“Don’t just say that, think about it.”
“I have.”
“Please, think about it again.”
“Why?”
“Because I survived losing one Sheehan. I don’t think I could survive losing two.”
“I’m ready. I’m ready for you. If you’ll have me?” she said, and he smiled, showing his dimples, and he kissed her right there on a bench in front of ten teenagers nodding to the worst rock band in the free world.
It was Christmas week, which was always Elle’s favourite time of year. She loved spending time in town, walking among the hordes of shoppers and the dancing lights and beautiful window displays. She liked the big twinkling trees and the faux snow and the cold crisp air that reddened her nose.
She’d felt strangely contented since she’d spoken with Jane after Breda’s funeral. Jane had driven them home and, when her mother had gone for a nap having nearly drunk the Walshes out of house and home, Jane had made her way to Elle’s cottage and they had sat and talked. Jane told Elle about their father and what he had done, and contrary to Jane’s reaction, Elle’s was considered and calm because to Elle her father’s actions made perfect sense.
Then Jane approached Elle about her own mental wellbeing.
“You think there’s something wrong with me?” Elle said, and laughed.
“I don’t know,” Jane admitted, “but when I think about things you’ve done I worry.”
“Like what?”
“You disappear for weeks without a word.”
“I’m in my late twenties, I live in my sister’s back garden, I’m an artist who requires inspiration, and sometimes I just need to get away.”
“You sleep around with God knows who – it’s not safe.”
“That makes me a slut, not insane.”
“You nearly froze to death in the bath.”
“Because I was stoned off my face.”
“You burned out Vincent’s car.”
“I remember you saying at the time that you would have done the same thing.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t mean it. What about the time you rescued all those dogs from pounds around Dublin and couldn’t care for them?”
“Okay, I was pretty over-zealous but I dare you to go into one of those places and not want to save all the dogs.”
“You give away too much money.”
“Because I have it and I don’t need it.”
“You don’t have that much and in case you hadn’t noticed the world has changed in the last year. Money isn’t falling from the sky any more.”
“Okay,” Elle said. “I’ll be more careful.”
“You burned your beautiful work.”
“It wasn’t good. I just couldn’t look at it any more.”
“What about China?”
“Ah, Jane, it was an accident.”
“Vincent swears it wasn’t.”
“Vincent is a liar.”
“He said you could not have missed seeing that car.”
“Jane, I was upset, I was crying, it was raining and I didn’t see the car. I need glasses, not psychiatric care.”
Jane stayed silent and thought about everything her sister had made light of.
“I’m just a dick. I’ll change. I’ll grow up,” Elle promised.
“Are you sure there’s nothing you’re not telling me? Because, Elle, sometimes you look so sad.”
“We all get sad.”
“I know, but –”
“But I’m fine.”
“You’ll come to me if that changes?”
“Absolutely,” Elle said, and saluted her.
“Okay.”
And since that conversation Jane and Elle had been on really good terms. The incident with Dominic was all but forgotten and Elle felt a strange lightness, like a weary passenger who knows her journey will soon end.
She made her way through town, buying the best and most expensive presents she could think of. In Brown Thomas she bought a sound system for Kurt that cost more than three grand. She went into Weir’s and bought her sister a pair of diamond earrings valued at five grand. She bought her mother a necklace that cost four grand. She bought Leslie the most beautiful silk dress, then had it boxed and paid for it to be delivered on Christmas Eve. She bought Tom an antique desk because it was the kind of thing she thought he’d like, and even though her sister didn’t know and he didn’t know whether or not they were a couple, they would be some day. She even bought Dominic something: a set of golf clubs and a bag far superior to the ones he’d been using since his twenties. Now that his bank was being bailed out by the government and he was facing possible redundancy, he’d have plenty of time to use them.
Leslie was waiting for her in the restaurant. They hugged warmly and sat. Once they had ordered, Leslie updated Elle on her love life.
“I told you so,” Elle said.
“Nobody likes the Told You So Person.”
“So, when is he moving in?” Elle asked, knowing it would irk Leslie.
“About a quarter past never,” Leslie said. “Living together? For God’s sake, Elle!” She shuffled in her seat. “We haven’t even slept together yet.”
“You are joking?”
“We’re taking it slowly.”
“Yeah, but, Leslie, there’s moving slowly and then there’s going back in time.”
“It’s a big deal for me.”
“I know.”
Leslie sighed. “I still feel … ‘Ugly’ is the wrong word …”
“Mangled?”
“No.”
“Butchered?”
“No, but thanks for bringing that up.”
“Unfeminine?”
“Yes,” Leslie said, “unfeminine.”
“Well,” Elle said, “you are sitting here beautifully made up, with your copper pixie hair perfectly coiffed, you’ve got your finger and toenails manicured and painted, and you’re wearing a beautiful jersey dress to the knee that shows off your great legs, which are finished off with a pair of black high heels. When I first met you, you were a human condom in bad shoes. Trust me when I say that you’re far more feminine now than you were then.”
