‘Hello,’ I hear you say.
‘Hello,’ Heather responds.
She looks at me, then nudges me, wanting to be introduced.
‘This is my sister Heather,’ I say. ‘The most amazing person in the world.’
She giggles.
‘Heather, this is Matt. A neighbour,’ I say flatly.
You give me that intrigued, curious, studious look again. You know my hot and cold, my in between.
You wave at her. This bothers me, because it is correct behaviour for somebody in the Orange Wave Circle. Then Heather reaches out her hand. I turn to her in surprise, but she is looking at you with a polite smile on her face. I want to stop this exchange, this handshake with the devil, but I’m not sure that I can explain why I’m doing that to Heather, especially after the ruckus at Dad’s house – who I still haven’t heard from.
‘A pleasure to meet you, Heather,’ you say, shaking her hand. ‘That’s a cool bag you have.’
She is wearing the shoulder bag that I got her for her birthday five years ago. She wears it every day and keeps it looking brand new, making sure she cleans it, snips it of any tears. It’s a retro-style DJ bag, which is for storing vinyl records, along with the portable record player. Seeing as she prefers to listen to her vinyl records, I thought it would be a nice gift for her to be able to bring it from place to place. And she does, almost everywhere. The picture on the outside is of a vinyl record, so even on days when she’s not transporting her collection, she uses it to carry her purse, lunch and umbrella to and from work. Always those three things; I plead in vain with her to carry her mobile.
‘Thank you. Jasmine got it for me. It fits fifty records and my portable record player.’
‘You have a portable record player?’
‘A black Audio Technica AT-LP60 fully automatic belt-driven record player,’ she says, unzipping her bag to show him.
‘Hey, that’s very cool,’ you say, stepping forward to look in but not stepping too close. ‘And I see you’ve got some vinyl records there too.’
You are genuinely surprised, genuinely interested in her, genuinely want to see what she has in her DJ bag.
‘Yep. Stevie Wonder, Michael Jackson …’ she flips through her collection and I watch your face.
‘Grandmaster Flash!’ you laugh. ‘Can I …?’ You reach towards her bag and I prepare for her to deny you.
‘Yes,’ she says happily.
You slide it out of its compartment and study it. ‘I can’t believe you have Grandmaster Flash.’
‘And the Furious Five,’ she corrects you. ‘The Message featuring Melle Mel and Duke Bootee, recorded at Sweet Mountain Studios, produced by Sylvia Robinson, Jiggs Chase and Ed Fletcher. Seven minutes eleven seconds in length,’ she continues.
You look at me, astonished, then back at her. I can’t help but glow with pride.
‘That’s amazing, Heather! You know everything about these records?’
And Heather goes on to tell you about her Stevie Wonder record: when it was recorded, each song on the album – she even names the session singers, the musicians. You are mightily impressed, amused, entertained, and you tell her so. Then you tell her that you’re a DJ. That you work on radio. Heather is interested at first, until she hears that mostly what you do is talk. She tells you that she doesn’t like listening to talking, she likes music. You ask her if she has ever been to a recording studio to see how musicians record their songs and she says no, then you tell her that you could bring her if she likes. Heather is unbelievably excited, but I can’t speak, I am too stunned by the exchange. This is not how I thought this would go. Never. I start to back away, lead Heather to the house, say goodbye in some kind of vague way, while you two, already firm buddies, promise to keep in touch through me. Through me. Once we get inside, Heather is all talk about what you have promised her and I start to feel angry, trying to figure out ways to hurt you if you do not do what you have promised. And when that gets too violent in my head, I try to come up with ways to make Heather forget what you have said, preparing for the very strong probability that it will not happen, owing to the very strong probability that I will not let it happen.
