As the late April afternoon sun glinted in through the tall window of the drawing room, Oscar Lynch studied the view over Pleasant Square, taking in the street of red-brick houses with their granite steps and railings. He had considered this selfsame view, the park with its tall chestnut trees and cherry trees, the central square with its seasonal border, the small play area with its two swings and rather wonky see-saw and the grass tennis court at the rear for almost half a century. Embarking on the purchase of this house he and Elizabeth had given much thought to the amenity of having an almost private park as your front garden; each had decided it was the perfect place to raise a family, far from the newer sprawling estates that were being built around the city. The cost of a new roof, wiring, heating and a kitchen were outweighed by the charm of the square, its proximity to town and of course the park.
Year after year had passed and they had waited and waited, ever-hopeful for a much-longed-for son or daughter to arrive. Then Elizabeth had endured a miscarriage at sixteen weeks and never fell pregnant again. With every subsequent year the thoughts of a family of their own had somehow receded. Unfortunately Elizabeth would not countenance the thought of adoption.
‘If we have a child, it will be our own,’ she’d insisted, ignoring his pleas that they talk to one of the adoption societies. So he too in time had accepted that no child of his would run through the grass or play on the red-painted swings or lob a tennis ball across the net.
He’d watched heavy-hearted as the other families filled the square, shouting and laughing during the summer, scrunching through the leaves and searching for conkers in the autumn, building snowmen in the winter and flying kites as the breezy days of spring and early summer came around again. In time Elizabeth and he no longer spoke of that which had caused so much secret pain and hurt during their long years of marriage. He had adored Elizabeth Fortune from the minute he first set eyes on her, finding her both beautiful and intelligent, a rare enough combination for one’s life partner. Nowadays of course, with the miracles of modern science and medicine, couples could have test-tube babies, IVF; all kinds of things had been invented to give hope to the childless, but all that was after their time and they had simply learned to accept it with dignity.
Instead they had filled their lives with other things: music, opera and travel. They’d travelled regularly to Italy: La Scala, Verona; all the great opera stages of the world. They drank wine in the vineyards of Champagne, Burgundy, Dordogne, Douro, Stellenbosch, Franschhoek, Napa Valley and Hunter Valley. They had explored the world, always seeking to discover more about this great earth and their fellow human beings. A dentist with a busy loyal practice, he’d worked till he was sixty-eight, filling teeth, crowning, polishing and removing them, adapting bites, curing grinding, remaining calm in the face of the sheer terror of the vast majority of his patients. At night Elizabeth would listen to him patiently as he told her about the lives and foibles of those who had graced the large leather dentist chair during the day.
‘You are so kind to everyone, Oscar,’ she would praise him as she cooked dinner and poured a perfect restorative glass of gin and tonic. ‘They’re lucky to have such a good dentist to look after them.’
He smiled, watching as two boys of ten or eleven raced each other on bicycles through the park. A McCarthy by the look of him, with a pal. That family had been reared in the park!
Of course Elizabeth was gone now and he was alone. She had died almost eight years ago. His beautiful wife had been paralysed by a stroke that hit suddenly when she woke up one morning. Seriously ill, she had been taken to hospital and over the following week had developed complications and pneumonia. She hadn’t responded to the treatment and despite everyone’s best efforts Elizabeth had died. It had been an awful time. He still remembered it as if it was only yesterday. The grief, the intense anger and of course the loneliness that followed. Without Elizabeth there were no more travels, no big trips. Five years ago old friends had inveigled him to the Wexford Opera Festival, but tears had rolled uncontrollably down his face as he’d watched Carmen performed. Never again. He couldn’t do it without her.
Now his life was about to change again. He was plagued with arthritis and had become almost a prisoner in his own home, reliant on the goodwill and charity of friends and neighbours to assist him. His consultant, Tom Moore in the Blackrock Clinic, had called him in and told him he needed a hip replacement.
‘There’s still plenty of life left in you, Oscar,’ he’d cajoled. ‘Being bed-bound or immobile is no good for you or anyone else. Surgery will help you enormously. Within a few months I guarantee you won’t know yourself.’
Oscar had found himself unusually wary of the procedure, worried about the length of time he’d have to spend in hospital and recuperating. Was there any point to it, he asked himself? What would Elizabeth have wanted? Still, it was his doctor’s professional opinion and he didn’t want to be a burden on anyone or for that matter a burden on the state! The only sensible thing to do was take his surgeon’s advice and go ahead with the operation. The decision was made and today was the day. His neighbour Maggie Ryan had kindly volunteered to drive him to the hospital and he knew that he could depend on her to collect his post and look after the house and garden while he was in hospital.
His bag was packed and ready. He glanced around his house one more time: the expensive gold carpet, the polished mahogany bookcase and side table and chairs, the Adams fireplace and the comfortable high-backed wing armchair where he normally sat. He took a breath, steadying himself as he heard the car pull up outside his front door. He pulled himself upright and fixed his navy cravat in the mirror, considering his grey hair and lined face, admitting for the first time in a very long while that he was scared. Scared to leave this house, scared of what lay ahead, scared of being alone.