Leslie smiled because Elle was right. They were halfway through their main course when she told Elle that she and Jim were talking about going to Florida for Christmas. “What do you think?” she asked.
“That you should do what makes you happy.”
“Then I think I should go.”
“Brilliant,” Elle said. “I’m so happy for you and I’m proud of you. You’re a fighter, Leslie. Not all of us are.”
Leslie left the restaurant an hour later. Briefly she thought about Elle’s demeanour and it dawned on her that her friend seemed altered – calmer, more considered, happier, resigned, even – but then Jim waved at her from across the street and she forgot about Elle.
When Elle got home she took great care to ensure that her presents were wrapped perfectly. She took time writing the cards as she wanted everyone she loved to know how much she loved them. She put them under the tree that Jane had made Kurt carry in from the car. Earlier Elle had got out her box of decorations and she and Jane had gone through them. Jane pulled out the papier-mâché angel she had made when she was ten. “I can’t believe you still have this,” she said, looking at it.
“I love it,” Elle said, taking it from her.
“It’s horrible.”
“It’s lovely. It’s just too broken – it keeps falling off the tree.”
“So bin it,” Kurt said.
“No,” Elle had said, and she’d placed it carefully back into the box.
Rose had knocked on the door and before Elle yelled, “Come in!” she was sitting on a chair directing Kurt as to where to put the figurine of Joseph Elle always insisted on hanging on the tree. “A bit higher than that – after all, he put up with an awful lot.”
Kurt wasn’t looking forward to Christmas Day as he was back with Irene and she was determined they spend Christma
s with her mother. During crisis talks Kurt had promised to make more time for his girlfriend so he couldn’t back out of her mother’s invitation to Christmas lunch without being accused of welshing on their agreed terms.
“Just dump her,” Rose said, with her usual tact.
“I love her, Gran. I don’t want to lose her.” Then he added, with an ironic twist of the mouth, “At least, not until I’m over second year.”
Jane laughed. “That’s your idea of love?”
“You know what I mean,” he said, placing a bauble on the tree.
“No,” Jane said, “I don’t.”
“Yeah, well, Mum, when it comes to love you’re hardly the greatest example.”
“Thank you, son. Happy Christmas.”
Elle looked around at her family. Her mother sipping from a mug pretending it was tea. Her sister and her nephew engaging in good-natured sniping. Her little cottage was lit up, full of Christmas cheer, and Elle felt content. When they left she went for a nap and when she closed her eyes she saw her father hanging from the rafters of his home office and, under him, herself sitting on the floor playing with her dolls. She looked up to watch him swing and when he stopped she tipped him so that he’d swing again. She had been seeing this image since Jane had told her about their dad. Every time she was alone, eyes open or closed, she saw the same image. In her head she heard him crying and gasping, struggling, gurgling and dying.
I’m sorry, Dad, I should have known but I know what to do now. You won’t be alone any more. I’m so sorry you waited so long. I’ll see you soon.
Then she fell asleep.
*
Since they had slept together that one time, Tom and Jane had not defined their relationship and neither of them was in a particular rush to do so. They didn’t talk about having sex and were able to put it to the back of their minds so that they could still be friends. They behaved as if that night had never happened. It was Frankie who broached the subject with Tom one day when she met him in the fruit section of the local supermarket they shared.
“It was nice of Jane to come to Breda’s funeral,” she said.
“She was fond of her,” he said.
“She’s fonder of you than Breda.”
“Oh, Frankie, please don’t.”
“You like one another,” Frankie said, “and that’s a good thing.”
“And what about Alexandra?”
“Let’s get a coffee,” she said.
They dropped their baskets and went to the coffee shop next door. When they were sitting with coffees in hand Frankie made the point to her brother-in-law that she had long been dying to make. “You need to move on.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“It’s not easy for any of us to say. We all loved Alexandra but, Tom, it’s been a year and a half – you know the statistics, and you know what the liaison officer has said time and time again.”
“People are found all the time,” he said, but without his old conviction.
“Bullshit. Wake up and get off the sofa. You’re wasting your life. Start up your company again or start up another or go to college or travel the world or buy a fish shop or join the monks, but do something, Tom, something other than chasing a ghost.” And while she was waiting for his response she bit down on her muffin so hard she caught her tongue. “Ouch! I keep doing that.”
“I do like Jane,” Tom said, after Frankie had composed herself.
“Good.”
“No,” he said, “not good.”
“Why is it not good?”
“Because I don’t know if I could ever love her.”
“Well, of course you don’t. The first few years Eamonn and I were together I wasn’t sure that I even liked him, let alone loved him.”
“Finding Alexandra will always be at the back of my mind.”
“The back of your mind is better than the front.”
“If only I knew what happened,” he said.
“We might never know.”
“How’s Ben?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Good days and bad days,” she said. “He’s staying with Kate and you should visit.”
“I don’t want to intrude.”
“You’re family.”
“Not any more,” he said, and she didn’t argue because since Breda had died it was hard not to feel that Tom’s final link with the Walshes had been truly severed.
