At First Sight

by Hannah Sunderland

  ‘What changed then, between it being bearable and the night you called me?’ I asked.

  He leaned forward a little, looking at the drop to the courtyard below. It wasn’t as high as the clock tower, but it still made my stomach lurch.

  ‘It was something so small that it sounds stupid to say it out loud.’ He swallowed hard and looked my way. ‘I was at work, Aldi, restockin’ the naan breads, when someone I’d worked on a few shows with came over and said hi. We’d been good mates back in the day, even gone out to dinner a few times with Abi and his wife June. He was working on Shrek The Musical and had a gig lined up on Cats after that. He tells me this while I’m standin’ there next to a basket of iced buns that need half-price stickers slappin’ on them. Then he asks me how Abi is and for some reason I tell him that she’s fine and that I’ll call soon and the four of us can go out to dinner like we used to.

  ‘After work, I went home and something was different. Everythin’ seemed bleak because my career was toes-up and I’d just agreed to a dinner date that could never happen because Abi was dead. I felt like I’d gone back a thousand steps and suddenly, breathing wasn’t so easy again.

  ‘I guess I felt kind of at peace with it all, the second time around. I’d given Carrick the time he’d asked for, so I put everythin’ in place again. Quit my job, sorted out the cat, bought myself a bottle of whisky, that I’d always wanted to try but never been able to justify the price of, and then went to the clock tower. On the way, I felt my nerve slippin’ so I went to get a cuppa tea and have a sit-down for a minute or two.’ He turned to look at me, his eyes glistening with tears filled with moonlight. ‘Then I met you.’ Finally, his hand fell into mine and my fingers wasted no time in wrapping around his. ‘But, of course, my brain couldn’t let me be happy, could it?’ He scoffed. ‘I started feeling guilty that not even two full years had passed and, there I was, flirting with someone in a café.’

  ‘Moving on isn’t something you need to feel guilty about,’ I replied. ‘At some point or other, you’re going to have to let yourself be happy again. I know it must be incredibly hard, but you can’t mourn forever.’

  He squeezed my hand a little harder and blinked the last of the tears from his eyes.

  ‘You’re probably right. But it sure does feel like I could.’

  The sound of the waves crashed on the cliffs somewhere in the dark below us and a question popped into my mind.

  ‘What was it?’ I asked. ‘What changed your mind that day we met in the café?’

  ‘Your happiness,’ he said simply. ‘It burst right outta yer.’

  ‘I don’t feel like it’s bursting out of me right now.’

  ‘But it is. Yer can’t help it. Yes, your job is tough sometimes and Joel is an A-grade gobshite, but you still, almost always, have a smile on your face. When you sat next to me in the café, yer made me feel it, some of your happiness, like just bein’ close to yer made me, like, absorb some of it.’ He lifted his hand to my face, his fingers resting on my jaw while his thumb traced the outline of my lips. ‘I hadn’t felt happiness in so long that when I finally did feel it, it shocked me. I felt it, even though it didn’t belong to me, and I thought that, if I’m still capable of feeling it, the next time it happens, perhaps the happiness might be my own.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I’d woken with a foggy, heavy head the morning after with little memory of where I was. The ferry left at eight and so I’d peeled myself away from the covers and collected up my things.

  I’d found Charlie at the breakfast table pushing cornflakes around in the milk with the end of his spoon. I’d greeted him with a forced cheerfulness that I was far from experiencing with my blossoming headache and the general sense of ennui that filled the room. But today was about being there for Charlie, about making it as painless as possible. He’d looked up, but hadn’t met my eye, made a noise deep down in his throat and turned back to his bowl.

  Darlow and Orlagh accompanied us down to the docks and waved us off, after a reluctant goodbye from Carrick. It was clear from the way he lingered beside them and his uncharacteristic subduedness when they faded from view, that there was nowhere in the world he would rather be than there with the woman he loved and the son he could never truly be a father to.

  I’d tried to make conversation on the way over to the mainland, but it was clear that no one wanted to talk. Charlie and I were hungover from the whisky we’d shared atop the lighthouse and the dread of the day to come was stealing the words from everyone’s lips.

