If Only You Knew

by Claire Allan

  She squeezed his hand again, because she couldn’t talk, and then she ran to help Maisie fish a sea urchin out of a rock pool.

  Sitting at the kitchen table, laptop on and her glasses perched on the end of her nose, Ava set about googling everything there was to know about the South of France and everything there was to know about getting there as painlessly as possible. This was her comfort zone – organising things. She had a brand-new, crisp and clean manila folder waiting for clean crisp printouts detailing interesting details about flights and rental-car pick-ups and things which most people found interminably boring but which she found mildly thrilling. Shaking her head and smiling to herself, she wondered if this was just another sign that she needed to get out more. Ah well, on a trip to France, whatever the reason, maybe she would find a little of her old self again.

  Picking up her phone, she dialled Hope’s number and smiled cheerfully when she heard her cousin answer.

  “Are you ready to do this?” Ava asked.

  “I was born ready,” Hope replied cheerfully. “And you have no idea how much I mean that!”

  “Bad day?”

  “Something like that. It’s a long story and one I will no doubt tell you when we are in France and we are drinking some very fine wine and sorting through Betty’s things.”

  “Eeek! Sounds intriguing.”

  “Perhaps intriguing is not the word I would use,” Hope said, but her tone was light. “I promise I will fill you in when we are face to face in France.”

  “Which would be when?” Ava asked. “I’m free to go any time from the first week in July – as soon as the school term is done, so it’s really down to you.”

  “There is something you should know about me . . . and that is I’m pretty much free to go wherever I want, whenever I want.”

  “Sounds blissful,” Ava sighed.

  “Well, in theory yes, but at the moment there isn’t much work about so it’s not as glam as it sounds but I’m very good at making it sound glam. In fact, I’m pitching an article just now about being single in the city. Lucky me – the pick of all the Belfast men!”

  Ava laughed. “Well, you never know, you might meet a hunky Frenchman.”

  “Oooh la la!”

  “Right, so if we say the first week in July? I’ll get on to Mr Gilard about making the arrangements his end and I’ve flights in front of me here. They’re quite reasonable for school holidays.”

  “Great, sounds good. Are you happy enough making the arrangements? Is there anything I can do?”

  “Hope, believe me, if there is something you should know about me it’s that I love making plans. It’s one of my special skills. Right up there with not wanting to shoot myself in the head when I read The Gruffalo for the two-thousandth time and being able to do French plaits in the hair of a very wriggly two-and-a-half-year-old.”

  “Impressive. I can’t even do French plaits in the hair of a non-wriggling thirty-four-year-old,” Hope responded.

  “I’ll do yours for you if you’re really desperate!” Ava laughed.

  “Grand. We’ll do that with the wine and the tale of my sorry life.”

  “It’s a deal. Right, this Mr Gilard. Did you meet him when you were in France – what was he like?”

  “Hmmm, I don’t think we met him. But I’m sure he’s fine. Betty’s friends were all lovely – very French and arty and a bit mad, but lovely. They made us feel welcome. I’m sure if Betty had Mr Gilard in her company he’ll be lovely too.”

  “Oooh, do you think they might have been lovers?” Ava said, her gossip radar tingling.

  “No,” Hope replied. “No, I don’t think she could ever have loved anyone but Claude. He was her best friend.”

  Hanging up the phone, with Ava in raptures at making the necessary arrangements, Hope sat back and looked around her at her living room which looked like the entire contents of the Castlecourt Shopping Centre had exploded all over it.

  It was clear Cyndi with a Y and an I was having a very positive effect on Dylan and his personal grooming. He had been up first thing that morning, even though it was a Saturday and he had even presented her with a bacon sandwich – cooked by his very own hands – before declaring he’d had a brilliant night with Cyndi. The smile on his face was so wide, she had been mildly concerned he would launch into a verse of ‘I Could Have Danced All Night’.

  “It went well then?” she asked as he climbed into bed beside her and offered her a mug of milky tea.

