Pack Up the Moon

by Anna McPartlin

  Suddenly I realised I had no choice. I had to tell him or I’d go insane. The only thing I had to do was work up the courage so I moisturised, washed my teeth, put on lip balm and stood leaning against my door for a really long time. It was the threat of neck cramp which moved me in the end.

  I got to his door and I was in a state, but I knew there was no turning back so I knocked really loudly.

  “Who’s there?” he said.

  He sounded awake. I hadn’t counted on him being terribly alert.

  “It’s Emma,” I managed.

  The door appeared to open instantly. He said, “Hi,” and I said, “Hi.” I told him I needed to talk. He let me in. The curtains were open and a half moon peered through the glass. I adjusted my eyes to notice the curtains were floor length. The window was a patio door, which led to a private patio, which overlooked the water. It was really beautiful. I walked over and opened the patio door. He smiled.

  “It’s a great room.”

  I couldn’t believe it; I didn’t even have an en-suite. He followed me out onto the patio. I was staring at the love seat positioned beside the potted plants.

  “I don’t have a patio,” I moaned.

  He smiled. “Did I show you my en-suite?” he said, almost laughing.

  Then he showed me into his private bathroom behind what appeared to be a wardrobe to the unsuspecting tourist. It was plush, the bath was round and it smelled like Coco Chanel. I couldn’t fucking believe it. Here was Seán staying in the Ritz while I was down the hall in the bloody Holiday Inn. While I was contemplating Anne being a dirty bitch, Seán was waiting for me to give him a reason for my visit. So when I finally recovered from the indignity of being given a dodgy room, I followed him back into his idyllic one. He sat on the bed and I sat beside him. The injustice forgotten, I was forced to deal with the issue at hand. My heartbeat increased; my muscles tensed. He asked if everything was all right, while looking at me weirdly. I assured him I was fine, but my insane hysterical grinning probably left him with some doubts. As the seconds passed he began to look scared for my sanity. This was not the strong start that I’d hoped for, but I persevered. This was the moment I was going to tell him I loved him. I exhaled and let it out.

  “I don’t want you to leave,” I said.

  Damn, I meant to say I love you.

  I hadn’t stuck to the plan and this was new territory. His mood changed and he looked at me intensely.

  “Why?” He sounded a little hoarse.

  I momentarily prayed he wasn’t coming down with a cold and then I answered him as honestly as I could manage.

  “Because I’d really miss you.”

  Damn, damn, why can’t I just say it?

  I wanted to look away, but his gaze held mine. His eyes were moist and wide and sad. His mouth was soft and inches from mine. He was wearing nothing more than a tracksuit bottom and although his eyes riveted me I could feel the closeness of his chest. Jesus, I was weak for him.

  “Why, Emma?” he asked.

  I love you.

  “Why would you miss me?” he challenged.

  “Because …” My voice left me.

  “Because what?” he asked urgently.

  “Because I love you,” I said a little too shrilly. Yet still, at last I’d said it. I think I exhaled.

  “You love me?” he repeated sceptically.

  I nodded in agreement because it was true.

  He smiled. “You? Love me?”

  “Yes,” I agreed.

  “Not just as a friend?” he queried.

  “No, not just as a friend,” I confirmed.

  He leaned in closer. “How long?”

  I answered honestly. “A long time.”

  He smiled. “I love you too,” he said grinning.

  And then we were kissing and oh and my God the boy could kiss. And then we were touching and it didn’t feel weird – instead it felt good, really good, too good to explain. I don’t remember a single thought that entered my head. I just remember the most intense sense of bliss. We managed to get naked with surprising speed and dexterity. It was as though we already knew each other intimately. No head-banging, no awkward fumbling, no misplaced hands. It was as though we fitted somehow.

  He was lying on top of me naked when he asked, “Are you sure?”

  I looked up at him. “Yeah,” I agreed, laughing.

