If Only You Knew

by Claire Allan

  And the person she was wasn’t meant to be anything but happy, she realised.

  When the doctor had told her she could go home, she felt a little step closer to that happiness. The following day she would be safe to fly home to her daughter. Cora had already gone and picked Maisie up from Dublin so they could fly back into Belfast and be at Cora’s within ninety minutes. There they would work out just exactly what they would do but know that at least they could talk to each other again. At least there wasn’t this unspoken tension between them.

  “Thank you,” she said to the doctor, who smiled back. “Thank you so much.”

  “Now make sure you take it easy, and see your doctor when you get home. I will give you a letter to give to him and enough medication to see you through. You have been lucky, Ava.”

  “Yes,” Ava said, “I know I have.”

  When the doctor left she turned to Connor who was smiling back at her.

  “Let’s get back to Betty’s house then,” she said. “You look like you could do with a hot shower, nice sleep and a swim in the pool and maybe a cold beer once the sun is over the yardarm.”

  “Are you okay with going back to Betty’s?”

  She shrugged then nodded. “There might be another letter for me,” she said. “We weren’t finished. That and we don’t have much of an option. The house is amazing though – before all this, well, I felt more at peace there than I did anywhere in a very long time.”

  He sighed and rubbed his stubbly face. “In that case,” he said, “that sounds like heaven on earth. Much as I’ll miss this stunning accommodation, complete with slightly creaking fold-up bed, interesting cuisine and frequent visits from lovely nurses who, frankly, could have at least worn something a bit more Carry On Nursing – the thought of a hot shower, a warm bed – where I can actually cuddle up to you properly, a swim in a nice pool and . . . seriously, a very, very cold beer is enough to get me into a bit of an excited frenzy.”

  “Down, boy!” Ava said with a grin, packing her pyjamas into her case and making the bed behind her even though she knew the nurses would be in soon to strip the bed and prepare it for the next patient. It just wasn’t in her to leave an unmade bed.

  “We’ll get a taxi, save Hope coming here. It’s not far. We should be there in half an hour or so and then you can get a decent sleep. We can get a decent sleep,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder.

  “I can’t wait.”

  Hope was dozing, lying in bed with Jean-Luc’s arm resting over her. She had been dozing on and off for at least an hour, surprised and delighted each time she opened her eyes that he was still there. They had drifted off somewhere at around six in the morning after spending the night lost in each other. She was amazed at how relaxed she felt in his company. Looking at him, his long eyelashes resting closed on his cheek, she felt a surge of something – some sort of deep happiness and contentment. And some sort of a deep need to go and pee and make a cup of coffee.

  Slipping out from under his arm, she padded to the kitchen and put on the kettle before setting about making breakfast. She would wake him soon and he was bound to be hungry. Pulling her hair back from her face and tying it in a loose bun she gazed out the window over the hills – the hazy summer sky glimmered back at her and she felt herself smile back at it. She smiled as her tummy rumbled and she set about digging through the fridge to put together something filling to eat.

  Cutting into a crusty loaf and slicing some ham and fresh tomatoes she enjoyed the aroma of the fresh coffee wafting through the kitchen. There was no doubt there was a peacefulness in that room that soothed her. She smiled as she cracked some eggs, scrambled them in a bowl and added a generous dollop of butter, and she was just contemplating bursting into song when she heard Jean-Luc walk into the room. His hair was ruffled, his face crumpled and in his sleepy state he looked younger than his years. For the first time she saw a vulnerability about him which made her want to look after him – even if it was just for a few days.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked, gesturing towards the food.

  “Yes, very,” he said and there was something about how he spoke and how he looked at her which made her tummy do somersaults.

  She turned to pour his coffee and found her hands shaking just that little bit and she felt acutely aware of him behind her, watching her.

  “You make me very nervous,” she said.

  He laughed. “But why?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said, turning to face him and feeling herself blush. “But you do.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” she replied, feeling her heartbeat quicken as he walked towards her. Perhaps she wasn’t quite as ready for breakfast as she first thought. She looked at him again and chewed her bottom lip. There was no doubt she really, really wanted to and it would be comforting – comforting to be with him, close to him, so very, very close to him. This would be over soon enough and she knew that – she was only too aware of how she would be back to face her very own reality – one in which a very strong-accented blonde-haired woman was currently lying on her sofa, eating food from her fridge and bonking her best friend.

  He reached out and slowly rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. She couldn’t help but look at his hand. She had always had a thing for men’s hands – more so than for their feet – even the big ones – and Jean-Luc’s were without a doubt very fine specimens indeed. She looked from his hand to his arm and moving upwards to his shoulders, his neck – which she longed to nuzzle again – his face and those deliciously full lips. She spent a second or two just there, looking at his mouth before her eyes met his. He moved closer and as she closed her eyes she felt his full lips brushing against hers, his handsliding up her arm and around to her back, guiding her towards him. They kissed and in that moment she forgot everything – everything except how he felt and how he tasted – how he made her feel.

