Since You've Been Gone

by Anouska Knight

  “Yeah? That’s great! That you’re up...and about. What are you doing after breakfast? You could come over here, help me work out the breast pump? Unless you have plans?” Martha was fishing. She hadn’t had a chance to grill me on Ciaran yet.

  “Sounds fun, but I have a full day planned. I’m going tree shopping, then I’m sorting the garden out.” That should do it. For the sake of a quiet day, I let her assume Ciaran might be on the scene.

  “Great! Okay, well, I’ll let you go, then. Rob’s picking Mum and Dad up from the airport late tomorrow evening, so we’ll see you Tuesday, okay?”

  “Yeah. Sure. Give them a kiss for me, okay? I’ve got to go,” I lied.

  “Okay, love you, ’bye.”

  It was already gone ten, and I had absolutely no intentions of leaving my room yet. My voicemail bleeped.

  “Hi, it’s me. I was wondering how you were? Any ideas how to get this colouring off skin?” He laughed, but his laughter didn’t roll over me the same way as it had. “It’s raising a few eyebrows.” Whose? Clara’s? I’ll bet. “Are you free—?”

  I deleted it before listening to any more.

  The streaming patterns of rainwater spilling down the windowpanes danced over the pillow next to me. I watched them until they lulled me back to sleep.

  * * *

  The mysteries of Martha’s breast pump had kept her nicely preoccupied. I’d dozed in and out of sleep all afternoon but the rain had fallen heavier into the early evening, making it harder to snooze. I hadn’t eaten anything, and saw no reason to start cooking now. Screw it. I dragged myself downstairs to the sound of rainfall. The stairs didn’t creak now, cushioned by a thick run of carpet. I dug a tub of pralines and cream from the freezer, wrapped it in a tea towel and walked through the picture-perfect lounge to Charlie’s snug. The TV flickered to life as the first spoonful of ice cream began to melt on my tongue. What I needed was trash TV, and lots of it. I zapped through the channels looking for something good and lowbrow to settle into.

  Speed-dating TV. No. Comic books that changed the world! No. Cravats: A History of. How much did I pay for this gunk each month? Where were the empowered women kicking zombie ass? Or the programmes of promiscuous men having eye-wateringly invasive swabs taken from protuberances they should’ve kept zipped up?

  A change of tack and I was jumping through the news channels. Local, entertainment, business. Business news? I let the channel sit as I considered how mind-numbingly boring the business news must be. For anyone.

  “Argyll Inc. and Sawyers’ Dev—”

  The reporter’s voice was interrupted as the TV sluggishly responded to my instructions at the remote. I hit the back button.

  “—has reached its conclusion, with analysts across the city voicing their surprise at the outcome.”

  Footage of a sleek conference room, populated with suited men, appeared on screen before flashing to what looked to be Argyll Inc.’s head offices.

  “Speculation had been rife that James Sawyer’s rival bid was as good as accepted by well-known cancer support charity Lux Foundation, before sources claimed the board of trustees overseeing the sale had made a last-minute U-turn.”

  The footage led into Fergal shaking hands with suit after suit, Ciaran standing in the corner behind him, mouth smeared purple.

  “Fergal Argyll, one of the city’s more animated businessmen, is expected to release a statement confirming the reports tomorrow morning.”

  I hit the standby button. Fergal was every bit the charmer his son was. Ciaran must have taken Clara out to soften the blow for her. They were probably softening it all night in the hotel over Atlas.

  He’d called me twice already.

  Dave’s great head lifted from where it had been lying on his front legs. I listened, too, but couldn’t hear over the rain what it was that had caught his attention. He woofed, right as the knocker rapping against the front door echoed through the front of the cottage. If this was Rob with a breast pump, boy, had he come to the wrong house.

  I ignored the smoothness of the floorboards Ciaran’s posse had buffed to a polished shine in the hallway and held Dave’s collar, as if that would help if ever he made a run for it.

  In the glow of the porch light, rain dripped from his hair onto already sodden shoulders. Dave pulled free of me and went straight for his affections.

