The Way We Were

by Sinéad Moriarty

  Kevin put the package back into his bag and led Alice out of the surgery to the salon.

  As the car drew up outside the house, Alice picked up her suitcase, then put it down again. Turning to her brother she said, ‘Thanks for absolutely everything. You are the best brother a girl could wish for.’

  ‘Stop, you’ll make me cry and I am not going on a date with puffy eyes.’

  ‘It seems to be going well with this guy.’

  Kevin shrugged. ‘So far, so good. Now go to Paris and enjoy yourself.’

  ‘I’m scared,’ Alice said.

  ‘I know. Ben’s an amazing man and you’re an incredible woman. You’ve both been to Hell and back, but you made it. Whatever happens, you’ll both be okay. Ben’s a survivor and so are you. Just do what feels right for you. Stop overthinking everything. Go with your gut and trust your heart.’

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘Ditto. Now get your arse into that car.’

  Alice sat back in the first-class train compartment and pulled out the package. She was afraid. She put it down on the table and studied it. She sipped her champagne and tried to calm her nerves. ‘Trust your heart,’ Kevin had said – what was expected of her from all this?

  With shaking hands she carefully undid the wrapping. Inside was a book. On the front was a photo of Alice on her wedding day, laughing into the camera. Her eyes shone with pure joy. The title of the book, in thick silver lettering, was THE WAY WE WERE.

  Alice opened the cover and was transported back to her first date with Ben. David had taken a grainy photo of them kissing in the corner at a party and there it was, reminding her of that very first kiss. The pages took her through their courtship, graduations, wedding, honeymoon, pregnancy, the birth of Jools and Holly, moving into the old house, then the new house, photos of their parents, their friends, their workplace, their parties, their birthdays, Christmases, Hallowe’ens, holidays … The memories jumped off the pages. They showed her a life full of happiness, joy and love.

  In every photo Alice was smiling, laughing or looking adoringly at her husband or her children.

  The final two pages of the book were two letters on opposite sides, facing each other. Alice gasped. One was the letter she had written to Ben and buried under the tree. She knew Ben had retrieved it, but she had never wanted to see it again. Now she read it and remembered, feeling once again the pain and heartbreak that she had poured out onto the page.

  On the other page was a letter dated ‘Christmas 2013 – 14 months in captivity’. It was a letter Ben had written to her in Eritrea.

  My darling Alice,

  I’m writing this letter while chained to a tree. The idea of spending a second Christmas here without you and the girls is excruciating. I want you to know that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not listening to you. I’m sorry for putting myself in a dangerous position that has now caused so much pain. I’m sorry for being a selfish git and thinking I needed more adventure in life. I’m sorry for not realizing that I had it all. I had everything a man could possibly want – a beautiful wife I adore, two wonderful daughters, a happy home. I’m sorry for not telling you how much I love you every day. I’m sorry for not appreciating you more. I’m sorry for not telling you how proud I am of you and what a wonderful mother, wife and doctor you are. I’m sorry for being dismissive of Kevin, who is so important to you and the only family you have left. I can see now how much you need him and what an important person he is in your life, how kind and generous he is to you and the girls. I’m sorry for not helping you more. I’m sorry for not being the husband you deserve.

  I swear to you that if I get out of this hell-hole, I will be a better man. I’ll treasure you and I will never leave your side. I promise I will be a better father, more involved, more affectionate, more present. I will love you the way you deserve to be loved – completely, unconditionally and passionately.

  If for some reason I don’t make it, Declan has promised to deliver this letter to you. I want you to know this – meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me. I loved you from that very first date, when you made fun of my floppy hair. I love your smile, your sense of fun, your sense of humour. I love the way you never take yourself seriously. I love the way you throw your head back when you’re laughing and that you laugh loud and free. I love the way you cry unashamedly at films. I love the way you chew your lip when you’re concentrating. I love the way you feel passionately about so many things – even The X Factor!

  Thank you, Alice. Thank you for coming into my life. Thank you for being my rock when my mother died. Thank you for giving me our two magnificent daughters. Thank you for putting up with my difficult father. Thank you for being the best person in the world to go through life with. Thank you for being my best friend, my lover, my cheerleader and my wife. I am so proud to be your husband. Thank you for saying yes when I asked you to marry me. I love you, Alice, with all my heart. I love you in this life and I will love you in the next.

  Ben

  Alice sobbed loudly into the little cocktail napkin that had come with her champagne. People were staring at her, but she couldn’t stop the tears. Eventually an older lady sitting across the aisle came over to her.

  ‘Madame, are you all right? Can I ’elp you?’

  Alice wiped her nose. ‘I’m fine, thank you. I’d just forgotten. I’d forgotten all of it. I blocked it out so I could survive and move on. But now … well … now I remember and it’s just really … really … sad …’ Alice collapsed in tears as the woman patted her gently on the back.

