The Secrets We Share

by Emma Hannigan

  Why did you ask my advice? What made you think a housemaid such as I would know the answer to any of your questions?

  When you started to play, oh, the melody was so moving. Never before have I heard music that was so laden with emotion. The melancholy magic swept me away and made me feel as if I were floating on a fleecy cloud of pure angst. I never meant to cry. I hope you did not notice my tears as they blotted the dark slate of the hearth.

  You said the piece was one of your favourites and was composed by Frideric Handel. When you stood and approached me, I was frozen in time. The sounds and smells of the living world faded to oblivion. I felt as if we were cast into an alternative universe. One where only you and I exist … Did you feel it too? Do you believe in love at first sight, Master Leibnitz?

  Hannah

  Nathalie could barely breathe as she finished reading. It was so romantic. She felt as if she were stepping into a scene from an old movie. But who was Hannah, and why were her letters in Clara’s sewing room?

  She had no idea how long Oma would take at the grave, so she put the letter back in place and rushed from the room to lie on her bed as she’d said she would. As she tucked her arms above her head and relaxed, she closed her eyes and thought about how it must have felt to fall in love at first sight.

  Chapter 10

  Sitting in his car on the driveway, Max was apprehensive about the welcome that awaited him once he opened the front door. He knew it would be a frosty one and frankly it was the last thing he needed. Today at the hospital had been awful. He’d sat with twenty employees consecutively and told them that they no longer had a job. He’d given most of them the same bullshit speech about the future of the hospital and how there could be a surge in services in eighteen months’ time. Some had merely nodded tearfully and left the room carrying the lousy piece of paper detailing their redundancy. Others, like Amy Stephenson, had interrupted him mid sentence.

  ‘Max! Why are you rattling off some half-assed speech to me as if you don’t know me? You ate pasta at my house last week. You helped Gerry to put up a bookshelf while refusing to stand too close to the hammer, saying your hands are your livelihood.’

  He’d looked at the floor, feeling sick.

  ‘Amy, I’m sorry. I never knew I’d have to do this. I’m clearly not good at it and I don’t know how to deliver this blow in a good way.’

  ‘You know why, Max? Because there is no good way to tell a friend that her life is about to enter the toilet. What are you going to do about this? You have sway with the board. They’ll listen to you.’

  He’d tried to make her understand that Abe wasn’t going to listen to him or anyone else for that matter. She’d left the room and run down the hall, choking on her sobs. Max was about to run after her when Nancy sidled in.

  ‘I’m a good listener,’ she said smoothly. ‘If you want to, we can close the door and I’ll help to ease the pain.’ She’d raised one eyebrow, then pointedly smoothed her hand down her too-tight skirt and pouted.

  ‘I need to go home to my wife. Thanks for the offer of help, Nancy, but I’m fine.’

  If it were a different time of his life, Max knew he’d be able to tell Sean about saucy Nancy. He knew his long-term buddy would howl with laughter at the comical approaches he was having to deal with. In his right state of mind, he’d be more in a position to deflect her rather clunky advances. But right now, all she was doing was adding to his distress.

  Turning his key in the door, Max was unprepared for the ambush of anger that met him.

  ‘How could you, Max?’ Amber seethed. He stood still and looked at the floor. ‘How could you have told Nathalie and me that your parents were dead? And as for saying that your sister had no interest in keeping contact … You sold me a pack of lies when we met. Which parts are real and which did you invent?’

  ‘Amber,’ he tried to take her in his arms, ‘I’ve had the day from hell. Can we talk about this later?’

  ‘Don’t touch me. I trusted you, Max. From the day we got together, you told me lies. What do you expect me to think? And when I make a monumental decision to try and save our daughter from drowning in a sea of grief, you stride out of here and don’t come back for two days.’

  ‘I’m sorry …’

  ‘That’s not good enough any more, Max. Clearly you’ve been running from Lord knows what, for Lord knows how long, but right now, I’m all out of sympathy for you.’

