The Secrets We Share

by Emma Hannigan

  She’d lovingly placed a small posy of sweet peas from the garden in a miniature vase on the wooden bedside locker. The pinks, whites, and blues picked up the colours of the patchwork quilt on the bed while scenting the room delicately.

  Clara would do her best to make her granddaughter feel at home. She had experience of arriving in a strange place with people she didn’t know. She’d done the same thing herself many moons ago.

  She breathed a sigh of relief when Nathalie’s flight number appeared on the arrivals board. She hoped her granddaughter’s bags had arrived too. She figured there’d be nothing worse for a teenage girl than losing her belongings in a strange land with the knowledge that the only things she could borrow would come from an old lady! Still, if all else failed, she could always call by Ava’s boutique and pick up some clothes. Fleetingly Clara wondered if Ava had cooled down at all. She assumed she would snap out of her current ball of rage at some point soon.

  Instinctively she rose from her seat and wandered towards the large sliding doors. A glut of people came first. There were lots of families with cases piled high on difficult-to-manoeuvre trolleys. The joyful scenes as loved ones were reunited made butterflies dance in her tummy.

  Momentarily, she wondered if she would spot Nathalie immediately. It would be an awkward start to their time together if they ended up on opposite sides of the arrivals hall not recognising one another.

  All worries dissipated as soon as Nathalie strode through the double doors. She was like a carbon copy of Ava at that age. They shared the same slim figure and sapphire-blue eyes, and most of all, Nathalie walked with a sense of self-assurance that Clara instantly identified with. This wasn’t a cocky teenage swagger, but more a controlled and confident gait.

  ‘Hello, Nathalie, I’m your Oma,’ she said simply, holding her arms out.

  ‘Oma,’ Nathalie said, forcing a smile, ‘it’s awesome to meet you.’ Her tone didn’t match her words. Clutching her shoulder bag and suitcase simultaneously, Nathalie dropped her gaze to the floor.

  ‘I’m overwhelmed to see you, dear,’ Clara said. ‘You’re beautiful.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Clara longed to take her in her arms and hold her for ever. But Nathalie’s folded arms and hunched stance didn’t invite physical contact. The crowd began to dissolve, so Clara ushered her towards the exit to the car park.

  ‘Let me take your bag,’ she said.

  ‘It’s cool, I got it.’

  Clara wanted to say something witty or cheerful to try and dispel the undoubted awkwardness between them. But nothing was springing to mind.

  ‘I’m so thrilled to meet you, Liebling,’ she said as they ascended in the elevator to the car.

  ‘Liebling?’ Nathalie looked puzzled.

  ‘Uh, so it means “darling” in German,’ Clara said, grabbing Nathalie’s suitcase and tossing it into the boot. ‘You’ll get used to my little phrases in time.’

  ‘I’d no idea growing up that my dad was half Austrian,’ Nathalie said. ‘I knew he was from Ireland, but that was all.’

  ‘I take it he didn’t talk to you about me, then?’

  ‘No,’ Nathalie said. ‘He said you were dead. Dad’s a good guy, but he’s not exactly Mr Emotional.’

  ‘I’ve only had a couple of conversations with your mother on the phone,’ Clara said, ‘but she seems very friendly and bubbly. I’m delighted Max found such a wonderful lady.’

  As they drove home, Clara did her best to put Nathalie at ease. She didn’t want to unnerve her any further, but she was longing to sit opposite her so she could drink in every inch of Max’s daughter. She wanted to stroke her skin and examine her eyes and try to absorb all the things she didn’t yet know about this beautiful girl.

  She had promised herself she wouldn’t quiz her granddaughter. She would try and allow information to pass between them organically. If Nathalie felt she was being interviewed, she’d certainly feel uncomfortable.

  ‘Was your father all right with you making this trip?’ she ventured.

  ‘He wasn’t exactly stoked,’ Nathalie replied as she stared out the window.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Clara said honestly. ‘I actually wondered if he might come with you. Silly really, but a tiny part of me hoped he’d be too precious about letting you come alone.’

  ‘My mom didn’t give him a whole bunch of choices,’ Nathalie said. ‘Or me for that matter,’ she added, under her breath.

