Still You

by Claire Allan

  She tried to relax as she walked into the dancehall but there was no denying she felt a little out of her depth as she was surrounded by a fug of smoke, a strong smell of perfume and music from the band on stage in full swing.

  “Cheer up!” Charlotte turned and nudged her. “It’s supposed to be fun. You look like you’re on your way to the firing squad.”

  Áine plastered on her biggest fake smile and told her sister she would be fine. She just hadn’t been out in a while and it felt a little strange.

  “A gin and tonic will help with that,” Charlotte said, weaving her way to the bar to order before Áine could decline the offer and say she was fine with water.

  Áine put her hand to the fine gold chain which she always wore around her neck and played with the charm – a set of angel wings – on the end of it. It was a nervous habit, she knew, but it gave her comfort.

  She was thinking of how she would break it to her sister that she didn’t even like gin when she saw one of her colleagues from the school wave across the room to her and begin to move in her direction.

  Lorcan O’Hara taught the Primary 7 class – and it was thought he had his sights set on becoming headmaster one of these days. Áine always felt awkward around him – although she wasn’t quite sure if that was awkward bad or awkward good. She just knew she always felt tongue-tied in his company and on most occasions she tended to avoid conversation with him to avoid making an eejit of herself. She most certainly had not been expecting to see him out at the dance – she supposed she hadn’t given much consideration at all to who she might bump into.

  “Well, Áine Quigley – out and about on the town! You’re looking well,” he said, smiling brightly at her.

  She dropped her hand from the chain around her neck and crossed her arms awkwardly, wishing she had worn something less colourful – something that would allow her to fade into the background in a way that made her feel infinitely more comfortable. He looked less stern, and more handsome out of the school environment. That realisation did nothing to ease her nerves.

  “Thank you,” she mumbled, struggling to think of another word to say.

  “It’s not often you’re seen out.”

  “I’m here with my sister,” she said. “She’s back from her travels.”

  “Ah! You did mention that, didn’t you? Can I buy you – the both of you – a drink?”

  “I think we’re fine,” Áine said, wishing he would just leave before the blush that was rising from her chest rose any further. She couldn’t think of how she could make this situation any better – when it came to members of the opposite sex she had no social skills and felt acutely aware of her shortcomings. Not to mention it would be nice if he was gone before Charlotte returned. Áine knew how this would pan out if Charlotte saw the two of them talking and realised that Lorcan wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

  “Well, maybe a dance later?” he asked, his deep blue eyes hopeful.

  “Maybe,” she said, casting her eyes downwards, hoping he would take the hint – and sure enough he did, saying a quick – and awkward – goodbye. She suddenly craved the gin and tonic that Charlotte had said she would bring her and when her sister handed her the glass she had to stop herself from downing it in one, the bitter taste of the gin catching in her throat.

  “Whoa, little sister, go easy,” Charlotte said, laughing.

  Áine coughed, searched through her bag for a handkerchief and dabbed her mouth. “Sorry,” she muttered, her face red, feeling increasingly uncomfortable as the music and cigarette smoke swirled around her.

  “Let’s get a seat,” Charlotte said. “You need to relax a bit, Áine, honestly. You’re like a coiled spring.”

  Áine forced a smile on her face. “I’m fine, honest. I’m just not used to being out and about.”

  “Well, we’ll have to do our best to rectify that, dear sister,” Charlotte said, sitting and rifling in her bag for her cigarettes. “We’ll have to get you out into the world. And if not into the world, into this town at least. And not just when I come and force your hand. Do your friends from school never ask you out with them? Who was that you were talking to while I was at the bar? You know, the tall handsome kind you didn’t think I saw you with?”

  “It’s just someone I work with,” Áine answered. “No one for you to be concerned about.”

  “Single?”

  “I – I’m not sure,” Áine lied.

  “Of course you know!” Charlotte laughed. “You want me to believe you never checked out if he was wearing a wedding ring or not? You’re shy, not dead.”

  “Okay. He’s single. He teaches the older boys.”

  “And did he offer to buy you a drink?” Charlotte raised an eyebrow.

  “He offered to buy us both a drink,” Áine said. “He’s a gentleman.”

  “A single gentleman with the means to buy us drinks,” Charlotte said, smiling. “And so where are our drinks?”

  “I told him we were fine.”

  “You may be fine,” Charlotte said, downing her drink, taking a drag of her cigarette and squeezing out from behind the table, “but I’m thirsty.”

  She looked around and Áine reached out and touched her arm. “I’ll buy you another drink, Charlotte.”

  “As I said, my lovely sister, if you won’t go out into the world, then the world will just have to come and find you.” She shrugged Áine’s hand from her arm and set off across the room in search of Lorcan O’Hara and his offer of a drink.

  In that moment, as Áine took a long, hard drink of her gin and tonic. she didn’t know whether she wanted to kill or hug her sister. There was no way Charlotte was letting her get away with anything. She tried to convince herself, as she sat there, that it might be no bad thing. Perhaps having someone else who took the first steps would be positive and lovely and make her feel better about everything.

  Then again, she thought, as she saw Lorcan walk back towards her table with a grinning Charlotte by his side, both carrying drinks, maybe there was still time to run for the door.

