“Go say hi to your nan,” I said as we navigated our way through my mother’s unorganised heap of a hallway.
I gathered the stack of mail from the worn hardwood floor and set it on the workbench where old photo frames sat cloaked in a light layer of dust. At least twenty coats, all shapes and sizes, hung on the near-collapsing coatrack as newspapers and magazines lay in a heap under the staircase. The woman who’d raised me had always had a place for everything. After a hectic week, like any other home, a bit of dishevelled chaos would build up but never more than a few days before she would reorganise everything again.
However, my childhood home had looked chaotic like this for the last eighteen months. I lifted a pile of the letters, swiping through some of the mail as I heard Mum and Jamie giggling from the living room. As I made my way down the hallway, I stopped at the same spot I had been for the last year and a half.
“Hey, Dad,” I whispered, looking fondly at the small portrait on the wall. I remembered the exact day it was taken and what had led to such a rare picture of my dad looking truly elated.
“Siobhan, you’ve been with me through thick and thin, and we’ve been married thirty-eight years, so you know by now, I hate getting my picture taken.” He growled as I moved the camera away from my face, and he threw his newspaper at the wall, fed up.
“Catch yourself on, Bert,” my mother shouted from the kitchen. “We had a deal, you remember. If the cancer came back, I get a decent photo of ya, and look where we are now? So sit down.”
She appeared with a plate of biscuits and a tray full of cups of tea, not that I wasn’t still drinking the last cup. That was how Irish mothers worked: when dealing with a tough situation, there was nothing a good cuppa tea wouldn’t solve.
“Maybe a picture of you and Siobhan could be better,” Elena suggested with her hands on her hips as she moved behind the tripod to get a look at the last few snaps. “And maybe we should work on your smile, Bert.”
“You look miserable, Dad,” I added while swiping through a couple of the last shots.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Albert.” Mum tutted after peeking at the pictures. “You look like a dry shite.”
“This is shite. I’m not doing it,” he shouted while climbing out of his chair.
“What are we supposed to do at the funeral, just not have a picture of you? People won’t know whose funeral it is. Albert Jax is common as muck. I know at least two.” The sarcasm in Mum’s voice was lost on my fed-up father.
“Jesus, Siobhan, people will know it’s my funeral. Sure, it’ll have half of your family Irish dancing on my English coffin.”
“I’ll be the ringleader, leading them like Michael bloody Flatley at this rate. Now, sit down and take a picture.” He grumpily stared at my mother as she challenged him with hands on hips.
Elena and I held our breath, not knowing which way this was going to go. My mother and father were always very, to put it diplomatically, passionate people. They shouted and argued all day, but they loved each other with a fierceness I’d never witnessed in two other people. My dad always said as long as you don’t go to bed angry with each other, a marriage will last a lifetime.
I used to think my mum and dad were extremely unhappy with the way they argued, and then there would be mornings I would catch them sitting at the breakfast table holding hands for hours on end while reading the morning newspaper or when my mother cuddled against him as they watched TV. After almost forty years of marriage, that was the kind of love I aspired to have.
“I’ll sit down if we can have fish and chips for tea,” Dad bargained. “And I get to watch the grand prix tomorrow.” The room was tense and silent. These bargains usually went one of two ways: either they would settle an argument or erupt a new one.
“Aye, all right,” Mum said as she handed him his tea and pecked him on the cheek. Dad took a sip and grinned happily before plopping down on the armchair again.
“Great cuppa tea. I knew there was a reason I ran off with you.” He winked at me and Elena behind the camera. “Not a bad arse either.”
“Bert,” my mum screeched in a scold as my dad roared with laughter.
And one snap later, we had the picture.
I smiled to myself as I looked at that picture. My dad’s thinning hair and rosy cheeks would be how I’d always remember him as he laughed with a glint in his eye. He’d never looked happier than when he was winding up my mother.
“You all right, love?” Mum asked, leaning against the door frame as she watched me staring at the picture of Dad. “He was an old bastard, wasn’t he?” she asked as she joined me, looking up at him. “But he wasn’t a bad lad.”