  “It went very well. Very well indeed. She’s something else, Hope. Something else indeed.”

  Hope smiled and washed down the sandwich which was sticking in her throat with some tea.

  “Do you fancy coming shopping with me today?” he said. “I want a few new things.”

  Jesus. This was serious. He was up early and he wanted to go shopping – a mere two days after he had dragged her round the shops for a new suit. Cyndi must be some girl.

  “Yes,” she had nodded. “Of course I will.”

  “I’ll treat you to a coffee in Starbucks.”

  “You are just too kind,” she had mocked.

  “Yes, I know. I spoil you,” he said, kissing her lightly on the cheek and jumping out of bed. “I’m going to get a quick shower. Do you think we could be ready to go in, say, half an hour?”

  Inwardly, Hope groaned. Her head was still thumping from the over-indulgence of red wine and bad 80s rock music from the night before – but she would get up anyway and go and be a saddo and let people think they were a couple for a while as they traipsed the shops together.

  It had been a long day and now, looking at all he had bought, she was exhausted.

  Amongst his haul had been at least four different brands of Lynx deodorant and he had swapped his manky tub of Brylcreem for a host of waxes, gels, foams and sprays. A bulging carrier bag from NEXT spilled a host of new pairs of boxers and socks onto the sofa, which would ensure he had a fresh pair every day of the week without having to go anywhere near the washing machine.

  “Hey there, Mr Fancy Pants,” she said as he walked back in and sat down, handing her a mug of tea.

  Blushing slightly, he sipped from his mug and laughed. “You’re one to talk. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your collection of fancy knickers hanging on the radiators in the bathroom.”

  Hope felt herself blush at the very thought that he had been looking at her knickers even though they hadn’t been on her body at that time and it was very obvious that at some stage in their years of living together he would have encountered them drying on the heaters.

  “Yes, but I always wear fancy pants,” she countered, “not just when I’m trying to get my end away with a blondey from work.”

  “Nothing wrong with a man making a bit of an effort, Hope. Don’t deny you would feel much more inclined to get rough and ready with a man if his socks and jocks were fresh as a daisy.”

  “I tend not to sniff either of those areas much, but I get your point,” she said, with a smile, trying not to think about his socks and even less about his jocks. “So when will you see her again anyway?”

  “Well, I’m on day shift this week, so, basically tomorrow night. We’re going out for dinner.”

  “I’m surprised you have any money left for dinner!” Hope teased, looking at the Debenham’s bag bulging with another designer suit, not to mention the new shoes and the new glasses he had absolutely insisted on getting. “Will your budget be more Pizza Hut this time then?”

  “Ha ha, very funny. I was thinking more along the lines of the McDonald’s Drive-Thru or bringing her back here for one of your bacon sandwiches.”

  “You’d be lucky, McKenzie. My bacon sandwiches are not for general consumption and if you do bring her back here in the hope of getting one in the morning then you’d better make sure you keep the noise down. There are things I don’t need to hear and you doing the horizontal hokey-cokey with Cyndi is one of them.” She said it light-heartedly and she maintained the smile on her fac
e but inside she felt her stomach twist at the very notion of hearing him in bed with anyone but her.

  “We’ll keep it down, Mammy,” he teased, sitting back and sipping from his tea. “Thanks for today anyway, Hopeful,” he said. “It was nice to get some time with you.”

  “Yes,” she nodded, thinking just how much she had enjoyed it.

  “What are your plans for the week ahead anyway? Apart from plotting your big getaway to France? Have you much work on? Any pitches in? Any plots to write a mega-selling bestseller?”

  “Not much,” she said, “Just pitching a few articles and, yes, I might start writing that bestseller. I’m thinking of something about a sarcastic and narcissistic housemate who is found stabbed to death in his bed with a frozen bacon sandwich or something . . .”

  “I’ll be locking my bedroom door then,” he said.