  I pulled him to me and he was laughing and then we were kissing again and he was inside me and oh my God the boy could …

  Afterwards we lay in the round bath in Seán’s impossibly cool Coco Chanel-smelling bathroom, naked and warm.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked when he caught me smiling.

  “What took me so long?” I said.

  He laughed. “You’re slow.”

  It made me smile because he was right. I was slow but then nobody’s perfect. We talked all night, lying in one another’s arms, about the past and about the future. He told me he wasn’t going to London and I was so happy that I cried.

  The next morning we got breakfast in bed. Richard, Anne and Tom had kindly got up early especially to bring us eggs. We hugged onto the sheet having only slept twenty-five minutes, startled and feeling pretty naked while they grinned wildly and said things like, “Good on you!” and, “We figured you’d have worked up an appetite!”

  It felt like at any moment one of them would whip out a camera and yell, “Cheese!” And then they were gone and we were looking at each other freaked out and then we were laughing and I felt sixteen.

  Chapter 20

  Chucky, a Homecoming and the Cow

  It was a crisp cold day in January, grey except for a laser-like light beam that penetrated the earth through a clearing in the clouds. The ground was dry and hardened by the cold that crept through even the thickest of clothing. My hands were blue under my bunched-up sleeves. I walked past the gates and meandered through the line of graves that led the way to John. My nose hurt and I could feel the skin around my lips chapping. I quickened my step and vowed to say what I had to and leave. I reached my destination minutes later, but found that on this ungodly cold morning I was not alone. John’s mother, Patricia, was cleaning the headstone. I momentarily thought about hiding, but her eyes met mine and I was caught.

  “Emma!” She smiled warmly despite the freeze.

  “Patricia!” I called out a little too cheerily.

  She approached with her arms outstretched and I walked into her embrace. “I haven’t seen you in such a long time.”

  I apologised profusely, face reddening.

  She sensed my guilt and immediately put me at ease with her wide smile. “It’s so good to see you.”

  “You too, Patricia.” I meant it despite my embarrassment.

  I picked up a sponge and together we cleaned. She talked about her neighbour who had won a trip around the world and I talked about school. When the headstone was gleaming she asked me if I wanted to join her for a coffee. I hadn’t managed to speak to John, but I was having such a lovely time with her and coffee meant warmth.

  The skies opened as we made our way back to our cars. We were both soaking as we entered the coffee shop. A nice old dear took our coats and hung them on a stand by the door. We sat near the open fire which roared in the corner and we slowly began to melt. A waitress took our orders and we sat looking at one another like old friends who had been apart longer than they would have wished.

  “You look happy,” she said.

  The guilt returned.

  “Are you happy, Emma?” she asked kindly.

  “Yes,” I admitted.

  “Good girl,” she nodded.

  I didn’t want to tell her about Seán because that would be unfair. It would have hurt too much, my being happy with John’s best friend while he slept underground. It turns out I didn’t have to.

  “And Seán?” she asked.

  “He’s fine,” I said blushing.

  “Your mother told me about you two and I’m happy. I’m so gl
ad, Emma. We were all worried that you wouldn’t find someone.”

  Oh my God. I should have said something.

  I couldn’t look at her.

  She laughed. “You’re so sweet.”

  “I’m sorry, Patricia.” I felt like crying but I was wet enough.

  “There is no need to be sorry,” she said.

  “I still love him,” I said apologetically and a little pathetically.

  “I know, me too, but he’s gone and we’re here.”

  She was so wise. Suddenly I missed her. “Seán’s great,” I grinned.

  She laughed. “I’m sure he is – he’s had enough practice.”

  We both laughed and clinked our coffee mugs. It was so good to see her. Later we hugged by the cars and promised to keep in touch. I realised on the drive home that I didn’t have to tell John. He knew and was happy for me.