When he returned home he picked up a message from Jane: “Hi, Tom, Jane here, just wanted to invite you to Christmas dinner. I’ve got a huge turkey. Rose and Elle will be there but please don’t hold that against me. Kurt is now going to Irene’s so there will be plenty of food and we’d love to see you.”
Tom sat on his sofa and thought about what he was doing with his life, what he wanted, what he didn’t want, where he would go, what he would do, and he didn’t have one answer to any of those questions. The only question he didn’t have trouble answering was yes to Christmas dinner with the Moores. Where else would I go?
Leslie and Jim didn’t make it to Florida. Leslie became sick with a very nasty flu that necessitated her staying in bed for the duration of the holiday. Because she woke up with the flu on the morning they were due to fly out she didn’t bother to tell anyone she was staying at home. Jim moved in to care for her and she spent most of the first two days asleep. She woke long enough to have some of the Christmas dinner he had made, but she was miserable, shaking and sweating like a pig, so she was put back into bed and was asleep again within half an hour. Jim spent the day with Leslie’s cat, eating chocolates, drinking beer and watching classic films. It was his favourite way to spend Christmas anyway.
Elle and Rose were already at the table when Tom arrived. He had brought a few bottles of wine and a large Christmas pudding. He and Jane kissed each other on the cheek at the door and then he followed her into the kitchen.
“Rose,” he said, leaned in and kissed her.
“Tom,” she said.
“I have something for you,” he said, and handed her a very expensive bottle of wine.
She instantly recognized it for its taste and worth. “Tom, you shouldn’t have,” she said, holding it with a vicelike grip.
“It was the least I could do. Elle, this is for you.” He handed her a book on meditation. “Apparently it’s the new cool thing to be doing,” he said.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Jane, this is for you.” He handed her a box with a ribbon.
“But you’ve already given me wine and a pudding!”
“Open it,” he said.
She did so, and it was a round-the-world itinerary. “What’s this?”
“I was thinking it was time I saw the world and I was wondering if you’d like to come with me.”
Elle and Rose stayed silent while Jane gawped at the itinerary. “I can’t,” she said. “I’d love to but I can’t.”
“Why not?” Elle said.
“I have responsibilities,” she said.
“I think you should go,” Elle said.
Rose stayed quiet.
“It’s not today or tomorrow,” he said. “I don’t even know when I’ll go myself but I just want you to know that if I do go I’d really like you to come with me.”
Jane smiled and Elle nudged Rose, whose face remained frozen.
“Well, that’s a lovely gesture,” Jane said, and just as she was kissing his cheek for a second time the doorbell rang.
Jane answered, wondering who was calling to her house during Christmas lunch. It was Dominic. “What do you want?”
“Just to see Kurt,” he said.
“Kurt’s in Irene’s,” Jane said, closing the door.
“Janey,” he said, holding the door, “please forgive me – it’s Christmas Day.”
“You are something else!”
“I know,” he said. “But I miss you, I miss Kurt, I miss Elle but not sleeping with her, I miss this house, I miss our odd little family – Jesus, I must be losing my mind beca
use I even miss Rose.”
“I heard that!” Rose shouted from the kitchen.
“Come in,” Jane said.
Dominic followed her into the kitchen and she set a place for him at the table. Tom stood up and shook his hand.
“Nice to see you again, Tom.”
“It’s nice to see you,” Tom said.
“Elle, it’s good to see you,” Dominic said.
“You too, Dominic.”
“Rose,” Dominic said.
“Dominic,” Rose said. “I’d better be careful what I drink today or you might try to throw the leg over me too.”
“Well, you watching what you drink would certainly make a nice change.”
Jane served dinner and they all ate happily. Afterwards the men insisted on doing the dishes.
“So,” Dominic said, while washing a pot, “you and Jane.”
“We’re friends.”
“Are you gay?”
“You know I’m not.”
“Well, then, you’re not just friends.”
“We’re undefined.”
Dominic thought about it for a few minutes. “Good for you,” he said.
Later, when everyone was in the sitting room battling over a game of Pictionary, Kurt returned from Irene’s, complaining that he’d just endured the worst duck dinner ever and that he was starving. “I mean, who does duck at Christmas? And it was dry as an old dear’s –”
“Excuse me?” Rose said.
“Sorry, Gran.”
“I should bloody think so!” She pointed at Dominic. “Did you hear that? That’s you!”
Dominic went into the kitchen with Kurt, plated up some food and heated it in the microwave. Then they sat and ate together, again. Rose and Elle decided it was time to leave, Rose so that she could entertain her bridge friends who were due at nine and Elle because she was tired.
“It was a perfect day,” Elle said to Jane, and Jane hugged her. Elle had been so different since their chat that she really felt maybe her mother and the doctor were wrong and Elle was fine after all.
When they’d gone Tom and Jane sat together on the sofa.
“That was a big gesture,” she said, referring to the itinerary.
“It feels kind of silly now.”
“Don’t be like that.”
“‘Here’s a piece of paper with lots of countries written on it,’” he said, and laughed.
The One I Love Page 27