Maeve Binchy - Tara Road

People had told her to count her blessings but had not been able to think of one blessing that was worth mentioning in the context of her own great loss. And nothing Greg or anyone had said had helped at all.

It was stupid to think that she had turned a corner in one night. Marilyn was not a person who believed in miracle cures. It was an emotional occasion, that was all. These two living children were going to go to 1024 Tudor Drive where Dale Vine had played and slept and studied in his short life. They would make friends as he had done, and swim in the swimming pool where he had dived. They might even find the stopwatch and time each other and their mother as he had timed her when he was alive. 'Come on, Mom, you can do better than that,' he would shout. And she had done better.

She sipped her brandy and noticed that there were tears on her hand. She hadn't even realised she was crying. She had never let herself cry before and had dismissed as pop psychologists those who told her she must let go and give in to sorrow. Now she sat weeping in this darkening room with the sounds of a foreign city around her, the different traffic noises, the cries of children with Irish accents, and the birds with unfamiliar calls.

The great ginger cat sat looking at her on another chair. She was drinking brandy and crying. She had said his name aloud, and the world had not ended. Annie and Brian had asked questions about him. What would he have done as a career? Did he eat meat, which were his favourite film stars, what books did he read? They had even asked what kind of a motor bike he was riding when he was killed. She had answered all these questions and volunteered more information, told them stories about funny things that had happened at Thanksgiving, or Dale's school play or the time of the great snowstorms.

Dale. She tried again, fearfully, but no, it hadn't disappeared. She could say his name now. It was extraordinary. It must have been there the whole time and she hadn't known. And now that she knew, there was nobody she could tell. It would be cruel and unfair to telephone her husband, poor baffled hurt Greg wondering what he had done wrong and how he had failed her. It would be so wrong to call him in Hawaii, and say that something had happened to unlock her prison. It might just be because she was here in a place he had never known. But Marilyn believed that it was more than that. She needn't fear going to a place where Dale had been, somewhere where she had seen him smile and rush up with yet another new enthusiasm.

She always knew that Dale had loved her own spirit of adventure, her willingness to learn. She had followed his lead in everything, to be a stronger swimmer, a demon at computer games, Sumo wrestling fan, and gin rummy player. Only at motor bikes had she turned away from him. For month after weary month she had agonised in case it had all been her fault. Suppose she had promised him a bike when he was the age to drive one, then he might not have gone along with those wild boys and their dangerous drunken plans. But tonight somehow she felt a little differently.

Annie had said in a matter-of-fact way that of course you couldn't let him mess around with motor bikes, it would have been like letting him play with a gun. And Brian had said, 'I expect he's up in heaven and he's very sorry he caused you all this trouble.'

And nothing anyone had said before, since the moment she had been told the news about the accident, had made any sense at all until this. She put her head down on the table and cried all the tears that she knew she should have cried in the past year and a half. But they weren't ready then, they were now.

Ria drove to the next town and got the bus to Kennedy Airport. A month ago Marilyn had made this journey, a whole month. And in another thirty days Ria would be going home. She closed her eyes and wished hard that this would be a wonderful, unforgettable month for the children. It was no longer a matter of trying to outdo what Danny and Bernadette had given them. That seemed unimportant just now. They deserved a holiday, a good time, the feeling of hope, the prospect that the future might not be grim.

She would not lose her patience with Annie and boss her and tell her what to do. Annie was a young woman, she would let her find her own level in this quiet sheltered place. Much, much safer in many ways than a capital city like Dublin. And, mercifully, three thousand miles away from Kitty. She would not let Brian's gaffes irritate her. There was no way you could impress anyone with Brian, she must learn to stop trying. He would say the most insensitive things to everyone. He would ask John and Gerry why they weren't married, Heidi why she didn't have children, Carlotta why she spoke funny English. There were acres of minefields for Brian to plough through. At no stage would she be ashamed of him or urge him to be more thoughtful.

She ached to put her arms around him and for him not to pull away in embarrassment. She yearned for Annie to say, 'Mam, you look terrific you've got a suntan, I really missed you.' All the way to the airport Ria forced herself not to live in a world of dreams. It wasn't going to be perfect just because they hadn't seen her for thirty days.

Remember that, Ria, remember it. Grow up, grow up and live in the real world.

Danny rang the bell of Rosemary's flat. It was ten o'clock at night. Rosemary was working at her desk, she put away her papers. She looked at herself in the mirror, fluffed up her hair, sprayed on some expensive perfume and pressed the buzzer to let him come up.

'Why won't you take a key, Danny? I've asked you often enough.'

'You know why, it would be too much temptation, I'd be here all the time.' He gave her the lopsided smile that always turned her heart over.

'I wish.' Rosemary smiled at him.

'No, I suppose the truth is I'd be afraid I'd come in and find you in flagrante with someone else.'

'Unlikely.' She was crisp.

'Well, you have been known to indulge,' he accused.

'Unlike yourself,' Rosemary said. 'Drink?'

'Yes, and you'll need one too.'

Rosemary stood calm and elegant in her navy dress by the drinks trolley. She poured them two large Irish whiskeys then sat down on her white sofa, her back straight and ankles crossed like a model.

'You were born graceful,' he said.

'You should have married me,' she said.

'Our timing was wrong. You're a businesswoman—you know that the secret of the universe is timing.'

'All this philosophy didn't stop you leaving Ria for someone else, and not for me, but we've been through all that. What are we drinking to? A success or a disaster?'

'You never lose control, do you?' He seemed both admiring and annoyed at the same time.

'You know I do, Danny.'

'I'm finished…'

'You can't be. You've a lot of fire insurance.'

'We've called it all in.'

'What about the Lara development?' This was their flagship, the forty-unit apartment block with the leisure club. The publicity had been enormous, every unit had been sold and resold long before completion. It was what was going to make them turn the corner.

'We lost it today.'

'What in God's name is Barney at? He's meant to have these hotshot advisers.'

'Yes, but apparently they need collateral… that we're not so strong on.' He looked tired and a little rueful.

Rosemary could not accept the seriousness of what he was saying. Anyone else whose business had been wiped out would be hysterical, fuming with rage, or frightened. Danny looked like a small boy who had been caught in somebody's orchard. Regretful, that was how he appeared.

'What are you going to do? she asked.

'What can I do, Rosemary?'

'Well you can stop being so bloody defeatist, you can go out there and ask. Ask somebody for the support. Stop being so goddamn noble about it, it's only money when all's said and done.'