  * * *

  The weeks after Christmas flew. Seán moved in with me in early February. Everyone was delighted for us except Leonard who was suffering intensely on a new diet. Lack of food compounded by a new housemate ensured a violent reaction. Initially he showed his displeasure by peeing on Seán’s side of the bed, so we ensured the bedroom door was always locked and this worked well for a while until one night Seán, finding it difficult to breathe, awoke in the middle of the night to find Leonard asleep on his face. I woke in time to see Leonard hit the opposite wall, do a kind of flip thing and land on his chubby little legs. Seán explained the situation while Leonard sat at the end of the bed with his neck craned, staring at him venomously. It was only then that I noticed the door was closed. I looked at Seán who appeared locked in Leonard’s eyes.

  “You left Leonard downstairs when we were going to bed, right?”

  He nodded in agreement.

  I pointed to the door.

  “How did he get in here then?” I asked.

  Seán went pale. “Jesus, he’s like Chucky,” he whispered.

  We sat looking at the cat for a really long time, attempting to work out how he had gained access to Seán’s face. Eventually the cat gave in and meowed at the door. I let him out and attempted to make light of it. Seán slept sitting up that night and we never did work it out.

  The next morning I mentioned it to Doreen who had dropped in to escape her husband who had recently joined the Green Party. Apparently he was separating her rubbish and trying to talk her into getting a system installed to recycle their waste. She sat at the kitchen table while I made coffee.

  “I mean for Christ’s sake, Emma, when I married him, I never agreed to bathing in my own recycled urine.”

  I agreed it was more that any vow could withstand. Leonard passed us and I watched him head into the sitting-room. I ran over and closed the door and sought advice from my older and wiser friend. I explained the troublesome events of the previous night.

  “How did he get in to the room?” she asked.

  I told her I didn’t know.

  “Weird,” she said.

  I was hoping for more. She got up, opened the door a crack and looked out at Leonard who was sitting by the window watching a bird hop across the lawn. Sensing her presence, he turned to stare at her. She stood for a minute, analysing him before closing the door over.

  “He’s starving,” she said.

  I didn’t understand what this had to do with my cat being a psycho.

  She sat down. “He’s got that supermodel haunted look,” she laughed.

  I still wasn’t getting it.

  “When did you put him on a diet?” she asked.

  “Just after Christmas,” I answered.

  “And when did Seán start staying over?” she asked.

  “Just after Christmas,” I answered.

  “Well then,” she said, “there you go. He equates starving with Seán. He probably thinks that if he kills Seán he’ll get fed.”

  I wondered. “You could be right.”

  “I’m over sixty, love. I’m always right.”

  And I believed her until she asked me if I’d ever considered putting Leonard into therapy. I complained I was already paying a fortune for a dietician. She nodded sagely and reminded me that I could always have him put down. I think he heard her because when she was leaving he made a run for her legs. Dor didn’t move – she just looked down at his chubby little face and threatened to break it. He backed off.

  “A firm hand is all it takes,” she said and left.

  I looked at Leonard. “Cop on!” I shouted and bravely turned my back on him and walked into the kitchen.

  Later I informed Seán of what I now believed to be Leonard’s issue. He agreed the theory had merit. We decided that he should be seen to give Leonard his meagre meals. He did and the cat pissed on his food. We gave him nothing else all night, locked our bedroom door and Seán resumed sleeping while sitting up. This lasted three days. On the third day the cat ate his lo-cal steamed chicken and after that there were no more murder attempts.

  The weeks and months passed and, while Leonard lost weight, Seán and I got used to being a couple. Initially I had been concerned about him moving into the house I once shared with his best friend. We discussed getting a new place together, but then rents were getting more expensive. I loved where I lived and so did he. We did buy a new bed, but when I couldn’t bring myself to throw out the old one he suggested that we move it into the spare room and throw out the spare bed instead. He wasn’t jealous or threatened or even annoyed at my position. Instead he understood my reasons and I loved him more for it.