Present at the meeting that day, aside from me and Heather, are her support assistant Jamie, whose only concession to winter wardrobe is to wear thick sport socks with her sandals; Julie, her employer from the restaurant; and Leilah, who is present for the first time. What I like about Leilah is that she doesn’t even try to apologise on Dad’s behalf; in fact she doesn’t even mention him, and I respect that. The good thing about Leilah is that she has never gotten involved. This is largely because there has never been anything to get involved in, but her presence is a lovely gesture and I’m guessing that in order to understand what happened at her home last week, she needs to understand Heather more.
While the others are waiting in the living area, I make a pot of tea and mugs of coffee. Heather is beside me.
‘Heather …’ I begin, trying to keep the lightness in my voice. ‘Why did you shake that man’s hand outside?’
‘Matt?’ she asks.
‘Yes. There’s nothing wrong, don’t look so worried, but you don’t know him and I’m just wondering … share with me.’
She thinks about it. ‘Because I saw you talking to him. And you looked very happy. And I thought, he is a nice man to make my sister happy.’
Heather never fails to surprise me.
I concentrate on organising the tray while trying to come to terms with the exchange between you and Heather. What I need to do right now is to shake you off. These meetings are important to Heather and they are equally important to me.
‘So, take it away, Ms Butler,’ I say like a cheesy TV host. Heather giggles.
‘Jasmine,’ she says, embarrassed, then composes herself. ‘I would like to do a new activity.’ She looks at me in a certain way and I know that this will concern Jonathan, the name I keep hearing. My heart starts to beat manically. Jonathan has been her friend for some time. He too has Down syndrome, and I know that she has a crush on him, which scares me because I know that he feels the same way about her. I can see it when he looks at her. I can feel it when they’re in the same room as each other. It’s beautiful and it terrifies me.
‘Jonathan has a job as a teaching assistant in a Taekwondo class,’ she explains to the others. I know this already because I went with her one week to watch him teaching under sevens and I wasn’t allowed to utter one word to her for fear she would miss one of his moves. ‘I would like to learn Taekwondo.’
Jamie and Leilah are wonderful at being genuinely interested in this and they ask her plenty of questions. While they do that, I worry. Heather is thirty-four years old and certainly not agile, just as I am no longer as agile as I once was, and so this class concerns me. However I appear to be the only one with misgivings, and so I find myself agreeing that she will try a class next Saturday morning instead of her pottery and painting class, which she has grown tired of after two years.
‘I have an idea,’ Leilah offers. ‘In case you don’t like the Taekwondo, or if it doesn’t work out for any reason, you could take part in one of my yoga classes. Maybe I could teach you and Jonathan together?’
Heather beams at this suggestion and so do I. I like this idea: time alone with Jonathan in Leilah’s company makes me comfortable, and Heather starts to plan yoga and Taekwondo into her already busy week. I make notes in my diary, noticing how her activities fill my blank pages.
‘Next,’ I call, and she laughs again.
‘Jonathan and I would like to go on a holiday together,’ she says, and there is a stunned silence that even Jamie doesn’t quite know how to fill. They all look at me. I want to say no. No, no, no – but I can’t.
‘Wow. Well. That’s. I see. Well.’ I take a sip of tea. ‘Where would you like to go?’
‘Daddy’s apartment in Spain.’
Leilah widens her eyes at me.
‘Did Dad say you could?’
br /> ‘I didn’t ask him. He couldn’t come here today,’ Heather says.
‘Well, I mean, I’m not sure if it’s free. Is it, Leilah? Is it free?’
‘I don’t know,’ Leilah says slowly, not liking that I’ve put her on the spot for such an important issue, and not realising I want her to say no, or else realising it and not wanting to lie.
‘She hasn’t even told you the date,’ Jamie says, not hiding her unhappiness with how this is going.
‘Springtime,’ Heather says. ‘Jonathan says summer is too hot.’
