Season of Second Chances: an uplifting novel of moving away and starting over

by Aimee Alexander

In her reflection, Grace sees someone new. Someone powerful. Someone taking control. This Grace owns herself, body and soul.

  They divide into pairs to practice moves that Patrick is going to show them.

  Jack gets a small woman of about thirty.

  Holly gets a boy not much older than her.

  Grace faces a giant of a man, no stranger to the gym. Why he needs self-defence she has no idea.

  “Everyone wants to fight the big guy,” he explains quietly, like he can read her mind.

  “Oh. Right. Wow.” Must be a gentle giant, she thinks – hopefully.

  Des is finishing up a gorgeous fry. He had planned to walk Benji but the rain is really coming down outside. MaryAnn clears away his plate. He tries to remember the name of that orange stone she’s wearing, that stone she has always loved, that stone that is so her. It escapes him.

  She lifts his plate.

  It doesn’t feel right that she’s waiting on him. “Why don’t you join me for a cup of tea?”

  “I will, so. I’ve just made a mug of ginger and lemon.” She takes his plate. “Need anything else?”

  He pats his belly. “Not a thing, MaryAnn, thank you. That was fabulous.”

  MaryAnn returns with a purple mug that she couldn’t possibly have bought in a shop. Catching him eyeing it, she chuckles. “My one and only attempt at pottery.”

  “It’s… unique.”

  “Well, it has one thing going for it…. imperfection – which is why I love it.”

  “There’s some hope for me so,” he jokes.

  “Will you stop it,” she says crossly, surprising him. “You’re forever putting yourself down.”

  “I am?”

  “You are.”

  He didn’t know. “It smells nice,” he says of her tea.

  She blows on it and takes a sip, then looks towards the window. “You were lucky to catch me here. I travel a lot in winter.”

  “Is that right? Where would you be heading off to?”

  “Oh, anywhere. I’ve been known to take a cruise or two. They visit all the best places, Alaska, Cuba, Bermuda, the Caribbean–”

  “You’ve been to all those places?” he asks in amazement. It strikes him that he has never lifted his head up from his work.

  “Well, Alaska, Bermuda and Cuba.”

  “Wow.”

  “And what do you do… onboard?” He always thought cruises sounded, at best, boring, at worst, claustrophobic.

  “I usually go for cruises with a meditation guru onboard. You meet great people.”

  Doesn’t sound like his cup of tea at all. But then, he didn’t think he’d like that alternative health column in the Southern Star till he started reading it. Now he wouldn’t be without it. Maybe someday he’ll surprise himself.

  “Are they expensive?”

  “Not when you factor in all that you’re getting. I read about a woman whose life is back-to-back cruises. It’s cheaper than a retirement home. With great company. And you get to see the world.”

  “I like the sound of her.”

  “There are doctors onboard and everything. But living on a ship wouldn’t be for me. I like to get away, but I love coming home. I have to be able to go where I want, when I want. You do start to feel a bit trapped on the cruises after a while. Next trip will be a safari. That’s why I’m home now. Saving up,” she says, sipping from the endearingly imperfect mug. “Safaris – the good ones – are pricey. But then you don’t want to get eaten by a lion, do you?” She grins.

  It strikes him then. MaryAnn isn’t just alive, she’s living. Lining up the adventures still to be had. He, on the other hand, has let illness and retirement make him feel like it’s all over. But he’s only seventy. He still has some kick in him. He had planned on walking Benji a few hundred yards up the road and letting him sniff around in a field. But if MaryAnn can go on safari, surely he can make it to Barleycove. He’ll have to collect his stick. And wait till the rain stops. The orange stone attracts his gaze again. Amber! That’s it. He has no idea why it cheers him so much to remember.

  45

  Des has walked Benji on Barleycove beach. His feet are still tingling from paddling in the ice-cold Atlantic. He has checked up on Alan. He and the men are flying. He has met Paddy for lunch in the Coffee Cove. Now he is back at MaryAnn’s to take his medication and have a little nap.

  She offers him tea and – crucially – a scone.