  The car drew up in front of the Hôtel Petit Maurice on rue du Bac in St Germain. The driver came around to her door and opened it. ‘ ’Ere we are, Madame.’

  Alice climbed out and stood in front of the hotel. In the many years since she’d been there, it hadn’t changed. It was the same quaint, charming, slightly rundown place they’d stayed in to celebrate their engagement.

  The receptionist rushed out to greet her and made a great fuss of taking her bags upstairs.

  ‘Is my husband here?’ Alice asked.

  ‘Yes, but ’e ’ad to go out to arrange some things.’

  Alice looked around the room for signs of Ben. There were none. This was a separate room. What was going on?

  ‘Monsieur Gregory ask me to give this to you.’ The receptionist handed her an envelope.

  Alice sat down on the bed and opened it. Inside was a map of Paris with three destinations, marked 1, 2 and 3.

  There was a note attached: ‘Go to number 1 at 6 p.m.’

  Alice had a shower and applied concealer to her puffy eyes and make-up to her red face. She got dressed in the outfit Kevin had chosen for her – a cream dress with a navy waistband and a navy cardigan to wear over it. Kevin said it was fresh, pretty but sexy, too, because of the side slit.

  Alice nervously put on a third layer of lipstick and looked at her watch. Time to go. She got into a taxi and pulled up close to the square du Vert-Galant. It was when she saw the weeping willows that she remembered. Ben had brought her there on a picnic all those years ago.

  She’d been to Paris before with her parents. She’d even been to Île de la Cité, but she’d never visited this park. Ben had read about it being romantic and he’d suggested they go there. They’d sat under the weeping willows by the Seine and marvelled at the stunning view. You could see the Louvre and the Pont des Arts. Alice looked down at her instructions. It told her to look for the pink-and-white checked rug. She saw it to the left. In the middle of the rug there was a mini bottle of champagne and a glass with an envelope attached: Drink this and watch the river.

  Alice sat down on the rug in the warm spring sun and poured herself a glass of champagne. She felt nervous, excited and afraid. She tried to do what Kevin had said, switch off her mind and just enjoy the moment. As she sipped her drink, she remembered lying there with Ben. They had lain on the grass all afternoon, talking and planning their future. So carefree, so full of hope and aspirations, so cluele
ss about what life was really going to be like.

  Alice leant back on her elbows and watched the boats sailing down the Seine. They had been so naïve, young and happy. That’s what she remembered most – happiness. It was before her parents had died, before children had come along and mortgages, bills, responsibilities, mid-life crisis and Eritrea.

  Something caught Alice’s eye. It was a boat with a huge sign: Two Can Play That Game, Alice! The boat was playing the Bobby Brown song as it passed by.

  Alice sat bolt upright as it all came rushing back. It was the first song she and Ben had danced to. She could picture Ben now, dancing around the tiny apartment, all arms and legs, bumping into the other guests and knocking over their drinks. She had loved how Ben danced – as if no one was watching, completely uninhibited, which seemed at odds with his stiff English upbringing and made it even more charming.

  Alice got up and ran down to the water’s edge. People around tut-tutted about the loud pop song, but Alice sang along.

  The boat was soon out of sight and Alice suddenly felt very alone. She was on the sidelines, looking on. It was how things had been lately, she thought. She’d become more of an observer and less of a participant.

  Alice walked slowly back to the rug and glanced down at her instructions. It was time to move on to the second place. She strolled back through the park and got another taxi, which brought her to the place Saint-Germain-des-Prés, to Les Deux Magots, as instructed. As she approached the café, the manager came over to her and led her to a table at the side of the terrace. There, waiting for her, was a glass of chilled Sancerre and a large chocolate éclair.

  There was a note under her plate: Last time, we shared one. You deserve a whole one. Bon appétit!

  Alice dug her fork into the éclair and savoured the chocolate mousse filling. It was delicious. She remembered arguing with Ben over the last piece and how he had pretended to eat it, only to pop it into her mouth at the last moment.

  Alice hadn’t eaten an éclair in years, possibly decades. It tasted so good. She could feel the alcohol and the chocolate relaxing her. She sat back and watched the people at the other tables – couples kissing, couples arguing, groups of friends talking animatedly about something, tourists bent over maps, children eating ice-creams … and she, Alice, a woman sitting alone, trying to figure out what the future held.

  As she sat contemplating, a violinist came and stood beside her. She thought she recognized the music, but she couldn’t place it. What was that song?

  ‘Oh, my God, Brad, that guy’s playing Madonna’s “Get Into The Groove”!’ an American woman at the table behind her said.

  Alice looked up, and the violinist winked at her. It was her favourite song. She began to laugh. How had Ben done this? It was incredible. Alice forgot her inhibitions and sang along. When the musician finished, he kissed her hand. ‘Bonne chance, Madame. Your ’usband is a very romantic man. But hees choice in music is terrible.’