‘Jonathan is absolutely right,’ I say, my mind racing. I know now how Dad felt when I told him I was going on my first holiday with my boyfriend. Then I remember how I felt even broaching the subject with him, and I look at Heather and I finally relax. ‘Heather. You and Jonathan have never been away together before, and Spain is quite far for a first trip.’ I emphasise these words so she won’t think I’m shutting her down straight away. ‘Why don’t you go away for a night or two first, somewhere lovely in Ireland that you’ve never been before? You can get a train or a bus and be close to home but not too close?’
She looks uncertain. She and Jonathan have already saved their fare and set their hearts on Spain. Talking her back from such a big move takes a lot of gentle persuasion, but Heather listens, she listens to us all, she always does, she’s a clever woman, taking in everybody’s opinion.
Over the past few weeks I had come up with a plan to take Heather to Fota Island which lies in Cork harbour and is home to Ireland’s only wildlife park. I suggest this venue now, because I can’t think of anything else on the spot. She is immediately convinced. Spain is forgotten. Jonathan loves animals, he loves trains, this is perfect. I can’t help but feel sad, that the place I was excited to take her to will be an experience she shares with someone else.
‘So,’ I take a deep breath. ‘The bedrooms.’
I can tell Heather is embarrassed about this part so I take control.
‘Options are: two bedrooms or one bedroom with two single beds. Or …’ I can’t bring myself to say it. Jonathan and Heather are two people with desires and passions just like everyone else, but I feel like an overprotective parent whose child has announced she likes boys. I take a breath and force myself to say it: ‘Or one double bed in one room – but Jonathan might be a diagonal man, who knows?’ I add playfully. ‘He might take up the entire bed and you might roll out on to the floor in the middle of the night.’
Heather laughs.
‘Or maybe he snores,’ Jamie says. ‘Like this—’ She makes a loud piggy sound and we all laugh.
‘Or maybe his feet smell really bad,’ Leilah says, pinching her nose.
‘Jonathan does not smell,’ Heather says, pouting, her hands on her hips.
‘Oooh, Jonathan is so perfect,’ I tease.
‘Jasmine!’ Heather squeals, and we all laugh.
The laughter quietens and the room descends into silence, waiting for her decision.
‘Separate bedrooms,’ she says quietly, and we hurriedly move on. While Jamie is talking about the logistics of getting there, I wink at Heather and she smiles shyly.
This is not the first time Heather has been away: she has travelled before with groups of friends, but always with her support assistant or another adult that I know in attendance. This is her first time alone, with a man, and I have to fight the nervous ball of tension in my stomach, the lump in my throat and the tears that are welling.
We move on to discussing her next issue, which is that, while she is very grateful for the three jobs that she has during the week, her main love is music and none of her activities seem to cover this. She would love to work in a radio station or a recording studio, and she tells everybody in the group about the conversation she has had with Matt Marshall. Everybody remarks on what a wonderful coincidence it is that she has met him on the very day she wished to discuss this.
‘Jasmine, perhaps we could invite Matt Marshall to the next meeting to discuss the possibilities?’ Jamie suggests.
Heather is giddy with excitement at the prospect.
I always like these meetings to be positive, so I summon up all the cheeriness I can. ‘Perhaps we can plan it for the next time. Maybe. Perhaps. After I talk to him and see if there’s anything he can do. If he has time – though he is having a personal moment out of work at the moment. So … yes. Maybe,’ I finally say.
Leilah eyes me warily. I’m grateful when we move on to the next subject.
It is with a heavy heart that I close the door on everybody after the meeting is finished and go upstairs to my bedroom. I am not jealous of my sister, I never have been. I have always wanted a better life for her, even though I know that she is happy with the life she has. Today, however, it has occurred to me for the first time that she has always known the direction she has wanted to take in her life, she has always had a team to help her, advise her, guide her. She has always had it sussed. It is me who hasn’t. It is me who suddenly has absolutely no idea what I am doing, it is me who has no PATH whatsoever. The realisation hits me like a ton of bricks and I can’t seem to catch my breath. I couldn’t tell anybody my dreams if they asked me right now, nor my hopes and desires. If I was asked to put a plan into action, I wouldn’t know where to start.
