If Only You Knew

by Claire Allan

  “We’ll start after three,” Hope said and Ava nodded because she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “1 . . . 2 . . . 3!” Hope said, and the girls began to read in unison.

  My dear girls,

  I’ve always wanted to write the following line so please indulge me. It sounds so dramatic – and you both know I liked a bit of drama. “Flair” should have been my middle name. I would have liked that much more than Majella.

  Anyway . . . the line:

  My dear girls, by the time you read this, I shall be dead . . .

  Hope and Ava looked at each other and Ava found herself stifling a giggle. She wished in that moment she had known Aunt Betty that bit better – she knew she would have loved her very much.

  “They’re duplicate letters then?” Hope said. “Addressed to both of us together?” A glance at Ava’s letter confirmed this.

  Ava nodded. “Seems so.”

  The girls bent their heads over their letters again.

  First of all I want you to know that you have both, perhaps without even realising it, touched my life in a positive way.

  Hope, when you came to stay with me for that month twelve years ago, you lived up to your name and you indeed gave me hope. I know that sounds awfully over the top and cheesy but you know, Hope, how you helped.

  I was stuck in a godawful rut with myself – feeling completely lost without Claude – and you came with your young man and you injected such fun into my life. How I loved watching the two of you together and how I loved our little chats on the terrace under the stars.

  You have a gift for listening, Hope. Please don’t ever forget that.

  Ava, sometimes the smallest things can mean the most. When I returned home for my mother’s funeral, it was you who held my hand and chatted to me even though you barely knew me. Returning on my own was hard – especially as my brothers and sisters all had families of their own they had to tend to. But you, you were there for me. You let me cry and you made me laugh. That was more than I could possibly have hoped for from you.

  I am proud to say I know you both. Proud of such bright, intelligent young women and proud that they are part of my family.

  When I thought of the task ahead – of who I could trust to take care of it for me – I couldn’t think of anyone but you both.

  I have no family in France. I do, of course, have dear friends but, girls, can I be straight? There are only certain people you would trust with sorting through your knicker drawer.

  And that is what it comes down to, girls. This letter is to ask you a favour. It is my final request that you visit my house in France and say goodbye to it from me one last time.

  I have tried to put my affairs in order as much as possible in these last few months but there are some things which I could not. Could you do them for me? Pack away my last few belongings. Sell them if you wish. Keep what you want. Everything can go. I’ve no need for any of it any more.

  I have made arrangements that money is put aside to pay for your flights and to cover your expenses while you are here. My dear friend Jean-Luc Gilard will be on hand to offer whatever support he can while you are here.

  I hope you do not find this an imposition.

  Much love,

  Betty

  x

  “She wants us to clean out her knicker drawer?” Hope said incredulously, wiping a tear from her eyes. “God bless her, she was mad as a box of frogs and she wants us to clean out her knicker drawer!”

  “It would appear so.”

  Ava glanced over the letter again, turning the page to find contact details for the mysterious Jean-Luc, and a cheque for £500 which was to cover the cost of her travel. She looked atHope who was just discovering that she had been sent the same.

  Ava didn’t know how to react. She was deeply touched by her late aunt’s very kind words. She couldn’t believe those few hours spent together had meant so much. If the truth were told she felt kind of sorry for Betty. She hadn’t had the first notion that Betty had felt so excluded at the funeral. She seemed, well, the life and soul of the party if such things were appropriate at funerals.The obsessive compulsive in her was twitching at the prospect of sorting out a house in France, but the busy working mother in her was screeching that there was no bloody way she could up sticks and go to France to tidy up after some dead woman she barely knew when she had a job, and a daughter, and a husband, and a hundred and one things to do.

  “This day just gets weirder and weirder,” Hope said, sipping from her glass.

  Ava thought that if there was a prize for understatements, that one would probably be a winner.She was about to tell her cousin just that when her phone beeped to life, signalling that Connor was outside and waiting for her. She grabbed a pen from her bag and scribbled her contact details before handing them to Hope.

  “I’m sorry to have to rush off,” she said, lifting her bag and stuffing the letter into it. “Especially whenwe have so much to talk about. But, you know, I need to go. But I’ll definitely be in touch and we’ll definitely talk about this.”

  She took the business card Hope offered her and they both stood up and hugged – a hug that was mildly less awkward than the one they had shared in the solicitor’s office earlier. That could have been down to their possible shared destiny shuffling through their mad aunt’s knickers or it could have been down to the champagne, but for a second Ava allowed herself to breathe in the hug and return it without her usual awkwardness.

  “It’s been nice,” she said.

  “It’s been bloody weird, but nice,” Hope replied. “And yes, I will definitely be in touch.”

  Chapter 4

  The bottle of champagne had to be finished and Hope was most definitely not leaving it with a single drop in it. Especially not at the prices charged by the Merchant. It had gone six and the shops would be closed. There was no chance Dylan was getting his fancy cologne. Sipping her champagne and looking at the young, trendy, and exceptionally cool types wander in for their post-work drinkies she had an urge to do something spontaneous and reminiscent of when she actually had a life.

