‘Where are you going?’ I asked in surprise. ‘You haven’t told me what to do yet.’
Opal took off her purple-tinted shades and her chocolate-brown eyes gazed at me. ‘This is not an emergency at all, Ivan. There is no advice that I can give you. You will just have to trust yourself that when the time comes, you’ll make the right decision.’
‘What decision? About what?’ I asked, feeling even more confused now.
Opal grinned at me. ‘When the time comes, you will know. Good luck.’ And with that she left the meeting, with everyone staring at me in confusion. The blank faces were enough to prevent me from asking any of them for advice.
‘Sorry, Ivan, I would be just as confused as you are,’ Calendula said, standing up and smoothing out the wrinkles in her summer dress. She gave me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. ‘I’d better go now too or I’ll be late.’
I watched her skipping towards the door, her blonde curls bouncing with every step. ‘Enjoy your tea party!’ I called.
‘Make the right decision,’ I grumbled to myself, thinking about what Opal had said. ‘The right decision about what?’ And then a chilling thought occurred to me. What if I didn’t make the right decision? Would someone get hurt?
Chapter 13
Elizabeth pushed herself forward gently on the swinging bench in her back garden. She cradled a warm coffee cup in her hands, wrapping her slender fingers round the limestone-coloured mug. The sun was slowly setting and a slight chill was creeping out from hiding to take its place. She stared up into the sky, a perfect vision of candy- floss clouds, pink, red and orange, like an oil painting. An amber glow rose from behind a mountain before her, like the kind of secret glow that rose from Luke’s bedcovers when he was reading with a torch. She breathed in the cooling air deeply.
Red sky at night, she heard a voice inside her head say.
‘Shepherd’s delight,’ she whispered softly.
A soft breeze blew, as if the air, like her, was sighing. She had been sitting outside now for the past hour. Luke was upstairs playing with his friend Sam, after spending the day at his grandfather’s. She was awaiting the arrival of Sam’s father, whom she’d never met before, to come and collect him. Usually Edith dealt with the friends’ parents and so Elizabeth wasn’t at all looking forward to children chitchat.
It was 9.45 p.m. and light, it seemed, was calling it a day. She had been rocking herself back and forth, fighting the tears that threatened to fall, swallowing the lump that threatened to rise in her throat, forcing back the thoughts that threatened to drown her mind. She felt that she was fighting the world that threatened to jeopardise her plans. She fought the people that invited themselves into her world without her permission; she fought Luke and his head of childish ways, her sister and her problems, Poppy and her ideas at work, Joe and his coffee shop, competitors in her business. She felt she was always fighting, fighting, fighting. And now here she sat fighting her very own emotions.
She felt as if she’d been through a hundred rounds in the ring, as if she’d taken every punch, thump and kick her opponents could throw at her. Now she was tired. Her muscles ached, her defence was falling and her wounds weren’t healing so quickly. A cat leaped from the high wall that separated Elizabeth from her neighbours and landed in her garden. It glanced at Elizabeth; chin held high, eyes glowing in the darkness. It walked slowly across the grass without a care in the world. So sure of itself, so confident, so full of its own self- importance. It jumped onto the opposite wall and disappeared into the night. She envied its ability to come and go as it pleased without owing anybody anything, not even those closest, who loved and cared for it.
Elizabeth used her foot to push herself back again. The swing squeaked slightly. In the distance the mountain appeared to be burning as the sun slipped down and out of sight. On the other side the full moon awaited its final call to centre stage. The crickets continued to chatter loudly to each other, the last of the children ran to their homes for the night. Car engines stopped, car doors slammed, front doors closed, windows shut and curtains were drawn. And then there was silence and Elizabeth was once again alone, feeling like a visitor in her own back garden that had taken on a new life in the falling darkness.
Her mind began to rewind over the events of the day. It stopped and played Saoirse’s visit. Played it over and over again, the volume rising at every repetition. They all leave eventually, isn’t that right, Lizzie? The sentence repeated itself like a broken record. It kept on at her like a finger prodding her chest. Harder and harder, first grazing the skin, then breaking it, prodding and prodding until eventually it tore right through and reached her heart. The place where it hurt most. The breeze blew and stung her open flesh wound.
