At First Sight

by Hannah Sunderland

  ‘Did you carry on working in London?’ I asked.

  He nodded. ‘For a time. But it’s a hard industry.’

  ‘It’s a beautiful story.’ I had almost forgotten that I already knew the end to this story and I wanted him to stop there. If he stopped talking now then I could pretend that gangly Abigale Murphy and young stupid Charlie Stone got their happy ending. ‘We can stop there if you want to, leave the rest for later.’

  He shook his head. I could already see his eyes glistening. ‘It’s okay. I want to finish it.’ He swallowed hard, audibly, and took a deep breath through his nose. ‘She had these lumps in her boobs. They’d scared the shite outta us both when they showed up, but she got them checked out and the doctor said that they were just these calcified lumps of tissue that would do her no harm. She didn’t have the largest, you know, and so you could see one of them through her skin. I couldn’t have cared less about them but she wanted them gone, so she went in for the op and had them taken out.

  ‘The operation went fine and that evening I brought her back here and put her in bed. They’d given her these long, tight stockings to put on, but she said they looked stupid and dug into her knees and so she refused to wear them. There was little you could do when Abi had made her mind up about somethin’. Anyway, when she got into bed, she was in a foul mood. The anaesthetic made her all sassy and we’d had an argument on the way home.’ I watched as his face changed, then his voice, as the story got closer to the final conclusion. ‘She kissed my cheek as I sat her up in bed on all those pillows.’ He motioned to the bed, looking almost fearfully at it. ‘She apologised and asked me to give her one of the strong painkillers they’d sent her home with and a cup of tea. I remember saying to her, “Abigale Murphy needin’ a painkiller? You’ve gone soft in your old age.”

  ‘She rolled her eyes and said to me, “Oh, piss off and get me my tea, will yer?” So, I did. I put the kettle on and, as I was waitin’, I got distracted by something on the news and I ended up staying in the living room. By the time I remembered the tea and the painkiller I was pretty sure Abi was going to murder me, but I took it all into her. When I got there, she was asleep, slumped back in the pillows, so I put the tea on the nightstand and left the pill beside it and went back into the livin’ room to watch a film. I didn’t wanna disturb her, so I thought it best for me to get outta the way.

  ‘I fell asleep on the sofa and by the time I woke up it was past three in the mornin’. I found my way into the room in the dark so I didn’t wake her and got into bed.

  ‘I leaned over to kiss her on the forehead, but somethin’ was wrong. She was still in the position she’d been in when I left her to make the tea, slumped back onto those pillows. She hadn’t moved at all. I nudged her.’ His voice broke a little and I saw a tear teetering on the lower lids of his eyes. ‘She was so cold, but the room was warm. I didn’t understand it. Not until I looked at her face. She always had such an animated face, even when she was sleepin’, but it was just … blank.

  ‘I called an ambulance but, we all knew that she was dead, even if no one was saying it. They put her on a trolley and carried her out of here and that was the last time I saw her. One of them backed into one of the jars on the way out, knocking it onto the floor and smashing it. Later on, they told me that she’d died of a huge blood clot in her lung due to the operation and that she’d been dead for hours when they came to get her. That means that she was dead when I brought the tea in. Apparently, the faster you act with pulmonary embolisms, the better the person’s chances are. I could have saved her, if I hadn’t been distracted by the news.’

  ‘Charlie, I …’ But what could I say to that?

  ‘I came back in here to get some clothes and a couple of other things and I haven’t been in here since. The only one who comes in here is the cat. I think he likes that it still smells of her.’ He heaved a deep breath and tears rolled freely down his face, which was frozen in a mask of unimaginably deep grief. ‘So, there it is. That’s why I called you that night. She’s dead, because she was worried about how sexy I’d find her with those lumps on her chest and because I was busy watching the TV.’

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ I said, going over to him and wrapping my arms around his neck. He leaned into me and I felt the shoulder of my shirt moistening as he cried.

  So, that’s why he’d slept in the bathtub, because he didn’t want to sleep in the bed where the worst event of his life had happened.