  Picking up her phone, she tapped out a message to Dylan: Fancy taking a sickie? In a pub? With me? I have champagne and a story to share about my auntie’s knickers.

  She hit send and sat back and re-read Betty’s letter. Ava’s face had been a picture, she thought. Then again she was glad she hadn’t been looking at her own reflection when she had read it. She didn’t know what she had been expecting of Betty. Maybe a necklace or some other jewellery. She remembered admiring Betty’s stunning sapphire engagement ring when she had been in France – at her best guess she had wondered if Betty would leave that to her. But a request to go there and put her affairs in order? She was slightly amazed that Betty had trusted her – notoriously flightly and disorganised in almost every aspect of her life – to sort things out. That was obviously why Ava had been included in the equation too. Ava could organise anything, Hope bet. She struck her as the kind who had her CDs all arranged alphabetically, her books all the right way out and organised in order of height in her bookshelf and an impressive collection of days-of-the-week knickers. Hope and Betty were more cut from the same cloth. Neither could organise a piss-up in a brewery.

  Ava seemed nice though – less anal and less bookish than she remembered. But did she want a trip to France with her, just her, for company? Once again her mind sprang back to her trip to France twelve years before, when she had Betty for company . . . and Dylan, of course.

  Her phone beeped, pulling her out of her daydream and back to reality.

  I’ll take a leave day. I could do with chatting to you about the big date. I need you, H, you’re my only Hope. Where r u?

  She laughed at his message. “You’re my only Hope.” He used that when he was very nervous. Texting him back that she was in the very fancy Merchant, she said if he met her they could at least do a recce for his big date. He replied that he would be there in half an hour and s
he topped up her glass and took the small compact mirror from her bag to check her reflection. Her make-up was holding up okay, but her eyes had a slightly glassy look about them from the champagne. Maybe she should order some water to bring her round a bit before Dylan arrived.

  She loved watching Dylan walk into a room. He was one of those men who emitted some sort of magnetic attraction to all the single ladies (and most of the married ones) when he walked. He was, generally speaking, mostly unaware of this – but Hope, she wasn’t. And she was also aware that the other people in the bar didn’t know they were just good friends so she could make a big show of hugging him and kissing him and everyone would be insanely jealous. She knew that made her a little bit of a bunny-boiler but, she reminded herself, there was no harm in it either. Not really. Let’s face facts – the only person getting hurt by the situation was Hope and Hope alone.

  She had downed two glasses of water and was feeling safe enough to pour out more champagne when he arrived. She stood up to hug him and caught a deep inhalation of his cologne – which made her feel a little dizzy. Closing her eyes, she breathed him in and sat down before pushing his glass of champagne towards him and glancing round the room to catch those telltale jealous expressions on the faces of the trendy young drinkers.

  “Cheers!” he said, sipping from his glass.

  “Was work okay with you taking the night off?”

  He nodded. “My team are well ahead with the current project so they were fine. I’m a bit worried Cyndi might think I’m snubbing her so I’ve sent a text message. Was that too much?”

  His brow was furrowed and he looked worried so, even though Hope had felt herself bristle at the very mention of Cyndi’s name, she assured him that no, that was not too much and that if Cyndi was like any other woman on the planet she would probably now be circulating said text message to all her friends, telling them what a catch he was.

  He smiled – a broad grin – and, while she was disgusted at how clearly infatuated he was with another woman, she allowed herself to bask in that smile for just a moment and wondered how she had ever seen him as anything other than absolutely perfect for her.

  “I can’t believe how nervous I am about Friday night,” Dylan confided. “I don’t think I have ever been this nervous before and you know me, I don’t get nervous. Without sounding like a complete prick, I’m not exactly inexperienced when it comes to women.”

  “Steady there, Joey Tribbiani,” Hope said, referencing one their favourite programmes from their student days. “I’ve seen you nervous before.”

  “But not this nervous,” he said, sitting back and drinking from his glass again.

  Hope lifted her glass to note it was almost empty. She was clearly agitated and drinking much faster than was sensible for her. She sat her glass back down and looked at Dylan who had his best tortured-soul expression on him. He would have given Morrissey a big old fat run for his miserable money.

  She knew as his best friend she should start listing his attributes – all positive and glowing of course – and with a few glasses of wine in her there was every chance she would start telling him how sexy he was. No, it was best she just cut this as quickly and cleanly as she could.

  “Look, Dylan. You’ve nothing to be worried about. She’ll love you. She’d be mad not to. You’re a ride. You know it. Now, my glass is almost empty so could you go and get us both a top-up and see if they have some crisps or the like or are they too posh?”

  He smiled again – another blinder – and leaned over the table to kiss her on the cheek. “I do love you, Hope,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

  She watched him walk away and had to bite back the urge to call him back because she was starting to realise that he really was walking away from her and things were changing. For so many years she had wanted him to meet someone special and now that he seemed so convinced that Cyndi was, potentially, that someone very special indeed she didn’t like it.