She shut her eyes tightly. For the second time that day Elizabeth cried. They all leave eventually, isn’t that right, Lizzie?
It played continuously, waiting for an answer from her. Her mind exploded. YES! it shouted. Yes, they all eventually leave. Every single one of them, every single time. Every person that ever succeeded in brightening her day and cheering her heart disappeared as quickly as a cat in the night. As though happiness was only supposed to be some kind of weekend treat, like ice cream. Her mother had done, just as this evening’s sun had done: had left her, had taken away the light and warmth and replaced it with a chill and dark.
Uncles and aunts that visited and helped moved or passed on. Friendly school teachers could only care for a school year; school friends developed and tried to find themselves too. It was always the good people that left, the people that weren’t afraid to smile or to love.
Elizabeth hugged her knees and cried and cried, like a little girl who had fallen and cut her knee. She wished for her mother to come and pick her up, to carry her and rest her on the kitchen counter while she applied a plaster to her cut. And then just like she always did, she would carry her around the room, dancing and singing until the pain was forgotten and her tears had dried.
She wished for Mark, her only love, to take her in his arms, in arms so big she was dwarfed in his embrace. She wished to be surrounded by his love while he rocked her slowly and softly as he used to do, whispering hushes of assurance in her ears and running his fingers through her hair. She believed him when he said them. He made her believe that everything would be OK and, lying in his arms, she knew that it would, felt that it would.
And the more she wished the more she cried because she realised she was surrounded by a father who could barely look her in the eye for fear of remembering his wife, a sister who had forgotten her own son, and a nephew who looked to her everyday with big hopeful blue eyes, just asking to be loved and cuddled. Emotions that she felt she was never given enough of to be able to share.
And as Elizabeth sat there crying and rocking, shivering in the breeze, she wondered why it was that she allowed one sentence that had passed the lips of a girl who had never received enough kisses of love, felt warm embraces or who had never herself allowed words of love to drift over her own lips to be the one whose thump and kick sent her falling to the ground. Just as she had done with the piece of black silk in her office.
Damn Saoirse. Damn her and her hatred of life, damn her for her disregard for others and disrespect for her sister. Damn her for not trying when all Elizabeth did was try with her whole heart. What gave her the power to speak with such churlishness? How could she be so flippant with her insults? And the voice inside Elizabeth’s head reminded her that it wasn’t the drink talking, it was never the drink talking. It was the hurt.
Elizabeth’s hurt was screaming at her tonight. ‘Oh, help,’ she cried softly, covering her face in her hands. ‘Help, help, help…’ she whispered through her sobs.
A light creaking at the sliding door of the kitchen caused her head to jerk up from where it was cradled in her knees. At the door stood a man, lit like an angel by the kitchen light behind him.
‘Oh.’ Elizabeth swallowed hard, her heart pounding at being caught. She wiped her e
yes roughly and smoothed down her wild hair. She rose to her feet. ‘You must be Sam’s dad.’ Her voice still shook from the emotion bubbling inside her. ‘I’m Elizabeth.’
There was a silence. He was probably wondering what on earth he was thinking of to let his six-year- old son be minded by this woman, a woman who let her young nephew open the front door by himself at ten o’clock at night.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t hear the doorbell ring.’ She pulled her cardigan tighter round her waist and crossed her arms. She didn’t want to step into the light. She didn’t want him to see that she had been crying. ‘I’m sure Luke has told Sam you’re here but…’ But what, Elizabeth? ‘… but I’ll just give him a quick call anyway,’ she mumbled. She walked across the grass towards the house with her head down, rubbing her forehead with her hand to hide her eyes.
When she reached the kitchen door, she squinted against the bright light but kept her head lowered, not wanting to make eye contact with the man. All she could see of him were a pair of blue Converse runners at the end of faded blue jeans.
