‘Not that you’d need any support, Sam,’ Rea added. ‘You and Lexie seem to be rock solid.’
‘You’d think,’ Sam retorted bitterly.
Rea looked at him in surprise. ‘Sam?’
‘Actually, we’ve been going through one or two things ourselves lately.’ To his horror, he felt his throat constrict. He gulped.
‘Sam, do you want to talk?’
And all of a sudden Sam found himself confiding in her. ‘I hate counselling,’ he said sheepishly, as he finished. ‘I have a bit of a thing about it. I’m always telling Lexie I think it’s for egomaniacs who have an insatiable desire to talk about themselves.’
Rea smiled. ‘Sometimes even the most perfect people need to talk. I’m not the right person to continue with. It wouldn’t be ethical as you’re my boss. But I know someone who I think could help you.’
‘Leave it with me,’ Sam said. ‘Thanks for listening just now. I hope I haven’t put you in an awkward position. It’s just that I thought Lexie and I could work through anything, but now it feels like we’re on completely different sides – and I’m not sure how we’re going to get past it.’
‘Not at all, Sam. I’m glad you felt you could tell me. And, for the record, what was just said between these four walls won’t be shared with anyone else. I’m good at keeping things to myself.’
Chapter 22
This time it would be so poignant. Kathleen’s first without her beloved. It would fulfil one of her promises.
Still, she mused, if tomorrow proved a success maybe she and Lexie might enjoy many more over the next few months.
The following afternoon Kathleen walked to the supermarket. She was delighted to have a picnic to plan. Jackson had been like a child on Christmas Eve when she suggested one.
The familiarity of picking up the ingredients for her favourite meat loaf put a pep in her step. She’d go all out and do a chocolate biscuit cake too. Experience had taught her that loaf-shaped delicacies were the easiest to transport: they could stay in their tins and be cut into neat slices in the wilderness. Spying a stand with special-offer sparkling wine, Kathleen took a bottle, with the plastic long-stemmed glasses the shop was selling.
Salad leaves and a bottle of mustard dressing would give them one of their five a day, along with some added crunch. Luckily the supermarket had an impressive baking section so she picked up two loaf tins.
Her heart went out to Lexie. She was a lovely young woman. But she could tell from a mile away that Sam was struggling dreadfully. Kathleen sincerely hoped they would find common ground. She’d hate to see their marriage fall apart.
After Kathleen had arranged for the shopping to be delivered to number three later that afternoon, she decided to go for a walk along the beach. As soon as she hit the promenade she was pleased she’d come. The old-fashioned bandstand was filled with what looked like an old folks’ choir. A gaggle of white-headed ladies and gentlemen were singing their hearts out while swaying in time to the music.
‘Not bad, are they?’
Kathleen turned to see Fanta from the DART station smiling at her.
‘Hello, Fanta. Fancy meeting you here.’
‘So,’ he grinned, ‘do you come here often? This is my wife, Deirdre,’ he said, introducing a small round lady holding an enormous ice-cream.
‘Hello, love,’ she said.
‘Kathleen here is the lady I told you about,’ Fanta said. ‘She’s the one who’s back for a visit from America. I helped her use the ticket machine.’
‘Fanta told me all about you,’ Deirdre said. ‘He loves to fill me in on the stories from his work.’
‘I’d say you meet all sorts.’ Kathleen smiled.
‘Indeed I do.’
‘Who are the choir?’ Kathleen asked.
‘They’re a local over-sixties crowd. I wouldn’t be seen dead with them,’ Fanta said, shuddering.
‘Why ever not?’ Kathleen asked.
‘And announce to the world I’m that old? You must be joking. While I still have my own hair and teeth I’m not acting as if I’m just passing time before they put me in a pine box six foot under.’
Kathleen laughed. ‘I’m sure they’re attempting to prove they’re still very much alive and well. The ones who are filling in days before they pass on wouldn’t be out here in the elements singing and smiling.’
‘Whatever you say, love,’ Fanta said. ‘I’m still only thirty-five in here,’ he said, pointing to his head.