  Her eyes suddenly damp, she reached her hand into her bag to find a tissue and brushed against the letter from Aunt Betty instead. Perhaps a break away to France for a bit wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Some distance from the situation could be exactly what the doctor ordered.

  The post-champagne headache had hit full on and Ava rubbed at her temples while Connor drove over the Glenshane Pass on the final leg of their journey back home to Derry.

  “You have to go,” Connor said, eyes fixed straight ahead.

  “It’s not that simple,” Ava said.

  “Of course it is,” her husband said. “The money is there. School holidays are in a few weeks.”

  “But . . .” Ava tried to think of more excuses but her brain seemed to have stopped working.

  “But nothing. Ava, this is your aunt’s last request. It might be strange but it’s what she wanted and I know you, Ava Campbell. I know you well enough to know that you will only crucify yourself with guilt if you don’t.”

  He had a point. Guilt seemed to be one of Ava’s specialist subjects these days. “But what about Maisie?” she asked, pulling her Ace card. He couldn’t argue about Maisie. She was the apple of his eye – fair and square.

  “We can survive without you,” he said, turning to look at her with a wry smile. “We wouldn’t want to do it for a long time – you know, I’d need you every now and again to wash my socks – but we could survive without you.”

  “Hmmm,” she responded, thinking she would no doubt be coming back to one big giant heap of a messy house if she left them to their own devices for anything more than an hour.

  “You’re thinking that will leave the house a kip, aren’t you?” Connor asked.

  “No!” The fecker! He always could tell what she was thinking. She glanced at him and he burst out laughing – a loud peal of a laugh that made her feel a little weak at the knees – and she laughed back. “Okay then, so I was.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t. I’ll sort the house out. It will be perfect. Absolutely gleaming.”

  Raising one eyebrow, she looked at him and was surprised he was keeping a straight face while he stared ahead at the road in front of him. “Really?”

  “Really. Sure I’ll get your mum to come round the day before you come back,” he said with a wink.

  “You have to go,” Cora said, looking at the letter.

  “That’s what Connor said,” Ava laughed, putting on the kettle to make a cup of tea for her mother before she went home. “But it’s a big ask,” she went on. “And I don’t get it.”

  Cora shook her head and sat down at the kitchen table. She looked tired and Ava felt guilty for keeping her later than planned.

  “Is your headache bothering you, Mum?”

  “No . . . no,” Cora said. “It’s just a shock. It’s all been a shock. I just wish she had given us the chance to make amends.”

  “What amends? She didn’t talk of many regrets in this letter. Just wanting her knickers sorted.” Ava tried to keep the mood light.

  “There were just some things I would have liked to say. Things I would have liked to have done.”

  Ava poured the boiling water from the kettle into the teapot which she placed on the ring of the cooker. “Why not come with us? I’m sure Betty wouldn’t mind? Sure it won’t bring her back, but you might feel a little closer to her.”

  She watched as her mother sucked in her cheeks and shook her head. “No. I couldn’t do that.”

  Ava should have known her mother would say no. She was a complete stick in the mud. The furthest she had ever travelled from Derry had been to Dublin for a weekend and even then she had complained as if she were in a foreign country.

  “You could do it, Mum, and sure I would be there to translate the menus – well, try to anyway – and do all your running around for you. It would be fine.”

  “No,” Cora said, shaking her head decisively. “No, love. Betty wanted you there . . . and Hope too. If she had wanted me there she would have asked me. This one is just for you and you need to
do it.” Her voice was choked again as she stood up. “If you don’t mind love, I’ll skip the tea. Can Connor just take me over home now?”

  “Okay,” Ava said, hugging her mother tightly.

  Maisie had gone to bed – thankfully peacefully and without a mini-riot – and Ava had a shower which cleared her champagne-induced headache. Now she was sitting on their bed, fluffy dressing-gown pulled around her, reading Aunt Betty’s letter again. She traced her finger along the words and tried to understand why Bettyhad chosen her for this task. She had expected to come from Belfast with a pair of amazing purple shoes – not a guilt complex and the funding for a trip to France with a cousin she barely knew. It was strange that she didn’t really know Hope at all, despite there only being a few months between them. They had attended the same school but Hope was one of the cool kids while Ava always found herself comfortably ensconced among the smarty-pantsswots. In fact she was pretty sure she remembered Hope calling her that once at a family party when they were about fifteen. Hope had sauntered in in her coloured leggings and hyper-colour T-shirt with her up-to-the-minute trainers while Ava had sat, head in a book, glancing in disapproval at the group of rowdies singing ‘Sweet Caroline’ at the top of their lungs.

  Cringing at the memory, Ava thought about how cool Hope still looked – even if she said her life wasn’t exactly the high non-stop party train Ava had imagined it to be. She glanced down at her fluffy slippers and kicked them off, deciding there and then to paint her toenails. Okay, so it wasn’t full-on glamour. She wasn’t going for a pedicure, or getting her legs waxed or going for a vajazzle or anything. But painting her nails would be a nice start.

  She was on the third toe of her left foot when Connor pushed the door open and walked in carrying two glasses of red wine.