“I miss him too, Mum,” I whispered, wrapping my arm around her shoulder.
“If he was still here, he’d tell us to give over and put on the kettle.” Mum tapped me on the bottom before steering us toward the kitchen. “Do you want a sandwich with your tea?” Jamie was in the living room watching TV as I slumped at the kitchen table.
“I’m good with just the tea. We’d lunch earlier.”
“It’s only a wee cheese sandwich, love. I’m making one for the little prince too. I may as well,” she said, pulling out biscuits and snacks from the cupboards and putting them onto a plate.
“No biscuits for Jamie, Ma.”
“But he’s hungry.”
“He just ate.”
“Aw, a biscuit won’t hurt.” She brushed me off as she walked into the living room with a plate of treats. I rolled my eyes and got up from the table, finishing making tea for her.
“How are you, Mum?” I asked, taking a seat at the table again as I watched her potter about the kitchen.
“Grand, love. Just back from Belfast. Your aunt Eileen was asking for you. And your granny wants to see you all over before Christmas this year.” Mum slid a handful of envelopes across the table before whispering. “And a few cards from your aunts and uncles for Jamie’s birthday in a couple of weeks.”
“Thanks, Mum, but I think our annual family trip to Ireland will get a miss this year,” I muttered, taking a gulp of the hot tea and then regretting it when it burnt my tongue.
“But I thought Elena was getting better.” Mum passed a sandwich to me. It didn’t matter what I told her. Somehow, something to eat would appear with a cup of tea.
“Physically, she’s fine. Greg said she’s doing great, which reminds me.” I stopped midsentence and pulled a foil-wrapped loaf from my satchel before handing it to my mother. “Greg baked it this morning before his shift at the hospital. Your favourite.”
“Banana and chocolate chip bread.” My mum peeled back the aluminium foil and breathed in the freshly baked goods. “You see, if you had just married him back when he was still a woman, then I’d have fresh banana bread all the time.”
“And divorce would have followed once Grace became Greg, Ma! Besides, he’s just trying to butter you up because now that you’re single, he might actually have a chance.”
Mum blushed before taking a sip of the brew keeping her hands warm. “Greg’s a handsome man, but I don’t think he could handle me.”
“Ma!” I rolled my eyes, taking a bite of the sandwich.
“Back to Elena, has she had any more memories come back to her?” She took a nibble at my sandwich before giving a quick look over her shoulder to make sure Jamie wasn’t nearby. “How’s he taking it all?”
“Jamie’s been great. I mean, he’s slipped up once or twice, but Elena is completely oblivious.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “And yes, memories are coming back to her. She will remember where a bar is, or she will put on a new movie and remember she’s watched it before. So things are coming back to her, but I just thought that by now…” I trailed off with a heavy sigh.
“She would have remembered you,” Mum finished as she took my hand. “It’s still early days, love.” I nodded but didn’t believe her. “Don’t lose faith. That girl loves you and Jamie like crazy. Just because she’s lost sight of that doesn
’t mean those feelings aren’t still there.”
“I don’t know.”
“Why would you?” Her question threw me. “Well, it’s like this. Do you remember your first crush?”
“Ah yes, Rosie Enderby.”
“And do you remember how you reacted when you realised you liked her?” I frowned, unable to recall over twenty-five years ago. “Well, I do. You were six at the time, and for months, you two were inseparable, playdates and doing your homework together every day after school and sleepovers, you name it. It was coming up to Valentine’s Day, and you wanted to get her a card, which I thought there was nothing wrong with. I always knew you were gay.” I stifled a grin as my mum continued telling a story I had no recollection of. “A day or two after Valentine’s, I found that card in the bin in your room, and I remember asking why didn’t you give it to her, and you said, because she wanted to get a card from some boy in your class.”
“Jonny Sutherland,” I muttered with disdain.
“That’s right, little Jonny, who if memory serves me, is now the lovely Tiffany Latoya, starlet of London’s drag scene.”