  “Hey there, ugly!” Ciaran said, bothering Dave’s jowls. He looked up at me. “I’ve been trying to get hold of you today, but I thought you might have left your phone somewhere again.” Being caught in the candy-striped pyjama bottoms I’d had on since yesterday didn’t bother me, but I could’ve done without the praline clinging to my vest.

  “Are you ill?” he asked, straightening up. “It’s not even eight. I thought we could go out to dinner?”

  I took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “No, Ciaran. I’m not ill. Just sick. And more than tired. So I’m going to bed now. Good night.” I tried to close the door, but Ciaran reached a hand to stop it.

  “Hang on. What’s the matter?” Ciaran asked, obviously unused to having doors closed on him.

  Do not let him think you care, I warned myself.

  “Nothing.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Well, don’t you want Dave in there with you?” I looked at Dave sat staring up at Ciaran, his tail wagging with fervour.

  “No, I think he’d rather be with you! He obviously knows where the grass is greener,” I snapped.

  “What?” He laughed, and it sent me up a notch.

  “You’re like the Pied Piper, Ciaran!” I rambled. “Personal assistants, ex-fiancées, dogs...” I said, throwing my hand at Dave. “They all just come running, don’t they?” As soon as I’d finished my rant, I wanted to take every word back. To grab them all from the air and stuff them into my pyjama pocket. Good job on the not showing him you care, Holly.

  Ciaran shifted on his feet, looking for his own words.

  “Mary told me you came by yesterday, but I didn’t get the message until this morning. I called you twice to make sure there weren’t any misunderstandings, but you didn’t return my calls.”

  “Misunderstandings? I understand, Ciaran.... You’ve had your fun. I get it.”

  “No, Holly. You don’t. Look, you’re pissed off. I’ll call you tomorrow when you’ve calmed down. I’ll take you for lunch, somewhere nice—”

  “I don’t want you to take me for a nice lunch, Ciaran! I don’t need you spending your money on me, or buying my cakes or any of it! When was the last time you even managed to go a whole day without spending more than, than...a ten-pound note to get you through it?”

  “What is your problem, Holly? Look, if it’s my lunch with Clara, it was business-related. There’s no need to be jealous—”

  “Jealous? I’m not jealous, Ciaran. But I’m not stupid, either. I wonder, how many times has Fergal described his relationship with Penny as business-related?”

  Ciaran’s jaw clenched and the same sinuous lines flexed along his cheeks. I almost felt uncomfortable.

  “Is there something else going on here, Holly? Because if there is, I need to know.” He moved close enough that I could smell the rain wetting the aftershave on his skin. His voice dropped to a whisper. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Holly. So if you’ve had some other...change of heart...”

  I stepped back from him, clicking my fingers for Dave to heel.

  “There’s nothing going on here, Ciaran,” I said, holding my new ground.

  “Nothing?” he said quietly, watching me like a hawk. “Nothing?”

  I knew what he was asking me. It was time to put all this to bed.

  “Nothing,” I said, closing my door, leaving Ciaran to the rain.

  chapter 31

  Catherine looked well when she stepped from the ta
xi outside the cottage. I could have picked her up from the station, but it was too long to spend in a closed environment trying to keep the conversation light. I knew this annual ritual was cathartic for her, but I couldn’t just slide straight into memorializing Charlie. Not at 10:00 a.m.

  “Holly my love, how are you?” she clucked fondly, hugging me in earnest.

  “Hello, Catherine. You look lovely.” Catherine had a penchant for flowery scarves, and was never lacking the colours I did.

  “That’s a pretty dress, Holly. Blue suits you.”

  It was a summer dress, really. Simply shaped, hanging just below the knee. A faint grey fleck allowed me to pair it with a grey cardigan and ballerina pumps, presentable enough for a walk down to the churchyard.

  “Your hair has grown, too,” she said warmly.

  It had grown. It was loose today, in waves that now sat past my shoulders. Charlie liked it left down.

  “Thanks, Catherine. Come on, Mum’s looking forward to seeing you.”

