So as she watched her supervisor’s back as she walked away she vowed to just get on with her work and count down the days until the factory would become a distant memory.
When it was clocking-off time, she grabbed her coat, wrapped her scarf tight around her again and made for the door before the girls could stop her. They would want her to go for a cup of tea and a gossip, but she couldn’t – not tonight. Not that she would tell her mother and father that. She was due to meet Ray in the flat and hoped to sneak in an hour together before going home. She would, of course, tell her parents she had gone for tea with the girls, but she had better plans in mind.
Smiling, she ran through the door and up the hill where she let herself into the dark flat, switched on the lights and quickly set to work, keeping her coat on to try and keep warm. Setting a small fire in the hearth, she lit a few candles and made a pot of tea before nipping to the small bathroom with the very small mirror to try and make herself look presentable. She had brought the bare essentials with her: some pan stick, a small brush to smooth her hair and a bottle of scent. She washed her face in the icy water and shivered as she redid her make-up and brushed her hair. He would be here any minute and she was almost giddy at the thought of seeing him even though it had only been twenty-four hours since she had last felt his lips brush against her. She gently touched the brooch which she had pinned to her dress. It might have seemed a little ostentatious with her factory clothes but she didn’t care: it symbolised all he meant to her and she had vowed she would wear it every day, no matter what the occasion.
This little hour they would have together now would be precious: a chance to get intimate. She felt a little guilty even to think this way but with every day they were together she wanted to be closer and closer to him. She longed to feel him touch her, to caress her. She felt a little dizzy at the thought. She could feel herself blush. She wasn’t a bad girl, she knew that. She had friends who had slept with their boyfriends before they were married. Rumour was that Margaret from down the street had slept with her man before he had even asked her to marry him. Rumour was that Margaret had to get married – not that anyone in her family would ever admit it. But Stella was able to work the dates out and that baby was very big for one who was supposed to be born so early.
She didn’t judge, not really. But now, well, she knew it was only a matter of weeks before she would be Ray’s wife and, while she was nervous as hell about what to expect, she found herself longing to be intimate with him, to feel him kiss her skin. Sometimes when they were alone they would find it hard to control themselves. When he kissed the nape of her neck, she would almost lose the run of herself. She couldn’t quite understand how something which felt so right, which was such a part of their love for each other, could ever be considered wrong.
She blushed again as she brushed down her dress and waited for the sound of his key turning in the door. The fire had caught and the candles were casting soft shadows on the wall. She planned to hold him close to her as soon as he walked in, to kiss him softly in the way she knew made him groan which in turn made her insides turn to jelly. As she heard the turn of the key and listened to his footsteps climb the stairs she thought of what her life would be – how she would wait for his returning from work each day. How he would always come home to her. She closed her eyes and imagined the life that awaited her and felt a slow smile spread across her face.
Standing up, she turned to watch him walk through the door, her breath catching as she saw him, and the sadness in his eyes, and she felt her world slip out from under her feet.
* * *
Ray was aware of the hissing of the kettle on the stove and the crackle of the fire. He tried to focus on them to escape, just for a moment, the sound of Stella crying. He had tried to reassure her but he knew that this was not what they had planned. When the announcement had been made at the Base he had felt his heart sink. He had gone directly to his superiors to plead his case but there was no leeway. The decision had been made. Ray and his men were to be shipped out in less than forty-eight hours. The increasing tensions with Russia meant that they were to be relocated back home as soon as possible to await further orders. There was no room for manoeuvre, even though some of the marines would remain stationed in Derry. There were no plans to close the NAVCOM Base but, as they were next to return to America anyway, the decision had simply been made to move their date forward.
“But you are demobbing anyway,” Stella had said. “Can you not just demob now?”
“In June. And no, they won’t let me. I’ve asked, Stella. I’ve asked every question I could think of. I’ve near enough begged.”
“But there is no way the paperwork would be in place by then . . . my passport . . .”
Ray shook his head, his heart hurting at the pain in Stella’s eyes. This was not a time of war. There would be no fast-tracking of their wedding. The reality was that he would travel on ahead of her and she would have to follow him and they would marry in Boston.
He knew he was asking a lot – he was asking her to give up having her father walk her down the aisle – to give up the small wedding which wasn’t even half of what he wanted to give her anyway. And he was asking her to travel on her own – that horrible journey – Ireland to America – with not a friend to her name. All he had ever wanted to do was to protect her and now he was letting her down and there was nothing he could say which could make it any better.
If anything he was only going to make it worse. “I’m not sure I will get away from the Base tomorrow,” he said, looking at the floor. “I was pushing my luck to get a pass tonight but I told them I needed to see you.”
Stella looked up, her blue eyes red-rimmed from crying. Tears fell freely and as quickly as he could wipe them away more would fall. He didn’t care that he was crying himself now – that his heart was breaking.