  He wanders around the sitting room, looking at the art. They are all watercolours. Landscapes. He doesn’t know anything about art but he likes these. He puts on his glasses to read the signature.

  “You did all these!” he says as MaryAnn comes in, carrying a tray.

  “Ah, they’re no Picassos.”

  He looks at her in admiration. “You always loved the old art.”

  “Ah, ’tis nothing. Keeps me out of trouble.”

  “I’ll buy the lot.”

  The tray clatters as she lands it down. “All of them?”

  He nods, trying to visualise the best place to hang each of them in his home. A difficult task given that he’s not quite sure how it will look when it’s all done.

  “Good Lord. I’ll have to give you a reduction.”

  It’s turning out to be an expensive weekend. But if Des can’t spend his money on his family, what can he spend it on? The word cruise comes flying into his head.

  On their way to the restaurant, Grace rolls back her shoulders trying to ease the tension in her body. All day, she, Jack and Holly learned how to escape from different situations – headlocks, chokes, being pinned to the floor. Every time Grace was held, it was by Simon, not her partner. She could hear his breathing, smell his breath, feel his iron grip. He was with her, whispering in her ear. She kept telling herself it was her partner; she was being ridiculous. But her body refused to believe it, as if it could not let her take the risk. Every muscle tensed as though expecting the worst. Her eyes kept darting to the kids, checking they were okay. Jack had his arm around his partner’s neck as though it was the last thing he wanted to do. Holly was a tiger, lashing out with heel thrusts, whacking the protective pad while roaring, “No, no, no!”

  Roaring, they learned, energises, reminds you to breathe and makes the attacker fear that they will be discovered and, hopefully, leave you be.

  They finished at five o’clock. Wrecked physically and emotionally, they hugged each other. Grace knew Jack was okay when he suggested food.

  They have stayed local. Grace saw a place earlier that looked nice. Arriving, now, and going inside, it reminds her of the Coffee Cove, just more bohemian, with a younger crowd. Everyone is in their twenties and thirties, chatting and laughing, like they’re blissfully aware that their lives are just beginning. A waitress with a nose ring directs Grace, Jack and Holly to a seat far from the window. With a direct view of the door, it couldn’t be more perfect.

  Jack has the menu in his hand before they even sit.

  “That was so good,” Holly says, with fire in her eyes. “I think I’ll join the army!”

  Jack laughs. “Yeah, right.”

  “I’m serious.”

  Jack looks up from the menu at his mum. “You okay?”

  She can feel both sets of eyes on her.

  Smiling, she nods. She reaches out and squeezes their hands. “I’m so proud of you guys. So, so proud.” She gets a little teary. “You were amazing in there.”

  “So were you,” they say together.

  “I know that starting over was such a big ask but you’ve never once complained. You’ve just gotten on with it. You’re amazing.”

  “It wasn’t a big ask,” Holly says. “It was a big answer. I prefer West Cork. I really do.”

  Jack glances around the restaurant. “It’s good to be back in Dublin, though.”

  No one has given up more than Jack. He was the popular one. The one with the soulmate friend. Grace doesn’t want to go backwards but she owes it to her son.

  “I could drop you out to
Ross if you like,” she says, dreading the risk that would involve, going anywhere near their old home.

  Jack brightens. “I wouldn’t mind seeing him.”

  “Great!” Grace tells herself it’ll be okay. What are the chances of bumping into Simon? “Give Ross a call. See if he’s around. And I’ll drop you out.”

  “I’ll just go call him,” Jack says, getting up.

  Grace smiles at Holly, sorry that there is no one for her to see.

  Holly’s return smile is wide and innocent. It’s as if she has forgotten her life in Dublin.

  “Want to watch a movie when we get back to the hotel?” Grace asks.

  Holly nods enthusiastically.