  “You didn’t tell me your sister was such a charmer,” Lorcan said.

  Áine blushed, taking “your sister is such a charmer” to be code for ‘I love your sister and haven’t twigged yet that she is married and not even slightly available’.

  “She is that,” Áine replied, casting her eyes downwards.

  “Must be in the genes,” he said. “Just like her sister.”

  His smile was gentle, modest – shy even. There was an honesty in his expression which took her breath away. How had she not noticed before just how handsome he really was? Then again she tended to keep her head down in the staffroom. A quick cup of tea, her head in the books for five minutes, and then she would scuttle back to her classroom.

  “Oh no,” Charlotte interjected. “Áine here is nothing at all like me. Not at all. She’s the better of the pair. Charm is the least of her many, many attributes. She’s quite the dancer too. You should show him, Áine,” she said, jabbing Áine in the ribs. “There’s a lovely song playing now. Why don’t the pair of you take a turn around the floor? I’ll keep an eye on the drinks. I don’t mind playing gooseberry – from a safe distance. What else is a boring old married woman like me to do anyway?”

  She shuffled onto the bench where Áine was sitting, nudging her along the length of the seat so that she risked falling flat onto the floor if she didn’t get up and move towards where Lorcan was standing expectantly.

  Warmed by the gin, and by Lorcan’s kind smile, and perhaps even a little by her sister’s kind words, she took a deep breath and held out her hand to feel the warmth of his as he led her to the dance floor. Now all she had to do was to try not to be her usual clumsy self and show him that she could no more dance than she could whistle ‘Dixie’. The cream-coloured shoes, which were already pinching her toes, would have to give her a certain grace she had never possessed before – or at least she hoped that the gin would give her some Dutch courage to be able to hold
her own on the dance floor.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said, smiling at her. “I never was one for dancing much.”

  She smiled back. “It will be the blind leading the blind perhaps,” she said. “My sister may have oversold my dancing skills.”

  “Well, I know she hasn’t oversold everything else, and I’m sure as long as we keep moving and don’t step on too many toes no-one will be any the wiser.”

  She felt herself exhale.

  Chapter 10

  Present Day

  “I have to work tomorrow,” I blurted to Sinéad as she opened the door to the horror story that was me post meeting with Matthew.

  Any trace of make-up was gone. My eyes were red. My throat was croaky from even more swearing in the car and I was shaking like a leaf.

  Sinéad looked at me for a moment, trying to take in the sight in front of her and, I suppose, think of an appropriate response. For the first time since I had I known her, she was speechless.

  “I have to work tomorrow, and I need to get very drunk,” I added, as she stood back and watched me walk through to her kitchen.

  Her husband, Peter, who was sitting at the kitchen island reading the paper and drinking a coffee had the good sense – on seeing my face – to very quickly announce he was going to leave us alone for a while.

  Sinéad’s house was one of those places where I felt so comfortable that I could, without feeling strange, reach into her fridge, lift out the bottle of wine she had been cooling on my instruction, and open it as she took two glasses from her perfectly neat kitchen cupboards.

  “I know this is a stupid question,” she said, “but are you okay?”

  I filled my glass as high as I could and took a long drink, feeling the bitter hit of the wine turn my stomach. And yet I drank more before setting the glass down and looking at my friend.

  “It’s over, Sinéad. I know you probably knew that. I know that you have probably been trying to tell me that for a long time but it’s over.”

  I could see the pity on her face when she looked at me.

  “You talked to him?” she asked.

  I took another drink from my glass. “We’ve reached an acceptance that it’s over, apparently,” I said. The words – the whole concept of what had happened – sounded so strange. It still made no sense. None of this made sense. “He has slept with someone else. He doesn’t know if he wants her or not. But he doesn’t want me. But he didn’t mean to hurt me, so that’s okay.”

  The tears started to slide down my face once again – I could hardly believe I had any tears left to shed.

  Sinéad put her untouched glass down, crossed the room and pulled me into a big hug, and I allowed myself to sob on her shoulder.

  “I know I shouldn’t say it,” she said, “but you were too good for him anyway. Much too good for him.”

  “How will I tell the girls?” I sobbed.

  “Oh, pet,” Sinéad soothed, “I think you should give the girls more credit. I think they probably already know it’s over.”

  “So it’s just me that’s been hanging on like an eejit then?”

  She pulled me a little closer. Which was brave of her in hindsight. My nose was now running like a tap and her hug only managed to force me to use her beige cashmere as a tissue.

  “No, not an eejit. You just weren’t ready.”

  “I’m not sure I’m ready now, but I’ve no choice,” I sniffed.

  She stroked my hair and shushed me as my sobs subsided, and then when I had managed to get my breathing back under control she gently pushed me back.

  “Listen to me, Georgina. You are my best friend. You are an amazing mother. You are probably the most caring person I know. This will not break you. You will come through this. I promise.”

  I nodded with a confidence I didn’t feel.

  “And when you feel stronger we can plot suitable revenge strategies,” she smiled. “You know, prawns in the curtains, cress seeds on his deep pile, potatoes up his exhaust pipe … that kind of thing.”