“This is goodbye?” she said, her voice stilted.
He nodded, simply because he could not bring himself to say the words.
“Oh God,” she muttered, and he closed his eyes as he felt her hand on his cheek.
“You will come to me, Stella,” he said, kissing her hand. “I’ll have it all arranged and you will come to me and we will get married and I promise I will make it better.”
“But you’re leaving . . .” she said as if she were trying to make sense of what he was saying. “I won’t see you, for . . . how long?”
“You’ll come as quickly as we can get it organised. I promise, as quickly as we can get everything in order, you will come to me. I have money, Stella. Everything will be paid for – your transport, your paperwork. I’ll be there to meet you as soon as you step off that boat. I promise. I’ll be there and I’ll never let you go. I promise.”
He looked straight into her eyes, their tears mingling as he reached forward to kiss her. He tilted her head towards his – kissing the tears from her cheek before softly kissing her lips. He felt her respond, her hair move to his face, caressing his cheek and he reached to the small of her back and pulled her closer to him. As she grasped at his hair and pulled him closer, kissing him deeply, he felt himself gasp. He pulled back from her, searching her eyes for some sign it was okay.
“Are you sure?” he asked and she nodded, taking his hand and leading him to the small single bed in the corner of the room where nervously she lay down and pulled him closer to her.
As he kissed her and felt her body pressed against his, the softness of her skin against his body, he knew that while they were not legally married they could not be more a part of each other than there and then.
“It will be okay,” he whispered as he kissed her neck and heard her gasp. “We will be together soon. I promise you. Nothing has changed. Nothing will change. I promise you.”
* * *
Stella woke in darkness. She could feel the soft warmth of Ray’s breath against her neck. She felt his arm wound around her waist and for a second, before the reality that this was goodbye kicked in, she revelled in t
he feeling of his skin on hers.
As she lay in the darkness a tear slid down her face and she quickly wiped it away. She would not have Ray’s last memory of her to be one of a crying mess. This was not goodbye – this was a temporary glitch before they could be together for the rest of their lives. Reluctantly, she pulled herself up and started to dress in the dark. She didn’t want to think of what time it might be, or that her parents might be going off their heads worrying about her and where she might be. She would deal with that later.
Ray didn’t stir and she knew she should wake him – that he was probably expected back at the Base as much as she was expected back home – but she wanted to revel in this silence, this togetherness, just a little longer. This, she realised as she slipped her feet into her shoes, was the last time she would be in this flat. She would walk past it again, of course, and look up at the window but he would never be there waiting for her again.
“It shouldn’t be long,” he had assured her. “Before you can follow me. Please, Stella, promise me that you will follow me.”
She had nodded as he caressed her, as they lay in the darkness, their bodies tight against each other. “I’ll always follow you. I promise.”
When she was dressed, when she had combed her hair back and put on her coat and her scarf, she sat down beside him again and gently kissed his cheek. She wanted to make this as painless as possible. If they were to see each other again in a matter of weeks there was no need for tears, she told herself even though her heart felt as if was shattering as she felt the softness of his skin against her lips.
“Ray, wake up. Ray, it’s time to go. I need to be home. You need to be back at the Base. They’ll be expecting you.”
He blinked awake and she gazed into his blue eyes, dimly lit by the flickering candles in the room. He nodded as she bent forward to kiss him again.
“I’ll follow you,” she whispered, trying to stop her voice from breaking. “I promise. Wait for me, Ray, please. Don’t give up on us.”
He nodded wordlessly, taking her hand in his and kissing it.
“Now,” she said, mustering all the strength she could, “I’m going to leave.”
“Let me walk you home,” he said.
“No,” she replied, firmly this time. This was difficult enough. She had to leave now before she begged him not to leave even though it was beyond his control and she knew that there was nothing he could do. “You get back to the Base. They will be expecting you and I’d better get home and face the music myself. We’ll be together soon.” She brushed a stray tear away and cursed inwardly at herself for letting her emotions show when she had promised herself she wouldn’t.
He nodded as she stood up and left the room. As the door closed behind her and she padded down the stairs and onto the cold street she vowed that she would be with him again – soon – come hell or high water. It was only as the rain started falling as she walked towards her house that she allowed her tears to fall. Dear God, she would miss him. She would miss him so very much.
Chapter 21
Ray, I’m not giving up. Please know I’m not giving up but this is the last letter I’ll send you. If you still want me, then please, please give me some sign. Just anything, Ray. Please.
* * *
Derry, June 2010
Sam’s phone beeped to life, cutting through the silence in the bedroom. After I had come to the realisation that, as Sam put it, I was “still with Craig because it was easier than not being with Craig”, I had become lost in my own thoughts.