  Inside the cottage, my mother was still marvelling at the lounge, while Martha sat on the sofa, feeding Daisy.

  “Catherine, so good to see you. How was your journey?” Mum swung straight into hostess mode. Her skin was brown and weathered next to Catherine’s milky complexion, bunching where her cleavage peeped above her polka-dot blouse.

  “Hello, Pattie. My goodness, just look at this!” Catherine exclaimed.

  Today was the first time this room had been used properly. Ever. “Yes, it’s stunning, isn’t it? I was just saying to Martha how glad I am that Holly finally let her work her magic.”

  Martha winked before turning back to Daisy, suckling away.

  “I’ll just go and put the kettle on,” I said, beating a hasty retreat.

  Mrs. Hedley had asked if she could join us today, and after a few rounds of tea and catch-ups and Dad’s pollo con manzanas safely deposited in the oven, we all made our way on foot to St Nicholas’s in the village.

  Charlie and I had made this walk along the brambled footpath every Friday night down to the Dickens Inn for cold cider and hot toddies. I could feel my resolve buckling the nearer we got to the churchyard.

  The weekend’s mild temperature had carried over, but Sunday’s rain had lingered on the grass as we stepped through the straggled edges of the path, leading us to where Charlie’s simple headstone stood solid and unyielding.

  Charles Alfred Jefferson,

  Beloved Husband and Son

  Died November 12th

  Aged 27 Years

  Twelve months had made the words no less offensive. I tried not to look at them while the wet seeped through to my toes. The women laid flowers. Dad said a few words. Mum held Catherine’s hand as they wept quietly. Martha held mine as I didn’t weep at all.

  Mrs. Hedley rejoined our tribe, moving to stand with Rob and Daisy. I’d been watching her across the way, clearing old flowers from two graves of her own. I didn’t bring flowers for Charlie. I preferred to leave him a pine cone from the forest. Not something short-lived, cut in its prime as Mrs Hedley had described, but a seed. The promise of something new, that might blow from where I left it and bed down into the earth, where it could grow strong and tall.

  * * *

  The scents of sizzling apples and garlic welcomed us home from church. Plates were clinking and cutlery chiming as the house rang heartily with the noises of family life.

  I hadn’t heard the knock, or seen Mum leave the table to answer it. I hadn’t noticed her gone at all until Mrs Hedley swung around on her chair to see my mother in the kitchen doorway, Ciaran standing next to her, his sweater tied around his waist and a bunch of flaccid flowers in his hand.

  The clinking of silverware quieted to nothing and all eyes followed mine.

  “Holly?” my mother said, unclasping her hands. “You have a guest.” Six pairs of eyes turned on me. The longer I took to respond, the thicker the air around me became. “Well, don’t just sit there like a lemon, Holly. Where are your manners? Introduce us.” Sometimes, Minorca was still too close.

  Across the table Rob, my shining saviour, jumped to his feet and padded over the length of the kitchen. “Hello, Ciaran, good to see you again. Come on in,” he called enthusiastically.

  Mrs. Hedley patted my leg under the table. I darted eyes at Martha sat next to her husband’s vacant chair. She returned an encouraging smile. I stood as Rob led Ciaran over to the top corner of the dining table, where he waited, stood between my dad on the end and Mrs Hedley to my right. My mother maintained her proximity to him.

  “Holly?” she pressed, expectantly. Dad turned in his seat to face our guest while Catherine leaned forward to peer around me at him.

  “Everybody...this is Ciaran. Ciaran, my mother, Pattie. This is my dad, Phil...” I turned to face Catherine, patiently waiting her turn. “And this is Catherine, Charlie’s mother.”

  “Oh, hello,” Catherine said, smiling at Ciaran. “Are you a friend of Charlie’s?” she asked hopefully. My knees felt weak under me.

  “I’m afraid I didn’t have the pleasure, Catherine. But I’m told he was a good man.”

  Catherine smiled in approval. I tried not to hyperventilate.