Chapter 14
‘Sam, your dad is here to collect you!’ Elizabeth called weakly upstairs. There was no answer, just the sound of a pair of little feet running along the landing. She sighed and looked at her reflection in the mirror. She didn’t recognise the woman she saw. Her face was swollen and puffy, her hair messed from being blown in the breeze and damp from rubbing her teary hands through it.
Luke appeared at the top of the stairs, sleepy- eyed and dressed in his Spiderman pyjamas that he refused to allow her to wash, instead hiding them behind his favourite teddy, George, for protection. He rubbed his eyes tiredly with his fists and looked at her confused.
‘Huh?’
‘Luke, it’s pardon, not huh,’ Elizabeth corrected him, then wondered in her current mood why the hell it mattered. ‘Sam’s father is still waiting so could you please tell him to hurry down?’
Luke scratched his head in a daze. ‘But,’ he stopped and rubbed his face tiredly.
‘But what?’
‘Sam’s dad collected him when you were in the gar—’ He stopped as his gaze was averted to over Elizabeth’s shoulder.
Luke’s face broke into a toothless smile. ‘Oh, hello Sam’s dad.’ He giggled uncontrollably. ‘Sam will be down in a minute,’ he laughed, and ran off back down the landing.
Elizabeth had no choice but to turn slowly and face Sam’s father. She couldn’t continue to avoid him while he waited in her home for his son. On first glance she noticed he had a look of bewilderment as he watched Luke run back down the landing, giggling. He turned to face her, evidently worried. He was leaning against the doorframe, hands tucked into the back pockets of a pair of faded blue jeans below a blue T-shirt, and wisps of jet-black hair escaped from under his blue cap. Despite his youthful attire she presumed he was her age.
‘Don’t worry about Luke,’ Elizabeth said, slightly embarrassed at her nephew’s behaviour. ‘He’s just a little hyper tonight and,’ she rushed her words, ‘I’m sorry you caught me at a bad time in the garden.’ She wrapped her arms around her body protectively. ‘I’m not usually like this.’ She wiped her eyes with a trembling hand and quickly clasped her hands together to hide her shaking. Her overflow of emotion had disoriented her.
‘That’s OK,’ the soft deep voice replied. ‘We all have our bad days.’
Elizabeth chewed on the inside of her mouth and tried in vain to remember her last good one. ‘Edith is away at the moment. I’m sure you’ve had dealings with her, which is why we’ve never met.’
‘Oh, Edith—’ he smiled – ‘Luke’s mentioned her lots of times. He’s very fond of her.’
‘Yes,’ she smiled weakly and wondered if Luke had ever mentioned her. ‘Would you like to sit down?’ She motioned towards the living room. After offering him a drink she returned from the kitchen with a glass of milk for him and an espresso for herself. She paused at the door of the living room in surprise to catch him spinning around in the leather swivel chair. The sight of him made her smile.
On seeing her at the door he smiled back, stopped spinning, took the glass from her and then moved to the leather couch. Elizabeth sat in her usual chair, so oversized it almost swallowed her up, and hated herself for hoping his runners wouldn’t dirty her cream carpet.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t know your name,’ she said, trying to brighten up the dull tone in her voice.
‘My name’s Ivan.’
She spluttered coffee down her top as it caught in her throat.
Ivan rushed over to pat her on the back. His concerned eyes stared right into hers. His forehead creased with worry.
Elizabeth coughed, feeling stupid, quickly broke eye contact and cleared her throat. ‘Don’t worry, I’m fine,’ she murmured. ‘It’s just funny that your name is Ivan because—’ She stopped. What was she going to say? Tell a stranger that her nephew was delusional? Regardless of the internet advice she still wasn’t sure his behaviour could be considered normal. ‘Oh, it’s a long story.’ She waved her hand dismissively and looked away to take another sip. ‘So what is it that you do, Ivan, if you don’t mind me asking?’ The warm coffee ran through her body, filling her with a familiar, comfortable feeling. She felt herself coming back, slipping out of the coma of sadness.
‘I guess you could say I’m in the business of making friends, Elizabeth.’
She nodded understandingly. ‘Aren’t we all, Ivan.’