It wasn’t that he had said anything I didn’t know. I wasn’t foolish. I had known for a long time that what Craig and I had was broken . . . but hearing it out loud, it made me feel . . . well, a mixture of emotions. Sadness, I suppose, because now it would be almost impossible to put it all back into a box and ignore it. A sense of failure too, maybe. I had clung on for a long time hoping against hope that something would change. I had made so many excuses. When his work settled down, things would be better. When my business was up and running and I had more time, things would be better. When my father’s illness didn’t take up every minute of my day, I would be able to devote more time to fixing my relationship with Craig, and things would be better. Except everything had come and gone and still it wasn’t better, and sitting a few thousand miles away from the situation I could see that it wasn’t going to be. I had sent him those text messages since I had been here, trying to cling on to some semblance of something. I felt affectionate towards him – despite his cheating, despite his controlling ways. I could see that he was trying in some cack-handed manner to try and fix things himself – or make sense of them. Did I feel angry at him? I suppose no. I felt sad – that this is what we had become. All our hopes and dreams – all my hopes and dreams – had come to this – a realisation that we were never going to be together again. And I had to tell him. That in itself pushed aside the sliver of relief that was creeping in – the relief that these doubts were no longer a secret.
Sam had held my hand while I cried and laughed and had a minor freak-out.
“Things work out, cous,” he said. “They do. And whatever is to come is not going to be any worse than losing your father, is it? Nor will it be any worse than living with someone you can’t trust – who you don’t feel close to, who you feel betrayed by.”
He was right, of course, and now it was just a matter of trying to figure out how to move forward but at the moment my head hurt too much. This was all too much to take in – my mother’s letters to Ray, my relationship with Craig. I felt overwhelmed, so after a while Sam and I had just lain there, on the bed, in silence, listening to the sound of the world outside.
The beeping of Sam’s phone was a welcome distraction from it all and I watched as he sat up and read the message he had received.
“It’s Niamh,” he said.
I shrugged my shoulders, trying to place the name.
“From the shop,” he offered. “One of my best customers.”
“Ah, your biggest fan,” I said.
“The very one,” he said with a wink. “She’s looking for that night out tonight. She doesn’t waste any time.”
I raised my hand and made a stabbing motion, and making an ‘eek’ noise mimicked the iconic scene from Psycho. “You do know she fancies you, don’t you?”
Sam laughed, as if he couldn’t believe anyone would ever fancy him. “Wise up. Anyway, I’ll just message her back and let her know we’re otherwise occupied.”
“With what?” I said. “Sitting here discussing old love letters about someone else’s life, worrying about the messes we have made of our lives? I’d say a night out could do us the world of good – as long as you do accept that she does, indeed, fancy you and that there is a fair chance that by the end of the night she will make some sort of a move on you.”
“Annabel, you are too funny,” he said. “Niamh’s just a friend. A very eccentric friend – but nothing more than that. But if you want to go out, so be it! Glad rags on tonight and out we will go!”
“Good. Although you are aware that I have a serious dearth of glad rags?”
Sam shook his head. “I don’t understand you, cousin of mine. A beautiful woman like you – with a lack of fancy things.”
It was my turn to look on in disbelief. I wouldn’t say I was ugly. I wasn’t that self-effacing – but I would never say I was beautiful either. Average – that’s how I would describe myself and I suppose I dressed accordingly.
“I promise before I go home to take myself shopping in Second Hand Rose and buy a whole shopful of fancy things – but for now you will have to settle for me, my jeans, some sneakers and a fitted T.”
“You’ll still be gorgeous, cous,” he said, jumping to his feet. “With genetics like ours, we can’t help it!” He laughed and I laughed back – so delighted to be looking forward to a night letting my hair down – not thinking about all the serious, grown-up nonsense running around my head.
* * *
&
nbsp; On the day Daddy died, after he was gone my mother and I sat with him for an hour. I’m sure some would consider it wrong – morbid even – but even though I knew that he was gone, I couldn’t bear to be away from him. I held his hand, rubbing it – willing some warmth back into it while my mother – grief wracking through her body – lay with her head on his chest. It was as if she was waiting for his heart to start beating again – for him to admit it was one of those big jokes he so loved to play on us. Letting go – physically letting go of his hand – was one of the hardest things I have ever done. I imagine it was one of the hardest things I would ever have to do. I’d never lost anyone before – not there – not in front of my eyes. My grandfathers had both died before I was born and I never knew my grandmothers. I suppose that came with living away from family – just us three. I considered myself fairly lucky, if I’m honest. I saw friends lose their grandparents, their parents, their aunts or uncles and I felt as if I was somehow lucky that there I was – just us three. And nothing was going to come between us. I never had to say goodbye and this, this first time, was almost more than I could bear. You never truly understand grief until you feel it yourself – until it overwhelms you, hitting you in relentless waves as you try and convince yourself everything is going to be okay while every part of you screams that it won’t be and that it can’t ever be okay again.
The First Time I Said Goodbye Page 18