Legs trembling, her breath unsteady, she reached his house – painted a pale blue with white sash windows, a small picket fence running along outside. The garden was perfectly tended, a pick-up truck sat in the drive. A window, perhaps the living room, was open and she could hear music drifting through it. She steadied herself, walked up the path and knocked at the door, stepping back and waiting – hoping – to see who would answer.
A woman appeared at the door – tall, dark hair pulled back loosely off her face. She looked, perhaps, to be around the same age as Kathleen but better presented. Like her life hadn’t been so tough. She wore make-up and neat court shoes although she was wearing her apron and her hands were dusted with flour.
“Mrs Cooper?” Stella hazarded a guess.
The woman eyed her suspiciously, looking up and down.
“My dear, thank you for your troubles but we are not buying today.”
“No, sorry. You misunderstand me. Mrs Cooper? I’m looking for your son Ray. May I speak with him, please?”
The suspicious gaze grew even more intense. Stella imagined it was because her accent was no doubt giving her away.
“And who would you be to want to speak to my son?”
“Mrs Cooper, I’m a friend of his from Ireland – Stella Hegarty. Perhaps he spoke of me?” she offered, knowing full well that when they were courting Ray had spoken to his mother often about her. She wondered would her polite introduction entice Mrs Cooper to welcome her with open arms.
“You’ve come a long way, my dear,” Mrs Cooper said, taking not one step back to invite Stella across her doorway.
“I’ve been working for a family in Beacon Hill, nannying. I just thought . . . well, I just wanted to see Ray. I’ve come out today . . .”
“Well, my dear, it seems you have it all planned out. But I’m afraid you’ve had quite the wasted journey. Ray isn’t here. He’s at work.” Her tone was sharp – unwelcoming.
“Would you know when he might be back? I don’t mind waiting.”
“No, I’m sorry. I don’t know when he might be back and I really don’t think it would be appropriate for you to wait for him.”
“But I just needed to talk to him – wanted to explain . . .”
“I think you explained enough,” Mrs Cooper said sharply, stepping back as if to close the door. “As I’ve said, it would not be appropriate for you to wait. I don’t know when he will be finished work but I do know that when he is finished he won’t be coming back here. He’ll be going to his own home. To his wife. I would ask you, if you care even one jot for him – and I doubt very much after how you treated him that you do – then you leave him, leave them, be. Ray is happy now – he does not need you walking back into his life, following him like some Little Girl Lost, using him for a permanent visa or whatever else you have in mind, destroying his life for a second time. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a cake in the oven and I wouldn’t want it to get ruined.”
With that, Mrs Cooper – the woman Ray had spoken so warmly of, who he had assured her would welcome her with open arms – closed the door and left her standing on the porch.
Standing there, trying to process the news that Ray was married. He had moved on – and she knew Mrs Cooper was right. She could not walk in and destroy his life again. So she turned on her heel and walked, back past the abandoned bike. Back past the man, still raking his lawn, and back to the bus station where she sat, staring silently, wondering what on earth she would do with her life from that point on.
Chapter 32
Derry, June 2010
“And that was it,” she said. “I didn’t see him again. I didn’t hear from him again. When the internet came about I did one of those Google search efforts – but do you have any idea how many Ray Coopers there are in America? It seems quite a lot. And I suppose by then I was very much settled down, married, raising you – contented. It was curiosity, I suppose – I always wondered what if. I always wondered did he hate me or had he just moved on as his mother said? Did he just put what happened in Derry and those months afterwards down as a bad experience and think no more of it?”
“But you stayed in America? Why? Did you not just want to come home?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I did. But it wasn’t that easy. You didn’t just hop on a budget flight – it took time. So I started saving and, I suppose, for a while I didn’t want to go home with my tail between my legs. It was bad enough everyone thought he had rejected me once – how desperate would I have looked landing back home with two rejections from the same man under my belt? I had some dignity! Besides, the longer I stayed the more I felt at home. Believe it or not, Laura and George actually grew to like me – or at least respect me enough not to be horrible little terrors. Mrs O’Donnell and I grew to be friends of sorts, and I met other nanny friends. We would go out drinking, listening to music – there was freedom there you never had back here. I’m not saying I threw myself into the swinging 60s or anything, but I found another place to call home. I stayed in Beacon Hill for a few years, then moved on to a new family. Three years after that I met your father, we moved to Florida and the rest, as they say is history.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Do you understand a little, Annabel? Do you understand why there is a part of me that needs, still, to see him and explain that I had actually loved him? I know it’s terribly selfish of me when you think about it, expecting you to understand when you have just lost your father – most people struggle to find one big love in their lives and I had two.”
“No, Mom. I don’t think it’s selfish of you. I think Grandma was wise: if something matters then you try again and try harder. Okay, she probably didn’t think you would still be trying now,” I said with a small laugh which came out as a sort of strangulated sob, “but I think it would be perfectly wonderful if you tried again and he understood. And I think Daddy would understand. All he ever wanted was for the pair of us to be happy.”
My mother took my hand again and I revelled in the warmth of her skin on mine – the softness of her touch.
