by Claire Allan
Jack was pouring generous measures of wine into glasses for himself and his wife and was even allowing Emma a small taste. “On the continent lots of children have wine with their dinner – they say it stops them developing too much of a fondness for it in later life.”
Emma winced as she sipped from the glass before asking for a cold glass of milk instead which Áine was only too happy to pour for her while Charlotte, Jack and Jonathan laughed. Rosaleen, at the other end of the table, pretended to be horrified but was unable to keep the smirk from her face. It was one of those moments Áine wanted to bottle and keep forever – that she willed to stay in the back of her mind so that she’d be able to recall it whenever the world seemed a little gloomier. All that was missing, she realised with a faint smile, was Lorcan to join them. He would love an occasion such as this – would love chatting to Emma and Jonathan and telling them all about Pisa and whatever nuggets of history he could. It was his favourite subject bar none.
“Grandma, Grandma,” Jonathan said, “have you ever been to Italy?”
“I’ve no call to go to Italy,” Rosaleen answered. “I’m happy with what the good Lord has given me. I have no need to go gallivanting.”
“What’s gallivanting?” Jonathan asked. “Have we ever been gallivanting, Mamma?”
Charlotte laughed. “Gallivanting is travelling – seeing the world around us – and we sure have done a lovely amount of it and I hope to do much more. It’s not such a bad thing. Perhaps Grandma should think about trying it sometime.”
Áine felt her stomach twist and hoped this conversation was not heading in the direction she feared.
“Well,” Rosaleen said, forcing a smile on her face, “maybe I will someday, Jonathan. Scare you all and just decide to run mad around the world. Your mamma might have second thoughts about all her bullying then.”
“I’d never bully you, Mother,” Charlotte interjected. “I just want you to live your life. I love you with every fibre of my being, so I am saying this from a place of love – sitting here in this big house forever is never going to bring Daddy back and that’s what it all comes down to, isn’t it?”
The children fell silent and Rosaleen looked as though she had been struck across the face.
“You’ve grieved enough,” Charlotte said. “We’ve all grieved enough. Can we not just be happy together? Can we not just move on?”
Rosaleen stood up, slowly, placing her knife and fork in the centre of her plate, indicating she was finished with her meal. She pushed her chair back into the table and headed towards the door, stopping as she reached it to turn and speak.
“I only pray, my darling daughter, that you never find yourself having to ‘move on’. You may see it differently then. I don’t judge you, my darling, even though you live your life so differently to how I have lived mine – and you raise your children in a way so alien to how you were raised. Please, all I ask is that you don’t judge me either.”
Áine watched her leave and then looked at Charlotte who only shrugged her shoulders. Jonathan slipped off her knee and walked back to his seat. They listened in silence to the slow creak of the stairs as Rosaleen made her way up to her bedroom.
“We’re going on Wednesday,” Jack said. “Maybe it’s not a bad thing. Always go before you are asked to leave.”
He rubbed his wife’s hand then and returned to asking Emma about the history of the Tower of Pisa.
Áine simply sat and watched them – the spell broken. She didn’t care any more if she never remembered this day again.
She was quiet that night as she climbed into the passenger seat of Lorcan’s car and pulled the door closed.
“You look lovely,” he said as he reached across to kiss her cheek.
She revelled in the soft touch of his lips and allowed herself a moment or two just to breathe in and absorb the uncomplicated moment she was in. She had quickly learned that with Lorcan there were no games. He was upfront about everything – from how he felt about her, to what he hoped for the future. More than that, she realised she didn’t have to pretend to be anyone she wasn’t, with him. Even Charlotte was always pushing her to change, while her mother resisted any tiny change she tried to make. With Lorcan she could be as settled or as flighty as she wanted to be.
When she blew her fringe from her face in exasperation, despite the softness of his kiss, he guessed that once again tensions between Charlotte and Rosaleen had flared.
“I can take you away from it for a few hours at least?” he offered.
“Could you, please?”
He smiled. “You’re too good to them both, Áine.”
“And maybe one day they will acknowledge that,” she said, stretching to relieve the tension in her body. “Ach, never mind me. They are both so different – I don’t think they will ever agree. But if they could just learn to live in peace with each other’s choices we would be on to something.”
“Do you think they ever will?”
“I’m not sure,” she said, shaking her head. “But Charlotte and Jack are leaving again on Wednesday so, if nothing else, peace will be restored for another while.”
“You’ll miss them though, and the children?”
“Of course I will,” she said. “I always do. But it will be nice for Mother and me to get back into our routine again.”
“Ah good,” he said. “Because I hope one day to be brought home to meet her and I would prefer to meet the not-grumpy version.”
Áine blushed. She knew things were going well between them but still she was delighted to hear he was thinking as far ahead as coming home to meet her mother. Although she was wise enough to know that would cause issues of its own. Her mother was a frightened woman who wanted to cling on to whatever she knew as tight as she could. However, she had also said, many times, that she wanted Áine to be happy – and Áine, for the first time in her life, had a glimpse of what happiness could really mean. This time it wasn’t happiness for other people – it wasn’t any kind of vicarious happiness. It was her own. The time she spent with Lorcan was like her own little bubble of joy. The way he looked at her, with his deep, dark-blue eyes, made her feel like she was the only woman in the world. She sometimes felt as if she would have to pinch herself to make sure it was real. She felt like she was living every romantic cliché in the book and she didn’t even care if people thought the way that they looked at each other sickening.