  “I do have a story,” he said, as they sat on the terrace an hour later eating breakfast. Wearing a yellow sundress, Hope was sitting with her legs across Jean-Luc’s knees, not quite able to bear being apart from him just yet. She looked at him, a little confused. All talk of sad stories seemed to be yesterday’s news. They were hours beyond that. Hours and multiple orgasms beyond that, if the truth be told.

  She didn’t expect him to confide in her. She was happy simply with the what you see is what you get, the way things had gone. Which had been very, very lovely indeed.

  “You don’t need to tell me, Jean-Luc. I didn’t ever mean to be pushy. I just wondered. It’s my job – a journalist. Forty per cent talent and sixty per cent pure unadulterated nosiness.”

  Jean-Luc smiled, softly. “No, you deserve to know. Not that it’s that interesting really. It’s just one of those typical stories where things didn’t work out and in the end it turned me into a bitter old man.”

  “You don’t seem bitter and you aren’t that old,” Hope said with a smile, sipping from her fresh orange juice and luxuriating in the way he stroked his hand up and down her legs as he spoke.

  He laughed and looked at her. “You are wonderful, Hope Scott. Do you always see the good in people?”

  “Most people have more good to see in them than bad,” she said. “But I’m no saint. I didn’t see any good in Cyndi for a long time and I’m still not sure we will ever be friends . . . but . . .”

  “But, you are still a good person. And I don’t mind telling you my story. I want to tell you my story.”

  “Okay,” she said, slowly.

  “When I moved back here, when my father was ill, I had a girlfriend in Spain. We had been together for five years. I thought I would marry her. When Papa took ill I knew I had to come home and I asked Luisa to come with me. In fact I asked her to marry me and come with me.”

  “She said no?” Hope blurted.

  “She said she would think about it. I know perhaps that should have been enough. I was asking a lot, after all – to move from her friends and to come w
ith me here to Saint Jeannet. I didn’t know how long I would be here, but Papa had no other family. He had friends, yes, like Betty, who did what she could to help. But he needed me. And I needed to be with him. Mama was already dead. I know this sounds silly, but the thought of being an orphan even though I was an adult . . . that was hard. That was sad for me.”

  Hope nodded. She couldn’t really begin to understand what he was feeling. Both her parents were still alive and still very much in good health. Not to mention exceptionally annoying at times – badgering her to settle down and find a proper job and a decent man. Her mother had been at her all these years to move away from Dylan and set up on her own.“He’s holding you back, love,” she would say. “What man will want to come near you when you’ve a full-grown man sitting in your own living room hanging around like a bad smell?” They were a constant presence on the end of the phone and she couldn’t really imagine them never being there. Poor Jean-Luc, it must have been hard for him.

  “Luisa said she loved me and just needed time. Papa, he did not have time, so I came back to care for him and I waited for her response. But I knew she was never going to follow. If she had loved me, the way she had said she loved me, she wouldn’t have had to think about it. Not after five years. She would have come, wouldn’t she?”

  Hope looked at him and nodded slowly, then shrugged her shoulders. “I imagine yes. If it was me . . . it had been me . . .”

  He sighed. “She never actually said no. We just drifted apart until I realised we were past saving. She came here for Papa’s funeral but it was not pleasant. It was . . . stilted . . . and I could see we had grown apart. So when she went home . . . well, we didn’t have to say it. Not really. She told me she was sorry and I said I was too and that was that.”

  “I’m sorry,” Hope said, acutely aware of all the sorrys hanging in the air, weighing the atmosphere down.

  “Betty, she picked me up and dusted me off. She stopped me moping. She could be scary when she wanted to be – and very bossy. I think you get that from her,” he added with a laugh.

  “The scary part or the bossy part?”

  “Both,” he said, with a wink. “She meant a lot to me. She was a very good friend.”

  “Which is why you have helped her with all this?” Hope said, gesturing around her.

  He nodded. “It was the very least I could do.” He paused then took her hand. “You know, Hope, that is why I was cold and distantwith you. Because for the first time since Luisa I could see someone who challenged me and made me laugh – and I was a little scared of that. I had to make sure this all went wellfor Betty’s sake – I didn’t mean to feel anything for you. I didn’t want to mess things up.”

  She sat for a moment, it all making sense, and realised that far from messing things up he had actually helped fix so many things.

  “This was definitely unexpected,” she said, “but this whole trip has been unexpected. Everything about it. You were just an added bonus.”

  “You are kind. Lovely,” he said with a wink. “Thank you for not running screaming from the madman with the sad story.”

  “And thank you for not running away from the madwoman with the sad story,” she said in return, clinking her glass on his and reaching over to kiss him.

  “You’re welcome,” he said, kissing her back. “You are very welcome.”

