Page 38 of The Start of the Story
I assumed this was Michael, Maeve, Fionnula and Mam, but I didn’t wait around to find out. I heard only a breathless ‘We took the first flight we could get on…’ and an enthusiastic cry of ‘Mammy!’ and I headed out, ducking under the arm of the tall red-headed man and off down the stairs.
What would happen, would happen. I’d done my bit. Saoirse had even seemed to be coming to terms with things a little and I hoped my company and empathy had helped.
I had another momentary flash of that line of pills on my bathroom shelf. If nothing else, I’d kept her from that desperation.
On the drive back home, the memories kept shouldering their way to the front of my mind. Memories I’d pushed down, kept away, held at bay using work and research as weapons to stop them snapping at my heels. Memories of the doctors telling us that Elliot had low-motility sperm and an unassisted pregnancy would be unlikely. His guilt at the results, telling me that I’d be better off without him and me telling him I’d rather have him and stay childless, than be without him…
One of our rare arguments, about, of all things, what we used as a worktop in the kitchen. His assertion that oak was best, would look right in the cottage, and mine that wood was a ridiculous substance to use for a surface that was going to be subject to heavy use and sharp knives. The raised voices as we held our positions – his for historical correctness, mine for practicality.
But I realised that I didn’t ache as much as I had. Three years had worn away the sharp edges of the pain to blunt nudges rather than the incisions they had once been.
17
I got back to the cottage before the sun did. Connor must have heard the car because he was there in the doorway like a Victorian parent but wearing a tracksuit and with his hair on end.
‘How is she?’ He had one hand on the doorframe.
‘I think she’ll be all right. Her mum and Michael came over together to fetch her back, and she knows she needs help.’
Connor let out a huge breath and slumped. ‘Grand,’ he said, with his head practically on his knees. ‘That’s grand.’ Then he looked up at me from under his hair. ‘You look like you should be in bed.’
The dreams.‘No, I’m good,’ I said. ‘But I think I’ll work from home today.’
He nodded slowly, breathing deeply as though he’d just come to the surface from a long dive. ‘I’ve made such a fecking mess of things, haven’t I?’
I hoped it was a rhetorical question, because the only applicable answer I could give was ‘yes, actually you have’. ‘If it hadn’t been you, it would have been someone else,’ I said. ‘Saoirse was running away. She was pretty lucky that she ranto you and you’re a decent human being, because it could have been much, much worse.’
‘I dunno.’
‘Well, yes, imagine if she’d run into someone who’d got really angry about being lied to? Or someone who used her vulnerability in some way?’
‘I meant about me being a decent human being, but I see what you mean.’ Connor clawed his way back up the woodwork and stood aside to let me into the cottage. ‘I hope she’ll get back on track now. But I won’t contact her again.’
‘No, I wouldn’t.’ I half fell onto the loveseat, desperate for a shower and a nap. ‘Stick the kettle on, Connor, will you? It’s been a hell of a night.’ Then I stared at him. ‘Why aren’t you working?’
‘Christmas vacs.’ He went into the kitchen, and I heard tea-making noises. ‘Another of the advantages of working in further education.’
‘Oh, right.’
He came in carrying a steaming mug and pushed it into my hand. ‘So, what are you doing for Christmas?’
I shrugged and hid my Billy No-Mates face in my mug. ‘Haven’t decided yet. What about you – are you flying back to Dublin?’
A tiny part of me hoped that he’d say no, that he was staying over here, flying home was too much trouble, he didn’t know if he’d be welcome, the house would be full of his siblings and their offspring, no room at the inn.
‘Yep, I leave in two days. Mam will be waiting to treat me like I’m sixteen again and I can’t wait. I might even take all my dirty washing home, so she’s got something else to berate me about.’
‘Don’t you dare.’ But I laughed despite myself. ‘I might go round to Chess’s place. She has an open house over Christmas, cocktails and games, and it’s always good fun.’ I managed to say it like I knew. Chess made itsoundgood fun, but I’d never madeit over in the two Christmases we’d known each other. I’d been too busy wallowing in my solitude.
I thought of Saoirse and her despair. Mine seemed old and tired in comparison, as though it had worn thin now. It was time to stop thinking about what should have been and start thinking of what could be. It wasn’t as though Elliot was going to come back and complain about all the times I’d gone out or had fun without him. In fact, and the thought made the tea surface slide alarmingly close to the mug rim as my hand shook, Elliot would have been the first person to tell me to get out there and enjoy myself. Sitting at home under a blanket watching blooper reels on YouTube wasn’t honouring his memory, it was allowing self-pity to rule my life. I’d lost my husband, but his life insurances had meant that I didn’t have a mortgage and there’d been enough money to allow me to finish my folklore doctorate. I should stop giving Miss Havisham a run for her money and start living life.
‘Yes,’ I said again and more firmly. ‘I could go to Chess’s. Or I might volunteer somewhere.’
‘Or you could come with me,’ Connor said. ‘To Dublin. Ma won’t mind, one more in the house won’t make any difference, and you can help even up the male-female split.’
I hesitated.To Dublin. With Connor.But then I conjured the idea of a house full of brothers, their partners, small children, all people I didn’t know, and the noise. I shook my head. ‘I don’t think I’m quite ready for that yet,’ I said. ‘At Chess’s I can come home when it gets too much.’
‘Ah, you’re probably right.’ He picked up his mug. ‘It can be a fair old ding-dong when they all get going. And I think we’re even getting the sainted Eamonn with us this year.’ But he said it with evident affection. ‘I’m looking forward to a proper fight about the Second Vatican Council,’ he said, with relish.