  Clara stole a glance at Nathalie. Her pretty face was arranged in a cross pout as she concentrated on the road outside.

  ‘I’m sorry you felt forced to come here, Nathalie. If it helps at all, I won’t push you into doing things with me. I’m not about to insist you accompany me to bingo or spend hours weeding my garden. I don’t operate that way. I believe we should all make our own choices in life … where at all possible, you understand.’ Clara sighed. ‘There are so many rules attached to living, aren’t there? I often despair at that.’

  Nathalie continued to stare out the window, expressionlessly.

  ‘For months after your father first left, I prayed and hoped that he’d come home.’ Clara knew she sounded sad. ‘But if I’ve learned anything from life, it’s that telling others what to do is a bad idea. It never really works out.’

  ‘Huh, try telling my mom that,’ Nathalie spat.

  ‘I’m certain she only wants what’s best for you, dear. Most mothers do, you know?’

  Nathalie sighed heavily.

  ‘I don’t have many regrets in my life,’ Clara continued, ‘but I am terribly sad that your father didn’t ever make it up with his dad. It’s too late now and nobody can change that.’

  ‘Why, where is my grandfather?’ Nathalie’s head shot around.

  ‘He passed away six months ago,’ Clara said. She didn’t want to cry or seem overly emotional, but tears coursed down her cheeks. ‘Oh dear, I am sorry,’ she sniffed. ‘You don’t need to be stuck in a confined space with a howling old woman. I’ll stop now. Just ignore me.’

  Nathalie glanced over as they stopped at a red light. The compassion in her eyes made Clara gasp.

  ‘My best friend died too,’ she said. The harshness in her voice softened somewhat. ‘It’s cruel when someone you love is ripped away.’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  Clara watched as Nathalie stared unhappily into space.

  ‘Gus was my heartbeat,’ she said. ‘I’m taking each day without him as it comes. But I won’t lie to you. It’s not easy picking my way through life alone. I became so used to having him with me. I suppose I never imagined for one second that he’d suddenly go and I’d have to carry on like this. Everything in my life is geared towards catering for two. You know, I’ve thrown more wasted food in the bin over the last six months than I ever did in my entire previous existence. My brain is programmed to include Gus.’

  Nathalie remained silent as they arrived in Lochlann. Clara explained that Lochlann had been her home for a very long time. She said how much she loved it and how she couldn’t imagine being any place else. She pointed in the direction of St Herbert’s school, where she’d first met Gus and where Max had also attended.

  ‘My father was the music teacher there.’

  As they approached Clara’s house, Nathalie looked as if she wanted to curl into a ball and hide.

  ‘Are you religious, Nathalie?’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t say I am especially either. Not in the churchgoing sense, at least. I believe in God, though. I think we all go somewhere wonderful when we pass on. I think this life is only the beginning. But I believe things happen for a reason. I suppose I’m more spiritual than religious.’ She thought about it as she pulled up at the house and turned the engine off. ‘Although sometimes that notion of things happening for a reason can be ever so difficult to accept, Liebling.’

  ‘I’ll never accept Mackenzie’s death,’ Nathalie said with conviction. ‘It’s totally wrong on so many levels.’

  ‘Oh, I agree. I
t’s not fair, nor will it ever seem so. It’s such a sad waste when someone young is taken from us. But I do know that the people who pass in and out of our lives all help to shape us. They mould us into the people we eventually end up becoming.’

  Nathalie opened the car door in silence and walked around to get her bag from the boot.

  Clara wished she knew what her granddaughter was thinking. She ushered her towards the front door.

  ‘Welcome to my home. This isn’t where your father grew up. Gus and I moved here in recent years.’

  ‘It’s pretty,’ Nathalie said hesitantly.

  They pulled the suitcase in the door and Clara led the way to Nathalie’s bedroom.

  ‘So this will be yours for as long as you wish to stay,’ she said proudly.

  ‘Thanks.’ Nathalie stood quite still and barely looked around. Clara figured the best policy would be to allow the girl to dictate their relationship.

  ‘I’ll leave you to settle in. There’s food ready if you’re hungry. If not, there’s no pressure. I’m sure you’re exhausted and probably want to be left alone.’ There was no reply, so Clara reluctantly turned to leave the room.

