‘Remember, Sonya, breathe, pause, practise patience. Patience is where it’s at.’
‘Sonya Moriarty to reception, Sonya Moriarty.’ My name is called on the tannoy, well articulated by the new girl, who sounds like she’s had speech and drama lessons. I should set her straight.
‘Someone here to collect you, then. That’s good,’ Jimmy says. ‘I’m going to say my byes here… Go on, now, get. And remember to eat, and feed that little girl, will ya?’ I go to kiss him on the cheek, but he moves away. ‘See you around so.’ He’s on the ground, head stuck under a bench, inspecting the remaining kittens.
‘Bye, Jimmy, and thanks.’
He grunts.
I move slowly across the grounds, feeling as if I’m pushing against an invisible weight. Drag my trainers along the concrete, scuffing them, like Tommy.
My father’s sitting on the bench inside the front door, his face hidden behind a copy of the Irish Times. I watch him, the receptionist watching me, before the paper twitches and lowers. ‘Hello, Sonya’ – as if this were just a normal, everyday occurrence, as if he saw his daughter every Sunday for a brunch and catch-up. ‘You look good.’ He stands. ‘Where are your bags?’
I gesture to my one half-empty suitcase, memories of that morning hurtling back when I’d had no time to pack.
‘What’s this?’ he says, taking in the bundle of fur.
‘This is Marmie.’
‘Well, aren’t you going to put it back with its mother?’
‘She’s coming with me. A new addition to the family!’
I recognise that suppressed eye-roll, that swallowed sigh. He holds himself in check, lifts my suitcase, turns and walks stiffly towards the car.
‘Off home now, Sonya?’ Sister Anne’s voice behind me.
‘Yes. Thank you, Sister – for everything.’
So many thank yous. Since when did I become so grateful?
The nun looks at me and the kitten. ‘Take good care, now. I’ll pray for you and the little creature and Tommy.’
I look towards the ceiling. The better actresses are those that don’t cry; those that fight the tears.
‘Well, then.’ Sister Anne extends her hand and encircles my free one.
‘Well, then.’ I bite on my cheek. I want my hand back.
‘Don’t want to keep your father waiting, Sonya. Go easy on him, now.’
I nod, turn.
‘And you,’ she says to my back. ‘Go easy on you, Sonya.’
Don’t look back, don’t look back, a display of emotion might follow, and I can’t let that happen in front of my father. I look down at Marmie’s sweet, bewildered face and kiss her on her button nose. ‘Don’t worry, baby. I’ll look after you,’ I whisper as much to myself as to the cat.
As I follow my father’s stooped back through the cars, I see a figure moving towards us, waving. I watch my father appraising the clothes, the bearing of the man, as he comes into focus.
‘Sorry I missed your leaving ceremony, Sonya. I meant to make it. Terrible traffic on the N9. An accident or something.’
‘I wasn’t expecting you.’
‘I didn’t want you coming out alone. I know how vulnerable this time can be.’
Something like real gratitude lands, a spreading warmth in my chest.
He turns to my father, extends his hand. ‘David Smythe.’
‘My counsellor,’ I say.
David looks in my direction.
‘Well, sort of,’ I say.
‘Duncan Moriarty,’ my father says, ignoring my last statement, looking intensely relieved. This man presents in the right package.
‘What’s that?’ David asks, taking in the little creature in my arms.
‘That’s Marmie, my new kitten.’
‘What about the big dog? Won’t he savage her?’ He’s trying on a jokey tone, although the mention of Herbie makes my father stiffen.
‘Herbie is the biggest softie that ever padded this planet!’ I say. ‘Can we go pick him up now, Dad?’ I’m trying to keep my voice light. If he treated my son so carelessly, or in his view carefully, then what would he do with a big shaggy dog?
A taut silence ensues, which David punctures by saying: ‘Probably best to settle in the little kitten on her own first. Don’t want to expose her to too many new things too soon.’
I can feel myself float above myself, surveying the scene from a safe distance, allowing for perspective. Don your cape and fly the fuck away. Is this recovery in action? My old version would’ve flown into a white rage at this point, lost all ability to focus on the bigger objective of the scene: to get my boys back.