  Grace has no one to see in Dublin, either, even if she wanted to. Yes, there were people she was friendly with. None were friends. Simon made sure of that, always checking up on where she was and who she was with, constantly interrupting with texts and calls, embarrassing her. If she didn’t respond, he’d make her regret it later. If he got wind that she was meeting someone, he’d force her to cancel because of some sudden “urgent” job he had for her. Alternatively, he’d lash out the night before so she wouldn’t be able to face anyone for fear she might break down. It became easier not to arrange things, not to have friends. Once, long ago, she did open up to a fledgling friend. The woman was so distressed that Grace wouldn’t leave the situation, she cut all contact. It was too hard, knowing and not being able to help. Grace understood. And never opened up to anyone again. It was just too much to land on a person.

  Jack goes outside to make the call but stalls, his thumb hovering over Ross’s name. What if Ross has plans for tonight, plans he won’t want to include Jack in? What if he has moved on, forgotten Jack? Worse, what if he’s narked with him for not returning his texts or calls? Jack glances into the restaurant of laughing, chatting friends. He can’t just give up. He has to take the risk. If he doesn’t, he and Ross might never see each other again. What has he got to lose? Nothing that he hasn’t already lost.

  He takes a deep breath, depresses his thumb on Ross’s name, puts the phone to his ear.

  All the time it rings, he holds that breath like hope.

  Ross doesn’t pick up.

  Before he can talk himself out of it, Jack calls again.

  It rings out again.

  Jack pockets the phone with a sigh and an ache in his heart.

  What did he expect? He’s blanked Ross too many times. Now, he expects him to jump to attention just cause he’s back in town. He deserves this.

  Opening the door of the restaurant, he tells himself it doesn’t matter. He needs to stick to his plan. New life. Don’t look back. It was working fine till he got to Dublin and realised just how much he misses his old pal, his old life.

  His mum’s eyes meet his questioningly. He shakes his head and shrugs.

  “Probably good to get an early night anyway,” she says. “Tomorrow will be a long day.”

  46

  It’s six-thirty and the sun is setting. The new bathroom has been put in. Now the wooden floors are going down. Everything has been moved upstairs and the men are working efficiently and to deadline. The front door is wide open. Alan is heading out to bring in the new skirting boards when in saunters an expensively dressed and stunning-looking man with floppy, greying hair and piercing blue eyes.

  “Can I help you?” Alan asks. Des put in security for a reason. Alan is not about to let any stranger waltz in, no matter how good he looks.

  “Is Des around?” he asks, checking out the work in progress.

  “I’m afraid not, no.”

  “Where is he?” he asks, like he’s used to getting his own way.

  Alan, folding his arms, wonders if this could be Grace’s ex. He’s the right age and certainly has the arrogance of a consultant. “I have no idea.”

  “How about his daughter, Grace and her children? Have you seen them?” he asks, like he’s talking to a serf.

  So, Alan plays the serf. “I’m just the workman. Sorry but I can’t help you.”

  “How can I get in touch with Des?” he asks, anger replacing the smooth.

  Alan may not be a smart man but he knows people. And this is not a good one. “Why don’t you give me your number and I’ll get it to Des?”

  For the first time, he looks hesitant, caught out. Then he raises his chin. “I don’t give my number to just anyone.”

  “Then I can’t help you. And now, I have to ask you to leave. This is a work site.”

  Squinting, the man takes a step towards Alan. “Wait a minute. I know you. You’re Alan, right? Grace’s gay friend from back in the day.”

  Alan flinches, hoping the others didn’t hear over the hammering, and hurt that Grace would have shared his secret so casually. But then this is clearly her husband and couples share everything. Alan is sure she didn’t use the same dismissive tone when she spoke about him to this… twit.

  “D’you have a number for her, pal?” he asks, condescendingly.

  “Look, you’ve got the wrong person. And I don’t have Des’s daughter’s number. I’m working for Des.”

  “I never forget a face. Goes with the job. You were all over Grace’s old photo albums. So, you’re telling me she didn’t catch up with her best buddy now that she’s back in town?” His smile is cruel.

  Alan has never used his physical strength against anyone. Now he straightens up to his full height and takes a step towards this arrogant so and so. He’s at least four inches taller and a hell of a lot stronger. “I asked you to leave. Now you’re trespassing. If you don’t go, I’ll have to call the police. Pal.”

