I awake to smoulder, cinders,
the fire cooling in the grate
and to a clatter in the hallway.
I stay still,
curl myself into a ball
like I might
blend in with the paisley-patterned rug.
There is muttering
and someone ascending the stairs.
A light.
Quickly
I crawl
behind the sofa,
try not to breathe.
A rattling around;
drawers in Marla’s room opened,
slammed shut,
wardrobes raided.
You need to come here, Donal snaps,
and at first I think he might be summoning me,
but he goes on.
I’m rooting through her knicker drawer.
I don’t want to see my mum’s knickers.
You’ve gotta come here.
Or she’s gotta go to you.
She needs a woman.
She can’t take care of herself
and I haven’t time for it, Louise.
If Mary was alive I’d ask her
but she isn’t.
I don’t want to burden you, I just …
He’s on the phone.
Collecting things for the hospital.
Donal’s here doing what I could have done
if I hadn’t been so thoughtless,
squandering time feeling sorry for myself
instead of being helpful.
Yeah, well, I’m at the end of my rope
and I’ve been saying for a long time
that she doesn’t need this house.
Something has to give.
He searches a while longer,
clanging, banging,
no attempt to treat Marla’s home gently,
and then he is gone,
not bothering to give the house
a once over,
but warning me nevertheless
that my time here is
running
out.