  ‘Amber, you’re overreacting. I have very valid reasons for cutting my family from my life. OK, I admit I probably shouldn’t have told you they were dead. But believe me, you’d understand if you knew …’

  ‘Knew what, Max? I think it’s time you started telling the truth.’

  ‘There isn’t one single reason why I left Ireland,’ he said wearily. ‘There are several. But believe me, Amber. None of them has any relevance to us or to how our lives have turned out. Can’t you let sleeping dogs lie?’

  ‘Max,’ Amber looked truly stricken, ‘for years we’ve both skirted around the fact that you have the ability to sink into bouts of darkness where nobody can reach you. You’ve always refused help, and as time marched on I tried to accept that this is simply a part of you and a personality trait that you can’t avoid.’ She took his hand. ‘But now I realise that you’ve been living half a life. Running while looking over your shoulder in case the ghosts of your past come knocking.’

  ‘It’s very complicated, Amber,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you when I’m ready. But for now I need you to know that my love for you and my input into our marriage has never been anything but real. As I said, let’s let sleeping dogs lie for now.’

  ‘Sleeping dogs? More like a wild pack of wolves that are currently running at top speed in your direction. If you feel you can’t talk to me, I can’t force you. But our daughter is over in Ireland bonding with your mother. Her … Oma,’ she said, still tripping on the German word. ‘Her Oma and by all accounts her aunt, both of whom you’ve consciously denied her a relationship with. The truth will come out sooner or later, Max. Being your wife, I’d actually prefer to hear it from you.’

  He hugged her and closed his eyes. He did love her. Amber represented the most perfect aspect of his life. She and Nathalie were his masterpiece. The part that wasn’t messed up. The part that wasn’t tainted by lies and destruction. He’d never wanted his old world and his new to collide.

  He needed to try and fathom the fact that his daughter was now halfway across the world with his mother. What was she hearing? Was his mother unwittingly setting her against him? Would Ava be nasty to her? He knew his parents would treat her with unconditional love and kindness, but his fiery sister was quite another matter. He wondered what Ava was like now. Had she married and gone on to have kids? If so, had Nathalie met her cousins? What would he do if she decided to stay in Ireland and never return? So many questions shot about in the recesses of his mind.

  ‘I spoke to Nathalie,’ Amber said, infiltrating his racing thoughts.

  ‘How is she doing?’

  ‘Fine. Just fine.’ Amber’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Honey, there’s something you need to know. I didn’t have time to tell you the other day, before you hotfooted it out of here.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your father passed away six months ago.’

  The words hit him like a tidal wave. He walked to the kitchen and perched on a high stool, lost in thought. The sound of his father’s voice was lost to him. He strained to try and remember, but nothing came. He had no photographs of any of his family, such was his effort to obliterate them from his life. Guilt washed over him. He’d thought about this very scenario before. He’d convinced himself it would be fine. That he wouldn’t be upset and that he could pretend things were just as they had been when he left Dublin. But the reality was quite a different thing. The knowledge that his father had died and they had never been reunited was devastating.

  ‘Is my mother OK?’

  ‘Nathalie says she’s “pretty cool”
.’

  ‘That sounds about right,’ he said, in a strangled voice.

  ‘I’m meant to be attending the hospital trust fund-raiser,’ Amber said weakly. She looked exhausted and Max wanted to punish himself for being such a shit to her. ‘I can cancel,’ she suggested.

  ‘No,’ he said hastily. ‘You can’t let them down. The excitement around the hospital today was at fever pitch – excuse the pun. You should go. You’ve worked so hard on this. I’ll see you after.’

  ‘I mightn’t be home until late.’

  ‘I’ll be here,’ he said.

  He kissed her and watched her go, leaving a waft of expensive scent in her wake. She was a good woman and didn’t deserve to be kept in the dark any longer.

  He stood at the front door and waved at her retreating car. He needed to take stock of his life and make some important decisions. He’d run away from one part and now he was in danger of losing the other. If he didn’t take care, he’d end up alone.