  I’d been almost relieved when we’d reached the mainland and climbed aboard Steve, relieving the pressure to fill the void with some hastily thought-up words. We zoomed down the winding roads back towards Westport and Carrick’s house. The whole time I kept my arms wrapped around Charlie, happy for the excuse to do so and trying not to worry about the day ahead.

  The door to the room burst open as I ungracefully snapped the press studs of my body suit together. I yelped and spun around to find Carrick standing at the doorway, looking at me with utter confusion on his face.

  I quickly removed my hands from my groin, smoothed my dress down over it and cleared my throat awkwardly.

  ‘I’m not even gonna ask what the hell yer were just doin’,’ he said and shook the thought from his head. ‘Yer ready?’ He opened the door a little more, the light from the window behind me revealing Carrick’s newly acquired suit.

  ‘Oh my … wow,’ I said, squinting as my eyes adjusted to the assault on the corneas that was Carrick. The three-piece chartreuse suit was dazzlingly bright and coupled with a magenta shirt and a pair of turquoise-framed sunglasses, presumably so he didn’t blind himself whilst wearing it all.

  ‘Ah, Nell. Yer a vision,’ he said, wandering in with his arms aloft.

  ‘Carrick, you wouldn’t happen to have a cardigan that could pass for acceptable, would you? It’s just … this,’ I said, turning around and pointing to my tattoo.

  ‘Nell, come on.’ He placed a hand on either of my shoulders and held me at arm’s length. ‘D’yer really think anyone’s gonna be lookin’ at yer with me beside yer?’

  ‘Good point,’ I said. His hands fell and I turned back to the mirror, looking at the delicate bun I’d pulled my hair up into. I sucked my teeth as I thought it over, before pulling out the elastic and fluffing my long hair around my shoulders and, more importantly, over the tattoo. That would have to do.

  I grabbed my phone, pushed it down into my bra and followed Carrick out of the room. ‘Go check on Charlie, will yer?’ he said, a little more carefully than usual. ‘I think he might need a gentle voice in his ear.’

  I nodded. Today I was Charlie’s personal cheerleader, his confidence booster, his shoulder to cry on or anything else he needed me to be. I knocked three times, paused a moment and pushed the door open. He was sitting on the end of the bed in his black suit. His elbows were braced on his knees, his hands out in front of him as his fingers fiddled with the piece of orange sea glass that I knew meant so much to him. ‘Hey,’ I said, walking into the too-quiet room and crossing to the bed. ‘You ready?’

  He didn’t look up but I could see the slightly shiny remnants of hastily wiped away tears around his eyes.

  ‘I think so,’ he replied. He pushed the sea glass into his breast pocket and looked up at me with pink-rimmed eyes. ‘Wow. Yer look so pretty.’

  I tucked my hair behind my ear and grinned down at my shoes, which I saw now were speckled with gravel dust from outside the crematorium at the last funeral I’d been to. Whose had that been? My uncle’s? Or maybe that first cousin once removed whom I couldn’t even remember the name of now.

  ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t have done this without yer.’

  ‘I’ll be with you every step,’ I said, leaning in and kissing him gently on the cheek. ‘Oh!’ I blurted a little too loudly. ‘I almost forgot. Stay right there.’ I held up a finger and dashed back to my room. I rifled through my bag
until I found what I was looking for, hid it behind my back and returned to Charlie’s room.

  ‘Now I thought you might need a little extra emotional support today and it just so happens that your weekend of custody falls today, so …’ I pulled my hand around to the front and held George the bobblehead zombie out to him.

  His face cracked into a reluctant smile as he took George and flicked his head, the spring inside vibrating as his head wobbled from side to side.

  ‘Now, as you know, he’s lactose intolerant so don’t give him ice cream, no matter what he tells you, and he should be in bed by nine. I’ll have no zombie son of mine being a dirty stop-out.’

  ‘D’yer doubt my parenting skills?’ He chuckled, slipping George into his pocket, his smile fading to something less jovial. ‘Just whatever you do today, please don’t let me cry too much. Don’t want to embarrass meself.’