  ‘Did you make the quilt?’ Nathalie asked suddenly.

  ‘Yes,’ Clara said. ‘I hope you like it.’

  ‘It’s beautiful.’

  ‘I’m glad you think so.’ She smiled.

  ‘How did you make this from scratch?’

  ‘It’s not so difficult once somebody has the time and patience to teach you. I could show you how to quilt while you’re here, if you wish?’

  ‘Sure,’ Nathalie said flatly.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be downstairs. Join me if you like.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Clara made her way down the stairs slowly. She actually felt like skipping down, taking the steps two at a time and jumping the last three. If she were twenty years younger, she might very well have done so. She wanted to wave her arms about and yell hallelujah that her granddaughter was here. But that wouldn’t be correct Oma behaviour, and besides, Nathalie was already a little prickly. She didn’t want her running away in the middle of the night, terrified that she was staying with a madwoman.

  She was such a beautiful girl. She was the spitting image of Ava to look at, and Clara was very pleased to observe that she was also astonishingly like herself at a younger age.

  Nathalie was clearly hurting more than she’d ever thought possible. It was also glaringly obvious that she didn’t want to be here and had come under her mother’s orders. But Clara sincerely hoped that they would find some sort of footing together. All it would take was a bit of time and patience. Both of which she had in abundance.

  Chapter 8

  As her Oma left the room, Nathalie turned on her cell and waited for it to connect to the Irish network.

  A ton of messages popped up, including several from DJ.

  Hey – WTF? Ur mom says ur in Ireland? What gives?

  In spite of her annoyance at being here, his increasingly abusive messages made her smile. DJ was a total idiot. She knew that, but he adored her, and his presence annoyed her father intensely, so it’d been fun. But she couldn’t deal with him any more. He’d been as much use as a chocolate teapot since Mackenzie’s death. He’d proven to have the emotional depth of a puddle and was about as supportive as a lettuce leaf in a hurricane.

  It’s been fun. Don’t know when I’ll be back. See ya some time, Nat x

  She did what all sensible girls did when they were so over a boy and blocked him on her cell. Next she texted her mom. She was supposed to call and let her know that everything was OK and she’d arrived safely and all that stuff. But she was too cross. Her mother could go and swing. Sending her across the world to stay with some crazy lady … As for her dad, well, he wouldn’t care what she did, just so long as she wasn’t having too much fun. Taking a look around, she doubted that was a likely prospect. The Oma person seemed cool enough, she reluctantly admitted, but this place was so quiet. The only amenity she’d spotted was a sleepy park with a couple of geriatrics trundling about with wheelie carts. Rock ’n’ roll, Nathalie thought sourly.

  Having texted her folks and blocked DJ’s friend Garry too, because he had jumped on the bandwagon and was incessantly sending abusive messages about her tossing his buddy aside like waste material, she found herself drawn towards the hallway. The smell of food emanating from downstairs was awesome. She hadn’t eaten any of the hideous airline food so she was ravenous. Gingerly she made her way towards the aromas.

  ‘Hey,’ she said, feeling suddenly shy. For a split second she wished she’d been a bit less moody in the car.

  ‘Hello, dear, come and sit. I’m about to eat. Will you join me?’

  ‘Sure.’

  She perched on a chair and looked around the room. There was an oversized dresser blocking an entire wall, laden down with figurines, trinkets, photographs and pretty boxes. It was the type of place she’d love to root about in for six hours when nobody was looking. There were probably all sorts of hidden things in there.

  ‘I’ll dish up. Why don’t you look at the old photos on the dresser? There are plenty of your father. He was a gorgeous boy.’

  As soon as Clara went into the adjoining kitchen to bash about with saucepans, Nathalie shot over to examine the pictures. She’d never seen any of her dad as a kid. He hadn’t changed much.

  ‘Who’s in the pictures with Dad?’

  ‘Your aunt Ava.’

  ‘She looks like me.’

  ‘Yes, she does. That was my first thought when you walked into arrivals earlier.’

  Nathalie scrutinised the picture. This Ava was so like her it was kind of creepy. She had the same hair, same smile … It was totally weird. She really hadn’t wanted to talk, but this woman was intriguing her.