‘Men just never want to grow up, never mind grow old,’ Deirdre said, tugging his arm. ‘Let’s leave Kathleen to her walk. Nice to meet you, Kathleen. Enjoy your holiday and be sure to let Fanta know if you need help with the ticket machine any other day.’
‘I will, thank you,’ Kathleen said. She stayed and listened to the choir for a little longer before continuing. Perhaps it was the sea breeze but her eyes began to water a little, blurring her vision: when she squinted at a man walking in the distance she could pretend he was Jackson. Unlike the time before when she’d felt she’d die of a broken heart, the game now comforted her.
‘It’s like you’re still here with me,’ she said quietly. ‘The man right at the end of the pier is you, Jackson. You got antsy waiting by the bandstand and walked on ahead, telling me you’d see me in a few minutes.’
Passers-by must have picked up on her happy expression as they smiled back and some even saluted her.
By the time she’d done the four-mile round trip, Kathleen felt oddly euphoric. ‘I enjoyed our walk, Jackson,’ she muttered into her chest. ‘It was wonderful to feel as if you were with me again. I’ll invite you again the next time. I love you.’
She joined the queue at one of the many ice-cream vans that were dotted along the coast road and paid for a ninety-nine.
‘Would you like pink and green sauce?’ the man asked.
‘Yes, please,’ Kathleen said, with a grin. She was astonished by the lurid syrup that was promptly drizzled on top. Jackson would have had something to say about that, she mused. He’d had a thing about foods that were unnatural colours. Just the sight of a Slushie machine was enough to set him off on one of his rants.
‘How can people buy a drink that’s electric blue? What naturally occurring food is that shade? Am I the only one who thinks this is totally insane?’
As she licked the instantly dripping soft ice-cream and accepted her change, a little giggle escaped her. She moved away from the crowd so she could continue her chat with Jackson.
‘I can’t say there are many advantages to you being gone, my darling, but at least I can consume this neon green sauce in peace!’
By the time she arrived back at Cashel Square, Kathleen felt better than she had in weeks.
The prospect of the picnic with Lexie the following day sustained her happy mood as she let herself back into the basement. Opening the laptop, she listened to Jackson’s message as she cooked for the picnic, then swept and mopped the kitchen floor.
From the corner of her eye, she spotted a small pile of books tucked onto the outside windowsill. Opening the window she carefully pulled them inside. There was a note from Lexie.
I thought you might enjoy these. Hope you haven’t read them all! Love Lex
Kathleen was touched as she turned the Maeve Binchy books over in her hands. She’d read one, but not the other two. Delighted, she selected one, curled up on the sofa and lost herself in the story.
When she looked up, it was bedtime. Kathleen stretched and padded over to the kettle to make a cup of valerian tea. Lots of people had told her it was marvellous for helping with sleep. She pulled the little bag from its paper pouch, sniffed it and reeled. It smelt pungent, like cat pee. When she poured the water over it, the aroma filled the air. It was so awful and made her wrinkle her nose to such an extent that she felt quite giddy.
‘Jackson, this stuff takes the biscuit. Even you with your healthy eating obsession would have trouble stomaching it.’
Oddly, it didn’t ta
ste quite as bad as it smelt. In fact, Kathleen was pleasantly surprised. It was mildly grassy, and if she held her nose she knew she could finish it.
Eager to get back to her book, she washed her face and brushed her teeth in record time. The bedroom smelt of the tea, which was steaming in the mug on her bedside locker. Now that she’d got into bed she felt far too lazy to get up and pour it down the sink. The only way to get rid of it was to down it in one, so she sat propped up against her pillows and knocked it back.
She managed a few more chapters before her body began to relax. As she drifted off to sleep, Kathleen wasn’t sure if it was the sea air, her make-believe walk and chat with Jackson or the valerian tea, but she felt wonderfully peaceful.
Dear Diary
I’ve done it. I’ve left home. The exams were a total head-wreck so I decided to cut my losses and go.
I know he’ll probably hate me for the rest of my life – well, more than he already does – but I took Dad’s credit card from his wallet last night, booked my ticket on-line and here I am.
It’s not a plane to somewhere exotic, but a ferry to France.