I feel utterly lost.
Spring
The season between winter and summer, comprising in the Northern Hemisphere the months March, April and May.
The ability of something to return to its original shape when it is pressed down, stretched or twisted.
14
All my life I have followed and respected signs. When driving through an estate where there are signs for children at play, I respect that and slow down. When I see a sign for a reindeer as I’m driving through Phoenix Park, I know to be on my guard in case one appears from behind a tree and dashes across the road. I always stop at stop signs, I yield when I’m supposed to yield. I trust signs. I believe they are accurate – apart from when some vandal has quite obviously twisted a sign to point in the wrong direction. I believe that signs are on my side. This is where I get confused by people who say they believe in signs, as if it is an enlightening and remarkable thing, because what’s not to believe about something that points you to something and instructs you to do something? What is not to believe about a physical thing? It’s like saying I believe in milk. Of course you do, it’s milk. I think most people who say that they believe in signs actually mean that they believe in symbols.
Symbols are something visible that represent something invisible. A symbol is used abstractly. A dove is a bird but it is also a symbol of peace. A handshake is an action but it is also a symbol of amity. Symbols represent something by association. Symbols often force us to figure out what the invisible thing is; for it’s not always obvious. While jogging along Dublin Bay towards my house on 1 March, the first day of spring, I see the most beautiful rainbow, which from afar appears to land directly on top of my house, going through my roof and into my home, or landing in my back garden. This is not a sign. It’s not instructing me to do anything. It is a symbol. As were the snowdrops which fought to rise above the ground in January and February, standing shoulder to shoulder, pretty and timid-looking, as if butter wouldn’t melt, as if in doing what they had done, achieving what they had achieved against the elements was no mean feat. They’d made it look easy.
Monday O’Hara is another example. Him coming into my life, headhunting me for a job, seeking me out and thinking I am worthwhile. This represents something invisible too. I think of him often, not just because of how handsome he is but for what he represents. We have spoken on the phone twice since our meeting and I never want to hang up. Either he is very dedicated to his job, giving me so much of his time, or he doesn’t want to hang up either. The month he gave me to think about the job is up. I’m looking forward to seeing him again.
The rainbow over my house, the snowdrops, the carpet of purple crocuses in the Malones’ side
garden, and Monday O’Hara are all symbols for me. They are all visible things representing something invisible: Hope.
I begin the day by decluttering. Before long the house is in such a mess that I realise I need a skip – which I have, but it is currently on my driveway, filled with expensive paving that attracts a string of untrustworthy types who keep knocking on my door to ask if I’d like help getting rid of it. So in order to fill the skip with my indoor junk I must first empty it of stones, but having removed the stones I must place them somewhere. It is then I recall your rockery suggestion. Even though it annoys me to take your advice – and worse still, for you to see me taking your advice, given that the skip is in front of my house, directly in line of your view – I know it has to be done. It’s too late to ask the landscaper for help. When he showed up after the storm, expecting to find the pile of turf destroyed by the rain and wind and instead discovering my not-so-perfectly laid front lawn, I told him I would do the rest of the garden on my own. Finish what I started, as it were. Not that I would give Larry the satisfaction of knowing that his comment had prodded me into doing something for myself.
Abandoning the ransacked house that I have made even more cluttered in my effort to declutter, I shift my focus to the garden. I am going to do this garden properly, this has my full attention. I draw up a list and set off to the garden centre to buy what I need to buy. I am focused. I am in the zone, the gardening zone. I receive two text messages from friends, suggesting we go for a coffee but just as I’m about to say yes to the first one – something I’ve taken to doing automatically, jumping at the chance of midweek, midday company – I realise that I am actually busy. I have a lot of work to do before the storm clouds start gathering again. The second text is easy to send: I am busy. Very busy. And that feels good.