They’d have to be careful, of course, when the holidays were over and they went back to school. She looked forward to sneaking the odd coy smile across the staffroom but she knew they would have to play it cool. The headmaster might not approve – and sure it was still early days. She couldn’t quite believe that it had only been a matter of weeks, the course of Charlotte’s summer holidays back in Derry, and she had already felt the balance of her life shift.
She tried to focus on that – on those beautiful positive feelings as they took a drive out to the seaside – instead of thinking of the tension which was building at home and which would no doubt come to a head when Charlotte packed the children up and they left. There would be the usual tears and hugs and promises that they would stay safe. Jack would try to encourage Charlotte to leave, telling her they were messing up their travel plans and they needed to be on the road. Charlotte would fall on their mother and weep. It was the one time Charlotte showed her vulnerability. The bravado always disappeared with those goodbyes. Rosaleen would crumple and so would Charlotte which would inevitably set the children off. Áine would be the stoic one – the one who held it together – the calm amid the storm. And she would be the one to pick up the pieces after, when Rosaleen took to her room for a week to recover from the annual loss of her daughter.
When Lorcan told her, as they walked along the beach that night that she seemed distracted, she willed herself into the now. “I’ve a lot on my mind,” she admitted, “I’m sorry I’m not the best company.”
“You’re fine company,” he said, putting his arm around her
shoulders to reassure her. “I just worry about you, Áine. You take on too much. You’ve too kind a heart and people take advantage of it.”
“I don’t mind – not most of the time. They are my family. I love them.”
“But you spend so much time looking after other people, Áine Quigley,” he said, turning her towards him – staring into her eyes as the sinking sun sent shards of pink and gold across the ripples of Lough Neagh. “What you need is someone to look after you. Doesn’t that sound lovely? Someone whose primary concern is to make sure you are okay at the end of every day?”
There was something in his eyes which made her want to fall into his arms, there and then, and beg him to be that person. Then again she knew she wouldn’t have to beg – not with Lorcan – and the soft way in which his lips brushed hers just seconds later assured her of that fact.
Chapter 13
Present Day
It was strange how quickly Áine and I fell into a routine of sorts. We found our pace and I started to look forward to my afternoons with her. Even Jonathan seemed to be warming to me – not calling over to check up each afternoon – saving his visits for shortly before I was due to go home. It made my life so much easier not having to deal with the sense he was judging every move I made.
He did his duty by his aunt though.
Midway through my fourth week with her, I had arrived at Temple Muse to find her gloriously excited.
“Wait until you see what Jonathan has done,” she chirped as I walked in.
She was positively animated with joy and I couldn’t help but smile as I followed her down the long hall to the kitchen.
“It’s more than I could have hoped for,” she said as she walked through to the green back door which led to the overgrown garden.
I followed her out to find two men working at the rear of the garden. Stacked against the side of the house were a host of gardening supplies. Compost, trowels, seeds, watering cans. All ready to go.
“The men are landscaping the back of the garden,” Áine enthused. “And they are going to build some raised flowerbeds for us. I’m going to get my garden, or at least some of it back.”
The joy on her face was infectious and I couldn’t help but reach out and hug her. Perhaps that was crossing some line too – but I didn’t care in that moment. It was as if the simple act of having a little piece of greenery back to call her own had given her a renewed joy in life. It was uplifting to watch and, as I felt her hug me back and whisper “Thank you” in my ear, I started to think of the conversation I’d had with Sinéad the week before about being happy again. Okay, so it hadn’t come in the form of the husband who had decided I wasn’t enough for him, but from making a real difference for someone who would care.
When I finished with Áine that night I scribbled a quick note to Jonathan. I thanked him for arranging the gardeners, and for supplying what we needed for the garden. I told him how elated his aunt had seemed and told him she had a great day – with no memory lapses.
The following day when I arrived for work there was a short note from Jonathan – just two words – “No problem” – and that was it.
It was as much communication as I would have wanted with him and I think it suited us both fine.
Now, with our occasional cooking, our garden to look forward to and a weekly run out in the car to get some fresh air, Áine and I found ourselves increasingly comfortable in each other’s company. She gave me a positive focus that I clung to – after all, my personal life was still very much in the doldrums.
Matthew’s contact with me was limited to the occasional text about the girls. Sorcha appeared more sullen than usual and even Eve seemed a little down. Two weeks after Matthew had dropped his “we’ve reached an acceptance” bombshell on me, the two girls traipsed into the living room where I was sitting catching up with the latest episode of The Good Wife and sat down opposite me expectantly.
“Are you two okay?” I asked.
“Can we talk, Mum?” Eve asked, her young face lined with worry.