  ‘That first night when I walked away from you or the times I disappeared, it was all because, if I let myself hurt, then she’s still alive in some way. But having these feelings and acting on them, even for a second, it’s like I’m allowing her to be dead.’ Just as he was sobbing into the crook of my neck, three loud knocks came from the front door. We both jumped and withdrew from our hug. Charlie wiped his face, readying his macho façade, but his face was blotchy and red, his eyes set in a look of bottomless sadness.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ I said, squeezing his arm and moving through to the living room. I flipped the lock and let the door fall open, which was much easier now that all of the letters had been moved.

  Standing in the doorway was a man, in his late forties with a mass of greying curls, facial hair that reminded me of Zorro, and an almost blinding turquoise scarf.

  ‘Erm, hi,’ I said as the man lowered his weather-inappropriate shades and stared at me like I’d just answered the door naked.

  ‘Who the hell’s this?’ he asked in an accent to match Charlie’s and if the accent hadn’t done enough to suggest that this man was related to Charlie, then the cornflower blue of his eyes was.

  ‘I’m Nell and I’m guessing you’re Carrick.’

  He grinned with only half his mouth and held his arms out, as if presenting himself to me. ‘The one and only.’ He looked almost flattered. ‘Nell – lovely name. It means shining light, don’t yer know? Is he in?’

  ‘Erm …’

  ‘Charlie boy! You in there? Come out and give yer favourite uncle a big ol’ smooch,’ he bellowed into the flat.

  I glanced to Carrick’s side and saw a suitcase, small and ostentatiously fuchsia pink.

  ‘What are yer doin’ here?’ Charlie asked, less than politely, as he appeared behind me.

  ‘I’m here to haul yer arse back home.’

  ‘Er, no, you’re not,’ he said bluntly.

  ‘Er,’ Carrick imitated, ‘you’ve no choice in the matter, I’m afraid, Boyo.’

  ‘No, Carrick. How many times do I have to tell you that there is absolutely no way I’m going back there?’ Charlie protested.

  ‘I’d be willin’ to talk to yer more on the subject if you’d let me through the front door, instead of leavin’ me out in the corridor like a hotel prostitute.’

  ‘Pfft, good job you’re not – you’d have few takers,’ Charlie said, turning around and walking back into the flat.

  ‘D’yer think that means I’m allowed in?’ Carrick asked, leaning in and whispering to me.

  ‘I have no idea,’ I responded, stepping aside.

  He nodded his approval at me and walked by, rolling his candy-coloured suitcase behind him before announcing to no one in particular, ‘I like her.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  I stood in the window of the first coffee shop I found after leaving Charlie’s house. It was a run-of-the-mill chain place with nondescript music only just noticeable over the screech of steam wands and the groaning of coffee grinders. I’d thought it best to get out of Charlie’s flat and let what promised to be an uncomfortable conversation between uncle and nephew go ahead without me lurking in the corner. I wasn’t sure if I liked Carrick or if he was someone who would quickly get on my nerves, but the potential for both was there.

  I watched the barista as he pushed my three paper cups of coffee down into a recycled paper cup holder and then walked in my direction. He looked down at the receipt and reeled them off. ‘One Americano, one flat white and one … hot chocolate with a
shot of chai and caramel syrup.’ He grimaced at the sound of it and I didn’t blame him. I stepped forward, took the cups and started the short walk back to Charlie’s.

  The air was definitely changing, getting milder as the dregs of winter filtered away, but there was still an undeniable nip in the air. I pulled the oversized hoodie tight around my body and held the zip together with my free hand. Before I’d left, I’d discovered that Magnus was asleep on my coat and, not wanting to disturb him for a second time in one morning, I’d asked if I could borrow something. Charlie had thrown me the cleanest hoodie he could find and I’d put it on without really thinking about it. But now, as I absentmindedly let the zips sag away from each other and lifted the collar up to my nose, I thought about how intimate it was to wear someone else’s clothes. This was Charlie’s smell, impregnated into the fabric and making it smell like no one else on the planet. It was the same smell I’d breathed in as I’d kissed him last night, the same smell I never wanted to forget.

  Gettin’ a good whiff there, are yer?