  Alice grinned and waved him goodbye. She asked for the bill, but instead she received another note: Be at the Pont des Arts at 7.55 p.m. sharp.

  Alice got out of the taxi and walked up to the bridge. It was where Ben had proposed to her. She hadn’t hesitated, just thrown her arms around him and said yes. She’d known he was ‘the one’. She had been so sure, so positive. Not even a second of doubt had crossed her mind. Oh, to be that girl again. Alice hadn’t been sure of anything in a long time.

  In the middle of the bridge, dressed in a tuxedo, stood Ben. Alice stopped and looked at him. He smiled at her. He looked so handsome. She didn’t see his grey hair or the lines under his eyes, she saw the young Ben, the man she’d fallen in love with.

  Ben held out his hand and Alice moved towards him, slowly at first but then faster. He silently pulled her close.

  ‘I was worried you wouldn’t turn up. I think I was more nervous now than the day I proposed.’

  ‘How could I not turn up? This day was just … perfect.’

  ‘Did you like the book?’

  ‘I loved it. I hadn’t thought about those things in years. When I thought you were dead, I tried to block it all out because it hurt so much to remember. But now … now it’s wonderful to be reminded of all those happy times.’

  ‘I’ve missed you, Alice.’

  ‘I’ve missed you too.’ She said it, and she meant it. In that moment, she knew just how much she meant it. She had been trying to replace what she missed most, which was Ben. So simple, and yet it had taken her so long to figure it out.

  ‘I know things are different,’ Ben said, kissing her forehead. ‘We’ve changed – we’re older and wiser and bruised and battered from the last two years, but I love you more than ever. Our past is our past, and now I want to build a future with you and the girls. A new beginning. Will you come with me?’

  Will you marry me? In her head, Alice could hear Ben’s proposal, a lifetime ago. But there was still a lifetime to go, and she had to decide how she wanted to live it. Dan had offered her a shimmering mirage of perfection, but what would it have been like, really? She would have had to tuck herself into his life, which was so busy and scheduled and demanding. And no life carries on worry-free. That’s not possible. Alice could read the last two years now with a clarity that had escaped her for so long: she had fallen in love with a man, yes, but perhaps more so with what he represented, the idea of freedom and ease and letting go of all of her responsibilities for a change.

  But was that really Alice? Was that who she was and how she wanted to live her life? Looking into her husband’s eyes, she knew now that the answer was no. It wasn’t her. She was a woman who liked to work hard, challenge herself and share the ups and downs of her life. That was what she’d had with Ben. They had been through so much but she knew now that they could weather any storm if they stayed together. They were a team, a unit, a couple. Ben couldn’t offer her the gilded life that Dan could, but he could offer her a real life, based on love and the solid foundation of their amazing history.

  Alice nodded. ‘Yes, Ben. Absolutely yes.’

  Behind them a busker sang Jacques Brel’s ‘Ne Me Quitte Pas’ – Ben’s final surprise. They swayed to the song, lost in each other, kissing and laughing.

  As the Eiffel Tower light display lit up the Paris sky, Alice danced with the man she loved.

  Acknowledgements

  This book was one I had wanted to write for a long time, but I was nervous about the Eritrean scenes and the surgeries. Some very brave and fascinating people helped me with my research into Eritrea. They have asked not to be named.

  A big thank-you goes to:

  James Murphy, for his invaluable expertise and insight into the world of surgery. Any and all mistakes are entirely my own.

  Paul Carson, for his help in researching the life of a GP – the patient stories in the book are all completely fictional.

  Rachel Pierce, a truly wonderful editor who makes every book better.

  Patricia Deevy, for her ideas, input and cheerleading.

  Michael McLoughlin, Cliona Lewis, Patricia McVeigh, Brian Walker and all the team at Penguin Ireland for their continued support and help. To all in the Penguin UK office, especially Tom Weldon, Joanna Prior and the fantastic sales, marketing and creative teams. To Julia Murday and Celeste Ward-Best for their hard work on the publicity.

  To my agent, Marianne Gunn O’Connor, for always knowing the right thing to say.

  To Hazel Orme, for her wonderful copy-editing and for being such a positive force.

  To my friends, for always being there.

  To Mum, Dad, Sue, Mike and my extended family for their constant support and encouragement.

  To Hugo, Geordy and Amy, by far my greatest creations. (Special thanks to Hugo for the idea for Jools and Rupert’s science project!)

  And, as always, the biggest thank-you to Troy.

  THE BEGINNING

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  PENGUIN IRELAND

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  Penguin Ireland is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.

  First published 2015

  Copyright © Sinéad Moriarty, 2015

  Cover image: © Ron Chapple / 500px

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  ISBN: 978-1-844-88350-9