  * * *

  Noel had been gone over a year. Seán and I were at my parents’ for Sunday dinner. My father’s veins were at him, my mother had a headache and I had my period. Seán put on a brave face while surrounded by misery.

  “So how’s work?” he asked my dad.

  “Painful,” my father responded dully.

  He asked my mother how her bridge lessons were going.

  “I’m rubbish,” she said.

  He started to age before my eyes. I felt sorry for him.

  “Seán’s been promoted,” I said brightly. They bucked up and were pleased for him. “He’s going to be editor of a new magazine being launched in May.”

  My mother was thrilled because the title “editor” impressed her. However, she couldn’t help but note that men’s magazines are full of rubbish.

  “I mean, what the hell do men know about anything?” she asked.

  I laughed her off while Seán and my dad smirked at one another like they had a clue.

  The phone rang and it was Noel. My mother nearly stood on my father in her attempt to get to the phone. Instantly their mood improved. My mother was beaming and punctuating every sentence with the word “son”, while my dad insisted on shouting into the phone even though it was a good connection. When I eventually got to talk to him he told me that he was in Africa. I imagined him with a tan, stubble and hippy hair, snorting coke and playing poker with shady characters, until he mentioned that Sister Augustino and Mother Bernadette had dropped him into the village to make the call. I told him about Seán and me. Of course he already knew about us and called me slow. It had been four months since we’d spoken and I missed him dreadfully. I called him a cheeky bastard to my mother’s utter disgust.

  “Emma, for God’s sake!” she almost cried.

  I could nearly hear Noel smile. I asked him when he was coming home and he said sometime that year and then I said goodbye because Seán kept digging me to give him the phone. When he got it he wasn’t doing much talking – instead he nodded a lot, then he took the phone out into the hall.

  On the way home I asked him what he and Noel were talking about, but he just smiled and said nothing. I found this very annoying and reminded him of my freakish strength, but he still wouldn’t budge. As soon as we got home he distracted me with sex and I soon forgot what was bugging me.

  Two Sundays later, Seán couldn’t make it to dinner at my parents so I trudged over alone. My parents and I sat at t
he dinner table and were discussing Leonard’s dietary progress when the doorbell rang. My mother got up to answer it. Dad and I were discussing the fat content in tuna when we heard my mother scream. My heart sank and my stomach turned. My father jumped up, but I was ahead of him. We ran into the hall expecting terror; instead we found my mother wrapped around Noel and Seán grinning beside them. My father enveloped his son and my mother. It was like a scene from The Waltons.

  “Hey, Em,” Noel said, grinning over my father’s shoulder. “Did you miss me?”

  My parents parted and I grabbed him and held on tight. My dad stood back, watching his children with tears in his eyes. Noel escaped me and he went back to Dad. They hugged tight and my dad cried. My mother gave Seán three desserts as a reward for bringing her son home, so he ate while Noel told us of his travels, showed us photographs of exotic places and handed out trinkets from around the globe. He was relaxed and when he laughed his eyes sparkled. Eventually my parents, worn out by excitement, went to bed, leaving Seán, Noel and me alone together, three old friends catching up on one another’s lives.

  Noel was thrilled that Seán and I had finally found each other. (His words not mine.) I called him a sap. Noel called me a hard ass and Seán agreed. I couldn’t help but remember John and how he and Noel had such a good friendship. The thought, although fleeting, made me smile. Seán glimpsed my smile and squeezed my hand, returning me to the present.

  It turned out that Seán had confided his feelings for me to Noel a long time ago.

  “You weren’t the only one who came to Confession, Em,” Noel told me.

  Seán laughed, remembering getting carried away during one of their confessional chats and lighting up a fag. Noel had smelt smoke and thought the church was on fire.

  We talked most of the night about African culture, Asian technology and about what amazing creatures elephants were. It was Noel’s first night home so neither of us brought up the future. We didn’t want to push him into revealing his plans.

  * * *

  Clo arrived over to my place the following Saturday. I was lost in laundry. She was beaming.