  ‘Does she know I’m coming here?’

  ‘Yes, dear. She’ll be along to see you at some point. Ava doesn’t take kindly to being told what to do. But I expect she’ll come when it suits her.’

  Nathalie picked up another one of the framed photos. Ava must’ve been around her own age when it was taken. The hair was a more hickey style and her clothes were God-awful, but the face and bone structure and slender body shape were uncannily like her own. They had the exact same corkscrew curls and round blue eyes. Mackenzie used to tell her she had horse’s eyes. She’d meant it as a compliment, but Nathalie had always found it hilarious.

  Clara came into the room with two steaming plates. Nathalie sat down and thanked her. She wasn’t ready to have a big old warming chat with this person, but she knew she couldn’t be too rude either.

  ‘This is traditional goulash. To most people it’s casserole, but I prefer to call it goulash. The potatoes were a firm favourite when your father was little. They’re sliced and baked in cream and cheese, and of course this is pickled red cabbage.’

  ‘A heart attack on a plate,’ Nathalie said drily. ‘In LA, everything is fat-free, sugar-free and more often than not dairy-free.’ She recoiled from the plate and then gave it a slight nudge away from her.

  ‘I don’t go in for that kind of nonsense,’ Clara said mildly. ‘I’ve always eaten home-cooked food. In my opinion, moderation is the key. A little of what you like is good for the soul. If you go for all that “free” rubbish, it must become taste-free too.’

  Nathalie hesitated. She didn’t want to be here, but at the same time, she didn’t want to offend this old lady. When she’d shoved the plate, her Oma had looked seriously hurt. She could hear her mother scolding her and telling her to mind her manners. Reluctantly she picked up her cutlery and took a small forkful, hoping it wouldn’t be awful.

  Closing her eyes, she savoured the incredible flavours. The meat melted in her mouth, and as she took some of the potatoes, the creamy comfort they offered was like being hugged from the inside. The pickled red cabbage had a slight sweet-and-sour thing going on, with a hint of spice.

  ‘This is so good,’ s
he said, forgetting to be cranky for a moment.

  ‘Glad you like it. I agree.’

  Nathalie raised an eyebrow. This old doll was funny. Very direct, and she certainly didn’t seem to feel the need to be coy or self-effacing.

  Nathalie finished most of the food and thought she couldn’t possibly eat another bite, but when Clara placed a slice of chocolate cake with home-made crème anglaise in front of her, she polished off the lot.

  ‘I will be super-sized Nathalie if I stay here too long,’ she said, patting her flat stomach as she lounged back in her large spoon-backed dining chair. ‘I wouldn’t normally eat that amount of calories in the space of a week.’

  Clara tutted. ‘You’re as thin as a stick. You need feeding up if anything.’ Nathalie narrowed her eyes, feeling intense irritation once more. Didn’t this woman know anything about carbs, fat and sugar? It was a mystery she wasn’t in a mobility cart and morbidly obese if this was the kind of stuff she ate on a regular basis.

  The house phone rang and Clara rushed to answer it. Her conversation was muffled as she wandered to the other side of the room.

  ‘That was your aunt Ava,’ she said with a smile. ‘Are you too tired to meet her now?’

  ‘No. I guess not,’ Nathalie said, trying to hide her curiosity. She wanted to get a proper look at this woman. She wondered if she was as bubbly and quirky as Oma.

  Clara smiled in relief. ‘Good, that was the correct answer, because she’s on her way over. She won’t stay too long if I know Ava. She’s always in a hurry, you know?’

  Nathalie nodded. This was all quite terrifying. None of these people knew the first thing about her yet they were related. It was all so screwed up. Anger at her father raced through her again. This situation sucked. All she could do was bide her time. Stay here for a couple of weeks and then get the hell home to LA and never come back.

  ‘I am very relieved that Ava is coming over,’ Clara said. ‘She’s feisty, and the fallout between her and your father was most bitter.’

  It was on the tip of Nathalie’s tongue to ask Clara why they’d fallen out with her dad. But she’d only just arrived and she didn’t want to uncover some rank story involving a terrible event. This whole situation was pretty darn awkward as it was without asking leading questions.