  I shook my head. ‘Charlie, if you want to cry, you bloody well cry. I won’t be stopping you,’ I said, brushing the shoulders of his jacket with my hands, not because they needed dusting or anything, just that it was something I’d seen people do in films and it felt like the right time to do it. ‘Shall we do this?’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  St Mary’s church was located on the mall in the middle of the town, with a river running down the centre of the road. Across the river were several flower-lined bridges, humming with lazy cars that idled along the roads as if time didn’t exist. The church itself was a slightly ominous-looking stone building with a large rose window of stained glass that sat, pride of place, in the centre. From here, I couldn’t see the colours or even make out the pattern, the dark interior of the church not letting it live up to the beauty it was made for.

  Ava had arrived at the door of Carrick’s house not long after I’d gifted George to Charlie. She’d been in a tizzy, worrying that we wouldn’t be there in time to greet the first person that showed. They’d offered us a ride, but after seeing Carrick’s suit they’d seemed more than happy to arrive separately to us. Charlie hadn’t spoken since we left the house, not that Carrick’s verbal stream of consciousness gave him the opportunity to, as we walked the short journey to town. I didn’t know if he was talking so much because he wanted to take everyone’s mind off everything or if he was nervous or if, like me, he sometimes just found that there were too many words that needed saying.

  We were walking for about three minutes before my arms started turning numb from the cold, but Carrick quickly whipped off his turquoise scarf and placed it around my shoulders. I pulled it tight around my arms, the cashmere silky against my goose-bumped skin.

  We lingered outside the church doors, Charlie kicking nervously at stones and wandering over to the river and back as if trying to run up his step count for the day. Carrick stood out like a chav at Ascot, sitting there on the steps like an impatient child, his suit no doubt visible from the end of the street. Ava and Eoin had got there before us, but were standing far enough away that it wasn’t immediately obvious that we were a group, lest they be associated with me and the chartreuse wonder behind me.

  It wasn’t long until the steps were teeming with people, their eyes shiftily searching for the elusive Charlie as he dithered on the spot beside me, wringing his hands as the time for the inevitable drew closer. Agnes and Roisin arrived, this time wearing matching black headscarves instead of rain bonnets and they nodded me a greeting. Una and Jamie were nowhere to be seen yet and I wondered if Jamie had had second thoughts about letting his wife anywhere near the man who had the information to ruin his marriage.

  ‘Ah feck,’ I heard Charlie mutter under his breath and I followed his eyes to the two approaching figures. One of the two women was Kenna, her halo of hair so recognisable even from a distance, and the other, I guessed, was the one Charlie had been dreading to come face to face with. His whole body tensed and he spun on the ball of his foot.

  ‘I can’t,’ he said, his head bowed, his forehead almost on my shoulder.

  ‘You can,’ I replied firmly without taking my eyes off the women. ‘This is why we’re here.’ Everyone turned and watched as Kenna used the pavement as a catwalk. Her six-inch, platform heels brought her up to regular human height and accentuated every muscle that lay behind the flawless milk-white skin of her legs. Her dress was skin-tight and came down to just below her knees, before flicking out like one of those mermaid dresses that normal people have trouble walking in, but not Kenna. It was cinched in at the ludicrously tiny waist and had short batwing sleeves that made her look like all she needed to do was don a black wig and some heavy eyeliner and she’d be set to take up the role of Morticia Addams. Her hair was, once again, huge, her curls looking an even brighter orange than yesterday and coiffed to a height that Dolly Parton herself would have been proud of. I am sure that Kenna was used to diverting the gaze of everyone she passed. In fact, she was so distracting that as she made her way to Ava and Eoin, I completely forgot about the other woman until she was standing in front of me.

  ‘Well, don’t yer look lovely. Are yer a friend of Abigale’s?’ the woman, who could be no one other than Siobhan, asked.

  The genes among the Murphy women seemed to be just as strong as the ones shared among the Stone men, with her white-streaked, deep red hair, which had dulled with age but still had the spark of the vibrancy it once held. Her brown eyes and freckle-dappled nose were the mirror of her daughter’s.

  ‘Erm, no, I didn’t know her. I’m Nell,’ I said, my voice shaky.