  I managed a snort which was more a laugh than a sob and then I reached for my wineglass again.

  Sinéad reached out and took my wrist. “My darling, you know I love a drink as much, if not more, than the next person, but go easy. You don’t want the girls seeing you fall apart and you don’t want to deal with work with a killer hangover and a broken heart. Those are not happy bedfellows.”

  I let go of my glass. “You’re right, of course you’re right,” I said. “Besides I think Jonathan Hegarty worries enough about me without me arriving smelling of drink.”

  “Oh dear,” Sinéad said as she filled her kettle to make a pot of tea. “What happened now?”

  By the time I had regaled her with the story of Jonathan, the garden, his headache and his swift move away from me as if I had leprosy, I had calmed down. I had even managed to laugh.

  “I think he thinks I might want his body,” I laughed, eating and actually enjoying a chocolate biscuit this time.

  “And do you?” Sinéad asked, her eyebrow raised. “From what I know of Jonathan Hegarty, his body could merit a bit of wanting all right.”

  I grimaced. No. No, I did not want his body. I liked his aunt. I occasionally felt sorry for him – but if I could avoid spending any time in his company at all I would. Each meeting seemed to end awkwardly, or with me doing something I didn’t want to. And not in a fun ‘try anything once or twice if I like it’ way.

  “Ah no. I don’t think so. Besides, I imagine the likes of him goes in for the trophy wife type. You know, fat lips, skinny arse, fake boobs and no brain? My lips are thin, my arse on the wide side, my boobs all too real thanks to breastfeeding twins and I like to think I have a brain. Although my stupidity around Matthew and the disastrous state of my marriage may indicate otherwise.”

  Sinéad shrugged. “Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

  “Force of habit,” I smiled. “But all that aside – no. Even if I was interested in a relationship with anyone it wouldn’t be Jonathan Hegarty.”

  I didn’t add, because I knew Sinéad wouldn’t understand, that the only person I still wanted a relationship with was my husband. But then again – I guessed from our earlier conversation the chances of me having a romantic relationship again with Matthew were about on a par with my chances of having a romantic relationship with Mr Hegarty.

  Eve and Sorcha had treated themselves to pizza while I’d been out so I found myself in the awkward position of having no leftovers to bring over to Áine. I didn’t want to revert to sandwiches so I thought of a quick and easy recipe even I couldn’t mess up. I stopped off at the supermarket in my lunch break and picked up some vegetables, herbs and a couple of chicken breasts with the intention of making a fresh soup with Áine. It would be the first step towards helping her regain a little independence – and regain her passion for cooking.

  I felt quite positive about it and, after a relatively sleepless night thinking about the painful state of my personal life, I was embracing every sense of positivity I could. I had even spent some time in the wee small hours Googling ‘gardening for dummies’ and the like – and had put together a short list of basics that would help get us started. I would leave a note for Jonathan – figuring it was better if we avoided each other as much as possible.

  The day was still cold – an unseasonal cold snap leaving a light frost that refused to shift even by lunchtime – but the sun was bright and I tried to focus on the positives as I walked up the path to the big house at Temple Muse and opened the door with my key.

  But there was something about the quietness of the house which immediately made me feel uneasy. I was already well aware that Áine was a creature of comfort and routine so the silence, apart from the ticking of the clock, alarmed me. I was alarmed all the more when I called out but received no response, then looked into the sitting room where the TV stood, switched off, and where the armchair in which Áine usually sat was empty. Its cushions looked freshly pl
umped – and it didn’t look as if anyone had sat in it any time recently. The room felt as lifeless as it looked without the presence of Áine leading a battle with the banker while watching Deal or No Deal. Next stop was the kitchen where again I found an empty scene awaiting me. The sandwiches, presumably lovingly prepared by Maria that morning, sat untouched. The TV was off and the room was cold. It all felt very wrong and I had to steady myself before I investigated further. I checked my phone – just in case Jonathan or Cecilia had left me a message and there was a perfectly understandable excuse for Áine’s disappearance.

  Perhaps her nephew had taken her out for the afternoon and had just forgotten to pass the message on. Or, thinking on it, my signal often dropped out when in some clients’ houses – the more remote ones which sat on the Donegal border. Perhaps Cecilia had been trying to get in touch with me and couldn’t? Perhaps Áine was at the doctor’s or something similar? Something innocent.

  I walked back up the hall, deciding to check the strange, impersonal bedroom at the top of the stairs before I would allow any real panic to kick in. And it was as I started to walk past the dining room that I heard a sigh of frustration echo around the dark walls. Gingerly I popped my head around the door – and saw Áine – sitting at an old piano, her hands poised as if ready to play. Her eyes were focused – straining at the sheet music propped in front of her.

  She sighed again, turning her hands over and looking at them as if they were betraying her in some way. She sat there for a minute, just staring, before turning them back and poising herself to play again. I waited again, not sure what to do, and when Áine hit the keys the noise made me jump. The notes clashed, ricocheting around the room, and Áine sat back, slamming the lid of the piano down and cursing loudly at her own incompetence, before dropping her head to her hands and crying.