It was cheaper than flying and I figured the crossing would give me more time to figure out what I’m going to do when I get there.
I have sixty-two euro in cash (borrowed yesterday from Grandma’s purse) and some food from the fridge. If I’m frugal and do my best to find a job as soon as I get there, I’ll survive.
I’ve brought my French book from school and I’ll use the journey to swot. If nothing else, this will put all those hours of verbs and vocab to good use.
I wish I could write about my exhilaration and excitement. But I’m terrified. My hands are shaking as I write this. I felt alone at home, but that was only the tip of the iceberg.
I don’t regret going, though. I know it’ll be bogus for the first while but I’ll settle. I can do this.
It’s for the best.
I considered ending it all. I even found tablets in the cabinet in Grandpa’s bathroom yesterday. But I don’t want to die. I just want to find a place where I feel happy. Somewhere I know I’m not a constant reminder of the life I’ve forced my parents to live.
Maybe my departure will afford them the freedom to finally go their separate ways.
There’s a group of kids, a bit older than me, sitting across from me. They’ve got a guitar and look like they’re going backpacking or to work for the summer. I’m going to chat to them and see if I can get some ideas of where to look for work.
Dear Diary, you are my one and only friend right now. So I’ll keep you posted.
Amélie
Chapter 23
That evening when Sam arrived home he announced that he had to go to New York for a couple of days.
‘Why the sudden departure?’ she asked.
‘These trips come up. It’s hardly unusual.’ He paused. ‘Sorry,’ he relented. ‘But I’ve to see a potential customer. I’m leaving here at three thirty in the morning, so I’ll go into Amélie’s room. I don’t want to disturb you.’
‘You won’t disturb me,’ she said. ‘Stay in our bed.’
‘No. It’s for the best,’ Sam said, as he left the room. He felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest. If truth be told, he’d volunteered to go that afternoon when one of his colleagues had come down with a stomach bug. He could do with the space to think and decide what he wanted from the rest of his life. The veil of sorrow that had shrouded his previous happiness was stifling him.
Lexie felt like she’d been thumped in the stomach as he disappeared to pack a bag and sealed himself into Amélie’s room. She barely slept and heard Sam leave at around three. Eventually she dozed for a couple of hours and woke the next morning to the drumming of rain on the paving stones and a grey woolly sky.
Hauling her weary bones into the shower, Lexie tried to convince herself that the rough patch she and Sam were experiencing wasn’t a big deal.
In the past, she’d always found that yesterday’s problems seemed insignificant by the following morning. Usually a fresh day brought a new, calmer outlook. Today that theory wasn’t working and it wasn’t ideal weather for a picnic either.
Needing comfort, Lexie pulled a container of ready-to-roll croissants out of the fridge. Once the oven was hot enough she popped the little curls of dough inside. She made coffee while the croissants puffed into delicious flaky crescents. When they were ready, she tipped them into a round basket, brought them to the table and found a jar of homemade jam. In spite of the delicious smell, she managed to eat only a single bite.
Kathleen appeared, balancing a cardboard box and dressed in an oversized full-length spinach green raincoat. ‘Good morning!’ she cried. ‘It’s a tad wet out there,’ she put the box on the hall table, ‘but that won’t dampen our spirits, right?’ She looked so excited and hopeful Lexie hadn’t the heart to say she’d rather not go.
‘Have you made lots of things?’ Lexie asked, peering into the already soggy box.
‘Just a few fail-safes that Jackson and I enjoyed over the years. I hope I’ll convert you to outdoor dining today.’
‘You’re so good,’ Lexie said, hugging her briefly. ‘Give me five minutes to grab my rain gear and a couple of blankets and we’ll head off. The pictures I’m collecting are small oils, so they should fit into the back seat of the car. This box will just about squeeze into the boot. Poor Bluebell will be bulging at the seams!’
‘Is that your car’s name?’ Kathleen laughed.
‘Certainly is. Baby Bluebell is her full title. Bluebell to her friends.’ Lexie vowed she wouldn’t spoil the day by acting as if her world was ending.
