Page 64 of A Very Irish Christmas
Ryan stands and stares at it, lost in thought, eyes shining. His silence is heavy, and as I follow his gaze and study the house, I start to figure out where we are. What he wanted to show me. This isn’t the scene of his first kiss or a skateboarding accident– this is the scene of something much more special, much more heartbreaking.
I slide my fingers into his, and he glances down as I stand at his side.
‘Is this where you lived?’ I ask quietly. ‘With your wife, and Mia?’
He smiles sadly, and nods.
‘It was on the rough side when we bought it,’ he says. ‘Alice was pregnant, and I thought we should look at somewhere ready to go. But she fell in love with this place, and that was that, my fate was sealed. I lived up ladders, had paintbrushes for hands, a head full of plaster… but we did it. We brought it back to life, and it was a happy time for us.’
‘I’m sure it was. It’s a beautiful home.’
He seems content to stand silently for a few more minutes, undoubtedly remembering those times. Picturing his daughter in the garden, his wife at her side. The life they led together here. His mind must be swimming with memories of all that he had, and all that he lost.
Eventually, he squeezes my fingers and says: ‘Sure, I don’t know why I brought you here. Bit of a buzz-kill.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ I reply. ‘Not a buzz-kill at all. I feel honoured that you did. You don’t need to be “on” all the time with me, Ryan.’
He studies my face, and drops a quick kiss on the top of my head.
‘I know. Thank you. And if you have the inclination, we could make one more stop?’
‘Guinness?’
‘For the soul,’ he answers, keeping hold of my hand and leading me away. I glance back over my shoulder, taking one more look at the building that is so much more than a building.It is the place where Ryan’s heart lived, where part of it always will.
We walk together through the cold evening air until we reach a church. It’s small, tucked away, built of red brick and topped with a soaring tower. This is not what I expected, and I say to him: ‘Church? I didn’t think you were the type to go to Mass, Ryan.’
‘You’d be right. I had a bit of a falling out with the big fella after Alice and Mia died. I’m still angry, truthfully. But being angry with God means you believe in him, doesn’t it? So every now and then, I feel the tug. You can stay outside if you like, I won’t be long.’
‘No way. You can’t shake me that easily.’
He laughs, and we make our way inside. I was raised as a Catholic, albeit one who only goes to church on holy days now. Still, as we enter the church, the familiar smells of incense and candle wax are comforting, and I find myself automatically dipping my fingers into the water of the font and making the sign of the cross.
There isn’t a service taking place, but the church is still busy. Women are cleaning and polishing the pews, and a few scattered individuals are sitting or kneeling, heads bent in prayer. It is quiet, and peaceful, and perfect.
Ryan walks towards a row of small candles on their metal stand, takes one that is already burning, and uses the flame to light another. He bows his head, and I see his lips move in silent prayer. It is an incredibly touching sight, seeing this big man so humbled by his emotions, and I feel the sting of tears.
I light a candle of my own, close my eyes, and add my prayers to his – for Alice, for Mia, for Nanna Nora. For all of us.
TWENTY-SEVEN
‘Do you think Eejit is all right?’ I suddenly ask Ryan, coming to a stop in front of a stall selling cheese.
It’s the next day, and he has joined me in town ahead of my meeting with Deirdre. We’re in a place called the English Market, which is a magnificent building packed with different traders. Fresh seafood, butchers, bakers, wine merchants, fruit – it’s all here, spread out around us in glorious Technicolor.
‘Sure, why wouldn’t he be?’ he says, pulling me to one side so we don’t interrupt the busy flow of human traffic. ‘Eileen’s keeping an eye out for him, and he was fine before you came, you know.’
‘I know that,’ I reply, firmly. ‘I just hate the thought of him scratching at the door to Whimsy and being all confused and sad because I’m not there to let him in. What if he thinks I’ve abandoned him?’
He shakes his head and looks amused, before saying: ‘He’s a dog, Cassie. A tough dog at that – he’s a survivor, that one. He’s definitely tougher than you, you big softie!’
I stick my tongue out at him, and walk away. He’s right, I know he is. I suspect I’m feeling nervous about meeting a new relative, and I’m feeling anxious about the future, and all of itis focusing in on my adopted stray instead. I’m not sure that being worried about Eejit is a good enough reason to relocate to England, but sometimes it seems like it might be.
I’ve bought a few gifts for the folks back home, mainly from a shop so Irish it almost felt like a parody, and I’ve picked up some small items for Charles and the others as well. The retail therapy hasn’t cheered me up much, but it has passed a couple of hours.
Now, I realise as I glance at my phone, it’s nearly time to head upstairs to the Farmgate Cafe.
Ryan sees me look, and says: ‘You have a while yet.’
