Lifesaving for Beginners

take them down. They ache, which means they’ve probably been up there for quite some time. And that’s when I realise that I’m glad. Well, relieved anyway. That she’s not here. And that’s when I ask myself what it is I’m actually doing here. What it is I’m hoping to achieve. And exactly what I am planning to say if I ever do meet her.
    The truth is, I don’t know. I don’t know the answer to any of those questions, but instead of leaving and getting in a taxi, then a train and a plane and going home to Dublin, where I happen to know the answers to lots of questions, I stay. It’s like being in the dentist’s waiting room. It’s crowded and heavy with that dense smell of too many bodies in one small space. And you’re afraid. You’re terrified. There’s a chance of root canal. But you stay. For some reason, you stay.
    The stew comes in a pasta bowl with a plate of soda bread on the side and a dish of thick, yellow butter that is guaranteed to coat your arteries with the best kind of cholesterol. When I ask, I’m told that the milk is full-fat. ‘It’s the only kind we have.’
    I butter the bread, dip it into the dark brown gravy, spear a piece of beef with my fork, add a baby carrot, a stick of celery, a chunk of turnip. It’s good. It’s very good. Even if you’re someone like me, who doesn’t eat this type of mush, you’d have to concede that it’s good. Mrs Higginbotham would have said that a stew like this one would warm the cockles of your heart. I never really knew what she meant by that until now. I hadn’t realised how cold I was until now. Or how hungry. It feels like an odd time to be hungry, but there you have it. Turns out I’m hungry. I haven’t felt hungry in ages. I end up eating everything and use the rest of the bread to mop up the remains of the gravy.
    When the waiter comes to clear away the plates, I am amazed to discover that I’ve drunk every drop of the milk. That’ll look good on the scales tomorrow. ‘You’ll have dessert.’ He states it like it’s a fact, so I nod and ask what’s good and he says, ‘The Funky Banana, of course,’ and I say, ‘Yes, please,’ as if I know exactly what a Funky Banana is.
    When the waiter returns with the Funky Banana – which turns out to be a sort of ice-cream sundae in a tall glass with caramel and chocolate and sprinkles and, of course, bananas jammed in – I manage to say something.
    I say, ‘I’m looking for Faith.’ That sounds a little born-again so I say, ‘Faith McIntyre.’
    The waiter looks at me. Like he knows me from somewhere. But whatever it is he’s about to say, he decides not to say it. Instead he says, ‘I’ll get Jack.’
    My heart is hammering inside my chest and I haven’t even had one spoonful of the Funky Banana yet. It’s like I’m on a path now. And I can’t turn back, even if I wanted to, and, let’s face it, I want to. I really want to.
    Jack turns out to be the man in the kitchen. He has removed his hairnet, which I find oddly gratifying.
    He has two mugs of coffee in his hands. He stops when he gets to my table and stares at me. Then he says, ‘You’re that woman. On the telly. Aren’t you? You’re Killian Kobain.’
    I glance about to see if anyone has heard, but no one is listening. I say, ‘Yes.’
    Jack puts one of the coffees in front of me and sits down in the chair opposite me. ‘You’re a dab hand with an umbrella, I’ll give you that.’
    ‘That wasn’t me. That was my friend. Minnie. It’s a long story.’
    Jack leans forward. ‘So, you’re looking for our Faith?’
    I nod. He wipes his floury hand on the front of his apron and extends it towards me. We shake hands. He’s got baker’s hands. Soft and fleshy and warm. Great hands for kneading dough, I’d say. You can’t lie to a man with hands like that. Or maybe there just comes a time when you have to face up to things. Stepping up to the plate, Minnie would call it. Telling the truth, Ed would say. And Thomas? I don’t know what he’d say. He probably wouldn’t believe it. What I’m doing. He’d be too shocked to say anything.
    I say, ‘I’m Faith’s . . . biological mother.’
    Jack takes it in his stride. He says, ‘Oh,’ and he looks at me more closely. ‘You look very like her.’
    I say, ‘She came to Dublin looking for me but I . . . I wasn’t able to meet her. She’s not expecting me. Is she around?’’
    Jack shakes his head. ‘She’s gone to Scotland. With Milo.