“How on earth do you know that?”
“I know everything,” Mum finished with a wink. “But when I asked you why you couldn’t give a card to Rosie as well, you said, because she doesn’t like me.” I tried to remember this conversation, but it was lost on me. “And then, just like that, you stopped seeing Rosie. You got awkward around her, stopped having sleepovers and speaking to her.”
“Is there a point to this tragic walk down memory lane?”
She smacked my arm. “My point is, when you have feelings that aren’t reciprocated, you close up. You have always been that way. Even when you brought home your ‘friend,’ Elena Ricci. You passed her off as just a friend, but I knew you were madly in love with her, and as soon as you realised it too, what did you do?” She waited, but I didn’t want to admit there was some truth in her theory. “You stopped talking to her.” She raised her brows as I avoided her knowing look. “Just like you did to Rosie when you were six. Thankfully, the silent treatment didn’t work with Elena, and you got together, but the bottom line is, you do this every time. When you can’t handle your feelings, you run away. When you think you might be losing her, you decide to run first.” She rubbed my hand as she dipped her head to meet my eyes, which had fallen to a tea stain on the tablecloth.
“But what if I can’t…” I trailed off, my voice small like a six-year-old’s who just got their heart broken for the first time. “What if she wants someone else?”
“You’re afraid of an ex?” Mum exclaimed. “The same ex that Elena left for you?”
“She didn’t leave him for—”
“That arsehole doesn’t stand a chance next to you.” She continued dismissing me. “She fell in love with you once before, didn’t she?” I looked up as I percolated what’d she said for a moment. “He was around then too, but that means nothing when it comes to love, the real kind of love that you two have.” Her next words hit home again. “But she’ll never have a chance to fall for you again if you keep closing yourself up.”
As always, she was right. I had been colder to Elena recently, fearful that she was drifting further from me and closer to Tom.
“Thanks, Mum.”
“What are mammies for?” She smiled, rising from her chair and walking toward the living room when I followed her. “As for grannies, we usually forget what we left on the telly for our grandchildren.”
“Is that Game of Thrones?” I screeched when I arrived in the living room, about to witness the infamous and gruesome red wedding murder scene.
“I’m sure it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.” She shrugged, petting his head as he stared almost traumatised at the television screen.
“Ma!”
Chapter Eight
My phone buzzed on the kitchen countertop as I pulled the cookies from the oven. With one hand still clinging to the baking tray and the other covered in flour, I managed to somehow catapult the phone to my shoulder to answer. “Hello?”
“Buzz us up, it’s freezing out here,” Cat yelled as my nieces chattered in the background.
“Coming.” I raced from the kitchen after throwing the burning hot tray somewhere on the countertop. “Jamie, are you dressed? Kate and Abbey are almost here,” I called before pressing the unlock button on the intercom to grant entrance downstairs.
“Yeah.” He ran out of his room. I barely caught a glimpse of him before he tripped on his jeans, which he hadn’t pulled up fully. The loud thud caused me to jump out of my skin, and his crying followed soon after.
“Jamie, what happened?” I panicked, running to him as he lay facedown on the carpet. He cried loudly, and I wished Jax hadn’t left for work just moments ago. “You’re okay, Jamie. It was just a bad fall. Let me see your head.”
I lifted him onto my lap as he gripped his forehead. Wails bounced from the walls, making me think the worst as I tried to soothe him. I had to try a few times to pry his hand away until eventually he pulled it back, revealing a raw carpet burn across his cheekbone and forehead.
“Shit,” I let slip, which happened to be the worst thing I could have said. His eyes grew wide in panic as he surely began to think the worst and followed it up with louder crying.
“It stings,” he wailed, filling the apartment.
“I know. It’s okay. It’s just a little scrape.”
I shouted a string of profanities in my head as I tried to think of anything to calm him down. I lifted him onto my hip and brought him into the kitchen to clean up his head. At that moment, Cat waltzed into the apartment.