  Pouring a large tumbler of whiskey, he downed it in two burning gulps. He refilled the glass and wandered towards the shower. As the water needled his shoulders, he tried to relax. But deep down he knew the only way to relieve the tension was by telling the truth. By releasing the secrets of his past.

  He wished he had a photograph of his father. He needed to see Gus’s face and recall properly the sound of his voice. He tried to imagine how his mother had felt these past months, left alone in her home.

  He sincerely hoped Ava was still as close to her as ever. Perhaps she had a brood of children who kept Clara’s mind off her grief.

  How had he managed to convince himself it was acceptable to abandon his family for so long? It was as if a bubble had burst in his brain and for the first time in twenty years he doubted his own decision. If there was a hole big and deep enough, Max would happily have crawled into it right now.

  Chapter 11

  Nathalie hoped Oma didn’t realise she’d read one of the letters. She concentrated on avoiding looking at the box containing them.

  ‘So let’s get started,’ said Clara. ‘As I mentioned, I’m a little bit funny about my sewing room. If you mess it up, you’ll have to fix it.’

  ‘It’s bordering on OCD in here,’ Nathalie said. The fabrics were stored in graduating colours, with the darkest ones at the bottom moving all the way to white on top. Pinks occupied one shelf, blues another, then greens and so on. As she turned around and really examined the array of fabrics, Nathalie became sucked in by the mesmerising allure of the patchwork quilt they were about to design.

  Clara pulled open the large drawer that ran the length of the massive wooden cutting table to reveal a stack of patterns.

  ‘First you need to decide what shape your patches will be. Square, round, rectangular, hexagonal … It’s up to you. I’d suggest we do squares, as they’re the easiest to work with. For a large bed the best size for each patch is eight by eight, and we’ll need a grand total of one hundred and twenty-one.’

  Clara pulled out a paper pattern with a maze of squares etched upon it.

  ‘Jeez, this is kind of complex,’ Nathalie said, studying the various effects as Clara spread out a choice of patterns. She’d naively thought it would all get started immediately. When she embellished clothes or even altered them at home, there was very little preparation required. This was a whole new ball game.

  Now that she could see the number of patches she needed to create this quilt, Nathalie was freshly astounded by the ones Oma had made.

  ‘I had no idea there was so much involved. How long does it take to finish one?’

  ‘That, my dear, is like asking how long a piece of string is. It all depends on how much work you put in, what shape you choose and whether or not you can stick at it. Are you up for it, or would you rather back out now while you still can?’

  Nathalie recognised that twinkle in Oma’s eyes. She’d seen a similar one many times in the mirror. Nothing grabbed her attention quite like a challenge.

  ‘Bring it on,’ she said evenly.

  Clara explained the process thoroughly. Once Nathalie was set on her colour scheme, they’d cut the squares and lay them out on the cutting table to give an idea of what the finished quilt would look like. Clara told her she could swap the pieces around until she was happy with the pattern. Next they’d be carefully ironed in preparation for joining.

  ‘I’m a dab hand at that part,’ she assured Nathalie as she promised to help. ‘I’ll certainly assist, but that’s all. This has to come from you, and most of all it must come from here,’ she said, patting her heart. She explained that people filled their quilts with a whole range of things, from feathers to wool.

  ‘I always use the same wadding. It’s just to bulk it up a bit and make it lovely and cosy for the winter. Not that you need to be cosy in LA.’

  Nathalie decided on a summery colour scheme to match her bedroom at home. She chose pastel shades of pink, blue, yellow and mauve, and interspersed flowers, checks, spots and stripes to form the pattern.

  Once they began cutting, the background music became the only sound apart from the methodical clipping noise of the scissors.

  ‘I can’t believe how much I’m into this,’ Nathalie said. ‘I know I’m going to find it difficult to even sleep until it’s done.’

  ‘That’s exactly how I felt the first time I made one,’ Clara smiled. ‘Creativity and hunger for design is in your blood, Nathalie. These quilts have served as a therapeutic bonding tool for generations. So I hoped the magic would have an effect on you too.’ She watched Nathalie for a while.

