The Day I Lost You: A heartfelt, emotion-packed, twist-filled read - Fionnuala Kearney

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casserole was perfect. She was out at the cinema with her newly acquired boyfriend, so Theo and Finn ate alone at the kitchen table. His son was quiet, the laughter he had heard earlier spent during The Simpsons episode on television.

      ‘Did you go to The Wall today?’ Theo asked.

      ‘You know I did,’ Finn replied without looking up from his food.

      The Wall, the local climbing club, was Finn’s only outlet for physical activity. It had taken a while to find a sport he was interested in. He hated football, found rugby too rough, thought tennis was ‘a lot of running around after a tiny ball’. Both Harriet and Theo had been relieved and thrilled when climbing was the one thing Finn had stuck at and seemed to love; the one thing that took him away from the solitude of playing Minecraft on his laptop and reading what Harriet had called his ‘nerdy computer books’. Theo worried. His son was quiet and liked his own company a bit too much for a boy his age.

      ‘How was it?’

      ‘Okay.’

      ‘You’re not very talkative.’

      Finn shrugged.

      ‘Did your mum call you earlier?’

      ‘Yep.’

      ‘What do you think?’ Theo sat back in his chair and stared; willed his son to look at him.

      ‘I think I’d prefer not to.’

      Theo sighed. ‘I know it’s tough, Finn, but your mum wants to see you.’

      ‘She always comes here. Why do I have to go there?’

      ‘She’d like you to, just for one night?’

      ‘Will he be there?’ Finn finally raised his eyes and Theo held his gaze.

      ‘No, of course not. No, he won’t.’ He looked away.

      ‘Are you sure?’

      ‘I’m sure.’ Theo stood and began to clear away the plates. Minutes later he had already sent the text to his wife.

       Finn worried about coming to you. Wants to know that Roland won’t be there.

      His phone pinged an almost immediate reply.

       Theo, if you want to know if R will be there, just ask?! And no – he won’t. Just me and Finn. All night.

      He didn’t bother replying, just followed his son’s slow-moving body as he walked away. Another time Theo would have called him back to help clear the table. Another time, he would have asked him to adopt a less surly manner. But, he concluded, these were new and trying times.

       4. Jess

      I think, maybe, I’m losing my mind. Earlier today, I had another conversation with Anna while I was in the shower and she was sitting on the loo. She stayed a while and we talked about what we’d do to cover school holidays over Easter and the summer with Rose. There was no mention of a ski holiday with her work colleagues. In these pretend conversations with my daughter, the word ‘skiing’ is banned.

      Now, I’m in the ‘perennial plant’ section at Hardacres, my local garden centre. My basket is laden with bulbs and seeds for the greenhouse and allotment at the back of my garden. Just beyond the anemone bulbs to my left, two women are talking about the article that appeared in this week’s local paper; the one that took three inches of column space to let everyone else know there is still no news. I am rooted to the earth just like the iris in the pot I have in my hand. Whoever these women are, they have no clue how cruel it is for me to stand here, to endure their words; they aren’t to know that my grip on reality is a little fragile today.

      ‘But there’s no body, that’s the horror.’ Woman number one.

      ‘That’s the worst, the very worst.’ Second voice.

      Number one again. ‘Is there nothing new? Nothing at all? I mean, snow melts, doesn’t it?’

      Snow melts, doesn’t it? A question I ask myself daily.

      Number two. ‘You’d think they’d have found her by now.’

      You’d think.

      ‘I read somewhere that there’s still two bodies missing.’

      I will myself to move. There are still two people missing. Anna Powers and Lawrence Taylor, both twenty-five.

      ‘I don’t know how that poor mother is still standing.’

       Me neither.

      I place the iris pot back with the others, lay the basket to one side and walk through one of the many tills without as much as a nasturtium seed on my being.

      Leah has decreed that I need a puppy. That’s what she does, my sister. She doesn’t ask – she just does. I can’t disguise the panic I feel when I see the tiny creature craning around my legs in her kitchen. Leah ignores my reticence.

      ‘You didn’t open the box yesterday, did you?’ she asks.

      I shake my head, embarrassed that I actually forgot to open my sister’s gift. The pug has a pee at my ankle.

      ‘It had the papers in it. The papers for Pug here. She’s a thoroughbred.’

      ‘You mean she’s a pedigree.’

      ‘That. See, you’re a perfect dog owner already.’

      I frown. ‘I don’t want a dog.’

      ‘Too late. You’re having her.’

      ‘Jesus, Leah …’ I slump into a nearby chair. It’s uncomfortable, all angular and pointy – like the kitchen, which is an hommage to black granite and stainless steel. Leah’s home is so contemporary, it’s almost futuristic – no hint of a tatty sofa here. We’re in a large open-plan space that spans the width of the back of her and Gus’s home. It’s zoned. Leah is a ‘zoner’. To my far left is the kitchen; in the middle is the huge refectory dining table and Leah and I are in the ‘chillax’ area. One day I’ll find a way to tell her that there is nothing either relaxing or chilling about these chairs.

      ‘I know you mean well,’ I say. ‘But the last thing I need in my life is something that pees and shits everywhere.’

      ‘You need something that needs you. She needs you.’

      I’m aghast. Genuinely. I cannot believe that my only sister thinks that the hole I have in my life can be plugged by a pug. A dog for a daughter. I can’t even speak.

      She hands me a glass of wine. ‘You need someone or something to give all that unconditional love you’re always harping on about, because you sure as hell don’t give any to me.’

      ‘I have it all reserved for Rose.’

      Leah makes a face. ‘Save a little for Pug.’

      ‘I’m not taking the dog,’ I say as it lines itself up alongside my ankle again. I resist the urge to kick her gently with my foot.

      Leah scoops down and picks Pug up in her hands, dumps her on my lap. A little bit of pee dribbles onto my light denim jeans. ‘Her papers are in your name. It’s done. Sue me.’

      Two huge brown eyes look up at me from above a flat black nose. Her brow looks knitted with lines. I pick her up to throw her right back at Leah and Pug licks my hand.

      ‘She likes you.’ Leah sits opposite me, sips her own glass of wine. ‘She needs you.’

      ‘She needs someone that’ll clean up after her.’

      ‘She chose you. From some sort of spiritual doggie place, she came and found you.’

      Despite

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