“I know your daddy isn’t here any more and I know, because it frustrated the life out of me for as long as I can care to remember, that you are a true out-and-out daddy’s girl, but I’m here for you too. I can listen and I might not always get it right – and I might not be able to advise you in the way your daddy would advise you – but I can try.”
I nodded, tears sliding down my face – in little ways washing away my grief.
“How about we both try, Mom?” I said. “We’ve only got each other now.”
“Well, that’s true in a way,” she said. “But you have more, pet. Look around you – you have a family who love you. I’ve been watching you since you came here – and I know I have given you a lot to think about and perhaps even brought you here under false pretences but I’ve seen you come out of yourself this last week in a way I hadn’t seen for a long time. God, I don’t remember the last time I saw you laugh so much as I’ve seen when you and Sam have been chatting. It’s done my heart good.”
“I do feel better,” I admitted. “I can’t believe it – since essentially I’m now homeless and have no boyfriend.” I pulled a face as the realisation of what I was facing when I went home dawned. “But even with that I feel better. That probably makes me weird? That losing that has made me feel freer?”
“Not at all, pet,” my mother said. “It doesn’t make you weird. It makes you human.”
We sat in silence for a minute or two, my head aching slightly – perhaps from all I had heard or perhaps from the alcohol the night before.
“So where do we go from here?” I asked.
My mother looked at me, her head a little bowed. “The reunion dinner is next week. I suppose I decide if we are going.”
“Of course we’re going! We haven’t come this far to stop now. God, woman, you are infuriating! What would young Stella do? Would she fall at this final hurdle or would she march right in there and see if he was there?”
&n
bsp; “I’m sure she would have marched right in, but older Stella is a bit wiser and maybe a bit more scared. He might be there. His wife might be there. He might tell me to get the hell out – and a rejection three times is beyond the pale.”
“I think enough years have passed for him to offer you the time of day.”
“But what if he doesn’t remember me?”
“Not possible, Mother dear. You are unforgettable.”
“But what if the seventy-year-old me doesn’t live up the memories of the twenty-year-old me he had. I mean, of course they won’t. I’m an old woman – but what if he’s still angry with this old woman? Or worse – what if I’m a part of his dim and distant past he hasn’t thought about in decades?”
“On the first point, I’m sure he’s not in his mid-twenties any more either, Mom. As for the rest, I can’t answer those questions for you. Only he can – but I can’t imagine a man who came back to Ireland for the reunion hasn’t thought of you at all. You’re special, Mum. I’m sure he has thought of you, many times. How could he not?”
“And you don’t mind?”
“It will be strange,” I admitted. “But no, I don’t mind. I’ll be there with you. Hey, I’m young, free and single myself now. Maybe I could bag myself a rich old marine in his twilight years?”
My mother swiped at my hand, smacking it with an air of indignation. “Behave yourself!” she chided before bursting into a broad smile – one I couldn’t help but share.
* * *
“That’s just about the most romantic story I ever heard,” Sam said as we strolled arm in arm along the quay.
“Well, it’s not the greatest story ever told, is it? I mean, she married someone else – admittedly a wonderful, wonderful man – but didn’t ever see Ray again.”
“But she might – next week. How amazing would that be? You know, stop me if I’m being grossly insensitive, but imagine they got married? Oh, I love a good pensioner wedding – all that promise that it’s never too late to get a happy ending! I’d like to think, you know, that one day I’ll find mine. Maybe when my mother shuffles off this mortal coil and I won’t wound her any more with my rampant homosexuality.”
I squeezed my cousin’s arm as we walked on. “What I don’t get is the Auntie Dolores, the mad article who loved to party Mom wrote about in her letters – I can’t reconcile that with how she is with you. How she judges you.”
“I don’t know if it’s blatant homophobia as much as her just not wanting her baby to be gay. I was her surprise extra – her ‘wee late one’. She doted on me – the sun shone out of my rear end as far as she was concerned. I was perfection. It really annoyed the living daylights out of my sisters and brothers – so they were delighted to see my crown slip. Mammy, on the other hand, she just liked to pretend it was still there. It’s okay though. I can deal with it.”
“You shouldn’t have to deal with it though. You should be able to be who you are – and have the big gay flamboyant wedding if you want – no holds barred. Matching tuxes – designer of course. And I’d be only too happy to wear that Dior gown to be your bridesmaid.”
Sam laughed, throwing his head back and squeezing my arm. “Oh, darling cousin of mine! You are amazing. And I’d have you as the best woman, don’t you know? And for you, well, I might just let you wear the dress. It would be just divine! Which, you know, gives me an idea.” He looked away and then back at me. “The reunion, next week – I have some amazing 50s-style dresses. I’m sure one of them would look outstanding on you. Why don’t we have a bit of fun – dress up? Make a proper night of it?”
“That sounds like a plan,” I smiled, wishing my hair was longer and could carry off a Victory roll or two.
“We should get our mums into the shop too – kit them out. Get them out of slacks and twin sets, into something super-sassy.”