  “Sleep with one eye open, McKenzie,” she teased before they sat down to watch a movie together – which was only interrupted twenty-six times by text messages pinging on his phone which, by the smile on his face, she assumed were from Cyndi.

  Jean-Luc Gilard sounded like a very lovely man indeed. He had sounded delighted to hear from Ava and even happier to hear that she and Hope would be travelling over to France to put Betty’s affairs finally in order.

  “She was a lovely woman,” he said. “A great friend to so many of us.”

  He had such a genuine affection for Betty that Ava immediately felt comfortable talking to him. At the same time she felt embarrassed that she hadn’t really known this woman he thought so much of.

  “Did she have a good send-off?” she asked. “Were you there?”

  “It was a very fitting goodbye,” he said. “And yes, we were there. Her friends. It was just as she wanted it. We wore bright colours. We sang Beatles songs. Itwasall very Betty.”

  “That’s nice to know,” Ava said. “We feel bad for not being there. If we had known . . .”

  “Your aunt was a very determined lady. She wanted no fuss – but I will take you to say your final goodbyes when you come over, if that helps?”

  “It helps,” Ava said. “It definitely helps.”

  “So,” he said, “when are you coming over?”

  “We thought the first week in July. I am just about to book flights now. Betty said you would be there to help us.”

  “I will,” Jean-Luc said. “Anything you need while you are here, you just call me. You will be staying at your aunt’s house? There is ample accommodation.”

  “Yes, yes, I think so.”

  “I will make sure everything is in order. Would you like me to pick you up from the airport?”

  “Actually, I think we will be getting a rental car. That way we won’t have to trouble you too much.”

  “It is no trouble,” he said. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

  “I will.”

  Ava hung up after agreeing to forward their arrival details by email and he promised to stay in touch. She lifted two cold beers from the fridge and walked to the decking where Connor was soaking up the last of the evening sun while Maisie played in her sandpit.

  “So when are you leaving me then?” he asked.

  “First week in July, we think. I just spoke to Mr Gilard and he is going help us out.”

  “Oh,” Connor said in mock offence, “you’ve not even left and you’ve got yourself a fancy man already!”

  “Who is probably pushing sixty and sporting a fine line in sensible shoes and dentures,” Ava laughed before reaching out to kiss her husband. “I think you’ll still be my first preference.”

  “Thanks,” he smiled, kissing her back and pulling her onto his knees where they kissed again.

  “Mammy, Daddy! Stop kissing!” Maisie shouted before clambering up on her parents and hugging them. “Let me in!”she shouted, burrowing her face in her mother’s chest.

  Ava hugged her close, before turning to Connor and telling him, clearly and with conviction: “I’ll definitely be coming back. You can rely on that.”

  She loved him. She loved everything about him – the smoothness of his hands, the soft touch of his lips, the strength in his arms and as soon as Maisie was in bed she walked back to the kitchen where he was now making a light supper, locking the door behind her.

  “I want to pick up where we left off,” she said, kissing him gently and then kissing him harder. She pulled him closer to her, not wanting to let go until she felt dizzy with it all. And now there was no chance an almost-three-year-old girl could walk in to catch them, she decided there was no better time than the present to just go for it there and then on the kitchen tiles.

  He was just as breathless when they pulled apart. “What did I do to deserve that?” he said with a dazed smile.

  “You were just you,” she said, cringing at the cheesiness of the line while aware that she was speaking the God’s honest truth.

  Chapter 7

  The second letter from Betty arrived, by registered post, more than a week after Ava and Hope had sat side by side in Mr Semple’s office.

  It hadn’t been the best of days for Hope. She had been out and about, pounding the streets and trying to come up with some story ideas without any luck. In fact, the day had been pretty shite. The heel of one of her more expensive pair of Office shoes had snapped off outside City Hall and when she had gone to the ATM to get some money out for a coffee and a new pair of pumps it had almost laughed at her.