Even Sorcha, Queen of the Death Stare, couldn’t look me in the face.
“What is it, girls? You have me worried now.” I put the cup of tea I had been drinking on the floor and sat up straight.
“We don’t want you to be angry,” Sorcha said.
“Or upset,” Eve added.
“But Dad wants us to meet his new girlfriend.”
They looked terrified. I didn’t blame them. Somewhere in my brain I was sure there was a stroke just that little bit closer to rendering me seriously ill. His girlfriend? The girl with the pink bra? The girl who didn’t mean anything? The girl? (Not a woman?) My stomach lurched and I thought there was an ulcer taking shape to join the imminent stroke. I tried to compose my face. It wasn’t the girls’ fault. They were clearly horrified at the thought and even more horrified at telling me.
“Okay,” I muttered, breaking the silence. I supposed this wasn’t my call to make. “And how do you two feel about this?”
“I don’t want to,” Sorcha said petulantly. “This wasn’t meant to happen, was it, Mum?”
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to turn the girls against their father.
Eve broke in. “It would hurt you, wouldn’t it, Mum?” She looked more torn than her sister – but she always had been a daddy’s girl.
“Does this mean it is definitely over between you two?” Sorcha asked, her voice wobbling slightly. This was serious. Sorcha may have been one to shout and huff and slam doors but she rarely showed her vulnerability.
I shook my head and willed it to stop hurting and instead think of an appropriate answer.
“Look, girls, this isn’t easy for any of us. You know your father wanted some space – well, it turns out he likes his space. But you two, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. If you want to meet this woman, then meet her. Don’t worry about me. But if you don’t want to, that’s okay as well. I’m sure your father will understand.”
“How do you feel about it, Mum?” Eve said. “Are you okay with him seeing someone else?”
“I don’t think I could ever be okay with your daddy seeing someone else,” I said. “But I can’t make him stay where he doesn’t want to either. And if he has made the decision to see someone else, I can’t stop him. But look, I don’t want you to think less of him. None of this changes how he feels about you, or how we both feel about you.”
“Ah Jesus, Mum. That’s the most clichéd line in the book!” Sorcha said, but she was crying now.
“I’m sorry, girls. I don’t know what to say. I’m not used to this any more than you are and I’m sure I’m messing it up royally.”
I watched as my daughters got up from their seats and came and sat on each side of me, hugging me while the three of us had a good cry.
“I hate him,” Sorcha said while Eve stayed silent.
“Try not to be too angry,” I said, even though I was starting to hate him a little too – especially as I saw how upset our beautiful girls were.
The following night the girls went to see their dad overnight. They had told him they didn’t want to meet his new girlfriend just yet and he had sent me a fairly passive-aggressive text message hinting that I might have had something to do with that decision. I didn’t dignify it with a response – as he was unlikely to believe me no matter what I said. And there was also the possibility I would just actually completely lose the run of myself and let all my pent-up feelings come pouring out – and I wanted to have some measure of control when they did. Just then I didn’t think I could control myself – so I buried my emotions as deeply as I could.
I considered calling Sinéad and inviting her up – but she had been there for me so much over the last few weeks I didn’t want to impose. Besides, I wasn’t actually sure I was in the mood for company. I quite fancied having an evening to myself – of finding some way on my own to pick up the pieces. I had cried the full night after my conversation with the girls and it had
n’t changed anything except to leave my eyes puffy and red-ringed and my head sore. I decided to pamper myself for the evening instead of allowing myself to wallow further. I filled my bath, loading it with bubbles. I lit candles. I poured a glass of wine. I clipped my hair up on top of my head and slipped into the warm water and lay back. I closed my eyes and tried to find a sense of peace in the quiet ambience of my bathroom. What a change it made to be able to slip into the suds knowing that there was no chance of a teenager demanding to be let in, or wanting to sit on the toilet and talk over their day’s woes with me.
The house was quiet around me – maybe a bit too quiet so I started to hum to myself. What started as some random notes turned into a full on chorus of ‘I Will Survive’ before I climbed out of the bath, switched on Sorcha’s laptop and loaded Spotify to find the song itself. I shimmied into some fancy underwear of my own (a tasteful set, in simple leafy green and cream from M&S) and slathered rich moisturiser on my legs. I grabbed my hairbrush and started singing loudly and dancing around my bedroom. Once ‘I Will Survive’ was done, I moved to Adele’s ‘Rolling in the Deep’ and then on to Beyoncé’s ‘Irreplaceable’. It didn’t matter to me that I couldn’t really hold a tune and I ignored the rather disturbing reflection I glimpsed every now and again of me, mummy-tummy and all, dancing in my underwear. The more I sang, the more wine I drank but I refused to fall into melancholy. Instead I allowed myself to sing, to feel and to be angry when I wanted to be and to lift myself up again.
I feel asleep, eventually, in my fancy underwear on what used to be Matthew’s side of the bed. It no longer smelled like him, I realised. I no longer felt the indentation of where his body used to lie. My heart was still aching – when I let it. I was still angry. But in my gloriously tipsy state I started to convince myself that this was something I could get over.