“Anybody home?” she called as the girls ran straight for Jamie’s room.
“In here. Quick,” I pleaded, but she was already headed in my direction. I dabbed at his forehead, which only caused him to scream louder.
“It’s bad,” I said in Italian so Jamie wouldn’t understand. “I’ve maimed him. Shit, Jax is going to kill me.” I looked for a first aid kit. “What kind of doctor doesn’t have Band-Aids in the house? I’ll cover it up. Is there a cream I can put on it? Shit.”
“Oh, that is bad. Yep, that’s going to scar. He will have that for the rest of his life,” she replied in Italian.
“Oh my God. Really?” I shrieked as Jamie stopped crying, startled by the volume.
“No!” Cat hit me on the back of the head. “It’s a graze. He has a new one every week.” She rolled her eyes and turned back to Jamie. “Do you think some cookies and ice cream might help with the stingy cut?”
He nodded slowly as the tears subsided almost instantly. Cat kissed him on the forehead next to his cut and helped him off the countertop as I uselessly stood in the corner still clutching an unopened first aid kit.
“Okay, Jamie, go pick a movie, and Elena and I will get the ice cream and cookies. And for being such a brave big boy, you get an extra scoop.” He flashed a toothy grin before he darted out of the kitchen.
“I need a drink.” I slumped against the counter as I ran my hand through my hair. Cat laughed as she started to clean up the shambles of a kitchen. “Jax left literally twenty minutes ago, and I destroy her house, almost kill her child and—”
“Relax, Elena.”
“Are you kidding? He was screaming the house down. I didn’t think it was ever going to stop, and there’s flour everywhere, and I burnt the cookies. Who burns cookies? It’s a disaster. I don’t know how people do this whole kid thing.”
“With help.” She winked as she handed me a glass of wine. I gave her a double take. “Hey, it’s five o’clock somewhere. Besides, wine is half the fun of playdates, and Jax always has the best wine. Why do you think I invited myself here?” She took a swig of her own wine. “Well, that and my thoughtless husband has been on a conference call since nine a.m.”
“Who works at nine a.m. on a Saturday? Well, apparently Dad does too. Mama called this morning.”
“Ew. What did the dragon want? A po
und of flesh?” Cat spat as she scrubbed the dishes in the sink.
“Just checking in. As she does. Twice a week.”
“Guilt will do that to you.” I didn’t miss the dark underlying tone in her voice.
“What has she got to be guilty about?”
“I wouldn’t even know where to begin.” She tutted, and I frowned. “Hold on, you and Mama talk twice a week?”
“Yeah.” The bewilderment on her face made me question the frequency. “Is that a lot?”
“Considering you were barely talking before, yeah, it is.” I went to ask why we weren’t speaking, but she beat me to it. “What exactly do you two talk about?”
“I don’t know. Stuff, the weather, work and…” I trailed off, but it only seemed to ignite a fierce curiosity in her.
Cat didn’t know I was speaking to Tom again, and frankly, it was for the best. Mama had been trying to help, giving me some good advice, like perhaps I should explore my feelings for him again. To communicate these ideas to my sister would have been a mistake. Cat had never liked Tom. She’d called him a piece of shit the first time they’d met, and he’d referred to her as a stuck-up bitch. It had been a train wreck and had caused a rift between me and my sister the entire time we’d dated. Until I could figure out my feelings for Tom, it was best she knew nothing.
“And about her new face-lift,” I finished.
“Ha, I wonder if next time they can inject her with some humanity. She’s seriously lacking in that department.”
I tried to change the topic. “Who was Nick on the phone with?” Cat’s harsh words about our mother surprised me. I remembered them being closer, even closer than me and Mama, but something must have happened in the last eight years that caused this serious breakdown in their relationship.
“Japan,” she said, taking a bigger gulp of wine as she leaned against the counter to watch me finish cleaning. “This is his first weekend home in three weeks, and I had to take the girls out of the house because he has work.”
“That’s not good. Have you tried talking to him?”
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