  Shit not her again. What was happening to me? Was this really just my conscience taken form or was I having a full-blown mental breakdown?

  Nah, I think it’s just your guilty conscience.

  ‘I have nothing to feel guilty for,’ I said quietly. Did that actually just happen? Did I just talk to someone who I knew wasn’t there?

  Oh no, absolutely nothin’. Two years. Two feckin’ years. You can’t even finish uni in two years and yet that seems more than enough time to move on to the next hussy.

  A postman, clad in red shorts and with an armful of letters, came out of a driveway and nodded me a good morning. I returned it before turning back to whatever the apparition beside me was and whisper-shouting: ‘I am not a hussy.’

  The postman frowned at me over his shoulder as I turned the corner back to Charlie’s.

  Oh no, course you aren’t. Desperately hanging around with an emotionally distraught widower whilst also stringin’ along the boyfriend that you’re never gonna get back with, even though you’re fully aware that it’s gonna break his heart when you eventually get up the balls to send him on his way.

  ‘Shut up.’ I was almost jogging now. Literally running away from my problems.

  The drinks sloshed through the holes on the lids of the takeaway cups but I didn’t care. I had to get back to people, real people. I reached Charlie’s building and pressed the buzzer, panting as I checked behind me. She was gone, nowhere to be found.

  Back inside the flat, I handed out the drinks and sat down on the sofa beside Charlie while Carrick sat on the edge of the coffee table, his elbows resting on his skinny knees.

  ‘So, what’s going on?’ I asked, trying to act oblivious to the tension that was turning the consistency of the air to jelly.

  ‘Ah, nothin’,’ Carrick said, his bottom lip pouty. ‘Young Charlie here was just being an enormous pain in my arse and the cat just took a swipe at my ankles, so I’m feelin’ welcome.’

  I turned to Charlie, the awkwardness making my body feel rigid. He didn’t look up at me, just pressed on the lid of his coffee, causing it to make an annoying, incessant clicking noise.

  Click, click, click. It sounded like the ticking of a clock, which was fitting, I guess.

  ‘So, what brings you here, Carrick? Are you staying?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ve come here to haul Charlie’s pale, insubordinate arse back to Westport to set some things straight.’

  ‘What things?’ I asked. Charlie squirmed in his seat and it became clear that there was more to this story that I hadn’t heard yet.

  ‘Can’t it just be left alone?’ Charlie finally joined in the conversation.

  Carrick’s face turned bright pink for a second and fury flickered through his blue eyes. ‘Listen here, Charlie Boy. You made me a promise – remember that. Time’s almost up and when yer were up on that clock—’ He stopped, eyeing me suspiciously and his anger seemed to wane a little and turn into shiftiness. ‘Yer can’t leave anythin’ undone or any people without explanations, no matter how shitty those explanations are.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Charlie said in an annoyed tone of voice. ‘Nell knows.’

  Click, click, click.

  ‘Thank feck for that.’ He sighed. ‘Look, there’s a whole lotta people back there that need closure and you’re the only one left who can grant it to them. Hell, maybe you’ll find a little yerself when yer see that everyone else is movin’ on and healin’, unlike you.’

  So, Carrick had received a call on that night too. Had Carrick’s call been before or after Ned’s?

  Maybe this would be a good thing for Charlie. For two years he’d been running from anything to do with Abi, content with settling into the quagmire of his grief, but maybe a trip home would coerce him into trying to tackle the pain, facing it head on instead of pretending that it didn’t exist.

  I turned in my seat to face Charlie and he looked at me with worried eyes. ‘Maybe going home isn’t such a bad idea,’ I said, my voice calm and unconfrontational.

  ‘Not you too, Nell.’ He sighed with frustration.

  ‘How long did you plan on bringing him over for?’ I asked, turning back to Carrick.

  ‘A few days. Just long enough to go to the memorial and see his poor old mammy,’ he replied.

  ‘Well, there you have it. You can’t not go to your own wife’s memorial service. That would be awful.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Carrick scoffed and laughed a humourless laugh. ‘It’s not like he turned up to the actual funeral or anything and so it seems only right he come to the two-year memorial.’