  Pouring himself a beer at the Coffee Cove while he waits for Paddy O’Neill to join him for dinner, Des can’t remember when he last felt so hopeful. The men are transforming the house; he can’t wait to see Grace and the children’s reaction. He’s out and about, catching up with old friends. Driving again. And it’s been especially wonderful spending time with MaryAnn. He wonders if he should call her now and invite her along to dinner with them. He’s taking out his phone when it starts to ring. Seeing Alan’s name, he wonders if there’s a problem back at the house. Maybe he just has a question.

  “Alan?”

  “Sorry for disturbing you, Des. Nothing wrong here at all. Just thought you’d like to know that a man called to the house. Looking for you. And Grace.”

  Des looks, automatically, out the window of the café. “What did he look like?”

  “Handsome. On the smug side to be honest. Walked right in like he owned the place.”

  Des’s breath catches. “What did you tell him?”

  “That I didn’t know where anyone was. That I’m just the workman.”

  “Good man.” Des’s breath returns. “Where did he go?”

  “Got back in his car – a Jag, if that helps – and did a U-turn down into the village. He wasn’t happy.”

  Des gets to his feet, eyes on the window. “Don’t say a word about this to Grace.”

  There’s a pause. “’Tis family business. Not mine.”

  “Thanks, Alan.”

  So, he’s here, and prepared to break the barring order. Thank God, Grace and the kids are in Dublin. Des reaches for his stick. He has to put a stop to this now. But how? First thing’s first. He has to find him. Then he’ll warn him that he’ll face the full force of the law if he tries to see them again. He tries to be positive. By the time Grace gets home tomorrow night, Simon will have to have left to be back in Dublin in time for work.

  He hurries outside. Scanning the street, he sees no sign of the Jaguar. He takes off in the direction of the surgery. It’ll be closed, of course, but it’s all he can think of. Halfway there, the police station comes into view. He remembers Paddy.

  He whips out his phone and calls his old pal. Who pulls up beside him in less than two minutes.

  They cruise around in the squad car in search of the Jag, going a few miles outside the village in all directions, then turning around
and coming back.

  “Where would he go?” Des asks.

  “Well, if he’s looking for you and you’re not staying at the house…”

  “He’s probably checking the B&B’s!”

  One by one, they visit them all, including MaryAnn’s but there is no sign of his Dublin-registered car. They return to the main street.

  “Go and have your meal, Paddy. I might go sit in my car and just watch the street for a while.”

  “Sure, why don’t we sit here together in the squad car? I’ll pop in, grab us some grub and bring it out.”

  “You’re a good friend,” Des says.

  “I’m only being selfish. There’s nothing I love more than a good old-fashioned stakeout.”

  Des smiles, grateful for the lie.

  The two friends watch the street for over an hour. Paddy lowers the window to clear the smell of food. The cool October air invades the car and he turns on the engine for warmth, leaving the headlights off.

  “He must be gone,” Des says at last, not wanting to waste any more of Paddy’s time. “We can’t have missed him.”

  “Unlikely, alright.”

  “Go on home. Sorry for wasting your time.”

  “Sure, I was going to be out with you anyway. You’ve only added a bit of excitement to the evening. Let me drop you to your car.”

  “Right so, thanks, Paddy.”

  Paddy does as promised. “Make sure and call me if he turns up.”

  “Will do. Thanks, Paddy. Safe home.”

  Des sits motionless in his car for another thirty minutes. Sure, at last, that the brute is gone, he drives slowly back to MaryAnn’s.

  Out front, like a bad smell, is the Jag. So, he was checking the B&B’s after all. He must have turned up here when Des and Paddy were on the main street or checking the other B&B’s.

  He kills the headlights and parks out on the road.

  Approaching the house in the dark, he gets a clear view into the sitting room, illuminated with lamp light. There he is, the thug, in full charm mode, being waited on by poor MaryAnn. He’s even getting the scone treatment. Gripping the knob of the stick like he’s crushing a skull – and not just any skull – Des thinks about calling Paddy. But he doesn’t want a scene at MaryAnn’s. Doesn’t want to inflict that on her. No. He’ll go in, stay calm, keep his cool, and warn Simon about the barring order and the police.