  She had hobbled away, red-faced, and made it round to Primark where she picked up a pair of flip-flops which so didn’t suit her besuited appearance but were within her limited budget, and made her way to the bus stop to queue for a bone-rattler of a bus back home.

  Dylan was on night shift again so she consoled herself with the notion that she could atleast go home and be gloriously miserable all on her own. Sighing, she realised she didn’t even have enough spare change on her for a king-size bar of Galaxy and a bottle of plonk. Sure, she had money coming into her account the next day but the next day might as well have been next year as far she was concerned.

  She could have asked her parents for money, she supposed – her mum worked in Derry City Centre and could have popped out to deposit money into her bank account, no problem – but she was a grown woman and surely to God she should be standing on her own two feet by now?

  She was feeling very sorry for herself – and the feet were rubbed off her by the cheap flip-flops – by the time she pushed open the door to her terraced house, collapsed onto the sofa and switched on the TV.

  She looked at her laptop and swore. There was no point in switching it on. She wasn’t in the mood. She would likely only go on Facebook or Twitter and moan about her life and she was pretty sure everyone was sick of her moaning by now.

  Slipping her feet out of the offensive flip-flops and kicking them across the room, she stood up and stalked to the kitchen where she raided the cupboards for chocolate. Dylan always kept a secret stash and she prayed he wouldn’t let her down now.

  Her heart soared as she found a Wispa in the back of his cupboard and she had inhaled half of it without really tasting it. She stood back, blew her fringe from her face and kicked the cupboard in frustration – of course, having forgotten that she had taken her shoes off.

  “Oh for the love of the Wee Baby Jesus!” she swore, grabbing her toes and fighting back tears. “Ow, ow, ow, ow!” Could this day actually get any worse?

  She had hobbled to the counter to grab a square of kitchen roll to mop her tears when she turned to find Dylan, his eyes still heavy with sleep, staring at her.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Shit. Did I wake you? I’m sorry.”

  “Not to worry. I should have been getting up for work anyway. Anyway, as I said, are you okay?”

  She felt a bit childish crying over it, but she knew of all the people in her life Dylan was the one she could be childish in front of and not worry he would use it against her in the future.

  “My
shoe broke. The bank machine wouldn’t give me any money. There are no freelance jobs in this shitey city and I stubbed my fecking toe!” She just managed to get the word ‘toe’ out before dissolving into body-shaking sobs.

  Dylan just looked at her, tilting his head to one side and smiling slightly before pulling her into a bear hug. She buried her head into his chest and revelled in having his warm, downy chest-hair rest against her cheek. Oh, she couldn’t tell him – there was no way she could finish her list of woes by adding ‘And I love you’ to it. It would be completely inappropriate and given that he was quickly falling madly in love with someone else it was unlikely to improve the way her day was going.

  He kissed the top of her head and pulled her a little closer before speaking.

  “Hope,” he said and she looked up at his dark eyes. “Have you eaten my Wispa?”

  Dylan had forgiven her indiscretions. He had even gone out and bought her a bottle of wine and the aforementioned GalaxyKing Size. Before he had gone to work he had poured her a glass and put a blanket over her legs as she lay on the sofa, her toe still throbbing from the impact with the cupboard door. He had placed her laptop within her reach and switched it on – on strict orders she wasn’t even to think about work – and he had kissed her gently on the forehead before picking up his coat, phone and wallet and heading for the door.

  “Chin up. It’s going to get better. Your toe and your work. Until then, we have chocolate!”

  Hope nodded gratefully and blew him a kiss as he winked at her and left the room.

  Once again the thought crossed her mind: “I must not think about Dylan McKenzie in that way.”

  She was just closing her eyes to try and embed that particular affirmation in her head when Dylan walked back in.

  “Oh,” he said. “I almost forgot. This came for you earlier.”

  He handed her a slim white envelope and she looked down and was surprised to see Betty’s handwriting staring up at her. Ripping it open, she began to read and she could almost hear her aunt’s lilting tones – with the tiniest twang of a French accent – as she scanned the page.