He contemplated that idea.
‘So what’s your company called?’
His eyes lit up. ‘It’s a good company. I really love my job.’
‘Good Company?’ she frowned. ‘I’m not familiar with it. Is it based here in Kerry?’
Ivan blinked. ‘It’s based everywhere, Elizabeth.’
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. ‘It’s international?’
Ivan nodded and gulped down some milk.
‘What is the company involved in?’
‘Children,’ he said quickly. ‘Apart from Olivia, who works with the elderly, but I work with children. I help them, you see. Well, it used to be children but now it seems we’re branching out… I think…’ He trailed off, tapped his glass with his fingernail and frowned into the distance.
‘Ah, that’s nice,’ Elizabeth smiled. That explained the youthful clothes and playful nature. ‘I suppose if you see room in another market you need to get in there, don’t you? Expand the company, increase the profit. I’m always looking at ways to do that.’
‘What market?’
‘The elderly.’
‘They have a market? Great, I wonder when it’s on. Sundays, I suppose? You can always pick up a few good knick-knacks here and there, can’t you? My old friend Barry’s dad used to get secondhand cars and fix them up. His mom used to buy curtains and make them into clothes. She looked like something from The Sound of Music, good thing she lives here too because every Sunday she wanted to “climb every mountain”, and because Barry was my best friend I had to do it, you see. When is it on, do you think? Not the film, I mean the market.’
Elizabeth barely heard him; her mind had slipped back into thinking mode. She couldn’t stop herself.
‘Are you alright?’ the kind voice asked.
She stopped staring into the bottom of her coffee cup to face him. Why did he look like he cared so much? Who was this softly spoken stranger who made her feel so comfortable in his presence? Each twinkle in his blue eyes added another goose bump to her skin, his gaze was hypnotic and the tone of his voice was like a favourite song she wanted to blare and put on repeat. Who was this man who came into her house and asked her a question not even her own family could ask? Are you alright? Well? Was she alright? She swirled the coffee around in the cup and watched it hitting the sides and spraying up like the sea against the cliffs of Slea Head. She thought about it and came to the conclusion that if the last time she had heard those words uttered by anyone was more than a few years ago then she supposed the answer was
no. She was not alright.
She was tired of hugging pillows, counting on blankets for warmth and of reliving romantic moments only in her dreams. She was tired of hoping that every day would hurry so she could get on to the next. Hoping that it would be a better day, an easier day. But it never was. Worked, paid the bills and went to bed but never slept. Each morning the weight on her shoulders got heavier and heavier and each morning she wished for night to fall quickly so she could return to her bed to hug her pillows and wrap herself in the warmth of her blankets.
She looked at the kind stranger with the blue eyes watching her and saw more care in those eyes than she had in anyone she knew. She wanted to tell him how she felt, she wanted to hear him say it would be OK, that she wasn’t alone and that they would all live happily ever after and that—She stopped herself. Dreams, wishes and hopes were not realistic. She needed to stop her mind from wandering onto those paths. She had a good job and she and Luke were healthy. That was all she needed. She looked up at Ivan and thought about how to respond to his question. Was she alright?
He took a sip of his milk.
Her face broke into a smile and she started laughing, for above his lip was a milk moustache so big it reached the end of his nostrils. ‘Yes, thank you, Ivan, I’m alright.’
He looked unsure as he wiped his mouth and, after a while of studying her, spoke. ‘So, you’re an interior designer?’
Elizabeth frowned. ‘Yes, how do you know?’
Ivan’s eyes danced. ‘I know everything.’
Elizabeth smiled. ‘Don’t all men?’ She looked at her watch. ‘I don’t know what Sam’s up to. Your wife will probably think I’ve abducted the two of you.’
‘Oh, I’m not married,’ Ivan replied quickly. ‘Girls, uugh!’ He made a face.
Elizabeth laughed. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you and Fiona weren’t together.’
‘Fiona?’ Ivan looked confused.
‘Sam’s mother?’ Elizabeth asked, feeling foolish.
If You Could See Me Now Page 11