“When you say things like ‘super-sassy’,” I laughed, “do you really think there isn’t a person alive who doesn’t know you’re gay?”
* * *
Sitting in his garden later, a glass of wine in hand, we planned out the perfect evening. I admit I was caught up in the story of my mother and Ray. I wanted so much to meet him – to see the man she had talked about. I doubted he would look much like the handsome young marine in the picture she showed me but still I wanted to see him – to see if that twinkle was still in his eye. And for the Stella I had read about and heard about, I wanted to see the story play its way out. It would, as Sam said, be nice to have hope that stories could be resolved in a positive way – that happiness could come no matter what sadness life throws at you.
“Any regrets?” Sam asked and I raised my eyebrow at him.
“About what?”
“Your man in the States? Breaking up with him?”
“Of course I have a few regrets,” I said honestly. “I didn’t imagine it would work out this way – and I’m sorry if I hurt him. I’m more sorry for me though. Sorry that I let him hurt me and didn’t have the guts to stand up to him and tell him to stop.”
“You did that when you were ready to. That’s something in itself. Everyone thinks they know how they will react when faced with certain scenarios. That’s not always the way it goes, though, is it? Emotions get in the way. Life gets in the way. And sometimes you just can’t see the wood for the trees.”
I snorted, thinking that not only had I seen the wood for the trees, I had seen my boyfriend having sex with someone else and it still hadn’t been enough to bring the inadequacies in my relationship into full focus. “Oh, I saw the wood for the trees all right! I just had too much on my plate to deal with it and I suppose I was too afraid to admit it wasn’t working. It was easier in a lot of ways just to go on as we were. I suppose coming here gave me the space to see it for what it was.”
“And when you go home? Do you think you will still feel that way?”
“As regards Craig and me? Yes. That’s done now. It won’t change. I don’t know exactly where I go from here – pick myself up and start again – sell up, split the proceeds, move back in with my mother, maybe, until I find a place. She could probably do with the company.”
“Yes,” he said, looking off into the distance, “I imagine maybe she would.”
Yes, there was no way I could go back to the home I had shared with Craig. It didn’t feel like home – it hadn’t felt like home since the day I had found Craig having sex with someone else – and if I was honest with myself it would be a relief not to return there. Even if not returning there meant returning home to my mother at the age of thirty-seven – thinking about starting all over again.
* * *
Sam seemed to know everything there was to know about vintage-clothes buying. With a click of his mouse he could log into any number of websites and pull up any range of clothes for sale.
We had a good scout around Second Hand Rose the next morning and pulled together a few ideas for me, my mother, Dolores and even Niamh who had somehow managed to invite herself along to the reunion.
“Do you think they will mind us all gate-crashing like this?” I asked as I wandered around the shop, revelling in the stunning clothes hanging on the rails and in the antique wardrobes.
“Not at all. They’ll be grateful to have such stunners as ourselves grace their soirée,” Sam laughed. “In fairness, we’re not gate-crashing as such. My mother had many friends in the Marines and your mother near enough married one. We’re going as moral support for them – well, for your mum. I don’t think my mother ever needed moral support for anything in her life. She just blunders on with things.”
I smiled at him and nodded my head in agreement. He had a fair point.
“I’ll just be delighted if I get my mother in here to move out of her comfort zone and try something new,” I said.
“Seems to me she was more daring in her day than you give her credit for. Secret rendezvous in love nests. Travelling half the world on a whim to win the love of her life back. I’d say she could easily be persuad
ed.”
“You underestimate the appeal of the twin set, my friend. I’d swear if she could have got away with wearing one in the heat of the Florida summer, she would have.”
He smiled and set about his work on the computer while I set about continuing my mooch through the merchandise of Second Hand Rose.
“Do you love coming here every single day?” I asked him, once again falling under the spell of what was essentially a dressing-up box for grown-ups.
“Honestly? Most days, yes. Days when the tax returns are due or the like, I’m not a big fan, but apart from that it gives me great pleasure. I meet different people – see how women can be transformed by a dress, or a piece of jewellery. I see women come in and relive their glory days – memories flooding back of great nights out and the like just by seeing a dress, or a pair of shoes or some other trinket. Do you not feel the same about Bake My Day? I mean, you set it up from scratch – you must be proud of it.”
I shrugged my shoulders. Now, there was a question. And I suppose, at one stage I had been exceptionally proud of it and all it had meant to me. I had, at one stage, loved seeing my regular customers come through the door and keeping up with their news and gossip. It had felt almost like an extended family of sorts. But then, I suppose, when Daddy had become ill I had first of all had to deal with customers treating me like it was me who was ill. People who didn’t know what to say, or how to react so who would, for the most part, simply come in, order something without really making any sort of meaningful eye contact or who would look at me so sorrowfully that I had wanted to start crying.
Making cakes, while once therapeutic, started to feel twee. Meaningless. Helping people celebrate seemed wrong. And then as Elise took on more and more responsibility for the day-to-day running of it I started to feel far removed from it. If I was honest, it didn’t feel like mine any more.
The First Time I Said Goodbye Page 27