  I turned back to Charlie with shocked confusion on my face. ‘You didn’t go to Abi’s funeral?’

  Click, click, click, click, click.

  He looked down at his coffee again, the endless clicking sounding like it was ticking down to something, the ticks getting faster and faster. ‘I couldn’t,’ he mumbled quietly. ‘I tried, but I didn’t even make it onto the plane.’

  ‘Yeah, just left it all to the rest of us, didn’t yer?’ Carrick spat angrily.

  ‘Hey.’ I held up a polite, yet forceful hand at Carrick. ‘Attacking him isn’t going to help anything,’ I said, seeing already how Carrick’s words had made Charlie close up. I took a beat, composing myself and thinking about the best way to tackle this. ‘I think that this would be good for you,’ I eventually said. My voice was soft, reassuring. ‘I know you want to see your home again and it’s only for a few days. This time next week, it will all be long over.’

  He looked up at me, his thumb pausing over the loose section of the lid and the clicking finally coming to a stop. His eyes were glassy, moist and staring.

  ‘No one can force you to do anything, Charlie, but I really do think that this is a good idea,’ I said, placing a comforting hand on his wrist.

  He sniffed loudly before speaking. ‘I’ll go.’

  ‘Hallelujah.’ Carrick sighed.

  ‘On one condition,’ he said. ‘That you come with me.’

  ‘Me?’ I felt a jolt of panic. ‘Are you planning to go by ferry?’

  Carrick shook his head. ‘Easier to fly to Knock than to sail to Dublin and then drive all the way to Westport.’

  I swallowed audibly, desperately trying to think of an excuse. ‘I have work.’

  ‘Then I’m not going,’ Charlie said matter-of-factly.

  Carrick raised a hand to his forehead and blew air out through pursed lips. ‘You’re more than welcome, Nell, but I need to know so I can book the tickets. It’ll be good fun. No one does a send-off like the Irish.’

  Good fun? I thought. Wasn’t it a memorial he was talking about?

  ‘Hold on. Hold on,’ I said, pulling my phone out of my pocket. ‘Let me see what I can do.’ I pulled up Barry’s number and mentally crafted what I was going to say.

  Charlie needed to go home and if me flying was the only way to make that happen, then I guess I’d just have to go, wouldn’t I?


  Chapter Fifteen

  I sat at the kitchen table with a condensation-beaded glass of Coke making a dark wet ring on the surface of the oak table in front of me. My half-eaten bowl of chilli con carne sat, congealing with coolness, a few inches away, my stomach unwilling to make room for food amongst all of the worry in there. I’d finally called a time of death on the flowers that now sat in the bin, the least floppy of the eucalyptus stems peeping over the top, as if sending me a final plea for help as they sank slowly to their demise. Ned was overjoyed and his voice would soon lose that bunged-up nasal tone, now that the pollen was no longer lingering in the kitchen to attack him whenever he fancied a cup of tea. I’d sat here and told Ned about Carrick when I’d got home and recounted everything that had happened since I saw him last in deep, heart-breaking detail.

  ‘Poor guy.’

  ‘I know, right.’

  I’d rung Ned – as soon as I’d got the all clear from Barry about me taking the next few days off – to see if it was okay that Carrick and Charlie stayed over. That way we could all leave together for the airport in the morning. It made sense as we lived closer and there was a spare room here that people could actually sleep in, which was not a tableau of pain in the form of a double bed.

  Ned laced his hands together and placed them on the tabletop in front of him, adopting the therapist’s position. ‘How are you feeling about all of this?’ he asked.

  I thought for a moment before saying, ‘Terrified, completely out of my depth and irrationally jealous. Is that enough for you to work your therapist magic on?’

  ‘They’re all very valid feelings.’ He often sounded like a stranger when he talked like this, far too professional to be my strange buddy Ned, but I guess that’s why he’d been doing this for so long, because it was clearly what he was born for. ‘I know you’re a wuss when it comes to flying, but it’s only a short flight, perfect for breaking you in and it’s, like, a one in five million chance that you’ll go crashing to your death.’