  ‘Am I doing it right?’ Nathalie asked.

  ‘You certainly are,’ Clara said. ‘Isn’t it amazing that this very activity was just as entrancing to your great-grandmother? It doesn’t make any difference that you were kept from me all this time. Blood is thicker than water and we will make up for lost years. I’m very glad.’

  Nathalie’s expression darkened. She’d almost forgotten why she was here and that she’d been sent here under duress. She didn’t answer, instead choosing to continue silently.

  After that they barely spoke as they systematically chose fabric and cut it into strips. The idea was that the strips would then be divided to make the squares. All the while, Clara’s classical music continued to play in the background. Nathalie hadn’t the first idea what any of it was about, but it was surprisingly soothing.

  She found herself thinking of Hannah, from the letters, and how she must’ve felt when Master Leibnitz played the piano for her all those years ago.

  When Clara excused herself to prepare a snack Nathalie said she’d be happy to continue with the quilt. She was enjoying the process for many reasons. Firstly it took her mind off missing Mackenzie, and secondly it was a good excuse to not have to make conversation. This was going to be the easiest way of getting out of here. She’d knuckle down and get this thing done, and that would bring her visit to a natural end. She could take her quilt, skip home and Oma could feel they’d bonded, just the way she had with her own mother, grandma or whoever she’d learned this with. Deal.

  ‘I was hoping we might take a little trip outside after our snack. It looks as if the rain is beginning to clear.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Nathalie, assuming they’d be going to the crummy park across the road or some other riveting place.

  The second Clara left the room, she glanced over to the box. She was itching to rush over and pull out the next letter along with its translation. But she was afraid of getting caught.

  As she ate a tasty snack, Nathalie had to resist blurting out that she’d found the letters and asking Clara to tell her who the mysterious Hannah was. But a sixth sense told her to remain silent for now. She needed to try and build up a bit of trust before she started asking for stuff.

  Her silence had clearly made Oma feel she was unhappy.

  ‘Nathalie, I know this isn’t easy for you,’ she said as they cleared away the lunch things. ‘If I might say, you’re
doing incredibly well. There’s a beautiful waterfall a short drive from here. Would you care to go there? It might make you feel less at odds if you had some fresh air.’

  ‘Sure,’ Nathalie said. ‘I’ll freshen up and we can go now if that’s cool?’

  ‘I’m ready,’ said Clara. ‘Though we should take raincoats; as you might have guessed, the weather is a little volatile around these parts.’

  Nathalie didn’t expect much from their waterfall visit. It didn’t exactly sound as if it’d be in competition with Disney. But she felt the least she could do was feign interest. Clara, she figured reluctantly, was doing her best.

  They drove out of town, away from the houses and shops. The countryside was like nothing Nathalie had ever seen before. The acid-green leaves on the trees contrasted hugely with the dark green spiky hedges peppered with almost luminous yellow blooms.

  ‘What’s that stuff?’ she asked in awe.

  ‘Gorse,’ Clara said. ‘It’s prickly and nasty if you need to wade through it but stunningly beautiful at this time of the year. It always makes me think of the sun, even if it’s drizzly and grey.’

  The hilly landscape looked breathtaking and Nathalie was moved to silence. The patchwork of fields with the backdrop of mauve heather-coated mountains was nothing like LA. Little cream balls of fuzz made her cry out in delight.

  ‘Sheep!’ she said, pointing.

  ‘There are tons of woolly jumpers around here,’ Clara laughed. ‘Don’t you just love the ones with the black faces?’

  ‘When I thought of Ireland, this was exactly what I had in mind,’ Nathalie admitted. ‘It’s like the images that are splashed over posters and tourist information back home. All that’s missing is the rainbow with the little green leprechaun at the bottom.’

  ‘If you think the scenery is beautiful now, just wait until you experience the waterfall,’ Clara said. ‘It’s a sight I never tire of seeing. The car park is situated behind a grassy incline, so you’ll get the most wonderful surprise when we climb to the top of the hill.’