Carmel Harrington - A Thousand Roads Home

‘Are these your parents?’ She picked up a photograph of Tom in his graduation cap and gown, standing in between a couple who were bursting with pride.

‘Yeah. It was a good day. First in our family to graduate.’

‘Do you see much of them?’ Cathy asked.

‘They died last year, within a month of each other,’ Tom admitted sadly.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Cathy said, wishing she’d known him then to help him through the pain, which still lingered on his face.

‘My parents were obsessed with the idea of me settling down. They spoke about this subject often and at great length. They hung around until their eightieth and eighty-second birthdays respectively, before dying within weeks of each other.’

‘A proper love story.’ Cathy felt tears in her eyes.

And Tom and Cathy looked at each other and both silently wished for the same thing. A lifetime together, just like Tom’s parents had.

For a split second, when Tom woke up, he forgot. He reached across the cold pavement for Cathy. But she hadn’t been by his side for a long time. He gently stroked Bette Davis and wished for the one millionth time in his life that he could wake up and find happiness in the now, not just in the then of his dreams.

As they walked into their hotel room another dizzy spell hit Ruth and she clutched the door frame.

‘Are you OK?’ Erica asked, frowning as she spoke. ‘You don’t look very well. You’re not going to get sick on the carpet, are you? You’ll have to clean it up yourself if you do. Housekeeping are gone for the day. You’ll see that in the rule book. Rule number nineteen.’

Ruth shook her head in an effort to reassure Erica that she was not about to contaminate her room. She was not sure that she could trust herself to speak, to say the words out loud that she was OK.

‘Mam?’ DJ saw the colour drain from her face.

‘I am fine,’ Ruth lied. She just wanted to give in to panic, fall into the darkness.

Erica looked dubious but she was a woman on a mission. She had a tour to give and she was going to deliver it. ‘This door to your left, that’s your en-suite bathroom.’

Ruth and DJ looked into the small room, which had a shower, bath, toilet and sink. ‘It’s dirty,’ Ruth said with dismay. The room was clad in white tiles, with greying grout that looked like it had not been cleaned in years.

‘It most certainly is not. I pride myself on the cleanliness of this hotel,’ Erica said, smarting at the insult.

‘Awkward,’ DJ said, not bothering to hide a snigger.

‘You can bring your luggage in here.’ Erica swung her arm around, like she was a hostess on the QVC shopping channel showcasing a roomful of beautiful baubles and silk scarves.

DJ and Ruth both sucked in their breaths as they took in the scale of the room that was to become their home – their bathroom, living room and bedroom. Where would DJ do his homework? Perhaps she could move the lamp and small radio alarm clock off the locker.

‘Are we supposed to take turns sitting on that?’ Ruth asked, pointing to a single armchair that sat alone under the large bedroom window. Ruth blinked when the curtains morphed into bars. Their room became a prison cell. Your imagination working overtime, that’s all, Odd whispered. She blinked again and the sad grey curtains were back.

Erica pursed her lips together. Opposite the two beds was a long vanity table with drawers, on which sat the TV and a phone.

It’s all wrong. Everything is in the wrong place.

Ruth pulled at her hands.

Pop, pop, pop …

‘We have all the channels. Not that I look at much regular TV any more. It’s all Netflix and chill for me!’ Erica said, laughing at her own joke.

DJ started to flick through the channels before Erica had finished speaking.

Ruth counted the steps to take her from her bed to the bathroom. Six. Wrong, wrong, wrong. It should be fourteen steps. For four years, it had been fourteen steps.

‘Your accent, I can’t quite place it. It’s not a Dublin one, anyhow,’ Erica stated. She stared at Ruth, taking in her short hair, cut like a boy’s, which she wasn’t sure she cared for. Her face was white as a sheet, without a scrap of makeup on. And she had two piercings in each ear. She’d put money on the girl having tattoos. She had that look about her. She was what her Billy would call ‘alternative’.

‘I’m from Wexford originally. But Dublin has been my home for ten years,’ Ruth answered.

‘Oh, a beautiful part of the world. But as I often say to my Billy, half of Wexford is living in Dublin and half of Dublin are down in Wexford. Funny old world we live in, all topsy-turvy,’ Erica commented.

Ruth picked up one of her suitcases and placed it on one of the beds. She had placed some cleaning products in this case and wanted to start scrubbing the bathroom.

‘The rules of the hotel are listed on this.’ Erica pointed to an A4 laminated sheet. ‘There’s nothing too major, but if we didn’t have them, chaos would ensue. And if you have a problem with any of them, take it up with the council, not me. My Billy says I’m too good-natured.’

‘Mam?’ DJ whispered loudly.

Ruth turned her back on the woman and faced her son. ‘Yes?’

‘Where’s my bedroom?’ he asked.

Ruth said, ‘We will be sharing this room.’

Erica tutted loudly, so that they both heard her. ‘I don’t know. The phrase “beggars can’t be choosers” springs to mind. You’re luckier than most. You could have been given a sleeping bag and left to your own devices outside.’

DJ looked mortified. Ruth held the laminate up in front of her. ‘My son was simply asking a reasonable question. And from a cursory glance at this laminated sheet of paper, refraining from asking questions is not listed as one of your rules.’