  ‘Siobhan, nice to meet yer,’ she said, shaking my hand. It was clear to see from the intense depth of pain in her eyes that the welcomes and courteous smiles were all a show. On the inside, this woman was hollowed out.

  I heard Charlie’s feet scuffle against the ground, as if he was about to make a run for it, but there was nowhere for him to go. I was pinning him in on one side, Carrick the second and Siobhan the third. His only other option was to run straight into the stone wall of the church and probably knock himself out in the process, which I wouldn’t put past him right now. Charlie needed to talk to Siobhan. There was no way he could avoid it and so I swallowed hard and bit the proverbial bullet. ‘I’m one of Charlie’s friends. Isn’t that right, Charlie?’ I said, turning to Charlie and forcing him into the conversation. I could hear the fearful breaths whistling in and out of his nose as he looked at Siobhan with childlike fear.

  There was a moment where everyone held their breaths. I saw Ava, from across the expanse of the church’s stone steps, glancing over wide-eyed as she ignored whatever Kenna was saying. It was almost unbearable, waiting for something to happen as the seconds ticked by at agonisingly slow speed.

  ‘Siobhan,’ Charlie said in a hitching voice that sounded nothing like his own. ‘It’s good t’see yer.’

  After what seemed like minutes of silent staring, I was ready for her to do anything, scream, slap him, full-on murder, just anything that would relieve this tension.

  But they just stared at each other, blue eyes on brown.

  Siobhan broke the silence by exhaling loudly, her shaky breath whistling through her nose as she raised her hand into the air. Slap him it is, I thought, and I braced myself to see Charlie assaulted a second time. But to my surprise, her hand rose only to his shoulder where she placed it down gently and she drew her shaking bottom lip into her mouth.

  ‘Yer took your time comin’ back to see me,’ she said, her voice betraying her outward strength.

  Charlie shook his head, the first of the tears shed today filling his eyes, and he murmured the words: ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Now, now. There’ll be none of that.’ She attempted a smile. ‘I’m just glad yer finally made it.’

  Without another word, Charlie fell into her arms like an exhausted child. She cupped a reassuring hand, thin-fingered and running with dark veins, on the back of his head. I could see Charlie’s shoulders shuddering and knew that he was sobbing, something he’d wanted more than anything to avoid doing. Tears began
to roll down Siobhan’s face too, her eyes so used to it by now that she looked rather at peace with it all. I guess that, really, Siobhan and Charlie were the only two people, other than Kenna, who could even come close to understanding each other’s grief.

  It was a long moment before Charlie stepped back and I noted the embarrassed look on Eoin’s face as his son wiped away his tears.

  ‘Get yerself together now, lad. I’ll have no more tears from either of us. Understand?’ Siobhan said firmly, sniffling and righting his hair with her bony hand. ‘Now, this girl here,’ she said nodding in my direction but keeping her eyes locked to Charlie’s. My heart leapt. ‘This yer girlfriend?’ she asked bluntly and I looked around nervously at people’s reactions.

  ‘Erm, I don’t … We haven’t … erm …’ He turned to me for help but found me as flailing as he was. ‘I don’t know,’ he said.

  Siobhan smiled understandingly and turned to me with an outstretched hand. I placed mine in hers, because I was frightened of what would happen if I didn’t, and she squeezed my fingers with a strength I hadn’t expected. ‘Well, aren’t yer lovely.’ I didn’t know if I was supposed to answer or what I’d say if I did. ‘You’ll have to bring her when yer come back to see me again.’ She smiled sadly, lifting one of her hands from mine and taking Charlie’s, like we were children being led to the supermarket.

  ‘Now come on,’ she said, walking us both up the stone steps. ‘We need to get a good seat up the front and what in the name of the sweet baby Jesus are yer wearin’, Carrick Stone?’

  Inside, the church was all tall ceilings and polished columns. From inside, the rose window that had looked dull from outside, burst into segments of reds, blues and yellows. Filled with so much more life this side than from the other. I guessed that was the same with most things really. The way you look at it makes all the difference. More stained glass lined the walls in hues of purple and blue and the altar stood proudly up at the front, ornate and glistening in gold and reds.