  “Pleased to meet you, Ciaran,” my dad said sincerely, standing to shake his hand. As he did, a few strands of grass fell from Ciaran’s sleeve. His cream chinos were soaked up to his calves.

  “Pleased to meet you, Phil,” Ciaran said.

  “And I’m Patricia. What a lovely accent you have,” my mother cooed. Ciaran offered her his hand, but she ignored it, diving in for a kiss instead.

  “Hello, Martha. Are you well?” Ciaran asked.

  “Yes, thanks!” She smiled. “Would you like to join us?”

  “Yes, come and have some food. Do you like chicken, son?” Dad insisted.

  Everyone automatically took their chairs, Mum reluctantly so, leaving only the two of us still standing.

  “Actually, I only came to give your daughter this,” Ciaran said, moving around Mrs Hedley’s chair to me.

  “Oh, flowers,” Catherine extolled. “Isn’t that lovely?”

  I looked at the white tulips choked in Ciaran’s hand.

  “I’m afraid the flowers aren’t for Holly. They’re for you, Cora, as a thank-you for breakfast here a couple of weeks ago.”

  My mother’s eyebrows arched so high they were in danger of slipping off her face completely. I couldn’t bear to see what Catherine’s expression was behind me.

  “Thank you, Ciaran,” Mrs Hedley said. “Look, Holly. Tulips.”

  “They’re a bit worse for wear, I’m afraid, Cora. They’ve been on quite a journey,” Ciaran said.

  “Oh, they’ll be just fine with a drop of water.” She smiled.

  “And, Holly, I just wanted to give you this,” he said softly.

  We all watched as Ciaran dug around in his pocket. With the other hand, he gently took mine from my side and held it out between us.

  He looked at me as if we were alone.

  “I walked the five miles from the manor to the first bus stop I came to,” he said, laying a small paper ticket on my palm. “It wouldn’t bring me as far as Brindley village, so the fare was just four pounds seventy return.” Coins slipped into my palm. “There’s eighty-two pence there, from this morning’s ten-pound note. There would have been more but I was thirsty when I passed the village shop just now.... Plus I had to buy an Elastoplast for my new blister. As for the flowers, I
snuck them from Mary’s display at home.” He smiled, watching me closely.

  “You’ve walked here?!” Martha asked. “That must have taken you all day!”

  “Aye,” Ciaran said, sounding more like his father than usual. My hand was still in his. “But it was worth it.”

  Mrs. Hedley gulped from her wine glass.

  “Well, you have to stay, then!” my mother sang, skipping from her chair again. “Come and get your breath back, young man.”

  Ciaran touched my elbow lightly before being led to sit next to Catherine.

  That I couldn’t see him through the rest of lunch helped. I mostly managed to avoid looking at anyone for the remainder of my time at the table, but even I joined the tittering when Catherine relayed the story of the time she lost a four-year-old Charlie in a bathroom showroom, eventually finding him in the window display leaving a little brown present in one of the toilets there.

  “I’m going to need to make a start back. Thank you all for your hospitality,” Ciaran finally said, pushing his chair out from under him.

  “Can Rob not give you a lift?” my dad asked. “You will, won’t you, Robert?”

  “Of course! I’ll just get my keys,” Rob said, devouring his last spoonful of pear crumble.

  “No, you’re all right, pal,” Ciaran said, pulling his sweater on. “That would defeat my objective.”

  Ciaran exchanged his goodbyes with us all before my mother led him off to the front door. Martha’s rosy post-pregnancy cheeks looked even chubbier when she grinned.

  “Well, that was a nice surprise,” Mum huffed, returning to the table.

  “Yes, he was a lovely boy,” Catherine agreed. “I hope his blisters don’t bother him on his way home.”

  “He’ll be all right, won’t he, Hol?” Rob butted in, digging in for more crumble. “He’ll just ring his chauffeur, won’t he, Hol?”

  Martha jabbed him in the ribs.

  “What?”

  “Chauffeur?” my mother exclaimed. “He has a chauffeur? And he’s been having breakfast here?”