had forgotten about that. ‘Yes. I’m getting away for a bit.’
‘Good idea. A break would do you the world of good. Where you off to?’
Tom shrugged. ‘I’ve not worked that out yet.’
Ben laughed, then stopped when he realised Tom was serious. His face scrunched up for a moment, then he continued, ‘Listen, you know we have that place in Spain. Why don’t you get a flight out there and take a few weeks in the sun? I can get the keys for you straight away. Come back to my place for a coffee and you can even look at flights there. Ryanair do great deals into Alicante airport.’
‘Thank you.’ Tom felt a lump clog his throat, making him gulp loudly.
‘For nothing,’ Ben replied. ‘I think of you often and when I do …’ He paused for a moment, then continued, ‘Well, let’s just say, I don’t know how …’ He stopped again.
Tom understood. He couldn’t find words to articulate the horror of his life either.
‘So what do you say?’ Ben asked.
‘I say thank you. I appreciate your offer, more than you can realise. But I’ll pass. For now,’ he added when he saw the disappointment on Ben’s face. He wanted to help; he got that.
They stood in awkward silence for a few moments. Tom hoisted his rucksack on his shoulder and said, ‘I’ll be off then.’
Ben raised his hand to say goodbye, then shouted after him. ‘Wait!’
Tom turned back to look at his friend.
And Ben’s last words, which were in the end a prophecy were, ‘If you don’t find something to light up the darkness, Tom, you’ll get lost in the shadows.’