A short time later they were zooming along the N11 motorway towards Glendalough. Taking its name from the Gaelic for ‘the valley of the two lakes’, the famous tourist attraction boasted magnificent walks. It was also home to a monastic tower and a visitors’ centre.
‘It’s still the way I remember it,’ Kathleen exclaimed, as the vista came into sight.
‘Luckily some things remain the same in this world,’ Lexie said. ‘The artist’s house should be just after the main car park. She’s apparently renting a painter’s cottage to maximise her inspiration and utilise the solace of the area.’
‘What a wonderful idea.’
‘Isn’t it? Fingers crossed the work is as remarkable as it appeared in the emailed photographs.’
The artist, a Scandinavian woman by the name of Agata, welcomed them in. Lexie introduced herself and Kathleen.
‘I’m delighted to meet you,’ said Agata. ‘I have heard so much about your gallery and I think it would be the most wonderful place to showcase my work.’
She led them to an open-plan room with floor-to-ceiling windows. Lexie couldn’t help admiring the young woman’s lean, almost athletic figure and shock of pale straw hair. ‘This is my daughter, Britta.’ Agata scooped a miniature version of herself, with the same flaxen hair and pale blue eyes, out of a cute wooden playpen.
Dressed in a navy-and-white-striped jersey dress, the child’s honey skin made her look like a little catalogue model.
‘She’s gorgeous,’ Lexie said, crouching on her hunkers. ‘Hey, Britta, aren’t you a little dote?’
‘It’s just the two of you, I take it?’ she said, as she straightened.
‘It’s better that way,’ Agata stated. ‘Let’s get to the crux of your visit. Come and have a proper look at my work. I know you liked what you saw on the computer but a photo doesn’t provide the same impact.’ She stood aside and motioned for Lexie to examine the four paintings. Framed in rustic wooden boxes, the twelve-inch-square pieces were a series involving the same goblin-type creature in each scene. The detail of his surroundings was breathtaking.
‘Wow! I love the way you’ve made the leaves and shrubs seem as if they’ve been photographed and your little character is nestled in each picture so clearly. He seems lifelike.’
‘He’s alive to me.’ Agata shrugged. ‘He’s bee
n in my head for many years and it’s only now I am managing to share him with the rest of the world. Maybe it’s since Britta’s birth, but I suddenly felt compelled to unleash him.’
‘Does he have a name?’ Kathleen asked.
‘Kara spelled with a K,’ said Agata. ‘It’s Swedish for “dear”.’
‘How wonderful,’ Lexie exclaimed. ‘He’ll fit in beautifully at the gallery. Cara spelled with a C means “friend” in Gaelic.’
‘How wonderfully apt indeed,’ Agata agreed. ‘So does this mean you’re interested in buying my work?’
‘It certainly does,’ Lexie said.
‘While you ladies crunch numbers, could I possibly sneak into your garden?’ Kathleen asked.
‘Sure,’ Agata said, sliding the large glass door open.
The views drew Kathleen to the boundary hedge. As she neared the edge of the property, she stumbled. ‘Ouch,’ she muttered, as her ankle turned. A crunching noise from her hip made her wince.
All of a sudden, Rodger sprang to her mind. She’d promised to text the lovely man she’d met in Howth and had totally forgotten. Fishing for her phone, she scrolled through her contacts. She’d transferred all her old numbers to the Irish cell she’d bought. Unsure about calling him directly, she opted to text him instead. That way she figured he could ignore her if he preferred.
Hello Rodger, Kathleen the skulking American here! I’m in Glendalough and suddenly thought of you. How are you? Did you manage to speak to your doc again? You have my number now. Call or text if you’d like to chat or have a coffee some time. No strings attached. Kathleen.
She hit send and shoved her phone back into her pocket. She hoped Rodger was doing okay. He’d seemed so genuine when they’d met.
‘I’m just about ready to leave,’ Lexie said, poking her head outside.
‘Sure. I’m coming this second,’ Kathleen answered. Butterflies rose in her tummy as she thought of the picnic. ‘Come too, Jackson,’ she whispered. ‘It’s going to be great.’
The Summer Guest Page 18