  Jean-Luc left shortly after eleven. He had some business to attend to, he said, but he promised to come back later. He had promised that he would take her to visit Betty’s grave and say her final goodbyes before she left France the following day.

  Hope sat by the pool contemplating just how hard it would be to walk away from the house when she heard movement on the terrace. Looking up, she saw Ava, looking definitely less pale than the last time she saw her, waving down.

  “I’m back!” Ava called, as Hope watched Connor walk onto the terrace behind her and stop to take in the view.

  Hope stood up and clambered up the stairs. “Can I hug you without breaking you?” she asked her cousin but didn’t have the chance to wait for a reply before Ava pulled her into a bear hug before grimacing and stepping backwards.

  Stricken, Hope stood back. “Oh Jesus, did I hurt you? You are okay, aren’t you?”

  Ava laughed and covered her chest with her arms. “Oh I’m fine. It’s just the pregnancy boobs have kicked in. No one can get within twenty feet without me feeling as if someone has set them on fire.”

  “I call it one of nature’s cruellest tricks,” Connor said, smiling and reaching out to hug Hope. Even though she barely knew him, hugging him felt just right. They had all been through so much.

  “Let me get you a tea, or a coffee, or a glass of water, and a soft seat?” Hope fussed, wanting to make sure her cousin took things nice and easy.

  “I’m fine, honest,” Ava said. “I’m enjoying getting moving about a little again.”

  “But do make it just a little,” Connor said softly, kissing his wife on the shoulder. “You have to take it nice and easy, remember.”

  “I will,” she said and turned to kiss her husband gently. “Now don’t take this the wrong way but you kind of stink. Shower for you and then why not get a sleep?”

  “I’m not going to argue with you,” Connor said, rubbing his chin. “Just lead the way.”

  “I’ll be back in a few,” Ava mouthed as she turned to show Connor to the bedroom.

  Hope watched them walk off, Connor’s hand reaching out to hold his wife’s and she smiled. Ava looked calmer than Hope had expected. She doubted she would be so calm in the circumstances. She would probably be lying, prone on the floor, letter in hand and an empty bottle of whiskey at her feet. Even though she didn’t drink whiskey.

  She sighed, stood up and padded back into the house and back into the study, where she sat down at the desk (the desk she would absolutely ask Jean-Luc to ship home for her just as soon as she worked out where home was) and she started to write again.

  Dear Betty,

  I don’t know if there are any other letters hiding in this house. We’ve not found them and tomorrow we go home. I’m going to see you soon. Jean-Luc is going to bring me to your grave. I know you didn’t really want any fuss and weren’t bothered about visitors but it’s something I want to do.

  You’ve played a real blinder this trip. No one expected it. I didn’t. You could have told me, you know. I’d have understood. I might have freaked out a bit, but I would have understood. I might have told you to tell Ava before now, because I think she would have liked to talk to you about it all.

  I understand why you did what you did. Well, to be honest, I find it hard to think things were so very different not so long ago. I remember the Troubles, but was it really that bad? I’m embarrassed by how ignorant I am of it all.

  All that said, I want to say thank you from the bottom of my heart. Thank you for bringing me here – for letting me see this place again. For taking me away from it all when, believe me, I really needed to get away from it all.

  Thank you for letting me find myself. Thank you for trusting me to be there for Ava. I’m not sure anyone had such faith in me before.

  Thank you for the amazing clothes and lovely wine and the remarkable sunsets and the chance to breathe again.

  I wish you were here so I could say all this to your face. I wish I could hug you. I know so much more about you than before and I love you even more. You were amazing. You were the kind of person I want to be. The kind of person who did what she wanted to do and didn’t let the bad times weigh her down and just kept going.

  I hope I touch as many lives. I hope I make as many people happy. I won’t let things get me down again. Betty. I promise.

  Love,

  Hope

  xxxx

  Sitting back, she folded the letter and put it in an envelope and decided she would take it and place it among the flowers on Betty’s grave and she just knew her aunt would see and know she had been there.

  Chapter 35
/>   While Connor was in the shower Ava sat on the bed and stared out of the window. There was no trace of the trauma which this room had seen just two days before. Hope had clearly sorted out the bed, aired the room and had even put a small display of wildflowers from the garden in a vase on the dressing table. The letter which had blown her world clear apart was sitting on the bedside table, folded and back in its envelope. She put her hand on top of it, not sure if she wanted to read it again.

  Closing her eyes and asking for some sort of guidance from someone – anyone – she opened them to notice the sun streaming through the windows.

  “Oh Betty, you mad old bat. You should have said!”

  She lifted the letter and read it again, poring over the words. She felt less sick to her stomach this time. She did feel desperately sad for Betty. She stopped at the section about the box of baby clothes, the knitted cardigan and she knew that even though she hated attics and even though Connor would kill her for even attempting it she would have to go back there. Putting the letter back on the bedside table she listened to the rush of water from the shower in the ensuite and decided there was no time like the present.